91st of Ash, 120
It was that day that Arkash first encountered the fatigue that accompanied the use of magic. It ached a little in his bones and left his muscles burning sore, tender to the touch. It was because he learned too many new abilities too fast, he recognized. But the damage was done, and he wasn't that tired or hurt. Arkash believed he could keep going, and the idea was only spurred on by the fact that two of his test subjects still lived.
No doubt, if Arkash hadn't been casting leech and sacrifice all throughout the day, he would be in much worse shape than he already was. He'd learned to cast four new spells while experimenting on his purchased subjects. Leech, sacrifice, suffused, and sway. What else could he practice on the other two? Perhaps the other forms of matter that he could turn blood into? As Arkash settled his eye on the one conscious Wroglin, he grinned a little in the corner of his mouth. It was decided, that was what he'd do.
He didn't practice on piglets out of malice or any particular hate for pigs, they were just the victims of circumstance. Arkash had been on the prowl for creatures to practice his magic on, and they were, unfortunately for them, the first that he encountered. And at seven hundred farthings a pop, they were proving to be worth the money he'd spent. Two burning piglet carcasses laid draped on the crackling pyre that separated him from the last conscious Wrogon, who was tied to the gnarled roots of the undergrowth overhead.
They had taken shelter from the raging blizzard beneath the rise of ground that was suspended by the roots of a tree, and huddled beside a fire that Arkash had built for his own warmth. The Wrogon, it seemed, were just as favorable of the heat as he was. Even though they feared and were repulsed by him, they clung to the edges of the offered warmth. Then again, it wasn't as though they'd had a choice with the leads binding them so close.
With a deep sigh, Arkash reached over to collect the lead of the third piglet while the fourth continued to sleep soundly on its side. Through the squealing and the thrashing, the fourth piglet remained asleep. With a cruel, unceremonious yank of the lead, Arkash ripped the Wrog from the ground and caught them with his readied claws. At once, he pinned the beast to the ground, as he had with the two prior, then collected his knife.
The piglets had taken up the habit of fighting him whenever he tried to take one of them, their efforts tired Arkash more than he already was, so he wasted no time. Without hesitation, he cut into the piglet's flesh and forced a startled, desperate cry for help from its lips. It was a blood-curdling sound that shook even Arkash; a call for its mother, as though it were caught in the jaws of a predator. In some sense, it was. Unfortunately for the piglet, its mother was nowhere near the woods.
The baby beast writhed and thrashed in the grip of Arkash's claws, as though such efforts would save it. While Arkash did stay his knife, it wasn't because the beast was hurt or feared for its life; there was just enough blood for him to leech from. So, Arkash reached out with his ether and tapped into the battery that was the piglet's life force, and laced it with his own ether to form blight. It was always such a rush whenever Arkash assumed the extra power hidden in another being's blood; it felt right, fundamental, even if it left him exhausted whenever he spent it.
Still, he couldn't carry the blight with him. He had to use it. So, his gaze focused on the blood that ran from the piglet's shoulder, and he thought to the three states of matter as included in the book Taelian had read him. Solid, Liquid, Gas. Just like Ice, water, steam. By introducing enough energy to the Solid or Liquid, it can be made to change into another state, by withdrawing energy from gasses and liquids, they could change again. He'd already solidified blood, in the form of the sword he'd made from the deaths of two piglets.
So, he spent his blight on the open wound of the piglet and accelerated the tapering spire of blood that had been created by Arkash's leeching, and forced the material to change state with his force of will. A thick, darkened vapor poured from the piglet's wound and continued to pour as Arkash worked his ether into the Wrogon's veins. The creature squealed it's death cry again, and Arkash furrowed his brow while he blocked out the sound.
When he was done, the piglet was limp, and Arkash was heavily veiled in a blood-red vapor. He exhaled deeply as he woke from his trance-like concentration, and looked about his good work. The mist of red haze had just about wholly enveloped the ground above his waist from where he sat. Why it didn't float upward like steam, he didn't know. Perhaps blood was heavier than water? Arkash shook his head.
Then again, the vapor wasn't all that hot; It was born of magic, not heat like steam. So, it clung to the ground like a sort of fog; a mist. Was it the heat in steam that made it rise?
The piglet had long since passed in his claws, but Arkash was far too enthralled with the effects of his magic. With a lift of his claws, he attempted to pull the energy out of the blood vapor, but nothing happened. His theory of applying energy to soften the material and drawing energy to harden it had been proven wrong. His mind thought to the instances where he'd made liquid to hardened blood, and he'd had to apply his ether to the material then, too. Perhaps shifting through the three stages required energy regardless of where it shifted on the ladder?
With a sigh, Arkash began to burn through his ether as he willed sway on the vapor, and pulled all the scattered wisps of blood into a single point on his claws. Of course, he was completely out of blight, and actively built his strain as he did so, but he formed a hardened ball of blood directly in his claws from all the vapor that surrounded him. It weighed lightly in his hand, almost nothing compared to steel.
Arkash panted and breathed while he held the hardened blood, then lowered his claws with a hiss of pain. A searing pain ran through his arm as he dropped the hardened ball. Bearing his teeth, Arkash rolled up the leather sleeve with his claws, and let out a cry of agony. Inexplicably, his arm was sore. It was only as he unveiled his darkened scales that he found a large bruise on his bicep, as though something heavy had fallen on him or he'd been struck. The rathor stared in shock, then carefully lowered his sleeve with another hiss.
When he started looking for the painful patches with his attention, he found that parts of his chest were tender, his legs, shoulders. Even his jaw hurt when he stretched it open. It was strain; a warning that Arkash was approaching overstepping. A deep exhale saw him peer at the dead piglet at his knees where he sat. He was out of material, regardless of his stamina, experimentation couldn't continue anyway.
With a sigh he took the withered husk of a piglet into his claws, and added it to the pyre that burned the other two piglets. His claws fell limp at his sides when he was done, and his gaze lifted to the gnarled roots that hung overhead. He stayed there for a minute or so and caught his breath.
Despite all the hours of hard physical labor he'd put in during his time in hollow labor camps, he'd not experienced such exhaustion. It wore him to his core, even though he was fed well. His mind swirled around the concept of a soul, something Cyrus had told him about a few months prior. Was it his soul that was exhausted? He'd been taught of the damage that magic could do to one's soul; it was likely because Arkash had just picked up four new abilities in such a short time span, it was no doubt because of his reckless application.
Taelian had once been able to rend entire buildings in half with his magic without breaking a sweat. He teleported all over the place and vast distances, but Arkash was exhausted from playing around with blood. Such a thing was only a testament to Taelian's strength and his own weakness. A groan of pain saw Arkash lift his claws to the corner of his mouth, and wipe away a streak of forming drool. His mind, only momentarily, was blank.
Then, the rustle of dirt stole his attention. Arkash shut his mouth and looked to the source to find the last baby Wrogon waking, curled up beside the open flame. It laid there with its head low, shivering while it recovered. The beast oinked as it set its gaze on the rath, then weakly clambered to its feet. The thing shook while it stood, then awkwardly shuffled around the fire, but didn't run. it wasn't as scared of him for some reason - could it sense that he was hurt? Perhaps it was also hurt, as to why it wound up in a little pile in the snow?
Arkash exhaled as he shook his head. "We're both fucked up, then," he spoke to... No one in particular. The piglet couldn't understand him, after all. "I'm not going to hurt you, I'm spent," the rath assured, then lifted his claws to his eyes, where he rubbed gently. A headache was building, either because of his ether expenditure or because of the cold. The piglet merely tilted its head at him, unaware of what he spoke.
After a moment or two more, a hard gust of wind blew through their crude shelter and froze Arkash to the bone. He shivered as the fire dwindled, and reached for his stick to prod at the ashes in an effort to release some trapped heat, to no avail. He breathed deeply as he peered at the shivering piglet, then glanced at his dying fire. They both needed the heat, it seemed. Without its mother's warmth, the Wroglin would perish. Without the warmth of the sun, Arkash would perish.
With a sigh, Arkash reached over to collect the piglet, which barely struggled in his grip. His whole body was alight with bursts of soreness and brought him to hiss in pain as he collected the Wrogling, then tucked the beast back into his fur-trimmed leather tabard. Its warmth would help keep Arkash going long enough to find some real heat in the slums of Lower Nivenhain, while the insulation of his clothes would keep the Wroglin warm in turn.
As he stood, Arkash loosed a cry of pain, then crawled out into the snowy wilds while he painstakingly cradled the piglet. Lower Nivenhain wasn't too far; he'd make it.
Image source.
