Klebsiella

Mother? Klebsiella thought as she recognized the voice of the Mirror dragon that had hatched her. She was unaware of who her parents truly were, but Mina had been the first dragon that she had set eyes upon, warding her deserted egg from certain Rot. The Wildclaw sprung to her feet and leapt from her perch to locate her.

“That vermin is beyond depraved. It is no common pathogen that Rots it...” It was the voice of her mother’s mate, the clan’s Necromancer priest, Ichorclaw. Although familiar to her beloved mother, it still felt awkward to address him as either ‘father’ or his by his first name, though she tended to default to the former out of respect. Klebsiella remained unsure of who he was to her having not met him until after she had successfully completed her own trials and returned to The Cell an adult and a Necromancer in her own right. She fleetly rounded a corner of the elaborate nesting grounds, and his voice grew stronger. “If Bonejack and his Mirrors find out that Ghoul was not neutralized...They will turn their ire on me, Mina.”

“There must be a reason Her magic fails. Could the thing be Shade-touched?”

“I wish I knew. Perhaps the Plaguebringer has wrought ill will on us. It is the Necromancer Rite that rids this beast from the earth and yet, it remains. Mother must be displeased with us,” the priest bemoaned with a frustrated growl. “And if She isn’t, that is still how we shall spin it to the others—that the clan must work harder in their efforts or the Ghoul remains. It’s either that or they come for my head on a cleaver.”

“You mean to deceive them?” Mina’s voice was close now.

“No I...yes... no...I don’t know, honestly. What if we did displease Mother? What if I have? I cannot sense the weather here and it perturbs me deeply." Ichorclaw attributed his notions, as always to, “the weather,” which was his shorthand for the will of the Plaguebringer and the state of the Plauge Flight. "Either way," he continued, "That is the logical answer to bide us time in elucidating the situation. ‘Mother deems this clan unworthy.’ In the meantime, whatever it is that I must do to bring us Her favor, consider it done. Tomorrow after informing Bonejack of The Cell's impasse status, I will report to the Wyrmwound to pray—”

“Why don’t you just fight it, father?” Klebsiella was suddenly upon them, and she barged into the deliberation without fanfare or introduction.

“Klebsiella? What are you...How did...?”

“It sounds like that scrappy looking red Skydancer that’s been hounding our lair is incurable even to an experienced Necromancer.” The Wildclaw had trotted closer, beaming briefly at her mom before addressing the Mirror priest once more. “Before the Plaguebringer gifted us with her Rot, she gifted us with life. We’re still dragons with tooth and claw and guts,” her voice drooped suddenly as a weed in winter, “Kill it.” Ichorclaw’s jaw oscillated and his head swiveled, “There is more depth to life than Necromancer and non-Necromancer, worthy and unworthy.”

“You are my secular Mina’s child for sure,” Ichorclaw mumbled, “And I am abruptly outnumbered, but a fair point is made. There is a reason, however, why neutralizing a Ghoul is favorable to outright brawling one. It writhes with disease from Her Cauldron, suffers with effect from Her rebuff. Fighting it remains a messy endeavor, but perhaps a solution we must embrace seeing as I have failed to contain the threat myself.”

“No worries,” Klebsiella returned. “Between you and mother, me and Yafim. The worm will fall.” She gnashed her teeth and lowered her head.

11/04/18 The following evening, the four dragons, consisting of the clan’s two Necromancers, Ichorclaw and Klebsiella, and two Necroservus, Mina and Yafim, readied themselves for their encounter with the Ghoul. Where normally only the art of contagion were wielded, tonight the dragons donned edged claws and armor, ready to spat. Only Klebsiella brandished further weaponry in a sword that she had borrowed off of a clan mate.

Thus the Ghoul hunting party formed up and made their trek to the location where the monster had last been spotted, near the edge of The Cell’s territory line that lay between the Abiding Boneyard and Rotrock Rim. It was decided that Klebsiella would take the lead in the assault, being the most athletic. Ichorclaw would concentrate on healing any infection the beast might throw at them, and Mina and Yafim would support Klebsiella with Rot and blows. Yafim especially, a Guardian dragon that towered over many others in the Wasteland would lend her bulk and reach, while Mina, lame in one leg from an old injury, would focus on worsening the Ghoul’s infection from afar with her magic.

It didn’t take long for the Ghoul to happen upon them. The lanky, red Skydancer floated through the tendrils as if a ghost, yet the odd shaking gait of his limbs across the earth betrayed such a notion. He faced them directly several meters off in the distance. It looked as if he were mouthing words, yet no sound touched the air. He smiled and nodded, the movements of his jaw continued through a noiseless, laughing grin, his eyes, however were livid. The dragons did nothing but stare for a beat, memorized before Klebsiella stepped forward. With a burst of speed she halved the distance between her and the Ghoul. She raised the crest on her head and held her large wings aloft in a showy display of her own, letting fly a brazen shriek. The Ghoul altered his gaze to meet her eyes. She stomped the ground and lowered her head. She heard the others coming up behind her.

“Go, Kleb!” Her mother prompted, and she charged at the interloper. The beast stood its ground, unperturbed, and merely lifted its narrow forearm, its claw poised at her. Klebsiella pushed off the ground with her powerful hind legs and soared the final distance between them. She ducked low beneath the Ghoul’s outstretched arm and stepped with her hip at its chest, checking him into the ruddy dirt. In the split second before she made contact, however, there was a low, short moan that chilled her bones. She felt increasingly faint and then felt the searing heat of its hand as it gripped her foot from where it lay. In an instant Yafim was beside her and wacked the creature’s limb away with a whip of her tail. It rolled to its back and laughed, pawing at the sky. This time the sound was heavy. Klebsiella wasted no time and jumped on top of it with another shriek. She tore at it with her talons. Her skin sizzled when suddenly her sight went black, her ears deafened, and she lost all physical sensation of the beast between her claws. She was overcome with the dissociative sensation of being deep beneath Sornieth, buried below her body. She couldn’t tell if she still had the Ghoul pinned or if she were standing at all. Then in a rush, all noise, sight, and sensation flooded back to her. She became aware of Ichorclaw’s hand clasped tightly around her tail. She was still atop the Ghoul, and its eyes, mouth, and forelimbs were caked in mushrooms, her mother’s doing for sure. Yafim was pressing her great hand against its neck, the flesh of her fingers inflamed as if being stung by its very skin. Bloodied and without air, the Ghoul was not breathing any longer, but it writhed all the same. Klebsiella tore the blade from her side.

“Move, Yafim!” As the Guardian removed her hand, the creature’s red eyes sprung open from beneath the fungus, and Klebsiella buried the sword to the hilt through its neck and into the ground. A terrible, gurgling rattled from its head, now unburdened from its torso, and then it stilled. The dragons held their stances for several long seconds before finally relaxing on their haunches. They glanced at each other wordlessly.

Necromantic Symbol Ravenskull Broadsword Apparel For dragons who think they're totally metal. We can put a skull on that. 0 Blades "A symbol of purification, nobility, transition, protection, aggression, strength and ability. Necromancers bearing blades can be expected to take on a more active role in their clan. They wield their powers of contagion on the battlefield and in defense of their allies. Often they represent Plaguebringer's desire to conquer and expand and they will urge their clan leaders to push Her plague into new territories."

The next day, the Wildclaw awoke to find Ichorclaw waiting outside the entrance of her den. At his side was a long, ruby encrusted sword, a skull adorning the guard. “Your symbol, Klebsiella.” With her mouth agape she glanced between the menacing weapon and the priest. “Every worthy Necromancer requires a symbol to designate their authority among the Wasteland. I can think of no symbol more fitting of you than the blade.” “I hadn’t even thought about my symbol yet,” she stammered.