62nd of Ash, 120
Another short respite came, and another contract was delivered. Arkash's client was relentless, it seemed. In a very short span of time, Arkash had been delivered five contracts, all of which carried varying levels of difficulty with its targets ranging from animals to commoners to children. Why his unknown client had so many enemies on so many walks of life was beyond him, but he wasn't paid to ask questions. Despite the chaotic structure of his received contracts, they shared a few things in common, and that was the fact that they grew progressively harder and riskier with every dealing. Simultaneously, the rewards doubled each time. There was good money in the trade, but it wasn't without its price.
As a result of his practices, Arkash had bled, bruised, and challenged his morals at every turn. He'd even gone so far as to kidnap a child and offer them up in return for his payment, and the fact still haunted him. His chest wound had mostly healed, but it still itched with the endings of the healing process. The bumps and bruises from his tumble with the bears still ached in parts, and the abrasions to his stump arm, as inflicted by the fresh cap of his prosthetic arm continued to radiate a dull ache. He was worn out, physically and emotionally, but he'd fallen into a groove, like some sort of conquest or a series that needed to be seen through. Arkash was on a mission, and he would complete that which was asked of him.
His most recent contract? Kill a woman in her home and drape the body for all to see: that was what the translated note said, along with the common theme of the bloodied eye insignia, which Arkash painted at every scene.
What did it all mean? Why all the rituals and riddles? The ratty man, the bloodied eye, the innocent targets, the messy displays. It all meant something, and Arkash was being strung along on someone else's game. He knew it was so, but it paid for his food and his new equipment. If it weren't for the interest of his client, he wouldn't have made it as far as he had; he would still be trudging about the streets in Asmodei's clothes. But there he was, making his own money and out in the world as his own independent person. Well, almost independent. He still needed Asmodei to help him access Outer Nivenhain, and translate the contracts into vithmi.
It was while he adjusted the straps of his prosthetic arm that Arkash stalked the streets of Outer Nivenhain. As it usually did, the light of the moon illuminated his path and guided his way. It shined on the armor of Chevalier from across the way and provided plentiful notice to dip into an alley and hide fully from view whenever they passed. It was a process, but he soon made it to the target home. A glance upward showed the usual hard stone windowsills and the laundry lines that connected the homes.
Arkash furrowed his brow, then slipped into the alley along the side of the tall stone building and took a knee. There, he unscrewed the hook of his prosthetic arm and stowed the modular head, then drew a sort-of pick-like head and screwed it on before he removed the safety straps that protected the blade. A glare shot from the alley along with his muzzle as he scanned for passing Chevalier, then dipped into the darkness of the stone passageway again as another Chevalier approached with his hollow in tow. The rathari hid behind some debris in the darkness, and the pair passed by without trouble.
A low exhale saw him grip the lip of his cowl and lift it over his muzzle. Then, he slipped out from the alley and moved to the front door, which he gently tested, and encountered a lock. A low sigh escaped him as he looked to the pick of his stump arm, then rolled up his sleeve to reveal the support brace and its adjustment straps before he connected the lines that forced his arm to bent at a ninety-degree angle; the position that would allow him to support his weight with greater ease.
The climb began with a leap, then a clasp of his claws as he gripped the hefty bricks of the home. His pick arm hooked the stonework with a notable ping while Arkash moved otherwise silently. His teeth bared beneath his cowl, and his brow furrowed as he began to pull the weight of his form up, and gripped the wall with his toe-claws. He was without support, and the window was on the third floor. The worst falling could do was injure his leg and alert the inhabitants of his position, but that wasn't ideal, so he resolved to get it right the first try. His arms and legs shook with the strain of supporting his weight, but he managed to hook the windowsill with his pick, then pulled the weight of his form up to peer into the window.
All was dark and quiet beyond the glare of the moonlight, but there was enough room on the windowsill for his lithe form, so Arkash hefted his legs up, then sat against the wall and breathed steadily. Climbing was hard work, even more so with a fake arm. After a moment or two of gathering his strength, Arkash drew his knife and pushed the blade into the seam of the window, where he squinted and pulled at the locking mechanism. With a little effort, he flicked the latch off, and the window opened inward, Carefully, Arkash slipped into the room, then closed the window behind him and sheathed his knife. Without the glare of the moonlight to block his gaze, Arkash was able to see the room more clearly.
Four tiny humans lined the walls in tiny beds; children. Perhaps it was because he didn't know why she had so many children that Arkash took no pity? Or perhaps it was just his momentum? Forward, he thought, and snuck by the sleeping tiny humans before he slipped into the hallway, then trailed down the wooden path without so much as a sound before he effortlessly slipped into the master bedroom when he followed the smell of sweat. As the contract detailed, the lady slept alone.
Weary and worn to the bone, Arkash closed the gap with the lady, aimed his dagger well, then drove his pick into her chest to puncture her lung and drew a second smile across her neck in the same stroke. He didn't stay with her while she choked and gargles, but did lift one of the pillows to press into her face, and muffled whatever cries she could muster while she struggled. While she bled out, Arkash trailed back to the window, and peered to the streets where a chevalier passed with his hollow in tow. he had to somehow present the body publicly, for all to see. But how did he do that with the chevalier nearby?
His eye lifted to the washing lines that ran by and connected the streets by the rooftops, and his eye half-lidded in a squint. Once he'd wiped off his pick in the bedding, Arkash unscrewed it and attached his hook. Again, he tightened his strap and bracer to keep the limb locked at a ninety-degree angle, then unlocked the window and stepped out into the cold air of the windowsill. Once the Chevalier was gone, Arkash hooked the clothesline and gripped his prosthetic arm with his claws, and tested the load-bearing capacity of the line. Once satisfied, he ran a pace and lept from the windowsill, and the hook of his prosthetic glided along the washing line he propelled himself to the other building and caught himself with his claws and a quiet thud.
On the opposite side of the street, Arkash bit the line to hold it steady, then sawed through the fabric of the rope. Once all the fibers were cut through, he sheathed his knife and took hold of the rope without slack. he pulled hard on its body, then gripped it with his strong jaws as well before he lept from the third story. At frightening speeds, Arkash propelled toward the other building in a swing-like motion, then impacted with a cushion to his claws and a quiet pap.
His struggle wasn't over, as the Chevalier could be by at any moment. So, quickly, he scaled the wall and pulled his body weight up to the third floor with the use of his jaws, claws, and feet. At the windowsill, he let himself in and stepped out onto the floor. Simultaneously, he drew the clothesline into the room ad partially shut the window before he looked over the scene of the dead woman.
he could only hope the chevalier wasn't so observant that they noticed a crack in the window and a missing clothesline. Though he tried to minimize the risk, it still existed. His client's intent, he felt, wasn't just to present a dead woman to the streets of Outer Nivenhain. He wanted a reaction. So, Arkash god to work on the lady, and flayed her head of all its skin, and mangled her hands so that they were naught but ragged red stumps. With his work complete, he wrapped the clothesline around his waist as a support, then gathered up a few of the woman's fingers. In the window, he waited for the next chevalier to pass as the sun began to rise with the beginnings of an amber glow on the horizon. he didn't have much more time.
When the next chevalier passed, Arkash let himself from the window and scaled to the second story, where he began to draw the bloodied eye across the entire face of the house, or as big as the reach of his claws would allow. He had to use the fresh gore of the woman's extremities to do so, but he got the job done. So, he reclimbed the robe and pulled himself into the window before he untied the line from his waist and wrapped it around the corpse's middle. He insured the body was secure, then looked back to the window before he gan to pull with the use of all his body weight and strength. A loud fwump sounded as her heavy body hit the ground Arkash bared his teeth, then hurried along with the drag.
As soon as he was at the windowsill, he painstakingly lifted her heavy body from the ground and eased it off the edge. Soon enough, gravity took her, and the rope twanged at the addition of her weight. Finally, Arkash closed the window and trailed back through the house to the back door, where he let himself into the alley, and disappeared into the twilight.
Another short respite came, and another contract was delivered. Arkash's client was relentless, it seemed. In a very short span of time, Arkash had been delivered five contracts, all of which carried varying levels of difficulty with its targets ranging from animals to commoners to children. Why his unknown client had so many enemies on so many walks of life was beyond him, but he wasn't paid to ask questions. Despite the chaotic structure of his received contracts, they shared a few things in common, and that was the fact that they grew progressively harder and riskier with every dealing. Simultaneously, the rewards doubled each time. There was good money in the trade, but it wasn't without its price.
As a result of his practices, Arkash had bled, bruised, and challenged his morals at every turn. He'd even gone so far as to kidnap a child and offer them up in return for his payment, and the fact still haunted him. His chest wound had mostly healed, but it still itched with the endings of the healing process. The bumps and bruises from his tumble with the bears still ached in parts, and the abrasions to his stump arm, as inflicted by the fresh cap of his prosthetic arm continued to radiate a dull ache. He was worn out, physically and emotionally, but he'd fallen into a groove, like some sort of conquest or a series that needed to be seen through. Arkash was on a mission, and he would complete that which was asked of him.
His most recent contract? Kill a woman in her home and drape the body for all to see: that was what the translated note said, along with the common theme of the bloodied eye insignia, which Arkash painted at every scene.
What did it all mean? Why all the rituals and riddles? The ratty man, the bloodied eye, the innocent targets, the messy displays. It all meant something, and Arkash was being strung along on someone else's game. He knew it was so, but it paid for his food and his new equipment. If it weren't for the interest of his client, he wouldn't have made it as far as he had; he would still be trudging about the streets in Asmodei's clothes. But there he was, making his own money and out in the world as his own independent person. Well, almost independent. He still needed Asmodei to help him access Outer Nivenhain, and translate the contracts into vithmi.
It was while he adjusted the straps of his prosthetic arm that Arkash stalked the streets of Outer Nivenhain. As it usually did, the light of the moon illuminated his path and guided his way. It shined on the armor of Chevalier from across the way and provided plentiful notice to dip into an alley and hide fully from view whenever they passed. It was a process, but he soon made it to the target home. A glance upward showed the usual hard stone windowsills and the laundry lines that connected the homes.
Arkash furrowed his brow, then slipped into the alley along the side of the tall stone building and took a knee. There, he unscrewed the hook of his prosthetic arm and stowed the modular head, then drew a sort-of pick-like head and screwed it on before he removed the safety straps that protected the blade. A glare shot from the alley along with his muzzle as he scanned for passing Chevalier, then dipped into the darkness of the stone passageway again as another Chevalier approached with his hollow in tow. The rathari hid behind some debris in the darkness, and the pair passed by without trouble.
A low exhale saw him grip the lip of his cowl and lift it over his muzzle. Then, he slipped out from the alley and moved to the front door, which he gently tested, and encountered a lock. A low sigh escaped him as he looked to the pick of his stump arm, then rolled up his sleeve to reveal the support brace and its adjustment straps before he connected the lines that forced his arm to bent at a ninety-degree angle; the position that would allow him to support his weight with greater ease.
The climb began with a leap, then a clasp of his claws as he gripped the hefty bricks of the home. His pick arm hooked the stonework with a notable ping while Arkash moved otherwise silently. His teeth bared beneath his cowl, and his brow furrowed as he began to pull the weight of his form up, and gripped the wall with his toe-claws. He was without support, and the window was on the third floor. The worst falling could do was injure his leg and alert the inhabitants of his position, but that wasn't ideal, so he resolved to get it right the first try. His arms and legs shook with the strain of supporting his weight, but he managed to hook the windowsill with his pick, then pulled the weight of his form up to peer into the window.
All was dark and quiet beyond the glare of the moonlight, but there was enough room on the windowsill for his lithe form, so Arkash hefted his legs up, then sat against the wall and breathed steadily. Climbing was hard work, even more so with a fake arm. After a moment or two of gathering his strength, Arkash drew his knife and pushed the blade into the seam of the window, where he squinted and pulled at the locking mechanism. With a little effort, he flicked the latch off, and the window opened inward, Carefully, Arkash slipped into the room, then closed the window behind him and sheathed his knife. Without the glare of the moonlight to block his gaze, Arkash was able to see the room more clearly.
Four tiny humans lined the walls in tiny beds; children. Perhaps it was because he didn't know why she had so many children that Arkash took no pity? Or perhaps it was just his momentum? Forward, he thought, and snuck by the sleeping tiny humans before he slipped into the hallway, then trailed down the wooden path without so much as a sound before he effortlessly slipped into the master bedroom when he followed the smell of sweat. As the contract detailed, the lady slept alone.
Weary and worn to the bone, Arkash closed the gap with the lady, aimed his dagger well, then drove his pick into her chest to puncture her lung and drew a second smile across her neck in the same stroke. He didn't stay with her while she choked and gargles, but did lift one of the pillows to press into her face, and muffled whatever cries she could muster while she struggled. While she bled out, Arkash trailed back to the window, and peered to the streets where a chevalier passed with his hollow in tow. he had to somehow present the body publicly, for all to see. But how did he do that with the chevalier nearby?
His eye lifted to the washing lines that ran by and connected the streets by the rooftops, and his eye half-lidded in a squint. Once he'd wiped off his pick in the bedding, Arkash unscrewed it and attached his hook. Again, he tightened his strap and bracer to keep the limb locked at a ninety-degree angle, then unlocked the window and stepped out into the cold air of the windowsill. Once the Chevalier was gone, Arkash hooked the clothesline and gripped his prosthetic arm with his claws, and tested the load-bearing capacity of the line. Once satisfied, he ran a pace and lept from the windowsill, and the hook of his prosthetic glided along the washing line he propelled himself to the other building and caught himself with his claws and a quiet thud.
On the opposite side of the street, Arkash bit the line to hold it steady, then sawed through the fabric of the rope. Once all the fibers were cut through, he sheathed his knife and took hold of the rope without slack. he pulled hard on its body, then gripped it with his strong jaws as well before he lept from the third story. At frightening speeds, Arkash propelled toward the other building in a swing-like motion, then impacted with a cushion to his claws and a quiet pap.
His struggle wasn't over, as the Chevalier could be by at any moment. So, quickly, he scaled the wall and pulled his body weight up to the third floor with the use of his jaws, claws, and feet. At the windowsill, he let himself in and stepped out onto the floor. Simultaneously, he drew the clothesline into the room ad partially shut the window before he looked over the scene of the dead woman.
he could only hope the chevalier wasn't so observant that they noticed a crack in the window and a missing clothesline. Though he tried to minimize the risk, it still existed. His client's intent, he felt, wasn't just to present a dead woman to the streets of Outer Nivenhain. He wanted a reaction. So, Arkash god to work on the lady, and flayed her head of all its skin, and mangled her hands so that they were naught but ragged red stumps. With his work complete, he wrapped the clothesline around his waist as a support, then gathered up a few of the woman's fingers. In the window, he waited for the next chevalier to pass as the sun began to rise with the beginnings of an amber glow on the horizon. he didn't have much more time.
When the next chevalier passed, Arkash let himself from the window and scaled to the second story, where he began to draw the bloodied eye across the entire face of the house, or as big as the reach of his claws would allow. He had to use the fresh gore of the woman's extremities to do so, but he got the job done. So, he reclimbed the robe and pulled himself into the window before he untied the line from his waist and wrapped it around the corpse's middle. He insured the body was secure, then looked back to the window before he gan to pull with the use of all his body weight and strength. A loud fwump sounded as her heavy body hit the ground Arkash bared his teeth, then hurried along with the drag.
As soon as he was at the windowsill, he painstakingly lifted her heavy body from the ground and eased it off the edge. Soon enough, gravity took her, and the rope twanged at the addition of her weight. Finally, Arkash closed the window and trailed back through the house to the back door, where he let himself into the alley, and disappeared into the twilight.
