Pythia

Passing the trials was not enough, it didn't fill the gaping void that stretched across her soul. With each passing sun and moon, the void grew, slowly sapping everything from Pythia.

Every breath was a new challenge.

A step more of a struggle than the last.

With each blink her sight slowly faded into darkness.

Would it take her life as well?

---

Collapsing on the barren edge of the Wyrmwood, on the verge of diving into the cornucopia of diseases of lay within the cauldron. Pythia laid, wheezing in whatever air she could take. Her energy spent on this long journey, was spent.

"What have I done Mother, what did I do to deserve this!?" she croaked out in dispare to the barren expance.

No reply came, not even the wind shifted.

Ever since passing her trials she had been growing weaker, as if the disease inside was rejecting her. But it shouldnt have been possible! Her parents who gave her life, were accepted.

Her siblings, were accepted into the fold. So why only her that was rejected?

"Havent I given my all to you, have I not sacrificed in your name all that I am!?", again silence reigned true.

Turning her sightless gaze towards the cauldron, she pondered.

Perhaps....

With a small spark of energy, Pythia slowly hauled herself closer to the lip of the cauldron, not caring if the sharp rocks dug in, the insects biting at her heels or the poisonous fumes of the ooze itself erroding away at her. "I thought I had nothing left to give" she muttered to herself, maybe by madness.

"But there is one thing I have forgotten", reaching the edge she could feel the heat radiating, slowly scalding her with each bubble explosion.

Panting with exertion she murmured "Mother, I give you the sacrifice of.... myself", with those last words she tipped herself over the edge and plunged into the depths.


The land stilled, everything under the glow of moon was bathed in gentle ivory. Walls of ice became alive, reflecting the light and colours of kinder things. Somehow the beauty was magnificent as it was deceiving, as if disguising its true nature from those unfortunate.

Inside the belly of the fortress layed Pythia, draped in soft cloths, wreathed in golden bands. The scars that patterned her body, added an air of mystery or danger. Her chambers filled with artefacts, scrolls, even precious gems from across the Sornieth.

"You are the Oracle" rasped a voice from the shadows, accompanied harsh wet wheezing, and spine-chilling cracks, "It took us many moons to find your wretched hide".

Un-perturbed by the intruder, Pythia stretched out languidly, her back rippling with hidden strength.

"Now there is no need to be rude, after all, you were the one to barge in on my territory", turning she pointed her dull blank eyes towards the corner of the room. Sighing amusedly she added, "no need to hide, I have Seen you already".

The cracking of bones sounded as the figure slithered towards the nonchalant dragoness, "what, have you seen Witch" was snarled lowly, the voice clearly annoyed.

"I See things that were, things that are", she paused to lean in and whisper "and some things... that have not yet come to pass".

The figure loomed ever closer, the stench of rot becoming potent, "you did not answer our question".

Pythia could feel the hot breath fanning her face, to her is was tainted with the scent of blood and disease. It was so very.... alluring.

"The Rotting King, accosting one of Mothers Chosen, let alone a fair maiden like me. Why you rogue" she quipped, boldly sassing/flirting at the stranger. The amusement still painted across her face as she was painfully pinned into the wall.

"Answer me you contemptible harpy!"

Instead of acting frightened, Pythia boldly switched their positions. "Everything has a price, even for you" she cackled out, the madness seeping into her eyes shone. Slowly she leaned closer and whispered, "what will you give me, in return for my knowledge".

Time stood still around them, only the sounds of the torches and the mysterious figures wet breathing rang. Staring into the oracles eyes, he replied, "what do you want?"

"I want.. you" was whispered, "I want The Rotting King" silkily added, "I want... Resheph".

Pythia is a very complex character. In her past she was described as unwaveringly devoted to The Mother. Cynical on occasion, also pragmatic, opportunistic, ruthless.

She regards herself as "just another one of Mothers servants", but is also prideful of maintaining her position of power in her clan, and her role in Necromatic society. Its also not clear what exactly her role is, or if she even has one.

Also known to be downright ruthless, willing to go to whatever means to get what she wants, as such as gaining her mate Resheph.

---

---

Ice-born are capable of shutting down a dragon’s immune system, allowing infections to run riot. In addition they can carry a myriad of plagues in stasis within their bodies. While Ice Necromancers’ destructive powers are unparalleled, it comes at the cost of their ability to heal, which is much lower than average. However, they are able to stop the progression of a disease (if not fully cure it) and lower fevers.

---

Rare eyes: Dragons with rare eyes are masters of transmutation. Some have command of several elements while others utilize their birth element in ingeniously clever ways such as making fire run like water or wind carry the currents of lightning. While their strength and ability vary by individual, rare-eyed dragons are infallibly clever and are often just as likely to get into trouble as out of it. With their ability to contort and transform their power, dragons with rare eyes find the test of contagion to be intuitive (if not easy) and are likely to pass, assuming they make it that far.

---

---

---