19th of Searing, 4622
Vivian was outside, enjoying the sunlight. He was finally getting a day of peace from the mageblight raging in his veins. His stomach was calm enough to take some very weak iced tea, and he stole one of the household's umbrellas to go sit out on the lawn with his book. He propped the umbrella up on the stones, wishing he had a cuter parasol. Something yellow with gay little white lace for the season. Gods, he was getting so fancy now that he was used to a nice house. He smirked to himself, laying out a spare towel of Degare's on the grass. It pleased him to muss up the man's belongings like this. Every little scuff and grass stain was a thumb of his nose toward his former master, who he was finding a dislike of growing. Degare had been selfish, and cruel, and evil. He hoped wherever the man was he hadn't taken Arkash down with him....even though those chances were few and far between. Vivian shook his head and looked at the two books he had brought with him on the lawn; Necromancy and the second tome on Malformity. Necromancy was still a tough one for him to crack. He always thought about Arkash when he picked it up and it hurt him.
So he reached for the tome on Malformity, and laid it in his lap. Next to him his glass tinkled as the ice inside began to melt a bit, and he sighed. He leaned into the heat of the day, craning his head back and closing his eyes. He could hear the buzzing of insects, chief among them the wasps he'd let loose into the garden. The things were as large as craneflies, with blazing red and yellow saddles on their black bodies. Harmless to humans, and devastating to the caterpillars who gnawed on the Socorro house roses. Vivian held out a hand for one of the lazily buzzing insects, and felt the wasp alight on his wrist. The animal flicked her wings, settling onto his skin to enjoy the shade of his umbrella. Vivian reached out with his other hand and swept up a little droplet of condensation from his tea glass, dropping it onto his skin a few centimeters away from the wasp. She crawled forward and licked it up from his skin greedily. Vivian smiled at her tolerantly and gently shooed her away with a little blow of air from his lips.
"Off you go, find some of those nasty hornworms." He told her with a grin. He would be sad to leave this lovely little population of wasps when he finally had to let go of them. Vivian laid on his back on the lawn, and closed his eyes. The sun warmed his skin, and the buzz of insects lulled him to sleep. It was too hot to work Bara, or to do much other than lay about in the sun. The mule was drinking out of the fountain, his de-facto watering hole, and leaning against the tomato posts in the garden to rub the flies away. Vivian had attempted to keep the flies off the mule with a little lemon oil stolen from the kitchen, but that had just annoyed the mule more than anything. Vivian didn't begrudge the flies their salt. They loved the taste of sweat and would eagerly buzz around the maid while she hung up laundry, waiting to lick it from her brow. Anyone who annoyed the taciturn maid was more of an ally to Vivian.
The prostitute laid a hand on his book, running his fingers over the cover. Such a precious thing. He had promised to study Malformity as much as he could, and he had indeed studied a lot. Now he was reaching the apex of his research; the Master abilities. The last stage of growth before he submitted himself to the god and asked to ascend beyond a mere man. Asking Azunath for a blessing was no light feat. He had to prove he knew his magic inside and out. He had to prepare the ritual carefully, and ask in a respectful and loving manner. In all things he had to be empathic. Malformity must serve the user, but Vivian also had to serve the magic. Mastery felt like stepping over the threshold of a door. It felt like something that Degare had been hovering, waiting for him to do. It felt like he was finally becoming his own mage. Vivian nervously ran his fingers over the leather binding, closing his eyes again. Why did he feel like the man would pop up out of the woodwork if he heard Vivian had become a Master on his own, and demand his mark? He shuddered, remembering the feeling of the carpet under his cheek as Degare pinned him down and ripped the clothing from his back...almost as if he had smelled the magic.
Vivian shuddered. No. Degare was dead. He wasn't going to pop out of the dirt and slam him to the floor again. Vivian could see it now. That older, handsome face hovering above his own with blazing red eyes. Those eyes shining in greed, an evil smile spreading across his lips and his teeth bared. Those greedy fingers stripping at his clothing. "Where is it, Vivian? You're a master now, aren't you? Where is your mark....give it to me." He heard the growl in his ears, the smell of the man's cologne and the faint scent of blood that had followed him everywhere. Degare had been one of those rare mages, a Blood Mage. Vivian had once wanted that magic; he'd wanted to understand the very depths of what it took to be a mage. He'd wanted that mark, in return for his. In return for a piece of his soul, of selling Azunath's gift, he would have once burned his own to ashes and quenched it in blood. After all...wasn't power what he wanted? He heard the hiss in his ear, mocking, sensuous. Vivian's eyes snapped open and he sat up.
The garden was empty except for the gardener swearing at Bara. The insects buzzed. He was laying on Degare's fluffy towels with the umbrella shading him and his iced tea slowly melting in the heat. Vivian rubbed at his eyes, groaning. "You're dead." he whispered. "It's just me in here. Just me. Not you, and I am not you. I don't sell people up river to get more power. I don't bend the world to suit me. I bend around it. I seek to understand the world and those who are unwanted and discarded. I don't want to kill people. I don't want to hurt anyone." Repeating the mantra seemed to help banish the ghosts, and the feeling and smell of the man around him. When he dropped his hands, the garden around him was peaceful again.
He opened the book. Scale was the first of the two skills a master of Malformity would learn to use. It was as simple as taking something small and making it large, or taking something big and making it small. A bear's claws could become as large as a katar's sweeping strikes, or a beetle's wings could be made larger to bear the mage in flight. Scale was one of the most useful things a man could master. It described gigantic snakes with coils of hundreds of feet whereas the humble template only had five or six feet to its name. Gigantic war horses could roam the land, crushing men under hooves the size of serving platters. Vivian smiled. He viewed it more as a defensive thing. He could see a humble rolly polly bug, a humble crustacean of the garden, become as big as a house. It could shelter people from natural disasters under its soft belly, protected by the thick scales. He could make the mightiness of the insect become large enough to deal damage, or strong enough to help.
After all, a spider's silk was supposed to be one of the strongest things a man could use. Textiles, arduously made from its lengths by artisans, were shimmering gold garments that were stronger than steel. What if he became a spider large enough to wrap an entire army, or put down a bandit camp without so much as firing an arrow? Vivian smiled at the words. While the skill seemed very combat based, he wanted to use the strength of the mule to plough a field for a humble farmer, or help rebuild a city. Maybe his templates would help him build a home of his own one day.
The other skill needed was Amalgam. Instead of laying vulnerable while his biology rearranged into the shape he needed, it would shift quickly, seamlessly, as though his own form was just another template. He could add and take away features in mid-transformation, creating eldritch horrors as mashed up versions of the templates he knew. However, it wore down the mage that used it. If Vivian transferred to Bara's template and added more and more onto it, it would rise and then decay as fast as he could create it. It was meant to be used quickly, over short bursts, and could easily lead to the overstepping of the mage who used it. Vivian frowned; he didn't like that one as much. Of course, it would serve one well in combat, but Vivian wasn't a warrior. He didn't need to transform that quickly or that often. He sighed, and shut the book. It was easy to see why Degare wanted such a thing.
The man was practically an eldritch horror on his own without the Malformity.
