[Rainier] Two weeks later

[Arkash]

86th of Ash, 120

It was with both sets of claws gripping the roof of the caboose that Arkash rode the train into Rainier. He hadn't been able to board the vehicle due to the Argent presence, but that didn't mean he couldn't jump on some part of the journey later. He'd dangled between the two cabins since the train left the city of Nivenhain. And though the air was frigidly cold, Arkash found that the cabins were kept warm. It wasn't ideal, but he siphoned their warmth in the chilly air, and made it to Rainier by the time his limbs felt like led. His focus hadn't suffered for his stunt, at least.
As they drew closer to the station, Arkash lifted his claws to the roofing and collected his woven hemp sack. Because of the ice in his bones, it weighed so much more than he was used to bearing. The rigid tightness of his hidden weapon in his clothes denied him the flexibility he needed to climb to the roof, so he just had to struggle. With a clump of snow, the bag came free and fell with such force that it jerked Arkash's body. He bared his teeth as his numb fingers wrapped the neck of the bag, then steadied himself as the train slowed to a halt at the platform.
It was only as the humans began to leave the train that arkash let himself down from the edge, and met the cold hard ground with a body-rocking thud. He was encumbered and off-balance, but with his frozen limbs and the rigid shaft of the rifle's barrel forcing his leg straight, it was almost impossible for him to buckle. He stayed on his feet and merged with the crowd seamlessly. The hefty sack was slung over his shoulder while he proceeded to the nearest open fire.
When he found one, he settled down and opened his body before the flames in an effort to drink more of the warmth. Steadily, he thawed and regained his lost mobility as the numbness in his digits receded. Eventually, he was able to feel the woven texture of the hemp sack in his claws, and the melting frost in his leathers as the fire worked them. Every exhale began to yield clouds of condensation as his body warmed to a point above the rigid air that was born of Lorien's late Ash.
He'd made it; he was in Rainier for the second time. This was indeed the train station he'd stowed away from to get back to Nivenhain, and the train station he was due to meet Taelian at. A glance upward saw him stretch the muscles in the front of his neck. The thick veil of clouds to cover the sky made it difficult to tell the time, but he believed it was midday, at least. His gaze returned to the people as they walked by him. Every other passed him a cruel glare or a look of disgust. It wasn't hard to determine why, as he was quite obviously clocked as nameless by his race alone. Though he thought his black fur-lined leathers were something more of a luxury attire, they weren't. They were just warm, which wasn't enough to impress the rien people.
Still, he cared not for the opinions of sheep. They could glare and scowl at him under the watchful eyes of the argent that littered the station, but when it came down to a test of mettle; an exchange of tooth and claw, Arkash knew he was superior. Not one of them could stand against him in a fight despite being fed well their whole lives, that was unless they were secretly a god mage like the man he waited for.
The rathor sighed, then returned his gaze to the fire. Taelian, Stephan... L'orange?. He couldn't remember the last name. He'd said there was a chance that he wouldn't turn up that day in their last meeting, that he might perish in some fight against a monster he couldn't remember the name of. A hunter? That fact alone had been a cause for debate for Arkash, as he wondered if he should even hazard such a journey if he was just to find that someone he admired had died a fool's death.
A shake of his head dispelled such thoughts, and he returned his yellow-eyed gaze to the crowd. There, he watched and waited for the elf to appear, for how long he'd wait, he wasn't sure.

Image source.

[Taelian Edevane]

A lot had changed since they'd last met. Taelian had died -- he'd learned he was a Draedan... the son of Venadak, no-less. He couldn't use magic anymore, or at least, not the same magics he had before and not in the same way. When he remembered that he had been meant to meet Arkash at Rainier, on the 86th... he scowled intensely. The man stood at the precipice of his balcony in Kastran, attempting to forge a portal to traverse towards the east. But, he couldn't. Transposition was gone to him now; absorbed by whatever fledgling spark of divinity he held within him. It didn't feel so fledgling; he felt strong, invincible. Not in the same way as before; he didn't hold the same destructive power or versatility. Instead, he himself -- Taelian the man -- had become a mountain. A man who could shove his fist through a city wall, who hadn't even been jarred by all the wounds he'd sustained in Tyrclaid.

But, he was also a man that couldn't hop around like he used to. One that -- despite that -- was extremely keen to meet all of his engagements, especially when he'd promised to Arkash that he would see him that day, and in a city that he was certain wasn't so easy for the lizard to simply get to. He couldn't just leave him wondering; the two of them might never see one another, ever again, if he did. And Arkash would believe, for a lifetime, that his friend had died. Though, in a way, he wouldn't have been wrong.

The journey to Rainier was extremely jarring. He convinced himself that he could do it, if only he managed to fly to Nivenhain by the night of the 85th. If he could get there, he could catch a train and be in Rainier within several hours, likely an overnight ride. His wings were strong -- so strong that he was certain he could sustain rapid flight, but he didn't know how to pilot them. He tried, ripping his wings out from his back in a flurry of flesh that quickly mended, though his clothes found themselves sundered near his shoulder-blades. The black, bat-like wings with silver edges rose out from behind him, spanning outward. He'd only conjured them once before, an accident, and he'd quickly put them back to where they belonged. Wendell was fascinated by them, but in a way, Taelian was perturbed. They didn't feel right; like they weren't a natural part of him. It felt like two strange limbs gripping his mind, pulling his thoughts and focus astray, making his entire body feel odd and non-cohesive. They were aberrant mounds of flesh that did not belong, or so he felt, and moving them took focus and exertion that he had not been prepared to give.

Now, though, he had to try. He began to flap his wings, slowly, closing his eyes so as to focus them and put them in sync. He then focused on his calves and the rest of his legs, and used his newfound strength in them to jump high off of the stone balcony, slowly flapping his wings in unison to keep him sustained in the air. It actually seemed to work -- he kept stationed exactly where he was, before some sliver of his focus began to slip. He quickly attempted to restore it, and in lieu of falling he found himself gliding. Gliding from this high place to the streets of Retzen below. He could see people eyeing him from the ground, staring curiously, wondering what strange creature he was to have wings as he did. No Velsign, and few of them had ever seen a Rathor, but he quite obviously wasn't that either.

The man focused as he continued to hover downward. He caught a wind-drift and focused on riding it with his wings, pushing him forward until he managed to flap into another state of unmoving, resting from within the skies. Slowly, he pushed forward. Minutes passed; before long, he had managed to cautiously push himself beyond the boundaries of the city, hovering over the tall pines with the mountains of Kastran behind him, the Braunreid and Gren. Then, tucking his wings for a moment, he flattened himself against the wind, his face pointed to the soil below. His wings continued to flap as they sat horizontally now with the wind. Taelian began to power them forward, even filling them with a small breadth of Divinity to make them do as he pleased; to close the gap of his mind and inexperience. Finally, they began to move closer to the way he wanted them to, soaring through the air at a high speed.

There were no obstacles before him -- he didn't need to turn or evade anything, so he felt confident enough that he could keep moving forward until he saw the coasts of Nivenhain. In fact, he even imagined that flying straight to Rainier itself would be safer for him. If any Kindred tried to prowl towards him, they surely wouldn't chase him so near to the Aether Cannon. Rainier was -- if he recalled -- within its range.

A few hours came and went. There was a great overcast of darkness by the time he found his way to Breven's coast, and the muscles of his wings felt incredibly exhausted, despite how strong they were supposed to be. He was still new at this, new to using them; while eventually he imagined they would be able to push him through the skies of Mornoth with ease, they had not gotten there yet. Tired, he began to descend. Then, he began to plummet. He expended more Divinity in an attempt to nourish his wings, to keep himself upright, but it didn't quite work like that; he had no regenerative magic to speak of. Only natural endurance and fortitude, but not in the limbs so fledgling as to be like those of a babe.

Below him were Lorien's frigid coastal waters. Then, no longer below him; he was within them, freezing and sharply cold, attempting to keep his breath as he began to swim upwards, his wings helping him push through the waters with a final and tired motion. Before him was Rainier, all across his view; a massive city, and a proud one. The second greatest in the entire Kingdom, and one of untold history.

He swam forward onto the shore, which fortunately didn't take too long. The man returned his wings into his flesh, the bodies of umbral skin receding as if they had simply been unfurled from his form. Taelian coughed, spitting out salty water that he'd swallowed, or had breathed in through his nose. He was shaking; frozen and feeling strangely weak. The Draedan opened his palm before him, a sun-like globe of heat and fire radiating him with glowing warmth. That made it feel better, at least.

Taelian finally made it to Rainier's docks, and shortly afterwards, strutted towards a small hotel still wearing his soaked clothes. He was dressed like a noble, but with a torn through coat and a form covered in moisture and frozen sea, he was looked to strangely by the patrons and proprietors alike.

He stayed the night, still, stripping himself of the freezing garbs. And slept long. When he awoke, he went to purchase a new pair of clothes, simple white cloth that would at least keep him from appearing too strangely. The man then moved towards the destination he'd promised his friend, until his feet pressed against the very cobbled stones he'd envisioned. Carriages passed by, led by well-dressed chauffer's as they guided their noble overseers. The regal men and women of Breven crowded the streets, though scarcely did they turn to one another or engage in conversation. They remained a people haughty and cold.

His eyes scanned the crowd until, eventually, his irises landed on Arkash. The mage softly smiled; he'd found his way there. The two of them. Considering all he'd went through in the past week, it was a relief to know that somehow, everything still clicked into place. He waved at him, before a strange feeling overtook him from within. A discomforting weight, like a bile growing within his chest. He'd felt it somewhat often of late, and though it had begun to recede, it still perturbed him. His gaze appeared to flicker as he winced and shut his eyes, coughing again to clear his throat.

[Arkash]

Arkash remained planted beside the fire, doing his best to warm his frigidly cold body. The extremities were always the worst whenever his temperature dropped too low, as there was so little fat on his fingers that they were hard to insulate. Gloves didn't help much, either, as his claws always ripped through the tips of the finger sleeves and exposed the scales. Additionally, his hands weren't the right shape to fit in human gloves. That was fine, of course. The people of Lorien didn't tailor clothes for the likes of rathari; it was the human's country. He'd always worn clothes that didn't fit him properly, or clothes he had to rip to fit his tail through, but gloves were especially difficult to work.
Unfortunately, the consequence of that was that he often suffered frostbite in his fingers and toes. Such was far more true for the latter, as he often had to traverse the cold bare-footed in the frost. That year, he was fortunate enough to be able to afford leather footwraps, which covered most of his scales. His claws weren't so fortunate, as they'd paled with the telltale signs of frostbite, and became difficult to operate to a dispraxic degree. It was his own fault for clutching frozen metal for hours, but then, what choice did he have? It was that or miss the deadline to meet Taelian again... If the man was still alive.
Frostbite bad become a little more difficult to deal with since burning down the wooden shack he'd lived in before. Normally, he'd just warm up a pot of water on the fire and soak his claws there for a while. The dry heat was a lot less effective, and so much more tempting. He couldn't warm up too fast, or he risked burning his scales. He had to sample the fire, just in little tastes and wisps.
While he worked toward melting the ice in his veins, he avoided the cruel gazes of the judgemental, haughty Rien people. As usual, they were quiet, refusing to talk to one another for the sake of some pride or something. He didn't understand humans, nor did he care to. They were a cruel, fragile species that Arkash more than loathed, but he wasn't meant to think that way anymore. A sigh left his lips, and a cloud of condensation formed with it. "They're the symptom, not the disease," he spoke in vithmi, parroting his carer.
By the time he thought to look about the train station for a second time, his claws had regained a portion of their feeling and no longer radiated the throbbing numbness that accompanied the harsh cold. Again, there was nothing, or so he believed until he caught a glimpse of irregular movement. His reptilian eye differentiated different kinds of motion around him. There was the regular flow of walking pedestrians, which he ignored almost fully, then there was a flicker of something unusual: A waving hand. His gaze trained on the motion and furrowed his scalie brow while he focused.
The flow of people made it difficult to see, but he managed to make out the 'half-elf's' features through the crowd. Arkash's brows rose, and he straightened the slouch in his shoulders. The man had survived, after all. Arkash believed he would. After all, what was a hunter in the face of a massive laser beam? He didn't see what the issue was with a hunter dranoch, it wasn't as though they could stand against something destructive enough to cut through a building, right? So what was all the fuss about?
Nonetheless, Arkash found himself breathing an exhale of relief. Taelian was alive, there was no need to worry. With a sharp inhale, he swallowed the venom in his maw, then looked to his frostbitten fingers. They still weren't fully recovered, but he'd regained enough mobility in them to function semi-normally. An awkward-side-bend saw him collect the neck of his sack, then sling it over his shoulder. He was unable to bend one of his legs, after all. The weight of the sack broke up the shape of the acquisition that hid beneath his thick, fur-lined winter clothes.
Clutching the bag tight, Arkash made his way over to the elf by pushing through the crowd without care. Part of him worried he might be trampled, but he wasn't that small compared to humans. The occasional 'Watch it!' and 'Outta my way!' served as warnings not to cross such a busy platform, but he cared not. Without too much hassle, he arrived before the elf, and straightened his posture again. He hadn't said a word to the elf yet, but looked him up and down all the same.
Taelian was… a lot more scruffy than he remembered. His hair was matted at the ends and his skin seemed dry in patches. All in all, there were several things about his appearance that humans normally made a fuss about. What was more was the smell. Arkash couldn't help but curl his nose a little at the scents he carried. "'Ew smell'a fish, Ser Steve," he declared most honestly. It wasn't quite fish, more diluted and salty, but there was certainly a hint of fish in the air around him.
"I'm glad t' see 'ew, tho, even if 'ew pong. Did 'ew kill 'at hunta'?"

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[Taelian Edevane]

As Arkash approached him, crossing the busy street what with carriages, Hollows and the men and women of the business sector floating and strutting about, he found himself smiling brightly in seeing him again -- it was a momentous, and unexpected occasion, and he was truly glad that the two of them were both alive and alright. The Rathor's first words threw him off, though, the Draedan immediately quirking a brow as he mentioned the smell of fish on him. "What?" he asked, appearing perplexed. He hadn't smelled anything like that... just cold water, and the unfamiliar fragrance of sea-salt. Then again, the fact that Arkash could smell 'fish' on him meant he knew he'd fallen into the ocean... the Rathor had a good sense of smell.

He was embarrassed, truth be told, though it could only be seen in the faint blush that appeared as the other man mentioned his scent. Quickly, though, his flushed state was drowned out by a retort: "Ew smell'a piss an' tha ghetto," the man replied, mocking his friend with a strident impression of his dialect. It wasn't half bad -- the 'half-elf' had an ear for such things, though of course there were holes and imperfections. Taelian gestured for Arkash to come with him -- to his room at the hotel, preferably, so they could have some measure of privacy. Lorien was filled with ravens and rats; all sorts of eyes and listening ears. He did not wish to discuss the things that had occurred until the two of them were alone.

After beckoning him, he said not a word while they stepped through the streets, only an original and cautionary "we'll speak in private". The now-Celebrant walked like the noble he was, though Arkash was not mistaken in that he appeared harried by the elements, and the other events of late. He only hoped that he would improve in his flight, and the other strange power that had gripped him; some ability to move through light, one that he did not fully understand.

Along the strip of the commercial street, a sign eventually stood above them: "Grundgestein Hotel". From what he understood of the intricacies of the Rien dialect, it meant 'Bedrock Hotel', likely due to its dark color and thick stone walls. Dipping his hands into his pockets until he found and gripped his room key, he led Arkash towards it with another small wave, strutting up the stairs until they arrived together at his door. The man opened it, revealing a classy room of distinctly noir appeal. The wallpaper was a dark colored damask, chestnut patterns mixed with a darkwood foreground, and the furniture was leather and rich. There were lights -- the sort powered by electricity -- and the room was even well heated by some strange contraption that he could only call a 'super-hearth' downstairs. Taelian greatly enjoyed the aesthetic and architecture of Lorien, which -- as far as he was concerned -- was the most forward-thinking and advanced of any land. This strip, this hotel, this room... they all spoke to that.

Once they were fully inside, the man turned to his Rathor friend and gave him a warming hug. "I'm glad to see you, too," he said. His arms draped across his back and he tightened his embrace for a moment, only to step back and stare at him with a glimmer of excitement. "I didn't kill the... Huntsman, Aldrin did. He is -- was -- the leader of my Order. He thinks I'm dead, now, though; and I've decided to keep it that way. I'm not living under anyone's ideals but my own, anymore. Being tossed aside and used all the time stopped being acceptable to me some time ago, and I've decided I want to do something about it; lead my own path."

The man turned, stepping towards his darkwood table and gripping the head of the wine bottle sat upon it. He pulled out the cork easily with a firm grip, before pouring into one of the glasses set on the smooth surface -- there were two, as if he'd intended to bring Arkash back here to drink with him all along. After filling both glasses, he gestured the other man over. The bottle of wine said nothing more than: 'Ardon, 31 6E,' making clear that it was from nearly a century past. It tasted good -- sweet, and strong, all the same.

"Arkash -- I want to tell you what happened to me, though I'll try to be brief. I know you think I talk way too much," he rolled his eyes. It was funny; no one else ever said that. Eloise told him he spoke too little, and so had Vendrael, Regis, and others. Thinking on it, he imagined it was because Arkash was easier to talk to than most. Somehow.

"The short of it is that I did die in that fight with Helena Flowers. Gruesomely. Tragically. Though as I came to my end, I learned something that kept me alive:"

He paused, lowering his gaze and sighing. It always made him feel... ridiculous, somehow, to say it; to let his words materialize. "I am a Draedan. I'm sure you have no idea what that means, so I'll tell you. The Living Gods, the Corrupted Ones, sometimes they decide to reproduce -- often not out of love, but some other purpose of theirs. Some desire to broaden their power. Rarely, the children they create will be chosen among those planted seeds to be 'awakened', perhaps for a purpose. And most often, this is done by sparing them from death, awakening that divinity in them to keep them alive. I have learned most of these things only recently, and... through firsthand experience. I, Arkash, am a Draedan -- and Venadak is my father. The reason I smell like seawater is because I fell into it; as I... flew. An ability I never had before," he added.

"I don't have any of my magics anymore, but -- I do have some new tricks. I can mark targets as my... 'sworn enemy', I call it; I'm wickedly strong, sturdy and fast, and I can manipulate this absurdly hot sun-fire. I can fly, apparently, and -- oddly enough -- create these strange siege weapons at-will, and... move through light..."

The man rambled. Again, he felt embarrassed, trying to explain all of this and failing to articulate any of it very well. But Arkash, hopefully, understood the bare part of the message. "Essentially, I'm not a God-mage anymore, but one day -- perhaps one day -- I may grow to be a God. I'm sure you can imagine what this might mean; I'm no longer content to live a baseless, directionless life. If I was chosen to do something, and to have these gifts -- then I want to use them. I intend to conquer Mornoth," he confessed. "All of it. To bring this wretched land to heel -- to root out the corruption that seeps through it, not only the real arcane rot but the wicked hearts of men. I will begin with Lorien. This place is ripe to be taken, divided a thousand different ways. But if it weren't so divided... it would be a truly powerful nation. Its power -- it should be harnessed."

[Arkash]

Arkash considered the man's face carefully after delivering the bad news. Generally speaking, it was frowned upon to comment on people's scents and appearances, which was why Arkash only commented on the smell of the man. Honesty was never an appreciated thing and often landed its herald in states of ill-repute with others in their circle. Taelian, he hoped, wasn't one of them. However, that tint of red in his cheeks, that thing that humans did, he knew it was a bad sign. Had Taelian taken his words to heart?
"'Ew dun' alwe's smell-" he started and would have finished with 'you can always take a bath,' had it not been for Taelian's retort. "No I dun!" he called with a furrow to his brow, if only to soften the blow he'd dealt. Arkash found himself sampling a taste of his own medicine later, as self-doubt stirred beyond his eyes. Did he smell? He had been in a cave for a week, and he hadn't bathed since he and Taelian met last. He also only had one set of clothes, which could have also been a contributing factor to any stench he might have permeated. Naw he thought to himself. He didn't stink, it was just Taelian getting even... He hoped.
To the gesture, Arkash bowed his head, then looked to his numb claws when the elf turned his back. Carefully, he flexed them, then adjusted his clothes for better comfort. The acquisition hidden beneath them was growing to unbearable levels of discomfort, and he began to wish he'd just left the thing in lower Nivenhain with Fayeth and Asmodei. Alas, there he was, smuggling it beneath Argent eyes. Once he was ready, he hopped a half-sprint to catch up to the man.
While they walked, Arkash donned his cowl and covered his lips. Cautious eyes watched the crowd as they passed through, almost fearful even. He was carrying something that would have him attacked, even killed on the spot. If so much as a glimpse of it showed through his clothes, he would be in big trouble.
While he observantly surveyed his surroundings, he also took note of the architecture. Rainier was meant to be a big deal, the second-largest city in Lorien. Arkash cared little for it, of course. He'd lived in the slums of the first largest city his whole life and sometimes ventured to the higher districts, even after the walls had been built. The architecture there in Rainier didn't compare to that which he'd always lived under.
They eventually arrived at an inn with a sign on its front, one that he couldn't read due to his poor common literacy. The fact that it was an inn was signified by the depiction of a rooster on the wooden board. Paying it little mind, he entered the building after Taelian. The air inside was warmer, drier; he appreciated such details. The scarf of his cowl remained wrapped around his maw as he followed through the lobby and kept his eyes down. There was little appeal in drawing attention to himself or meeting the gaze of a human that might recognize him for some reason. So, as quick as he could, he pushed through to wherever Taelian was leading him, then entered the room when he was invited.
His frozen claws weakly clutched the handle and pushed the door to close when they were both behind it, and he finally lowered his cowl. His breath was cold again, and he could feel the chill on his teeth. His legs and mind still worked the same, if not for a little strain, that was.
When at last he returned his gaze to the elf, he found Taelian's arms around him. Arkash's eyes widened a little. Taelian was so warm, and despite the chill that clung to the man's clothes, Akash could feel the ever-present warmth of the elf's body beneath. The rathor exhaled a cold breath, then lifted his one free claw to hug the man in turn. There, stirred his 'fearless-anxiety' for the second time in the elf's presence.
The feeling was an intense pressure in his chest, a churn in his gut. His heart even attempted to pick up a pace or two, but the ice in his veins slowed all his bodily functions and suppressed the feeling from worsening. If not for that weird feeling, the sensation of siphoning the elf's warmth would have been enjoyable. He closed his eyes through the hug nonetheless, then breathed deeply in an effort to steady his would-be racing heart.
[indent=20FWhen the embrace ended, he smiled a little before he approached the bed and let his shoulder-slung sack down with an obvious strain to his forearm. The whole thing simply fell from his form with little control, and Arkash found an intense burn in his bicep and forearm muscles. The cold left him weak, physically exhausted. It was his own fault.
Taelian began to explain that he hadn't killed the hunter, but that his leader, someone named Aldrin, had. Was that a name he'd heard before? He couldn't recall, but he doubted it was important. Apparently, the man believed Taelian was dead. Arkash grinned. "Soun's liek a dunce," he spoke simply, then began to unbutton his coat.
After removing the garment, the acquisition he'd been hiding the entire time was revealed to rest on his back: The rifle he'd looted from the argent in their manor-raid. With a wince, he reached behind himself to collect the stock of the weapon, then carefully pulled the long barrel from his pants. Once the weapon was free, Arkash set it on the bed along with the sack of his belongings. Finally, he was able to move his body properly again; well, he would have been if not for the frost laced with his bones. "A'm glad," he soke to Taelian's revelation, the man had decided to forge his own path. "'Ew shudn' live faw some'un else's ideal enywey," the rathor assured, then re-adorned his jacket and did up the buttons. He'd began to shiver, which was a good sign that his body was waking up.
His grin only broadened at the next words to leave the man's lips. He did talk far too much, Arkash believed. Perhaps that was just because Arkash hadn't really spoken with anyone outside of those he was close to? Small talk wasn't a luxury he was afforded with the superior humans he'd grown up surrounded by, and most of his days were spent in silence as a result. Thus, Taelian was almost... Overwhelming; it was hard to follow such long talks, it was nothing he was accustomed to. That was Arkash's shortcoming, however, not the elf's.
Arkash furrowed his brow at what the elf said next, then grinned awkwardly. "Uhh-?" Taelian did die, apparently. "...Rite," he spoke with mild amusement. "Yea, me too, 'died twice on th' wey 'ere." Was Taelian playing games with him? Or did the man just think Arkash was so uneducated that he might believe something so outlandish? Arkash furrowed his brow while he watched the man, then pursed his lips hard while he listened. If it was a joke, he didn't find it funny. Why would someone joke about dying?
Unfortunately, as time went on, Arkash suspected that Taelian wasn't joking. He truly believed that he'd died, and what was more, he believed himself to be the spawn of the living gods. It wasn't as though Arkash had never heard of them, but it was some foreign pantheon that he'd learned about from the lips of foreigners in hollow labor camps. When he'd first heard of them, he'd believed he was being messed with, but as more and more people told the same stories, he began to believe otherwise. Did he believe in them? He was yet to decide.
He'd certainly heard a lot of stories in the mines and lumber mills, but never anything as crazy as dying and un-dying because of some unforseen God-blood. It was hard not to be upset when he considered that it truly seemed as though Taelian was lying to him for the sake of a joke. It wasn't even funny or clever, just insulting. Did he really expect Arkash to believe something so ridiculous?
Arkash furrowed his brow as the man went on to explain his powers. It was a lie; a joke. He was certain. What was more? He claimed to be a budding god, and wished to conquer Mornoth. Even if he knew it was a lie, a falsehood, he still felt immeasurable grief at the thought of a united Lorien, or was that just because his friend was lying to him? Either way, the entire conversation caused him suppressed distress.
"O', rite…" he spoke flatly while he tried to work out what to say. He thought carefully on his course of action from there, despite the slurry of raw emotions that he struggled with internally. "...I" he started, only to pause and catch himself. Was it bad of him to not accept Taelian's words at face value? The man had never lied to him before, had he? But then, they hadn't known each other for more than a couple of days. Taelian had given him his arm and eye back, surely that was cause to trust him? Even so, he still doubted the… godling.
"...I dun' believe 'ew," Arkash spoke at last. He shrugged a bit with an awkward smile. "You's 'avin' a gaff', rite? Liek…" he scoffed a laugh and shook his head. "I'ss… Jus' bonkas! People dun' die an' come back as Gods! But 'ew seem t' genuin'ly believe what youer seyin', an'... I dunno why 'ew'd lie, eiva'... None of i'ss maeks sense," he shook his head, then covered his implanted eye with his claws to hold his head.
"I trust 'ew, I do… Bu' tha's a lot, liek." He lowered his claws, then crossed his arms with a thoughtful, serious gaze. "P'omiss me you's no' niffin', an' I'll believe 'ew… Bu' Taelian," he began his warning with a tone most serious. "I dun' trust easy."

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[Taelian Edevane]

The man paused, at first, then stared quietly as the other man made his skepticism clear: it was not only clear in his words, but in his eyes, the way he held his breath, the way he hesitated. Every aspect and inch of him spoke of reservation -- an unwillingness to believe the absurdities that Taelian was 'peddling', even though all of those supposed absurdities were ultimately very true. It was alright, though; he expected this outcome, these words. While Eloise, Regis and Wendell had easily believed him, it was because they were knowledgeable on such things. Ether, Divinity, the Draedan, the Gods. Taelian's story was consistent with what they already knew -- and more than that, it was consistent with the changes he had undergone.

He had only been a Draedan for less than a week, now, though. His divine heritage wasn't so obvious yet that he needed to willfully conceal it. Rather, he needed to willfully bring it out in order for even a sliver of those truths to show. Right now, he wasn't really sure how he could do that. At least not in a way that wouldn't just seem like more magical tricks -- he was the 'God mage' to Arkash, after all. It would be difficult to show him anything on a level beyond what he already knew.

"I know it's crazy, Arkash," he said quietly. "But it's true," Taelian added. "The breadth of these things can be surprising, but what you perceive is only limited by your exposure and your willingness to see. There are human men off in villages somewhere that would never believe that a lizard-man could possibly exist, let alone one that could change to look as a human just like them. There are people who speculate that magic itself is a divine gift of the Gods, like in Daravin, and they have founded their whole religion - and even their culture - based on that. These things are complex, and easily misleading, but beyond these facts exist fundamental truths about our world: Atharen is filled with magic, and it is made of a power called Divinity, which extends from the Living Gods. This is a power I now, myself, can harness -- though to a limited degree."

He paused, for a moment, and sighed. He breathed through his nostrils, calming himself and cleansing his mind. Theoretically, to show Arkash what he was, he only needed to return to his natural state. The being he appeared as now was more of a carapace -- like with the Fae -- a suit of skin he'd grown to conceal his true nature. He could toss that suit aside, eventually, and appear more like his natural species... or he could do what was only feasible to do for the moment; blend the two sides of his physiology together, the Adac that he was and the mortal he had been. As his eyes remained clothes, golden patterned lines began to appear across his skin as dimly glowing tattoos, almost advanced in their symmetry and uncreative practicality. They were like the lines of a cold piece of engineering, appearing on his arms -- enough even to shine through the fabrics of his clothes -- his neck, and between his ears and the bones of his cheeks.

He opened his eyes. His irises were a radiant gold, though not entirely matte and opaque; they were eyes like any other, but with a vibrant golden hue, his pupils only a more coppery shade of the same color. The man then stepped towards the surface of his cabinet, beside the bed, upon which laid the blade of Ard Fuil -- a composition of old memories, but ultimately an incredibly sharp and powerful blade. It craved blood, and now, he would give to it that which it desired.

Taelian unsheathed the sword, and promptly, ran it deep into his upper abdomen. He impaled himself through with his blade, wincing for a moment before he quickly appeared almost to succumb to it. Blood pooled at his lips as he coughed and sputtered it out, and the man then fell to the floor, gripping the pommel of the sword as it ran completely through his body. He closed his eyes, again, and the golden and glimmering lines across his form flickered and wavered for a moment.

But then, after perhaps a dozen seconds or so, he rose from the floor -- slowly -- but with the blade still entirely submerged through his chest. Blood pooled beneath him, and soaked much of his clothes, but there he was -- resolute.

"If you want..." he began to voice, lowly, "...I can stab the heart, next time, but I'll need a while to recover first. I can only take so much damage before even I succumb -- and I think a blade through my organs should prove to be enough for you to believe."

[Arkash]

Arkash wasn't lying when he said that he did not trust easily. Between the likes of Barry, Malafor, even Cojack, and Liu, Arkash had little reason to trust anyone for anything. Claims of godhood and immortality were just that to him; baseless claims. Wouldn't most people struggle to believe something so crazy? Arkash was no fool, he believed what he saw. Though Taelian was really impressive and awesome on so many levels, he was still just a stinky elf at the end of the day.
Even if Taelian had just promised that his words are true, Arkash wouldn't have believed him despite the words the rath had said. Most likely, Arkash would have pretended to believe the elf, but figured something else was going on. Perhaps Taelian was just mistaken? Maybe he'd hit his head in the fight with the hunter? He couldn't know for sure. A darker part of him might have thought Taelian was trying to manipulate him with claims of godhood, a shallow effort to bring Arkash to follow or worship him. Such methods would never work on him, as Arkash often found problems with leaders.
Taelian was a good elf, however. Arkash didn't think the man was dishonest or manipulative, but he couldn't help but speculate underhanded and shady intent where there could have been. Such intuition kept him alive in a place like Lower Nivenhain. It wasn't something he could just turn off, either. So, he watched the man carefully and tried to discern and read the words between the lines. Taelian appeared honest, but Arkash was no expert in weeding out liars. The man seemed to truly believe what he was saying at the very least.
Arkash thought of Orion when Taelian brought up the mention of people in villages. That boy had never heard of rathor before and was quite surprised by Arkash's visage. In some ways, Arkash was like-minded in that he'd never been exposed to magic until recent years. He knew so little still, and couldn't differentiate what was possible and impossible. Anything he saw could have very well just been a kind of magic to him. After all, there was magic that allowed people to lift things with their minds, inflict diseases on others, shape weapons with blood. Who was to say that there wasn't magic that allowed flight or inhuman strength?
All magic spawned from something called Divinity, or so the elf claimed. Arkash barely understood the concept as it was, but that was well and good. He at least knew where magic came from, even if he didn't know what divinity was, he could one day learn. Taelian could apparently harness the source of magic, too. Was that a power the 'living gods' wielded? Given that it was called 'Divinity', such a thing was easy to assume.
Then, Taelian's skin began to glow in vivid streaks. The light was gradual in its intensity but startled the rathor all the same. Arkash widened his eyes and drew a sharp breath while he physically reeled. The effect wasn't too impressive compared to some of the things he'd seen, but for something as mundane as a mortal body to suddenly light up was alien and jarring. Arkash had found the glow of Cyrus's eyes unnerving when he used his mentalism abilities, after all. At that moment, Taelian's were radiant gold, much like the lights that shined from the seams of his skin. it was as though there was something beneath; something incredibly powerful waiting to be released; trapped by a thin layer of flesh, or so Arkash believed.
Arkash could only stare in awe as Taelian moved. His mind was processing what he saw; an animate, living, glowing person. It was so unnatural, unlike anything he'd seen before. It was hard to keep up. Then, Taelian drew his massive sword, and his mind registered a threat. He managed a step back as his instincts worked toward a fight or flight response to what he was saying, but all the confusion was pushing him to freeze.
He couldn't have foreseen what came next, as Taelian impaled himself with his sword. Arkash's lips parted, venom pooled behind his serrated teeth. He couldn't believe what he was seeing, Taelian, someone he looked up to, was impaled with a giant sword. Of all the people he admired in the world, of all the people that had been taken from him, he'd never seen one in their moment of death, let alone in such a brutal fashion. The sight caused him heart-crushing grief; it was hard to breathe and his eyes watered. His arms and legs shook despite weighing as much as led.
The lights on his skin wavered, as did his eyes. Taelian then fell to the floor, slumped over entirely with his back to the rath. He was gone. Seconds passed, and there was nothing. Arkash screamed in horror when his overworked mind finally caught up. His Body buckled and his quivering claws reached to cover his muzzle while he stared at the body. His legs steadily gave out as his back hit the wall and he slid to the floor in a miserable sobbing heap. He covered his eyes and bawled; it was too much to bear, he couldn't look at it any longer. "Rwi'n...Rwi'n vlin!" he called in vithmi. "Vlin... Vlin vlin vlin! Poi'd dud noll, Rwi'n VLIN!" he cried while shaking his head in his claws. His face lowered to bury in his knees, which he pulled closer to himself. The sight stayed with him, burned into his eyelids. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't escape the image.
That was until something moved in the room, and Arkash fell silent. He looked up from the fetal curl of his form to see Taelian moving he was getting up. Arkash lifted his sleeve to his eyes and wiped the tears and excess drool from his lips before swallowing the rest. He blinked hard a few times to check again on what he was seeing. Taelian was alive, getting back up despite the sword in his chest. The rath stared as he swallowed hard on the viscous fluids in his maw, then shook his head before clambering to his feet.
"T-Taelian?" He asked, uncertain. When the man was on his feet, Arkash took a cautious step toward him, then another, then built into a brief run. All sorts of emotions flowed through him in those brief moments. Relief, joy, fear, anger, but the latter showed through the most. He came to a stop before the man and grabbed the taller male by the arm, and the other took the pommel of his sword. "'EW FACKIN NOB'EAD!" he screamed, eyes still filled with tears. "THE FACK WAS 'EW THINKIN 'EW FACKIN-" he trailed off in a series of harsh insults and yells unique to the slums he'd grown up in.
When he finally took pause to breathe, he lowered his head to the man's body and shook it side to side to rub his face against Taelian's clothes, as blood-stained as they were. All the while, he held the handle of the mage's sword where it rested. "I'ss true 'enn..." he started with a shake of his head, then a raspy draw of breath, then looked up at Taelian. "Th' 'unta' really offed 'ew..." Arkash furrowed his brow then as his anger resurfaced. Arkash swung his balled fist in a hammer-like motion to strike the man with a glare of fury in his eyes.
"Dick'ead!" he declared. "I told 'ew to 'ews youer laza'! Th' fack's wrong wiv 'ew?!" At the offer to stab his heart, Arkash stared in wild fury and bared his teeth. "NEVA' DO IT AGEN!" He warned with his voice wrought in anger and pain. When all was said and done, he tried to pull the blade out with the use of his full body weight and strength alike. Arkash wasn't that physically robust but tried his best to fight the clasp of Taelian's flesh and gravity alike while he made an effort to dislodge the blade.

Image source.

[Taelian Edevane]

When he 'awoke' from the ground, what he perceived to have awoken to was the screams of the lizard-man; his cries, his sobbing and the dribble of venom, all of these things intermingling together as a cacophony of sorrows, fear and grief. For a moment, as he rose, his heart sunk -- for what he had inflicted; the viewing of the death of someone Arkash cared about, even if that moment was brief and quickly corrected by the truth; that he had not died at all. As he first stood on his feet, viewing Arkash with a diluted, heavy haze, the man stumbled and began to lean forward as his view skirted blurrily along the edges of the floor. The blade's encumbrance somehow nearly pushed him over yet again, as if it were far heavier than it truly was.

"You know..." he began to mutter, after he offered his heart, and before Arkash reprimanded him, "...maybe not. I think... I should think of a better way to prove this to people that doesn't involve--"

He coughed. Blood; it escaped his lips, again, his tongue and teeth covered in the red ichor that did not differ in color even despite his divine heritage. He felt pain; immense pain, more than he expected to. Somehow when the Dranoch bit out chunks of him, and as he succumbed to his own mutation, he felt very little pain at all. The man would have described it as being on the precipice of a long rest; a drowsiness that came in that was almost pleasing.

Now, perhaps knowing he would not truly die, he did not feel that relief whatsoever. Only the cold sting of steel, the strangely foreign warmth of his blood, and the affliction of regret he felt at having done any of what he had.

Laza. The word stuck out in the flurry of them as Arkash spoke, not long after he yelled. It was actually probably a good thing, but he still had a simplistic view when it came to the end of all of this. What lied at the end of mortality was a complicated blend of possibilities, and within those was the Dranoch Huntsman. To think that one simple beam of Glare would be enough to cull them -- as it would a man, or even a Knight -- was a reminder that Arkash had not been so exposed to all of this. That Taelian could have been spared death by a mere demonstration of power... it was hopeful. But ultimately, it wasn't true; it wasn't what happened to him. He had been killed, brutally, and there was nothing he would have been able to do about it. He would've brought Aldrin's secret with him to the grave, as the man -- in Taelian's own final moments -- displayed a deep level of ambivalence to the fate of a man he had almost raised like his son.

That touch with death reminded him of the great tragedies that were in their world. In fact, it connected him with those tragedies, in a way he hadn't understood since he lost both of his parents to corruption... and the diseases that often came with it. And now, he was reminded again of tragedy, through Arkash's lens.

The man decided that he would -- in fact -- not try to do something like that again. That he essentially spat on mortality by doing so, making a mockery of it. The visage of what he inflicted was a very real look into death, and it was a gaze best spared even a curious and unflinching mind.

As Arkash finally pulled the blade from his chest, not long after repudiating him, he stumbled backward from the momentum and the sudden shift of weight. Then, he fell onto his back again, his golden eyes staring towards the ceiling as they flickered momentarily like the lines of light across his skin. His arms spread outward, outstretched on each side like wings, and beneath him pooled an ever-growing moat of blood. He coughed, again, more of that blood as it seemed to leak endlessly from the cavity he'd inflicted within his chest. It was alright, though -- he would live. With Divinity, he learned, he could replenish his mortal life. It was a sort of healing, though not quite. Regeneration was perhaps a better word, but it was one that he did not know to apply to the phenomena, only that it was what was keeping him alive in the moment.

"Don't worry, Arkash," he said softly, "I was much worse in Tyrclaid. Skin white like ash -- eyes black, blood covering me like a blanket, inviting me to rest. Wounds all across my body; deep, an unhinged maw still lodged through my back. I'll be okay," he added. "I'll be alright."

The man then peered towards the lizard, quietly, with a strange curiosity. A strangeness brewing in the pit of the very stomach he had impaled -- a feeling that was inexplicable, but one that he understood. He faintly grinned.

"You know... I love you, little lizard. That's why I wanted you to believe me," he said, softly. Then, he began to blink, then to slowly close his eyes. His body needed rest; it had endured a lot in the recent days, expending so much of his Divinity to practice, experiment and now, recover. He was quickly learning that sleep was now a literal method of recharge.

The man rose onto his palms, stumbling towards his bed. "Stay with me," he beseeched Arkash as he quivered forward, removing his coat and vest and then the bloodied rag that was his shirt, torn by wings and blades alike. He kept stumbling until he met the foot of the bed, then plunged himself onto it, letting his eyes close for a moment longer; or rather hours, at the least.

[Arkash]

The blade was heavy; heavier than anything Arkash had ever wielded before. The placement of the weapon forced the rath to engage a lot of his upper body strength, too. Sadly, there wasn't much of it, let alone enough to complete the task. With Taelian's help, even if it was passive, the rath managed to pull the blade free and immediately drop the tip with his clumsy hold on the weapon. The blade was about as big as him, perhaps even bigger. He had no hope of managing such a weapon any time in the near future.
Euphric relief had almost worked into his fast-beating heart by the time he removed the weapon, but not before Taelian hit the ground a second time. Panic ensued, accompanied by a startled cry, and prompted the drop of the blade's handle. As the length of metal clattered on the floor, Arkash rushed to the man's side and lowered to his knees. There, he extended his claws to Taelian but hesitated. What could he do? He wasn't a healer, let alone whatever sort of doctor would be required to fix such a devastating wound. Besides, as Taelian had already displayed, he was capable of surviving such things... right?
When Taelian's eyes flickered, the rath thought twice. His eyes widened and his lips pursed firmly as he stared at the floored body of the man. What if he was just able to resist death for a little longer? What if his passing had truly come? No no, that wasn't the case, and Taelian assured him so. Arkash softened his scalie brows and half-shut his eyes. The blood on his teeth was something that deeply troubled the rath; it was a feature he often saw on Cojack's face; a visage Malafor held when Arkash shot and ran him through. The look, to Arkash, heralded frailty and death. Both of those things, he didn't want to see on Taelian.
He was much worse in Tyrclaid apparently; in that land that housed so many rathor like himself. As Taelian went on to explain his wounds and appearance in that distant land, Arkash looked to the floor. Blood lapped at his knees and shins, the blood of the man he admired so. He couldn't tell what was worse: The descriptions of his state in a foreign land, or the sight of his pooling life force. "Shurr'up," Arkash spoke with a slight frown.
"Doesn' mean 'ew can go 'roun' stabben ew'self." It didn't matter what Taelian had survived before, such self-harm was surely... well, harmful. Arkash had experienced such mind-wracking trauma when Malafor forced him to open his wrist in that cave, but Taelian had so easily run himself through. He hated it, but that act alone was a testament to the difference between them; Taelian was far stronger, both in his head and body.
Taelian then spoke something else, something he'd never expected to hear. His dark eyes widened like saucers, and that heart-wrenching fearless-anxiety arose again in wake of the words. His stomach was in knots and his throat was tight behind his dry mouth. Had Taelian meant to say that to him? Yes, he definitely said 'little lizard' after it. Though he hated that adjective, he couldn't deny that he was significantly shorter than Taelian.
"...Taelian?" he asked, unsure, then followed the man with his gaze as he began to stand. Promptly, Arkash rose to his feet and pulled on the man's arm with a stretch of his back, and put his full weight into lifting the huge elf. He barely helped, he was sure, but he tried all the same. While he stood, blood ran in rivulets from his pants and dripped on his bloodied claws below. His shins were caked in the stuff, to his dismay. Why did he so frequently end up plastered in the blood of others? His own blood, too? That time was different, however, for he'd never been covered in the blood of someone he cared for.
His mind was vacant while he helped the man to the bed, and he spoke nothing. He imagined a life beside someone like Taelian, beside another man. He'd never really considered who he might send the rest of his life with, or with whom he'd raise a family. Perhaps, deep down, he didn't think he'd live long enough to even dream of such things. His attention was stolen from his thoughts as the elf fell into the bed, And Arkash strained at the shift in his weight, then widened his eyes as he spied the rifle and the bag alike that rested there. Quickly, he reached over and removed both, then helped the elf climb fully into the bed.
"A will," he replied, then helped pull the covers over the man to keep him warm. Blood loss, he knew, made people cold. There was less fluid in them to carry warmth to their extremities and most external layers, so Arkash made sure to keep the man warm as he tucked the covers gently, then looked over his form. Taelian was already asleep, it seemed, and Arkash was left to his thoughts and the puddle of blood that covered the ground.
After a few moments of silence, Arkash sighed, then lifted his claws to his chest. He felt strange, light, euphoric, and overjoyed. It was like he was able to forget all the terrible things that had transpired that season, and the season prior for just a moment, and for the first time in a while, he smiled pleasantly. Was that it? That anxiety which continued to spike and throb in his chest?
Was it love?
Arkash shivered, then looked to the puddle of blood before moving his gaze to the sack. With a sigh, he moved to open the neck and drew his pistol from its contents. The chamber was empty, he knew, so he moved to his rifle and pulled back the lever to expose the brass shells within, and reclaimed them one after another. Once he had all four bullets, he stuffed three of them in his pocket and loaded the pistol with a single shell before locking the mechanism.
Very carefully, he positioned the weapon beside his tail in the rim of his pants, then adjusted his jacket to cover the handle. It concealed well and served to help him if he somehow ran into trouble.
Finally, he collected a wad of farthing bills from his sack and pocketed them before proceeding to the door. A sigh escaped him while he considered Taelian, but a smile and shake of his head dismissed such thoughts. With a twist of the handle, he left the room and shut the door behind him. In the space of the hall, he leaned back against the door and lifted his claws to his chest again. He cast his gaze to the ceiling while he sighed through his nostrils, and swooned. Taelian loved him.
Once he'd composed himself, he proceeded to the stairs, then the entry of the inn. He needed a pale and some water from the well, some rags, too. There was a lot of blood to mop up, and a whole lot of elf to clean. Hopefully, he'd have it done before Taelian awoke.

Image source.

[Alexander Cross]

XP:

• Taelian (12 XP)
• Arkash (16 XP)
  
  Magical XP: N/A
  
  Pieces of Knowledge:
  • Taelian
  • Flight: Gliding
  • Flight: Hovering
  • Flight: Flapping your wings
  • Flight: Maintaining aerial balance
  • Flight: Accelerating
  • Flight: Moving forward
  • Flight: Falling
  • Flight: Descending
    -
  • Arkash: I love him
  • Arkash: Took care of me
  • Arkash: Was difficult to convince of my Draedan heritage
  • Arkash: Waited for me in Rainier
    
    Arkash
  • Biology: Bigger bodies have a higher exsanguination threshold.
  • Gunslinging: Transposing bullets.
  • Gunslinging: Unloading the magazine of a rifle.
  • Gunslinging: Rifles are difficult to conceal.
  • Medicine: Blood loss makes you cold.
  • Medicine: Some people can sustain lethal wounds and survive.
  • Medicine: Removing a blade from a wound can cause more harm than good.
  • Medicine: Removing an obstruction in a wound can cause it to bleed more.
  • Medicine: Helping a wounded ally to their feet.
  • Medicine: Helping a wounded ally walk.
    -
  • [PC] Taelian: Met with you, as he promised.
  • [PC] Taelian: Actually died.
  • [PC] Taelian: Is a god now?
  • [PC] Taelian: STABBED HIMSELF.
  • [PC] Taelian: SAID HE LOVES YOU.
  Loot: N/A
  
  Injuries/Ailments: N/A
  
  Comments:
  That’s one helluva reunion, must have left a lasting impression in Arkash. It’s not common for people to stab themselves in reunions. Looking forward to Taelian’s conquest of Mornoth and Arkash’s plans (for starting a family, perhaps?). If you have any questions, comments, or concerns, let me know. Enjoy your rewards!