Atharen, A Fantasy Roleplay Forum

20th Glade

Two days.

It had been two days.

His stomach had actually stopped growling after so long.

Vivian stood on the street corner, glaring at the noble house he had been watching for the better part of the morning. He had tried not to be obvious about it, circling the block and looking for unattended merchant carts. He didn't particularly want to sell himself that morning, and most of his work was in the evening. He eyed the house again. Idle hands and all that. He folded his arms over his narrow chest, suppressing the cramp in his gut. He exhaled shortly, pursing his lips and narrowing his blue eyes. He had to do something and soon. If he went after something in the market that was just asking to get caught and have his hands taken off. A house was much more risky, but it was also less public. It was right in front of him.

"Gods be damned fat nobles swilling wine and eating roast duck while I starve here on a corner..." he muttered under his breath.

Vivian was a pretty thing. His large eyes, accented with a generous helping of kohl and white mica dust over his lids, had pulled in many a client. He had a ratty coat on with a fur cowl that had kept him warm through the winter. His pants were more hole than fabric at this point, and his boots weren't much better. Winter had not been a kind mistress to him for his second season out on the streets; his hair was dirty and his generous lips were cracked. He shivered, looking to his left and right. The streets weren't too active at this time of day. It was early morning. Everyone would either be at the market or in their own homes. Their own, warm homes.

He slowly approached the house from the left. He wasn't stupid enough to just walk up to the door. He had to pray the back gardens were unattended and the kitchens were unlocked. That was one hell of a gamble. He could always say he was just cutting across the yard and run if he was caught, couldn't he? He couldn't think. His legs were already on the grass, feeling the tickle of cold morning dew seep through the holes in his shoes.

Vivian slid along the house, trying to stay out of sight of any windows. He stayed hunched over, hiding behind bushes as he circled the building. Nobles usually kept their kitchens in the back, and oh how he could smell it! Fresh bread from the morning, sausages, were those eggs he was smelling as well? His stomach cramped up at the scents and he stopped, huddling next to an ornamental dip in the wall and clutching his middle until it passed. He shakily reached the kitchen door, and took a deep breath.

Please be unlocked. Please, please be unlocked.

The door gave at his touch.

He stepped into the kitchen, his eyes darting around for any signs of life. Thankfully the servants were elsewhere. He hurried over to a cutting board and seized a loaf of bread in his fingers. Dear gods, it was still warm! His teeth tore into it greedily, barely tasting it as he shoveled mouthfuls down his throat as fast as he could. He swilled milk from a nearby jug, no doubt brought in fresh that morning with the cream neatly skimmed off. He stole strips of bacon right out of the pan, swearing under his breath at the hot grease. Down his gullet they went. He huddled the loaf to his chest, his greasy fingers pushing open the door to the pantry and shutting it behind him. Oh. Praise everything. Sausage.

Well, at least whoring meant he didn't have much of a gag reflex. He chomped down half a string of sausages and tore off a hunk from a wheel of cheese. His fingers left greasy, dirty marks on everything.

A loud sigh caught his attention, and Vivian froze in mid chew. He swallowed thickly, turning and clutching the last of the bread to his chest. He was caught, it was over. He rubbed crumbs and grease away with the heel of his hand, which really only succeeded in making a large dirt streak across his cheek. A woman was approaching him, and his mind began to race. Did he throw the bread at her head and run? No, that would be defeating the purpose of why he'd broken into the house in the first place. Did he try and attack her? No, that was an even worse idea. His stomach was churning with the amount of food he'd packed into it, and while he sported the sort of wiry muscle that most street urchins did he didn't stand half a chance against a well-fed noble. Especially one that showed absolutely no fear of him.

So, he was caught but not allowed to leave. Instead, she was bringing him to the master of the house. No doubt because she feared getting stripes across her back for the nightmarish mess in the kitchen and pantry. It looked like a wild animal had broken in. As they walked, Vivian stuffed the last of the bread in his mouth as fast as he could. It was safer in his stomach than it was in his fingers. He sucked the last of the grease off his fingers as they walked, his eyes not leaving her. If she was going to whip around and beat him for getting crumbs on the floor he was going to take whatever quick exit he could...even if his stomach was warning him against it.

Instead, he was put in a study. A study she locked. Panick rose in his throat as he heard her footsteps padding away.

Vivian hated being trapped. No windows. Gods, what did he do? Arm himself? No, that was asking for a fight. A fight he couldn't win. He had to pick the lock. He scrambled around the study, pulling open drawers and pawing through them. Papers, useless fucking papers. Books, those were useless. A letter opener...no, that was too big to jimmy a lock properly. Why was his lockpick set with his things? He swore under his breath and sat down insolently on the desk, folding his arms across his chest.

"Well, that settles it. You're going to swing tomorrow, stupid." he muttered to himself. "Should've just eaten the god damn mule and been done with it."

He waited. And waited. He sat in the chair behind the desk and leaned back in the leather, sighing. When the study opened again, he sat bolt upright. Oh no. He did not like whatever was coming at him. His eyes widened and he scrambled back in the chair, seeming to forget he was sitting in it. There was a horrific thread of something seething through the air at him! He pawed at it like a cat, trying to slap it away, and grabbed at the back of his neck. This was it. He was going to die. His heart was pounding in his chest like a rabbit.

Bored? Cruel? Oh gods have mercy he was not here to be some sadistic nobles' toy. He'd heard stories of whores who were lured into noble houses only to wind up half-skinned and dumped in alleyways! He launched over the desk and threw a book at the noble in a moment of sheer panic, attempting to get to the door and throw himself through it before the other got out of his chair. He was not going to die like this! He was too fucking pretty to die like this! He scrambled through the doorway with all the agility of a drunk polecat, half lurching half running into the hallway.

Vivian felt the hand strike his shoulder, and a dizzying sense of exhaustion crawled over his body. It was like every sleepless night, every hangover, every bit of starvation whipped right back into his body. He crumpled to the floor with a gasp. He could barely breathe, sucking in shallow air as the other man approached. It was his touch. The other’s touch had sucked his strength away! He couldn’t move to hit or bite as the other wrapped his arms about him and lifted him up.

They were headed back to the study, he noticed. Back into that windowless room. The door shut with a clicking lock and Vivian made a small whine of dismay. He was dead wasn’t he? He was going to die here. He tried to fight the horrible feeling of exhaustion leeching in his bones. He was set on his back on the floor, and the other man crawled on top of him, staring down at him.

How could he ask that question? Why shouldn’t he kill him? Vivian tried to speak, to at least fling one last insult in his killer’s face, but only another angry whine burbled in his throat. The more he fought the more tired he was. He could barely keep his eyes open. The other man seemed to be examining him…cold fear washed over him as his coat was yanked off.

Oh gods no.

He’d been raped before. Usually when he was drunk or when someone overpowered him and took it for free. This one had laughed at his terror, now was stripping him and turning him on his stomach. Answered his question?! No, he was never going to get the chance to spread his legs if Vivian had anything to say about it.

Being so close to the floor and on his stomach recalled another creature, and he summoned up her form in his mind. Lithe strong limbs covered in mahogany armor. Powerful fangs, large eyes, delicate feet. He felt the touches between his shoulders and down his back. Soon those horrible fingers would go lower, exploring his prize. Vivian barely heard what he wanted. Mark? A mage mark? The tattoo between his shoulders? This man wanted his power!

He sure as shit wasn’t getting it!

Vivian cried out in agony the moment the exhaustion lifted from him. His skin darkened to a deep bay shade and split like a ripe fruit in the sun, hardening. His eyeballs bulged free and traveled up his forehead, his nose vanishing and his teeth melding into a horrific set of fangs. His fingers melted together into claws that gripped the carpet under him, his legs spreading wide and his knees turning backward into jointed insect limbs. Ribs shattered and burst through his sides to become additional limbs, and his screams vanished as his lungs dissolved.

Then he was shrinking. Down, down, impossibly far and sinking into a nest of wild fibers that was the carpet under them. He seized them in his claws and burrowed deep, shoving aside boulder-sized grains of dried mud from his coat. He looked up at the behemoth lording over the carpet, the god, the Titan that was several thousand times his size now.

He gathered his legs under him and leapt for the door. Fleas could leap the equivalent of horse paddocks with those strong back legs. He could be under the door and crawl toward a window! He just had to get away from the maniac who had stripped him half naked! He wanted to steal his magic, this beautiful gift that had him sailing through the air with impossible leaps. He made for the door, a mammoth wall of rough grain texture. The gap between the door and the floor might as well have been a tree canopy at this size.

He was going to be free!

That was, unless this mage had the brains to put a glass on top of him or something.

How many tricks did this monster have up a sleeve?! He thought he was just going to be able to hop away, get out of the room, leap onto a windowsill and transform back once he’d gotten to the relative safety of an alleyway. Maybe take a dog or horse back to a better part of town. Instead glittery hell descended down upon him.

He had to admit it was rather pretty, and not harmful. He just couldn’t move. He turned to look at the behemoth as he spoke. He calmed himself enough to listen. So this wasn’t harmful. He could still breathe and think, thank the gods. There was none of that all consuming exhaustion. He was clearly outclassed as a mage; he had little choice but to listen.

Vivian thought over his options. So the man was hungry for his mark. Vivian didn’t know how to give the mark much less what it meant, but the man didn’t know that now did he? He was clearly desperate enough to kidnap him for his mark, so it couldn’t have been as simple as putting out an ad and purchasing one from Malformation mages. That meant it meant so much more than cash. That meant he could get so much more.

He let go of the form. His form bulged and flexed, stretching the translucent skin between the armor. The flea’s flesh bulged out, spilling over the exoskeleton and submerging the whitening bones back into flesh and muscle. His scalp spread flesh over his skull, the teeth shortening and becoming human.

Vivian sat naked on the carpet, having jumped right out of his pants. He crossed his legs to satisfy dignity, tossed his head of hair, and lifted his chin.

“I want to know what you do. Coin goes away and food only lasts a day, but power like yours lasts a lifetime. Teach me more about magic…things like that. And I’ll teach you what I do.” He said, feeling more brave than he was at the moment. He wasn’t going to throw this opportunity away.

Vivian could feel a headache beginning at the base of his skull. He’d popped in and out of the form far too quickly. He was still getting the hang of his powers, and had rarely seen the need to go so far. Usually just the leaping powers of the flea were enough, or some of her armor. Full transformations needed to be given more respect, clearly, and his body was punishing him for it.

“It’s not about a desire to be in your presence. You’re an incredibly attractive creature but you’ve got all the gentility of a starving dog. You? You’ve killed. Dozens, hundreds, maybe thousands of people without a second thought. But I’ve got something you want and that keeps me safe, and I’d be a fucking idiot if I didn’t use it to get a bath and a decent bed.” He said plainly.

Vivian was under no illusions. This man would kill him the second he ceased to be useful. “Mine isn’t something you can do without passion…” he said carefully. “…so first lesson is to be more emotional not less. As long as those emotions don’t come in the form of tearing my head off.”

The Malformist rose and bent down to pick up his pants, making sure the other got a good look. After all, his rear was one of his best features. A little narrow right now ti be sure but still shapely. “Besides, I can be useful in so many other ways than magic.” He smiled coquettishly over one shoulder as he pulled his pants up his hips. “As for everything being documented…I’m not. This happened to me. I never asked for it.”

Vivian had been forced into it, really. He still remembered laying in bed, slathered in sweat while feathers poked through his skin or his vision went mad being split into a thousand frames. It still felt like some evil fever dream, and the man who had done it had just…left him there to survive or die on his own.