Post by Nevan J. Blake on Jan 26, 2016 5:12:36 GMT -5
((A full two days and a half later))
Nevan awoke all at once, with no memory of his sleep or of the time that had passed since he had passed out. It was very disorienting, waking up in soft velvet when he last remembered standing with Ahman chewing on him. The bed he was on was softer than anything he had ever slept on before, like he was resting on a fat goose with a dark purple blanket pulled up around him. He could feel a metal bed warmer that had been slid under the silken undercovers as his sheets, the coals still radiating heat from within. Dim light filtered through the lavender curtains around the bed in such a way that Nevan thought a fireplace was burning brightly not too far away, in the same room at the very least. There was no other light, though, so Nevan had to presume that it was night or the room he was in had no windows.
Nevan blinked hard and turned his head, trying to get a better feel for the world around him. His whole body felt . . . unreal. He was as skinny as ever but an unnatural power seemed to be fueling him. Old wounds he had were long gone, not even scars were left in their place. Nevan shimmied a little, finding that nothing bound him aside from the blankets before he rolled onto his side and was met by a faint ‘murr’ of protest. Nevan blinked and frowned before he propped himself up onto his elbow before he lifted the covers to reveal a black tom cat pressed against his side, curled up in a tight ball. Torin raised his head and blinked blearily at him, his yellow eyes baleful at the interruption of his content nap.
”Oh don’t give me dat yer little bastard,” Nevan said as he flicked the cat’s ear. Torin murred again before he rolled up into a tighter ball and Nevan irritably tossed the blanket back over him.
Traitor cat, enjoying this imprisonment. Nevan slid out the other side of the bed, brushing the curtain out of the way as he stepped into the room.
For the most part it was dark stone, with unlit torches at random intervals but they were all unlit; the only light came from the cheerily burning fire place. While the walls were bare, at his feet a great rug stretched out, depicting elaborate Boil-style weavings of some war Nevan had no knowledge or understanding of. Nevan wiggled his toes on the soft rug before he noticed that his legs weren’t in the pants he remembered wearing. He wasn’t wearing his red shoes, witch hat, or robe either. Instead some slave presumably had changed Nevan into silver-blue silk clothing that hung loose over his frame and opened far enough to show off his chest. He had been bathed and scrubbed too, his dark hair was light and fluffy now, lacking the usual grease when Nevan touched it and the holes in his throat had been bandaged tightly.
Nevan’s skin was a little darker than it had been, from an almost transparent shade of white to a healthy shine, and there seemed to be more muscles then Nevan had previously. Nervously Nevan felt his chest, then slipped his hand further down his shirt, opening it more and tracing the now defined abs on his stomach. Nevan frowned and knitted his eyebrows together as he felt a blossom of stress and his fingernails suddenly lurched out, unsheathing into long claws. Nevan yelped and jerked his hands away staring at his claws in horror. That was so . . . there was no way he could still think of himself as human. Nevan looked around worriedly, his eyes skimming over the polished wood furniture before he spied the mirror set into the backboard of a desk.
Nevan strode over to it quickly, afraid but needing to know what he was.
He looked like himself, mostly. Same face, but slightly broader in jaw. Same hair, though now with a few distinct streaks of Ahman’s shade of brown. Changes he only noticed because it was his own face. But the biggest change, the one that alarmed him the most, was the vibrant shade of purple that had taken over his eyes. The fear made them blaze brighter, glowing in the dim light of the room and making him look less human just as he wished he could look more human. ”Oh feck,” Nevan said. Tentatively he reached out and touched a claw to the reflection of his brilliant eye. ”FECK!” Nevan snarled, swiping his hand down and leaving huge claw marks down the mirror.
The sudden swell of anger made his fangs extend suddenly, his canines growing so long that they poked out over his lower lips, while the teeth between them turned into small points. Gods help him, he really was a monster.
”Master Blake? Are you in need of any assistance?” Came a gentle voice and Nevan looked up to see a slave woman had opened the door and was standing at attention. Nevan stared at her for a moment, before instinct took over. He had been starving to death as a human, and turning into a daemon had taken a lot of energy that needed to be replenished. Before Nevan knew what he was doing he tackled her to the ground and straddled her, pinning her hands beside her head and leading over her with his mouth open. She stared up at him with dead eyes, apathetic to what he was doing. She had been fed off before though as instinct driven as he was Nevan was being unusually rough with her.
But . . . Nevan didn’t actually know what to do. Daemon instincts had her pinned and exposed but now he was at a loss for what to do, and how to actually feed. ”Um . . .” Nevan said as he blinked at her. Now what?
Nevan awoke all at once, with no memory of his sleep or of the time that had passed since he had passed out. It was very disorienting, waking up in soft velvet when he last remembered standing with Ahman chewing on him. The bed he was on was softer than anything he had ever slept on before, like he was resting on a fat goose with a dark purple blanket pulled up around him. He could feel a metal bed warmer that had been slid under the silken undercovers as his sheets, the coals still radiating heat from within. Dim light filtered through the lavender curtains around the bed in such a way that Nevan thought a fireplace was burning brightly not too far away, in the same room at the very least. There was no other light, though, so Nevan had to presume that it was night or the room he was in had no windows.
Nevan blinked hard and turned his head, trying to get a better feel for the world around him. His whole body felt . . . unreal. He was as skinny as ever but an unnatural power seemed to be fueling him. Old wounds he had were long gone, not even scars were left in their place. Nevan shimmied a little, finding that nothing bound him aside from the blankets before he rolled onto his side and was met by a faint ‘murr’ of protest. Nevan blinked and frowned before he propped himself up onto his elbow before he lifted the covers to reveal a black tom cat pressed against his side, curled up in a tight ball. Torin raised his head and blinked blearily at him, his yellow eyes baleful at the interruption of his content nap.
”Oh don’t give me dat yer little bastard,” Nevan said as he flicked the cat’s ear. Torin murred again before he rolled up into a tighter ball and Nevan irritably tossed the blanket back over him.
Traitor cat, enjoying this imprisonment. Nevan slid out the other side of the bed, brushing the curtain out of the way as he stepped into the room.
For the most part it was dark stone, with unlit torches at random intervals but they were all unlit; the only light came from the cheerily burning fire place. While the walls were bare, at his feet a great rug stretched out, depicting elaborate Boil-style weavings of some war Nevan had no knowledge or understanding of. Nevan wiggled his toes on the soft rug before he noticed that his legs weren’t in the pants he remembered wearing. He wasn’t wearing his red shoes, witch hat, or robe either. Instead some slave presumably had changed Nevan into silver-blue silk clothing that hung loose over his frame and opened far enough to show off his chest. He had been bathed and scrubbed too, his dark hair was light and fluffy now, lacking the usual grease when Nevan touched it and the holes in his throat had been bandaged tightly.
Nevan’s skin was a little darker than it had been, from an almost transparent shade of white to a healthy shine, and there seemed to be more muscles then Nevan had previously. Nervously Nevan felt his chest, then slipped his hand further down his shirt, opening it more and tracing the now defined abs on his stomach. Nevan frowned and knitted his eyebrows together as he felt a blossom of stress and his fingernails suddenly lurched out, unsheathing into long claws. Nevan yelped and jerked his hands away staring at his claws in horror. That was so . . . there was no way he could still think of himself as human. Nevan looked around worriedly, his eyes skimming over the polished wood furniture before he spied the mirror set into the backboard of a desk.
Nevan strode over to it quickly, afraid but needing to know what he was.
He looked like himself, mostly. Same face, but slightly broader in jaw. Same hair, though now with a few distinct streaks of Ahman’s shade of brown. Changes he only noticed because it was his own face. But the biggest change, the one that alarmed him the most, was the vibrant shade of purple that had taken over his eyes. The fear made them blaze brighter, glowing in the dim light of the room and making him look less human just as he wished he could look more human. ”Oh feck,” Nevan said. Tentatively he reached out and touched a claw to the reflection of his brilliant eye. ”FECK!” Nevan snarled, swiping his hand down and leaving huge claw marks down the mirror.
The sudden swell of anger made his fangs extend suddenly, his canines growing so long that they poked out over his lower lips, while the teeth between them turned into small points. Gods help him, he really was a monster.
”Master Blake? Are you in need of any assistance?” Came a gentle voice and Nevan looked up to see a slave woman had opened the door and was standing at attention. Nevan stared at her for a moment, before instinct took over. He had been starving to death as a human, and turning into a daemon had taken a lot of energy that needed to be replenished. Before Nevan knew what he was doing he tackled her to the ground and straddled her, pinning her hands beside her head and leading over her with his mouth open. She stared up at him with dead eyes, apathetic to what he was doing. She had been fed off before though as instinct driven as he was Nevan was being unusually rough with her.
But . . . Nevan didn’t actually know what to do. Daemon instincts had her pinned and exposed but now he was at a loss for what to do, and how to actually feed. ”Um . . .” Nevan said as he blinked at her. Now what?