#magadon

Having hard times working…

He had scoped every house, inn, and hovel in the outer city where all of the refugees gathered. Where better for his target to hunt? But, he’d had no luck.

‘Horus’ turned into the first inn he came to when being allowed through. He hadn’t quite made it into Baldur’s Gate yet, but he wasn’t in that much of a hurry.

He could have simply teleported himself there between the planes, assuming no agent of Zariel recognised him and alerted his father of his presence. But these hopeless mortals were prime targets for his own target, and so living among them was his best chance.

“My, you aren’t looking well, Mr. Raphael,” a woman said when he stepped into the lower floor of the inn. He’d kept and run his own tavern for what few years of peace he’d had, and knew immediately that this was more than such places.

Horus’s attention snapped in the direction of the speaker, who took a cautious step back despite her tight smile.

“No offence, of course.”

He didn’t know how his target sounded in this form, and so could not perfectly replicate his voice despite knowing how he appeared. He didn’t even attempt it. “It’s a common misidentification. But I am looking for the person you referenced. You know him?”

The mortal frowned but nodded. “Who are you?”

“You can call me Horus. Horus Crysst. Is he in?”

She nodded, looking a bit amused. The voice he’d used was not the voice his target did. “He is, as far as I know. Did a seeming spell go awry?”

When Horus did not respond, she gestured behind him toward a set of stairs. “Go all the way way to the top, out across the skywalk. The room’s called the ‘Devil’s Den’.

Horus suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. Of course it was. and turned to follow her directions. As she’d said, the room was there, door closed but unlocked.

Horus pushed the door inward and saw him standing across the room, reading something. His clothes were fine and the perfume that permeated the air — almost suffocating — was expensive. Rose petals, enchanted never to wilt, littered the tiles near a roiling bath.

Examining his target, he found not a single hair out of place, though it was a different color than had been reported to him, and quite short not just ‘pulled back’. He held himself in such a way that screamed opulence. A mirror image of his father, however hard he tried to deny it.

Horus cleared his throat, though knew that the well-dressed man knew he was there. Raphael was making him wait. Still, at his own leisurely pace, the man turned, a practiced smile on their shared face.

The smile fell and gave way to confusion — and then a modicum of anger — then back to confusion after a moment of consideration. “I was not expecting a visitor,” he said simply, not showing his hand just yet.

“Surely.” Horus turned and locked the door so they would not be disturbed. It had been so long since they had last seen one another — how would he react?

The man before him had tensed some, but did not look too alarmed at being trapped in the space — until Horus let his mortal guise fall for the first time in many tendays. He stretched his wings and rolled his shoulders and neck as his body grew to its full height. The clothes that were baggy on his mortal guise now fit snug over his ridged, crimson flesh.

Another funny WOD self insert…

Working for Pentex? Magadon? Who knows, who knows…

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