24th of Frost
Surreal was the only way that he could think to describe it, in the empty spaces of his mind between the fits of writhing pain. It hurt to breathe, the beat of his heart ached as he pushed his thickened, bile-like blood through his veins and arteries. Of course, all the discomfort and agony that stemmed from his very bones rendered him immobile, he could do naught but lay curled up in the hay, covering his ears and bracing against the harsher sounds of the world beyond his iron box.
He believed himself to be in a sort of dilapidated train's cargo hold, as it looked strikingly close to the train in which he’d fallen into his state of hibernation. It was at least warm, and the faint smell of burning wood suggested there was at least a fire nearby somewhere outside. The metal was good at drinking the temperature of the environment around it, perhaps Fayeth and Asmodei had set a fire to burn near the cargo hold for the sake of keeping him warm?
Whatever it was, the smells around him were suddenly pushed to the back of his mind as a fresh smell took the forefront of his focus. It was sweet, alluring… No, magnetizing. He couldn’t pull his attention from the scent, not that he wanted to. It made the pit in his stomach churn, but also offered sweet relief if he pursued it. Shivers ran down his spine before he rolled over to his hands and knees with a grunt, then began to crawl across the rusted iron floor.
His chest wound stung and burned a degree that was notable, and the weakness in his form as caused by his infection persisted. His arms, legs, and core all burned with strain by the time he reached the door, and his vision swam. It was just beyond, the source of the sweet smell, the sound of footsteps and clanking armor. Thoughtless, he reached his claws for the handle, then dropped as the door opened without his will, and pushed to make way for two silhouettes who stood out in the blinding light that flooded his otherwise pitch-black prison.
“...Why is he on the floor?” Boomed a familiar, deep growl. Asmodei. The velsign had come to visit him?
“I’m not sure,” returned the soft, soothing voice of his progenitor.
“You said he’d try and escape…” Asmodei began before he stepped into the room, took the rathor by the scruff of his neck, and dragged him deeper into the cargo hold. Fayeth followed after with a heavy, awkward bag in tow. Though he resisted the pull, he could do little but squirm and grunt in his state of starvation and weakness. When asmodei let him down, he collapsed on his front, defeated.
Fayeth came to kneel before him and ran her free hand over the scales of his smooth head. “Arkash?” She called softly. “How are you feeling?”
“...Liek shet,” he replied between breaths. “So hung'y…”
The Velsign and the Sil’norai exchanged a glance, and their brows were furrowed.
“He might need more than one a day,” suggested the Velsign’s gradually lowering tone, which helped to soothe the rathor’s ears. The beat of his heart was like a drum in all that he could hear, it only deepened the void in his core.
“Perhaps…” Returned the Cardinal. “At least while he’s fighting that infection.” She took a step back, then lowered the oversized awkward bag to the floor before she pulled away the fabric to expose the corpse of a brawny, recently-cleaned human.
The sight made his claws tense and his eyes narrowed to pinpricks. Thick drool began to pour from his maw while he spied the corpse, then crawled forward to drag his body toward the offered meal. He cared very little as his misty trailed over the man's features. A full head of thick blonde hair, unshaven beard, blue eyes, brawny frame, littered in scars. Arkash cared not who he was, just that his maw dripped with anticipation at the sight of him.
His jaws met with the man's flesh, and his sharpened teeth sank into the soft hold of his skin. The body was mostly cold, but still warm toward the core. It was soft, juicy. Parts beneath the skin were tender and stringy as he bit through and tore the rubbery outer layer. Blood stained his tongue, and though he could taste the oh-so-partial decay, he didn't hesitate or falter.
Asmodei turned and stepped away from him while fed, he could hear the Velsign's stomach turn. He thought nothing of it until he'd already swallowed a substantial amount of bone, muscle, and tendon. At some point, he'd eaten enough to regain his senses, and the sickness and infirmity in his bones receded to cling to the back of his mind. Arkash paused to look over the work of his teeth and recognized some of the features he'd seen when the majority of the corpse still had its skin. The contours and grooves of their face, musculature, and so on.
He recognized that he was eating the corpse of a human, but he didn't stop himself. The meat kept the pain at bay, and he was able to think clearly for as long as he ate. That chasm in his gut never ceased to be, though. Neither did it ever shrink. It was bizarre, his ability to keep eating. Then again, he'd been able to gorge himself on meats of different kinds prior to his acquisition of the curse.
He only ever stopped to breathe and snap bones into more-manageable chunks. That was until Fayeth called his name, and he paused with his gore-spattered claws caught in his mouth to look at her. Recognition flashed in his eyes, and he blinked before he swallowed the mashed flesh and bone in his gullet. "Fay…" he returned, then looked to Asmodei with narrowed pupils while he caught his breath.
It fully sank in that he was elbow-deep in someone's body when he looked to the soft, wet material in his claws, and paused. The deathly cold that clung to the remains made his digits numb, but it was a sensation he was quite familiar with while living in Lorien. So, he withdrew his hand, then sat back on his legs, momentarily satisfied.
“...Who were they?” He asked after a moment’s pause.
“Do you care?” Returned Asmodei with a notable scowl to his tone.
He didn’t really, no. He cared not what human had died to make him feel better. He cared not at all. “...No,” he answered honestly. “I’ jus’ felt liek th’ rite fing to ask,” he admitted with a shrug, then pulled one of the back ribs from its socket with an audible snap and the rip of flesh before he began to chew on it. “...It’s wei’adly easy t’ do ‘iss,” he continued with his mouth full.
Asmodei stayed quiet while Fayeth’s eyes lingered on him, then directed her gaze to the rathor. “...How are you feeling?” She asked, completely disregarding the rath’s lack of empathy.
“Hung’y,” he replied with his nose curled. “...I fought I was used t’ starvin’, bu’ fuck me was I wrong.” With that, he pressed hard into his jaws and broke the rib with a splintering snap. “My froat’s betta’ too,” he declared as he swallowed the bone. “I can swallow liek I used to wivout chokin’ all’a tiem.”
“Good!” Declared the cardinal with a keen smile. “I imagine that's the work of your improved healing capabilities. You might notice other subtle changes like that…'' She trailed off, then shook her head a little while the rathor continued to bite and claw at the raw, broken meat. “...Are you ready to speak of your rune?” She asked with her hands held together most patiently.
Arkash paused his munchings and lifted his misty eyes to the SIl’norai before he swallowed hard. “...Yeah, I s’pose so,” he began, then continued to tell the story of how Malafor had forced the rune upon him, that it was drawn on the surface of his skull and he was made to practice his abilities as a slave. Both Asmodei and Fayeth paid close attention to the story, though Asmodei spoke not a word when he was done. “...I’m sorry I didn’ tell ‘ew; I jus’...” He paused again while he searched for the words. “...I didn’ feel saef talkin’ abou’it, an’ I didn’ wan’ ‘ew t’ haet me. I know ‘ew wouldn’t, an’ I trust ‘ew bof, but… I was jus’ scared,” he confessed and failed to meet her eyes while he stared at the remains. “I’m sorry.”
At once, Fayeth began to smile and took his shoulder into her grasp as she reached over the broken body. “It’s alright, Ark. Though you should tell us of such things in the future. We’re both mages, and can impart a lot of knowledge to you.”
He could barely contain his hunger any longer. The thrum of his quickening heart was loud in his ears while he stared at the leftovers of his meal, he just had to stick it through a bit longer. “...Thanks, Fay,” He spoke with a slight wince to his right eye. Just a moment after she let him go, he resumed eating. Fayeth and Asmodei exchanged a glance unbeknownst to him, and the false knight cleared his throat.
“...In other news, we’ve gathered intel,” the velsign offered, though Arkash continued eating. “Word of mouth and gossip says that Annolise Florent was responsible for the butchering of the nameless, as people have taken to calling it.”
“Floren’?” he asked with his mouth full. After swallowing, he continued by asking “THE ’ouse Floren’?” Asmodei nodded beneath his helm, which Arkash heard. “What else is ‘ey sayin’? ‘Em gossipa’s?”
“...There’s talk of riots and protests across Breven, demanding justice for the nameless. Lots of eyes are on Astoria, as that’s where the house mostly resides.”
“What of ou’a lot? How’s ‘ey?”
Fayeth scoffed with a roll of her blood-red eyes. “A lot of the weak and wounded have left us, what remains is a dozen angry, vengeance-hungry street rats, a lot of whom were in your raiding parties,” she explained.
Arkash nodded, and a few faces came to mind while he considered who they might be. “Orite,” he declared with a nod. “Le’see if we can ge’ some sympathizas on ou’a side, yeah? Enyone ‘who can fite an' is pist enough t’ start one; caste dun’ matta’.” He looked between the two, then bowed his head. “We should maek ou’a way to Astoria, too… Soon as ‘ew lemme outta ‘iss box.”
The two nodded their heads in agreement, then Fayeth rose to her feet as Asmodei began to walk to the door. “You’re making good progress; it’ll be soon, I’m sure,” she spoke as she approached the iron door, then let Asmodei out while she kept her eyes on the rathor. “We’ll be back later with another crook for you. Just sit tight, okay?”
The strangest thing happened then; Fayeth smiled at the rathor, then stepped out of the metal box before closing it tight. Arkash stared for a moment while he thought, but the smell of fresh blood kept his attention hostage. With a sigh, he began to finish up his meal, leaving nothing, not even the puddle of blood on the rusty iron floor.
