39th of ash, 4621
Disgruntled was the best way to describe his mood that evening. Just when everything seemed to be going nicely for him, it all fell apart. Arkash had otherwise stayed well-fed and dutiful in his chores over the past month, but he had yet to even lay a claw on Raphael's tools. The entire point of remaining imprisoned and under a noble's thumb was so that he could practice Necromancy in preparation for... that thing.
His reasons were his own, and they pained him to think too much of. But over time, his priorities were tested. He'd met someone, a slave girl by the name of Eira; a half-Silnorai whom he'd helped through the season... All the way up until a few days prior, where she'd tried to advance their relationship to the next level, a level that he wasn't prepared for. Then, some two days ago she came to him in tears, miserable over another slave's work ethic, for who she picked up the slack.
They had to, after all. if any one of them let their tasks go incomplete, they would be denied the table scraps that so many other slaves needed to get through the day. Arkash was fine with or without them, as he fed on the flesh of his self-imposed betters like a wolf in sheep's clothing. For Eira's sake, he did his best to maintain and complete his tasks, but that was beside the point. Arkash shook his head to clear his thoughts. The part that had gotten him strung out was how she begged him to initiate her in his magic in her hysterical sobbing.
He refused, of course. His magic was not something he wished to pass on to someone else, especially not someone that he loved. Even if she somehow survived the terrible process of initiation, in which her skin would split at random and bleed everywhere, she wouldn't be granted the freedom she wanted if she revealed her mark, she would be put to death for being a Vendikar; a blood mage. So, he refused. But he didn't tell it was because he was a blood mage. He didn't know how she would react to knowing that his magic was actually forbidden throughout the entire world, and considered lost. He couldn't trust another soul with that knowledge.
Alas, she thought he wanted to keep her there for his sake. She thought he was cruel in that sense, that he wouldn't give her the freedom she wanted because he'd miss her. While she was right that he'd miss her, he wanted nothing more than to undo her slavery. He even set aside his pursuit of Necromancy for her. She didn't see it that way, and he supposed she was right. He hadn't done nearly enough to free her of her burden. He could have collected another mark, saturated his body in etheric corruption to climb to a point where he could initiate her, and given her the mark that would have set her free under Daravin's law... but he didn't. He didn't know why, but that made his heart heavy with guilt. He could have done something to help her but elected not to for his own comfort. In that sense, he was selfish.
He stewed in his own self-loathing that evening, scrubbing down the kitchen floors alone. Eira was meant to be with him, but he hadn't seen her outside of the pen since he refused to initiate her. Where she was, he didn't know. Perhaps she worked with another slave? She just didn't want to be near him. He understood. After all, he had rejected her twice in a row. First with her wants in escalating their bond, then with the mark she so craved.
Even if he understood how she felt, however, it didn't change that he tore himself up over it. Maybe it was because he understood how she felt that he felt so strongly about his wrongdoings? It wasn't fair, he recognized. She'd trusted him with everything, it felt like, and he'd not given her everything in return.
How unfortunate it was that Arkash was soon to discover that he'd given her far too much.
The thud of boots and beating hearts stormed like thunder down the hall. Arkash rose his brow, then looked to the doorway as a platoon of twelve Halamire with halberds readied marched into the kitchen, circled him in their formation, and aimed their weapons at his neck. A chill ran down his spine at the sudden shift of air, and he looked about the men, beneath their visors. "...What's going on?" he asked without nearly as much fear as a slave should have produced in a situation like the one he was forced into.
"The Veir has summoned you, Slave. Make no sudden movements." The Veir, Raphael? "Stand." Spoke that same commanding voice. Arkash locked eyes on the visor of the one that had spoke, then carefully stood. "Take him," the leader commanded, and six of them lifted their weapons to make way for two, who closed in and took his arms. "Stand down," came the voice again, and in unison, they lifted their weapons and stood to attention.
Arkash only weakly tested the Halamire's hold on him. Did they really think that if he meant to escape, they could stop him? Given their steady heartbeats, they either severely underestimated him or his identity was not forfeited to them. If they had any idea what sort of monster he really was, they wouldn't have tried to take him by force. He suppressed his wicked smile and asked a calm "What's this all about?" But he was not given an answer. Instead, more orders were barked, and the soldiers turned to the door and marched once more.
It was all very new to Arkash. He'd not been arrested before arriving in Daravin, and in less than a season, he'd already been arrested and dragged off twice. Granted, Arkash just killed whatever Argent tried to take him in back in the day, but he wanted to keep a low profile while he was in Daravin, and hadn't resisted either time. Besides, what danger was he really in? If it came down to his life, then he would just produce some swords with blood-shaping and massacre them.
Step by step, they dragged him through the hall. He tried to walk compliantly, but they jerked and moved in so many directions in their march that it became impossible. There was no room to breathe in the more narrow halls, where he was packed behind a set of four Halamire in two ranks, with six behind him in those same two ranks. Of course, there were the two that held him too, both strong and appetizing.
He did find it curious that they didn't head to the lower levels, which is where the Veir's lab was. Instead, they dragged him up the staircase of the west wing, and carried him through the proceeding halls. His jaw began to press hard, just that one unexpected detail threw him off. Two doors down, the Halamire at the front stopped to knock on the door.
"Who's there?" Called Raphael's voice.
"Zaldunire Garson, my Veir. The slave you requested is in our company."
"Send him in," came the noble's command. At once, the knights ahead of him fell out and marched ahead. The two that held him stepped forward, and Arkash jolted as he tried to catch himself, only to be thrown into the room with such force that he fell forward and reflexively rolled into a crouched position right before the lord's desk. As he stood, he looked back at those armored cowards, only to see them close the door as they were dismissed. The sound of their trampling sabatons carried on down the hall, and the tension in his form relaxed a little.
"He does look like a fighter, the way he holds himself," the Veir observed. Arkash turned to face the Necromancer before he spoke his next sentence. There, behind him, was Eira, dressed in real clothes befitting of a commoner in place of the potato sacks he wore. "Before you make your next move, I have distributed instructions to deliver information on your true identity to house Florent in Brevin if I'm to die or disappear," he warned. Arkash's heart stopped, and he looked to Eira with wide eyes. "Your kind does have a habit of making bodies disappear, doesn't it, Arkash?"
"I'm sorry," The half-elf spoke quietly while she held eye contact with the Rath.
"What did you do..?" He spoke at a similar volume.
The Veir grinned wickedly in his seat. "Eira's a smart woman, you know," he spoke as he leaned back in his seat. "She's tried many times before to get me to initiate her, and I've refused every time... Until she offered a bounty of information on my most curious slave in return for her freedom."
"You sold me out?" He asked, so distant from the reality and weight of what was happening. "After everything, you really-?"
"-I didn't have a choice!" She spoke in defense. "I couldn't go on scraping for scraps, I told you... I tried..."
"I was trying to PROTECT YOU!!" he roared with a slam of his fist on that desk, shaking the various inkwells and quills out of place with the impact. She jumped, startled. "How could you, Eira?! After everything I've done for you..?" he spoke in furious anger that only just barely masked his terrible pain. She began to cry those tears, the same tears he'd fallen for twice already.
"Arkash, I-"
"-Don't." He interrupted. Nothing she could say would fix what was done. He covered his eyes and rubbed with both hands to ease his reddening sclera, as well as be rid of any tears that formed, but he couldn't mask the wavering burn in his throat as it materialized in his throat. "Just don't."
"...Well, if that's all, I think it's time you leave, Miss Dal'Taliva. You're free now. Present your mark at the gate and you're free to go."
His misery subsided some as he breathed shakily and composed himself. After straightening himself up, he looked to the newly-made citizen on her way out. "...I'll never forget this," he warned.
She stopped in her step briefly, then continued to let herself out. He listened to the click of her shoes as she made her way out of the fortress, all the way out of his range, then returned his gaze to the Necromancer. The Veir was beside himself with glee, it seemed. Arkash let out a shaky breath and sniffled. He buried his grief, he couldn't appear weak or vulnerable. "...The fuck do you want?"
Raphael rose his brows. "What do you mean, lizard? Oh, empowered killer of Madam Florent?" The noble continued to flex his newly found knowledge.
"You haven't sent that letter yet. You're set up to blackmail me so what the fuck do you want?" It was simple, really. "If you just wanted my bounty, you would have sent that letter and let the Argent collect me and I'd be none the wiser. So what the fuck is your end game you SLIMY CUNT!!" he screamed in rage, slamming both fists on the lord's desk.
"Hoho!" Raphael called in a flash of excitement as he stood. Arkash put one foot back to better his balance, but it was no good. The Noble had already ensnared him in a Weave, and he was rendered immobile with Nailing. "Speak foul to me one more time, bloodsucker," he invited, right before he pulled Arkash face-first into the desk with Compel and let him fall to the floor proceeding the sudden, intense momentum. Immediately, he cast Nailing again, pinning the Rathor to the floor while his nose bled. "I'll see you torn to pieces and stitched back together a thousand times, I swear it." Intrusive thoughts of biting his tongue off out of spite circled in his head as the noble pressed his boot to the Rath's chest. "I want your mark, Vendikar."
"...What?" Arkash returned out of shock. Someone actually wanted Blood Magic? "...I don't know what that is," he spoke quickly.
"Eira told me everything, don't lie."
Eira didn't know what magic Arkash had... it was obvious. Arkash furrowed his brow. "Well she's lying... I don't have any marks, you can check me." It was under his skin, on the surface of his skull. Raphael wouldn't find it unless he flayed him, and then he'd be dead shortly after, so what was the point?
The Veir laughed, uncertain. "I have other evidence that supports you have blood magic, don't you worry."
Arkash knew he was bluffing. "Circumstantial at best, I bet," he returned, then rolled onto his side the moment the noble's weave and boot came off him. "Oh, come now. I'm sure we can be reasonable. it doesn't have to be gloom and doom... You could live comfortably here, you know. The fortress always needs capable fighters. I could just give you a more acceptable mark and you'd be just as welcome as any Citizen. Sounds nice, doesn't it?"
"Yeah, too bad I'm not a mage," he returned as he lifted himself off the floor, then wiped his bloody nose in his sleeve.
The Veir stared at him for a moment, scoffed a single breath, and shook his head while wearing a smile that relayed his disbelief. "How about you sleep on it? We can negotiate more tomorrow... Oh, and if you leave, you'd best stay far away from Lorien." The noble exhaled. "I will send that message myself if you take me lightly. Are we clear?"
"Crystal," he spat.
So began Arkash's servitude, once voluntary, now forced. He had become trapped in his misplaced trust, betrayed by the one he loved for a more comfortable life. Such would shape his future relationships for years to come.
Disgruntled was the best way to describe his mood that evening. Just when everything seemed to be going nicely for him, it all fell apart. Arkash had otherwise stayed well-fed and dutiful in his chores over the past month, but he had yet to even lay a claw on Raphael's tools. The entire point of remaining imprisoned and under a noble's thumb was so that he could practice Necromancy in preparation for... that thing.
His reasons were his own, and they pained him to think too much of. But over time, his priorities were tested. He'd met someone, a slave girl by the name of Eira; a half-Silnorai whom he'd helped through the season... All the way up until a few days prior, where she'd tried to advance their relationship to the next level, a level that he wasn't prepared for. Then, some two days ago she came to him in tears, miserable over another slave's work ethic, for who she picked up the slack.
They had to, after all. if any one of them let their tasks go incomplete, they would be denied the table scraps that so many other slaves needed to get through the day. Arkash was fine with or without them, as he fed on the flesh of his self-imposed betters like a wolf in sheep's clothing. For Eira's sake, he did his best to maintain and complete his tasks, but that was beside the point. Arkash shook his head to clear his thoughts. The part that had gotten him strung out was how she begged him to initiate her in his magic in her hysterical sobbing.
He refused, of course. His magic was not something he wished to pass on to someone else, especially not someone that he loved. Even if she somehow survived the terrible process of initiation, in which her skin would split at random and bleed everywhere, she wouldn't be granted the freedom she wanted if she revealed her mark, she would be put to death for being a Vendikar; a blood mage. So, he refused. But he didn't tell it was because he was a blood mage. He didn't know how she would react to knowing that his magic was actually forbidden throughout the entire world, and considered lost. He couldn't trust another soul with that knowledge.
Alas, she thought he wanted to keep her there for his sake. She thought he was cruel in that sense, that he wouldn't give her the freedom she wanted because he'd miss her. While she was right that he'd miss her, he wanted nothing more than to undo her slavery. He even set aside his pursuit of Necromancy for her. She didn't see it that way, and he supposed she was right. He hadn't done nearly enough to free her of her burden. He could have collected another mark, saturated his body in etheric corruption to climb to a point where he could initiate her, and given her the mark that would have set her free under Daravin's law... but he didn't. He didn't know why, but that made his heart heavy with guilt. He could have done something to help her but elected not to for his own comfort. In that sense, he was selfish.
He stewed in his own self-loathing that evening, scrubbing down the kitchen floors alone. Eira was meant to be with him, but he hadn't seen her outside of the pen since he refused to initiate her. Where she was, he didn't know. Perhaps she worked with another slave? She just didn't want to be near him. He understood. After all, he had rejected her twice in a row. First with her wants in escalating their bond, then with the mark she so craved.
Even if he understood how she felt, however, it didn't change that he tore himself up over it. Maybe it was because he understood how she felt that he felt so strongly about his wrongdoings? It wasn't fair, he recognized. She'd trusted him with everything, it felt like, and he'd not given her everything in return.
How unfortunate it was that Arkash was soon to discover that he'd given her far too much.
The thud of boots and beating hearts stormed like thunder down the hall. Arkash rose his brow, then looked to the doorway as a platoon of twelve Halamire with halberds readied marched into the kitchen, circled him in their formation, and aimed their weapons at his neck. A chill ran down his spine at the sudden shift of air, and he looked about the men, beneath their visors. "...What's going on?" he asked without nearly as much fear as a slave should have produced in a situation like the one he was forced into.
"The Veir has summoned you, Slave. Make no sudden movements." The Veir, Raphael? "Stand." Spoke that same commanding voice. Arkash locked eyes on the visor of the one that had spoke, then carefully stood. "Take him," the leader commanded, and six of them lifted their weapons to make way for two, who closed in and took his arms. "Stand down," came the voice again, and in unison, they lifted their weapons and stood to attention.
Arkash only weakly tested the Halamire's hold on him. Did they really think that if he meant to escape, they could stop him? Given their steady heartbeats, they either severely underestimated him or his identity was not forfeited to them. If they had any idea what sort of monster he really was, they wouldn't have tried to take him by force. He suppressed his wicked smile and asked a calm "What's this all about?" But he was not given an answer. Instead, more orders were barked, and the soldiers turned to the door and marched once more.
It was all very new to Arkash. He'd not been arrested before arriving in Daravin, and in less than a season, he'd already been arrested and dragged off twice. Granted, Arkash just killed whatever Argent tried to take him in back in the day, but he wanted to keep a low profile while he was in Daravin, and hadn't resisted either time. Besides, what danger was he really in? If it came down to his life, then he would just produce some swords with blood-shaping and massacre them.
Step by step, they dragged him through the hall. He tried to walk compliantly, but they jerked and moved in so many directions in their march that it became impossible. There was no room to breathe in the more narrow halls, where he was packed behind a set of four Halamire in two ranks, with six behind him in those same two ranks. Of course, there were the two that held him too, both strong and appetizing.
He did find it curious that they didn't head to the lower levels, which is where the Veir's lab was. Instead, they dragged him up the staircase of the west wing, and carried him through the proceeding halls. His jaw began to press hard, just that one unexpected detail threw him off. Two doors down, the Halamire at the front stopped to knock on the door.
"Who's there?" Called Raphael's voice.
"Zaldunire Garson, my Veir. The slave you requested is in our company."
"Send him in," came the noble's command. At once, the knights ahead of him fell out and marched ahead. The two that held him stepped forward, and Arkash jolted as he tried to catch himself, only to be thrown into the room with such force that he fell forward and reflexively rolled into a crouched position right before the lord's desk. As he stood, he looked back at those armored cowards, only to see them close the door as they were dismissed. The sound of their trampling sabatons carried on down the hall, and the tension in his form relaxed a little.
"He does look like a fighter, the way he holds himself," the Veir observed. Arkash turned to face the Necromancer before he spoke his next sentence. There, behind him, was Eira, dressed in real clothes befitting of a commoner in place of the potato sacks he wore. "Before you make your next move, I have distributed instructions to deliver information on your true identity to house Florent in Brevin if I'm to die or disappear," he warned. Arkash's heart stopped, and he looked to Eira with wide eyes. "Your kind does have a habit of making bodies disappear, doesn't it, Arkash?"
"I'm sorry," The half-elf spoke quietly while she held eye contact with the Rath.
"What did you do..?" He spoke at a similar volume.
The Veir grinned wickedly in his seat. "Eira's a smart woman, you know," he spoke as he leaned back in his seat. "She's tried many times before to get me to initiate her, and I've refused every time... Until she offered a bounty of information on my most curious slave in return for her freedom."
"You sold me out?" He asked, so distant from the reality and weight of what was happening. "After everything, you really-?"
"-I didn't have a choice!" She spoke in defense. "I couldn't go on scraping for scraps, I told you... I tried..."
"I was trying to PROTECT YOU!!" he roared with a slam of his fist on that desk, shaking the various inkwells and quills out of place with the impact. She jumped, startled. "How could you, Eira?! After everything I've done for you..?" he spoke in furious anger that only just barely masked his terrible pain. She began to cry those tears, the same tears he'd fallen for twice already.
"Arkash, I-"
"-Don't." He interrupted. Nothing she could say would fix what was done. He covered his eyes and rubbed with both hands to ease his reddening sclera, as well as be rid of any tears that formed, but he couldn't mask the wavering burn in his throat as it materialized in his throat. "Just don't."
"...Well, if that's all, I think it's time you leave, Miss Dal'Taliva. You're free now. Present your mark at the gate and you're free to go."
His misery subsided some as he breathed shakily and composed himself. After straightening himself up, he looked to the newly-made citizen on her way out. "...I'll never forget this," he warned.
She stopped in her step briefly, then continued to let herself out. He listened to the click of her shoes as she made her way out of the fortress, all the way out of his range, then returned his gaze to the Necromancer. The Veir was beside himself with glee, it seemed. Arkash let out a shaky breath and sniffled. He buried his grief, he couldn't appear weak or vulnerable. "...The fuck do you want?"
Raphael rose his brows. "What do you mean, lizard? Oh, empowered killer of Madam Florent?" The noble continued to flex his newly found knowledge.
"You haven't sent that letter yet. You're set up to blackmail me so what the fuck do you want?" It was simple, really. "If you just wanted my bounty, you would have sent that letter and let the Argent collect me and I'd be none the wiser. So what the fuck is your end game you SLIMY CUNT!!" he screamed in rage, slamming both fists on the lord's desk.
"Hoho!" Raphael called in a flash of excitement as he stood. Arkash put one foot back to better his balance, but it was no good. The Noble had already ensnared him in a Weave, and he was rendered immobile with Nailing. "Speak foul to me one more time, bloodsucker," he invited, right before he pulled Arkash face-first into the desk with Compel and let him fall to the floor proceeding the sudden, intense momentum. Immediately, he cast Nailing again, pinning the Rathor to the floor while his nose bled. "I'll see you torn to pieces and stitched back together a thousand times, I swear it." Intrusive thoughts of biting his tongue off out of spite circled in his head as the noble pressed his boot to the Rath's chest. "I want your mark, Vendikar."
"...What?" Arkash returned out of shock. Someone actually wanted Blood Magic? "...I don't know what that is," he spoke quickly.
"Eira told me everything, don't lie."
Eira didn't know what magic Arkash had... it was obvious. Arkash furrowed his brow. "Well she's lying... I don't have any marks, you can check me." It was under his skin, on the surface of his skull. Raphael wouldn't find it unless he flayed him, and then he'd be dead shortly after, so what was the point?
The Veir laughed, uncertain. "I have other evidence that supports you have blood magic, don't you worry."
Arkash knew he was bluffing. "Circumstantial at best, I bet," he returned, then rolled onto his side the moment the noble's weave and boot came off him. "Oh, come now. I'm sure we can be reasonable. it doesn't have to be gloom and doom... You could live comfortably here, you know. The fortress always needs capable fighters. I could just give you a more acceptable mark and you'd be just as welcome as any Citizen. Sounds nice, doesn't it?"
"Yeah, too bad I'm not a mage," he returned as he lifted himself off the floor, then wiped his bloody nose in his sleeve.
The Veir stared at him for a moment, scoffed a single breath, and shook his head while wearing a smile that relayed his disbelief. "How about you sleep on it? We can negotiate more tomorrow... Oh, and if you leave, you'd best stay far away from Lorien." The noble exhaled. "I will send that message myself if you take me lightly. Are we clear?"
"Crystal," he spat.
So began Arkash's servitude, once voluntary, now forced. He had become trapped in his misplaced trust, betrayed by the one he loved for a more comfortable life. Such would shape his future relationships for years to come.
