Enlisting
Posted: Thu Mar 18, 2021 4:54 am
34th of Glade, 121
Granted, Arkash shouldn't have been anywhere near Gothenburg. He was meant to be studying Artifice, as was intended for his caste, as was his role in his war against the tyrannical Celebrant. It was meant to be a gateway into the Argent Knighthood, a means of introducing himself to Lorien as Derek Egon, a reliable, hard worker. But it was difficult. Arkash found no struggles with pushing his body to exhaustion, fighting through pain and blood loss, even combatting disease and unrest were familiar struggles to him. Something about sitting down and putting pen to paper was incredibly difficult, however.
Runic script was especially mind-numbing. He hadn't even managed to build a working golem of any capacity and had years of hard effort ahead of him, or so it felt. At that rate, Arkash wouldn't be able to topple the monarchy until he was in his sixties, or so it felt.
He had to take risks to get there faster. He had to prove himself in ways that he knew he excelled; in combat. His eye was quick, his reflexes on fleak. He trusted in his ability to cut a foe in three places before they could hit the ground, he'd bet money on it, even. Even so, that wasn't where Arkash most excelled.
He was light on his feet, he followed fast-moving things well, took the wind into consideration where he moved and found great vantage points from which he was able to aim and move to a secondary location at the drop of a hat. Arkash was an excellent marksman, and his dexterity bolstered his abilities significantly. He thought himself above some Knights in skill, a lot of the time. They could never hit him, it seemed, but the strike of his rifle-fire on their helmets, like the clang of a hammer on an anvil, was a sound Arkash heard often, a sound he'd come to love.
The smell of alchemical discharge, the heat of the barrel in the cooldown, the recoil, the weight and power that followed every squeeze of the trigger. Shooting was his passion, and he tried hard to improve his accuracy by working on factors that most didn't even think to consider. If he had one pride, it was his ability to shoot things better than everyone he'd met.
His passion, skill, and talent were too great to put to waste lording over scripts in some creaky artificing facility. If he could somehow earn positive renown with his skills, he'd make it far in Lorien.
Knights had told him minutes before they passed; he'd have made a good knight if he was born right. To be acknowledged like that by his enemies, by people that he later killed and ate, it solidified the image in his head. He'd make a strong combatant, a knight. Even if it was just for his persona and he had no faith in the crown or Lorien as a society, he had something to gain from joining the knighthood.
So, the plan changed in part. Mastering artificing was secondary to proving himself worthy of knighthood. He would earn his way to Errant through prestige, fighting on either side of the total war that had become of Lorien. Revolution vs the Monarchy, Arkash would fall in one of their ranks and claim a position of power in the fighting and use that position of power to undo the winner of the war after the dust had settled.
Given the state of the country, both Fayeth and Asmodei advised him to join the revolution. They were winning the war with Prince Franz's aid, and the fact that Arkash had unintentionally weakened house Ravenlow by executing Catherine Florent in the frost. Vera Ravenlow had fallen quiet, and words circulated on how she might be handling the loss of both her children, though she had yet to come forward.
So, it was agreed. Derek Egon would join the revolution to prove himself worthy of knighthood in the field of battle. Citizens weren't normally allowed to join in battles throughout Lorien's history, but in times like those, neither side could afford to lose. Citizens were allowed to join in the fighting, and given the fact that ordinary weapons had little to no effect on Kindred, guns were being employed at large in battle; he was certain he'd be able to prove himself if he could get his hands on one, or prove he was worth investing resources in.
So why Gothenburg? Because it was the front line. Recruiters there were likely eager to take anyone on and throw them into the fight immediately. He wouldn't be vetted or hassled too severely, he hoped. A shaky foundation in joining didn't matter if he could blow them away with his skill. He'd climb the ranks regardless of his non-existent past.
To the outskirts of the city he wandered, as directed by the whispers of revolution on agent lips. The streets stretched for miles, and all the buildings he found were in good repair, but that didn't mean the city was totally free of nameless, did it? Even if it was, did the wealthy not sit above the rest, living for free? Arkash scowled when he, at last, found the slums, then proceeded with his wits about him. Heightened dranoch hearing scanned the streets for noise, sweeping for potential threats and the recruiter alike. The distant clank of armor caught his senses, and he looked in the direction with a snap of his gaze.
He recognized the sound as Argent armor, and he fired up to fight, but caught himself when he realized that such a sound likely indicated his mark. He changed course there, then followed the direction of the noise and all the subsequent clatters that accompanied every little movement, before he arrived at the foot of a dilapidated building where a line of three queued before a group of knights. One by one, those people were let into the broken-down home's foyer, supposedly for screening.
Arkash bowed his head and fell in line, standing against the sheer cold winds while he waited his turn. The snow, despite its lethality in his true form, seemed to bother him more in his human form. He'd never known the luxury of natural warmth in his blood. As such, he felt the cold more whenever it attacked his skin. Thankfully, he didn't have to suffer it long, as it was soon his turn to enter. A considerable line had formed behind him in the wait; he'd gotten there just in time, he supposed.
Arkash looked as the knight peered over his shoulder through the window, then nodded without a word and motioned Arkash to enter. In equal silence, Arkash proceeded past the threshold of the door, out of the cold, billowing winds, and stepped across the floor to land before a plate-armored man at a table, surrounded by other knights. His one visible eye traced those in wait before he settled on the man at the table, who finished writing on a document before he drew another and asked a brief "name?" The man didn't even look at him.
"Derek Egon, ser," he returned with a bow of his head.
The knight seemed to squint, then looked up from the paper. "Age?" The man thought he sounded young. His human form appeared young, too.
"I'll be twenty-four come Cinderfall, Ser." Sure, Cinderfall was some ways away, but he had to plant the seed of suggestion that he was insecure about his age and boyish looks.
The knight squinted, then proceeded with his writing. "Caste?"
"Lustrian," he affirmed with a nod, then looked between the knights.
"So you'd like to artifice for the revolution, boy?" The knight proceeded, drawing a hand stamp from its inked felt pad.
"No," he returned with a shake of his head, and the knight paused, setting the stamp down on the ink pad. "I want to fight."
"Can you shoot?" The man asked, somewhat amused. Obviously, Derek Egon was somewhat scrawny, slight of frame. No one would believe that he'd cut down Argent Knights before.
"Better than everyone in this room," he spoke with a nod, looking about the gathered knights. At that, the man laughed, then leaned back in his chair, shaking his head. A few of the knights scowled at him as if he'd challenged them.
"Don't get cocky, kid. Gunther'll test your eye, see if you're good enough for the front lines. Else it's the production line and script farm. Deal?" At the mention of the name, one of the taller knights stepped forward and rolled his shoulders.
Arkash nodded, then looked back as the man set the document that was supposed to represent his joining to the side. They were unsure of him. With a motion of the knight's gauntlet, he was made to follow the man to the back of the building, out into the alleys, where a row of targets was lined up. "You've got some nerve, kid," Gunther spoke with a disapproving shake of his head. Arkash looked at the man, who must have been in his late thirties.
"I'm not a kid," Derek spoke flatly, then stopped at the edge of the firing range. Gunther shook his head and rolled his shoulders as he produced a rifle from the weapon rack, then handed it to the guised rathor. Arkash accepted, and took the weight of the long gun with ease. The cold metal bit at his skin, as it had been left out in the cold, but the tall walls of the alley helped shelter him from the invasive frost.
"The stock's fully loaded. You've gotta hit the target three times to pass," Gunther explained as he took his position on the wall, and watched the disguised rathor with anticipation. He was expecting Arkash to fail, to fumble with the mechanism and buckle under pressure.
Arkash looked over the model of Argent rifle; it was much the same as the weapon he used to gun down knights. A tier three weapon with a seven-second cooldown. With ease, he pulled back the lever and shouldered the stock before he tested the bullets, and found that the weapon was indeed full. When he was done inspecting the gun, he shut the lever and shouldered the sling before he tested the sight. It was off, and he'd have to adjust it for his use, but it was otherwise ready to fire. "...Can I have two more?"
Continued here.
