Anaphylaxis

Anaphylaxis “Love me or hate me I walk alone Been called a monster, called a demon, called a freak I'm not an idol, not an angel, not a saint I walk alone, I always have, I'm not ashamed A living nightmare from the cradle to the grave.”

No matter what she is told, or what she’s supposed to do, Anaphylaxis always has her own agenda. She may feign interest or compliance if necessary to please those in higher positions as it benefits that agenda. It is well known that she undermines authority in her home Clan and she isn’t fully trusted by any of her clanmates, even her friends.

If her untrustworthiness wasn’t enough to steer most clear of her, her attitudes are the antithesis of empathetic and she doesn’t tend to care who she hurts or ticks off. In fact, sometimes she causes problems on purpose, if not in the name of observation and experimentation, but simply for her own pleasure.

Her language and bearing are meant to offend and meant to upset. In a way, her completely off-putting personality is a type of armor all on its own. If no one gets close to her, no one can tend to her weaknesses. No one can know, and no one can use it against her.

Born in the wastelands of the Plague Mother herself, Anaphylaxis grew up knowing about her species and what would someday be expected of her. She never had any doubt that she’d be able to fulfill that purpose. Her clutchmates became only background noise to the young mirror as she grew enough to be able to strike out on her own, testing her mettle against the horrors and hardships of the Scarred Wasteland. Forever seeking approval from Plaguebringer, Anaphylaxis honed her skills with magic, tooth, and claw. More than once she found herself at the precipice of death, and more than once she dragged herself through and survived, screaming her triumph to the ears of her distant Mother.

Soon enough, she was old enough, and she was ready to undertake the trials that would mark her as a true born Necromancer. After the trek to the Wyrmwound, she found herself bathed in its lurid glow, the noxious fumes stinging her eyes and burning her lungs. Twenty-three days and twenty-three nights. Her efforts thus far had not gone unnoticed, though it seemed they might have, for it wasn’t until the thirteenth day that the Trial of Infection began for the young mirror. The disease that swept through her body ravaged her mentally and physically, but she persevered. Cell by cell, she fought the disease with her innate magic. It took a manner of two weeks or so for Anaphylaxis to fight off the contagion, and by the end, she bore her stripes, a trophy of scars. The Trial of Survival was complete.

But there was yet one more trial she had to undertake before she could even consider taking her place on the Necromantic Council. The Trial of Contagion. This was where everything mattered. All her practice in the field as she grew, all of her fighting, it all came down to this. The Wyrmwound was crawling with potential victims. One such was a dragon from another realm, one come to Plaguebringer’s embrace either to die or somehow be proven worthy of Her sight. Anaphylaxis approached the traveler, goading him into a fight in which she infected him with a virulent infection that spread so quickly that its physical symptoms began to show in only a few moments. While Anaphylaxis gloated over her victim, he cursed and spat at her until she finally decided she was tired of waiting to complete the final trial.

Feigning mercy, Anaphylaxis focused her magic and over a period of time and struggle, siphoned her own concocted disease from her victim, leaving him cured but forever weakened by his plight. She let him leave with a reminder of Plaguebringer’s doctrines of survival and that he owed his to her--the very hand of the Mother herself. One of them, anyway. Where he is now is anyone’s guess. One way or another, Anaphylaxis had passed her trials and was now a true Necromancer. She chose her familiar and her sigil. Her next target was the Council itself. She earned her Standing position quickly, but her aims were and are much higher.

In order to prove herself a true bearer of Plaguebringer’s words, she declared her intent to leave the Scarred Wasteland in search of a Clan she could bring to the Mother’s side. She ranged far and wide, seeking appropriate Clans for her to make her new home in. Her search brought her all the way to the distant lands of the Southern Icefields, to a Clan hidden in the Cloudscrape Crags and shrouded in mysterious practices with an equally dubious leader. It was the Frost Queen’s right hand Ghost that first turned Anaphylaxis on to the possibility that there was some loyalty to the Mother within a Clan beholden to Icewarden. A way in. A foot in the door.

Anaphylaxis chose this Clan in which to reside and manipulate. So far, she’s gotten tendrils of her influence into the Crucible Cult, the Harvest Coven, and The Order of Cerberus, with aims to reach The Court itself. She builds her entourage in secret, traveling to and from The Tower in the Wastes to keep abreast of Council business. It is unknown whether or not Nherva is aware of Anaphylaxis’s affiliation with the Council or not. If she is, it could be a damning fact to Clan Geist’s true loyalties, if she is not, then perhaps the Clan itself is at risk of falling to Plaguebringer.







Perching
Perching Councilors have earned the right to sit on one of the ascending perches that circle the hollow center of the Council Tower. As the lowest of the seated standings, they occupy the lowest perches, directly above a seething pool of plague and puss that is said to originate from the Wrymwound itself. The pool gives off noxious vapors, and it is this unpleasant environment as much as personal ambition that goad many Necromancers into ascending to higher ranks. Perching Necromancers can vote on major policy decisions and rulings, but are barred from more sensitive issues that are discussed above their standing.









Mutualists cultivate mutualistic organisms over disease, often focusing on creatures that are traditionally considered to be parasites. Some hollow out their bodies, playing host to parasitic colonies in order to reap physical and magical rewards. Others pick and choose from the genomes of several creatures, combining them to create the perfect symbiote or even grafting pieces into their own DNA. These Necromancers work closely with viruses and the biological tools they provide, or directly with the mutualistic organism itself if the Necromancer’s Infectionist and Healer abilities are advanced enough. It is not uncommon to see a Mutualist surrounded by their crafted ‘pets’ and servants. They often advocate that Necroservi are easily replaceable, good for little else than experimental fodder.