15th of Frost, 120
The mission to Outer Nivenhain had been a narrow success. They'd managed to retrieve enough food, medicine, and weapons to support their continued survival in the sewers, but that didn't mean that the nameless knew how to operate firearms. Sure, they'd ultimately saved Arkash after Jacques's betrayal but were still unrefined in their aim and gun etiquette. Frankly, it was a miracle that they managed to gun down the wounded Chevalier without any casualties to themselves.
Arkash sought to resolve that by training them on how to properly wield such weapons. But, between his inexperience teaching others and the throbbing ache in his bandage-wrapped head, he wasn't making much progress.
"No bullets," he warned again and tightened the bandages around his head to help ease the crushing pain. "Not 'til 'we c'n all show me 'ow i'ss lo'did." His terms were simple; demonstrate the capacity to load the weapon, and they would be allowed to shoot. Alas, the simple concept of terms eluded the low born, lawless nameless. They demanded the right to fire their weapons, to feel the recoil of a cannon in their hand. He understood, of course, but he didn't grant those beggars any merit.
"Come on, Lizarrd!" The koltoskan called. "Let us have a turn shootin' fer a change!" It hurt to shake his head, but the rathor did so anyway.
"No bullets," he declared again, only to draw a chorus of disgruntled groans from the gathered nameless. The sounds of their voices alone were enough to pound the inside of his head. It felt as though his scales were throbbing.
"You heard the man," Asmodei called from beside him. "Show some respect for your weapon, and you'll get the chance to shoot it. Until then, keep practicing the drills."
To that, the sound of metal clattering on the floor echoed about the room, and all eyes fell on a human who'd just thrown his gun on in a tantrum. "Balls t' that!" He called with a snarl. "We's not soldia's! We dun' 'aveto do 'iss shite!" The man was obviously Rien by his accent, which Arkash recognized.
"If 'ew gun was lo'ded, 'ew would'a shot 'ew friend," spoke the rath with a point of his claw to the barrel of the gun, which pointed directly at the nameless beside him where it rested. "'Ew's def'nitly naw' ready faw' live ammo."
With that, the would-be shot human whapped his counterpart over the head with a scoff. "Nice'un, dick'ed," he returned. Ashamed, the man collected his weapon and brushed the sewer grime from the metallic barrel.
Arkash loosed a quiet growl of pain as he covered his eyes, then exhaled deeply. "Rite, le'ss go age'n," Arkash instructed. "Ready!" He raised his voice, then hissed in pain. Sporadically, they lifted their handguns in the fashion he'd shown them. "Leva'!" He ordered next. One by one, the nameless pulled back the levers of their pistols, exposing the firing chamber beneath.
"Not bad," Asmodei spoke in the quiet of the dark sewer.
"...Can 'ew check 'em faw me, Az?" He asked most pitifully. "Jus' maek su'a they've dun' it rite?"
The Velsign offered a nod, then proceeded to step toward the gathered nameless- Only to pause when the same bratty human called "EY-! EYEYEYEY! KEEP 'EW FACKIN' MAEGE AWAY!" That was right, Asmodei had outed himself as a mage on the first day because of Cyrus. Rien people weren't all too fond of mages. Even so, he could do little but shake his head in disapproval, then hold himself by the temples.
Thankfully, the human's friend had the wisdom to, again, whap him over the head and utter "shurr'up, divvy! 'Les 'ew wan' 'im t' burn 'ew t' shit?!" Two kinds of people, Arkash thought with a smile.
While Asmodei went about the nameless, checking their work, Arkash stayed against the wall and held his head together as the pain ramped up. Everything hurt all the time. There wasn't a moment of peace where he could physically feel okay. If it weren't for various cuts and stab wounds, it was the burns that littered his head and arms. If not for those, it was his head injury. If not for that, it was frostbite or amputation. The one constant Arkash found in his life was the pain. He needed a break, even if it was just for a day.
A hand fell upon his right shoulder as a presence made itself known from his left. He carefully lowered his hand to spy Fayeth in the corner of his vision. Her expression bared traces of pity and pride to make something of a sad smile while she looked at him. Despite the pain he was in, he found comfort in her hold. "How are you holding up?" Came her quiet voice.
"...Bad," he returned quite honestly. "...I'm ti'ad o' feelin' liek shit all'e tiem, Fay." His claws returned to his head, and gently squeezed the part of his skull that hurt the most. "Feels liek a'm fallin' apart..."
The pale Sil'norai nodded her head a little, then presented the rath with a small vial. Petty Bittercress, he recognized. "It's diluted to help with the pain instead of putting you to sleep - you might still feel a little drowsy, though."
Arkash lowered his hand to look at the vial with his left eye, then shifted his gaze to peer at Fayeth with a squint. He'd previously refused treatment, just because there were others who faced amputation and the like in their company; people that needed it more. But at that moment, he wanted nothing more than for the pain to stop. His will gave out, and he accepted the medicine with a loose, shaky claw.
"I'd say you're doing pretty good, given the circumstances." The Dranoch offered as she scooted closer to the rathor. "There are lots here that would have caved so long ago if they'd walked in your shoes, Arkash-" she paused then and thought a moment on the wording "-well, footwraps." Yes, his claws didn't fit in shoes and just poked holes in the leather while causing discomfort.
To that, the rathor shrugged, then popped the cork of his vial with one claw and tilted his head back to empty the contents into his mouth. As the name implied, the fluid was bitter, also thick, and with substance. Even if it was watered down, it was still potent. he felt it all the way down his throat. Asmodei returned just a moment or two after he lowered the vial, and Arkash looked to the man with a raised brow.
"They're all in proper form," the velsign addressed. Arkash nodded, then looked to the gathered nameless. The next step required them to be given live ammunition, but he still didn't fully trust them; nor did he have the energy to deal with any trouble makers.
"Shut!" he called at the cost of some more pressure in his head. The gathered men groaned and began to close the ignition chambers on their pistols. When they were done, he looked to Asmodei again and the towering man nodded in affirmation. He returned to inspecting their weapons, ensuring they'd completed the drill successfully. Admittedly, the nameless were doing well despite their unruly impatience and beratement.
"...Had enough for the day?" The dranoch asked with a tilt of her head. Again, the rathor nodded.
"I'll prob'ly taek 'em out faw shootin' tomorra'," he explained. "Rite now I jus' wanna lay down."
With a sigh, the rathor leaned a little more of his weight against her. The medicine was setting in, and his eyelids felt heavy beyond the crushing pain of his skull. She didn't seem to mind, of course, and ran her hand up and down the rathor's arm where she held him. "This Daravin man," she began quietly. "Jacques Aadir, you said his name was..." Arkash lifted his eyes to her. "No one came through here before Asmodei brought you home, and no one came through afterward. That's to suggest... Dead or alive, he's still in Outer Nivenhain."
Arkash shut his eye then and nodded a little. "'E best hope 'e's dead," the rathor muttered sleepily as the pain began to recede. "Nearly go' me kill't, th' fucka'..." Fayeth already knew that, but such knowledge eluded him as his mind entered power-save mode.
"And if he's still alive... What do you suppose he's doing right now?"
Again, the rathor shook his head and shrugged. "Eatin' dirt, drinkin' snow." He didn't really care what the coward was doing, and he'd occupied very few of his thoughts with the smart ass.
When the Velsign was done inspecting their work, he looked over to Arkash and Fayeth both, nodded a little then returned his gaze to the nameless. "That's enough for today," he addressed. "There'll be more tomorrow, I'm sure. Leave your weapons with the rest." The nameless grumbled and complained as they stowed their weapons in the various sacks that lined the side of the dried cistern, then one-by-one left the room. Glances were cast to the lizard and the pale Sil'norai both on their way out, but Arkash didn't have the mind to notice or care.
"I'm inclined to agree with Asmodei; that's enough for today." She declared while the rath clung to consciousness. With ease, she wrapped her arms around his middle and lifted his meager weight from the ground. Asmodei followed along as she moved him to the pile of hay and animal hides that was his bed in the sewers, and set him down. "Get some rest, Ark. You've done us both proud," the cardinal offered with a smile then stood and stepped away as Arkash quickly slipped beneath the numbing veil of the bittercress's induced sleep. For just a few hours, his wish was granted.
