Nahum

Necroservus Apprentice to Necromancer Miasm, Nahum has long been parasitised by a strange, likely created plantlike entity. Kept at bay by the care of Miasm, Nahum has become skilled at using the wood worked into his body at directing magic, be it plague or otherwise.

Nahum is dedicated to Miasm, and adores his mentor to much the same degree as his mentor does him. While some find their bond uncannily close, given Miasm's technical role as educator, the pair do point out that they are of much the same age, and their care and education of one another is mutual. Miasm learns as much from Nahum's parasite as Nahum does from Miasm regarding plague, and together, they say, they are far stronger than apart.

When not serving his mentor, Nahum serves the clan as a border guard, using his parasite to generate large wooden palisades and as armour, allowing him to quickly strike against attempts by dragons and beastclans alike to interlope on the clan's territory. And, should they come in peace, his armoured form lets him speak to them in relative safety while that is ascertained.

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Day 18 - Element

"We are all different, then?" Nahum says, a soft head tilt where he sits between Miasm and Sickle. "Even those of you that have passed, you are capable of differing things?"

"All of us," Pleurisy confirms. "Different flights have different skills. It is clearest of all in those of us as are primal-eyed, but they are few and far between. Our clan alone has but one, and she is not a Necromancer at that."

"Kyria."

"Yes. But you know: Sang is good at strengthening. Kythera spellcasts with wind. I am more of plague than most of you, as is Nosoi. Intestinum and Ondine's ways of curing with curses often take the form of fire and flame and fever even when they use disease and mutation - their magic colours their plague. We cannot escape the element we are born to, even as we embrace another. We are forever touched by the elements we reach toward."

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So many call the Mother's touch a blessing. Necromancers, usually, and, Nahum thinks, those 'servi convinced of Necromancers' superiority. It is, perhaps, heretical to think this, but at least he only thinks it and never says it, unlike Ondine and all her heresies.

But he flexes his shoulders and feels the old scar-scab of his markings and then feels his symbiote move to soothe the ache.

He did not pass the final trial. Miasm, his 'mancer, has left them to go his own way, and Sickle his companion has found his place helping Mercies. Only he remains.

He knows now, better than most, it was not the Trials and what they gave him that was the blessing. It was only that, through them, he was able to take on the blessing that is his symbiote.

He stretches his claws and at his shoulders, the branches flex.

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His plants twist out of his body, stretching along his wings and his shoulders and his legs and arms, reinforcing. He cannot be as weak as his breed often is, with his plants.

He is a Necroservus. Some see his plants as a sign of his weakness, that he can infect but that he cannot call back, that he cannot harvest disease as a Necromancer can. They see his symbiosis as ceding ground to that which gives him strength, that which makes him more than just his caste.

Nahum hardly cares. His basket rests on his hip as he reaches out and harvests from the garden.

Perhaps he failed some part of the Trials. That hardly means he failed in other respects. The apples he picks are perfect.

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