Atharen, A Fantasy Roleplay Forum

It was one of his off-weeks, it seemed. Arkash had thought himself some sort of grand schemer, able to pull the wool over the eyes of his master and achieve his goals with none being the wiser of his true intent, but it wasn't what actually happened. He should have been more careful, in hindsight, he shouldn't have trusted his fellow slave. Perhaps he should have just listened to Fayeth and stayed home? There were lots of things he should have done, but thinking of what could have been wouldn't fix his situation.
He lived in the present, for the most part. It was hard not to with the sun beating down on him every waking moment of the day. Arkash quickly discovered that long days in the sun were a problem for him, not just because his burlap clothes drank the heat of the sun excessively, but because he couldn't seem to cool down, no matter how much he sweat or breathed. It must have been his blood, he surmised. The rathor had found no trouble in retaining warmth since his darkened blood had thickened with his progression in Blood Magic.
In Lorien, some year ago, such an effect was beyond useful. He didn't have to spend as much time camping near open flames in his true form, and he didn't have to spend as much time or money adorning winter-appropriate clothing. For Daravin, however, it seemed to be something of a curse. He hadn't realized it until he did begin his travel with the two mercenaries, but it was especially a problem because of the limited water on the road to their destination. Arkash had to get creative.
He'd always found that his body had trouble retaining heat after he'd been severely wounded, and he suspected it was because of how much he bled in such encounters. Somehow, having less blood made one colder. So, to conserve water on their journey, Arkash discreetly pierced his thumb a prick with one of his dranoch fangs, and bled just enough to shape a small razor between his fingers, which he took to his wrist without hesitation.
They were watching him closely on the journey, and he wound up losing a lot of the blood he cut from his arteries to the sand while they walked. His drippy hand stayed positioned out of their view, at his pocket while he allowed his lifeforce to drip out. When he could, however, he leeched from that wound and shaped his blood to coil around his limbs beneath his baggy burlap clothes, like a hardened blood snake that broke off at his joints as to not inhibit his range of movement.
His blood, he knew, was twice as strong as steel and only a quarter the weight when it was hardened. He'd woven a sort of under armor beneath his clothes; nothing that would stop a bullet, but certainly enough to block a blade if he aimed it right. What was more? His plan worked, even if had left him light-headed by the time his wrist wound coagulated. He had better control of his internal temperature, but the lack of fluids in his body still made his mouth dry and his tongue massive beneath his throbbing headache. There was no winning, it seemed, but he was at least cool enough to not burn up and die.
It came to a point where he didn't even bother wiping the sweat from his brow, as it only helped cool him down as it evaporated, anyway. Whenever they were blessed with a cool breeze, the moisture on his skin drank the cold well. That was during the days that they traveled, though. Low on blood, overheated, and dehydrated, he hadn't been much in the mood to talk. They'd eaten some and Arkash hadn't once passed up the opportunity to drink any water they offered him, but he curiously took his time with his food, as if he wasn't starving after walking all day.
He was starving, of course, but regular foods did not sustain him. They provided a little comfort in the aching void that his blood sickness presented, but not much more than that, and not for very long. He had to make his food last to take the edge of his vast hunger, at least until he found something live to eat.
He'd been mostly absorbed in his own survival; he hadn't expected the journey to be so hard. But he did find time to wonder about his temporary captors. He'd never met an Orkhai before, and he hadn't even heard of whatever the shorter red lady was. He sometimes spied her tail, the curious manner in which her hat sat on her head, and those eyes devoid of any pupils. Could she be some kind of Rathor? He didn't know all the beasts of Atharen, it was possible.
Other than his curiosity of their origins, however, he had little time to consider them. That was both a boon and a curse. On one hand, he couldn't weigh them as an option on the menu if he didn't consider them too deeply. But on the other, he wouldn't consider them to be off the menu if he grew too hungry, and he was almost at that point in his sickness without Fayeth's blood to calm him. Unbeknownst to his temporary masters, the journey was shaping up to be something of a nightmare for the disguised rathor.
By the third night, the idea that he might perish on that road became a reality to him. He wasn't sure if he could make it the rest of the way, even though the strangers were kind enough to feed him in equal portions to themselves. It wasn't enough. It wasn't blood and it wasn't fresh, but it did hold water; something he desperately needed. He didn't care to take his time with it, despite how he might appear to the pair that had fed him, and quickly drank the contents of his bowl for the hydration alone.
Such fast drinking might have been a mistake, however, as the wisp of satisfaction that the soup offered only intensified his blood sickness. Arkash clasped the edges of the bowl with white knuckles, sat further from the fire than the others did, and focused intently on the flame. He'd been in his mind too long; he needed reprieve. Some distraction from the endless hunger and unquenchable thirst... His eyes settled on the red ones. He could only imagine how their exotic skins tasted by the smell of their sweat. His eyes lingered on any of their visible skin, beneath which their blood ran through veins with ease, fat insulated organs and crunchy bones rested dormant. It set his teeth on edge, filled his chest with burning need, above a bottomless pit that ached to be filled. The reprieve the soup offered was already gone.
Perhaps he would have thought differently about volunteering, even begging to join them for twenty days if he knew most of that would be walking in the sun. Perhaps if they hadn't the sense to keep one or the other awake through the night, he would have tried to discreetly tap one of their arteries by now. Who knew how that might have ended, however. The voice of one broke his focus on the thrumming beats of their hearts, and his thousand-yard stare halted as his gaze settled on her eyes. He let out a shaky breath from his mouth, which hung ajar to allow more heat to escape from his lungs. They were an entire day's walking from the Chariots, whatever that meant. He was done for.
Arkash set the bowl down beneath that outcropping. How was he going to survive? He could just kill them both, but then he'd be stranded, so far from where he was meant to be with nothing to guide him. If he somehow found the trail of blood he'd left he could find the rest of the way, but he hadn't bled since the first day. It was too far back for him to find. Besides, Raphael would no doubt be pissed off if he came back matted in their gore with no product to show for it. Still, he was becoming desperate. if he could just get away from them long enough to find some animal to maul and eat, he would be fine, he thought. Any morsel, just to keep him going. He was desperate. How did he get away from them?
"I need ta poop," he answered her question on the wurm with a raspy voice. He didn't really, he hadn't done that since he became a dranoch some year prior. It seemed that everything he ate, bones and all, was broken down and used for energy. "Haven't shi' in three days, so i's gonna be bad..." he tried to make it sound even more unappealing. "I swear on me mum I won't run, so just lemme go do it and I'll be back."
He pursed his dry lips then, and rolled to his feet with a wobble of his stilt-like legs, regardless of if they gave him permission or not. He spun on his bare heel, then walked out into the cold darkness of the arid Darvinic night.

But could she even be sure it was him?
Arkash, from the moment he left the light of the campfire, to the moment their hearts left his range of hearing, walked with a sort of faltering, broken step as to not arouse suspicion. But he lifted his head to look over his shoulder when they were out of his hearing range and began to assume his true form. Under naught but the light of the stars and the slim crescent moon, Arkash's bones realigned. His face extended grotesquely and his back curved toward the top in a slouch. Skin became replaced by panels of scales, which flooded like ink in water to assume the darker color of his basalt. His newly-formed tail draped over the back of his burlap pants, and his foot claws tensed in the earth.
Lowering his body with a widened stance, Arkash waited for the last of the changes to materialize, then sighed a hot breath in the comparably cooler night. In a sudden burst of force, Arkash took off running, away from the camp. He was on the verge of some sort of frenzy, he could feel it. Just one whiff of blood would drive him wild. He didn't want to be near the red ones when that happened, lest they end up on the menu.
He hadn't run very long at all before he caught the distinct, quickened heartbeat of some small animal beneath the surface. His rounded pupils shrunk to pinpricks in the misty yellow of his eye's canvas, and he gripped the ground with his claws to support the rapid swing and change of his momentum. He b-lined for that small beating heart.
He skidded to a stop over the space in the ground, then put his hands together as if he was praying, but he wasn't. The coils of hardened blood that wrapped his arms softened as he began to blood shape them, then made them crawl along the length of his arms to join at his hands, then form an elongated spike, which he sharpened with another scrap of ether from his suffused ability. He lifted one leg as he took the spike with both hands, then grunted as he drove it down into the hardened, packed earth. The spike ripped through the ground with ease and pierced the animal he hunted all the way through, and into the ground below it.
Satisfied, he ripped the spike from the ground and immediately began to lick the fresh blood and dirt from the body of the spike. Rabbit. Some sort of rabbit underground. He needed more. So, he split the spike in two to form two shortswords, suffused both, then attacked the packed earth in a deadly twirl. Each slash of his blades cut through inches of dirt like butter as he literally cut out a shape in the ground, and thrust his blades in the freshly-cut cracks to pry it out of place. The moment the smell of fresh blood filled the air, Arkash discarded his swords and thrust his fist into the rubble he'd made to snatch the animal. Without cleaning it or anything, he bit into the small creature and ripped off whatever he could sink his teeth into.
His legs wobbled at the taste of fresh blood, then buckled. The world faded into the background, and all that existed for the starved dranoch was the lifeblood of his meager prey. Bones were crushed and shattered in his jaws, he tasted its organs, brain matter, muscle, and tendon oh-so briefly on the way down. With every subsequent bite, his hunger only grew more intense. All in all, the sizeable hare only lasted him four bites. He needed more.
Out of breath, muzzle dripping blood and wobbly on his feet from the fleeting ecstasy of feeding again, Arkash collected both his swords, then broke off the ground in another hard sprint. The river. The close he got to the river he got, the more living things he would find. He hurtled toward it before something most tantalizing caught his attention; a chorus of beating hearts.
The world had seen fit to reward his patience with mercy, it seemed, as he fell upon a herd of impala. A blood bath ensued. In a single swing, he cut the head off the first, and slashed through the neck of the second with such depth that he touched bone. It was after the second body hit the floor that they woke from their standing sleep, and turned to rush away in some fearful fit. Part of him wanted to pursue them, like two impala wouldn't be enough to sate his hunger, but he didn't The urge to feed was stronger than his urge to gorge himself. Once again, he dropped his swords and began to rip through chunks of impala under the pale light of the stars.
Lost in euphoria as he satiated his hunger, he paid no mind to the sound of a beating heart nearby, watching him from behind a boulder. He didn't care. If something wanted to attack him or contest his meal, it was welcome to try. Not even a second of his focus was wasted on whatever it was that had scampered into the splash zone. No, his mind was far more occupied with which cut of meat to eat first, the stretch and tear of impala skin, and how he might possibly eat the skull with the horns attached. He cut them off in the end and broke them apart in his jaws. The heartbeat had already scampered off. Good. Whatever animal had found him knew not to try him.
All his senses were metaphorically or physically clogged by impala gore for some time, even after he'd eaten his fill. Arkash sighed in delight, satisfied with the meat of animals. It wasn't as good as mortal flesh, of course, but his blood sickness had completely subsided. Woozy in his euphoria, Arkash waddled the rest of the way to the river, fell to his knees, and dipped his muzzle in the flowing water thoughtlessly. Just as it did in the wild, a slight gap in his lip acted as a straw, and Arkash drank his fill of water. The saliva in his mouth clung to any bacteria in the unrefined water, further amplifying the lethality of his bite.
He'd been there for a while, utterly flattened by the temporary fullness those impalas had provided, and the rich hydration straight from the river. He'd drank and ate so much, and after days of suffering, he was well again. The only problem was, that because he'd fed, his blood would start to replenish again. He'd have to bloodlet himself on the road as they walked. Finally, the rathor stood, and wound the blades of blood around his arms again in turn. They stayed hidden under his burlap clothes, ready to assist him in whatever combat ensued. He then cast sway, evaporating all the blood and gore that matted his burlap clothes. The stains were reduced to mist, that descended and painted the sand.
A soft sigh escaped him to see that blood go to waste, but it couldn't be helped. His eyes widened then when he realized that he wasn't meant to be gone that long. At once, the Rath broke into a sprint and began to run toward the camp. Finding his way back was easy; all he had to do was keep an eye on the grip of his claws, which ripped through dirt with every step he'd taken into the wild. And with his night vision, such a task was more than achievable. When he saw the glow of the campfire in the distance, he began to revert to his humanoid form, stood upright, then brushed off his clothes. Some walking later drew the sound of their beating hearts into focus, and he entered the light of the campfire. He'd been gone for what, an hour? Maybe forty minutes? Arkash pursed his lips in an uncomfortable frown. How did he explain himself?
"Sorry," he started with both hands up. "I couldn't find anything to wipe with except cactus, and that was NOT happening," despite his choice of words, he spoke far more eloquently than when he was starving. "But here I am, back and ready to go."
As he took his seat, he re-tied his wrist with the rope and tightened it for good measure. A testing tug assured his temporary masters that he wasn't going anywhere. he then noticed the sleeping Orkhai, then adjusted his volume. "...We're a day's hike away, you said? I think we can make it sooner if I pick up the pace." he reached for his bare feet, pressing and massaging the arch. "I'm sorry I've been slow, the road is just so hot, and you know... Potato sack shoes are hard to come by, so..." he shrugged indifferently.
"I've seen plenty of worms, too, but like... I don't know how you expect to fill fifteen gallons with those little guys. Why the Bell does anyone want fifteen gallons of earthworms anyway?" he'd wanted to ask that same question when they were negotiating with Raphael, but hadn't because he was forbidden from talking in the first place.
His feet didn't really hurt, he was quite used to walking around barefoot, even if human feet were so much worse at it than his real feet. But, he continued to rub and stretch his dirty, leathery soles through the conversation.

The rope around his wrist had begun to chafe at some point, but he knew the irritated skin would heal very quickly once he ate, so it didn't bother him. It was particularly bothersome around the area where he'd broken his skin, and he'd made a conscious effort to keep it off the scabbed lump of skin. But according to his captor, he didn't have to wear it anymore? Arkash tilted his head inquisitively. "...Really?" He wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth, and it's not like the rope could actually stop him from running in reality, anyway, so he untied it again with his teeth and let it fall loose.
"Hogs, huh... You know I have a pet hog back home, sort of." He squinted, rolling his wrist while he measured the information he shared. Was it normal to start talking about his pet out of nowhere? "Well, it's a Worogon wild boar, but it's sort of like a pig," he explained. "Not sure if you have them all the way down here though." A passing thought struck; should he really be talking about his life outside of slavery? If he was really as hopeless as he meant to come across as then shouldn't he talk about his pet in the past tense? He'd HAD a Wrogon before, but that was gone now. He briefly made eye contact with the red, pupil-less one while he thought, then returned his gaze to the fire. He had to watch that post-feeding euphoria, it would get him in trouble.
"Yeah, I'm feeling way better now," He assured. "No more dawdling, I'll match whatever pace you two go for." He spoke with a gentle nod, then looked at the Orkhai while she slept. "...How did you two come to be a duo anyway?" Come to think of it, he didn't really know anything about those people. They weren't anything like he'd encountered so far in Daravin, not like the snobby bigots that attacked and trampled him just for looking like a foreigner. The fact that they let him go free without the lead and talked to him as an equal despite appearing like the doormat he projected did wonders for his perception of them. The fact that they didn't really come across as nobility, and were shooed off by Raphael also helped.
"For real?" He asked as she mentioned his proper pants, scarf, and clothes. Taken aback, he widened his eyes. "Are you sure? I mean I can work the potato sack but..." He stopped himself while looking a gift horse in the mouth again. "Well, I won't complain. It's okay if you change your mind though, I won't be mad or whatever." He exhaled through his nose. They were much fairer than he'd first given them credit for. Everything, from talking on an equal level to the offer of equal portions, and now the offered clothes. "Yeah, I'll give them back after," he assured at the drop of 'loaner'. Even so, he was still incredibly grateful. "A hat sounds... I don't know. Doesn't that make you hotter?" He was skeptical on that part. "I feel like my head is the first thing to get hot."
Wurms. As opposed to worms, wUrms were an entirely different ballgame, it seemed. Arkash furrowed his brow and pursed his lips. He really doubted a wurm could be bigger than the Kindred, those massive rotting vultures from the north. "...I see, well fifteen gallons is a lot more reasonable if they're really that big," he spoke with a nod. "What's so dangerous about them? is it just that they're big? Do they have some sort of magic? Slow is good, but what's the catch?" A huge, slow target didn't sound like that hard a fight at all. Did he even need the mercs? "Machines... Like Golems? Artificing?" He hadn't known anyone that used wurm blood to power their Golems before, and conventional machines and steam engines weren't native to Lorien.
The young rath had so many questions. Having been confined to the fortress for most of his stay in Daravin, he hadn't had the chance to speak to any locals that didn't want to abuse him in some way. Even if they were his captors, it felt loosely so. He felt that he could ask them these things without repercussion, but perhaps that was the post-feeding euphoria talking again?
Arkash was oblivious to the fact that she'd seen him in his true form, blood magic and all. If anything, the momentary presence of an animal watching him was already forgotten. He had yet to realize that the shorter of the two had suspicions on him, and he behaved as though there was nothing that should make them cautious of him. They had no reason to treat him as an equal, other than the kindness of their hearts, and yet they still did. Why would he even begin to suspect that something was amiss?

Some questions were a little too personal, it seemed. Getting the shorter of the two to open up was something of a hassle, and she only seemed to withdraw further in herself. Arkash didn't falter, though. He maintained his friendly, outgoing disposition throughout the whole thing. There wasn't much else to say other than he was a happy-go-lucky slave, eager to talk and socialize with his captors. What was there to suspect?
He tilted his head at the mention of motorized chariots. Like they were golems? He still didn't know anything about motorized machinery or anything of the sort. When he thought of it, it seemed like a good idea to have golems pull chariots. Golem horses? He did wonder if such a thing existed. Why didn't everyone ride on golem horses instead of real horses? He imagined it would be too humane to practice in Lorien.
His name was asked, and he realized he didn't know the names of his captors. He'd skipped out on manners, for sure, but between the deathly sun and the blood sickness, Arkash hadn't been in the mood for talking much. Miki and Izul. Curious names indeed, they almost reminded him of the others. What name did he offer in turn? He parted his lips to speak but stopped. His mind's eye turned to Eira, and everything she'd done with his identity. To know his name was to have power over him. "Derek," he replied at last. "Derek Egon."
He did not mistake their generosity for integrity. He wondered if there was anyone he could trust with such powerful information? Probably not. To tell them was to kill them, no one else could know who he was. His vacation was messy enough as it was, he didn't need even more loose ends. "Oh, the Badlands!" Arkash was familiar, since that trip with Caladrin some month ago. Very hot, very sandy... There were Wurms there? Arkash pursed his lips suddenly and furrowed his brow. They hadn't encountered any such thing, but they did very quickly travel through.
There wasn't much room to ask anything else on the subject of how they met without prying her open in a way that felt forceful, so he didn't. She went on to explain the science of hats to him, but the rest of his questions had to wait. She was tired, and he supposed she had to focus on making sure he didn't escape, steal their things, or kill them in their sleep. He nodded to himself and pressed his fingertips together while he thought. Eventually, his thoughts came to the conclusion that it was best he slept. His incredible stamina did have its limits, and he imagined he'd do well with some rest.
So, he scraped up some arid foliage and made a makeshift bedroll for himself before easing his already-itchy burlap-wrapped form into the bedding, some distance from the fire, and shut his eyes. Recently fed and hydrated, Arkash quickly slipped into sleep.

He woke not long after but felt as though he'd slept for days. It didn't help that the hard floor made his back ache, and the coils of hardened blood around his arms and legs made it even less comfortable, but they were soon up and off. With time, his pains eased and loosened. The blood in his veins remained low throughout the journey, and with his replenished hydration, they were able to keep up a good pace through the day, though he wouldn't be able to manage the same feat two days in a row, it was clear by the end. As the two went to collect their chariots, Arkash sat and rested his burned, tired feet and began to massage his arches again with some wince. He knew they'd be fine when he got to rest them for a day or so, but he knew not when that would next be.
Soon enough, the girls emerged with their machines, and Arkash was startled by the sound they made. They were like monsters, totally unnatural and terrifying in their gas-spewing glory. They seemed to radiate power, as though they were waiting to rip their way through the land at an intense speed. Miki had said they were fast, and he would need to hold on tight. It was only then that he fully understood why.
At their instructions, Arkash clambered onto the back of one and made his shape as small as he could to catch less air. His dry lips smacked as he clung to the machine, and he spied the waterskin at the side of the vehicle. A glance at the driver confirmed that they were occupied with the device, rather than the water. He couldn't think on it too much, however, as they were soon to bolt through the rugged terrain with a blast of smoke and force. His hands seized whatever they could on the machine and he held on for dear life as they drove off.

When he'd finally accustomed himself to the momentum they were going, he found that the rush of air kept him cool against the sun's scorching heat, but he still needed water to replenish his energy. What would they miss if he drank a few sips? half the waterskin was gone by the time they made it to the boat, and Arkash's motion sickness returned on the voyage across. He watched the crystal blue waters while he clung to the edge of the boat, and wanted nothing more than to jump in and cool off, but did no such thing. He found some quiet place to bloodlet himself some more before they made it to the other side and even stole some of the water from the shipowner.
His body ached from the first ride, but not nearly as severe as it might have if they walked. Still, he dreaded the two days of riding to come once they were across the river. It had to be done, and he'd rather suffer the journey than inconvenience the good Mercenaries any further. So he got on and continued for a few hours before he reasoned with himself that it wasn't unreasonable for him to drink some more of their water. They were sure to be out by the time they arrived.

Arkash

Lores
Arkash:
[*] Blood Magic: Your suffusion cuts through the earth with ease
[*] Blood Magic: Keep some material on your person ready for shaping
[*] Blood Magic: Recycle
[*] Persuasion: Convince your keepers that you need to GO
[*] Persuasion: Desperation
[*] Persuasion: Reasonable people are easier convinced than others
-
[*] [PC] Miki: Made sure to keep you fed with equal portions
[*] [PC] Miki: Offered you new clothes
[*] [PC] Miki: Hunts Wurms, not worms
[*] [PC] Miki: Too nice to be a noble

Loot: N/A
Injuries: Bloodletting from the use of Blood Magic

Points:8 (2 to use for Blood Magic)

Miki

Lores
Stealth: Following behind someone
Stealth: Waiting for them to get a head start
Stealth: Hiding behind a large rock
Stealth: Hiding your bikes in a worthy spot
Etiquette: Treating others like you would like to be treated
Deception: Acting like everything is okay
Deception: Finding out a secret
Deception: Hiding information from someone


Loot: N/A
Injuries: N/A

Points: 8 (Non Magical)

Comments:
The chemistry between Arkash and Miki is comical, especially as Miki feels sort of like a mother figure to Arkash in a way with that sense of paranoia. A true badlander in the making.

Enjoy your rewards, if you have any questions or queries please get in touch.