27th of Ash, 120
"Can I have a different one?" Those were the first words to leave his mouth after he laid eyes on what was to be his room for the night.
"What?" Returned Asmodei, who stood in the hallway behind him. Arkash didn't dare enter the room and clung to the doorway
He and his stalwart protector, Asmodei, had ventured into Outer Nivenhain on a quest to find Cojack, Arkash's father. They'd had to travel through the sewers to bypass the Chevalier that guarded the construction of the wall between the Outer and Lower districts, and the journey left them both exhausted. They still managed to spend the day searching inns and taverns for anyone that might have seen or served Cojack, but through the entire day, they hadn't found any sign of him.
What was more, was Arkash found himself frightened to death whenever Asmodei left him in the street to speak with the owner of the venue. He didn't know what frightened him , but it felt as though he suffocated where he stood each and every time. He hadn't told Asmodei about it, but that same fear squeezed at his heart within his chest when he beheld the room, seemingly for no reason at all.
They'd chosen the Inn because of its larger beds that were meant to be fit for avialae and siltori alike, who both towered over humanity while they remained present in Lorien's demographic, unlike most other races. Indeed the bed was big, it even had a real mattress on it, which was better than anything Arkash had ever slept in at any point in his life, but looking at it filled him with indescribable despair.
"I just don't like it," he clarified in vithmi.
"I've already paid for the room, Ark, and it's not cheap."
"I'll pay you back when we get back to the warehouse," he pleaded and looked up at the avialae with clear desperation in his one functional eye.
Asmodei simply grinned and shook his head. "It's a nice room Ark, what's wrong with you?"
The room itself was, admittedly, nice. Asmodei wasn't wrong. The floors were a glazed, dark hardwood that laid as a rest for an animal pelt rug that seemed to resemble some sort of bear, and the walls were colored with paper in a bright shade of green. The skirting boards were painted white, along with the ceiling and the edges that the ceiling met the wall. The bed, the centerpiece of the room, was huge and could almost fit Asmodei on it, the frame was a dark wood much like the floor, but only a shade or two lighter. The bear pelt served to separate the two kinds of wood and prevented them from blending together, unlike the nightstand, which almost looked to be an extension of the floor with how unclear the seam between them was.
It was nice, nicer than anywhere he'd ever stayed before; he could no doubt get an amazing night's sleep there, but he still hated it. The room frightened him, and he couldn't tell why. "Please," he begged as he looked back to the avialae. It felt wrong just to turn his back on the room.
Asmodei furrowed his brow and shook his head. "...Just lay down and shut your eyes, Ark. You'll be out like a light," was all he had to say on the matter as he turned to walk down the hallway.
"Wait!" Arkash called and ran a short stretch to the avialae. Asmodei paused and half-turned to face him. "Did you ask the keeper if he saw Cojack?" He asked with elevated breathing.
The avialae looked about the hall quickly, then grabbed Arkash by the shoulder and walked him back to the room. "Stop walking around with your hood down or someone's gonna see you!" He spoke in a harsh whisper, then eased the boy rath into the room. "I'll ask him in the morning, Ark. I'm close to passing out." With that said, Asmodei withdrew from the room and began to close the door. "Goodnight," he spoke firmly.
Arkash froze. He was in the room, and Asmodei was out of it. Before he could say anything or force his lips apart, the door shut, and he was swallowed by the atmosphere. He began to shake, and his claws clenched tighter around the key they held. His breathing picked up and his heart raced while he stood there, paralyzed with fear. An entire minute passed before he worked up the nerve to turn and face the bed.
It was wrong. Everything about the room was wrong and it twisted him up inside. He could barely breathe, he couldn't find the will to move. It was a similar terror to the one he'd felt when he encountered the wolf in the woods all those years ago; as though he was face to face with a predator. Perhaps it was just a product of his stress? Leftover trauma from his near-death experiences? There couldn't be a problem with the room, could there?
The sound of dripping stole him from his thoughts, and he blinked. His cheek was wet, as he discovered when he reached to brush his scales with his claws. He was crying. Really? Frustrated and torn up, Arkash steeled himself, then turned to the door. All his instincts and survival mechanisms pulled on his attention and demanded that he looked to the bed, but he fought hard to ignore them. He pushed the key into the lock, where his hand trembled, then turned to click the inner mechanism into place. He was locked in.
Someone was behind him. He could feel them, sitting there on the bed, staring into the back of his skull. More tears ran from his leaky eye as he sobbed, bared his teeth, then spun on the spot to face whoever it was, and found nothing. His chest rapidly lifted and fell as he struggled to breathe, it felt as though he was suffocating. But on what? After another few minutes of hesitation, Ark began to undo the buttons of his oversized coat, then dropped it on a pile on the floor along with his pants. His knife hit the floor with a hard thud, and Arkash physically jumped at the sound. He reeled and pulled his whole form in an effort to escape, only to realize the startle was his own doing.
His gaze fell to the blade, the dagger he carried at his hip, and he knelt to collect it. Brodie's dagger; the knife the human had used to carve into his chest, the knife Arkash had stolen and used to slash at one of the Thompson brothers. he thought of that night while he held the knife, then walked closer to the bed with the weapon in hand. He felt braver, stronger like he wasn't as frail. With the knife in hand, he wasn't as defenseless against the imaginary threat, and it physically empowered him.
He paused at the bedside and thought. He had to spend an entire night there, in the room he was helplessly terrified of. It didn't help that the bed, the centerpiece of the room was what unsettled him the most.
He could do it, he was brave. He had to be if he wanted to make it out of Lorien with Cojack alive. Was a bed really all it took to defeat him? No. With his dagger in hand, Arkash turned, then gently sat into the the furred mattress. Chills ran up his spine like a primal, nigh feral warning, and the idea that the room was cursed or haunted only further crept around his mind and swallowed his rational thought.
"It's all in my head," he spoke aloud, then shut his eye tightly. It was wrong it felt and smelled so very wrong. "I'm imagining it," he affirmed. "It's just a bed, I'm the only one here." He wasn't. There was someone on the bed with him, laid out, motionless as though they were made of stone. Images of death and corpses, Liu's frozen body, they all ran through his sight while his eye remained closed.
Arkash laid down across the bed, and took care not to hurt himself with the dagger. They were beside him, on his sighted side. He could smell them; pus, rotting meat, vomit. The terror that ran rampant through his mind demanded he opened his sighted eye to see, but he fought the urge. Instead, he tucked his knife under the feathered pillow, then dragged his body into the exact same space that he believed the other person to be.
Nothing was there, just an empty space in the bed. His breathing began to calm down, and he sighed in relief. There was nothing to fear. All he had to do was face the imaginary threat, so he believed. As he breathed in, however, a familiar scent graced his nose, but it was old, stale... he filled his lungs with it to try and determine the source, then his breathing stopped altogether.
Panic overcame him, and his eyes shot open as he reached for his neck with his claws, but found that his body couldn't move. There was nothing there, but he could feel the pressure on his neck, the massive weight in his chest and arms. Strangled gargles escaped his throat as he tried desperately to breathe, but he couldn't. It was in his throat and his body didn't move at all, he couldn't turn his head to dislodge it, he was drowning.
His vision began to fade, and his heartbeat slowed when no oxygen came. Then, like a light, he was out, gone to the conscious world.
"Can I have a different one?" Those were the first words to leave his mouth after he laid eyes on what was to be his room for the night.
"What?" Returned Asmodei, who stood in the hallway behind him. Arkash didn't dare enter the room and clung to the doorway
He and his stalwart protector, Asmodei, had ventured into Outer Nivenhain on a quest to find Cojack, Arkash's father. They'd had to travel through the sewers to bypass the Chevalier that guarded the construction of the wall between the Outer and Lower districts, and the journey left them both exhausted. They still managed to spend the day searching inns and taverns for anyone that might have seen or served Cojack, but through the entire day, they hadn't found any sign of him.
What was more, was Arkash found himself frightened to death whenever Asmodei left him in the street to speak with the owner of the venue. He didn't know what frightened him , but it felt as though he suffocated where he stood each and every time. He hadn't told Asmodei about it, but that same fear squeezed at his heart within his chest when he beheld the room, seemingly for no reason at all.
They'd chosen the Inn because of its larger beds that were meant to be fit for avialae and siltori alike, who both towered over humanity while they remained present in Lorien's demographic, unlike most other races. Indeed the bed was big, it even had a real mattress on it, which was better than anything Arkash had ever slept in at any point in his life, but looking at it filled him with indescribable despair.
"I just don't like it," he clarified in vithmi.
"I've already paid for the room, Ark, and it's not cheap."
"I'll pay you back when we get back to the warehouse," he pleaded and looked up at the avialae with clear desperation in his one functional eye.
Asmodei simply grinned and shook his head. "It's a nice room Ark, what's wrong with you?"
The room itself was, admittedly, nice. Asmodei wasn't wrong. The floors were a glazed, dark hardwood that laid as a rest for an animal pelt rug that seemed to resemble some sort of bear, and the walls were colored with paper in a bright shade of green. The skirting boards were painted white, along with the ceiling and the edges that the ceiling met the wall. The bed, the centerpiece of the room, was huge and could almost fit Asmodei on it, the frame was a dark wood much like the floor, but only a shade or two lighter. The bear pelt served to separate the two kinds of wood and prevented them from blending together, unlike the nightstand, which almost looked to be an extension of the floor with how unclear the seam between them was.
It was nice, nicer than anywhere he'd ever stayed before; he could no doubt get an amazing night's sleep there, but he still hated it. The room frightened him, and he couldn't tell why. "Please," he begged as he looked back to the avialae. It felt wrong just to turn his back on the room.
Asmodei furrowed his brow and shook his head. "...Just lay down and shut your eyes, Ark. You'll be out like a light," was all he had to say on the matter as he turned to walk down the hallway.
"Wait!" Arkash called and ran a short stretch to the avialae. Asmodei paused and half-turned to face him. "Did you ask the keeper if he saw Cojack?" He asked with elevated breathing.
The avialae looked about the hall quickly, then grabbed Arkash by the shoulder and walked him back to the room. "Stop walking around with your hood down or someone's gonna see you!" He spoke in a harsh whisper, then eased the boy rath into the room. "I'll ask him in the morning, Ark. I'm close to passing out." With that said, Asmodei withdrew from the room and began to close the door. "Goodnight," he spoke firmly.
Arkash froze. He was in the room, and Asmodei was out of it. Before he could say anything or force his lips apart, the door shut, and he was swallowed by the atmosphere. He began to shake, and his claws clenched tighter around the key they held. His breathing picked up and his heart raced while he stood there, paralyzed with fear. An entire minute passed before he worked up the nerve to turn and face the bed.
It was wrong. Everything about the room was wrong and it twisted him up inside. He could barely breathe, he couldn't find the will to move. It was a similar terror to the one he'd felt when he encountered the wolf in the woods all those years ago; as though he was face to face with a predator. Perhaps it was just a product of his stress? Leftover trauma from his near-death experiences? There couldn't be a problem with the room, could there?
The sound of dripping stole him from his thoughts, and he blinked. His cheek was wet, as he discovered when he reached to brush his scales with his claws. He was crying. Really? Frustrated and torn up, Arkash steeled himself, then turned to the door. All his instincts and survival mechanisms pulled on his attention and demanded that he looked to the bed, but he fought hard to ignore them. He pushed the key into the lock, where his hand trembled, then turned to click the inner mechanism into place. He was locked in.
Someone was behind him. He could feel them, sitting there on the bed, staring into the back of his skull. More tears ran from his leaky eye as he sobbed, bared his teeth, then spun on the spot to face whoever it was, and found nothing. His chest rapidly lifted and fell as he struggled to breathe, it felt as though he was suffocating. But on what? After another few minutes of hesitation, Ark began to undo the buttons of his oversized coat, then dropped it on a pile on the floor along with his pants. His knife hit the floor with a hard thud, and Arkash physically jumped at the sound. He reeled and pulled his whole form in an effort to escape, only to realize the startle was his own doing.
His gaze fell to the blade, the dagger he carried at his hip, and he knelt to collect it. Brodie's dagger; the knife the human had used to carve into his chest, the knife Arkash had stolen and used to slash at one of the Thompson brothers. he thought of that night while he held the knife, then walked closer to the bed with the weapon in hand. He felt braver, stronger like he wasn't as frail. With the knife in hand, he wasn't as defenseless against the imaginary threat, and it physically empowered him.
He paused at the bedside and thought. He had to spend an entire night there, in the room he was helplessly terrified of. It didn't help that the bed, the centerpiece of the room was what unsettled him the most.
He could do it, he was brave. He had to be if he wanted to make it out of Lorien with Cojack alive. Was a bed really all it took to defeat him? No. With his dagger in hand, Arkash turned, then gently sat into the the furred mattress. Chills ran up his spine like a primal, nigh feral warning, and the idea that the room was cursed or haunted only further crept around his mind and swallowed his rational thought.
"It's all in my head," he spoke aloud, then shut his eye tightly. It was wrong it felt and smelled so very wrong. "I'm imagining it," he affirmed. "It's just a bed, I'm the only one here." He wasn't. There was someone on the bed with him, laid out, motionless as though they were made of stone. Images of death and corpses, Liu's frozen body, they all ran through his sight while his eye remained closed.
Arkash laid down across the bed, and took care not to hurt himself with the dagger. They were beside him, on his sighted side. He could smell them; pus, rotting meat, vomit. The terror that ran rampant through his mind demanded he opened his sighted eye to see, but he fought the urge. Instead, he tucked his knife under the feathered pillow, then dragged his body into the exact same space that he believed the other person to be.
Nothing was there, just an empty space in the bed. His breathing began to calm down, and he sighed in relief. There was nothing to fear. All he had to do was face the imaginary threat, so he believed. As he breathed in, however, a familiar scent graced his nose, but it was old, stale... he filled his lungs with it to try and determine the source, then his breathing stopped altogether.
Panic overcame him, and his eyes shot open as he reached for his neck with his claws, but found that his body couldn't move. There was nothing there, but he could feel the pressure on his neck, the massive weight in his chest and arms. Strangled gargles escaped his throat as he tried desperately to breathe, but he couldn't. It was in his throat and his body didn't move at all, he couldn't turn his head to dislodge it, he was drowning.
His vision began to fade, and his heartbeat slowed when no oxygen came. Then, like a light, he was out, gone to the conscious world.
