76th of Ash, 120
Chitters Two was the closest to him, who naturally went to collect the body by the arms while Chitters One moved to collect the woman’s feet. In the dim light of the cave, Arkash had killed the woman and drained her body of the majority of its blood. With it, he’d crafted a pike of sorts. Though it was very primitive in application, it was an effective use of his energy and made for a deadly weapon all the same.
Malafor waited just across the room, watching as the two henchmen did their job. Was he waiting for Arkash to act? Or did he simply doubt the rath had the capacity to lash out at an unarmed foe? Either way, he was about to regret the decision to remain uninvolved.
The moment Chitters two turned his back to Arkash, the lizard leaped at him from his crouched position and drove the point of his spear with both hands. Despite his weakened, bloodless state, he pierced the human’s side deeply with the spear. Chitters Two cried out in pain and dropped the woman’s upper half. Chitters One, the human’s brother, stared in shock at the sight. Ultimately, he dropped the woman’s feet at dove at the rath at speeds faster than Arkash had anticipated.
Chitters One collided with him just a moment later and ripped Arkash from the weapon. The weak, bloodless rathor was lifted from the ground with a rattle of the chain that bound him to the cave wall and paused as he was pushed into the hard stone. Chitters One held him by the iron collar that wrapped his throat, which was his mistake. Arkash had been strangled and lifted off the floor many times by humans, and it always ended the same. With a flex of his dexterous body, he lifted his menacingly sharp foot claws and kicked for the human’s stomach to gut him.
Before his talon-like claws could disembowel Chitters One, a purple weave pulled the human from Arkash and left the rath to fall flat on his tail at the corner of the room. Chitters One appeared most upset, breathing heavily with a firm furrow to his brow and his teeth bared. He’d seen that sort of rage in humans often, it didn’t frighten him: his teeth were sharper. His head was light as he pushed off the floor and dove at Chitters Two, but the human scrambled out of the rathor’s reach with the blood spear stuck in his side, and narrowly evaded the swipe of the Arkash’s claws.
Arkash was relentless in his pursuit for the blood of his captors, and dove at the man again, only to catch his neck on the chain that bound him to the wall, and fell to the floor at the recoil of the failed pounce. A raspy laugh filled Arkash's ears while he stayed on the floor, followed by one man's clapping. "You really are the gift that keeps on giving, aren't you?" Spoke Malafor with distinct amusement in his voice. Arkash didn't reply immediately; he'd pushed himself much too hard in the attack, and he hadn't fully recovered. He was short of breath, weak still.
"Please, Master," started Chitters Two while he slunk to the old man, "help me," he pleaded.
"KILL THE LIZARD!" Screeched the man's brother while he flailed in the grasp of Malafor's weave. "HE CAN'T BE TRUSTED! HE-!"
"-Quiet." Ordered the old man with a voice most low. The audible, dripping threat was enough to silence Chitters One in a heartbeat. "Touch him and die, worm," warned the old man as he released the weave, and dropped the ratty man in a pile. Arkash turned over in time to see the old man take hold of his blood spear, then carefully pull it from the wound. Chitters gasped and loosed a muffled cry of pain into his hand as the jagged, gore-spattered spike withdrew from his side. "Shut up, it's not that bad," warned the old man with little empathy.
With his teeth bared, Arkash sat on his tail and stared at the two- three. The wound was pretty bad, and Arkash knew there were lots of complications with wounds that were delivered to the side. His eyes fell on Chitters One, who glared daggers back at him. His friendship with the ratty man was officially over, it seemed. "Help the whelp to my table, Chitters," Malafor ordered. The able-bodied human did as he was told and collected his brother by placing his arm over his shoulder. A final death glare was cast to Arkash before the brothers left the room, Leaving Arkash with Malafor in the bloodstained cave.
Arkash lifted his gaze to the old man while he sat, then furrowed his brow. "Go ahed, rip me fuckin' faece off. I dun' give a shet." Arkash knew Malafor wouldn't kill him, but the man had threatened to blind him once before. The rath didn't care. He'd just as soon bite his tongue clean off as he would play along with the old man's game.
The withered nan shook his head. "Why would I? That was fantastic."
Arkash furrowed his brow, then reached for the collar that bound his neck to adjust it. “I jus’ stabbed youer goon,” Arkash explained, as though it wasn’t obvious. “Aren’t ‘ew pissed?”
Malafor exhaled through his flared nostrils and shook his head. “No, but I will be if you keep speaking like that.” Arkash pursed his lips; Malafor hated Arkash’s poor dialect. “Chitters is just my assistant, my pathetic, poorly-spoken rat,” the old man went on to explain. “I have no need for either of them anymore. I have you to carry on my legacy; they’ve outlived their usefulness. If this wound kills him, he won’t be missed. Besides, your stunt reminded me a little of myself. I was just like you back in the day.”
Arkash doubted that. If it weren’t for the haze of pain and confusion that clouded his vision, he would have been furious. Chitters trusted Malafor, more-or-less idolized him. How could he turn his back on him? Chitters didn’t matter to him? Was everyone just a series of tools to the mage? Arkash remained silent and held his throbbing head.
“But, Chitters raises a good point. It seems I can’t trust you, after all,” Malafor spoke as he turned for the doorway and began to walk. “Your next drink will be in three days. After that? Maybe another three days if you’re still unruly.” Arkash sat up and furrowed his brow at the old man before he buried his aching eyes in his knees. Three days without water? He already felt like shit. Water was the only relief for him, how would he make it? Still, he refused to beg. He’d sooner suffer the consequences than surrender his pride.
Still shaking his head, Malafor left the room and left Arkash in the dim light of the cave. The rathor stayed there for a moment, then exhaled. He had to get out of there, he wasn’t meant to live that way. So, with a sigh, he pushed away from the corpse of the woman he’d murdered and crawled across the cold stone floor to the fire. Along the way, he collected the cube of his blood and brought it to rest on his lap. He had three days to escape, then kill the mage and his assistants before collecting his belongings. After that, he had to return to Rainier to meet Taelian, if the man was even alive.
Arkash suppressed those thoughts. He was going to make it out of there, he was going to make it back to Brandt to live his better life, he assured himself. First things first, he had to unlock the shackle around his neck. He’d been trying to make a key with blood, but the shape was too complex. So, he resolved to try and make a lockpick instead. Through his haze of pain, he focused his energy on the cube and pushed a current of ether through the blood. As soon as it was malleable, he began to peel away a corner and broke the current from the cube.
He had to stop to catch his breath, then held it again as he focused his ether on the tiny piece of hardened blood he’d ripped from the cube, and began to mold it into the shape he needed. In its moldable form, the blood was so light and malleable that he had to focus everything he had on keeping the tool straight. It didn’t help that the pick was also incredibly thin, which further inhibited his progress. All it took was the lightest touch to knock it out of place.
By the time he’d ruined his head with a throbbing migraine, Arkash gave up and put the tool aside. It might have been placebo, but he was already thirsty, and hungry too. His focus waned as his breath picked up, and he brought the blood cube to his chest to squeeze while his eyes assaulted his brain with a flood of white-hot agony. How was he going to escape when his only method of breaking free caused him such grief? His gaze briefly fell on the unfinished lockpick before he hissed and covered his features once more. He would find a way, he just needed some rest. Though, he knew he was only going to feel worse as the days went by.
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