Ondine
(#44519604)
Level 7 Guardian
Familiar
False Sphinx
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 49/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Fire.
Female Guardian
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
12.17 m
Wingspan
16.54 m
Weight
10163.74 kg
Genetics
Dirt
Iridescent
Iridescent
Sanguine
Stripes
Stripes
Blood
Thylacine
Thylacine
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 7 Guardian
EXP: 1601 / 11881
STR
7
AGI
6
DEF
8
QCK
5
INT
5
VIT
8
MND
6
Biography
She stares at the Imperial, into his smiling, too-blue eyes. Unusual blue. Unnatural blue. And the friendliness is also unnatural. (Breathe, Ondine.)
"Ondine. I have heard about you, that you are a Servus, a Servus lacking a Master."
"I do not seek a Master."
The Imperial grinned. "I heard that as well."
The grin is toothy. She does not trust Imperial Necromancers. They are inclined to arrogance beyond the average Necromancer. "If you heard that much, you must have heard them call me heretic."
"It came up in conversation, yes."
"Then I am not the Servus you seek." (Breathe.)
"I am not seeking a Servus. I am seeking Ondine."
"What makes you think that Ondine is seeking you?"
"Nothing." He looks at her with those frank honest blue eyes. They can't be genuine. "I'm just a young Necromancer, fresh from my Trials. No one knows me, no one cares, except my parents of course. I don't really want a Servus, but they said I need one. I'd like to have you."
"Why?" Why would any Necro in his right mind go after one of the most notorious Servi known to the Council? She is still wary, but she is curious nonetheless. (Breathe, Ondine.)
"It is the nature of your heresy that interests me."
"I see. I'm disinclined to discuss it further."
"As of yet. But once you get to know me a little better..."
"I'm disinclined to that as well."
"As you will." The Imperial steps back, but his eyes have one last twinkle. "Look me up if you change your mind. Clan Aquaurora, Sea of the Thousand Currents. My name is Cordyceps."
She forgets to breathe for a moment. He hisses at her gently to remind her. She breathes.
"Cordyceps. Remember it, when you remember to breathe. Especially if you start having trouble with those Council uppities." He leaves her then.
She remembers to breathe.
Later, his name troubles her in her memory. It troubles her enough that she returns to the Council Tower, to the Archives. While she is not technically allowed in, her grandfather's name still carries enough weight with the Council that mentioning him grants her access.
And so she slips through the shelves, as unobtrusively as she can, until she finds the particular book she desires. A Guide to Fungi, by Agaria the Shadowborn.
Cordyceps, genus. These fungi are parasitic, growing primarily in the bodies of certain caterpillars. Preliminary research indicates that they contain properties which, if isolated properly, may prove resistant to certain forms of Plague magic...
Any lore above this line is by me, Bxy26
The following lore was her original lore, by EssayofThoughts. I have tried to honor her previous lore as far as possible in my own.
She breathes. A breath in, a breath out. Some part of her mind is always focused on the sensation. It can't afford not to be.
"You're going to leave us?"
She turns to see her father. Intestinum is not the biggest Guardian of the clan, nor the heaviest, but he does have the largest wingspan, enhanced by the mechanicals he needs to fly. She smiles fondly as he clambers up to her perch. This high up, even with the falling ash, they can see the spiralling storms of their neighbouring region.
"I can't stay," she says. "We are too many failures gathered in on place. Our Lady of Flame won't be pleased to have such a cluster and the Plaguebringer doesn't care for failure at all."
Beside her, her father sighs. "We are all here to help each other," he says. "Failed or not, it doesn't stop us from trying. Besides," he says, knocking her shoulder with his. "Who's to say we aren't fated to be this way? As 'servi we can do things your mother or my father would never dream of."
"Ah yes," she says dryly. "We fail in new and interesting ways."
Her father frowns at her. "What we can do-"
"Is unprecedented, I know. There's no records of 'servi using curses to cure, but dad... all the records are written by Necromancers. Why would they record our success where they fail?"
"My father-"
"Almost disowned you for helping Mother." She shakes her head. "I can't stay. I can't... Here, I'm a failure born of failures born of failures. I only breathe if I remember to. I'm grandmother's illness and you and mother's failings and grandfather's stubbornness. I'd like... I'd like a chance to be me."
"Ondine." Intestinum's voice is soft and sad. His forepaw rests a moment on her shoulder. "At least say goodbye," he asks. "And let us help you prepare."
She looks at him. He seems far older than he is.
"All right," she says. "All right."
The infection creeps. Ondine keeps her clawed hand on the dragon's side as it spreads, keeping contact with her strain as it flows.
She feels what it's doing to the dragon, the brief fever before retroviral mutation takes effect on cell after cell. The blood reacts at first, but when the virus burrows into the bones and marrow, even the blood is mutated and tamed to accept the mutation as it's own.
Ondine is good at this. No one would expect it of her: even her father and grandfather doubt her ability even though she developed this art. Even though her father worked this art on her mother, once. Even though she must think to breathe every single day, they believe she cannot think over every move of a disease under her control.
Because she is a servus. Because she is a Necroservus born to a Necroservus. Because when it came to conquering the Plaguebringer's infection, she could not, not entirely.
But this...
She curls her claw, twists the virus to one last mutation. The dragon under her hand is breathing hard but they won't be struggling much longer. Their trial is almost at its end.
She focusses, and releases the last mutation. The dragon twists, wings flailing before the mutation sets in and the virus dies.
She is a Necroservus. She cannot pull disease back to her - but she can control it. She can change it. She can make it do her bidding.
As she pulls her claw back the dragon slowly rolls to their feet.
Burst through the skin of their wings are a bright skein of brand-new feathers.
It spreads by a whisper through the Council chambers. Fae whispers to mirror, whispers to snapper whispers to skydancer. Necromancer to their servus, servus to another servus, all the way until from the lowest dungeons to the highest eaves, everyone had heard the story started by just one.
"Didn't you hear?"
"Don't you know?"
"You can't trust her."
But Ondine ignores them. She's good at ignoring what she doesn't want to pay attention to. She has other, far more important things to forever pay attention to.
Who cares that others think her a heretic for how she's learned to use contagion to cure? It is far more interesting to her that so simple a contagion as rumour has bested them all so simply.
--
Notes: Ondine's name is for Ondine's Curse.
"Ondine. I have heard about you, that you are a Servus, a Servus lacking a Master."
"I do not seek a Master."
The Imperial grinned. "I heard that as well."
The grin is toothy. She does not trust Imperial Necromancers. They are inclined to arrogance beyond the average Necromancer. "If you heard that much, you must have heard them call me heretic."
"It came up in conversation, yes."
"Then I am not the Servus you seek." (Breathe.)
"I am not seeking a Servus. I am seeking Ondine."
"What makes you think that Ondine is seeking you?"
"Nothing." He looks at her with those frank honest blue eyes. They can't be genuine. "I'm just a young Necromancer, fresh from my Trials. No one knows me, no one cares, except my parents of course. I don't really want a Servus, but they said I need one. I'd like to have you."
"Why?" Why would any Necro in his right mind go after one of the most notorious Servi known to the Council? She is still wary, but she is curious nonetheless. (Breathe, Ondine.)
"It is the nature of your heresy that interests me."
"I see. I'm disinclined to discuss it further."
"As of yet. But once you get to know me a little better..."
"I'm disinclined to that as well."
"As you will." The Imperial steps back, but his eyes have one last twinkle. "Look me up if you change your mind. Clan Aquaurora, Sea of the Thousand Currents. My name is Cordyceps."
She forgets to breathe for a moment. He hisses at her gently to remind her. She breathes.
"Cordyceps. Remember it, when you remember to breathe. Especially if you start having trouble with those Council uppities." He leaves her then.
She remembers to breathe.
Later, his name troubles her in her memory. It troubles her enough that she returns to the Council Tower, to the Archives. While she is not technically allowed in, her grandfather's name still carries enough weight with the Council that mentioning him grants her access.
And so she slips through the shelves, as unobtrusively as she can, until she finds the particular book she desires. A Guide to Fungi, by Agaria the Shadowborn.
Cordyceps, genus. These fungi are parasitic, growing primarily in the bodies of certain caterpillars. Preliminary research indicates that they contain properties which, if isolated properly, may prove resistant to certain forms of Plague magic...
Any lore above this line is by me, Bxy26
The following lore was her original lore, by EssayofThoughts. I have tried to honor her previous lore as far as possible in my own.
She breathes. A breath in, a breath out. Some part of her mind is always focused on the sensation. It can't afford not to be.
"You're going to leave us?"
She turns to see her father. Intestinum is not the biggest Guardian of the clan, nor the heaviest, but he does have the largest wingspan, enhanced by the mechanicals he needs to fly. She smiles fondly as he clambers up to her perch. This high up, even with the falling ash, they can see the spiralling storms of their neighbouring region.
"I can't stay," she says. "We are too many failures gathered in on place. Our Lady of Flame won't be pleased to have such a cluster and the Plaguebringer doesn't care for failure at all."
Beside her, her father sighs. "We are all here to help each other," he says. "Failed or not, it doesn't stop us from trying. Besides," he says, knocking her shoulder with his. "Who's to say we aren't fated to be this way? As 'servi we can do things your mother or my father would never dream of."
"Ah yes," she says dryly. "We fail in new and interesting ways."
Her father frowns at her. "What we can do-"
"Is unprecedented, I know. There's no records of 'servi using curses to cure, but dad... all the records are written by Necromancers. Why would they record our success where they fail?"
"My father-"
"Almost disowned you for helping Mother." She shakes her head. "I can't stay. I can't... Here, I'm a failure born of failures born of failures. I only breathe if I remember to. I'm grandmother's illness and you and mother's failings and grandfather's stubbornness. I'd like... I'd like a chance to be me."
"Ondine." Intestinum's voice is soft and sad. His forepaw rests a moment on her shoulder. "At least say goodbye," he asks. "And let us help you prepare."
She looks at him. He seems far older than he is.
"All right," she says. "All right."
Day 3 - Infection
The infection creeps. Ondine keeps her clawed hand on the dragon's side as it spreads, keeping contact with her strain as it flows.
She feels what it's doing to the dragon, the brief fever before retroviral mutation takes effect on cell after cell. The blood reacts at first, but when the virus burrows into the bones and marrow, even the blood is mutated and tamed to accept the mutation as it's own.
Ondine is good at this. No one would expect it of her: even her father and grandfather doubt her ability even though she developed this art. Even though her father worked this art on her mother, once. Even though she must think to breathe every single day, they believe she cannot think over every move of a disease under her control.
Because she is a servus. Because she is a Necroservus born to a Necroservus. Because when it came to conquering the Plaguebringer's infection, she could not, not entirely.
But this...
She curls her claw, twists the virus to one last mutation. The dragon under her hand is breathing hard but they won't be struggling much longer. Their trial is almost at its end.
She focusses, and releases the last mutation. The dragon twists, wings flailing before the mutation sets in and the virus dies.
She is a Necroservus. She cannot pull disease back to her - but she can control it. She can change it. She can make it do her bidding.
As she pulls her claw back the dragon slowly rolls to their feet.
Burst through the skin of their wings are a bright skein of brand-new feathers.
Day 11 - Contagion
It spreads by a whisper through the Council chambers. Fae whispers to mirror, whispers to snapper whispers to skydancer. Necromancer to their servus, servus to another servus, all the way until from the lowest dungeons to the highest eaves, everyone had heard the story started by just one.
"Didn't you hear?"
"Don't you know?"
"You can't trust her."
But Ondine ignores them. She's good at ignoring what she doesn't want to pay attention to. She has other, far more important things to forever pay attention to.
Who cares that others think her a heretic for how she's learned to use contagion to cure? It is far more interesting to her that so simple a contagion as rumour has bested them all so simply.
--
Notes: Ondine's name is for Ondine's Curse.
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