4oth of Ash, 4621
In one fell swoop, everything had fallen apart. He was blanketed, utterly covered, and crushed by the weight of his mistakes. The only way out was feeling his way through the darkness, which was littered with pitfalls and traps of all sorts. The only light he’d had was gone; it burned him dry and left him for dead, and in its absence, the callous hand of his master seized him. And with invisible bindings to hold him in place, the best he could do was hope for the chance to rip his way out and escape without tying himself in the thread.
In the evening just gone, Arkash was arrested by a squadron of Halamire, and brought before the Veir, Raphael. It was there that he discovered that the woman he’d fallen for wasn’t entirely what she seemed. She sold him out, his entire identity. She gave it all to the lord so that she could walk free, and as a result, he became trapped in her place. He was captive under blackmail. If anything was to happen to Raphael, whether he was found dead or went missing, a messenger hawk would be sent to Breven, carrying information on Derek Egon’s true identity. The alter ego Arkash depended upon for future funding and leverage on the revolution against the tyrannical nobility of Lorien hung in the balance.
So what could he do? He had to somehow discover who was tasked with sending a message upon his master’s disappearance, then kill the noble, kill the messenger, and finally leave. How he was meant to find the carrier was beyond him. Did he just kill everyone in the fortress? Everyone in Valtoria? The more he thought of how he might discover one such messenger, the more trapped he felt. It was surprising, given that he didn’t have to complete his evening duties and was even allowed to sleep in an actual bed that night. Comfort wasn’t freedom, though. He was still captive by his own folly. He cursed himself to sleep that night, knowing himself a fool for trusting anyone at all with his name, his demons. If he’d kept that slave girl away, he wouldn’t have wound up caught in the noble’s snare. Hell, if he’d just done as Fayeth said in the beginning, none of it would have happened at all.
He’d been afforded some sort of guest room for the night, normally used to accommodate traveling officials. It was far from the pen he’d slept in with the other slaves, several floors above. Though it was fairly stark and bare, the bedding was comfortable. The shape of a wardrobe and a chest of drawers, complete with table and chair were miles more appealing to wake up to than the compressed silhouette of one of his peers. He had nothing to complain about, other than the rubbing of the burlap rags he slept in, worked in, and began to imagine might die in. A rub of his eye gently woke him, and he focused on the beating heart that stood outside his door. Half a groan of frustration ran in his throat, and he dragged his bare feet to the door.
“Sleep well?” Called the Veir the moment he stepped outside. He was without a guard as if to flaunt his confidence that he was safe.
A shake of his head and a yawn followed. “I must still be dreaming,” he started and rubbed at his eye. “Why else would food be standing at my door?”
“Funny man,” Raphael returned. “This way, quickly now,” the Veir ordered, then turned and proceeded down the upper hall. Arkash cast a glance to arched windows across from him; they really were high up. A step closer to the pane revealed the ramparts of the outer wall, so far below. He swallowed while he peered to the ground, watching the scrambling Halamire like black ants on the white wall, surrounded by wasteland. How it felt to stand so far above them while they continued their daily grind; the futile search for something better. Was that how it felt to be nobility?
Soon enough, they arrived at Raphael’s study; a spacious room of coarse grey brick, tiled wooden flooring, and lavish tapestry to adorn every section of open space between the back windows of the room and the bookshelves that lined either wall. An ornate rug laid beneath his broad desk, and Arkash directed his attention to the tassels of gold that lined the crimson fringes. That same theme of red and gold was carried throughout the room. Everywhere from the drapes, to the heraldry, to the rug, to the chair that faced the door. Arkash watched the noble as he took his seat, then closed the arched door behind him with a click.
Raphael took one look at the papers on his desk, held it for a second while he read something, and sighed with some whisp of frustration. Arkash rose a brow as the man collected some papers, rolled them together, then stowed them in a drawer to his right. “Honestly, I don’t know how anyone expects me to get any work done with all of these distractions.”
Arkash crossed his arms, refusing to take the social cue.
“…If you must know, those Halamire from yesterday went and got themselves scalded alive by that Qe’zohd. I sincerely hope they dispatch of it soon, it’s been days now that my operating table has been warm.” He brought his elbows to the desk and laced his fingers together to support his chin while he leaned in, looking at the salve.
“I didn’t need to know,” Arkash added for clarification.
“I know,” Raphael sighed again. “I just needed to break the ice; you’re awfully frigid this morning.”
Arkash rose his brows. He’d thought he was on the offensive that morning, but Raphael put him to shame. Arkash returned only silence, tapping his foot while he stood there, arms crossed.
“…So, down to business. Please, take a seat. Or don’t. Stand all day for all I care.” Arkash remained standing, glaring as if he’d burn holes in the noble’s head if he put enough hate into it. Ignoring the look, Raphael continued “so you’re the lizard from last month, the one who broke into my lab,” nonchalantly. “The one with the dark scales, are you not?” Arkash didn’t answer, choosing to remain silent over the alternative, which was to oblige him. “You wanted something from there, didn’t you? That’s why you allowed yourself to be captured in the first place.”
Raphael was much too clever for his own good. Arkash had his work cut out for him.
“What is it you wanted? Tell me and it’s yours.” Raphael spoke with such confidence and certainty that the Rathor almost believed him.
That was the noble’s tactic? To trick him into a confession? Or was it a bribe? Blood magic for Necromancy? He’d been quiet for too long, lying wasn’t an option. What harm was there in telling the noble what it was he sought? How could that possibly be used against him? Arkash wondered for a moment. If he was to further condemn the Rath for his crimes, it would only damage his chances of getting the mark. He could have Arkash killed, imprisoned, and worse with his influence. What did the confession of a count of forceful entry really have on him? “…Necromancy,” he confessed at last.
“Really?” Came the noble with piqued interest, leaning further into the conversation. “Whatever for, I wonder?" He thought aloud, pressing the edge of his finger to his lips while he peered at the slave before him. “Well, you’re in luck. I’ve spent years honing my craft; you won’t find a better necromancer than me to teach you, and I have all the tools to get you started.” The noble continued to sweeten the pot. “Hell, I could even get you your own tools of excellent quality. You’d get such a head start in the game…”
Definitely a bribe, he thought. “And I don’t suppose you’d give me lessons out of the goodness of your heart, would you?”
The noble grinned. “Oh, of course I would!” He called with a flash of his teeth. “What, you think me some glutton that only seeks momentary gain? I’m hurt, Truly… But I am a forgiving man,” A snooty laugh ensued, ringing in Arkash’s ears. “But of course I’d teach you necromancy out of the kindness of my heart… And to thank me, you can give me your mark… Also out of the kindness of your heart.” His grin persisted through the motions of his hand, gesturing to his general direction at the mention of the kindness of Arkash's heart. In turn, the rathor assumed a look that wordlessly asked in the noble was serious. Raphael smiled back. “Isn’t that fair? I think you have quite the bargain going here.”
“…It does sound generous,” Arkash spoke, trailing on while he looked to the ceiling.
“…So you accept?” The noble spoke with an audible rise in his tone.
“Sure,” He returned. Raphael’s grin spoke of victory after a lifetime of searching; he really wanted to become a Vandikar. “But the kindness of my heart will have to wait until I get a mark…” he added, grinning with wicked spite on the inside. Raphael’s smile quickly receded. “Yeah… Can’t give you a mark if I’m not a mage. Man… That sucks…” He shook his head in disappointment, crossing his arms. “And you know, being a slave, I’m definitely not a mage.”
“That slave SAID you used magic!” Raphael interrupted, raising his voice in anger. "She said you used some sort of black metal to create tools, you and I BOTH know you were Bloodshaping."
"That's a stretch, isn't it? I don't even know what Bloodshaping is." Arkash lifted his chin. "You know, I smuggled in medicinals for her often. I'd seriously consider fact-checking everything she told you."
"I did," the noble called with a sneer. "I already traced that name back to the day you bought your fake identity in that city, claiming tall tales of heroism as a sellsword as the reason for your wealth." Raphael stood. "I even went back to try and find your career in Tyrclaid, but that name doesn't exist there. Your trail runs cold in Lorien, as if you appeared from nowhere. Arkash is the missing piece of that puzzle; it makes perfect sense when you consider that..." The lord rambled on, almost obsessively. Arkash rose a brow.
"I'm not saying I'm not Arkash. I'm definitely him, but blood magic of all things? Seriously?" He smirked. "And to think a prestigious lord like yourself wants something so dirty. I'm disgusted." He could almost feel Raphael's searing rage from where he stood. He could certainly feel the elevated beat of the man's heart. Arkash already knew how to get under his skin; deny him what he wanted. "Honestly, I wonder why I don't out you to the Halamire. I'm sure the big wigs around here would love to have some blue blood on the chopping block."
Raphael laughed aggressively as if to mock the rath. "Like Bel they'd believe the likes of a slave!" he called, seething. "And if you even tried it, your name would be as good as forfeit-."
"-Your life would be forfeit without that," Arkash returned, almost cutting him off with how quickly he snapped back. "Your blackmail is the only thing keeping you alive, milord. You think I'd let you breathe another second if I didn't have to worry about that letter going out?"
Raphael's heart seemed to slow at that. He composed himself while he leaned both hands on the table, nodding gently. "...Right. I mean, you'd be dead too. There's no way you could escape every mage after lopping my head off." He grinned, then shook his head. "So, let's try some diplomacy, instead."
Arkash was fairly certain he could cut Raphael in half and catch his body before it made a sound hitting the floor. He could definitely escape every mage in the fortress. "Let's not," Arkash spoke in turn. "Even if you sent that letter, life would go on. It would be inconvenient that I'd have to start from scratch but another necromancer could remake my face. I can infiltrate all over again. You though? You'd be dead. You'd be gone from the world, fed to the monster. Hell, you might even be enough to make me a Cardinal." Arkash leaned in, placing his hands on the desk while he peered at the Necromancer's eyes. "It won't be a complete loss if you send that hawk..." he threatened.
"Then do it," the noble returned. "Go ahead, kill me." Silence followed, and not one of them broke eye contact, both seething with barely-constrained anger.
Arkash began to laugh, pulling away from the other man's features with some curl to his lips. He placed both hands on his hips and stretched before pinching the bridge of his nose. "You're an idiot," he spoke at last. "You didn't think this through at all, did you?"
Despite his heartbreak with Eira just the night prior, Arkash knew he'd enjoy tormenting the noble in the days to come. Who knew for how long Raphael would be able to stand him? Arkash was excited to find out.
In one fell swoop, everything had fallen apart. He was blanketed, utterly covered, and crushed by the weight of his mistakes. The only way out was feeling his way through the darkness, which was littered with pitfalls and traps of all sorts. The only light he’d had was gone; it burned him dry and left him for dead, and in its absence, the callous hand of his master seized him. And with invisible bindings to hold him in place, the best he could do was hope for the chance to rip his way out and escape without tying himself in the thread.
In the evening just gone, Arkash was arrested by a squadron of Halamire, and brought before the Veir, Raphael. It was there that he discovered that the woman he’d fallen for wasn’t entirely what she seemed. She sold him out, his entire identity. She gave it all to the lord so that she could walk free, and as a result, he became trapped in her place. He was captive under blackmail. If anything was to happen to Raphael, whether he was found dead or went missing, a messenger hawk would be sent to Breven, carrying information on Derek Egon’s true identity. The alter ego Arkash depended upon for future funding and leverage on the revolution against the tyrannical nobility of Lorien hung in the balance.
So what could he do? He had to somehow discover who was tasked with sending a message upon his master’s disappearance, then kill the noble, kill the messenger, and finally leave. How he was meant to find the carrier was beyond him. Did he just kill everyone in the fortress? Everyone in Valtoria? The more he thought of how he might discover one such messenger, the more trapped he felt. It was surprising, given that he didn’t have to complete his evening duties and was even allowed to sleep in an actual bed that night. Comfort wasn’t freedom, though. He was still captive by his own folly. He cursed himself to sleep that night, knowing himself a fool for trusting anyone at all with his name, his demons. If he’d kept that slave girl away, he wouldn’t have wound up caught in the noble’s snare. Hell, if he’d just done as Fayeth said in the beginning, none of it would have happened at all.
He’d been afforded some sort of guest room for the night, normally used to accommodate traveling officials. It was far from the pen he’d slept in with the other slaves, several floors above. Though it was fairly stark and bare, the bedding was comfortable. The shape of a wardrobe and a chest of drawers, complete with table and chair were miles more appealing to wake up to than the compressed silhouette of one of his peers. He had nothing to complain about, other than the rubbing of the burlap rags he slept in, worked in, and began to imagine might die in. A rub of his eye gently woke him, and he focused on the beating heart that stood outside his door. Half a groan of frustration ran in his throat, and he dragged his bare feet to the door.
“Sleep well?” Called the Veir the moment he stepped outside. He was without a guard as if to flaunt his confidence that he was safe.
A shake of his head and a yawn followed. “I must still be dreaming,” he started and rubbed at his eye. “Why else would food be standing at my door?”
“Funny man,” Raphael returned. “This way, quickly now,” the Veir ordered, then turned and proceeded down the upper hall. Arkash cast a glance to arched windows across from him; they really were high up. A step closer to the pane revealed the ramparts of the outer wall, so far below. He swallowed while he peered to the ground, watching the scrambling Halamire like black ants on the white wall, surrounded by wasteland. How it felt to stand so far above them while they continued their daily grind; the futile search for something better. Was that how it felt to be nobility?
Soon enough, they arrived at Raphael’s study; a spacious room of coarse grey brick, tiled wooden flooring, and lavish tapestry to adorn every section of open space between the back windows of the room and the bookshelves that lined either wall. An ornate rug laid beneath his broad desk, and Arkash directed his attention to the tassels of gold that lined the crimson fringes. That same theme of red and gold was carried throughout the room. Everywhere from the drapes, to the heraldry, to the rug, to the chair that faced the door. Arkash watched the noble as he took his seat, then closed the arched door behind him with a click.
Raphael took one look at the papers on his desk, held it for a second while he read something, and sighed with some whisp of frustration. Arkash rose a brow as the man collected some papers, rolled them together, then stowed them in a drawer to his right. “Honestly, I don’t know how anyone expects me to get any work done with all of these distractions.”
Arkash crossed his arms, refusing to take the social cue.
“…If you must know, those Halamire from yesterday went and got themselves scalded alive by that Qe’zohd. I sincerely hope they dispatch of it soon, it’s been days now that my operating table has been warm.” He brought his elbows to the desk and laced his fingers together to support his chin while he leaned in, looking at the salve.
“I didn’t need to know,” Arkash added for clarification.
“I know,” Raphael sighed again. “I just needed to break the ice; you’re awfully frigid this morning.”
Arkash rose his brows. He’d thought he was on the offensive that morning, but Raphael put him to shame. Arkash returned only silence, tapping his foot while he stood there, arms crossed.
“…So, down to business. Please, take a seat. Or don’t. Stand all day for all I care.” Arkash remained standing, glaring as if he’d burn holes in the noble’s head if he put enough hate into it. Ignoring the look, Raphael continued “so you’re the lizard from last month, the one who broke into my lab,” nonchalantly. “The one with the dark scales, are you not?” Arkash didn’t answer, choosing to remain silent over the alternative, which was to oblige him. “You wanted something from there, didn’t you? That’s why you allowed yourself to be captured in the first place.”
Raphael was much too clever for his own good. Arkash had his work cut out for him.
“What is it you wanted? Tell me and it’s yours.” Raphael spoke with such confidence and certainty that the Rathor almost believed him.
That was the noble’s tactic? To trick him into a confession? Or was it a bribe? Blood magic for Necromancy? He’d been quiet for too long, lying wasn’t an option. What harm was there in telling the noble what it was he sought? How could that possibly be used against him? Arkash wondered for a moment. If he was to further condemn the Rath for his crimes, it would only damage his chances of getting the mark. He could have Arkash killed, imprisoned, and worse with his influence. What did the confession of a count of forceful entry really have on him? “…Necromancy,” he confessed at last.
“Really?” Came the noble with piqued interest, leaning further into the conversation. “Whatever for, I wonder?" He thought aloud, pressing the edge of his finger to his lips while he peered at the slave before him. “Well, you’re in luck. I’ve spent years honing my craft; you won’t find a better necromancer than me to teach you, and I have all the tools to get you started.” The noble continued to sweeten the pot. “Hell, I could even get you your own tools of excellent quality. You’d get such a head start in the game…”
Definitely a bribe, he thought. “And I don’t suppose you’d give me lessons out of the goodness of your heart, would you?”
The noble grinned. “Oh, of course I would!” He called with a flash of his teeth. “What, you think me some glutton that only seeks momentary gain? I’m hurt, Truly… But I am a forgiving man,” A snooty laugh ensued, ringing in Arkash’s ears. “But of course I’d teach you necromancy out of the kindness of my heart… And to thank me, you can give me your mark… Also out of the kindness of your heart.” His grin persisted through the motions of his hand, gesturing to his general direction at the mention of the kindness of Arkash's heart. In turn, the rathor assumed a look that wordlessly asked in the noble was serious. Raphael smiled back. “Isn’t that fair? I think you have quite the bargain going here.”
“…It does sound generous,” Arkash spoke, trailing on while he looked to the ceiling.
“…So you accept?” The noble spoke with an audible rise in his tone.
“Sure,” He returned. Raphael’s grin spoke of victory after a lifetime of searching; he really wanted to become a Vandikar. “But the kindness of my heart will have to wait until I get a mark…” he added, grinning with wicked spite on the inside. Raphael’s smile quickly receded. “Yeah… Can’t give you a mark if I’m not a mage. Man… That sucks…” He shook his head in disappointment, crossing his arms. “And you know, being a slave, I’m definitely not a mage.”
“That slave SAID you used magic!” Raphael interrupted, raising his voice in anger. "She said you used some sort of black metal to create tools, you and I BOTH know you were Bloodshaping."
"That's a stretch, isn't it? I don't even know what Bloodshaping is." Arkash lifted his chin. "You know, I smuggled in medicinals for her often. I'd seriously consider fact-checking everything she told you."
"I did," the noble called with a sneer. "I already traced that name back to the day you bought your fake identity in that city, claiming tall tales of heroism as a sellsword as the reason for your wealth." Raphael stood. "I even went back to try and find your career in Tyrclaid, but that name doesn't exist there. Your trail runs cold in Lorien, as if you appeared from nowhere. Arkash is the missing piece of that puzzle; it makes perfect sense when you consider that..." The lord rambled on, almost obsessively. Arkash rose a brow.
"I'm not saying I'm not Arkash. I'm definitely him, but blood magic of all things? Seriously?" He smirked. "And to think a prestigious lord like yourself wants something so dirty. I'm disgusted." He could almost feel Raphael's searing rage from where he stood. He could certainly feel the elevated beat of the man's heart. Arkash already knew how to get under his skin; deny him what he wanted. "Honestly, I wonder why I don't out you to the Halamire. I'm sure the big wigs around here would love to have some blue blood on the chopping block."
Raphael laughed aggressively as if to mock the rath. "Like Bel they'd believe the likes of a slave!" he called, seething. "And if you even tried it, your name would be as good as forfeit-."
"-Your life would be forfeit without that," Arkash returned, almost cutting him off with how quickly he snapped back. "Your blackmail is the only thing keeping you alive, milord. You think I'd let you breathe another second if I didn't have to worry about that letter going out?"
Raphael's heart seemed to slow at that. He composed himself while he leaned both hands on the table, nodding gently. "...Right. I mean, you'd be dead too. There's no way you could escape every mage after lopping my head off." He grinned, then shook his head. "So, let's try some diplomacy, instead."
Arkash was fairly certain he could cut Raphael in half and catch his body before it made a sound hitting the floor. He could definitely escape every mage in the fortress. "Let's not," Arkash spoke in turn. "Even if you sent that letter, life would go on. It would be inconvenient that I'd have to start from scratch but another necromancer could remake my face. I can infiltrate all over again. You though? You'd be dead. You'd be gone from the world, fed to the monster. Hell, you might even be enough to make me a Cardinal." Arkash leaned in, placing his hands on the desk while he peered at the Necromancer's eyes. "It won't be a complete loss if you send that hawk..." he threatened.
"Then do it," the noble returned. "Go ahead, kill me." Silence followed, and not one of them broke eye contact, both seething with barely-constrained anger.
Arkash began to laugh, pulling away from the other man's features with some curl to his lips. He placed both hands on his hips and stretched before pinching the bridge of his nose. "You're an idiot," he spoke at last. "You didn't think this through at all, did you?"
Despite his heartbreak with Eira just the night prior, Arkash knew he'd enjoy tormenting the noble in the days to come. Who knew for how long Raphael would be able to stand him? Arkash was excited to find out.
