#i used to draw him more in revealing clothing but that whole area is enshrouded in mystery to me rn

[skunkes]

WAIT TALON LOSES HIS WRINKLAGE WHEB HES FED?

Yeas ^_^ talon was turned when he was like 29 but even then he had a youthful/baby face. His default form looks something like dis (im still figuring it out, i dont draw him Young often for character reasons)

he doesn't like that he never gets to age, mostly after experiencing abuse under the assumption that he was even younger than he looks, so he forgoes feeding (the vampiric fountain of youth) so he can look old all the time to feel safer, be taken seriously etc (dis is also why he always looks uncomfortable when i draw him Unwrinkled, he feels unguarded and exposed)

He could just shapeshift to look however he wants when he's fed but it means needing to feed more often, he likes his Aged appearance to feel "Natural" and also well. Punishing himself, because sometimes disordered eating and other behaviors that can and do stem from abuse are just like that

[patrickcharlton-oshea-author]

Death Becomes Him: An Age Of Steam and Sorcery novel

Chapter Two:

    “Tarah!”

    The trumpet blast would have knocked Peter out his chair had he been sitting in one. He quickly set the volume slider much lower. The trumpets continued their fanfare as the “video” began to expand beyond the bounds of the page to become the whole environment.

    “A full sensorium video, nice.” He thought.

    A cobbled street faded into view bounded by Victorian era houses. People approached and passed completely ignoring Peter. One passed through him and wandered up the street as they looked at the stalls that had faded in to line the roads. The hawker's mouths opened and closed and Peter imagined he'd have been able to hear them selling their wares were it not for the music reaching a crescendo.

    “Welcome, to the Age of Steam and Sorcery. A world of yesteryear – where the heroes are made, not born.” A voice intoned. Another person passed through Peter but this one was much different. He, no, she was massive. A hulk of iron bearing a massive axe and sword crossed over her back. Beside her ambled a large dog with a small humanoid astride it. On the rider's hips were a pair of glowing flintlock pistols.

    A third figure stepped forth, then kneeled down to greet a small child. This figure was a tall lithe man who appeared to carry no weapons at all. He pulled a gold coin from a pouch at his belt and gifted it to the child who beamed at him and ran back to their mother. As the man stood a wave of what looked like clockwork tattoos rippled across his skin. He snapped his fingers and a mechanical spider popped out of the back of his hand and ran up his arm to sit on his shoulder.

    Peter felt himself lifted into the sky as the voice continued. “This is an Age where anything is possible. When dedication and inventiveness bring rewards beyond your wildest dreams. A time for change, when all that you were can fall away and you can become whatever you choose.” The vista Peter had been brought to was breathtaking. The people he'd been standing amongst just moments ago were now as ants scurrying about the city. The city itself had been reduced to a model though one that stretched all the way to the horizon. In its’ centre was a gleaming edifice of brass and crystal. A magnificent castle that defied physics. Peter swore to himself that he'd stand atop that marvel of architecture one day.

    In that instant he knew he was hooked. He'd never been a gamer before. They were regarded as weirdos at his school. Sad cases that couldn't take life and hid themselves away in their parent's basements. Well, apart from the basement part, that was starting to sound pretty good. No more screaming. A world where he didn't have to deal with quinoa. What did he have to lose?

    Whule he'd been distracted the video had retreated back to the usual dimensions within a page. There were links to character races, monster compendium, maps of the starting areas and a photo gallery of heroes who'd already distinguished themselves. The last link was to a class of NPC called “Avatars”. Curious, Peter tapped it.

    Avatars, the page read, are the embodiment of basic forces in the Age. Moreover, they are alive. Each Avatar is controlled by an Artificial Intelligence that has been learning and growing since the Age began.

    “Well,” thought Peter. “This is why it showed up in the community.”

    These Avatars both embody and control their aspect, the page went on to say. They live, full time in the world that is the Age of Steam and Sorcery. For example: the Avatar of Magic, Xular, resides in an incredible tower at the nexus of all ley lines. From Him, all magic flows.

    “This sounds amazing!” Thought Peter, skimming the rest of the text. “Blah, blah, blah, many races, blah, classless advancement, blah, be the greatest, blah. Where’s the download button?”

    Finding the what he sought, a large red button at the bottom of the page emblazoned with a cursive Enter The Age Of Steam & Sorcery!, Peter slammed his virtual hand down on it. Red liquid splashed outwards as though he’d plunged his hand into a pool of crimson water, then rushed back inwards pulling him through the surface.

    On the far side Peter found himself floating in a red prism with a variation of his own visage reflected back from every surface. As he focussed on each different facet it came forward to give him a better view of how it would affect his character in game. There were slinky cat versions of him, short and stocky dwarf versions, even a large rock-skinned behemoth version.

    Peter turned and twisted as he floated, watching the various incarnations of himself perform the same contortions. He examined the differences between each permutation but interestingly no status screens appeared to indicate how they would differ statistically. “Maybe they're only cosmetic differences?” He thought to himself. “Or hidden from the players to enhance the mystery? Well, I guess I'll have to go by feel.”

    Examining the figures again, Peter reached out to each in turn, and as they too reached out to him he set them gently spinning with a touch. A few began to stand out from the others as he thought about how he felt about his distorted doppelgangers. Three came to the fore as the rest faded back into the sanguine background. Three mahogany picture frames encircled them and a small brass plaque blossomed in the bottom centre of each. The first, a small, lanky Peter with pointed ears that was identified as a Halfling. It stopped mimicking Peter's movements and began going through a series of demonstration actions, showing how it would look moving stealthily, then casting spells, then twirling a sling above his head. Peter waved the reflection away. He was tired of feeling small and helpless. If he were entering a fantasy land, he needed a body that felt nothing like the one he was used to.

    The second was the behemoth. It's plaque identified it as a Gregarii. It's stone like skin rippled as it pulled a massive warhammer from behind it's back and slammed it into the ground. The hammer vanished as the Gregarii raised its hands outwards, palms up, muscles straining as though lifting a massive weight and then stone spikes burst from the ground. These too disappeared as it continued the gesture into a double flex. The flex deepened as muscles inflated and stood even more proud. Though Peter doubted that these demonstration animations represented the whole of the progression options for the race, they were representative of the races' strengths (in this case literally). Nevertheless, this hulking form didn't fully capture his imagination. It was, as per his desires, very different to his current experience, but in the end, was too alien to him. It too was dismissed with a gesture.

    The final option was mostly human. Taller and thinner than a regular person, moving fluidly from stance to stance in a series of martial arts forms, then drawing a great flaming sword from nowhere and flourishing it effortlessly only to have it vanish as he released it to draw a series of flintlock pistols out of the air to fire once and discard. As this figure turned to fire an unseen target behind it a small pair of white feathery wings sprouting from its back were revealed.

    “Wings!” Peter exclaimed. “I won't even have to climb that tower. If I can build those babies up I'll be able to fly myself up there. Done and done.” He reached out and the Celestii, as it's completely ignored plaque identified it as, turned around and  took the proffered hand and shook once to seal the deal.

    The faceted walls gently smoothed back into a single surface and the frame around his chosen avatar dissolved. The avatar itself turned its back on him and spread its arms. A dark oval formed on the wall on the far side of it and with a momentous roar he was thrust through the avatar, merging with it, and on through into the darkness. It felt suffocating, like he was drowning in the rapidly thickening air that was nearing the viscosity of water. He thought could almost hear a small voice whisper “you're welcome” as he was swept away.

A timeless instant later, which could have been as second or an eon, he burst forth from the surface of a fountain and flopped gasping on the rim. As his breath returned he stood on shaking legs to take in his surroundings.

    A great vaulted ceiling above domed a well-lit cathedral. He was standing in a font of glowing pink water at the focus of the room. There was no sign of the portal that had brought him here in the water. Around the edge of the cavernous room lit sconces provided flickering but bright illumination. Massive tapestries adorned the walls depicting epic acts of valour performed by mighty heroes.

    Peter stood gawping long enough that the small cough from his side almost sent him tumbling backwards into the pool again. A small priestess enshrouded by a habit that completely covered her from head to foot stood to his left, proffering a towel.

    “Welcome Traveller,” she intoned. “It is my  great honour to greet and induct you into the Age of Steam and Sorcery. Take a moment to dry yourself before you head out to the Garden of Tranquillity.”

    Peter accepted the towel with an inquisitive look on his face. “Garden of Tranquillity?”

    “The Garden is a safe space where Travellers new to their bodies can acclimate. Very few enter this world with the form they wore on the other side of The Divide.” Peter could hear the capital letters dropping into place as the little lady spoke. “Often they need quite some time to gain their footing and stop walking into overhanging branches and doorways.”

    “Ah,” he thought as he finished rubbing himself down, “a tutorial level. Probably a good idea, all things considered.”

    He handed back the damp cloth with a word of thanks and padded down the carpeted aisle to the archway leading outside. It was a nice thick carpet and Peter was thankful for that on a couple of occasions. His new avatar, no, his body, was taller than the one lying on his bed so near and yet so far away. He stumbled a few times, falling to his knees and having to stand again and take smaller steps until he was confident of his stride. By the time he passed under the arch he felt his legs were once more under his control – just in time to be blinded by the bright sunshine, miss the top step of the stairs and tumble down to lay in a heap on the flagstones at the foot.

    The sharp pain of each impact stabbed more intensely than he'd expected but as he lay sorting out his limbs a warmth coursed through his body and soothed the hurt. He opened his eyes to see another priestess standing over him with her palms out and a warm yellow glow emanating from them.

    “Pay no heed to this minor injury,” she said with a hint of a giggle. “Most Travellers make the same mistake, even some who’ve passed this way before. Besides, it gives us a chance to demonstrate the wonders of magic to those who haven't experienced it yet. ”

    “Passed this way before?” Peter felt uncomfortable, and not just from the bump on the head. The priestess’s garb made it impossible to see her face and he couldn't be sure she wasn't laughing at him.

    “Some Travellers find that their journey is not to their liking. Unlike those of us born to this world, Travellers have the opportunity to be reborn and begin their life anew. They must release all they have accumulated in order to do so, but when they've walked too far down a path that is no longer to their liking, sometimes it is the only option.”

    Trying to think of it in real-world  terms as he lay on the ground, Peter figured that what she was saying is that you can only have one character at a time and that in order to create a new one you must first delete your old character. An interesting choice given that most games he'd heard about you could have multiple characters per account. He wondered if he'd find it limiting? Only time would tell.

    The pain from his fall had faded completely and the priestess had resumed her position at the foot of the stairs. Peter stood and straightened his clothes, looking at them for the first time as he brushed the dirt off. That was an interesting touch, and very realistic, as was the small tear in the sleeve of the long white shirt that covered his torso. Patting himself down produced a small cloud of dust from the thick black cloth trousers, a material that resembled denim. Stomping his feet elicited a squelching sound that indicated that his calf high leather boots were still very damp. He sat on the bottom step and took off his boots and socks, which turned out to be black woollen ones. Laying them on the stone stair to dry he turned to the priestess, who was looking at him and seemed to be radiating curiosity. It was hard to tell for sure under the hood and veil, though.

    “Uh, thank you for healing me.” As uncomfortable as he was feeling, Peter had been raised to be polite. “I have to go now.” He gathered his footwear and set off down the path barefoot. Small stones dug into the soles of his feet, reminding him of how realistic this alternate reality was. He had yet to see anything like an inventory screen, health bar or damage numbers – all hallmarks of games he'd been expecting. This was something entirely different.

He paused to look around and gauge his surroundings. The arch he'd emerged from was set into a mountain, the stairs he'd fallen down leading from it to the path he was on. There was little choice in direction; thick green hedges ran right up to the sheer face of the mountain where the arch was, and down to another archway, this one of wood. A small grassed area bracketed the cobblestone path, separating it from the hedge. The path itself meandered back and forth, curving around small, well-trimmed bushes. It was clearly an area for helping people adjust to their new shape without harming themselves. A bright warm sun shone in a cloudless sky, with a slight breeze that was warm with a hint of lavender.

    Peter made his way further down the path to where he could no longer see the entrance He set his shoes and socks down again to finish drying and enjoyed the serenity. Not even any bugs buzzed here. It was so peaceful that he began to doze off...