• Mature • [Foster's Landing] Vestigial, Singular, Individual. (Graded)

[Rakvald]

8th of Saun 721

"Ahh, the swampy freshness of the Western Continent. This is what it means to truly embrace the essence of the wilds." Rakvald remarked to Ash-Flaw as he set foot on the soil of Foster's Landing. They'd arrived some days out of Rharne. It was a good trip, all told. Rakvald didn't need to work for passage. However, wanting to save some nels in the going and wanting to keep the crew healthy for their voyage over was a priority. There fore, he'd worked as a medic aboard the transport galley, patching men up of their hurts, and even growing a missing finger or two for the men.

Ash-Flaw said nothing, but stepped in close to Rakvald's lead. He had enjoyed his time in Rharne, but respected Rakvald's dominance, and the gifts he had to offer his followers. Rakvald's cheesy rhetoric aside, he commanded respect by virtue of the gifts he had to offer as a grafter. One of which was evident on the ribs of Ash-Flaw, a set of mer gills that allowed him to breathe both the air and underwater. Rakvald led him along the way, past the piers that received the ship they'd arrived on, and past the customs agent, after giving him a cursory introduction and slightly excessive 'forgetful tax' in order to prompt him to keep quiet about the strange mage passing through. Rakvald had no idea if they would actually honor his secrecy, but it was worth it to expedite their passage from the harbour with as few questions as possible.

Rakvald had his one wing tucked into his shoulder, but even so it was clearly evident to anyone who saw him. The combination wing, of membranous bat-like wing flesh and feathers covering it throughout, made him stand out in more ways than one. Not everyone had seen an Ithecal with wings before, and so it went to pass that someone would find out about the odd, freakish Ithecal arriving on their shores. Rakvald didn't know what this meant, being somewhat green to Etzos, but was sure he'd find out quickly what the city state thought about magi of his stripe.

He ventured out beyond the road, following the river more or less, with Ash-Flaw trailing quietly behind him. Before long, they'd arrive at Etzos itself. But before then, Rakvald had one other thing on his agenda...



Breaks later, they were making a rough camp off the beaten path. There was no fire, they couldn't afford to attract the attention of either bandits or rogues or pirates. And they were far enough from the river that they'd be able to evade notice, or so Rakvald presumed. In time, they had quiet enough that Rakvald could begin his work. He'd walked with the one wing for a while now, and was confident of its full functionality. It swept through the air, cutting at it, and at times putting him off balance. Time to correct that. He would form another wing, while Ash-Flaw watched his back for him. It was to take his full attention and concentration, and he could brook no distractions, lest the grafting go awry.

He began by framing mentally the construction and composition of the left wing, the first that he'd produced. The way the veins pulsed through them, the blood vessels, the limbs, membrane, and feathers. All of it would need careful duplication if his designs were to be satisfied. So he sat down, his tail curled around his legs, and he concentrated.

[Rakvald]

Growing flesh from scrap, with no more than a passing reference or a living copy to emulate, wasn't quite as simple as grafting ready-grown flesh to the mage's subject's body. It was even more difficult when one considered that the mage's subject was himself, with only a spying eye to keep abreast of the changes as they were underway. He was grafting blind, a copied wing out of his back. Although his arcane sense was adequate, he did not know what the end result of his experimental expansion of this particular body's abilities would entail. Would he be left with a pair of flightless, useless wings? Would he need to hollow out his bones like those of the avriel in order to effectuate proper flight? He knew well enough he would not fly as well as an avriel, ever. For one thing, as he understood it having lived with them for a short time, their eyes could perceive air currents. This no doubt was a great aid to their ability to sail on the winds. Something that Rakvald would lack.

Yet, this was not the time for doubts. He'd already made up his mind to finish what he started in Scalvoris' wilds. To take one wing, then transpose it inversely to the other hemisphere of his torso. As he went along with it, the pain was excruciating. He could have numbed it, to an extent, but wished to endure the pain in order that the nerves that formed would be strong and viable. If he'd taken that damned Sohr Khal's wings for himself, he might've simply activated the nerves, upon filling the flesh with ether and then simply placing its wings on his back. But the Elements kept a tight guard on their animals. Blast them.

He already had one wing that appeared functional. However, one wing lifts and supports another, and assymetrical flight was not yet a known reality to Rakvald, so it stood to reason he needed a copy of it. A perfect mirror. As such, in his mind's eye he planned the imprint and diagram of the one left wing, and then reversed it's symmetrical pattern to that of a perfect mirror copy. It was a new method of doing grafting, to ensure symmetry. Normally Rakvald wasn't concerned with making his grafting experiments visually appealing, but in this case, symmetry was essential to the function, and therefore he had to adhere to it.

Even so, the process here was far more complex and taxing. And yet, he had power enough to do it. He might end up overstepping into the bargain but.. the glorious wings would make it all worth it. So he began exploring the flesh and enervations of his left wing, tracing along its lines of nerves, muscles, leathery membranes, and the feathers at the ends of the wings. Then, once he had a reasonably clear mental picture and map of that flesh, he began growing the other.

It erupted with a bloody gout of bone and grisle from behind his right shoulderblade. He bit down on a leather strap that he had on hand for just that purpose, screaming his pain in mute abandon into that piece of hide. The wing continued, it would not stop now that he'd mapped out it's growth. And to do so would tempt fate, or else cause him grave injury. He calmed himself with expert discipline, and continued. Slowly, membranous scales and leathery hide began stretching over the wing, forming a membrane from the tip to the limb of the wing. As it stretched outward, still dripping blood, he felt its nerves on fire. He let another howl loose into the leather strap, as the wings continued to grow, to expand, to form a working facsimile of the Sohr Khal.

Ash-Flaw merely stood by, amazed. Although he'd seen his brother perform miracles before, this was quite unlike those, and far more dramatic. He only paid loose attention to Rakvald, however, as he kept an eye out for any intruders upon their hiding place.

[Rakvald]

While Ashflaw watched his back, Rakvald began the delicate process of activating and awakening those nerves which had not yet been enervated through the process of their creation. While, yes, there were nerves to the limb he'd just grown so rapidly, the nerves were raw and hadn't had time to awaken or proliferate throughout his flesh. He'd need to give them life, similarly to how he'd given the limb life. In addition to that, he'd have to make certain that the nerve system was a perfect mirror image to the left-wing. So that they would perfectly complement each other. He began applying the mental template of the wing he'd memorized, and then with carefl precision over a break, with all the knowledge of the body that a dual mage becomer and grafter, he began to apply it.

The pain was quite terrible and terrifying. He felt every inch of the newly grown wing revolt with agony. He almost was tempted to try and tamp down the pain, by sapping the enervation that had caused it, yet he would not. The pain was as much a vital sense as any other. He would not risk killing the flesh before it had a chance to assume its rightful shape.

Another break, another without food or drink, and Rakvald found he was thirsting. Ash-flaw noticed his weakness and offered a wineskin, which Rakvald gratefully drank. Perhaps some of the alcohol would dull the pain, even if he was unwilling to do so through ether infusion.

Yet, with tentative motions, he began to flap his wings. And though the right-wing was agonized for the moment, and nearly debilitated by its chaffing from the newly grown tissues and feathers, he was able to catch some wind with both wings. He didn't have true flight, that might come later, but for now, he had a set of fairly powerful and sturdy wings. He'd done the largest part of the addition. Next, would come the time for narrowing down and reductive engineering of his newly sculpted form.

[Jackalope]

Experience: +10 xp

Knowledge:

Skill:

[*]Endurance: Enduring the pain of growing a new limb, without anesthesia of any kind.
[*]Grafting: Corruption: Forming a mental imprint of a body part.
[*]Grafting: Energizing: Forming a mirror copy of a memorized body part/organ, in order to achieve symmetry.
[*]Grafting: Corruption: Finding a way to grant flight to an otherwise flightless species.
[*]Medicine: Nerves can be quite raw when they're newly formed, and not medicated for anesthesia.
[*]Medicine: Pain is an essential vital sense, in order to aid in diagnosis and other matters.

Skillplay: Appropriate to level

Loot: Rakvald gives his Ithecal form the right wing of a pair of wings. Limited flight ability while in his ithecal form (with 0 Skill he'll need to learn and improve)
Injuries/Overstepping:
Injury: Extreme soreness. Rakvald will be exhausted for the rest of the trial, and very sore (like he’d worked out too hard at the gym) for at least three trials after that. It will be uncomfortable even flexing the wing, let alone flapping it, so he won’t be able to even try flying during this period.
Overstepping (Moderate?): Resource Hog. The new wing, in trying to achieve full vitality, continues to draw an inordinate amount of energy from Rakvald’s body. For the next ten trials, the Grafter will find himself constantly hungry and with reduced stamina and energy. Even after the soreness abates (see above), Rakvald will find himself able to engage only in relatively light exercise, limiting his ability to practice flying during this period. By the end of the ten trials, the wing will have achieved sufficient balance with the rest of his body that this no longer bothers him.
Renown: None.
Wealth Points: None.
Collaboration: No
Magic Experience?: Yes, full xp.

Comments:

“While Ash-Flaw watched his back…” I see what you did there. .

You do a good job of acknowledging in-character how disturbing and strange grafting is, thus the need for Rakvald to do all this away from prying eyes. I would not have minded, however, seeing a stronger reaction from Ash-Flaw. You mention that this is far more dramatic a transformation than he has seen Rakvald undertake before, yet he seems to take it in stride pretty easily.

Do you have a current thread list for Rakvald? I didn’t find one in the CS. If not, please fix that.

In the meantime, enjoy your rewards!