Sporesong

03/27/18 "Wonderful, not bad...” The young Mirror’s father paced about her and her sister. “They shall both endure the Necromancer Trials. I sense boundless potential here. Perhaps with a pair of them attending together they’ll have support enough to eke out success. Either that or suffer through gross competitiveness and pettiness, but that would just be a waste of everyone’s energy, now wouldn’t it? Well, nonetheless, it is an honor that they can both be considered for such a prestigious title," he spoke with certain pride, but it was a pride devoid of parental bliss and containing instead something entirely more fervent. “Yafim, please take them at once, and see if Mina would like to accompany you and remember her path. That way we have more than one of you that can make the trek to the Wyrmwound should something happen...”

The route from The Boneyard through Rotrock Rim and to the pustle lake of the Wyrmwound was treacherous at best, and fatal at worst, lined with disease, feral beasts, and volatile terrain, but it was the path every prospective Necromancer must make. These two young sisters were no exception; both their parents and grandparents had done so before them. While any dragon was welcome to undergo the trials, it was generally those who had a family history of Necromancers and

Necroservus who tended to be most fruitful. Many incorrectly assumed that is was their very blood that was blessed by the Plaguebringer from birth, but nothing was ever freely given in the Wasteland. Every dragon needed to earn Her gaze. What the lines of Necromancers and Necroservus benefited from the most was, quite possibly, the wisdom and backing of those that had gone before them.

04/04/18 The young Mirror had an odd habit of shuttering her heat pits, deliberately ignoring the signatures of other lifeforms. She maintained that she preferred the perspective, describing the vantage point as an unclouded sensation. Maturing among the Rot and red earth of the Wyrmwound, her inclinations and practices evolved as swiftly as the Wandering Contagion. She decided that she detested the taste of croaker, for one, and after becoming adept at hunting them with little more than sound and intuition.

She grew swiftly as well. She had become larger than her father in the span of a week, leaner, but emerging as an intimidating creature of the Plaguelands. Her true test, however, would come upon reaching adulthood when the Plaguebringer would challenge both her and her sister with a formidable strain of Rot from the Cauldron.

So much had shifted with each passing day, and with each new sunrise, the Trials approached, yet one convention remained steadfast, and that was her fondness for shirking infrared in favor of sight.

04/12/18 She had become fixated on the fierce, burning light of the bubbling Cauldron and would clamber closer and closer to glimpse it. At times the acerbic lake seemed boiling hot, other times it chilled the bone. The Mirror couldn’t tell if it were the diseased waters or her own body that fluctuated, for she as the lake was caked in Rot from the Plaguebringer’s touch. It had made her feel like glass upon being struck by a pebble; what at first began as a small discoloration, had spread and fractured across her body. It was a sensation equal parts numbing and searing, and yet, she felt relatively at peace. While some wailed for days on end through their Trials, the Mirror who, if successful, would become Sporesong, retained all composure.

When she finally purged the infection from her wan body, it was as if she were reborn.

She found it fascinating how creatures adapted to Her touch. She shuttered her heat pits again, taking in the dramatic palette that was the Wyrmwound. Such a moving tapestry. There were those that had come to undergo the Trials as she, those with a multitude of limbs and eyes who merely seemed to persist about the Cauldron, there were those among the dead as well. Claimed by Rot, their bodies stunk and festered, yet that too an adaption in a land that never ceased in it's evolution. Above all she liked the tint of the diseased pit. She decided that orange was the prettiest of colors.

4/17/18 Even through the worst of the Rot, she had continued to grow. She eclipsed her sister in stature. Despite sharing a birthday, the two Mirrors looked nothing alike. While she was lithe and long, her sister reminded her of a little armored pangolin. Their mother had said that their father developed similar, hardened scales during his trials as well.

"Your father is more petite than all of us," she had mentioned, allowing a smile to tease the corners of her lips. "Heavy too, but not for lack of activity. His scales are as leaden mail."

Shortly after she and her sister succeeded in surviving the Second Trial of Survival, both her mother and grandmother left the Wyrmwound for home. Their presence was merely to observe and report on the success or failure of the siblings rather than offer any solace. She voiced a brief goodbye, interpreting their departure as a good omen. Surely, this meant their homecoming was foretold. Regardless, it was just she and her sister now and the final task of Contagion before them.

In the face of her kin's presence for the entirety of her short life, she felt as if she had barely come to know them, so much energy spent solely on perseverance and the onerous undertaking of mastering the art of the Plaguebringer in so short a time. It was a curious sentiment.

4/24/18 Upon the dawn of the 24th day of her trials, the unnamed Mirror had become Sporesong the Necromancer. Just as the first light was illuminating the Wyrmwound, she took in a deep breath. The sour air singed her lungs, yet she mended as quickly as the pathogens assailed her; the disease simply invigorating her, teasing her mastery over life and death. Today they would journey back home and receive their clan's blessing. From there, who knew? Sporesong wondered if she and her sister would roam the Plaguelands together searching for a worthy clan to guide down Mother's path. She wondered if her calling would take her adjacent to her sister or across the Sornieth from her, though, it hardly mattered. They were to serve a higher purpose, the Plaguebringer's purpose, and would gladly bow to whatever that entailed. She caught sight of her sister still meditating by the Cauldron and waited for her. They could at least hold the trek back home as their own.

About an hour or so later they were ready to depart, having hunted and fed, prayed and scried. They encountered, however, an unanticipated face about the pustule crater. The decorated Mirror donned a loud, red banner that draped between his wings. He sat on his haunches, his gaze trained somewhere off in the distance. They immediately recognized him as their father and Sporesong bolted ahead to approach, but would he recognize them?

Necromantic Symbol Sigils "A symbol of plague and Plaguebringer's will, power, and control. These Necromancers are most often found outside the Plaguelands, bearing plague and plague gospel to other flights. They serve as ambassadors, diplomats, and counselors to those dragons that are sympathetic to Plaguebringer's doctrine. Sometimes they are welcomed in; sometimes they make their own welcome. Within the Plaguelands Necromancers often wear sigils along with other Necromantic symbols in order to reinforce their status and their role, either because their position in the clan is still shaky or because subtlety just isn't their thing."

He turned as he heard her footsteps and she bowed low, shuttering her heat pits, yet this time it was as a Mirror's sign of respect. He cocked his head at her without expression, and with a small smile she kissed his cheek. Almost immediately, a virulent form of Rot began to eat away at his jaw, exposing his knitted teeth. A breathy laugh escaped him. "Well?" He posed, his voice stifled from the wasting of his mouth, "Anything else?" He probed. She raised her arm towards him, her clawed hand curling into a fist. As she did this she pulled back towards her as if clasping a rope tethered to a heavy burden. She repeated this motion and with each turn of her gesture, the Rot dissolved from her father's cheeks. "Dad, what an honor to meet you again. I have triumphed, and my name is indeed Sporesong."

"Glory to Mother," he uttered, and then upon noticing her sister who had come up beside her, "And what do you do?" Caught unaware, Sporesong's dark sister merely trotted forward at his beckoning. She stretched out her wing so that he may look upon the tempered scales that enveloped her form, scales not unlike his own. He made a small, thoughtful noise, "Interesting...and your name?"

"Yes, sir, it is Blightrose. I have also overcome Her tests."

"Glory to Mother," he repeated, this time with more vehemence, and as if anticipating a question that still hung in the air, he motioned towards the Cauldron with a nod of his head. There, the sisters glimpsed a young Mirror covered in Rot, in the midst of his second trial. It must have been a younger brother born after they had left home. The cycle continued it seemed.

They didn't linger long after. The Scarred Wasteland awaited them and their boons. After a month dedicated to Her teachings, it was time to spread what they had learned as a noxious infection upon the land.