31st of Ash, 120
He should have seen it coming, he'd lived in Lower Nivenhain long enough to know it was unwise to carry anything as shiny as an expensive dagger on his person, let alone open for the world to see. But, he'd done so anyway. The consequence of his negligence? A mugging. It didn't go the way he'd expected, however. Instead of winding up dead in an alley somewhere, Arkash rested his foot upon the body of the oversized human, which steadily leaked a puddle of thick red on the cobblestones road.
Arkash had killed him. The giant man had tried to cow him into submission, but he stood against the threat and fought back when things turned sour. He could have run away, but he chose to fight, and he executed his attacks almost flawlessly. He danced around his opponent and delivered a series of deep cuts and slashes that gradually wore out the giant human, then when his venom took hold and the human was no longer able to fully defend himself, he drove the giant's own blade into his back.
It was a sort of serrated shortsword that acted as a dagger in the human's hand, but it was much too big to be such a thing for Arkash. He wanted the blade, of course; it was a fine piece, and Arkash could stand to look a little more intimidating with only one arm. But, he encountered a small problem while he tried to dislodge the blade. His hand was slippery with blood, and the giant's body actively squeezed the blade and held it tight. The two made for a poor combination while he tried to pull the blade free, so, he wiped the blood off on the human's rags, then pressed one of his feet into the man's shoulder while he pulled. He had to wiggle the blade back and forth to inch it out, but the hold of the giant's flesh eventually gave way to Arkash's force.
It was heavy, and the break of the human's skin let out a visible plume of condensation as he bled warmth into the open air. The rathari sighed. As morbid as it was, part of him considered that he could take a moment to warm his hands off of the carcass. It wasn't to be; he had to move.
The moment he looked up from the warm body, his gaze fell upon a scabby couple. A man and a woman, both of whom watched him cautiously. They froze when Arkash looked upon them, and Arkash could nigh smell their fear combined. "Please," spoke the male. "We wan' no trouble," he pleaded. Arkash shook his head. The idea that people could be afraid of him stirred a certain hunger in his soul, a thirst he'd only come to recognize the night before he fell comatose.
"You won' gets none," assured the rath to the couple. They just wanted a way by him, they weren't bothering him. Relief filled the man's eyes, and he took the woman by the hand again as he hurried along. Something about the way they moved, it urged him to chase them. Perhaps it was because they were trying to get away from him? Some dormant instinct of his he only learned of that day. Whatever the reason, he didn't follow it.
Once they were out of sight, Arksh stepped over the fallen giant, then lowered into a crouch on his other side, then carefully pulled at his side to roll him over. He was heavy, but Arkash had regained enough of his strength to manage. A rush of warmth hit him as the human's front became exposed, and the ground he'd laid upon was soaked with warm blood. In his stomach was Arkash's knife, which he collected with a hard yank, then wiped it into the dead human's rags before he stowed the knife in his belt. Once he was done, he collected his new shortsword, stood, then stepped away from the dead criminal and carried on.
In any other part of the world, Arkash would have had to worry about retribution from the law for what he'd just done, but the rien people didn't care about the nameless. It didn't matter if a nameless was beaten, robbed, or killed. They had no rights to anything in that country, so what did it matter if they started killing each other? As Asmodei had said, the law was just a rich man's tool to keep the masses in line. It only affected the nameless when they fought back against the endless abuse of the higher castes.
He'd killed two people in total at that point in his life, and he felt no remorse for either of them. They'd both attacked him first and tried to force their own will over his. He'd never again accept abuse from another, he'd never again be walked on. That was the promise he'd made himself in Searing. To some degree, he believed he'd managed.
Regardless of how he felt about his murders, Arkash had left Fayeth's and Asmodei's watchful eyes for a reason. In his childhood, he buried something in the back garden of his home. But he'd grown up since then, and he found that he needed it. Or did he? He'd handled the thug with exceptional ease when he considered the disparity between them. Though he had some sense of newfound confidence, it didn't make him invincible. Whether he believed so or not, he needed the weapon.
The new acquisition of his shortsword weighed heavy on his shoulder while he walked the barren streets, but he kept it in his hand all the same. He felt stronger while he carried it, and people avoided his gaze as a result. It surely helped that both he and the weapon were equally smothered in another man's life force. He wasn't in the mood to deal with any sort of hassle, and the look in his one eye relayed that.
Soon enough, he arrived at the ashen ruin of his old home. It had only been a week or so since his last visit, but he hadn't considered the item he buried there then. The entirety of his focus surrounded Cojack, his father, whom he believed was missing.
Arkash came to a halt before the house, then exhaled while he thought. It wasn't that long ago that he last visited the building, in fact, when he stepped through the empty, blackened doorway, he could still see the impressions of his form in the Ash that blanketed the floor. But even so, he'd grown so much. He no longer clung to foolish, child-like dreams, he believed only what he saw. The house he'd grown up in? No more than a pile of soot and char. His dream to escape Nivenhain? It was just that, a dream.
After a brief exhale, Arkash pressed on, then stepped over the broken debris that was once the house's back wall. Though he couldn't quite recall where he'd buried the weapons, he had some vague idea. But, the scattered, charred wood was an obstacle. Once he'd gathered his bearings, he lowered to crouch in the blackened waste and sifted through the brittle, broken clumps of wood and ash. It was slow going, and he eventually saw fit to throw some of the smaller chunks over his shoulder; it was easier without them in his way.
He began to grip and feel around the bare, ashen earth that surrounded the building in search of a softer patch or some spot with a little more give than the others. When at last he found it, he gripped the hard dirt with his claws and began to rip away at the ground for an inch or so before he paused. it was the wrong place. With a sigh, he moved, found another, and repeated the process, but again, there was nothing. After the third try, he began to think that maybe someone had taken it. It was possible. Even so, the fourth and fifth digs were fruitless and saw Arkash lose interest in the task. He'd torn up the back garden, and there was still no sign of the artifact he sought.
With a sigh, he fell back to his knees for the seventh dig, then began to rip at the ground with his achy claws once more. He cursed his fifteen-year-old self. Why did he have to be so good at hiding things? Then, his claws raked the unmistakable texture of raw hemp. Arkash hesitated, then quickly scrambled to rip away all the earth he could. The hemp came undone after eight years of decay, but he didn't pause or delay. Instead, he hurried to find the bottom of the pocket, then struck metal. His one eye widened in awe; he'd found it. A few more swipes of his claws around the artifact revealed a hint of its glossy surface.
A firm grip around the body of the buried treasure saw him bare his teeth, then position his legs properly. With a hiss, he began to press into his feet and strained his back in an arch as he struggled with the weight of the earth. Steadily, the ground broke away, and he ripped the weapon from the cold grasp of the floor. As he fell on his tail, Arkash blinked hard, then rolled to his knees to place the artifact on the ground, where he revealed a pistol. It was a small handgun that he'd accidentally stole when he met Mannon and just didn't know what to do with it until that day. If it still worked, which he was unsure of, he'd learn to aim and shoot so that he stood a chance against the more able-bodied humans he was sure to face.
With a hum, he tucked the muddy pistol into his oversized burlap clothes, then collected his shortsword. Finally, he was off.
He should have seen it coming, he'd lived in Lower Nivenhain long enough to know it was unwise to carry anything as shiny as an expensive dagger on his person, let alone open for the world to see. But, he'd done so anyway. The consequence of his negligence? A mugging. It didn't go the way he'd expected, however. Instead of winding up dead in an alley somewhere, Arkash rested his foot upon the body of the oversized human, which steadily leaked a puddle of thick red on the cobblestones road.
Arkash had killed him. The giant man had tried to cow him into submission, but he stood against the threat and fought back when things turned sour. He could have run away, but he chose to fight, and he executed his attacks almost flawlessly. He danced around his opponent and delivered a series of deep cuts and slashes that gradually wore out the giant human, then when his venom took hold and the human was no longer able to fully defend himself, he drove the giant's own blade into his back.
It was a sort of serrated shortsword that acted as a dagger in the human's hand, but it was much too big to be such a thing for Arkash. He wanted the blade, of course; it was a fine piece, and Arkash could stand to look a little more intimidating with only one arm. But, he encountered a small problem while he tried to dislodge the blade. His hand was slippery with blood, and the giant's body actively squeezed the blade and held it tight. The two made for a poor combination while he tried to pull the blade free, so, he wiped the blood off on the human's rags, then pressed one of his feet into the man's shoulder while he pulled. He had to wiggle the blade back and forth to inch it out, but the hold of the giant's flesh eventually gave way to Arkash's force.
It was heavy, and the break of the human's skin let out a visible plume of condensation as he bled warmth into the open air. The rathari sighed. As morbid as it was, part of him considered that he could take a moment to warm his hands off of the carcass. It wasn't to be; he had to move.
The moment he looked up from the warm body, his gaze fell upon a scabby couple. A man and a woman, both of whom watched him cautiously. They froze when Arkash looked upon them, and Arkash could nigh smell their fear combined. "Please," spoke the male. "We wan' no trouble," he pleaded. Arkash shook his head. The idea that people could be afraid of him stirred a certain hunger in his soul, a thirst he'd only come to recognize the night before he fell comatose.
"You won' gets none," assured the rath to the couple. They just wanted a way by him, they weren't bothering him. Relief filled the man's eyes, and he took the woman by the hand again as he hurried along. Something about the way they moved, it urged him to chase them. Perhaps it was because they were trying to get away from him? Some dormant instinct of his he only learned of that day. Whatever the reason, he didn't follow it.
Once they were out of sight, Arksh stepped over the fallen giant, then lowered into a crouch on his other side, then carefully pulled at his side to roll him over. He was heavy, but Arkash had regained enough of his strength to manage. A rush of warmth hit him as the human's front became exposed, and the ground he'd laid upon was soaked with warm blood. In his stomach was Arkash's knife, which he collected with a hard yank, then wiped it into the dead human's rags before he stowed the knife in his belt. Once he was done, he collected his new shortsword, stood, then stepped away from the dead criminal and carried on.
In any other part of the world, Arkash would have had to worry about retribution from the law for what he'd just done, but the rien people didn't care about the nameless. It didn't matter if a nameless was beaten, robbed, or killed. They had no rights to anything in that country, so what did it matter if they started killing each other? As Asmodei had said, the law was just a rich man's tool to keep the masses in line. It only affected the nameless when they fought back against the endless abuse of the higher castes.
He'd killed two people in total at that point in his life, and he felt no remorse for either of them. They'd both attacked him first and tried to force their own will over his. He'd never again accept abuse from another, he'd never again be walked on. That was the promise he'd made himself in Searing. To some degree, he believed he'd managed.
Regardless of how he felt about his murders, Arkash had left Fayeth's and Asmodei's watchful eyes for a reason. In his childhood, he buried something in the back garden of his home. But he'd grown up since then, and he found that he needed it. Or did he? He'd handled the thug with exceptional ease when he considered the disparity between them. Though he had some sense of newfound confidence, it didn't make him invincible. Whether he believed so or not, he needed the weapon.
The new acquisition of his shortsword weighed heavy on his shoulder while he walked the barren streets, but he kept it in his hand all the same. He felt stronger while he carried it, and people avoided his gaze as a result. It surely helped that both he and the weapon were equally smothered in another man's life force. He wasn't in the mood to deal with any sort of hassle, and the look in his one eye relayed that.
Soon enough, he arrived at the ashen ruin of his old home. It had only been a week or so since his last visit, but he hadn't considered the item he buried there then. The entirety of his focus surrounded Cojack, his father, whom he believed was missing.
Arkash came to a halt before the house, then exhaled while he thought. It wasn't that long ago that he last visited the building, in fact, when he stepped through the empty, blackened doorway, he could still see the impressions of his form in the Ash that blanketed the floor. But even so, he'd grown so much. He no longer clung to foolish, child-like dreams, he believed only what he saw. The house he'd grown up in? No more than a pile of soot and char. His dream to escape Nivenhain? It was just that, a dream.
After a brief exhale, Arkash pressed on, then stepped over the broken debris that was once the house's back wall. Though he couldn't quite recall where he'd buried the weapons, he had some vague idea. But, the scattered, charred wood was an obstacle. Once he'd gathered his bearings, he lowered to crouch in the blackened waste and sifted through the brittle, broken clumps of wood and ash. It was slow going, and he eventually saw fit to throw some of the smaller chunks over his shoulder; it was easier without them in his way.
He began to grip and feel around the bare, ashen earth that surrounded the building in search of a softer patch or some spot with a little more give than the others. When at last he found it, he gripped the hard dirt with his claws and began to rip away at the ground for an inch or so before he paused. it was the wrong place. With a sigh, he moved, found another, and repeated the process, but again, there was nothing. After the third try, he began to think that maybe someone had taken it. It was possible. Even so, the fourth and fifth digs were fruitless and saw Arkash lose interest in the task. He'd torn up the back garden, and there was still no sign of the artifact he sought.
With a sigh, he fell back to his knees for the seventh dig, then began to rip at the ground with his achy claws once more. He cursed his fifteen-year-old self. Why did he have to be so good at hiding things? Then, his claws raked the unmistakable texture of raw hemp. Arkash hesitated, then quickly scrambled to rip away all the earth he could. The hemp came undone after eight years of decay, but he didn't pause or delay. Instead, he hurried to find the bottom of the pocket, then struck metal. His one eye widened in awe; he'd found it. A few more swipes of his claws around the artifact revealed a hint of its glossy surface.
A firm grip around the body of the buried treasure saw him bare his teeth, then position his legs properly. With a hiss, he began to press into his feet and strained his back in an arch as he struggled with the weight of the earth. Steadily, the ground broke away, and he ripped the weapon from the cold grasp of the floor. As he fell on his tail, Arkash blinked hard, then rolled to his knees to place the artifact on the ground, where he revealed a pistol. It was a small handgun that he'd accidentally stole when he met Mannon and just didn't know what to do with it until that day. If it still worked, which he was unsure of, he'd learn to aim and shoot so that he stood a chance against the more able-bodied humans he was sure to face.
With a hum, he tucked the muddy pistol into his oversized burlap clothes, then collected his shortsword. Finally, he was off.
