Living in a suitcase was the crudest humiliation, dragging it through the streets was worse. Eventually he settled for hiding it a back alley way and running off, Covering it in old fliers and papers to keep it from drawing any notice. The best he could on short notice, he'd try to lift and drag the thing a few more blocks a day, bringing it closer to where he needed it.
Darwin found himself killing rats out of frustration, cleaving head from body of the helpless creatures. He had a small pile of the wretched things from just the morning. Loathe as he was to admit, the taste of rat was starting to sound nice, and though he'd killed in excess, licking the blood from his paws and claws was slightly thrilling. A Kind of cool rage that he'd been so familiar with in the dueling dens and the back alley cuttings that had sated him as a man. The smell of fresh death was just as fine as it ever was, even animals must die he supposed.
Consuming the raw meat still made him shudder, but the growl of his stomach was simply too much for him to ignore. Several days of expending himself had left him tired and frustrated, so he'd eat his fill gladly now and then bemoan or punish those who'd left him to rot later. The Rats would feed him and he would eat them as he pleased for now, though the lot of them had such tough meat to chew.
His plan to return to the ogress's home left him with pause, He had yet to figure out by what powers she wielded. The thought of learning such secrets made his bloody mouth water at the possibilities. Depending on which theory turned out to be true, the options it open up were tantalizing to his little mind as he dreamed up new schemes on the draft board of his mind.
If it was Pneuma energy, then it would have to assault the nervous system, redirecting the small fibers and signals to puppet the body, like in tales of Black Tom the Necromancer reanimating his dead legion. But when applied to the living, it was more often referred to as "pain magic" or "Pain puppets." He flexed his paws, feeling the claws sheath and unsheathe, he felt no pain in his arm or the rest of his body. So it could not be the techniques of those dark scholars, unless a new though or school of their works had appeared without his notice. Impossible, his collection on dark and forbidden powers was second to none, if any were investigating these, they surely would have approached him for lessons. Which left a few other options. One, that he'd been affected by some charm of personality, a twist of hatred or affection, really any strong emotion would do. He'd played with a charm of indifference once to sneak into the chained off section of the Order's library before, didn't work nearly as well as he'd thought it would. But he couldn't really bring himself to care about the incident.
Incident... Would this kind of magic been banned due to an incident? that might give him some clues as to its origins. Perhaps it was some past debacle that saw it purged. But to be so fully erased as to have escaped his notice, that was likely. He'd yet to explore the whole of the Order's records in the Library and likely there were things not kept there that he suspected were stored else where or destroyed.
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He suspected they'd done it to keep the ambitious and cunning from growing more powerful than those old fools in the Order or the Church, locking it away behind cries of 'heresy' and 'apostates' or the insipid notion of being too dangerous for mortal hands. Magic was made to conquer and tame, did not the Church itself call it the Divine Right of Man to be in dominion over the Earth and all within it? To deny the power of Pneuma and its cousins their place would be to deny the sky existed, or the Sun and Moon be forbidden to rise! Magic was power! Power like none other, and if that scared the Council and the Clergy, then he would have it all the more just to see them tremble before him. He would learn this secret art, like others appeared to, and he would bend it to his will, and it will, grant him the only true desire in this world. The Power to do as one Desired, without restriction or rebuttal. He would rise like the god kings of old and bask in their glories and the world would fall on its knees to worship him.
He spied another rat, approaching the pile of gore his morning meal had left, with a concentrated effort, the vermin exploded under the force of his will. painting the walls in charred crimson, wisp of smoke curling lazily from the bones. A terrible laugh escaped his lips, perhaps his powers weren't as diminished as he thought, It seemed that perhaps his experiment with the Crucible had infused him with more power than he'd though. Good, perhaps now if he was careful, he might be able to re-establish himself and make full use of his dread arsenal. But it was still weak, a flickering candle flame compared to a Roaring bonfire at this point, but it was there all the same.
Perhaps his will was winning out over his new body, or maybe he'd just found the right lever to pull on, didn't matter. All that he needed was the witches secret to her powers.
Wait, Witches. Yes, Darwin's mind spun as he dimly remembered the stories of the Old World of magic, Of Witches and their concoctions, brews of strange ingredients, monsters, humans, herbs and metal. Yes, they had powers over the body, the body and of blood. Perhaps there was something in those old legends that could help him here, more than just the superstitions of throwing salt over ones shoulder or stones under bridges.
Salt was powerful to disrupting Pneuma and similar energies, But only certain kinds of Cave salt would do. Drawing a circle with chalk wouldn't save you from a magician, but it might reveal one. Small particles were easy to manipulate, and also tended to get caught in the movements of the magicians swirling presence nd float towards or away from him randomly as the currents shifted. But it was also used to catch Witches, hated practitioners of magic, feared by the locals because of some schism or traditional ignorance surrounding magic. The source of witches was contentious and delved far too much in to discussions of women and the subject of Social Rights.
If they had powers so great why weren't they running the world by now? huh? If they'd been weak, then they're secrets would've simply been lost without a trace, yet, something of their arts have been rediscovered or perhaps survived those Older Days intact. There was something here, something he could use.
A scheme formed in his mind, Witches lived in fear, supposedly, of Silver. perhaps he could find a few trinkets on the street corner or in the pockets of the inattentive to help him prove his theory. Witches were about, and they're secrets would fuel his rise to greater heights, his power would be undeniable, and the City; no, The Devil would pay for tormenting him like this! Then the city would pay.