DyLock
(#79478892)
HUNGER OF DUSK
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 50/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Fire.
Male Aberration
This dragon is an ancient breed.
This dragon is hibernating.
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Personal Style
Ancient dragons cannot wear apparel.
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
5.98 m
Wingspan
8.16 m
Weight
445.73 kg
Genetics
Fire
Diamond (Aberration)
Diamond (Aberration)
Fire
Spade (Aberration)
Spade (Aberration)
Fire
Sparkle (Aberration)
Sparkle (Aberration)
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 25 Aberration
Max Level
STR
118
AGI
8
DEF
6
QCK
29
INT
5
VIT
8
MND
5
Biography
ABOUT
He/they
Separate consciousnesses, take turns being awake and in control. Dy is the black head, awake during sunlight hours. Lock is the orange head, awake during nighttime. At dawn they both sleep for a time, and at dusk they're both awake, and hungry.
CHASING THE SUN
Dy and Lock once had separate bodies, were two different dragons both employed by a town as wall guards. They operated on different schedules, one the day shift, the other the night, and only ever really saw each other during watch changes. They'd pass each other on the perimeter, or see the other across the mess hall at what was breakfast for one and dinner for the other. They never really had the chance to properly meet, not until they got fired and thrown out on their tails.
For Lock, it was for general laziness, failure to muster for inspection, idleness and slacking off on duty. And for Dy, well, he attacked an important member of a light embassy visiting the town, and would've received a heavier punishment than mere expulsion had his captain not vouched for him. As it was, the two found themselves outside the town walls, alone but for the other, with no supplies, no family or outside connections, no plan.
Lock started heading west, towards the sun sinking into the horizon. Dy followed after. The two walked together, camped together, and switched off between keeping watch while the other slept. They didn't keep to a typical day-night schedule, instead resting whenever they tired, and just continuing to walk or fly whenever else. But they kept heading west, chasing that melting sun. Dy was thinking of finding a new place of employment; Lock was not. Hardly seemed to matter, though, as no matter where Dy applied, no one would hire him—but whenever he walked out, cursing and frustrated, he'd find Lock waiting with a patient smirk, and they'd head on to the next town to try again.
"What are you doing?" Dy cried out at last, the day following another rejection, with Lock striding steadily on and Dy stalking along after like his shadow. "Are you just going to keep walking, right into the ocean?"
Lock kept straight on, not answering, his eyes locked on the sun's slow descent, eyes unblinking despite the harsh blinding glare.
"What am I doing?" Dy muttered to himself, but he stayed with him.
They eventually found out more about each other. Apparently, Lock had meant to get himself thrown out—he needed the kick to finally undergo his strange quest, to chase the sun until he caught it in his jaws. (Dy was the first not to laugh at him, for saying that.) He'd always been a restless hatchling, and when he'd grown he'd try to tamp it down, but it erupted back out fiercer and more insistent each time, driving him from job to job, firing to firing, until he finally decided, fine. Alright. You want a hunt? I'll give you a hunt.
"I can't focus if I'm not moving towards it," he told Dy one night, lying back by a crackling cookfire together, looking up at the stars. "Nothing else matters, my mind refuses to acknowledge it. Everything else seems a joke in comparison. That's what usually gets me fired, my mockery. I don't like authorities much.
"But when I . . . indulge, in that part of me, that just wants to run, well, I finally sleep well that day."
And apparently, Dy didn't mean to attack the ambassador at all. He'd been standing at attention with the other guards in the entrance hall while pleasantries were exchanged between visitors and hosts, everything the same old, him trying to bite back a yawn. But when the party began moving further inside, a richly-dressed skydancer glided past him—Dy's mind went blank. He blinked, and was suspended above the scene, gazing down in absent confusion as he watched his body barrel the ambassador over and snap his teeth at their face. Fortunately, his fellow guards hauled him off, and as the skydancer shakily got back to her feet—he was back in his body, a weird tingling sparking through his muscles, and the guards stared at how his wild aggression disappeared as suddenly as it had appeared. Before any explanation could be made—or demanded—he and the ambassador were hustled off in opposing directions, them to recover in a private room, him to cool off in a jail cell.
He never saw the light skydancer again, and failed to answer satisfactorily the questions put to him about why he did what he he done. He got off relatively easy, thanks to the captain, but Dy never learned what had caused the abnormal event.
"I think it was politics," he mused, leaning against the trunk of a tree while Lock scampered above in the branches looking for ripe nuts. "Maybe it was a setup, a ploy by either the embassy or the town to embarrass the other. It's must've been some sort of magic, a spell to take control of me and make me do what I did. Leave me to take the blame, too."
Lock jumped down, bag of nuts successfully close to bursting, and shrugged. "But it doesn't matter now."
"It doesn't matter now," Dy echoed, surprised—and after a moment, pleased—to realize that was true. "I like it here with you more, anyways," he said, slinging a wing over the other's back. "Share that bag, would you?"
SEEKING SELF-EMPLOYMENT
They did reach the sea, and Lock did try to throw himself into it and start swimming. Dy talked him out of it, knowing the Isles were too far, he'd drown before he got there—and then what, anyway?
"We can keep chasing the sun," he told Lock, as Lock reluctantly allowed himself to be pulled away by Dy's gentle claws. "If we reset the race." Travel back east, to that farthest end of the continent, and start the trek back all over again. Lock grinned, hesitated, then made a proposition. Dy agreed immediately.
"I never want to leave you," Lock said. "Though I keep running off."
"I never want to be without you," Dy replied. "I'll follow wherever you go."
They found a mage-alchemist soon after and paid them to transform the two bodies into one. Adapting to their aberration form was new and different, sure, but they figured out a synchrony sooner than most, having traveled and lived and talked together unceasingly for moons now. They'd already learned how to anticipate the other's moods and desires, often looked to the same sound at the same moment, were well-practiced at guarding the other's back during their watch at rest stops. The single body was just the next step, really. They stuck to the watch-rest system, one head sleeping with the other awake, which allowed for quick, efficient travel.
By the time they'd reached the Ashfall Waste once more, the two had become quite the seasoned traveler and survivor, used to living rough and weathering storms, holding their own in a scrap against monsters or bandits, savvy to the world-signs around them. That, in addition to their time and training spent as guards, made them both tough and diligent. Lock gave them spontaneity and fierceness, Dy steadiness and precision, both alert and agile in work and play alike.
Yet no job fit them. Always too restrictive, too demanding of exact times and schedules, and the two had become very comfortable with their independence and autonomy. When recruiters told them the job's expectations and requirements, they laughed in incredulous derision, and oddly enough the recruiter would frown more often than not.
Lock argued they didn't need a job, could just continue traveling and living off the land. Dy knew they'd be in need and want of more than the sheer necessities of life, and wouldn't have the time to make everything themselves if they kept up their sun-hunt, and such services require gold. They'd come to an impasse. Until . . .
They caught word of a new mercenary group recently moved into the Waste, known as Independent and the Contractors, who, rumor scoffed, had no leader but each dragon ruled themself, only taking jobs as they wanted, and every Contractor sharing payment equally. DyLock had never really considered mercenary work—setting oneself up freelance required contacts, dragons knowing your name, somewhat permanence to a spot—but this sounded promising at the least. They could check it out, see just how too good it was to be true.
They met with Independent as abrasive and impertinent as can be, unwilling to bend any of their own convictions and goals in conforming to Independent's rules. To their surprise, she returned them just as brassy and bold, laughing in their faces at their bluntness, and saying she would be glad to have such a skilled and assured addition to the team. But, she said, leaning forward, those strange eyes looking not quite right, some quirk of the lighting no doubt, what was it they really wanted? Not just gold, nor the freedom to move as they wished. Dragons who become Contractors want something, are driven by some need. A pleasure, a vice, a quest, an achievement—something hungers, and parched throats demand to be quenched.
DyLock was quiet for a moment, then Lock blurted out his hunt to catch the sun, to Dy's amazement, as Lock rarely mentioned it to anyone, hardly talked about it aloud even to Dy. But Lock saw in Independent what she herself saw in him: HUNGER. And by the Eleven, they were starved.
Independent showed her teeth in delight at Lock's absurd goal. Her gaze ran down all over them, and she liked what she saw. "You'll do it," she said in total confidence. "You'll get there, if you keep at it."
"How?" Dy asked, incredulous, yet unable to help but be intrigued, impossible yet glaringly true was her conviction.
The nocturne at Independent's side, silent until now, chuckled. DyLock turned to them, and they gestured to the sharp-edged thrusts of obsidian jutting out of the volcanic rock surrounding them in a staggering maze. "You'll learn."
TO SWALLOW WHOLE
Given their need for frequent time off, DyLock has a relatively simple position as a Contractor. When the group is traveling, on the look for contracts, or when out on a contract, DyLock serves as a near-tireless, always-vigilant scout and patroller. During the day, Dy is awake and scouts ahead or brings up the rear, and when camping for the night, Lock walks a constant perimeter, on sharp lookout for anything or one thinking to mess with the team. At dawn, when another Contractor awakes, DyLock lies down for once and takes a deep, dreamless snooze for a clawful of hours, until all the camp is up, packed, and ready to move once more. Then Dy wakes and plays guard until the sun nears the western horizon.
Then Lock wakes up, and Dy stays awake, as both feel that tremendous, undeniable urge to give chase.
They'll run as long as their body lets them, until the hunger abates and they trot back to camp for Lock to take up the watch and Dy slumber. Some evenings are more satisfying than others. Some times they hunt for days and nights at a time, relentless, pausing for nothing, leaving the other Contractors far behind . . . sometimes, very far behind, as during those runs DyLock slips into a place (? time? state of mind? alternate dimension? unclear what/where/when exactly,) where the world falls away, with nothing existing but the below, the above, that thin line where the two meet, the SUN locked in the middle of that line, and their own single body chasing, chasing, chasing,
until they wake up again on Sornieth, the sun hidden once more, true darkness settling around, stars beginning to glimmer high above and far away, untouchable . . . for now. Thanks to Independent, they're learning.
-
REACHED LEVEL 25 ON 7/23/2022
Feast of Falling Embers - Lights, Camera, Arson! NotN 2022 [ DAY THREE ]
He/they
Separate consciousnesses, take turns being awake and in control. Dy is the black head, awake during sunlight hours. Lock is the orange head, awake during nighttime. At dawn they both sleep for a time, and at dusk they're both awake, and hungry.
CHASING THE SUN
Dy and Lock once had separate bodies, were two different dragons both employed by a town as wall guards. They operated on different schedules, one the day shift, the other the night, and only ever really saw each other during watch changes. They'd pass each other on the perimeter, or see the other across the mess hall at what was breakfast for one and dinner for the other. They never really had the chance to properly meet, not until they got fired and thrown out on their tails.
For Lock, it was for general laziness, failure to muster for inspection, idleness and slacking off on duty. And for Dy, well, he attacked an important member of a light embassy visiting the town, and would've received a heavier punishment than mere expulsion had his captain not vouched for him. As it was, the two found themselves outside the town walls, alone but for the other, with no supplies, no family or outside connections, no plan.
Lock started heading west, towards the sun sinking into the horizon. Dy followed after. The two walked together, camped together, and switched off between keeping watch while the other slept. They didn't keep to a typical day-night schedule, instead resting whenever they tired, and just continuing to walk or fly whenever else. But they kept heading west, chasing that melting sun. Dy was thinking of finding a new place of employment; Lock was not. Hardly seemed to matter, though, as no matter where Dy applied, no one would hire him—but whenever he walked out, cursing and frustrated, he'd find Lock waiting with a patient smirk, and they'd head on to the next town to try again.
"What are you doing?" Dy cried out at last, the day following another rejection, with Lock striding steadily on and Dy stalking along after like his shadow. "Are you just going to keep walking, right into the ocean?"
Lock kept straight on, not answering, his eyes locked on the sun's slow descent, eyes unblinking despite the harsh blinding glare.
"What am I doing?" Dy muttered to himself, but he stayed with him.
They eventually found out more about each other. Apparently, Lock had meant to get himself thrown out—he needed the kick to finally undergo his strange quest, to chase the sun until he caught it in his jaws. (Dy was the first not to laugh at him, for saying that.) He'd always been a restless hatchling, and when he'd grown he'd try to tamp it down, but it erupted back out fiercer and more insistent each time, driving him from job to job, firing to firing, until he finally decided, fine. Alright. You want a hunt? I'll give you a hunt.
"I can't focus if I'm not moving towards it," he told Dy one night, lying back by a crackling cookfire together, looking up at the stars. "Nothing else matters, my mind refuses to acknowledge it. Everything else seems a joke in comparison. That's what usually gets me fired, my mockery. I don't like authorities much.
"But when I . . . indulge, in that part of me, that just wants to run, well, I finally sleep well that day."
And apparently, Dy didn't mean to attack the ambassador at all. He'd been standing at attention with the other guards in the entrance hall while pleasantries were exchanged between visitors and hosts, everything the same old, him trying to bite back a yawn. But when the party began moving further inside, a richly-dressed skydancer glided past him—Dy's mind went blank. He blinked, and was suspended above the scene, gazing down in absent confusion as he watched his body barrel the ambassador over and snap his teeth at their face. Fortunately, his fellow guards hauled him off, and as the skydancer shakily got back to her feet—he was back in his body, a weird tingling sparking through his muscles, and the guards stared at how his wild aggression disappeared as suddenly as it had appeared. Before any explanation could be made—or demanded—he and the ambassador were hustled off in opposing directions, them to recover in a private room, him to cool off in a jail cell.
He never saw the light skydancer again, and failed to answer satisfactorily the questions put to him about why he did what he he done. He got off relatively easy, thanks to the captain, but Dy never learned what had caused the abnormal event.
"I think it was politics," he mused, leaning against the trunk of a tree while Lock scampered above in the branches looking for ripe nuts. "Maybe it was a setup, a ploy by either the embassy or the town to embarrass the other. It's must've been some sort of magic, a spell to take control of me and make me do what I did. Leave me to take the blame, too."
Lock jumped down, bag of nuts successfully close to bursting, and shrugged. "But it doesn't matter now."
"It doesn't matter now," Dy echoed, surprised—and after a moment, pleased—to realize that was true. "I like it here with you more, anyways," he said, slinging a wing over the other's back. "Share that bag, would you?"
SEEKING SELF-EMPLOYMENT
They did reach the sea, and Lock did try to throw himself into it and start swimming. Dy talked him out of it, knowing the Isles were too far, he'd drown before he got there—and then what, anyway?
"We can keep chasing the sun," he told Lock, as Lock reluctantly allowed himself to be pulled away by Dy's gentle claws. "If we reset the race." Travel back east, to that farthest end of the continent, and start the trek back all over again. Lock grinned, hesitated, then made a proposition. Dy agreed immediately.
"I never want to leave you," Lock said. "Though I keep running off."
"I never want to be without you," Dy replied. "I'll follow wherever you go."
They found a mage-alchemist soon after and paid them to transform the two bodies into one. Adapting to their aberration form was new and different, sure, but they figured out a synchrony sooner than most, having traveled and lived and talked together unceasingly for moons now. They'd already learned how to anticipate the other's moods and desires, often looked to the same sound at the same moment, were well-practiced at guarding the other's back during their watch at rest stops. The single body was just the next step, really. They stuck to the watch-rest system, one head sleeping with the other awake, which allowed for quick, efficient travel.
By the time they'd reached the Ashfall Waste once more, the two had become quite the seasoned traveler and survivor, used to living rough and weathering storms, holding their own in a scrap against monsters or bandits, savvy to the world-signs around them. That, in addition to their time and training spent as guards, made them both tough and diligent. Lock gave them spontaneity and fierceness, Dy steadiness and precision, both alert and agile in work and play alike.
Yet no job fit them. Always too restrictive, too demanding of exact times and schedules, and the two had become very comfortable with their independence and autonomy. When recruiters told them the job's expectations and requirements, they laughed in incredulous derision, and oddly enough the recruiter would frown more often than not.
Lock argued they didn't need a job, could just continue traveling and living off the land. Dy knew they'd be in need and want of more than the sheer necessities of life, and wouldn't have the time to make everything themselves if they kept up their sun-hunt, and such services require gold. They'd come to an impasse. Until . . .
They caught word of a new mercenary group recently moved into the Waste, known as Independent and the Contractors, who, rumor scoffed, had no leader but each dragon ruled themself, only taking jobs as they wanted, and every Contractor sharing payment equally. DyLock had never really considered mercenary work—setting oneself up freelance required contacts, dragons knowing your name, somewhat permanence to a spot—but this sounded promising at the least. They could check it out, see just how too good it was to be true.
They met with Independent as abrasive and impertinent as can be, unwilling to bend any of their own convictions and goals in conforming to Independent's rules. To their surprise, she returned them just as brassy and bold, laughing in their faces at their bluntness, and saying she would be glad to have such a skilled and assured addition to the team. But, she said, leaning forward, those strange eyes looking not quite right, some quirk of the lighting no doubt, what was it they really wanted? Not just gold, nor the freedom to move as they wished. Dragons who become Contractors want something, are driven by some need. A pleasure, a vice, a quest, an achievement—something hungers, and parched throats demand to be quenched.
DyLock was quiet for a moment, then Lock blurted out his hunt to catch the sun, to Dy's amazement, as Lock rarely mentioned it to anyone, hardly talked about it aloud even to Dy. But Lock saw in Independent what she herself saw in him: HUNGER. And by the Eleven, they were starved.
Independent showed her teeth in delight at Lock's absurd goal. Her gaze ran down all over them, and she liked what she saw. "You'll do it," she said in total confidence. "You'll get there, if you keep at it."
"How?" Dy asked, incredulous, yet unable to help but be intrigued, impossible yet glaringly true was her conviction.
The nocturne at Independent's side, silent until now, chuckled. DyLock turned to them, and they gestured to the sharp-edged thrusts of obsidian jutting out of the volcanic rock surrounding them in a staggering maze. "You'll learn."
TO SWALLOW WHOLE
Given their need for frequent time off, DyLock has a relatively simple position as a Contractor. When the group is traveling, on the look for contracts, or when out on a contract, DyLock serves as a near-tireless, always-vigilant scout and patroller. During the day, Dy is awake and scouts ahead or brings up the rear, and when camping for the night, Lock walks a constant perimeter, on sharp lookout for anything or one thinking to mess with the team. At dawn, when another Contractor awakes, DyLock lies down for once and takes a deep, dreamless snooze for a clawful of hours, until all the camp is up, packed, and ready to move once more. Then Dy wakes and plays guard until the sun nears the western horizon.
Then Lock wakes up, and Dy stays awake, as both feel that tremendous, undeniable urge to give chase.
They'll run as long as their body lets them, until the hunger abates and they trot back to camp for Lock to take up the watch and Dy slumber. Some evenings are more satisfying than others. Some times they hunt for days and nights at a time, relentless, pausing for nothing, leaving the other Contractors far behind . . . sometimes, very far behind, as during those runs DyLock slips into a place (? time? state of mind? alternate dimension? unclear what/where/when exactly,) where the world falls away, with nothing existing but the below, the above, that thin line where the two meet, the SUN locked in the middle of that line, and their own single body chasing, chasing, chasing,
until they wake up again on Sornieth, the sun hidden once more, true darkness settling around, stars beginning to glimmer high above and far away, untouchable . . . for now. Thanks to Independent, they're learning.
-
REACHED LEVEL 25 ON 7/23/2022
Feast of Falling Embers - Lights, Camera, Arson! NotN 2022 [ DAY THREE ]
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Exalting DyLock to the service of the Flamecaller will remove them from your lair forever. They will leave behind a small sum of riches that they have accumulated. This action is irreversible.
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