21st of Glade, 4622
As the short hand of clock fell perfectly on the eleventh hour in tandem with the long hand on the twelfth, Arkash was just about done with his meticulous work.
Late in the Amoren Socorro estate, Salen and Arkash had captured an intruder; supposedly one of Dahlia’s spies. The injury to the man’s face bruised quickly, and some slight swelling indicated that a bone was broken in the young man’s cheek. His eyes were lidded above the puffy site of Arkash’s right cross, jaw hung agape while he idly breathed in the temperate lamplit darkness of the piano room.
He was slumped upon a chair with most of his clothing removed. Lacking any form of rope or chain with which to tie the intruder to the chair, Arkash improvised. With Sinew Thread, as created by his grafting needle, Arkash grafted the intruder’s skin to the wooden arms and backrest of the chair.
A vast web of interwoven skin and sinew melded the agent to his holding place, all along his forearm, tricep, shoulders, and back.
Of course, Arkash had considered weaving the boy’s nerves through the web of skin he’s created so that any attempt to break out would be excruciating, but instead settled for something easier. In the man’s blunt-force unconsciousness, Arkash opened his knees with a scalpel, and filled the gaps of his joints with Sinew foam, which hardened and became bone. Some manual testing revealed that the limbs could no longer bend, not without fracturing the bone itself.
Pleased with his work, Arkash exhaled, then set the Sinew gun down atop the grand piano and removed his bloodied gloves. “There,” Arkash declared with a glance at the human. “Unless he somehow learns to walk without knees, he’s not going anywhere,” the Rath assured with a grin.
Could the addendum be reversed? Of course it could, with time, skill and effort. Arkash wouldn’t be willing to undo such a thing without some form of payment, however.
Once his tools were packed away, he peeled his eyes from the work he’d done on the intruder’s back, and looked to Salen. “His gauntlet looks the same as yours,” he observed. “Is this something afforded to all Dahlia’s agents? A calling card of sorts?” His lips pursed in frustration. “It’s impossible to remove, so I imagine it must be Strickened in some way…”
He thought a moment longer while his eyes lingered on the limb, then with a sharp exhale from his nose, his attention returned to Salen, eyes shining in the low lamplight of the piano room. “What information are we trying to gather? Do you intend to let him live when we’re done or is the end for this troublemaker?”
He allowed time for Salen to answer, then asked his next thought-provoking question. “…What’s our strategy here? Beat the answers out of him? Bargain? A mixture of both?” Arkash hadn’t interrogated someone before, it wasn’t often that he needed answers and often brutalized his way through most situations. “I’ll follow your lead regardless of which you choose.”
As the short hand of clock fell perfectly on the eleventh hour in tandem with the long hand on the twelfth, Arkash was just about done with his meticulous work.
Late in the Amoren Socorro estate, Salen and Arkash had captured an intruder; supposedly one of Dahlia’s spies. The injury to the man’s face bruised quickly, and some slight swelling indicated that a bone was broken in the young man’s cheek. His eyes were lidded above the puffy site of Arkash’s right cross, jaw hung agape while he idly breathed in the temperate lamplit darkness of the piano room.
He was slumped upon a chair with most of his clothing removed. Lacking any form of rope or chain with which to tie the intruder to the chair, Arkash improvised. With Sinew Thread, as created by his grafting needle, Arkash grafted the intruder’s skin to the wooden arms and backrest of the chair.
A vast web of interwoven skin and sinew melded the agent to his holding place, all along his forearm, tricep, shoulders, and back.
Of course, Arkash had considered weaving the boy’s nerves through the web of skin he’s created so that any attempt to break out would be excruciating, but instead settled for something easier. In the man’s blunt-force unconsciousness, Arkash opened his knees with a scalpel, and filled the gaps of his joints with Sinew foam, which hardened and became bone. Some manual testing revealed that the limbs could no longer bend, not without fracturing the bone itself.
Pleased with his work, Arkash exhaled, then set the Sinew gun down atop the grand piano and removed his bloodied gloves. “There,” Arkash declared with a glance at the human. “Unless he somehow learns to walk without knees, he’s not going anywhere,” the Rath assured with a grin.
Could the addendum be reversed? Of course it could, with time, skill and effort. Arkash wouldn’t be willing to undo such a thing without some form of payment, however.
Once his tools were packed away, he peeled his eyes from the work he’d done on the intruder’s back, and looked to Salen. “His gauntlet looks the same as yours,” he observed. “Is this something afforded to all Dahlia’s agents? A calling card of sorts?” His lips pursed in frustration. “It’s impossible to remove, so I imagine it must be Strickened in some way…”
He thought a moment longer while his eyes lingered on the limb, then with a sharp exhale from his nose, his attention returned to Salen, eyes shining in the low lamplight of the piano room. “What information are we trying to gather? Do you intend to let him live when we’re done or is the end for this troublemaker?”
He allowed time for Salen to answer, then asked his next thought-provoking question. “…What’s our strategy here? Beat the answers out of him? Bargain? A mixture of both?” Arkash hadn’t interrogated someone before, it wasn’t often that he needed answers and often brutalized his way through most situations. “I’ll follow your lead regardless of which you choose.”
Sorry boo. 