68th of Summer, 515 AV
The Voice. That was one subject he knew about - at least somewhat extensively. Enough to call himself a proper child of Ravok. His family was practically obsessed with her; a mortal that became an Alvina under Rhysol's will. A creature that served him and kept his favor for extremely long. Rhaenon wished to become like her. Not just a successful person or a high ranking member of the Black Sun, but, actually The Voice. He wished to sit where she sat - live in skin caressed by Rhysol, carry His perfect white eyes. Yes, yes, all of that madness. Caesarion never quite agreed with the infatuation, but he did recall a haunting appearance. From the few times he remembered her appearing in Ravok to maintain relations with the people, he could recall some memories of her face. He could recall her pure white eyes, with no pupils to speak of.
He could recall her powerful presence that commanded respect and obedience. He could recall her pitch black hair and her snow white skin. It didn't take looking at her to remember these things - they were spoken of, words within the city, tales of her beauty flowing from mouths. And then there were those, also, who saw Rhysol . . . though they could never quite describe him. He was even more destructively alluring than she was, to be sure. Father and Mother, a devastating couple, one that could command the loyalty of tens of thousands. Caesarion remembered their tales well - though the faces were more difficult to recall. With the Voice, he supposed he would start with the eyes - the most enchanting part of her physiology. Pure white. If he could imitate those eyes, then surely he would go blind. He figured it was not a good idea to actually remove his pupils considering he was a novice . . . so he kept that out of the realm of options.
Instead he figured he would perform imperfectly and he imagined white iris' in his mind. He began to channel his Djed and thus the Morphing process began, slowly. He closed his eyes to a stinging sensation - blue-green eyes were run over, a flare of energy washing over their hue like a wave. When he opened his eyes and looked in the mirror - they were white, like a blind person's eyes, but not only in appearance. He had difficulty seeing like this, a thin fog-like layer covering his vision. It didn't quite make sense why this color would have such an effect while red did not, but perhaps it was the brightness of it. Instead of a silvery white, he went for a snow-like shade so that he might more closely resemble his Mother Alvina. It was a bit too white. Still, from what he could see beyond the misty vision, it was a beautiful color. Perhaps he would charm some with this shade when he had the option.
The man stood up and looked outside where it was brighter. He could see the rolling hills around the camp, the grass swaying with the wind. Morning was coming, and unique tradewinds came with this morning, even so far inland. He supposed this abnormality was one that was connected to the world's other abnormalities - so strangely placed, yet impossible to deny. The man began to change his voice. He cleared his throat, then began to channel Djed to the vocal chords - remembering how to imitate a woman, but not quite recalling the exact tone of the Voice. Ironically it was not Rhysol's tongue that spoke in her mouth, but instead, a particularly intimidating female pitch.
The Voice. That was one subject he knew about - at least somewhat extensively. Enough to call himself a proper child of Ravok. His family was practically obsessed with her; a mortal that became an Alvina under Rhysol's will. A creature that served him and kept his favor for extremely long. Rhaenon wished to become like her. Not just a successful person or a high ranking member of the Black Sun, but, actually The Voice. He wished to sit where she sat - live in skin caressed by Rhysol, carry His perfect white eyes. Yes, yes, all of that madness. Caesarion never quite agreed with the infatuation, but he did recall a haunting appearance. From the few times he remembered her appearing in Ravok to maintain relations with the people, he could recall some memories of her face. He could recall her pure white eyes, with no pupils to speak of.
He could recall her powerful presence that commanded respect and obedience. He could recall her pitch black hair and her snow white skin. It didn't take looking at her to remember these things - they were spoken of, words within the city, tales of her beauty flowing from mouths. And then there were those, also, who saw Rhysol . . . though they could never quite describe him. He was even more destructively alluring than she was, to be sure. Father and Mother, a devastating couple, one that could command the loyalty of tens of thousands. Caesarion remembered their tales well - though the faces were more difficult to recall. With the Voice, he supposed he would start with the eyes - the most enchanting part of her physiology. Pure white. If he could imitate those eyes, then surely he would go blind. He figured it was not a good idea to actually remove his pupils considering he was a novice . . . so he kept that out of the realm of options.
Instead he figured he would perform imperfectly and he imagined white iris' in his mind. He began to channel his Djed and thus the Morphing process began, slowly. He closed his eyes to a stinging sensation - blue-green eyes were run over, a flare of energy washing over their hue like a wave. When he opened his eyes and looked in the mirror - they were white, like a blind person's eyes, but not only in appearance. He had difficulty seeing like this, a thin fog-like layer covering his vision. It didn't quite make sense why this color would have such an effect while red did not, but perhaps it was the brightness of it. Instead of a silvery white, he went for a snow-like shade so that he might more closely resemble his Mother Alvina. It was a bit too white. Still, from what he could see beyond the misty vision, it was a beautiful color. Perhaps he would charm some with this shade when he had the option.
The man stood up and looked outside where it was brighter. He could see the rolling hills around the camp, the grass swaying with the wind. Morning was coming, and unique tradewinds came with this morning, even so far inland. He supposed this abnormality was one that was connected to the world's other abnormalities - so strangely placed, yet impossible to deny. The man began to change his voice. He cleared his throat, then began to channel Djed to the vocal chords - remembering how to imitate a woman, but not quite recalling the exact tone of the Voice. Ironically it was not Rhysol's tongue that spoke in her mouth, but instead, a particularly intimidating female pitch.
