23rd of Frost, 120
His arms wrapped around his middle while he sat there in the bundle of hay. His claws trembled and his breathing was still ragged in stretches. The bottomless pit of his stomach seemed to ache less when he squeezed it, so he kept the pressure there. Feverish shivers ran through his body with varying levels of intensity while he tried to hold himself together. Alas, he burst at the seams; torn with pent-up tension and budding power waiting to release.
Before him stood Fayeth, quiet in the fallout of his question. Silence filled the space between them, at least to mortal ears. For him, the rattle of claws on stone and wood echoed in his mind, the smell of sickness, disease, piss, shit, vomit, and... Something incredibly alluring and sweet. There was a lot of it beyond the iron door that Fayeth guarded. Though he was hungry and yearned for whatever was on the other side, he wasn't quite hungry enough to fight her for it.
In his shivering, he groaned in pain. It was loud in his ears, his own voice rattled his brain to utter. Despite the newfound volume of his tone, it wasn't even the most pressing or notable adjustment to his senses. He could see with perfect clarity in the metal box Fayeth had trapped him in, even though there was no light. No fires burned, no holes allowed sunlight through. There were already too many questions spinning circles in his head, so he shut his eyes and lurched forward to further compress the aching void in his gut.
His chest wound, the one that had caused him all manners of grief and itching over the last days was barely registered beneath the sea of overwhelming stimuli. His teeth bared and his features curled while he sat there. He wished to cover his ears but he couldn't bring himself to lift his hold on his stomach. It hadn't been that long at all since he drank a dose of her blood, which had alleviated the symptoms of whatever sickness plagued him. Just minutes later, he was nigh-writhing again. He couldn't escape his fever it seemed, not for long. He had little choice but to stick through whatever illness plagued him, but to suffer so for so long... Would he climb back to health with his mind intact?
"Fay..." he spoke quietly, then swallowed the stale spit in his maw. "...I'm... Kin'a feelin' liek shit rite now..." he admitted but didn't seem to fully grasp the situation. His eyes opened a crack to spy the Cardinal, who returned his gaze with a little more pity, remorse. Was there regret in her eyes? He wasn't sure; all that was certain was that she wasn't happy.
"...Arkash..." She spoke quietly, her tone soft, soothing. Despite the care at which she spoke, her voice was still louder than all the distant clattering chittering of the things beyond the box he'd been stowed inside. "I'm afraid it'll be some time before you feel well again; I've given you my curse-" she held her tongue and pursed her lips while she watched the rathor.
Her curse? She'd made him a dranoch?
The rathor exhaled through his nose, then shut his eyes again fully. Was that the only way she could have saved him? "I told 'ew..." he replied, jaw rigid with strain. His sharpened teeth gnashed while he searched for the words, then began to speak "I told 'ew t' lemme go-" he trailed off, caught up in the steadily raging headache in his skull. His pained eyes strained to watch her as she turned to him.
"I know," she returned with a nod of her head, voice still soft and quiet despite her usual demeanor.
"...Why'd 'ew saev me 'en?" he asked with a waver to his voice. His lips pursed tight and trembled while he considered that he'd suffered the infection for naught. He'd let himself fall sick in hopes that it would relieve him of the life that had been chosen for him. It had been overwhelming before, and the curse coursing through his veins utterly crushed him. He hadn't the strength to continue.
"...We're not talking about this, Ark," she spoke at last with a shake of her head, then turned away to watch the iron wall of his makeshift prison. "If you no longer wish to live, then that's my failure... I'm responsible for introducing you to this life, and I've not been the best Mentor in the world, but..." She took a deep breath and hung her head as she exhaled shakily.
Arkash's claws tensed further, and squeezed his gut as his organs wrenched, desperate for nourishment. "...It's ...Not youer fault, Fay," he spoke in assurance, only to be swiftly cut off.
"I said we're not talking about this; I don't think you fully grasp what I've done, what this means." Again, she turned to face the rathor with her arms crossed. "From this day forth, you need to feast on the flesh of mortals to sustain yourself, else Valteran will make you weak, feeble, even kill you eventually."
Arkash furrowed his brows and lifted one of his claws to rub at his temples. He knew not who Valteran was; some god? A powerful mage? The dranoch king? He didn't really care.
"Was it Malafor that gave you blood magic or have you played Asmodei and I for fools this whole time?" She asked with a distinct shift to her posture. She waited for answers, demanded an explanation. "We've taken care of the two that saw you - The child lives, don't fret."
With his one free claw, the rathor covered his eyes The ambient sounds of the world beyond his prison still rattled his brain and thudded the inside of his skull rhythmically with every beat of his heart. There was too much happening at once. Thinking was difficult while fighting his growing hunger, and the sensation only grew worse as time went on. "Malafor," he answered with a wince.
"Why didn't you tell us-?"
"-Fay, please..." he interrupted with a whine. "I... I can' do 'iss..." he spoke with a broken exhale. "I' hurts so much... I can'..." he started again, the paused when the abyss in his core churned.
"The relief of my blood doesn't last long, does it?" She asked. It made sense, he'd only ate one person since waking, whereas she'd been let loose on the streets of Silfanore. "You need to rein in the hunger, Arkash; It doesn't control you."
Did it not? If a drop of Fayeth's blood could keep him together longer, or if he could feel alright while he devoured another, it was surely worth it, wasn't it? Anything was better than suffering the unwavering void in his core. "Please, Fay," he pleaded again. He needed something, anything to alleviate the agony.
The cardinal shook her head, then took a step toward the rath before she sat beside him. "Only a little," she permitted, which bated the rathor's breath. "I'll have found you a meal by tomorrow," she spoke as she pulled on the rathor's shoulders with a soft grip. Hesitantly, he followed her pull. His stomach opened up, and deep, aching agony ran rampant through his form. At the sensation, he hissed in pain. "Easy, Ark," she spoke quietly and directed the back of his head to her lap.
"...Wot'ch'ew mean?" He quizzed on the prospect of being fed tomorrow. Was he not allowed to leave? Regardless, he looked up at her with distinct unease while resting on her lap. Fayeth was anything but a gentle soul, they'd not done so much as shake hands prior to his infection, but there she was, cradling his head. It wasn't easy to recall while he struggled with his agony, but he could remember that she'd hugged him once when he was feebly re-learning to walk. Did she just enjoy him more when he was low? Weak? Or did he imagine the pattern?
Regardless of what drove her, she brought her cut palm to loom above his head. At once, the blacks of his eyes widened and narrowed his yellow irises to a paper-thin-ring beneath the misty haze of his gaze. His jaws dove upward, only to meet the press of her palm on his forehead. "Gentle," she warned as she balled her fist, then squeezed the cut tight with her iron grip.
Arkash reached up to pull on her wrist, completely fixated on the gap in her skin. The sight alone robbed him of reason. The smell made his head lighter. The taste, when she inevitably squeezed some of the rich darkened bile into his open maw, was intoxicating. He shut his eyes, and greedily smeared the nectar of her veins over the roof of his mouth and tongue alike. It was just a few drops, but the fumes of her scent alone brought him such comfort and pushed all the pain in his broken body to the back of his mind. When he finally swallowed, she pulled her hand away and let him fall limp while he rested there.
"You need to stay here, Arkash," she explained as she looked over her palm. "For the safety of all the nameless you liberated, Asmodei, and yourself, you need to remain in this room until you have a handle on your hunger." With that, she gently lifted the rathor's head, and moved out from under him before she let him down. "We'll speak more tomorrow, once you're fed," she decided as she moved to the far side of the iron room. Arkash continued to lay there, soaking in the sweet momentary relief that came with the taste of her blood.
The moment she opened the door, a barrage of unfamiliar scents filled the room, and Arkash moved his claws to his nose while he retched and gagged. His eyes shut tight and his legs pulled to his chest upon the hay-filled bedroll. His heart began to pick up in pace while she let those smells into the room, but only for the few moments that she stayed there and spoke a quiet, but fully audible "I'm sorry" before she stepped out and closed the door behind her.
