Chapter Text
It started off as entirely academic.
Testing his reflexes and responses with his new… condition, in an effort to understand his body’s limits, as well as hoping increased familiarity would lead to a modicum of acceptance.
Occtis wanted to believe that if he tried hard enough, it would come, eventually –perseverance and single-minded focus worked with his study of magic, so why not emotional growth?
Though… emotions had been slightly dulled, too. The anxiety was almost completely gone, which was pretty much the only upside insofar as what being a walking cadaver entailed, like with the absence of a need to drink, eat or empty his bowels. It was the absence of sensation and the obvious otherness that it manifested, when all others around him reacted to a stimulus he failed to notice or feel, that brought the necromancer to research and draft an experimental spell.
The working name for it in his notes was simply Transference, as he had no need for fancy nomenclature and no desire to submit it to an assembly of professors -which was a pity, he was almost sure professor Mag’Nesson would finally be impressed: a spell to pass on reaction to stimuli and physical sensation from a living source to an animated cadaver, so it could more closely imitate life.
Developed in only a few days and while travelling. That would’ve earned him top marks.
The only problem with this was that it hinged on the cooperation of a willing participant –which was why, just before passing the gates of Riesengürtle, he approached Julien:
“Julien… a moment of your time?”
As was usual, the knight of Davinos regarded him with cold disinterest, though not outward hostility, or at least not yet.
“What is it?” he asked.
Occtis took a fortifying breath he didn’t need.
“I might've, possibly, found a spell that would make it so that I don’t fail to react to things I no longer feel that a living person would, thus avoiding raising suspicion while in the city...”
Julien’s imperious brow rose in slight confusion.
“And that has anything to do with me… why?”
That was the difficult part.
“Well, you see…” Occtis started, trying to keep his tone as calm and even as possible, “The spell needs a willing participant as a 'source', so to speak, you wouldn't be affected, at all, but whatever sensory input your body processed would also pass through me... so let's say we walked through a freezing room; off of your feeling cold, my body would also remember to shiver...”
To the knight’s credit, he didn’t react with outward outrage or instant hostility, which was progress –then again, he had found it within himself to apologise to Thaisha for their constant butting heads so clearly the man could be reasonable, when he wasn’t out of his mind with grief.
Still, he did ask the expected question:
“Why not ask Thaisha? Or our elven friend who seems so taken with you?”
“Yes, that… well. The spell would likely project pain as well, so Thaisha would immediately be against it and try to forbid it, not out of malice she just— worries.” The necromancer explained, having known his wise friend for a while. She didn’t exactly mother-hen him, but her well-meaning sense of protection could be, and had been, at times, stifling. Especially so now, that experimentation was sorely needed if he were to understand and survive his new state of being. “And Vaelus is an elf. Considering their different vision and hearing, I can't be sure that it would look— natural, if a human-looking man started reacting to things like an elf.”
Julien, somewhat expectedly, finished the rest of Occtis’ thought process on his own:
“...and in no circumstance I would let you put Lady Aranessa under any sort of spell.” Yes, that was what Occtis had deduced. He could see the knight processing the information for a second, then sniff dismissively and square his shoulders. “Right. That makes sense. Very well.”
That was a faster assent than the necromancer had been anticipating, so he floundered for a second.
“Really?”
Impatience coloured Julien’s posture.
“Yes. You said it would have no ill-effect on me, correct?”
“If I do things correctly, you shouldn’t notice the presence of a spell at all.”
“Then cast, before I change my mind.”
Privately, Occtis thought he could do without the attitude, but the man was doing him a favour, so he’d save antagonising each other for a more opportune time. He drew his glyph, crushed the material components in the palm of his right hand and held it outwards facing Julien –the man had the wherewithal to notice the somatic gesture for what it was and held up his left, palm facing toward Occtis in a mirror of the necromancer’s position.
Without thinking too much about it, Occtis touched his palm to Julien’s, smearing the components between their joined hands and feeling them evaporate and dissolve as the spell took effect.
A moment of silence passed; and he watched Julien retreat his hand to himself and observing it.
“Well... you were right about me not feeling any different. Did it work?”
The necromancer didn’t immediately feel any different either, so he shrugged:
“Let’s test it. I’ll close my eyes, pinch yourself in one arm and let’s see if I react.”
He barely had the time to close them that he felt a harsh pinching sensation on his right forearm, enough to make him flinch and reach for his own arm reflexively.
“A... lighter force could have probably sufficed, but I guess this means it worked.”
The smirk on Julien’s face likely meant that it had been on purpose.
“Now what?”
Contrary son of a bitch, Occtis thought for a moment, before remembering Sir Raimond’s untimely demise and internally scolding himself for the uncharitable appellation.
“Now... nothing.” He replied. “You go about your day, same as always, and don’t even need to think about it.”
A thoughtful hum rose from the knight’s chest.
“Fair enough. Shall we?”
Without waiting for an answer, Julien brought his attention back to his horse, to re-saddle, mount, and make the rest of the way into Riesengürtle.
The inn they stopped at, after passing the gate on Thaisha’s reputation alone, was definitely not the fanciest Occtis had ever seen. Still, it was a roof over their head, refuge and anonymity, which they desperately needed still.
When Julien answered ‘yes’ to the innkeeper asking if they were hungry or thirsty, the necromancer noted that his spell seemed to be working as intended, so far: he did, if he focused on it, feel a distant pang constricting around his abdomen, and his throat felt dry in a way that hadn’t bothered him since his revival, but it was a manageable sensation and –provided Sir Julien didn’t undertake long periods of fasting– would likely remain manageable and he’d ignore it the same way he’d forget to eat or drink back at the Penteveral, during his studies.
The Kappelgarten was pretty much as it had been described to them; the place itself wasn’t much to look at, but the drinks were flowing and the food smelled good.
Occtis was the first to take his leave, not wanting to linger in a food hall without noticeably eating anything, and Vaelus followed, leaving Lady Aranessa in deep conversation with Thaisha about their next steps, and Julien off to the side, drinking silently and listening.
It wasn’t until a little while later, when Vaelus was off in her trance and Occtis had all but forgotten about the Transference spell, that things took a turn.
At first, he thought it was a feather, a cobweb, or dust, it was so light. He brushed a hand over his lips absentmindedly to remove whatever it was. The feeling came back after a moment, and he rubbed at his face with slightly more insistence.
Still there.
Sighing in annoyance, he moved towards the only mirror in the corner of the room.
While gaunt and pale, his face had nothing unusual on it or brushing against it –which made the necromancer frown in confusion.
Then the feeling became more persistent and, as he observed the total absence of any extraneous bodies in the mirror, it migrated down to his neck.
Realisation froze what little blood Occtis still had.
“Oh.” He muttered to himself. “Oh... shit.”
With Thaisha being as protective of Aranessa as Julien himself, it wasn’t outside of the realm of possibility that the knight had excused himself to... entertain company.
He wasn’t sure whether he’d find this an opportune time to do such things, but... it was the first bit of quiet they got, and likely the only they’d get for a good while, so Julien might be... making it count, as one would say.
Occtis wouldn’t know, but he had heard a rumour or two.
Julien himself had also likely forgotten all about the spell, or possibly even believed the effect had long ended, if he thought about it at all.
As sensations all but exploded all over his body, Occtis felt mortified –Julien disliked him, possibly outright hated him, and here he was, getting front row seats to each and every thing the knight apparently liked having done to him in bed.
The echo of a sharp, five-fingered scratch along his left shoulder had Occtis stifle a gasp.
“Shit.” He muttered again to the dark. “It’s fine, this is fine, focus on something else, literally anything else, and you can ignore it like the hunger and the thirst.”
He buried himself in his books and hoped that, if Vaelus was at all roused from her trance by any noises that escaped him, she’d interpret them as academic distress.
~~~~~
Julien exhaled softly to himself, as he walked back into the shoddy excuse for an inn they were staying at, before they were to make a play at visiting Lord Einfasen.
Gods below, but he had needed that. The benefit of posing as ‘cousin Marco’ and picking up a complete stranger was that not only there were no expectations of a future encounter, there was also none of the back-and-forth play at romance that one expected from Sir Julien Davinos, as all his paramours were apparently horrible gossips and discussed his performances behind his back.
Against his own will, his memory went back to those that were cut down at Palazzo Davinos –he would bear the brunt of all the gossip in the world, if he could just—
No. No, he would let himself spoil a quiet evening, not after he went to such lengths to feel something, anything, that wasn’t rage, or fear, or grief.
He entered the shared accommodation as quietly as he cared to, expecting most if not all his travelling companions to be asleep...
...but of course he came face to face with the Tachonis boy.
He was in no mood to deal with whatever nonsense the embodiment of his House’s fall was up to, but instead of the usual, if somewhat stilted greeting, the boy simply got out of his way as if his feet were on fire, gaze firmly pinned on the floor, or a wall, or anything that wasn’t Julien.
Granted, it was probably not difficult to guess what he had been up to in the last couple of hours, but the idea that the Tachonis boy was somehow judging him for it rankled.
In his irritation, he addressed Occtis:
“What?” he asked tersely, “Is something the matter?”
“Um... just to be sure. Could you— pinch your arm again?”
The boy’s response made blood drain from his face. Mechanically, without taking his eyes off of Occtis, Julien pinched one of his arms and watched the other flinch.
He had forgotten. He’d gone out to take his mind off things, and he had forgotten that he was under a spell that would broadcast anything and everything his body felt to the Tachonis boy.
Someone strike me down, now.
Outwardly, he tried to keep his composure as best as he could.
“Ah. It seems I have to apologise again.” He began, the idea grating but courtly etiquette and his own integrity demanding it, “You hadn't consented to feel... any of that, when you cast your spell. I'll have to take more care, should you need the spell recast in the future.”
Mercifully, the necromancer didn’t seem offended or traumatised.
“It’s... it’s fine.” He assured, with that quiet countenance of his, daring to direct a wry, stilted grin at him. “For what it's worth... I didn't think it would last that long.”
That was not what the knight thought would catch Occtis’ attention. He fought to keep what composure he had, feeling his own brow climb upwards in surprise.
“Beg pardon?”
Clearly, they hadn’t been thinking of the same thing, because the young Lord Tachonis promptly looked absolutely mortified.
“Oh gods, the spell! I meant the spell lasting that— ugh. Sorry.”
Well, this whole conversation just got more and more undignified by the second.
Occtis attempted to clear his throat –or, more likely, to clear his voice from the embarrassment, before speaking:
“I wouldn't have a metric of comparison for the duration of...” That did not make it any better. Had there been any gods left, Julien would have been praying right now, to please make it stop. “Nevermind. Nevermind, it's not your fault, and I basically intruded on a... very private moment, even accidentally. So let's just... call it even.”
Taking the out for what it was, Julien nodded curtly.
“We shall not speak of this again.”
Occtis was only too eager to nod back.
“Please.”
Hopefully, there would be enough alcohol in castle Einfasen to forget this entire exchange ever happened.