Atharen, A Fantasy Roleplay Forum

6th of Frost, 120

The sewers weren't a pleasant place. The ambient rush of fluids, dripping on metal, and a chorus of rats squeaking were the sounds that made up the background noise of the delve. More predominant was the groans of pain, the sobbing of the bereaved, and the cries of anger and loss that accompanied the gathered nameless. The sounds weren't the only unsavory characteristics of the sewers, however. No. Every surface was either damp with gods-only-knew what or caked in grime ages old. Exposed, rusty metal decorated most of the walls; places where storm-drains connected to the body of the sewers, built-in ladders, and the like. Even worse for others was the darkness, which veiled all the horrors and suffering that the tunnels hosted that night.
Asmodei and Fayeth were the only two that carried torches, and they moved between the gathered groups of wounded to see to their needs individually. Without any tools or medical supplies, the help they could offer was minimal, nearly entirely morale-based. That was until Arkash and Haldir both arrived late in the night, nigh the next day's morning.
Both he and Haldir were torn and bloodied by various wounds, though Arkash's had long since coagulated, Haldir's were a lot more fresh, recent. "Fay!" Arkash called through his haze of exhaustion across the broken souls that littered the dank walkways. Her pale features turned to him in the light of the amber-burning torch, and she proceeded to the rathor from across the way. Meanwhile, Asmodei was otherwise busy with the wounded.
"Arkash?" She asked in her refined accent, and tilted her head to peer at the two. "You look like hell, both of you," she crossed her arms.
"...I saved e'ryone I could, bu'... Cyrus got 'urt tryin'a defend me an th' boy ova' ther'," Arkash motioned with a point of his bloodied claws to the nameless they'd saved together. At which point, Arkash snapped his claws together to steal her attention, then pressed a claw to his open palm and drew a circle there before motioning his head to Haldir. In response, Fayeth widened her eyes and looked to the human in a mixture of surprise and caution.
"It's been some time, Doctor Faust," she spoke with just as much caution before directing a glance of her eyes to Asmodei. "What's happened in the past couple of months, hm?" She asked, almost accusing with her tone.
"Whe's the ova? Th' one wiv th' arma'?" Arkash asked with a crane of his neck to look up at the elf.
"Alexander?" She asked and followed with a shrug. "Around here somewhere, I suppose," Though she spoke to Arkash, her red eyes were locked firmly on Haldir. "How severe are your wounds, doctor?" She asked at last and took a step toward him.
With that, Ark excused himself with a bow, and proceeded to the gathered broken people. Some were almost completely unharmed, while others were missing extremities, senses and all sorts of other things. Some of them were dead, even. Bodies laid breathless on the dirty floors of the sewers, slipped away without anyone's notice.
Fayeth must have eaten something on the way to the sewers; there was no way she should have been able to resist the bounty gathered there otherwise. "Alex?" The rathor called with a hushed whisper as he traversed the darkened pathways. "Where's 'ew at, fella?"

Alexander sat on the dirty sewer floor with his back against the wall. It’d have been quite a while since Arkash went out. He could see the two torches that Arkash’s companions were holding moving around in the distant darkness of the sewer. As his eyes were about to fully close he felt the droplets of water found their way inside his visor and hits his eyelids. Fuck this shit, that’s it Alexander thought to himself.

“Fuck off to where ya come from Argent dog!” the man said as he spits at Alexander. Alexander unlatched the clasp holding his helmet, he stood up eye level at the man then he took off his helmet and throw it at the floor. The sound of metal hitting the floor bounces off the sewer’s walls.

“For the hundredth times, I’m not a fucking Argent! I stole this armor from a dead Argent to be able to get back to my family! Know what? Here, wear this goddamn armor. For all, I fucking care you could be an Argent trying to pin the blame on the guy who comes in wearing an Argent armor. Now you’re the motherfucking Argent dog.” Alexander said as he began taking off his armor piece by piece and throws it at the man. “Goddam Rien bastards. Shouldn’t have moved to this kingdom.” He muttered loud enough for the people around to hear.

After taking off his armor, he slings his rifle and walks away leaving the pile of armor at the feet of the dumbfounded man. He found a quiet spot further away and leaned on the wall. He patted around for his pack of cigarettes and flask. Fishing out his flask from his pocket, he took a sip and swirl it in his mouth before proceeding to spits it on the dirty sewer floor. He grabs a piece of cigarette with his mouth and pocketed the pack. He proceeds to light his lighter but it won’t lit.

“Need a light?” a voice could be heard

“Yeah, thanks,” Alexander said as he let the person lit his cigarette.

“You got another of those?” the person asked

Alexander handed him his pack of cigarettes. The person took one and handed the pack back to Alexander. The person leaned on the wall beside Alexander and began whistling a familiar tune. Under the dim light from the torches, he kept an eye on the man and on the people surrounding them. Most of the people have either fall asleep, trying to fall asleep, or huddled up in a corner.

“Any other friend of ours?” Alexander nonchalantly said to the man beside him.

The man stops whistling. Then after a few moments, he resumed whistling.

“Petrov we manage to get the bonfire started.” A person came and told the man beside Alexander.

“Come join us by the fire, better with people you know right? Especially in this godforsaken place,” Petrov motioned Alexander to join them.

Alexander followed Petrov, he could make out a small makeshift bonfire and a group of ten people huddled around it. Those Nameless near the group began to inch closer to the warmth of the fire while stopping several feet from the group.

“Who’s the lad?” An older man asked Petrov

“A friend of ours,” Petrov told the man as he sat down on the floor and patted the empty space beside him. “Come here,”

Alexander sat down beside Petrov and placed his hand near the fire. He then fished out his flask, took a sip, and then handed it to Petrov. Petrov did the same thing and passed it around. It was almost empty when the flask returned to Alexander. He then took out his pack of cigarettes and passed it around. Some of the group members were staring at the fire, others were lost in thought and a few have dozed off. Alexander could saw the wolf-head tattoo on the wrists of the people present. As he was about to doze off he heard somebody calling out his name in a whisper. He recognizes the voice.

“Pssst, Arkash,” Alexander called out into the dark.

Petrov looked at him with a questioning look.

“A friend of mine,” Alexander replied.

"Spoken" Thought

---

☠ Once I was able to finally rest a bit, the wound on my torso subsiding a bit in the throbbing ache. I sighed as I eased into the sewer wall Cullen had placed me against, closing my eyes and trying to allow myself to shed the misery of the night. It was difficult to do, as the stench from down here was gag-worthy, but I endured, more so that my body wanted to rest as much as I did. Soon I found myself drifting until finally, I fell asleep.

I couldn't help but toss and turn as I slept, so much on my mind, and in those moments of rest, it felt more like an eternity. I guess you could say I wasn't dreaming, but having a more drastic event. Like out of some childhood book, I found myself in a forest, or at least that was the general idea from what I could see, as there was a thick fog around me as I walked. As I traversed the forest, I could see disembodied silhouettes of figures moving around and about my vicinity.

Among the many figures, I swore I could see someone, as they were far clearer in definition than the wisping and shadowy effigies of the bodies moving. Slowly I found myself approaching the figure, and to my surprise, it was myself, a far younger visage of me to be exact. Astonished I couldn't help but be rattled by this, only to see the younger me run into the distance. Hesitant at first I soon gave chase, winding around trees as shadowy silhouettes flashed by me.

I don't when it happened but I found myself lost in this limbo-like expanse of forest, the younger me nowhere to be seen. Confused and lost I looked around my surrounding, trying to get my bearings, and as my eyes scanned the horizon I could see the boy once more, but this time he wasn't alone. Approaching the boy I held my hand out to him, and my eyes moved from the younger version of myself to the figure with him.

My eyes widened in shock and horror as the figure standing behind my younger self was the corpse of my dead adoptive mother, who lashed out at me in a horrific wail. Covered in sweat I shot up, gasping for air, and gripping the tattered blanket that was draped over me. Concerned Cullen found his way over to me, trying his best to calm me down and steady my breathing as I was in a panicked state.

Luckily for him, the approach of Fayeth and her words seemed to calm me down quickly, as I didn't wish for her to see me like that. Thanking Cullen I took my surgeon's kit from him and opened it, checking to make sure everything was still there, then looked to those within the space.

I could sense the caution in her tone, as she seemed to be wary of approaching me any further. I knew why, now with everything that I've learned, knowing what I know and having the Black sigil engraved into my flesh. "I've seen better days Lady Fayeth." I began, my eyes locking with hers. "Though I must say you have to be doing better since the last time we have seen each other. I find it refreshing that you have not tried to drain me of my blood or life force while I slept or from any of the refugees here." I praised, though I was sure how she would handle the response I was to give to her first inquiry.

"As to answer your previous question I've been rather busy somewhat. I was attacked by a botchling, killed said botchling. Met a member of the Black Remedy, joined the order, and was given a Sigil of my own. I reconnected with the sister of my birth mother a few days ago, and I joined a secret society that my adoptive father runs in Essen." I added, searching her gaze to see how she would respond.

At this point, I was somewhat certain she wouldn't be too upset of hearing I was an Ebon Knight now, as I have no reason to kill her. Among all the dranoch she was the only one who shows restraint in her urges, and for that alone, I had no intentions of bringing her any harm. Looking to Cullen I motion for him to come.

"Start finding those who need medical treatment. I have some of my necromancy tools in here and can patch up their wounds." I instructed turning my age back onto the Dranoch woman. "now its your turn, how have you been behaving since the last time we met?" ☠

---

"Common Tongue"
"Silvain Tongue"
"Self-Thoughts"

All around him, people were hurt. Humans and elves bled and succumbed to various wounds delivered by their own kind and automatons alike. Of all those that had been injured and killed in the attack, there was one that Arkash hoped made it. Surprisingly, he didn't find her where he'd expected. She wasn't with Alexander.
As the human called his name, he closed the gap with them and furrowed his scalie brow as he looked upon the others gathered. He didn't immediately notice their tattooed wrists, but he'd surely recognize them for what they were had he more perception. Nonetheless, their friendliness and comradery put him on edge; typical nameless weren't all so welcoming or kind. He offered a bow of his head in a display of respect, then turned his attention to Alexander.
"Are 'ew orite...? He asked, uncertain. Yellow eyes squinted from the darkened scales that covered his face before he tilted his head in confusion. "She maed I', rite?" He asked uncertain. "I know she's 'ere, bu' with 'er woun's..." he started, and softened his gaze. His brow furrowed then. No, Alexander should have been far worse after seeing her in such a state. He hadn't seen his wife yet.
"'Ew missus," he explained with a turn of his claw. "Youer bird, she's 'ere," he continued. "I found 'er on th' road ou'sside th' tavern. But... She got 'urt on th' way 'ere," he spoke hesitantly, then tried to take the man by the wrist. He knew where he'd left her, but how Alexander hadn't yet was a mystery. Whether Alex allowed him to take his wrist or not, Arkash would lead him to the place with a wave of his claws.
"She go' shot," he elaborated. "Wouldn' stop calling for 'ew daughta', a knight 'eared 'er an' shot us wiv 'is crossbow." The rathor continued, his gaze lost in thought. He paused then and held in place before turning to face the shorter man. "...I didn' find 'ew daughta'. Trus' me, I tried, bu'..." he fell silent again while he struggled with his words. "Look..." The rathor began again with a sharp exhale. "I tried to push 'er outta th' way, but it wuz too fast. I can' keep up wiv 'em dogs, even on a good day... An' I wuz alre'dy fukt up goin' in-." he stopped himself, then looked to his claws. He was making excuses, and it didn't help anyone.
With a shake of his head, he motioned for Alexander to follow him again, and soon arrived nearby where he'd left Fayeth and Haldir. Slumped against the sewer wall was a woman, barely visible in the stray rays of moonlight. Her thin, worn body's shape was broken only by the protrusion of the arrow, which jutted from her gut. Her own blood matted the rags she wore in the area, dried on the outer parts of the darkened patch. Her matted, dirty blonde hair gently rose and fell with her chest while she laid curled up around the wound to the side, unconscious, but still breathing.
Stood over her beside her supposed husband, Arkash turned to Alexander with a deep, meaningful frown. "...Am sorry, maet," he spoke, most forlorn. "I'll give 'ew a minute, lemme get 'elp," offered the rath before he took off toward the pale Sil'norai.

Meanwhile, Fayeth and Haldir were chatting up a storm. A lot had transpired since they last met; especially for Haldir, it seemed.
She grinned a little at the remark, and lowered her gaze. It lingered there on the doctor's burned wound for a spell, then fell to the grimy stone floor. "I'm anything but ladylike, Doctor Faust," she returned, then exhaled deeply. "Yes, the rath already grassed on you; I know you're in the Remedy now." Piercing red eyes set firmly on the doctor. Though he was wounded, she remained poised to strike or counter, far too deep to take chances or allow something as feeble as trust to be the cause of her death.
"The stink of old turds and piss helps," she admitted. "I can't smell much down here, but even if I could, I ate this morning. A tall handsome Knight, separated from the rest of the dogs; I'm not one to gorge myself." She offered with the beginnings of a smile.
As the good doctor went on to explain what it was she'd been up to, the pale Sil'norai looked upon him with widened eyes. "That's... Quite a lot, Cyrus. I'm sure you have many a story to tell. How long has it been? Two months...? And you're all wrapped up in all sorts of mysteries." her crimson eyes fell on Cullen as the man took his leave, then return to the wounded. "You must trust me a great deal if you've already killed a botchling," Fayeth affirmed. "After all, you're so cool and collected in the presence of a Cardinal; a terrible monster that's wrapped her jaws around men twice your size."
Her predatory stare continued; she showed not so much as a glimpse of weakness in those fiery eyes. "...But thank you," she digressed and withdrew the surface-level threat of her stare. "I've only grown as I have from consuming other dranoch, the wicked, and the cruel; oftentimes, they're strong. I despise the dranoch, the court of dusk, and all those that affiliate. Thus, I refuse to allow my disease, my curse, to spread." She fell quiet briefly, then smiled as her eyes remained on the floor. "Asmodei and I spoke of a family once, before I was cursed. And though my heart longs for such a thing, I'll not put him at risk. I'll not raise a monster."
She trailed off, paused, then shook her head with a brief laugh. "I shouldn't tell you such things. I doubt the sob stories of monsters interest you," she drew a deep breath through her mouth, then exhaled just as deeply. "As for how I've been? Well, fine for the most part. That damn lizard has run Asmodei and I up the walls with his antics, and I've been beside myself with stress. But, for the most part, I've been well."
Before the dranoch could continue her chat, the rathor returned to the pair with a slight wave of his claws. "Cyrus?" he asked as he cautiously approached the wounded doctor. The fact that Fayeht hadn't offed him was a good sign. "'ew chest is still fukt up," he observed with pursed lips and the beginnings of a frown. Sure, it was closed by the heat of his shriven flame, but those fresh burns were still exposed in the dirty sewer, much like Arkash's own.
"Am sorry t' ask, 'sepcially after 'ew kill't 'at argent dick'ead, but can 'ew 'elp th' lady ova' there?" he asked with a point of his claws to where the unconscious woman laid, along with Alexander Cross. "It's orite if not, it's just... Sorta my fault she got 'it in th' first place, 'ew know? Tha's 'er 'usband by there," he explained with a point to Alexander.
Before he could finish, Fayeth took him by the shoulder, and the rathor turned to look up at the stern gaze of the elf. "Ark..." She began with a tone that he knew meant he was doing something wrong. "The answer is no, Cyrus is already badly wounded and needs medical attention himself..." She began, unflinching in her rigid disposition.

Alexander stared blankly at the Rath’s remark. Alright? No, I’m not this place is a hell hole. Not forgetting the fact that those Argent-Knights would have slaughtered me too if I lost that damn badge. Not forgetting those Hollows, they can’t even distinguish between allies and foe, well allies not in armor perhaps. Alexander thought to himself.

“I’m quite alright, I mean aside from this place and the carnage above, I’ll make do,” Alexander replied. “She made it? Wh-“ Alexander stopped mid-sentence. Shit, he did went and check out the White Horse Tavern. I thought the place must’ve been empty by now save the corpses left by the Hollows. Alexander remembers the request he said to Arkash before they descended into the sewers. “Sh…she made it? Where is she? What about her wounds? She still alive right? Damn it! I know I shouldn’t have left them alone.” As the Rath pulled his wrist Alex practically jumped up from where he was sitting, his concern was real. Though not the same concern of the wound of his ‘wife’ but more concerned about what would happen if he played it wrong. As he stood up Alex made a sign with his index and thumb with his free hand hoping that Petrov or the others would saw it.

“She got what?!” Alexander asked Arkash, tears began streaming down his eyes. It was either tear of joy or tears of sadness, Alexander wasn’t so sure himself. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“You, she, you couldn’t find her?” Alexader replied hearing Arkash’s report on the whereabouts of his ‘daughter’. Damn, now I gotta look for the damn brat? What if she manages to escape the culling and is in the sewer. I could ask Petrov to help look but I didn’t even know what she looks like. Fuck it. She’ll be the death of me. Alexander thought to himself. He took hold of the Rath’s shoulder with his free hand. He didn’t even dare looked the Rath in the eyes. “No, you’ve done more than I could ask for.”

Alexander scanned the area for the woman. Arkash led him to her. Fuck, she’s unconscious and still alive. The wound looks deep though. I don’t know if she’ll make it. But I gotta know the name of the kid and what she looks like. Hopefully, she has a pendant with a picture of them. Alexander lost in his thought. He only caught bits of the Rath’s sentence. He didn’t say another word. He took off his coat and kneel down to cover the woman. Also in part to mask his movement as he searched the woman’s pocket for anything that could help him identify the woman’s daughter. He turned his head slightly to see if Arkash was still there. When he saw Arkash with his companions he turned his attention back to the woman.

“Hey, don’t make any sudden movement. Your wound is bad. What’s her name? I promise I will look for her. You want to meet your daughter right? I will find her, whether the Argent or their Hollows stand in my, I promise to find her. You can rest now.” Alexander whispered in her ears several times while holding her hands.

Did she just twitch? Or was that my imagination? Alexander thought as he looked at the woman’s face and continue patting around her pockets for something that could be used to find her daughter. His hand’s stopped as he felt a bulge in one of her pockets. He reached in and grabbed the item. It was a pendant. Under the dim light of the moonlight he opened the pendant there’s a picture of a woman, a man, and a little girl. He turned the pendant around, the word Alice was engraved on the back of the pendant.

Is it the woman’s name or the kid’s name? Fuck, now I also have to look for the man in the picture. Hopefully, Petrov could help. Don’t want anyone to find them first. Alexander thought to himself as he leaned in and kissed the woman on the forehead before sitting down beside her, while still holding her hand and slightly massaging it. He took out a piece of cigarette and lit it. He closed his eyes. It was all an act, wasn't it? But why did it felt real? The daughter could’ve been about Gabrielle’s age. Fuck, why am I thinking about that at times like these? Guess that’s what Solomon meant when he said that a piece of him was left behind after every deep cover mission. The woman’s not even my wife, but why am I feeling sorry and sad for her and the kid? Fuck this. Tears streaming down his face.

"Spoken" Thoughts

---

☠ I laughed at Fayeth's reprimand of Arkash, as I thought it was admirable she cared for my injuries. "I am more concerned about the injuries of the others here. My oath as a doctor comes before my own injuries." I said as I took out my medical tool. I motioned for Cullen to help bring the wounded girl over, as she would be the first of the injured I would help.

While they gathered the wounded woman, I pooled shrivenflame into both my palms, turning to an empty space behind me. I began to run my hands onto the ground, allowing for the shrivenflame to wash over the area in order to cleanse the space to protect them from infection. I could handle the smell, even enhanced by the smell of melting filth. It was interesting to see the otherworldly flame melt the grime and filth of the sewer.

When they brought the woman over I quickly began to access her wounds, and given the place we were in my top priority was sanitation of them. I began to cleanse the flesh around the wounds, my gaze every now and again shifting to the man I assumed to be her husband, as Arkash had put it. "Was she caught up in the fighting? I don't see any other reason for her to be wounded than that." I inquired, igniting my index finger in shrivenflame.

As the wound was cleaned, I took some tweezers and extracted the bullet, then ran my finger around the bullet wound to cauterize it closed. As long as it is cleaned and sealed she wouldn't need to worry about blood infections or the decay of the flesh. "She is stable now, but I suggest we move her to somewhere safer as to not get an infection." I confirmed, looking around as I realized that it would be difficult to truly treat these people here.

With a sigh I realized I had to make due with what I was given and with a glance to Cullen I waved him over. "Go and get the next wounded nameless." I instructed, turning back to the group behind me, more so to the woman's husband. "So tell me, how did she end up like this?" ☠

---

"Common Tongue"
"Silvain Tongue"
"Self-Thoughts"

Alexander's reaction didn't sit right with the rath. He seemed surprised, even confused at the fact that she'd made it. It wasn't something Arkash consciously recognized, but something certainly disturbed the rath on a subliminal level. Like an alarm bell or a smoking gun, but he had no reason to suspect the man of any foul play. After all, Alexander was just a human who wound up caught in an unlucky position. Just some immigrant that Arkash had shot deliberately by accident.
Nonetheless, he left Alex with the human, completely unaware of the lack of relation between them. All he knew was that Alexander's wife had been trusted into his care, and he'd failed to protect her. Only one man he knew had a chance of healing something like that, and he was fortunate enough to have brought that same man with him to the sewers.
Haldir pulled through, just as Arkash had hoped. An awkward sort-of apologetic shrug was all he offered the dranoch in response to the human's affirmation of being able to help. He knew she had a soft spot for him, after all. She'd even go so far as to use the human's phrases and quotes in her own lectures. Though she shook her head at Haldir's willingness to be of use, she didn't stop him.
Arkash offered his arm in support of the doctor as he guided Haldir to the scene. Not even two steps of the way there, Haldir turned and cast his shrivenflame over a stretch of open sewer ground. The flash of amber brought startle and confusion all around them and illuminated the frightened, worn faces of the gathered nameless. "Mage!" Cried a koltoskan accent from the crowd.
"Magic?" Asked a more typical Rien voice.
"The black sigil!" Spoke a Sil'Norai with pride.
"Magic's magic!" Returned the Koltoskan's voice.
"Balls t' that!" Came the same Rien voice, along with a chorus of jeers and cheers alike.
Arkash looked between the gathered crowd and Haldir alike, then set his gaze on Fayeth, whoo shook her head most displeased. Asmodei, who'd otherwise stood guard at the ruddy iron ladder that led to the surface covered his visor with a facepalm before he drew his greatsword, and thrust the enkindled tip into the ground of the sewer with the full force of his body weight and strength alike. "Enough!" Called the plate-clad velsign aggressively. "Unless you'd like to perish to disease and filth, I'd suggest you stop your whining!" The false argent spoke with his diaphragm, projecting his voice. Being the largest and loudest, the giant had the power to force silence over those gathered.
A long pause followed until finally a Koltoskan spoke out "jus' stay away from us with 'at there magic, mist'r!" To that, the Velsign adjusted the visor of his helm, and nodded before he sheathed his light-laden greatsword upon his back.
Curious eyes lingered on the five of them as Asmodei turned around, but he paid them no mind. Arkash's gaze was fixed on Asmodei, whom he watched and studied. In some way, he admired the velsign's stoicism, his confidence. He could only hope for the chance to speak with such power and wave someday.
Despite such clear distaste for magic in the ranks of the nameless, there were a few that showed obvious support to the five. They were the Sil'norai and Daravinic immigrants, who were of a completely different opinion to the Koltoskans who'd suffered at the hands of magical machines. The odd wave and thumbs-up were occasionally offered to Haldir whenever his gaze fell on the crowd, but such gestures were well hidden and not all too likely to be noticed.
Arkash let out a sigh, then approached the unconscious woman, who still sat with the crossbow bolt jutting from her abdomen. "Cyrus can 'elp 'er," Arkash explained with a motion of his claws to Alexander's fellow ebonknight, but he spoke nothing of their alliance or the fact that he knew they were united beneath the same faction. "C'mon, le'ss ge'r ova' t' 'im," he declared with a nod of his head, then bent down to hold beneath her arms. If Alexander helped him, or if he didn't, Arkash would move the girl to the spot that Cyrus had cleaned with his magic. He leaned his full weight into the heave and pulled hard in an effort to budge her lithe frame, and still shook with strain by the time she was in the designated place.
Oh-so gently, he let her down and shook his head while he breathed and recovered. It had been a long time since he was forced to lug heavy things about for his living, and hadn't once even considered maintaining the muscles in his back over the past few months. That day, he paid for it with an ache.
"Try'na escaep," Arkash clarified to Haldir's question. "I foun' 'er on th' street, screamin' for 'er's 'n Alex's daughta'. I tried t' ge'r t' come, bu' she didn' listen an' th' argen' dick'ed foun' 'er. Shot 'er straight wiv 'is crossbow." He hung his head a little as he looked to Alexander, but the eye contact was brief. If he'd been a little more forceful, more decisive, Alex's wife would have been fine. He wouldn't have had to look the man in the eyes and know that he'd caused the pain there.
Why did he care how Alex felt? He was a human, after all. Though he tried not to hate humanity, he wasn't all that good at it. He saw their every flaw, every evil in the world, and connected it to them and their systems. So what did he care if he saw Alexander's grief? He'd looked plenty of men in the eyes when he took their lives. It was only when he thought of her that he understood his guilt. Some pains were worse than death, and he'd done that to Alex.
His eyes set firmly on Haldir as he cleaned her wound with his shrivenflame finger. He could only hope she'd make it, but she'd lost consciousness some time ago, even before he let her into the sewer. he hadn't the strength to look at Alexander, but he could look at the fruits of his hesitation and recognize them as such. Laying on the floor, near death, cold from blood loss. Images of Cojack's beaten form ran through his eyes on replay while he looked her over. They were both needlessly hurt because of his uncertainty, his lack of confidence. The world needed strength; strength he didn't have.
After he cauterized the wound, Haldir declared she was stable, and Arkash breathed a sigh of relief. Some of his hope was restored; she had a chance to make it if they could find supplies. Food, clean water, blankets, medicine. In time, they would need it all.
Cullen scurried off to fetch the next wounded while Arkash looked about. He glanced to Fayeth, and she returned his gaze. "Can 'ew fine a Cistern or summin'? Some'err near, away from th' riva o' piss?" To his request, the dranoch nodded, then withdrew into the shadows that were populated by the broken. "We'll fine where t' put 'em all, 'ew might need t' clean i' off tho', if 'ew's not thresh'ol' sick."