Day 10 Disease
Somn
Masters of Disease. Necromancers and their ilk. But they don’t see sickness when they birth it or when they take it in. Because they don’t see me for what I am. No, but our glorious Plaguemother saw. I am the truth of her left hand. The hidden sickness that cannot be stopped. I am her truest son.
I remember my brother was overjoyed to take the trials with me. He always was an over-excited little puppy. He wanted so much to follow in our mother’s footsteps and become a perfectly devout paladin. I said I did too. But I didn’t, I wanted her power. I want Plaguebringer’s divine blessing to spread her illness far and wide. I wanted to see her illness sweep through clans and know it was in my power to stop it - or not.
I don’t think Tigue knew it was me who infected him. He was already sick. At first, I meant to take it back. He was so weak I thought he’d die if I didn’t take the sicknesses away. I watched him, feverish and rambling with it for a whole day. I kept thinking I would enjoy it just a little bit longer. As I watched the light fade and the long shadows stretch I knew I wouldn’t take the sickness away. Instead, I left my brother to die. The thought still makes me smile.
Day 11 eyes
Thimble
Day 12 Strength
Excem
I knew as a hatchling, my heart lay across the barren earth of Dragonhome deep in the heart of the Scarred Wastelands. I could smell it when the wind came from the south, the rich smell of decay, of struggle and change. My mother would say that my fascination nearly cost me my life as a hatchling. That the winds from Plague carried an illness so deadly I nearly died of it. But it was a Necromancer that saved me. A master of plagues who showed me what true strength was. As he healed me I heard the whisper of the Plague Mother, calling me to her.
My mother never forgave me for that. But I didn’t need her to approve. I had been called to serve the Mother of Illness herself, and mere blood was nothing to what swam in it.
Day 13
Necroservus
Amalasuintha
“How am I different?” I want to demand of him as I watch the new crop of trainees brought into the fort. They are no different from me. Bereft of her favor, only fit to serve Necromancers. Some are Wraiths, beneath her notice, but not useless to her favored. Later there will be Ghouls, weeping, and screaming in pain as they’re herded into pens to have their illnesses harvested and their fates decided. Some are neutralized, others can only be made comfortable as PlagueBringer’s blessing runs its course and claims their lives.
All of this I see from the comfort of my Necromancer’s quarters. Where I am a quiet and biddable accessory, taken out when he wants an adornment. I have gone with him to the council, and I have not been able to meet my own father’s eyes nor speak to him as I wonder why he never told me to be a Necroservus is to be a failure, to be nothing. And I do not ask my Necromancer “Why am I different?”
Because what if he decides I am not?
Day 14
Ghoul
Gytresh
Day 15
Survival
Tikva
Patient, they call me. Quiet, faithful, and foolish. Do they think me blind? I know better than anyone what he is. I see parts of him no one else does. The rot goes deep. The fear goes deeper. I’m the one who brings him potions to ease his sleep. And when the time comes - and it will sooner than he realizes - I’ll be the one to make sure he sleeps forever.
Day 16
Failure
Intangible
I suppose I could ramble about all the ways I’ve failed. I failed to become any kind of Necromancer or even a Ghoul. Just a Wraith, unworthy of any favor at all just hung around the Wyrmwound with a cold for a month. I was pretty depressed of course. You study and train and think you’ll be useful somehow only for absolutely nothing to happen. I admit I wandered around for a while blubbering over it. Until I realized I was free. Free to do what I wanted. I started taking food and drink to the ill during their trials. Some took it and others refused. But that’s how I met my mate. She was helping others heal up the same I was.
And she was gorgeous. We talked for days as we traveled around the Wyrmwound. I went to her home and before long it was mine - a place we built together. Now about failures. My latest alchemical experiment seems to make bacteria explode. In small amounts, it rather tickles but I think it could be problematic with larger infestations. I suppose I’ll have to call it a failure. Pity.
Somn
Masters of Disease. Necromancers and their ilk. But they don’t see sickness when they birth it or when they take it in. Because they don’t see me for what I am. No, but our glorious Plaguemother saw. I am the truth of her left hand. The hidden sickness that cannot be stopped. I am her truest son.
I remember my brother was overjoyed to take the trials with me. He always was an over-excited little puppy. He wanted so much to follow in our mother’s footsteps and become a perfectly devout paladin. I said I did too. But I didn’t, I wanted her power. I want Plaguebringer’s divine blessing to spread her illness far and wide. I wanted to see her illness sweep through clans and know it was in my power to stop it - or not.
I don’t think Tigue knew it was me who infected him. He was already sick. At first, I meant to take it back. He was so weak I thought he’d die if I didn’t take the sicknesses away. I watched him, feverish and rambling with it for a whole day. I kept thinking I would enjoy it just a little bit longer. As I watched the light fade and the long shadows stretch I knew I wouldn’t take the sickness away. Instead, I left my brother to die. The thought still makes me smile.
Day 11 eyes
Thimble
Day 12 Strength
Excem
I knew as a hatchling, my heart lay across the barren earth of Dragonhome deep in the heart of the Scarred Wastelands. I could smell it when the wind came from the south, the rich smell of decay, of struggle and change. My mother would say that my fascination nearly cost me my life as a hatchling. That the winds from Plague carried an illness so deadly I nearly died of it. But it was a Necromancer that saved me. A master of plagues who showed me what true strength was. As he healed me I heard the whisper of the Plague Mother, calling me to her.
My mother never forgave me for that. But I didn’t need her to approve. I had been called to serve the Mother of Illness herself, and mere blood was nothing to what swam in it.
Day 13
Necroservus
Amalasuintha
“How am I different?” I want to demand of him as I watch the new crop of trainees brought into the fort. They are no different from me. Bereft of her favor, only fit to serve Necromancers. Some are Wraiths, beneath her notice, but not useless to her favored. Later there will be Ghouls, weeping, and screaming in pain as they’re herded into pens to have their illnesses harvested and their fates decided. Some are neutralized, others can only be made comfortable as PlagueBringer’s blessing runs its course and claims their lives.
All of this I see from the comfort of my Necromancer’s quarters. Where I am a quiet and biddable accessory, taken out when he wants an adornment. I have gone with him to the council, and I have not been able to meet my own father’s eyes nor speak to him as I wonder why he never told me to be a Necroservus is to be a failure, to be nothing. And I do not ask my Necromancer “Why am I different?”
Because what if he decides I am not?
Day 14
Ghoul
Gytresh
Day 15
Survival
Tikva
Patient, they call me. Quiet, faithful, and foolish. Do they think me blind? I know better than anyone what he is. I see parts of him no one else does. The rot goes deep. The fear goes deeper. I’m the one who brings him potions to ease his sleep. And when the time comes - and it will sooner than he realizes - I’ll be the one to make sure he sleeps forever.
Day 16
Failure
Intangible
I suppose I could ramble about all the ways I’ve failed. I failed to become any kind of Necromancer or even a Ghoul. Just a Wraith, unworthy of any favor at all just hung around the Wyrmwound with a cold for a month. I was pretty depressed of course. You study and train and think you’ll be useful somehow only for absolutely nothing to happen. I admit I wandered around for a while blubbering over it. Until I realized I was free. Free to do what I wanted. I started taking food and drink to the ill during their trials. Some took it and others refused. But that’s how I met my mate. She was helping others heal up the same I was.
And she was gorgeous. We talked for days as we traveled around the Wyrmwound. I went to her home and before long it was mine - a place we built together. Now about failures. My latest alchemical experiment seems to make bacteria explode. In small amounts, it rather tickles but I think it could be problematic with larger infestations. I suppose I’ll have to call it a failure. Pity.