10th of Frost, 120
In every night, there was a point where the darkness yielded to the light of day and the moon receded to a faint glow in the sky. The nameless raiding party had to hurry, for they were approaching that point in the new day.
Half a dozen good men were all he had, bar himself and Asmodei. Good being a term used lightly, that was. Almost all of them were malnourished and scabby, a lot like himself. They had minimal training in the art of stealth and required his full attention in order to see their task through, but one individual saw fit to make his life harder.
He know not the Daravinic man's name, he only knew that the know-it-all sought to snatch his following. For that, his eyes gaze occasionally glanced back at those traveling through the frozen alleyway to spy the human. More often than not, the tall, dark-haired man was speaking with some other member of the party. In his heart, he knew the human was up to something. They spoke with the rest of the following to connect, find common ground. A mutiny?
He had to figure out what game the man played, and why he insisted on stealing the loyalties of his rescued nameless. Though he cared to find out, Arkash suspected that the man also worked toward reading him in turn. On occasion, Arkash's glance would meet the human's smile. It might have been his imagination, but he saw malice in those eyes.
He had to be rid of the Daravin man, but he couldn't simply cut him down before the others. They went with his ideas because they agreed with the views he presented. They believed in his cause and sought a token of flesh for the evils done to them. For that reason, he couldn't behave like the tyrants he'd made them hate.
"What are you thinking?" Asked Asmodei in vithmi while they walked. "You're scowling, and I can only imagine at what," he addressed with a glance back at the same human.
"Don't worry about it," he returned in the same tongue with a shake of his head.
The velsign ducked a little as they came to approach the end of a long alley, then motioned for the rest to stop behind them. Arkash pressed his body to the wall of carved stone brick, then peered around the corner while his claws bled some of his precious gathered body heat into the stone. The row was clear, so he motioned the rest to follow him to the tall iron fence that surrounded the perimeter of their final mark.
The six nameless followed him across the icy street, then dropped the loaded bags they carried. They'd hit two more venues before that to steal medical supplies and food. It wasn't much, but they'd filled two bags with bandages, rubbing alcohol, and bittercress. Six more were filled with various foodstuffs and rations to provide for their people. Eight empty bags remained, and Arkash intended to fill them all with ammunition and firearms, which were both produced at the facility before them.
As expected, hollows patrolled the grounds with overseers posted at vantage points around the perimeter. His careful eyes spied the venue while he and the gathered ducked beneath the stone fringe of the fence. His heart raced while he watched the machines, past scars and traumas followed him like a shadow and clawed at the insides of his skull as he looked upon them.
"There's no sneaking through," Asmodei spoke with a nod of his head. Arkash's attention snapped from the objects of his fear to settle on the winged man. "Too many eyes on the ground, this lot won't make it," he warned.
"We can' fite ou'a way through, eiva'," Arkash returned in common. "The 'ollow's'd maul us before the Argen' even climbed down from they towa's."
"Then we need to divert them," added the Daravinic human.
Arkash laughed a breath, then shook his head. "Argent don't abandon they's posts," he began to explain, but the human continued.
"Think about it; they're stretched thin fighting the revolution. If something bad happens nearby, they'll no doubt send the hollows at least to clear it up." Again, the rath began to shake his head, then paused while the human continued to reason. "It has to be inconspicuous, though, else they'll know something's up and check-."
"-Az," Arkash spoke over the human with a snap of his gaze. "Set some 'ouses on fia?"
"...Shrivenflame doesn't burn things, Ark. It just lingers," the old Velsign returned.
Again, the rathor shook his head, then pointed to the lamp posts that were peppered along the sides of the street. "We can 'use lamp oil," he explained. "Jus' start some small ones in a few 'ouses nex' to eachova' an' let i' spread." Silence fell upon the group, and Arkash looked about the gathered.
"Wha' abou' the folks in th' buildin's?" Asked the Koltoskan.
Arkash shook his head while he thought. He really didn't care what happened to them, but he couldn't appear un-sympathetic before the following. "Th' doors is unlocked, an th' 'ollows'll be 'round to 'elp 'em propa' soon; 'Ey'll be fine." He didn't know that for sure, but it was reasonable enough to convince the uneducated humans and elves of his raiding party otherwise.
"Alright then," Asmodei bowed his head. "I'll be back shortly; take cover in an Alley until I'm back," the velsign spoke with a nod, then crept away from the fence before he turned the corner to take flight. Arkash was left in the company of the thugs and the smart ass for the time being.
Soon enough, they'd picked up all their bags and relocated to a nearby alley for cover from any patroling Chevalier. Minutes rolled on like hours, and Arkash laid curled up to preserve the warmth in his bones. Two of the nameless in his company watched the streets for any trouble that might head their way while another two watched the turn from deeper in the alley, lest their location be discovered from the inside.
Nestled in the deeper part of the alley was Arkash, the Daravinian, and the Koltoskan together. Not one of the three held Nivenhain in a positive light, least of all the only one of them who wasn't a foreigner.
Both the foreigners had their reasons and were likely as typical as the rest of their archetypes. The Koltoskan's homeland was ruined by the war that Lorien waged with Daravin, and so on and so forth. The Daravinic man's homeland was at war with Lorien, and the Rien people worshipped the kindred. Even if he was just guessing their reasons for siding so strongly against the system, he doubted either of them were as deep or heartfelt as his own reasons; he was born and raised in Lorien. He knew its evils and injustice firsthand.
The round black pupils of his yellow eyes focused intently on the Daravinic human, and his lips parted to speak while he held his legs close to his body. "I dun' fink I caught 'ew name," he initiated.
The Daravin man looked up from his intent gaze on the floor to return the rath's inquisitive gaze. "Me? Jacques," he returned. "Jacques Aadir," he clarified. Arkash furrowed his brow a little. "And you're Ark, right? Arkash?" The rath nodded. "No last name?"
"None," he returned.
"Uh, hey there," the koltoskan offered with a wave. "Name's Thomas, nice t' meet 'ew both."
Both Jacques and Arkash failed to offer the Koltoskan more than a glance and a nod of their heads. "What brings 'ew t' Lorien, 'en? Missin' Daravin yet?" He asked with a bow of his head.
The human shrugged. "Believe it or not, there's more opportunity as a nameless than there is as a non-mage in Daravin."
Arkash furrowed his brow, then scoffed. "Come off i'," he shook his head. That was ridiculous. No class on Atharen could be worse than the Nameless; they were without rights to live and own.
"No, really," the man continued. Arkash squinted. "Daravin is a magocracy, meaning those with the magic rule the country. Those without are little more than slaves. It's not too well known here, but the first rune you're given has a rough... Fifty percent chance of killing you- when it's inscribed on your body. Here, you can speak softly to someone of a higher status and elevated yourself with 0% risk of death."
Arkash shook his head. Society everywhere was terrible, it seemed. Lorien, SIl-Elaine, Daravin. Everywhere where there was a system of government, there was suffering. No fault of the poor, just a bad roll of the dice. It disgusted him. "Sure but," he began "I'd argue that 'ou've got a ninety pa'cent chance o' gettin' stabbed in 'ew gut before 'ew can swoon one of 'em Savant."
The Daravin man laughed a breath, the Koltoskan had more-or-less taken the hint that the conversation didn't concern him, as he occupied his thoughts with the twiddling of his thumbs. "Fair enough," the un-mage returned.
Arkash grinned, and a sense of comradery began to creep upon his mind. Perhaps Jacques wasn't all bad? "Well, we's lucky ew's on ou'a side. Ew's got sum good ideas," he spoke with a nod.
A moment of silence followed, and Jacques seemed to reflect before he changed the subject. "How about you, then? Why'd a lizard decide to settle in Lorien?" he asked with a gesture of his glove-wrapped hand.
Again, Arkash shook his head. "Didn'," he answered truthfully. "Was born 'ere, slaved m'life away in manual laba' wiv 'e 'ollows," he continued and looked between the two humans. Both of them watched him with tangible concern. "Lorien's shite, maets," he finished with a shake of his head.
"Agreed," each of them returned with a nod of their head.
"The hollows are moving out," warned one of the men who'd watched the alley entrance.
Arkash sighed, then pressed to his feet with a grunt. His body was tightening up a bit. "Alrite 'en, get th' u'vers, we's movin' in when Az ge's back," he declared.
