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The elf hummed and walked on, fairly impatient to get away from the cathedral and out of this heat. Much as he liked the power he was afforded by his affiliation with the Inquisition, the classes themselves were really rather tedious and the man was not somebody used to sitting in a classroom for long periods of time. He…wasn’t exactly the most patient of creatures.
Fairly obliviously, he passed another elven woman on the street. She did not look like she was from around here. The Imperium was mostly human– it was actually kind of rare to see to begin with. While he noted her presence, there was nothing he had to say to any stranger, pointed ears or not. What would he even say? The elven vampyre had the social skills of a rock anyways.
So the two of them passed one another, like ships in the night…or so one would think. Mere moments later, the screech of rubber against road cut through the peaceful midday atmosphere of the city. The cry of a single man, the twisting and crunching of metal and the snap of bones. Each sound bit into Hector's head given his very sensitive hearing, making the young elf flinch.
Then…blood. Fresh. Such a delicious scent…and dangerous given the fact that this vampyre was only really fed with the blood of the waste that populated the very northern parts of trash town. Unfortunately, those whose health is poor often taste questionable at best. Such a thing was not the case for the man who'd had today's accident fall upon him.
Hector turned, shifting his body and his gaze towards the source of the scent. A man lay in a heap in the middle of the road, his bike having slid quite a decent distance away. Still alive, it would appear. It was then that he noticed the other elf he'd passed was making her way over to him at a very urgent pace. Trying to help, she was.
But could she? Was she also a mage of some sort? Perhaps just somebody with medical training? Frankly, he was intrigued– that, and the scent of fresh spilt blood was calling to him.
He snapped out of his thoughts when he heard another woman shout for help. Much as he wanted to escape this heat, if the other elf that had moved were a fellow mage, he genuinely wanted to speak to her…and maybe he could steal some of the man's blood into crystals for later. With that decision made, the elf began to very calmly approach the two in the road, either oblivious or uncaring to the fact that traffic was beginning to back up. None of that was his problem, so naturally, he didn’t care regardless.
When he arrived at the side of the injured man, he was across from the elven woman. He squatted down on his toes with his thighs to his heels and hands hanging lazily over his knees, lavender eyes scanning the man’s injuries, expression blank. He almost looked bored, though this was not exactly the case.
The other two had a quick exchange of words, none of which Hector listened to or even really heard. The problem, up close, was very obvious. Most of his wounds were minor, simply from tumbling against the rough texture of the road. Such a thing could not be said about his right leg, however. It must have caught when he was ejected from his bike, twisting or being forced against the surface of something else until it gave way. Perhaps agitated or worsened on impact with the ground, even.
Vergil taught him how to assess trauma, and he did so with little issue. While he didn’t have a lot of field medical training without the older man at his side, that wasn’t entirely important because he felt reasonably comfortable with his level of skill at this point in regards to Vitalis. He lacked tools with him for Necromancy right now, anyways. It was finally legal for him to use magic, and so he wanted to take advantage of that. Plus it often made people uncomfortable when he used Blood Magic, especially because the vast majority of folks had no idea what it even was. Blood Magic had been dead for so long that there were probably only a couple hundred practitioners max on the entire continent– it was naught more than a children’s fairy tale at this point.
So when Hector used it in front of the often ignorant eyes of the common man, they met him with confusion, often asking questions, to which he just outright lied pretty much every time. He found the practice of denying what they’d seen to be fairly entertaining– the distress was the comedic point. That, and the very process of casting the magic itself was often seen as disgusting by others. The elf simply enjoyed making other people squirm. Bit of a dick, he could be.
So without saying a single word, Hector lifted his right hand from where it hung and reached over with delicate, long fingered hands to press a single fingertip to the protruding bone. With a flux of ether into the other’s body, the Vitalitasi began to channel Rhabdomancy, preventing the man from moving, now that he was effectively Hector’s puppet. However, this was entirely to restrict movement, not to control him.
Once the man was prima facie frozen in his own skin, another flux of aether started the casting of Vicissitude. The reason he didn’t want the victim, er– patient– to move was because Hector didn’t care that much about his comfort. The bone would appear to recede back into the flesh where it belonged and the mage kept his hand in contact with the bone this entire time. Bone fragments that littered the cavity would pull and regenerate back onto the damaged tibia and fibula, eventually knitting back together into something functional– though not quite the precise shape of the bone one would be born with simply because Hector was careless. However, that didn’t mean it wouldn’t last or that it was inefficient, he even threw the man an extra bone or so and reinforced the density of that which he repaired.
Now, this whole process would feel excruciating since every single movement of the bones slid against already damaged flesh and screaming nerves. One would imagine the frozen man to be in agony and Hector honestly wouldn’t blame a person of weaker constitution for passing out, but his expression remained largely placid– though an astute observer could see glimmers of something akin to fascination and pleasure reflected within crystalline eyes.
He’d also fixed the bone before he bothered to stop the bleeding, letting it continue to pool upon the ground beneath them as he worked. Fixing the bones only took about two minutes, however, so it wasn’t long enough for the injured party to bleed an amount anywhere near lethal. It was now, then, that Hector began to knit flesh back together. Tendrils of sinew, of muscle, of skin began to wisp about anywhere it had been torn, slowly regenerating and latching onto one another to pull the wound shut as the blood in the cavity would appear forced out onto the ground with an unnatural sort of force. Realistically, it would be possible to use Vicissitude in a way that would regenerate the wound that was…less visually grotesque, but the display of gore was why Hector was here. It wasn’t to help, he just wanted to play around with somebody’s body.
Once the man’s leg was healed to a point of function, he dropped the cast of Rhabdomancy giving the man, Thomas, full control of his body once more. Casting a sidelong glance, eyes somewhat cold, “You’re fixed. I’ve detected nothing else– unless you fancy continuing to lie in the street, I suggest you get on your way, yes?” He spoke coolly, though there was an odd sort of playfulness that rang through in some of the words. At the end, the elven man smiled, something sly and almost mocking.
Then, he turned to look directly at the silver eyed elf and would maintain eye contact with her until he finished speaking. “Sorry to steal your thunder, so to speak. That is…if you intended to be the one to sew his wounds. You a healer of some sort? Or just a concerned bystander?” His voice was as level as it was before, though the last word was said with the slightest hint of distaste, as if this option would be distinctly disappointing; his words were slow and delivered somewhat lazily.
While he spoke, he pulled the man's spilled blood into a concentrated sort of puddle on the ground and gradually shaped it into a perfect sphere. Once all was collected, it hardened into a glassy, almost crystalline substance. He dropped his right hand to pick it up and casually placed it into a pocket in his robes without saying a word or even acknowledging what he'd done.
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'Thoughts'
"Common Tongue/Speech"
"Mythrasi Tongue/Speech"
"Vallenor Tongue/Speech"
Aidolon Speech
