Whole

[Arkash]

72nd of Ash, 120

It didn't fit. How could it? No matter how hard he tried or strained the fabric, he couldn't fold it enough to squeeze in. It wasn't as a matter of trying hard enough, as Arkash pressed until it radiated a dull throbbing ache at the base of the appendage. He knew not why, but the difficulty brought on intense feelings of frustration and misery, but it didn't take much to topple the lizard's thin sanity.
It was his tail. He tried so desperately to fold the appendage against himself and squeeze it into the fine pants Taelian had offered him, but it was too thick at the base. Layers of fat and muscle hindered its flexibility, and he could use it for little more than a club or a counterweight while running. What was more was his lower legs, and the way they pulled at the fabric with their extended ankle joint. It was... incredibly uncomfortable, and it felt as though he'd rip the seams with so much as a bend of his legs.
He'd always known that the world was made for humans and elves, his experiences with chairs had taught him such. But to know that the fact ran so deep that Arkash couldn't even dress like them, to pretend to be one of them for even a day, stung.
He stood at Taelian's vanity, staring into the yellow of his one eye in an effort to ignore the mangled left side of his face while he leaned forward and rested on his stump arm while his claws pulled at the lip of the pants he tried to squeeze into from behind. He didn't want to break them or cut a hole in them just so that he could fit in.. Well, he did, but he wouldn't. It was Taelian's trousers, not his. Unknown to him, his claws had already frayed the fabrics there and left several scrapes and peeling threads in wake of his frustration. His arm shook with strain and his teeth bared at the pain while he tried so desperately to fit the lip of the garment over the base of his tail.
Tears born of frustration and agony ran from the right side of his face while he actively bent and forced the joint out of shape in a crazed effort to make it work to no avail. His tail was an extension of his spine; he'd need to effectively break his back to make it work. Luckily, the fabric gave way to his claws before his bones or his will did, and he tore four long streaks in the fabric with a sudden jolt that saw him lurch forward in a sudden jerk.
Outraged and hurt, Arkash slammed his fist on the table of the vanity and curled both his arm and his stump around his head as he pressed his face into the surface. There, he cried and sniveled pathetically into his scuffed, scarred scales. As the adrenaline of his obsessive-compulsive frustration receded, the white-hot agony at the base of his spine set in and left his whole body tender and raw with its radiance. Arkash lifted his head to see his streaming eye while he came down and caught his breath, then glanced at the reflection of his claw. As he unfurled the tightly-wound digits, he found a scrap of fabric that had been ripped from the pants, all jagged and frayed around the edges.
His immediate reaction was a frustrated, pain-laced sigh that saw him rest his head against the table again, followed by a press of his open palm into the fine wooden surface. Next, he resolved to remove the pants and surrendered whatever hope he had of ever fitting in. It was made for humans, not for the likes of him.
It felt as though the base of his tail throbbed as he stepped out of the legholes, though Arkash returned his gaze to the broken stare that peered from the mirror. There, he saw the flipped brand that had been carved into his chest, still a scar. He'd hoped it would fade as his scales shed, but it never did. His eye once again lifted to his reflection while he traced the scar with his claw. Perhaps the world wasn't meant only for humans, perhaps he was just too broken and jagged to fit anywhere.
After wiping the tears from his cheek, Arkash took a step back and collected the pants. A glance around the room set his eye on the window on the far wall, and he quickly stepped over and unlocked the mechanism with the use of his one hand while his jaws clenched the ruined pants. Taelian couldn't discover what he'd done, so Arkash threw the frayed, torn pants from the window and watched with his one eye as the billowing winds caught it. Like a flag, it flowed and glided through the open air before disappearing somewhere in the white-out beyond Arkash's range of vision. Hopefully, it wouldn't be discovered.
With an exhale, he shut the window, then shivered a little at the resulting chill. A glance to his discarded garments yielded a nod of affirmation, and he began to lay them out on the floor, and gave them a brief wipe-down with his cold bath water to remove any loose grime and stains before he began to dress in them once again. Oh-so-carefully, he eased his tail into the sleeve stitched to his breaches, then hissed as the fabric wrapped the bruised scales in the area. It hurt, but so long as he didn't try hitting anyone with it, he would be fine in time, he believed.
He'd hoped to walk the halls to wherever Taelian was with impressed, approving looks, but he'd weathered repulsion and disgust so many times that it barely phased him. Though, he knew he was hardly in the mood for such sneers in his emotional state. So, he resolved to ignore them before his eye met his dagger where it rested on the bed. The chrome blade with blue embroidery on the handle; the same knife that had been used to carve the brand on his chest a few months prior. Just in case, he assured himself as he tucked the blade into his boot, then straightened up and looked to the door. He somehow had to find Taelian in the building that... Honestly seemed quite large when he considered how far off the ground he was.
With a sigh, he leaned over the bed and lowered his nose to the sheets before he carefully pulled the quilt aside. There, he drew a lungful of air and collected the half-elf's scent, which...oddly smelled more akin to an elf, with so little human in it that Arkash couldn't tell by the scent alone that Taelian was a mixed-breed. Maybe his lover's an elf, he figured, and straightened up when he had the scent he needed.
A deep exhale saw him expel the various smells, and he straightened out the sheets once more before he proceeded to the door and sniffed at the air. His odor clung to the air in the path he'd most recently traveled, so Arkash stepped out into the hall and reached with his hook to pull the door closed behind him, only to realize that he hadn't brought it with him. It was still in his Inn room in Lienburg. His nostrils yielded another exhale as he pulled the door shut, then proceeded down the halls, following the scents in a trail before him.
He could spend eons marveling at the work of the building, and how much time it might have taken someone to craft and design each hall, but he focused so little on his damaged sense of sight that he barely took notice. Instead, he proceeded quickly and without pause. All the disapproving scowls and glares were ignored, and he arrived at the room Taelian had entered after a short trek and a few flights of stairs. A deep exhale left him and he fluttered the lid of his one eye as he gripped the handle, then turned it and let himself in with a peek of his head. It opened to the left, so his blindside was the first thing to enter. Arkash squinted and took a few short, sharp sniffs through his nose to confirm whether or not Taelian was there before he opened the door fully and entered without knocking.
Wylen looked to the interruption with something of a disapproving glance to Taelian but spoke nothing of the rathari's poor manners. A clearing of his throat poised to snatch the elf's attention while he stared off into space and a motion of his head aimed his attention to Arkash as the rath turned to put his sighted side on the pair. Arkash focused on both of them for a moment with his eye wide and his lips pursed to the best of his ability.
After an uncomfortable silence, Arkash lifted his one set of claws and gave the two a wave of greeting. "Hia," he spoke in tandem, then looked over the table that Wylen loomed over, and saw a severed arm lying there, covered partly in scales and skin alike. Its digits were claws, shaped like his own. It almost looked as though it was his own severed arm, it caught him off guard, and he froze while he looked upon it. His immediate instinct told him he'd walked into some scene of brutality where someone had just lost their arm, but that wasn't the case at all, and reason unwound him from his defensive stance. "Uhh, thank 'ew, sers. I'm propa' chuffed 'bout 'iss new arm, an' I p'omise t' make it up to th' both of ya's." What else was he supposed to say? It seemed proper to express gratitude.
"You can start by knocking next time," spoke the lanky, thin human with the beginnings of a grin.
Arkash's one eye widened, and he looked to the door in a fluster. He'd forgotten to knock? Damn it all! He was already off to a bad start. "Ah-! Sorry!" He returned with a visible cringe. He'd never had to learn such manners living in a one-room house his whole life, though he knew it was proper, just not a habit he'd ever developed.
Wylen merely shook his head lightly with an audible 'tut', then looked at Taelian a glance before he proceeded with the grafting of scales. "Ser Lange tells me you need a new eye, too. Is that right?"
Ser Lange? Oh, Taelian. That was right, the half-elf(?) had asked Arkash to address him as Stephan in public. "Uhh, ye. Steff's a real pal. I propa' owe 'im one."

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[Taelian Edevane]

"Wylen," he called out to the other man, as he seated himself in the corner of the... laboratory, he would call it. "About this Rathari -- I realize that altruistic healing isn't particularly aligned with your function here, but you've done much more for me in the past. Saving Eleanor, and the like. I would very much appreciate it if you could do me this favor. After this, we could even call it square."

The Necromancer chuckled, once, turning up his nose as he continued his work in adding scales to the arm. He brought his Sinew Cloth to the base of the forearm and began to measure, before adding chunks of scales at once, burnishing them in shortly after doing so. "Eleanor was a life-long friend of yours, and a powerful Sigilic Pyromancer. An asset against the Dranoch threat that is still-now creeping onto our doorstep in Melitene. I do not consider healing her to be a favor to you. This, however, is very much one. Besides -- you are aware that this is the nexus of our side of the war? Our headquarters. It is a private place, with countless, classified ongoings. You cannot allow any random, wounded stranger off the street into the Lodge, Stephan."

He smiled, shifting slightly in his seat as he peered towards the other man and his preparations. "My apologies, Wylen. Though from what you've told me about your intentions in healing Eleanor, it appears that we're not even. So -- why don't I use whatever favors I have left with you to make you forget my indiscretion?"

"Surely, Ser Lange. Now -- what color did you say the eye was, again?" he asked.

"Ah... Y13, I'd say was the shade. You may want to wait to see it yourself, though -- I'm not all too familiar with your numbered terms, yet, Mr. Elben." Shortly after Stephan spoke, the door began to open, and Arkash peered into the room before stepping in. The Argent could tell that he had bathed, though he'd not taken it upon himself to wear any sort of fanciful clothing. It still, somehow, had not occurred to the mage that Arkash wouldn't have been able to fit his tail through without having the outfit specially tailored; the same sort of issue that Riven used to have. Stephan had even picked up sewing and clothes-making specifically for him, to ensure that he could always have someone around capable of making him proper attire. It had been some time, though, since he'd last picked up the needle.

Still, he was glad to see the other man. It was exciting to know that his life would be so dramatically changed; so many difficulties were soon to be overcome. He could live almost as normal, without whatever trauma had wounded him so eternally looking back at him in the mirror. Though Wylen chastised him for forgetting to knock, the Ebon Knight knew he did not mean his comment seriously. It wasn't any sort of disrespect; he was excited for his arm, and the pale, blond-haired man understood that. He was -- perhaps -- equally excited to give it to him. Wylen enjoyed the beauty of transformation, and restoration. He was a Necromancer because he loved to be one. Among all of his World Magics, it was his favorite trade to ply.

The man gestured Arkash onto the bed, which appeared to tilt diagonally somewhat. There were restraints -- belts, buckles and bands -- along the edges, waiting to be used. The man would wrap them around Arkash once he laid down, softly informing him that it was merely to ensure that everything set right, and into place, the first time. Amputations in order to re-align limbs were far from his -- or his patient's -- favorite thing to experience.

Wylen continued to add scales to the arm, until they were nearly all set into place. After each batch was set, he would burnish them, to ensure they remained a permanent aspect of the arm. Interestingly, rather than lodging the scales into the human-looking skin, he simply overlayed them as if they were a leather layer of clothes. Once each scale was set and the arm perfectly matched the tone and shape of Arkash's other, he nodded towards his work, and gestured for Stephan to pick it up. It was always good to have a helping hand to steady his own, or so he would often say.

"This arm has a property that I designed for you. When you transform into your human-like state, the adrenaline released during the transformation should cause for the scales to recede into the arm, almost being absorbed by it like droplets of water. The arm will appear human until you transform again, at which point they will steam out through the skin and reform on its surface. I know it may sound odd, but, Necromancy can borrow traits from a variety of animals. The chim-lepers of Atharen's southern tip are known to function in such a way, and I happened to have a sample of one's own limb as a template," he explained.

Stephan gripped the Rathari's shoulder firmly, and pulled back his sleeve so as to align the stub with the man's new arm. It had all healed over, obviously, though the mage was aware that Wylen wouldn't want to connect the new arm to mended flesh. Meat had to connect to meat, and skin had to continue with skin. He was... a perfectionist with his trade. That meant the saw; that meant cutting open an old wound, slicing off the stub that had mended before sewing on the forearm with Sinew Threads.

Wylen grabbed a jar of what was labeled 'sleep foam' from his cupboard, opening it and pulling out a gob of thick jelly. He offered it to Arkash with a spoon: "Eat," the Necromancer demanded. After he did, falling asleep would only take a matter of moments, during which the whole procedure would be done. A saw through the arm to open up bloodied, tender flesh... Sinew Threads to connect the new arm to the base of his old. Then, a gouged eye to make room for a new one, weaving threads and connectors together before actually implanting the curious yellow orb within.

The Necromancer did not stop there. He stripped Arkash nude, and searched for imperfections. Injuries, scars, all manner of unseemly things. Stephan thought not to stop him as he tied thread by thread, connected refurbished scale by refurbished scale, returning Arkash likely to the state intended for him by birth. The wounds of the past would be mended over by his steady hand, as the Argent worked tirelessly to fetch him tool by tool, and whatever other ointment or chunk of tissue he wanted.

Hours passed, to ensure that everything was right; no blood forming within his limbs, no cause for concern or infection. His newly placed scales and mended flesh aligned symmetrically. Everything was right, by the end.

Arkash would eventually awaken. By the time he would, he would find himself placed upon the velvety bed of Stephan's room, without Wylen or his laboratory present. Stephan had called Konrad in at one point to prepare a meal for him -- two, in fact -- as he awaited the opening of the Rathari's new, peering eyes, no longer inhibited by his damaged white stare.

He had a new arm, and an old face. One without all the blemishes upon it. Stephan hadn't thought to bring that bit up to him, before, but he knew that Wylen wouldn't let the wounds remain. The mage couldn't imagine wanting to keep them, anyhow. "Look in the mirror," he would ask of him, as the Rathari rose. "You are what the Gods intended for you, before man took that fate away."

[Arkash]

It was an odd little room, the likes of which Arkash had never seen before. Granted, he hadn't been to too many places outside of where he worked and the rickety shack he once called home, but the various apparatus that lined the walls and adorned the tables drew the hold of his one yellow eye while he made his introduction. It was cool, he thought, similar to the story of an alchemist's laboratory his parents had shared with him while he was a hatchling. Liu and Cojack always told him tales of the fantastical places they'd visited before they came to Lorien. Though he'd not thought he'd get the chance to see such things for himself, there he was, meeting a necromancer in his lab.
Arkash was gestured to the bed, and he cringed a little at the thought, though it hardly showed on the mangled side of his face. He didn't really want to lay on his back with his tail in a state, but if it was just a little more pain before he got his arm back, who was he to fuss? It had never stopped him before. The diagonal lean would help to alleviate pressure on his tail a little, anyway. It was only as Arkash drew close that he recognized the straps and the braces. Some voice in his head assured that they wouldn't need to strap him down for the procedure, and he believed it, only to wind up getting strapped down anyway.
Arkash didn't fight back, but he hated it. He recognized Wylen's words to be true, for he'd squirmed and reeled a number of times while cleaning out his own wounds, and it only made the procedures worse. So, he had to be restrained. At first, he experienced a mild, ignorable discomfort, but the longer he waited there in that bed, the harder his heart beat and the thinner the air grew around him. He was trapped, unable to reach the knife in his boot. Instinct urged him to break free by any means necessary, but he didn't struggle, aside from pulling tight on his restraints.
He was fine, he was safe. He at least believed so on the surface, Wylen and Taelian weren't the sorts of people to attack him, but past lessons were hard to ignore. He'd never thought Barry would attack him, but those were different circumstances. While Wylen worked on the scales of his arm, Arkash managed his breathing and tried to untangle the mess in his mind.
Soon enough, Taelian claimed his new arm. It felt as though an eternity had passed, but it was almost over, he assured himself. He could last a bit longer. The necromancer went on to explain the feature he'd added to the design. It would transform with him? Taelian had something about such an arm, but... The application was messy in his head. Wylen did a good job of explaining, but Arkash was no necromancer, and without the fundamental knowledge of the art he'd never understand. He didn't know what a chim lepper was either, but it sounded cool all the same. If anything, the talking helped distract him and draw him from his mild anxiety attack.
"Thank'ew, Ser," he spoke quite quietly. He didn't know how difficult such a feat was to manage, but Wylen seemed proud of his work. "I really can' thank 'ew enuff for i'ss," declared the rath with a wistful longing. No one had ever done anything so kind for him before, and Taelian was willing to give it to him for nothing at all had Arkash not contested such a decision. It really was difficult to express enough gratitude; all the words he meant to speak were stuck in his mouth as if caught in a tangle of strings that rooted them in his chest.
Before he could say anything more, Taelian gripped his shoulder, and Arkash shut his eye tight. The spot had been tender and weak since the day he'd been run through. The mage likely feel the muscles there twitching and pulling against the press of his hand as the rathari's frayed nerves broke into a second spasm attack. The twitching saw his head tilt slightly to the left in short, sharp tugs, but it wasn't of any major intensity.
As Wylen stepped away to fetch his undisclosed medicine, Arkash looked to Taelian with an uncomfortable crane of his neck, then returned his gaze forward. "I didn' wanna ge' youer clo'es bloody," he explained - which was surely an inevitability in an intense medical procedure. His heart still raced in his chest, but as he'd discovered just a little bit prior, talking helped. He really did want to wear the fancy clothes Taelian had offered him, but some things just weren't meant to be. He'd said it a lot already, it almost felt like too much, but he didn't know what else to say. "Thank 'ew, for th' bath, th' clo'es, th' trip, 'iss... Thanks f'r ev'rythin'."
Wylen approached with his spoonful, and the order was issued. Right, Arkash could probably use painkillers for being operated on. He had a high tolerance for it, but he didn't want to be in agony for the entire procedure, so, he accepted the spoonful with his crooked lips, pushed it to the back of his throat, and swallowed. It wasn't particularly tasty, but what medicine ever was? Cojack had hated his too, and... he was out. His head came to rest limply against the bedding, and the strain in his binds slackened when he was no longer able to tense his body. His lips naturally parted slightly while his head rested to the right, and his forked tongue hung loosely from his jaws.
There were no complications to the procedure, and Arkash's body received the limb and new eye well. When his clothes were stripped, a mural of scuffs and scars was bared to the two. The most noteworthy were the initials B.T, which were carved into his chest scales in long, clean cuts - it was done with a blade. A sizeable puncture scar rested on his left shoulder and carried through to his back, where ladders of long, broad stretch mark resided. Gaps of bright beige broke through his basalt scales where his scales became too dry and broke apart from years of neglect. His arms and legs both were scuffed and scraped to hell from countless tumbles and falls. Hardened patches of tougher scales covered his hands and feet from endless hours of hard labor. There was, of course, the scar that ran the length of his face and pulled at his lip, but the detail-oriented necromancer saw to that, too.
All in all the operation was a complete success, and Arkash was delivered back to the dorm at which Taelian resided. There, he steadily regained consciousness, then opened both his eyes with his restored eyelids, and promptly widened them with a sharp draw of breath through his eye. He was groggy, hazy, and weak, and he hadn't fully realized it, but both his eyes were working. They flickered as his eyelids fluttered, then he loosed all his gathered breath in a great big exhale.
With a groan, he sat up in the embroidered bedding, then reached the claws of his left arm for his face, where he rubbed at his new eye and paused. His scar was gone, furthermore, he was flexing muscles that hadn't worked, or even existed in months. As still as the grave, Arkash carefully lowered his fresh set of claws from his eye and opened it to focus after a few experimental blinks. He was dressed in simple white linen clothes, with a fresh arm and a view of his whole body instead of just his right side. He trembled, and carefully turned the arm over to inspect the claws before returning his palm to his field of view. There, he curled his claws into a fist and squeezed with... An unfamiliar degree of tension, but it still worked right all the same.
He was breathless, caught in a wave of shock and awe. Quickly, he pulled down at the sleeve and inspected the elbow, where his stump had previously rested. it was no more, there wasn't so much as a scar there to herald the replacement of his limb. It was his arm, even if the musculature didn't feel quite right just yet, it was still his. Arkash gripped the arm with his other and squeezed tight. He pulled on it aggressively, and it hurt. It was real. It was really, truly, real. Both his eyes welled with tears, and his lip quivered while he stared. It was as though he'd woke from a terrible dream; like it was all some cruel trick that his mind played on him during his slumber. Tears streamed down his cheeks, though he made no sound aside from the occasional sniffle.
As he looked up from the limb with teary eyes, his gaze settled on Taelian, who remained in the room with him. The smell of hot food filled his nose while he breathed, but he paid it no mind. Both his claws glided to the sides of his face, where they wiped away his tears. There, a raspy, ragged exhale left him, and he drew a deep breath to try and compose himself before the invitation to look himself in the mirror was offered. Without a word, he looked at the giant with his cheeks still glistening, then pushed into the sheets to meet the floor with both his feet. His balance had returned, though he'd calibrated himself for his missing arm. So, he stumbled at first, then caught himself with both hands on the lower frame of the bed. It was incredible, his range of movement and degree of control, it almost felt like the last one. But it was by no means inferior in any way.
After a moment of adjusting, he let go of the bed frame and approached the vanity, where he leaned forward on the table and looked himself in the eye with both sides of his face. His horrific scar was gone, his lip had finally lowered and his mouth was airtight again. It really was as if the past few months had just been some awful nightmare - he didn't have a single mark to show for any of it. With time, maybe he could forget all the horrors the world had subjected him to?
After a few moments of staring at his old face, Arkash looked to Taelian. It was as the gods had intended for him, whatever that meant. Some lump bundled in his throat and burned while he peered at the giant. Though he tried to draw a deep breath and calm himself, he still found tears in his eyes and a tremble in his lip. He still hadn't said a word since he woke, but he did take a step or two toward the half-elf, only to quickly close the remainder of the gap and wrap his arms around the man the best he could. Into Taelian's shirt, he sobbed and whimpered quietly. For a short time, the nightmare was over.

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[Taelian Edevane]

He had to admit that some part of him -- a part that he felt had fallen quiet since he'd arrived here, leaving Riven and Ard Sgiath behind -- felt awoken by the sight of the renewed Arkash, who appeared so gleefully confused at the sight of what he had become. Or... perhaps, more accurately, what he had returned to being: a strong and capable lizard-man, not the mangled and unsightly beast he must have seen himself as before. The grim complexion of the lizard likely painted his self-reality: made him view himself, and therefore his only fate, as being that of a monster without the chance for redemption. But what he had now was the visage of a different fate; a chance for becoming something else, for living a different life.

It brought something of a tear to his own eyes, perhaps a few -- though they sat, glistening, above his lower lash rather than falling down his cheeks. As he closed his eyes, they almost disappeared. The other man continued to stare into the mirror, observing himself. He appeared almost dumbstruck -- like he wasn't sure what to think, or perhaps whether it was even real. The lizard began to cry, wholly, at which point Taelian did too. He let his own tears fall, then, as his own throat cleared to give way for a quiet, single sob. He was glad that Arkash was happy, and he did not even know why. It just felt good to do something right; something good beyond a shadow of a doubt. To mend a man who had been so broken by their shared, unseemly world.

The Knight wrapped his arms around the other man as he came in for his embrace, sobbing wet tears into the fabric of his shirt, his long, scaled face pressing into his chest. The mage quietly patted his back, and rubbed near its center, trying to comfort him as best as he could.

His eyes wandered off for a moment, as he thought on everything that had come. He closed his gaze at the thought of that fiery beam rending apart the other man, ending his life. Taelian was so glad he hadn't killed him -- sometimes, he almost forgot how valuable people were. How much they could mean, even to him. All of the wars he had fought in failed to remind him of the meaning of the lives he fought for.

"Why don't we wait a little while before we go back to Lienburg, yeah?" he quietly asked. "I had dinner prepared for you. I think you'll be impressed by it; no -- I'm certain you will be. And... I know you may be reticent to 'take' more, considering I've been throwing nothing but stupid-gift after stupid-gift your way, but... you should take a moment to look forward. You have a kind heart, somewhere. I want to see that come to life; I want to see you enjoy this bitter world of ours. It doesn't all need to be destitution."

He could tell how broken he was. It was never more clear than when he trembled him, in tears, only a moment ago. He was no clairvoyant, but he felt something in his clawed arms, and in the way he looked into the mirror for that first time. The hopefulness that had come; it spoke of a life where hope had previously not lived.

But that didn't need to be the case. Arkash -- even Arkash -- had a chance to mean something. To mean more. Though it would have been simple enough to describe the man's reasons as that alone; the thought of redeeming a man's life, simple and pure altruism. At this point, it was something different: he actually cared for him. The Rath meant something to him, and that was reason to keep going.

The mage pondered for a moment. The Coming of Age Ceremony. He wondered if the man never had it, simply because he'd never had enough wealth or friends to enjoy whatever party it was. Maybe not enough family. He really didn't know much about him, Taelian only knew that he wanted to help turn things around. Whatever that meant, whatever the two had to do, they had time.

[Arkash]

It was hard to say why he decided to hug Taelian; it was quite unlike him. But then again, he couldn't remember a time where he'd been as happy as he was. He was crying with relief and joy, and such a reaction was completely alien to him. Perhaps he just didn't know how else to express such an intense feeling? That was probably the case.
For some reason, Taelian cried too. His tears were even more out of place than Arkash's hug, he felt. Taelian wasnt one to wear his heart on his sleeve, Arkash had assessed from their few meetings. Strong emotional reactions weren't typical for him, as he'd been relatively calm after almost killing Arkash. He'd barely flinched when Arkash pulled a gun on him, too. Taelian was quite odd when Arkash really thought about it, but he had that oddness to thank for his chance at a new life. No one else would have bothered to help someone like him.
The bridge of his nose rested against Taelian's chest while he composed himself with a series of sniffles and gasps. He didn't notice it immediately, but there, in the half-elf's arms, he smelled it again. Not so much as a whiff of Taelian's scent resembled human. He was entirely Sil'Norai, but didn't look the part. Originally, he'd thought it was maybe Taelian's spouse that he was smelling, but it was Taelian. Of that, he was certain.
When at last he came down from his emotional high, Arkash pulled away from the embrace and lifted his right claw to wipe the tears from his cheeks while his left remained stationary out of habit. only a moment later did he correct himself, and rub and both his eyes with both his hands. A damp patch rested on Taelian's shirt, born of his tears. A remorseful squint pulled at his eye, and he sighed before his full gaze lifted to Taelian, where he spoke a quiet "sorry."
He really did need to get a handle on his emotions, but such thoughts were distant wants in his wave of euphoria. For once, everything was okay. He found himself strangely comfortable in Taelian's presence. There was no need to break away or put on a facade, but that could have just been the rush of euphoria speaking, or perhaps the work of his kind deeds? Regardless of how he felt in close proximity to the not-human, he nodded his head in agreement. He was in no immediate rush to return to Lienburg, after all.
He stepped away and breathed to himself to steady his lungs while Taelian offered him food. Eating was such a chore; he could scarcely enjoy it because of his difficulty swallowing, but it was a kind gesture, he recognized. Taelian seemed to draw from Arkash's own happiness in some way, so he didn't contest the gift. Instead, he smiled on the left side of his fixed face, and stretched those previously-damaged muscles in doing so. "Y'know," he started. "I migh' jus' 'ave'to work f'r 'ew full-time 'fore I pay off all these faeva's I owe 'ew."
A lifetime of manual labor couldn't pay off what he owed Taelian, he suspected. Everything he'd done meant that much to Arkash, and though he was grateful beyond what words would allow him to express, he wouldn't accept it for free. He would repay the elf somehow.
He wanted to see Arkash experience joy in the bitterness, for the rathari to know that it wasn't all dark and gloomy. He saw kindness in Arkash, which was deeper than he himself could see. Arkash had hurt people, innocent people. He'd demolished families and robbed children of their mothers and fathers with his hatred to fuel his actions and guide his hand. Beyond the initial instance of his crimes, he didn't feel any remorse. Even then, it was only when children were involved that he cared enough to show restraint. He didn't look like a monster anymore, at least not in his eyes, but he was still ugly and broken inside.
Arkash lifted his muzzle skyward and pulled at the wrinkled scales of his neck while he breathed, then stretched out his body. Everything felt right, fresh, new. All the marks from failing to moisturize his scales were gone, all the scars that had been inflicted upon him were erased. He didn't immediately realize that, but he would in time. Once he was done filling his restored form with life, his nose drifted to the smell of hot food, and he approached. As he passed by the mirror, he couldn't help but glance at himself again. For a while, he'd been afraid to see his reflection and actively avoided it in puddles and windows, but that day, he could look at himself and feel... comfortable, happy, content. It was such a change from the downward spiral his life had otherwise been circling.
With a point of his claw to the plate of food, he affirmed it was for him, then claimed it with one hand and began to dig in with his other claws. Though the meats were moist, succulent, and filled with flavor, the fact that he had to chew each mouthful to a pulp was exhausting and drew from the experience. Even so, each bite was like nothing he'd ever eaten before. Even when he was buying food from the tavern following his acquisition of Barry's wallet, the food Taelian had given him blew it out of the water.
He used his claws, whether silverware had been prepared or not, and when he paused in his conquest to consume the entirety of the plate, he sucked his claws clean and wiped off the spit in his linen clothes without much thought. Finally, he swallowed his mouthful and sighed. "'Iss is... Relly good, Taelian," he affirmed as he looked down at the plate, grinned a little, then set it aside. He should at least try to address the things the elf had told him.
"I..." you should take a moment to look forward, the mage had said, "...can't," he confessed. "You've done summin' fackin legendary faw' me, an' I dun' fink I c'n eva' fully repay 'ew. I'ss like I got m'life back, 'ones'ly..." But... A long pause, where he sighed. "...Am a nasty piece o' shite, Taelian," he admitted as he lifted his gaze to the man. "Am haetful, crual, an'... well, violent." Arkash paused, and gauged the man's expression. He'd no doubt surmised that Arkash was a lowlife by now, but could he have imagined that... "M'face is all ova' Nivenhen on wanted posta's - They dun' bova' wiv jail faw' naemless. They jus' wan' me seva'd 'ed." he grinned a little at the confession and recalled their meeting. "Wehn we met, I could'a sworn 'ew was an Argen', afta' me 'ed. I relly thought 'at was it faw' me."
A long pause followed, and Arkash continued to gauge the elf's reaction to the news. "I'ss part'a why I wanna ge' me ova' forms; I c'an star' ova', make sumfin of meself..." Arkash looked away partially, then returned his eyes to the elf while his head pointed toward the floor in a slight decline, a show of humility. "I shoulda told 'ew soona', am sorry..."

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[Taelian Edevane]

He was glad to see the man enjoying his meal. It was clear that it was far beyond the pale for him -- like nothing he'd ever had before. When Taelian first joined the Covenant, he had felt the same way. He'd had food unlike anything he'd ever tasted; the quality, the warmth, the flavor... even the nutrition of it all. He'd become healthier from it, stronger. It was good to share a similar gift to the other man, but without the price tag Eloise had placed; Taelian wasn't asking him to become a mage, or an advocate of his. There was a simple pleasure in bringing joy to another person, particularly when you felt you understood someone well.

Maybe Arkash didn't feel the same -- or didn't see it, at least -- but Taelian saw so much of his own past in the other man's company. It was odd; they were from two separate worlds, yet somewhere they converged. Poverty, he supposed. Being unwanted. Living in an oppressive society, at the very dregs of it all. But then -- having a chance for redemption, for hope.

He told Arkash to look forward, then, believing in some chance for redeeming his life. It was then, however, that the lizard-man rejected the comfort of his words.

"I can't," he replied. Stephan's eyes narrowed, as he peered toward him. Arkash professed something: that he was a nasty man. Hateful, cruel, violent. It was then that the revelation came: he was wanted, his face all over Nivenhain, bounty posters, warnings. As a Nameless, he didn't even deserve a trial. He was likely derogated as the pure example of the foreign filth coming to press their bile into the Rien's lands. A man only deserving of being strung up in the square of Outer Nivenhain and executed before a crowd.

The mage understood that. He had heard things here -- some of it, he had even seen himself. Even Essen, beneath the tolerable Galbrecht's, was no haven for equity. It was a place of moral rot, where the big fish were never sated, and the little ones always starved. This country -- for all of its opportunity, particularly now -- was one built on the platform of intolerance, repression, and fear.

And within it, Arkash was a criminal. He likely would have been one even by Taelian's standards. Yet, he wondered if the other man really had... a choice. Or if the bullying grip of the walls around him had forced his hand.

Taelian couldn't claim to know exactly. He was not capable of divining everything the other man had experienced. What he knew -- what anyone could know, really, if they even tried to look -- was that Arkash did have a goodness in him. He wasn't solely capable of lashing and harming others. He had a want to be something more. He knew grace and gratefulness, at times, and his pride wasn't senseless but that of any reasonable man. He did not only want to take from others, he wanted to give to those who had given to him. He wasn't a scoundrel at heart. That was all clear to him, and so, his crimes -- whatever they were -- felt easier to excuse. He had been pushed too far. That was what Taelian was willing to believe.

He dug into his own food, scraping beans together with his fork, bringing a slice of beef to his lips and taking a bite. He exhaled softly after he swallowed it down.

"Don't apologize," he replied. "You know -- by the standards of Sil-Elaine, I'm a criminal. My mother and father died to disease when I was young, and I got scooped up by the Remedy. I joined the organization at the age of seven, and whether by their will or mine, I eventually became a full Ebon Knight. A revolutionary. I've killed Dranoch of all kinds -- even those I might've thought to have been good. Just because it was my mission, and because I had no other choice; because sometimes, it's kill or be killed," he explained. "We don't always have a choice... or a chance," Taelian said. "But I have given you one now, Arkash. A chance to start over. You can take citizenship in Lienburg, or a proper job here -- you can live with your new arm and your scarless form, hell, you can live in the body of a man so that you're treated fairly, if you want. Or, you can return to Nivenhain and renege back into that life of crime. If you do that, though... you'll be right about yourself. You'll be right to call yourself a nasty piece. But there are other options."

He took another bite, rubbing his lip with his handkerchief. Taelian glanced towards the window of his room, pondering for a moment, before peering back. "If there's anything you need help with for the Ceremony, I can help you. Whatever the case, I think you should stay. You don't have to work for the Lodge, or for Galbrecht, or the Covenant -- but you should take on an honest job, and you shouldn't let yourself be taken advantage of. The life you've been living is no life for a man. This country has treated you like vermin for too long... but it's not the end. You do have another chance, Arkash. No matter what you've done."

[Arkash]

The food was certainly delicious, despite the difficulty Arkash had with it. Though, his trouble swallowing weighed heavier than his broken nerves alone. He was guilty; he'd neglected to tell an honest man of the monster he dealt with, and though Arkash had since expressed such ideas to the elf's face, he hadn't divulged fully into his story. He made no excuses; there were none to make. All he'd done was put himself and his own first. For that, he wasn't sorry. He carried no guilt for fighting against the oppressive hold of the higher castes, though others, he knew, wouldn't sympathize.
Not like Taelian, who seemed to understand Arkash to some extent. He even claimed to be a criminal in his homeland himself. That meant little to Arkash. Every man and elf was born into the mold that higher society shaped for them. The law squeezed and inhibited growth in any direction that didn't benefit its makers. Those that found their own way weren't so much something to be feared and damned as they were to be admired and respected in his eyes. "You's a criminal 'ere, too, dun' forge'," Arkash reminded with something of a smile.
The opposition of another man’s ideals was all it took to brand Taelian a traitor. When one considered that the royalty, nobility, and faith were all on the same level as commoners; ordinary men except in privilege and wealth, there really was nothing to stay Arkash’s blade from their necks.
The fact that Taelian's parents had both perished to disease struck Arkash at his core. For a good few years, Arkash had feared he would lose Cojack to disease. If both he and Liu had fallen ill, he didn't know if he would have made it as far as he had before the sky came falling down. His gaze softened as Taelian spoke, as he knew the pain of watching a loved one wither and decay without being able to help them. It burned in his throat when he recalled all those sleepless nights, but they were in the past. It was a shame that someone as kind as Taelian had lived through that too. "Sorry," he spoke briefly.
Taelian really did have a habit of going on and on in his explanations, and Arkash had made fun of him for it earlier that day. That instance, however, he didn't mind. It offered an opportunity to learn more about the man, then to hear Taelian''s own point of view on Arkash's stance. He offered a lot of insight, advice. He even offered Arkash the option to return to Nivenhain, to return to his life of crime, as if it didn't matter.
Did he want to return to that life? Had he even left? Arkash hadn't considered what came next, or which direction his life was going even once since he woke from his coma. All he knew was hate, rage, and pain. Did he want to continue that path? The answer wasn't as straight forward as one might expect. He had a score to settle, a people to break and a mark to leave. He wanted, needed justice for all the awful things that had befallen him and his family. Without closure, he would never find peace. Liu and Cojack were dead, and it was because of the entitlement and cruelty of humans. Only blood could quell the raging inferno in his heart, but whether or not it would ever fully extinguish was another matter. A toll of flesh was due, and he'd lost his fair share to the call. It was humanity's turn.
But... Was indiscriminate killing for gold really the answer? He had to force change, but he wasn't going about it the right way, he recognized. Was he in too deep? Could he really turn around? Taelian had given him his arm and his eye back, he'd even cleansed him of his scars, all the tales of suffering that painted his scales. Removing the proof didn't rewrite history, it just covered up the story that left him broken. Could he go on ignoring everything that had befallen him? Could he really start anew? No, he couldn't. But then, he couldn't go on killing humans just for being humans. He was no better than they were if he continued that exchange.
Something had to change, something had to give. And so, Arkash came to a crossroad. He looked to the elf as the man took another bite of his food, and a slight grin pulled at the left side of his face. Even then, Taelian tried to help him. "I dunno 'ow t' do i', 'onestly," he returned and reached his claw to hold the back of his head. "...I dunno wha' t' do," he admitted after a brief pause. "Ew'v given me a lo' t' fink abou'." He had to go back to Lienburg to finish his job, there was no doubt about that. Edward was an awful human being that had stabbed his companion in the back to achieve power; such a man deserved death, regardless of the side of the fence Arkash fell on. As for Malafor? Maybe Arkash would end up killing him too, in time. Could that be his new calling? Serving justice where the law failed?
Before he considered it too deeply, Arkash shook his head, then looked back to Taelian. "I still need'ta go back t' Lienburg, then pop int' Nivenhen t' ge' me shi' 'n stuff, but afta', I'll try'n ge' back 'ere, taek 'ew up on 'at." Arkash hadn't considered a future since he woke. Without Cojack or Liu, he'd wandered astray. Perhaps, in Brandt, he could find his way back? What of Asmodei and Fayeth? They'd forget about him, in time. The thought stung as he mulled it over. Would they?
Arkash looked about the room for something to sit on with enough space to drape his tail over and settled on the foot of the bed. He approached and took a seat with something of a silent wince, then cleared his throat. "Maeby once am back, 'ew c'n tell me about wha' th' Remady an' Drenochs is. Oh...!" Arkash thought aloud with a sudden widening of his eyes. "An' tell you's secret on 'ow 'ew changed youer smell t' full elf."

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[Taelian Edevane]

He wasn't surprised to know that Arkash didn't know about his 'Coming of Age' Ceremony. There were so little Rathari in Lorien, that he could imagine certain aspects of their culture and tradition were lost. It was difficult to believe that they were held back from their full... physiology, one could call it, without a cultural ritual. Then again, they were an odd race. "Well, if you find out..." he paused. Let me know would follow after as a whisper, though the Sil'norai evidently appeared somewhat awkward. He had no idea what it would entail, so he wasn't keen on offering too much help, on second thought. Perhaps a Neoalt Rathari had to murder someone and steal their face; he had no clue. If it was anything like magic, then it could've been gruesome.

Either way, it appeared the two of them had essentially concluded their business for the night. He had given Arkash a 'lot to think about', and in a way, that was mutual. Stephan's eyes lowered as he nodded slowly, sort of half-absorbing the environment around him as the other man seemed to do the same. For a moment, they were both lost in their thoughts, until Arkash spoke about 'Dranochs' and the 'Remedy'. The Sil'norai smiled faintly: "It's really not too interesting," he said. That was an utter and total lie, though he wasn't trying to conceal anything from the other man. He would gladly share on the 'struggle' and the 'revolution' to anyone willing to listen, or perhaps more ambitiously, believe him. And most ambitiously of all, care.

He would tell the other man about those things another time, and he would hope him willing to care. For a moment, he thought that would be all he wanted to speak of, but Arkash said something shortly after that caught him off guard. For a moment, he was confused. After, he was simply embarrassed.

"Oh..." he voiced, beneath his breath. "A... full Elf. Yes. Well--" he stopped for a moment, pondering. How much did he want to share...?

The Knight sighed. He supposed, after everything, it was only right to be truthful. Only fair, even, if he was willing to use the word. "I am a full Elf, Arkash. I'm a pure-blooded Sil'norai. This visage you see... it's something of an illusion. My face is mostly similar, but I'm more rugged, my hair has been changed down to the root of my blood, permanently, to a darker shade. My skin has been made tan, enough to conceal the patterns and the gloss. My ears were dulled. I am Stephan Lange, though, don't be mistaken. This is who I am now, changed, different. Perhaps better. And though I present differently, I'm still a Sil'norai. That's the only lie I tell to others: that I'm some halfling, but I know it not to be true."

His lips curled into a slight smile. "I didn't know there was a 'full Elf' smell, to be honest. I'm surprised you found me out so easily. Perhaps the dogs and cats of this place all also know me to be a liar."

[Arkash]

Arkash was a little rough around the edges in most aspects of his life. One of his greatest flaws, perhaps, was his inability to make small talk. There was little opportunity to practice such a thing for a nameless rathari; so few humans would give him the time of day, let alone engage in full-blown conversation with him. It didn't help that he didn't particularly care for small talk, either. Words often failed him, whether the subject of the talk was heavy or light. Perhaps that was why he often spoke as though he had soap in his mouth, as Taelian put it.
His neglect in social development did lead to awkward moments like the brief pause between him and Taelian, where he didn't know how to respond or how to proceed. So, he spun the topic of the conversation on Taelian. They'd spoken enough about Arkash and the troubles he faced, but what of Taelian? Surely, not everything in his life was as tame or perfect as it seemed. That suspicion only grew when Taelian danced around the topic of remedies and dranochs, too.
Arkash eyed the man with a suspicious squint. There wasn't much to tell? How? The remedy had taken him in as a child. It was his life, almost. "Lia'," he spoke as he crossed his arms. "But I wun' interrigaet 'ew. Mebbe sum otha' tiem," he declared with a thoughtful look in his eyes, followed by a dismissive shrug.
The topic shifted to Taelian's scent, and though it was a touchy subject for most, Arkash hadn't the foresight to hold his tongue. It was just something that interested him, and he wished to know the answers. He'd always been curious by nature and found satisfaction in knowing. As it turned out, Taelian was a full elf, which caused his brow to raise. When he considered the applications of necromancy, and how it had fully restored him to ‘however the gods pictured him’, it wasn’t so hard to believe. If anything, the revelation was a good one. No scum was better than half scum in Arkash’s eyes.
”’Splain’s why youer so kine’,” Arkash offered with something of a cheeky grin. Cojack too lacked the senses needed to identify people on scent alone, but he and Liu had shared that ability through his childhood. It wasn’t all that strange, especially when one considered that dogs couldn’t see in color, neither could most mortal races identify different hormones and chemical balances in sweat. On the subject of dogs and cats, Arkash grinned in tandem with a breath of laughter that rolled from his lips. “I doubt ‘ey’ll tell enyone,” he assured with a bow of his head. “‘S’more like I dun’ smell a shred a’ ‘uman on ‘ew. I’ss how I found m’way to th’ lab.”
He looked back to the bed at that and paused to think. As he returned his gaze to Taelian, he looked the man in the eyes. It was still a little overwhelming to see everything with depth again, but he’d lived the far majority of his life with depth perception. He’d re-adjust quickly. “I’m no’ gonna go back t’ me ole’ lyfe,” he affirmed. “I promise I won’ tell enyone about ‘ew or this place, eiva’. S’not liek ‘ey’d believe me, enyway.” He was almost completely sure that it wasn’t what he wanted; a life of crime. Arkash had sampled a taste for the finer things in life, and though he felt a strong desire to live comfortably, something within him, deep past his scales, still wanted fire and blood to drench Lorien.
Next came a harder topic. He had to finish his task. He needed the strength that Malafor offered him. But, would the pursuit of such strength cost him that place? A chance at an honest life? What was more, would he ever see Taelian again? Somehow, he thought so. Arkash hadn’t expected to ever see the man again after threatening him with a gun some week ago, but they’d met by chance that day. Even if they did part ways that day, Arkash was confident they’d cross paths again, eventually. “If tha’s orite wiv ‘ew, I’m redy to ‘ead back now.”
He stood, then collected his leather clothes and his dagger alike in a neat little bundle. Having two arms was so convenient; Arkash couldn’t get over how easy it made everything. “‘Ew betta start writin’ a list of all the faeva’s I owe ‘ew for when I get back ‘ere,” he warned lightheartedly. That’s right. It wasn’t the end, they would meet again in time. Of that, he was certain.

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[Taelian Edevane]

The mage grinned softly as Arkash called out his bluff. "You've caught me," he replied. But -- he still didn't elaborate, not wishing to dedicate much more time to the topic of the Remedy and all of that... unnecessary business. They would have hours and hours, later -- some other time, he imagined. It wasn't really the sort of thing that most people cared about, anyhow. The issues of another country... the issues of another life. Taelian tended to keep such things private. He'd been taught to. And even though it didn't matter what he shared with Arkash, really, it still felt almost... gauche somehow to speak of those distant, unfamiliar things.

He lowered his gaze as the other man called him out on his scent. He'd been doubly revealed to be a liar. His next comment made the Argent laugh lightly, though, as he was told that his lack of human blood was what 'made him kind'. The Sil'norai faintly grinned. "Hrm," he said. "I wouldn't go that far. My people were the original cruel ones -- we enslaved all other races beneath our regime, and sacrificed others for Blood Magic and other forms of short-term power. Many believe that we're what made this world so rotten in the first place; before that, everyone was just living in... disparate, nomadic tribes. We made the world 'civilized' -- but in doing so, invented war, and all manner of things."

Taelian used to believe that Elves were simply better than humans; longer-lived, taller, perhaps even smarter. Certainly kinder. But then he looked to Sil-Elaine, and saw the sheer number of Sil'norai willing to become Dranoch and betray their own kin for comfort, for the vice of control and power. He looked to Aldrin, to their past... to the way they propped up the regime that had enslaved them, and victimized them to the world's first, and still greatest, genocide.

He realized that everyone was roughly the same, at least in terms of their predisposition towards good and bad. Maybe Orkhai or Krish were worse, maybe not. Humans were a mixed bag of things, and in Lorien, he could attribute much of their foulness to the repression the Kindred had subjected them to. Hell, he could attribute it to the Sundering. It had made life hard for everyone in Mornoth, even now -- hundreds of years gone.

"Alright," he softly said, returning to focus. Arkash had made his promise not to go back to his old ways -- Taelian was inclined to believe him. He closed his eyes for a moment, focusing, and before them a tear began to form in space. The wind swirled in a calm vortex, its edges dancing with puffs of cloud-like air. The Rathari wanted to go back, and in truth, the mage himself needed to return to Lienburg as well. He would send them both back, before they would ultimately go their separate ways.

"Four days from now, I'll be at Lienburg's 13th District, 8th Street, the Alley on Grendag Row at exactly eve -- eighteen o' clock. If you show up there, I'll open another portal for you and we can go back to Brandt together. If you truly want to live a better, different life. For now, though -- bye Arkash. I'll see you," he said, before stepping through. The man would be allowed to follow after him, and as he was certain Arkash himself phased through, he would close the portal and disappear into Lienburg's roads.