4th of Ash, 4621
To say that the past year had been eventful for the young rath would have been an extension of the truth. He’d not been busy, not really. Most of his days were spent mingling with the good people of Lorien, far and wide. He’d dedicated a lot of his time to refining his manners, dialect, and interpersonal skills. Obviously, he’d set time aside for the Wrogon that accompanied him in the last frost, but hadn’t done much more than talk to people. He kept his eyes sharp and his sword arm strong with daily training, and had almost completely adjusted to normal life as a Rien commoner… If not for the events that led him to Daravin in the first place.
He was looking for someone; a mage skilled in Necromancy. Not only did he intend to learn the craft himself, but he also meant to hunt and exact revenge upon one such mage. Why? He only barely skimmed the memory before he found his fists clenched and his lips curled in rage. Sheki’s pain alone, her tears, and the desperate wail in which she cried when she came to him all set his teeth on edge. The image of what had possessed her to seek him out in Lorien of all places, so far from home, cost him many a night’s rest. He couldn’t forget them, even in his sleep. Their image clung to the back of his eyelids, and their chorus of cries rang loud in his ears.
Arkash snapped from his thoughts in the fortress dungeon once more; a cold room of damp stone bricks and wrought iron bars. He blinked quickly with his new eyes as reality returned to him, and breathed a deep sigh as if to expel his turbulent thoughts. He’d resolved not to think too much on the topic, as it often left him spacey and lost. Still, it clung to his mind like a foul odor, and he carried it with him every waking moment. He needed to learn necromancy as quickly as possible, so that he might undo the evils cast upon them… if that was even possible.
With a sigh, he looked to the hall that proceeded the bars, spied the candlelight down the hall, then looked back to his calloused hands. The work those hands had seen varied from Lorien’s coal mines to… less productive works in Lorien’s underground. The rathor curled his lips and spat at that. It seemed that no matter where he looked, be it within himself or out, he found violence and bloodshed. It followed him like his shadow, and though it found him more often than most others he knew, he too sought it out.
His eyes fell on his clothes, then; simple burlap clothes that were to replace his finer attire for the time being. Raphael had taken everything from him, from the clothes on his back to his freedom. Not long after he hid Sheki away, he was ambushed on the road and apprehended by what he could only imagine were a group of patrolling Velsign. They had spotted him from the sky, and descended upon him for reasons he didn’t fully understand. It could have been that he didn’t look like a native, or it could have been that someone had reported him in the village prior for the arms he was carrying. He didn’t know enough about Daravin’s structure to know for sure how he might have been found out, but they’d discovered that he was from an enemy nation and that he carried considerable wealth and status, by the clothes he wore alone.
Daravin was a lot like Lorien in that sense; outsiders were without rights. The moment he was apprehended and brought into Valtoria, he was branded a slave and placed before the Veir of the fortress. Could he have fought? Perhaps… if he’d had his rifle. Even when fighting Argent, Arkash’s only edge on the hulking knights was his marksmanship. Without a gun, he stood no chance against the Velsign. He’d made the right choice, even if it cost him all his belongings in the end.
Before his prison thoughts could continue down the line of ‘this will work out my way’ and ‘if I wanted to, I could easily break out of here’, the candlelight in the hall that the bars of his cell yielded to flickered with the telltale shadows of a presence. Arkash straightened his back, the looked to the iron bars as the distinct, distant heartbeats of three closed in with the sound of clicking shoes on raw stone. The exciting part was that he heard shoes; not bare feet or the clunk of sabatons, but shoes. That could only mean that someone of status was coming, someone who wasn’t following orders from above, or hadn’t the authority to do anything about his situation. It meant that he might be allowed to leave his cell soon. Hell, he’d been sitting in the same place for so long that any external stimulation was welcome, even if it was the news that he was to be put to death.
Arkash had dodged the headsman’s axe for long enough; he thought himself invincible in wake of the trials he’d stood in years gone by. As big as Arkash thought he was, however, he was due to realize that the people around him were just as ambitious, if not more. The lengths some would go to just to get their way would surprise even him in time.
Raphael stepped into the space before his cell, along with the slaves from the day before. The noble turned on the spot to face the caged rathor, who was waiting patiently atop the plank board that had served as his only surface, both to sit on and to sleep. Arkash met the man's eyes, who grinned quite triumphantly while he lingered in the hall. "...You found it?" He asked, then cleared his throat with a balled fist to cover his mouth.
"Oh yes," the Veir returned. "And I'm not disappointed. The money alone was enough to buy your freedom, you know? But everything else I found? A lot of it will prove very valuable to me," he continued with something of a cruel glare in his eyes.
Arkash squinted a little. What did the noble find? Obviously, he'd taken all that Arkash carried with him at the time, as well as everything he'd hidden in a dead drop outside the city walls. What in his belongings was so interesting? "...So I'm free to go, then?" Arkash asked, feigning hope. In truth, he didn't want to be free. He didn't want to be a slave, either, but he wanted the noble's necromancy, and it would be easier to learn if he had easy access to the man's study.
"No? Heavens, no. You're still a slave, Derek. You're still my slave," the man went on to explain with a cruel smile. Did he mean to crush Arkash? If he'd given up his belongings in hope of being set free, hearing such a thing would have crushed him. To tell the truth, the rathor hated trying to feign strong emotions. Most of the time, he felt nothing of the sort. So, he hung his head and looked to the floor wordlessly. "Oh, come now," the noble continued. "You'll live a much better life in my service than you would on the streets. If only you knew what the people of Daravin could do to you if they knew you were not a man of our faith. And besides, if you prove useful to me, then I'll make sure you're given your rights as a commoner in time. Sound fair?"
Arkash had only heard horror stories from traveling nameless in Lorien, he knew what Daravin was like to strangers at the very least. So, he nodded a little in the quiet darkness of his cell.
The noble exhaled harshly through his nose, drew a key, then unlocked the door to the cell before he stepped inside. Arkash looked up at the man for just a second, and the urge to split the skin of his wrist came over him like a heavy itch. He resisted, but that meant that he was to sit and stare as Raphael took him by the collar and pushed him into the wall half a foot behind him. "When I ask you a question, I expect an answer, slave. Do not make me repeat myself!" The human spoke in a low snarl, spraying flecks of spit at the unamused rathor.
He stared wide-eyed at the pig, and being that close to the human stirred an urge to lunge forward and bite the human. Such an instinct wouldn't do him any good when his mouth lacked the venomous properties his True Form carried. "Y-yes..." he stammered and made himself breathe quicker for good measure.
"Yes what...?" The noble paused with a slight tilt to his head, clearly expecting something.
Arkash winced a little, then locked eyes with the noble. "Yes, Master..." he finished. Unfathomable rage took his chest like wildfire. At that moment, every part of him wished to break the man into little pieces and tear all his skin into inch-long scraps. But he didn't. He continued to pose his quickened breathing as anxiety while he stared his weakling authoritarian master down.
"...Good," Raphael returned, though there was something of an air of uncertainty in his tone while he held eye contact with the rathor. "Good," he affirmed again and cleared his throat. Finally, he let the rath go. "Now some questions," Raphael began as he stood up straight and brushed off his good clothes. A look to one of his slaves was the only command he had to give, and the slave was made into a scribe. "Your full name?"
"...Derek Egon," Arkash returned.
"...Nation of origin? Province?"
"Lorien, Nivenhain..."
"Ah... And your caste? That's what you people measure your status by over there, isn't it?"
Arkash paused. They'd captured him thinking he was a noble himself. How did he justify his expensive clothes and weapons if not for the fact that he was nobility? "...Lustrian," he answered at last.
"...You mean celebrant?"
"No, Master. I am a commoner."
There was a pause, and he watched as the man exchanged a look with one of his slaves, who was scribbling away on a piece of parchment.
"...Profession?" The noble continued.
"...Hollowsmith." he replied, making sure to blanket his uncertainty. if he wasn't suspicious before, he certainly was now. How could the noble not realize that he shouldn't have been able to afford half the stuff he carried with him on a hollowsmith's wages?
"Ugh," The noble scoffed. "You make those abominations? Such a waste of artificing." Thankfully, Raphael didn't seem to catch that part, at least not openly.
Arkash carefully breathed a sigh of relief, then shook his head. "I don't care for them much either, to be honest." He admit before he looked to the three. "...Is there anything else, Master?"
"No." The lord replied, then looked to the slave that had her hands free. "Eira will show you to your duties, I will call on you if I need you," the man declared, then motioned his head for the slave to enter. She did so without question. Arkash met his gaze for just a moment, but the lord's eyes strafed lower.
"Come along, Derek," Eira spoke with a small voice. "We'll start with sweeping the dormitories and emptying the chamber pots," she declared, took him by the wrist, then guided him out of the cell, past the discerning eye of the Veir.
Arkash did wonder what it was that the noble was looking at, and it wasn't until he realized that Eira was holding him where the bindings had bruised and chafed his wrists the day prior that he realized his dranoch blood had fully healed him overnight. Did Raphael catch that? Why didn't he say anything if he did? The rest of the day, he spent being taught various cleaning techniques, the different rooms in the fortress, the appropriate places for things that the soldiers and mages alike left scattered everywhere. By the end of it, he was spent both physically and mentally.
