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[Boghadar] Stains
Posted: Sun Feb 27, 2022 5:03 pm
by Arkash
Frost 34th, 4621
"Truly, Rathor?" Asked the wiry, ragged human, not of the local dialect. "You'll... You'll make this monster pay?"
"His death is my own reward," Arkash answered with a flick of his reptilian lips. "This surely isn't the first time he's struck a family like yours... This isn't the first boy he's..." He ended with a trail, there wasn't a need to stir any more pain in the man's heart. When his misty gaze met the haggard man's teary eyes, he already knew he'd said too much. "All I need is something of his belongings, a scrap of clothing, an item he kept on his person, something that's bound to carry his scent. If you have that, I can make this monster disappear."
The pained gaze of the grieving father warped with some dark, twisted fury. His nose curled below his dark brown eyes, and he reached into his bag to retrieve a smaller jacket, fashioned from burlap. That pain in his gaze lingered while Arkash flicked his tongue, swabbing the air for the smell of old blood, which was plentiful around the collar of the garment. "...Right here," he indicated with a finger to the back of the shirt. "He spat here when he was... When he was done with him."
Arkash accepted the garment with a curl of his claws and watched the human's quivering features while he quietly sobbed. "His last words will break his throat in a ragged scream," Arkash promised. "Your son will be avenged, you have my word."
To make a man disappear, for most, was no mean feat. The regular process took hours of digging, hacking, dragging, and cleaning. Removing witnesses was also a tricky part if the assassin couldn't want to wait for the correct moment to strike.
Arkash didn't fall into that trap often, however. For the most part, he erred on the side of caution and followed his target for days at a time if he could. If there was a time that he could catch his target with just one or two others, he could just eliminate them all in one fell swoop. Wasn't that morally dubious? Even more so than killing for power? In the eyes of the young Rath, men hat sided with the unhinged tyrants of the world were no better than the unhinged tyrants.
He felt no remorse for the companions of his targets, much less the targets themselves.
His most recent target, he'd been following all the way from Amoren. There was no space in the journey where he'd caught the man in a space that wasn't totally public, where he'd have to fell a few dozen others who weren't even guilty by association just to erase the stain.
Boghadar, a city built at the foot of a mountain range with plentiful flowing bodies of water to break up the streets, was to where he'd followed his target. Arkash, dressed in his fine Ententeattire, clung to sidewalks and street corners while he passively pursued his target. There wasn't even a single moment in the city where the man had wandered into a quiet street. If anything, he appeared to be checking each corner he came across. Was he evaluating his next move? Checking for the safest places to be? Did he know he was being followed?
Did he know there was a price on his head?
The light of Arkash's misty eyes twinkled while his human lips pulled in a cruel grin. Amond was his name, a practitioner of Bane and Mentalism. The order of his death was placed for his alleged abuse and murder of a young boy. He was no Veir or any level of Entente, but the family he'd attacked was foreign to Daravin, and thus unprotected by the arm of the law. The law didn't apply to the likes of Arkash.
Evil was evil, regardless of what dictators and tyrants declared.
If his target knew he was being followed, that only meant Arkash was in for a chance to crush the will of another. This man, Amond, would break in two.
As Arkash turned the corner of a quiet street, however, he saw the target slip into one of the buildings along the dirt road. it was some sort of public venue with a plain beige exterior and a green tiled roof that stretched back into some part of the city that was obscured by other houses in the row. Arkash furrowed his brow, then began his approach.
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Re: [Boghadar] Stains
Posted: Wed Mar 09, 2022 10:10 am
by Degare
TIMESTAMP: Frost 34th, 4621 / 20:04
NOTES: -
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The day had been completely and utterly normal. Within the rather unassuming building, adorned with only a single quaint sign containing the name of the business, was a rather old staple of Boghadar: Socorro String Co., having sold finest quality stringed instruments for over one hundred years. A recent change in the head of business has also seen their inventory expand. As twilight had begun to set over the city, the man within scurried around dealing with whatever of his clientele had decided to show. Business always slowed as darkness fell, and as a blanket of stars had slowly become visible, the proprietor had but one last client.
The last client of this new night was a man by the name of Amond. Though he was no Entente, he did possess some modicum of wealth alongside an appreciation for fine music. He was actually not even a new customer– having come in a few times over the past couple of years on his visits from Amoren. As he strides in, there is an air of paranoia to his person that the Ferrier within almost immediately picked up on. He couldn't place it at all…and some people were just paranoid. Such attitudes were really not that uncommon within Daravin, and whether or not somebody had an actual reason to be was another question entirely, however. Thus, while the proprietor was acutely aware of it, he chose to disregard it. After all, the day had been so utterly uneventful thus far, why would anything change now?
Amond enters to find the store rather quiet, him appearing to be the only patron present as it neared quite close to closing. Degare himself hadn't really expected anyone else to come in, but wasn't really annoyed to tend to one more person. He offers his client a humble greeting and offers assistance to the man, should he need any help locating anything, as well as any explanation of any item contained herein. At first, the other man says he'd just like to look around. A reasonable request. As more time ticks by, the Elven proprietor does get up to change the sign on the door from open to closed, not wanting anyone else to come in, though he did indicate to Amond he was free to conclude his business before leaving. Shortly after doing this, he approaches Degare, asking if the man had a rather specific type of cello bow. The Ferrier ponders the request for a moment, knowing that a cousin of his crafts those bows so he usually has them. Odd that none were out. "Hmm, if I truly don't have any I'd be happy to pass along your request to the man who makes them…but I should have one or two left. Allow me to go look in the back storage, yes? Shouldn't be long," he says with a rather charming customer service coating to his voice. Amond seems pleased with this response, "I am more than happy to wait! I hear his work is worth every farthing," he says in response. "Indeed! My House only makes the best," says the proprietor with a prideful smile.
The rather tall Sil'norai grants the other man a smile as he turns to languidly walk to the back of the room. A door awaits him leading to storage– mostly overflow stock rests here until a place for it is made on the display shelves out front. An elegant hand opens the door and the waifish mage slips inside, closing it behind him. Finding the bow should, in theory, be a rather easy task. The contents of this room are supposed to be organized, after all. As the man sifted through the contents of the backroom, though, Degare could feel a sense of foreboding slip over him. Had some of Amond's paranoia rubbed off on him? Why did he feel as if he was at risk? After all, there was no reason for him to be…but he found himself taking his time in that enclosed little space, anyways…the idea of going out filled him with dread. As if when he'd open the door he'd find a hunter, tooth and claw bared, staring down at him.
____
'Thoughts'
"Common Tongue/Speech"
"Raillen Tongue/Speech"
Re: [Boghadar] Stains
Posted: Thu Mar 10, 2022 5:23 pm
by Arkash
He breathed in, then began his approach to the unsuspecting building the man had entered. A variety of scenarios ran through his mind while he assessed the best form of approach, the execution of his task.
Was this Amond’s home? The home of a friend? A public venue? As he neared the door, however, it opened.
Arkash took a step back and froze, only to see a spindly hand reach out and flip some sort of sign. His brow furrowed as the hand withdrew and the door closed once more, but the mechanism didn’t click to indicate it was locked.
He waited a moment while the shuffle of movement inside withdrew, then stepped to the front of the door and peered down at the posted sign. There he squinted, trying to decipher the characters for some sort of indication as to what they meant, then gave up with a sharp exhale through his nose. Ear pressed flush to the door, he listened for a while on the sounds within.
His human fingers wrapped the handle of his blade as he took the handle, twisted it, and pushed his way into the room. The lowlight of the space ahead of him met the his sensitive eyes, illuminating a single figure with his back to the intruding Rath. Arkash furrowed his brow as his eye trailed about the wares; an assortment of wooden crafts, instruments and the like. Children’s toys?
In the same motion that he closed the door behind him, he stepped out of his shoes with wrapped human feet, and set them down as they began to change pigment and shape, toes melding together with his nails elongating into hardened claws. Armored hide wrapped his body as his bones quietly shifted beneath the surface, and a heavy tail dropped from the lower end of his finely-crafted coat. By the time the door was closed, Arkash’s transformation was complete, and his elongated face had completely unsaddled his mask, which fell to the floor with a thud.
The pale man ahead of him looked over his shoulder at the thud, a jolt in his movement. Amond’s hands were at his front, crossed over his chest as it appeared. His lips parted at the lower half of his stubbled face, and he spoke a brief “store’s closed, friend.”
What little capacity his true form had to smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. “I won’t be long,” Arkash assured as he broke the handle off his blade and stepped aside to plant it firmly against the keyhole of the door. His eyes remained fixed squarely on the man as Arkash used bloodshaping to extend the hardened mass into the body of the lock, and pushed all the pins into place before he rotated the tumbler to lock the mechanism with a click.
Confusion became the wiry man’s features as the blade at his hip lost its shape, fell like fluid, sharply pulled toward the Rathor’s claws, and reformed the saber of hardened blood above the handle he’d removed. As the man’s features struck realization, Arkash’s lips parted in a flash of his wicked, monstrous teeth; a sick sort of grin.
Immediately, Amond unveiled his hands and flung a prepared bolt of blue energy at the Rathor. Arkash was much too fast for such a thing to land, and parried the projectile with a single swipe of his black sword. To his dismay, the blade became galvanized, dematerializing and eroding with such swiftness that it was reduced to dust in mere seconds. Arkash looked up as another bolt was prepared and deftly leaped to the side. A tile was struck near where the Rathor landed, and he leaped from low to propel himself toward the man.
From his chest, the human drew a broadsword. Arkash saw the glint of the weapon and immediately changed direction, bounding away from the Branded in time to evade the swipe of the blade. A grunt parted his lips as he prepared another bolt. Arkash bit hard into his wrist, and pulled hard to lacerate his scales with his serrated teeth. Flecks of blood hardened mid-air and flew at his wrist to accumulate at the slow bleed of his opened veins.
The tar-like substance that pooled at his wrist began to harden as Arkash reached to grip an invisible handle at his wrist, and sprung from his crouched position to evade another galvanizing bolt. Lightning on his feet, he rushed the short distance between himself and the Branded mage and physically drew a warped saber of black blood from his veins, suffused the edge, and swung with murderous intent.
Amond raised his sword to block the strike, but the steel gave way with an audible metallic snap, followed by distinct ripping, an audible thump, and a spatter of fluid.
The room was quiet for just a second before a startled gasp preceded the clatter of the two sword halves on the ground. A cry of horror erupted in the lobby, followed by the stumbling of shoes, the squeak of wooden soles on the tile as Amond stumbled to the nearest surface, clutching the jagged stump that his arm once rested upon. Arkash straightened up and rolled his shoulders while the human’s severed limb twitched at the fingers in a growing puddle of wasted lifeblood.
In contrast to the wild, explosive movements he displayed before, Arkash turned to face the screaming tyrant while he continued to bleed.
The fabric of his tabard soaked through his side from the elbow down, his hand glistened red in overlay to his white-knuckle grip on the stump, his cheeks were wet with tears, and his breeches damp with piss.
Arkash merely shook his head and curled the claws of his free hand to form a fist, which shook subtly under the strength of his forearm at his side. Simultaneously, the blood that soaked his tabard, the tiled flooring, and even that which oozed from his own wrist flew to the pooling puddle of blood at the severed limb where it laid, and rippled while the Vandikar leeched from Amond’s open wound. Flecks of red accumulated around the puddle before they dissipated, and a hardened spike of lifeblood extended from the ground at extreme speed and shot through the human’s chin, throat, and the back of his head in one fell swoop. A strained gurgle escaped the man’s mouth as the last reflexive twitches in his body flashed and pulled at his muscle fibers. With his brain stem severed, he fell limp, suspended by the spike that Arkash held with Sway.
He stayed there for a moment, staring at the limp cadaver and the distortion in the structure of Amond's face, as the muscle seemed to warp with the shattered bone they concealed. A flick of his tongue further examined the body but brought him to freeze when it withdrew to the hold of his muzzle. A clench of his claws saw the blood spike withdraw fully, and allowed the body to fall in a pile on the ground. His attention snapped to the back door with wide eyes.
Re: [Boghadar] Stains
Posted: Thu Mar 10, 2022 7:14 pm
by Degare
TIMESTAMP: -
NOTES: -
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Almost as soon as his hand found the bow he was looking for, noise snapped his attention to the closed door at the other end of the storage room. The Ferrier makes a mental note of where it was and makes a few swift, long strides over to the door; he presses a pointed ear against it to listen closer, all senses piqued. Another strange sound. He couldn’t place it, it almost sounded like a magical misfire. ‘What?’ As far as he could tell, the other man wasn’t a deranged lunatic that would shoot bolts of magic at ghosts. ‘Did somebody else enter?’ As if answering that question, he hears a loud clash. Metal against…metal? Something snaps, something else tears…blood is spilt. The elf is very interested in what’s happening out there, his own heart beating faster in anticipation. Yet…there are elements of fear stirring within as he stands perched against the door. He knows nothing of what nefarious figure has entered his establishment and he’s not a fan of picking he fights he doesn’t know he can win. Continuing to eavesdrop on whatever was happening he hears what sounds like A voice sounding like Amond cry out, shoes squeaking against a floor likely slickened with blood.
At this point his own curiosity combined with his lust for blood caused him to pull the door open. What he saw was absolutely pretty far from anything he’d imagined in his head, though he really had no idea what to expect from the start. First of all, he is not a man accustomed to seeing Rathor. At all, really. So surprising was this sight that his brow knit together in shock at the presence of the lizard first over the gore now decorating his floors. At this point, he is unsure if either of them have even noticed his presence so he stands there, still as a statue, in the threshold of the storeroom, just watching. The Rathor was a bipedal lizard…thing. The mix of human and fauna anatomy is actually rather elegant in design, though beastial all the same. The jagged weapon he possessed was not made of metal as Degare had initially assumed, but he really couldn’t place what it was. It looked like blackened blood…but could it really be that? Again, as if the question was heard, he stares in fascination as the blood on the floor begins to stir. The Rathor was a Vandikar.
As if pulling in blood from all around it, the puddle undulated as it increased in volume before propelling itself forward in a sharp, forceful spike, impaling through Amond’s skull and ending his life. With mouth agape, the elven mage stood there with a mixed expression of confusion, fascination, excitement, awe and admiration. Staying shocked in silence for a few more moments, the blood mage retracts the spike and drops the body. Without Amond standing between them, the two had a clear sight of each other down the store’s aisle. At this point their gazes would meet as Degare was finally able to regain enough of his senses to react. “I…you…who are you?” His voice is more confused and exasperated than anything else. “Actually…nevermind. I don’t care– I’m no threat to you!” He blurts out, realizing that the Rathor before him would likely immediately perceive him as a threat given what he just witnessed. “...Nor do I have any interest in telling a single other soul what’s happened here tonight,” he continues, now with both of his hands raised palms forward in front of his chest. He was trying to show passivity or submission to avoid any conflict with the invading Vandikar.
“I just…don’t break anything, but don’t leave either. You’re a blood mage and…I’ve been looking for one for…I don’t even remember how long,” there is rising passion in the elven man’s voice and his features. He genuinely looks like this is the best day of his fuckin’ life with how excited he’s become at the sight of a blood mage. “Please, you have to give me the mark. I don’t even care if you immediately leave afterwards, I…I’ll figure it out– I just need the mark. Please?” This request is delivered with a desperate, pleading expression; the obvious social power in this situation has been placed in the hands of the Rathor.
____
'Thoughts'
"Common Tongue/Speech"
"Raillen Tongue/Speech"
Re: [Boghadar] Stains
Posted: Fri Mar 11, 2022 4:41 am
by Arkash
The misty white of his eyes settled squarely on the figure at the end of the aisle; Arkash had been seen.
A lift of his empty hand saw him pull the material of the puddle in a vibrant splash of red, which flowed to his hand in a wave, darkened, shrank, and hardened to form a second sword. Multiple gallons of blood rested almost weightless in his hand, which yielded no strain.
The predatory glare in his blind stare hesitated as the voyeur fully unveiled himself; an older man of pointy ears, frail bones, and silver-white hair. Sil'Norai. His lips remained pressed firmly together while Degare declared his intentions, Arkash's eyes darted to his hands, his stance, his clothing, and various items on his person. The Rathor sized him up, measuring his worth, the potential danger he was faced with.
Carefully, he lowered his second sword.
It was with a quickened, excited tone that the elf spoke. His words ran about as quickly as his heart did, which was to imply he fully understood the magic he'd witnessed, the imminent threat of death.
He took a step back with one foot, claws gripping the rim of a tile while he looked about the shelves. It wasn't clear whether or not the Rathor was listening to the words that flowed plentifully from the man's mouth, but the Vandikar at least seemed to assess the situation.
I just need the mark. Please-?
"-Declare your relationship to Amond," Arkash spoke at last, a point of his black sword to the withered cadaver. His voice was dry and raspy, as though a sort of reptilian hiss rumbled in the background of his words. Such only bolstered the dripping threat with which he spoke. "...You own this store..." He concluded under his breath.
His misty eyes returned to the elf then while he anticipated the response. "What does a carpenter want with Blood Magic? Aren't you afraid your god will smite you?" A sudden rise of his brows seemed to strike him with some realization before he blinked and shook his head a little.
"Speak your name..." he asserted with a point of his jagged black sword.
Re: [Boghadar] Stains
Posted: Fri Mar 11, 2022 5:18 am
by Degare
TIMESTAMP: -
NOTES: -
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The Ferrier watched with utter fascination as blood flowed into the shape of a second sword. Simultaneously, immense anxiety rose in his throat. Was the Rathor listening?
When the second sword lowered, he relaxed a bit despite his heart still beating way too fast. Though anxiety had a leaden grip on his core, this opportunity was undeniable. If he didn't at least try to claim it, he might as well just let the lizard strike him down. Degare doesn't move at all while he waits for the other to make his own choice.
A question was asked and the voice was just as terrifying as the beast's appearance. The Ferrier inhales sharply, knowing he walks on a razor's edge. "He's a patron…that's all. He's a fan of…" his breath catches, a result of his evident fear. "...a fan of my family's work. I, ah, sell the collected wares of my House and…Amond just wanted to buy from me. I don't associate with him at all beyond that. I honestly don't even know what he's done to earn a mark on his head– please, I'm completely uninvolved with your hunt." From the way his voice quivers and the speed of his anxious words it would be obvious that the man is terrified of dying, despite his desire for the mark of the Vandikar.
The muscles of his core tighten in unison when those misty white eyes turn their gaze back onto him, body freezing. "As far as I'm aware, the god who's earned my fealty would be rather indifferent," words falling from his lips in a flood. The implication should be obvious; the Ferrier is not loyal to Ulen. "I've skills beyond the mundane, though…I'm an experienced Ferrier as well as a mentalist, the arcane is not new to me." He explains this, hoping it meant something, anything to the cold creature before him.
Upon being asked his name, the elf takes a deep breath to steady himself a bit. "Degare of House Socorro. Is there something I can call you…?" Underneath all of the fear, the enthused, bright spark of interest rings through his words.
____
'Thoughts'
"Common Tongue/Speech"
"Raillen Tongue/Speech"
Re: [Boghadar] Stains
Posted: Fri Mar 11, 2022 6:41 pm
by Arkash
A patron… Uninvolved… Arkash’s squint sharpened at the truth the elf offered, and a rumbling hum of consideration rolled in the back of his throat.
An indifferent God? The elf was not of the local culture or customs. Some sort of Pagan?
A mage too. A mage of two marks, much like his chosen meal. Arkash squinted while he considered the Elf, then shook his head.
The reptile’s nostrils flared at the weight of his exhale. “You’re Entente,” Arkash surmised as he lowered the weapon. “I’m guessing because you come from a house.” His lips pressed hard while he stared down the elf, then flicked his darkened tongue, prongs splayed, while he considered.
“That’s why you want Blood Magic…” he continued. The Entente were all believers in magic might, the strength of a mage dictated their status in Daravin. Degare wouldn’t be able to show off his new mark for any sort of prestige, but if it came to a matter of life and death, it would certainly give him an edge. A nod of his head relayed his understanding.
Silence filled the space for a moment while he thought, naught but the sound of his dripping wrist to fill the void. A glance of his misty eyes set his gaze on his opened wrist, which hardened on command and stopped the slow bleed altogether. “…My name is Arkash,” he answered with a lift of his head.
“I’m guessing you already know the price of carrying this magic?” Arkash waited a moment, then continued. “More than the fact that you’ll be hunted to the ends of Atharen-” he paused, then shook his head. “Fuck it…”
“If you want the Mark, you should know that the moment initiation starts, your skin will open in random gashes all over your body; the mark will leech the blight in your veins.” Arkash rolled his head as he dropped the brighter sword on the Cadaver, and sheathed the other at the hip. “Whether you live or not depends on if the mark decides to split something important. Controlling that, there’s not much else to worry about.”
Arkash’s gaze fell on the body, then returned to the elf. Arkash sheathed his jagged black sword as he began his approach to the older Elf. “I’ll give you my Mark… But on the condition that you don’t tell anyone about this, let me clean your floor in private, and promise me an undisclosed favor sometime in the future.”
When he was just a couple of feet from the Sil’Norai, he extended a set of dull claws in preparation for a handshake. “Deal?”
Re: [Boghadar] Stains
Posted: Fri Mar 11, 2022 7:29 pm
by Degare
TIMESTAMP: -
NOTES: -
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Trying to keep himself as still as possible, his reactions were as if he were truly facing a beast, rather than something that would actually listen to his words. This is not out of any sort of disrespect; no, this was out of primal fear since he'd quite literally watched him impale another man's head with his own blood. The squinted eyes, shake of his head and nostril flare startled the Ferrier, making him instinctively step back, flinching.
Despite the lizard man's voice being quite eerie in and of itself, the more he spoke, the more the Ferrier could manage to force himself to calm. Even if only a tiny bit. This was because he was at least indicating that he, in fact, was actually listening to his pleas. He was not wrong on the basics of his assumptions, yet for Degare, there were deeper underlying reasons for his fascination with blood magic. Though being personal in nature, it would be impossible for a complete stranger to divine them out of thin air.
The silence was only filled by the sound of his own heart and breathing…plus the drip of blood. He waited with bated breath for the other to respond again, not really knowing what to say since a decision hadn't been made and no question had been asked. Breaking the silence, he finally speaks his name. "Arkash…" the Ferrier muttered to himself, it sounded rather foreign to him.
"Yes…I'm well aware of the risks. I'm also, ah…accustomed to keeping secrets," he replies, voice having regained some semblance of smoothness since the other had yet to kill him and the conversation seemed to be going…okay. He continues speaking now, describing the ritual of initiation. While this was absolutely not ideal to have the death variable be random, he was prepared for there to be quite a risk.
He takes a deep breath, sighing with a long exhale. Arkash would notice a plume of coruscating ashes escape the mage's lips as he freed his lungs from the suffocating volume that had been building up. Immediately feeling compelled to clarify, "Those…do nothing. Merely ashes. I need to clear them from my body lest I choke, that's all…won't affect you," he speaks about as quickly as he did earlier.
The lizard shifts his weight and begins to move, dropping a sword over the corpse as he passes, sheathing the other at the same time. As terrifying as the claws and fangs of the man still are, this was a disarming gesture. A figurative olive branch; actions speaking his intentions.
As soon as the words, '...I'll give you my mark,' left the other's mouth there would be an undeniable look of giddiness and excitement lit behind the mage's ruby flecked amber eyes. Despite all of the anxiety and fear, this was what he wanted so desperately for so long. "Yes, of course. Your conditions are more than fair. It'll be easy to find me now that you know my name as well– ask anyone of note in the city and I'm sure they'll be able to direct you to me whenever it is you wish to collect on the debt." While true, most would only know the location of his estate as opposed to the exact location of the man himself, but this was good enough since there would be at least somebody within his own house that could locate him more precisely.
The two men now stood but feet apart, and though the elf was quite timid in the presence of Arkash, he did lower both of his hands and extend one to meet with the other's claws. Scaled and cool to the touch, it was a little novel for the elf, but he did give an elegant, firm shake as was normal for him. Wearing a placid smile with undercurrents of enthusiasm he speaks, "A deal it is, then!"
Speaking again after he was able to withdraw his hand, "You can administer the mark at your convenience…here or elsewhere. I am closed for the eve so we should be able to go uninterrupted now, at least, if you're willing." He floats this offer, figuring it would be easier so the two wouldn't have to go through the trouble of arranging to meet again for this purpose. Also, Degare is not the most patient person, but he is trying to mask this. "As for location…would you be able to put it on my sternum? Below my Bane mark that's already present…though on the bone itself, so none would be able to see save for the most…precarious of circumstances." He makes this request somewhat timidly, as he still definitely feels that the other man still holds all the power in this situation.
____
'Thoughts'
"Common Tongue/Speech"
"Raillen Tongue/Speech"
Re: [Boghadar] Stains
Posted: Sun Mar 13, 2022 5:39 am
by Arkash
Round, inquisitive eyes trailed the ashes that billowed from the elf's lungs preceding a flick of his tongue. His nose curled a little as the sensory organ withdrew, apparently disapproving of whatever it was that he'd tasted. He spoke nothing on the Ashes, left to his own assumptions on the matter while his stance stiffened. Nonetheless, he approached the Elf.
The scales of his palm were coarse, stiff, and hard in parts; laced with tiny bits of bone that acted as natural studded armor. The back of his hand and the wrist leading to his arm beneath the cuff of his refined shirt were all much softer and sleek in appearance, moisturized and shining with what appeared to be some thin layer of natural oil. His claws were largely dull, unable to tear without significant force behind them. They rested still against the elf's pale skin all the same, and the grip of his hand was gentle in contrast to the two-handed shake of the twice-mage.
When the exchange ended, Arkash nodded. "...You realize that means you're putting yourself under the assassin's knife, no?" he spoke with a tap to the pommel of his wicked black sword. The rise of his brow ridges spoke plenty of his surprise of the elf's willingness to be opened up by what he undoubtedly perceived to be a monster, but he wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth.
"Amoren suits me fine," Arkash said with a gesture of his claws in reference to the locale in which they would be performing the initiation. "...My Grafting Needle is in Couronne. I didn't expect to perform surgery when I came here, but I can promise you'll survive if we head back for my tools." Indeed, in addition to his proficiency in working blood, Arkash could sculpt flesh to a degree that he was more than confident in his ability to repair skin and organs.
He took a deep breath through his nostrils before he took a step back and rolled his shoulders. "Go, pack whatever you need for the journey. Your shop should be clear when you return," he spoke with a motion of his head to what was about to be his meal; the leaking cadaver on the tiled floor. Despite the casual manner in which Arkash addressed the Degare, he didn't once turn his back on the Ferrier.
Re: [Boghadar] Stains
Posted: Sun Mar 13, 2022 6:53 am
by Degare
TIMESTAMP: -
NOTES: -
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As much as the elf found the Rathor to be terrifying by nature, the longer this scenario dragged on, the less intimidated he felt. After all…if this murderous lizard wanted his head, he’d have it. Not that he wouldn’t fight back…but best case scenario, both of them would fall. He would look visibly relieved at this point since such a thing had not come to pass.
When Arkash speaks, Degare’s immediate response is loud, breathy laughter. “Am I not at the mercy of your blades right now? I yielded to you. If I still had a reason not to trust you, my viscera would be decorating the floor alongside Amond’s.” Lowering his voice again, “An opportunity like this may never come again. Speaking purely pragmatically, I have no choice.” He makes these assertions with an oddly bright confidence.
As the Rathor spoke once more, the Ferrier was pleasantly surprised with what he’d heard. “Necromancer as well, huh?” This was…an interesting development. Degare had resigned to the fact that he’d likely have to overstep with pallor to hold himself together, but if the other man was willing to help in this regard, who was he to say no? “A man of so few words, yet every time you speak, you fascinate me ever more,” he crosses his arms and laughs– the stark contrast to the sheer volume of fear that had enveloped him mere minutes ago would be jarring. “Thank you for even offering your skills in that regard, as well,” a sentiment shared with genuine appreciation.
“Amoren it is…I do look forward to when next our paths cross,” and with that, the elf gave his new companion a deep, respectful bow. The man is so excited he nearly skips over the corpse as he makes his way to the door of his shop. Noting the strange ‘key’ that had been made to lock it, Degare chuckles to himself, unlocks the door, and leaves.
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'Thoughts'
"Common Tongue/Speech"
"Raillen Tongue/Speech"