77th of Ash, 4621
Between his master's constant prodding and the level of focus he needed to execute the task of Necromancy, Arkash let more than a few of his secrets slide in the dark of Raphael's lab. He wasn't accustomed to the Candor, he knew not the tells that his emotions gave, the way in which his mannerisms betrayed him. Arkash was a fighter, an assassin, not a ballroom dancer.
The human that mentored him was, however. Raphael didn't see as much of the Soirees as many of his betters did and wasn't nearly the most skilled in the art of extracting information from unwitting subjects, but it was more than enough to play Arkash like a violin.
Raphael had discovered, in Arkash's refusal to speak or divulge any information, that the Rathor was hiding something. Slowly but steadily, he worked at the walls that Arkash had raised, and found more information than he'd bargained for in his picking and prodding. The young Rath meant none of it, of course. The last thing he wanted was to impart more information on the man that held his chain, more damning evidence. But all it took was a few angry quips, and he'd already spilled his guts.
"There's a lot to Necromancy, you know," Raphael continued, leaning against the operating table while Arkash adjusted his hold for the carving sickle appropriately. He shows the way in which he held the tool, with the neck resting over his middle finger, pinched with his index, and supported with his thumb. Raphael nodded in Approval, and Arkash gave a single nod in turn. "...There's animating the dead, housing ghosts, briomancy, aesthetic surgery... Immortality..." He continued while Arkash shaved excess skin away from the sedated soldier that rested on the operating table.
It went without saying that he tried to ignore the other man, but being that they were the only two voices in the room, it was easier said than done. When the first wound was shaved smooth, he looked at Raphael. "...How do I get the hair to grow back?" he called with something of a furrow to his brow.
"The hair?" Raphael quizzed and looked upon the wound that once was, then recognized the problem the Rathor had. "Oh, the arm hair... Right," he nodded. "Let's not worry about that just yet, it's more of a pain than it's worth and you're still not quite skilled enough yet."
Arkash furrowed his brow. He'd wanted to help Mallory with the missing patches of her fur, too, but hadn't known how to make the hair return. With a shrug, he returned to the other wounds.
"...I don't suppose you're just wanting to be a briomancer, are you?" Raphael inquired with a lean, an effort to snatch the rathor's gaze. Arkash did his best not to look, but the man's closeness prompted his glance.
When eye contact was established, he had no choice but to answer. Not to answer would lead Raphael to be suspicious of him, he recognized. "...Why wouldn't I want to heal people?" Arkash asked in return, solid reasoning, he believed.
Raphael crossed his arms. "Right... Why wouldn't the sociopathic anarchist want to heal people? I can only wonder." His voice dripped sarcasm, the type of tone that called him out on his lies.
"Well..." Arkash started, then set the sickle down. "...I don't know, I thought it would be useful to be able to be able to fix myself up next time I lose an arm or an eye," he declared, a lie. If Raphael wouldn't believe he was learning for selfless reasons, would he believe selfish?
The doctor hummed, then tilted his head as he lowered his hands to the table. "....There's a lot to necromancy, Lizard," he started, still calling Arkash by the animal he took after as a Rathor, rather than by name. "I'm just trying to help you, you know. If I know what it is you're trying to do, I can help you get to the point you want to be at faster," he explained, and Arkash held in silence.
Arkash didn't look at the mage as he reached over the sedated man, and carefully pulled open the fabric of his shirt to find the majority of his pectoral scalded to hell. With a squint, he returned his gaze to the mage "...how do I fix that?" He asked.
Raphael rose both brows at the wound, then whistled. "Let's try the tongs," he declared. "First, you need to cut around the affected flesh. Try to leave as much of the living skin on as you can," he instructed as Arkash stepped around the table with his scalpel, and began to cut through the man's skin. It felt wrong not to clean the blade first, but Raphael insisted it wasn't necessary. "...I know your type," Raphael continued. "When you want something, you'll stop at nothing to get it."
Arkash did his best to focus on the task and paid the Necromancer no mind. In his haste to get the job done, he took the cut corner of the man's pectoral and lifted it a little.
"STOP!" The Necrodoctor called and threw out an arm in an attempt to stop the Rathor. "What are you doing?!" The doctor called.
"...Pulling the dead meat off?" Arkash asked, confused.
"NO!" The Doctor returned. "Not with your hands, are you taking the muscle too?! Ulen have mercy!"
Arkash exhaled and let go of the meat before setting both hands on the table. "...So how do I get it off?"
"The TONGS!" he answered with a point of his hand. "I told you to use the Tongs!"
Arkash rolled his eyes and went to collect the indicated tool, it was a lot like the tongs he'd used in the smithy, just a different design with switches and whistles. After returning to his station, he carefully seized the meat, then looked to Raphael for approval. "Now...?"
"The switch," the noble replied. "Flip the switch first." Arkash did so, and the ether within began to channel through the tool. Carefully, he lifted the cut skin from the body and peeled it off all the way. He looked to Raphael then with a glint in his misty yellow eye. The doctor shrugged and nodded, so Arkash promptly lowered the scalded skin into his mouth, chewed it up, and swallowed.
"Okay," Arkash licked his lips. "...Now what?"
The master motioned to the bench across the room. "Take some of that fellow's skin, he doesn't need it anymore," he declared. "Use the tongs, too."
With a sigh, Arkash made his way to the table with the fresh corpse atop it, his next meal. Though it pained him to waste the material of his food on necromancy practice, he supposed it was necessary. While he cut out the piece of skin, Raphael walked over and put both hands on the table to watch Arkash from the opposite side. "I'm not exaggerating when I say it can take years to learn everything, Lizard. Do you really want to be in this room for all that time? Don't you have things to do? Out of here? Away from Daravin?"
Arkash paused, halfway done with the tongs, then looked over at his Master. "...I do," he broke. He really didn't want to be stuck with Raphael for years, if anything, he wanted to be done with the mage as soon as possible. Perhaps it was for the best that he explained what he wanted to learn? Or maybe he wanted another necromancer to teach him? No, he'd already learned so much from Raphael. It would be better to stay and learn from the experienced necromancer.
"Well, tell me what you're going for," Raphael spoke again. "We can go every single way, or we can focus on what you want and get you done here in a season or two," he explained.
A season, two at most did sound quite nice... For him, and for all the others involved. Arkash sighed, then finished pulling the skin from the cadaver and walked it over to the living body. After lining up the tissue on the empty wound on the sedated soldier's chest, Arkash looked up at the noble, who'd followed him across the room in tandem. "...I really do want to heal people," he declared with a frown. "Specific people, in a really weird situation."
Raphael stood up a little straighter, recognizing the sincerity in the lowborn's voice. "Go on..." he spoke with a gentle smile, and eyes that rang with vicious hunger, ready to be sated.
Between his master's constant prodding and the level of focus he needed to execute the task of Necromancy, Arkash let more than a few of his secrets slide in the dark of Raphael's lab. He wasn't accustomed to the Candor, he knew not the tells that his emotions gave, the way in which his mannerisms betrayed him. Arkash was a fighter, an assassin, not a ballroom dancer.
The human that mentored him was, however. Raphael didn't see as much of the Soirees as many of his betters did and wasn't nearly the most skilled in the art of extracting information from unwitting subjects, but it was more than enough to play Arkash like a violin.
Raphael had discovered, in Arkash's refusal to speak or divulge any information, that the Rathor was hiding something. Slowly but steadily, he worked at the walls that Arkash had raised, and found more information than he'd bargained for in his picking and prodding. The young Rath meant none of it, of course. The last thing he wanted was to impart more information on the man that held his chain, more damning evidence. But all it took was a few angry quips, and he'd already spilled his guts.
"There's a lot to Necromancy, you know," Raphael continued, leaning against the operating table while Arkash adjusted his hold for the carving sickle appropriately. He shows the way in which he held the tool, with the neck resting over his middle finger, pinched with his index, and supported with his thumb. Raphael nodded in Approval, and Arkash gave a single nod in turn. "...There's animating the dead, housing ghosts, briomancy, aesthetic surgery... Immortality..." He continued while Arkash shaved excess skin away from the sedated soldier that rested on the operating table.
It went without saying that he tried to ignore the other man, but being that they were the only two voices in the room, it was easier said than done. When the first wound was shaved smooth, he looked at Raphael. "...How do I get the hair to grow back?" he called with something of a furrow to his brow.
"The hair?" Raphael quizzed and looked upon the wound that once was, then recognized the problem the Rathor had. "Oh, the arm hair... Right," he nodded. "Let's not worry about that just yet, it's more of a pain than it's worth and you're still not quite skilled enough yet."
Arkash furrowed his brow. He'd wanted to help Mallory with the missing patches of her fur, too, but hadn't known how to make the hair return. With a shrug, he returned to the other wounds.
"...I don't suppose you're just wanting to be a briomancer, are you?" Raphael inquired with a lean, an effort to snatch the rathor's gaze. Arkash did his best not to look, but the man's closeness prompted his glance.
When eye contact was established, he had no choice but to answer. Not to answer would lead Raphael to be suspicious of him, he recognized. "...Why wouldn't I want to heal people?" Arkash asked in return, solid reasoning, he believed.
Raphael crossed his arms. "Right... Why wouldn't the sociopathic anarchist want to heal people? I can only wonder." His voice dripped sarcasm, the type of tone that called him out on his lies.
"Well..." Arkash started, then set the sickle down. "...I don't know, I thought it would be useful to be able to be able to fix myself up next time I lose an arm or an eye," he declared, a lie. If Raphael wouldn't believe he was learning for selfless reasons, would he believe selfish?
The doctor hummed, then tilted his head as he lowered his hands to the table. "....There's a lot to necromancy, Lizard," he started, still calling Arkash by the animal he took after as a Rathor, rather than by name. "I'm just trying to help you, you know. If I know what it is you're trying to do, I can help you get to the point you want to be at faster," he explained, and Arkash held in silence.
Arkash didn't look at the mage as he reached over the sedated man, and carefully pulled open the fabric of his shirt to find the majority of his pectoral scalded to hell. With a squint, he returned his gaze to the mage "...how do I fix that?" He asked.
Raphael rose both brows at the wound, then whistled. "Let's try the tongs," he declared. "First, you need to cut around the affected flesh. Try to leave as much of the living skin on as you can," he instructed as Arkash stepped around the table with his scalpel, and began to cut through the man's skin. It felt wrong not to clean the blade first, but Raphael insisted it wasn't necessary. "...I know your type," Raphael continued. "When you want something, you'll stop at nothing to get it."
Arkash did his best to focus on the task and paid the Necromancer no mind. In his haste to get the job done, he took the cut corner of the man's pectoral and lifted it a little.
"STOP!" The Necrodoctor called and threw out an arm in an attempt to stop the Rathor. "What are you doing?!" The doctor called.
"...Pulling the dead meat off?" Arkash asked, confused.
"NO!" The Doctor returned. "Not with your hands, are you taking the muscle too?! Ulen have mercy!"
Arkash exhaled and let go of the meat before setting both hands on the table. "...So how do I get it off?"
"The TONGS!" he answered with a point of his hand. "I told you to use the Tongs!"
Arkash rolled his eyes and went to collect the indicated tool, it was a lot like the tongs he'd used in the smithy, just a different design with switches and whistles. After returning to his station, he carefully seized the meat, then looked to Raphael for approval. "Now...?"
"The switch," the noble replied. "Flip the switch first." Arkash did so, and the ether within began to channel through the tool. Carefully, he lifted the cut skin from the body and peeled it off all the way. He looked to Raphael then with a glint in his misty yellow eye. The doctor shrugged and nodded, so Arkash promptly lowered the scalded skin into his mouth, chewed it up, and swallowed.
"Okay," Arkash licked his lips. "...Now what?"
The master motioned to the bench across the room. "Take some of that fellow's skin, he doesn't need it anymore," he declared. "Use the tongs, too."
With a sigh, Arkash made his way to the table with the fresh corpse atop it, his next meal. Though it pained him to waste the material of his food on necromancy practice, he supposed it was necessary. While he cut out the piece of skin, Raphael walked over and put both hands on the table to watch Arkash from the opposite side. "I'm not exaggerating when I say it can take years to learn everything, Lizard. Do you really want to be in this room for all that time? Don't you have things to do? Out of here? Away from Daravin?"
Arkash paused, halfway done with the tongs, then looked over at his Master. "...I do," he broke. He really didn't want to be stuck with Raphael for years, if anything, he wanted to be done with the mage as soon as possible. Perhaps it was for the best that he explained what he wanted to learn? Or maybe he wanted another necromancer to teach him? No, he'd already learned so much from Raphael. It would be better to stay and learn from the experienced necromancer.
"Well, tell me what you're going for," Raphael spoke again. "We can go every single way, or we can focus on what you want and get you done here in a season or two," he explained.
A season, two at most did sound quite nice... For him, and for all the others involved. Arkash sighed, then finished pulling the skin from the cadaver and walked it over to the living body. After lining up the tissue on the empty wound on the sedated soldier's chest, Arkash looked up at the noble, who'd followed him across the room in tandem. "...I really do want to heal people," he declared with a frown. "Specific people, in a really weird situation."
Raphael stood up a little straighter, recognizing the sincerity in the lowborn's voice. "Go on..." he spoke with a gentle smile, and eyes that rang with vicious hunger, ready to be sated.
