Brychon

Brychon

The Serpentine Necromancer

Summary



A member of the Necromancer Subspecies (Auraboa)

“As we were, we were chained—rootbound by the ouroboros into which our seeds had been sown. The Gladekeeper shaped us without mind, without identity, without self. Outside of time and trapped in our own cycle, isolated by birthright.

It is the blight that woke us. Rotting ichor poisoned the roots of The Behemoth, our prison and warden. Mother set us free. She cut us from our haze and gifted unto us the strength to forge our own paths. Where our creator damned us to repetition, Mother has afforded us the opportunity to evolve.”

The first of his kind to succeed the Necromantic Trials, Brychon infamous in both the Necromantic Council and across the Plaguelands. Few dare to question his commitment to the Mother or her teachings, even with the looming stain of his kindred.

Backstory



Brychon was a member of the first generation of Auraboa born as an individual. He grew up alongside his brother, Elhokar, with the aid of the dragons of Gladebough village, spending his nights communing with his kindred in the Loop. As he grew, the question of why he was so unlike his elders plagued him. Connected in the Loop, that question diffused, often met with the same few answers—We don’t know, it isn’t important, that’s just how it is. Brychon grew frustrated with these responses and the lack of privacy he found within the Loop. As he grew older, he ventured further and further from the village, deeper into the Shrieking Wilds, seeking answers.

On one such expedition, Brychon came across an odd dragon slinking through the underbrush. A Bogsneak, clothed in tattered furs, covered in scars and reeking of death, seemingly oblivious of his presence. He racked his brain, trying to place why this dragon seemed familiar. Coiled in the branches, it hit him: This was Ex-Ambassador Yugona. He raced back to the village, scouring any records he could find of the crumble of the Plague-Nature Armistice. He read about the Seed Scar, and how it had become what it was now. He learned of the strange sickness that had infected Former Ambassador Leifa, and the supposed disappearance of Ex-Ambassador Yugona. He deprived himself of sleep, keeping his mind separate from the loop, safe from the prying eyes of his kin. Finally, he came to the conclusion that he had been deceived. The final nail in the coffin was his exploration of the derelict Pox Consolate. He recognized the trees and ranches that attempted to consume the structure were, in fact, offshoots from the Behemoth’s roots. The Behemoth was attempting to destroy the Pox Consulate, and, if his theory held water, it was being poisoned. That was why he wasn’t trapped in the Loop, why he had his precious waking hours when his mind was his own. Perhaps, if that blight woke him and his kind, it could cut them free.

When he finally let himself rest, he shared his findings. Most in the Loop disregarded him as delusional, but a few, including his brother, joined him in his journey to the Scarred Wasteland. There, he said, they could be truly free. Truly independent. Their thoughts and feelings would be private, their own, no longer subject to the communal mind of the Loop.

At first, the Auraboa were regarded with suspicion, but slowly they ventured to the Wyrmwound. It took a long few days of convincing, but finally, Brychon and his entourage were allowed to take the Trials. The first of them failed, turning to the Loop in desperation. Blighted Ghouls and Wraiths were shunted from the Trialgrounds, but still, Brychon held strong. Some grew closer, though still begged their kin for aid, Blighted Necroservi falling just barely short. Brychon remained, stoic on his perch high above the cauldron. The Loop clawed at his mind when he rested, fellow Auraboa sharing the woes of their struggles in fitful sleep. Voices pleaded for aid, Elhokar among them. They were pitiful and distracting. Brychon walled off his mind, cutting himself free from the final vestiges of the Behemoth. Everything was quiet. He was alone. Brychon beat back his infection, flesh paling, crossed by marks of bloody red. On the dawn of the 23rd day, he took his final trial. Under his claws, a Tundra succumbed to pox and irritation, their own immune system turning against them, before the rashes cleared just as quickly. Brychon had passed. He had become the first of his kind to bear the title of Necromancer.

He quickly realized that the voices he’d heard crying for help in the Loop, who pulled magic from their kin to fight their illness, belonged to Auraboa who now bore orange-brown wings, their flesh appearing more a bark than scales. Elhokar offered his congratulations, but Brychon wanted none of it. He had betrayed his trust, his ideals, and turned instead to that damned collective.

Brychon ventured out into the Plaguelands and came across the Seed Scar. It was there he realized what he needed to do. He took the spear from the overgrown remains of a Boneguard and claimed it as his symbol. Among the rot and roots, he found a small Nymph, born from the mixing of magics and wounded by the attempts to contain the pestilent life. Brychon nursed the creature to health with his magic and she, dubbed Wilt, joined him as his loyal familiar. He sought out the Council, followed by those who, like him, rejected the Loop and earned the Mother’s blessing on their own merit. Brycon took his symbol, a jagged spear taken from the bones of a dragon who perished combating Led by Brychon, they carved out their place among the Hand Sinister, naming themself Holy Knights and Infectionists. Brychon, aided by his mate, Avalon, now lead them, the free, the Untethered, to combat those who dare encroach on the lands of the Plaguebringer.