Iridium

He likes Tethys. He highly doubts she’d have let him stay if he didn't, because the fact that he does is the only reason he doesn’t sow chaos more thoroughly in amongst the plague-bearing members of her flock. Oh, he still sows chaos amongst them, of course he does, he is Iridium the Trickster, cast out of his own clan for being a Natureborn who took Plague into himself, who failed as a Necromancer but succeeded as a Necromage, curing himself some far space in the future.

To be fair, Tethys’ Necromancers don’t much like him either. Aerugosanguis dislikes his tendency to encourage his granddaughter’s heresy, Pleurisy doesn’t trust him with ‘tia, Nosoi doesn't trust him at all, which he thinks is a bit unfair given he’s never done anything to hurt her. Then again, Nosoi is a failure and considers herself one. He supposes she recognises in him a kindred spirit.

“You shouldn't tease them.” Ondine, as ever, is quiet in her approach and quick to get her words out before her next forced exhale. That no one of the clan has yet found a cure for the condition - even with two Ghouls, four Necromancers, eight active ‘servi and five more preparing for pilgrimage and himself - surprises him. He’s always a little concerned, talking to her, that she’s about to keel over should she forget to take a breath, but then it wouldn’t be the first time he's jolted her with magic to make her inhale.

He really shouldn’t startle her so much, it’s not good for her. Even if it is amusing.

“It’s hardly teasing,” he replies, once he’s figured out what she's referring to. Eschar and Myo are easy to play with. Eschar so utterly dedicated to the goddess who left her a seeping, suppurating creature full of plague, Myo so melancholy until his moments of utter berserk rage hit. Honestly, he’s surprised no one’s put Myo down yet and with the amount of time he spends in the Infirmary, where Haema spends so much time resting, he’s shocked the two haven’t caused one another’s deaths yet. Then again, both might be Imperials but both are also Plagueborn. Unlikely they’d form an Emperor.

Shame. That could be interesting.

“Iri, you're trying to turn Eschar even more heretic than me, and you purposefully goad Myo towards anger specifically when Pestilentia and I aren't there to contain him.” She looks him in the eye, her own as bright as embers. “It’s my heresy you use to goad them. I’ll thank you not to.”

Iridium smirks and coils back on himself. Ondine, for all her heresy, is still so prim and proper, precise and polite even as she speaks words and believes truths that would make the stricter Necromancers set curses on her to peel the living hide from her body. She’s rather lucky that the First Necromancer of this clan is her grandfather and that her grandmother won’t stand for it. Haema, for all her illness, wields enough influence to protect them all. He’s honestly surprised she hasn’t yet sought to oust him, given all the trickery he plays, but he’s beginning to suspect she likes him.

Haema’s strange like that. He never knows what makes her laugh and what doesn’t.

“It’s such an interesting heresy, though,” he says, and moves to curl himself around Ondine. She’s big, is Ondine, of course she is, she’s a Guardian and one of the larger in the clan for all her condition limits her reasonable growth, but he can still coil around her foreleg and part of her neck before her free hand moves to pry him off.

“Iri,” she says, with a lengthy sigh. He does like Ondine. Always so patient. If only the others were as well, but Tethys is always so busy and Jongin never has time for any but Tethys and their children and Porcelain has healing to work on. Boring.

“It’s fascinating,” he says, in earnest this time. “Truly. And more should believe it, or at least consider it. Our Lady of Plague has the means to end all of us, if she wishes, but while she has directed us to end Emperors she lets the rest of us free to decide what we might be. Everyone thinks Ghouls the weakest because they cannot best the Plague, but they take in all of it, become bastions of her power! And you, ‘servi, you can cure with a curse and Necromancers can just cure, they cannot specialise as you can-”

“They can,” Ondine cuts in. “Miasm is learning from Nahum.”

For a moment his mouth works. “Fine,” he says. “But still- if Our Lady saw us as weaker she could say so or show so. But the plagues in Eschar give her visions of Our Lady, did you know? And Myo’s rages make him a weapon of Her wrath, don’t you see? And you and I, your curing with a curse, my magic from curing myself, outside of the rules of the trials-”

Ondine’s hand clamps around his mouth.

“Mmph,” he says, most displeased.

“I know what you are going to say.” He tries to struggle in her grip, but, “I know,” she says again. “But they are still heresies. You can make people listen in ways other than … goading them in such a way as to risk their health. Eschar and Myo may be bastions of her power but for all they are strong in Plague they are weak in body. You do them no good to push them so. No good at all. And you know that Tethys does not like it when we fight. You know she and Jongin will step in if you keep on doing this.”

She sets him loose then, gives him back his mouth. He doesn’t uncoil from her though. She’s warm, and instead he nestles his head between the vast spread of her horns. He knows she has a point. Tethys lets him stay because… well. He likes her, and in the end he does not want to anger her. She has such a disparate bundle around her, and cares for them with such sure strength for all her small size and limited magic. She is a force of personality, and Iridium knows the power of that. He nuzzles Ondine’s horn, twisting and coiling his body up her length until his tail tickles her nose.

“Iri.”

“I’ll behave,” he says. “Fine. Maybe I should join your father writing letters. Goad other Necromancers to the heresies.” Ondine’s already frowning but oh, he likes this idea, and starts uncoiling from her with haste. “If I can make enough respected Necromancers agree, maybe your grandfather will stop sitting on porcupines. Maybe then Eschar and Myo will listen.” He flies briefly in front of Ondine and taps her on the nose. “And at the least, maybe the whole shake up will give me some fun. See you, Ondy!”

As he flutters off to go and find some parchment and an inkwell that isn’t dried up from the volcanic heat he hears behind him Ondine’s exasperated cry of, “Iri!”

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Day 13 - Enemy

Iridium makes enemies. He doesn't even mean to but he does. He is a wraith that names himself Necromage. Many do not like that. He is a believer in heresy - fewer like that.

He can withstand the curses sent at him, and can send his own back.

He knows, full well, the council will not like that.

Let them come, he thinks, coiling his joy. Ondine's heresy will not be enough for them to cleanse, and I shall be backing her. Let enemies stand together against enemies.

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