Mage: For Sale or Rent

Kellen's clothes were tattered mockeries, tights with the crotch so ripped that they were little more than stockings, and his tunic, most of it torn away, barely covering his nipples and exposing his bare torso, where dark marks shone in the firelight, contrasting starkly against his skin, pale echoes of where the tentacles had pulled at him, coalescing in what, from a distance, could be seen as a strange tattoo above his crotch, two curving horns that intertwined, a mockery of a heart. There were other changes too, his skin felt a thousand times as sensitive, the brush of fabric against his nipples sent shivers down his spine, and felt he could count every speck of dirt in the stone that pressed against his cheek. It felt like he could melt into the floor, his body light and malleable and utterly, completely relaxed.

"Poor little mindless thing." Magister Shan muttered, a cold breeze raised goosebumps on Kellen's skin as they opened the door. The Magister had picked up their robe from the desk where it had been discarded earlier in their festivities, and Kellen sighed as the Magister slipped it on, covering their tattooed flesh, still dappled with perspiration and desire. Stone colored eyes peered at him owlishly over their spectacles, and he could swear that the corner of their mouth twitched into a wry smile. "I'll let you gather yourself together. I'll find you again, when you master the blessings that have been given to you."

"W-wait." Kellen tried to speak, but it came out as little more than mewling sounds, his hand reaching towards the door that closed behind them. But there was no force behind it, his will was sapped, his body used and drained, he fell back to the stone floor, limp and exhausted as darkness closed in on him.

The chattering of birds woke Kellen, and he gasped, peeling himself slowly from the sticky mess of a floor that he had made, his body streaked with dried sex. The room still smelled of desire and lust, but it had changed. The grand bookcases were dusty and empty, the ornate wooden desk ramshackle and ancient, and he couldn't help but be amazed that it had held the Magister's weight last night. Only the circle remained like his memory insisted, and even in the dim halflight he could see that it was smeared and wiped away in places.

There were voices outside, people going about their business on market day, and Kellen glanced down at his torn and tattered outfit. He needed more light, but all the candles had burned out long ago, leaving only a thin beam of sun from where the door didn't seal quite correctly. He started to contemplate fumbling about for one of the candles when a surge of power pulsed within him, like a sudden breath of cold air filling empty lungs, and licking flames emerged from the palm of his hand. There was a moment of panic, but they did not burn, and the flames retracted, eager, willing, a shadow of his own eagerness to please.

Kellen laughed, a dry dusty thing, his throat still raw and used, and with a single gesture that encompassed the room, willed the little licking flame to spread into a circle of dancing lights, turning darkness into day as he beheld himself. The tights were ripped and shredded, now more stockings than anything else, and he tore away the useless broken crotch. He could get more, but for now it certainly didn't conceal anything. His tunic was similarly shredded, and he willed a little bit of power to trim away at the broken garment until what remained came down to his ribcage. His cloak had fared a little better, the bottom tattered and torn. With a flick of his wrist the flames snipped it neatly through the middle; it would be a short cape at best now, revealing as much as it concealed.

It felt wrong to conceal the gift of the Elder One anyways, the curving tattoo-like mark just below Kellen's belly button, and the strange dark streaks spreading from it. No, he wrapped the snipped off part of his cloak around his waist, fastening it with the torn remains he had ripped from his tights, forming a short skirt. There was a bit of broken mirror on one of the crumbling bookshelves, and he willed his power to bring it to him. Like an eager puppy it fetched the bit of glass and left it floating in the air so that he could behold himself.

It was a bold look, one he would never have attempted before, but he had been touched by divinity, an empty vessel filled, even as the great vastness simply turned in its slumber. Now, now he held no patience for petty minds that had not touched timelessness and infinity in the stars. And besides, the ritual had changed him in subtle ways, tightening some places, thickening others, melting away most of his body hair. The thought that he looked good enough to eat came unbidden to his mind, an echo of desire, though if it was his, Magister Shan's, or that of an ancient sleeping god, he couldn't tell.

A rumbling growl emerged from Kellen's stomach, and he realized that there was a new hunger, a new emptiness inside him. Eager little tattoo-like marks shifted across his skin, yearning for their next meal, wishing to satiate their taste for lust, their taste-and now his own. Power, revenge, desire, they wanted it, they wanted to fulfill it for him. He couldn't help but run his fingers across the design and shiver, little tingles of pleasure spreading through his body at the sensation.

Kellen tugged the cape around his shoulders. There was a world out there, a world of small petty minds and bright burning desire. He knew in his heart that one day he would see Magister Shan again, if that was their real name, but until then he had things, and people, to do. There was a stirring in his loins and his hardness pressed against the confines of the impromptu skirt, tenting it before him at the thought.... Oh, this was going to be so much fun.