Velho
Approved Character
- Messages
- 200
- Race
- Æld'Norai
- Profession
- Ferrier
- Location
- AElheim
- Arcana
- Character Sheet
༺༉❁ december 12 year 122 of the third age ❁༉༻
<tw: light gore, light body horror, magical surgery>
<tw: light gore, light body horror, magical surgery>
Time continued to pass with increasingly minor spikes of emerald poking through the skin, poking around within. Velho, though coldly and somewhat stiltedly, continued to stave off excessive bleeding. There was something special about this one, or maybe…maybe it was the intoxicating scent of his blood. Either way, he felt himself compelled to preserve him. And, eventually, Æhti stabilized, only mageburn remaining.
The newly minted Terrari's breathing was a shallow, soft sort of wheezing; Æhti was barely conscious, barely there, but he was stable. And he could feel that stability– it was similar when he'd survived Abation. The trial…the trial was over. He was relieved, he could…he could finally relax, right? As if searching for an answer to that question, his eyes, a pale blue, flit to meet the gaze of Eyrie, then to Velho.
By now, Velho had sat down again, resting the points of his elbows on his knees and holding his head up with his hands. He could see, through Lifesight, that all was…well enough.
"Rest. We've a room for you." He spoke slowly, simply.
Eyrie smiled sweetly, "...you'll be taken care of, don't worry– you did well."
Their words were all he needed– Æhti closed his eyes, allowing himself to drift off into the coveted cocoon of sleep mere moments later.
Eyrie looked to Velho. "Have you further need of me today? His repair is more your purview…removing the minerals and such. I fear I'd ruin him more," she said with a soft laugh.
"No. If you desire to leave, you've done your part…thank you, Sindar'i," Velho answered.
"Alert me when he wakes, then– I'm as curious as you to see how fast he'll take to it," she added as she began gathering her things.
"...sure, of course…but don't build too grand expectations. He is…only human, after all," Velho replied, the word 'human' dripping with condescension.
"They may be sparks compared to our fires, but some of those sparks may burn just as hot, you know," the woman countered.
"...mhmm…I'd love to see that," Velho's answer sounded amused.
"See you soon, then, Vænir," Eyrie said with a nod of her head to Velho before opening the door.
"And you, Sindar'i," his answer, short.
The woman stepped through the threshold and the heavy wooden door clicked closed.
And now, Velho sat alone with the young initiate's unconscious body and pools of blood congealing on the floor. Alone. Nobody else. No prying eyes, ears…nothing, nobody.
Æhti's spilt blood was no longer fresh, but there it was. Somehow, for some reason, it still carried with it a metallic, sweet, intoxicating, bewitching, siren call of a scent– why? How? Blood that was a few hours old, especially that of a human, never interested him. What was different?
Still, his curiosity got the better of him. With an easy flex of his aether, Velho lifted the blood from the floor, floating it into the air, into a large, sanguine orb. For a moment, he simply stared at it, expression placid, yet contemplative all the same. He willed a tendril of it to his lips– just a taste. But that taste became a sip, then more, then…then there was none left.
Velho, immediately, felt disgusted with himself. That blood had tasted rapturously delicious, he'd not been able to stop himself, and it was several hours old blood from Fælniri stock. What was wrong with him? He shivered; repulsed, confused…yet satisfied, all the same. The temptation was there to get a fresher taste, but if he had so little self control just then…it was very possible he'd just outright take what was left, killing Æhti, defeating the point, ruining everything. No. Not yet.
The ælf frowned, but he had work to do. Repairs to make. Emerald to harvest.
The tall, spindly man stood, moving slowly over to a cart that he then dragged over to the slab. Oh, how he longed for a nurse when he did this, but…then he couldn't use his Blights. Maybe he could ask his sire if another Blighted might assist him…? A thought for another time, though, that.
Æhti had passed out, but if he awoke during surgery, that would bode ill, so as a precaution, the black oil of pathos congealed in Velho's palm– just a few drops infused with his Bane of Sopor, just enough to keep Æhti in a deep, serene slumber. The young man looked peaceful, pretty, even, as he rested– a stark contrast to the writhing agony he'd been in moments ago.
Excising the emerald growths would be simple in practice, though it would likely be a time consuming affair. He'd start with the biggest piece, that being the large spike in the boy's left shoulder. Picking up a scalpel, he began to methodically cut the flesh around the mineral growth, utilizing mostly Malediction's hemostasis tools to stave off bleeding. He'd save his own spell reserves where he could. The large chunk had apparently originated from Æhti's shoulder blade, boring through muscle and skin as it went.
The bone itself had been damaged, too, but that wouldn't be an issue. Velho opted to repair the warped bone and ravaged muscle with Vicissitude, shaping and regrowing the tissue before knitting it together once more. There…that area was good as new.
The maltrician shifted his focus to Æhti's abdomen containing a stabilized wound that looked like a split geode– it was gorgeous, he thought, but…well, it would be unwieldy to live with and the erratic growths would likely damage other tissues were the host to move around. That, and his core control would suffer greatly. It had to go. Piece by piece, Velho would pluck chunks of rock and emerald free, repairing the flesh and staving off bleeding as he worked.
And yet, the longer he did this, the more he felt his hunger. It gnawed at him again. It thrashed from within. It was cold, painful, loud.
Harvest the boy's blood.
Consume his flesh.
G n a w at his bones.
Tear. him. apart.
These urges cycled through the Devorari's head intrusively and it took an uncomfortable amount of effort to resist them– he couldn't. It'd defeat the point. It'd defeat the purpose.
It'd ruin his research.
So instead, he pushed through. Æhti's abdomen was fully repaired. Velho was tempted to leave it there, wary that he might lose himself…but he had a quality bar to adhere to. He needed to get all of the emerald out, restore the boy, good as new. Good as new. He had to.
He had to pause. His hands had been shaking. Velho stood still, he closed his eyes, took a deep breath. He had to compose himself.
And there lay Æhti on the slab, asleep, blissfully unaware of the inner battle his surgeon was desperately fighting.
Collected…enough, Velho continued. He used a combination of his varying magics and his Lifesight to detect where each little chunk of emerald was before digging back into the boy's flesh to excise it. For more complicated wounds, he'd alternate between sealing them with Reinvigoration or Vicissitude. And for sanitation, he kept everything clean with Allay. For simple wounds, he'd fix them with his maltrician's tools. Slowly, one by one, Æhti was repaired; healed.
Healed, finally, he was healed– he was done.
Velho put his tools down, then looked down at his palms. He'd kept most of the man's blood in his body during his work, but there was some on his hands. He could taste it. He wanted to, he needed to–
He did.
And it was divine.
Why. Why?
It made no sense, but yet it was true. He felt embarrassed? Almost ashamed of himself for taking such deep pleasure in the act. It made him uncomfortable, but, at least, his own curiosity and drive for answers could override that primal sort of revulsion bubbling up at himself. To Velho's knowledge, it wasn't as if Æhti was from some line of storied mages. Sure, his father was a Galsterei of some repute, but nothing legendary. Not an Apotheosi or anything so deeply profound as Æhti tasted.
For a moment, his hands balled into fists, then relaxed. It didn't matter. It was fine– he had the human, this vessel of precious blood, here. And he could keep him. He had the social power to figure out a way to justify that, and he had the time of Eyrie's promised training to find an excuse. Yes…perfect.
And so with one last, lingering look of longing at the peacefully sleeping figure, Velho would grab his cane and slowly shamble out of the room. Moving Æhti to his guest room would fall under the purview of the sveinn; Velho was far too weak to do that even if it wasn't.
After all that, too, the sickly Ferrier was exhausted and needed to seek out his own rest. Or so he justified. Part of it was that he wanted to lose consciousness in order to shake the embarrassment of his own behavior; his only solace being that nobody had bore witness to it. And arriving into his room, crawling into his bed, Velho would do exactly that.
The newly minted Terrari's breathing was a shallow, soft sort of wheezing; Æhti was barely conscious, barely there, but he was stable. And he could feel that stability– it was similar when he'd survived Abation. The trial…the trial was over. He was relieved, he could…he could finally relax, right? As if searching for an answer to that question, his eyes, a pale blue, flit to meet the gaze of Eyrie, then to Velho.
By now, Velho had sat down again, resting the points of his elbows on his knees and holding his head up with his hands. He could see, through Lifesight, that all was…well enough.
"Rest. We've a room for you." He spoke slowly, simply.
Eyrie smiled sweetly, "...you'll be taken care of, don't worry– you did well."
Their words were all he needed– Æhti closed his eyes, allowing himself to drift off into the coveted cocoon of sleep mere moments later.
Eyrie looked to Velho. "Have you further need of me today? His repair is more your purview…removing the minerals and such. I fear I'd ruin him more," she said with a soft laugh.
"No. If you desire to leave, you've done your part…thank you, Sindar'i," Velho answered.
"Alert me when he wakes, then– I'm as curious as you to see how fast he'll take to it," she added as she began gathering her things.
"...sure, of course…but don't build too grand expectations. He is…only human, after all," Velho replied, the word 'human' dripping with condescension.
"They may be sparks compared to our fires, but some of those sparks may burn just as hot, you know," the woman countered.
"...mhmm…I'd love to see that," Velho's answer sounded amused.
"See you soon, then, Vænir," Eyrie said with a nod of her head to Velho before opening the door.
"And you, Sindar'i," his answer, short.
The woman stepped through the threshold and the heavy wooden door clicked closed.
And now, Velho sat alone with the young initiate's unconscious body and pools of blood congealing on the floor. Alone. Nobody else. No prying eyes, ears…nothing, nobody.
Æhti's spilt blood was no longer fresh, but there it was. Somehow, for some reason, it still carried with it a metallic, sweet, intoxicating, bewitching, siren call of a scent– why? How? Blood that was a few hours old, especially that of a human, never interested him. What was different?
Still, his curiosity got the better of him. With an easy flex of his aether, Velho lifted the blood from the floor, floating it into the air, into a large, sanguine orb. For a moment, he simply stared at it, expression placid, yet contemplative all the same. He willed a tendril of it to his lips– just a taste. But that taste became a sip, then more, then…then there was none left.
Velho, immediately, felt disgusted with himself. That blood had tasted rapturously delicious, he'd not been able to stop himself, and it was several hours old blood from Fælniri stock. What was wrong with him? He shivered; repulsed, confused…yet satisfied, all the same. The temptation was there to get a fresher taste, but if he had so little self control just then…it was very possible he'd just outright take what was left, killing Æhti, defeating the point, ruining everything. No. Not yet.
The ælf frowned, but he had work to do. Repairs to make. Emerald to harvest.
The tall, spindly man stood, moving slowly over to a cart that he then dragged over to the slab. Oh, how he longed for a nurse when he did this, but…then he couldn't use his Blights. Maybe he could ask his sire if another Blighted might assist him…? A thought for another time, though, that.
Æhti had passed out, but if he awoke during surgery, that would bode ill, so as a precaution, the black oil of pathos congealed in Velho's palm– just a few drops infused with his Bane of Sopor, just enough to keep Æhti in a deep, serene slumber. The young man looked peaceful, pretty, even, as he rested– a stark contrast to the writhing agony he'd been in moments ago.
Excising the emerald growths would be simple in practice, though it would likely be a time consuming affair. He'd start with the biggest piece, that being the large spike in the boy's left shoulder. Picking up a scalpel, he began to methodically cut the flesh around the mineral growth, utilizing mostly Malediction's hemostasis tools to stave off bleeding. He'd save his own spell reserves where he could. The large chunk had apparently originated from Æhti's shoulder blade, boring through muscle and skin as it went.
The bone itself had been damaged, too, but that wouldn't be an issue. Velho opted to repair the warped bone and ravaged muscle with Vicissitude, shaping and regrowing the tissue before knitting it together once more. There…that area was good as new.
The maltrician shifted his focus to Æhti's abdomen containing a stabilized wound that looked like a split geode– it was gorgeous, he thought, but…well, it would be unwieldy to live with and the erratic growths would likely damage other tissues were the host to move around. That, and his core control would suffer greatly. It had to go. Piece by piece, Velho would pluck chunks of rock and emerald free, repairing the flesh and staving off bleeding as he worked.
And yet, the longer he did this, the more he felt his hunger. It gnawed at him again. It thrashed from within. It was cold, painful, loud.
Harvest the boy's blood.
Consume his flesh.
G n a w at his bones.
Tear. him. apart.
These urges cycled through the Devorari's head intrusively and it took an uncomfortable amount of effort to resist them– he couldn't. It'd defeat the point. It'd defeat the purpose.
It'd ruin his research.
So instead, he pushed through. Æhti's abdomen was fully repaired. Velho was tempted to leave it there, wary that he might lose himself…but he had a quality bar to adhere to. He needed to get all of the emerald out, restore the boy, good as new. Good as new. He had to.
He had to pause. His hands had been shaking. Velho stood still, he closed his eyes, took a deep breath. He had to compose himself.
And there lay Æhti on the slab, asleep, blissfully unaware of the inner battle his surgeon was desperately fighting.
Collected…enough, Velho continued. He used a combination of his varying magics and his Lifesight to detect where each little chunk of emerald was before digging back into the boy's flesh to excise it. For more complicated wounds, he'd alternate between sealing them with Reinvigoration or Vicissitude. And for sanitation, he kept everything clean with Allay. For simple wounds, he'd fix them with his maltrician's tools. Slowly, one by one, Æhti was repaired; healed.
Healed, finally, he was healed– he was done.
Velho put his tools down, then looked down at his palms. He'd kept most of the man's blood in his body during his work, but there was some on his hands. He could taste it. He wanted to, he needed to–
He did.
And it was divine.
Why. Why?
It made no sense, but yet it was true. He felt embarrassed? Almost ashamed of himself for taking such deep pleasure in the act. It made him uncomfortable, but, at least, his own curiosity and drive for answers could override that primal sort of revulsion bubbling up at himself. To Velho's knowledge, it wasn't as if Æhti was from some line of storied mages. Sure, his father was a Galsterei of some repute, but nothing legendary. Not an Apotheosi or anything so deeply profound as Æhti tasted.
For a moment, his hands balled into fists, then relaxed. It didn't matter. It was fine– he had the human, this vessel of precious blood, here. And he could keep him. He had the social power to figure out a way to justify that, and he had the time of Eyrie's promised training to find an excuse. Yes…perfect.
And so with one last, lingering look of longing at the peacefully sleeping figure, Velho would grab his cane and slowly shamble out of the room. Moving Æhti to his guest room would fall under the purview of the sveinn; Velho was far too weak to do that even if it wasn't.
After all that, too, the sickly Ferrier was exhausted and needed to seek out his own rest. Or so he justified. Part of it was that he wanted to lose consciousness in order to shake the embarrassment of his own behavior; his only solace being that nobody had bore witness to it. And arriving into his room, crawling into his bed, Velho would do exactly that.
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