66th Ashan 720 12th break
He didn’t catch what one of his hosts said to the other. Although he heard it clearly, it was said in the guttural and obscure tongue of common. The old man was more set in his ways than Rakvald had been, and yet despite his general curiosity when it came to people, he had no interest in furthering his knowledge of the language.
He spoke in Vahanic, supplemented by body language and common gestures that would help make himself understood. Perhaps in time Vahanic would catch on. Or not, it made little matter to Pygmalion.
He found himself hosted by a couple of woodsmen, a human man and a biqaj woman. He took it they were either mates if not married, and so modified his behavior appropriately, staring at the woman with his slit-pupils only sparingly. Enough to acknowledge interest, yet giving enough deference to assure her mate that he had no designs upon her.
A bowl of hot scallop stew was placed in front of him, seasoned with salt, pepper, and lemon. Besides that, a tankard of coffee with a splash of whiskey in it. He took these gratefully, first sampling a piece of scallop, examining it between his forefinger and thumb like he’d never seen such a morsel before. Then, unceremoniously popping it into his mouth.
The two spoke to each other, continuing in the common tongue. He only caught snatches of conversation, but could tell it was angled toward the strange man that now dwelt in their hovel, sharing their food.
Pygmalion didn’t take long before he finished the stew by tipping it over his head, drinking it down. Then, he turned toward the spiked coffee, and drank that down without much pause. The two looked on him with surprise. Whether that surprise be resulting from his prodigious appetite or simply trying to make sense of this strange foreigner that had landed in their little hamlet, unknown to any.
“What?” Pygmalion asked them in Vahanic, making sure to emote enough so that hey might take his sentiment, “I’m hungry!” He rubbed his belly to make the word known to them. “Hungry!”
The woman gave him a sour look, and stood to leave the table. Pygmalion merely shrugged, and then fixed his slit-pupil eyes on the man.
He began asking him questions. Although Pygmalion couldn’t make out much of them, he took their meaning well enough. They wanted to know where his home was, where he’d come from, and perhaps most important, why he was here. Pygmalion had few answers that would suffice to these questions. He knew, well last he remembered he was seeking out his farm in Quacia. More had happened in the intervening moments, as evidenced by certain gaps in the season. It had been chilly when he descended upon his old farm, and now it was warm and balmy. While it was possible he’d simply been transported to a jungle biome, it was become increasing beleivable that a few seasons had passed, and that his memory of the passage of those seasons had eluded him.
Finally, he heard a word that he did know from the man, although it was preceded by a string of nonsense, “…Scalvoris?”
Rakvald fixed him in his horizontal stare, and nodded, responding once more in his native Vahanic, “Aye, I know Scalvoris. Is that where we are?”
Intriguing. Perhaps fate had brought him back for a reason, and if he was in Scalvoris, a return to Quacia wouldn’t be at all complicated or difficult. Just a hop skip and a flutterbus away from Desnind and then through the badlands into Quacian territory.
The man stalled in his response, not knowing Vahanic, but then nodded intuiting that Pygmalion was asking if Scalvoris is where they were.
Pygmalion grunted, as he finished the last of his spiked coffee. He slammed it down on the table, and stood from his seat. As he did so, the human man stood from his own place and looked at Pygmalion, confused.
“I must learn my bearings around… Scalvoris.” Pygmalion muttered, isolating the word Scalvoris. He walked up to a nearby map that was hanging from the wall, as a decoration. He looked at it a few moments, recognizing the common script but barely understanding it. Yet he could recognize the position of Scalvoristown on the map. And beside it, a marker with the word “Beacon” written on it. That must be where he was.
He searched the map for features, to the west, where there was a deep Jungle, and he pointed toward it. Finally deigning to speak in Common, he spoke over his shoulder at the man as he pointed at the place on the map. “Here, this where Pygmalion need go.”
The feature was labeled, Scaltoth Jungle.
The man looked at Pygmalion with some concern, his eyes out of focus like he was witnessing a man possessed. "Who are you, Pygmalion?"
Pygmalion looked at the map for a moment, and then turned toward the man, quirking a brow. "I'm Pygmalion." The old man said, as if that would suffice. Of course it didn't, and that probably compounded the other man's growing suspicion that the mage was indeed a madman.
Very sudden, a pain lanced through the left arm of the mage. Like a knife dragging its way beneath his flesh and deboning him. He felt it down to his very nerves, his bones. Even so, he managed only a gasp before collapsing to the ground, clutching at his left arm. His flattened nose flared as his goat's eyes wildly flitted about.
"Don't worry Pygmalion, we will take you to this place..." The man said, letting his words trail off. But before the old man could acknowledge his promise, he slipped into unconsciousness.
When he awoke, it was much later. Pygmalion could tell, though his senses had often failed him of late. He was strapped to a table, presumably for his own protection. Still trapped in the form of that old man whose form he stole, the mage swung his gaze around the room, searching for any signs of treachery. Was he in a hospital or examination of some kind?! What was this?
Presently, the grafter was approached by a stately-looking man. He looked over the old man's body, and shook his head. "Apologies for the bindings good sir. They were necessary, for your own protection."
Pygmalion growled, straining against the bonds. As strong as he was for an old man, he could not break those bonds. The materials were too well made. Yet he made a valiant effort of it.
"You appear to have some rather prominent mutations... are you a mage?"
Pygmalion looked to his left arm, remembering the pain that had preceded this timeslip. To his horror, he beheld an appendage without bones, blackened by what appeared to be rot yet not smelling of it. The red swine's eye still bulged from the black dermis of his mutated arm. The arm itself was lengthier than he remembered, probably due to the loss of bone. Yet he found himself capable of articulate movement of the tentacle arm. At the very end of the arm, finger-like appendages were there, and they responded to his brains command that they move. Yet when he turned it upward, to face palm toward his face, he saw a toothed maw staring at him from the palm, with suckers on the insides of the fingers surrounding that 'palm'.
Pygmalion inhaled sharply through his nostrils, trying to calm himself. He had the discipline to come to terms with this mutation, as drastic as it was. Hell, he was almost proud of the change. Did this mean he'd reached a form of apotheosis? Was he now a master, like his old friend and surrogate father Tobol?
"Yes, I mage." Said Pygmalion in common, to the doctor.
The man looked over him cautiously for a few moments, before approaching, and gripping the leather straps that held him bound to the cot. "Very well. We heard you were a part of this group of amnesiacs brought here through some anomaly. We'd like to hold you for observation... Just a few days and no longer. Then you will be free to go, so long as we're certain you're not a danger to the populace.
"Hmmm.." Pygmalion hummed thoughtfully, then nodded up at the doctor.
"I feel you will find this to be a great learning opportunity for all involved. I wanted to ask if you would come and visit my class sometime, and see what we can teach each other. A flesh mage could have some great insights into the workings of the body... And my students are very talented. I'm sure there's much you can learn from them as well."
Pygmalion nodded slowly, then rose as the doctor loosened the restraints. Within a few moments, Rakvald was freed, and allowed to relax for once since his arrival. "We'll make sure you're comfortable. In the meantime, welcome to the Scalvoris campus."
