Creative Corner

@TheCell @ Kava

Two entries here bc I a Dumb and forgot yesterday.

14th October. Prompt: Vampire

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It is said in some far lands, that it is possible to create vampyr, abominable creatures of shadow and night, carrying a very particular plague in their teeth. These dragons desire blood above all else, and are commonly results of the coupling of Shadow magic with Necromancer plagues.

Vampyr have certain known facets, though their varieties are numerous. Some are even said to be undead, perhaps due to being created by Necromancers; said to speak to the dead. The variability of vampyr is likely due to the variability in who makes them: while the definition requires certain traits, these can be - and often are - added to by the budding vampiric necromancer.

While blood-drinking and a lack of full strength in sunlight are the most common traits, there is further variation. Some catch fire in sunlight - a specific trait believed to be created after a Fireborn Necromancer took the virus from a defeated Shadowborn Necromancer and implemented it to control his vampiric Necroservi. Others are said to be able to shapeshift, to turn to smoke, to be require interring in earth before they can sleep. In some far-fetched tales of dragons beyond the oceans, it is said there are vampiric dragons who can separate their heads from their bodies safely, though this is believed to be more likely the result of an Emperor sighting.

Other strains, often those created by Arcaneborn Necromancers, develop penchants for counting, while Lightborn Necromancers create vampyr who cannot speak anything but truth. Natureborn-created vampyr commonly have unusual allergies in order to control them. While Fireborn gift them with an inability to bear the sun and inherent flammability, Natureborn make them unable to cope with certain plants. While garlic is the most commonly known, citrus fruits and even roses have also been known to take strong effect. Lightningborn-made vampyr instead cannot handle silver (or sometimes steel) as it burns them as the sun does Fire-made vampyr. Ice-made vampyr are often cold as winter even went travelling far afield, and may use their uncommon chill as a weapon.

Thankfully most vampyr remain firmly under the control of the 'mancer who created them, though 'servi have also been known to create and control whole hives of the creatures with fervent application of their ability to alter and spread plague, if not remove it. Indeed, one notable vampyr hive is headed by a Necroservus who, after the death of their Necromancer master to the plague ravaging their clan, utilised and altered a number of plagues to create their own strain. The Clan of Flashing Fangs, found deep in the Foxfires, is not one which has ever been crossed since and is a singular example of a Necroservus serving their clan in a way their Necromancer could not.

--Excerpt from Unusual Powers of Plague: the Sinister Scope by Alucard Kukudhi, a Waterborn Necromancer.

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15th October. Prompt: Fear

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Fear the Plaguebringer, fear Her might
Fear Her awesome, awful sight
Fear Her left hand, fear it well
A Sinister hand gongs the funeral bell

All we know and all we say
Whispered here to you this day
Is so you know not to cross Her chosen
else we all shall die by the dozen.

--Plaguelands nursery rhyme.

Prompt: Fear [img]https://i.imgur.com/jmv67aj.jpg[/img] Grisha's biggest fear. (Spoilers: Her mate is a blind spiral. Everything is probably broken, on the floor, or randomly tossed about)

Day 16: Masks
Part Two of a 6-part story about Azor picking a symbol.

After Azor talked back to Typheus and deeply hurt his pride, he stormed off in a huff. Leaving only Echidna to help Azor find the perfect symbol.

“So, no blades… what other options are there? Also. Sorry about him.”
“I’m sorry also. I knew that that was touchy for him, and I chose to prey on it. It’s as much my fault as it is his.”
“Fair enough. Anyway, symbols.”
“Right.” Azor really could not remember what they were. He felt like he wasn’t being a very good Necromancer, not knowing the symbols and all.

“Oh. OH! I remember one now! The mask! They represent legitimacy, and making sure that every action is done in favor of the Plaguebringer.”
Echidna beamed at whom she had just decided she would be adopting. “That’s an excellent symbol! And we have plenty of those! Come here, son, look through this trunk…”
She slowly opened the rusty old chest, revealing the contents within. It was filled with all sorts of facial decorations; lion heads, wooden masks, bejeweled masques, and a multitude of colors of face paint.
“Granted, we mostly use these for the Riot, but you can gladly have one if that’s what you want!”

Azor rummaged through the mask box, being careful not to tip over the jars of paint. Echidna occasionally interjected with the history of each piece. “Botox made those paints herself. Aren’t they great? Oh, I carved that mask, what a thing that is! That one is made of shadowthorns, try not to touch it too much. Oh! Nadia wore that skin! I don’t really know why she stopped…”

Reluctant to don a precious piece of the Crimson Pandemic’s history, he chose a simple wooden mask adorned with green feathers. “How’s this one?”
Echidna beamed. “It’s lovely! Now, put it on.”

Azor moved himself over to the mirror and started to put it on when he realized a huge problem. “Uh, Echidna?”
“Hm?”
“This won’t go over my horns. And it’ll block my eyes.”
“We can make holes for your horns, no worries. Don’t know how to fix the eye problem, though.”
“Maybe I just shouldn’t go with this. B-but don’t take it personally! Your mask collection is quite impressive. I just don’t want to potentially hurt myself or others by -”
“I understand. You need your eyes do to your Necromancer stuff. I get it.” Her tone wasn’t mad, but it sounded a bit disappointed. “May I have that back if you aren’t going to use it?”
Wordlessly, Azor handed the mask back to Echidna, who replaced it in the trunk and closed it.

“Now. What next?”

@TheCell @Kava

16th October. Prompt: Masks

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There are more masks they can wear than anyone can count. Pestilentia knows this well.

A mask is many things. Can be almost anything. It can be: a skull or a scrap of metal, a piece of bone carved to form, or a piece of cloth, a covering of paint.

It can be the face you wear, the expressions you pull, whether you feel them or not.

She has never known a Necromancer who doesn't wear some kind of mask, nor a Necroservus unable to see behind them.

Aerugosanguis doubts. He relies on strength but his wife is failing, his son failed, he cannot help either. He hides it all behind a mask of confidence and lets the fungi in his flesh grow across and over his brow to further hide his face. He dares not let anyone see through this mask, except for those who always have.

Nosoi hides her self-hatred behind humour. She laughs with Haema, encourages Intestinum. Debates daily with Pleurisy and Aerugosanguis and watches Tia in a way that can be quite uncomfortable. Nosoi hides how much she hates herself for her failings behind humour, and acts as though that is all she needs to help herself out of it.

Sometimes, the mask drops when someone offers her true and open affection.

Pleurisy. To her, Pleurisy has no mask, but Tia knows the mask he shows to others, the blithe confidence, the callous cruelty. Pleurisy is good at pretending he doesn't care, but Tia knows no reason other than caring that would have led her master to leave the Plaguelands of their birth, leave both their clans, and settle them here if he did not, on some level, care for her.

Maybe he doesn't care for anyone else. Maybe it is a mask he shows to her, that he cares. But Tia has seen how he handles hatchlings, how he picks them up and perches them on his shoulder when they fall, how he helps the small only to pretend it practicality later.

It's a mask, just as much as the paints he wears.

@TheCell
Day 17: Sigils
Part Three of a 6-part story about Azor picking a symbol.

Other symbols escaped him in that moment, but one he remembered. “The sigil?”
“Tell me more.”
“Rare objects from festivals or items bearing the Plague emblem. They symbolize the Plaguebringer’s power. Ambassadors wear them, but-”
“Ooooooooh we have plenty of that! Bless Joxar, he works so hard to make his little party favors. Come here, you simply must have a sigil.”
“I-”
Azor couldn’t finish his statement before Echidna tugged him away from the mask chest. They found themselves in a smaller room off to the side of the whole wardrobe. The shelves were filled with objects bearing the Plaguebringer’s image or the Plague emblem. Azor stared in wonder. Where did they get all this?

“Is this a shrine?” he asked.
“Nah. We know that She isn’t big on shrines and sacrifices. Not the style of the place. This is just… where we keep all our nicest stuff.”
“It’s so cool! I’m amazed.”
“Isn’t it? I cherish the things we have in here.”

Remembering that he was supposed to pick a sigil, he paced around the room, observing each item on each shelf. A tiny bottle caught his eye. “What’s this?” he said, delicately picking it up.
Echidna looked at it confusedly. “I’m not actually sure, it isn’t labeled. But if I had to guess, it would be… runaway rotclaw starters.”
“A huh?”
“You see this?” Echidna gestured to the membranous flesh around her shoulders, then to the enormous claw emerging from it. “If I’m correct, swallowing whatever is in that bottle will make you grow a rotclaw. Don’t look at me like that; it isn’t painful and I can control it! See?” she explained, swinging the claw around and moving it as if it were another arm.
“Uhhhhh. Well, I guess it can’t hurt to try.”
“That’s the spirit. But don’t do it yet. Is there anything else in here that interests you?”

Azor looked around the shelves once more. “What about this?” he said, holding up a piece of cloth.
“That’s a sash! I used to wear that myself, but I swapped it out for this cool little kilt here. I can help you out it on; I know its a pain to tie behind the wings.”
“And what are those glowing things?”
“Emblems! Oh you simply must have an emblem. Everyone here has one, usually it matches the birth flight but we can make an exception for you.” She turned to him and grinned.

He took her silence as an invitation to finish his original thought. “But, here’s the thing. Sigils are typically worn with other symbols, as backup.”

“Oh.” She realized. “Well, we still have plenty of time. What have we done so far… blades, masks, sigils? There are more?”
“Absolutely.”

@TheCell @Kava

17th October. Prompt: Sigils

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Of all of them, only Pleurisy wears a Sigil. Pestilentia thinks it fitting. Of all of them, he is the only one not a failure. Nosoi was born of Plague, yes, but she has confessed her failings before, and is hesitant to so much as use her gifts. Aerugosanguis is too much of Earth and Fire to wear Plague's sigil and she, like Intestinum, both failed the Trials, are 'servi and not 'mancers.

Pleurisy wears the sigil and while it is Aerugosanguis who leads any meetings they have with other Necromancers, it is Pleurisy to whom they often look.

@TheCell Day 18: Power Headcanon: Imperials are unstable by nature (thanks Lightweaver), and the Plague capitalizes on this by creating “micro-emperors”. The principle is that if pieces of dead or living imperials are stitched together the tissue will combine into a single being. Micro-emperors lack the mindlessness of a true emperor, as well as the size, but they have immense power, being able to use multiple elemental magics like their larger brethren. Micro-emperors are often used as weapons by their creators, but equally often they become too much to control and are left to roam and die. [img]http://www1.flightrising.com/dgen/dressing-room/dragon?did=12639973&skin=4909&apparel=938,6714,6713,927,1792,309,14107&xt=dressing.png[/img][outfit=589939]

@TheCell Day 19: Uncanny Azor and Nadia are much the same. Plague mages, one touched by the Left Hand, the other the Wyrmwound. When he first met her, he was both astonished and terrified. [i]It’s her. But… how?[/i] She couldn’t remember anything about her life before she was accidentally reconstructed by an alchemical cauldron. She especially didn’t remember taunting a fresh, prideful Necromancer to her own death. Azor remembered everything. He swore to never let his anger overtake him like such again. She likes to sit on his head. He doesn’t like her sitting on his head. I guess she’s still irritating even in her second life. [img]https://i.imgur.com/n9ecvnV.png[/img] [size=2]ooF quality got butchered[/size] ----- I'm also posting tomorrow's now because I won't have time to post then Day 20: Disheveled Meditating on the roof was one of Azor’s favorite pastimes. He could escape from the mortal world and become one with the plague as if he wasn’t already. Sometimes a breeze blew by, but he paid it no mind. Since the Windsinger had (supposedly) paid his own patron a visit, the breezes have become stronger. It almost made the Wasteland more tolerable. He was enjoying the breeze until he heard it. A faint sound, almost like a wail? Who would be out here? Nadia? No, she can’t fly properly with her wings. Maybe Viper? VIPER. He and Rolas went hunting! It must be them. Immediately Azor was on the wing, soaring above the lighthouse, trying to figure out which direction the sound was coming from. Desperately, he called to the wind, “Viper? Viper!? What’s going on!?” A very faint reply sounded. “Rolas! She’s… she’s… I don’t know…” Azor didn’t need to hear any more. With one swift beat of his wings he shot off toward Viper’s voice. Two trails of water followed him as he flew, panicked. He frantically whipped his head back and forth, trying to find his orange friend. There! He made out the form of a flying mirror. He recognized the mirror as Viper because he was wearing goggles and antlers. And because he had another mirror on his back. Rolas. Her breathing was ragged, and blood dripped from a gnarly gash on her left flank. Viper himself was struggling to carry her weight, especially with her comically large wings in his way. Unsure if Viper could see him, Azor yelled to him, “Come this way! I can take her!!” Immediately after that, his heart wrenched itself in two. He remembered the story he had been told. This was not the first time Viper had flown a helpless Rolas across the wound. To distract himself from that thought, he focused on his healing. He was certain that she would need it. “This way!!” Viper finally saw Azor; the look of relief on his face was priceless. “You have to help her! You can’t let her die!” Azor knew in the back of his mind that his Mother would look at him with scorn for taking such pity on one. But frankly, he didn’t care. As Viper flew in closer to him, he reached out with his claws and dragged the limp Rolas from his back. Viper gasped in relief as green energy immediately began to flow across her body, forming a beeline for the wound on her leg. The two males made eye contact as they flew back toward the Spire. “Viper, go ahead of me. Tell Typheus what happened and tell Cess to get some extra strong painkiller ready for her.” “Roger that.” Viper’s voice was noticeably quivery now that Azor heard him in close range. He zoomed ahead of the pearlcatcher, who still carried Rolas in his talons. All four of his legs were wrapped around her thin body. Unfortunately he couldn’t get a good look at the injury but that wasn’t a major concern at the moment. Taking his time to make sure that Rolas wouldn’t get hurt any more, he soared back to the Island. Curing energy continued to make its way through her blood. He landed it perfectly, gently dropping Rolas on the stone before landing to her side. She was still unconscious, probably from blood loss. Azor gingerly turned her body so he could see her leg. It wasn’t pretty. Despite his efforts, it was still inflamed with infection. He wondered what horrible disease was in her body that he couldn’t cure. He didn’t want to think about what would happen if he couldn’t cure her. He stepped back to survey the whole situation. All her apparel was out of place - her hand-crafted carapace arm was unrecognizable, the skulls she adorned herself with were cracked, even the magical scroll that sat around her neck was torn into pieces. Obviously she had gotten into a fight with something big, but what? She’s tough. What bested her? And, more importantly, why was Viper unharmed? Tears mixed with the water trails as he returned his focus to healing.

@TheCell @Kava

Once again, two bc I missed a day.

18th October. Prompt: Power

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They say that power comes from control. Maybe it does. Intestinum knows the value of control - it is essential if he ever wants to embrace his mother. But power also comes from strength. From strength in the face of failure - and Intestinum knows none who have true strength in that regard by Haema his mother, who handles every aspect of her failings with utmost pragmatism - to pure strength in the form of sheer power, to strength in the form of resolve, as Pleurisy has.

Intestinum believes that he, like Nosoi, have another strength. Or rather... another form of it.

They have resilience, an ability to bounce back.

And that is a power which cannot ever run out.

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19th October. Prompt: Uncanny

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Pestilentia likes her snakes. She knows that, in some places, to some people, snakes are symbols of healing. She knows more than that as well: she knows that they are healing. There is a reason, after all, that she can carry her two on her plague-touched skin and, even without focus, they never come to harm.

Bulbara is the ball python, and she's shy. Stays tucked close on her wrist and sometimes coils back to hide under her tucked wings in the cave systems. Occasionally she pokes her head out, or coils up her neck to butt up against Jacinth - red-tailed boa - and give an opinion. Jacinth is the more confident by far, always close around Tia's neck, almost enough to choke but never doing so. Sometimes, when particularly excited, she twists herself between Pestilentia's antlers, head swaying like a cobra.

More often, though, they each coil around and hiss secrets into her ears.

Sometimes, she hisses back.

"Pestilentia?" Pleurisy says whenever this happens. "What is going on?"

"You are sure?" she hisses back to Jacinth. "Absolutely certain?" she asks Bulbara. They hiss confirmation.

Pleurisy is still watching her from across his great tome.

"Just checking on the rumours," Tia says eventually. "There's bets going on who's going to have a nest this season. Some of them placed bets on us."

Pleurisy splutters. "NO," he says. "Not as long as you call me mentor."

Pestilentia simply smiles, and turns back to cooing and hissing at her snakes. It's uncanny, she thinks, how easy her serpents find it to tease her mentor.

@TheCell @Kava

20th October. Prompt: Dishevelled.

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"You look like a Longnecks' spring coat," Pestilentia commented when Pleurisy finally returned to her watchpoint.

"Moulting, messy, and smells terrible?" he asked. Then he yawned.

"Dishevelled," she corrected, rising to walk beside him. "Though I'm sure Nosoi would tell you look like sh-"

"Tia," he said tiredly. "Language."

"Yes, master."

They walked back to the clan-caves slowly. The ash was falling heavily today, and Pestilentia extended a wing out to shelter her master from the ash and fine hail of pumice.

He was weaving slightly from side to side, swaying a little in tiredness. This wasn't uncommon after an experiment. She wasn't sure what this one was - meditation at the brink of the Wastes, an attempt to configure a new curse, or a project to cure a Ghoul - but it didn't matter. She swept her tail out from side to side, impatient lashing doubling as a ready and momentum-fuelled weapon if anything tried to attack.

"Tia," Pleurisy said softly. "Calm yourself."

She frowned, looked to him. "It'd be easier of you let me carry you," she said.

Pleurisy sighed. "No. Better I return dishevelled from trying to commune with Plague than be carried. We don't want them thinking me dead."