[Couronne] Rent Skin

[Arkash]

Frost 40th, 4621

Though he'd neglected to mention that the kit of tools he was referring to didn't actually belong to him, he didn't think it prudent to mention. What would Degare care if Arkash was to repair him with tools he'd bought or tools he'd borrowed? It mattered not to the young Rath when he mentally placed himself in that same situation, he just hadn't the capacity to speak of his living circumstances when they met.

Night had descended on Couronne, and with everything he needed to ensure the survival of his recently-acquainted Veir, Arkash was off into the moonlit streets. He traversed through darkened alleys, illuminated by his potent night eye and the strength of his sense of smell. Occasionally, he unwrapped the poultice of Ashes he'd collected at the store, and used the scent to track and pursue the Veir that had requested his mark.

When the alleys became too restricting, he clambered to the rooftops and began traversing the sprawling urban landscape with remarkable deftness. He appeared weightless, leaping from rooftop to rooftop, sprung by unnaturally strong legs, and carried with supreme coordination and dexterity. He took the journey in his stride, only sprinting or exerting himself to make some of the further jumps. Where he had to, he leaped to lower levels and scaled to higher ledges. It was all done one-handed, as he carried the doctor's bag with a set of clenched claws.

When he inevitably arrived at the location of Degare's stay, he didn't wait or pause. Quietly, he descended to the windowsill of the establishment and unlocked it with a flex of his Bloodshaping and sway. Carefully, he opened the pane and let himself in. A flick of his tongue confirmed that the smell of Ashes had lingered there for some time. Whether or not the Elf remained at the location, Arkash didn't know. "Degare?" He asked in that same raspy croak, uncertain in his tone while his eyes adjusted to looking about the room.

Crouched low, he set the doctor's bag down and straightened himself upright while he listened to the ambient sounds in the enclosed space, scanning for beating hearts.

Image source.

[Degare]

TIMESTAMP: Frost 40th, 4621 / 21:43
NOTES: -

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Amoren was a beautiful city gilded in the warm, golden hues of Ash nearly year round, even still as it was partway into Frost at this point. It was not uncommon for the Ferrier and other members of his house to travel here for a plethora of reasons, and as such, his house had bought a small town home on the west end. He’d arrived in the city but a few short days after his chance encounter with a reptilian Vandikar.

This was now the evening of his second day there. He'd realized early on that Arkash had never actually given him a place to go or a way to find him, so in this regard, Degare was a sitting duck. While he could do nothing, it was apparent when they'd met that the other man was an assassin and as such, likely had some skill in tracking prey. Much as he didn't want to think of himself as the 'prey' in this scenario, the lizard would likely employ similar tactics to find him.

As the evening dragged on and darkness descended, Degare had decided to busy himself by tuning the house's grand piano. Having decades of experience doing this, the process was fairly rote and he found it relaxing, almost. He'd actually intended to play it, but the instrument was too out of tune for him to tolerate. As notes rang out through the house and he delicately set the pins, another sound caught his attention. From where he was standing, he couldn’t identify what was actually a window opening and closing. Frozen still did he stand until he heard his own name being called through the wall in a voice with an unmistakable rasp.

The tall elf steps back away from the piano and moves towards the location of the other’s voice. To not startle the lizard, “Arkash…?” he calls back, then waits about a second after before pushing open the door to the darkened study that he’d assumed the lizard had clamored into. Degare had been correct, seeing the bipedal beast shrouded in darkness, only illuminated by the moonlight floating through the window behind him. Such a sight would be terrifying, had the Ferrier not been desperately praying for the man to show up.

A pleased smile spreads across his face as graceful hands clasped together, “Ah! Full glad am I to see you~” he nearly sings this. “I assume you brought everything you need on your end? Is there anything I need at all?” Questions asked quite quickly, likely due to his excitement and the rising anticipation.

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'Thoughts'
"Common Tongue/Speech"
"Raillen Tongue/Speech"

[Arkash]

In the low light of the room, there was little detail to make out his form. The dark basalt shade of his scales blended almost seamlessly into the dark despite the shine of his maintained carapace. His eyes were another matter, akin to the wiry stare of some unknown beast at a campfire's edge, Arkash's gaze shined with an eerie light that betrayed his night vision.

His arm lifted to shield his eyes when the light of the next room illuminated his sensitive eyes. After a moment or two, he closed the window with a squint to shield his gaze. A brief nod ushered attention to the bag in his claws, and he looked about the room of the estate; some sort of lounge as it appeared to be. "You don't need anything," he said, eyes trailing the detail of the skirting boards and the embroidery of the lavish furniture. It wasn't like the noble estates of Lorien, where their house colors painted tapestries and accents in an almost militant fashion. Slight discomfort reflected in his gaze before he looked past the Veir to spy the piano that had been thrumming when he entered.

"I need some time to prepare," he said without speaking on the quality of the decor. "And so do you..." he trailed off after looking the noble up and down. With hesitance in his step, Arkash placed his foot claws on the sprawling design of the rug that led to the sitting area and set the bag in his claws on the low table.

A click of the bind that held the bag shut saw it open, and he reached inside to retrieve a small golden needle from its contents. "Prepare some food and water for your recovery, drink plenty and use your chamber pot if you have to," Arkash continued with the needle, weaving some luminescent blue threads together while he spoke, and didn't look at Degare until his brows rose. "And take something to dull the pain if you have it..." He offered with a slight grin before he returned to his shoddy sowing work.

"When you're ready, come back without clothes on; I should have enough Sinew Cloth by then," he assured. When he was done with what appeared to be a gauze of woven etheric thread, Arkash set it on the table and began the next. How many wounds did he anticipate? Enough, it seemed.

"Oh," he added with a lift of his claw. "If there's anyone else home, you might want something that will stifle your screams. Don't blame me for whatever happens if we're caught..." He warned with a trail and resumed weaving Sinew Cloth. The warning was easily translated in his own head, but he did briefly glance at Degare to assess whether or not he caught the meaning behind the words.

Image source.

[Degare]

TIMESTAMP: -
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This study was decorated in similar style to House Socorro's main manor back in Boghadar, though it did lack more of the primary house's eccentric flair. It had more muted colors, more brown wood stains instead of black, and lacked the distinct pops of crimson, though it did have a host of deep, wine red and purple hues. Most of the furnishings appeared to be ornate in design and of highest quality, a majority of the engravings being floral themed. Furniture wise, the room contained a table, a few chairs, several bookshelves and a sofa.

A few moments of silence ticked by as he waited for his cold-blooded companion to speak, bright eyes belying a piercing gaze in the dark. When Arkash did break the silence, Degare made sure to listen to his every word carefully. The initiation had to go as smoothly as possible lest the Ferrier put himself at unnecessary risk. While the other spoke, he watched with fascination as he began to work with golden needle and ethereal thread. Learning to do that with such large claws must've been a pain.

Internalizing his instructions, he replies, "Ah…I made specific arrangements to guarantee we will be entirely alone, don't worry about that." Knowing the risks all too well, he had made sure to bar others of his house from traveling and gave any of the Amoren staff that had been here something to do for the next several days as well as a different place to stay. With a shallow bow, the Veir turned to leave and make preparations of his own.

While it was not entirely uncommon for Degare to forget to eat or drink, he fortunately did have the foresight to remain acutely aware of these two things over the last few days. Not one to cut corners, he makes his way down to the kitchen area to gather necessary supplies. In this case, he filled a fairly large, lavishly painted ceramic jug with water, a corresponding cup, and collected a basket of fresh fruits he'd acquired earlier in the day. For him, at least, fruit was one of the easiest things to consume when he felt unwell.

Trying to remember if he needed to actually go get anything else, the Ferrier remembered, '...take something to dull the pain…' Standing still for a moment as he considered this, he opted not to take anything. The house did have a few powders and herbs that were known to dull pain– he just didn't think he deserved that nor did he think he should use his mentalism mutation to mitigate it either. Much as these decisions would likely make the experience way worse for him, Degare, unfortunately, carried around a heavy burden of guilt yet still, and as a result, he often invited or sought out pain as some twisted form of atonement. After making this choice, he leaves the kitchen.

Having only opted to skip that one step, the elf moves through his bedchamber towards the armoire in which he was storing his things. Standing now before it, he begins to undress. Given that it was well into frost, the ambient temperature of the air wasn't exactly pleasant to exist in completely naked, but there wasn't much to be done about that now. The Veir collected his provisions and moved at a languid pace as he walked back toward the study that Arkash had remained in, lightly knocking before he entered. He didn't want to startle the man, after all.

Though raised alongside the moral teachings of the Daravinic Entente and the Omen, he had surprisingly little shame surrounding nudity at this point. Stepping a few feet into the room, he begins to speak, "I believe I've collected everything I need..." As the elf said this, he moved to set the food and water on the table. "Let me know what to do when you're ready. I'll do whatever you ask." Degare speaks with a level voice and a placid expression; notes of excitement and anticipation can be found underneath both. "The mark should go here, on the bone," words said as he rested a long, graceful finger about an inch below Bane's black seed on his sternum.

At this point, Arkash could begin whenever he was ready; Degare would happily follow any instruction given.

____

'Thoughts'
"Common Tongue/Speech"
"Raillen Tongue/Speech"

[Arkash]

Gentle nodding followed the elf’s understanding; they wouldn’t be interrupted. The gaze of his shining eyes remained affixed to the etheric gauzes he fashioned. Though the pinch of his claws was far from nimble or dexterous, he wielded them with such finesse that he was able to squeeze the needle with the hardened keratin points, and wielded it with a degree of coordination that indicated extensive experience with said claws. It went without saying that Arkash had lived his whole life with those unwieldy things and knew no other convenience.

A glance of his cold eyes lifted when he was left alone, and a deep exhale widened his nostrils. A pull of the needle saw him finish another gauze of slightly longer proportions, which he set carefully on the table.

His eyes wandered about the room and lingered on the chairs that stood by the table. He stayed there for a moment and peered deeply at the design of the wooden structure, the engravings, and the whittled designs that decorated the simple piece of furniture. With hesitance, he reached for it with his free hand and trailed his claws across the finished timber, and the glossy touch glided against his natural weapons without friction.

Over to the Sofa, his eyes darted next. He briefly glanced over the walls while his wrapped feet gently trod the way to the comfortable-looking piece. His gaze softened a touch, though the press of his stiff lips remained.

Careful claws collected his tail near the tip; a heavy, stiff bludgeon that he used for balance, and held it up as he brought himself to sit on the sofa. His posture remained tense as he sank into the fabric of the settee, and the point of his muzzle stared onward in thought. A few moments were spent just sitting there before Arkash drew a deep breath through his nose and parted his lips to fill his lungs with greater ease. He swallowed hard, wiped his eyes, then leaned forward to push himself from the depth of the chair before he continued his work.

By the time Degare returned, Arkash had set his fifth Sinew Cloth on the table. In addition to the woven gauzes was some sort of gun-like instrument with a tapered nozzle and the golden needle from earlier. Arkash set them down and tapped the table with his claws while he considered, then directed his gaze to the older elf. His chest, he reminded. Arkash nodded.

"You're awfully eager," Arkash observed with the slightest grin in the corner of his long mouth.

That grin withdrew as he approached the elf, looked up to close that foot of height difference, then took the elf by the wrist and guided him closer to the table. His dull claws were gentle on the mammal's pliant skin. "I need you to stay standing," Arkash explained. "I need as much of your skin shown as possible. That way I can quickly close up any split arteries and the like..." he trailed on with a turn of his free claw, then let the captive wrist go.

Finally, he drew the black sword at his hip, matte in the low light of the room with very little definition to the edge. "Be very still... Or I might cut through the bone." He warned, then lifted the unnatural blade to the man's chest. The mechanical precision with which he wielded the sword was certainly assurance enough that the elf was in capable claws, and the quiet hum of the blade indicated just how unnaturally sharp it was.

The shine of his eyes narrowed to squint as he eyed the elf's chest, and he eased the blade forward. Degare was likely to feel the trickle of his own blood running down his bare stomach before he felt the slightest tap against his sternum, as well as the stinging, burning pain that accompanied the realization that he'd been cut. Arkash's mouth remained completely shut while he looked up at the man and gently dragged the blade lower to open up more surface area.

When he was done with the incision, Arkash sheathed his sword at the hip, then used Sway and Bloodshaping to pull the gap in Degare's skin wider. Degare would feel himself tearing, the damage at the ends of the incision strained and pulling while Arkash further peeled him open with unseen instruments, instruments of his own blood.

His dull claw then reached into the gap and drew the eight-pointed star that was the mark of Blood Magic with his ether. Then on the final stroke, he paused. Some moment of hesitation came before he shook his head, completed the marking, then pulled on Degare's hardened blood to close the opened portion of skin once more. The entire site was sore, painfully achy, and dry in a sensation that was undoubtedly alien.

An immovable sense of dread or impending doom would loom over the elf as the mark began to work its way through the fibers of his being, rooting itself in his soul. The sensation was not unlike prey, caught in the gaze of a bloodthirsty predator.

Arkash collected the Sinew Gun and the Grafting Needle both, then waited for the first wounds to appear. "Get ready," Arkash warned. "It's about to kick off."

Image source.

[Degare]

TIMESTAMP: -
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'You’re awfully eager,’ Arkash says. The Veir stifles laughter at this comment, sighing before he speaks. “You’ve really no idea,” words spoken with an odd smile. In the darkness, he detected the faintest hint of a grin adorning the lizard’s features as well.

There was little discomfort to be found in the other’s clawed grasp as he was guided towards the table, nearer to the necromancer’s tools. The elf followed with light steps as Arkash spoke. Though Degare says nothing, he nods in recognition of the instructions he’s given when the smaller one turns back to face him. The Ferrier’s breath catches when the lizard draws the black sword– he’d assumed he’d use a smaller instrument, but whatever works, he supposes.

The Ferrier holds himself still as possible, body tensing with anticipation as the blade rises towards his chest. While he had opted not to use his mentalism to warp his perception at will, a side effect of one of his mutations was, by default, the crossing of some few wires regarding the reception of pain. Such a thing would not be all encompassing, no, but for the first few cuts at least the experience would be…arguably pleasing. He closes his eyes and exhales as he feels warm blood drip down his torso. Arkash’s precision with the blade offered some amount of reassurance.

The sting of the initial incisions melts into a pleasant, warm feeling rather quickly, but the tear of the skin to reveal the bone was far harder to mask. It results in a sharp, hissed inhale, though the elf does not flinch. His heart rate increases and some small amount of adrenaline is released. The Ferrier stands still as stone as the mark is drawn. He could feel each line as it was drawn onto the bone, blinking down in slight confusion at his companion when he hesitated. Before he chose to react, though, the other did finish the mark. That small section of his chest felt…strange..as it was manipulated shut with the Vandikar’s magic. It was dry in a way he did not anticipate, which caused some discomfort on its own. However, most of the dull, aching pains radiated outward into a familiar, pleasing heat.

A strong sense of foreboding washed over him in slow moving waves. With deep, deliberate breaths he tried to even out his heart rate before anything else happened, a soft smile adorning his lips as the lizard spoke again.

The Ferrier flinches as a somewhat large split tears open on the front side of his lower left oblique, smaller cuts opening in the vicinity nearby. The muscles in the area twitch in response, tendrils of pleasure persisting through to pain’s fraying edges. A confused expression overtakes his features as blood drips from his nose, though he quickly realizes the capillaries within must’ve also burst in the same moment– he just didn’t feel much in that regard until blood began to flow. He blinks a few times in rapid succession as his heart rate ticks up again, but tries to maintain an even breath rate.

His upper right thigh shakes as a long tear opens from the outer top hip and extends downwards along the outside to about an inch above his knee. Given the length of the elven man’s rather long, bird-like legs, this particular wound was huge. He grimaces as it extends down his leg, the muscles themselves splitting at parts. He shifts most of his weight now onto his other leg to ease the sharp pulses of pain that radiated from the right. At this point, a low groan escapes him despite his attempts to keep himself silent. The blood that now oozed over his flesh would be darker, thicker and a tad grainy compared to the normal brighter shades of crimson one would be used to seeing in bleeding mortals. Sil’Norai’s ether-corrupted blood often had these qualities to varying degrees.

Degare exhales now as he tastes the familiar metallic tang of blood, smaller vessels in his mouth having burst or split, shifting his jaw around as this happens. His mouth’s bleeding would have a strange effect in the eyes of his companion. Since he was a Corvo at this point, swallowing his own blood would activate his shroud ability, causing his body to shift like shadows and seem to blend at the edges of his silhouette with his dark surroundings. Whether this ultimately matters or not the Ferrier can’t tell, but there’s nothing he can really do to stop it either way.

The Veir draws a hand up to his lips as the back of his mouth and the top of his throat tore. He is forced to cough up blood glinting with pearlescent ashes into his palm. Withdrawing his hand, coruscating red now trickles down his face from both mouth and nose. He closes his eyes and shakes his head, evidently trying to maintain focus.

There is a brief lull of nothing before skin rips horizontally across his right deltoid and extends diagonally onto his pectorals– this alongside smaller cuts that bloom in tandem nearby. The abrupt nature and scale of the new wounds on top of the others elicits a loud cry of pain through grit teeth from the elf. Deeper on his arm than the chest, the arm quivers weakly as a light sheen of perspiration now veils the Ferrier’s skin and his breath begins to rasp. His mind started to sway as he could feel the ether within shifting and being consumed into the mark while it continued to set itself upon his soul; the mark feeling like an inferno burning into the bone.

Foot twitching as skin ruptures across the widest part of the muscle of his left calf, the elf grunts and his face twists with further discomfort. Both legs wounded and feeling a tad light headed, he clasps both hands on the lizard’s shoulders as he fails to maintain balance, “S-...Sorry…” he murmurs, struggling to speak from the additional shocks of pain caused by moving and putting weight on his right arm. Much as he attempts to roll back onto his feet and stand on his own, the pull of his torn muscles tells him that this was not going to be a successful endeavor. Patches of what looked like bruising were appearing all over the elven man’s body with the opening of each new wound, likely smaller vessels and capillaries bursting under skin in tandem with the bigger lacerations.

Adrenaline rising, he is exhibiting remarkable discipline and control in terms of staving off rising panic as he desperately tries to slow his bleeding by keeping his heart relatively steady. A constant, gentle tremor shook the Ferrier’s body as he stood there, agony increasing with each passing second. Dancing on the periphery, his mutation did continue to provide the slightest degree of blissful respite, but with each new wound his torment continued to multiply.

Ragged, breathy gasps escape him as iridescent blood drips from his lower lip, contrasting sharply against his pale features. He can taste nothing but the sickening flavor of iron and the bitterness of the ashes. The room itself would also be filled with the metallic notes of blood, diluted and off-set to some noticeable degree by the Corvo’s natural scent. To some, this combination would be terrible, to others? Alluring. To Degare himself? Just metal. Only metal.

Another tear bores through him from the upper left side of his trapezius straight down his back. “Fuck…! By the-...” Squeezing his eyes shut, his words cut off into an afflicted groan as the laceration draws itself longer, stopping just below his lowest rib. When amber eyes reopen, the whites of his sclera are pooling red, apparently having hemorrhaged simultaneously to the wound down his back. The Veir’s hands begin to slip as he realizes shallow cuts carved their way into his palms alongside the rest of what just happened. To try to hold himself steady, his grip on the necromancer’s shoulders tightens.

The moment in which his right lung deflates is when he can no longer keep himself standing. Degare gasps for air, struggling to breathe any further on only one lung, especially with blood and ash stuck in his throat. He collapses onto the floor, crying out as he does so, lightning strikes of pain wracking his entire body. Though he struggles, he does manage to prop himself up a bit on his left elbow, head facing downwards as he coughs and chokes up large amounts of ash coalesced with blood and saliva. To slake his own fear, he extends some of his precious ether to seal the rip in his lung with pallor; the cool ashes providing precious relief as they gather near the wound, though the lung still fails to properly inflate.

Wheezing and drenched in his own blood, the elf truly was a pitiable sight. Much as he craves to disassociate until he passes out or surrenders to shock, he realizes that doing so could result in his own death and steels his consciousness to keep himself awake, to slow his throbbing heart, to stabilize his gasps for air. Degare desperately hoped no more major wounds would paint themselves across his flesh; he could still feel shallow surface wounds dragging over the skin of his right shoulder and the upper portion of his torso for the moment.

Finally, the feeling of fresh marks dissipates and he’s left to writhe in the agony of the many rips and tears strewn all over his body just hoping that the lizard would be able to prevent him from bleeding out.

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'Thoughts'
"Common Tongue/Speech"
"Raillen Tongue/Speech"

[Arkash]

Approval lined his eyes once he'd finished inscribing the mark, and Degare still had yet to move. The smile that pulled at his features could even be read as respect in some lights, but those that knew him would know no such feeling existed in his heart for the nobility. Then, with Degare's smile at the calm before the storm, Arkash's smile withdrew with a flash of confusion.

Attention stolen, his tongue flicked by the will of his subconscious, prongs extended to the opening of the first wound. When it withdrew, his whole body went rigid with tension. The lean muscle that packed his frame visibly tightened and tensed as his round pupils shrank to pinpricks and his jaws pressed hard.

The Botchling's incredibly sensitive sense of smell had tasted the vapor of blood on the air, and it showed in the enormous restraint in his body. He didn't move much more than the subtle trembling in his tense limbs, needle and gun squeezed painfully tight in his claws. His expression was almost to mirror the pain that Degare undoubtedly felt.

Thick drool of bright amber tint began to spill from the corners of his long mouth while he stood there, staring firmly at the Veir's eyes as more wounds opened in several places.

His breathing was ragged and his jaws seemed to twitch as his nose curled and uncurled in some sort of silent battle.

Then, Degare's hands were on him, the rich scent of blood so strong was mere feet before him. The weight of his desire reflected in his misty gaze as he lifted his head to maintain his stare on Degare's eyes. Not unlike a shark, the pupils of his eyes dilated and thinned the misty yellow of his iris to the width of a razor's edge on the dark canvas of his sclera. His lips peeled back to reveal rows of serrated teeth that would look at home on nothing that nature could produce.

His neck tensed with the press of his jaw, and a pained grunt followed by a hiss saw him snap off. He turned sharply, all but throwing Degare's hands off him as he dropped the gun and needle both, and lifted both sets of claws to squeeze his skull. His breathing was heavy, his whole body quaked, but he mustered the will to conjure Ether Leech. All of a sudden, the blood that pooled on Degare's skin and wounds would appear to vaporize and dissipate, his wounds were left without the ability to coagulate.

"Fuck!" He cursed under a growling hiss. "What the fuck...?!" he called in a mixture of confusion and rage. "Hold still-!" he began as he turned to face the floored elf, then widened his eyes in shock. Uncertainty claimed his gaze as his pupils gradually narrowed. Arkash hesitated, as though he was lost and didn't know which way to turn. His gaze shifted here, there, and everywhere while he searched, then dove to snatch the Sinew Gun and Grafting Needle both.

He was atop the elf in the blink of an eye, claws pressed to his chest. He briefly caught the fading pain in the elf's eye and set the gun and needle down before he drew his sword and whipped the leg of the table. Simultaneously, his sword transformed to claim the piece and threw it to his free hand to catch. Quickly, he shoved the piece of wood in Degare's mouth horizontally with a single word of instruction. "Bite."

The needle is reclaimed once more, and Arkash wasted no time suturing the wound across his deltoid and pectorals. The needle pushed through the elf's skin with ease and curved to wind up under the adjacent layer of skin with a broad string of Sinew Thread to bridge the gap. He followed that same zig-zag pattern all the way through, then pulled and twisted the needle to instantly convert the blue thread into skin.

His nose curled at the result, where a few spaces were missing, and resolved to make the suturing a little denser. For the most part, the wound was fine, and he moved on to more pressing issues.

Because that wound was so close to the wound that opened across his shoulder and upper torso, almost right atop it, Arkash quickly attacked that one with the Grafting needle, and wove a thicker set of stitches to bridge the gap, and again turned it into skin with a twist and a pull that severed the etheric cord. The result was a lot cleaner than the first attempt, and Arkash resolve to repeat the same technique.

Once he'd accumulated enough Blight, he immediately hardened all the openings of Degare's wounds. The elf would find patches of his body become tough and inflexible; tugging as they're held together by what felt like steel. "Don't fucking move," Arkash warned. "You'll split even more shit open and that's a pain in the ass to fix."

A furrow of his brow saw him reach over and gently slap the elf on the cheek repeatedly. "Wake up, stay with me," he spoke as though he was delivering orders. "Do. You. Need. Blood? How much longer can you last?"

Image source.

[Degare]

TIMESTAMP: -
NOTES: -

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Consciousness flickering like a faulty light, Degare’s head felt heavy as hell as he laid prone on the floor. He really couldn’t tell what was happening anymore or even really which way was up, but he was hanging on to staying awake by some few threads yet still. So when his blood appears to evaporate off of his skin, leaving behind only the thin veneer of his sweat, his body tenses in confusion– he’s unable to understand what just happened or why.

The elf could feel fresh blood begin to pool in the wounds again, and soon after, his eyes widened in panic as he internalized the consequences of whatever Arkash had just done. The lizard started cursing and was suddenly on top of him, claws splayed and pressing into the soft, pale skin of his chest. He groans in extended pain from the shock of the impact and the beast’s weight on his wounds. On his face he wears an expression of coalesced confusion, panic and agony, but he is too weak and too strained to even mutter a few words of response– the only thing he can really do is continue to struggle to breathe with his single working lung.

When Arkash carved the piece of wood and offered it to him, all he could do was part bloodied lips and hinge his jaw open for the other to push it into his mouth. Degare barely had time to bite down before his companion began to haphazardly drive the needle through his torn flesh. Brows furrowed and eyes clenched shut as he felt his teeth sink into the wood, sounds akin to muffled screams and afflicted gasps escape the wounded elf. There was the tiniest of pauses between that wound and the sewing of the next, resulting in more tormented sounds being ripped from the Ferrier.

The weakened Veir desperately wanted to use more pallor, but the wounds still open were too large for what little energy and ether he had left. In his fading consciousness, through the fog of his thoughts, he can hear Arkash’s quickened words, ‘Don’t fucking move,’ Easy enough to internalize, especially if the Ferrier went to sleep, which was something that his mind was rapidly beginning to justify. Widened eyes nearly close with lids now weighing heavy, his breathing being strained, ragged, and fading. Barely able to detect the room around him anymore, the only things Degare could perceive were the sensations affecting his body directly with sharp clarity. The hardening blood holding his broken skin together felt foreign, sharp, and strange. He began to shift his legs, feeling the tug of his skin against the hardened blood, if only for a second as he remembered to do as he was told and not move.

Arkash must’ve noticed his neck falling limp as his lids slipped closed, his consciousness about to falter. Amber eyes jolt open again at the impact of the back of his companion’s hand. Surprisingly, the elf was still awake. Noises akin to pathetic whimpers escape strained features, but he’s still desperately clinging to life. He did know, though, that much more pain would sap his endurance and he’d likely fade to shock. Having no other real choice, he does opt to use some of his own ether.

Ether equivalent to a few tethers pulses through his neurocrux, manipulating his own mural in this scenario as opposed to another’s. Degare rapidly overloads the first of five reveries, Minstrel, applying his mutation on top of it to waive his pain. He sighs, the wood falling from his mouth, as the sensations radiating through him are abruptly flipped. To answer the lizard’s question, “Hahh…yess…definitely a lot, gone…” Panting as he speaks, his words drag, almost slurring, delirious at this point because of the blood loss, ether eaten by the mark, and the manipulation of his mentalism. He has no fucking clue how much blood he’s lost and is unable to provide that answer.

To somebody who does not know and has no way to detect the use of his mentalism, the abrupt shift of his expressions would be strange, almost comical, even– as if he’d just been hit by the high of a drug. The elf is far too weak to move, especially with the lizard’s weight on top of him, but the emotions adorning his features warped from pained to placid; he looked pleased, even, in the span of a few seconds. As his torment melts into saccharine bliss, the Ferrier manages to almost relax, exhalations dragging slowly as he does so.

Saying nothing, he stares upwards at the Vandikar, trying to see anything of note in the lizard’s darkened visage. Teeth, claws, beady eyes– at this point, he’s no longer able to properly understand the intensity of the expression he wears. Amber irises float almost aimlessly over the other’s silhouette, finally resting on the necromancer’s tools he holds, as if wanting to watch him work; familiar undercurrents of curiosity had returned to the Veir's exhausted face, glinting behind bright eyes.

____

'Thoughts'
"Common Tongue/Speech"
"Raillen Tongue/Speech"

[Arkash]

A gentle claw trailed the shoddy work of the first wound he'd stitched up with the dull tip trailing the rim of the holes he'd missed. His brow furrowed in his examination before he promptly collected the Sinew Gun and filled whatever spaces he could with a milky white substance, which quickly activated and transformed into the appropriate layers of the dermis. The surface was a little bubbly and misshapen, but Arkash's flattened eyes were otherwise calm and collected; it wasn't an immediate issue.

"Let me get you some, just..." he paused when he caught the elf's expression, both scalie brows furrowed with confusion at the smile he wore. "...Hold still?" His voice carried that same uncertainty as he stood and stepped over to the table to retrieve a small mortar and pestle from the doctor's bag. Spontaneously, a flick of the elf's blood flew into the mortar from the floor, which he promptly struck with the pestle to spark some brief flicker of red light. After setting the pestle down, he claimed one of the Sinew Cloths he'd fashioned and poured the Activator fluid over the Sinew Cloth. Quickly, the Sinewcloth began to transform into replicated blood, suspended in Arkash's claws in its liquid state.

A cold look trailed over the elf while he held the animated substance. A brief "don't move" was issued before the Rath flung the animated blood in a sharpened stream, pierced Degare's neck, and flooded the major arteries at the site with much-needed blood. It was all so quick, almost instant. Whatever pressure in the elf's head would gradually alleviate as his heart circulated the fresh material, and distributed oxygen to the brain, muscles, and organs.

Plugging the site of the incision was a piece of sharp, hardened blood, which Arkash indicated by saying "don't touch that." It appeared to perfectly seal the wound and prevented all blood loss from the site of the injection.

A roll of his claws saw him reach over and collect the rest of the Sinew Cloths before he took a knee at the elf's side once more. "I don't know if your sense is back yet, but you survived. Congratulations, you're a Vandikar," he said in idle conversation while his gaze focused on his work. The large leg laceration was his next focus, which he carefully opened with sway and dutifully plugged the ruptured veins that bled into the wound by hardening the blood at the side. Whatever had escaped, Arkash fed back into the man's body.

With the muscle exposed, he reclaimed the piece of wood and pushed it back into the elf's mouth before he took the Grafting Needle to the fibers and began to weave the damaged sections together with a series of continuous curls and pokes. If it was needed, he'd sit some of his weight on the shin to hold it in place through the ordeal. When the threads activated with the twist of the needle, fresh muscle formed in its place. A moment of hesitation came while arkash flicked between the Sinew Cloths and the Sinew Gun with his claws, and eventually settled on the longer Sinew Cloth. Precise claws frayed the edges and unspun the weaving to extend the etheric, luminescent gauze, and padded it through the length of the wound with gentle pressure.

"Stay" Arkash said firmly, stood, and collected a small sickle-like object from the Doctor's bag. Using the carving sickle, he took a knee at Degare's side and shaved off a portion of the bubbly skin he'd filled in with the SInew Gun. The space left in its wake was smooth, clean, and wholly natural-looking. A nod saw him toss the skin in the Mortar to strike with the pestle to create yet another Activator. This one, he poured in the leg wound and affected the Sinew Cloth. Quickly, it transformed into a fresh layer of skin, which perfectly wrapped the muscle beneath. A flick of his eyes released his makeshift clotting in the area, and feeling would gradually return to the site.

The rest of the wounds were treated in much the same way, and with little to no blood loss in the process, Degare was well on his way to a speedy recovery. There was no scarring, no indication of any wounds having existed there except for stretches that were missing body hair if applicable. Sweat pores and hair follicles were installed, and just needed time and the right conditions to activate or grow.

"You need nutrients; eat a lot of meat going forward and drink lots of water," Arkash spoke with a disapproving gesture of his head to the fruit bowl while he cleaned up his tools. "Obviously, no magic until your soul has recovered..." he thought for a moment, then resumed packing away his tools.

"Is your blood corrupted?" he asked at last. "There's something very wrong with the smell," he said without looking at the elf, and finally clipped the bag closed. "As a Rathor, my sense of smell is unmatched. My eyes aren't the best, but I saw something strange happening to your skin through the initiation, too." Arkash continued, then passed a glance to the man, wherever he stood. "What are you?"

Image source.

[Degare]

TIMESTAMP: -
NOTES: -

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Mind spinning and body feeling as if it was made of lead, the weakened elf really couldn’t react to much around him, he could only listen, and even then, everything sounded like an echo from a great distance away. His only solace at this point is that he was actually able to pretty easily calm himself now that most of the minor pain had faded altogether and the more severe shocks of it registered in his head as something pleasurable. However, even despite this, there was some level of anxiety swirling in the depths of his mind at the fact that he had such little control of himself at the moment.

Mumbling something that likely didn’t sound akin to much more than noise in response to Arkash saying he’ll get him some blood, he didn’t actually hear precisely what the other had said. When the infusion of blood pierces his skin, he reacts mostly with a surprised expression as eyes shift to the lizard, unaware in the immediate aftermath of what he even did. As some seconds ticked by, his limbs began to lighten and the weight on his mind felt like it was fading away…he could think clearer now– at this point he did connect the dots and realize that Arkash had restored his lost blood.

As the fog of blood loss continued to clear, his murderous lizard companion knelt back down beside him, tools in hand. When he spoke, the Veir laughed, looking quite pleased with the result despite the suffering he had endured. A bright smile draws itself across his face; his overall expression was one of pure elation, you’d never assume somebody could even look this joyous after what he’d just gone through. “Excellent,” a word breathed out along with a deep exhale, still a bit too out of sorts to say much else for the moment.

When he was regifted the piece of wood, he bit back down on it, though this time it was mostly to hide the fact that his cries would be the opposite of what one would expect in this scenario… and when the needle penetrated muscle, cry he did. It was a good choice on Arkash’s end to pin his leg down because the needlework did cause a tremor to run through it more than once– working directly on muscle tissue is, normally, agonizing. While the elf was currently experiencing such input as the opposite, high impact stimulation would nonetheless elicit a response, making it somewhat difficult for him to sit still at parts as the other worked– much as he did his best to obey the lizard’s commands. Though Degare tried rather hard to hide the fact that he was very much enjoying this process, it would be doubtful that by the end of this endeavor his companion wouldn’t be well aware that a switch had flipped somewhere in regards to his perception.

When his fellow Vandikar rose to put away his things, a rather tired looking Degare managed to sit up. The first thing he did as he listened to Arkash speak was look over the parts of him that he knew had split, wanting to see how noticeable the wounds were, if at all. The Ferrier was pleasantly surprised with the result. Laughing a bit, “Ah…Very likely overstepped a bit to keep myself alive here, but I’ll deal with it,” he says in regards to the comment about using magic. Being reminded of this consequence, he does cease the flow of ether through his neurocrux, banishing the mentalism spell. He cringes a bit as his perception is flipped back to normal. “I definitely do need to eat at least something, though…I do feel awful,” voice lacking the enthusiasm of his previous sentence.

On long, shaky legs the Veir does finally stand. After taking a moment to stabilize himself, he makes his way over to his provisions with only a few strides. Red-Amber irises shift onto the lizard’s figure as the next question is asked. Before he can answer, though, he finishes drinking the cup of water he’d poured himself. He laughs a bit at the question, but he doesn’t speak yet, allowing Arkash to elaborate. While the other speaks, he begins to passively eat an apple.

‘What are you?’ An interesting question. Swallowing the fruit before he speaks, “Mmm…corrupted blood? Do you mean the texture of it? Sil’Norai naturally have blood that looks a little corrupted…” At first, he didn’t quite understand the question, but thinking further, he realized what the other had actually meant. “Oh! That’s…” he trails off, not really sure how to explain at first. “It’s a gift from one of the Corrupted Ones,” he says with almost musical sounding laughter. “To be more specific, it’s a blight from Brazim.” In between sentences, he does continue to eat.

“I suppose I can tell you more, there’s no reason to keep secrets from you at this point,” words spoken with an amused tone– hiding things from the only man who knows he’s a blood mage is nonsensical anyways. “Those of us who share this gift are called Corvo, sometimes Nightcrawlers and other regional names. In many ways, we serve as an information network for Brazim, but really, we just do as we please. He doesn’t actually seem to care provided he has access to our secrets and so forth…” he trails off as he takes a moment to think over what he wants to say next. “Of course…the blight itself comes with a few wonderful effects of its own. All of which are themed around subterfuge, seduction and the ability to make ourselves disappear, so to speak. To that end, we’re unnaturally beautiful, gifted with an irresistible scent, we can shift one of our arms into an armored weapon, siphon away vitality, blend into surroundings and seduce using little other than eye contact,” he stops here to eat more. The hunger hadn’t hit him properly when he’d stood up, but his body really did crave the calories. “Oh, drugs and alcohol and the like also have fun and unique effects for us. Most of this just helps with pulling information out of people…or being a whore, if that’s your fancy,” he says with sharp laughter, leaving it ambiguous as for which he preferred. By now, his standard, fairly theatrical, way of articulating and illustrating his words with movement had come back despite the state he was in. He really didn’t have anything that resembled shame.

Now leaning against the table, “This is as much of a secret for me as blood magic is, by the way. Having Brazim’s gift alone would be enough to brand me a heretic or blasphemer– so do keep this little morsel of information to yourself as well,” he gives the other man a friendly wink. His gaze shifts away, looking at nothing in particular as he thinks. Amber eyes snapping back to the lizard, “I should add– the effort you put in to keep my heart beating won’t go unappreciated should you ever need anything from me in the future.” The elf speaks with a level of seriousness that would almost sound foreign coming from him.

Abruptly changing subjects, “Have you any fun secrets? A blight of your own?” Curiosity glints brightly in his eyes.

____

'Thoughts'
"Common Tongue/Speech"
"Raillen Tongue/Speech"