Ischaemia

“I don't need rest, I'm fuelled by spite.”

Dehisce says: “Finally, the Plaguebringer showed her hand so magnificently, so ambitiously, so overwhelmingly that I can scarcely comprehend it. This grove now seems so peaceful, but it must have then rung with cries. I can believe I hear it ringing still, from the red seas churning under red skies to the wind howling through the night; all carrying the Plaguebringer's message to the world. The game has changed. The infection evolves.” Alopochen says: “The dead are never truly gone. The key to returning from it is to recognise not only your mind but also your soul, and see the fire burning behind you when everyone else sees only their shadow on the wall.”

Infestation Hound Familiar Dripping with disease, these hellish hounds disguise themselves as carcasses. They prey on unsuspecting scavengers that come to feast. 2750 Aged Carcass Meat This creature had very little meat on its decomposing form to begin with. This is almost not even worth it. 41 4 Contaminated Featherback Pelt Organics A pelt this far gone is best burned or buried far away from clan territory. 350 Oozing Tusk Organics The tusks on Blueridge shells are not poisonous, but the mucus coating them is full of bacteria that frequently causes wounds to fester. 40 Tarnished Chain Trinkets Rumored to belong to a dragon named Marley. (Special thanks reyechan.) 70

The water lapping the shore is turbid and tired, the waves slow and thick, rolling over hard red sand. You drag your little rowboat onto land, finally escaping the reach of the water. A particularly strong coastal wind blows the scent of the sea to your nose and bends the stubborn branches of the scattered trees. It turns the corner, whistling. A hall I saw, far from the sun, On Dead-Man Shore. Its door looks north. You round the rocky cliffs just in time to see the decrepit temple groan under the strain as the wind passes it by. The sigil of the Plaguebringer glows ominously on its cupola. The sun hides its face behind a row of dark mountains; the surroundings are obscured by shadow. A small sign is nailed crookedly beside the road. You squint to read the faded text in the waning light. Náströndu. Strand of the Dead. Venom drops through the smoke-vent down, For around the walls do serpents wind. The temple's doors are hanging by a thread, just waiting for the slightest disturbance to fall. Acid-crackle scars are etched on the world-weary walls, rending stone and iron. Near the entrance there are signs of recent use; some marble stones gleam among the granite, gold still visible on their inscriptions. Further back, the stones are old and grey and stand crooked like bad teeth. Moss chokes the inscriptions and many of them have been worn smooth by years of cold rain. There is a windy spot of land crammed between the ruins of the temple and the dark mountain peaks. There, behind the echo of the hollow wind, a low noise is rising from the earth. I there saw wading through rivers wild Treacherous men and murderers too; The gates out back are patchy with rust, and they open with a painful squeal. Beyond the archway there, the water picks up its pace, dusting off its lazy waves and unfurling into a living stream. It rings a merry jingle as it carves a liquid path through the dirty hovel, its flow is tainted with blood; dark swirls settling on black soil. The clearing is thick with mangled bodies and billowing smoke. All around, the cries of the dying form brief, unsettling harmonies with the moans of the shambling dead and the rustle and hiss of a serpentine spine sliding over cool stones. There Malice Striker sucked corpses of the dead, And the wolf tore men; would you know yet more? A large hound dashes past, its skeletal maw hanging open in a morbid grin. Along its path, the earth cracks and parts. A hand emerges from the grass—a hand with no flesh. Bony arms pull an entire corpse from the ground, it's body bent in an impossible arch. The creature pushes itself onto two legs, reeling from side to side. The eerie twilight casts ugly shadows across its sickly face as it surveys its surroundings through empty sockets, covered in dirt and the stink of the grave. There comes the shadowy dragon flying, From below the dragon, dark comes forth. At the centre of the clearing, the great serpentine dragon swallows a final mouthful of bloodied flesh and lifts her head, her mouth covered with gore and her face nothing but a mess of festering flesh, tinged green with decay. She claps her crooked wings and her body rises to meet the sky. Below her, the earth drops into a sudden trench; a pot-hole remnant of what should have been her resting place. The force of her wing-beats sends a gust of wind and dust and guttural moans into the air. The bodies of men on her wings she bears, glittering serpent, up from Dark of the Moon Hills. Scattered pieces of flesh and mud flakes down from the skies, her patchwork wings straining hard with the effort of flight. As she clears the dark mountains and reunites with the sun, a hoarse scream of triumph erupts from half-rotten lungs. A devoted child unwilling to rest, her task is beyond death. No matter how many times she falls, how many times she is driven to the ground, as long as the Plague lives, oblivion will not claim her soul until her Mother's dream of all-encompassing infection has been realised.

Thank you for selling me this lady <3



The Carcausus [Car-case-es] disease, hence the name of the undead creatures, is an interesting one to say the least. The disease itself is something more of a virus, one that communicates between undead and overlooks them as a whole. The effects that are known are, after becoming undead, an acrid smell and an appearance of rotting flesh, sometimes with bone sticking out, most commonly in the legs, snout, or wings. Wings also are very often found with tears in them, can be torn easily, and are not good for flight. If a Carcausae dragon has wings that are mostly intact, they can fly unevenly, for a short time, and make rough landings. Fully intact isn’t any better, and any worse than partial holes makes flight impossible. They make a low, sharp, and long hissing sound when aggressive, and communicate most easily through chirps and clicks similar to those of birds. Their vocal cords are damaged however, and communicating in draconic is difficult and comes in hoarse and very brief words. Between each other, however, the connection of the virus with every Carcausae makes a sort of telepathy possible. Clicks and chirps still remain, though they are clearly comprehended by the other zombie when speaking.
Unlike zombies from legends, they don’t drag themselves nonchalantly across the ground in search for brains. They are quick, and move low to the ground with cheetah or hounds-like movements, and have the smell of three of said dogs combined. Their hearing and sight are both blurred. Black dots usually dance through bloodshot eyes and make it hard to stare at one thing for too long, and it takes straining to hear something from too far away if its not outrageously loud. They, then, rely on taste, smell, and touch to get around and hunt. Their hunting is done in packs of three or four, and two bands of undead who meet each other in the middle for food will battle until one of them is torn to dust. Otherwise, if not competing for food, these disease-ridden dragons are extremely loyal to each other. Bands will grow if they believe they can help each other and fight for their survival better, and if left unchecked, will become near unstoppable. They have an inborn tendency to dislike any living dragons after their death, and respect their original infector the most. Smaller dragons and animals have a far less likeliness to survive after being infected, and often won’t revive into zombies.

The Carcausus disease is most common in Mirrors, and other breeds are never inherently effected or contact-diseased. They have a far stronger immunity and likeliness of survival than mirrors. Also, this disease thrives in the Scarred Wasteland, and no records have yet shown of it creating any impact outside of the contagion. There are three most common ways for this undead-disease to spread. Biting, Hereditary Transfer, and Wrymwound exposure. The first and most common method, biting, is the only method that works on other breeds. When one already-infected dragon or an infected contagion beast bites a living dragon and manages to hit a vein, the disease ridden in the saliva and on the fangs will immediately travel to the heart. With the blood. Here, it it makes its move, and the dragon will proceed to die within the next few hours. If they are stronger and resilient, they will return, and is often the case. If they are far too small or weakened, they will remain dead, and the disease luckily can be destroyed in the stomach and therefore, scavengers picking off of failed infectees will not be susceptible to it.
Next is through hereditary transfer. This can only happen among mirrors who breed with other infected dragons, and all children will be either mirrors or other breeds that permanently die in the egg before hatching, leaving the egg to any scavengers or dragon who desires to consume it. Young dragons with the disease are far more susceptible to permanently dying before reaching the adult stage, hence the reason that it is far more common to be infected from outside sources than through genetics.
Finally, Wrymwound exposure. Mind you, this is far from the only thing that can happen upon hitting the Wrymwound. There is a very long list. But if you happen to be a mirror relatively near adulthood, there is a good chance that exposure to the slick of the Wrymwound will be infected and, like normal, die then return in a matter of hours.

Mainly, Carcausae are a nomadic creature. Whether they are part of a band or solitary is purely up to choice of how well they can survive in the Wasteland, but either way, they are only restricted to one area of done by force. This way, they can cycle through food easily, and travel as they please according to weather patterns and threats in the area.


As soon as a dragon is infected and are risen by the disease, they immediately adopt a diet similar to zombies in myths. They are a cannibalistic creature, living off of a strict collection of dragon and animal meat alike. Some clans have attempted to shift their diet into one purely off of animals, but even then, they still seem to keep the same constant craving that they are infected with. This need for food all the time is what drives them, and it seems to never be satiated. They are vicious for their meals, and will even fatally attack each other despite strong loyalty over food. Their nose is adapted like sharks, and blood is a more potent smell than any. The easiest way to drive a Carcausae mad is to keep them without meat for a select amount of time.


Being a nomadic, aggressive species, it is very difficult for them to fit in and function within clans. Being able to keep their hunger in check and actually play a role in society is something that fluctuates greatly from dragon to dragon. At the peak of their sanity, they are able to work like other dragons, but in a more intense and determined fashion. Only a little lower would mean having to force them by way of metal and chains, the only thing they can’t escape from, to join the clan - in this case, usually for the purpose of self-defense and battle.