15th of Ash, 120
The night was strange. Arkash at least assumed it to be night given how dark his surroundings were, but he couldn't know for sure. He was shackled to a grimy, stained bed by his one arm amidst a conversation with his two captors. Neither of them wanted to hurt or kill him, he believed. They had been quite patient and kind, even. Little did he know that the pair groomed him. Every word was deliberate, poised, aimed to force change. He'd only resurfaced from his coma some few hours ago, and he woke to find he'd lost everything, including parts of his being. At his lowest, the Rathari was most malleable.
Asmodei, the black-winged avialae even spoke in Vithmi with him, which led to a lenient amount of trust from the rathari, though it was subtle, subconscious. The things the dark knight spoke met him in ways that he didn't fully understand, but he was drawn to Asmodei's ideas, his outlook. It left him with a smile on his crooked lips.
"...You need to teach me that tongue of yours, Asmodei," spoke Fayeth in common before she pursed her lips. "Elathee, too. But Vithmi will be more useful with Arkash around."
Around? Arkash loosely understood why they saved him; they believed there was something greater in him, something he himself did not believe in. But why did they keep him? "The two of 'ew se'ved me, right?" he asked in common. Fayeth bowed her head once. "From 'ollows?" Fayeth nodded again. "...Issat why I can' leave?"
"As far as the argent know, you killed three hollows and escaped on foot. You never made it to the gate, so you're wanted." With that, Fayeth stood and approached an empty, blackened steel barrel. The fire that burned inside had long since died, and Arkash's stored warmth waned. She tilted the barrel sideways and poured its contents of ash to the floor, then filled the base with some fresh coals from a bag that rested beside her.
"Gre't..." Muttered the lizard as he laid back on the bedding. It wasn't great. How was he supposed to find Cojack while he was wanted? Arkash looked to his shackle. "...Can 'ew te'k this off?" He asked and lifted his hand to emphasize the chain that bound him to the bed. "I's'not like I can run e'nyway. Lookit m'legs." He'd withered a lot in the time he was unconscious, he didn't feel strong enough to walk, let alone escape.
Asmodei had lit a fire on the coals, which burned through a ragged cutout in the body of the barrel, and bathed Arkash in its light and warmth, the lizard looked to both of them with hope. "He has a point, Fay," offered the false argent while he dusted off his hands.
The lady simply rose a brow at him, then bowed her head. "Don't make me regret this, young man," was all she said as the argent approached him. How could he? They were sure to watch him like a pair of hawks.
"Thanks-," he spoke with a gentle smile, then locked his eye firmly on the dark avialae as the giant undid his shackle with a key that was placed on his hip. The moment the padded metal popped free, Arkash twisted his bruised wrist gently and hissed in pain. "Sore..." he growled, then flexed his fingers. "But thank 'ew... I won' do a runna." He promised... And meant it, too. he wouldn't be of any help to Cojack as he was, the horse could surely manage a few more days while Arkash regained his strength.
"Rest easy, Ark. We'll get you something to eat in the meantime." With that, Asmodei proceeded to the front of the building, which housed large steel doors, while Fayeth withdrew into the shadows beyond the warm light of his barrel. She was nearby; he could hear her moving somewhere in the darkness. But for a moment, he was alone and able to collect his scattered thoughts.
The rathari looked over his bruised wrist again where he laid, then flexed his claws one by one. They largely worked the same as they had before, but there was a distinct tightness in his joints. His bones ached with strain while he laid there; it was uncomfortable at best, nearly painful. It felt as though he'd rotted for a month or two. Perhaps he had? He was falling apart.
The muscles on the left side of his head didn't seem to work correctly. It was also the eye that Arkash couldn't see from. Part of him wanted to believe it was swollen shut or something similar, but a more realistic part of him knew he was blind. He couldn't face reality there, not yet. The thought brought him to shake, and he turned his head fully to gaze upon the stump of his left arm, wrapped in bandages.
It was really missing. He'd lost part of his body in the attack. No matter how long Arkash stared at the gauze that covered his stump, he couldn't grasp that reality. It moved about when he flexed and pulled the muscles in his upper arm, but he could still feel the phantom limb. He could flex digits that no longer existed, and roll his claws. The world didn't feel real. It was as though he watched the body he was trapped in from someone else's eye. It wasn't his life.
Arkash shut his eye, then steadied his breathing. In the dark of his mind, his arm was still there. He moved it and flexed his digits with just as much control as he remembered. His body was convinced that th limb still existed, until Arkash steeled his resolve, and held his stump with his one set of claws. His hand seemed to physically enter his arm, and it hurt. The pain wracked his mind and tore up his throat with an all too familiar burn. It was real. It was truly real. His arm was gone.
Tears ran in a stream down the right side of his head while he held what was left of his limb. It wasn't fair. Why was he born nameless? He didn't ask for a life of loss and pain. He didn't ask to live beneath human boots or to eat from pig troughs. And when he thought he'd already lost everything, the world proved him wrong. Time and time again, Arkash lost. He laid back against the moldy mattress and lifted his claw to his right cheek, where he brushed away his tears of self-pity.
As he exhaled, the gap in his lips sputtered with a fleck or two of drool. He realized that the left side of his face was otherwise dry, that no tears had formed on that side of his head. His vision blurred under the weight of stress as he lifted his claws to the left side of his head. He had to know, but he hesitated before he could touch his scales. What was he looking for? Scars? A gaping hole where his eye should have been?
He drew a deep breath, then pulled hard at the muscles there in an effort to open his eye. The sensation worsened his headache. His head shook with strain as he put all of his weakened focus toward that eye. It had to open. He had to see. He hadn't been awake long, but only seeing through one eye was maddening. He waved his claw side to side while he forced muscles that didn't exist anymore, and he found that he could see none of it. There was nothing, not so much as a flicker of response or stimulation.
Desperation caught up to him, and he pressed his trembling claws to the spot that his eye should have been. There, he found stitches, a weave of thread that ran into his scales and tightened his flesh forcefully. His jaw trembled as he felt the details, the work that had been sewn into him. That was what prevented the close of his lips; the sewing. His eye was open. Its smoothness was apparent against the dry scales of his hand. His eyelid was gone, he couldn't feel it as he felt around the numb, muscle-damaged surface of his face. Arkash couldn't picture his new face, or what he might have looked like, but he imagined something akin to a dead-eyed monster.
"Fayeth," Arkash choked as he looked to the dark. There was no reply. "Fayeth!" he called a little louder.
The pale lady stepped into the light of the fire, then tilted her head as she looked him over. She rested against the backrest of the chair with her elbows, then parted her lips to speak. "Yes, Arkash?"
Her tone was direct with little patience laced with her words. So, Arkash spoke quickly without pause. "I wanna see m'face," he watched her with the one eye that worked during his declaration.
"Are you sure?" She rose a brow. What did that mean?
"issit really tha' bad?"
"...Give it time to heal, the people that helped us treat you said it would look better once it was done."
It was that bad. He was probably hideous. Human babies were going to cry if they saw him. Arkash drew a sharp breath through the gap in his lips, then fell limp against the bedding. he'd had enough. Why was he even alive? "Alright..." he spoke quietly, then tilted his head a little as something touched his shoulder from his blind side.
"Hang in there Ark. Things will get better," spoke Fayeth's voice with a certain tenderness that took him by surprise.
"You dun' kno' that," he returned.
"I do," spoke the lady in defiance. "Think about it. Once you've hit the lowest you possibly can, you can only go higher," she patted his shoulder gently, then let him go. "Get some rest. I'll wake you when Asmodei returns with food." With that, her footprints trailed away from him.
Arkash continued to lay there, still in his moldy, stained bed. With a deep exhale, he closed his eye. While sleep worked to claim his broken body, he hoped and wished that he'd wake up at home beneath the warmth of the hearth's fire, to find that the entire experience was a bad dream or to not wake at all.
The night was strange. Arkash at least assumed it to be night given how dark his surroundings were, but he couldn't know for sure. He was shackled to a grimy, stained bed by his one arm amidst a conversation with his two captors. Neither of them wanted to hurt or kill him, he believed. They had been quite patient and kind, even. Little did he know that the pair groomed him. Every word was deliberate, poised, aimed to force change. He'd only resurfaced from his coma some few hours ago, and he woke to find he'd lost everything, including parts of his being. At his lowest, the Rathari was most malleable.
Asmodei, the black-winged avialae even spoke in Vithmi with him, which led to a lenient amount of trust from the rathari, though it was subtle, subconscious. The things the dark knight spoke met him in ways that he didn't fully understand, but he was drawn to Asmodei's ideas, his outlook. It left him with a smile on his crooked lips.
"...You need to teach me that tongue of yours, Asmodei," spoke Fayeth in common before she pursed her lips. "Elathee, too. But Vithmi will be more useful with Arkash around."
Around? Arkash loosely understood why they saved him; they believed there was something greater in him, something he himself did not believe in. But why did they keep him? "The two of 'ew se'ved me, right?" he asked in common. Fayeth bowed her head once. "From 'ollows?" Fayeth nodded again. "...Issat why I can' leave?"
"As far as the argent know, you killed three hollows and escaped on foot. You never made it to the gate, so you're wanted." With that, Fayeth stood and approached an empty, blackened steel barrel. The fire that burned inside had long since died, and Arkash's stored warmth waned. She tilted the barrel sideways and poured its contents of ash to the floor, then filled the base with some fresh coals from a bag that rested beside her.
"Gre't..." Muttered the lizard as he laid back on the bedding. It wasn't great. How was he supposed to find Cojack while he was wanted? Arkash looked to his shackle. "...Can 'ew te'k this off?" He asked and lifted his hand to emphasize the chain that bound him to the bed. "I's'not like I can run e'nyway. Lookit m'legs." He'd withered a lot in the time he was unconscious, he didn't feel strong enough to walk, let alone escape.
Asmodei had lit a fire on the coals, which burned through a ragged cutout in the body of the barrel, and bathed Arkash in its light and warmth, the lizard looked to both of them with hope. "He has a point, Fay," offered the false argent while he dusted off his hands.
The lady simply rose a brow at him, then bowed her head. "Don't make me regret this, young man," was all she said as the argent approached him. How could he? They were sure to watch him like a pair of hawks.
"Thanks-," he spoke with a gentle smile, then locked his eye firmly on the dark avialae as the giant undid his shackle with a key that was placed on his hip. The moment the padded metal popped free, Arkash twisted his bruised wrist gently and hissed in pain. "Sore..." he growled, then flexed his fingers. "But thank 'ew... I won' do a runna." He promised... And meant it, too. he wouldn't be of any help to Cojack as he was, the horse could surely manage a few more days while Arkash regained his strength.
"Rest easy, Ark. We'll get you something to eat in the meantime." With that, Asmodei proceeded to the front of the building, which housed large steel doors, while Fayeth withdrew into the shadows beyond the warm light of his barrel. She was nearby; he could hear her moving somewhere in the darkness. But for a moment, he was alone and able to collect his scattered thoughts.
The rathari looked over his bruised wrist again where he laid, then flexed his claws one by one. They largely worked the same as they had before, but there was a distinct tightness in his joints. His bones ached with strain while he laid there; it was uncomfortable at best, nearly painful. It felt as though he'd rotted for a month or two. Perhaps he had? He was falling apart.
The muscles on the left side of his head didn't seem to work correctly. It was also the eye that Arkash couldn't see from. Part of him wanted to believe it was swollen shut or something similar, but a more realistic part of him knew he was blind. He couldn't face reality there, not yet. The thought brought him to shake, and he turned his head fully to gaze upon the stump of his left arm, wrapped in bandages.
It was really missing. He'd lost part of his body in the attack. No matter how long Arkash stared at the gauze that covered his stump, he couldn't grasp that reality. It moved about when he flexed and pulled the muscles in his upper arm, but he could still feel the phantom limb. He could flex digits that no longer existed, and roll his claws. The world didn't feel real. It was as though he watched the body he was trapped in from someone else's eye. It wasn't his life.
Arkash shut his eye, then steadied his breathing. In the dark of his mind, his arm was still there. He moved it and flexed his digits with just as much control as he remembered. His body was convinced that th limb still existed, until Arkash steeled his resolve, and held his stump with his one set of claws. His hand seemed to physically enter his arm, and it hurt. The pain wracked his mind and tore up his throat with an all too familiar burn. It was real. It was truly real. His arm was gone.
Tears ran in a stream down the right side of his head while he held what was left of his limb. It wasn't fair. Why was he born nameless? He didn't ask for a life of loss and pain. He didn't ask to live beneath human boots or to eat from pig troughs. And when he thought he'd already lost everything, the world proved him wrong. Time and time again, Arkash lost. He laid back against the moldy mattress and lifted his claw to his right cheek, where he brushed away his tears of self-pity.
As he exhaled, the gap in his lips sputtered with a fleck or two of drool. He realized that the left side of his face was otherwise dry, that no tears had formed on that side of his head. His vision blurred under the weight of stress as he lifted his claws to the left side of his head. He had to know, but he hesitated before he could touch his scales. What was he looking for? Scars? A gaping hole where his eye should have been?
He drew a deep breath, then pulled hard at the muscles there in an effort to open his eye. The sensation worsened his headache. His head shook with strain as he put all of his weakened focus toward that eye. It had to open. He had to see. He hadn't been awake long, but only seeing through one eye was maddening. He waved his claw side to side while he forced muscles that didn't exist anymore, and he found that he could see none of it. There was nothing, not so much as a flicker of response or stimulation.
Desperation caught up to him, and he pressed his trembling claws to the spot that his eye should have been. There, he found stitches, a weave of thread that ran into his scales and tightened his flesh forcefully. His jaw trembled as he felt the details, the work that had been sewn into him. That was what prevented the close of his lips; the sewing. His eye was open. Its smoothness was apparent against the dry scales of his hand. His eyelid was gone, he couldn't feel it as he felt around the numb, muscle-damaged surface of his face. Arkash couldn't picture his new face, or what he might have looked like, but he imagined something akin to a dead-eyed monster.
"Fayeth," Arkash choked as he looked to the dark. There was no reply. "Fayeth!" he called a little louder.
The pale lady stepped into the light of the fire, then tilted her head as she looked him over. She rested against the backrest of the chair with her elbows, then parted her lips to speak. "Yes, Arkash?"
Her tone was direct with little patience laced with her words. So, Arkash spoke quickly without pause. "I wanna see m'face," he watched her with the one eye that worked during his declaration.
"Are you sure?" She rose a brow. What did that mean?
"issit really tha' bad?"
"...Give it time to heal, the people that helped us treat you said it would look better once it was done."
It was that bad. He was probably hideous. Human babies were going to cry if they saw him. Arkash drew a sharp breath through the gap in his lips, then fell limp against the bedding. he'd had enough. Why was he even alive? "Alright..." he spoke quietly, then tilted his head a little as something touched his shoulder from his blind side.
"Hang in there Ark. Things will get better," spoke Fayeth's voice with a certain tenderness that took him by surprise.
"You dun' kno' that," he returned.
"I do," spoke the lady in defiance. "Think about it. Once you've hit the lowest you possibly can, you can only go higher," she patted his shoulder gently, then let him go. "Get some rest. I'll wake you when Asmodei returns with food." With that, her footprints trailed away from him.
Arkash continued to lay there, still in his moldy, stained bed. With a deep exhale, he closed his eye. While sleep worked to claim his broken body, he hoped and wished that he'd wake up at home beneath the warmth of the hearth's fire, to find that the entire experience was a bad dream or to not wake at all.
