_
"This must be the place..."
His sweaty hands were still holding that crumbling piece of paper that Jonah had given him. He did not even care to explain what it was all about. Hell, it seemed that old man was full of surprises and mystery. But the less details Daegron asked for, the less he would be inclined to give in return and that if that wasn't a sweet partnership, nothing else would ever be. The hastily scribbled note mentioned an address, an old man who had something valuable and someone who would kill to get it. Daegron needed to make sure that neither the one who would come looking, nor any authority should ever find that little something. He guessed that it wasn't plain cash. And from the looks of the neighbourhood, a rather plain middle class assortment of three story buildings in the Merchant Ring, the nature of the item would be a mystery, even to it's owner.
The old man's life was of no consequence. It actually didn't matter at all, and the Morpher could not care less. But if he was to rummage around a murder site, or visit a dead-man-to-be, he could not just show his face. Anyone would guess that he's all trouble, and that meant a pleasant stay at the Black Hole. Then there was no clearing things up and the Stryfe was notorious for it's methods, even to a recent arrival like himself. He needed a face that inspired others to believe him and a hint of innocence. He chuckled to himself, as an idea was formed in his mind. He walked a few steps behind and covering himself under a long shadow by a nearby wall we watched around in case anyone was looking. When he was certain he was alone, he started his spell.
His chant started like a soft whisper, but it's dreadful words soon evolved into something disturbing. He concentrated on his breathing and closed his eyes. As his hands covered his face, and fingertips run down it's rubbery texture he reached inwards and pulled a portion of his Djed, directing as much as he'd need to make the change. His skin was stretched, to make the hard years he'd lived disappear; all the lines slowly faded, and so did the bags under his eyes. His brownish hue turned to a lively red, while layers of fat were formed underneath his skin. His brow was raised slightly while his temple bones were lowered and his constant frown was replaced with a questioning and playful ridge. His nose was flattened a bit and his nostrils grew larger. His lips were slightly inflated and his cheeks and neck turned chubbier. His stubble receded and was soon hidden. His black mane retreated into his skull and changed colour, leaving behind a short and curly red mop.
Where the Morpher's ugly and rugged mug used to be, now a young and perhaps a little naive-looking youngster's face had taken it's place. This was good enough for first impressions, but he needed to work on his act a bit. He tried his best to soften his voice, trying a few vowels at first and then moving from simple words to sentences. A few chimes and many unsuccessful tries later, his voice finally seemed to match the face he'd shifted into. He wasn't one to start quitting, not so soon. He tried to walk clumsily, keeping his knees straight and his feet apart, as if he was far heavier than he really was. A few awkward steps later, the walk was improved. He needed to stay focused to keep all his tricks working.
As he climbed up the stairs and reached the second floor, he could feel it. There was something in the air, a faint smell that he could not quite recognize. Yet it seemed to dance around his nostrils, like a perfume meant to tease. He thought about knocking the door, just in case the old man was still alive. Yet with a simple push, the door clicked open, as if someone had messed around with the flimsy lock. "Nothing else to do.." he though and he stepped into the room saying with his new voice:
"Hello! anyone here ?"
_
Spring 21st, 514AV
early afternoon
early afternoon
"This must be the place..."
His sweaty hands were still holding that crumbling piece of paper that Jonah had given him. He did not even care to explain what it was all about. Hell, it seemed that old man was full of surprises and mystery. But the less details Daegron asked for, the less he would be inclined to give in return and that if that wasn't a sweet partnership, nothing else would ever be. The hastily scribbled note mentioned an address, an old man who had something valuable and someone who would kill to get it. Daegron needed to make sure that neither the one who would come looking, nor any authority should ever find that little something. He guessed that it wasn't plain cash. And from the looks of the neighbourhood, a rather plain middle class assortment of three story buildings in the Merchant Ring, the nature of the item would be a mystery, even to it's owner.
The old man's life was of no consequence. It actually didn't matter at all, and the Morpher could not care less. But if he was to rummage around a murder site, or visit a dead-man-to-be, he could not just show his face. Anyone would guess that he's all trouble, and that meant a pleasant stay at the Black Hole. Then there was no clearing things up and the Stryfe was notorious for it's methods, even to a recent arrival like himself. He needed a face that inspired others to believe him and a hint of innocence. He chuckled to himself, as an idea was formed in his mind. He walked a few steps behind and covering himself under a long shadow by a nearby wall we watched around in case anyone was looking. When he was certain he was alone, he started his spell.
His chant started like a soft whisper, but it's dreadful words soon evolved into something disturbing. He concentrated on his breathing and closed his eyes. As his hands covered his face, and fingertips run down it's rubbery texture he reached inwards and pulled a portion of his Djed, directing as much as he'd need to make the change. His skin was stretched, to make the hard years he'd lived disappear; all the lines slowly faded, and so did the bags under his eyes. His brownish hue turned to a lively red, while layers of fat were formed underneath his skin. His brow was raised slightly while his temple bones were lowered and his constant frown was replaced with a questioning and playful ridge. His nose was flattened a bit and his nostrils grew larger. His lips were slightly inflated and his cheeks and neck turned chubbier. His stubble receded and was soon hidden. His black mane retreated into his skull and changed colour, leaving behind a short and curly red mop.
Where the Morpher's ugly and rugged mug used to be, now a young and perhaps a little naive-looking youngster's face had taken it's place. This was good enough for first impressions, but he needed to work on his act a bit. He tried his best to soften his voice, trying a few vowels at first and then moving from simple words to sentences. A few chimes and many unsuccessful tries later, his voice finally seemed to match the face he'd shifted into. He wasn't one to start quitting, not so soon. He tried to walk clumsily, keeping his knees straight and his feet apart, as if he was far heavier than he really was. A few awkward steps later, the walk was improved. He needed to stay focused to keep all his tricks working.
As he climbed up the stairs and reached the second floor, he could feel it. There was something in the air, a faint smell that he could not quite recognize. Yet it seemed to dance around his nostrils, like a perfume meant to tease. He thought about knocking the door, just in case the old man was still alive. Yet with a simple push, the door clicked open, as if someone had messed around with the flimsy lock. "Nothing else to do.." he though and he stepped into the room saying with his new voice:
"Hello! anyone here ?"
_
