Pygmalion lay sleeping in a cot in the infirmary of the Scalvoris University. He'd been visited by several doctors over the past few days, some of them even claimed to be magi. Although when pressed for details about his own magic, Pygmalion resisted. He refused to speak common, and would only speak Vahanic. Eventually, an interpreter was needed in order to translate for the resting mage.
He was in his biqaj form, that of a middle aged man of little under fifty arcs. His eyes were pearly white, yet could see perfectly fine. At first they thought him blind or cataracted. But he assured them through some simple tests that he was fully capable of seeing. He wore a simple robe of brown wool, with sandals on his feet. It was appropriate attire, it would seem, to one who was condemned to linger in a medical facility.
When the mages and doctors resident at the school couldn't make heads or tails of Pygmalion, they decided one who claimed to have special knowledge was needed. Thus, they summoned Devin Thorn.
Pygmalion's left arm had completely lost its bone structure. In its place, a cartilaginous structure had taken the place of the bones and joints. It became fully flexible, able to curl back on itself completely. His fingers had been replaced by small tentacles, that could stretch and flex, and had suckers on the insides of the fingers. Yet most alarming of all the changes, a many-toothed maw had taken form at the palm of his hand. The function of this appendage was not yet ascertained, and Pygmalion found himself entirely unwilling to discuss it with the 'Ignoramuses' of the University, who knew nothing of the wonders of magic, and sought to treat it as a disease.
Thus when Devin was brought in, followed by a Vahanic interpreter, Pygmalion was crossing his ordinary arm over his altered arm in a closed gesture. His eyes reluctantly tracked to the new arrival, and recognition dawned on his face. A familiar person here in Scalvoris! Well this was interesting.
Without even thinking, he echoed the scent of the Dubaebo. There, it remembered... indignity of being put to sleep, ambushed outside its den, and its flesh absconded with. Flesh that resided on the fingernails of that one. Pygmalion's lips curled back in a sort of snarl as he remembered, almost involuntarily the Dubaebo's helplessness.
Yet, he did not feel any animosity toward Devin himself. He was in fact, glad to see him! He wanted to see how his grafting work had held up...
"Devin!" Pygmalion said, and followed up in Vahanic. "How are your claws holding up! Did they fall off yet?"
Looking uncertainly from the patient, to Devin, the interpreter quirked a brow and then repeated the words that Pygmalion had said to the doctor. Thus given the translation, they awaited Devin's reaction. Silently, the interpreter whispered to Devin, "Do you know this one?"
