20th of Frost, 120
He didn't care anymore. He hadn't for a long time. The evils of the world had long since crushed his heart and rendered him breathless, just as the rushing cold stole the air from his lungs in his last moments. When the nameless were safe, it would finally be over, and he needn't continue the sad story of loss and endless failures that had been laid out for him. He cared not that his ambitions would never be fulfilled, or that all his struggles were for naught. All that mattered was doing something right at the end of his life, saving someone, many someones.
The nameless, per his plan, were clung to the cargo carriages of a train, trying to break into the cabins for shelter from the billowing cold winds. They were fleeing Nivenhain, as the Argent had discovered the delve after their numerous raids on the stores and facilities of the Outer District. Arkash and his syndicate had messed with the coffers of the more fortunate, and for that, they were sentenced to death. So, they fled to Rainier.
The plan was to have all the nameless band in groups. One person from each group was designated the lock picker while the others held them in place. All members of each group were vital, as holding someone firm for that much time was difficult, regardless of how malnourished the lockpicker was. Fortunately, most of them were already in, but Arkash was having some trouble.
He was cold-blooded; that trait he'd inherited as a lizard that screwed him over through his entire life like a crushing handicap. What was more? His chest wound was badly infected to the point that pus oozed from the darkened crevice. With the ice in his veins and the rampant festering infection ruining his focus, he wasn't long for the world, but no more.
Time and time again, his schemes blew up in his face, and everything fell apart. Not that time. Not at the end of his life. With a grunt and a hiss, he ripped the lockpick from the keyhole and cast it into the bay they traveled over. The beat of wings flew beside him as Arkash cut open his wrist; Asmodei was there beside him, he would see what had become of him. "What are you doing?!" The velsign called, and Arkash looked to see the winged man with an elderly woman and a young boy in his arms. All their eyes were on him, but he cared not.
Using the darkened maroon blood of his open wrist, Arkash cast sacrifice, and swayed all the material he could into a hardened, pointed dirk before applying the quality of sharpness to the weapon's blade. Handguards protected him from the live weapon as he lined up his strike, then thrust it into the padlock with a loud ping.
The man that held him in place could have so easily dropped him at that moment, but he didn't. Had he not seen what the rath had done? "Arkash..?!" The Velsign called in confusion as the Rathor lined up the second strike, and cut through the iron with the applied sharp edge and his strength alike. Quickly, he ripped the padlock from its place and cast it into the ocean, just as he had with his lockpick.
"GO!" he called in common as the man lifted him. Arkash clung tight to his dagger and the door of the cabin alike before peeling back the rusted iron sheets to fall into the cabin, sheltered from the cold. Both he and the man that held him laid on the wooden floor among crates and boxes for a moment, just catching their breath. Asmodei flew in behind them, and let the elderly woman and the boy down. Both were partially covered in snowflakes from the wind but still breathed and moved.
"Arkash..." Asmodei spoke again, voice still with recognition. Asmodei knew what he'd seen, there was no hiding it. "Please don't tell me I saw what I think I just saw?"
"MAGE!" Screeched the elder as the boy scurried toward her for protection. "Y-YOU- B-BLOOD!" She stammered in fear. She knew of blood magic, it seemed. Arkash was surely dead, even if it weren't for the fact that he was infected and ruined.
Before Arkash could reply with his pessimism, a cry for help echoed over the whistling winds. The rath watched Asmodei's eyes for a moment longer, then both of them turned and crawled to the opened door of the cabin to peek. Clung to a door a few carriages away from them was a group of nameless, three of them. They hadn't managed to open the door and were calling for help. Asmodei spread his wings, and arkash moved his claw to grip the Velsign's sabaton. "No!" he spoke in vithmi the moment they passed a working hollow on the suspended railway.
"There's an overseer nearby! If he sees you, he'll flag down the train and we're all fucked!"
"Then what do you suggest, Ark?" The false knight returned in Arkash's tongue.
He had so little strength left, but he knew what he had to do. He really did have to hurry though, else the overseer would see the three clinging to the caboose and stop the train anyway. Still, they were less noticeable than a giant, armored winged man. So, the rath pushed to his feet and hissed at the pull to his weakened, sore muscles before limping to the back door of the caboose. With a thrust of his dagger, he broke the lock and opened the way to a narrow path that bound the two carriages together. The rush of cold wind enveloped him again as he worked his frigid foot claws onto the rusted, frozen iron. What did he have to lose?
Just a step onto the link, Arkash threw his body at the opposite door and thrust his dagger into the lock mechanism to open the carriage. Again, he stumbled through and caught himself on his frozen legs. The expressions of startled nameless watched him in confusion as he limped through the long caboose, only to strike the lock of the opposite door. Again, he broke through onto the link and launched himself at the opposite cabin to break that door in tandem. Quickly, he realized just how useful his sharpened blood was; but it, unfortunately, didn't matter. In the next cabin was Fayeth with four other nameless in her company. They were just about done closing the door to the cabin when she turned to spy the rathor limping his frozen legs across the room.
"Arkash?" She asked, confused. He spent not a second more; who could tell just how long they had before the nameless were caught, or before they froze? So, he adjusted his pose to ram his shoulder against the far door, and drove his knife into the lock in tandem to break the mechanism, then ripped it out as he shoved the heavy sheet of iron open. Again, the blistering winds hounded and whipped at his frost-ridden body. His heart slowed and his breathing became infrequent as his limbs stiffened to lead. Hibernation loomed over his shoulder, he couldn't ignore it's call forever.
So, the rathor stepped out onto the link between the carriages and gripped the wall of the opposite cabin. The whole thing shook side to side slightly through the intense vibrations of the rails below. The further he stepped from the shelter of the cabin, the more his body stiffened. With his back flush to the wall, he peered around the corner to watch the direction they were headed. There were hollows aplenty, but no overseers that he could see near the bridge.
On the other side, in the direction they'd come from was the three nameless; two men and an elven woman. The one that had failed to pick the lock was in the middle., clinging to both the elf and his fellow human for dear life. Arkash offered his claws for support and yelled "'OLD ON!" over the howling winds. "TAEK MY 'AND!" The whole thing was quite precarious. The space between the wall and what stuck out was barely an inch in width. Every rattle and bump threatened to throw the trio into the ocean. A particularly hard jolt brought the three to cry out in alarm, and Arkash bared his teeth to hiss. "COME ON!! ONE ATTA TIEM!"
With great reluctance, the first human took his offered claws. The warmth of his skin was incredible, akin to the first sunrise after an eternity of darkness, but it wasn't something the rath could savor. "Grab the door!" He yelled over the clatter of the carriage, then leaned his weight back to pull. On command, the human let go and leaped in the direction of the pull to clutch the door and the railing of the cargo vessel. A glance over his shoulder affirmed that the man had made it, but two remained on the edge of that train.
