@ClockworkEclipse
Long, tiresome evening, filled with a monotonous scribing as the only thing that dared to break the silence. Uncountable plants scattered on the desk, all life slowly drained from them with a patient dedication. Testing glasses, neatly organised, were full of samples, blooming with outspreading bacteria. This is how one would picture Thezoszal at this moment, if they would dare to approach his temporary working place, disturbing the healer sitting behind it.
Thezoszal was eccentric, as all pearlcatchers tend to be. He believed — no, as he would put it, he knew for sure — that it was up to him to develop the "panacea" that unworthy of the Plaguebringer's blessing could use to aid the recent outspreading disease, and that he would make it first and prior to any other . It wasn't done out of his love or concern for the struggling dragons and fauna : he simply tired himself by constant visits from den to den in order to gift others with his curing touch. He was steadily approaching the Plague domain day by day, aiming to contact the Mother as soon as there will be a medication to present her, ready to explain his genius Idea, when suddenly, one day he heard behind his back...
"What you are working on smells like a pox to me, yes? Extracting cycloheptatriene from the crude oil would prove much more effective. But you may continue dragging out essential ones, if that's what you, Nature, do."
Turning his head to face the rude, incompetent intruder, Thezoszal's eyes met a bee-coloured tundra, smiling at him softly. The tundra did not cary the markings of a plague, never could become one of his kind, even, yet the rot in his eyes and cracks in his wings suggested to the pearlcatcher that he, in fact, was going through the trial of his own. And now that he took a better look, the Necromancer could almost swear that, slowly but steadily, he was losing it.
"What would be the name of incompetent healer whose presence interrupted my labor?", Thezoszal asked, resting his arm on his precious pearl. Tundra, of all the dragons! He couldn't believe that a plain grass grazer that would never be able to remember even the names of his children dared to object him on such a complex topic as medicine. This less-than-a-dragon, worse than a beastclan healers, even!
"Bumblebee", kindly replied the figure, interrupting his thoughts. "Plain as my name, I would give you an advise : outlander like you has nothing to do on the Plague territories. Your weak, outdated medicine wouldn't save you against the real cognition that outbursts here."
The pearlcatcher, who took a great pride in being one of the best researchers and medics in the Gladekeepers domain, who passed all his three trials with such a little effort, who knew by heart all the diseases that could possibly touch the plants... Was being scolded by some plain inhabitant of the lands he considered his true, one and only, home. "Are you aware whom you are saying this to?", he asked, as he raised from his workbench, displeased.
"To a fool, perhaps.", Bumblebee replied, turning away uninterested in the display of his interlocutor. "Or would you choose to prove me otherwise?"
The swift escape of a tundra immediately led to a chase, with the one leading the other through the most dangerous and foul veils of the Plaguebringer's domain. This cat and mouse dragged for as long as Bumblebee needed to get near his lair, close enough to alert the silent fae to land a harmless shot on the pursuer, making him immediately slow down. The pearlcatcher himself, though, would say that the reason he disengaged was an unholy sight that grasped his attention — the abominations this pseudo-healer brought to life. He understood the wickedness of the one who he was dealing with soon after, growling in a demand for an explanation. And yet, even without it, he understood. He grasped what was the idea that laid underneath those actions.
"You are unworthy of being a healer if your only goal is to cure yourselves, sacrificing the others.", Thezoszal hissed at his opponent, furious.
"Oh, am I? They wouldn't say so. They are much more happier seeing their hatchlings alive rather than dead, aren't they?" The tundra grinned in triumph. "Which means I'm doing everything right."
"Fools like thou shouldn't have a right to touch the wand of a healer. I'll make sure that incompetent enthusiast like thou will be gone from this lair, sooner or later."
From this day onward, on a spot where his swear was pronounced, a Necromancer made his new home, keeping an eye on the ambitious tundra and the growing colony.
Long, tiresome evening, filled with a monotonous scribing as the only thing that dared to break the silence. Uncountable plants scattered on the desk, all life slowly drained from them with a patient dedication. Testing glasses, neatly organised, were full of samples, blooming with outspreading bacteria. This is how one would picture Thezoszal at this moment, if they would dare to approach his temporary working place, disturbing the healer sitting behind it.
Thezoszal was eccentric, as all pearlcatchers tend to be. He believed — no, as he would put it, he knew for sure — that it was up to him to develop the "panacea" that unworthy of the Plaguebringer's blessing could use to aid the recent outspreading disease, and that he would make it first and prior to any other . It wasn't done out of his love or concern for the struggling dragons and fauna : he simply tired himself by constant visits from den to den in order to gift others with his curing touch. He was steadily approaching the Plague domain day by day, aiming to contact the Mother as soon as there will be a medication to present her, ready to explain his genius Idea, when suddenly, one day he heard behind his back...
"What you are working on smells like a pox to me, yes? Extracting cycloheptatriene from the crude oil would prove much more effective. But you may continue dragging out essential ones, if that's what you, Nature, do."
Turning his head to face the rude, incompetent intruder, Thezoszal's eyes met a bee-coloured tundra, smiling at him softly. The tundra did not cary the markings of a plague, never could become one of his kind, even, yet the rot in his eyes and cracks in his wings suggested to the pearlcatcher that he, in fact, was going through the trial of his own. And now that he took a better look, the Necromancer could almost swear that, slowly but steadily, he was losing it.
"What would be the name of incompetent healer whose presence interrupted my labor?", Thezoszal asked, resting his arm on his precious pearl. Tundra, of all the dragons! He couldn't believe that a plain grass grazer that would never be able to remember even the names of his children dared to object him on such a complex topic as medicine. This less-than-a-dragon, worse than a beastclan healers, even!
"Bumblebee", kindly replied the figure, interrupting his thoughts. "Plain as my name, I would give you an advise : outlander like you has nothing to do on the Plague territories. Your weak, outdated medicine wouldn't save you against the real cognition that outbursts here."
The pearlcatcher, who took a great pride in being one of the best researchers and medics in the Gladekeepers domain, who passed all his three trials with such a little effort, who knew by heart all the diseases that could possibly touch the plants... Was being scolded by some plain inhabitant of the lands he considered his true, one and only, home. "Are you aware whom you are saying this to?", he asked, as he raised from his workbench, displeased.
"To a fool, perhaps.", Bumblebee replied, turning away uninterested in the display of his interlocutor. "Or would you choose to prove me otherwise?"
The swift escape of a tundra immediately led to a chase, with the one leading the other through the most dangerous and foul veils of the Plaguebringer's domain. This cat and mouse dragged for as long as Bumblebee needed to get near his lair, close enough to alert the silent fae to land a harmless shot on the pursuer, making him immediately slow down. The pearlcatcher himself, though, would say that the reason he disengaged was an unholy sight that grasped his attention — the abominations this pseudo-healer brought to life. He understood the wickedness of the one who he was dealing with soon after, growling in a demand for an explanation. And yet, even without it, he understood. He grasped what was the idea that laid underneath those actions.
"You are unworthy of being a healer if your only goal is to cure yourselves, sacrificing the others.", Thezoszal hissed at his opponent, furious.
"Oh, am I? They wouldn't say so. They are much more happier seeing their hatchlings alive rather than dead, aren't they?" The tundra grinned in triumph. "Which means I'm doing everything right."
"Fools like thou shouldn't have a right to touch the wand of a healer. I'll make sure that incompetent enthusiast like thou will be gone from this lair, sooner or later."
From this day onward, on a spot where his swear was pronounced, a Necromancer made his new home, keeping an eye on the ambitious tundra and the growing colony.
