6th of Frost, 120
It was hard, but that wasn't saying much. Everything was hard for Arkash; the hard way was never easy, and the easy way was always a trap. That being said, Arkash had chosen a situation of relative comfort and ease proceeding the events of that day. He laid prone on a rooftop in Lower Nivenhain with his rifle primed. There, he used his spyglass to watch the streets below and searched the dilapidated roads and homes for signs of life, namely the Argent that had been massacring the Nameless since the dawn of that day.
He was enraged, exhausted, wounded badly and in pain. His focus was waning while his burn wounds stung at the contact to the grime of the rooftop, and settled a little at the gust of a stray wind. It was perhaps one of the only times that Arkash could recall being grateful for the cold and the snow. he'd been there so long, in fact, that he'd gathered a small mount of the cool white frost in the back and legs.
His brow eventually softened before he lowered the spyglass; it was too dark to see. A low sigh escaped him as he rose to his feet, then tucked the oculus into his belt before he pulled the lever of his rifle back. Five shots remained. His tongue pressed to the roof of his mouth while he thought, then shook his head in dismissal. He'd use the last remaining shells before calling it a night, he decided.
A lot of nameless were gathered in the sewers with Asmodei and Fayeth both; nameless he'd herded to safety in the early hours of the attack. His two most trusted friends guarded them, tended to their more meager wounds while Arkash fought back against the attack. Fighting, of course, was a term used loosely given Arkash's state.
Carefully, Arkash rose to his feet, and looked to the roofing to his right. A sigh escaped him, along with a small portion of the heat he retained. He had to move; the fight wasn't happening near the street he camped on. So, Arkash slung his rifle onto his back, covered his eyes with one set of claws, then squeezed his temples. His wounds weren't bleeding anymore, but still, he was far too active for someone in such a state. "No rest for the wicked," he muttered in vithmi, then lowered his body before bolting for the edge of the rooftop. His sharp claws thudded and kicked through the snow before he rose with a high step on the edge, and pushed with all the strength he could muster in a powerful leap.
A good few feet of airtime carried him to a slightly lower rooftop, where he curled his body on impact and rolled across the surface with a hiss. The impact drew a hollow, muffled boom from the building, accompanied by a sharp echo. That same echo indicated that the roof had given out somewhere on the dilapidated home, and Arkash gripped the snow-covered, sloped ground while he searched for momentary shelter.
Black mold lined the interior of the caved-in attic, but Arkash had found some dry debris to burn regardless. He sat in the more intense areas of the glow while he absorbed and stored the bounty of warmth the flame offered. Soon enough, Arkash's breath showed in the air in the form of condensation once more. He found himself checking and picking at his fresh wounds often, a passive, almost instinctual drive to ensure that they stay clean, clear of debris, but it was almost futile. Arkash was plastered in the blood of his ex-comrades, the people that had inflicted the majority of his injuries. That alone was enough to ensure that his wounds would someday fester, but the fact that he'd gone the entire day without cleaning them promised that the budding infection had already taken root.
Once he'd painstakingly peeled some of the charred leathers from his fresh burn wounds, he shuddered and rose to his feet again. There were more argent to kill, more of his kind to save.
As Arkash, freshly warmed and nimble, climbed from the gaping hole in the roof, he lowered his body to prowl then burst forward with eruptive force. He had to pick up speed if he was to make the next clearing, so he pushed back against the oppressive weight of the pain that wrought his form and ran for the ledge at full speed. With a push of his legs, he again propelled himself from the ledge with his claws extended and gripped the ledge of the neighboring roof. There, he engaged his meager upper body strength to lift his even more meager weight over the top, then broke into another run when he was up and on his feet.
It took a little while and more than a few rooftop jumps, but eventually, the screams and cries returned. He watched the roads below with his human eye, and eventually found the flicker of torchlight in the distance. With his mark ready and his heart beating fast, Arkash made his way to it, then readied his rifle in the prone position from the rooftop while he spied the source through his spyglass. There, on the road below were a couple of large, bulky men, adorned in bloodied, dirtied plate armor. Arkash hissed as he lowered his spyglass, then lined up his shot with the rifle while he caught his breath.
The wind was tame, he had a clear window of opportunity before the argent passed by a building unseen. So, using his human eye to stare down the iron sight of his rifle, he took aim, exhaled, and gently squeezed the trigger. The thundering boom of his weapon heralded the gunshot, and the launched bullet spiraled through the air before landing its mark in the argent's visor. The force of the impact knocked the giant to the floor with a hefty thud, but he was dead on his feet. The argent's partner looked to the body, then looked in the direction of the blast before he began running to the source. Arkash watched him through the lens of his spyglass, then hissed as he pulled back the lever to eject the shell.
Argent were incredibly perceptive. The human had somehow calculated the trajectory of the bullet and determined where Arkash was hiding, or at least a ballpark estimate. As he lowered the lever again, he took aim at the fast-approaching argent, then lined up his second shot. No doubt, the man was skilled enough to evade the bullet the moment he heard the gunshot and would do so by simply holding still. Arkash was bound to compensate for the movement by aiming ahead of where the argent was running right? Wrong. He knew well just how skilled Argent were, he knew their reflexes.
When the golem clicked and it was ready to fire again, Arkash exhaled and squeezed the trigger, only to fire his gun... and hit the Argent's shield. The human raised his defensive heater in time to protect his visor, and Arkash hissed. Why hadn't he seen that coming?
He had no time to line up a second shot, the argent would be on the roof before then, so, he ran and ejected the used shell. Three rounds remained. The dark of his form blended well with the night sky as he hopped rooftop, then took a knee to aim for where he'd once stood, and waited. Moments later, the argent arrived on the prior rooftop with his shield arm on the side opposite Arkash had run to. The rath continued to hold his aim until the weapon's bolt clicked, then pulled the trigger with an outward breath, and fired at the giant. The Argent had heard the blast of course, but he wasn't fast enough. Arkash didn't have a clear shot on the gian't visor, so he aimed elsewhere. As the human turned to the source and tried to lift his shield, he found the bullet lodged in his neck. Again, the force of the strike was enough to send the choking, gurgling giant to the floor. That one, however, didn't die on his feet. Arkash furrowed his brow and ejected the shell before he returned to the other rooftop and approached the fallen, bleeding argent.
There, at the man's side, he found that the bullet didn't travel all the way through. The armor around the man's neck had absorbed most of the force, but not enough to fully stop the projectile. Arkash pressed his knee into the Argen't chest in a kneel, drew his bloodshaped blade, then drove it into the dying man's eye with both his claws around the handle. The giant's body shuddered and twitched, then fell limp. More post-mortem twitches followed while Arkash searched the body, but found nothing of use. With a deep sigh, he returned to the prone position on the edge of the rooftop among the snow, then aimed his rifle on the streets below while he scanned through the lens of his spyglass. Two shells remained, then he was done for the night.
Image source.
