Tigue

"Did you think this would stop me? I won't let it slow me down!"

What Tigue wanted for his life was logical and reasonable. His mother had fought Lichs, his older brother was a necromancer so powerful the Council had to contain him. Tigue was always going to be a great warrior, using his gifts as a Necromancer to help and save others.

And then his own brother infected him and left him to die at the WyrmWound. Saved by a strange little Necromancer, but now a Wraith Tigue refused to give up his dream. His stubbornness intrigued his savior, Worie, who had decided to join him on his journey for reasons of his own.


Blessings Necrotober 2020

He was so sick. Every step felt like a knife stabbed up through his feet. His wings and tail dragged on the ground too weak to lift and rubbed raw by the contact. They twinged and stung but he couldn't get them up. Tigue staggered on towards home praying he'd stay sane enough, in control enough to make it home before he became a ghoul.

He chewed over that thought. His infection was unnatural. His brother had done it. Somn had made sure Tigue knew it too. Just like at home but so much worse. This time he might die.

He was so exhausted he almost walked right off the cliff into the Wyrmwound. Only something looped his chest, tugging him back. He growled but a piping breathy voice rose to plead with him.

"It's not that bad. I can help. Let me help!"

Startled, and becoming aware of his surroundings Tigue sat back. He blinked stinging eyes as he gently pulled the Spiral away from his throat.

"Hello!" It- he? The Necromancer piped from where he coiled in Tigue's cupped claws.

"H-ello?" Tigue stuttered. "I wasn't. I didn't mean to. I'm very ill."

"Hello Very Ill. I'm Worie. I can help."

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