[Boghadar] The Shape of Blood

[Degare]

TIMESTAMP: 23rd Rime, Frost 4621
NOTES: I left a lil song in the spoiler that he'd be playing when Arkash arrives. c:

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Having left on the 19th of Rime, the Ferrier had never intended to stay in Amoren as long as he did…but at least most people assumed it had more to do with the process of getting rid of the bad apples that worked there, more or less. He rode with that excuse, even going as far as to make up reasons for their unfortunate disappearances. Thankfully, most people just went with it.

Hidden among the things he’d brought back with him was the orb of his own crystalized blood from his initiation– even if he never used it for anything, slave to sentiment that he was, he wanted to keep it as a memento to mark the occasion. Along with this, he of course brought with him the gift Arkash had bestowed upon him for his birthday. Degare was quite fond of the little thing, whatever it was meant to be. To ensure its safety, it was packed among his things in an appropriate container.

Arriving on the 22nd of Rime, the trip back to Boghadar itself was overall uneventful, but traveling always made the Veir tired for…whatever reason. Lucia handled his more precious cargo and other Valran brought the rest back to his tower while Degare himself went straight to sleep.
—

He’d arrived in the early evening the previous day and woke up in the early twilight of the next morning. It was exceptionally rare for him to be awake in these hours unless he’d stayed up for most of the night before, but the pale elf was simply no longer tired. Crawling out of bed, he dresses in something simple– black pants and a simple yet formal white shirt of fine materials. The next thing he does is make his way over to the large stone altar he’d repurposed into a desk where Lucia had placed the small enclosure with Arkash’s little gift. Staring at it, a small smile tugged at his lips, finding the thing quite cute in its strangeness. However, the smallest thread of longing tugged at him.

Much as Degare had wished that the two of them could have returned to Boghadar together, it would’ve looked rather strange in the eyes of his peers to have done so. What was odd, to him, though, was the fact that he missed the young Rath even though it’d only been about four days since the two had last seen one another. They also really hadn’t known each other for an extended period of time. So…why was it that the Veir found his mind wandering in the other’s direction so much? It was…strange, anxiety inducing, even. He was afraid of such attachments, after all, and avoided letting himself form them. In most cases, he was successful in blocking his own emotions…and yet…?
Shaking his head, the Ferrier made sure his new little friend had whatever it required to exist on its own for the time being and made his way to the middle floor of his tower.

On this floor was where Degare stored his instruments and related paraphernalia as well as shelves of books and files relating to music theory, sheet music, and so on. Given how early it was, if he was going to be awake, he’d have to entertain himself– not that such a thing was even abnormal at all. Though he wondered when Arkash would find his way here as he said he would, the Veir didn’t want to dwell on it lest his mind run itself in circles. Plus, Lucia said if she found hide or hair of the little Rathor she’d let him know.

To this end, he decided to occupy his mind by playing one of his violins– such a thing was cathartic and calmed him, easily occupying his time for hours on end.

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

[Arkash]

With a mask to hold his features through his journey to Boghadar, and a careful mind to break up the tracks he'd littered along the way, Arkash was certain he'd not been followed. Having disconnected his presence in Boghadar to the presence he held in Couronne, Arkash was almost comfortable fully assuming his identity as Derek Egon beneath the mask he wore, if not for one detail.

Derek Egon was a foreigner, a magicless man. Even if his identity as a Rathor was hidden, it wasn't safe for Degare to be seen with him. He had to create another new identity, he resolved. Something to better fit into Daravin with some level of respect, someone Degare wouldn't be chastised for sleeping with or even just meeting with.

He pondered while he walked, unencumbered by belongings of any kind. Fine clothes dirtied from their time on the road, and hidden features askew with the accumulation of dirt and grime while he traversed the stone roads and crossed the various bridges that carried him over the rivers that paved the city.

He tried to pay no mind to the people of Boghadar, though they certainly paid mind to him. The wearing of a mask in public was a behavior of the Entente, the nobility of the empire. And yet, there was Arkash, a mess. To ignore their gazes would have spelled doom for himself and the elf both. The only thing that made him certain of such a fact was that the same scents had been blowing at him from downwind since he entered the city; he was being followed.

His jaw pressed hard before he came to a stop in the middle of the road, straightened his back, and lifted his masked gaze skyward while his right hand brushed through the thickened locks of hair that flowed over his mask. Those same kinds of mixed sweats and perfumes remained behind him, but he heard not their advance. They didn't mean to approach him, he resolved while his fingers ran a wave of their grip around the handle of the black sword at his hip. they meant to gather information, to quietly observe and see where the poser was heading.

He was figured out.

A deep sigh vacated his lungs before he lowered his head, and continued his calm walk forward when he released the handle of his blade. Occasionally, he'd glance at the architecture and alleys in apparent admiration, until he found the perfect wall. Suddenly, he changed direction but maintained the otherwise slow, unsuspecting rhythm of his footfalls as he climbed the stone stairs of one of the grander buildings on the street He stopped at the front door, posed upright while he lifted his gloved knuckles to the door, then stopped.

He held that position while he mentally prepared himself, then rolled his shoulders a bit to loosen them before he threw his weight to the side with a slight bend to his legs, and kicked off the ground with an explosive leap. He propelled himself atop a stone railing that encircled the home's porch, bent his knees above his waist when he landed, then sprung off the fence at full force and reached up to the window above with both hands. Deft fingers gripped the windowsill while commotion stirred in the street below.

Arkash hurried.

The curl of his fingers tensed even further as he curled his arms at the elbows, and brought his arms within the confines of the window sill one at a time. From there, he pressed into his palms and lifted his body to the waist, turned, and sat to face the street while he removed his gloves, and produced a middle finger on each hand to whoever was looking. A slow, cocky nod of his mask followed the flip of his birds while he sat there for a moment, then looked up as he pocketed the gloves.

In another explosive burst of force, he brought himself to his feet on the windowsill, lowered his body a little, then ran a short space to leap a short distance across. Gasps rang out as Arkash seemed to have propelled himself from where he stood, only to catch as he caught himself on the ledge of the third floor's border by the whitened tips of his fingers, body flush to the wall. He stayed that way, as the ledge only granted him an inch of space, and he shimmied his way along to the corner, which he dextrously navigated around, then quickly brought his knees to his chest and leaped off the wall to throw himself at the opposite building, and spun mid-jump to face the direction he propelled himself.

He crashed into the tiled roof of a neighboring building and ripped away tiles that fell to their untimely end as he adjusted his grip on the metal water spout. A curl of his nose saw him lift his body again, press into his palms, and fully climb atop the building with a grunt. Once he was there, he pulled his legs up, huffed, then turned to the face of the building he'd just leaped from, and ran another leap to grip the stone roof of that building. Again, he pulled himself up to the top and stood tall atop it all.

There, he adjusted his mask to perfectly conceal his features, scowled, then directed his gaze to those on the street. Some cheered at his display, others hissed. Again, he flipped his middle finger in the direction of those perfumed sweats, then smiled with his eyes as he turned dismissively and disappeared into the rooftops of Boghadar.

---

The rest of the journey to Degare's home was traveled via rooftop, at least until he found the main gate, where Lucia waited. Arkash sighed; it was much too public.

So, he descend the rooftops and began to ascend the cliffside that encircled Degare's estate. it took a moment, but he found a gap in the impressive wall's defenses that he could exploit with his supreme athletic ability, strength, and speed. Once he landed on the wall's walkways, he brushed himself off and removed his mask. His features were darkened a little by his physical exertion, and his lips parted while he caught his breath, then finally began his descent.

He approached Lucia from behind, silent in his step despite the racing intensity of his heart in his chest, and squinted in the light of the setting sun before he addressed her, and kindly asked where Degare was. The elf appeared surprised, even gasped in shock at the sound of his voice, and held a hand to her chest as she looked at him with wide eyes, laced with confusion. Arkash couldn't help but grin while he apologized. After a moment, she directed him to the tower, which he nodded in appreciation for, then let her be while she recovered. He'd thought it polite to let her know that she didn't need to wait anymore, but might have just caused an acute case of heart failure instead.

Arkash made an effort to wipe the sweat from his brow and tidy up his clothes a bit while he stood at the tower door, then swallowed while his chest fluttered with all the intensity of the butterflies in his stomach. It had only been four days, but he was excited to see the elf once again.

Quietly, he opened the door, slipped inside and closed his eyes while he basked in the sound of the violin, and closed the door behind him. For just a moment, he took a moment to lay against the door, looked up at the ceiling of the first floor and stared dreamy-eyed in what appeared to be a swoon, then picked himself up and began to ascend the stairs once he'd set his mask, gloves, and sword down. He paused for a second, then turned around and glanced at where he'd set his belongings. There, on the shelf beside them was the blood ball he'd given Degare on the Veir's initiation.

His eyes seemed to light up for a moment as he collected the metallic clump, then began to ascend the stairs once more. The music grew louder as he climbed, and on the middle floor of the structure, he found the Norai lost in the music of his song. Arkash closed his eyes while the man slid his bow across the strings in a way that filled the air with emotional, passionate music, then opened them again to watch their Veir in silence while he played on, staring in open admiration of his work while he stood in silence, something of a disheveled, lovestruck mess.

Image source.

[Degare]

TIMESTAMP: -
NOTES: -

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Lucia had recalled Arkash saying he’d leave within a day of them, though she wasn’t sure exactly by which method he would be traveling– so she didn’t know exactly when to expect him. For all she knew, he could be a lot faster than she’d ever expect or twice as slow. As a result, she rose early, got herself ready and then wandered through the estate’s gardens over to the front gate to see if he’d show. Since she wasn’t actually meant to serve as a guard of any sort, she needn’t wait with any sense of heightened vigilance and brought a book to read while she sat on a bench a few feet away from the gate itself.

This choice was somewhat of a double edged sword because while she was able to keep herself entertained during her wait, such an activity occupied much of her focus in the way it distracted her. The little Rathor did, in fact, arrive early that morning. Having spotted her, he was polite enough to relieve her of her duties but in doing so he scared her half to death. Due to the way the bench was facing, he ended up approaching her from behind– his voice pulling her from the words on the page and back to reality. Snapping the book closed, jumping to her feet and spinning around with her free hand brought to her chest, she stared at him with wide, clear eyes. Her features were the epitome of confusion and surprise.

“How did you…?” She started but cut herself off, “I should’ve figured you’d find your own way in…crafty thing that you must be,” she says, laughing a bit. When he inquired about her Lord, she happily directed him to the tower. With a bow, the Valran and the Rathor part.
—

Thoroughly enthralled by the sound of his own music, the Veir’s eyes were closed as he played. Though he left the tower’s front door unlocked, only a few had permission to enter so he felt fully safe letting his guard down within it. On his face the elf wore an expression of both intense focus and effervescent joy. With bow dragging across strings and fingers in constant flux of position, the Sil’Norai was evidently a man with a long term love for being a musician. Much as he adored the sound of his instruments on their own, the rush of emotion from playing also had a large role in the pleasures he took from the activity. As the final notes of the song began to fade out and the drag of his bow slowed to a crawl and finally ceased its movement, the Ferrier opened red-amber eyes to a figure standing before him that hadn’t been present when he’d started that piece.

He recognized the shape of the man in front of him and with features now reflecting confusion and surprise, Degare blinked a few times as if to make sure he wasn’t imagining things. The figure didn’t sway or disappear, rather, he stayed put. It really was Arkash standing before him with a lovestruck expression. Frankly, the combination and degree of admiration and adoration in the other’s features was more surprising than his presence. The pale elf still was in denial, refusing to understand why he’d captivated his little lover so. This was more or less a subconscious defense against his own attachments forming too fast because if he did grow to accept Arkash’s feelings for what they were, it would become nigh impossible for him not to mirror them and fall off the emotional precipice he was teetering on.

When it consciously clicked in his head that his lover had returned, the brightest of smiles pulled across his lips and eyes were alight with the purest of joys. Though he moved quickly, he placed the violin down on its usual stand with the utmost care and rested the bow in its respective place as well. Instrument secured, he moves to close the space between him and Arkash with long, smooth strides then bent down to embrace the shorter man.

Degare’s right arm is quickly engulfed in shadow as he uses Shaper, wanting to crutch a bit on the additional strength from the cast as that arm slides down to his partner’s thighs and lifts him up into his arms. While Arkash did not weigh much, the Veir was not known for his strength and didn’t want to embarrass himself by trying to pick up the other man and either failing or growing tired way too fast. Holding his lover close, he places a few kisses against his forehead and then parts his lips to speak, “Full glad am I to have you in my arms again.” His words are saccharine in their sweetness and warm with his open captivation in the younger man.

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

[Arkash]

To listen to the music that the Veir played was one thing, but to watch his expressions while the feeling of the instrument’s soft vibrations rolled through him all but physically moved his heart. He appeared lost while he remained planted there, eyes staring off somewhere else for a spell before he came down from space, smiled brightly, and dried his dampened eye with the edge of his finger.

There was a moment of silence when their eyes at last met. Arkash rose his brows above a grin that asked if he was surprised to see him without words, then parted his lips in his smile as the Veir set down his violin most carefully. A slight laugh rolled from his lungs before Degare quickly raced to him. Arkash simply breathed a sigh of relief, closed his eyes, opened his arms, and allowed the elf’s embrace to wrap him entirely.

To his surprise, Degare reached for his thigh, then succeeded in lifting him off the floor. His body went tense for a moment and his eyes widened as he was suspended entirely from the ground in the elf’s hold. The quickened beat of his heart spiked at the development, and his elbow locked to the elf's shoulder for stability.

It all made sense once the Rath had noticed the armored plates that wrapped Degare’s arm; that wispy darkness from that exchange at the grand piano. His features darkened with the dusting of his blush while he basked in those kisses and reflected on those events before he hummed and brought his head to rest on Degare’s shoulder and just breathed while he basked in the elf’s warmth.

Another grin pulled at his lips while the elf spoke, and Arkash laughed a breath. “I missed you too, you big fancy musical genius,” very much relieved and content in the trail of his voice. There was an obvious degree of exhaustion in his tone, and the mess of his clothes was conducive to the journey he’d had. He stayed there a moment longer, then breathed two lungfuls of air through his nose to wake himself up again. “What song was that? Did you make it yourself?” He asked before he tenderly kissed the Veir’s neck, then straightened up. “Ah… You can let me down now... If it suits you.”

“People here are too nosy,” Arkash began with a frown. “I was being followed after I passed the gates; they didn’t confront me, but wanted to know where I was going,” he explained. “I’m pretty sure I slipped them, and I had my mask on the entire time.” Arkash was confident that very few could have followed him and his acrobatic prowess, but that didn’t mean he’d seen the last of their prying.

“I’ll be careful while I’m here; I don’t want to make life hard for you,” he spoke sincerely. “I’ll just… Hunt at night, or on days where the weather is bad,” he resolved. “How was your journey?” For a moment, his hold on the blood ball seemed to have slipped his mind, but there it rested, idle in his claws.

Image source.

[Degare]

TIMESTAMP: -
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There was a lot of comfort to be had for the silver elf with his lover in his arms. He truly was happy to have Arkash back. With more time spent between them, Degare was slowly becoming more comfortable with letting his emotional guard down as wary as he was about doing so.

The smaller man’s surprise when he was lifted into the Ferrier’s arms pulled a small laugh from him, finding it cute, especially alongside the quickened beat of his heart. It was easy to forget he had this ability since it wasn’t one he used with much frequency.

At their exchange of words, Degare replies, “Warms the heart to know that sentiment is shared…your words really do mean a lot to me.” He speaks with a softness to his voice that further underscores his appreciation. In the few moments of silence that passed between the two as they enjoyed the resumption of one another’s company, the Veir found himself overcome with a familiar– but old– sense of internal peace. “That song…? It was a piece my mother wrote to accompany her. She was one of my house’s best pianists during her lifetime– we played it enough that I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget it, to be honest.” His voice is warm with a sense of nostalgia at the words. It’d been awhile at this point since his parents had passed.

When Arkash requested to be set down, the elven Veir obliged, lowering him to the floor and letting go when he felt the other’s feet touch the floor. As the little Rath spoke about the people of Boghadar being fairly nosy, the Ferrier chuckles a bit, “Yes…that’s true everywhere in Daravin. Everyone is always in the business of everyone else– that is our nature given how cutthroat everything is here. I’d only be concerned if the same people continue to trail you…would imply somebody’s targeting you at that point, but otherwise it’s to be expected.” There was some semblance of relief in his words at the fact that his lover managed to lose his followers; while he was capable of dealing with it, rumors were always a pain.

Outlining his intentions to act with subtlety, the elf offers him a gentle, reassuring smile. “I do appreciate that– I will let you know, though, that in here we will have as close to total privacy as possible in this city. Only two of my Valran even have a key and they usually leave me alone unless I don’t leave for days at a time…one you’ve already met.” Eyeing the blood orb as he answers the next question, “My journey was relatively uneventful. Not many people on the roads this time of year…what about you?” Pausing for only a few seconds, he adds, “...I see you’ve found the life essence I kept. I was going to ask if you’d guide me in blood magic a bit with that when you got here.”

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

[Arkash]

A raise of his brows saw him nod a little before he resumed that soft smile, and brought his chin to rest on Degare's shoulder. "I guess musical talent runs in the family," he spoke with a relaxed exhale that seemed to roll the warmth of his breath over the elf's soft skin.

Soon enough, he asked to be let down. It was an alien sensation to be lifted from the ground and held; such hadn't happened since he was very young indeed. Even so, it wasn't entirely unwelcome, as Arkash's chest seemed to flutter while he remained in the noble's hold. Degare released him without question, and Arkash's legs stiffened as they caught his weight once more. For a moment, he clung to the elf and looked up and him while he delivered news of what he'd encountered in town. Such was... Apparently common, even expected to happen. Such seemed to bring a frown to his features.

"I don't think any regular human or elf could've followed me, not without using magic or showing themselves," Arkash said with confidence. Indeed, his ability to climb and leap with coordination and flexibility was unmatched in Lorien, he doubted anyone outside of the Entente were perhaps good enough to scale and climb after him in Daravin. "That's a relief," Arkash said when it was revealed that they would have privacy, "but I'm not against trimming your staff of any... Would-be usurpers," he offered with a slight smile and a wink before he released the man and looked to the ball of blood in his hand.

"Oh, right," Arkash started as he examined the perfectly-shaped ball in his hand. "Yes, I saw it downstairs and remembered that I'd offered to give you lessons on Blood Magic. I think it's been long enough since you were initiated that you're not in danger of overstepping or straining yourself, so we can start right now if you're still interested," he spoke with a certain lightness to his voice. He seemed to change pitch whenever he spoke with the Veir; a certain tenderness overcame him in the company of the noble.

"You can only really use one or two abilities right now, which are both really quite simple. I can show you how to use both, right now, and when you're stronger I'll show you some more. Sound good?" he offered with a slight tilt of his head, then pushed the ball of hardened blood into the elf's hands while he stepped back and removed his dirtied overcoat and draped it over the back of the nearest chair. Both hands pushed his hair back while he rolled his shoulders, then unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt and rolled the fabric up to his elbows before he undid the buttons near the collar.

"Ready?" He asked, and with a flick of his wrist, he snatched a shaving of the hardened blood in Degare's hand. A small tendril of semi-solid red flew from the object and came to form a small dirk-like instrument in his hand.

"...So, all things, as you know, have ether in them. Blood is rich with the stuff, and the Mark allows you to tap into that ether and control it; you can manipulate the shape, weight, composition, and properties of any blood you can see by messing with the ether in it. What makes Blood Magic so special is that you can use the ether in blood to power your abilities... If you get strong enough, you're apparently able to use it to power the abilities of other magics, too. This is called Leeching."

With that, Arkash held up his free hand, then lifted the dirk he'd created to his skin. A very shallow cut was drawn through his flesh, along the length of his forearm. Black ooze seeped through the wound, then sped up as Arkash clenched a fist on that same arm, and squeezed more from the wound, accumulating and congealing quite quickly at the surface of his skin. Arkash didn't once flinch or hesitate in the cut; it was almost as though he couldn't feel it.

"My blood should be easier to leech from; it's especially condensed and rich with ether. All you need to do is reach in and pull the ether to the surface; form blight and hold onto it for a moment." He instructed somewhat vaguely. All the while, he kept his oozing arm held upright, as though the bleeding didn't bother him in the slightest.

Image source.

[Degare]

TIMESTAMP: -
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The Veir smiles softly, rolling his cheek to rest against his lover’s head in response to his comment, “Musicians are what my house is known for, generally– though we do have artists of many talents, craftsmen and so forth. It follows that my parents would opt to teach me similar skills,” his speaks with a warm sense of nostalgia in his voice. Then, as if he’d forgotten something, he continues, “Oh…I should add that my family is pretty much entirely human. I was…ah, adopted. I know little about my actual parents– my birth mother was a servant for my house and died in childbirth and my father is a complete unknown. The two who raised me are not blood, but they loved me as if I was.” The soft timbre of his voice really does give away the fondness he has for his family. With a small laugh, "Depending on who you ask, people still gossip about the strange circumstances under which my parents acquired me. I was the source of a lot of rumors when I was a child."

For Degare, it really was nice to hold Arkash like this– it warmed him in an emotional sense on top of the shared heat of their bodies, but if the other wanted to be set down then he wouldn’t deny him that. When the little Rathor speaks again, the silver elf’s features look back at him with what would look like a mix of affection and admiration. He thought how proud the other was of his own skills was quite cute. “I don’t doubt you weren’t followed all the way here, to be honest. I’m just not surprised your scent was caught in the first place, so to speak,” words spoken with a few notes of laughter at the end. In response to Arkash’s other comment in regards to potentially using more staff as food, “Mm…if I’m alerted to anyone that needs to be disposed of it’s to you I’ll go first, but most people in Boghadar have been here for quite some time and we…generally turn a blind eye to one another...provided nobody is doing anything particularly egregious. It’s much easier to breathe, for all of us, if we can at least have some semblance of neutrality, of peace, amongst our own family, you know? A house divided does not stand and all that,” the sentiment did hold a fair amount of water in Daravin. Many houses with infighting quickly collapsed and fell to outside influence so the stronger ones, the ones that lasted, typically held a lot of loyalty to one another.

The change in pitch to Arkash’s voice over the time they’d known one another did not go unnoticed by the Veir, though he did choose not to comment on it– it was just something he silently enjoyed. He wasn’t even sure if it was done on purpose. At the mention of actually learning to use his newest Mark of Power, Degare’s red-amber eyes light up with delight at the concept. “I was hoping to bring that up to you once you arrived. I’m glad you thought of it, too.” There is a lot of warmth woven through his voice and underneath his features. With eyes alight, “Yes– we can begin whenever you’d like.” After he speaks, he accepts the blood orb into his hands and watches his lover as he moves.

Watching as Arkash quickly forms a small dagger with a piece of the hardened blood, Degare’s full attention is on the senior Vandikar, gaze bright with interest and curiosity. The concept of blood and ether being inherently entwined in ways usable by a mage was what first drew him towards Blood Magic every time he’d heard the whispers of it. Along with being able to manipulate the very essence of peoples’ lives, something that had fascinated him for so long, having a way to generate additional ether to power his other magics had an irresistible draw to it.

After introducing the concept of Leeching, Arkash lifts both of his hands and draws blood from the free one. Watching the smaller man bleed again did remind him that he’d meant to ask about the strange properties of his blood, but that can wait another few moments, he supposes. His blood was much darker and far denser in composition than he’d come to expect from, well…anything that bled. The other Vandikar’s next words offered some insight into the questions he sought. The odd texture did apparently infuse it with more ether. Given that the two are not very far apart, the Veir passes the orb of his blood to his left hand and takes hold of his lover’s wrist with his right, drawing the other’s wounded arm closer to him to get a better look at his strange blood.

With a cant to his head at the concept of manipulating the Rathor’s blood, Degare looks at the coagulating life essence on the other man’s arm and concentrates ether into the mark that rested underneath the skin of his breast. Acting on instinct to try and avoid overthinking the process, he attempts to convert the blood into a usable substance using his own ether. For a few moments, nothing happens– but it’s really that the process was just…oddly slow? Perhaps because he’d never done this before, but after a few painfully slow moments the coagulated blood turned back into the dense liquid it had been when it first flowed free from Arkash’s veins.

Using a modicum of additional concentration and a furrow to his brow, Degare manages to make the dark liquid rise into a small orb floating above the open wound on his lover’s flesh. Letting go of the other’s wrist, it gently floats over the Veir’s now open palm. He smiles, features bright, excitement clear in his eyes. “What can I do with it now…?” The elf sounds rather giddy with an almost childlike wonder to his voice. Too curious not to ask, he tacks on a few more questions, “Is your perception of pain dulled or are you simply used to bleeding at this point? …and your blood is fascinating. I’ve meant to ask for a while now, is it a mutation from your mark?”

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

[Arkash]

"Adopted?" Arkash asked with a lift of his brow. Such seemed to surprise him despite his weary state, as he briefly studied the elf's amber eyes. "...I didn't know that nobles adopted people," Arkash spoke with genuine surprise, clearly perplexed by the revelation, as though such a thing wasn't possible. As Degare continued, Arkash nodded a little and looked to the left while he thought. "I won't tell anyone, don't worry," it wasn't as though Arkash had very many people to tell, regardless.

The Rath did eye the elf with some passing inquisitive gaze after the admission had come, but didn't speak what was on his mind.

He squinted at the presentation of Degare's words, then looked to the left in thought with no apparent resolution before his smile came at the offer of food. "Thank you. I could always go with a bit to eat, so don't hesitate," he spoke in reference to the disposal of Degare's enemies. "...It's good that the Candor does not extend to family members, I guess," Arkash added with a light shrug.

Degare agreed to train whenever Arkash was ready, which was evidently in the seconds to come. So, he droned on about the fundamentals of Blood Magic, as he'd discovered them, then claimed a piece of Degare's Blood to split his own skin and opened his veins to the budding Vandikar. With Arkash's instructions, and much more experience in bending ether to his will than his master, Degare successfully leeched Blight from the Rathor's thickened blood.

Arkash's brows rose and his eyes widened a little. "Wow, that's... Actually really impressive. You picked that up a lot quicker than I did, well done," he spoke with a smile and a slight bow of his head. Even so, it might have been clear that Arkash wasn't entirely amused by Degare's quick study for whatever reason.

"...Mmm, so the blight acts as Ether. You can't really shape anything with it; it's just a form of energy that you can use without strain. Channeling that blight in your hand, try to reshape that ball of solid blood in your hands," Arkash instructed with a cant of his head. "Reach through the blight... Sorta like a spiritual glove, and use the power in it to reshape the solid into another shape of your choosing... Maybe a box?" He offered with a gesture as he lowered his arm while it continued to ooze.

At the question, Arkash's focus shifted from the Vandikar's work to the mage himself. "Hm? My perception...? Oh! No, I still feel it," Arkash spoke with a turn of the injured arm to show the coagulating wound. "I... I guess I'm just used to it? I don't know, there's only so many times that you can feel the same thing and still be bothered by it." Arkash grinned a little as he curled a fist and squeezed so that the muscles beneath his opened skin tensed. "It's a bit dangerous though. Sometimes, my opponent will land a blow and I either won't realize or I'll ignore the feeling entirely... It's... Hard to explain, but I suppose you'll know what I mean someday... Unless you take the Thing with you everywhere you go." He offered with a smile.

"...I think my blood is this way because of a mutation, but it might be a Dranoch thing. They both happened around the same time, and I haven't met any other Botchlings so it's hard to tell."

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[Degare]

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The first louder notes of a laugh ring from the chest of the Veir at the other’s apparently genuine surprise at the concept of nobles adopting. “It’s…abnormal, for sure– but there’s no laws against it. Especially here where even otherwise infertile couples conceive using Necromancy…but I can’t answer as to why my parents made their choice. They never answered me when I asked and opted to carry their true motive to the grave for…whatever reason.” The way he speaks does hold the slightest hint of bitterness as if he really does wish he knew the answer. “Sometimes I do find myself wondering about my actual parents, though. Especially since Sil’Norai fertility is so…low, and those who do manage to conceive usually celebrate such a thing. Makes me think my father must’ve passed otherwise I can’t see why mother was wandering alone. I’ve heard endless theories over the years, though absolutely nothing has ever been able to be confirmed due to lack of any tangible records,” ending his speech with a small laugh. His expression is somewhat unreadable at this point though there’s several different emotions that had passed through his voice as he spoke. Curiosity, annoyance, bitterness…it’s obvious the questions about his origins still perplexed him to this day and tainted the otherwise fonder memories he had of those who raised him. “People have finally shut up about it, so…yes. I would prefer you don’t restart that rumor mill,” speaking in jest, his features do brighten a bit.

At the younger man’s comment in regards to the Candor, the silver elf chuckles a bit with somewhat of a grimace pulling at his lips, “The Candor is everywhere, woven into everything…inescapable, really. It’s just…nobody in my house enforces it– especially not me and I’m at the top, but…it’s so tightly intertwined with our way of life in Daravin that it bleeds into nearly every social interaction we share with others of the Entente and takes awhile to shake away even among the closest of friends.” He pauses, sighing and shifting his jaw a bit in thought. “Different houses play by different rules, though. Many are…rather dissonant to my own,” he’s not really sure how to explain the haphazard enforcement of social rules here, speech slowing the longer he spoke.

Shifting gears to the actual practice of blood magic, the brightness in Degare’s features at the little triumph he’d accomplished shifted to something a bit dimmer and more curious as he noted the expression and tone of voice of the more senior Vandikar. While he didn’t let whatever he was actually feeling bleed through into his features, the lack of any mirrored positive emotion was noticeable in and of itself. For now, at least, there was no point in saying anything, though. “It felt a bit like when I forced myself to make my first Pathos during my Bane initiation– like a river carving its way through rock, a new path through which ether may flow. Perhaps it’s easier for me to figure out due to how long I’ve been a mage?” This explanation is mostly delivered musingly because the two types of magic did feel remarkably similar in terms of conducting the ether itself. Controlling the flow of ether was easy for the Ferrier; rather, it was manipulating it with the new mark that was…alien, more difficult.

When Arkash suggested reshaping the floating little orb of blood in his hand into something other than a sphere, he figured that was worth a shot. He’d seen the Rathor form a small variety of things with blood, mostly weapons or tools, in the short span of time the two had known one another. The possibilities were likely endless but…one must start small even with the grandest of ambitions. Blood within the orb slowly begins to move in undulating, wave-like patterns as Degare shifts the blight around using a similar instinctive sort of feel that one does with ether…somewhat of an extension of one’s willpower. His features brighten back up as he watches it move before his eyes, a soft smile drawn once more across his lips. There was something undeniably pleasing to him about learning new magic or pushing the boundaries of that which he already possessed. Thrilling, even, in its own way.

While it was somewhat difficult to enforce stability to the darkened liquid blight, he managed to slowly pull eight corners– four at the top, four at the bottom– into place over the course of a few minutes. While he did this, he delivered his question about Arkash’s ability to feel pain. When the other answered, he canted his head in consideration, momentarily distracted in his own thoughts. “Hah…I’ve a somewhat similar issue? Though not for the same reason…that mentalism trick I do to make pain feel pleasant has…lasting effects of its own, but only on myself. I will note no matter how much I used it on Averre, I was the only one that ever felt repercussions of any sort,” he says with almost wistful sounding amusement. “To explain, I often neglect to eat or drink because I simply don’t feel it, or if there’s some internal illness or issue…takes me longer to notice on my own. Pain itself was duller for a long time from that as well, but my blight heightened my perception of…well, all sensory input. Feels back to how it was originally at this point, honestly,” he speaks with an even cadence and ambivalent tone despite the danger inherent to the side effects he just listed. “Can’t really say whether I think it is better or worse this way– but everything else aside from pain is near to overwhelming a lot of the time,” the Ferrier’s voice has a bit of a lighter tone with these words. “I do suppose I’ll just get used to it again with time, as you have.”

Shifting his focus mostly back to the red blight, he attempts to smooth out the sides and edges of it into a shape further resembling a box though it appears he’s having a bit of trouble getting the liquid to stop its movement and smooth out entirely. The pale elf does ask another question while he does this, though– this time in regards to Arkash’s strange blood. When he receives his answer, an expression of warm fascination surfaces on his features, amber irises bright at the concept that it could be a mutation. “Interesting…I’ve never seen another Dranoch bleed so I couldn’t offer much input in that regard, either. If it is a mutation, though, that’s exciting. I’ve several of my own affecting different things…I’m willing to admit to being captivated at the different ways Marks of Power can mutate upon the soul of each individual mage.” He speaks with notable energy in his voice, apparently rather galvanized by the subject. “For some time I’ve been trying to push the limitations of my Bane mark but not much has really happened without overstepping…starting to consider that risk, to be honest. The skills Averre was capable of after he forced his development through overstepping were…truly magnificent, mesmerizing. The Bane mark did make it very hard to keep him alive in the end, though…” As he speaks, his tone is somewhat all over the place. For the most part his words are delivered musingly, though there is evident frustration in the fact that he has thus far failed to push the boundaries of his current expertise in Bane. Then, he speaks with awe and admiration for the skills achieved by his past lover, but his tone quickly sours when he speaks about the man’s downfall.

After his words fade, his sole focus returns to the distorted box floating gently above his dominant hand. With a furrow of his brow and some more concentrated effort, after a few moments he does, finally, manage to smooth its edges. Compared to casting any of his Bane skills, this did take a lot of effort– Bane flowed so freely to him that even the span of perhaps fifteen minutes it took to accomplish this task felt inherently frustrating. However, accomplishing his goal was exhilarating enough to make that frustration more than worth it. Much as making simple geometric shapes served no real purpose, he could only imagine what he could accomplish once he’s managed to speed up and refine this process.

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

[Arkash]

Though the young Rath held eye contact through the explanation of Degare's adoption and the Candor, he didn't offer much more on the subjects but the occasional nod of understanding that accompanied the road's fatigue in his eyes. It might have been that he was simply too tired to continue the conversation, or that he held reserved comments on the subject of nobility and adoption, but his silence still held an amiable air to it.

Though that same amiable silence did not reach into Degare's practice of Leeching, Arkash did nod in understanding to the elf's explanation. "Yeah... I suppose that makes sense," Arkash agreed. "Mmm... I sometimes forget that you're already a strong mage... And I know Silver Elves have an easier time with magic too, right?" He reasoned inquisitively, all but directly explaining the cause for his lack of enthusiasm with Degare's relatively quick success.

So dawned the subject of Arkash's pain tolerance, and his thoughts were driven elsewhere while he collected the notes of his findings from the archive of his memory, and laid out the most reasonable explanation he could for the cause of his comfort. While Degare spoke on his own experience with muted sensitivity, Arkash listened and glossed over the unfamiliar name quite deliberately. Given the context, it was easy to imagine that Averre was a past lover and Arkash didn't want to risk talking about the past lover.

On the talk of Degare's struggles, the younger man smiled a little. "Ah, well-" Arkash began with some glimmer of amusement, "I never forget to eat, that's for sure, and I don't really get sick, either. I'm surprised a Bane mage can even get sick, to be honest..." he spoke with a slight squint, then rose both brows. "Overwhelming..? In what way...?" Arkash spoke with a sort of rise to his tone through a sly grin, which might have given way to what he was planning to do with such information if it was provided.

The conversation changed pace when he answered the question about his blood, And Degare went on to talk of dranoch and mutations, and his interest in such things. Again, Averre was mentioned, and Arkash swallowed. He listened to the elf's talk of forced overstepping and cringed internally. Was that what had become of the Veir's lover?

Before he could part his lips to succumb to his curiosity, he spied Degare's work and widened his eyes. "No, wait!" he called, then quickly closed the gap to take Degare by the hand. "Stop that," Arkash said while he looked up at the elf. "I'm sorry, I should have been clearer. You should be using this Blight to reshape this blood," Arkash explained as he took the elf's other hand, the one that held the hardened blood ball. "Blight is just a different... Er... Auxillary source of Ether; shaping it won't do much for you and you're using your own Ether reserves to do so," he explained with a nod between the two substances, which looked fairly identical if not for the texture and the hue.

"Instead of using your ether, you can channel your mark through this blight to spend it instead of your ether, and use that power to reshape this blood," Arkash explained with a gentle lift of the Blight hand, followed by the blood hand.

"Sorry," he said as he felt the elf go. "I should have been paying more attention; I lost focus. But hey, I didn't even know it was possible to shape Blight, so you're already teaching me stuff," he spoke in assurance. "I think you'll find it a lot easier when you try it this way; my magic is a lot lighter to cast when I'm using Blight instead of Ether... Like this, watch," he spoke with a lift of his opened arm again.

An intent-filled stare saw him siphon Blight from the wound on his arm, which accumulated in a band that floated around his arm. While it spun, Arkash directed his attention to the dirk and began to crush the implement as though it was made of dough between his fingers. The more he reshaped it, the thinner the band of Blight become until it disappeared entirely, and Arkash was left with a sort of spherical ball of blood in the palm of his hand. "Just like that," Arkash explained with a nod. "The Blight is gone now; spent on my Bloodshaping ability," he added, and lowered his arm once more. "Now you try," Arkash spoke with a nod in the man's direction.

Once the correction was done, Arkash rolled the ball of blood in his fingers and watched Degare's progress. A question lingered on the tip of his tongue, but he had yet to ask it.

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