[Amoren] Knives Out

[Degare]

TIMESTAMP: 13th Rime, Frost, 4621 / 10:41
NOTES: -

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As the sun’s early morning rays shone through the room, the pair of Vandikar within had only been awake for a short period of time. Sitting up and rolling his shoulders a bit, the pale elf looked down at his partner with warm affection in red-amber eyes. “Hope you slept well, dear…” words spoken in a soft voice before his head snaps towards the door as he hears a dainty knock against the fine wood. He squints at it then sees a small sheet of paper slide under the door. It would appear that whoever was there only wanted to drop off a message…at least for the moment.

His expression shifts into something more akin to confusion as an eyebrow raises. “Suppose I’ll go see what that’s about…” he says with a bit of an annoyed sigh. Before he gets up, he leans down and plants a gentle kiss on his lover’s lips. Throwing long, crane-like legs over the side of the bed and onto the floor, he stands and collects the paper in but only a few strides.

‘Lord Socorro,

While your choice in company is really none of my business, or any of the other staff’s, they seem to think that it is. The other Valran find your interest in a Rathor to be…distasteful, and that’s the most polite way I can put it. They’re conspiring against you. The motives vary– for some they think they’ll gain some kind of political clout while others simply think what you’re doing is disgusting and that makes you unfit for your title. Righteous fools, I think. I’m writing this to let you know that something needs to be done about them and soon, lest their loose lips spread this gossip any further.

Yours, Lucia’

The note was written in lovely, flowing Raillen script by one of his most loyal Valran. His eyebrow perks at her warning, though all Arkash would be able to see from where he’s standing is the back of his head. Bright, musical laughter rolls loud from the Veir’s chest. “Are you hungry at all, Arkash?” he giggles at the end of that question, apparently unable to contain his joy at whatever he’d read. “It appears that some of my staff find my choice of companionship to be distasteful and wish to have my title stripped.” As he turns around to face his companion, there’s a sick smile on his face making his intentions very clear. “I can collect them if you wish…though we should dress and move to a bigger room, don’t you think?” This question is asked with an almost demure expression; his smile is soft and gentle, eyes narrowed just slightly with delight.

____

'Thoughts'
"Common Tongue/Speech"
"Raillen Tongue/Speech"

[Arkash]

Despite the stresses that came with the trial and error of mashing together parts of anatomy for hours on end, Arkash had slept very well that night. Such reflected in the long hold of his lidded eyes, just breathing the warmth of the covers while he basked in the elf's kiss. His ears perked and his lips curled at the term of endearment, and with a deep exhale and a press of his elbows into the bedding, he asked a quiet "dear?" with some degree of amusement in his expression.

"I slept well, how about you, honeybun?" He asked partly playful, partly mischievous, and wholly enamored. Despite that, his features seemed to drop on a dime as his eye darted to the door, only to look down as the paper was slid under. He squinted, but there was no way he could even make out the characters from where he sat, even if he could read. So, his eyes darted to Degare as he picked up the paper. A look of curiosity and concern took his features but soon drifted to the man's fingers while he held the paper.

Quietly, he admired his work while the elf read on, then blinked lazily as sleep began to reclaim him, and began to hang his head on the hook of his shoulder while he drifted. Then, his eyes shot open with a start at the sound of laughter. His eyes were wide, off guard.

"Always!" he replied to the question quite quickly. But only another botchling could fathom the depth of that response; to always be hungry.

The giggling earned a flex of his brow, and he focused his attention on the paper in the Veir's hands. Dots seemed to connect behind his eyes as he looked up at the elf and asked "is someone giving you trouble?" In stark contrast to the demeanor he wore when he woke, Arkash's tone had turned dark, dripping with a tangible threat.

"Your choice of..." he started with a squint, then widened his eyes when he seemed to realize. "Oh, me..." Arkash furrowed his brow, then softened when he spoke "oh shit..."

He seemed to think for a moment, brows pressed together while he frowned. "...What does the letter say?" Arkash answered in reply to the ask to move to a larger room. "Is it because I'm a Rien, a Rathor, or a Dranoch?" He asked with a sort of simplicity to his tone, anticipation to his gaze. "All three?" he continued with a trail, something of a forlorn strain to his brow. "I don't know how entente politics work if I'm honest... Does a servant's word really matter?"

His gaze lowered to the flooring while he thought, apparently hard on considering the path from there.

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[Degare]

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When Arkash initially only repeated the pet name the elf had called him, a soft smile appeared on his face in response to the other’s reaction. His smile pulled a bit wider and he looked more genuinely amused at his companion’s follow-up question. With a small laugh, “I think so. Glad to hear you did as well,” looking at the smaller man with an expression alight with affection.

At the Dranoch’s enthusiastic response to being asked if he hungered, it did stir a thought in him…just how often was he hungry, and how much discomfort did such a thing cause? Though he couldn’t exactly answer this question, he did wish to help in any way he could.

While the Ferrier’s expression is still bright with mischievous enthusiasm, he does both perceive and note the varying tones and emotions that were apparent on the Rathor’s visage and in his voice. He sighs a bit, shaking his head. “Daravinic politics are a dangerous game, Arkash. A single servant’s word against their master isn’t much, but from what this says, it sounds like all but the woman I brought with me from Boghadar are turncoats. They either think they have something to gain by harming me or are, apparently, so disgusted I’d lay with you that they think it’s grounds for my removal. As far as I can tell, they only know you’re a Rathor and a foreigner– your status as a Dranoch is still concealed.” He pauses for a second before he realizes something he should elaborate on, “If they were all to speak together, it would be grave news for me– it’s a faux pas for a noble to entangle themselves with a commoner of any type, after all. Further, my detractors would latch onto these rumors and never let them go, whether or not anything was done with the initial complaints. It would put immense pressure on me and…by extension, you. I don’t want that for either of us.” His voice is impassioned but he is deadly serious.

Walking back over to the bed, the elf sits down and caresses his lover’s face with the back of his hand. Maintaining eye contact as he begins to speak, “I don’t make decisions like this lightly, I do want you to understand that.” His voice is much softer than before, possessing a gentle sincerity that was meant to be reassuring.

For the Veir, he had been raised to throw compassion and empathy to the wind in situations like this; his heart turned cold towards those who spoke against him immediately upon the reveal that they had any intentions to speak against him at all. In this moment, he realized that for Arkash, it might not be as easy to throw people into the meat grinder that holds Daravin together. “Look…I make sure my house treats all of its staff very, very well. From accommodations to working hours to care for their well being, I think that respect and good treatment goes way farther in building loyalty than mistreatment does. On my end, it’s incredibly offensive that they would scorn me like this, and for my well being, they really ought to be disposed of. If you need convincing, I’m sure that they’ll be able to do that themselves,” ending his speech with cold laughter. “If you stood before them in your true form and we were honest about what we’ve been doing, their reactions would very much offend you, too. Of that, I am sure.” All of his words thus far have been sincere, but these in particular are the warmest when said in his lover’s direction. He really does want him to understand that these people want nothing more than for the two of them to suffer.

____

'Thoughts'
"Common Tongue/Speech"
"Raillen Tongue/Speech"

[Arkash]

Daravinic politics were a dangerous game. That, Arkash knew.

Raphael’s and Eira’s schemes had utterly crushed him in the season prior. Surely a noble was above all that though, weren’t they? Untouchable by mere peasants. The complexities of reputation, standing and valor were all lost to him. To have one’s image smeared meant nothing to the Rathor, and thus, it was difficult to understand their position.

His nose curled beneath his furrowed brow when it was explained that the Valran thought they had something to gain, but he didn’t appear even the least bit surprised to hear of their disgust. “Detractors…” Arkash spoke quietly in thought as a soft sigh deflated his chest.

As the Veir continued his explanation of the treatment he’d offered his servants and the audacity of their betrayal given the context, Arkash nodded his head. “This is personal,” he spoke in observation. “I understand, I know this important…” he trailed on in thought, smiled, then laughed. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t ready to kill anyone this morning. Maybe I’m getting soft?”

He cleared his throat, then pulled the cover off of himself, turned and planted his feet firmly on the floor. As he stood, he lifted his arms over his head and shut his eyes tight as his back arched inward and his head leaned back against his arms in a satisfying-looking stretch. “How many-?” Arkash asked through the strain, then exhaled as he let the tension in his athletic frame go. “Are any of them strong or Marked?” he continued as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

As he began to dress, he seemed to stare on a little more, and occasionally fell into silence while he thought.

“We want to be outside, really…” Arkash began. “A corruption made my abilities stronger, but at the cost of my reach… Craters and collapsed homes seem to follow me…” he continued his explanation in some distracted droll. He stopped then, and spoke a thought. “I suppose I could just not use the Living Bomb or Hemorrhage…” he trailed in consideration, then looked to the Veir as he began to do up the buttons of his shirt.

“…Do you want it slow and clean or fast and messy?”

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[Degare]

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As the word ‘detractors’ was spoken in soft murmur, Degare clarified, “Yes…I have many. Every Veir has many..and anyone with a grander title has many more. Rather cutthroat we Entente tend to be, whether we want to or not. It’s our way of life, so to speak...can’t escape the nature of the Candor,” sighing and shaking his head when he finishes speaking.

With a soft exhale through his nose and a gentle smile at the other’s observation, “Correct. I don’t know the Valran in Amoren as much as I do the ones back in my primary estate, but all Valran employed by my house are treated equitably…I, frankly, am insulted.” The Veir’s voice is a bit cold with rolling undercurrents of agitation. Laughing alongside Arkash with his next statement, Degare replies, “Mm…maybe? I’m not sure how cold you usually are. Especially since you’re so sweet to me,” the last bit is said somewhat in jest, but there are threads of appreciation tying the words together.

When the little Rath stands, the pale elf’s red-amber gaze follows him, watching him as he moves. In the light of the midmorning sun, he really was a lovely sight. For a few brief moments, Degare finds his mind wandering back to the night before. Arkash’s words snapping him out of his brief reverie, he blinks and considers the question. “Ah…here there’s…” he trails off, counting the members of the staff in his head. “Six. However, the woman who left me the note will be spared. She’s…been under my employment for a long time and I trust her. As for the other five? Such a shame, I suppose.” He doesn’t actually sound like he cares that much about the remainder perishing. It was a relief, at least, that the house was low on staff this time of year since fewer people in his house were spending time in Amoren. “I'd say most of them have a mark? At least...I'd assume so since you're...required to have one to be Valran. I'm not really all too familiar with them on a personal level, but I can say that none of them have proven themselves noteworthy enough for me to notice so I assume none of them are particularly strong.” It took him a second to think about that. Most people Valran class and higher in Daravin did have a mark or two but whether or not they were capable of really advancing their marks was ambiguous.

The Ferrier listened to the suggestions of the Dranoch, then spoke, “Outside really isn’t an option considering you are a blood mage and a Dranoch…neither of which are worth risking anybody seeing, unfortunately. I was planning on using the cellar. It’s fairly sturdy and there’s a reasonable amount of space down there.” As the other continued to muse about his abilities, Degare tilted his head a bit with interest, “Much as I’d love to see all of your skills…might be worth it to be more conservative with the more destructive ones for sake of the building’s foundation,” his voice is light and teasing, though his fascination in the other’s more advanced blood magic is very obvious.

At his lover’s final question, he smiles at him, “For those who’ve crossed me on a personal level, I personally prefer slow and messy.”

____

'Thoughts'
"Common Tongue/Speech"
"Raillen Tongue/Speech"

[Arkash]

Arkash almost appeared to be lost in his thoughts while he dressed, only to rouse from those considerations with the occasional nod that reflected his understanding. "...They're weaklings," he spoke in assurance, "worms that would sacrifice a good man for their own gain..." he trailed on as he clasped his belt shut. "They're more of the same if you really think about it; just without the power their betters are born with. They're... Usurpers."

A gentle nod of his head saw him return his gaze to the elf, and a slight smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. He rose his brows as he asked "...Just five?" Though most of them had Marks, or so the Veir imagined. Arkash grinned as he approached the Veir. "...Good; they'll at least stand a fighting chance."

"Indoors it is, then," Arkash spoke his agreement, then rolled his neck and shoulders. "I suppose it would be difficult to get them all to venture out into the woods somewhere far away... And even then, that's a risk," he nodded in understanding.

A soft hum rolled from his lips as he wrapped his arms around the taller man, and brought his cheek to press flush to his chest. He seemed to relax a little, growing a touch less tense while he leaned his meager weight against the elf. He didn't meet Degare's eyes while he stayed there but spoke an observation with a soft, almost alluring tone. "Death in combat is really sudden... One second, your opponent is coming at you with everything they've got, trying to rend your head from your shoulders. And then the next, they're dead; permanently removed from the world." He turned his head up to face elf, at last, and a gentle smile that pulled only from his lips. "You live on with whatever scars you gained, and a permanent trophy etched into your eyelids; their expression at the moment before you take their life; that look of unfiltered terror that comes with the realization that you're going to kill them, and they're powerless to stop it."

He stayed there for a moment, grinning up at the elf while he allowed his experience to sink in. "When you draw it out a little, you have people like Amond, sobbing, broken wrecks. Desperate pleading that for what they already know is futile... But that desperation is all-consuming; that glimmer of hope that they might be spared if they appeal to your humanity, even for just a second... It's easier for them to immerse themselves in that fantasy than to face the terror that came before your botched finishing blow, that they will die, and there's nothing they can do that will save them."

"...I'll make their deaths slow for you; I'll draw out that mind-breaking terror so that you can bask in the regret they hold for betraying you... And then, I will remove them from the world; gone without a trace."

Arkash's eyes were lined with a loving adoration while he stared up at the Norai, a steep contrast to the darkness he shared. After a deep breath through his nose, Arkash exhaled just as deeply and quietly spoke a brief "go," as he untangled his arms from the Veir. "I'll ready my swords, you should round them up. I'll just follow your scent there when I'm ready in... Maybe ten minutes?"

With that decided, he took the man by the hips and stood on his toes to lean up, stretched, and extended his puckered lips to the elf.

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[Degare]

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For a few fleeting moments, Degare had thought that he’d perhaps overestimated the little Rath’s capacity for cruelty while he was defending his decision to end the lives of these Valran.

When the younger man spoke again, the Ferrier’s face went alight with bright exuberance as he realized that he was very, very right in his original assumption: Arkash was precisely as vengeful and bloodthirsty as he had thought; he was perfect. A light warmth radiated in his chest, though he felt almost embarrassed when the other had referred to him as a ‘good man’-- but Degare was wont to object to any form of compliment. “Such as they are…such as things are. I’m…used to it. I’ve had to dispose of people myself many times over the years, but those are stories for later, dear.” His features wore a smile that reached his eyes, a look of softness and affection donning his face as his eyes traced over his lover’s figure while he finished dressing. Degare himself had made an effort to put clothes on as well, but that didn’t stop him at all from looking over at the other as he spoke.

‘...Good; they'll at least stand a fighting chance.’ Arkash’s words gave him a small laugh. “It’s always fun that way in Daravin. Everyone Valran and higher has magic– makes you have to think a bit, try a bit harder. I think it makes the hunt more satisfying, in the end.” The Veir’s voice is effervescent and warm; he genuinely did take pleasure in killing and finally felt comfortable enough to not have to dampen that fact at all.

As he finished adjusting the sleeves of his shirt, his companion mused about the lack of realism in taking them outside. When the smaller man closed the remaining gap between them and embraced him, the pale elf felt immediately calmer in his arms. In truth, he was definitely touch-starved. Displays of affection are taboo in Daravin and he had been…very busy in the past several years; with both actual things he had to do and time wasted on his grief. Intimacy had actually been rather rare for him as of late– of any kind. To him, this was slightly embarrassing– how much he melted into Arkash’s touch– but he couldn’t tell if the other noticed.

In return, Degare wrapped his arms around his lover’s shoulders, though he lifted his right hand to nestle it amongst the soft locs on his head. When Arkash began to speak, the elf looked down at him, the smile on his face staying put as he continued. His description elicited a soft, amused chuckle from the Ferrier. “If I’m being honest…my experience in actual combat isn’t that extensive. Most of the death and destruction I’ve wrought has had to be…quite a bit more subtle. Making things look like an accident and the like. Made Bane very useful over the years…” he trails off as the Dranoch looks up at him and continues.

The expression on Degare’s face brightened into radiant joy as the other man kept speaking; his words were very similar to concepts the Ferrier himself had always taken pleasure in, and when the smaller man finished his thought, the elf looked at him with colorful, passionate adoration. Underneath is all, a careful observer could see fragments of lust and desire; it would appear that his sentiments had stirred something a bit deeper within the Veir. “You really are too kind to me…I…thank you,” words spoken softly with a bashful tone– as if he didn’t really know how to express how he felt.

Though he was somewhat loath to let go of the Rathor, he did so, if reluctantly. The elf nods at his words, but before he turns to leave, Arkash’s hands anchored him still, standing up on his toes to get closer for a kiss. Such a thing was happily obliged by Degare, leaning down a bit to return the gesture. The softest of sighs escapes the Ferrier when their lips connect and he lingered there for a bit longer than necessary; he wanted to savor any intimacy the two shared.

When they separate, he looks to Arkash with an almost dreamy look of desire in his eyes, “I do look forward to seeing you fight again…I’ll gather them. It won’t take long.” With a gentle smile, the Mentalist turns to leave the room.

//

The first thing the Veir did was find Lucia. She seemed a little jumpy when he approached, almost as if she’s afraid of something. With concern in his eyes, “Is something wrong?” She laughs a bit, almost bashful. “N-no! You just scared me…and I’m a little paranoid.” Degare seems relieved by this– he had almost thought that the others had made their move before he had. He lists two of the five names for her and instructs her to go collect them and guide them to the cellar below. She nods, smiling, relief on her face when she realizes that he’d gotten her message and was doing something about it.

The Lord himself went to collect the other three. They weren’t exactly hard to find, but they did seem rather concerned with whatever it was he needed them for. They weren’t in a position to question why, though, so they followed in silence. He could feel their rising paranoia when he’d rounded all three of them and reached the cellar door, but again, none were in the position to question him, nor were they quite afraid enough to do so at the moment.

The four figures descended the stairs to find Lucia and the remaining two already down there. She looked impatient and they looked confused and annoyed with her. When Degare and his small gaggle of Valran joined, the seven of them stood amongst walls of cold stone for a few moments before he broke the silence. “I’ve a surprise for all of you. You’ve earned it,” he speaks warmly, bright friendliness in his tone from a face donning a rather demure expression. This contrasted fairly with pointed sharpness against the darkness of the rather large, half empty cellar— only lit by a few lamps. The elf led the group, consisting of three men of varying ages and two middle aged women plus Lucia, further away from the stairs, making it harder to run, but also because the far end of the room had the most open space. “We need only wait a few moments longer. I invited a friend of mine to join.” The Veir wears a face that is the picture of innocence.

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'Thoughts'
"Common Tongue/Speech"
"Raillen Tongue/Speech"

[Arkash]

A look of surprise came over his eyes while he looked up at the elf, and asked a quiet, lengthy "really?" to the revelation that Degare had killed a few over the years, just with the subtlety and stealth that was required of a man in his position. An amused grin pulled at his lips and bared his teeth a little while he let the thought sink in, then hummed. "Maybe I was wrong about the 'good man' after all; you're actually quite bad..." he trailed on with a hint of lust in his tone.

His eyes lidded when their lips met, and Arkash hummed in delight when they came apart. His eyes remained closed as the elf took his leave, and Arkash nodded in response to the gesture while he tucked his head. As his face began to grow outward and assumed the shape of his short muzzle, he rolled up his sleeve with fingers that gradually grew a set of dull claws and exposed his arms that seemed to ripple in a wave that revealed the basalt scales of his true form.

As venom began to pool in his maw, he lifted his arm to his lips and opened his eyes with a twinge of pain as he bit through the armored carapace of his forearm, and squeezed hard. As the rich coppery warmth of his blood met his palette, Arkash let his arm go and curled the claws of his free hand to pull some black, tar-like blood from the oozing wounds created by his teeth. It congealed quickly and hardened as it formed the shape he desired in his hand. A fresh saber was made, which he sheathed at the hip. From the corner of the room, he collected his other sword, which was slightly longer, then stowed it at the opposite hip. Inspection of the wound he'd made in his scales revealed that it had already coagulated, to which he nodded in approval.

Careful footfalls saw him approach the window, then part the drapes. From there, he peered over the rooftops of Couronne at the rising sun, deep in thought. He lifted a claw to the corner of his long mouth, and bit into it to sharpen the natural weapon. Through the process, he continued to stare, then rolled his claws as he inspected the digit, then tested the claw against the palm of that same hand. It was then, that he determined, he was ready. He waited a little longer, staring through the gap in the drapes. Then, with a sigh, he withdrew into the shade of the room and proceeded after Degare's memorized scent with a flick of his tongue.

---

Finding the cellar wasn't hard; all he'd had to do was head to the lowest point of the house and proceed a touch deeper. The path Degare had taken that morning made the journey much easier, as he soon arrived at the door at the bottom of the stairs. Keen ears listened closely to the voice on the other side of the door, where he collected the trail of Degare's voice. ...A friend of mine to join, was what he caught as he reached for the handle, and turned with his claws.

Arkash stepped into the room, where all the Valran were poised to meet him with their eyes. He approached from Degare's flank, whether he turned to meet him or not, then flit about the space with a sharp, pale gaze. He focused intently on the few lamps that lit the room, then returned his gaze to the six Valran. He could almost gauge by their expressions which were destined to die, and which was loyal to the Veir. "Strength," Arkash began with a projection of his voice. "Is what determines your place in the world. It differentiates predator from prey and establishes a hierarchy that existed long before any of you walked this plane."

His approach continued while he spoke. "We all strive to be stronger, to elevate our place in this world; your spot on the food chain... That, I understand," he spoke with a nod and stopped in his tracks when he arrived at Degare's side. His hands folded behind his back, with his sharpened claw positioned at the base of his tail with an extended digit. "You; all you opportunists and usurpers, settled for your lives of servitude in complacency with your weakness, only to bite the hand that fed you in some wicked plot to elevate your status; you would step on the man that sheltered you to attain new heights, some borrowed power from an entity you can never hope to match." He lifted his claw to Degare at the gesture and continued to advance as he dragged his sharpened claw over the base of his tail, and immediately cast Sacrifice on the opened wound.

Degare would see the blight in the area illuminate a foreboding red as the veins in Arkash's arms began to thicken and an intense volume toward his chest.

"You think your Veir disgusting for sharing a bed with a foreigner..." he spoke through strain as his whole body began to grow tense. "But you..." he began as the pressure in his chest hit its apex and his breath stalled. His body curled forward a bit, his knees buckled and bent, and his arms closed tight to his chest, all in a display of compression before he threw out his arms released the payload of energy. In an explosive blast of blood that threw the hardened, ultra-sharp material in all directions, Arkash closed his claws and activated his mutation. The blood rapidly slowed and stopped in the air; it stayed suspended for a split second before the direction of the explosion polarized, and all the hardened blood flew back to Arkash's torn clothes and scales and collided with him in several different places; sporadic in their distribution.

A second skin of black, armored blood covered his body in various degrees of thickness and uneven, random distribution. One of his eyes was covered by the armored blood, and appeared to set him off balance as he tilted his head and stumbled a little, woozy. "You..." he continued as he regained his senses, breathed deeply, and tilted his crooked gaze to the side while he held his limp body upright. "...You're all revolting; I don't even know if you're worth eating after this..." he spoke with a cruel pull of his lips, which unveiled the serrated shine of his teeth in the low light.

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[Degare]

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Elven ears perked at the sound of the door opening and the unconcealed footsteps on the stairs as lips pulled back, revealing a grin expressing a mixture of mischief, joy, and malice. “How lovely– right on time, then!” Clasping his hands together, he beams at the group of Valran. “Lucia, dear, come to me. You’ll want to get out of the way,” words spoken in a giddy, yet affectionate, tone and punctuated with a wink. The tall, slender fellow Sil’Norai nodded in understanding and quickly walked to his side, finding her place a few feet behind him, crossing her hands behind her back. Now that her visage is hidden from her Lord, but still allowing for the others to see it, she almost mirrors his expression and silently mouths to them to get fucked; there is more of an evil glint to her eyes than the pure joy in the Veir’s.

One of the women and two of the men looked to Lucia, clearly in shock. She must’ve lied to them, pretending she was on their side to pull the information from their hearts. This was something she had always been good at and one of the myriad reasons she was invaluable to Degare– she was an extra set of eyes and ears, loyal almost to a fault, that would warn him of anything she overheard. She was exceptionally charming and rather beautiful which made her all the more alluring to those she'd manipulate and lie to.

At this point, Arkash had reached the base of the stairs. Neither elf looked back at him, they simply waited, and listened, for his approach. The familiar hissing rasp of his true form’s voice met Degare’s ears and his eyes closed in a slow blink with apparent glee as he continued to speak.

Once the lizard arrived at his side, the Ferrier’s head nodded in his direction approvingly. From where she stands, Lucia looks quite fascinated as her clear jade gaze shifts over the Rathor’s basalt scales. Her excitement would be oozing through her pores if such a thing were possible. Truth be told, she’d never seen a creature like him, and she regarded him with an interested reverence– if he’d gained her master’s favor, he’d gained hers. If Arkash returns her gaze, she’d smile brightly, encouragingly at him, nodding like a bubbly schoolgirl. It’s obvious that she agrees wholeheartedly with every word out of the lizard’s mouth.

For his part, the Veir’s smile shifted back to the more innocent mask he’d worn earlier, though his own radiant excitement would shine through it still. He nodded with flattered approval when Arkash gestured to him, though his eyes were on the sharpened claw that rested at the base of his tail. There was an enamored look in the elven man’s shining amber eyes as he watched the strange nature of the lizard’s blood interact with the cast of his spell. His breath caught in anticipation as he realized the man was casting something.

Both elves watched, clearly captivated, as Arkash’s body strained and appeared to stall. His body bent inwards and then exploded outward with unleashed energy, fragments of hardened blood pulsing outwards around him. As dangerous as this was, none of them struck Degare or Lucia– neither party could tell if this was intentional or not. Amber and jade eyes followed the fragments as they froze for a few eternal seconds and then seemed to rewind through the air, falling back to cling to the Rathor’s scaled body. Whatever he’d done clearly cost a substantial amount of his vitality, but both of the elves would happily leap to his aid should he end up needing it.

As the last of the lizard’s words left his lips, fires of enthusiasm had been sparked within the other Vandikar and his loyal vassal. Lucia stayed silent– she hadn’t known much about her master’s companion outside of the fact that he was a foreign Rathor, but her eyes were wide with adoration and surprise when she realized he was a blood mage. It dawned on her now that this was definitely part of his appeal to her Lord. Had he already claimed his mark? How did they find one another? Questions flit rapidly through her mind, but she figured she’d pin Degare down and pry the answers out later.

Degare lifted the hand closest to his lover and gently caressed the side of his face, fingers running over what of the smooth scales were still revealed through the cracks of his second skin. “Isn’t he sweet?” This question was asked very lovingly in reference to the lizard. “When Lucia informed me of your plans, my heart broke. I’ve been nothing but kind to all of you, and how do you repay me? With betrayal? And for what, my choice of lover? So shallow, you lot.” His words were cold and filled with spite, more anger evident in the first few sentences. The last two were more bitter. “I told him he can do as he pleases. You’re at his mercy, now.” The final phrases were delivered in a voice utterly devoid of emotion from a visage of malevolent rancor. Expression immediately softening, the Veir bent down and placed the gentlest of kisses on the top of the lizard’s head, then stepped back in line with Lucia.

The five individuals that stood before the two elves and the Rathor looked aghast with horror and a mix of other emotions varying from person to person. The woman who’d initially escorted Arkash to Degare’s side when he’d arrived the day before was among them and her expression was one of deep and utter regret before she buried her face in her hands; her only mark was Nightfall. The two younger men, humans in their twenties, appeared shocked into silence; both of them had Mentalism, but one of them also had Malformity. For the other woman’s part, she had screamed when she saw Arkash cast. Her breathing was fluttering and she looked utterly panicked; she possessed Remnant and Brand, her brand being her stronger of the two. The older man appeared to be struggling to react, but looked as if he was trying to cast a spell. For his part, he was a Resoner– and not the worst at it, but not the best, either.

____

'Thoughts'
"Common Tongue/Speech"
"Raillen Tongue/Speech"

[Arkash]

Though he appeared to be, for the most part, entirely absorbed in the delivery of his sentence, he did briefly glance in the loyal Valran's direction. His cold gaze only carried one intent, and that was to assess who would not be leaving the cellar, and who would be added to his stockpile of stolen power. The press of his brows softened a little when he found her warm gaze in his direction, then relented altogether with a bow of his head. For just a moment, he lost the wind in his sails, then picked up his fury once more and proceeded in his advance.

Casting Bloodfury did mean that he'd sacrificed a large amount of his vitality for the layers of armor that coated his carapace, but another mutation allowed him a high exsanguination threshold. He just needed a few moments to siphon the insides of some of the thicker clumps of blood on his body to return to his veins. Degare presented the perfect opportunity to do so as he began to address the gathered usurpers, the weaklings Arkash had sentenced to death.

The touch of the Veir's skin against his scalie hide saw his head snap in the man's direction, a sort of primal, thoughtless stare in his one-eyed gaze. Again, he seemed to assess the elf and determined that Degare wasn't his opponent. A slight smile pulled at the corner of his mouth while he stared with pin-prick irises, then drew a deep breath through his nose as he reached for both swords, and fully straightened his posture while his quickened heartbeat stabilized on the lack of material in his veins.

He returned his one-eyed stare to the five as he drew his blades, then centered on the one girl when she cried out "S'il te plaît, Monsieur! Do not feed us to dees... Monstre!"

Both his swords readied, and he began to take a step forward when the one older man, the Resoner, appeared to blur as he cast Sonic Blink, and rushed past them at incredible speed. Arkash turned to try and follow the man as he arrived at the door to the stairs. Arkash wasn't anywhere near fast enough to reach him, but he didn't need to be. A swing of his sword saw a piece of hardened blood snap off, and fling at the man as a hardened projectile. As the Resoner opened the door and prepared another blink, his shoulder was obliterated by the strike of hardened blood, which appeared to rip entirely through him, unhindered by the plate bone of his shoulder blade.

A pained scream rang out as the Resoner hit the floor, and pulled an arm to his shoulder in a futile effort to keep it together while he bled torrentially, and cascaded the stairs he laid upon with his lifeforce.

Dismissive in his assessment, he turned to face the group as they seemed to prepare some sort of strategy. Both Mind Mages seemed to try and wrap their weaves around him while the one Branded girl began to draw a blade from her chest. One of the younger men began to transform while the one Nightfallen stared in hysteric tears at the older man that lay bleeding on the stairs.

Movement became difficult as Arkash 's legs were nailed in the concrete weave, and one arm was pinned at his side. The other lifted his sword into the air, aimed the point of his blade skyward, then lowered to aim at the one Mentalist that didn't possess Malformity. In less than a second, sharpened spears of blood ripped through the stair-bound resoner, flew across the room, and crashed through both his legs. The bones in the area were shattered as he was stapled to the wall. His face reddened as his breathing stalled, and a pained grunt saw his face curl, then eventually overwhelm him as he came to scream in pain and horror. His empty hands tried to wrap and pull at the blood spears, but the unnatural sharpness of the suffused blood rent his fingers from his hands like paper. His bleeding quickened as his heart raced, and he stared on in teary despair at his mangled hands as bouts of deep red poured from the gaps in his skin, the stumps that his fingers had once rested upon.

Both Arkash's hands were free, but both his legs remained caught as the Malformist, now a timber wolf, continued to spin his weave.

Arkash's one-eyed gaze passed soullessly over the canid before it flitted to the Branded, who prepared a galvanizing bolt in her hand. On a dime, his priorities shifted, and he threw that same sword in an upward arc to propel a tendril of hardened blood in a similar arc above the timber wolf and pierced her hand all the way through. The spell was interrupted as she reflexively pulled, and ripped her hand in two around the blood spear. Scraps of muscle, skin, and bone were exposed to the air as she began to bleed quickly.

"What are you waiting for?!" Cried the boy of broken legs. "Rush him already!"

Arkash grinned, a hiss rumbling in the back of his throat. Despite their ally's instructions, great hesitance was apparent in their features. The boy screamed in pain again as he tried to move his legs, but without a skeletal frame to cling to, his muscles were useless.

It was beginning to look as though Arkash had come overprepared with his Bloodfury, at least until the Nightfallen's Obscura was revealed. She struck at Arkash from behind, having vanished into the lowlight of the Cellar, her dagger poised to puncture his scales, only to strike the black blood that wrapped him instead. Arkash's smile dropped, and a tilt of his head saw needle-like spears of black blood erupt from his back and puncture her in dozens of places around her midriff. Severe organ damage was apparent as she began to cough up blood, and fell to one knee as she dropped her knife, clutching her ragged stomach.

"Don't get close to it!" The one branded called through her pale features, teeth clutched tight while she gripped her sword with white knuckles.

Quietly, Arkash siphoned blight from the various puddles of Blood in the Cellar, accumulating power while he prepared a stronger spell.

Image source.