Ditching the Coop

by **Vizayas** on June 9th, 2015, 4:54 am

61st of Spring, 508

The wooden floor boards creaked as Vizayas took a step into the hallway of his home. He had been sneaking out more lately, emboldened by the outdoors. Life inside seemed dull, and he dreaded the reclusive feelings he felt when he didn't get out much. He tried to be careful as he walked through the hall, and conceal the noise he made. This didn't pan out well, the boards didn't care, noisy as they were. He wanted to figure out how to solve this, and he knew that he had to come up with something more ingenious. Vizayas turned around, abandoning the idea that he would simply try to walk out without causing noise. His father would certainly hear.

Vizayas sat on his bed and brought his left foot up, pulling off the shoe and setting it aside. Then, the other shoe. He curled his toes and looked at them with curiosity, an idea formulating in his head. An idea that was beginning to become a plan as the complexity of it grew. Vizayas had a feeling it wouldn't work, but trying was better than not trying at all. First of all, he figured that making his feet softer would reduce the noise he made. He'd noticed that heavy bed linens made a more dull noise, compared to the thud and tap of a shoe. It was worth a shot.

Also on his mind happened to be the idea of tasking a shield against sound. It was quite the interesting idea, and he wasn't sure how it would work. He thought it might dampen the sound but not entirely negate it since a step still applied force to the surrounding wood. He would have to shield the entire hall, and even the ceiling with the way sound seemed to travel through the walls if he truly wanted to have the best affect. However, he wasn't about to due that.

Shielding his feet against sound would at least prevent the noise of scuffing or tapping that his feet made. It wasn't a bad idea. Peeling his cotton socks off, Vizayas' feet hung exposed over the side of the bed. He stood, and let his center of balance fall downward, arching his knees as he fell to the floor with a slight thud. Then, he crossed his legs, one over the other. Closing his eyes, he began to clear his mind and focus on the noise of his surroundings.

The progress was slow at first, and his ears rang from the sudden change. As he sat there, ticks slowly turned into chimes as his ears adjusted to the silence, bringing forth a sensitivity to the sounds in the room. His mind latched on to the settling of the house, and the pounding his heart made. Internally, he visualized the djed congealing inside himself into a writhing mass in his mind, trying to give the information of the sounds he heard to the shielding djed which brewed within, not yet given substance.

Then, his jaw went slack as his mouth hung open for a brief moment. Softly, he started to sing. "The sounds I make, a yell and a whisper so varied, so many." He sang in a neutral but slightly high tone, but loudly and then quietly. Mentally, he worked the information of every note he sang into the tasking, internalizing his own voice and giving it to the djed in his mind. "I sing of a low place, and a high pla- place." Vizayas was not a good singer, and his voice was riddled with crackling and the occasional stutter as his mind struggled to formulate the words for the song he sang.

by **Vizayas** on June 9th, 2015, 4:54 am

Vizayas gave everything he could think of to the tasking in terms of sound. "A word or a noise. The squeak of a rat, the whinnie of a hourse. They're sounds, sounds, sounds." Vizayas fed the tasking with his improvised song. It wasn't much in the grand scheme of things, but it was perhaps enough. Then, whe he felt ready, he began to give more djed to his mind and coat it with the auditory information that he had collected and then formed into a task.

Pulling the up the left foot above his other leg with his hands, djed containing the information of the task he planned to bestow into a shield coursed through his right arm as he willed it through his body. Slowly, it pooled into his hand and grew as he began to leak Shielding material through the pores in his fingertips. Holding the foot with his left hand, he stroked his foot and began to paint on the material. Instead of making the quiet sound of brushing skin, Vizayas was surprised by the complete and utter silence that followed as he continued to cover his foot in the translucent material. The tasking seemed to be working.

He raked over his foot with his fingertips, applying the quickly forming globs of the Shielding material that threatened to drip from his fingers as he poured his djed into the act by concentrating. Then, he rubbed it in further, massaging his foot and pressing it in to give it a smooth consistency. He did this for the bottom of the foot, and also the top up to the ankle. Vizayas admired his handiwork, looking over the shielded foot as he cut off the djed flow.

Bringing up his other foot and crossing the other one underneath, Vizayas began to work on that one as well. He repeated the same process, pressing the djed through the tasking and rubbing the globs of Shielding material into his other foot. He rubbed it until it reached the right consistency, and then he found himself finished with it. His work, however, wasn't done yet.

Vizayas leaned forward and then pushed off with his knees, bringing his foot up so he could push off with that to stand. He scuffed his feet against the floor, and they were surprisingly quiet as he stamped and stomped. The place rattled and a dull thud echoed through the room with each stomp, but the foot itself made no noise interestingly enough. His magic was working to the point that he expected it to, eliciting a small amount of joy from the wizard as his lips curled into a gleeful smile.

But there was still work to be done. He wanted to try something else, but with the wool that lined the insides of his blanket. Vizayas closed his eyes and breathed in, then out. He was clearing out all distractions from his mind once again and moving towards separating mind from body. He held out his finger and looked over his fingernail, imagining it within his floating mind. He rubbed it with his other hand, getting an idea of the material, even pricked it and bent it, scratching it with a finger from his other hand. When he was satisfied, he pulled together a mental image of that fingernail and began to visualize it, piece by piece. The way it felt, from its texture to the sharpness of the crescent edge, to how tough it was to bend. The milky white color of a fingernail also came to mind, and it was this information that he drew into his concentration.

Focusing on extending his fingernail, it didn't seem to pull much matter from other parts of his body as he willed the transformation to take place. Slowly, the nail grew outward and outward, until it was two inches long. Then, he imagined the nail converging into a sharp point, like a dagger. He looked upon it from outside himself as he worked, mentally pressing it into a triangle with an exaggerated angle. A simple act of morphing, Vizayas had planned to rupture his blanket and extract some of the sheeps wool inside to cover the bottom of his feet in. There were other ways to do so, but this seemed to be the easiest way to him.

Standing over his bed, he picked up his blanket and stabbed it with his finger, puncturing a hole. Then, he punctured another hole right next to it, creating an area where he could slip his finger in and tear it open. Working his finger inside, he tugged and pulled hard, and the blanket gave an audible rip as Vizayas stuck two fingers, and then fit a third finger in there like a pincer to pull the guts of the blanket out. Grabbing the wool, he pulled it out in a stretchy gob, pulling out a bit more than he intended in the process as it was tangled up with other wool. That explained why his blanket was so lumpy.

by **Vizayas** on June 9th, 2015, 4:55 am

Vizayas concentrated, willing his transformation to be undone and putting a stopper on the djed being assigned to it. His fingernail shrank to normal proportions, no longer narrowing to a sharp point as it receded. He would be using his djed for something else sure enough, so it would be better to save it. Holding the wool close to his eyes, he gazed upon it and studied it.

It looked like dirty, shaggy hair in a tangled mass. Piecing it apart, it had a very fluffy texture, and the individual hairs were very soft. Carefully, and with great tedium he pieced apart the wool and drew out an individual strand. With his free hand, he singled out a lone hair on his head and yanked it out. The pain stung, but it was minor and faded quickly. Comparing the two, he examined the bulbous white root of his own hair and imagined what the root of wool would look like. As he thought about it, he soon realized just how complex this transformation he had planned would be.

Vizayas brought the back of his hand up in front of his face, looking over the smooth skin for his pores. As he turned his hand in the dismal light, he caught a glimpse of the tiny hairs located within the pores. He began to think about this relation, and how that would apply to his transformation. So, hair grows from pores in the skin? His observations seemed correct, at least. This would be useful to know for any future hair he wanted to grow, for whatever reason.

Vizayas dropped to the floor with a thud, kicking his legs out. Shutting his eyes, Vizayas breathed in, then out. Once again he began to reach for the necessary mental state to accomplish morphing. Grasping ahold of it, his mind shifted and emanated outwards. He imagined looking at his feet, and then when that mental picture became clear he began to formulate the idea of a pore. Pores large enough for a hair root or hair folicle, but little else

Vizayas imagined driving a tiny tear drop shape down into his skin to create a space, causing the skin under his foot to tickle as the transformation began to take shape. The tiniest, most insignificant morph proved just as difficult as anything else. Detail was difficult, and taxing on himself mentally. He continued to do another, then another for the other foot. It was getting easier, and he sat there for many chimes carving out hundreds of them on his feet with his mind. All the while, he maintined his breath with his eyes shut, staying focused on his morphing.

Chimes continued to follow, and soon there were hundreds of miniscule pores on each foot. The rate at which he created them was growing quicker still, and they were so tightly packed that soon he found it difficult to find empty space for more of these artificial pores. With every new pore, his skin tickled and threatened to make him flinch or fidget. When he could add no more pores, he was done.

Then, Vizayas had another task. He felt the bulb of the hair root between his fingers, tiny as a pore. It was difficult for him to get an exact idea of it due to its size, but he had the general idea nailed down. He pinched it between his fingers, but he couldn't quite get the texture down though it appered to be soft. Vizayas imagined this material connecting to the inner skin of the pore and being too large to get out. Willing his djed to take the shape, he formed the bulb within a single pore.

Then, he continued along and created the wooly strand of hair to go with it. Commanding it to rise slowly with his mind, Vizayas could feel the hair grow and curl around after a few ticks, the structure of the wool he had studied so finely somewhat imperfect, but good enough for now. It was a real wool hair, a useful hair. A hair that would soon become many. Vizayas concentrated on replicating the hair, complete with bulb on the other foot. Just like the pores, it became significantly easier with each repitition as the hair grew more ingrained in his mind. He had a hairy mind.

The process continued, and ticks followed into chimes. Many chimes. His feet were beginning to feel itchy and warm, like wool. He was growing exhausted, was he overgiving? No, he was fatigued. The process was extremely taxing mentally, and every hair was like a pin pushing itself into his mind. His body was a palette, but the paint brush would get worn thin if he used it too much.

by **Vizayas** on June 9th, 2015, 4:55 am

After half a bell, the transformation was complete save for a few more hairs, which he was beginning to grow and soon finished up with. Vizayas opened his eyes and returned to a normal state of mind. The room seemed brighter after having seen only darkness for so many chimes. Now that he had a chance to look at his work, the first thing he realized was that the shield had stretched over and encapsulated the morphing work, the shaggy mop of hair underneath his foot and beneath his toes covered in the white translucent substance. It was slightly thinner after being stretched, but still held firm.

Vizayas tossed aside the wool he was holding and rubbed his wool-furred heels, admiring the sensation of the hair as he scratched it. It was white hair, and each hair wasn't much different from another aside from minor imperfections and mistakes. The hairs bent and curled together, forming a shaggy carpet of wool. He constantly fueled the transformation with his djed, but he assumed it was a relatively small, if complex transformation. He assumed he would be alright sustaining it for a few chimes until he got outside.

Vizayas stood on his feet, but wobbled forward and nearly fell over as he struggled to balance on the mat of hair underneath his feet. Curling his toes around and spreading his stance, he found his balance. Strange sensations filled his feet as he took a step forward, followed by the tugging of the hairs at his artificial pores as his foot slid on the ground and grew tangled against the wooden floorboards, catching and tugging at them with every step. Ouch! This hurts.

He soon realized his mistake. Much like if someone were to drag a coarse object through his hair, the shaggy sheep wool covering his feet would be no different. To top it all off, it was a tangled mass that threatened to rip out other hairs with it. Still, he tested it with another step and it was indeed more quiet. The hair made it easier to cushion his steps and disperse the weight, eliminating the snapping noise the hair made as it caught on the floor together with the magical shield. The floor creaked, but it wasn't as loud as if he were bare foot so long as he could restrained his pained gasps. He wondered if it would have been better and less painful to simply ball the wool underneath his socks. He had made a mistake, a silly one. Looking down, he saw that the hairs that were torn away began to return to their original form, absent the living djed needed to sustain them.

Vizayas walked over to the doorway, shedding a small trail of disintegrating hair with him nearly every step. Opening the door, he tip toed into the hall. His feet were bent forward so that his toes connected with the floor first, followed by the rest of the foot. The boards rattled and creaked, but only slightly. Carefully, he made his way through with much less noise than before. When he got to the end of the hall, he noticed a shadow moving in the living area. His heart leaped into his throat.

by **Vizayas** on June 9th, 2015, 5:01 am

The familiar face of his father, Branirus, stepped out in front of him. "Just where do you think you're going?" He asked. Vizayas was startled, his heart skipping a beat as he fell forward and lost his balance. He angled his shoulder to try and reduce the damage of the fall, but he still made a loud thud. Vizayas could hear Branirus chuckle as he scrambled to his feet. The man was like a hawk. His features were weathered, he was somewhat old. However, he was still going strong at that age and had callous hands from his job as a carver. Vizayas froze, not sure what to say as he simply stared. It was the best thing he could think of, at that point.

Branirus shrugged "Look, I'm not going to stop you. However, I'd be a bit happier about you being out and about if you know how to protect yourself." The words came as a relief to Vizayas. Was he finally being given free reign, would he be able to see his new friends without having to resort to sneaking around?

"You're gonna punch me. Hard as you can."

An odd demand. "Punch you?" Vizayas questioned.

Branirus held out the palm of his hand. "Punch me in my palm, and if you can make me hurt enough to pull back you're free to go." It was tempting, but he didn't feel comfortable about hitting his father. It didn't seem right, and it wasn't up to par with the ethics he had been taught by Branirus up until now. He could barely stand on the silly wool pads he had created, though Branirus hadn't seemed to notice them yet. Maybe he didn't see everything? Or maybe he didn't care.

"Al-Alright." Vizayas said. complying. He hobbled towards Branirus and balled his hand into a fist, looking at the open palm before him that would serve as his target. He cocked his arm back, and then shot it forward, swinging at Branirus' palm. The fist smacked square into Branirus' palm, and he didn't even flinch. No sign of pain, nothing.

"You're going to have to hit me harder than that, son." He said, smirking.

Vizayas decided to try again, goaded into doing so by the mocking words. He hadn't put as much force into his initial strike as he could have, and that was true. He had a touch of fury now, as he tightened his fist and cocked his arm back once again. Then, with a wimpy "ha!" Vizayas barreled his arm foward, smacking his fist as hard as he possibly could into Branirus' palm.

The result was uncanny. Branirus pulled his arm back and flopped his hand around, shaking the pain away. "Good, good. Practice fighting a bit more, you never know when it'll be helpful on the street." He said. Vizayas' fist stung from the pain of the blow he had dealt, his knuckle a little raw just from that one hit. It wasn't bruised, but it certainly wasn't free from hardship.

"So that's it? I'm free to go?" Vizayas asked. Branirus stepped aside after a nod.

Vizayas bolted past his father. "Thanks!" He said, walking out the front door and shutting it behind him. Stepping out into the street, he realized he had no shoes after the feeling of his morphed feet came to mind. "Ah, petch!" Vizayas rushed back inside.

Branirus waved at him. "I forgot my shoes!" Vizayas yelled as he ran down the hall with the hairs on his feet tugging on the wooden boards, dirtied by the outdoor street. When he got to his room, he sat on his bed and began to undo his transformation.

Today was a good day.

by **Ssezzkero** on August 13th, 2015, 3:48 am

Grades

Vizayas

XP:

Lores:

Injuries: As an overgiving effect for the amount of magic you used, your feet are going to be utterly numb for about one to two days (which vastly inhibits your mobility), since you've pushed your limit with multiple magics in one concentrated area.

As a result of punching your fahter's palm, your knuckled will be sore for a few hours.

Notes: I cannot award you as much points in morphing as I think you would have liked. With morphing, it is important not only to study your model, but your own anatomy as well. For example, the only two places on the entire human body that DO NOT grow hair is the bottom of your feet and the palm of your hand. With morphing, if you wished to grow hair on your feet, you would first need to create the necessary pores to do so. Since you did not, I cannot award you the points for that particular morph, nor the lore.

Don't forget to edit your post in the request forum as 'Graded'. PM me if you have any questions or concerns.

Flashback Ditching the Coop