40th of Frost, 120
His crying spell didn't last long; he soon composed himself in the arms of his progenitor and withdrew from the embrace she offered. It was strange how she could see the light in him when all he found was darkness, but he appreciated her insight regardless of his own clouded mind. Again, he returned to sitting beside her before the torn, broken body of the knight. His stomach growled despite how much he'd eaten up to then, and he cursed. "...I'ss no' bad when 'ew ge' used t' feelin' 'ungry all'a tiem, th' noises, th' smells n' sheet," he spoke in conclusion.
He didn't mind being a dranoch, really. He felt no empathy toward the strangers he tore to pieces, and in his mind, he was going to die regardless. What did it matter if he was a dranoch? It was surely better than dying a meaningless death to infection. He'd long ago accepted his fate, but the blight he'd come to bear opened new possibilities. He saw Atharen through a different lens. He'd never been special; always menial and meager, unremarkable in all things he did. As a dranoch, he felt like a lion among sheep, a predator to the vast prey of Lorien.
"I'm glad, though we need to speak more of it," the pale Sil'norai returned, and Arkash looked to her with a tilt of his head before he wiped away the wetness in his cheeks with a streak of smeared blood. "....You must never pass on the curse," she spoke final. "It's spread through the transfusion of bodily fluids; spit, blood, urine, etcetera. You must take care to not bite or bleed on your opponents unless you plan to kill them afterward."
Arkash furrowed his brow at that, then squinted as he looked away with a slight turn of his head. "...All fluids?" he asked with uncertainty. "Even liek..." he rolled his claws with his wrist in a gesture to lead to implications. "Y'know, liek..." Fayeth stared at him blankly, and he hesitated. "Uhh, tears?"
"Everything, Arkash," she clarified, unamused.
Arkash pursed his lips then while he considered the implications. What of her and Asmodei? How had he not been changed? Was he a dranoch? "Is Az a Dranoch?" He asked with a confused furrow on his brow.
"No," she replied sternly.
The rath widened his eyes a little, but still held concern with his gaze. "How?" he asked on impulse, then caught himself and bared his teeth in a cringe. "Sorry, I kno'iss no' my buis'ness, but dun' 'ew liek... y'kno', kiss?"
"You're right; it's not your business," She spoke with a glare and a curl of her nose, but soon shook her head. "But no, we don't. We're not intimate.."
Arkash was quiet while he considered what that meant. Their relationship made a little more sense with that information in the light. They didn't appear to be close on the surface, he hadn't even seen them so much as hug before, let alone hold hands or show any affection toward one another, though he knew Asmodei would do anything for her. He was Chivalrous and loyal to no end. In a way, such a bond was sweet. The thought made him smile.
"What are you smiling about?" Spoke the Sil'norai, cross.
The rath shook his head as he snapped from his thoughts and dropped his smile. "Uhh, nuffin'. Sorry," he returned as he cleared his throat. "I gotchya, bu' t' be 'ones', I wasn' plannin' on doing enyfin' wiv enyone." He'd never been close enough to anyone to even consider such things, except maybe one. Even then, his heart fluttered at the thought of something as intimate as holding their hand. His heart would surely stop if he one day kissed them... But such a thing wasn't an option anymore. It was okay, he supposed. Affection could be expressed in many ways.
A pause followed while he thought, and he figured it best to change the topic regardless of where they ended. "I figured sumfin' out when I kil't Catherine," he spoke suddenly, then turned to meet Fayeth's crimson eyes.
"And that is?" She offered with a softening of her gaze. She remained stern and on her guard, but she was at least receptive of him.
"...My purpose," he continued. "I figu'd it ou' tha' night."
"Your purpose?" She asked with a furrow of her brow, then widened her eyes in recognition. "Ohh, that rathor thing Asmodei was talking about?"
"Yeah," Arkash answered. "I'ss real, 'onest. No' maed up."
"I didn't say it was..." The dranoch continued. "But I am skeptical. How did you figure it out?"
"Well..." he started, and lifted his lips in a half squint while he sorted the thoughts. "I've go' an idea, haven' really figu'd it ou' propa'," he clarified with a wobble of his claws.
"Go on..."
"...The min'it I shot 'er, I felt et. An' when she died, I recu'nized et." he began, and watched her eyes while he spoke. She waited patiently in silence for his explanation, despite his poor common speak. "I'ss... Sumfin t' do wiv chaos... Liek dissorda'," he explained. "Creatin' it an' liek.. undoin' orda'. E'rrytiem I oppose 'e knigh's n' shet I feel et." Again, he paused, then lifted his eyes to hers as he trailed off. "I dun' understan' fully, I dun' know shet abou' i', but am pretty shu'a tha's wot i' was."
Fayeth sighed then and shook her head. "Arkash..." She began as she covered her eyes with one hand.
His heart stopped at that, and he watched her with widened, cautious eyes. "Wot?"
"...We really need to do something about your common," she spoke with a kind smile as she met his eyes again.
Arkash held his breath for a moment, then breathed out with such strain in a powerful cringe. He didn't even consider his trashy dialect when he spoke, it all came so naturally. "I can' 'elp i'!" he cried in despair.
"Stop dropping your T's!" She called back with something of an amused laugh.
Arkash bared his teeth in embarrassment, covered his eyes and shook his head. "Fack, i'ss 'ard orite?! Gimme a break!"
Fayeth maintained her smile of pity and shook her head. "We're getting off track," she corrected herself and cleared her throat. "...So you think you have an idea of what your purpose is, and it involves the conversion of order into chaos.... But you're not sure because you have no one to tell you about the purpose, is that right?"
The rathor nodded hesitantly; that was more or less what he meant to say.
"...I could take you to Tyrclaid for a spell, I suppose. There's lots of rathor there to help you with your rathor problems," she suggested with an open hand.
He shook his head. "I gotta be 'ere, I dun' 'ave tiem to travel faw monfs," came his excuse. Indeed, he had a syndicate to develop and nobles to decapitate; he didn't have time to explore his heritage.
"I can get you there in two steps with my transposition, Arkash. We'll be gone a week or two at most, and I'm sure Asmodei can hold down the fort in our absence." Arkash, again, hesitated at the offer. He looked at her with a squint and held his tongue. "Come on," she hummed. "Why not? You're not shy, are you?"
"No," he curled his nose. "Th' fack? Fay, I've killed fackin knigh's twice my size an' brok' int' Celbran' mansions, 'ew fink am shy? Tha's fackin' ridicu'l'us." He huffed, offended.
Fayeth merely grinned at the rath's flustered display, then nodded. "So you're fine going to meet a tribe of your kind?"
Arkash swallowed while he considered more logistical concerns. "Wot abou' food? I dun' wanna star' eatin' uva' rathor."
"I'll hunt for us in the days; They mainly speak vithmi over there, so I won't be of much help. You can eat at night and learn in the day," she suggested with a turn of her hand. "We don't have to go if you're nervous, Ark. You don't need to make excuses; there's no shame."
He grit his teeth at the suggestion and parted his lips to bark "fien!" he breathed quickly while thoughts swam in his head. The idea of meeting other rathor certainly excited him, but he didn't want to be seen as weird or foreign to them. He couldn't stand much more rejection. "Fien, le'ss go. I'm not fackin' scared, Fay."
The dranoch shook her head with a smile, then laughed a breath. Arkash was too easy. "Alright. FInish up your meal and I'll pack up some things and work it out with asmodei." She pushed to her feet at that and smiled at the grounded rath. "Try not to worry so much; I think this will be good for you," she spoke in assurance, then turned to take her leave up the stairs of the basement.
"I'M NO' WORRIED!" he called after her, then hissed as he returned to the knight's cadaver. Angry snaps of his jaws tore at meat and bone as he hurriedly finished his meal as instructed.
