65th of Frost, 120
Arkash caught the train as a passenger. He could hardly believe it himself, but with his tidy, cut hair and his superior clothing, no one questioned his appearance in the train stations of Astoria, Rainier, and finally, the West End. He was headed to Westfalen to have an audience with a lord baron, an Audience that would see him naturalized as a citizen.
It felt strange to be so puffed up and vain, but he'd undergone a number of services for his health and hygiene that he'd never have even thought to in his True Form. His human hair had been cut, he'd brushed his human teeth, he'd applied cologne to stay the stink of body odor - which was something most of the train's passengers had failed to do, but he did it nonetheless. It was a special occasion, he had to look right, smell right, and hear right before the baron of the land.
When at last he stepped onto Westfalen's platform, he took a deep breath of the air and lifted his nose skyward. All he could smell was the fresh, pulsing bodies that scurried all about him, and though the feeling made him sick, it also pushed him to continue. Something about the painful hunger in his stomach egged him on, like a predator stalking his prey. There was the promise of a light at the end of the tunnel so long as he could let his inner beast out to hunt, to push himself. Though he did push himself and maintained a good posture on his way through the city, he had no intention to prey upon the people of the West End, at least, not in broad daylight.
He crawled the streets, familiarizing himself with the lay of the land, learning the names and the landmarks for a more believable story, and when the sun began to set on the brightened Lorien, Arkash too turned his sights to the horizon and proceeded given the directions he received from other citizens.
His left eye laid covered with an eyepatch, which prevented the recognition of his heterochromia. Such a thing was apparently normal among Neoalt Rathor in their humanoid shapes, but it was also a distinguishing feature. So, to save face and prevent suspicion, he covered one of his eyes.
The weather had been oddly pleasant in Lorien the past few days; people said it was because Von Rabe had been defeated in battle, and was forced to withdraw the wintry veil. It was odd, but the streets of the Westfalen were completely clear of snow, as though it was the Searing season once more. he wondered if all of Lorien looked that way without Von Rabe's influence, but shook off such thoughts as he approached the Baron's estate.
A large red brick building with distinguished windowsills and tall windows was his amrk. It was in the nicer, richer part of town, where Argent patrolled without their unsightly hollows, and the hustle and bustle of the city didn't meet those that resided, not even in earshot. In comparison to those that walked the streets, Arkash was underdressed, he believed, but not by too much. The eye-patch gave him a more rugged, unrefined look, but that was fine. He was trying to pass for a mercenary warrior, not a poodle.
"Move along, sir," spoke one of the plate-armored Chevalier that stood guard at the door. Arkash looked between the men with an upward tilt of his head and squinted a little. They both carried deadly-looking halberds and bore heavy crossbows on their backs.
Arkash cleared his throat at the command and drew a quiet breath to prepare his accent. "Is this the Estate of Baron Alberad?" he asked with only the slightest twinge to his pronunciation.
"What business have you with the Lord?" Asked the other with an indistinguishable Rien accent.
Arkash smiled a little. He'd already passed a threshold for most words spoken to a knight without breaking out into a fight to the death. "I've come home to Westfalen with the hope to become a citizen," he explained with a turn of his tan-skinned hand. "I've been away from Lorien for so long now, honing my craft so that I might better serve her. Now I feel it's-"
"-You're nameless?" The first knight interrupted.
"I'm no foreigner," he assured. "I was born nameless, but I was raised here in Westfalen; Haupstrabe was the street I grew up on," he spoke from memory. The two knights looked between one another.
"The Lord is not receiving visitors," the second knight spoke at last.
"Ah, wait..." Arkash shook his head and produced his wallet to withdraw four hefty farthing bills. "My appointment papers are right here," he spoke with a grin, and split them between the two, offering each knight twenty-thousand each. "Do you think you could see if the Lord is ready for me?"
Again, the knights looked between one another, and the first motioned their head to the door. The second nodded and proceeded into the building. He'd proven he wasn't a deadbeat, that he could afford such services, so he was offered the time of day. Arkash was left alone with the first, and the smell of their strength sent shivers down his spine. Still, he resisted and brushed his fingers through his hair to tidy himself up a bit. "How did you amass such wealth, nameless?" The knight asked at last.
"I traveled," he explained. "I've served in a number of battles as a mercenary warrior for the great clans of Tyrclaid, and I was handsomely rewarded for my exploits. And please, call me Derek, Derek Egon." he half-bowed before the knight as a hollow token of respect for the pig knight.
"You're a warrior?" The knight crossed their arms.
"I'm stronger than I look," he assured with a slight grin. "In fact-," the 'guised rathor continued with a gentle smile. "-If it weren't for that armor you're wearing, I'd say I could best you sparring, Sir."
The knight laughed at that, and Arkash maintained his smile. "An excess of confidence turns to foolishness, Derek. Don't try your hand with the knighthood," they warned, though it was clear they were amused. Arkash was surprised, he didn't think knights had the capacity to laugh or be joyous. He wasn't that funny, was he? Regardless of how funny he was, the door of the estate opened again, and the second knight appeared with another in their company; an Errant by the look of their armor and younger features.
"The Lord will see you, Baldwin here will escort you. Take care not to break anything," the second knight spoke with a gesture to the Errant. Arkash looked to the boy and naturally sized him up. Arkash was confident in his ability to fight and kill him if it came to it, but such wouldn't be necessary, he didn't think. A bow of his head relayed that he was ready, and without another word, he proceeded past the threshold of the estate's front door. A glance back set his eye on the glint of the first Knight's visor as they shut the door, and his brow furrowed.
"Right this way, mister," the errant spoke with a gesture, and Arkash followed. The estate was filled with arts and pedestals of fine pottery alike. Not one space of wall was left bare or boring without something fantastical and elegant to draw the eye nearby. Eventually, they arrived at the study, barred by mahogany double doors. The Errant knocked at the door, and an older man's voice beckoned them in. A swift turn of the handle opened the way for both 'Derek Egon' and Baldwin both, and they entered the room in tandem. Baron Alberad was sat at a desk with his back to a tall window, yellowed with the sky of the setting sun. He was an older man, something in his fifties, Arkash imagined. Even so, he was dressed well and groomed with the utmost attention to detail. The man took a look at 'Derek', and furrowed his brow before he returned his eye to the papers he was writing upon.
"Well, at least you're dressed well, nameless," he spoke, then cleared his throat with a series of short, forced coughs. "What is your name, lad?"
Arkash took no offense, he was prepared to weather the storm of their abrasiveness. "Derek Egon," he returned with a polite bow. "Thank you for seeing me, M'lord, you're most generous." Being kind to the man left him sick; sick to his stomach.
"Decent manners, too. Yes, I think you're ready for citizenship here in Lorien," the Lord spoke with a glance to the Errant. "Naturally, the forms and papers for processing such a thing are pricey. If you're willing to undergo this process, I do expect you to cover such charges."
Arkash knew what that meant, of course; 'pay me the bribe now'. Arkash bowed his head and again produced his wallet. Without hesitation, he drew three-hundred-thousand, and stepped closer to place such farthings on the desk of the lord, and slid them closer. "I hope this suffices," he spoke with a turn of his hand and bowed as he withdrew.
"Oh, most definitely!" The baron returned with a rumble in his throat. Such a fat man probably struggled with just breathing, Arkash imagined. promptly, the lord took the cash and tested the bills for legitimacy right there in the office. Arkash didn't bat an eye and held his expression through the ordeal of being doubted. "Right yes, everything's in order," he declared with a bow of his head, then produced a small pre-typed scroll and began to fill out a number of fields in the scrawlings.
"Age?" Came one of the questions, along with his city of origin, place of residence, and desired caste. Once all his answers were recorded and marked upon the scroll, the baron signed the decree at the bottom, then turned the papyrus to Arkash, and offered the quill. "Sign right there on the bottom, and you're official," he spoke with a gesture of his soft, well-maintained hands. Arkash bowed his head, and did as he was instructed with a practiced signature, then put the quill down in its respective inkwell. A blow or two of the Baron's lungs helped assure that the ink stayed dry before he stamped the parchment with the seal of house Alberad, then rolled it up and handed the document to Arkash personally.
It was done, Derek Egon was a citizen of Lorien. Arkash accepted the document with a bow of his head and a smile. "Thank you, m'Lord. I won't forget this kindness."
"My pleasure," the Baron returned, and again cleared his throat. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have important business to attend to." Arkash knew how to translate that phrase, too. It meant 'Get the hell out of my office'. With a bow of his head, he bid the baron farewell, then turned to the Errant, who then escorted him from the building.
On his way out, he found that the knights posted at the front had changed, which was almost a shame. He'd hoped to catch the name of the first knight on his way out, but it wasn't meant to be it seemed. At least he was naturalized, even if half of his money was spent on the venture.
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