Terminus: To Perfect Humanity IV

[14:04] Laurentius had returned once again, the soldier seemingly a bit more worn than before- but still present. A faint wind ripples from him, carrying the smell of that cologne- he seems to have poured on a bit more than usual- atop a faint smell of rot.

Annoying, but he'd worked a convenient excuse for others. People believed what was more interesting, it seemed, than what was more plausible. He takes to a knee before the pool once more, bowing his head in reverence.

"My Lord.

Ishildr and Za'agan Sun face a duel against another, though I know not who has won. I have woven a story to cement our good image to others and hidden my nature well.

The new flesh allows me to feign eating, though I must vomit afterwards. They accept the first as proof. The doctor Nightingale has been convinced.

This, as well as my harvest."

From within his cloak, he draws a glittering fragment taken from a beast. A pieceof a flame core, held out to the pool and presented. Of his injuries, he makes no note- they are inconsequential to his Lord's commands, even if they doubtless provoke ire at the marring of his Champion.
(Laurentius of Terminus)
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[14:12] The words were heard, all the while the passive siphoning of entropic essence forged a wispy tendril for the ebonic surface. It offered a slight tugging sensation, as though to suggest one to dip into its depths.

A duel concerning a pestersome thorn at his side, and a likely accomplice.
The successful shrouding of one's identity...
--and familiarity with the denizens abroad Meranthe, it left one in need to experiment further to better the functionality of uncooperative flesh.

"Imperfections capable of being examined in the future, can not be allowed to exist.

Every examinable flaw, must be corrected... Until I have constructed a Perfected Humanity devoid of the claim of Mortyl's touch.

Step into my depths. I shall... Correct you."
(Etheric Presence)
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[14:21] A siphoning, a good deal of essence once again drawn and claimed... such was the purpose of his existence, after all.

Laurentius rises, stepping into the fluid as he has always done- with no hesitation. A rapid sinking into the tenebrous depths, as he once again goes slack and limp, allowing the Lord to do his work.

Yet still the flesh is uncooperative, a new form of wound lingering ever on- one that the grafts of the Lord's own tumorous mass could not quite account for. It had tried to mend him, made good effort- but alas, the injury was too severe to fully heal.

Yet another, that faint enchantment of wind, had nearly been expelled already.

He awaits to learn, to listen, as to what the master had to say next- and he remains hungry, for the humanity further instilled within him had been engineered such.
(Laurentius of Terminus)
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[15:00] New abnormalities...
It certainly drew upon the ire of the Patron -- but it could not be helped. It was a necessary sacrifice for one to suffer...
It was a necessity for him to behold and dabble upon them, so that he could improve his craft.

As Laurentius descended into the depths of his pool, the creases and crevices soaked with the abyssal substance. Faceless tendrils transcended beyond the physical touch, to investigate their discrepancies...
The aftermath of Metallic Crystalline Petrification, the regenerative efforts of his flesh imparted upon Laurentius to undo the Phasmatic Overload incurred upon them, and then?

There was something else...
Some enigmatic magic that clung to the seams of their apparel. It seemingly degenerated at the body in a roundabout way, spreading motes of their flesh throughout his pool.

Was it supposed to aerate one's odor?
Surely, it was a clever means of getting an assailant to oust Laurentius of their true nature. Why exactly would they conduct such a unique means of impairment? Could it had been that people were already on to him?

The thoughts aggravated the Patron further, but alas, it could've been deduced such was merely the Occult aching at his mind -- occasionally tempering his thoughts for the more paranoid variety. He had lived this long despite its constant pestering...
He could never allow himself to fall subject to its occasional mental obstruction.

"What a strange means of slowing someone down. The magi of the current age truly surprise me with their creativity... Alas, it is for naught."

Pressure...
Exercised through fluid that sought to crush betwixt the seams as to leave one's armor intact. Were they... Intent on crushing Laurentius right now? It seemed oddly precise... Controlled, encapsulating at the magic at play to force it to remain wrapped around the body beneath the armor. It was simply sealing it away with an aegis of the occult -- akin to a band-aid on a cut.

Inevitably, the aeromantic malady would burn through its mana supply, as would the Patron's own aegis -- Surely, the likes of a random wanderer of the wilds couldn't hope to compare to what actively strove for divinity?

"The flesh I have gifted you seems to be working wonders... It has reduced the damage imparted upon you, but your circuitry is far from perfect. This damage is negligible for now...

What concerns me most, is the fact that something as casual as a meal, can become the very subject that upends my Vision before it can see sturdy foundation.

This can not be allowed to pass..."
A glint of light manifests within the darkness... A mere iota's worth, shining with piercing light that'd gleam an bow of luminous shine through the murky substance.

This construct of mana... arched with strings of magus static, occasionally bouncing off of Laurentius's frame.
"Swallow this..."
The manifestation of that of hypercompressed space, concealed into an orb -- starving a pit of mana that occasionaly struck outward with...
The essence of its bolts seemed oddly reminiscent of... Za'agan? But how?

Having spent so much time in meditation, and focusing on their wounds... Terminus did not take it upon himself to regenerate from them... To scathe them off...
No.
He was attempting to attune mana apart from himself, to prepare a spell through the malady from another.

It was a limited means of casting, but not unlike his occasional albeit limited uses of Death Magic through the tendrils ofhis Occultism. It was courtesy of Varrach, but it was far from learned... Far from being actively controlled, a mere byproduct of his constant casting, and living with the curses.

Making weaknesses into strengths...
Making them, his own...

"It is a construct of my mana... Using the very power imbued upon me by Za'agan. It should feed off of you, should it find the right place... Emulating the ingestion process, should you find yourself eating food. Increasing your capacity to quite the degree...

Perhaps, after enough matter consumed, you will need to rid yourself of it...

Consider it a weapon... For later use..."
(Etheric Presence)
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[15:20] Another time to test, another opportunity. Though abnormality and damage to the creation was angering, that was what he was meant to do. To fight, even if it meant he would suffer. Suffering was the truth of his existence, after all.

A pressure forced inwards upon the form of Laurentius had crushed away at the power instilled, pushing it down and battering away. The soldier would recover in short order as a result... an annoying drag upon his form, severed and burned away. Sealed. It would take a moment for him to fully regain his strength, but it would not be long now...

The flesh indeed had worked wonders, and while every wound piled up, they were negligible until amassed. Yet it was true, something as simple as food- most viewed eating as impossible for the his kind, but the truth was they full well had the anatomy to consume- they simply gained nothing from it. They could take potions, after all.

He had been cautious, eating through a straw, justifying it withhis 'illness.' Yet eventually it would come that he could not hide it forever. And so, when the compressed wad of mana, the orb of starving power was prepared, Laurentius moved. Reaching up to pull free his helmet, revealing the bandaged and horrifically mutilated 'face' beneath, he grasps the orb and places it between his rotting lips-

Swallowing it down, though painful, was at no risk of choking. He didn't need to breathe, after all... it nestles into his stomach. He hadn't found the time to puke up the last meal, that mashed up stew, and so the gravitic energy rapidly consumes it.

Again, nothing is gained by Laurentius for this- but it does empty his stomach, crushing it all down so that he could eat again. He will need to be careful not to consume too much at once in front of another, lest they begin to grow suspicious. So far he had paced that as not having much of an appetite. Another convenient excuse levelled upon his 'condition.'

The helm is lowered once again over his countenance, as he drifts, preparing for the order to emerge. He would have to feed the orb, considering consuming the flesh and blood of those he faced- perhaps then it could be 'filled,' saturated, used...
(Laurentius of Terminus)
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[15:29] A substitute, until Terminus was able to properly emulate life.
This pale imitation could only last so long on its own -- Thankfully, the Patron was dutifully working on theories to perfect their craft.

To create Perfect Existence...
"Rise to the surface... Ensure the land of Antefinem remains secure from interlopers that would wish to incur progress on my Vision.

I leave you to your devices for now, Insignis."
(Etheric Presence)
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[15:31] He breaches forth from the fluid again, stepping out from it and re-applying his cologne. The wind had faded, and with it, the faint scent of rot was difficult to detect. He would need to change his bandages soon, he muses, as the sodden lengths within begin to dry.

Such was his 'life.'

As before, as ever, so now: "Thy will be done, My Lord."
(Laurentius of Terminus)
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