From Atlantic Roleplay Wiki

Inspiration of the Damned

She had said she was coming to bed later, but by the time his restlessness roused him from the bed, she had not returned. Perhaps his offer had disturbed her. He hadn't read her aura when he went to bed, so her state of being was hard to gauge.

Sleep wasn't returning, so he rose. Better to start work rather than lay about. He dressed and went down to the laboratory. Even if he was uninspired, perhaps something in the lab would catch his fancy.

Sitting at a drafting table, he laid out a wide parchment and began sharpening a quill. Carving flesh with it had dulled the tip, and required a bit of whetting. As he sat contemplating the empty parchment, he felt a warm splash on his foot and a gurgle.

Dealthagar reached down and picked up the glob of hairless pink flesh. He cradled it in his arm and caressed it while it made burbling mewls of happiness. Psudopods tapped at his hand while the toothless maw attempted to suckle his palm. "Hungry, little Negože?" A small split opened in his palm, and he allowed a few drops of his vitae to dribble into the creature's gullet. The happy mewls turned to grunts and after a few minutes, his pet drifted off; its one eye rolling back into the amorphous blob.

Negože had been a stray cat Dealthagar had found drinking from one of the run-off pipes of his laboratory. It had managed to live, so he pushed its frame to the limits, removing unneeded parts like limbs and bones. Rearranging the innards to float in tough scar tissue-like sacks, and adapting it to entirely sustain itself on blood, it had proven to be very resilient little creature, along with being adaptive. A few weeks had passed and it was already skilled at making and using psudopods from its soft, rubbery flesh.

Dealthagar continued to absently caress the small pitiful creature as he began drafting his new idea. The mote he had offered to her last night had never returned to the Source, and simply dissolved into his vitae. The amount was infinitesimal, but it was diffused throughout his blood.

And so the idea was born. Two sheets of wire mesh, crafted from shadow iron, turned into a pair of cylinders, one half the size of the other, so they can next within each other. Golden caps, to allow each to rotate independently. Orichalum hooks to affix it. A series of small mixing paddles to fit between the two cylinders. A gear and arcane gem assembly to power the whole thing.

Once built, it would fit into his hand, no bigger than a bottle of beer. A human would feel it to be intrusive, but kindred had plenty of room where it would fit nicely. The Herald rose from his chair with a triumphant smile, and set down Negože. "Sularis, fire up the forges. The Technomancer Primus has work to be done!"

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Original Post Date: Mon Nov 23, 2009