#C: Haematica

[shardclan]

"Why are you going so far?"

It has been eons and Heaven asks me this question still, because I have not given an answer. I would ask him the same; what attachment would drive him to follow me so far from the daily comforts of his life? Middlemist is his sister in law, but does he really care for her so much? I think not. And I'm sure he thinks the same of me.

It isn't like me. To wear myself thin. To expend my body's precious resources so persistently. To bleed without my life at stake. It isn't the way I was raised. But I think of Haematica's warmly outstretched hand, the exchange of earth and plague philosophy, and the way she looked as she sat in the frigid prison with trails of frost under her eyes. I think of Alala, physically fighting her husband to leave and search for her sister.

I carry on.

I have thought on the dance between creation and destruction often since meeting Haematica. Though we spoke of many things, our conversations revolved around those things. In my home, the dead were celebrated. Corpses meant fertilizer, paving the way for the living. Perhaps that was also the source of our hate for the risen bones. The hate witch extended to necromancers--to me.

Plague dragons share this ire for the undead. They don't believe failures should rise, especially not to take from the living. Yet they don't seem to mind that a necromancer would raise the failed for their own goals. Haematica claims it is not much different from bonecrafts--weapons and tools and even surgical materials made from the bones of the fallen.

Yet Haematica also believes in cremation--in burning her loved ones to ash so that none can survive on their remains. And perhaps that is what worries her so about Middlemist's absence. If her faith is misplaced and her daughter is dead, who would burn her? Who would give her the the final act of love that was remains that were impossible to disturb?

It is conjecture, but one that spurred me out of Aphaster eons ago. There is some collision of opposites at work that feels familiar and pushes me forward. These plaguelings, these descendants of warriors who earned the family name Tahalil, are grieving someone they are so certain isn't dead. She is the strongest of Haematica's children and they have a belief bordering on faith that she is alive somewhere.

The necromancy I cursed day in and day out throughout my fledgling years tells me their faith is not misplaced.

I know in a way I cannot describe, and Heaven tells me kindly he understands. I trust his mother knows he is alive in much the same way. He searches for Middlemist's energy, any trace of her scattered on the unfamiliar winds. I call out to her essence with everything in me, like a child who cries until their throat stings because they have not learned their limits. I could have been taught those limits, but I refused. 

I hated it. I hated myself.

"Why are you going so far?"

Perhaps this is an act of self-destruction. It would not be the first time Heaven has witnessed such from me. It was so when we met, after all.

A necromancer in the Cairnstone rest, challenging the restless bones all by himself. There was no way to win. There was no intent to win. There was only the idea that perhaps in death, his people might once again speak his name without hatred or fear. A necromancer throwing his life away on a naive idea with no earthly reward, stopped by an animancer with the exact same flaws.

I have grown since then, and the poetry of it sickens me. Only the will of the Eleven or Those Presiding would see such a trite coincidence come to pass.

Heaven thinks he saved me. I don't think that's true. But I know for a fact that I saved him. Because he is exactly the kind of fool who would throw every drop of life in his body away to preserve for even a moment something that could not truly be saved. I thought this might have changed after he took another life into him--and he is undoubtedly a different dragon than the one I met in my youth.  But here he is. Run away from mother and mate to follow me in the barrens and badlands and the changed and unpredictable Sornieth. I think I envy him still, but less than when we were both young drakes.

The burdens of life and death are heavy, and he bears the marks of its weight. As I do.

Why do I go so far?

I breath the cold air under a starlit night. The Isles are even more beautiful than the glimpses I would get from the Meteora Sound. Though Heaven is nervous and prays adamantly that the Arcanist forgive our trespass, we have not left in an eon. She is here somewhere. We can both feel her, though barely. The days and nights are filled with our search. By word of mouth, by feelings, by our sweat and blood. 

Until now, I have not had anything that was not made of pieces of discarded things. I wasted nothing, but I don't think I ever considered whether or not I was wasting my life. I put my energy into recycling, but just like those salvaged things, it's possible I was just trying to make use of something I already considered to be discarded. 

It isn't like me. To wear myself thin. To expend my body's precious resources so persistently. To bleed without my life at stake. These are all wasteful things. Yet the closer we come to Middlemist, the more eagerly I expend myself.

Am I creating or destroying myself? 

I don’t know. 

We reach the height of the focal point and find a tundra covered in frost and python markings. At first he makes to ward us away and then catches some scent from Heaven that cools his wariness. It’s her first weapon, which Heaven took from their household before we stole away. 

His name is Alun, and he knows her. He knows where she is. But our elation is cut short by his tale.

They were together when the Armistice was broken, co-mercenaries on a job. While they had not been at ground zero, the spread of the Gladekeeper’s weapon had been quick. Middlemist was seasoned and had the fleetness of a skydancer to keep her alive when so many of the others in their company had fallen. He should have been among them, but she saved his life and led him west to the safety of the Focal Point where the longnecks allied with Clan Aphaster were able to treat their wounds. Unfortunately, the change in the winds of the Vortex had created a highly unstable reaction in the atmosphere of the Starfall Isles. Both Alun and Middlemist and the longnecks themselves were caught in a major storm. Alun and the longnecks had returned during a recent storm, but Middlemist was still absentee, along with several of the longnecks. 

The way Alun sees it, waiting for Middlemist’s return and seeing her home is the least of what he owes her. He is glad to hear from us that she is definitely alive, but I cannot think on how to retrieve her. I know little of the fluctuations in time and space caused by Arcane weather, less still for the changed winds.

It is Heaven who looks between us and tells us what we must do. 

The storm is like nothing I could have imagined. Whether I seek to create or destroy myself, I understand the desperation of my actions within its grasp. The natural ferocity of a storm is present, but so are bursts of color and magic and cries that I almost believe I recognize. 

Heaven squeezes my hand, to ground me as much as to ground himself. I am an earth dragon and apparently this gives me some level of protection against being moved in space or time. I squeeze Heaven’s hand tightly in return, suddenly afraid that I will lose him to time if I cannot feel his pulse in my grip. Our magics bind together as we search in pouring rains that--’in a storm this bad’--may span up to three cycles. I am frightened to ask just how bad the storms get, and remain focused on the vague feeling of Middlemist within the distortion.

I feel something I cannot understand--as though she is very close but also impossibly far away. I can only compare it to the feeling of hearing cries for help on the other side of a cave-in.

Heaven cries something out, but I cannot hear him over the storm--and suddenly we are moving. He pulls me, nearly crushing my claws in his to ensure we don’t slip away from one another as we rush down the mountain. The storm seems to intensify rather than lull, and I feel tears sting my eyes as the thunder of a hundred eons threatens to shatter us both. 

But then it is over. The world is quiet save the dripping and running of rainwater. The clouds rumble tamely in the distance, like sleepy skycats. Alun is waiting, as Heaven commanded.

We stand before graves that I don’t recognize, but I can feel Camellia’s power around them, firm and protective. Middlemist is there, sprawled across the graves of a clan she never knew, guarded by the power her namesake put in the soil.

Heaven lets go of my hand and rushes to her side. She is missing most of her usual garb, and covered in things that look like jellyfish--some harmless energy creatures that apparently come with the storms.

She opens her eyes. Looks at Heaven, looks at me, looks at Alun, and her first action is to laugh. It feels like light finally finding its way into a dark place within myself. 

I kneel, and the wisp that replaces my missing arm manifests to let me clasp her hands in both my own. I feel freshly born, though I can’t say why, and the first thing that comes to my mind is the joy that will accompany her return.

“You've been gone a long time,” I say. “Let’s go. Your family is waiting.”

[shardclan]

The Sunbeam Citizen: Pre-Riot Report

Peak of Starfall Sees Clan Welcomed Back Into the Arcanist's Grace

There isn't much to say about the event that can be done proper justice in mere words. The final night of Starfall when most of the clan climbed from the lowlands to was quite healing, but it was not about healing. It was about coming home. And for Telos and some others who followed her into exaltation, it was about going home.

This final catharsis now rests over the clan, and though the empty space of the moved on is felt, new and wonderful connections are forming in response:

Junior and Zo [Finally] Married. Their binding tie sits new and fresh on both the Old Staroak and hybrid Daystar Oak in the courtyard of House Betelgeuse. Theirs marks the first to be tied on the new tree, and has rekindled interest in the tradition.

Haematica and Serir are taking a brief pilgrimage to The Scarred Waste. The surgeon hopes to visit the abandoned lair of her mother and return to Clan Thanatos to formally apologize for cutting her diplomatic visit short after the breaking of the Armistice. On good word from Middlemist, Haematica is very likely to propose marriage to Serir if he survives the journey.

Gethsemene has surprised many of the dragons who know her by opting into partnership with Fadil, the butcher who was formally granted ownership of the Sundial Brewery prior to Cloudwhyte and Alchemilla's exaltation. While Fadil has a great sense for pairing meats and spices, he is a neophyte at brewing. Gethsemene has a slight knack for her favorite wines, but more importantly she has trade agreements with many water clans. 

While the Sea of a Thousand Currents is still unstable, a land route from the islands off the Tangled Wood to the Bramble Step Entertainment District is feasible. The pair are already in talks with Mme. Caress to establish appropriate tax rates in exchange for establishing and protecting the route.

Prophecy has returned from the Court of Charge Law in the Sea of A Thousand Currents. With Kea gone with Iblis to the Arcanist, the most ardent of her opposition is no longer present, but she got quite an earful from Kiele in her stead. She accepted this gracefully, and apparently submitted herself to not see Hihi'o at all if Kiele wished, despite the fact that Hihi'o is no longer a juvenile and now lives with the other witches. Forgiveness in the situation is unclear, but at least it seems that Prophecy now understands the proper way to behave toward a charge and she is beginning to bond with the young imperial whenever he is not at the coven.

She has discovered to her own delight that she may also have charge of Kea and Iblis’ daughter, Koki’o, who has inherited the Leyline Gardens and Orchards. This would more or less make her the guardian of Kea’s lineage.

Turan has stepped down from her positions as Weaver's Voice, Light Liaison, and Magistra of House Betelgeuse. The former two responsibilities were handed off to Samhradh, who was hatched in thanks to Lightweaver for allowing the clan to stay in the Sunbeam Ruins. She has eagerly snapped up this position as well as that of People's Tribune, with the less than noble rationale that she will always have first access to Aphaster's news as well as the governmental right to be the first to announce it.

After a dozen long talks with Queen Rebis and Imperator Invigilavi, Saber will be leaving the Ruins to operate out of Horizon's Landing for its founding eons. While he is not stepping down as Tribune, and will in fact be working hard to build the economy of the clan's satellite territory, he recommended Stellaria as Acting Tribune in his absence.

In addition to taking over as Magistra of both House Betelgeuse and House Perihelion on top of her existing duties in logistics to Noon Point, this places Stellaria at the head of both the logistics sector and the commerce sector. Merchant suitors who were previously lining up to court her are now practically falling over themselves to win her favor.

Horizon’s Landing: A new name for an old way of life

Opinions toward the young Imperator have softened as several dragons prepare to take new homes and roles in Aphaster’s satellite clan. Some by choice, and some at the mysterious whim of the Lightweaver. Though the Imperator has made it very clear the sub-clan’s primary purpose is to restore the Chalcedony Circle, there are easily a dozen dragons looking to advance their studies, build their fortunes, or merely spice up their lives.

Among them: Equinox, Middlemist, Heaven, Ginger, Eaqarab, Opalite, Astrit, Otahunaiti, Camellia's twins: Zinnia and Vervain, Shekhinah, and Mars.

The Farewells of the Unexalted

Moksha has wandered away with only the barest goodbye spoken to Hart. Ever disquieted by his existence even once he was among a caring clan, perhaps he has gone to find peace he could not find in Aphaster.

Chernobog, having reached his limits, has gone on the final pilgrimage that all of his kind take. Phage, in an uncharacteristic show of friendly loyalty, has accompanied him--though he promises that "we aren't going to be free of him so easily".

Tungsten and Sunrise have gone together to the Sea of a Thousand Currents to investigate the whereabouts of the Tidelord. When asked if we would see them again, Tungsten merely said that she was old and ready to settle down somewhere where the water could take her bones when the time came. She leaves her protege, Alala Tahalil to become new Tribune of Health and Welfare. Sphalerite, in a curious show, chose to follow them. Or rather, to follow Tungsten who had been her primary guardian throughout the eons. Perhaps a quiet shore will suit her better than the outskirts of the busy and overwhelming Noon Point.

Mote has settled with the longnecks at the Sunbeam Ruins in the company of his dearest friend, the longneck mender Asklepius. He permitted visitation, but this was more a matter of politeness. Though he has no ill will toward Aphaster or his longtime clanmates, he is ready to disconnect from everything that isn’t beastclan in origin, and would prefer if dragonkind left him alone.

As promised, Fletch and Willowalk departed immediately to assist the uprising in the Ashfall Waste. 

Estevao returned to the depths of the Viridian Labyrinth with his wealth, hoping to hole up somewhere where the breaking of the Armistice can have no effect on him. The latex industry is discontinued in his absence--while it had a positive effect on the medical sector, the waste it generated was a significant drain to take care of. With Chernobog gone to die, Serir likely to become part of the medical sector, and Eaquarab leaving for Horizon’s Landing, Queen Rebis opted to let the industry go. This has immediately increased her popularity among the maren and dryads.

Frelia and Harvestasha have returned to being one with Eoria until such time as they are needed again. The Foursong Nursery will not change names--they are still there within their eldest sister according to Metafalica-- and will be tended by Eoria and the mysterious Metafalica henceforth.

[shardclan]

“How would you like it if I plucked the scales off your ass, eh?!”

“I don’t think you really believe this is comparable.”

“You’re damn right I don’t! It’s worse! Leave it where it is!”

“You’d leave it out under the open sky to weather but not allow it to be put to use...?”

“Piss on with that disappointed tone; you’re not my fuckin’ dad!”

Haematica cleared her throat softly. Serir’s attention immediately turned to her, but Phage was so irritated he scarcely noticed her. He might have gone on yelling at Serir if not for the way his pearl-forming mucous welled up in his throat and overflowed his mouth. He gargled and coughed, red-faced from strain until he could finally cough it all up into a black puddle that quickly solidified into a pearlescent pile. 

Haematica looked on while he wheezed. “I believe I’ve mentioned that just about all of you here at Rot Cliff are not to get too excitable. What’s going on?”

Phage pointed accusingly with one hand, using the other to scrape excess ooze from his mouth. “This addle-brain’s been making shit outta my pearl piles!”

She squinted imperiously at Serir. “Are you selling them?”

“No.”

She looked back at Phage. “There you have it. What’s the problem?”

“The problem is it’s my godsdamn property! It’s my soul!”

Haematica tapped absently against the back of her folded hands. “That’s interesting. I believe you mentioned you don’t believe that a pearl is truly related to a pearlcatcher’s soul when you began donating your excess ooze to the hospital for medical use.”

Phage flinched, and muttered something he definitely wasn’t brave enough to repeat to the plague surgeon. He walked off sulkily, grumbling about how some dragons had no consideration. 

Serir shook his head and quietly continued polishing a splendidly molded pearl cup, which Haematica couldn’t help but stare at. “Your craftsmanship is quite good.”

He smiled thinly. “For having one arm?”

“Don’t put words in my mouth,” she said tartly. “And don’t presume I thought them either.”

He searched her face without immediate apology. It wasn’t uncommon for others to get defensive when he called them out, even, and especially, if he was right to do so. But he wasn’t very familiar with plague dragons, and her expression was merely irate, not indignant or embarrassed. 

“I’m sorry,” he finally admitted with a bow of his head. “Please take some tea and pardon my offense.”

Haematica joined him in the grass, and watched him boil sparse roots taken from the cliff side. They were somewhat wrinkly and withered, as though it was not the first time they had been steeped. The delicate pearl cups looked out of place next to the rough clay pot, but they looked out of place next to Serir as well. He was a man as rough hewn as the old caverns of Dragonhome, but he was curiously manicured. His beard was neat and short and his nails were better cared for than her own, though they were coated with the grime of his occupation. Recycling wasn’t simple, but he was notorious for wasting nothing. Even the single bit of adornment he wore was a mere length of spare twine with a few pearls haphazardly applied. 

“I do have an arm,” he offered. “But only when I create. Never when I destroy.”

“...Something to do with your necromancy?”

He paused, and quietly poured the thick, intensely earthy tea out for them both. It was opaque even in the pale cups, more like coffee than tea, but Haematica drank it without prejudice. The flavor was nutty and spicy, and tinged by the slightly grassy sweetness of raw sugarcane.

“A punishment and a promise,” he said carefully. “My tribe is of the Cairnstone Rest. We pity that the dead cannot find rest, but we return their hate for the living with abhorrence of our own. We have little at the rest, and yet the dead come, greedy for the meager lives we live.”

“Even a bony life is still life.”

“Ah yes...survival. I have heard much of plague dragons respect for survival. But it is not the same among Cairnstone tribes. There is precious little to survive on, and we cannot spare even the shedding of our blood.” He drank slowly of his tea, savoring it in his own time. “It did not matter that I could lay the dead to rest. It mattered that I could raise them if I chose. I was loved for a time, and fear came quickly afterward. My heart, already filled with ill feeling toward those risen bones, grew to hate them in a real and hard way.”

Haematica sat her cup down, and kept her eyes on the steam that still rose from it. “Camellia is very dear to me. I have heard much of necromancy. Enough to know it is a sin for a necromancer to hate the dead.”

A wry smile lifted his cheeks. “It is. They return the hate of a necromancer. My hate stirred them to greater and greater unrest until my mentor appeared.”

“...Heaven?” she guessed.

His smile became a bark of laughter that brightened his features. He seemed to use up every bit of cheer the same way he used up everything else. “Heaven, no. We had known each other some time by then, and he was a mere child. Though I saw myself in him, we merely traded melancholies. I could not mentor him, much less the other way around. My mentor they...” 

The smile faded, and he absently touched the remains of his right arm. “They came to my village, though they were unwelcome. They laid the dead to rest with dominion that was absolute. And they took my arm. Not by force--though they could have. In front of my whole village...they said my arm could appease the restlessness I had stirred. And that they would take me away. Somewhere I could make peace with the power. Somewhere I could learn how not to use it.”

“You’re non-practicing?”

“I do rites and bless the recently departed with true rest. No more.” His grip tightened on his arm. “Do you think that wasteful of me?”

Perhaps because she was a plague dragon and perhaps because of her relationship with Camellia and Heaven, she looked on him with sympathy she might not have given another. The weight of perceived wastefulness was heavy, but so was the burden of his talent. 

She drained the last of her cup, and placed it mouth down in the grass.  “You haven’t made peace with it. You might never. There is nothing wasteful about that.” 

He looked like he wanted to thank her, but something--perhaps pride, or just that he remembered he wasn’t so lacking in self-assurance that he needed absolution from someone he barely knew--stayed his words. Whatever this conversation was, he wasn’t going to let it go in such a way that he put his emotions into her hands.

“The arm I have when I create,” he continued. “Is a spirit my mentor planted there. It has not deigned to give me its name. It may not be a big enough spirit to have one. But it aids me when I create. Only when I create. Something to remind me that destroying the dead is not the only way I have to live. That I can let go of that hate.”

“Is that why you’re so keen on recycling tings? To create things from items that are already used up--dead in their own way?”

Serir’s chest bounced as he tried to politely hold his laughter, but his eyes sparkled with bemused mirth. “That is very poetic, miss Haematica. But I assure you, I do this because I believe bounty doesn’t justify waste.”

Haematica nodded sagely, and climbed to her feet. “I would like to hear more, but I’ve stayed too long already.”

“I only hope it wasn’t a waste of your time.”

“I don’t believe time can be wasted in another’s company,” she answered, and held her hand out. “I will come to have tea from your fine cups again, if I may.”

With a curious smile, he lifted his left arm. The fingers that clasped Haematica’s were smoke-gray, curved as a harpy’s talons, and felt curiously hollow. 

But they were also warm.

[shardclan]

Finally finished my plague family crest of petalviper + rafflesia. One emblem-only and another signifying the outer limits of the lineage began with Earth and Ice dragons. While they don’t use it much, their family name as awarded by locals to the original pair is ‘Tahalil’, meaning ‘to exult or glory’.

Other Tahalils have open access to use either version of this emblem. Meaning children of Haematica, Asura, Alala, and Middlemist (and any grandchildren, etc etc). 

[shardclan]

Much of Haematica’s tasks these days were about inspection, where she might have once done the upkeep herself. Copernicus handled the cleaning of the supplies, and she hadn’t been dissatisfied with his work in eons. He had learned quickly that a doctor’s tools had to be more than clean. They had to be pristine. They had to be antiseptic.

On this morning, after receiving her clearance, he handed her a box. “From Estevao,” he explained. “He said you would definitely be interested in this.”

Haematica pursed her lips. In her opinion, Estevao was less than a poor man’s dandy. A poor man was still capable of some modicum of tact. Were it not for his honest work at generating a trade operation on that lonely cliff near Mirrorlight Bay, she would have immediately disregarded the delivery.

She was quite glad she didn’t.

Gloves. Beautiful thick gloves made of latex, the one indisputably excellent thing about the nature flight. Haematica, like most plaguelings, grew up without it. If you couldn’t survive infection, there was no hope for you anyway. But in a clan where she was the surgeon responsible for cutting them open and forcibly fixing or removing what ailed them, it was worth its weight in gold. Outside the Scarred Wasteland, healing was allowed to take time, to take resources, and none could be so precious as a clean pair of latex gloves.

“Send a message back,” she said calmly, slipping her hands inside them and flexing. “They’re too thick. I could weed nettles with these and not feel anything. That’s no good for surgery. If he can halve this, it’ll do, and the Medical Sector will pay handsomely for them.” As an afterthought, she added: “And make them in pink.”

“I’ll bear it in mind, but it won’t reach him for awhile. He’s in with Phasmatis.”

Haematica removed the gloves and crossed her arms. “Phasmatis is still learning how to control her power. And she’s still just a beginner at anatomy. I hope you’re not telling me she is actually practicing on a live patient right now.”

Copernicus automatically stood a bit straighter. “No ma'am! But the nature of the injury is… Coagulum thought it was best if Phasmatis attended until you arrived. Unofficial pre-diagnosis, no correction.”

“A practice diagnosis for Phasmatis? What exactly is the nature of the injury? Did one of the children get a greenstick fracture?”

“It’s probably better if you go see for yourself. I think you’ll understand why Coagulum made the call if you do.”

He wasn’t wrong, and Haematica had to cover her mouth as soon as she saw. Estevao was clearly sedated but he was still awake, so she couldn’t risk laughing. She recognized all too well what she was seeing.

Phasmatis was sitting on a stool beside him with a thick tome–Haematica’s own book of bones which she allowed the girl to use for study. Her posture was prim and her runes glowed faintly from within the folds of her off-white gown. It made her look like a strange, studious ghost to Haematica’s eyes. White was such a strange choice for a hospital; but then again the girl wasn’t practiced enough to get into the truly bloody bits yet.

“Your report,” said Haematica, once she was sure she was calm.

“Yes…” Phasmatis answered slowly. “Multiple dislocations… Left and right inferior radioulnar, Grade 1 acromioclavicular dislocation… Trauma to the iliac crests evidenced by bruises but the bones are alright. Evidence of unusual trauma to the patella, but of low severity.”

“Just the shoulders and wrists?” Phasmatis looked up at her, and Haematica walked over and very gently rolled Estevao’s ankles and gently felt around his knees. “Amazing.”

“Miss? Do you know something about this?”

“Oh absolutely. It’s been a long time since Bruma put someone in the Ragdoller.” She slid her fingers under the backsides of his knees, ignoring the delirious giggle it earned from the drugged patient. “Amazing. Usually she dislocates the wrists, shoulders, and either the knees or the ankles. If she’s dealing with a truly dangerous dragon she’ll even strike the hips. Dual posterior dislocation, it’s as impressive as it is a hideous sight.”

“It seems inappropriate to be amazed, if I may say. Dislocation is dangerous and permanently lowers the integrity of the joint.”

“So it does.” She gazed curiously down at the vaguely aware patient. “It makes me wonder what exactly he did.”

Phasmatis raised her chin and frowned imperiously. “Does that matter?”

“To his treatment? No. But Bruma is a cool temper and this man is at the head of an industry producing latex that we will certainly be using. I would like to know just what he was doing that would rile her up to this degree before I enter a business deal with him.” She patted Phasmatis’ shoulder fondly. “But your dedication to the patient’s treatment regardless of their character is noted. Fetch Copernicus and have him give a local anesthesia, I’ll be in to get the joints back in, you’ll shadow.”

“Yes, miss.”

Haematica took her leave, gliding down the hall to her personal study. A chalkboard hung beside the doorway. Typically it was empty this early in the morning, but today there was a thin white scribble on it.

Bog - M, Sha. 14e. Unknown donor.

She cracked the door. A thin haze rolled out around her feet as the cool air seeped out. The body was there on the cold metal table, grey and motionless. Though she was delighted, Haematica sighed. Receiving shadowborn cadavers was never a simple affair out here. Too often, it was someone trying to dispose of a body and curry her favor at the same time. It was insulting, frankly. She wasn’t some butcher they could dump their bodies on. She was a woman of science, but also of compassion.

Sure, she would at least identify the cause of death, maybe poke around a little more than she had to, but she wasn’t going to dissect any old donated body. Her conscience would never rest unless she was sure the family was alright with it. Gods, she’d have to call Carnelian again… Or maybe Camellia would be faster, since she was actually present. Being able to just ask the body who it was and where it came from would simplify things immensely.

Down the hall, she heard the familiar whistling of Aether. When she spoke it was with the typical fae monotone but her whistling had a distinctively happy lilting to it this morning. Aether was a dentist. She operated out of Promenade Medical Bay because tooth removal was a form of surgery, but most of her work these days was maintaining hatchling dental health. If she was whistling so cheerfully, it meant someone hadn’t cared for a bad tooth and she was preparing to take it for her collection.

Aether was skittish, but probably could have fit in easily among plague dragons for her love of collecting teeth.

Haematica didn’t bother her, turning instead to go look in on the Queen’s room. It was empty, save for Coagulum, who greeted her with a nonchalant “Mornin’ Hae.”

“Good morning. Has Telos run off again?”

“Mm, yeah.” The mirror scratched lazily at her stomach. “Her blood’s back up to snuff, and she’s been getting antsy and irritable being in bed these past few days. Tungsten came and got her.”

“An official discharge then.”

“Tungsten didn’t say. Just said that ‘Doing nothing for a long time can also be stressful for someone who’s gotten used to a certain level of activity’ and took her out.” She snickered. “I could tell ‘er Majesty was feeling punchy.”

“Punchy...” Haematica muttered, more tasting the word than asking for a meaning. Coagulum was full of colorful words like that.

“Aggressive. She trained a bunch with Perilous, but when the last time she got to give anyone a good haymaker? She was getting pent up, it’s better this way.”

Haematica tapped a foot thoughtfully. “I’ll expect you to find Miss Tungsten and get proper discharge paperwork done. Just because she’s the queen is no reason to not keep a proper record.” She ignored the lazy sigh. Coagulum liked to cut corners where she thought she could get away with it, but she was dependable. Generally. “And speaking of people feeling punchy, what happened to our Nature Liaison?”

Coagulum’s face curdled into malicious glee. “Have you see him? He got the Ragdoller!”

“I noticed. I’m asking if you know why.”

“Gossip on the street is that it all went down at the Sundial Brewery. Arcanus and Carnelian were having a round, Estevao came in, and you know how that insufferable little prick is. I’ve no doubt he thought he was being cute, but he made a suggestion about easing the queen’s stress to Arcanus that was a little too forward. Arcanus almost drew on ‘im!”

Haematica laid a tired hand over her face. “Gods, how much of a fool can a single dragon be?”

“Right, right? So Carnelian keeps Arcanus cool, cause they’re on good terms now it seems like; and Arcanus is the Queen’s Knight, he can’t be getting in bar fights, even if it’s for the queen’s honor. But Carnelian’s no such clean record and he’s all prepared to get nasty about it.” She slapped merrily at her knee. “I can only imagine what Estevao’s condition would’ve been if Carnelian’d had at him.”

“Did Bruma actually stop Carnelian?”

“Ah, well, yes and no. Remember Cloud and ‘Milla have their little nocturne girl at home with them.”

“Aine, of course. So Bruma would have intervened as their bouncer to end the situation before it got rowdy.”

“Just so,” Coagulum answered, though she couldn’t hide another snicker. “Well, and because Bruma’s a chivalrous kind of lady. She can’t stand hearing anybody, let alone some outland brown-noser, make those kinda nasty comments.”

“Just how nasty was this comment? The man is an idiot who doesn’t realize he grates on others, but he seems otherwise sincere about wanting little to no trouble.”

“Mmm, suffice to say he his suggestion failed to treat the Queen with the respect that the widow of an exalt is due.” Crass as she was, Coagulum wrinkled her nose. “I’m sure plenty move on, find new mates and such but Telos is… Our queen is loyal, dammit. To us and to Fragment; even if he’s not on this plane anymore. And Arcanus is a man of morals. Neither of them deserve the implication that he should be ashamed to let her grieve so long ‘uncomforted’. That shit-eater’s got no business thinking he can say that! In a crowded bar–!”

“Volume,” Haematica said sternly but reflexively.

“Sorry. It just... It ain’t right is all…”

It didn’t escape Haematica’s memory that Coagulum had not always been among Telos’ supporters. Early on, her blunt tongue had been one of many to say that other dragons were more fit. That Telos was too young, too inexperienced, too much of an outsider. And yet now here was the same dragon, agitated that some nobody had come into the clan and suggested–albeit ignorantly–something that tread on the queen’s sincere grief.

“Weren’t you suggesting something similar just last week?”

Coagulum blushed furiously. “That wasn’t about Telos!” A sharp glare from Haematica corrected her, and she said again, more quietly: “That’s wasn’t about Telos! And even if it were, it wasn’t a suggestion that someone should get in bed with her and...and soothe her. That’s a disgusting thing to say about anyone, much less a damned widow. It was only a suggestion that some of the more stressed members of the clan who are shy of the Bramble District be educated on masturbation. It’s a physiologically proven and valid method of reducing stress hormones in the blood and you know it.”

Haematica covered her mouth to hide a grin, and Coagulum knew instantly she’d been teased. Of course Haematica knew already. She just took advantage because it was a sensitive topic.

“You’re a demon, Hae.”

“You’re mistaking me for Asura,” she said humbly.

Estevao probably didn’t know just how far down his own throat he put his foot.  Those trails of gold tears on Telos’ cheeks were not some invitation or request to be comforted. To her and to the entire clan, they were representative of things unforgotten, things still missed and pain still felt even though the eons had passed and life went on. They were not something that could be wiped away so easily.

“I had him anesthetized maybe 15 minutes ago,” Haematica said with a smile too wide and too bright. “Shall we go give our patient a lesson on the appropriate way to talk about our Queen?”

Coagulum smirked. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

[shardclan]

Haematica exhaled slowly and reached down until her palms were flat on the ground. Hamstrings flexed, pelvis rotating easily so that her knees didn't bend to accommodate the stretch. Alala kept the pose beside her, breathing deep and steady. And then there was Middlemist practically melting onto the floor in a stretch that was well beyond her mother and sister. Unlike Alala and Haematica, Middlemist was not a doctor. She was a Walker--a combination mercenary and guide who operated on Trader's Walk but could take you elsewhere for the right price--so her range of motion was quite a bit more robust. And while shapely legs ran in the family, Haematica couldn't help but be proud that Middlemist in particular had some of the most well developed gastrocnemii in the clan.

Meanwhile, Alief snoozed like a cat in the corner. The release of the news about his being a psywurm had taken away the constant anxiety of trying to hide it, and he frequently assumed the form just to stay out of the way. Unfortunately, it had also given him a psywurm's tendency to nap, where previously he couldn't resist the urge to fly around. This worried Haematica, mostly because she was no longer sure how to maintain his health. She was a doctor, not a veterinarian. If she could get him to assume skydancer form. she could just keep on as she had before, but there seemed to be no impetus lately for him to do so.

"What's for breakfast today?" Middlemist asked with her head well between her ankles.

"We've got fresh dragonflies in-house," Haematica answered. "And you know we always have cricket bread. But it's been raining, so Leyline Garden has probably delivered a bunch of garden snails to the food bank if you're in the mood for something else."

"Nah, the dragonflies are fine, they'll have more protein and I like the crunchy bits. Might pick up the snails for dinner, I'm gettin' the itch again."

"Ask around if anybody's been having problems with blood flies or mosquitoes," Alala offered.

Middlemist hummed. She had taken most after their father, who was a wildclaw, and ever since she was small she had been overwhelmed by occasional urges to eat meat. Problem being she was still a skydancer and couldn't actually digest the stuff worth a damn, so she had learned to eat insects with more substance to them when the urge came. Thick and chewy snails with lots of garlic slow roasted in spiced butter were her favorite, but it was getting to be the season where bloodsucking insects became a problem...

"A little community service might be in order then."

The three completed their morning stretch, shrugged on their work clothes, and downed a tall glass of water each. Over breakfast, Middlemist checked her weapons, Haematica did hand exercises, and Alala distracted them both by spending an unusual amount of time fussing with her appearance. Granted, she was 'the pretty doctor' to most travelers and she did her best to play into this, but she had recently been trying new things. And on this day she was clearly going above and beyond.

Middlemist glanced at Haematica, whose face was such an immaculate portrait of casual ignorance that it was beyond clear that she had noticed too.

Unlike Haematica, Middlemist wasn't going to pretend to mind her business. "That's an interesting shade for you sis."

"Hm?" Alala answered distractedly. "It's red, I always wear red."

"You wear Sepia Rose," Middlemist corrected with a knowing grin. "And line it with a little Raspberry Coral to give it a bright and fun-looking pop. What you got on right now is Sanguine Dahlia." She squinted. "With matching liner and... is that a little bit of Emberglow Ashstorm eyeshadow? Yes it is."

"Is it bad? It looks very nice to me."

"Oh it's absolutely stunning. You and Asura are champs at color-picking. It's just..." She smirked. "You're glowing like the Beacon, and I can't help thinking maybe there's somebody you're tryin' to ‘guide through the night’."

Haematica wheezed. Alala blushed in a way that subtly but alluringly brought the red undertones of her skin and the make-up together, and Haematica had little doubt that was the intended effect. She had taught her children well. Alala did her best to excuse herself gracefully, and Haematica allowed herself a hearty cackle when she was sure they were alone.

"So," she managed, still shaking with laughter. "Who is it? Are they good for her?"

"I suspect so, it's my namesake's offspring. The opalescent boy."

Haematica beamed. "Camellia's son? How charming! Does he like her? How did they meet? I don't know much about him; are they a good match?"

"Promise I'll tell you all about it later, ma." Middlemist leaned down, kissing her mother's cheek and patting hair still wet from the morning bath. "Don't be late."

Their family lived in Noon Point, as did most other dragons who ran businesses from there. So every morning, Haematica was able to enjoy the awakening of the area as she left for the Promenade. Travelers shuffling out of the inn with the scent of tea and coffee around them, Cheese and Trathail drinking fresh hot milk in front of the Happy Harpy. Cloudwhyte and Alchemilla would normally be sleeping in after the late nights that running a bar demanded, but new hatchlings saw them shuffling out of their door early. Haematica couldn't help a smile as they held hands and strolled off.

Someday she would be the beloved c flower of some fellow plagueling's heart, and they would share the joy of new children. Easily the only downside of having Asura, Alala, and Middlemist for business only was that she had no one to be proud of them to.

A familiar voice called out to her as she followed the worn path north through the Court of Five Lights. Camellia was kneeling among the daffodils in the inner court, and the sight of her waving and looking as lively as ever warmed Haematica's heart. It had been such a long time she had near forgotten how much she missed her.

"I hear that your newest son has enthralled my daughter," Haematica called back.

Camellia laughed in her full-bodied way. "Given how he's been acting, I think he might be bewitched as well."

"You must come to dinner soon! Let us gossip as we used to; it's been far too long, my home no longer knows your presence, and clearly we have much to discuss."

Camellia grinned wide, and gave a graceful curtsy. "I'll make it my priority. I've missed you too, Hae."

Haematica continued on her way, feeling energized by the good turn of the day. Camellia's stay was temporary. She wouldn't leave the graves for long, but it was good just to see her. And the thought of Alala and Rubedo together would be more joy for the both of them.

By the time she arrived at Promenade Medical Bay, she was more than ready for the day ahead of her.

[shardclan]

(Sorry just saw your ask thing this morning!) How is Haematica liking (or disliking) being a mother? How is Arcanus doing? Will Bestealcian get a new fan?

“Oh I love it. Even when they were young and eager, I loved it. My sweet but sly Alala; my strong and savage Middlemist; my sickly but unconquerable Asura… even my adopted oddity, Alief. 

They’re all my pride and joy, and I would love to have more once I find that perfect romance. Someone who could match my mother and father’s legacy, challenge the Contagion and come out screaming and alive on the other side and still have the tenderness to brush the grime and offal of the wasteland from my hair.

I want someone to be the corpse flower of my heart, but I’m a busy woman, and medical progress never sleeps.”

“Thank you for asking, but I assure you I’m doing well.

I am worried about Ashes though. His mood has been on the unpredictable side ever since Lutia came to him. He didn’t forgive her; I knew he wouldn’t. I told her he wouldn’t. But he’s never been so unstable.

Me? I forgave her, yes. I harbor no grudge, and I would be weary of it by now if I did.”

“Weaver bless your eyes for asking, you sweet thing.

I’d like one yes. But right now it’s not exactly in the budget. The queen wants to be sure I get a superior build on the next one. Something from the Great Furnace instead of old fashioned Blacksand craft. Which means I have to wait a bit longer, but that’s more than worth the wait.

I can hardly wait to swing it around and hear it sing~″

[shardclan]

My new plague girls ;v;

On the left: Middlemist the firstborn, named in honor of Camellia, Haematica’s best friend. Expert in poisons, toxins, anti-toxins and antidotes and in traveling Sornieth’s more heinous regions without being maimed. She’s primarily a caravan guard, but she also serves as a guide and emergency medic for any non-natives that have to pass through the Scarred Wasteland.

On the right: Alala the lastborn, named in honor of Warcry, her grandmother. General health and wellness doctor who operates out of Noon Point. Since her mother’s notes and medical records on actual clan members are extremely detailed, Alala primarily deals with visitors and transients who arrive at Noon Point after traveling Trader’s Walk. But she also deals with the clan’s hatchlings, who find her less intimidating than Haematica.

Both girls trade off plague representative duties with their mother and each other based on who is available. Like Haematica, both are proficient with using a bonesaw as a weapon in an emergency, and are generally regarded with fear, respect and/or awe by plague-native serthis clans.

They’re both very protective of Asura, since he’s a bit sickly due to how his powers work.

[shardclan]

Haematica gets hype about the rubber industry that starts up in the clan and her first order of business is to go right to the Alchemy Lab to inspect if they’re good for medical use.

And when she find out the answer is yes, her immediate reaction is “Can you make them pink though?”

[shardclan]

Haematica #18, Telos #6, Ashes #12, Zo #13 and Actias #17?

Haematica #18: Things they’ll never admit 

She had to try really really hard to not chop Rainforest’s body up in the name of science when she died. Hae’s an anatomist as well as a surgeon and she’s wanted a bogsneak cadaver to study literally since the moment they happened.

Telos #6: Their vices (physical or emotional) 

Anger. Everything that happened has left her in a  prolonged state of grieving yes, but as Arcanus found out when she almost took his head off during a sparring match, she has a tight little ball of murderous rage somewhere inside of her. She makes sure it stays manageable through old fashioned pugilism. Square up anytime.

Ashes #12: Grudges and vendettas 

As can be expected at this point, he has a grudge against Lutia, his former teacher. And it’s deep. Not the kind of thing that’s going to start healing over the moment she finally talks to him like she did with Saber.

Zo #13: What gets them flustered 

Getting special treatment for things he didn’t do/had no control over, especially re: who he’s related to. Don’t call him ‘Prince Zo’, he hates it.

Actias #17: Regrets 

Not keeping a better eye on the scion. He could have prevented some of what happened, but he was assigned primarily to Opal at the time.

[shardclan]

From Haematica’s journal:  

Tawny, Carnelian, Kiele, Equinox, Maleficent. Sunlore, Norn, Aloe, Safiri, Willowalk.

And Camellia.

Her path is the one we follow, and her path takes her through the places our peers and friends and families fell. It takes us back through Shadow and Plague.

There is no need for the other routes. Tawhaki is buried and she knows as only she can that his soul is at rest on the hills above the Leyline Garden. She had the presence of mind to gather the souls of those who fell near the Harpy's Roost into precious items. Cinnabar's pelt, Alluvium's ladle, and the diaphanous twist Saber always wore for Galette. Carnelian carries other items. Items that Camellia will call our dead into, so long as we can guide her to where we raised the pyres that burned them to unscavengeable ash.

Her light guides us through the unthinning fog of the Tangled Wood. It keeps us together. And perhaps the favor of the Arcanist stays with her, if not with us, because no one is lost. She walks alone into the dead kingdom that used to be Saga's home to retrieve Rainforest. Rainforest didn’t want to be burned, so she buries the body instead. She takes Rainforest's finger bones, where the Bogsneak's attachment must be greatest. The spirit will stay in those bones and travel with us until we reach our destination.

Camellia meditates in the dark pines, calling into the spirit realm for Obscura or Elaidos. She is able to find the latter's trail. We are lead deep into the dark, until we are on the cusp of the Forum of the Obscured Crescent. We find no body, but we do find Elaidos' pearl in some shaded, soiled trader's shack where all but a few items are in velvety sacks and no prices are listed. The shopkeeper feigns ignorance. Camellia does not harm him, but nonetheless comes away with the pearl after filling the shop with the swirling, angry spirits of those victimized for its profits. All mournful, all vengeful, all eager for retribution if Camellia would allow it.

She doesn't. But after she secures the pearl, she shoots Tawny a look.

He burns the shop down without hesitation.

There was no trace of Obscura. This could mean she is still alive somewhere, but we all quietly hope she is dead. She deserves at least that mercy.

When we entered the Scarred Wasteland, the group splits. We wait on the shore with the larger group to minimize exposure. Tawny and Camellia go with Carnelian to secure the souls of those who felt to contagion. They bear the items Camellia will use between them: A piece of Willow's horn, broken from the segment Ashes keeps around his neck in memory of her. Chlorophyll's flower crown and the feathers of a peace dove for Peacetide. A trinket passed from Galbadia to Rose to Kiele, which Kiele gladly released. Ismene's hat.

They return after ten days. Camellia's aura is potent. With every soul she gathers, she seems to grow more weary but also more terrible in power. The burden of it lends her a grim, determined demeanor that could see her through anything. She could rival Lutia if she had such ambitions. The eastern plague serthis met us and honored the old clan's pacts, but scarcely dared to look upon her. But she tells me with her familiar warmth that she is grateful I made sure they were burned so thoroughly.

We arrive in the Isles. We arrive at the old territory. But it is no longer our home. It is filled with the silence of an abandoned place. Even when the coven and those who were sheltered in Hibernal Hollow greet us; even when there is cooking and conversation and even some laughter, the quiet is a pressure that closes in on us.

Graves are prepared at the foot of the Focal Point. Moss is already buried, because the coven cares for its own. They buried Magdaer out of pity and as a form of apology for Hypnosis' part in what became of her. But the name on her marker is blank. She is not Magdaer. She never was. But none presume to give her a name to be called in death.

Camellia buries our dead alone. One item to one grave. For each one she presses a handful of dirt to her lips and lays it down as the final cover. With this, they are blessed with her highest protection. Each will have rest that will never be disturbed.

She sleeps. For a long, long time. I begin to worry, but the coven assures me she will wake. I watch over her anyway. When she finally rises, days later in the middle of the night, I ensure she bathes, she eats, she drinks. She doesn't complain or resist. She has always treated her body with care. She recognizes its preciousness.

Sunlore, Aloe, and Norn have waited for her patiently. They want to be exalted, but they are afraid to go without Camellia. They are afraid they will be turned away. She walks them up the mountain. The others are trying to retrieve whatever can be found. Safiri has been in talks with the Focal Point Longnecks on Telos’ behalf, to arrange their inheritance of our old land.

I watch as Camellia returns from the mountaintop alone.

She carries the silence of our abandoned home around her as she goes back to the graves. She kneels, and she prays. Her expression of near-agony would make it clear what she is praying for even if her fervency wasn't so telling.

Let the price be paid without further loss.

Let this be enough.

@your-local-birb

[shardclan]

Saga looked down at his birth lair with dour eyes. The last time he had been here, he had still be a ridgeback. Maleficent and her daughter had come to take his head, and had nearly managed it. The always darkened sky was sullen, but at least it didn't seem it would rain and truly recreate the circumstances that had earned him the ring of scars around his neck.The others in the group stayed huddled together around Maleficent's tail. They were not willing to be too close to the abandoned lair, but they didn't dare stray far from their guides. Haematica was moved alone in the lonely wreaths of fog that curled around the abandoned dams and dens. She laid Rainforest's body down at the foot of a crooked pillar of depleted sacridite and knelt. All around her, the remnants of forgotten dragons went through the motions of living. They were blind to her, so she afforded Rainforest a single prayer.

"Your mother is down there," said Maleficent. "You should go see her."

How dare you.

The words would have been so easy to say, and he felt them burning on the edge of his tongue. But they would have been futile on Maleficent. Worse than futile, they would be hypocritical, and she would never pass up pointing it out.

"You could run," she continued. "Stay here with her. Nobody would chase you."

His frills rippled. He glared up at her, but she could not see him. The patch that covered the eye he had clawed out in their last fight was blind and indifferent to his anger. "Stop."

"Why? You love her so much. You’ve done so much to preserve her legacy. Go to her. Stay with her."

"You think I haven't considered it?" he hissed. "But you can't just immerse yourself into an abandoned lair and become part of it. Either you are there in the moment when the Presiding One leaves, or you are locked out forever. The moment that this lair relives day in and day out like spirits who can't move on doesn't involve me. And I can't make it involve me."

"I know."

"Then why did you even say anything?"

"Because I wanted to hear you acknowledge your powerlessness." She turned her working eye to him, and it smoldered with old rage. "And so I could kill you on the spot if you did think for a moment that you could run from me."

"You want to kill me so much and yet you've missed a ton of opportunities," he snarled. "You're really not good at this."

She turned away from him. "You misunderstand me. I wanted you dead. But now what I really want is for you to suffer. And watching you watch outsiders walk right through your beloved mother like a ghost has been worth it all. How you've fallen, little prince."

Haematica landed between them. "The time to indulge your grudges is over. Let's make haste. I want to be able to come back before she is rotted."

Maleficent obliged. They traveled in silence, closely packed and strictly following worn paths meant for common use. Despite this, bones and arrows and broken weapons littered the edges of the way. The sensation that they were being watched was constant, and several times there were strange cries. Some could be chalked up to animals, but some were clearly the sounds of weeping. Neither Maleficent or Saga stopped for them, and even the most concerned dragons refused to leave their sides to investigate.

Soon the trees thinned. The light increased, only to be obscured by mists so thick that it settled in a lukewarm film over their scales and soon became trickling condensation.

"Stay close," Maleficent warned. "If you are lost here, you will never be found."

It was simple enough to say, but even as they laid claws and tails against her to ensure they were as close as possible, the way became difficult. The Foxfire Brambles rose gnarled and twisting from the fog, cutting and slicing at them. Maleficent could not keep track of them in the tangle, and the noise of their passing was already more than she liked. Even Haematica soon gave up on trying to quickly deal with all the scratches and scrapes.

They marched on even as they bled.

"Stop."

In the absolute stillness, even Saga's tiny voice was unmissable.

"It's too quiet."

Malificent nodded vaguely and dipped her head to talk to Tawny. "Can you clear the mist without burning the whole forest down?"

"If it gets us out quicker."

He flitted along Maleficent's side until he could wind himself snugly around one of her spines. He raised his hands, but no flame came forth. A warm glow appeared in the fog instead and rapidly intensified into a flash that cleared the area and left it gently steaming. There was a curse from only a little away, and a flash of glittering red. A dazzlingly red imperial stood blinking the spots from his eyes just inside the cleared area.

Maleficent bristled, but Tawny looped up to eye level with both of them. "Faust?"

"You know him?"

"Yep. Shard the Pragmatic was very adamant that all the clan's protectors should be acquainted with those in similar roles in our friend clans. He's one of Dreamweaver's number."

The groups sighed so hard they very nearly collapsed on the spot.

"Is this all that's left of you?" asked Faust.

Haematica nodded, and paused when she turned and saw that three of them were missing. Even in the cleared distance behind them, there was no sign of them. Not a drop of blood, or a single caught scrap of clothing waving limply from a thorn.

Elaidos and Obscura, she counted. Riley too, but Haematica felt with boiling certainty that the latter had not simply been lost to shadows and mists. A dragon who could survive the walk through plague unscathed while not seeming to do anything but hide would not have been so easily snatched.

"Yes," she finally answered. "This is all that's left."

They followed Faust the rest of the way. The fog outside the ring flowed lazily over itself, slowly melting back into place behind them.

Though Haematica dreaded all the bad news she was carrying with her, she dared to feel relief.

The long, terrible journey was finally over.

[shardclan]

The Fair Pirate Ismene died with her feet up, her hat down, and a rare First-Age Firebird cigar half-smoked between her lips. A beautiful woman had cried, albeit for unrelated reasons. She smelled of lilies.

Willow, the woman she had died in defense of, passed silently mere hours later. Rose followed soon after with her mother's name on her parched, bloodied lips and tears in her eyes.

Carnelian sat by the fire where the dead burned. A Second-Age Firebird smoldered in his mouth, wreathing his solemn figure in smoke. Ashes sat on the other side of the pyre, his eyes red-rimmed, but his tears all used up. Like the coatls, he had managed to survive the night. He had been holding Willow's hand when she died. He had watched her try so hard and cling so desperately to life, but in the end, he saw the spark leave her storm-claimed eyes. In his hand he gripped a section of her antlers as he watched the rest of her burn. 

Rainforest leaned against a log where she had finally let herself rest. Haematica and Coagulum sat together in similarly hunched positions, beaten down and weary from their efforts with so many hopeless cases.

They were all silent. No one ate, or cried, or moved.

Carnelian broke the quiet. "Riley."

The coatl flinched, and slithered behind Maleficent.

"You don't have to hide," he said softly. "I won't hurt you."

"Never heard that one before," she hissed. "You've always beat me at every opportunity."

"You've always deserved it," he said matter-of-factually. "But not right now. You're not important right now. I need to know where Opal is."

The group bristled. Ashes' eyes flicked up.

"You want...business from me?" Riley ventured.

"That's not what I asked you. I said tell me where Opal is. Please."

Riley couldn't see his expression, but that last single syllable terrified her so deeply she had to clench against the loosening of her bowels. Suddenly, she had no idea who Carnelian was, because the one she knew would never had said please to her, not even sarcastically. He would rather have died.

"Earth territory," she babbled. "Last tabs I had on Opal he was at Dragonhome, northeast coast, across the Meteor Sound from the northernmost part of the Crystalspine Reach. He'll probably be as north of the Harpy's Roost as possible due to the area being particularly unsafe for wildclaws."

"That everything?"

Her eyes almost crossed with the effort of digging through her memory for any more that she could possibly tell him. "I...think so?"

"Okay. Thank you."

Receiving his gratitude only upset her further. She wailed in spite of herself and cowered. He paid her no mind.

"I'm coming with you."

Carnelian gazed across the fire, and saw Ashes looking at him with eyes he had never seen before. He looked like Arcanus, all serious to the point of being grim, but filled with the fire of purpose. "What for?"

"Because I'm probably the only one who can calm Lutia down."

Carnelian rolled the cigar in his mouth, as if freshly considering some new piece of information. "Lutia... right."

"She will make him suffer worse than you ever could," Ashes offered.

Carnelian breathed deep, sucking in the last of the cigar and tossing it to the bonfire. "Glad you understand me. Let's go."

The two imperials glanced one last time into the flame the committed wife and daughter to the afterlife, and departed.

In their absence, Tawny decided it was time to go. "The longer we stay, the more we risk further sickness."

Maleficent nodded. "Saga and I will guide you."

They looked uncertainly at Saga, but he didn't protest. Slowly, the group picked itself up. The belongings of the deceased had been cleaned, and were carefully packed onto Maleficent's back. Haematica gently roused Rainforest. The exhausted apothecary opened her eyes, but they were already unseeing. She spat in Haematica's direction, and slumped over with a half-spoken curse.

The rest of the group watched as Haematica searched for a pulse and sighed tiredly when she found none. They had no more grief to give. If anything, the the loss of the apothecary only filled them with a sense of haste. They needed to get away from the plague border now more than ever.

Heliantheae came over to carry the body to the fire, but Haematica stayed his hand.

"We will not burn her."

"But you said we shouldn't bury our dead in plague territory."

"We will not bury her either." Without asking anyone else, Haematica lifted the body onto her back. She was light for a bogsneak, perhaps because she had once been a pearlcatcher. "I will carry her."

They looked nervously among themselves. "Are you sure?"

"Rainforest did not want to be burned. She did her best to save who she could, in spite of her doing it in bad temper and cursing us all the whole way and right down to her last breath. She wanted to be buried. So I will see to it that she is out of gratitude."

"It'll slow us down," said Maleficent. "I know a place on the way that you can put her where she'll be undisturbed, and we can come back for her later."

"You're sure?"

"I wouldn't disrespect your dead with assumptions."

Saga glared from the corner of his eye, but he still said nothing.

"Very well. Obscura, with me. Keep her cold until we arrive at this safe place. Tawny..." She dipped her head toward the flame. "Don't leave anything for the scavengers to take."

They stood back and watched him raise the flame until it was white-hot and threatening to set the tree line ablaze. It dwindled just as quickly, and only ash was left to blow away in the breeze.

[shardclan]

Coagulum hissed even as she lay panting in the gnarled roots. The east-border serthis had made a miserable time of it for their group, as she and Haematica knew they would. Between her blood magic, Maleficent’s experience, Haematica’s frankly terrifying capability for wielding her bonesaw as a weapon, and Tawny's ability to very precisely incinerate anything he could see, they were doing alright at not getting cut down.

But gods they never seemed to stop with the darts!

Her flank still ached indignantly where she'd been stuck earlier than day. She had already pushed the blood containing the venom out, sweating it out like a flu. But she had been overworking herself. As much as she tried to hold it, the nausea overcame her and she heaved into the dirt.

The color wasn't bad, at least, but she knew she'd need to replace what she'd lost sooner rather than later. Sweating out infected blood was still blood loss as far as the body was concerned. A nice juicy lizard, if she could find one, would go a long way in replenishing both her moisture and her iron. The queasiness passed and her breath came slower. She felt empty, but that would turn into hunger soon enough.

She spotted something slinking through the sparse shoots of yellowed grass, and immediately pounced. She had the creature half-way into her mouth before she realized it was a screaming fae and spat it out.

“For fuck’s sake!” Saga tried to spread his wings, but they were coated in rank saliva. “What were you doing?!”

“Looking for food,” she grumbled back, tonguing her gums for lacerations caused by his armor. “Which is certainly not what you were doing.”

They looked at each other expectantly, and Saga broke first. He darted away like a squirrel, but came to a painful stop.

“Why would you run from a blood mage?” Coagulum mocked. “Are you stupid or just desperate?”

“Why are you stopping me? You got no stake in the matter!”

“Of course I do. The highest stakes of all. Personal entertainment in a time of high stress. Now march.”

His body moved at her will until he was safely back in sight of the rest of the group. Maleficent saw the jerky motion and gave Coagulum a bright and maliciously cheerful smile and a grateful dip of her head.

Coagulum winked back. “You may only have one eye left, but I got four. I won’t let him get anywhere.”

The cheer left her as quickly as it came. A little entertainment went a long way for what she had to deal with, but nowhere near far enough.

“Neither one...?”

Haematica looked up from where the bodies lay side by side, and shook her head. “Chlorophyll did well, all things considered. He was the one who took the wound yet he still managed to outlast Peacetide.”

Coagulum swore and paced around them. Chlorophyll had but hurt by the first serthis attack. They always made use of the element of surprise, and maybe because he was so clearly a soft and weak dragon, he seemed like a good target. He survived the wound itself, but not whatever disease had made use of the opening. Peacetide wasn’t hurt, but had begun to show signs of illness during the night. It was possible he’d been bitten or scratched by some local bit of flora or fauna, but it didn’t matter now. Whatever it had been, it had taken him quickly.

“Figures they’d be first to go really. No medical or combat history or any kind of exposure and a bad match to plague. They shouldn’t have been here. They shouldn’t have come here.” She sat beside Haematica and sighed. “What do we do? Bury them?”

“Burn them.”

“Shade be on you, you heartless bonemonger!”

The two medical dragons looked up from the deceased. Rainforest was ambling up with eyes ablaze. She too had tried to save them, and she too had failed.

“We bury them! Like civilized dragons!”

Haematica’s expression remained set as she turned her head toward the distant pulse of the Wyrmwound. "The tibia, fibula, and femur of a wildclaw can be carved into excellent daggers for young plague dragons just beginning to hone their survival skill. The flexible and many jointed body of a spiral is often used for jewelry and light armor which needs support rather than hard, bulky plating.”

“That’s awful,” Rainforest gasped. And for a moment, they pitied her, because it was so sincere. “It’s barbaric!”

“Is burying them in the earth to become feed for plants any different? Or is it only less barbaric when a body is drained for all it’s worth was so long as a pretty flower blooms as a result?” The plague surgeon stood, and began divesting the bodies of their apparel and trinkets and anything they were carrying, her voice turning to ice as she spoke. “This is the wasteland, everyone here is trying to survive by any means necessary. A corpse has no inherent dignity, only what its loved ones give it, and that is true no matter which land you go to. If you want to be able to sleep at night knowing that their rest was undisturbed, you will burn them. And burn them well so that no wanderer can walk away with any part of them!”

The intensity she radiated left Coagulum a little starry-eyed, but she quickly went to fetch Tawny. His flame was stronger and more practiced than any she could create.

Behind her, Rainforest and Haematica remained locked at the eyes.

The apothecary shook from her outrage. “You and your kind are monsters.”

Haematica’s hackles rose. She had a sudden memory of the dragon whose teeth had she used to create her first bonesaw. It would be lost now, but maybe a nice set of Bogsneak teeth would do to replace it. Surely there wouldn’t be many of those in the world.

But she let the thought go and forced herself to calm down. That was just the kind of thing Rainforest expected from her.

“I think you would find,” she said in a carefully measured tone. “That if you had let this supposed monster operate on you as suggested, your life would not have been riddled with only pitiful single-egg nests.“

Rainforest was still standing there open mouthed and in the process of going a deep, enraged shade of red when the bodies of their clan mates caught fire between them.

[shardclan]

Haematica and Coagulum worked in silence, sharpening and cleaning what tools they had managed to grab as they fled. The rest of the group lay panting where they had finally come to a stop. They were so deep into the Wandering Contagion that Haematica could feel the distant churn of the Wyrmwound. It was nostalgic, in a way. Her parents would be there, undoubtedly challenging themselves with some crazy new pursuit. She could only imagine the kind of scars they bore now.

But now was no time for fond recollections of her childhood in the wasteland. Coagulum was competent. She was a blood worker, and she would be able to defend herself from disease. But in Haematica's opinion, the rest of the group was doomed.

Maleficent, Saga, and probably Ismene were the only dragons who had knowingly come this way. The rest were cowards and fools, and the smaller group of fools who had followed hoping to turn them back. Tawny she could forgive; he was assigned to them because Saber didn't leave anyone behind. But then there was Ashes, who was still trying to get his wife, Willow, to turn back.

Haematica felt the winds blowing, and heard the thick popping and oozing of the contagion. She smelled disease thick on the air. She didn't have the heart to tell him that even if the fools had not run until they had to lay exhausted and near helpless this deep into the territory, they would still be infected by now. It was just that time of year. Impersonal and deadly as any monsoon season. He just hoped he had come willing to die with her.

Rainforest was cursing them all. She had followed for the same reason Haematica and Coagulum did: She was an apothecary and maybe there would be at least one that she could save. But she wasn't holding back what she thought of them.

"How many will die?" Coagulum asked in the quietest voice she could. "How many are already sick?"

Haematica's antennae swayed. "Most of them. The shadow dragons are old. They know their way even though they're from an unfavorable element in this situation. Ismene is the same, since she's Carnelian's and he passes through these lands constantly. Riley is... Riley, so she's well. And Tawny, see that shimmer around him? He's heating the air around him. It's a fine way for a fire mage to protect himself from disease. It won't protect him from everything, but he's doing well right now. Obscura is following his lead with cold. She's not adept, but you can see the trail when she's exhales. They’ll make it if they can keep that up."

"Rainforest?"

"Hard to say. She can take care of herself, but I can't sense the signs as well in that body. I'm still very understudied at bogsneaks."

"I'll do by best to keep an eye on her then. Blood is blood."

"Prioritize Tawny as well. There are more dangers here than just disease."

"Yeah, and we're gonna need all the help we can get..."

Haematica checked the teeth of her bonesaw. Her prognosis would sound fatalistic if she said it aloud, even if she was giving it from her most objective, professional opinion. All the help they could get, in this situation, still wouldn't be enough.

And even more than Tawny’s protection from enemies, she wanted someone around who was strong enough to burn the bodies when the imperials fell.

[shardclan]

In all of this, I realize that despite how much Enyi really likes her, ultimately Haematica is the type who would probably want a catastrophically battle-damaged dragon for a mate. Her parents were war hounds, she spends all day dealing with grievous injuries... she’s in it for a male with 86 battle scars and eyes that have seen too much shit.

Which is sad for Enyi cause he’s a spa worker and while he’s authoritative and a plague dragon, he hates violence.