All in all, the operation was a success. Arkash had successfully transferred the Mark of control to the tall elf, and patched up all his surface wounds, including the injury to the back of his throat. The collapsed lung was something he hadn't even mentioned, let alone treated. Even so, it would heal naturally given time and rest.
His brows rose at the confession, and he shrugged a little. "Mageblight isn't fun, friend..." he warned, clearly disapproving by his tone.
So came the spilling of his thoughts and observations, the wildly intoxicating nature of Degare's blood, the flare of his skin during the operation. All of it was tied to something, not his mutations as he began to suggest, but something called a Blight.
His focus remained squarely on the elf while he began to explain his Blight, a gift from someone called Brazim. He turned to fully face the elf as the explanation unfolded, sharp eyes trailing the man's features while he told the story of what he was and what he could do. "This is your God..." Arkash surmised, trailing off with a thought. Abilities of seduction, subterfuge, beauty, weapon transformation... Arkash began to squint, turning his head as though such was farfetched. His brows rose again at the mention of being a whore, though he said nothing on the confession.
"That's a lot; I've never heard of this... Blight..." he spoke through his squint, clearly uncertain. "Is Brazim a living God?"
"I understand," Arkash affirmed on the subject of the sensitivity of the information imparted upon him. He was mostly quiet while he reflected on that information, but didn't otherwise appear perturbed or repulsed. A deep breath through his nose saw his chest inflate before he released it all in one long rolling breath. "...People destroy what they don't understand," he spoke quietly, bitterness on his tongue.
A shake of his head followed the question, followed by a brief smile that led to a stern frown. "I don't participate in the Candor," he answered the question on his secrets, almost accusatory in his tone. "But..." he continued, "You do know my most dangerous secret so I suppose it can't hurt to tell you more."
"I hail from Lorien; having magic is punishable by death; anything magical at all unless you're in the Argent Caste, all of which carry Relics for arms and armor," he explained, rolling his claws while he elaborated. "I don't know about a Blight, but it sounds like the kind of thing they'll execute you for. After all, they'd kill me just for being a Dranoch if they found out, and being a blight sounds similar to that..." He continued, apparently wholly unaware. "But no... I'm not a Blight, but I do carry the Dranoch blessing. I..." he paused and pursed his lips hard. "I'm sorry if you're from Silor, but I'm not aligned with the Court of Dusk; my Progenitor is heavy in her morals, and taught me to eat no one but the morally corrupt... Including other Dranoch if I find them."
"Your Blight is probably why your blood drove me nuts... Stronger prey always sets my teeth on edge," he reasoned with a nod, staring through Degare while he thought out loud. "My blessing is why I asked to clean your shop floor alone; Amond was a killer that preyed on foreign children. He was also a mage, which meant I'd be satisfied for longer, and further on my path to becoming a Cardinal."
He was quiet for a moment, misty gaze trailing over the elf. "I have too many secrets to share in one night, but I might share more with you when we meet to train your new Mark if you're interested." With that, he drew his claws together and pulled the puddle of lifeblood into a condensed, hardened ball in his claws through a flowing torrent, then reached over to hand it to the man. "Keep this with you; we'll use it when you've recovered from your Mageblight," he instructed, then collected the bag from the table.
He briefly looked about to ensure he hadn't left anything, then looked up at the elf once more. If there was nothing else, Arkash would depart through the window again, climb to the rooftop, then disappear into the night.
His brows rose at the confession, and he shrugged a little. "Mageblight isn't fun, friend..." he warned, clearly disapproving by his tone.
So came the spilling of his thoughts and observations, the wildly intoxicating nature of Degare's blood, the flare of his skin during the operation. All of it was tied to something, not his mutations as he began to suggest, but something called a Blight.
His focus remained squarely on the elf while he began to explain his Blight, a gift from someone called Brazim. He turned to fully face the elf as the explanation unfolded, sharp eyes trailing the man's features while he told the story of what he was and what he could do. "This is your God..." Arkash surmised, trailing off with a thought. Abilities of seduction, subterfuge, beauty, weapon transformation... Arkash began to squint, turning his head as though such was farfetched. His brows rose again at the mention of being a whore, though he said nothing on the confession.
"That's a lot; I've never heard of this... Blight..." he spoke through his squint, clearly uncertain. "Is Brazim a living God?"
"I understand," Arkash affirmed on the subject of the sensitivity of the information imparted upon him. He was mostly quiet while he reflected on that information, but didn't otherwise appear perturbed or repulsed. A deep breath through his nose saw his chest inflate before he released it all in one long rolling breath. "...People destroy what they don't understand," he spoke quietly, bitterness on his tongue.
A shake of his head followed the question, followed by a brief smile that led to a stern frown. "I don't participate in the Candor," he answered the question on his secrets, almost accusatory in his tone. "But..." he continued, "You do know my most dangerous secret so I suppose it can't hurt to tell you more."
"I hail from Lorien; having magic is punishable by death; anything magical at all unless you're in the Argent Caste, all of which carry Relics for arms and armor," he explained, rolling his claws while he elaborated. "I don't know about a Blight, but it sounds like the kind of thing they'll execute you for. After all, they'd kill me just for being a Dranoch if they found out, and being a blight sounds similar to that..." He continued, apparently wholly unaware. "But no... I'm not a Blight, but I do carry the Dranoch blessing. I..." he paused and pursed his lips hard. "I'm sorry if you're from Silor, but I'm not aligned with the Court of Dusk; my Progenitor is heavy in her morals, and taught me to eat no one but the morally corrupt... Including other Dranoch if I find them."
"Your Blight is probably why your blood drove me nuts... Stronger prey always sets my teeth on edge," he reasoned with a nod, staring through Degare while he thought out loud. "My blessing is why I asked to clean your shop floor alone; Amond was a killer that preyed on foreign children. He was also a mage, which meant I'd be satisfied for longer, and further on my path to becoming a Cardinal."
He was quiet for a moment, misty gaze trailing over the elf. "I have too many secrets to share in one night, but I might share more with you when we meet to train your new Mark if you're interested." With that, he drew his claws together and pulled the puddle of lifeblood into a condensed, hardened ball in his claws through a flowing torrent, then reached over to hand it to the man. "Keep this with you; we'll use it when you've recovered from your Mageblight," he instructed, then collected the bag from the table.
He briefly looked about to ensure he hadn't left anything, then looked up at the elf once more. If there was nothing else, Arkash would depart through the window again, climb to the rooftop, then disappear into the night.
