Frost 13th, 4622
A plume of black smoke cut through the scorched red rock of the badlands; toxic fumes bundled and clustered in clouds as they rose and steadily broke apart in a trail long behind the burning wyrmblood to create such a reaction. Ignorant to the corrupted wasteland and blighted sands they kicked up in their wake, the chariot's wheels turned and carried its riders to safety, to some sliver of civilization in the ruthless desert.
Arkash clung to Izzy from the chariot's back seat with his one arm. He wore his scales in all their molten, scarred glory. His cardinal features laid buried beneath for the time being, he wasn't expecting trouble or any sort of combat situation. Neither of them were armed, and with Arkash's mobility and senses still so badly debilitated it would be unwise for either of them to look for trouble.
Despite Arkash's ragged, run-down appearance, Izzy dressed as well as she normally did. There was no blood on her clothes to speak of, tears in her attire were treated with needle and thread, and she'd been scavenging long enough to put together an attire that meshed well together. She looked as though she belonged in the badlands, and adorned her outfit with metallic studs and spikes to warn others that it was so.
Arkash wasn't so; his tattered green robes did little to intimidate or ward off would-be attackers. Arkash had no need to warn away his food.
It seemed to make sense to him that day; why one might want to appear threatening in the badlands. There would be times when he wasn't strong enough to fend off his attackers, and it was during those times that he had to appear dangerous, and strong. But there he was, half-wrapped around the one-eyed human curl as they blazed through the desert.
The deafening roar of the ancient engine made conversation impossible, but their silence was companionable. Both had been in one another's company for more than half a year by then, and didn't need to fill the empty space with any sort of comfort talk.
Their destination was clear, the purpose more so. That was to say that Izzy knew where they were going, and Arkash only trusted her judgment.
A year ago, Arkash wouldn't have allowed himself to wander into a situation without knowing what to expect; the Rath would have learned the ins and outs of his destination before arriving, taking care to control the outcome the best he could.
A lot had changed in a year, he'd gained and he'd lost, but the losses seemed to outweigh what he'd gained. Degare, Fayeth, Gallarhon, his mark of control, his arm and his rifle for his evolution, and an odd little Necromancy tool. He thought there, feeling sorry for himself while he considered what he'd gained and what he'd lost. It wasn't until the chariot ran over a particularly steep crack in the red rock, where he was made to cling tighter to the human for support, that he considered that he'd gained her too.
The storm of grief that accumulated behind his eye broke then, if only for a second. His dull claws tightened around her waist while he considered - there might have been some things, some people, that he took for granted. As the tightness of his hold grew, Izzy's attention snapped from the road to look down, then back with a slight smile before she returned her attention to the open wasteland. Rustbucket was in sight.
Broken bellows of black smoke flagged from the chariot's exhaust as the engine's roar withdrew to a grumble. Too steadily, they approached the steading's outskirts. Driving as fast as they had been, everything slower than a galloping horse felt like crawling. Once the crawling was done, Izzy shut off the engine and deployed the support peg with her boot.
With his arm still affixed to the human, he shifted his hips to slide his tail from the chariot's back, then followed its weight to throw his body into the motion of dismounting. One leg limberly came over the back wheel while the other pivoted on the machine. When the leg in motion met the hot sand, he un-anchored himself from the human and reached up to lower his tinted goggles before he looked at her expectantly with his yellow eye.
Izzy dismounted the chariot in a similar fashion, using the steering handle for support. She offered a quiet grunt as she removed herself from the machine, then brushed off her pants with both hands. "Alright," she began. "So this place is just around the corner; you brought your purse, right?"
Arkash nodded and tapped the bag at his hip.
"Good," she exhaled. "Freida's work is great, but don't skimp her on a deal, she'll fuck you up."
The Rath furrowed his brow. "What if she skimps me?"
"She won't," she assured in full confidence. "Freida's fair. If you don't like it, you've got a whole three months to return it. But odds are you'll find nothing wrong with it; I've seen some really impressive stuff come out of there."
"...Out of there?"
Izzy smiled at the question, then motioned her head for Arkash to follow. "You'll see," she said as she began her walk into the assortment of tattered buildings that surrounded the settlement's crowning feature. Arkash adjusted his cloak to better hide his missing arm, and the fat purse of coin on his hip to boot.
The usual of the Badland's types stalked the market stalls as Arkash followed close by his guide. His one working eye stayed forward but followed those that peered at him in his peripheral. Direct eye contact wasn't made as to avoid conflict, but he was certain to relay that he was attentive to his surroundings as he effortlessly side-stepped an attempted shoulder-check and curled his nose at the twinge in his ankle. He'd need to revisit the wound there when he had two working hands.
Soon enough, the two came to stop at an unsuspecting stone building of flat roofing. The stonework was chipped and eroded at the edges, cracked in places of tension that crept toward the center of those featureless slabs. All that broke up the shape was a series of metal hatches along the upper rim of the building, a large metallic door on the left end of the face, a small metallic hatch toward the center, beside an open arch with some sort of golem perched inside. Atop the building stood a sign that read, with some effort on Arkash's part, "Frei...da's... Coh-rr... Correhhhh-ct, correct-iiive.... Freida's corrective- ssssseeeerrrving."
"Close," Izzy smiled. "Try that last bit again? Freida's corrective ser..."
Arkash squinted with his one eye, then widened it in recognition. "Oh, services. That makes more sense." He then turned to look at the human for affirmation. "Freida's corrective services, right?"
Izzy's gaze was alight with joy, a hint of pride. "You got it, Ark, all by yourself."
Arkash's melted lips curled an attempted smile of their own where his damaged nerves would allow. "Not all by myself; I'd still be askin' 'ew to read everyfin' for me if it weren't for 'ew."
"Well I suppose I can take some credit," the woman gave in playfully. "Alright, I'm gonna get me a new gun, you should be alright here by yourself."
Arkash furrowed his brow, then looked back at the building with a turn of his head before he looked back at his companion. It wasn't like him to be so uncertain. "Are 'ew sure?"
She rose a brow at the question. "Sure am, we need guns. Freida's easy enough to talk to, very professional."
"I just head inside?"
"Well yeah but talk to her first."
"Isn't she inside?"
"No, Ark," said the human as she took him by the shoulder and pointed to guide his gaze... to the perched golem bust. "Right there," she declared. "That's Freida."
"That's a golem," Arkash corrected and cast a confused look at her as she released his shoulder. He had the sense of smell to affirm there was nothing biological about the machine, nothing mortal. "She's a golem?" Surely not.
"Yeah," Izzy smiled. "I told you: she's one of a kind, right?"
"You did... But," Arkash squinted at the metallic matron. "I don't know, I didn't think something like this was possible..."
A plume of black smoke cut through the scorched red rock of the badlands; toxic fumes bundled and clustered in clouds as they rose and steadily broke apart in a trail long behind the burning wyrmblood to create such a reaction. Ignorant to the corrupted wasteland and blighted sands they kicked up in their wake, the chariot's wheels turned and carried its riders to safety, to some sliver of civilization in the ruthless desert.
Arkash clung to Izzy from the chariot's back seat with his one arm. He wore his scales in all their molten, scarred glory. His cardinal features laid buried beneath for the time being, he wasn't expecting trouble or any sort of combat situation. Neither of them were armed, and with Arkash's mobility and senses still so badly debilitated it would be unwise for either of them to look for trouble.
Despite Arkash's ragged, run-down appearance, Izzy dressed as well as she normally did. There was no blood on her clothes to speak of, tears in her attire were treated with needle and thread, and she'd been scavenging long enough to put together an attire that meshed well together. She looked as though she belonged in the badlands, and adorned her outfit with metallic studs and spikes to warn others that it was so.
Arkash wasn't so; his tattered green robes did little to intimidate or ward off would-be attackers. Arkash had no need to warn away his food.
It seemed to make sense to him that day; why one might want to appear threatening in the badlands. There would be times when he wasn't strong enough to fend off his attackers, and it was during those times that he had to appear dangerous, and strong. But there he was, half-wrapped around the one-eyed human curl as they blazed through the desert.
The deafening roar of the ancient engine made conversation impossible, but their silence was companionable. Both had been in one another's company for more than half a year by then, and didn't need to fill the empty space with any sort of comfort talk.
Their destination was clear, the purpose more so. That was to say that Izzy knew where they were going, and Arkash only trusted her judgment.
A year ago, Arkash wouldn't have allowed himself to wander into a situation without knowing what to expect; the Rath would have learned the ins and outs of his destination before arriving, taking care to control the outcome the best he could.
A lot had changed in a year, he'd gained and he'd lost, but the losses seemed to outweigh what he'd gained. Degare, Fayeth, Gallarhon, his mark of control, his arm and his rifle for his evolution, and an odd little Necromancy tool. He thought there, feeling sorry for himself while he considered what he'd gained and what he'd lost. It wasn't until the chariot ran over a particularly steep crack in the red rock, where he was made to cling tighter to the human for support, that he considered that he'd gained her too.
The storm of grief that accumulated behind his eye broke then, if only for a second. His dull claws tightened around her waist while he considered - there might have been some things, some people, that he took for granted. As the tightness of his hold grew, Izzy's attention snapped from the road to look down, then back with a slight smile before she returned her attention to the open wasteland. Rustbucket was in sight.
Broken bellows of black smoke flagged from the chariot's exhaust as the engine's roar withdrew to a grumble. Too steadily, they approached the steading's outskirts. Driving as fast as they had been, everything slower than a galloping horse felt like crawling. Once the crawling was done, Izzy shut off the engine and deployed the support peg with her boot.
With his arm still affixed to the human, he shifted his hips to slide his tail from the chariot's back, then followed its weight to throw his body into the motion of dismounting. One leg limberly came over the back wheel while the other pivoted on the machine. When the leg in motion met the hot sand, he un-anchored himself from the human and reached up to lower his tinted goggles before he looked at her expectantly with his yellow eye.
Izzy dismounted the chariot in a similar fashion, using the steering handle for support. She offered a quiet grunt as she removed herself from the machine, then brushed off her pants with both hands. "Alright," she began. "So this place is just around the corner; you brought your purse, right?"
Arkash nodded and tapped the bag at his hip.
"Good," she exhaled. "Freida's work is great, but don't skimp her on a deal, she'll fuck you up."
The Rath furrowed his brow. "What if she skimps me?"
"She won't," she assured in full confidence. "Freida's fair. If you don't like it, you've got a whole three months to return it. But odds are you'll find nothing wrong with it; I've seen some really impressive stuff come out of there."
"...Out of there?"
Izzy smiled at the question, then motioned her head for Arkash to follow. "You'll see," she said as she began her walk into the assortment of tattered buildings that surrounded the settlement's crowning feature. Arkash adjusted his cloak to better hide his missing arm, and the fat purse of coin on his hip to boot.
The usual of the Badland's types stalked the market stalls as Arkash followed close by his guide. His one working eye stayed forward but followed those that peered at him in his peripheral. Direct eye contact wasn't made as to avoid conflict, but he was certain to relay that he was attentive to his surroundings as he effortlessly side-stepped an attempted shoulder-check and curled his nose at the twinge in his ankle. He'd need to revisit the wound there when he had two working hands.
Soon enough, the two came to stop at an unsuspecting stone building of flat roofing. The stonework was chipped and eroded at the edges, cracked in places of tension that crept toward the center of those featureless slabs. All that broke up the shape was a series of metal hatches along the upper rim of the building, a large metallic door on the left end of the face, a small metallic hatch toward the center, beside an open arch with some sort of golem perched inside. Atop the building stood a sign that read, with some effort on Arkash's part, "Frei...da's... Coh-rr... Correhhhh-ct, correct-iiive.... Freida's corrective- ssssseeeerrrving."
"Close," Izzy smiled. "Try that last bit again? Freida's corrective ser..."
Arkash squinted with his one eye, then widened it in recognition. "Oh, services. That makes more sense." He then turned to look at the human for affirmation. "Freida's corrective services, right?"
Izzy's gaze was alight with joy, a hint of pride. "You got it, Ark, all by yourself."
Arkash's melted lips curled an attempted smile of their own where his damaged nerves would allow. "Not all by myself; I'd still be askin' 'ew to read everyfin' for me if it weren't for 'ew."
"Well I suppose I can take some credit," the woman gave in playfully. "Alright, I'm gonna get me a new gun, you should be alright here by yourself."
Arkash furrowed his brow, then looked back at the building with a turn of his head before he looked back at his companion. It wasn't like him to be so uncertain. "Are 'ew sure?"
She rose a brow at the question. "Sure am, we need guns. Freida's easy enough to talk to, very professional."
"I just head inside?"
"Well yeah but talk to her first."
"Isn't she inside?"
"No, Ark," said the human as she took him by the shoulder and pointed to guide his gaze... to the perched golem bust. "Right there," she declared. "That's Freida."
"That's a golem," Arkash corrected and cast a confused look at her as she released his shoulder. He had the sense of smell to affirm there was nothing biological about the machine, nothing mortal. "She's a golem?" Surely not.
"Yeah," Izzy smiled. "I told you: she's one of a kind, right?"
"You did... But," Arkash squinted at the metallic matron. "I don't know, I didn't think something like this was possible..."
Image source.
