15th of Ash, 4621
A simple enough task, he supposed. An utter waste of his abilities, but he supposed it had to be done. The things he could do in the time it took him to walk to the market and back if he wasn’t made to serve some pig… he sighed, releasing his frustrations into the air around him. Why did he care what he was made to do? His compliance was all a front, regardless of how demeaning and annoying his tasks were. He was only in it for the Veir’s necromancy. Once he had that, there was nothing holding him to the fortress.
To say that he didn’t care much for his position was an understatement. If anything, he hated it. He looked back on the years he spent in the frozen woodland outside of Nivenhain, lumber camps, coal mines, smelteries, and thought of how the nobility had extorted his labor for their own unduly lavish lifestyles. It was their misuse of their power that started the young rath on his anarchies, but he was at least given an unlivable wage for his time.
This, the life he lived now, was debatably worse. He received no payment, he worked every waking minute of the day to clean and sweep, he ate table scraps, and addressed anyone who wasn’t dressed in the same burlap rags as him with the utmost respect, even if they trampled his cleaning equipment or shut doors in his face. Hard labor was one thing, but service? All the work he’d put toward controlling his rage was being tested; he wanted nothing more than to assert himself as stronger and put the ignorant mortals in their places. But he didn’t.
If anything, his walk did him well. He had the chance to breathe some fresh air and take in the sunlight that always seemed to shine on Valtoria. It was a brief respite from the hustle and bustle of the kitchen and the cleaning of dormitories. He had a while to just enjoy his own company, and reflect on what was important… outside of revenge.
He wondered while he walked the dirt road to town from the fortress, why did his thoughts always circle so vindictively? He often found himself caught in a circle of grief and rage that spiraled out of his control whenever he had the time to think. He looked up from the road, then brushed his dreadlocks from his face with his given hand. The peppered white clouds appeared to pop from the bright blue sky, as if they floated on a layer of their own, far away from the endless tapestry that surrounded their world. Arkash came to a halt before the town, and he wondered. Did he like being angry? Did he like hurting people?
He didn’t like the alternative, that much was certain.
A deep breath filled his lungs, and his eyes fell to his bare, dirty feet while he exhaled. There, he lost his train of thought and focused on how strange human toes looked. What were they even good for? He couldn’t grip the grass when he ran with those stubby claws, and the balance they provided was so much less effective than a tail.
A roll of his eyes dispelled the mix of thoughts in his head, and he trudged into town. The dirt path became paved with stones as he approached the gate. Upon entering, the Helemire posted gave him the order to halt, and he produced his writ before he was allowed passage.
It was busy. He’d been able to hear the chatter of gathered people in conversation for some distance before he entered the town, but he hadn’t imagined it would be as packed as it was. It strained his sensitive ears, and Arkash grimaced uncomfortably as he made his way through the streets toward the market. Superior prowess saw him bob and weave through the crowd, sticking every footfall… Until he missed.
His next step was swept out from under him by the force of a kick that he hadn’t seen coming. It was so sudden, so public, and so loud. He'd been trying to ignore the sounds around him to a point that he hadn't noticed the adrenaline spike in the heartbeats that had closed in on him. Why would he have paid attention to his surroundings? He had nothing of value, what reason could anyone have for attacking him?
Perhaps they just liked being angry? Perhaps they liked hurting people?
Was he still a person?
The moment his back hit the floor, his own adrenaline kicked in. The startled gasps of some women in the crowd rang loud in his ears, along with the frenzied shouting of some power-tripping human. That same human came in, swinging his foot in a broad kick for Arkash's downed body.
Instinct urged him to evade, but he willed himself to take the strike. In place of allowing his reflexes to carry him out of harm's way, he braced for impact and tensed his arms and legs to protect his vitals. He was too slow to block the first kick, which met with his stomach.
He didn't feel the pain, but he wasn't senseless. He watched with one eye as two other men joined the maniac, then bared his teeth subconsciously as they brought down their fury on him. Strike after strike left the muddied impressions of their boots in his ragged burlap clothes, and were sure enough to leave marks of their own in his skin.
He focused on protecting himself; it wasn't the first time he'd had his shit kicked in on the road, it probably wasn't the last. All he knew was that he couldn't hurt them, or he'd be put to death... Just like the last time.
He caught another glimpse of them through the gap in his fingers as a boot to the face split his lip. Three men; One short and stocky, another tall and lanky, and the last looked to barely weigh more than the first. Pigs. He curled his nose, knowing weaklings like them got something out of attacking him drove him wild. He clung to the notion that in a split second, he could knock them all dead through the storm of their rage.
A simple enough task, he supposed. An utter waste of his abilities, but he supposed it had to be done. The things he could do in the time it took him to walk to the market and back if he wasn’t made to serve some pig… he sighed, releasing his frustrations into the air around him. Why did he care what he was made to do? His compliance was all a front, regardless of how demeaning and annoying his tasks were. He was only in it for the Veir’s necromancy. Once he had that, there was nothing holding him to the fortress.
To say that he didn’t care much for his position was an understatement. If anything, he hated it. He looked back on the years he spent in the frozen woodland outside of Nivenhain, lumber camps, coal mines, smelteries, and thought of how the nobility had extorted his labor for their own unduly lavish lifestyles. It was their misuse of their power that started the young rath on his anarchies, but he was at least given an unlivable wage for his time.
This, the life he lived now, was debatably worse. He received no payment, he worked every waking minute of the day to clean and sweep, he ate table scraps, and addressed anyone who wasn’t dressed in the same burlap rags as him with the utmost respect, even if they trampled his cleaning equipment or shut doors in his face. Hard labor was one thing, but service? All the work he’d put toward controlling his rage was being tested; he wanted nothing more than to assert himself as stronger and put the ignorant mortals in their places. But he didn’t.
If anything, his walk did him well. He had the chance to breathe some fresh air and take in the sunlight that always seemed to shine on Valtoria. It was a brief respite from the hustle and bustle of the kitchen and the cleaning of dormitories. He had a while to just enjoy his own company, and reflect on what was important… outside of revenge.
He wondered while he walked the dirt road to town from the fortress, why did his thoughts always circle so vindictively? He often found himself caught in a circle of grief and rage that spiraled out of his control whenever he had the time to think. He looked up from the road, then brushed his dreadlocks from his face with his given hand. The peppered white clouds appeared to pop from the bright blue sky, as if they floated on a layer of their own, far away from the endless tapestry that surrounded their world. Arkash came to a halt before the town, and he wondered. Did he like being angry? Did he like hurting people?
He didn’t like the alternative, that much was certain.
A deep breath filled his lungs, and his eyes fell to his bare, dirty feet while he exhaled. There, he lost his train of thought and focused on how strange human toes looked. What were they even good for? He couldn’t grip the grass when he ran with those stubby claws, and the balance they provided was so much less effective than a tail.
A roll of his eyes dispelled the mix of thoughts in his head, and he trudged into town. The dirt path became paved with stones as he approached the gate. Upon entering, the Helemire posted gave him the order to halt, and he produced his writ before he was allowed passage.
It was busy. He’d been able to hear the chatter of gathered people in conversation for some distance before he entered the town, but he hadn’t imagined it would be as packed as it was. It strained his sensitive ears, and Arkash grimaced uncomfortably as he made his way through the streets toward the market. Superior prowess saw him bob and weave through the crowd, sticking every footfall… Until he missed.
His next step was swept out from under him by the force of a kick that he hadn’t seen coming. It was so sudden, so public, and so loud. He'd been trying to ignore the sounds around him to a point that he hadn't noticed the adrenaline spike in the heartbeats that had closed in on him. Why would he have paid attention to his surroundings? He had nothing of value, what reason could anyone have for attacking him?
Perhaps they just liked being angry? Perhaps they liked hurting people?
Was he still a person?
The moment his back hit the floor, his own adrenaline kicked in. The startled gasps of some women in the crowd rang loud in his ears, along with the frenzied shouting of some power-tripping human. That same human came in, swinging his foot in a broad kick for Arkash's downed body.
Instinct urged him to evade, but he willed himself to take the strike. In place of allowing his reflexes to carry him out of harm's way, he braced for impact and tensed his arms and legs to protect his vitals. He was too slow to block the first kick, which met with his stomach.
He didn't feel the pain, but he wasn't senseless. He watched with one eye as two other men joined the maniac, then bared his teeth subconsciously as they brought down their fury on him. Strike after strike left the muddied impressions of their boots in his ragged burlap clothes, and were sure enough to leave marks of their own in his skin.
He focused on protecting himself; it wasn't the first time he'd had his shit kicked in on the road, it probably wasn't the last. All he knew was that he couldn't hurt them, or he'd be put to death... Just like the last time.
He caught another glimpse of them through the gap in his fingers as a boot to the face split his lip. Three men; One short and stocky, another tall and lanky, and the last looked to barely weigh more than the first. Pigs. He curled his nose, knowing weaklings like them got something out of attacking him drove him wild. He clung to the notion that in a split second, he could knock them all dead through the storm of their rage.
