[Job Thread] To fix a heathen
Posted: Sat Apr 01, 2023 9:53 am
Glade 35th, 4623
Arkash didn't speak while he was carted through the camp. His legs were stiff, and his eyes burned from staring into the dry desert. His feet barely cooperated as those rough hands dragged him along, and he stumbled with every step all the way to the site of their leader.
His mind was nowhere, his muscles were rigid with righteous tension that he resisted all the way there. Even long after witnessing the violence toward the woman, images of the raider's eyes gauged from their heads by his claws still burned in the back of his head.
"Fix him," ordered the voice of the Druskai, which brought him back to the present.
Arkash blinked and looked up at the teal mean.
"Got rocks in your ears, kid?" He mocked before he manually directed Arkash's head toward the body atop the table. There laid a Moroi of purple skin, a Moroi Arkash recognized. Indeed, he carried the same injury, now festered and black. "I said fix him," reminded the raider.
"Ah... Oui Monsieur," he continued his fake Gentaverse accent as he roused from his suppression, then set his doctor's bag upon the table while the Druskai sat behind him and cross his arms. Arkash collected his Shaper's Pen and activated it to show a small blue flame at the end. Carefully, he brushed over the rotting flesh to remove it while rapidly coagulating the arteries beneath. Very little blood was lost in the process. To that, he had difficulty holding back his scorn.
Very gently, he began to reconstruct the limb from the bone with Sinew Foam from the gun all the way down to the elbow joint. Once the bone was set, Arkash carved it into the correct shape with the carving sickle and used the excess to generate more Sinew Foam.
As Arkash began to rebuild the Ulna and the Radius, he looked up at the Druskai, who otherwise appeared impressed by Arkash's work. "How deed zis 'appen?" He quizzed.
"Hm? Oh," The raider began. "He went after this buyer that cut him out of a deal for a specific kit, lost us three or four chariots, eight men, and his left arm. The craziest thing? The buyer was a lizard."Arkash rose his brow at that to feign shock. "Yeah, not kidding," he said with a shake of his head. "A freaking lizard of all things... That's what the fella in the watchtower thought you were when we saw you. Sorry about that."
"Ah... I get zat all ze time, non worry," he assured, to which the raider laughed.
"You work fast, he already looks a lot better." The Raider spoke with a slight smile.
"Oui, I em proud of mi work, non?" The accent was becoming tiring to maintain, he had to stop the conversation somewhere, he resolved as he finished the bones and began to create the smaller pebble-like bones of the wrist and hand. "What weell appen to me and my assistaunte when I em done?"
To that, the druskai scratched his chin. "Well, you're both free to go, of course. We don't want to keep you here."
Arkash could tell, the man was lying. The slight drop in his tone, the avoidance of his eyes. It was despicable, to think they could go back on someone who'd helped them as he had. Nonetheless, he continued his work and completed all the bones of the hand. "Merci," was all Arkash said to that. The heavy question seemed enough to drop the conversation, to which Arkash smiled.
With no more interruptions, Arkash began to weave a map of the arm's nervous system through the bones with his grafting needle, then activated them. Like a wave, the etheric thread formed the nerves that would enable contraction and flexion of his muscles. Soon after came the vessels, then the muscles, tendons, and skin. Most of the latter applications were done with the shapers pen and Sinew Foam, but the ending result was still the same; a fully reconstructed arm.
With the arm done, the acting captain stood up and looked over Arkash's work. The druskai leaned on the table with both hands, looked closely, then nodded. "It looks good!" He declared. "Does it work?"
To that, Arkash nodded and pinched the arm. The Moroi's expression twisted in pain.
The druskai laughed, and clapped Arkash on the back. "Fantastic!" He said, jubilant. "Now... is that everything? Did the festering spread anywhere else?"
Arkash scratched his head, then widened his eyes. "Mebe 'ees blood?"
"His blood?" Quizzed the Druskai with a furrow of his brow.
Arkash nodded. "Oui."
"How can blood be festered?" He asked, skeptical.
Arkash pressed his teeth hard. "Well," he began, and resumed the strain of his feigned accent. "When ze flesh is lost, ze infection seeks to spread, eet eh..." he made some sort of gesture with his hands to emphasize the language barrier he manifested. "You know?" he asked, nasally.
The Raider appeared lost; brow furrowed in confusion while he crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Yeah, that makes sense. So how do you fix it?"
Arkash grinned, at first in malice, then in appreciation. "Ah, leave et to me, non? Tek a seet." He offered with a gesture to the raider's chair.
The Druskai shrugged, then returned to his rickety chair in the corner of the room. Arkash drew his grafting needle and began to build a bag from Sinew thread, a tube of flesh, and a needle of bone at the end. With that, he converted one of his jars of Sinew Foam to the Moroi's blood with an activator, then deliberately created a clot by partially hardening a portion with his Blood Magic. He smiled softly to the raider as he introduced the needle to the raider's brachial artery, and watched as the clot traveled down the tube, and into the Moroi's veins by the work of gravity.
With that done, Arkash drew the needle from the purple skin of his foe, then stitched the wound shut. "There, eet ees done," Arkash assured. "Ze new blood weell fight ze fester, mek eem well," he nodded for emphasis as if to assure his supposed captor.
All the while, Arkash watched his victim. He'd deliberately killed someone, but not in a spectacularly violent way. Would he be struck with overstepping? Nothing came before the raider seized his arm. Arkash looked up at the sea green man with wide eyes.
"Great job!" He assured. "We're very grateful for your services, mister..."
"...Egon," he answered.
"Mister Egon." The raider returned and bowed his head. "What's the name of the Veir you serve?"
Arkash pursed his lips. The Druskai was at least considering a ransom. Why wouldn't he? A Necrodoctor of his skill was surely worth far more alive than dead. "Soccorro," he answered. "Degare Soccorro."
The Druskai furrowed a brow and looked up in thought while he considered the name. "Sounds familiar," he agreed. Arkash couldn't help but raise a brow in surprise. Just how far did the name of his lover carry weight? "We'll see if we can contact him. Until then, it looks like you'll be our guest of honor, along with that lovely assistant of yours."
Arkash nodded, feigning uncertainty. "As you say, Ser. I can..." he cleared his throat. "Ay can 'elp more of your men eef tu wish," the false human offered.
To that, the Druskai nodded. "We might just make use of you yet... Depends how much damage they do to your girl in there," he said with a cruel smile.
Arkash feigned sadness; it was difficult to resist the urge to shatter the Druskai's skull right there on the spot. "Do not 'urt 'err," He began before the Druskai struck him. The larger man's knuckles knocked Arkash's head to the side with enough force to flatten a man twice his size, but Arkash didn't fall.
"You don't tell me what to do, surf," The Druskai spat, overcome with a bout of anger. It was good, Arkash hadn't been prepared to fall with the strike. If the man had been thinking, he'd surely realize there was more to Arkash than met the eye.
His fist balled at his side before he lifted his hand to his cheek and cradled his nonexistent injury. "Sorry, guv," he spoke with barely constrained hate.
At that, The Druskai blinked and shook his head a little before he inspected his knuckles. Arkash wiped the spit from his face with a sleeve as he returned his cold gaze to the Druskai. "Tigs," The Druskai called, and one of the riflemen arrived in the tent, armed. "Take Mister Egon to the holding tent, tie him up," he ordered.
Arkash was unresponsive, staring through the blue-skinned man like a starving animal with eyes on prey. Tigs took his arm and dragged him from the tent with considerable force. Arkash's legs didn't move until he had to catch his weight, and then he skidded and dragged through as his legs steadily roused from whatever trance he'd come under. He sat quietly as the rifleman tied him in coils of rope, and focused only on emptying his thoughts of all the wild violence to flood his vision.
Arkash didn't speak while he was carted through the camp. His legs were stiff, and his eyes burned from staring into the dry desert. His feet barely cooperated as those rough hands dragged him along, and he stumbled with every step all the way to the site of their leader.
His mind was nowhere, his muscles were rigid with righteous tension that he resisted all the way there. Even long after witnessing the violence toward the woman, images of the raider's eyes gauged from their heads by his claws still burned in the back of his head.
"Fix him," ordered the voice of the Druskai, which brought him back to the present.
Arkash blinked and looked up at the teal mean.
"Got rocks in your ears, kid?" He mocked before he manually directed Arkash's head toward the body atop the table. There laid a Moroi of purple skin, a Moroi Arkash recognized. Indeed, he carried the same injury, now festered and black. "I said fix him," reminded the raider.
"Ah... Oui Monsieur," he continued his fake Gentaverse accent as he roused from his suppression, then set his doctor's bag upon the table while the Druskai sat behind him and cross his arms. Arkash collected his Shaper's Pen and activated it to show a small blue flame at the end. Carefully, he brushed over the rotting flesh to remove it while rapidly coagulating the arteries beneath. Very little blood was lost in the process. To that, he had difficulty holding back his scorn.
Very gently, he began to reconstruct the limb from the bone with Sinew Foam from the gun all the way down to the elbow joint. Once the bone was set, Arkash carved it into the correct shape with the carving sickle and used the excess to generate more Sinew Foam.
As Arkash began to rebuild the Ulna and the Radius, he looked up at the Druskai, who otherwise appeared impressed by Arkash's work. "How deed zis 'appen?" He quizzed.
"Hm? Oh," The raider began. "He went after this buyer that cut him out of a deal for a specific kit, lost us three or four chariots, eight men, and his left arm. The craziest thing? The buyer was a lizard."Arkash rose his brow at that to feign shock. "Yeah, not kidding," he said with a shake of his head. "A freaking lizard of all things... That's what the fella in the watchtower thought you were when we saw you. Sorry about that."
"Ah... I get zat all ze time, non worry," he assured, to which the raider laughed.
"You work fast, he already looks a lot better." The Raider spoke with a slight smile.
"Oui, I em proud of mi work, non?" The accent was becoming tiring to maintain, he had to stop the conversation somewhere, he resolved as he finished the bones and began to create the smaller pebble-like bones of the wrist and hand. "What weell appen to me and my assistaunte when I em done?"
To that, the druskai scratched his chin. "Well, you're both free to go, of course. We don't want to keep you here."
Arkash could tell, the man was lying. The slight drop in his tone, the avoidance of his eyes. It was despicable, to think they could go back on someone who'd helped them as he had. Nonetheless, he continued his work and completed all the bones of the hand. "Merci," was all Arkash said to that. The heavy question seemed enough to drop the conversation, to which Arkash smiled.
With no more interruptions, Arkash began to weave a map of the arm's nervous system through the bones with his grafting needle, then activated them. Like a wave, the etheric thread formed the nerves that would enable contraction and flexion of his muscles. Soon after came the vessels, then the muscles, tendons, and skin. Most of the latter applications were done with the shapers pen and Sinew Foam, but the ending result was still the same; a fully reconstructed arm.
With the arm done, the acting captain stood up and looked over Arkash's work. The druskai leaned on the table with both hands, looked closely, then nodded. "It looks good!" He declared. "Does it work?"
To that, Arkash nodded and pinched the arm. The Moroi's expression twisted in pain.
The druskai laughed, and clapped Arkash on the back. "Fantastic!" He said, jubilant. "Now... is that everything? Did the festering spread anywhere else?"
Arkash scratched his head, then widened his eyes. "Mebe 'ees blood?"
"His blood?" Quizzed the Druskai with a furrow of his brow.
Arkash nodded. "Oui."
"How can blood be festered?" He asked, skeptical.
Arkash pressed his teeth hard. "Well," he began, and resumed the strain of his feigned accent. "When ze flesh is lost, ze infection seeks to spread, eet eh..." he made some sort of gesture with his hands to emphasize the language barrier he manifested. "You know?" he asked, nasally.
The Raider appeared lost; brow furrowed in confusion while he crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Yeah, that makes sense. So how do you fix it?"
Arkash grinned, at first in malice, then in appreciation. "Ah, leave et to me, non? Tek a seet." He offered with a gesture to the raider's chair.
The Druskai shrugged, then returned to his rickety chair in the corner of the room. Arkash drew his grafting needle and began to build a bag from Sinew thread, a tube of flesh, and a needle of bone at the end. With that, he converted one of his jars of Sinew Foam to the Moroi's blood with an activator, then deliberately created a clot by partially hardening a portion with his Blood Magic. He smiled softly to the raider as he introduced the needle to the raider's brachial artery, and watched as the clot traveled down the tube, and into the Moroi's veins by the work of gravity.
With that done, Arkash drew the needle from the purple skin of his foe, then stitched the wound shut. "There, eet ees done," Arkash assured. "Ze new blood weell fight ze fester, mek eem well," he nodded for emphasis as if to assure his supposed captor.
All the while, Arkash watched his victim. He'd deliberately killed someone, but not in a spectacularly violent way. Would he be struck with overstepping? Nothing came before the raider seized his arm. Arkash looked up at the sea green man with wide eyes.
"Great job!" He assured. "We're very grateful for your services, mister..."
"...Egon," he answered.
"Mister Egon." The raider returned and bowed his head. "What's the name of the Veir you serve?"
Arkash pursed his lips. The Druskai was at least considering a ransom. Why wouldn't he? A Necrodoctor of his skill was surely worth far more alive than dead. "Soccorro," he answered. "Degare Soccorro."
The Druskai furrowed a brow and looked up in thought while he considered the name. "Sounds familiar," he agreed. Arkash couldn't help but raise a brow in surprise. Just how far did the name of his lover carry weight? "We'll see if we can contact him. Until then, it looks like you'll be our guest of honor, along with that lovely assistant of yours."
Arkash nodded, feigning uncertainty. "As you say, Ser. I can..." he cleared his throat. "Ay can 'elp more of your men eef tu wish," the false human offered.
To that, the Druskai nodded. "We might just make use of you yet... Depends how much damage they do to your girl in there," he said with a cruel smile.
Arkash feigned sadness; it was difficult to resist the urge to shatter the Druskai's skull right there on the spot. "Do not 'urt 'err," He began before the Druskai struck him. The larger man's knuckles knocked Arkash's head to the side with enough force to flatten a man twice his size, but Arkash didn't fall.
"You don't tell me what to do, surf," The Druskai spat, overcome with a bout of anger. It was good, Arkash hadn't been prepared to fall with the strike. If the man had been thinking, he'd surely realize there was more to Arkash than met the eye.
His fist balled at his side before he lifted his hand to his cheek and cradled his nonexistent injury. "Sorry, guv," he spoke with barely constrained hate.
At that, The Druskai blinked and shook his head a little before he inspected his knuckles. Arkash wiped the spit from his face with a sleeve as he returned his cold gaze to the Druskai. "Tigs," The Druskai called, and one of the riflemen arrived in the tent, armed. "Take Mister Egon to the holding tent, tie him up," he ordered.
Arkash was unresponsive, staring through the blue-skinned man like a starving animal with eyes on prey. Tigs took his arm and dragged him from the tent with considerable force. Arkash's legs didn't move until he had to catch his weight, and then he skidded and dragged through as his legs steadily roused from whatever trance he'd come under. He sat quietly as the rifleman tied him in coils of rope, and focused only on emptying his thoughts of all the wild violence to flood his vision.
Image source.
