[Valtoria] Futility
Posted: Wed Jan 12, 2022 5:34 pm
65th of Frost, 4621
It had been some time since Arkash had returned to the Fortress; with so much developing in Brilan’s court, and so much hanging in the balance, the Veir hadn’t really crossed his mind. For the majority of the prior season, Arkash had been under his thumb, chained with blackmail and threats of discovery.
The terms were simple; if the Veir was found dead or went missing unexpectedly, a raven would be sent to Lorien, straight to Breven, carrying his true identity. Derek Egon, the persona he’d created through the guise of his humanoid form, would be no more. Unveiled as the menace responsible for slaying Catherine Florent, there would be no hope for his reputation in Lorien, for his social climb, or the work he sought to fund.
Did he not worry that by disappearing, vanishing from the Veir’s purview, he would incur the man’s wroth? It had crossed his mind, that Raphael might think he’d abandoned him and given out his identity in an act of vengeance, but Arkash didn’t care. In hindsight, his obsession with the idea of climbing the social ladder, infiltrating the social structure of Lorien, and funding the underground rebellion from the shadows was all so trivial in comparison to what he’d learned in his time away.
Meddling with the higher powers, pulling at the seams of society and invoking chaos wherever he could, all the work he’d done for the sake of freedom, all he’d given and lost in the endless struggle for the ideal world, all of it was for nothing.
What did that mean for Raphael? Couldn’t the Rathor just off the Noble and call it a day? He could, but not yet. Though Arkash had gotten decently well in practicing Necromancy, he wasn’t nearly knowledgeable enough in anatomy to rebuild Dorn’s village, he couldn’t possibly take them apart safely, and put them all back together while they still lived.
If he didn’t care for their fates, he could probably manage the feat in several months, multiple seasons, but Raphael could undo it all in days. In addition, they would all still be alive and functional. He didn’t care to kill the noble in some petty act of chain-breaking justice, but he did stand to gain his aid in repairing the amalgamation in Tyrclaid. That was why he returned to the fortress, to complete his end of the contract, and earn the Necromancer’s help in un-fusing the village that had treated him with such kindness.
It was the least he could do, and likely, the last he would do.
At the foot of the great walls of the riverside fortress, Arkash made his way around the structure and peered up at the ramparts that oversaw the surrounding wilderness. The fingers he trailed along the brickwork as he walked quickly shifted to claws as he assumed his true form, and came to a stop at the front gate; a tall arch in the wall that housed an iron cage-like barricade. It was raised at the time of his arrival, and in its place, two Halamire stood to attention.
On sight, the leftmost Halamire reached for his sword with a clasp of his ironed fist. The right reached out to stay his draw and turned back to the Rathor. "Welcome back, Arkash," she spoke firmly. The leftmost seemed to study her for a moment, then sheathed his sword fully.
Arkash only nodded to the dogs. "Is Raphael here?" The man had a habit of disappearing for days at a time.
"The Veir is within the Fortress," the left answered, stern, all but sneering.
He didn't care; the mutts were entitled to their opinions, but they didn't define him. A bow of his head and a quick "thank you," relayed his gratitude, and he stepped past them into the courtyard that led to the Fortress proper.
Through the fortress, Arkash made his way to the Necromancer's study, near the highest floor of the towering structure. The odd looks passed his way were nothing out of the norm, as his clawed feet trailed their way up staircases and along hallways, all the way to the uppermost level of the building. At Raphael's door, he stopped.
Some stray, instinct-driven thought crossed his mind. What if Raphael attacked him the moment he stepped through? The man would be a fool to try it; Arkash was almost completely healed of his mageblight, and he was so much stronger than the bookworm, he believed. Regardless, he clutched the hilt of his black sword where it stayed on his hip, and gently rapped his knuckles on the door.
"...What is it?" Came the voice from inside, tired and agitated. Arkash rose a brow, then twisted the handle and pushed himself through the threshold. There, across the desk, he spied the noble. Sat with both his elbows on the desk and his fingers woven to support his chin. The man's eyes seemed to widen as he spied the Rathor. "Lizard?" he asked, a tone much lighter than the greeting he'd previously offered.
"Yeah," Arkash returned. "Ran into some trouble on the road," Arkash explained... Not nearly enough to cover his season-long disappearance.
Raphael rose a brow and looked the Rathor up and down as if searching for marks or a means of confirming his supposed trouble. Arkash let those eyes wander, he had nothing to hide. "...Well you seem to be in good health," the Necrodoctor declared with a smile. "Come, sit," he gestured to the chair across from his desk. "Tell me all about your trip to Couronne with that... What was his name? Calahad?"
He saw no malevolence in Raphael's offer, just the restraint of his tired, frustrated disposition. Though he wondered what might have caused such a foul mood in the human, he didn't particularly care for Raphael's wellbeing enough to ask. "Caladrin," he clarified, then fully entered the room and closed the door, fully prepared to launch himself at the noble if the tension in the air turned to violence, but no such action came. He sat sideways on the offered chair so that the backrest didn't get in the way of his tail, and rested one arm atop it.
There was just a twinge of annoyance in Raphael's eyes as Arkash sat, something that didn't agree with his unconventional methods. It was to be expected; Raphael was a noble, built on behaving properly and parading false virtues.
"...Where do I begin?" Arkash started. "We went through the Badlands-," Arkash started.
Raphael furrowed a brow and cut the Rathor off with "-the Badlands?" Raphael lowered his hands to the desk and clasped them together. "...Why on earth did you go through the Badlands? Why didn't he take you through the Hallway?"
Arkash shrugged. "...I thought he wanted to go through the Badlands, but I was confused. He was very distracting," Arkash spoke in reference to the incident at the tree. Raphael laughed a breath at that, then nodded to the Rathor with something of a smile, a gesture to continue. "...While we were in the Badlands, we were abducted by a group of bandits-."
"-Bandits or Badlanders?" The noble interjected again, squinting.
"What's the difference?" Arkash asked with a tilt of his head.
"Fair..." Raphael returned. "Did they have some sort of signifier? A mark of some kind to identify them by?"
Arkash thought for a moment, then shook his head. "I remember they liked mounting people's heads on pikes in the dunes, just all over the place..." Arkash recalled. "Anyway, they kept us for a month or so while Caladrin tried to break us out; I had to sneak out whenever he fell asleep to snack on the severed heads," he explained an extension of the truth.
Raphael laughed at the idea; a gesture that appeared to be something of a genuine expression of joy. Arkash smiled.
"I was starting to run out of fresh heads, and the others looked like they were months old, so I decided to break us out," he finished. "...It wasn't my cleanest escape... I got shot four times, but I killed everyone there," the rathor explained with a turn of his claw. "After that, I passed out. Caladrin took me someplace on the back of a Chariot and tried healing my wounds, but he wasn't very good at it... I'd overstepped when my spark grew in the fight, and I was coughing up corruption the entire way home. I met an old friend of mine in Amoren, and he helped me put myself back together," Arkash finished.
Raphael blinked. "...Are you still stricken with mageblight?" He asked, suddenly very invested.
"Somewhat..." Arkash answered, suddenly on edge. He brought his attention to the sword at his hip but didn't reach for it. Why did Raphael care if he was weakened? "It's been a few days since I last vomited," he explained, a lie. it had been two weeks since his last expulsion of mageblight, but he wanted to see what the noble would do with the knowledge.
The mage frowned, to his surprise. "...I suppose it's just as well," he spoke with a disappointed sigh.
"What?" Arkash returned with a tilt of his head. What game was Raphael playing?
The mage looked up from the desk to fix his gaze on Arkash's eyes, then shrugged. "I was hoping to get our transaction completed soon, but you're probably not in the mood for it anyway after being shot three times, right? You've only had a few months to recover, no doubt you're still sore, aren't you?"
Of course that was all Raphael cared about. Why would Arkash think the noble was at all invested in his wellbeing? But, the fact that Raphael considered whether Arkash wanted to initiate him or not was a signal of progress; Raphael had actually developed some humanity in their time apart. "It was four shots, and I can initiate you," Arkash assured, flat in his expression. "And after that, we can go to Tyrclaid, right?"
Raphael perked up immediately, a smile claiming his features, a spark of disbelief and wonder in his eyes. "Y-Yes! Of course! Well, after I fulfill my end of the contract, that is."
It was odd to see the noble stammer over his words, evidently he was very excited to be initiated in Blood Magic, but... "Your end?" Arkash asked with a frown.
"Nightfall," he spoke with a gesture of his hand. "I'm sharing my mark with you in return, remember?"
"Ah," Arkash nodded. That was right, he'd asked for a mark so that he wouldn't be branded a slave anymore, a mark that wouldn't see him killed for its possession. In hindsight, that was trivial too. He didn't think he needed it, but it might serve him well in his plots to come. So, Arkash nodded. "Alright, after that then. I can initiate you now if you're ready?"
Raphael straightened up and blinked quickly at the offer. "Right now? Here?" He quizzed, excitable. It was a stark difference from how his mood showed just minutes ago.
"Better off in your lab," Arkash clarified. "A bunch of slashes will appear on you while the mark sets... If we're in your lab, I can patch them up quickly and use sway to slow your bleeding," he explained with a turn of his claw.
Raphael nodded in agreement, then exhaled deeply. "Alright, I'll meet you down there in... Ten minutes? I need to change into something less... Stainable," Raphael spoke as he stood, pushing his chair back with the straightening of his legs. Arkash grinned in response, nodded, stood, and made his way to the door. As he left the room, he sighed. Nothing good could come from initiating a man like Raphael in Blood Magic, he knew, but he hadn't the capacity to care for something so trivial. Not in comparison to the storm he was to face; not in comparison to Brilan Ald.
It had been some time since Arkash had returned to the Fortress; with so much developing in Brilan’s court, and so much hanging in the balance, the Veir hadn’t really crossed his mind. For the majority of the prior season, Arkash had been under his thumb, chained with blackmail and threats of discovery.
The terms were simple; if the Veir was found dead or went missing unexpectedly, a raven would be sent to Lorien, straight to Breven, carrying his true identity. Derek Egon, the persona he’d created through the guise of his humanoid form, would be no more. Unveiled as the menace responsible for slaying Catherine Florent, there would be no hope for his reputation in Lorien, for his social climb, or the work he sought to fund.
Did he not worry that by disappearing, vanishing from the Veir’s purview, he would incur the man’s wroth? It had crossed his mind, that Raphael might think he’d abandoned him and given out his identity in an act of vengeance, but Arkash didn’t care. In hindsight, his obsession with the idea of climbing the social ladder, infiltrating the social structure of Lorien, and funding the underground rebellion from the shadows was all so trivial in comparison to what he’d learned in his time away.
Meddling with the higher powers, pulling at the seams of society and invoking chaos wherever he could, all the work he’d done for the sake of freedom, all he’d given and lost in the endless struggle for the ideal world, all of it was for nothing.
What did that mean for Raphael? Couldn’t the Rathor just off the Noble and call it a day? He could, but not yet. Though Arkash had gotten decently well in practicing Necromancy, he wasn’t nearly knowledgeable enough in anatomy to rebuild Dorn’s village, he couldn’t possibly take them apart safely, and put them all back together while they still lived.
If he didn’t care for their fates, he could probably manage the feat in several months, multiple seasons, but Raphael could undo it all in days. In addition, they would all still be alive and functional. He didn’t care to kill the noble in some petty act of chain-breaking justice, but he did stand to gain his aid in repairing the amalgamation in Tyrclaid. That was why he returned to the fortress, to complete his end of the contract, and earn the Necromancer’s help in un-fusing the village that had treated him with such kindness.
It was the least he could do, and likely, the last he would do.
At the foot of the great walls of the riverside fortress, Arkash made his way around the structure and peered up at the ramparts that oversaw the surrounding wilderness. The fingers he trailed along the brickwork as he walked quickly shifted to claws as he assumed his true form, and came to a stop at the front gate; a tall arch in the wall that housed an iron cage-like barricade. It was raised at the time of his arrival, and in its place, two Halamire stood to attention.
On sight, the leftmost Halamire reached for his sword with a clasp of his ironed fist. The right reached out to stay his draw and turned back to the Rathor. "Welcome back, Arkash," she spoke firmly. The leftmost seemed to study her for a moment, then sheathed his sword fully.
Arkash only nodded to the dogs. "Is Raphael here?" The man had a habit of disappearing for days at a time.
"The Veir is within the Fortress," the left answered, stern, all but sneering.
He didn't care; the mutts were entitled to their opinions, but they didn't define him. A bow of his head and a quick "thank you," relayed his gratitude, and he stepped past them into the courtyard that led to the Fortress proper.
Through the fortress, Arkash made his way to the Necromancer's study, near the highest floor of the towering structure. The odd looks passed his way were nothing out of the norm, as his clawed feet trailed their way up staircases and along hallways, all the way to the uppermost level of the building. At Raphael's door, he stopped.
Some stray, instinct-driven thought crossed his mind. What if Raphael attacked him the moment he stepped through? The man would be a fool to try it; Arkash was almost completely healed of his mageblight, and he was so much stronger than the bookworm, he believed. Regardless, he clutched the hilt of his black sword where it stayed on his hip, and gently rapped his knuckles on the door.
"...What is it?" Came the voice from inside, tired and agitated. Arkash rose a brow, then twisted the handle and pushed himself through the threshold. There, across the desk, he spied the noble. Sat with both his elbows on the desk and his fingers woven to support his chin. The man's eyes seemed to widen as he spied the Rathor. "Lizard?" he asked, a tone much lighter than the greeting he'd previously offered.
"Yeah," Arkash returned. "Ran into some trouble on the road," Arkash explained... Not nearly enough to cover his season-long disappearance.
Raphael rose a brow and looked the Rathor up and down as if searching for marks or a means of confirming his supposed trouble. Arkash let those eyes wander, he had nothing to hide. "...Well you seem to be in good health," the Necrodoctor declared with a smile. "Come, sit," he gestured to the chair across from his desk. "Tell me all about your trip to Couronne with that... What was his name? Calahad?"
He saw no malevolence in Raphael's offer, just the restraint of his tired, frustrated disposition. Though he wondered what might have caused such a foul mood in the human, he didn't particularly care for Raphael's wellbeing enough to ask. "Caladrin," he clarified, then fully entered the room and closed the door, fully prepared to launch himself at the noble if the tension in the air turned to violence, but no such action came. He sat sideways on the offered chair so that the backrest didn't get in the way of his tail, and rested one arm atop it.
There was just a twinge of annoyance in Raphael's eyes as Arkash sat, something that didn't agree with his unconventional methods. It was to be expected; Raphael was a noble, built on behaving properly and parading false virtues.
"...Where do I begin?" Arkash started. "We went through the Badlands-," Arkash started.
Raphael furrowed a brow and cut the Rathor off with "-the Badlands?" Raphael lowered his hands to the desk and clasped them together. "...Why on earth did you go through the Badlands? Why didn't he take you through the Hallway?"
Arkash shrugged. "...I thought he wanted to go through the Badlands, but I was confused. He was very distracting," Arkash spoke in reference to the incident at the tree. Raphael laughed a breath at that, then nodded to the Rathor with something of a smile, a gesture to continue. "...While we were in the Badlands, we were abducted by a group of bandits-."
"-Bandits or Badlanders?" The noble interjected again, squinting.
"What's the difference?" Arkash asked with a tilt of his head.
"Fair..." Raphael returned. "Did they have some sort of signifier? A mark of some kind to identify them by?"
Arkash thought for a moment, then shook his head. "I remember they liked mounting people's heads on pikes in the dunes, just all over the place..." Arkash recalled. "Anyway, they kept us for a month or so while Caladrin tried to break us out; I had to sneak out whenever he fell asleep to snack on the severed heads," he explained an extension of the truth.
Raphael laughed at the idea; a gesture that appeared to be something of a genuine expression of joy. Arkash smiled.
"I was starting to run out of fresh heads, and the others looked like they were months old, so I decided to break us out," he finished. "...It wasn't my cleanest escape... I got shot four times, but I killed everyone there," the rathor explained with a turn of his claw. "After that, I passed out. Caladrin took me someplace on the back of a Chariot and tried healing my wounds, but he wasn't very good at it... I'd overstepped when my spark grew in the fight, and I was coughing up corruption the entire way home. I met an old friend of mine in Amoren, and he helped me put myself back together," Arkash finished.
Raphael blinked. "...Are you still stricken with mageblight?" He asked, suddenly very invested.
"Somewhat..." Arkash answered, suddenly on edge. He brought his attention to the sword at his hip but didn't reach for it. Why did Raphael care if he was weakened? "It's been a few days since I last vomited," he explained, a lie. it had been two weeks since his last expulsion of mageblight, but he wanted to see what the noble would do with the knowledge.
The mage frowned, to his surprise. "...I suppose it's just as well," he spoke with a disappointed sigh.
"What?" Arkash returned with a tilt of his head. What game was Raphael playing?
The mage looked up from the desk to fix his gaze on Arkash's eyes, then shrugged. "I was hoping to get our transaction completed soon, but you're probably not in the mood for it anyway after being shot three times, right? You've only had a few months to recover, no doubt you're still sore, aren't you?"
Of course that was all Raphael cared about. Why would Arkash think the noble was at all invested in his wellbeing? But, the fact that Raphael considered whether Arkash wanted to initiate him or not was a signal of progress; Raphael had actually developed some humanity in their time apart. "It was four shots, and I can initiate you," Arkash assured, flat in his expression. "And after that, we can go to Tyrclaid, right?"
Raphael perked up immediately, a smile claiming his features, a spark of disbelief and wonder in his eyes. "Y-Yes! Of course! Well, after I fulfill my end of the contract, that is."
It was odd to see the noble stammer over his words, evidently he was very excited to be initiated in Blood Magic, but... "Your end?" Arkash asked with a frown.
"Nightfall," he spoke with a gesture of his hand. "I'm sharing my mark with you in return, remember?"
"Ah," Arkash nodded. That was right, he'd asked for a mark so that he wouldn't be branded a slave anymore, a mark that wouldn't see him killed for its possession. In hindsight, that was trivial too. He didn't think he needed it, but it might serve him well in his plots to come. So, Arkash nodded. "Alright, after that then. I can initiate you now if you're ready?"
Raphael straightened up and blinked quickly at the offer. "Right now? Here?" He quizzed, excitable. It was a stark difference from how his mood showed just minutes ago.
"Better off in your lab," Arkash clarified. "A bunch of slashes will appear on you while the mark sets... If we're in your lab, I can patch them up quickly and use sway to slow your bleeding," he explained with a turn of his claw.
Raphael nodded in agreement, then exhaled deeply. "Alright, I'll meet you down there in... Ten minutes? I need to change into something less... Stainable," Raphael spoke as he stood, pushing his chair back with the straightening of his legs. Arkash grinned in response, nodded, stood, and made his way to the door. As he left the room, he sighed. Nothing good could come from initiating a man like Raphael in Blood Magic, he knew, but he hadn't the capacity to care for something so trivial. Not in comparison to the storm he was to face; not in comparison to Brilan Ald.
