Buns in the Oven [Kor]

The man who stepped into Bishop's den might as well have been a different man from the one who had first entered some months ago. This was a stronger man, his broad shoulders now justified by far more apparent muscle. His leanness all but forgotten in his form, Korvus now fancied himself a man as Bishop wanted one; an Adonis of her molding, or at least much closer to one. He was still pale, and his dark hair now extended to just above his waist, leaving him with a somewhat evil appearance that somewhat clashed with his more grizzled form and- o, unthinkable!- the stubble upon his chin. His eyes, once a much brighter red, had darkened into something closer to brass. His robes had been forgotten in place of black leathers he adorned, in a partly accidental move, similar to what one would expect of a berserker, each blackened peace inscribed with demonic runes that may well have been painted of blood, Korvus insistently vague as to their making but ensuring that it was done bereft of magic.

The absence of magic, in fact, was something Korvus got quite used to. He used it only rarely once they had agreed he was ready, with far more responsibility than before and with less of an eye for luxury. Magic was another tool, which had its place and would be used only in it. He rarely killed with it anymore, he couldn't recall the last time he'd done so, and it was mostly used for observances and communion with the Great Ones of daemonkind. Kormok had taken as much a liking to his form as he had been amused by their procreation, still yet unable to believe it and, so Korvus imagined, laughing uproariously when he was beaten and sent away by an emotional Bishop.

Bishop- his mate- had become everything he'd expect of her, once her belly bulged and her femininity came out in full force. Emotional and angry, then tender and loving, then emotional and angry once more. Her body was sensitive and in spite of her size she sometimes managed to wear him out far sooner than he'd liked.

Overall, he dealt with her temper because it was, as a torrential storm, an omen of things to come. Of course, the outcome was not shrouded in mystery, making itself known as a warm, round bump against him every night that she suffered his presence beside him. Though he had once abhorred the idea of children, it made him happy to think of, having a more-than-worthy mother who he knew would carry them easily and well. What he knew of birthing was basic, Serkathi having advised him on the basics and then told him with a too-wide smile that the rest was up to him. Korvus hated Serkathi.

Slung over one shoulder were the day's kills. Mostly rabbits, but apparently a slow-witted fox had found his way into one as well, and Korvus seemed particularly proud of this fact. Sat on the other shoulder was a damp and particularly unhappy Crow, who refused to look at Bird or Dog and instead preoccupied himself with Bishop. Her size, in spite of her violent nature toward his master, made him feel safer. She'd obviously eaten some other unfortunate man, and so Korvus didn't have to worry about becoming a meal for at least until she digested him. He might have to worry about getting beaten to a pulp by her now, though, but in his current state, Crow doubted it.

"Morning, Bishop," he called, moving over to the fire to begin cooking their breakfast. "I found a fox out in one of the traps. We'll eat well tonight, I suspect."

"Lucky guess?" Korvus offered, tossing Dog a rabbit. Bishop's odd tastes were another thing Korvus had gotten used to; her love of offal was something he wasn't used to, but wasn't particularly repulsed by. One did not spend years in Karmor without growing a resistance to grotesqueries of all sorts, and so occasionally cooking up some odd part of a creature was far from enough to faze him. Crow gave a full-on caw at Bird; it was no small creature, having grown as Korvus had from its more weedy, diminutive state to one more befitting of its kind, fit to sit mournfully on tombstones or loom over funerals in dead trees. Instead, it served Korvus as much as Bird did, acting as a spotter and occasionally assaulting an unsuspecting creature when it had the opportunity. It was rare for it to get injured, but Korvus was an able healer even without his magic, now.

He was looking at her as he made ready to prepare their breakfast; naked, wet, and absolutely beautiful. No fertility goddess, her less-than-considerable breasts, now slightly more considerable, nonetheless subject to a massage now and again and Korvus had found her to be exceptionally tender when she wasn't doing her best to make up for it. He broke into a smile when she sought his company, and he kicked off his boots, gloves, and shoulderpiece (leaving him in what leathers protected his legs and pelvis) to go and join her. He lay down beside her, drawing close to her and offering a gentle embrace. "I missed you as well, Bishop. How does this auspicious sunrise find you?" He had once or twice called her 'dear' or something similar, but her disapproval wasn't all what made him cease to refer to her as much besides 'Bishop.' It simply didn't sound right; she wasn't his 'dear' or his 'darling' or 'love.' Those were things that the ill-trusting urbanites called their love-objects. Bishop was his mate, he was hers. Why beg complexity where there was none to be found?

In his life, Korvus had felt like the sum of all evil, an utter madman, and a whole host of other things both pleasant and unpleasant. He never imagined that he'd feel so proud to protect another, one who could not protect themselves. More to the point, he never imagined, with his stronger arms around the mother of his children and his callous hands resting on her belly, that he'd feel like a father. He chuckled right along with her, enjoying her sweetness while it lasted and hoping, as he always hoped, that she'd have something to remember when she thought him the scum of the earth. To that end, he reached up to massage her swollen mammaries, the gentleness, dexterity, and precision he had known as a warlock coming back to him even now as he kneaded and pressed to relax her. "There is nothing I won't do for you," he murmured. Soft, deep, and masculine: the voice of a true provider for a family he never thought he'd have. Was he what she would call a real man, now? He supposed so, and that sat just fine with him. "Today isn't one of observance, and this food will last us well through the day. Would you like some stew, this morning?" he asked, immensely proud that he knew the machinations of making such a dish.

It mystified him indeed, but he did not think much to question it. He learned better than to abuse it when she was angry, and focused instead on using it when she was pleased to the maximum effect. A few fingers where she guided him made things even more teasing, "Maybe stew can wait," he suggested, his voice growing smoother, softer, and far closer to how it had been when they'd first met; his evil, coercing tone had been reduced to a sensuous purr, used to entice her in the (mostly proverbial) bedroom, where his more normal tones were almost a different man, as his body was. He pressed himself more insistently against her, his breath hot on her neck and his want for her becoming ever-more clear. He wasn't sure what it was; perhaps she was just sexier like this, or maybe it was something about her easy libido that got him going, or the concept of her fertility that drew him so. Whatever it was, he was always willing to give her the love she sought, when she sought it, even if she hated him for it after.

Reluctantly, the pale man complied, offering a deep kiss upon her neck before standing up. "Very well. You rest yourself here, mm? I'll have stew before you know it, so don't doze off on me." He said, joviality and teasing in his voice as he strode back over to the fire. He knew well that the necessary always came first, but she made it very easy to forget, teasing him with her wetness and the more demanding presence of her breasts and stomach. She was a pheromonal nightmare to resist, but he could if he heard that old Bishop coming through again.

Stew wasn't so much an involved process and the repeating of various recipe-related mantras as it was a habit, now, and Korvus easily cleaned the animals for their work. He glanced back over at her from time to time, offering her a warm smile. He began to hum as he worked, taking a little longer than usual for a reason that didn't become clear until at last he arrived with her food, setting it down where she could easily reach it; there was her bowl of stew, in the ever-warming iron piece that Korvus had once used to preserve her blood, and beside it in another bowl was a near-perfectly-cooked fox heart. Korvus hoped, if nothing else, the gesture appeared thoughtful.

Korvus gratefully eased down beside Bishop and embraced her, rubbing her great dome of a stomach as he pressed himself against her. "Just as you showed me," he said, kissing her cheek. These were the quiet times, when Bishop would eat and admonish him and they would be happy, perchance they would make love or simply lose one another in passionate kisses, though it was difficult to stay at that stage when she became so easily aroused. He ate what she offered, kissing when she sought it and massaging her middle gently all the while. Crow, still bitter, hopped from the fire and sought Bird. He had grown, faster than he though possible, and complained of pain in his legs and wings. He knew of no reason for this, having been humiliated but not injured by the other beasts' antics, and so sought Bird's (regrettably) superior intellect. Korvus wanted to call her lucky; her life was laying about, getting fed and being fucked whenever she pleased, but he knew better than to say as much. He might as well have called her a useless castoff, and so stuck to sweet nothings more pleasing and appropriate to the ears of Bishop St. Claire.

Not too long later...

Korvus was left right where he had started: close to Bishop, his arms tightly around her and the both of them now a little more relaxed. Where he was the man that Bishop wanted, she so easily played the part of the seductress that Korvus simply loved, admonishing him for his skill and his appearance in the best way. A hand went to stroke her stomach again, the whole of his body cuddled up against her where it could be. He was not a stupid man; he knew that her ire would eventually come, and that he would compliantly summon Kormok before finding a nice, quiet place to go fuck himself until he thought she might've cooled down. He thought himself immensely fortunate to have a very good grasp on the ways of the wild, and to have learned this before her wrath started coming in full swing.

Crow, meanwhile, refused to heed Bird's madman gibberings. While of course something was happening to him, what lunatic would suppose that he was turning into a man? It made no sense. All the same, he did notice a change in his legs particularly. They were longer, and his instinct to hop was being somewhat thinned by a drive for something different. He picked a foot up, reaching experimentally forward with it, stepping much like a very sleepy ostrich once he got the hang of it.

Korvus had stared down some rather vicious things, in his time, those both entirely capable of speech and not. Bereft of his mask, the best thing to do was remain calm. Resisting shooting crow a look, the stupid little creature now attempting to walk, he slowed his rubbing of Bishop's middle. "No," he said, "I didn't." Mostly true; he could've guessed, perhaps, from the two figures in his dream, Bishop's talk of a son where he saw a daughter, and plenty of other things. Prognostication was tricky and symbol-laden business, however, so of course Korvus didn't know they were going to have twins. Still, that they were was something Korvus could now feel; their presences drew him to her as a father and more, kept him utterly beholden to her that he might see the fruit of their loins.

Crow noticed their unease; he didn't sense it himself, not in any way he could understand, but began hurriedly 'walking' toward the entrance of the den, bidding Bird and Dog a hurried and quiet farewell.

Korvus had prepared for this, as a guard on a castle wall might prepare for a raid. His training, however, was in tone and diction. He knew how to speak to her to, at the very least, lessen the idea that he was a reprehensible ass. First, he slid away from her. He remained close, but he did not touch her, allowing her to forget that he was there if she so sought. "You won't be killed, Bishop, you're far too strong for that," he assured her, "I'll be assisting your birthing, and keeping the demons out; I haven't come all this way with you to see you die." Korvus had long entertained the idea of making a pact with the Great Ones on a whole, to keep them out while his children were born, and Bishop wasn't getting any smaller. Serkathi and Kormok were the only two he knew to take more than a passing interest in Korvus' life, let alone that of his mate and coming children; he that arrived and thrived in their world, and yet abandoned it for the mortal world once more, was an amusing creature to them if nothing else.

Korvus sighed, opting not to argue with her; he learned quickly that this was not a fight to be won by logic, and was fortunate to have acquired but minimal bruises in learning that. Still, he could not leave her words unaddressed, "And yet they do not. I hold power where they do not, as do you. Do not forget that so easily." He gazed at her, noting how childlike she seemed. It was odd; he didn't expect such a large, fertile, and motherly woman to become almost infantile so easily. It encouraged tenderness from him that he knew well would be turned aside if offered.

"Kormok will not always come when I call him forth, Bishop," he warned, regardless standing up, taking up his ritual blade, and walking toward the fire. Without hesitation, he jabbed the knife into his arm, tearing it out with a sweeping slice out toward the flame on which he'd cooked the meat. Black blood cascaded out, caught by the fire and there sizzling unnaturally. Korvus turned to leave as the fire licked the ceiling, filling the air with an uncomfortable tingling as it was charged with magical power. Crow, meanwhile, twitched as he found walking easier. His legs lengthened and his body moved with it, and he found his wings becoming uncomfortably large. It was painful, yes, but simultaneously fascinating enough that he barely noticed the white-hot agony. His mind was racing as well, warped by the power that permeated him and so dulling his sense of pain as his flesh warped. Kormok was here, in essence, his body the flame and his sight the burning coals that floated amid it.

Crow and Korvus had long disappeared, though the former had no real thoughts of following the latter (and vice versa, in spite of Bird's insistence.) Something was happening to him, and the presence of the Destroyer was making it all the more difficult to handle that. And so, he departed, stumbling about on awkward legs that themselves struggled to handle an equally awkward body. It hurt, but it was so bloody fascinating he had to go somewhere that he could think clearly.

The pair of burning coals that were Kormok's eyes turned toward Bishop, and something like joviality permeated the air when he did. He was always uncannily pleased to see Bishop, since the girl started calling on him in this state.

You are angry, little hunter.

His voice rattled the walls and shook earth from the entrance, but, oddly enough, could be heard nowhere outside the barrow.

Speak to Greatfather Kormok of your ills, little hunter. This anger is more potent than your mate's rotten blood, but a catalyst is there provided by that useless little man.

A thunderous chuckle filled the room.

So few mortals know to call on me any longer... it is good to speak with creatures of flesh and sex sometimes, when the great beasts of my creation do bore me.

Great Kormok almost viewed this little mortal as something of a daughter-figure, though he had very little understanding of the concept. "Little hunter," as he called her, exuded hatred for that wretched sorceror as a fine wine. It pleased him, that she might hold such hatred, brief and temporal as a flame though it was, for the traitor-crow. He sensed with ease how those within her caused it but spoke nothing of her to it; it was not for her to know, not now at any rate, and contented himself to watch and listen to her speak, and provide her raging soul comfort for when her mate returned. Though Korvus irked him with his cowardice and vexed him with his form (albeit far less so, of late,) the little hunter had molded him into something pleasing to Kormok's designed. A traitor though he was and a coward all the same, Kormok could appreciate his willingness to be redeemed.

You've heard too many legends, little hunter, Kormok said, a kind condescension to his voice like a true Greatfather would give to his kin. Your traitor-crow mate is not a god, and you are no goddess. You will not beget monsters, he said, a smile evident in his great rumbling of a voice. The flames seemed stoked by the offerings, burning brighter and gaining a more corporeal definition, albeit one of the magical blaze that Kormok had decided to remain as. The sorceror-lord is a sorceror-lord no more, I have seen. His blood tells a different tale, one of a stronger body... I am proud of you, little hunter. You have done what I thought impossible. He paused, perchance to smile at her though he had no features to do so, I am very pleased indeed. You have made a man of him.