Lock

- - - - -Current Status: Healthy? - - - - -Mate: none - - - - -Relatives: Sange | Gradia - - - - -Friends: Key

Occupation: Neutralized Ghoul Likes: Not being a ghoul and Key Dislikes: The necromancer trials. Hobbies: Not dying, and bothering Key.

Familiar wrote: Pinpush Mirror Doll Familiar This couldn't possibly work... could it? 1500

Symbol wrote: Plasmpool Spikescarf Apparel An imposing collar of otherworldly bone holds a heavy neck shroud in place. Could this accessory be keeping the wearer's head on their shoulders? 500

Serves wrote:

Mate wrote:

"Hello?" He called, looking around. Everything itched. They told him he had to stay out here and meditate. He didn't want to be out here though. Nera said he could be a necromancer if he was strong enough. Father didn't like it. He didn't want to risk another ghoul. Another him. But Nera insisted, and took him. Left him out here. He was supposed to stay there, but it was creepy and he didn't like it.

"Is someone there?" He asked, sniffing the air briefly before sneezing. Things didn't smell good.

"Shh…" a voice hissed from nearby. "Very loud. Quiet."

He swung his head around, and looked down. Not far away, a small greenish colored coatl with dark blue-violet colored wings sat, tail curled around her legs and eyes closed.

"Sorry." He whispered, lowering his head. "Can I sit by you? I don't like it here."

"No. Alone. No help." The coatl replied, sticking her forked tongue out briefly.

"I won't help. Just...sit. Right there."

One of her eyes cracked open, and he was surprised to see that vibrant blue color reserved for the Lightning flight. Not what he expected to see so far in the Scarred Wastelands. She appraised him for a moment as he stared.

"Yes. Sit. Sick already." She paused and looked down at herself. "I touch?"

"...oh." Of course another necromancer in their trials would want to do that. "No, that would be helping."

She huffed indignantly at him. He was right. She didn't like that he was right.

"Sit away then." She snapped her eye closed, flattening her feathers against herself.

Sighing, he moved a good few feet away from her, and sat down. It was going to be a long trial.



"Hey. Many Eyes." She called. "Open eyes. Look!"

He opened his eyes and looked at the coatl. She looked pale and her pretty feathers looked awful. Yet she looked so happy about it. He frowned, then looked down at himself. He used to be a sort of steel color, with brown wings. Despite his parents colorations being thr same, his father's old colors from before the trials usually slipped through. Now he was a rather unsightly red.

"Second trial now." She sounded excited for someone so sick. He didn't reply, instead curling in on himself a bit more and shuddering. Everything ached and itched. He couldn't smell much anymore; not that there was much to smell outside of sickness.

He had gathered some things for himself while he had still felt agile. Plants and other things to eat. His mother used to whisper useful herbs to him in his egg. His father taught him how to survive. Dry things to make them last longer. At least he wouldn't starve. Nor would the coatl. When she hadn't been meditating, she had hunted. He used salt to preserve his food. She used fire, usually humming to herself in what he guessed was the language the Coatl spoke. The first few days it had been annoying, but now he didn't mind it. It meant they were both still alive.

"Many Eyes?" She asked when he said nothing. He whined a little. "Survive. We survive. Be friends after trials."

"Sure, Plumes." He smiled tiredly. "If I don't...at least give me a name when I die."

"No. You survive. Get name then." She replied in as stern a tone as a hatchling just turned adult could give.

"Probably better I do. I don't want to be named `Many Eyes’." He laughed a little. It was better than nothing he supposed. Nera had told him he didn't have a name until he came back from the trial. The head Necromancer of his home lair hadn't been around to stop her, and the other Necromancers hadn't noticed her half stealing him away. His father had only allowed it because Nera saved him. There was no love between his father and Nera. He didn't even serve Nera! She was just a mean show off trying to prove that she had done such a good job curing his father that one of his offspring could even become a Necromancer.

The Coatl refused to give her name until she finished her trials. She had vaguely mentioned both her parents were proud Necromancers. Her father had taught her many things before sending her out here. She wouldn't fail him. The Mirror believed her. He didn't have a strong lineage of Necromancers to put his faith in. Just his father, who had failed his trials horribly. Not exactly a winning pedigree there.

She was looking at him curiously. "Yes, you die I will give you a bad name, so no dying."

Her common was getting better at least. She'd been embarrassed when he corrected her the first time, explaining that it was hard for her. He promised he wasn't being mean with the correction, and after a little convincing, she believed him.

"I'm trying. And no helping. Does talking count as helping?" He asked.

"Not sure. Stop talking?" She asked.

"Suggestion, request, or just asking if that is what we should do." He lifted his head slightly. She considered for a long moment before grinning a smug, toothy grin at him.

"Yes." She stated. He snorted.

"Alright, just remember you started this talk." He teased. Indignantly, she flicked her tongue out at him.

"Maybe I care less if you die now." She didn't mean it. She was smiling just a little too much.




Technically, he supposed...he had begun the second trial a while ago. He'd been fighting this for a lot longer than she had been. But the trials were 23 days, and sometimes that meant having to go through one phase longer than the others. He just wished it was the third one, not the second. This was horrible. Even Plumes' proudness was being dampened by this.

"Better survive this Plumes... can't call you Plumes if you fail and never grow your feathers back." He called.

"Shut your face." She called back. "It is saying things. Again."

It hurt to laugh, and doing so caused him to start coughing. He quickly decided he needed water. It helped soothe his damaged throat. Slowly; carefully, he hauled himself to his feet. She lifted her head slightly to glance at him.

"Yes, go. You are breathing too loud." She said. Will you be gone long was what she meant.

"Enjoy the silence while it lasts." He replied, trudging off. He didn't think he would be gone long. "No cheating and taking my things."

"My things better." A grumble came from her. When he gave no response, she assumed she won the conversation. He didn't mind in the slightest, more focused on walking.

The stream wasn't far. Plumes had chosen her place to meditate well. He'd found her by following the same river. It was as clean as one could hope for out here.

Closing his eyes, he dipped his head into the water and drank deeply. It felt frigid to his feverish hide, and while his body wanted to pull away, his mind told him to stay. The cold water would help with the fever.

He half wanted to throw himself into it, but...then he would be shivering and getting out of the water would be difficult. Best not to.

Opening his eyes, he looked at his reflection. He was so...red. The water where he had been drinking wasn’t looking so great now either. It was oddly colored. That...wasn’t...good? Was he too far gone?

He couldn’t go back. If he was this sick, he couldn’t risk her failing her trials. Perhaps...she would enjoy the silence for longer.



Consume and spread...consume and spread. That was all he could think about. Well, that and the coatl he left behind. The disease addled part of his mind whispered darkly that he should go back. Spread to her and take her with him into this madness.

The rational side of him kept him away. How long had it been since he left? Sleep was fleeting, and everything just bled and oozed together. His rational side also tried to convince him to just stop. Find a place, and just...stay there. But the madness wouldn’t let him. Neither side would give up, so neither side could really win.

The sound of a branch snapping caught his attention, and his head swiveled around to look.

“I am sorry it has come to this.” A voice said gently. It was vaguely familiar. So was the mirror it belonged to. “I was not there to stop her, and I have failed you.”

He hissed, the madness seeing a threat. He needed to leave before the Necromancer killed him. Or he could stay and be done with it. Yet, here he was...inching away from the Necromancer towards a rock.

“Ottavia, if you please.” The mirror made a gesture. Oh, that was not a rock. That was a snapper. A snapper who was now bodying him, and slamming him to the ground. He was bigger, but she was very heavy. He was lucky she didn’t break his neck when she pinned him.

“Unfortunately, the one who caused this refuses to clean up her mess...tomorrow another takes their final trial. After that, I will see if I can help you. This will not be comfortable, but one way or another I will see to it you find peace.”

He thrashed about as she came closer, the sound of chains following. Grisha spoke gentle apologies as the larger mirror was locked up, and dragged off. Even the madness seemed to realize that there was probably no way out of this. All he could do was wait.



The weight of the chains was oddly comfortable at this point...even if the situation was not. He was too tired to really care much about what was going on. Some voices talking nearby about something. Not very important. Or...perhaps it was.

“Many Eyes?” A familiar voice asked. No, no she couldn't be here. He didn't want her to see him like this!

He hissed, thrashing about as she came closer. If she was here and willingly coming close to him, she either had passed, or was going to try and use him to pass. “Go away, Plumes…”

This would kill one of them, he knew it would.

“Shut your face. Like this.” She replied, then immediately put her hands on his face. They were probably really warm, but he was feverish, so they just felt like the icy touch of death on his muzzle. They felt more like it when she started infecting him. This was possibly the worst thing he’d ever felt in his short life. The only reason he wasn’t screaming was because Plumes was holding his mouth closed. He’d have been howling at her to let him die. If he died, she would fail...but Mother help him, he didn’t care right now. He writhed around in agony uselessly. He was not going anywhere.

The agony sort of tapered off eventually...not that he could tell. Everything felt horrible. And then...everything went black.

When he woke up, there seemed to be an extra weight on him. The coatl he called Plumes was passed out on him, though she was also waking it seemed.

“Congratulations.” A wildclaw grinned toothily at her. “You’re now the proud owner of a former ghoul.”

“Don’t make light of this, Arrhizus.” A ridgeback grumbled. “This never should have happened to begin with.”

The wildclaw just continued to grin until Grisha shooed both her companions away.

“What do we call you?” The mirror inquired, calm as she had been before.

“Hm.” The coatl looked down at him. “What is the word for this?”

She pointed at the lock keeping him chained up.

“That would be a lock.” Grisha noted. “Ah, I have the key to open that.”

The mirror blindly reached into her possessions, and pulled out the key. She pressed it into the coatl’s hands.

“I am Key.” She said, examining the object in her hands before putting it into the lock, and opening it. A knowing smile crossed Grisha’s face.

“And him?”

“Lock.” Key nodded, working to free him.

“Better name than Many Eyes, so...thanks for that.” Lock grumbled, shakily getting to his feet. “I guess Key is better than Plumes too.”

The coatl preened a little, then grinned. Grisha chuckled lightly, and politely moved back towards her companions.

“I’m glad you survived.” Lock spoke in a quiet tone. “I had to leave so you wouldn’t get sicker because of me.”

“You survived too. See? Told you. Now we be friends.” Key replied, nudging him slightly.

“I’m pretty sure we were friends before.” The tired smile on his face matched his tone quite well, she noted. And he was saying things that were right. Well, that would not do.

“No. Only friends now. Never friends before.” He knew she didn’t mean it. She was smiling just a little too much.
Hatchling colors

- By Shadari

(Divider art from Poisonendpaper's Art Assets)