87th of Ash, 4621
Through the swirling sea of sand, the riders dragged Caladrin and Arkash. They were bound, thrown over the backs of chariots, and stolen away as mortal cargo. Earlier that day, Arkash had given himself up to get out of the sun, but Caladrin fought tooth and nail... Only to be gagged.
By sunset, they arrived at some sort of compound in the sand. A series of worn buildings and tents in the sand marked the territory of the gang that had taken them. In place of Heraldry, they offered pikes with mounted heads, peppered about the area with no specific pattern or organization. Curiously, all of them were missing their eyes. Streaks of red reached for their cheeks from the void of those empty sockets.
Little mind was paid to them as they drove into the clearing in the middle of the tents. More Gentaverse conversations ensued between the lead biker and some blindfolded strongman in the middle of the compound. Tensions escalated between them, and the blindfolded one began to yell while pointing to Caladrin. The biker leader scoffed in response but seemed to reluctantly agree with whatever the man had said. Some orders were barked to the other bikers, and Caladrin was dragged by the scruff through the sand, in a similar fashion to Arkash. Both were crudely dropped in the cover of a tent, out of the setting sun and in the cool sand.
Arkash remained unconscious as he was propped up against the noble's back. His head hung back, draped over the man's shoulder as if to deliberately open his neck. "Spring-gy hair... dead?" Asked the female, who undid her veil. "No... breathe still..." She spoke with a cross of her arms, then looked to the male in her company. "Kill? Darzuul only care of Entente."
The male shrugged, then stepped forward to grab Arkash's scruff. It was then that Caladrin began to put up a fuss, drawing the female's attention. The male paused as the woman raised her hand to signal so. She stepped toward the bound male, took a knee on the sand floor, then pulled the gag from his mouth. There, he was given the chance to speak his argument. Whatever he said, she rolled her eyes and shook her head before stuffing the rag back in the noble's mouth.
"Leave spring-gy hair," she declared with an annoyed disposition. She hummed for a moment while she looked at the two then looked to the male in her company once more. "Wake him," she ordered, then left the tent and the male to his devices.
Impact. it was heavy, deafening, and unmistakable in his unconsciousness. if it weren't for his senselessness, he'd no doubt feel it for days.
A second impact struck his cheek, and Arkash began to rouse from his dehydrated power nap. Everything hurt, from his achy head to his throbbing jawbone. A drool-less palette was revealed as Arkash parted his dry, cracked lips, and breathed the shaded air of the tent. His nose was broken, he couldn't breathe through it. What happened?
When the sound of running water met his ears, and his burlap rags began to soak through around his chest and lap, Arkash's eyes shot open in desperate hope for water, only to find that he was being pissed on. He was immediately grateful that he couldn't breathe through his nose, as the amber-brown urine no doubt stank something wretched. Caladrin was not so lucky. Arkash hissed and pulled away from the stream by throwing his whole body to the side. The brute finished up and re-zipped his pants before stepping over to drive his fist into the bound slave's face for the third time, knocking him into the sand harshly.
In the haze of pain and rage, Arkash stared up at the man that had attacked him. He commit those features to memory and resolved to kill him. "Kada foolch ddy, pekan," He spat in Vithmi, baring his teeth.
The man laughed as he grabbed Arkash by the shoulder and propped him up against the Entente once more. Arkash flinched and clenched his jaw tight as he braced for another strike. His heart was racing, his lungs pulling breath quickly... But no such impact came. The man warned something aggressively, pointing a finger just an inch from the 'guised rathor's bruising face, then stood up straight, punched his own palm to emphasize his threat, then stepped out of the tent.
Arkash took a moment to gather his breath in utter disgust and burning rage. His bones ached for blood, his teeth longed for the rip of flesh in his jaws. He was ready to unleash into his true form and raise hell... When he realized there was another heartbeat in the room. He couldn't catch their scent because of his broken nose, but he did furrow his brow and look over his shoulder. "Who's 'iss 'en?" he spoke in his lowborn Rien accent.
"Caladrin?" he asked as he maneuvered his body to get a better look at the man, but he could feel his eye beginning to swell shut. That wasn't good, it meant something was broken.
His eye lingered on the man before he squirmed his body to push himself through the sand, then reached around to snag the rag with his teeth, and pulled it from the noble's mouth. His core muscles shook his upper body as they engaged for the movement, fully supporting himself with just his abs strength. Once he'd pulled it out, he tossed the rag aside, then dragged himself back into position behind the Veir before he took a moment to rest against the other man. "Soz if I stink, milord," he spoke with very little enthusiasm and breathed in exhaustion through his dry mouth. "Dun' suppose 'ese pricks gave 'ew any watah did 'ey?"
Through the swirling sea of sand, the riders dragged Caladrin and Arkash. They were bound, thrown over the backs of chariots, and stolen away as mortal cargo. Earlier that day, Arkash had given himself up to get out of the sun, but Caladrin fought tooth and nail... Only to be gagged.
By sunset, they arrived at some sort of compound in the sand. A series of worn buildings and tents in the sand marked the territory of the gang that had taken them. In place of Heraldry, they offered pikes with mounted heads, peppered about the area with no specific pattern or organization. Curiously, all of them were missing their eyes. Streaks of red reached for their cheeks from the void of those empty sockets.
Little mind was paid to them as they drove into the clearing in the middle of the tents. More Gentaverse conversations ensued between the lead biker and some blindfolded strongman in the middle of the compound. Tensions escalated between them, and the blindfolded one began to yell while pointing to Caladrin. The biker leader scoffed in response but seemed to reluctantly agree with whatever the man had said. Some orders were barked to the other bikers, and Caladrin was dragged by the scruff through the sand, in a similar fashion to Arkash. Both were crudely dropped in the cover of a tent, out of the setting sun and in the cool sand.
Arkash remained unconscious as he was propped up against the noble's back. His head hung back, draped over the man's shoulder as if to deliberately open his neck. "Spring-gy hair... dead?" Asked the female, who undid her veil. "No... breathe still..." She spoke with a cross of her arms, then looked to the male in her company. "Kill? Darzuul only care of Entente."
The male shrugged, then stepped forward to grab Arkash's scruff. It was then that Caladrin began to put up a fuss, drawing the female's attention. The male paused as the woman raised her hand to signal so. She stepped toward the bound male, took a knee on the sand floor, then pulled the gag from his mouth. There, he was given the chance to speak his argument. Whatever he said, she rolled her eyes and shook her head before stuffing the rag back in the noble's mouth.
"Leave spring-gy hair," she declared with an annoyed disposition. She hummed for a moment while she looked at the two then looked to the male in her company once more. "Wake him," she ordered, then left the tent and the male to his devices.
Impact. it was heavy, deafening, and unmistakable in his unconsciousness. if it weren't for his senselessness, he'd no doubt feel it for days.
A second impact struck his cheek, and Arkash began to rouse from his dehydrated power nap. Everything hurt, from his achy head to his throbbing jawbone. A drool-less palette was revealed as Arkash parted his dry, cracked lips, and breathed the shaded air of the tent. His nose was broken, he couldn't breathe through it. What happened?
When the sound of running water met his ears, and his burlap rags began to soak through around his chest and lap, Arkash's eyes shot open in desperate hope for water, only to find that he was being pissed on. He was immediately grateful that he couldn't breathe through his nose, as the amber-brown urine no doubt stank something wretched. Caladrin was not so lucky. Arkash hissed and pulled away from the stream by throwing his whole body to the side. The brute finished up and re-zipped his pants before stepping over to drive his fist into the bound slave's face for the third time, knocking him into the sand harshly.
In the haze of pain and rage, Arkash stared up at the man that had attacked him. He commit those features to memory and resolved to kill him. "Kada foolch ddy, pekan," He spat in Vithmi, baring his teeth.
The man laughed as he grabbed Arkash by the shoulder and propped him up against the Entente once more. Arkash flinched and clenched his jaw tight as he braced for another strike. His heart was racing, his lungs pulling breath quickly... But no such impact came. The man warned something aggressively, pointing a finger just an inch from the 'guised rathor's bruising face, then stood up straight, punched his own palm to emphasize his threat, then stepped out of the tent.
Arkash took a moment to gather his breath in utter disgust and burning rage. His bones ached for blood, his teeth longed for the rip of flesh in his jaws. He was ready to unleash into his true form and raise hell... When he realized there was another heartbeat in the room. He couldn't catch their scent because of his broken nose, but he did furrow his brow and look over his shoulder. "Who's 'iss 'en?" he spoke in his lowborn Rien accent.
"Caladrin?" he asked as he maneuvered his body to get a better look at the man, but he could feel his eye beginning to swell shut. That wasn't good, it meant something was broken.
His eye lingered on the man before he squirmed his body to push himself through the sand, then reached around to snag the rag with his teeth, and pulled it from the noble's mouth. His core muscles shook his upper body as they engaged for the movement, fully supporting himself with just his abs strength. Once he'd pulled it out, he tossed the rag aside, then dragged himself back into position behind the Veir before he took a moment to rest against the other man. "Soz if I stink, milord," he spoke with very little enthusiasm and breathed in exhaustion through his dry mouth. "Dun' suppose 'ese pricks gave 'ew any watah did 'ey?"
Image source.
