Euthanasia

They knew she was sick from the moment she hatched. She, too, knew she was weak. Disease ran rampant in her, unchecked by a faulty immune system. Eventually, the stones growing on her skin will suffocate her, having no more outward skin to grow on, and instead growing inwards. Eventually, all that will be left is a glimmering, red statue. She would probably die of old age before that happened with enough care, however.

She was born to healthy parents; the illness was recessive, hidden in the genetic code of each of them. No one else in the clan suffered from the disease, and no one knew what was wrong with her. A local medic had seen the trait before, however, and happily supplied them with as much knowledge they needed to keep the child happy and (relatively) healthy.

Despite the appearance, the only parts that hurt were the very small gems that sometimes sprouted from the pads of her feet. Those were easily removed, however. What wasn’t easy to remove was the way her clan mates ostracized her from the get-go. They were under the impression that the ailment was contagious, despite the local medic explaining that it was a genetic disease. Scared of losing her, they simply called her skydancer (sky, for short.)

She came to the conclusion that she was to leave as soon as physically possible.

It was harder to leave than she had anticipated. She knew nothing of survival, and often fell ill due to her compromised immune system (it came with her variant of gem-bond, the medic had said). Eventually, she joined a traveling caravan, having enough medical expertise from her personal experiences to qualify as a medic of her own. More than often, she was treating her own illnesses, but her overall usefulness outweighed the frequent bed-rests.

Slowly, her immune system became more robust. Her clan had sheltered her, leaving her alone in a room for fear of both catching what she had, and losing her forever before they could find a cure. Out in the real world, she had to contend with the many common illnesses that hit her one by one. She came out victorious each time, and she viewed it as progress.

With time, she fell in love. A man with bones adorning his skin and feathers who saw past the shining jewels growing from her own skin and feathers. They had two children, Eli and Bo. They had both avoided their mother’s affliction, to her surprise and relief. For a time, she was happy. She helped heal what she could, and traveled the world with her family.

That was until they entered the plague domain, in need of a material made in abundance there. The wandering contagion struck each of them ferociously. The leader fell to suffocation, his throat swollen. Their 3 traders each fell to an infection; the first had his heart stopped by the disease, the second’s blood went septic, and the third was too weak to run from starving wild cats (who were immune to what had taken the traders). The leaders mate died to food poisoning, not cooking the food enough in her grief.

Eli fell to her death when a variant of necrosis tore a hole in her wing and she didn’t notice. Bo had no outward symptoms, but dropped dead once the same necrosis had finished with her brain. Sky’s mate began to rot away too, the necrosis rendering his still-live body useless. She put him out of his misery once his wings and front legs had withered away.

Sky blamed herself; she had tried her best to treat the illnesses before they took hold permanently, but had been the only living member left alive. Mad with grief, she sat next to what was her family and sang them lullabies, waiting for something to take her as well. She watched as the necrosis on her skin began to take hold, but was then healed by a stone growing quickly in the affected area. No matter where it tried to take hold, her gembond would fight back without mercy. It wasn’t long before her actual immune system had enough dead necrosis-causing bacteria cells to render them permanently ineffective.

After a day or two of waiting, Sky had realized that she was cursed to live with her mistakes. She wandered farther into the region, stronger and stronger contagions attacking her, and failing. By the time she had reached the wyrmwound, she had effectively become as resilient as a native-born dragon of plague. Her eyes were even a tad red, bloodshot from weeping. Not realizing she was but a visitor in their lands, the residents around her paid her no mind. She made some money binding broken legs, splinting sprained wings, and diagnosing the various diseases dragons asked her about, the symptoms all over them -perhaps muted in severity - and spreading fast.

She treated not one of them for their illnesses, however. Not only were the dragons adamant in their philosophy that no illness should be treated, but fought, but Sky herself had also discovered that the majority of Wyrmwound-spawned pathogens were best treated with rest and a good diet. Anything from outside the domain, however, was something she sometimes treated, when allowed.

She had changed her name, at this point. While most - when they learned her original name - assume it has something to do with her medical career, she had actually thought it up when she killed her husband in order to ease his pain. As far as all of the other dragons in the Scarred Wasteland knew, however, her name was just Euthanasia.

She only ever thought of leaving when a poster advertising a free trip to the Flight Advocate Headquarters for assignment showed up. With the majority of treatable diseases outside the land she had come to call home, she figured her talents would be better used wherever she ended up.