To Tom
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TennyoCeres84
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To Tom
When you first started exploring the Infernal plane with Aislinn, did she see your spiritual form as an incubus, or did you present your form as that of your physical body? It seems like Hell would automatically burn away illusion, and she would have seen what you actually look like.
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IamLEAM1983
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As Tom
"The notion of Self is a bit more... protean for my kind than for yours, honestly. What I appeared as before reaching Hope was the sum of my experienced suffering and of the concepts incubi represent. Not having attached any specific worth to any of my previous vessels, they didn't leave much of a mark on me. My current one, however?
This one, my dear, is my definitive shell. I was Named by allied mortal forces, worth was placed in the syllables that make up who I am to Aislinn and her friends - I am Tom Magnus now, somewhere between a Warlock and a Pitspawn, with one foot in the mortal plane and another on the scarred stones of Hell's depths. The nameless incubus is no more - at least not in terms of self-perception. I'll never stop being what I was made as, of course, but my sense of Self came to encompass more than that famished, lovesick and rebellious wretch switching bodies when all the knowledge it offered had been absorbed. I see myself as every inch of the warthog's heft, every stitch across his shirt, every crease in his necktie. I want the same things I've wanted since before claiming Quint's body, but I want to claim them with these very hands - to caress them, to share my warmth...
I also want to use these hands to summon forth waves of Hellfire to eat away at our enemies, but that's not for my friends to be concerned with. No - only caresses, clasps and embraces for the wider world. I'll utter curses if need be, but I feel as though Thomas' tongue and throat were made for me. I want honey and smoke to pour through them. So many lips and rows of teeth to taste, to savor - but especially Aislinn's. I want loving and salacious words to pour out of her mouth and make my ears twitch, I want her fingers on my tusks and one of her hands along my scalp...
This is who I am and who I've longed to be for centuries on end. Aislinn will see me as she sees me with her waking eyes, because this is where my pride and power stem from. If honesty is a cornerstone of mortal relationships, then I'd like for her to see every inch of my soul - all at once familiar and comfortable, and just a little more than what this body alone offers.
As to whether or not this is the norm - of course it isn't. There isn't any set norm for the Pitspawn, but a few basic guidelines suffice. Pride makes Leonard wholly and completely assume his latest physical likeness, for instance. Even down in the Pit, he'll appear as the erstwhile tormented counsel. Melmoth is forward, brash and crude - if well-intentioned - and it shows in what he appears as. Centuries ago, he had sequined shoes and luxuriantly plumed hats. Now, pinstripes and suspenders are the order of the day. The baser Vices haven't the mental energy to devote to picking out an elaborate seeming, so they shoot for simple and evocative designs: the vagrant clutching at flotsam for Mammon, the sickeningly thin builds of coma ward patients and other long-term sleepers for Abbadon...
Aislinn herself, however, would appear as she is. The experience might color her, however - leave her soul with a permanent fine crust of the Pit's dust. The body is an easy thing to clean, the soul stays marked no matter how many showers you take."
This one, my dear, is my definitive shell. I was Named by allied mortal forces, worth was placed in the syllables that make up who I am to Aislinn and her friends - I am Tom Magnus now, somewhere between a Warlock and a Pitspawn, with one foot in the mortal plane and another on the scarred stones of Hell's depths. The nameless incubus is no more - at least not in terms of self-perception. I'll never stop being what I was made as, of course, but my sense of Self came to encompass more than that famished, lovesick and rebellious wretch switching bodies when all the knowledge it offered had been absorbed. I see myself as every inch of the warthog's heft, every stitch across his shirt, every crease in his necktie. I want the same things I've wanted since before claiming Quint's body, but I want to claim them with these very hands - to caress them, to share my warmth...
I also want to use these hands to summon forth waves of Hellfire to eat away at our enemies, but that's not for my friends to be concerned with. No - only caresses, clasps and embraces for the wider world. I'll utter curses if need be, but I feel as though Thomas' tongue and throat were made for me. I want honey and smoke to pour through them. So many lips and rows of teeth to taste, to savor - but especially Aislinn's. I want loving and salacious words to pour out of her mouth and make my ears twitch, I want her fingers on my tusks and one of her hands along my scalp...
This is who I am and who I've longed to be for centuries on end. Aislinn will see me as she sees me with her waking eyes, because this is where my pride and power stem from. If honesty is a cornerstone of mortal relationships, then I'd like for her to see every inch of my soul - all at once familiar and comfortable, and just a little more than what this body alone offers.
As to whether or not this is the norm - of course it isn't. There isn't any set norm for the Pitspawn, but a few basic guidelines suffice. Pride makes Leonard wholly and completely assume his latest physical likeness, for instance. Even down in the Pit, he'll appear as the erstwhile tormented counsel. Melmoth is forward, brash and crude - if well-intentioned - and it shows in what he appears as. Centuries ago, he had sequined shoes and luxuriantly plumed hats. Now, pinstripes and suspenders are the order of the day. The baser Vices haven't the mental energy to devote to picking out an elaborate seeming, so they shoot for simple and evocative designs: the vagrant clutching at flotsam for Mammon, the sickeningly thin builds of coma ward patients and other long-term sleepers for Abbadon...
Aislinn herself, however, would appear as she is. The experience might color her, however - leave her soul with a permanent fine crust of the Pit's dust. The body is an easy thing to clean, the soul stays marked no matter how many showers you take."