Wyvern Tails and Phoenix Feathers

The House of Broken Chains, Chapter 3 - Horus

Horus and the girls found a home in the suite that formerly belonged to Sir Lionel Tarver. It consisted of a main room with a grand plush bed and a smaller side room with four simple cots intended for a Red Falcon's attendants. As Talla and Crowe made themselves comfortable in the small room, Horus organized his belongings on the bed. As quickly as they moved in, the bed was unmade, black sheets pulled aside; an empty glass with wine residue was abandoned on the end table. A collection of decorative chains hung in an artistic arrangement from the ceiling.

Horus sifted through his items: a few spell books, alchemical agents in small jars, fish scales, tapioca root, ebony flowers, red ivy, and muskweed pollen. He had grabbed them all haphazardly from MageLord Setti's worktable. He was never much of an alchemist, but he knew in ebony flowers he had a potent, yet pungent poison. Muskweed pollen was a base agent for transmogrification, although he had never mastered mixing such a potion for himself.

He remembered Cirrus had walked him and Oran through alchemical transmogrification during a lesson years prior. He didn't always pay full attention; his mind had a bad habit of wandering even if the subject interested him. But for this particular lesson, he forced himself to focus. The idea of changing form and identity was interesting to him. He always wanted to be someone other than himself, stronger, more attractive, or commanding.

"This change... it is temporary, right?" Oran had asked.

Horus supposed if he looked like Oran, he wouldn't wish to alter his form either. From the color of green in his eyes to the freckles on his strong shoulders, there wasn't an ounce of Oran Highwater that Horus didn't admire.

"Not in the school of alchemy," replied the Archmage. "Illusionists may create a convincing glamour, but they do not actually become another person or creature. Animages summon and displace their consciousness into familiars from different realms. It is my preferred method to experience life through the eyes of an animal without corrupting my natural form."

He mixed the components with a mortar and pestle. The percussive clunk and scrape underscored his words.

"Yet alchemy demands sacrifice. By the ingestion of a proper potion, bones warp, skin changes texture and pigment. Mass is shed or gained. The change is often painful. In transforming back to the mage's original form, one finds themselves never quite the same way they were before."

"Have you ever used alchemy to become someone or something else?" Horus asked him.

"No," replied the Archmage. "I knew a wyrd woman who frequently transformed into a chameleon. As a human, her eyes bulged out of her head, her skin was dry and scaly. I suppose I'm much too vain to suffer the side effects of that experiment."

He proceeded to funnel the thick yellow potion into the mouth of a salamander. In an instant, the poor creature shifted. Its skin bled as feathers plumed, its feet turned to claws, its mouth pointed into a beak. In the wake of transformation, it stood on the wooden desk as a handsome bluejay.

"I hope that salamander likes being a bird," said Oran.

"Oh, I asked his permission first. He is eager to learn to fly," said the Archmage. The blue jay perched on his finger and practiced flapping, but did not yet have the confidence to take to the air.

Horus shook himself from the memory. Talla and Crowe had begun playing a game with a loop of string. He watched them exchange the string in different shapes and patterns. A bulky leather whip was mounted on the wall behind their heads. The House of Broken Chains was not a place for children, Horus noted with some lament. It had been clear to him upon entering that the atmosphere encouraged debauchery. From the decor to the ever-present flow of wine to the style of dress, the house was, in part, bordello.