Marros

---

Marros was tired. Sin and Virtue were fighting. Again.

“What do you mean it was an accident, how do you accidentally eat an entire stack of blue roses!?"

“I was hungry, you can’t expect me to know which stacks are food and which are ingredients!”

“They were literally in a basket labelled ‘Reagents’-”

She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose between her claws, already she could feel a migraine coming on. Realising she wouldn’t be getting any more work done, she stood from her desk and began meticulously packing away her precious tools.

Beside her gleaming scalpels, she placed carefully wrapped vials of freshly distilled pathogens, resisting the ever-present hunger threatening to ruin her work. Each vial amounted to weeks of research and tedious brewing—to lose even one from careless handling was a heresy her former Master would’ve risen from the grave to berate her for.

Speaking of her Master…Marros fiddled absently with the ruby pendant dangling from her neck; the only remaining memento of her.

“Master, perhaps we should search elsewhere for the herb,” Marros suggested warily as she watched the Spiral bounce around dangerously close to the bubbling lake of the Wyrmwound.

Per usual, the Necromancer had her snout buried in her leather tool pouch, rummaging about without any heed for her surroundings. With a cry of triumph, she produced an empty test-tube and hurriedly filled it to the brim with putrid looking plant matter. “Bah you just don’t get it, Marros, the best stuff grows here by the edges, haven’t I taught you anything?” She tsked, turning to give her an unimpressed stare.

The Imperial resisted the urge to remind her that she had indeed taught her many things--the first of which being to never approach the Plaguemother’s cauldron. Despite her carefree words, she knew this was another of her Master’s tests, to see if she would lose control in such near proximity to a Mercy’s veritable buffet. Failure would signal the end of their relationship.

Swallowing further protests she decided co-operating would get them away from the infernal lake quicker and stepped over cautiously to help.

Her Master grinned toothily, a hint of approval in her eyes, “I knew you’d see it my way.”

Together they made quick work of harvesting and brewing their finds, finishing just as the sun began to dip below the horizon. Marros was ravenous by the end of it, vampiric hunger gnawing at her rationality. Still, she could feel a watchful gaze burning into her back and reigned it in, shutting it away behind ironclad will.

“You did good today,” the Necromancer remarked casually on their way back home, “I think you deserve a reward.” With that, she handed Marros one of the vials containing their fresh brew, which she immediately fumbled to uncork and down.

Directly ingesting a pathogen of such potency would normally be lethal to a non-Plague dragon, but to a Mercy it was like tasting ambrosia itself.

Amused, the Spiral laughed at her subtly relieved expression while patting her enormous head with a comparatively tiny hand. “You must be getting better at this if it tastes that good,” she cackled.

Marros’ reminiscing was interrupted by the sounds of a scuffle outside her den followed by swears and threats of violence. It seemed the argument had gotten physical in her distraction. Dropping the pendant to her neck once more, she resigned herself to playing mediator between her troublesome sisters. Again.

---

Additional Notes:

• arguably the most mature member of the coven, she is often left in charge of meetings and negotiations with their allied clan
• the grotesque scarring on her wings is a remnant of her time as a ghoul which she makes no effort to hide under cloaks or trinkets--she never speaks of that time though making this choice unlikely due to a warped sense of pride
• though shaky in her connection to Plague as all Mercies are, she has undeniably strong ice magic, making her the delegated guardian of Pandora, to ensure her more violent diseases don't thaw and to consume any that do escape