The Fire, It Burns [Arkash]

[Nuraku]

42nd of Ash, 120

Ash slapped to fur, claws trailed through the stuff to massage it deeper to the roots. This'd smell like any old burnt fireplace, at least to those bloodsuckers. A black nose twitched just above, to confirm--yeah, it was wood ash alright. A pair of pantaloons and a shirt over that, she stared at her smudged, black reflection in the old copper mirror of the inn, flexing her hands with the vim and vigor necessary to get through the day swiftly approaching.

Next came that black gambeson, which she'd buckled up over her chest and belted, cinching nice and tight the way she liked it. Yeah, she kept wearing down the straps that way, but she didn't give a shit. Right over that, a chainmail hauberk, which she slipped over herself like any shirt, the sleeves long enough for her wrists, covering about halfway down her thigh from the waist with its faulds. Her fingers were coated in the buttery, oily varnish she used to keep the links from rusting, which she so casually wiped off her pads on the thick, wooly padding.

It wasn't fool-proof, no. They'd still get through if she got in a scuffle, but it'd at least help her out a bit here or there, and it didn't hurt to play it safe. Not in her line of work. With that, she stomped her foot right up on the vanity and pulled her boots on, repeating with the other and lacing it proper. Next came the cloak, which she whipped over her shoulders. After that, she pulled her scabbard from the wall, and grabbed firm the latch to the door, heading out and locking it proper without much thought.

Stepping down the stairs, she swung the scabbard over herself and her claws went about tightening it a bit more, ducking beneath the ceiling.

I've got some rank work to do today, ugh.
Corner of Alder and Retch, was it?
Yeah, fucker's gonna get what's comin' and he ain't gonna know it.
Time to make some ash.

The night before, a Sil'norai couple with a serious vendetta for those bloodsuckers approached the Remedy with some intel about a Botchling, and they in turn sent a courier to give the order. It really was that simple, sometimes. Most of the time, it wasn't like this, but every once in awhile, it was cut and dry.

The air in Lower Nivenhain was pretty ripe, especially to a Rathari like her. Gods, it smelled awful. She'd gotten the snots twice in the last year since she took post in this shithole for the Remedy. Still, it was her awful to watch over. Those Dranoch weren't going to get far under her watch.

Everyone worked their arses off, and they kept their noses out of each other's businesses. The guards rarely intervened when they even happened to be around, which was rare. Sure, magic was illegal, but who wanted to rat on the growly Rathari who could burn down your everything in seconds? The guards certainly didn't want to deal with her, if they'd caught wind by now. Maybe she was due for a scolding? Politics were getting pretty windy, but the wind moved pretty slowly in Lower Nivenhain when it came to the whims of nobles.

The odd rickety wagon bumped across muddy cobble, throngs of people moving by as she approached, staring down the street at that building on the corner. It always gave her a sense of ...stillness, when she saw a place she knew a bloodsucker to live. She could just feel the death in her gut once she knew. She pulled off into an alley nearby. It was time to prepare.

Clasping her mitts together, the woman curled her fingers into a crux representing Irothar. Shutting her eyes, she began to whisper and murmur in hisses and growls until the familiar presence of her chosen Patron greeted her. A subtle conversation ensued, one spoken in otherworldly terms and contractual obligations made in amounts of Ether rather than coin. Minutes later, she had what she wanted, and what she had bargained for--she held out her palm, and a warm glow erupted forth, a fluttering bird emerging. It had bright, flaming eyes, and its colors were a vibrant orange. It was a tiny thing, but, she knew, it packed a serious punch.

Caging the bird gently in her claws, she started a march out of the alley and into the street, turning off between a pair of gothic buildings into a small plaza. He lives at the black patch, does he? Her eyes glanced up and down the building, 'til she spotted upper windows which were covered with blackened sheets. Setting her hand upon the outer walls, she felt it up--it's stone. After all, she didn't want to start a blaze that'd take out the neighboring buildings.

The lower windows had bars over them, but she could fit her fist through between the gaps. If the intel was to be believed, only the Dranoch lived here, and some investigators had followed up on the lead to verify--all she had to do now was burn the sucker. But was he here? Peering through the window, she held a bar with one paw, leering. Then she saw 'em, looking right back at her.

The pale-skinned elf looked at her like he was seeing a ghost. Something about the way her looked at her: he knew what she was. "Srrssr," she mumbled to the bird in her hand. He turned, and as he did, Alphonse punched the glass, hard, before opening her claws to release the bird. She stepped aside, an orange blur racing through the house and hurtling towards the occupant. From somewhere inside, a deafening boom echoed, and Alphonse kicked open the door, stepping into a black, billowing world of smoke and crackling embers.

Schwing.

Out came her flamberge, and she stomped through the abode with it leading the way. Brisk, wide strides carried her into the flames, and she brought the blade to bare against something that darted out at her from the fire, screaming and hissing like it was being murdered--and it was. The shrieking was a sure sign that she was right, that the Remedy was right. This was a Dranoch.

Alphonse's heart skipped a beat as she stepped back and swung her blade down, hard. She really put her back into it, and the blade cut the billowing, smoldering monster down to the bone, flooring him. Alphonse stomped his back with her boot, and dipped her blade into the skull with a gracious crack, until the movements beneath her foot abated. Looking up at the fire raging around her, she grimaced and turned tail, marching out of those smoky depths and out into the cool air of the street, patting down her cloak to snuff out the embers clinging to it.

Best get moving, 'lest them peepers decide they don't appreciate my bit of arson.

And she did. She started walking, and pretty damn fast too.

[Arkash]

The maneuver was relatively simple, even despite the bruises and scrapes that littered his remaining three limbs. He found his mark on the target's back with his jaws clasped firmly into the back of his head. Serrated teeth squeezed bone and hooked flesh while his one arm drove the point of his blade into the human's neck from the side. A sharp grunt on the initial impact of Arkash's weight on his form was all that escaped his lips before his lungs were made to flood with his own life force. He hadn't seen it coming, there wasn't so much as an inkling of danger or impending doom as the man wandered below the one-armed Rathari's perch.
His jaw squeezed, though his toxic payload was never delivered. Instead, he twisted and ripped the blade of his dagger from the man's jugular, then began to poke a series of holes in the man's chest at about half of the blade's length in depth. While he drowned, he reached up to grip Arkash by the shoulders and squeezed weakly as his eyes shut in strain. His skin had already been broken three times over by the point of Arkash's blade by the time he began to really fight back, only to fall to his knees. A sickening gurgle left his throat as Arkash put his feet to the ground and leaned over the kneeling human.
His sighted side loomed over the man's shoulder while his stump kept the man upright. His target had stopped pulling on him now, and he was free to execute the plainskin without a hassle. The yellow of his iris locked firmly on the human's face as he curled his arm around the man's neck. The human reached up to hold Arkash's arm in place, but he'd lost far too much blood to offer any sort of fight as Arkash eased his knife into the human's eye, and penetrated the brain. He held the handle firm as his target twitched and jolted in his hold, then half-lidded his eye when the man fell limp.
Arkash carefully withdrew his knife from the man's eye, and the orb pulled a little with the glide of his blade, but ultimately relinquished its grasp on the steel, and fell still. "It's just business," he spoke in vithmi as he eased the man to the floor, and laid him out in the puddle of his own blood. He'd lied, of course, but dead men told no tales. With a deep sigh, he straightened up and licked the blood from his teeth before swallowing. The deep scar along the left side of his head, the one that blinded his left eye, burned with a maddening itch. It was a common reaction to the taste of blood, though he didn't know why. Perhaps it was a reminder of the nature of the injury?
He exhaled deeply, then looked over the body. His client had left no additional instructions for the disposal of the body, so his job was done. A press of his knee into the human's back kept him dry as he wiped his knife into the man's shirt, then carefully tucked it into his belt. Done, he pushed off the corpse with enough force to lift his lithe, lightweight form fully upright, where his two feet caught him. His claws gripped the cold tile flooring for support as he straightened up, then rolled his shoulder painfully.
Everything hurt, still. His concussion had healed three days prior, but the bruises and the damage to his scales still stung. It still hurt on his left side to draw a breath too deep. He winced at the sensation, then reached his arm around hold his ribs, as if he had to keep himself in one piece with just his hold alone. It did feel like he was on the verge of falling apart some days, especially after he'd had his shit kicked in.
Though he unraveled at the seams, it was not a reason to pause. He still had to eat, and though the Sawteeth took care of him to an extent, Arkash refused to be carried by them. He accepted their medical help, as well the blade they'd given him as a calling card. He made his own money, put his own bread on his own table. Kahl didn't like that, he suspected, but he didn't care.
One step at a time, Arkash led himself into the chill night air, where the light of the moon illuminated his dark, fur-lined, leather clothes. A brief once-over checked his attire for any stray blood stains, but he found none. That was the benefit of clutching to his target's back and delivering all the wounds to their front; he had less cleaning-up to do.
His one set of claws reached overhead and took his hood by the fur trim, and pulled it over his head. As his claws came down, he lifted the lip of his cowl to cover his long face, then proceeded out of the alley, and into the moonlit streets. Broken windows and dilapidated, patchy roads lined the dark streets, devoid of lamplight. The dark wasn't the only reason that Arkash hazarded the walk through the Lower District in the open, alone. The long arm of Argent didn't care for the likes of the nameless. He and the rest of his kind were a cancerous ulcer in Rien eyes, and if they wished to kill one another off, the Argent wouldn't intervene. That was unless a nameless brought harm to one of their citizens. In such cases, the transgressor faced execution, just as Arkash had.
He'd not harmed a Savant since that day in Searing, but he meant to. As soon as he could navigate his way beneath the wall border between Outer and Lower Nivenhain alone, he was going to find the Thompson residence and paint the streets in the family's gore. Until then, however, he relied on Asmodei to lift the sewer grates for him.

His client's home wasn't too far away, which Arkash passively appreciated. His legs were still in pieces and his shins were still bruised to hell. It didn't stop him, of course. He'd long since grown comfortable being uncomfortable. As always, he faced no Chevalier on the trip and arrived at his client's doorstep in one piece. Arkash tilted his head while he waited, and without so much as a knock, the door opened a crack.
"It's done...?" Asked the man's voice, little more than a whisper.
"I wouldn' be standin' 'ere if 'e was still breavin'," Arkash returned in common, and turned over his palm while he reasoned.
The door shut again, and the slide of a metal latch sounded before the door opened completely. "Come in, come in. I have your pay, Assassin."
Arkash squinted. He didn't really want to have to enter the home of a man he didn't really know, but he was confident in his ability to sever the man's head if he tried anything. So, Arkash proceeded through the threshold of the door, only to find a room as black as pitch when the door shut behind him. Almost no moonlight bled through the blacked-out windows. Naturally, Arkash gripped the handle of his knife, and venom began to fill his maw as his heart picked up in speed. Footsteps sounded ahead of him, And Arkash lowered his stance a little. "No funny shet," he warned with a low, reptilian hiss.
As if on queue, a light illuminated a doorway ahead of him, and the figure of the lanky pale man was there, fiddling with an oil lamp. "Ah, there we are." He turned to face Arkash from the light of that room, smiled, then motioned him closer. "Come sit, I just heated a kettle. Have something hot to drink while I fetch your pay." Nothing about that felt right, but what choice did he have? So, Arkash proceeded into the room and looked about while he kept a comfortable distance from the pale man. His client gestured to a seat, beside which, a steaming kettle rested, along with a couple of wooden cups and some ground tea leaves. Arkash offered the man a smile, then proceeded to the seat and adjusted his tail before he sat. "Make yourself at home, I'll be just a moment with your pay. Thank you again, Assassin," he spoke with something of a crooked grin, then proceeded out of the room.
Arkash looked to the kettle with a raised brow. There was no way in hell he was drinking that; it was probably drugged or poisoned or something. Everything about his predicament felt suspicious, and Arkash had learned in the school of hard knocks not to trust strangers. So, Arkash leaned back in his seat and looked to the kettle while he played with his knife and ran it through his fingers in a series of flips and twirls. There, he tried to guess at the poison that might have awaited him and settled on Bittersweet before the sound of broken glass stole his attention. Had the pale elf dropped something?
A sudden boom rocked the house's foundations, and Arkash sat up immediately in his seat. Shrieking ensued, and thick black smoke poured into the room from the doorway. Once again, Arkash lifted the lip of his cowl to cover his mouth, then padded across the room low and quiet to extinguish the lantern. He discovered as he looked around the corner that it didn't matter if the lantern was out, as the house had become enveloped in an inferno.
His teeth bared as he rushed through the flames in a mad dash for the door. The smoke burned his eyes and dried his throat. So, he lifted his arm to cover his face as he barged into the street, and ran face-first into something tall, hard, and heavy. He stumbled back and blinked quickly. Had he just ran into a lamp post? No, there were no such things in Lower Nivenhain. In a burst of rage, he cursed "watch it 'ew bleedin' shite!"
Only, as he did, the blurry dryness in his eye receded, and he beheld a giant clad in heavy-looking armor. His heart sank as he took a step back, and he corrected himself. "Sorry, wha' I meant'a say wus..." he paused as he searched for the right words, and stepped around the giant to put some distance between the burning house and himself. Only then did he see the tail, the horns, the shape of the giant's face, and the fur that layered it. They were rathari. Arkash's mouth hung partly agape while he stared with his half gaze.
"You're rathari?" he asked in vithmi with a dialect far more refined. "Rabe's beak, you are, aren't you?!"

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[Nuraku]

Mid-stride, a little puff of a man whumped against her rear, and the sword she was just starting to sheath instead swung back around as the woman hopped a one-eighty degree stomp, her boots thudding the alley before they kept a steady pace backwards, her eyes focusing on the little cretin who seemed to her suspicious as a rat in a confection shop. Her fur was standing on end, teeth bared--she had a decent couple of feet on him. "Y'ew watch it!" barked the tall woman with her nose wrinkled out of spite.
"Only piece 'uh shite here's you, feckin' lizard!"

She blinked, her arm curled to show him a bit of elbow while she held her blade aloft, slowly lowering as the muscles relaxed from the weight of that absurd metal--it had an odd warm glow to it. Hard to tell considering the sun, but it definitely looked hot. "Lizard?" she rumbled, momentarily disarmed by the advent of another one of her kind.
"Well I'll be damned," she said when Arkash didn't seem so hostile.
"How about a drink?"
"I'm 'bout wrapped up here."

Tilting her nose towards the flame, she could smell the smoking embers. Rolling her shoulders, she tilted her chin. "C'mon. Won't be long now before someone's here for 'er heads. That fire ain't gonna put out itself." With a sigh, she let her eyes rest for just a moment and brought her sword up, fussing with the scabbard--she wasn't so finessed with the blade, but her height and strength gave her somewhat of an advantage. Schschschft hissed the metal as it disappeared down that long, hollow tube.

Part of her still couldn't trust this lizard though. Guy looked shifty as geckin' hell.

[Arkash]

"What?" Arkash returned in vithmi at the lioness's offer. A drink? Did she even know how to get into Outer Nivenhain to obtain such a luxury? Regardless, Arkash shook his head. "No, I don't drink. And what do you mean you're 'wrapped up here'?" Arkash looked to the scene of the burning building with great frustration in his eyes. If there was any chance that the skinny man might have paid him instead of drugging him and selling his body parts, it was gone now. Arkash hissed at the revelation, found his footing through the shock of discovering another Rathari, and straightened his stance.
His momentary pause peeled back to show the burning anger in his one eye, on par with the rising flames behind them. "You asshole! That guy was about to pay me!" He most likely wasn't, but Arkash needed an outlet for his anger. "How the hell did you even-!?" He paused again as he spied the burning heat in her blade. It was sigilic pyromancy, just as Asmodei wielded. The woman was a mage, freely flaunting her abilities in the streets. By her accent, and her ability to speak vithmi, it was easy to guess that she was a foreigner. Did she not know just how illegal it was to practice magic in Lorien?
"Stop that right now!" Arkash warned with a clenched fist that extended a claw to her sword. "If someone sees you using magic, you're gonna have half the knighthood on your tail in the hour!" That was an exaggeration, of course. But, he held some truth to his words. If she was caught, the Argent would surely dispatch a squadron of a dozen knights to kill her without trial. Death by hollows was reserved for less-spectacular vermin, like himself.
Whether the magic stopped or not, Arkash stood there with his arm tucked into his stump, as though he could still tangibly cross his arms. "You can't go to the Outer district anymore, King dickhead had a wall built on the border recently, big nasty piece of work crawling with Chevalier twenty-four-seven." With that, Arkash stepped away from the fire and shook his head. "Stone's not gonna spread the fire, and I doubt the Knighthood cares if a few nameless lose their homes or lives, even if it did. If you're unlucky, a couple of hollows might be here in a few hours to put out whatever's left of it. But there won't be an investigation so long as our friend in there was also nameless."
With his explanation complete, Arkash lowered his arms. The woman had cost him a payment. True, it was likely that he never would have seen even a single farthing of its collection, and that the skinny elf might have somehow killed him or worse, but the other rathari didn't know that. He could, if he was smart about it, convince her to repay what he was owed. But then, she was the first of his kind he'd seen in all of Lorien, aside from his mother and father. Didn't he want to get on her good side?
With a sigh, he shook his head. "Forget the pay," he straightened up again, then looked her in the eyes from below. "I'm Arkash. What are you doing in Lorien? How long have you been here?"

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[Nuraku]

Ally's nose lifted to squeeze out a humid snort. "Pah," she groused to the other Rathari. Not only did this lizard turn down a drink, he was hissing up a storm by her side! She replied in fluent Atinaw Vithmi, though her accent was crude. She had a hard life. "What I do, it's more important than money or gems or steel, so feck off." That next bit earned a righteous glare from the woman, but when he seemed to sputter up not intending to rat her out, she relaxed and squeezed her paw together into a tight fist.

The lizards. The lizards are always the worst.
Wily skinks and toads, all.

If it weren't for the fact he was Rathari, somewhat like kin here in this desolate land halfway across the continent, she'd have socked him, but she held her mettle back as she started walking down the street. Her unconscious thoughts drifted to her friend and mentor Vesta, and so she turned in that direction as they strolled out into the road rather than the Sil'Norai inn that harbored her deep in the elven district. "Knights don't do shit about bloodsuckers in this town, and they don't do shit about mages either. Til they come down and chase me off, I'm the law in these parts. Now if I weren't in the slums or if I weren't doing their dirty work, I'm sure they'd be on me like fleas." The lady half-turned to him, rolling her shoulders. "Ya got a problem with that, buddy?"

A deep, boisterous laugh from Alphonse cut the tension, a paw clutching her chest. "Oh? I din't hear. Just makes my stance even more crystal clear. They won't risk a single knight to manage this mess," she said with a wave of her palm about the area. As they walked, passers-by stared. Always, they stared. But it didn't bother her anymore--they'd spin their rumors, and she'd let them.

Glancing back at the alley, she gave a few slow nods. "Yeah. Is a real shame had ta burn it down. Some-uh these places, they're nice and all. Lot nicer than the shithole I grew up." Alphonse shrugged. She'd steered clear of anyone or anything looking official, and they'd questioned her once but hadn't the sense to check her sword.

"Ahh, Arkash," she began, sucking in a breath. "I'unno. S'ppose it's been..." She counted a few numbers out on her fingers. "Since mid Searing or so? Don't pay much attention to the days unless I got to be punctual, yanno? I take care of the refugees from Sil-Elaine shacked up here, for the revolution. Odd jobs 'n things, and occasionally I'll catch the scent of one of those fecking monsters and crisp it like a foul." She looked to her new 'friend', leering even though he'd forgiven her debt. "Say, Arkash, what were ya doin' with that sucker, anyway? Don't worry, I won't bite, I'll chalk it up to not knowing any better. "
"D'yah even know what a Dranoch is?"
"Name's Alphonse, by the way. I'm from Atinaw."

Stepping around a pile of rubble in the middle of the street and turning her nose up at a pool of filth next to it, she kept on heading down the street at a casual pace, her footfalls heavy and loud with the chink of her maille. "Say, ya look like ya haven't seen one of our kind in awhile, and I gotta say it's almost the same for me. Some old stalker o' mine followed me here, by the way. She's a shorthair cat Beastalt, but she's... an odd fellow. Taught me a lotta what I know growin' up. Common sense 'n the like. Ya wanna meet her?"

[Arkash]

Nothing was more important than money, gems, or steel. The lady was mistaken, clearly. Money was everything; a ticket out of the hellhole that was Lower Nivenhain, and good steel was the difference between victory and miserable death in the gutter. Every resource was invaluable in a place as dilapidated as the district they walked. Now, because of the wall that separated the tall stone slums from the commoner's lands, that was even more pressing. The nameless had no access to the resources of the higher castes, which made what little they had all the more valuable.
He'd already surmised she was foreign by her accent and attitude alone, but her outlook was the final nail in the coffin. She was the law there? Really? Arkash simply rose his one working brow at her while his lips pressed firmly shut. The closest thing they had to law was the gangs that turned up at doorsteps to riddle their trespassers with bullets. The cat lady was going to get herself killed, Arkash was certain. "Right..." Was all he said on that sentiment.
"Bloodsuckers, huh?" As she turned to him, his stance remained firm for just a moment before he buckled and took a step back. "Uhh, no. No problems here," though that didn't mean a charger wouldn't put a bullet in her head if she trod where she wasn't mean to. The laugh that proceeded almost brought him to flinch, though he just barely saved against the reflex. A sigh of relief escaped the gap in his left lip as she continued her declarations of righteousness. A mere breath of laughter escaped the rath as he trained his eye on the taller combatant.
Knights? Risk? Not so. Knights of Lorien were legendary in the field of combat, with plate armor thick enough to stop bullets and enough strength to cleave men in two with supreme speed, reflexes, and agility. The dedication of a single knight to helping the nameless would solve so many issues, but they wouldn't. The Knighthood didn't care at all for the nameless, neither did the celebrant that funded them. "More like they just don't care," Arkash said his piece on the topic.
"You must think you're pretty cool, huh?" Arkash spoke as he followed at her side. "This town's gonna chew you up and spit you out if you're not careful, you know." If his words weren't warning enough, his wounds surely were. Arkash too had thought himself cool, untouchable. Maybe that was why he followed her? She was a member of his own species, after all. He had to make sure she wasn't going to get shot in the gut or bleed out in some alley. He believed he could help her, especially if she was new to the slums and the turfs that littered the streets.
She'd been there since mid searing, which explained why Arkash hadn't seen her. She'd arrived just a few weeks prior to his long fall, and he'd been tucked away in the likes of his shed through the entire season until that day. He wouldn't have seen her. Still, she had a good couple of months of experience in Lorien, though she still felt... Slow to learn, given the way she counted. Arkash nodded to her answer and brushed off the comment about the 'nice homes' of Lower Nivenhain. Choking on black mold didn't seem all too nice to Arkash, but it couldn't have been too bad given how many humans were content to live in such conditions.
The lady spoke of monsters and refugees, a place called Sil-Elaine. Arkash hadn't seen any monsters in the city, only those that followed Knights and others that dressed in clothes and preyed on the nameless for some quick farthings. That sucker? "Just a job," he spoke with a shrug and turned over his one empty claw. "He wasn't a regular client or anything so it's not a huge loss; I'll find others," he assured. Of course, he couldn't just outright declare that he was a hitter, especially not if the woman thought she was the law in the land. "Why'd you kill him? Him specifically?" Arkash knew the man had enemies, he'd had to dispatch one earlier that night after all.
"Dranoch?" he asked with a tilt of his head. Was that like some sort of gang? What a random thing to bring up. Alphonse was her name, which did have a sort of Rien ring to it. If he'd guessed by her name alone, he would have thought she was born and raised there.
Arkash didn't pay the grimy rubble a second glance when he stepped around it, and instead focused squarely on the lioness. Of course, he spared his surroundings a few watchful glares whenever he had to re-affirm his surroundings, but he otherwise watched the woman he followed cautiously. "Not in a couple of months," he affirmed. A couple of months? Had it really been that long since Cojack passed? It felt so much more recent when he considered that he'd been unconscious for a month. How unfortunate it was that he woke at all.
But, as fate would have it, there were more rathari in Lower Nivenhain; another sort of feline, like Alphonse. "Your friend?" the rathari affirmed, then looked to the ground in thought. She was a beastalt, which meant she only had one form, just like Cojack and Liu. "Are you Beastalt?" He asked as he returned his gaze to the lioness. Other than looking for human-like traits, he didn't know how to identify a rathari's genetics.
"I mean, sure. I was just gonna slink off home when I got my pay, but I guess I'll meet your friend." It was difficult to play cool, especially as Arkash had met a rathari outside of the Wolf and the Stallion that raised him. The thought of meeting yet another of their kin was... Exhilarating. There was so much he could ask them, so much he could learn. But, he couldn't come off as needy or annoying. The only proper way to present himself was calm and collected, even as he began to drool from the gap in his left lip.
His eye watched the alleys as they walked, and the few stragglers that crawled the moonlit streets stared at the walking zoo as they passed, to no response from neither the reptile nor the mammal. A stray thought crossed his mind, and Arkash returned his gaze to the lioness when the street was empty. "Is your friend also a Sigilic Pyromancer?" it was a serious question; Asmodei had spent a long time in Atinaw, and he also bared what he called 'The Black Sigil'. "Is everyone in Atinaw a Sigilic Pyromancer? Is Atinaw like a mage city? Is it legal there?"
Granted, he could have asked Asmodei those questions, but the lady was quite the tongue waggler; he doubted she'd mind his questions.

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[Nuraku]

Alphonse made a smarmy face, her voice low and dark with Vithmi callousness. “It’s my suicide mission, not yours, pal,” she told him off. “Not planning on going toe to toe with knights. ‘Til they make it their business to feck with me here in these dregs, they might as well not exist.”

When Arkash pried on her reasons for murdering the monster, she gave Arkash some pause until he explained his ignorance to the matter. “He was a Botchling. It’s a blood curse. Turns people into murderous cannibals with scary power. Every so often I get a tip where one might be shacking up, since I’m not the only one working to clean up these streets for the Elves. I’m no expert, but I’ve got enough muscle to have the advantage if I catch ‘em by surprise.”

Alphonse often worried her intel had led to the slaughter of occasional innocents, but every time she’d cared to stake out these monsters, she’d found enough to condemn any man. So she stopped caring to try.

“Yeah, my stepmother ...sorta. Raised me here or there. Stalks me. Can’t get rid of her--you know how some Rathor are, yeah?” mentioned Alphonse. She left out the part where she was an orphan and Vesta was hardly around, let alone a true ‘parent’.

Alphonse’ brow quirked when Arkash asked her an odd question. “Am I a Beastalt?” she repeated back to him with a laugh. “Were you born under a feckin’ rock, lad?” But the reality hit hard.
”Well yeah, definitely am.”
”Must’a been a rough life growing up without your own kind, huh?”

That next bit put Alphonse a bit on edge. “Ehm...” She tapped her chin, puzzled. “She’s not... how ‘ya know about the Sigil, yet ‘ya never been knew about Dranoch?”

Alphonse shrugged. “I’m sent to this city by the people who gave me the Sigil. They’re called The Black Remedy. They’re from a land called Sil-Elaine, where these Ash Elves ‘er from.”
”Magic is legal in Tyrclaid, I think, but it’s rare unlike Daravin. I got the Sigil well after I left.”
”It’s all about who you’re bonded to. Who ya know.”
”Me, I had it hard. I’m a Beastalt of a common pest, so I got abandoned at birth, and few could see past it. They thought I was trash like the Rakura body I was given. Silver tongues have it easier in Tyrclaid.”

The pair arrived at a building much like the rest, and Alphonse opened the door to duck inside, climbing a pair of stairs that her body could barely fit in the well between. Once she got to the top, she turned down a hall and rapped on the door. “Hey Vesta.”
”Got a stray for yous to bother instead of me for a change.”

The door unlatched moments later, and a short, wide-eyed beastalt pulled open the door, her body somewhat hunched with age. She had a rather nice, royal purple cloak with a shimmering trim to keep herself warm--she didn’t have any fur, nor hair. She looked rather like a rat if not for the stout feline muzzle on her. “Alphonse,” said Vesta in a courtly tone, a dialect of Vithmi Arkash had likely never heard before. Her nose wrinkled. “Your armor reeks of burning buildings, as always.” She sighed and waved the pair inside.

“So this one, he’s called Arkash,” said Alphonse, making a gesture to her guest. Inside there were pillows scattered about on the floor, and silks hung up on the walls--no furniture, but it looked quaint. Alphonse opted to sit on the floor instead, pulling off her scabbard and setting it aside. “He’s an orphan, like me. But he wasn’t born in Tyrclaid. Asks a lotta questions.”

The air was sweet with herbs and recreational substances. Alphonse was used to the scents--they were relaxing. “Is he now?” asked Vesta, looking Arkash up and down. “Were you born in Nivenhain?” she asked, reaching up to take his hand. “Dear, I may not be long for Nivenhain from my travels, but you are welcome to visit an old soothsayer any time you wish to learn of your peoples so long as I am still here in this fetid place.”
”Please, sit.” Vesta gestured towards a pillow. “Have you ever had Tyrclaid tea? It’s sweetened with the dried blood of animals to give it a flavor more appealing to a carnivorous palate. Alphonse never liked it, but you might. I could set a kettle.”

Alphonse was tempted to call out the old hag on her manipulations, but she rolled her eyes and started pulling up her cloak chain armor, crossing her arms and pulling it free. She let it drop next to her with a thud, then set about popping the buckles to the thick, layered gambeson. “Thing that sucks about havin’ fur is bein’ expected to wear clothes like the rest to fit in,” she grumbled. “And the busted links in my maille are always tugging on my fur, pulling it out in clumps if I don’t wear this suffocatin’ gambeson.” As the thing came off, she bound it all up in the cloak and tied it off with a sigh before slumping over and laying her head on it like a fat, poky pillow.

The giant woman shut her eyes for just a spell to relax. She’d been working nonstop to serve the Elves, and her whole body ached. A quick death would have been a mercy, she thought.

What a strange, strange dichotomy between the two.

[Arkash]

Arkash wasn't all that knowledgeable on a lot of things. Outside of Koltoska and Daravin, he knew little about the world. He'd heard of a few different places like Tyrclaid from whatever immigrants wound up working beside him in hollow labor camps, but other than the occasional story that he could pry from their lips, there wasn't much else to speak of. He did consider himself street smart, however. Yet there he was, telling a stranger everything that came to mind without inhibition. What was more was that he'd agreed to go with her to the house of her stepmother for whatever reason.
His street smarts didn't translate well to his general knowledge though, as he had to ask a member of his own race whether or not they were of a certain... Dialect? Could the rathor Beastalt and Neoalt be classified as dialects? They were both the same race, but of a different subclass. What that made them, Arkash didn't know. What was more? Arkash was completely clueless on the dynamics and implications that knowledge of the Sigil carried.
"Dranoch?" He asked with a furrow of his brow. The round pupil of his one yellow eye darted to the front, and his head followed his stare while he thought. It wasn't a word he was familiar with. "...Uh, my Friend spent a lot of time in Tyrclaid, and he's..." The rathor paused to look over his shoulder at the dark street, just to be sure that they weren't being followed or listened to. "Y'know," he continued as he returned his gaze to the feline and turned his claw over. "He's a pyromancer too. I dunno, I just figured since you were both from Tyrclaid, that you get the magic from there," he explained with a shrug of his good shoulder.
As it was revealed, however, Alphonse didn't get the sigil in Tyrclaid. So, was it in Sil-Elaine that Asmodei received the sigil? The Black Remedy? Arkash's one eye lowered to the ground to squint while he thought, then lifted again to the cat while they walked.
A common pest? Oh no, the rathor had politics based on the animal one took traits from? No one wanted Alphonse because she was a common pest. That was... unfair. Rathor didn't get to choose which animal they took after; it wasn't her fault, so why was she condemned for it? Injustice and inequality took root in all layers of society, even across the borders of the frigid hellscape of Lorien. "...Sorry to hear that," he offered after a moment of silence. "But, hey. Looking at the bright side, you got some sick horns out of the deal, right? Can't be all bad."

Eventually, they arrived at the nondescript home. Arkash's one set of claws hovered around his maw, where the air was warmer. The extremities were always the first to grow cold and numb; Arkash hardly had to worry about his limbs or his chest, as his claws always pulsed with burning cold when he came to be outdoors for too long. In that sense, the trip to Alphonse's step-mother's home had inconvenienced him. Making it back to Fayeth and Asmodei without succumbing to the cold night air would be difficult, so he'd have to take some time to warm up in their home.
Though Arkash knew he wasn't being cautious enough, the voice that told him so was utterly drowned by his fascination and curiosity. The only other rathor he'd known were those that raised him, both of whom laid dead wherever their bodies had been dumped by the higher castes. To suddenly be met with two foreign rathor felt like something of a dream; unreal and breathtaking. For that, his inhibition was thrown to the wind.
It helped that Alphonse felt like an honest character, if not a little in-over-her-head. She thought she could fight an argent and win, which was something unheard of in Lower Nivenhain. There was the matter of 'The Grand Family' as his late parents had spoken of in his youth. Alphonse's willingness to take him where she resided was perceived as such offered hospitality.
The prospect of entering the bald cat's home seemed to remind him of just where he was in the moment, however. They were ultimately strangers, both of them. He was quick and good with a knife, but that didn't matter much if he didn't have room to move around.
There was a moment of hesitation as Arkash watched Alphonse enter, then gesture for him to follow. When he thought about it, the situation he'd landed himself in was exactly the kind of thing Liu and Cojack had taught him to avoid, but he justified his actions with thoughts of 'I'm dirt poor anyway'. Horrifically disfigured, an inefficient laborer, and with mere pennies to his name, he saw not what they had to gain from tricking him if that was what was happening.
His sense of smell was his primary sense; his eyes weren't as strong as that of humans. So, when he inevitably entered the home, he blinked quickly with his right eye, then exhaled through his lips before he slurped the excess drool that poured from his left side. He wasn't familiar with the smell of herbs in the air, and he took a moment to adjust to the assault on his powerful nose.
Inside was a sight unlike any he'd seen in Lower Nivenhain. No furniture, as was typical, but silks and pillows? The bald cat's purple cloak also felt out of place. Such vibrant colors were rare to the nameless; it was a wonder how she hadn't been robbed yet. His eye fell on Alphonse as she removed her scabbard, and he supposed she was how.
"...You have a lovely home," Arkash returned with a bow of his head after his long, awkward silence. Just a moment later, he received a sample of that Grand Family hospitality as the old cat took his one hand. His one eye glanced between Alphonse and her stepmother alike while his heart began to pick up in pace. More of his venomous spit began to run from his lifted left lip, tinted yellow in the low light before he slurped to pull it back into his maw for swallowing. It wasn't that bad; so long as he could see them both, he was fine.
When she offered that he sit, he bowed his head in a nod. "Ah, thank you," he returned in vithmi. "I'm sorry this is... This hasn't happened before," he spoke with a nervous chuckle, then took a couple of careful steps to the nearest pillow, where he sat his stiff tail with both the cats in his field of view and his back to the wall. "Thank you, both of you," he spoke as his eye danced between the two.
"Tea?" he asked, just as the supposed 'Botchling' had offered him? It did sound nice, but... "No, please." He paused and held his forked tongue. Was that rude of him? It felt rude. "I mean, I couldn't... With that wall coming up and all of us being refused access to the Outer District, you should save it; I don't know how you'll get more otherwise," he explained. Was that a valid reason? it must've been. He didn't refuse because he was distrustful, oh no, he was just concerned for their own wellbeing - or so he tried to appear.
Alphonse began to remove her armor, and though he was curious, he tried not to stare. "...Fur?" he spoke and a smile began to pull at his lips while he thought. The familiarity of the situation helped to put him at ease. "My ma' had said the same; she took after a wolf and complained about getting too hot in the mines a lot thanks to the clothes she wore," granted they weren't nearly as covering or restrictive as Alphonse's gambeson, but they were certainly excessive to any furred creature. "At least you're warm right?" He finished his thought.
He watched then as Alphonse laid down, completely unarmed and without her armor. Surely, if she was planning to attack him, she wouldn't have done such a thing? In a way, her willingness to be weak in his presence put him at ease. Unless... Her stepmother was some crazy-skilled assassin? Also a mage?
"Vesta?" he asked with a tilt of his head. "Are you also a mage?" He asked with a tilt of his head, then held his tongue again. Was that rude? Were mages sensitive about their magic? "You don't have to answer, I don't mean to impose but," he began to explain. "Well, from what I know, you can only learn magic from a mage, and I met Alphonse when she blew up my client. So... Did you teach her?" His curiosity had several roots; Asmodei was too weak in magic to teach him, and though he was interested, he didn't want to bother with that train of thought further if she wasn't strong enough.
"I swear I'm not a grass, I've got lots of mage friends," he declared after telling on Alphonse. "Even if I was, I'm in trouble with the Chevalier; they'd lop my head off just as soon as they'd listen to me." Sharing the fact that he was a wanted criminal might not be the smartest move in the company of other nameless, but they were also outlaws. He had to show that he wasn't on the side of the people that would hunt them otherwise.

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[Nuraku]

Alphonse let the subject of the Pyromancer rest for now with a mere grunt. She didn’t like to step on their toes, even if she might have been curious. “’Sick Horns’?” Alphonse repeated to Arkash. “I never thought of my horns as diseased. Are they discolored--ah.” She caught Arkash’s meaning a few moments later, reaching up to run her hands over the hard, problematic stubs. “More of a hindrance than anything. Gives me an edge at not getting messed with, but in a real fight they don’t help much at all. Makes a helmet more expensive if I ever end up needing one, too.” She shrugged. “Being tall might make me strong, but a little thing like you--wouldn’t matter if you snuck up behind. I’d be down with a knife in my back before I knew what hit me, and it takes longer to heal since I’m so heavy. Part of me wishes I were a bit smaller.” She wrinkled her nose. Alphonse could smell the lizard’s fetid breath the same as everyone else’s, but she never opted to mention else make her guest self-conscious.

With the pair in the home, Vesta quietly made a kettle anyway despite Arkash’s attempt at refusal. “It may be a luxury here in these slums,” said Vesta, “but I travel, and I travel often. Sometimes I have plenty, sometimes I do not. My last trip was for leisure, and so I have much from the space afforded to me by my stow in the caravan.” She made a flicking gesture towards the window. “I do not plan to stay long, but the Ash Elves know better than to tread on us out of respect for my friend’s work.”

Vesta sparked a small, metal bowl with a wire skillet balanced atop it using a stone and some flint, the tinder inside lighting aflame while the oils beneath helped to fuel it. She poured from a pitcher of fresh water into the kettle, and left it to boil, returning to sit atop a pillow.

Vesta crossed her legs, nodding to Arkash. “That I do. I have gone to great lengths to camouflage this home from the rest, and I would appreciate if you left me out of your gossip out of respect. I am well aware of the hard times that have fallen upon Lower Nivenhain, and the current political climate.”

Alphonse spoke up from her little cat nap with a whirring rumble. “Vesta’s a scary little crone,” she told the lizard. “If what I can do gives you a shiver, I’ve seen her turn people into little toads and birds.” A popular rumor at the orphanage she was from, and to Alphonse it made sense. Vesta had no reason to deny the rumor, either.

As the kettle began to whistle, Vesta stood and finished preparing the tea, dipping a basket with the proper herbs and dried, pulverized jerky into the boiling water and lingering there. She shrugged at Arkash’s admission that this was very new to him. “I’m sorry to hear that. It’s never easy to be born in a warring country, let alone one at war with itself, with skin and blood of a foreign persuasion. All we can do is our best.” She looked to Alphonse. “That one is trying, but to me she is misguided. She places far too much of her trust in an order that seeks to abuse her loyalty, with suspect goals, and I know her days are numbered.”

Alphonse gave a dismissive grunt at the cat’s concern, and Vesta merely shook her head with a sigh before pouring a cup of tea and offering it to Arkash. “I’ve already made the pot--refuse, and you’ll be putting it to waste.” Then she took a seat, letting the aroma waft up to her nose. The aroma and flavor were both tangy and salty, with the rich aftertaste of a fine cut of meat.

“Guess I’d rather fur ‘n scales,” said Alphonse without opening her eyes. “You lizards always had it the worst. Dunno what god you pissed off to be born as one in fecking Nivenhain of all places...”

Vesta scoffed. “Forgive her. She was born a rat and that life has shaped her.” The old cat tilted her head at the next question, waiting for him to elaborate. “Well, you see, Pyromancy is a very peculiar magic. I was never privy to a Sigil of Pyromancy, but Alphonse went and joined some revolutionaries in a territory inhabited by murderous bloodsuckers. They trained her.” Vesta paused. “I do not share a Rune so lightly. Not everyone has the right state of mind, morality, or health to even survive the process. I have only ever offered this gift to one student of mine decades ago, and what a prattling brat he turned out to be.” Vesta sipped her tea.

“The only rat here is you, Vesta,” growled Alphonse, but the crone didn’t pay the remark any heed. “And for me, I don’t really want more,” she said. “Each one is a gamble for death. I don’t know how Vesta survived, and I never asked how many, but she has a lot of ‘em.”

“I have five,” admitted Vesta. “There are some Darivinic Mage Lords with fewer than I possess.” The woman tapped on her mug. “But, we shouldn’t linger on such dangerous subjects.” She knew full well about Alphonse’s Caru, and didn’t want to pry. Today was a day of relaxation for her, and she wanted to keep it that way.

Her entire life, Alphonse had been raised within the bounds of lesser means. Orphans were often disfigured. Unwanted. The deformities of this Rathor did not bother her, for she had seen worse. So much worse.

“Everyone’s in trouble with someone,” said Vesta with a sip of her tea. “If you really do have so many friends who are mages as you say, and magic is a curiosity for you, then you should consider finding a practicing Necromancer for that jaw of yours... there is an academy within Daravin that you could attend, and if accepted I’m sure a student there could mend your jaw easily. You are Rathor. It is in our blood to travel and learn new languages.”

“Vesta is always so preachy,” said Alphonse. “I cannot stand her for more than a day or two, but she’s rubbed off on me. If she says it’s a good idea, it probably is.” The Rathor picked herself up and stretched out her arms, muscles popping before she propped herself up against the wall, offering a lazy look to Arkash.

Vesta chuckled. “And Alphonse is a prickly cactus.”

What a strange, strange pair these two were.

“So ya got mage friends. Ya were cavorting with a monster whether ya knew it or not, and based on the way ya move, you’re some kinda mercenary or a guy who burgles stuff? A thing like you is slippery enough to make it anywhere,” said Alphonse. “So why stay here in Lorien? Only reason I’m here is orders to cull those bloodsuckers.” She smiled. “Don’t worry, I only care about killin’ Dranoch, and everything else isn’t my business. Besides, it’s hard times here. Everyone’s got shit to work through.” Alphonse avoided tugging on the subject of Arkash's parents, knowing it was a tender subject for even orphans best left undisturbed.

[Arkash]

His brow furrowed at Alphonse's misunderstanding of his compliment, and he flicked his head with pursed lips as if to ask 'really?' Before she caught it. He hadn't really considered the logistics of horns and helmet prices. She seemed fond of her armor, after all, he supposed she had a decent reason to dislike them.
He knew her words to be true, for he'd attacked and brought giants to their knees with his knife and venom both. Magical giants were perhaps a different story, but he wasn't planning to get in a fight with Alphonse, neither did he intend to measure her so... Which might not have been wise given how far she could probably reach with those arms.
"Well, they look cool, Even if your animal's a pest and your helmets have bigger price tags. You know, some Argent have horns made specifically for their armor when they become knights? I bet the haters are just jealous of you," he spoke with a grin then nodded to himself. It felt good to compliment someone, even if he had to argue to make it stick.

Even though he'd refused the tea, the bald cat began to make a kettle anyway. His one eye squinted in the dim light as she fiddled with the burner, and Arkash remained sitting. He focused intently on the things she added to the pot, but he was no apothecary. Even if his sense of smell was stronger than most, he couldn't identify what was harmful and what wasn't by the scent alone. She could have poisoned him before his very eye and he wouldn't know until he began choking on his inflamed throat.
She was a nice lady, as was Alphonse, but Arkash was nothing without his trust issues and caution. A couple of decades of living in a place like Lower Nivenhain would do that to anyone, as such generosity and hospitality were unheard of. Then again, they were most definitely foreign. Between Vesta's dialect and Alphonse's obliviousness to the law's long arm, they were easy pickings for the metaphorical vultures that prowled the ghetto he lived in.
His hunch was right, Alphonse was the reason that no one had tried to rob Vesta. Though he doubted such a blessing was born of respect, he spoke nothing of how terrifying a giant sword-wielding fire mage might be to the average scrawny, starved human. "I won't speak a peep" he promised as he drew a cross on his chest with his claw. He paused at the gesture then lowered his one hand with a brief exhale, almost wistful in his gaze.
Vesta was apparently more dangerous than she let on, as Alphonse indicated. His one eye widened and he straightened his back with obvious concern in his features. She did what? Turned people into frogs? He knew nothing about magic but knew there was such magic that could make others sick per Cyrus. To him, anything was possible. "-You turned them back, right?" Gods he couldn't even imagine living life as a tiny bird, fearful of the shadows in the sky, pecking the ground for his food. What a nightmare!
The whistle of the kettle stole him from his thoughts, and he watched as she added the various herbs and crushed dried meats. Admittedly, he wasn't much for tea. It was rare that he drank anything that wasn't water from the well and didn't see the need for such niceties. That wasn't to say he was without curiosity, he did wonder what it was like to indulge in the more luxurious things in life on occasion. The temptation was there, but he could at least be cautious.
He looked to the cup before he accepted it with his one set of claws, then looked to Alphonse at her grunt. "...Thank you," he returned as he looked at the bald cat, then bowed his head. "Alphonse means well; she's got her heart in the right place," he smiled a little with a glance to the woman that had murdered the person that was meant to pay him just an hour or so ago. "I'm a great judge of character," he explained with a shift of his stump, as though he turned over his phantom claws.
He didn't immediately drink the tea. Instead, it rested on his lap while he sat with his claws clenching the cup. Oh-so-slowly, his scales drank the radiating warmth of the boiled water and thawed his frigid fingers to his delight. The air in the room was higher than outdoors thanks to the two mammals in the room with him, too. He'd have the warmth he needed to make it back to the Velsign and Sil'norai both.
He grinned a bit with his crooked lip at the talk of his scales, and glanced between the two with a brief laugh. "It's got its perks; I don't need to eat as much to keep going," he explained with a bow of his head, "you can bet that was useful growing up." Even so, his frame was still slight as an adult. If he'd been born a mammal, he didn't doubt that Liu and Cojack would have gone hungry just trying to sustain him. Alas, a simple 'It all worked out in the end' eluded his lips as he focused his gaze on Vesta. A lesson on magic ensued, and he paid the best attention he could.
The Black Remedy was what gave people the black sigil, as he learned. That was the group of revolutionaries that Vesta spoke of, wasn't it? Alphonse had mentioned them and their dynamic with The Dranoch.
"Survive?" he asked with a squint. Did people die during initiations? Vesta was strong enough to teach others, but she'd only done so once. His eye shifted to Alphonse as she further elaborated, and it was revealed that every rune had a chance of killing the mage. Vesta had five, which was apparently a lot. "...Five doesn't sound like much," he squinted, then widened his one eye in the realization of what he'd just said. "Ah, sorry- I... Don't really know how strong a rune is. The most impressive thing I've seen was Alphonse's explosion, my friend making us float, and my other friend's glowing sword." Though he suspected that Fayeth was also a mage, he wasn't sure.
One thing was certain in the exchange; the tea wasn't poisoned. So, Arkash collected the cup again and lifted it to his lips. He normally drank from pails and waterskins though, as his muzzle acted as a sort of straw. Pouring the fluid into his jaws would be difficult. Regardless, he lifted the stump of his left elbow to cover the curled gap in his lip before he carefully tilted the cup back to oh-so-steadily pour into his maw through the gap that was designed for his tongue to flick from. It was warm, sweet, somewhat plant-like in taste in texture. He could certainly smell the meaty extract and the herbs used but didn't think too long about what they were. The cup was empty when he set it down, and the sleeve of his stump was damp with what had dripped from his lips in a patch.
The rounded pupil of his eye dilated a bit while he watched the empty cup, and maintained that width as he looked up to Vesta with the beginnings of a smile. "That was good... Thank you," he held his tongue when he realized just how much he'd said those two words since he'd been there. But then, he found he had a lot to be grateful for. Was he just that glad to be in the company of other rathor? To speak his preferred language?
That was due to change, however, as the topic shifted to Daravin. A necromancer? He knew a necromancer. He didn't need to leave Lorien. Magic? He wanted magic, he did. But the suggestion of leaving Lorien unsettled him. The rathor slurped while he listened to them both, then swallowed his excess venom before he parted his lips to speak, only to pause. Strings of yellowed viscous drool connected the roof of his mouth to his palette before he shut it again to swallow.
Alphonse had him figured out, it seemed. Well, he wasn't particularly strong, even when he had both his hands. He could tread lightly, and his dark scales blended well with the shadows. It was only natural that someone of such a light frame took such a path, no?
"I can't," he spoke abruptly and shook his head. Why not? The past twenty-two years of his life had been dedicated to finding the funds he needed to abandon the northern wintry hellhole that was Lorien, and though he'd had reservations before, he felt strongly in his decision that day. "Trust me when I say I hate this place, all of Lorien, but I can't leave. Not for my arm, my eye, or my jaw."
His usual excuse was that he was dirt poor, but as Alphonse pointed out, he could make it in just about any city if he tried. Plan B? The truth. "...I was stuck here before, when I wanted to leave, and now that I can leave, I don't want to." With that, the rathor shrugged, then tapped his empty cup with his claws. "I can't explain it, I just feel like I have to be here." With that, he lifted his one eye to look between the two.
"...I'm sorry, I probably sound crazy," he spoke as he pushed to his feet. "Thank you both for this; it's really uhh-" he paused. Just how desperate did he want to sound? "-I mean, it was nice meeting some rathor. Thank you for all the tea and knowledge," he spoke with a courteous bow of his head. "I wish I could talk more, but I should be off; My friends probably expect me."

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