91st of Ash, 120
There were no secrets hiding from Arkash, not now that he could have Malafor's Grimoire translated with so much as a 'please' and 'thank you'. It was a journal, a log that read the terrorist's experimentations with magic. Both Mentalism and Blood Magic were counted among them in their endless blood-etched scrawls. It was ironic, the way he went around in circles. He'd killed Malafor to free himself, as the terrorist had trapped him to coach him from a shackle in the dark of their cave for... Who knew how long. But as it turned out, Arkash would end up learning from the late terrorist despite fighting every step of the way and inevitably murdering them.
Thanks to Taelian, Arkash knew what the book said. It was because of him that Arkash was able to practice the new abilities he'd been described: Leech and Sway. One was meant to allow him to pull power from the wounds of his foes while the other was meant to allow him greater control over blood; namely the ability to morph it between its states of matter; solid to liquid, liquid to gas, gas to solid and vice versa.
There were other abilities, too such as Suffuse. That spell was a little more confusing, as it allowed Arkash to imbue his other abilities with properties that could be attributed to Blight. Sharpness, flammability, slipperiness, disease, and acidic blood. He needed to fully understand those properties in order to apply them, however. Unfortunately, the only property Arkash had significant exposure to was Sharpness. The others would require more research to achieve.
As well as that research, Arkash needed a test subject, someone to experiment with his cruel abilities upon. Someone, or something. Arkash wandered through the streets of Lower Nivenhain in his thick winter leathers. His claws pushed against the snow and crunched it beneath his feet while he watched the streets with both eyes. The people he passed watched him in turn; it would always be jarring for them to gaze upon a walking, bipedal lizard man and it would always be a risk for him to turn a blind eye on the people that lived in Nivenhain, nameless or celebrant.
With his claws in his pockets and the shape of his pistol held close to his tail, Arkash laid eyes on what it was he sought. Nivenhain was full of private farmers and livestock traders, as the nameless weren't spared any of the food that the higher castes stuffed their faces with. It was a fact that sickened the rath, how he'd spent his whole life working himself to the bone with an empty stomach, among hundreds and thousands of others, while their neighbors grew fat off the labor of themselves and machines alike. But that day, the fact would stand to help Arkash.
He approached the pen and produced his claws to rest on the rickety wooden fence that trapped the animals inside. The building itself was made of stone, with a crudely-cut doorway that led directly to the pen. There was no door there, though; just a wooden gate and a tarp that prevented the cold from blowing through. The pen itself was very poorly made and wobbled under the pressure of Arkash's claws as it wasn't posted deep enough in the soil. Hell, it wasn't even properly attached to the wall of the home. It at least had a shelter made of woven twigs and tarp, which provided some meager shelter for the animals there.
Wrogon, the owner of the home herded. A female laid in the pen while her litter fed. The male, Arkash supposed, was separated from the litter and watched Arkash in turn. The rathor spied the male and tilted his head a little. His conscious mind drifted to more feral, instinct-driven concepts while he stared down the beast. The Wrogon might have had tusks and horns, but Arkash had quite the bite. He was a predator species, and the Wrogon, though they sometimes ate meat, were prey. They both knew that while staring one another down; something about the look in their eyes said so.
"Need summin'?" Asked a voice to Arkash's right, which snapped the rathor from his trance.
Blinking quickly, Arkash gathered his senses and recalled the present. He wasn't an animal, nor much of a predator. He was a person, one that ended up the victim more often than not; the prey.
His eyes fell on the elf that spoke to him; a sil'norai with short, unkempt hair. Arkash paused a moment while he looked the elf up and down. "Yea," the rathor answered. "'Ow much faw a Wroglin'?"
"Sevun-fitty," the elf answered with his arms crossed. The motion caught Arkash's eye, as a piece of rag dangled from his forearm; he could certainly use a new set of clothes, which might explain the lofty price for a piglet. On the other hand, it could have been because Arkash was a lizard, but elves were usually less racist in his experience.
With an exhale that flared his nostrils, Arkash looked to the Wrogon again and spied the piglets. His yellow eyes half-lidded while he watched the seven, then nodded. "A'll taek four," he spoke with something of a grin.
The elf laughed a breath, then grinned awkwardly when the laugh wasn't returned. "...Ya carry that kin'a cash?"
With his polite smile maintained, Arkash bowed his head to nod. "Yea," he started. "Mos' fellas 'ere see m' teeth an' think twice," he grinned widely, baring the darkened gums beneath his lips with his sixty serrated teeth to stand out in contrast.
Again, the elf laughed, though it was an awkward, almost apologetic sound. "Rite... I'll draw up youer bill." With that, the elf withdrew into his stone home again. When the man inevitably produced himself, he held an abacus in one hand and a piece of paper in the other. "Four-kay," he spoke simply.
Arkash, who didn't know math, simply nodded then exhaled as he picked through his purse. He could at least count to four, which enabled him to produced four one-thousand farthing notes. It didn't really strike him that one thousand was greater than seven-hundred-and-fifty, either. It wasn't as though he needed the money, after all. Without a second thought, he handed over the funds, then tucked his purse away.
"Ta," spoke the elf as he counted the bills, then pocketed them. "I'll fetch they's leads for 'ew," he declared, then returned to the comfort of his stone walls momentarily. Arkash had been scammed, but he was none the wiser. Money had become so trivial for the rath, where it had once been the most important resource of them all. He no longer cared what he carried on him or where he stowed it, as his dreams to leave Lorien died with Cojack and Liu.
Sometime later, Arkash was on his way out of the slums and into the wilds with the Wroglings in tow. They all followed along on their leads and somehow kept pace with the rath despite much smaller legs. They've got double mine, he supposed to himself as he crossed the rolling hills of snow and approached the woodland. There, beneath the shelter of a rise of land that had been formed by the exposed roots of a tree, Arkash set up a small fire to warm himself and the piglets alike. Beyond the glow of the open flame and the shelter of the tree's roots, billowing winds howled and whistled through the woodland beyond.
Despite their ugly, curled faces in adulthood, the piglets, he thought, were sort of cute. Their jagged teeth and tusks hadn't fully grown out which left them rather soft-looking. What was more, was that the four sat opposite him across the fire and watched him expectantly. Whether it was out of curiosity or a desire to be fed, he couldn't tell. He was not going to feed them, however. They were going to help him grow stronger.
One by one, Arkash tied the leashes to the roots above his head, then drew one of the four closer to him by pulling firmly on the leash. The piglet was reluctant, but Arkash was relentless. As he reached over to collect the baby animal, the beast lowered and pulled firmly against the lead that ensnared its neck. Arkash lifted his lips a little to bare his teeth at the resistance, then yanked the piglet firmly. Shrill squealing ensued as the baby beast fell into his claws.
It didn't trust Arkash. Beneath the layers of his being that had been trampled by the more fortunate, his skinny malnourished frame and his worn scales, he was a predator regardless of the role life had assigned him. The piglets saw that in him, and they were right to fear the reach of his claws.
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