21 years ago
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The clock chimed on the mantle, signifying the hour. The sound muffled slightly through the brass aparatus worn around the pale skinned Miqo'te's ears, sitting at a desk toying with a small device in his hands. The device buzzed and whirred when he turned certain screws, and was silent with others. It's purpose eluded him. Throwing it to the desk it whirred once more before falling silent.______________________________________________________________________
"Bloody Belah'dian technology... Why did they have to migrate and leave such items about. At this rate I'll never work it out." He pulls the brass aparatus from his ears, and places them gently onto the desk, displaying more care with his creation than a relic from ages past. Reaching forwards to grasp a cup, he brings it to his lips and takes a dip drink. A second passes before he spits it back into the vessel, spluttering. "Cold again... I really must stop working for such lengths of time."
Pushing his seat back with his legs he stretches and bends over to touch his feet, or as close to them as he can, not being the most flexible of people. Stepping around it he takes off the dark robe that signified him as a student of Thaumaturgy and looked amongst his wardrobe. A variety of outfits sat within, Noble's attire, clothing suitable for even the saltiest of Limsan natives, and even, gained through much haggling, the uniform of a wood wailer, amongst others. He reached past all of these and pulled forth the dress uniform of a Private of the Immortal Flames. It was time to test it.
Standing in front of the mirror, he sighed, it was much too large for his sixteen year old frame, but that would change. Going back to his desk he pulled at a wooden mask, plain and cut from fresh Ashwood, adorned with a single Crystal over the forehead. Looking between the two items, he nodded and closed his eyes, placing the mask over his face. At first, nothing happened, but then he started getting a tingling in his hands, growing and spreading, before he could feel the very flesh, bone and muscle of his body rippling, and changing. The outfit dropped from his hands and he reached for the mask, but lacked the strength to remove it.
After a moment, he dropped to all fours and the sensation stopped. Panting with exertion, and feeling drained of a good portion of even his impressively large wellspring of Aether, he crawled towards the mirror, kneeling and looking at his reflection. Instead of a pair of mismatched eyes looking through the mask, and two feline ears emerging from above it, there were none. At least not his own. Feeling at his face he felt skin, not wood, ears of hyur descent rather than Miqo'te and looking back of him were eyes of rich hazel. Throwing his head back he laughed, though the voice was not his own. Deep and booming rather than neutral and ballanced.
It had worked.
Aduu Avagnar, The Wanderer: Wiki
