[BM13] Stake out

[Arkash]

72nd of Ash, 120

He could do it, it wasn't that hard. Arkash drew a shaky breath in the warm candlelight of his room, then carefully applied pressure to his jaws. The flesh very slowly gave way to the dividing glide of his ivory teeth. Though, by the time his jaws clenched together, the chunk of meat had already fallen into his palette. Arkash held his breath from that moment on, and tilted his head back to guide the piece of food to his gullet, then oh-so-carefully swallowed. The chunk of meat sank into his gullet, then stopped for a moment.
Arkash dared not breathe, and swallowed even harder around the piece in an effort to dislodge it... To no avail. Quickly, he snatched the jug at his bedrest, then knocked its contents back to swallow, and the flow of milk dislodged it, and sent to piece hurtling to his stomach. Arkash paused his drinking and breathed heavily while he recovered his breath, then set the mug down.
Why of all things did it have to be his throat that came out damaged? Eating had become such a tedious chore since he woke from his coma, as he found himself choking on nigh everything. Each bite took roughly two minutes from his day, and the bites were smaller to begin with. He couldn't skip meals, either. He needed to recover his body mass. If that meant nearly dying with every few bites, so be it. He'd come up with a system to cope with the change regardless, so the process wasn't as hard as when he'd first started eating again.
With a sigh, Arkash pushed the roast chicken platter to the side, then recollected his spyglass. With his thumb, he adjusted the length, then lifted the nozzle to his eye, where he aimed the lens at the estate of his target. Sir Edward Vogen; A nameless made celebrant for the betrayal of his master. A lack of loyalty was something Arkash couldn't sympathize with, not fully. Barry had stabbed him in the back too, once upon a time. For that, the human died. That, coupled with the fact that he tried to kill Arkash for stealing from him.
His eye was on the second floor, where he watched the tall glass windows of the estate for the routine shadows he'd recorded the day prior. From the west wing, one shadow moved down the hall, and to the east, two moved toward the west wing. Arkash furrowed his brow, then referred to the notes he'd taken on a scroll of parchment, complete with inkwell. Several crude drawings littered the page, along with some writing in vithmi. No human would know what he wrote, but it made perfect sense to Arkash.
He'd stated that four guards passed the halls in one of his prior writings, which wasn't true. Only one followed from the west wing, in place of two. After dipping his quill in ink, Arkash ran a line through four and etched three beneath. Perhaps the additional shadow he'd seen before was one of the guests? Sir Vogen did have company the day prior, after all. The page was littered with all sorts of corrections and amendments of a similar caliber, which only reflected the amount of time he'd been at it. He only had information on the happenings within the estate, however. The courtyard was unknown to him, which simply wouldn't do. The reason? The layout of the city. A row of houses blocked view of the estate's front lawn.
If he was to infiltrate the building, he needed the patrol patterns and the response time for the guards. How quickly they could rally and strike down a threat or an intruder was of the utmost importance, alongside details of the exterior. With a sigh, Arkash set his spyglass down and looked to the door a glance. While he stared, he unstrapped his steel, threatening arm and set it on the bed. An unarmed cripple was a lot less likely to rouse suspicion. With nothing but a dagger in his footwraps, Arkash made his way out of the room, locked the door, then pulled up his hood as he proceeded to the cold streets through the Inn's foyer.

A short trip through the Rien Alleys brought him to the street of the estate. It was even bigger in person, Arkash couldn't even begin to imagine what someone would need all that space for, but humans would be humans and take every inch they could get. It sickened him, but the commoners that surrounded such a place were no better. How could they be okay with someone living in such a wasteful way while they lived in squalor? For that, he faulted the nameless on their spinelessness.
Beliefs aside, Arkash had gone there for a reason. He inspected the grounds from the other side of the street while humans and elves walked by him. His one set of claws rested snug in his pocket his left sleeve was folded to show his weakness. He was a crippled, nameless lizard; nothing worth considering in a mass of able-bodied humans.
A low stone wall surrounded the courtyard, and protruded a tall wrought iron fence to keep the masses from the premises. Arkash's eye scanned the tips of the barrier, where iron spikes dotted the top in rows, and stretched on across the entire perimeter. A long stone path led from the barred front gate of the estate, framed by fields of snow. Of course the Rien Nobility could afford to salt their patios. The front doors were tall and broad, framed by white columns that supported a small snow-draped shelter. That was always an option for his entry if not for the lamps that hung there.
Arkash furrowed his brow, then looked back to the courtyard. Perhaps there was a back door? A point of access he was missing?

Image source.

[Taelian Edevane]

That prior night, Taelian--Stephan-- had been called to the deliberation chambers of the Covenant-Pact, invited there by Regis to discuss the political affairs of the various Duchies of the realm. He had been briefed on a great number of things: the current state of affairs in the Kingdom, worrying as they were. Only around two weeks prior, the first 'Great Culling' had occurred, during which six Alderset, four Galbrecht and one Baringer were assassinated by Kindred and their agents. With the war becoming increasingly personal and deadly to its combatants, individual operatives like him had become more and more essential. With each push, a pull -- with each dead Celebrant in support of the rebellion, a dead Kindred or local leader to one of their sects, or monastic orders.

Last night, however, he'd been told of a very different kind of mission: one that he, among all of his peers, was perhaps the most qualified to pursue. A Master Bane-wielder in the East End had made clear his support for their feathered overlords, with his very existence an imminent threat to the security of his Celebrant peers on the other side of the war. They worried that he might spread disease among their houses, or their locales -- disfigure them, blight them with madness or any number of things. Until now, the Galbrecht's had effectively monopolized magic in the Kingdom. Any single opponent to that monopoly risked creating a larger array of enemies against them; he could initiate others, creating a reverberation of foes across ducal realms.

The Argent understood the worry around the other man's continued survival. It was not dissimilar to his Dranoch hunts; killing them as they appeared so as to subvert their spread. The man was -- perhaps even literally -- a living disease. A blight that needed to be summarily cleansed.

And he lived in Lienburg. As Taelian heard where he was meant to go... the name of that city, a small part of him lingered upon the events of that desolate, icy field only days ago. Of the 'egg', its scaled thief, of the way in which they separated. He held no small amount of guilt and reservations of his choices; his decision to surrender what he thought to be a moral good for the sake of security. Yet, these dilemmas were so common in war, and Taelian had been embattled for all his life. He tried not to linger for long.

That morning, the man awoke and quickly placed on his studded black-leather armor, wearing a fur-coat over it and holstering his two blades at his back. He ruffled his unkempt, curly hair as he stared into the mirror, practicing the Customs -- speaking eloquently, perfecting his still-lacking accent, maintaining every aspect of aesthetic cohesion necessary to the image he wanted to portray. He would be a Celebrant before long, he thought. The games and their stakes would only rise.

As the man moved to the center of his room, he seated himself upon the rug that ran across the floor of his chambers, crossing his legs together and beginning to meditate. He cast Farsight, looking to the city of Lienburg and beginning to hone in on the estate of his bounty. Taelian frowned. He had done this for the Covenant before: assassinating their enemies, hunting magi. The more he did it, the more it felt... banal. He could simply knock on the door and murder everyone inside, indiscriminately. It would have been so easy. Fill the foyer with darkness, send Marghozad after them. He had only become more and more efficient at killing.

His vision spanned the gates of the estate, the front garden, the rooftops and then the charming courtyard. He searched for other paths of entry, though it became increasingly clear to him that presenting himself and being invited in was likely the best route to his success. He still wielded the badge of an Argent on his coat -- no Noble would simply deny him, particularly when word of the Pact-Covenant sending out assassins across ducal lines was as sparse as it was unbelievable.

He prepared himself for what he thought would be a trivial task. With Farsight, he further magnified his view. Given that Lienburg was hundreds of miles away, he could mostly see boundaries, shapes and borders -- and before the estate, he saw the simple, somewhat indiscernible shape of a man lurking the premise. Though he knew he could have determined more of him had he looked deeper, the mage was content with the scope of what he had surveyed. Farsight subsided, and before him a vortex of frigid wind imploded out to form the borders of a portal. Clutching the pommel of his blade at his back, before sending both of his hands to his sides, he exhaled and took a step forward, breaching the boundary of his Lychgate and coming out on the other side: Lienburg.

"Hm..." he audibly pondered, looking upon the estate. His eyes quickly caught another, though: a man impossible not to recognize. Arkash.

Taelian's heart sunk. His reaction -- at first glance -- was uncertain, disturbed. He frowned at the corners of his lips, hesitant to approach. If the other man noticed him, he could attempt to fight, or flee. A commotion could be caused that might put his mission in jeopardy. Still -- he wanted to speak to him, to somehow mend what had happened. He had some idea of what all of that was; pride, rage, mistrust. The Sil'norai never faulted him.

He approached the man as he seemingly scoped out the very same estate. It was questionable, why he was doing so, though the mage hadn't even considered it. Instead, he stepped to his side and tapped him on the shoulder, looking to him with... concern.

"Arkash?" he asked. "I am... glad to see that you made it to Lienburg safely. I--" he stopped, sighing. "I don't begrudge you for pulling your gun on me. My offer to you remains open, you know. That hasn't changed."

[Arkash]

Arkash's one eye continued to scan the scene, but the constant flow of Rien Folk made it difficult to see. Because of his Rathari traits, he was also short-sighted, which didn't help. Arkash furrowed his brow, and squinted past the ever-flowing river of bodies.
It was quite unlike home, where so few urchins wandered around outside for their own safety. The people in Lienburg were comfortable, it seemed; too comfortable. They were amidst a civil war, and the kindred were killing off their nobles in droves. Did they not care?
A smile graced his lips as a thought crossed his mind. While the people didn't particularly care about the fact that the nobility lived lifestyles far more comfortable than they ever would, they didn't particularly care about the wellbeing of the nobility, either. In that sense, they were neutral; ambivalent. They had yet to take a stance and could fall on either side of the divide in time.
He was getting distracted, he recognized. So, he made his way through the hustle and bustle of the street to draw closer to the estate, evaded a horse-drawn carriage, and drew himself to the black iron bars that guarded the grounds with his one clenched hand. Yes, from there he could see a lot clearer. It was as he'd seen from his spyglass: the home was made of defined grey bricks with a sort of beige-cream smooth stone frame. The windows were a little sunken and offered very little in the room of a windowsill to perch upon. If he did climb the wall to his target, he would have to somehow open the window with his prosthetic while his real arm kept him steady. Did he have enough time to manage such a thing with all the guards that rounded the courtyard? He didn't know.
With a sigh, the rathari removed the side of his head from the bars, then turned to his right to sit his tail end on the snow-quilted wall in a lean. He needed a look around the whole building: the sides and the back alike. Maybe there was a cellar that he could use to enter the building? Doing so would mean that he would have to work his way up to the third with no map of the inside, as that was where the master bedroom resided, he believed. Gods, he wasn't even sure of that.
He'd begun contemplating the possibility of hiring someone from the inside to help him with the mission when he found a light pressure tap against his damaged shoulder. His left, dead eye twitched a little and his shoulder pulled in an uncomfortable spasm that saw the stump of his limb tense up. It was an odd feeling, like a repetitive tugging sensation in the muscles the rested there, a tightness that run up the length of his neck and forced his head to tilt in tandem with the pull. Thankfully, that twitch attack wasn't nearly as bad as some that he'd experienced.
Arkash didn't immediately turn to the source of the tap, as he'd been busy working through his tensed muscles, but the voice that came made his heart stop. With a wide eye, Arkash carefully craned his neck to place his sighted eye on the giant. It was him, it was Taelian. The not-a-rien from a few days ago, the one Arkash had threatened with a gun, the one who'd burned his scales, gave him a heart attack, and retrieved the metal egg.
Transparent amber-yellow fluid ran in a drip of thick consistency from the gap on the left side of his face as his mouth rapidly filled with venom in response to his racing heart. Taelian had found him, the god mage. He was right there before Arkash. All it would take was a swipe of his hand or even a look and Arkash would be scattered in several different burned clumps of char across the country. A sudden slurp sounded while he held his eyes on the half-elf. A subtle swallow saw his neck shift before he parted his lips to speak, but paused when Taelian continued to speak. Clear yellow drool framed his maw while he held there, and listened to what the man had to say. He didn't... He what?
"'Ew's no'-" he paused again to swallow hard, "-no' pist a' me?" Why? Why would Taelian offer to help him again after last time? Arkash had threatened to kill him, told him to fuck off, and turned on him on a dime. Why did he come back? "I thought 'ew was 'ere t' kill me..." he spoke quietly, still facing the god mage from the side. It made his form narrow, harder to hit. Placing himself like that was almost done by instinct alone.
There came Arkash's dilemma, as a surge of emotion struck with Taelian's kindness as its catalyst. On one claw, he'd been content to let it all be. The promise he'd made of helping the rebellion with the fight had left wild dreams of purpose and belonging in his head, but he would only be a detriment to someone as kind and caring as Taelian. He was a monster, and their last meeting should have shown that. But on the other claw, the events in the snowy fields filled him with plentiful grief and self-loathing. The emotional energy it took left him drained. Part of him wished to go back and do it over with a claw of assurance on his shoulder, a promise that he didn't have to feel inferior or weak, but he couldn't.
"I..." He started after a lengthy pause, and the rush of venom in his mouth slowed to a trickle. Another hard swallow cleared his maw of the gunk, and he turned to face Taelian head-on. "Youer too kind, I... dunno whatta seh." His eye lowered to the floor, and he exhaled. "I dun' haet 'ew; I wasn' gonna shoot 'ew. I'm jus'... kin'a a shit'ead." He was. He was a jealous and power-hungry control freak. A slight smile lifted the corner of his mouth while he lifted his head to look Taelian in the eye. "Am sorry I threatened 'ew, an' told 'ew t' fack off. I dun' 'ave anythin' agenst 'ew..." It felt strange to speak as he did. In a way, he felt exposed and weak, but on another, he felt more secure than he had before. Perhaps it was because he wasn't face to face with the jaws of death?
"...But I can' taek youer offer. I've gots business 'ere in th' ci'y, an' I've been a propa' cun' to 'ew." That was the truth, though obscured. "I'd feel wurse if I se'd 'ye'."
Arkash drew a deep breath, then shook his head. If Taelian remained in his presence, Arkash would ask. "'Ow's th' egg? Still in one piece?"

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[Taelian Edevane]

Quickly after touching the man's shoulder, he noticed that he began to... leak, excreting what Taelian only deduced could be some sort of venom or acid. He was no animal expert, but other than mucus -- which it didn't quite look like -- he didn't imagine what else it could be. Arkash slurped it up as it came, though the occasional bits hit the cobblestone floor of the city-street beneath them. The mage glanced down, then up, then stared at the other as he spoke.

The Rathari was curious as to why he held no anger towards him; he thought he might have come to kill him, in fact. Taelian exhaled something akin to a nervous chuckle, before a small smile formed at the curve of his lips. He slowly began to shake his head. "I'm not pissed at you -- and I'm not here to kill you. Everything that happened with the... stupid 'egg' was an accident; I don't intend to recreate those circumstances again," he explained.

At that point, there was a brief pause between them as the Rathari appeared to think. Taelian glanced to the side -- to the estate -- to ensure they weren't being watched as they made their peace. Then, his gaze returned to Arkash, who remained at a loss for words... but appeared grateful. He informed Taelian that he wouldn't have shot him, but rather, that he was a 'shit head', which made the Elf laugh lightly. "Me too," he replied. "And -- I knew you weren't going to fire, but... you can't always trust instinct. I didn't want to risk my life, so I ran. Clearly, though, Saryn thought to bring us here to meet once again." It was unusual for a worshiper of the Living Gods to speak of a Corrupted in that way, but Saryn remained provident over fate. The Sil'norai could only believe that fate had some intention in their repeated, unlikely gatherings.

To find a man in such a large city as this, the moment he looked, was almost as unlikely as stumbling upon a metal 'egg' in a sea of snow. Yet that was two oddities for them, back-to-back. He could only wonder why.

The man again rejected his offer, though in a more direct way, this time. The mage put his arms behind his back and held one wrist with his palm, narrowing his eyes slightly with a playful sort of glint. "My offer wasn't contingent on you being nice, Arkash," he told him. "It wasn't contingent on anything, really. So -- you don't need to worry about being a 'cunt' to me, as you describe it. Though I wonder... what sort of business do you have here? I have my own, as well. I didn't find you intentionally, but once I saw you, I figured I should--"

He cut himself off, pondering. Arkash was already aware that he was involved in the rebellion; would it be so odd to inform him of what he was here to do? He supposed there was some danger, if the Rathari decided to betray him, but...

The Argent pressed his lips together, his expression displaying a level of uncertainty. As much as fate appeared to bring them together, he did not wish to betray the secrecy of his mission. "Oh, the egg?" the man veered the topic away. "It's quite alright; I put it back a few hours later. Just -- chucked it out of the portal, like I did the first time I placed it. Hopefully this time, no one accidentally kicks it. I... err, hope your foot is alright," he said.

"Perhaps I could help you with whatever business of yours you need to tend to? That way, I won't lose you in the city and I can take you back to Brandt afterwards. I don't mind assisting; I have time to spare, in fact. Think nothing of it," Taelian grinned.

[Arkash]

Taelian wasn't there to kill him. Arkash breathed a sigh of relief, and from there, his drooling gradually quelled. If he wasn't there to kill the troublesome rathari that had threatened him, what was he there in Lienburg for? The Baringers were involved with the rebellion, weren't they? He knew they resided in the East End, but was Lienburg theirs? Was Arkash about to assassinate one of Taelian's allies? The thought stirred great anxiety in his chest, though he simply resolved to not let his plans slip, to the best of his ability.
"Am glad," he spoke with something of a shaky exhale. Being obliterated by a god mage was the last thing he needed that day, not when he was so close to attaining true power. All that stood between him and his aspirations was an iron fence, a few walls, and a bunch of nasty knights. He just had to figure out a way past each obstacle.
He found himself staring at the estate with his head fully turned in its direction, only to snap his attention back to Taelian when he pressed his offer again. For some reason, Taelian really wanted to give Arkash his arm back, despite his foul behavior. The thought hurt despite its vague familiarity. Taun had also shown great interest in crafting Arkash's prosthetic arm, and though it was incredibly useful, it was still far below what the likes of an artificer or a necromancer could accomplish.
He wanted it, he truly did. But it still didn't settle right with him. "Orite..." He accepted with a trail, then lifted his gaze to the giant with something of a glare of remorse in his eye. "Bu' I wanna pay 'ew back. Am no' a begga', an' am no' much deservin' eiva'." He'd been making decent money since he started his new trade, more than most nameless made by several times, he believed. A new arm for the blood on his claws seemed like a reasonable price. But that's what it was - a service he would pay for, not a donation or a charity.
He didn't know who Saryn was; the Omen stomped out every other religion in Lorien in favor of their sect, so Arkash had no clue on the name that Taelian produced. He didn't think much of it when the half-elf mentioned him, either. It could have been the name of his friend or something, after all. The rest of what he said made sense, Taelian couldn't trust a stranger, and that was fine; neither could he. "Well, 'ew didn' kill me; I'd say we's square," he spoke when Taelian claimed to also be a shithead.
A light grin took his lips at the mention of his foot. "I've 'ad worse," he spoke with a dismissive wave of his stump. The egg was back in its place somewhere, which was good. Arkash would have to watch his step on his way back to Nivenhain, once the kill was done... That was if Taelian wasn't involved, as he offered help Arkash with his business.
"I dun' think tha's a good idea," he confessed with something of a frown, then looked to the estate again. He couldn't tell Taelian that he was about to kill one of the allies of the rebellion, could he? it was thin ice that he trod on, and it was better if he just went around the subject entirely. "I'ss jus' shaedy naemless shi', enyway. I'ss no' goin' enywhere, bu' I can' steh in Bran't long like," he offered with a turn of his claw. A final glance was passed to the estate before he exhaled a low breath, and returned his gaze to Taelian. It could wait a couple of days, he was sure. After all, Malafor must have waited years to get his vengeance. What was a few more days? His prize was secure, he was sure. Besides, a new arm would make the job easier, as he wouldn't have to worry about the rope issue he'd encountered when examining the windowsills. If anything, the addition was perfect.
With a nod to himself, Arkash then locked one yellow eye on Taelian's. He had time to spare, so... what had he gone to Lienburg for? Had he already completed the reason for his visit? He didn't have any shopping bags or acquisitions of note, which caught Arkash's one eye. "Am raedy t' go if 'ew are, but dun' 'ew 'ave stuff t' do 'ere?"
How exciting. A more selfish part of him didn't want to wait for Taelian's errands prior to getting his arm, but he could offer the patience needed to not appear as a shithead, as he'd described. It was quite nerve-wracking, despite his bated breath. Would it hurt to get a new arm attached? Would it work right? Would he be able to change it without mutilating himself once it was done? Furthermore, would it be expensive? Would it be something the cretins of Lower Nivenhain might seek to steal? It would surely be his most valuable possession.
Then again, if he did somehow lose his arm a second time, couldn't he get it replaced? Surely around different parts of Nivenhain, if he somehow discovered how to change his shape as his Neoalt anatomy allowed. Until then, to his displeasure, it seemed he had to depend on the god mage.
It was all very conflicting and messy, but dependence was not something Arkash would tolerate in himself, not for long. After a moment's pause, he added "I dun' mine' 'elpin' 'ew out wiv youer jobs or noffin if 'ew wan't."

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[Taelian Edevane]

As the Rathari agreed to take his offer on, the mage appeared almost relieved -- it was an odd emotion to surface, considering he was offering something without any exchange nor acquisition in mind. In fact, when Arkash offered to pay him in return, Taelian quickly responded by shaking his head. "Pay me?" he asked. "I have more than enough money as-is, friend. If we're going to talk 'deserving', I'm not deserving of another bloody castle, but you can bet that's what I'll spend whatever money you give me on," said the Knight, with a bemused glint. But -- he knew that Arkash wouldn't accept a unilateral trade, not while keeping his pride. So... he thought of something else the man could offer him, scraping through the slim possibilities of his mind.

"I have something in mind," he began, with a nod. "Perhaps you could help me gather... information. Not as some sort of long-term employment, but, just one time. Calling in a favor, we'll say. I don't even know what I want to know, yet, but -- when I do, I'll... uh, inform you," Taelian said, somewhat awkwardly. He had no clue of Arkash's talents, but he seemed capable of getting around, and probably staying discreet. From one urchin to another, he was willing to wager that the other had picked up a plethora of useful talents on the streets. Employing them was worth far more than gold to him.

Which brought them to what Arkash was doing here in the first place -- something he was clearly trying to keep in the dark. Taelian was not a man blind to these things; he could feel some level of secrecy coming from him. He wouldn't pry, mostly because he knew it wouldn't get him anywhere. Some part of him wondered -- perhaps accurately -- if the Rathari was a criminal, and his 'Nameless shit' was some sort of crime. Judging by how roughed up he was, all the many injuries, the mage couldn't imagine he had worked respectable jobs. He'd heard of Nivenhain's Nameless, anyway, and their condition. It was terrible, and cruel -- enough to push one to commit against the society that had rebuked them, and forced them into their abject state.

"I'm here to kill someone," he easily confessed. "This city is filled with allies to the Kindred -- even the Baringers have been forced beneath their thumb, mostly out of necessity in order to sustain their own lives. There are a lot of Nobles whose positions won't save them from serving the wrong side of the war." The man grinned for a moment, before his expression flattened. "It's alright, though -- I suppose the man can add another day to his life. I hope he spends it well."

The mage led them to as discreet a spot as he could. While he didn't care whether the people on the streets saw his magic -- catching a glimpse at his plane-traversing powers surely with confusion -- he did not wish for his intended victim to know that a Transposer had been lurking around his home. So, once they were far away enough and absent any sort of public view, Stephan began to channel ether through his mark, preparing to call forth the Lychgate. They were in an alley, now, with high-building walls surrounding them on each side, save for a small corridor entrance that led back onto the streets of Lienburg.

"My name is Stephan Lange, officially, by the way. Taelian is what I was born with, but -- that's not my legal name in this Kingdom. You understand, yes? The people here hate foreign things. Elven things. I have to blend to keep my station. So: please call me Stephan, or Ser Lange, in public." He nodded once more. The portal opened, a rift weaving itself through space. Taelian beckoned for the other man to step through it. "We can discuss any sort of help you can offer me, back at Brandt. Though, really; I'm not doing this to eek out some sort of favor, as helpful as you may be. I simply believe that mages should put their magic towards the common good. That means not letting men wander the streets with permanent, grievous wounds while we sit back in our estates organizing tea-and-cake parties. Besides: in the Covenant, many of us were born on the streets, just like you. Somehow, it appears as if equally as many have forgotten where they came from. I intend to remind them."

He stepped through himself, and when the two men moved through the Lychgate, they would immediately find themselves on the other side: within his room, in Essen, at the Lodge. Wylen was only a matter of rooms away. The mage was, again, relieved -- though his nerves were wracked, wondering what sort of words his peers would have for him, parading a Nameless man through their place of 'history' and 'repute'. Lady Galbrecht herself claimed a desire for equality, but she could not stamp out the racism and hatred of her peers. He only hoped Arkash would be treated well, in these halls.

[Arkash]

A favor? In return for a whole new arm? Arkash half lidded his eye in a squint, then exhaled through his nose. While he was flattered that the half blood believed he could buy a castle with Arkash's savings, the deal still weighed heavily in his favor.
Taelian was right in his assumption; Arkash did measure himself with some degree of pride, but less so about his own achievements and prowess, and more a defiant spite toward the world. The world had never given him anything for free, and he refused to start accepting its pity that deep in. It was a commitment to stomp out the weakness within him; his dependent neediness. If he couldn't get a hold of something himself, he didnt deserve it. "Call i' a few faeva's, an' 'ew go' a deal."
Arkash could surely obtain some few pieces if information for the rebel. He was nothing if not confident in his ability to sleuth and break into places that he had no business being in. So, he accepted, so long as Taelian was fine with being owed more bang for his buck. It occurred to him that Taelian intended to call in a favor to get Arkash's arm back, and in return, he gained more favors. It was an interesting concept. Did Taelian just run around doing acts of kindness all day? Taelian's answer to Arkash's question proved his prior sentiment to be false.
The half blood was there to kill someone; coincidentally, so was Arkash. The more he spoke on the matter, the more it sounded as though he was targetting a Celebrant. So the Baringers weren't involved with the rebellion? How curious. If that was the case, then Taelian surely wouldn't lop his head off if Arkash confessed to targetting Sir Vogen for an assassination contract, but the time had passed, and Arkash didn't think it too prudent to mention. Besides: the fewer the people that knew, the less work it would be when it came time to do the job.
"If 'es's a noble, the's no doubt 'e will," Arkash added with something of a faint grin, then dropped it after a moment of reflection. It wasn't common to take the subject of murder so casually, let alone with somewhat witty remarks added. "Course, tha's Lorien for 'ew. So long as two fellas is livin' 'ere, 'least one of 'em's gonna wan' the ova' fella dead." He could pass it off as a normal topic in Lorien; Taelian was a foreigner after all. To some extent, that wasn't a lie. Lorien was always at war with neighboring nations, and within itself alike. Endless conflict made for a bloody, grim outlook.
Taelian led him away, and though he still held some hesitation toward the God Mage, he followed. It wasn't often he gave the benefit of the doubt, but something within him, maybe instinct, saw fit to trust him. It helped that Taelian had nigh all the power in the world, and hadn't used it to harm him except for the moment they met, he supposed. They found themselves some dark Alley to hide away in; the likes of which Arkash had crawled for the past few years, then eased into the shade, away from the public eye.
Though he doubted it would do well against Taelian's laser beams, his boot knife remained where he'd hid it and it offered him some small measure of security with its meager protection. He could only assume they were going to use one of Taelian's doorways to travel, as he saw no reason for them to proceed into an Alley, otherwise.
Stephen Lange was his cover name, like some sort of secret agent. Cyrus employed similar tactics, and even elected to call Arkash Venom for their criminal activities. He supposed Taelian was a criminal too, a traitor to the throne. For that, he understood the reasons he kept his name hidden. "Trus' me, I kno'," was all he spoke on the subject of Rien people hating foreigners. "Orite Ser Steve, youer propa' naem's saef wiv me," he promised with a deep bow of his head. It was curious: why did Taelian give Arkash his real name when they first met? Was it before or after he discovered Arkash was nameless? He couldn't remember.
The doorway opened, and Arkash gasped and jerked a little in the same brush. There it was again, a hole in reality. Taelian didn't use any tools when he conjured it, which must have meant that it was a magic spawned from a rune, like sigilic pyromancy. Though, before he could work up the nerve to step through, Taelian flattened whatever anxiety his heart held with a solid droning monologue. It was like nothing he'd heard before, except on the lips of politicians. But, he did have helpful information for Arkash. It wasn't all nonsense like the typical leader spoke. Arkash nodded to the explanation of the mage's beliefs, as well as the background of those in his company. They were like him? Born with nothing?
"Thanks, Ser Steve," he spoke with a nod, then rubbed at the cheek beneath his sighted eye with his claws. "Can I ask 'ew summin wivout soundin' like an ass'ole?" He leaned back to look the argent in the eye while he gauged the man's expression. "'Ow do 'ew talk so much? Dun' 'ew mouf ge' tiad?" He spoke with a light grin, one that he hoped relayed the lighthearted nature of his question. Really, Taelian had offered a lot of meaningful truths. The Covenant didnt sound like much of a unilateral benefit to its leader, as Asmodei and Fayeth described for organizations and governments, but then he'd only heard one man's perspective.
It was unfortunate that he had yet to become a mage, or he might have been tempted to join them. Though, he couldn't see himself dressing fine or taking orders very well, he did dream of telling a different tale to his story of hardship and pain. Perhaps in another life, he thought. "Soun's nice," Arkash affirmed following his rudeness. "Afaren could 'ews mor' fellas like 'ew, Taelian," he spoke an honest compliment to compensate.
Taelian stepped through, and Arkash followed in a state of perplexing calmness. The magic was frightening, but Arkash made an effort to be brave where he could. Almost immediately, a wave of Nausea hit him as he stepped through, and the room span. Without a word, Arkash stumbled, and fell into the dresser to catch his weight. The structure shook and clattered as the handles rocked with the meager impact. He held himself steady with his stump and shut his one working eye in an effort to stay his dizziness.
"Ah... Fack me, am..." he paused, then reached up to hold his mouth shut with his claws while he retched and leaned forward as though he was about to vomit, but he kept his lunch by easing himself to the floor. Already, it began to ease up, but the sensation was incredibly disorienting. "Wha' was 'at?" He asked at last. "An' where is we..?"

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[Taelian Edevane]

Ser Steve. The mage immediately scoffed -- though playfully -- at the name. He hated it, though he had to admit it was funny. Steve. "Sod off," he simply replied. The shame was that he couldn't even think of a proper retort. How did one turn 'Arkash' into something even more strange?

Right after that, though, the other man posed what was the beginning of a question to him. "Sure thing," the Argent nodded. Another glint of a smile formed on his lips -- that was, until the question was actually asked, after which his brow furrowed and he chuckled lightly underneath his breath. "How do you get away with talking like you have a bar of soap in your mouth all the time?" he asked. This time, at least, he had a retort. "Must be the same way I get away with flapping my gums: no one's listening."

Though it appeared that Arkash was. Regardless of their momentary, insulting banter, his tune changed: he told the Sil'norai that Atharen could use more men like him. The truth was -- the Elf very much agreed, knowing that if people with power actually used it to the benefit of others, they would live in a much brighter land. Yet... he did not wish to sound so self-congratulatory, and so he only silently nodded, letting another brief smile flash before he opened the portal and led the other man to his home.

As he stepped through, he immediately moved to his table to pick up one of his silver rings, the diamond shape of a vine encrusted along its length. He looked into the vanity to ensure he looked proper, and well, considering he was soon to be meeting with other members of the Covenant in order to acquire the Rathari his arm. Aesthetic Cohesion -- their tenet of always appearing put-together, attractive, seamless -- had truly seeped in. If not outright vain, 'Stephan' certainly was meticulous.

Behind him, as he quickly worked at a stray hair that needed to be clipped, lumbered forward Arkash who was eminently dizzy. He practically barreled into the mage's dresser, only to recollect himself before long, though still waiting for the dizzy sensation to pass. Taelian did not pay him much mind: it was so typical a reaction that he was used to it, at this point. He simply eyed him from the periphery of his mirror and continued his work.

What was that? Arkash questioned. "The portal," Taelian replied. "It tends to disorient those unused to its sensation. A few more movements through, though, and you will find yourself as comfortable as stepping through an actual, physical doorway. As for where we are: this is the Northern Lodge. It is the headquarters of the Pact, the mage-faction instrumental to this rebellion. My own organization, the Covenant, is deeply allied to them to the point where we may absorb them into our fold. This in particular, is my room," he explained. It was a regal abode; velvet drapes, satin sheets and a beautiful wooden canopy that covered the entire view of the roof over his bed. He had a corner with chairs and a simple end-table for discussion and tea, and then a table near the center for dining. There was even a path to a humble kitchen, and an offshoot to a bath.

What was his 'room' might have been defined as a home to others. He certainly owned a much larger one in Atinaw, but what he had surrendered in size had been exchanged for the exquisite and modern nature of each furnishing. He had never slept in so comfortable a bed. This was, essentially, the life of a Celebrant. He did not yet hold the rank, but he held the comfort, and much of the influence.

"Sorry -- I have to make myself presentable. City-winds, portal-jumps, they can... uh, make one look a bit winded. Now -- I had a question for you, Arkash," he turned to the lizard-man. "What sort of Rathari are you? A Beastalt, Neoalt...? I'll need to know so that the arm doesn't look splendid on one form and out-of-place on another. Wylen will be the one making it for you, but I'm sure he can build one capable of taking on multiple different properties, or external appearances. Oh -- and your missing eye," Taelian remembered, nodding. "What was its color?"

[Arkash]

Somehow, he knew that the half-blood would hate his chosen name. Ser Steve. Taelian's response to the name only pulled his lips in a wide, cruel grin. It worked well, regardless of Taelian's feelings about it. Arkash was a nameless lizard, most people would assume him simple and disrespectful, and his choice of name reflected that well. Did he want people thinking he was simple? Better that than dangerous. Besides, he found a certain glee in tormenting the God Mage and causing trouble.
Which was precisely what led to his undoing, when the returned fire for the achy mouth comment. Arkash's jaw hung partially agape, though his lips were dry of venom. "Ser Steve c'n 'old 'is own," Arkash replied after a moment's pause, "noted!" He deserved that, he supposed, but at least Taelian was a good sport.
So, he followed the man through the hole in the world, and found himself spinning, dizzy, and somewhere entirely different. The air was warm and dry and the scent of lumber filled his nose and lungs with every draw of breath. While he sat on the floor and held his head to steady it, details poured through his one yellow eye and the image of the room set upon his mind. It was... Lavish, incredibly so.
A glance to the bed put the soft-looking rest in his line of sight, far nicer than anything Arkash had ever seen before. Just a month or so ago, Arkash had slept in a real bed for the first time; it was unfortunate that the memory was tainted with the smell of Cojack's rotting body, but he did sleep well that night. The bed of the room he rented in Lienburg was... subpar, but still far more comfortable than the fur throw he'd slept in all his life.
Once his head had finally stopped spinning, Arkash groaned and pushed himself to his feet. The cause of his nausea was the portal, as Taelian put it. "Th' paw-tul?" he returned, then pursed his lips as his stomach settled. It felt as though his chicken had decided to spill itself onto Taelian's floor after all, but it was a false alarm, as naught but air escaped and rushed through the gap in his lips with a low exhale. "'Ew mean 'em 'oles 'ew maek? Door-sorta thin's?" That was what they were called, Portals.
While Taelian explained their location, Arkash looked between the furniture and himself. He was... Quite dirty, unkempt. He'd warn the same unwashed leathers since the day he bought them; some month prior. He could get away with it, as he didn't sweat as humans did. But that didn't mean his clothes didn't gather marks and stains while he traveled. Random patches of dirt showed on his boots and breaches with blotchy patches of god-knows-what else littered his tabard. Food? Old gore? They were sometimes one and the same for him, they could have been either.
Needless to say, he felt and looked quite out of place among the clean and neat interior of Taelian's room. The sight made him feel filthy and urged him to take a bath, but no such relief was his. A glance to his claws showed the calloused, warn scales that rested in patches beneath his fingers. It was hard to believe the people that lived there had come from the same place as he had, worse even. Some of them were homeless, living on the streets as Taelian had said. Arkash had always considered himself lucky to have a roof over his head, and the fact that he could watch the night sky through it made him all the more fortunate.
With something of a forlorn frown, Arkash approached the bedding and looked over the embroidered fabrics. Stretches of woven silk and golden thread littered the entirety of the quilt, along with seamless stitchings of little flowers in different shades of red. The fabric had been dyed and stitched and worked a hundred times over, and only served as some nondescript item in Taelian's room. The amount of time and effort put into such detail boggled his mind - Who would have the patience to create something so beautiful, just to see it taken for granted daily? Someone that wants money, he supposed.
It saddened him to some extent, though he didn't know why. If he'd had even one possession as valuable as the pieces in Taelian's room, or if he'd had the soul to create something so beautiful for an aristocrat to squander, he, Cojack, and Liu would all be living somewhere far away from the rotten kingdom of Lorien. Hell, if he'd met someone like Taelian some eight years ago... he stopped himself as a burn began to creep into his throat. He couldn't know for sure what could have been, though some part of him recognized he'd lived on the darkest path for a long time before that day.
Would things get better? Would his struggle ever come to an end? Some part of him wished it so, but the poison in his heart, his proud, stubborn spite, wanted only retribution. It cared not what came of him, so long as his jaws were painted red.
Taelian's voice called, and pulled the young rathari from his thoughts. Arkash took a deep breath through his nose and swallowed hard to try and dislodge the choking sensation, and cleared his throat. "Youer fine," he returned quietly after the man's apology, then pulled himself away from the bedside. He couldn't stand to admire the embroidery any longer.
Was he a Neoalt or a Beastalt? Such was a matter of debate. Taelian clearly had quite a lot of knowledge on rathari, however. As much as asmodei, it seemed, who'd lived in rathari land for a lot of his life. Curiously, both Asmodei and Taelian had sigilic pyromancy, too. He had to wonder if it originated in Atinaw. "Neoal', I tinks..." Arkash grinned a little uncomfortably. It was always embarrassing to admit that one didn't know what they were, but Arkash had never been educated on such things by Cojack and Liu.
"I can' transform tho', so migh' as well be Beas'alt." If Taelian asked why, or if he didn't, Arkash would follow up with "I didn' 'ave a Comin' O' Aege Ceremuny." He did wonder if it would have made a difference to have a human form from his eighteenth birthday onward, but again, he couldn't change the past. Maybe he wouldn't have been beaten as hard? Maybe the overseers would have paid him more for hard labor. It would have helped, he imagined.
His new arm would have the ability to transform as he did, apparently. That was if Arkash ever had a ceremony. Even so, it was a nice detail to consider, and a gentle smile on his lips relayed his gratitude for the half-blood's thoughtfulness.
"Me eye?" Arkash asked as he reached his right claw to the left side of his face. There, he carefully felt along the broadsword scar that mangled his left side and forced his lip to curl upward with its tightness. The eye there was white, dead, and unmoving. He believed himself lucky to have an eye at all after being hit with a broadsword. "Yellow," he answered, then pointed to the eye on the right side of his face. "Jus' like 'iss one."
He furrowed his brow a little while he considered the question. "'Ew didn' say nuffin bout me eye," Arkash clarified with a glare. Finally, he approached Taelian, and looked him up and down. The disparity between them was pitiful, he didn't know how an urchin such as himself could become something like that, but it hurt to think about. "Well, 'ew prissied up nice. But dun' 'ew need a minit t' liek..." he paused while he squinted, thinking of something witty to remark as he looked the half-elf up and down. "...Powda' youer wig?"

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[Taelian Edevane]

He was intrigued upon learning of the other man's nature -- a Neoalt, yet one who could not transform. He hadn't had his 'Coming of Age Ceremony' - whatever that was. While the Argent had learned a sufficient amount about the Rathari from living in Atinaw, and working closely with many, he still hadn't the faintest clue on a wide number of topics. They were a complex race, far moreso than most others. "That's a shame," he said. "How old do you have to be to transform, then?" the mage asked. In most cultures, a 'coming of age' happened at a certain age . . . he did not imagine that some ceremony, or lack thereof, would actually inhibit the man from being able to transform.

Taelian finished gussying up, wiping wet fragrances along the length of his neck, collar and lower jaw, making him smell vaguely of lilacs or -- some other, similar flower. He smiled faintly as he peered into the mirror, examining himself one more time before leaning against the wooden frame before the vanity, his eyes meeting Arkash's one own, the yellow one he referred to. "Right," he replied. He had met a number of Rathari with heterochromia, but he supposed on second thought that the color didn't translate into their beast form. Yellow, then, it would be.

"I didn't say anything about your eye, no. But if I'm going to bring you all this way, we're fixing that eye. It's not an order, of course, but it's a strong recommendation. Don't you think you'll be able to enjoy the world better without shoddy depth perception and sight?" he asked.

Pressing his palms into the frame of the vanity-table, he brought himself back to standing upright, before crossing his arms over his chest. The mage smirked as Arkash further teased him; the class disparity between them was palpable, as thick as it got. He could only imagine that once he returned to the Citadel Gallows, many of his Ebon Knight peers would be teasing him the same way. He supposed it was good to be ready for it now.

"No wig to be powdered, here. Just these beautiful locks," Taelian teased, running his fingers through his hair. "I'm glad you think I 'prissed up' well, though. You know: I do have a valet that's roughly your size. You sure you wouldn't like to borrow some of his attire? You could be a very regal-looking lizard. You'd at least invite a surprised reaction from the posh nobles walking around the Lodge, rather than a purely disdainful one," he said. Taelian stepped across the surface of his elaborate rug to the ornate hall, which led into a large bathroom before opening up at the end of the corridor to reveal the kitchen. Partway through -- at the entrance to the bath -- he stepped inside and began to prepare a number of soaps and fragrances, before plugging the drain and preparing the warm water to run.

He'd not had anything like this, anywhere else he'd been. Lorien's technology was something he had still need to get used to -- but it was an incredible boon.

"Come on, then, Mr. Scales. You can use my bath to get comfortable and clean. In the meantime, maybe I'll prepare a powdered wig for you. Would you prefer a pony-tail in the back, or a long-flowing mane?" he laughed. Taelian didn't actually have one -- they were probably half a century out of vogue -- but he was sure he could find one, somewhere. That would be a hilarious sight: Arkash, with a powdered wig and fancy, Celebrant-like clothes. He wasn't sure if the man would possibly be able to look and be more uncomfortable.

"While you bathe, I may go and speak to Wylen to ready his... operating table, and his retinue of arm-models. This should be a fairly elaborate process, and I think he'd rather be prepared. I can probably match what I've seen of your arm to one of his forearm templates. Mind being alone here for a while?" he questioned. It showed some level of trust, allowing the man to remain here alone. The truth was, though, Taelian had few or no valuables here. What money he had was in his bank account, and the meaningful things that he owned were all at Ard Sgiath.