1st of Glade, 121
He hated them. Regardless of the face he wore and how hard he tried to see through Fayeth's eyes, he hated the Rien people as much as he hated their lords and rulers. They were snooty, stuck-up, arrogant pigs in his eyes, and they still looked down at him while he walked through the streets of Outer Nivenhain with his Wrogon in tow.
Did they think he was some kind of peasant because he worked with animals? He was better dressed than a lot of them. The idea that they thought they were better than him infuriated him to no end. Was that even the case? Or did Arkash fail to perceive their gazes right? Was it jealousy? Over his obvious wealth? He doubted so. Regardless of the rage that burned behind his eyes, he offered a courteous smile and a bow of his head to the next commoner to pass him and received a scoff and an upward flick of their nose in return.
He hated that man. Arkash didn't know anything about him, not even his name, but he still wanted to saw their head from their shoulders for the meager slight. Human life had little weight or value in his eyes. They were all cruel, evil creatures with no sense of loyalty or empathy. All they cared about was themselves and their wallets. In fact, Arkash would have gone so far as to say that all mortals were like that, but Asmodei was mortal. Even if they'd argued, he knew the Velsign cared about him.
Was he then, just angry at the world? Stressed out from the hollow encounter? The Wrogon's sickness? Something severely upset him, he recognized, but what, he was unsure.
In response to the cold shoulder he'd received, Arkash sighed, then continued down the road. He had to go to the nicer part of Outer Nivenhain to see a vet for the pig, and he took the most direct route he could, despite all the attention his pig gathered. They were whispering about him, he could hear it with his heightened dranoch senses. Still, he ignored their words and continued on his mark until something painful caught his gaze. He couldn't help but pause when he saw it and froze in the middle of the road.
To the left of him, along the street, two of the three Thompson brothers roamed. Brodie wasn't there, but those two alone had a hand in beating him black and blue, cutting him, robbing him, spitting on him... Alec and Chad were their names, he remembered clear as day. Chad was the bigger of the two, while Alec was the speccy little nerd. While he stared, visions and voices ran through his head; the hour before he was chased down and executed by hollows. He remembered so clearly, watching them attack poor sick Cojack on the floor. He remembered biting Brodie to break free of his hold, stealing his knife, trying to slash and stab Chad and Alec, and screaming that he'd kill them for what they'd done.
But there, on the street, seeing them again, he could do naught but shake in fear. He breathed raggedly and his heart raced, but he couldn't move. It was the same sort of feeling that accompanied the visage of the hollows; the paralyzing fear, the run of images through his head. They'd physically and emotionally tortured him nearly a full year ago, it wasn't something Arkash easily got over.
Even so, they didn't look at him. He wasn't the freak or the newt in his humanoid form. There was no way they could recognize him, even if he stared in awe at the brothers as they climbed the front steps of a well-maintained home's porch, and let themselves through the front door. When they fell out of sight, Arkash took a deep breath, and tears welled in his eyes. Where was Brodie? Had Arkash killed him when he ripped out his wrist? The bully bled a lot, and both Alec and Chad were scared when he did so. They didn't look particularly happy before they entered their home, were they mourning him?
Before he could contemplate the twisted brothers any further, the adolescent Wrog he towed nosed at his pocket and stole his attention. Its wiggly snout had left a muddy imprint on his breeches, but Arkash didn't mind. Instead, he laughed an uncomfortable breath, then ran his clawless-hands through the beast's mane and scratched at the coarse skin beneath. He'd survived that long, hadn't he? He was fine.
Before too much longer, Arkash arrived at the veterinary clinic with the Wrog; a one-story building of sheer stone walls, broad, glass-paned windows, and a tall, arched double door at its front. He sighed a little as he looked to the Wrogon, then pushed forward with his eyes set on his mark. A knock on the door preceded his turn of the handle, and he poked his head through the gap he created to scope out the inside.
It was a simple room with three tables housing common housecats and dogs. Along the walls were a series of cages, housing all sorts of birds of various colors and smaller rodent-like pets, like gerbils and hamsters. The room was illuminated by lamplight, but his night eye could scarcely tell the difference. "Hello?" He asked while peering at one of the attendants, an older man dressed in a gray, stained apron with the sleeves of his shirt rolled up looked back at the disguised rath. "Are you open?"
"That we are," the man affirmed with a brief smile, which quickly dropped to a frown. "Come on in," he spoke. It was only, as the rath fully opened the door and stepped into the room with his Wrogon behind him that the man rose a brow. "A wrog, huh? You keep cattle for pets?"
Arkash shook his head as he guided the monstrous pig through the door, then moved to close the door behind it. "This one's sick from Randolf Farm, I owe the old man a favor and he asked me to get it looked at," he explained.
"Well," the attendant spoke as he lowered the stethoscope that hung around his neck, "what's wrong with him?"
Arkash furrowed his brow. Why did everyone insist on personalizing the pig? "It's sick; threw up on the way here," he spoke so matter-of-factly.
The man nodded his head a bit, then took a step or two closer to extend his hand for the lead. Freely, Arkash gave up the rope, then took a step back as the man led the Wrog to a more open area. The beast sniffed and squealed at the various animals in the clinic, but ultimately settled, and followed the Vet around. "I'll give him a check-up, see if I can find anything stange," the man assured.
Arkash nodded in response, then walked to the sitting area, currently vacant. Wasn't that odd? There were a number of animals there, did no one want to make sure their furry companions were okay? Then again, it was Lorien he was thinking about. So, emotionally vulnerable, he withdrew to the confines of his own company and waited.
He didn't wait very long, as the door opened again and let a second cold draft into the room. Arkash looked with a squint to the source and saw no other than the plate-armored Velsign, Asmodei. Arkash tilted his head a bit at the false Argent, then looked back to the empty room. He acknowledged the older male but didn't want to speak with him. The Velsign offered a nod to the working attendants, then carefully strode to sit beside Arkash. The Rathor said nothing, not at first.
"You'd be surprised how many people happily ratted you out on the way here, I think," the Velsign explained. "The Wrog? That way, Ser!" he mimicked in a lowborn rien accent, akin to what Arkash spoke with not too long ago. Arkash grinned a little, but he didn't offer the winged man his gaze. "...You can't trust anyone here, understand? Don't give them anything," he instructed sternly. There was no room for negotiation.
Arkash exhaled at that, then parted his lips to speak "noted" below the ambiance of the various animals.
Asmodei sighed exasperatedly and shook his head at the boy. "Still don't feel like talking, then?"
"About what?" The disguised rathor asked plainly, then lifted his one visible eye to the Velsign.
"Why you seem to hate that Wrogon," the false knight explained just as plainly in turn.
Arkash huffed, and shook his head. "...I don't hate it," he spoke to start, and his mind drifted to how he came to own the beast. he was practicing his blood magic in the woods with a litter of bought bodies. He killed three... Or was it four? No matter the number, he spent all his ether on them, and the Wrogon he cared for only survived because of that fact. Since that day, Arkash raised and trained the beast. Why? He wasn't entirely sure. The beast had run from him before he finished draining the beast's first brother of its blood and wound up unconscious in the snowstorm. Perhaps the beast reminded him of himself?
"It's just..." What was it? Why did he struggle to accept the Wrog as his pet, to accept it as something he cared about? He knew why, he just didn't want to say. His throat burned and his eyes watered at the thought, but he shook his head to dismiss the discomforts there all the same. He parted his lips a bit to speak, then laughed a scoff as tears welled in his eyes. As he wiped them away, he smiled a bit if only to veil his misery. "It sounds stupid, it does, but..." he drew a deep breath, then exhaled before he looked to the Velsign with his watery blue eye. "Everything I love either leaves or dies."
Continued here.
