86th of Ash, 4621
It seemed his efforts were paying off at last. Arkash had been given the opportunity to watch the necrodoctor Raphael at work. Granted, he was just there to clean up some mess while the Veir operated, but it was still very much worth his time. Just seeing the tools in action, what they did, and how they applied to the craft was immeasurably valuable to the rath, who had little to no knowledge of Necromancy, to begin with.
While he did take his assigned task seriously, he also took the time to spy on the Veir while he worked. Whenever the mage's focus was off of him, he caught a glimpse of what the Entente was working on.
A mage had been injured in the last clash with one of those Archetypes, and the Veir was tasked with putting them back together again. The injuries were particularly gruesome, which meant that Arkash was afforded the opportunity to see a lot in action... that was between mopping up the puddles of wasted blood across the floor. It almost saddened him to put so much food to waste, but he supposed it was just as well. Eating fresh was always a priority for him, at least when humans were on the menu.
The necromancer drew some sort of mortar and pestle from his kit and added a scrap of meat to the bowl before he quickly ground the substance into a paste. Arkash watched with confusion before the doctor scraped the milky-white goop into the tube of some sort of gun. Immediately, the rathor got to mopping the cobbled floor of the dungeon laboratory once more. As he wrung out the head of his tool, he watched the doctor apply the paste through some sort of squeeze mechanism that reminded him of the icing on a certain baker's cakes some lifetime ago.
Arkash smiled a little while he recalled that bakery. What was his boss's name? He could scarcely remember. Was it Barry?
When he woke from his thoughts, he found that the paste that Raphael had squeezed onto the wound was gone. In its place was a layer of fresh flesh. The disguised rathor blinked. How was that possible? What happened? Why did he space out at that exact moment? "Shouldn't you be working, Derek?" Asked the master with something of a sneer to his tone.
Arkash blinked, inhaled through his nose, then looked to the blood that still coated the cobbled floor. "Ah- Yes, Master. Sorry Master," he spoke with a curl to his features. He still hated addressing the pig nobles like they were superior to him by birthright alone. But if he was to retain his place in the fortress, he had to play the game. When he was done, though, everything would come undone.
He began to mop up again, and the necrodoctor got back to work. Arkash noticed that the fresh flesh was uneven, even lumpy in parts. how was that supposed to be appealing? That was when the necromancer produced a small tool with a hooked tip and began to shave off excess skin like the stroke of a brush. It was a very careful process, and Arkash took the time to watch just as carefully. He pretended to work, of course, but that wasn't enough to fool his perceptive lord. "Interested in Necromancy, are you?" The Veir challenged him again.
Arkash's entire chest tensed at his mistake, and he finished wringing out the mop before he soaked it once more, and pressed the head to the floor. "No, Master," he lied.
"Does it remind you of artificing?" The noble asked as he finished adjusting some finer details, then straightened up and turned to half-face the fake rien. "You know, from your days building Hollows?"
Arkash pursed his lips. that was right, he'd told the lord that he was a lustrian, and he made his fortune as a production line worker in Nivenhain. "Uh, yes..." He returned, obviously uncertain. Arkash couldn't shake the feeling that this was a deliberate setup. Why had the necromancer asked for him specifically to clean the lab - while he was working? He hadn't realized it when he allowed himself to be enslaved, but Raphael wasn't another run-of-the-mill target. The noble picked him apart from a distance, one conversation at a time.
"Fascinating," the slightly older male returned with a knowing smile, then put down his tool before he collected some labeled jar from the shelf across the room.
Arkash began to wonder just how many people would immediately realize if something happened in this room. They were underground, after all. A fortress on the riverside atop them. Several meters of earth trapped all sound where they were; it was an ideal torture chamber. Maybe that was the room's intended purpose before the Lord arrived, and they repurposed it for his necromantic exploits? Arkash could only wonder. "...Are you expecting any visitors, Master?"
"No," the other male returned, then looked over his shoulder to smile at the disguised rathor. "I've asked not to be disturbed, in fact," the man explained before he resumed sorting through the various jars. "You said you were from Nivenhain, correct?" The casual line of questioning resumed.
Arkash was bound to answer, too. He was a slave, and he didn't have a reason to ignore such simple questions. To do so would seem suspicious and would give the noble cause to press even harder questions. What game was the doctor playing? Arkash couldn't tell, but he knew something was off. "...Yes, Master."
"And?" The doctor quizzed once more. "Come on, you must have more to say about the world's greatest city. They sing about Nivenhain across the world, you know."
Arkash curled his features as he became increasingly frustrated and untrusting of his company. The safe was open, did he cut his losses and take what was there? How would he escape in broad daylight? Then again, the man had asked not to be disturbed... Would anyone hear his scream?
It seemed his efforts were paying off at last. Arkash had been given the opportunity to watch the necrodoctor Raphael at work. Granted, he was just there to clean up some mess while the Veir operated, but it was still very much worth his time. Just seeing the tools in action, what they did, and how they applied to the craft was immeasurably valuable to the rath, who had little to no knowledge of Necromancy, to begin with.
While he did take his assigned task seriously, he also took the time to spy on the Veir while he worked. Whenever the mage's focus was off of him, he caught a glimpse of what the Entente was working on.
A mage had been injured in the last clash with one of those Archetypes, and the Veir was tasked with putting them back together again. The injuries were particularly gruesome, which meant that Arkash was afforded the opportunity to see a lot in action... that was between mopping up the puddles of wasted blood across the floor. It almost saddened him to put so much food to waste, but he supposed it was just as well. Eating fresh was always a priority for him, at least when humans were on the menu.
The necromancer drew some sort of mortar and pestle from his kit and added a scrap of meat to the bowl before he quickly ground the substance into a paste. Arkash watched with confusion before the doctor scraped the milky-white goop into the tube of some sort of gun. Immediately, the rathor got to mopping the cobbled floor of the dungeon laboratory once more. As he wrung out the head of his tool, he watched the doctor apply the paste through some sort of squeeze mechanism that reminded him of the icing on a certain baker's cakes some lifetime ago.
Arkash smiled a little while he recalled that bakery. What was his boss's name? He could scarcely remember. Was it Barry?
When he woke from his thoughts, he found that the paste that Raphael had squeezed onto the wound was gone. In its place was a layer of fresh flesh. The disguised rathor blinked. How was that possible? What happened? Why did he space out at that exact moment? "Shouldn't you be working, Derek?" Asked the master with something of a sneer to his tone.
Arkash blinked, inhaled through his nose, then looked to the blood that still coated the cobbled floor. "Ah- Yes, Master. Sorry Master," he spoke with a curl to his features. He still hated addressing the pig nobles like they were superior to him by birthright alone. But if he was to retain his place in the fortress, he had to play the game. When he was done, though, everything would come undone.
He began to mop up again, and the necrodoctor got back to work. Arkash noticed that the fresh flesh was uneven, even lumpy in parts. how was that supposed to be appealing? That was when the necromancer produced a small tool with a hooked tip and began to shave off excess skin like the stroke of a brush. It was a very careful process, and Arkash took the time to watch just as carefully. He pretended to work, of course, but that wasn't enough to fool his perceptive lord. "Interested in Necromancy, are you?" The Veir challenged him again.
Arkash's entire chest tensed at his mistake, and he finished wringing out the mop before he soaked it once more, and pressed the head to the floor. "No, Master," he lied.
"Does it remind you of artificing?" The noble asked as he finished adjusting some finer details, then straightened up and turned to half-face the fake rien. "You know, from your days building Hollows?"
Arkash pursed his lips. that was right, he'd told the lord that he was a lustrian, and he made his fortune as a production line worker in Nivenhain. "Uh, yes..." He returned, obviously uncertain. Arkash couldn't shake the feeling that this was a deliberate setup. Why had the necromancer asked for him specifically to clean the lab - while he was working? He hadn't realized it when he allowed himself to be enslaved, but Raphael wasn't another run-of-the-mill target. The noble picked him apart from a distance, one conversation at a time.
"Fascinating," the slightly older male returned with a knowing smile, then put down his tool before he collected some labeled jar from the shelf across the room.
Arkash began to wonder just how many people would immediately realize if something happened in this room. They were underground, after all. A fortress on the riverside atop them. Several meters of earth trapped all sound where they were; it was an ideal torture chamber. Maybe that was the room's intended purpose before the Lord arrived, and they repurposed it for his necromantic exploits? Arkash could only wonder. "...Are you expecting any visitors, Master?"
"No," the other male returned, then looked over his shoulder to smile at the disguised rathor. "I've asked not to be disturbed, in fact," the man explained before he resumed sorting through the various jars. "You said you were from Nivenhain, correct?" The casual line of questioning resumed.
Arkash was bound to answer, too. He was a slave, and he didn't have a reason to ignore such simple questions. To do so would seem suspicious and would give the noble cause to press even harder questions. What game was the doctor playing? Arkash couldn't tell, but he knew something was off. "...Yes, Master."
"And?" The doctor quizzed once more. "Come on, you must have more to say about the world's greatest city. They sing about Nivenhain across the world, you know."
Arkash curled his features as he became increasingly frustrated and untrusting of his company. The safe was open, did he cut his losses and take what was there? How would he escape in broad daylight? Then again, the man had asked not to be disturbed... Would anyone hear his scream?
