36th of Searing, 120
Along the way home, Arkash had stopped by the water pump and filled the pale he'd 'found' with some clean water. He'd need it to clean his wounds. Step by step, the young Rathari limped his way home. The majority of his injuries had become stable since the initial trauma, and the adrenaline that coursed through his broken body had begun to recede. He could see and hear clearly again, but the pain was setting in from all angles, all over his arms and legs, his chest, his head. All his nerves were shot to hell and the dull aches and pains in his bones and joints only served as an ambient radiance to the scrapes of missing scales that littered his arms and legs. It wouldn't be too much longer though; he'd feel better soon. He'd managed to get his claws on some rubbing alcohol, bandages, splints, a cloth, and a pale; all of which were necessary for patching himself up. His bag was still destroyed, but he could carry it similarly to the pale.
The sun had started to cast a warm, amber glow to the east, it would be rising soon. He'd only noticed as he arrived home; that was his second full day without sleep. Once he was done wrapping his head, arms, and legs, he was going to sleep and remain that way until he had to change his bandages. The perks of being so skinny and feeble were that a roll of bandages could likely wrap twice as much of him as it could a healthy human. For that, he was lucky. As he approached the house, he set his pale down and fetched the ladder that was laid on the ground. It was a shoddy, old thing. Something that they used to climb onto the roof to clear the snow during the colder seasons. For this, however, he used it so that he could sit on the edge of the roof with his bag of medical supplies on his left and the pale of water on his right. Once he'd climbed all his things to the roof, he pulled the ladder up with him and placed it behind him. Up there, he was safe.
His eyes turned to the east, where he watched the deep violet shade of night melt with the bright orange colors that steadily swallowed the stars, and sighed. It was another day, and he'd survived, but barely. A glance at his bag set his focus on the necessary tools he needed to fix himself. First, he drew the cloth. It was intended for washing dishes, but it would work to scrub the grime from his exposed wounds, too. He was stalling, which he recognized, but he knew it was going to hurt. He drew deep breaths to steady the fluttering sensation in his chest, then dipped the cloth in the pale's water, soaked it completely, and wrung it out. Then, he turned to his legs, which were mangled and covered in all sorts of dirt and dust from the pavement.
Arkash shut his eyes and thought to a simpler time. A time where he'd fallen over while playing and Liu was there to clean his scraped knee for him. It stung like hell, but that pain helped to keep the process fresh in his head. Indeed. He had to clean the foreign elements from the wounds first. The alcohol came second. He curled his lips back as if he were to hiss, then pressed the rag firmly against his knee. The immediate response was a low, growl of pain that saw the muscles in his leg tense, but it quickly receded and eased. Next, he had to rub the gunk out, and the result was an explosive sting in his scales, which drew pained whimpers from his shaky lips. As he removed the cloth, he found that the wound was clear of debris, and it shined in the low morning light. After he took a moment to clean the rag and wrung it out again, he proceeded with his shin on the same leg, which was far worse than the knee.
His legs were the worst, as they'd taken the brunt of the damage when he'd curled into a ball. The shins were what shielded him from the Thompson brother's boots, and they had the bruises and grazes to prove it.
Progress was slow, and each drag of the cloth filled him with unspeakable dread, but he was eventually done with that leg. It was 'clean', at least from what he could see. There, he left it to dry while he prepared to work on his other leg. A drop of cold fluid ran down his calf, though he didn't look to inspect it. There was a good chance that he'd started bleeding again due to the rubbing of his wounds, but that was just a sacrifice he had to make if he didn't want to die of infection. The next leg was easier to clean as it wasn't scuffed quite as badly as the left. It still hurt, of course, but Arkash had already tasted the pain and knew what to expect. Both legs were clean, and he could proceed to the next step for them. Again, he cleaned off the cloth, but the water was starting to look murky: rust-colored from the blood and dirt that had been squeezed into it with enough rounds of cleaning.
He would need to change the water before he did his arms, but he'd worry about that later. A flick of his wrists poured the gunky water from the pale onto the ground below, and the cloth wiped out the rest of the grime. Once it was clean, Arkash poured some of the rubbing alcohol into it and swirled it about. it remained clear-colored, which was a good sign. Next, he unrolled one of the bandages about half-way, then soaked it in the alcohol. this was the part that was truly going to hurt. He lifted the drippy bandage from the pale and hovered it over the knee that he'd first cleaned. A drop of the alcohol fell on his exposed wound, and he jolted as a sick shock of lightning ran up his spine. He managed to keep his voice down, however, as to not wake Cojack. A few deep breaths steadied his thrumming heart, and he finally attacked the wound with the medicated bandage. His lips parted to scream, but no sound came. All the muscles in his leg tensed to pull away from the cleaning, burning sting of the alcohol to no avail.
He trembled, and tears ran down his cheeks as he proceeded to wrap his legs with the disinfectant-soaked bandages. After the first layer was complete, he took a moment to steady himself, and the sting gradually receded. There he shifted one of the dowels to the sid of his leg, and he began to wrap around that too, securing the splint to his possibly broken shins. It would help support the bone and promote healing. When he was done, he sighed in relief and wiped the tears from his one good eye. Next... He had to do the same for his other leg.
Both his legs were bandaged properly and splinted to boot. One of them was bandaged around the ankle to keep it straight as it healed, so walking was awkward. The dowels did help to take a load off his shins though and even seemed to help with his walking to some degree, too. He carried his pale alone to the pump, as he needed more water to clean his arms. They were smaller than his legs and suffered fewer injuries, so he doubted that he'd need as much. While he limp-walked to the pump, he finally considered what it was that he'd tell Cojack. The last time the Thomspon Brothers attacked him, they'd held him to a wall and punched his stomach and chest. It was just some bruising that his father barely noticed. This was... Considerably worse. Did he fall? Was it an accident with a rogue Hollow? Would his dad believe that he'd survived one such encounter? It might work.
Before he could come to a clear decision, however, something ripped his train of thought from its tracks: Yelling. Uncertain, he put his pale down at the pump and began to fill it quickly. His eyes trained on the direction the yelling came from, his poor hearing too. Then, a familiar face rushed around the corner of the street ahead. He was running, apparently in a panic. Jerry 'The Cat', the homeless man he'd met just a few hours ago. He was afraid, terrified even. The beggar slowed to a stop before Arkash, and he looked to the lizard while he breathed, a desperate effort to catch his breath. "Ark, thank the gods..." he sputtered. "Jerry?" Asked the rath, unsure. "Listen, man. You gotta help me. I fucked up big time an'- an' they're gonna kill me-." The homeless, bearded man was streaming tears. To Ark, it was beyond doubt that he was telling the truth. "What? Why? Whatcha need?"
More tears, sputtering and crying. "I got in a scuff yesterday, like you." Okay, from Arkash's wounds, that was obvious. But... "Okay, so-?" "-So it was a Lustrian guy." Oh. "...You killed him, didn't you?" Was Arkash's immediate response. "No! I didn't! I-" he was cut off by a sudden loud shriek, and the two looked to the street he was running from to see the source. Hollows. Three of them. Massive, hulking flesh golems that the higher castes used for manual labor alongside the nameless, like Arkash. They'd spotted their target and began their charge. "You gotta hide me, Ark, please!" Cried Jerry. Arkash stared in disbelief. A look of uncertainty from Arkash met the beggar's eyes, and the Rathari wasn't moving. There was his answer.
"You've killed me," mumbled the human as he stumbled back. "This is on you," replied the Rath, who did nothing to aid the human. Jerry turned away, then began running again. The Hollows rushed by Arkash shortly after, homing in on the beggar. It was only when they turned the corner that he looked away, and broke into ragged, uneven breaths. He was no better than Jerry. He was a thief, not a violent criminal, but... that alone was enough for the higher castes to send Hollows after his mother. "What the fuck..." Ark whimpered and sniffled hard as he wiped a tear from his good eye. Admittedly, he didn't care that much for Jerry; the tear wasn't shed for him. It was the fear that he might one day face the same fate if he continued to steal or mess with those more wealthy than him. Shaken, Arkash collected his pale of water, then limped back home to treat his arms.
Along the way home, Arkash had stopped by the water pump and filled the pale he'd 'found' with some clean water. He'd need it to clean his wounds. Step by step, the young Rathari limped his way home. The majority of his injuries had become stable since the initial trauma, and the adrenaline that coursed through his broken body had begun to recede. He could see and hear clearly again, but the pain was setting in from all angles, all over his arms and legs, his chest, his head. All his nerves were shot to hell and the dull aches and pains in his bones and joints only served as an ambient radiance to the scrapes of missing scales that littered his arms and legs. It wouldn't be too much longer though; he'd feel better soon. He'd managed to get his claws on some rubbing alcohol, bandages, splints, a cloth, and a pale; all of which were necessary for patching himself up. His bag was still destroyed, but he could carry it similarly to the pale.
The sun had started to cast a warm, amber glow to the east, it would be rising soon. He'd only noticed as he arrived home; that was his second full day without sleep. Once he was done wrapping his head, arms, and legs, he was going to sleep and remain that way until he had to change his bandages. The perks of being so skinny and feeble were that a roll of bandages could likely wrap twice as much of him as it could a healthy human. For that, he was lucky. As he approached the house, he set his pale down and fetched the ladder that was laid on the ground. It was a shoddy, old thing. Something that they used to climb onto the roof to clear the snow during the colder seasons. For this, however, he used it so that he could sit on the edge of the roof with his bag of medical supplies on his left and the pale of water on his right. Once he'd climbed all his things to the roof, he pulled the ladder up with him and placed it behind him. Up there, he was safe.
His eyes turned to the east, where he watched the deep violet shade of night melt with the bright orange colors that steadily swallowed the stars, and sighed. It was another day, and he'd survived, but barely. A glance at his bag set his focus on the necessary tools he needed to fix himself. First, he drew the cloth. It was intended for washing dishes, but it would work to scrub the grime from his exposed wounds, too. He was stalling, which he recognized, but he knew it was going to hurt. He drew deep breaths to steady the fluttering sensation in his chest, then dipped the cloth in the pale's water, soaked it completely, and wrung it out. Then, he turned to his legs, which were mangled and covered in all sorts of dirt and dust from the pavement.
Arkash shut his eyes and thought to a simpler time. A time where he'd fallen over while playing and Liu was there to clean his scraped knee for him. It stung like hell, but that pain helped to keep the process fresh in his head. Indeed. He had to clean the foreign elements from the wounds first. The alcohol came second. He curled his lips back as if he were to hiss, then pressed the rag firmly against his knee. The immediate response was a low, growl of pain that saw the muscles in his leg tense, but it quickly receded and eased. Next, he had to rub the gunk out, and the result was an explosive sting in his scales, which drew pained whimpers from his shaky lips. As he removed the cloth, he found that the wound was clear of debris, and it shined in the low morning light. After he took a moment to clean the rag and wrung it out again, he proceeded with his shin on the same leg, which was far worse than the knee.
His legs were the worst, as they'd taken the brunt of the damage when he'd curled into a ball. The shins were what shielded him from the Thompson brother's boots, and they had the bruises and grazes to prove it.
Progress was slow, and each drag of the cloth filled him with unspeakable dread, but he was eventually done with that leg. It was 'clean', at least from what he could see. There, he left it to dry while he prepared to work on his other leg. A drop of cold fluid ran down his calf, though he didn't look to inspect it. There was a good chance that he'd started bleeding again due to the rubbing of his wounds, but that was just a sacrifice he had to make if he didn't want to die of infection. The next leg was easier to clean as it wasn't scuffed quite as badly as the left. It still hurt, of course, but Arkash had already tasted the pain and knew what to expect. Both legs were clean, and he could proceed to the next step for them. Again, he cleaned off the cloth, but the water was starting to look murky: rust-colored from the blood and dirt that had been squeezed into it with enough rounds of cleaning.
He would need to change the water before he did his arms, but he'd worry about that later. A flick of his wrists poured the gunky water from the pale onto the ground below, and the cloth wiped out the rest of the grime. Once it was clean, Arkash poured some of the rubbing alcohol into it and swirled it about. it remained clear-colored, which was a good sign. Next, he unrolled one of the bandages about half-way, then soaked it in the alcohol. this was the part that was truly going to hurt. He lifted the drippy bandage from the pale and hovered it over the knee that he'd first cleaned. A drop of the alcohol fell on his exposed wound, and he jolted as a sick shock of lightning ran up his spine. He managed to keep his voice down, however, as to not wake Cojack. A few deep breaths steadied his thrumming heart, and he finally attacked the wound with the medicated bandage. His lips parted to scream, but no sound came. All the muscles in his leg tensed to pull away from the cleaning, burning sting of the alcohol to no avail.
He trembled, and tears ran down his cheeks as he proceeded to wrap his legs with the disinfectant-soaked bandages. After the first layer was complete, he took a moment to steady himself, and the sting gradually receded. There he shifted one of the dowels to the sid of his leg, and he began to wrap around that too, securing the splint to his possibly broken shins. It would help support the bone and promote healing. When he was done, he sighed in relief and wiped the tears from his one good eye. Next... He had to do the same for his other leg.
***
Both his legs were bandaged properly and splinted to boot. One of them was bandaged around the ankle to keep it straight as it healed, so walking was awkward. The dowels did help to take a load off his shins though and even seemed to help with his walking to some degree, too. He carried his pale alone to the pump, as he needed more water to clean his arms. They were smaller than his legs and suffered fewer injuries, so he doubted that he'd need as much. While he limp-walked to the pump, he finally considered what it was that he'd tell Cojack. The last time the Thomspon Brothers attacked him, they'd held him to a wall and punched his stomach and chest. It was just some bruising that his father barely noticed. This was... Considerably worse. Did he fall? Was it an accident with a rogue Hollow? Would his dad believe that he'd survived one such encounter? It might work.
Before he could come to a clear decision, however, something ripped his train of thought from its tracks: Yelling. Uncertain, he put his pale down at the pump and began to fill it quickly. His eyes trained on the direction the yelling came from, his poor hearing too. Then, a familiar face rushed around the corner of the street ahead. He was running, apparently in a panic. Jerry 'The Cat', the homeless man he'd met just a few hours ago. He was afraid, terrified even. The beggar slowed to a stop before Arkash, and he looked to the lizard while he breathed, a desperate effort to catch his breath. "Ark, thank the gods..." he sputtered. "Jerry?" Asked the rath, unsure. "Listen, man. You gotta help me. I fucked up big time an'- an' they're gonna kill me-." The homeless, bearded man was streaming tears. To Ark, it was beyond doubt that he was telling the truth. "What? Why? Whatcha need?"
More tears, sputtering and crying. "I got in a scuff yesterday, like you." Okay, from Arkash's wounds, that was obvious. But... "Okay, so-?" "-So it was a Lustrian guy." Oh. "...You killed him, didn't you?" Was Arkash's immediate response. "No! I didn't! I-" he was cut off by a sudden loud shriek, and the two looked to the street he was running from to see the source. Hollows. Three of them. Massive, hulking flesh golems that the higher castes used for manual labor alongside the nameless, like Arkash. They'd spotted their target and began their charge. "You gotta hide me, Ark, please!" Cried Jerry. Arkash stared in disbelief. A look of uncertainty from Arkash met the beggar's eyes, and the Rathari wasn't moving. There was his answer.
"You've killed me," mumbled the human as he stumbled back. "This is on you," replied the Rath, who did nothing to aid the human. Jerry turned away, then began running again. The Hollows rushed by Arkash shortly after, homing in on the beggar. It was only when they turned the corner that he looked away, and broke into ragged, uneven breaths. He was no better than Jerry. He was a thief, not a violent criminal, but... that alone was enough for the higher castes to send Hollows after his mother. "What the fuck..." Ark whimpered and sniffled hard as he wiped a tear from his good eye. Admittedly, he didn't care that much for Jerry; the tear wasn't shed for him. It was the fear that he might one day face the same fate if he continued to steal or mess with those more wealthy than him. Shaken, Arkash collected his pale of water, then limped back home to treat his arms.
