[Valtoria] Shake a leg
Posted: Fri Nov 12, 2021 2:35 am
40th of Ash, 4621
Unfathomable, smoldering rage burned in the rathor's chest while he looked upon that man. It was a pervasive heat that seemed to stretch through every bone in his body, a sensation that was both comforting, empowering, and crippling in its pressure all at once. He found his jaws pressed tight most of the time, and his clawless fingers curled into each other as balled fists. The noble had beaten him at his own game; Raphael had won.
The man sat across from Arkash with one leg crossed over the other. Both hands clasped neatly upon his knee while he watched in amusement. A smile pulled at his features, a smile Arkash wished to rip clean off his face with sixty serrated teeth... but he couldn't. Not anymore. "Again!" The noble called, like a child who couldn't get over the magician who made the rabbit appear from his hat.
Arkash exhaled, then once again, assumed his true form in the dim lamplight of the necromancer's laboratory. His bones shifted out of place and his stature altered some to incorporate a forward lean of his head. Columns grew at the end of his spine as most of his body fat was transitioned to his growing tail. Skin flipped like little panels to reveal basalt scales beneath, at around the same time that his eyes shifted their hue to that of his regular misty yellow.
The noble sat at the edge of his seat through the entire process, then toward the end, began to laugh like some manic fool. He clapped his hands together in tandem, as though he'd seen the funniest thing in his entire life for the... Seventh time now? Eighth? He lost count. "Remarkable!" he called, exhilarated. "Absolutely remarkable!" His clapping continued as he stood, wiping the joyous tears from the wrinkled corners of his eyes.
Arkash watched with murderous intent as the noble stepped forward. Every bone in his body willed the death of the man before him, but both his mind and heart fought those urges. There was nothing he could do to him now. If anything, he had to protect the pig. if something were to happen to Raphael, all was lost. His revolution couldn't continue without support from the inside of Lorien's nobility. Derek Egon had to prevail, his identity had to remain intact. His master knew who Derek Egon really was, he knew the atrocities Arkash had committed and the price on his head. He'd given orders to an undisclosed person to send a sealed message via hawk to the frozen kingdom if anything were to happen to him.
Arkash was trapped, but he wasn't an animal bound to chew off his own leg for freedom. He had to find that message, that messenger, destroy them both, then carve Raphael's heart from his chest with his blunted claws... All before the noble got what he wanted from the rathor.
"You beasts, your biology, how I'd love the chance to study the properties that allow you to change shape at will..." The Veir trailed off with something of a wistful, longing sigh. "But alas, you're much more valuable to me while you breathe, Vandikar."
Arkash curled his lip. "...I'm not Vandikar."
Raphael shook his head as he stepped over to the operating table, laid upon which was Arkash's swords, which were collected with the rest of his belongings upon enslavement, the black ball he carried in his pocket, and a blackened band he used to apply pressure to his freshly opened wounds. All of which were shaped from his own blood. "It's a curious thing, to put your pride before your own wellbeing," Raphael began.
Arkash's yellow eyes remained affixed on the noble while he thought of all the ways in which he could rip the man's head clean off his shoulders. "...What do you mean?"
That smug grin pulled at the Necromancer's lips. "...Well, the only thing keeping me from having the Halamire and mages of this fortress saw your head off and claim that bounty from House Florent is the fact that I believe you have blood magic," the mage spoke in a casual manner. "How else did all these tools become made, from your own lifeblood, if not for the fact that you are a Vandikar? Do you have some companion that follows you around, turning your curiously dense blood into various tools and objects?"
The man took Arkash's sword from the table, blackened by the condensed hue of his lifeforce and sharpened unnaturally. Arkash's clawed fists clenched tighter, pressing those tips to his armored palm. How could he deny it? The evidence against him was overwhelming. There was no reasonable explanation for the things Raphael spoke of. "Circumstantial," Arkash replied. "I smuggled the ball and band in with me when I was apprehended; they're family heirlooms. The swords, too."
Raphael sighed. Ignoring the Rathor completely, he continued. "You don't trust me; you think I'll use this as leverage to keep you under my control... After all, an assassin of your skill is... Incredibly valuable in the Candor." He grinned, swimming in ideas behind those cruel eyes. "...But that's not the case. I've been honest with you thus far, have I not?"
"You're a fucking cunt!" The Rathor snapped, his whole body tense, ready to burst, but held back by bonds made of words of truth. Raphael hadn't explicitly lied, but he was far from an honest man.
The noble paused at that outburst, Arkash felt his heart quicken a little as rage spiked within him. A scoffing laugh left the man's lips while he inspected the sword with a fist of white knuckles. "You get only one of those, Pissant," the man returned. "I haven't found your mark of control yet, which suggests it's somewhere under your skin." The noble flipped the blade to hold it as one might stab with a knife, and thrust the blade through the table with incredible ease; it was far too strong to be stopped by something as malleable as wood; Arkash slashed through Argent Armor with that weapon in Lorien. It almost brought him pride to see it perform so well... Almost. "And while I'll gladly cut you open and stitch you back together a thousand times to find it, I want us to get along better than that. After all, the reason I'm keeping you is that I want you to initiate me."
Arkash could have guessed that, but like hell would he give something as powerful as the mark bestowed upon him to the man he wished to kill. "...Too bad I don't have any magic to initiate you with," the Rathor spat back with a spiteful grin of his own.
A sigh from the noble was the response he received. Moments later, he produced a pocket watch and flipped the engraved, golden lid to see the time in the dim lamplight. Without turning to the rathor, the noble closed the lid, then pocketed the watch. His anger only grew as his patience waned, and Arkash reveled in that. The Entente then approached the rathor with slow, methodical footsteps. Something in the manner in which he walked stirred memories of his time in Lower Nivenhain, cornered, carved, branded. His own breathing picked up a little as the taller man took his scalie chin and directed his gaze straight into his own. "I mean it," the noble returned. "I'll gladly cut you to pieces to find that mark... But for now, I have some business to tend to." Arkash felt the tension in the man's hand as he was roughly let go in the same motion that the noble stepped toward the door. "Become human, we're going outside," the command was issued, and Arkash begrudgingly obeyed.
Valtoria's sun was warm on his tan skin, but it heated the burlap rags he wore uncomfortably while they waited outside the fortress's outer walls beside the two Halamire that guarded the gate. They were told to prepare for violence as if the Veir didn't trust those he was dealing with. The only reprieve from the sun was the occasional breeze that flowed like waves over the shin-height yellow grass that ran parallel to the dirt road on both sides.
Arkash didn't doubt that the commands that the Halamire issued in Gentaverse were meant to alert any gunners that waited in the ramparts of what might become of the dealing that was about to ensue. He supposed he'd also have to protect the noble if he wanted to preserve Derek Egon... But from what? He doubted there was much that he couldn't handle, except for maybe a mage as powerful as Taelian.
The disguised rathor looked to his taller master while they waited. "Why all the security?" He quizzed. "You pissing your pants or something?"
"You're so very funny, Derek. Remind me to confiscate your tongue when this is done with."
Arkash blinked. The casual tone in which the noble spoke his threat led the rathor to believe that his threat wasn't a threat at all. Could a necromancer do that? Just take his tongue off? Could it be re-attached? Arkash straightened up while he waited. He didn't want the noble to know that his threat had frightened him at all, so he pretended that it didn't.
"What's it all for anyway?"
"...The removal of your tongue?"
"The business."
"Ah. Well, it's not your business. None of it, in fact."
Arkash crossed his arms, then took a deep breath through his nose before expelling it quickly. "I thought you said you wanted to be friends?"
Rapahel laughed, but it carried a certain growl of frustration. Arkash lived for that anger. The more he could tear the pig up inside, the better. "If you must know, I'm dealing with some badlanders for the retrieval of wurmblood. No doubt it's unheard of in your neck of the woods, so I won't bother explaining what it is. Just know that it's valuable to my research." Raphael then looked over his shoulder to peer past Arkash. The Rath knew he was looking at the Halamire nearby. How did it feel to be addressed so commonly by a slave before his own men? Arkash could only wonder the extent of his embarrassment. "You'd do well to address me properly before our guests, else I'll confiscate your eyes, too."
Arkash frowned at that. He'd only ever been half-blind, and that was bad enough. Without another word, the Rathor stepped back to the tall white-bricked wall, and leaned with his arms crossed, physically withdrawing from the conversation. Raphael smiled.
"Better yet, don't speak until I tell you to. Understood?" The noble called over his shoulder.
The rathor rolled his eyes, then nodded his response. That one gesture lit Raphael's chest on fire. The man was seething. Arkash knew how much the man hated it when he didn't respond properly. His own evil smile only grew when Raphael turned back to face the front. Even if he knew he would be flogged mercilessly for his behavior, he didn't care at all.
They were at a stalemate. Raphael's only power over Arkash was his identity, and if the man allowed that message to go out, Arkash would have no reason not to kill him. Their game of cat and mouse had only just begun.
Over the slight hill in the distance, Arkash squinted to see some silhouettes approaching. Was that the business Raphael spoke of? Or was it some delivery? A look to his right, where the land sank to the river dismissed his interest in the situation. He just wanted to get back inside so he could find that messenger hawk already.
Unfathomable, smoldering rage burned in the rathor's chest while he looked upon that man. It was a pervasive heat that seemed to stretch through every bone in his body, a sensation that was both comforting, empowering, and crippling in its pressure all at once. He found his jaws pressed tight most of the time, and his clawless fingers curled into each other as balled fists. The noble had beaten him at his own game; Raphael had won.
The man sat across from Arkash with one leg crossed over the other. Both hands clasped neatly upon his knee while he watched in amusement. A smile pulled at his features, a smile Arkash wished to rip clean off his face with sixty serrated teeth... but he couldn't. Not anymore. "Again!" The noble called, like a child who couldn't get over the magician who made the rabbit appear from his hat.
Arkash exhaled, then once again, assumed his true form in the dim lamplight of the necromancer's laboratory. His bones shifted out of place and his stature altered some to incorporate a forward lean of his head. Columns grew at the end of his spine as most of his body fat was transitioned to his growing tail. Skin flipped like little panels to reveal basalt scales beneath, at around the same time that his eyes shifted their hue to that of his regular misty yellow.
The noble sat at the edge of his seat through the entire process, then toward the end, began to laugh like some manic fool. He clapped his hands together in tandem, as though he'd seen the funniest thing in his entire life for the... Seventh time now? Eighth? He lost count. "Remarkable!" he called, exhilarated. "Absolutely remarkable!" His clapping continued as he stood, wiping the joyous tears from the wrinkled corners of his eyes.
Arkash watched with murderous intent as the noble stepped forward. Every bone in his body willed the death of the man before him, but both his mind and heart fought those urges. There was nothing he could do to him now. If anything, he had to protect the pig. if something were to happen to Raphael, all was lost. His revolution couldn't continue without support from the inside of Lorien's nobility. Derek Egon had to prevail, his identity had to remain intact. His master knew who Derek Egon really was, he knew the atrocities Arkash had committed and the price on his head. He'd given orders to an undisclosed person to send a sealed message via hawk to the frozen kingdom if anything were to happen to him.
Arkash was trapped, but he wasn't an animal bound to chew off his own leg for freedom. He had to find that message, that messenger, destroy them both, then carve Raphael's heart from his chest with his blunted claws... All before the noble got what he wanted from the rathor.
"You beasts, your biology, how I'd love the chance to study the properties that allow you to change shape at will..." The Veir trailed off with something of a wistful, longing sigh. "But alas, you're much more valuable to me while you breathe, Vandikar."
Arkash curled his lip. "...I'm not Vandikar."
Raphael shook his head as he stepped over to the operating table, laid upon which was Arkash's swords, which were collected with the rest of his belongings upon enslavement, the black ball he carried in his pocket, and a blackened band he used to apply pressure to his freshly opened wounds. All of which were shaped from his own blood. "It's a curious thing, to put your pride before your own wellbeing," Raphael began.
Arkash's yellow eyes remained affixed on the noble while he thought of all the ways in which he could rip the man's head clean off his shoulders. "...What do you mean?"
That smug grin pulled at the Necromancer's lips. "...Well, the only thing keeping me from having the Halamire and mages of this fortress saw your head off and claim that bounty from House Florent is the fact that I believe you have blood magic," the mage spoke in a casual manner. "How else did all these tools become made, from your own lifeblood, if not for the fact that you are a Vandikar? Do you have some companion that follows you around, turning your curiously dense blood into various tools and objects?"
The man took Arkash's sword from the table, blackened by the condensed hue of his lifeforce and sharpened unnaturally. Arkash's clawed fists clenched tighter, pressing those tips to his armored palm. How could he deny it? The evidence against him was overwhelming. There was no reasonable explanation for the things Raphael spoke of. "Circumstantial," Arkash replied. "I smuggled the ball and band in with me when I was apprehended; they're family heirlooms. The swords, too."
Raphael sighed. Ignoring the Rathor completely, he continued. "You don't trust me; you think I'll use this as leverage to keep you under my control... After all, an assassin of your skill is... Incredibly valuable in the Candor." He grinned, swimming in ideas behind those cruel eyes. "...But that's not the case. I've been honest with you thus far, have I not?"
"You're a fucking cunt!" The Rathor snapped, his whole body tense, ready to burst, but held back by bonds made of words of truth. Raphael hadn't explicitly lied, but he was far from an honest man.
The noble paused at that outburst, Arkash felt his heart quicken a little as rage spiked within him. A scoffing laugh left the man's lips while he inspected the sword with a fist of white knuckles. "You get only one of those, Pissant," the man returned. "I haven't found your mark of control yet, which suggests it's somewhere under your skin." The noble flipped the blade to hold it as one might stab with a knife, and thrust the blade through the table with incredible ease; it was far too strong to be stopped by something as malleable as wood; Arkash slashed through Argent Armor with that weapon in Lorien. It almost brought him pride to see it perform so well... Almost. "And while I'll gladly cut you open and stitch you back together a thousand times to find it, I want us to get along better than that. After all, the reason I'm keeping you is that I want you to initiate me."
Arkash could have guessed that, but like hell would he give something as powerful as the mark bestowed upon him to the man he wished to kill. "...Too bad I don't have any magic to initiate you with," the Rathor spat back with a spiteful grin of his own.
A sigh from the noble was the response he received. Moments later, he produced a pocket watch and flipped the engraved, golden lid to see the time in the dim lamplight. Without turning to the rathor, the noble closed the lid, then pocketed the watch. His anger only grew as his patience waned, and Arkash reveled in that. The Entente then approached the rathor with slow, methodical footsteps. Something in the manner in which he walked stirred memories of his time in Lower Nivenhain, cornered, carved, branded. His own breathing picked up a little as the taller man took his scalie chin and directed his gaze straight into his own. "I mean it," the noble returned. "I'll gladly cut you to pieces to find that mark... But for now, I have some business to tend to." Arkash felt the tension in the man's hand as he was roughly let go in the same motion that the noble stepped toward the door. "Become human, we're going outside," the command was issued, and Arkash begrudgingly obeyed.
Valtoria's sun was warm on his tan skin, but it heated the burlap rags he wore uncomfortably while they waited outside the fortress's outer walls beside the two Halamire that guarded the gate. They were told to prepare for violence as if the Veir didn't trust those he was dealing with. The only reprieve from the sun was the occasional breeze that flowed like waves over the shin-height yellow grass that ran parallel to the dirt road on both sides.
Arkash didn't doubt that the commands that the Halamire issued in Gentaverse were meant to alert any gunners that waited in the ramparts of what might become of the dealing that was about to ensue. He supposed he'd also have to protect the noble if he wanted to preserve Derek Egon... But from what? He doubted there was much that he couldn't handle, except for maybe a mage as powerful as Taelian.
The disguised rathor looked to his taller master while they waited. "Why all the security?" He quizzed. "You pissing your pants or something?"
"You're so very funny, Derek. Remind me to confiscate your tongue when this is done with."
Arkash blinked. The casual tone in which the noble spoke his threat led the rathor to believe that his threat wasn't a threat at all. Could a necromancer do that? Just take his tongue off? Could it be re-attached? Arkash straightened up while he waited. He didn't want the noble to know that his threat had frightened him at all, so he pretended that it didn't.
"What's it all for anyway?"
"...The removal of your tongue?"
"The business."
"Ah. Well, it's not your business. None of it, in fact."
Arkash crossed his arms, then took a deep breath through his nose before expelling it quickly. "I thought you said you wanted to be friends?"
Rapahel laughed, but it carried a certain growl of frustration. Arkash lived for that anger. The more he could tear the pig up inside, the better. "If you must know, I'm dealing with some badlanders for the retrieval of wurmblood. No doubt it's unheard of in your neck of the woods, so I won't bother explaining what it is. Just know that it's valuable to my research." Raphael then looked over his shoulder to peer past Arkash. The Rath knew he was looking at the Halamire nearby. How did it feel to be addressed so commonly by a slave before his own men? Arkash could only wonder the extent of his embarrassment. "You'd do well to address me properly before our guests, else I'll confiscate your eyes, too."
Arkash frowned at that. He'd only ever been half-blind, and that was bad enough. Without another word, the Rathor stepped back to the tall white-bricked wall, and leaned with his arms crossed, physically withdrawing from the conversation. Raphael smiled.
"Better yet, don't speak until I tell you to. Understood?" The noble called over his shoulder.
The rathor rolled his eyes, then nodded his response. That one gesture lit Raphael's chest on fire. The man was seething. Arkash knew how much the man hated it when he didn't respond properly. His own evil smile only grew when Raphael turned back to face the front. Even if he knew he would be flogged mercilessly for his behavior, he didn't care at all.
They were at a stalemate. Raphael's only power over Arkash was his identity, and if the man allowed that message to go out, Arkash would have no reason not to kill him. Their game of cat and mouse had only just begun.
Over the slight hill in the distance, Arkash squinted to see some silhouettes approaching. Was that the business Raphael spoke of? Or was it some delivery? A look to his right, where the land sank to the river dismissed his interest in the situation. He just wanted to get back inside so he could find that messenger hawk already.
