34th of Ash, 120
The cold of the winds bit into his scales and open wounds while they flew. The first trip was to the general store, the second, to the sewer grate outside of Lower Nivenhain. It was a tall stone brick structure, barred with iron that let loose a continuous flow of melted snow mixed with human waste. Asmodei complained about the stink and the unsanitary conditions, so they moved closer to the lake.
Arkash's legs were in a bad way, but it didn't appear as though he needed stitches. He'd just have t be careful about where he ventured until his wounds had closed. So, While Arkash began to painstakingly clean his wounds, Asmodei set off in search of materials to build a fire. Despite the number of times he'd been slashed and scraped, the young rath would never get used to the feeling of impressions in his scales, and it showed in his one sighted eye.
Tears ran down his cheek while he fought the burning sting in his scales, and continued to push through with his alcohol-soaked cloth. He had to move while he was still warm, in case Asmodei was late to build the fire. When at last the left was done, Arkash began to wrap it. His focus was on the treatment of his leg, not on his surroundings. The stretch of bandage soaked pink as he pressed it to the cool, aired burn in his calf, then grew darker as he circled it. He was still bleeding a bit, but the pressure and the cold would help alleviate it.
"What the fuck happened?" Snapped Fayeth from the direction of his blind eye. Arkash startled and fumbled with the roll before he steadied himself.
"F-fayeth?" he asked as he tilted his head. In an effort to put her in his field of view. She stood across from him with her arms crossed, a wild rage in her hungry eyes.
"Arkash," she replied, unamused. The rathari bared his teeth, then resumed wrapping his bandage. "I'm going to assume that you had something to do with the warehouse fire. Asmodei and I have kept low profiles; we haven't made enemies. So, what did you do?"
Asmodei hadn't told her about his career path yet, but Arkash convinced himself he wasn't worried. Fayeth killed people to survive, and so did he. What was the problem? "Kill't some'un," he answered.
"Who?"
"Luca," he replied simply.
Fayeth furrowed her brow with a puzzled look. "...Who?" She asked again.
"Luca Wagna', th' Black Boar Charga's secon' in command," he finally answered in full.
Fayeth put her hands together, then brought her index fingers to rest at her lips while she breathed deeply. "Why...?" She quizzed with a hint of worry. "What possessed you to kill the lieutenant of a dangerous gang, Arkash?" her tone took a more tired, fed-up turn that Arkash hadn't expected. At least she believed him.
"Some'un payed me t' do i'."
Fayeth sighed through her nose, then took a seat beside the rathari. Arkash watched her for a moment, then tied his leg bandage off. "So someone followed you home, and some six men tried to kill you and Asmodei," she surmised. "Someone saw you kill him?" She asked as she turned her head to the rath. Arkash shook his head.
"No, but some'un caugh' me in their lan'."
"And how did that go?"
"...I set 'im on fia."
Fayeth brought her knees to her chest and buried her face in them. Arkash had woven something of a nightmare when she and Asmodei weren't looking. "I know what you're doing," spoke the siltori as she lifted her head. Arkash merely flexed a brow before he pressed his alcohol-soaked cloth to his right leg, and began to rub the dirt from his open wounds with pained hisses and grunts. "...You're trying to prove yourself, because of our talk on the roof. You don't want us... me, to think you're weak."
Arkash paused a moment in his rubbing, then looked at the siltori in recognition. She was right, of course. It was what he strove so hard for; the recognition of independence. He could stand on his own two feet, handle himself in a fight, and make his own money. They didn't have to baby him. Without a word, Arkash returned to the task of rubbing his wounds.
"Arkash..." Fayeth exhaled. The rathari continued cleaning his wounds. "...I'm sorry, okay? I was... Way out of line when I grabbed you like that... and when I strangled you... and threatened to throw you off a building..." Her tone grew quieter with every instance she brought up.
Arkash looked to her finally, his lips were flat with the beginnings of a smile, and his eye was gentle. Fayeth wasn't the type to apologize often, or at all, really. Arkash knew that. She truly meant it, he recognized. "I'ss orite," Arkash returned. "S'not like i' wasn' warranted."
Fayeth grinned a little, then brought her chin to rest on her knees while she hugged her legs. "You've proven your point, you know. You don't have to pursue this path further."
Arkash paused, then exhaled. With his teeth bared, he pushed the rag down another stretch of his leg and shook with the pain that it yielded. "...Wha' if I wanna keep goin'?" he asked without looking at the lady. She remained hidden on the side of his blind eye while he scrubbed the last of the filth from his freshly opened wounds.
"...Do you?" She asked in turn. Arkash couldn't see her, but he could tell she looked at him at that moment.
To that, he nodded, then set the rag aside. "I... kin'a like i', yeah," he confessed. "I haven' kill't lo's, bu'... I feel betta' when I do."
"What do you mean? Feel better how?" Fayeth asked with some degree of intrigue.
Arkash thought while he drew a second roll of bandages from his bag, then pulled the pin out and set it on the fabric of his container. "...Well," he hissed as he pressed the clean weave into his open wound, then began to wind it around the limb. Again, the mixture of blood and alcohol that painted his scales seeped through the fabric. "I feel stronga'; scary, even. They normally look a' me like I'm disgustin', like I'm a piece a' shi'." He loosed a hard breath from his nose as he held down the fabric with his stump, and tied it with his one good arm, then tightened the bandage fully. "Bu'... when I'm... Y'know, killin' 'em, they's lookin' a' me like I'm a monsta'. An' I dunno why, bu'... I really like i'."
It was empowering, like a realization that he couldn't ignore or shrug off. He was strong; strong enough to take a life, to take away everything something was and ever could be. It was a sense of dominance, power, something he'd not had throughout his entire life. He found himself intoxicated with the thought, the ability to bring down giants, to make the faces that looked down and spat him whimper with fear, beg for mercy. The sense of liberty was also addictive, the ability to do as he pleased without restraint for caste or social status was more-ish, and Arkash often found himself craving that high.
"I understand," spoke Fayeth, who came to rest on her knees again. "Even if I didn't, it's your moral compass; it's your decision to make. If you want to pursue life as an assassin, it will certainly be beneficial in the long run, but it's dangerous, Arkash. You must be careful, else we'll relocate every two weeks." With that, she reached around to hold the rath by his good shoulder and pulled him into a hug.
Arkash smiled warmly while he rested against her shoulder then sighed. "Thanks, Fayeth, I'll try," declared the rath, who then drew a brief breath from his nose. The smell of copper filled his lungs. Arkash hesitated for a moment before he considered that Fayeth had left him and Asmodei to hunt, just as the avialae had said. The blood on her clothes was likely that of her last meal. he didn't know much about her curse but wondered about it often. Perhaps another day, she'd tell him more about it. The sound of metallic, muffled footfalls lifted Arkash's half gaze to Asmodei, who approached with a bundle of firewood and tinder in hand. With a wave, the rathari motioned him closer, and the three settled down to build the fire once they were gathered. All was well in the world for once, except for the fact that they were homeless again. Nonetheless, discussions for new abodes arose.
The cold of the winds bit into his scales and open wounds while they flew. The first trip was to the general store, the second, to the sewer grate outside of Lower Nivenhain. It was a tall stone brick structure, barred with iron that let loose a continuous flow of melted snow mixed with human waste. Asmodei complained about the stink and the unsanitary conditions, so they moved closer to the lake.
Arkash's legs were in a bad way, but it didn't appear as though he needed stitches. He'd just have t be careful about where he ventured until his wounds had closed. So, While Arkash began to painstakingly clean his wounds, Asmodei set off in search of materials to build a fire. Despite the number of times he'd been slashed and scraped, the young rath would never get used to the feeling of impressions in his scales, and it showed in his one sighted eye.
Tears ran down his cheek while he fought the burning sting in his scales, and continued to push through with his alcohol-soaked cloth. He had to move while he was still warm, in case Asmodei was late to build the fire. When at last the left was done, Arkash began to wrap it. His focus was on the treatment of his leg, not on his surroundings. The stretch of bandage soaked pink as he pressed it to the cool, aired burn in his calf, then grew darker as he circled it. He was still bleeding a bit, but the pressure and the cold would help alleviate it.
"What the fuck happened?" Snapped Fayeth from the direction of his blind eye. Arkash startled and fumbled with the roll before he steadied himself.
"F-fayeth?" he asked as he tilted his head. In an effort to put her in his field of view. She stood across from him with her arms crossed, a wild rage in her hungry eyes.
"Arkash," she replied, unamused. The rathari bared his teeth, then resumed wrapping his bandage. "I'm going to assume that you had something to do with the warehouse fire. Asmodei and I have kept low profiles; we haven't made enemies. So, what did you do?"
Asmodei hadn't told her about his career path yet, but Arkash convinced himself he wasn't worried. Fayeth killed people to survive, and so did he. What was the problem? "Kill't some'un," he answered.
"Who?"
"Luca," he replied simply.
Fayeth furrowed her brow with a puzzled look. "...Who?" She asked again.
"Luca Wagna', th' Black Boar Charga's secon' in command," he finally answered in full.
Fayeth put her hands together, then brought her index fingers to rest at her lips while she breathed deeply. "Why...?" She quizzed with a hint of worry. "What possessed you to kill the lieutenant of a dangerous gang, Arkash?" her tone took a more tired, fed-up turn that Arkash hadn't expected. At least she believed him.
"Some'un payed me t' do i'."
Fayeth sighed through her nose, then took a seat beside the rathari. Arkash watched her for a moment, then tied his leg bandage off. "So someone followed you home, and some six men tried to kill you and Asmodei," she surmised. "Someone saw you kill him?" She asked as she turned her head to the rath. Arkash shook his head.
"No, but some'un caugh' me in their lan'."
"And how did that go?"
"...I set 'im on fia."
Fayeth brought her knees to her chest and buried her face in them. Arkash had woven something of a nightmare when she and Asmodei weren't looking. "I know what you're doing," spoke the siltori as she lifted her head. Arkash merely flexed a brow before he pressed his alcohol-soaked cloth to his right leg, and began to rub the dirt from his open wounds with pained hisses and grunts. "...You're trying to prove yourself, because of our talk on the roof. You don't want us... me, to think you're weak."
Arkash paused a moment in his rubbing, then looked at the siltori in recognition. She was right, of course. It was what he strove so hard for; the recognition of independence. He could stand on his own two feet, handle himself in a fight, and make his own money. They didn't have to baby him. Without a word, Arkash returned to the task of rubbing his wounds.
"Arkash..." Fayeth exhaled. The rathari continued cleaning his wounds. "...I'm sorry, okay? I was... Way out of line when I grabbed you like that... and when I strangled you... and threatened to throw you off a building..." Her tone grew quieter with every instance she brought up.
Arkash looked to her finally, his lips were flat with the beginnings of a smile, and his eye was gentle. Fayeth wasn't the type to apologize often, or at all, really. Arkash knew that. She truly meant it, he recognized. "I'ss orite," Arkash returned. "S'not like i' wasn' warranted."
Fayeth grinned a little, then brought her chin to rest on her knees while she hugged her legs. "You've proven your point, you know. You don't have to pursue this path further."
Arkash paused, then exhaled. With his teeth bared, he pushed the rag down another stretch of his leg and shook with the pain that it yielded. "...Wha' if I wanna keep goin'?" he asked without looking at the lady. She remained hidden on the side of his blind eye while he scrubbed the last of the filth from his freshly opened wounds.
"...Do you?" She asked in turn. Arkash couldn't see her, but he could tell she looked at him at that moment.
To that, he nodded, then set the rag aside. "I... kin'a like i', yeah," he confessed. "I haven' kill't lo's, bu'... I feel betta' when I do."
"What do you mean? Feel better how?" Fayeth asked with some degree of intrigue.
Arkash thought while he drew a second roll of bandages from his bag, then pulled the pin out and set it on the fabric of his container. "...Well," he hissed as he pressed the clean weave into his open wound, then began to wind it around the limb. Again, the mixture of blood and alcohol that painted his scales seeped through the fabric. "I feel stronga'; scary, even. They normally look a' me like I'm disgustin', like I'm a piece a' shi'." He loosed a hard breath from his nose as he held down the fabric with his stump, and tied it with his one good arm, then tightened the bandage fully. "Bu'... when I'm... Y'know, killin' 'em, they's lookin' a' me like I'm a monsta'. An' I dunno why, bu'... I really like i'."
It was empowering, like a realization that he couldn't ignore or shrug off. He was strong; strong enough to take a life, to take away everything something was and ever could be. It was a sense of dominance, power, something he'd not had throughout his entire life. He found himself intoxicated with the thought, the ability to bring down giants, to make the faces that looked down and spat him whimper with fear, beg for mercy. The sense of liberty was also addictive, the ability to do as he pleased without restraint for caste or social status was more-ish, and Arkash often found himself craving that high.
"I understand," spoke Fayeth, who came to rest on her knees again. "Even if I didn't, it's your moral compass; it's your decision to make. If you want to pursue life as an assassin, it will certainly be beneficial in the long run, but it's dangerous, Arkash. You must be careful, else we'll relocate every two weeks." With that, she reached around to hold the rath by his good shoulder and pulled him into a hug.
Arkash smiled warmly while he rested against her shoulder then sighed. "Thanks, Fayeth, I'll try," declared the rath, who then drew a brief breath from his nose. The smell of copper filled his lungs. Arkash hesitated for a moment before he considered that Fayeth had left him and Asmodei to hunt, just as the avialae had said. The blood on her clothes was likely that of her last meal. he didn't know much about her curse but wondered about it often. Perhaps another day, she'd tell him more about it. The sound of metallic, muffled footfalls lifted Arkash's half gaze to Asmodei, who approached with a bundle of firewood and tinder in hand. With a wave, the rathari motioned him closer, and the three settled down to build the fire once they were gathered. All was well in the world for once, except for the fact that they were homeless again. Nonetheless, discussions for new abodes arose.
