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Eidolon—Born of Mesti and taking the form of shifting starlight. They thirst alone for jealousy and are empowered to take the form of any person they wish, copying their appearance and talents. An eidolon’s true chrysalis is using a quill drawn from a celestial strix.
Teigra paused. Her eyes hovered over the final passage—the one which had brought her into the room in the first place.
Satyr—Born of Ardor and taking the form of a human with the attributes of a goat. They thirst alone for passion and can drive any creature into a fit of frenzy. A satyr’s true chrysalis is being pricked by the thorn of an eternal ros—
Her spine seized. Footsteps were just outside the door.
Suddenly, all thought of sleep and hunger was gone.
The steps came closer.
The window of the office was just a few feet away. She made to dash for it, but before she could, the door opened!
A shadowy figure appeared in the frame. Then the figure darted toward her.
She screamed, but their hand clasped over her mouth!
“Darling,” whispered a familiar voice. “Could you not wake the entire embassy?”
The hand released her. “Aurie!”
“So it would seem.”
“But... what are you doing here?”
“The same thing as you, by the looks of it,” he said, tapping the book. “Just getting a bit of light reading about hyrdas and hippogriffs, are we?”
“No, it’s just... I was thinking about what you said. About how you felt when you were around Calix. And I know you’ll just laugh it off, but I think that Calix might be... a satyr.”
Aurelius crossed his arms and gave her a mocking smile. “Ah yes, for I distinctly recall his shapely horns. It is a wonder that more people don’t notice them.”
Teigra scowled. “You know that isn’t what all therians are like! That’s only the really bad ones, or the middle-stage ones around the sable moon. Look, it’s all here—each of the five therians share three possible stages: dormant, metamorph, and imago.”
She cleared her throat and continued to read the passage:
Contrary to legend, there is practically no difference between a dormant therian and a mortal human, save some persistent negative urges which speak to the creature’s later forms. Indeed, most therians will remain in this dormant form for their entire lives, with neither themselves nor those around them having any awareness of their true nature.
However, this changes for any therian unlucky enough to be exposed to one of the five divine chrysalides.
Those therians fortunate enough to encounter one of their four ‘false chrysalides’—the chrysalides of the gods that didn’t sire them—will take on a ‘metamorph’ form, halfway between beast and human. Their latent powers will be awakened, alongside their primal thirst. They will have access to some skills of the beast and will be able to shift back and forth at will.
However, this ‘will’ is lost on the night of the sable moon, when they must transform into their beastly form, losing all sight of their humanity, and living alone to quench their sinful thirst.
Yet, even these tragic souls may consider themselves lucky compared to the beast’s final form.
Those therians unfortunate enough to be exposed to their ‘true chrysalis’—the chrysalis of the god that did sire them—turn instead into an imago. Their latent powers and latent thirsts are awakened in full. They are transformed permanently into their beastly form, regardless of the stage of the moon, losing all traces of their humanity forevermore and irreversibly, and falling to their darkest desires and darkest natures.
“Don’t you see?” said Teigra, breathlessly. “Calix is a satyr! He’s just in the metamorph form—neither human nor beast, but still with powers he can inflict on people. That’s what happened to you at the bathhouse! He used his powers to drive you crazy!”
“Of course he did,” said Aurelius, with a barely stifled laugh. “Just one small problem, love: ‘save some persistent negative urges which speak to the creature’s later forms’?”
“Yes?”
“That would mean Calix acts a bit like a satyr all the time, even when it isn’t the sable moon?”
“Well, yes?”
“Have you seen him, Tiggy? All growly faced and gruff? Never even cracking a smile? Rather at odds with the image of a satyr, isn’t it? All laughing and drinking and debauching under starlight?”
