[BM11] Legacy
Posted: Mon Oct 12, 2020 8:48 pm
63rd of Ash, 120
Through the sewers, then the slums, into the woods, and to the foot of the mountain. The young rath followed the likes of the ratty human across the country, it seemed. He'd never strayed so far from the city, and the fact that he followed a comparative stranger to a place he didn't know his way back from unsettled him. What if something happened? What if Arkash had an accident and the human left him? What if the human turned on him and attacked him? Ultimately speaking, Arkash was at the man's mercy.
His name was Chitters, as Arkash had learned during their journey. It was a strange name for a human, but it sort of fit his appearance well, or so the rath thought. Chitters was a tall, lanky human with a dirty, rugged appearance. The patches of skin that were visible through the holes in his clothes were black and blue with grime and bruises. His hands and face were of a similar state. He was fairly average for a nameless, which was why Arkash didn't consider the man's origin too much.
The pair waited at the base of the snowy mountain beside a small campfire, as per the Rathari's request. Once he'd gathered the warmth he needed, they were on their way up the tall slopes of the rise. Frigid stone was met with Arkash's claws with every step he took, and frost-laced dirt gathered on his foot wraps during the ascent. Harsh cold winds blew from the summit as they proceeded, like a warning, damning his progress and stealing his gathered, precious body heat as it cut through him.
Arkash's fur-lined leathers were perhaps his only saving grace. The merchant he'd bought them from said they were some of the warmest hides available, and Arkash was inclined to believe him, given how long his warmth had lasted. If it weren't for his fairly expensive winter clothes, he couldn't have made the journey anywhere near their destination. Where was their destination? It only occurred to the rath that he didn't know where he was being led. Furthermore, neither Asmodei nor Fayeth knew where he was. In that sense, he was not only at Chitters' mercy, but he depended upon him in the same breath. All it would take is one wrong turn, and Arkash would freeze to death before he made it out of there.
Thankfully, Chitters seemed to know where it was they were going, as he turned most deliberately and with certainty whenever the time came. Every turn felt to be a blessing, as it gave his front a short respite from the chill of the winds, but it was for naught, as his sides were the next to be barraged by the ice-laden gales.
The cold left his body rigid and his mind slow, but he didn't have to bear it too much longer. He found himself embraced by the stone cradle of the mountain's gaping maw. A gasp of surprise escaped him when he realized he'd entered a cave, and he exhaled a breath of cold air while he shivered. "F-fack!" he called and wrapped his arm and his prosthetic around himself. Where was he? What had happened? Huddled into his form, he looked to chitters, who warmed himself at an open brazier.
Another icy breath flowed from his lips as he approached the flames with rigid, unbending legs. It wasn't the first time he'd blacked out in the cold, and he handled the confusion well. "W-what is i'ss plece?" he spoke through the chatter of his teeth, and extended his claws and blade arm to the crackling amber flames.
"Masta's lair. He's most sick; c'nae leave this cave." Arkash rose a brow. An illness that prevented him from leaving a cave? That made no sense to him. Then again, Cojack had an illness that prevented him from leaving his bed. Perhaps it wasn't a matter of the cave, but rather the inability to make the trek down the mountain? Cojack certainly wouldn't have survived such a journey. "Been a while since 'e spoke wiv someone other than Chitters."
Arkash glared, then. "Aren't 'ew Chitters?" The man bowed his head in turn, and Arkash nodded as he lifted his claws and warmed metal stump to his face, where he allowed the heat he'd gathered to transfer to the more frigid scales on his head. "Why not?"
"Hm?"
"Why 'asn't anyone spoke wiv 'im?"
Chitters sucked in through his yellowed, rotten teeth, then grinned. "He's nae much of a people person. 'Barely tolerates Chitters most days..." The ratty man's master sounded like a wonderful person; a man who ordered the destruction of families, the graphic mutilation of women, animal abuse, and probably lots of other heinous acts. It didn't surprise Arkash that he wasn't a people person.
"How'd 'ew meet?" Came his next question. He needed as much information as possible before he faced this... monster.
Chitters merely shook his head, at the question. Such was typical; Chitters didn't strike him as fond of small talk. "He wishes t' speak with you, Assassin. It d'nae matter how we met."
Of course, more mysteries, more obscured answers. Arkash had believed he'd come to the end of the line, that all the questions he had would be answered, but he only found more mysteries. Perhaps the monstrous master would give Arkash the answers he sought? Unlikely, given everything Arkash had learned about him.
The ratty man bowed his head, then turned to proceed deeper into the cave with a motion of his boney, bruised fingers that signaled Arkash to follow. As much as the rathari would have preferred to remain by the fire for a minute or two more, he didn't know the layout of the tunnels well and feared that he wouldn't be able to find his way. besides, there were probably other fires around the cave, right? To his despair, there were none.
Steadily, his one sighted eye adjusted to the darkness while he followed after the ratty man. He trod carefully and kept his hand at the ready to stop himself if he encountered any obstacles or walls. The ratty man clung to the edge of his vision but didn't pause or slow at any point during his travel through the caves. Just how often did Chitters make the journey through those tunnels? Arkash wondered.
Finally, the pair entered a large open space in the tunnels; a room that appeared to be a dead-end, though Arkash could barely see. As if queued for the moment Arkash squinted into the darkness, a low, broken voice called "lights, Chitters." Arkash paused and sniffed hard at the scents available to him. There was someone else in the room with them; Arkash could smell the grime of old human sweat and a torpor sickness that clung to the air. Eerily, it smelled a lot like Cojack. Did all sick people share the same scent? Or was it some sort of warning to the senses?
"Yes, yer grace!" Called the ratty man, who then scurried off beyond Arkash's line of sight. The absence of his guide put Arkash on edge, and he reached for his dagger.
"I hope you're joking, assassin," spoke the unseen voice's threat. Arkash didn't fear a sick man. How could he? Nonetheless, he didn't go there to fight the monster. He went for answers. With pursed lips, he let the handle go, then straightened his back.
"Sorry, 'force of 'abit," Arkash spoke with a half bow; a gesture of respect. Partway through it, the room became illuminated with candlelight, and Arkash looked to the right to see Chitters fumbling with some sticks in an effort to light a series of candles, as his master had instructed him. Arkash furrowed his brow, then returned his gaze to face forward. From his blindside, an old, grizzled, gray man came into view just a couple of feet from him. The human was hunched over, adorned in dark grey stained burlap cloaks that barely clung to his thin frame. His whole body shook as though he were about to collapse. No, Arkash didn't fear something so feeble.
"Nothing?" Asked the old man with several missing teeth plenty visible in his wrinkled, trembling lips. Gods, it looked ad though the man would die if Arkash shoved him hard enough.
"Wha'?" he returned with something of a furrow to his brow.
The old man grumbled, then turned around and waddled a limp back to the darker corner of the room. "This is exactly why I need you. No one's afraid of me anymore."
"That's nae true, my liege! Plenty still are afraid to speak yer name-!"
"-Shut the fuck up," snapped the old human with a curl of his nose. "I'm not a simpleton, worm. I know when my time has come."
Arkash rose his brow; he'd not expected such a dramatic shift in tone. A glance at Chitters showed the man reeling in fear. Just what sort of power did the old man possess over Chitters? Why was the ratty man so afraid of... well, a walking corpse? The man coughed hard into his sleeve and lurched forward to grip the armrest of some throne that Arkash could barely see while he recovered from the force of his lungs, then carefully eased himself into the darkened chair. All the while, Arkash was quiet.
"What's a rathari doing in this shithole of a nation?" The man asked at last. Arkash's eye widened. He knew what rathari were? Was he a foreigner? The old man was well-spoken despite the decay of his body and his foul language. He must have been. No citizen of Lorien lived as he did... Unless he was some sort of criminal?
The rathari pondered a moment on his answer before he lifted his prosthetic. "Gettin' even," he answered, partly in jest. Vengeance had been on his mind. He often found himself thinking of the Thompson brothers with disdain and a thirst for blood on his tongue. Was that why he remained in the damned country?
Regardless of his true feelings, the man smiled. "Aren't we all?" Something about his grin, the way he looked upon Arkash with recognition, it left him unsettled. What exactly did the human see in Arkash? "I have something that'll help with that."
Oh, really? He and every gang in Lower Nivenhain. "An' wha's 'at?" Arkash returned and crossed his prosthetic with his real arm.
"Power," answered the human. "Power like nothing you've ever seen before. You'll crush armies and erase great nations in mere days. Kill the man that did this to me, and I'll grant you this unfathomable power; I'll make you a force unstoppable, a terror to the world."
The word 'power' alone had Arkash interested, but as the human continued to explain, Arkash found himself enthralled with the idea. Crush armies? Erase nations? Gods, if he could just kick over Lorien, he would. Was it some sort of magic? A weapon? Whatever the old man had, if it was real, it was certainly worth killing one insignificant human for, wasn't it? "Gimme a name an' I'll get i' done," Arkash accepted.
The old man's lips curled into a grin, and he leaned back in his chair at ease. There, in the dark of the cave, Arkash was given his final contract, and the moment he was dismissed, he set to work.
Image source.