RP:Sophie's first transformation.

Sophie has been asleep for hours. She awakes feeling stiff and still tired, but not nearly as ill, or in as much pain as she has been for the past few days. Her mouth is dry, however, and her head pounding, probably as a result of the large amounts of whiskey and pixie juice, she had used to deaden the pain of her illness. She feels a desparate need for a drink of water, and begins searching around next to the bed for her bag, which contains a waterskin.She is half asleep still and has forgotten Hume's presence. She has difficulty in the near total darkness of the room, but she finally finds it and swallows some of the refreshing liquid. Her relief is short lived however, as soon as the water reaches her stomach, she begins to feel nauseous. She does not actually lose the contents of her stomach , however, probably because she has hardly eaten since the night she was bitten, so there is very little in there to lose...

Hume awakens with a snarl at the sound of noises from Sophie, sitting upright from where he dozed, curled half-asleep, under the still open window which admits a cool night breeze, shifting the curtains lazily. He is on all fours in an instant, feet beneath him and claws digging into the deep carpets. Only when he notices Sophie is still weakened and lying atop the bed does he begin to relax. Slowly he rises, and stretches out his muscles, sore from the night on the floor. He steps to the bedside and looks upon the fevered woman in the darkness. Softly, so as not to startle her, he takes the white cloth he has been using intermittently on her forehead in her sleep and douses it in the bedside washbasin, wringing it near dry, he touches a corner of the cool fabric to her temple.

You jumps a little at the cold touch of the cloth, then relaxes a little as she realises it is only her friend Hume, trying to reduce her fever. "Thank you" she murmers weakly, she is still feeling very unwell and feels that a little fresh air may help. She heads for the window and pulls aside the curtain. Suddenly, she blinks as she is caught in the light of the full moon, how could I have lost track, I thought it was days away..is her last thought before she becomes incapable of rational thought. Her body begins to change shape, and she is sprouting silver grey hair, all over. It is intensely painful and Sophie screams in agony, the end of the scream sounding far more like the howl of a wolf, than any sound which could be made by an elf.

Hume is frankly shocked by the suddenness of the change as it sweeps through Sophie's body. Dizzied by the fact that the frail appearing woman could have darted past him so quickly, and in her state, he nonetheless springs into action himself. Grabbing at her now twisting and altering limbs, he struggles to clutch his claws around one and drag her back nearer the bed. He fumbles at the bedside table, searching around in the dark for the items he brought to assist in this ordeal. His fingers close around the cool metal of the silver shackles he bought days before, and he wrestles with them and the distempered elfling in the gloom, seeking to bind her to the sturdy bedpost by wrist or by ankle.

Sophie is now just a beast in agony, she is grabbed by the dragon and immediately blames him for her pain, somehow he has been tormenting her! She is too weak to escape from Hume's grasp but, she does her best to scratch and bite at him as he fastens the shackle securely in place around her ankle. Her inability to hurt, him, through his thick dragon's scales only serves to enrage her more. She lets out a howl consisting of about equal parts pain and fury.

Hume is raked by Sophie's fingers, which now are more wolf than humanoid. He winces in pain as they dig sharply into his scales, scoring his hide but not yet drawing blood. Fortunately her weakened state appears to have left her unable to resist fully, and he half drags her nearer the bed, fitting on the bonds and tightening them down as her flesh changes shape fluidly beneath his palms. Her jaws snap and bite at him in a fervor, closing around his wrists, fighting the torment of the bindings. His face contorts in pain, but, finished, he looks upon her in sadness, even as he continues to fight off her lunges.

You lets out a bloodthirsty snarl and attempts to rush the dragon, only to find that she cannot. She is pulled up short by the strange item which he had fastened around her ankle. She spins her body, now more animal than elf and looks as if she is going to try to chew the shackle off. She stops as her snout gets close to it, however, she can smell the silver and her new, Lycan insticts tell her it is poison. She turns back towards Hume, snarling, her green eyes full of anger. She tries every way she can to attack him but the dragon is just out of reach. So she begins to strain at the shackle, pulling with all her strength is a desparate effort to get free. Snarling at Hume, the whole, time, the animal still blames him for the pain she suffers as a result of her transformation.

Hume backs away from the enraged animal that was, a moment ago, a gentle healer. Straightening slowly, he takes a step in reverse, not letting his eyes leave the beast. He notes, the amusement saved for a later and safer time, that Sophie's eyes have not changed along with her body. As she lunges at him again and again, he glances to the bedframe, glad of its sturdiness, and equally glad the lycan is not at her full strength. The strength of her muscles is apparent even beneath her lean and famished form. It would no doubt require steel or bars of silver to restrain her when in top form. Edging away from the growling ball of silver fur, he moves to a slick package of paper he left lying near the door. Cutting through the twine which binds it closed, he draws forth a thick slab of raw meat, still wet with blood, and holds it high, where the new wolf can see it, but well out of reach yet.

The wolf realises just how hungry she is on smelling the meat. After all she has been too ill to eat for the past three days.Still, the beast would rather eat the dragon than the meat, if given a chocie, she continues to strain at the shackle in an attempt to reach him, but her efforts are weaker now, her recent illness has made her easily exhausted. Realising her effort to get free is futile, she instead, in her frustration, begins to tear apart a pillow with her teeth and claws, her wolf's mind wishing the pillow was Hume, and the feathers that spill from it, his life's blood running from his body.

Hume fans his hand through the air, displacing the snows of feathers that assault him as the wolf vents her fury. He waits until the pillow is quite empty, until it has bled its last bit of down, until it is nothing more than an empty husk of silk being flailed about by Sophie's exertions. As the feathers drift down through the air, he tosses the cut of steak out towards the beast, landing it between her forepaws. He watches her with an expression not unlike concern.

The wolf grabs the hunk of raw meat and swallows it t once, after all she is starving, her wolf's stomach is less easily upset than that she has as an elf and the meal stays down well enough. Sophie is puzzled by Hume's behaviour, the dragon does not look angry, or seem to be torturing her and yet still she is in agony. The wolf thinks she may be in error in blaming the dragon for the torment she suffers. Perhaps there is some invisible, inaudible enemy, with no scent that is attacking her. She begins, to snap and scratch wildly at the air around her, seeking her tormentor.

Hume watches as the animal literally wolfs down the juicy piece of meat. He stoops to pick up the remainder of the greasy package and draws out the second half of the thickly sliced beef. Not wishing to overfeed her too soon in her ravenous state, he pauses, crumpling the waxy paper and tossing it into a corner of the room. He makes his way around the wolf who now sniffs the air in all directions, giving her plenty of space as he approaches the recently used washbasin on the low table near the bed. Taking the china bowl with its intricate designs, he flips the remnants of the used water out the window into the starry night. Placing it on the carpet, he pours new clear water into it, splashing it liberally from the earthenware pitcher which sat by the basin. Rising again, he pushes it within reach of Sophie, using his taloned foot, still not trusting her to get too near.

You attempts to snap her jaws around Hume's foot as he pushes the bowl of water towards, her but again is pulled up short by the silver shackle around her ankle. The wolf briefly considers chewing off her own leg, in order to free herself and kill the dragon, but decides to leave that option as a last resort. She is still very dehydrated and after sniffing the water, carefully, she begins to lap it up, pausing every few seconds to cast a hate filled glance, in Hume's direction. When she has drunk, enough, the wolf lies, down upon the bed to try and conserve her strength for when she does get the chance to attack. It might appear that the creature is relaxing, but no, she is merely exhausted. Her body is still, but her eyes, full of animal cunning, keep scanning the room, for something she can use get free, or even just to slay the dragon, the rage in her is so great, that she wouldn't mind remaining chained here and starving to death, as long as she got to kill the dragon first!

Hume snatches his foot back, involuntarily baring his own fangs as Sophie's clack shut on air a hair's breadth from his ankle. Calming himself, his face becomes impassive again, as the hate filled stare of the lycanthrope falls upon him. He holds to the far end of the bed and lowers himself to eye level with the enraged creature, resting back on his haunches out of range. He speaks in soothing tones, mostly to himself, as he is almost certain the altered beast cannot understand his words, "Now, Sophie. I cannot guess what your new senses are telling you, but I hope they speak the truth about me. I am not here to harm you. We have something of a decision to make, you and I. I could keep you tied here hours on end, until your rage is spent and you fall back to your true form. That is easily done, but sooner or later, you will have to face the world. We can't keep you caged and locked away from your true nature indefinitely. So, my other option is to release you into the moon's embrace, and let you find your way in the night. You are fed, you are watered. You should not be an immediate danger to others, and your new strength should keep you safe." He regards the wolf's green eyes for a time, considering these options, perhaps hoping to see a glimmer of understanding in their depths.

As Hume looks into the wolf's eyes, it does seem as if the creature finds his words somewhat soothing, the hatred in her eyes lessens to be replaced with, sadness, maybe?Unfortunately the wolf shows no sign of understanding a word the dragon says, it is merely his tone, that she finds soothing...

Hume continues in the same sing-song tone as he stands, and approaches the door, his voice low but full of the right sounds, "You're a beast, now, Sophie. An animal half and through. There may be a cure some day, some year, but not now." His brutish emerald fingers grasp the tiny brass room key and turn it delicately in the lock, opening the heavy dark oaken door, he leaves it wide to the dim hallway beyond. Casting down the last of the meat at the doorjamb, he approaches the massive bed again, never once ceasing talking, "You deserve to be free, and make your own way in the night. You'll learn, and grow wise. The wolf will become Sophie. Sophie will become the wolf." His scaled arms near her silver and white fur, pausing at the range where she could strike at him, then continuing closer, slowly, cautiously. Should she remain calm, and non-threatening, he rests his hand on the silver bonds, and with a final glance at her wolfen features, snaps open the clasp. He speaks one more word, quietly, "Go."

Sophie hestitates, which does she desire more? Her freedom, or to tear the throat out of the dragon, but the noises coming from the dragons mouth are soothing, as is his general calm demeanor, a wolf will always think twice before attacking a creature that shows no fear of it. She growls briefly as the dragon, who chained her, mostly out of pride, then runs to the doorway, grabs the meat in her jaws and runs off downstairs carrying it.