[Valtoria] The Blighted Ones

[Vesper]

67th of Frost, 4621

By the licking flames of a fire, Vesper reached over to pluck the twisted haunch of a butchered man from a heap of grizzled parts-made-mincemeat by the guest which so fascinated him tonight.

With a shrug, he bit down on the meat, teeth mincing and tearing the sinew until he gulped back the still-warm flesh.

It really wasn’t bad. Raw meat was already a pleasure as a feline; as a Corvo, no disease from it would find him. “I’ve never had Druskai before,” he told Arkash from over the flame, picking his teeth with his claws as the tendons stuck to his gums. Lathering over his fingers with that feline tongue, he made little attempt to coerce Arkash further. The man knew his games. A few of them, anyway.

There was a quiet stillness between the way they shared words, each sizing up one another. Trust had not yet been fostered. At least, not for Vesper. “Normally I would offer my fellow traveler some relaxation,” he told Arkash, “but you know what I am, and now that suspicion will never die. What is real? What emotions are my own?”

“They always ask those questions.”

He took another monch on that sinful meat.

There were many things on Vesper’s mind. He chose to share a bit of his own ambition, to try and make conversation. “To say of my desire, Arkash, I am an engineer. Rare parts and chemicals could be manufactured from blood, with that gift. I have repaired and built Chariots, golems, even tools to make tools, and I am also an Artificer. These constructs of yours, I could hide them beneath false skin, and fashion a ruthless army. I could repair a broken vessel as it is damaged, and overrun the Entente with shreds of their own blood.” He spoke softly, sweetly, fondly.

Without emotion.

He knew he had to give Arkash some, so he opened up just a bit. “They took me from my mother, and I spent years alone in a cell as a child. That is why morbidity is as natural to me as air.” Another bite, deeper, snapping the flesh against his chin.

“You must think of me a monster. Wouldn’t that be an irony?” he told Arkash. “But I still love my people, my fellow Rathor, my friends, and the people I’ve come to call family. Those little stars, dotting my memories with hope that this world can be redeemed, that the way I feel now can become obsolete.”

“Until then,” he slaked his teeth over the bone, raking it of scraps before he gnawed at the end for the marrow.

“You say you are a Dranoch, that you must eat the meat of men; I say good riddance. Honestly.” He licked his paw. “These bandits were rapists and thieves with no true ambition, even if they are merely a byproduct of Daravain governance. How can they hope to affect change, and what good will it bring?” He flicked the sucked-dry bone to the ground, peering over at the feeding Arkash. “What are your thoughts there? You strike me as having a conscious, in spite of everything that you are, Arkash. Maybe you are better than me, in that regard.”

[Arkash]

Anarchy.

Of all the things that would quickly drag one into Arkash's good books, it was any sort of anti-noble sentiment; rebellion against authority; a notion to fight the higher power, and Vesper presented all three in their communion beside the firepit.

While they ate away at the flesh of the Cadavers Arkash had created and gathered a little earlier, he remained quiet. For the most part, the extent of what he offered was a slight comment or the occasional nod of agreement, especially in regards to the Druskai meat. "The raiders are tender," he offered with a full mouth, chewing up a scrap of watery bicep before swallowing the thing, largely intact. "Lots of muscle on 'em, fillin' too-" he stopped, just to clasp another stretch of the arm with his jaws, and ripped another scrap from the bone, bit into the meat twice, then swallowed it largely whole again.

Despite the open-mouthed snap of his jaws with which he fed, an open sight to whatever mess painted his palette through the course of his meal, one couldn't deny Arkash was with table manners. He freely shared his earned meal with the feline, after all. Granted, his motives might have been selfish to some extent, but wasn't every gesture under the right light?

He'd just about finished breaking the upper arm in two with a sudden jerk of his head when Vesper spoke of the offers he usually gave his company. A smile pulled at the corners of his thick lips while he closed most of his mouth around the bone, and tried to suck as much marrow as he could from the calcium prison, but his reptilian mouth didn't work like that; it was only his humanoid form that could manage such a feat. He didn't reply to the gesture as if to dismiss it without so much as a remark of consideration, then swallowed the fragment of bone whole once he was sure he couldn't reach anymore of the creamy bone paste, then lowered the arm from his lips despite the voracious hunger that screamed for satisfaction in his empty stomach.

"I prefer honesty," he offered in reassurance to the bared pretender.

As he lifted the other end of the bone to his jaws and began to suckle the sweet marrow from the core, he thought on what was said. To say that he was distracted was something of an understatement. Terrible hunger raged in his eyes whenever they passed over the pile, the tension of restraint, the dire need that came with every swallow, ever unfulfilled. That look in his visage remained for a moment or two whenever he looked to the Rath in his company, but like a switch, it was withdrawn and a kind smile was offered in its place.

When he'd really thought about it, he pried the limb from his gnashing jaws with a final voracious tear, snapped around the meat, and swallowed. His lips parted to speak on the subject of others perceptions, but instead let the silence be filled again by the other Rath's wants and desires. His eyes moved to the Bile Construct, which stood in silence beyond the flame, then returned to Vesper. "...That's a good idea," he offered with a nod and curled his lip before he snapped his jaws around that meat again. The hunger was so much easier to contain when he wasn't eating; the bliss that was a brief moment of fullness in his stomach after every bite just made the longing need all the worse when it receded.

Arkash was weak to its call.

The rest of the world almost fully blended in with the background while he fed, but he did his best to pry his focus from the meat and the bone whenever Vesper spoke. It might have been obvious when he paused in the middle of mangling the flesh that housed the radius and the ulna that he'd paid more attention than he might have been given credit for, as his eye settled on the feline who divulged a glimpse of his history to the younger Rath.

His mother, years alone...

Arkash still held that position, open-mouthed, drooling around the torn-up forearm pressed his jaws. He withdrew his bite as his focus came to fully settle on the other Rathor. Recognition and compassion filled the space that had previously been hollow of all but the ravenous hunger, and he lowered the limb to his lap.

Again, he stayed in silence. Not because all he could consider was his need to gorge himself on the bodies of the brigands he'd slaughtered, but because he'd seen something in the feline. Something familiar and potent enough to pull him from the weight of his curse. That, or he'd just lost his appetite- Unlikely. Arkash straightened up and rolled his shoulders as he looked to the Bile construct, almost completely sober in his appearance, if not for the dripping mess that clung to his chin in long strands of torn fabric and gore.

"I'm sorry to hear that," he offered with a gentle curl of his lips on one side and soft eyes to deliver the meaning behind his tone.

There was a long pause where Arkash stared on at the fire as it crackled on the wooden fuel, bright enough to illuminate his bloodied features and reflect in the misty haze that veiled his eyes. he stayed that way for some time, lost in the moment and forgotten to the aching void in his gut. A sharp sniffled interrupted the silence, and he lifted a finger and thumb to wipe his eyes clear. "...That's rough," he spoke with a deep exhale, an effort to cool the burn in his throat.

"No," he returned at the question, "not at all." Vesper wasn't a monster in his eyes, he was just another victim of the cruelty in the world. He let out a shaky exhale as he composed himself, then shook his head. The way Vesper spoke reminded him of several people, the little stars, hope for redemption. Every word seemed to solidify the idea in his head that they were cut from the same cloth, that they were the same, just different. Good riddance to the bandits, to those tyrants that abused their power for their own gain. "Kill 'em all, I say," Arkash returned with his tone dark, and nose curled to herald the bitter anger behind his eyes.

Then he was asked his stance, offered the image of conscience despite all he was revealed to be. Arkash shook his head while all the turbulent emotions that gathered in the hold of his skull came to quell. Breathing helped to steady his racing heart, and so did the crunch of Druskai fingers between his jaws. He offered a brief laugh and a shake of his head as Vesper kicked up all sorts of thoughts in the wasp nest that was his mind but didn't reply until he'd chewed through the joints and knuckles, and swallowed what was in his mouth. "Best if I don't say..." he answered with a slight grin that was quickly followed by a frown. "You'll really get me going if you ask about the state of things, so it's best we leave it alone for now," he explained briefly.

Did that sound dismissive?

"...I will say, I have no shortage of hate for the pricks that sit around and get fat off us workin' lot... So-" he paused, and breathed in through his nose when he realized emotions began to interfere with his practiced accent. "So... if you want help with your golem idea, I gladly offer it," he spoke with a gesture, an open hand to the Bile Construct. "I'll build you as many of these guys as you like, Bloodshape some material for you, too."

"I don't meet many Rath," he admitted after a pause. "I've met even fewer people who are comfortable with... All this," he spoke with a gesture to the pile of broken bodies that was gathered before them, the blood that caked his scales. "..And the people I'm comfortable showing this to are... next to none if I'm honest." Raphael didn't count, he was a prick. "And you know what, Vesper? I don't think you're lying to me right now, but if you are, it's fine; I won't rescind my offer or whatever," assured the Rath as he snapped the below joint with both his hands and his knee, then tore them away from one another with shaky claws.

Dilating his throat came easily, and the wide-open stretch of his jaw saw him effortlessly swallow the mangled meat that dressed the broken bones. When he was done, the Bile Construct trudged its way over and brought him one of the hyena's haunches. mercilessly, he dug into the thigh and tore through fur, skin, muscle, and tendon with the grip of his serrated teeth. Unknown to the Rathor, the beast was actually a Malformist, but such knowledge wouldn't have slowed his ravenous consumption.

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[Vesper]

Vesper’s coiled fingers opened to empty palms as he held them to a shrug. “Perhaps such things are better left for back room cabals and treasonous, heretical plots.” He clasped his paws between his thighs, hallucinations dancing on the corners of his vision. His eyes ignored them; he knew they weren’t real, but the nightmares in his mind were powerful beyond measure, to the point where short of cordoning them off on the ‘islands’ of his Memory Palace, there was little he could do to hide the cracks in his psyche from himself.

The dark feline nodded, biting his lip, listening to the ambiance of a Dranoch feeding with those sensitive ears. It seemed par for the course, to him, but there was still something unsettling about it now that he wasn’t numb to it all. “I told someone once, about my Purpose,” he told Arkash. “When I was mindless and broken with madness, they spent a very long time helping me to mend the Engrams of my mind until I could see more than shadows. He thought he could ‘fix’ me, but my Purpose took that hope away, and he left.”

Nerves lighting up his spine, the cat’s fur stood on end as he dared to utter the truth. “My Purpose is to control all that can be perceived.”

He lifted a finger. “However.” A pause. “It does not mean that I will provide poor conditions for those beneath me. It merely means that I desire to be in control, and authority is something that goes against the grain of my desire. I have a genuine distaste for those who do not strive for benevolence when they have been lifted above others. I am drawn to the Meritocracy aspect of Daravin, but I shun its systems of abuse.”

. . .

There was hesitation in Vesper’s gaze. Something he wanted to say.

“You are the first person I’ve opened up to as well. I do not lie to you now, but I do hold some things back,” he said. “For who can say that your mind is not skewered tomorrow, your thoughts probed by the Entente.” Tapping his crossed knees, he motioned in a general sense to what was around them. “All perception, thought, and feeling can be manufactured as any weapon, engine, or Necromantic limb.” His tail curled upon the end before flicking.

Rubbing over his ears, the cat pulled them down before they flopped upwards. “You know, I might just take you up on your offer. Our associations would have to be obfuscated, but someone working behind the scenes could really strengthen a growing movement with that magic of yours, however taboo it might be.”

Vesper did offer him a sigh at the end. “I have made it a personal ambition to learn, in depth, to ply every World Magic in tandem. There are few minds like mine capable of codifying the immense information in such a short time, to the point I think I could render the Mark of Control obsolete.”

He looked up at the stars, wincing at those little lights partly obscured by the glow of the flame in front of him. “And even if I turned Atharen into a paradise, my Purpose will still call me to the realms of gods. If I were Venadak himself, I do not think I would be satisfied. There would still be things outside my grasp — one day, I intend to rewrite my Purpose. Perhaps that is the power that I should be striving for.”

[Arkash]

Though he'd said he wouldn't delve into the world he'd seen, the things he'd experienced, and the ideologies that spurred from the depths of depravity he'd touched, he was certain he'd give in and spill the contents of his mind at some point or other. The way it all tied into his purpose, that long cathedral hall, the stained windows, the shattered construct, all of it would come to light in time. He lifted his head from the fire, then and peered to the Rath with widened eyes, a rise to the scalie ridge of his brow, and swallowed whatever piece of the Malformist that filled his palette at the time.

Vesper knew his purpose.

"You must share," Arkash returned with a bow of his head as if to gesture the other Rath into talking. He hadn't been raised traditionally, but he knew the purpose was an important thing in their culture; he too felt its pull, that ever-longing itch to fulfill some unknown thing, the driving force for every Rath, the catalyst that saw them all dispersed and working toward different goals globally. The fact that Vesper knew it was extraordinary, he recognized. He listened while he tore another piece of the Hyena's haunch away, and lined up the piece to his gullet with a few meaty snaps.

To control all that can be perceived.

He paused.

Those misty eyes lingered on the other Rathor for some time while that piece of ragged flesh dripped past his lips. As Vesper continued, Arkash remained still. The system of abuse, benevolence... he turned his eyes away and bit into the scrap a couple more times, slowly flexing his jaws while he maneuvered it in his mouth before he tilted his head back to swallow. A flick of his forked tongue saw him try to swipe some of the mess from his lips, and he continued to listen in utter silence, occasionally biting through a portion of the hyena's leg while he processed his thoughts.

"Yeah, I understand..." he spoke in reference to the Entente probing. Arkash had already fallen victim to the Candor once, he knew better than to open his mouth in the presence of nobles. But this cat?

He did offer his services despite the revelation, still processing what was said, reasoning with himself behind those discerning eyes. Vesper all but accepted, and Arkash rose a brow. He meant to learn every world magic... Render the mark of control obsolete. As Brilan Ald came to mind, he pursed his lips hard and raised both brows. Arkash wasn't sure if any hollow or construct could stand against a creature like her, and all the mark of control could grant an individual in terms of power. "Well," he returned as he recovered his thoughts. "...That's very ambitious, and honestly, the world might just be better off without mages..." If magic could generate things like Brilan Ald, was it not already broken?

And then came talk of his purpose again, to control all that can be perceived. He curled his nose a little while he stared on at the flame, clenching and unclenching his fist while he considered, then shook his head. "It's your purpose, I know it is," he began. "...But I don't believe in a society where you're not granted the whole world if you're born in the right place, and a short life of disease and starvation if you're born in the wrong place." he spoke, finally. "It's just not possible," he reiterated, both palms shown. "If you're born in Nobility, you don't know what it is to be hungry, or cold, or sick, or hurt. If you're born to the peasant, that's all you know. Why? Because the peasant's family hasn't worked hard enough to line the noble family's pockets? That's BULLSHIT!" He roared and threw the haunch to the floor and stood, form tense.

"It's not fair! it's not right!" he continued, eyes alight with fury. "The only way a system can be fair is if we're all thrown to the wild, made to survive and show our strengths, show what we can contribute! That's the only way we can make this work without the bias of the family you were born to... And... That's brutal, that's a dark system where entire generations are trimmed of all their weakness and only the strong survive." Arkash shook his head again, the flare of his anger dying down a little while he breathed.

"There shouldn't be a system," Arkash declared as he sat. "There shouldn't be control."

"Everyone should fend for themselves. The weak should strive to become strong, and the strong should be allowed to keep what they earn."

A deep exhaled flared his nostrils with a sort of reptilian hiss before he slurped on the mess that clung to his jaw. "And that is my purpose..." he continued before he swallowed. "To end society, to disband all bodies of power... I... I don't know, it's vague." He finished with a shake of his head.

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[Vesper]

Totally, utterly quiet, Vesper stared into the flames as Arkash hemmed and hawed behind them, thinking of all that he had been through up until this point. A council of wavy lines appeared on the corners of his vision, stalking over him, stealing the beat of his heart until he felt otherwise small.

There was a reason he kept those memories locked away, why he couldn’t be an honest creature. What plagued Vesper vanished as he cast away the islands of his mind, returning to a font of numbness, of logic and abstraction. “Even I do not want my Purpose, Arkash,” he told the blood-caked beast before him with a cold stare.

Tapping his chin, Vesper’s voice dimmed to a lazy ramble. “My desire for control would transcend the concept of society. It is heavily rooted in my perceptions of what control is. I am not, nor will I ever be a noble in that common sense. I do not care for a lineage. I would be just as satisfied arbitrating your Purpose. I understand you, Arkash.”

“I understand what it’s like to have a Purpose that wishes harm upon others.”

Vesper continued. “Your own Purpose is as unachievable as mine — more cold-blooded — as fulfillment would entail the extinction of every sociable being within the bounds of your perception, as you cannot otherwise stop them from one day creating a society you would then wish to destroy,” said Vesper. “Even if you spent thousands of years conquering, destroying every society, every font of knowledge and power, every singular, unfair concept in this world, those who rose from the ashes you wrought would challenge you, repeatedly, until you were the very thing society began to form around or against. You would become counter to your Purpose. Unless you killed every living creature, or you killed yourself — in your absence, the cycle would continue.”

“I do not blame you for it, but your Purpose will lead you towards carnage, and your Blight — which I presume will extend your lifespan — will make you suffer for eternity, Arkash.”

“If you could cure yourself of these feelings, would you?” asked Vesper.
”Given time, I think I will one day find a way to dismantle the Purpose of Rathor, including my own.”

[Arkash]

He didn't want it?

Arkash froze in his tirade, his dictation of what was fair and what was not. The wind in his sails seemed to recede, and he lowered the tension in his shoulders. "Why?" he asked. How could someone wish to deny their purpose? Arkash's had led him to a number of fights, injuries, and losses, but it was what drove him, his resolve was like steel. Was it not the same for Vesper? "Why don't you...?" he asked again, lost for words.

Vesper continued, and the Vandikar was all but a captive audience. He listened well, eyes affixed on the cat while he spoke, brow furrowed at certain parts, but for the most part, he listened. It became clear they were talking about different forms of control; two very different bigger pictures. He saw freedom as the ideal world, a paradise in which everyone was free to do as they willed if they had the strength to do so. Vesper's ideal of control was far beyond the reign of nobles and monarchs, an extent that Arkash couldn't hope to understand. "What do you mean?" He asked. What control was there without Authority? Without the monopolization of violence? What other oppressive powers existed in the world?

Extinction? Thousands of years conquering... The inevitable reformation of those systems...

"I... I don't..."

He sat back down. "It's not like that... I don't have to kill literally everyone... Just the..." he furrowed his brows while he stared at the floor, then turned to the side. "No, it's not. I just have to cut off the head. Without a leader, how can society sustain itself? It can't. The entire point is for those on top to reap the efforts of those on the bottom. If there's no one forcing the labor of the lower class then..." he paused again. "...No one would go back to that. Why would they? Why would they let themselves be subjugated again?" Arkash laughed a breath, it was madness to even think about. "No, you're wrong, they wouldn't... They wouldn't form against me because I'm helping them," he motioned a hand to the pile of corpses. "These men were tyrants of their own kind, they banded together and used their power to dictate the fates of the individual. They... They wielded their own system of oppression, in which they benefited from the suffering of those beneath them. I stopped them. I'll stop all things like it, all these... These chains of power... These self-perpetuating machines that drink the blood and sweat of peasants. No one would want to return to that, no one. They wouldn't form against me."

Despite the tone of certainty he tried to speak with, his eyes returned to Vesper, almost in search of affirmation.

"That's fine," Arkash returned on the remark of suffering for eternity. "Suffering's just pain, pain is fleeting... The mark I'll leave on this world, that will last forever."

"No," he answered. "I wouldn't cure myself; if it wasn't for my purpose, I would have died in some Rien gutter years ago. My purpose is all I am, all I strive toward, I..."

"Why?" he asked again on the remark of curing his purpose and moved his bloodied claws to hold his head. "Don't... Alright, listen," Arkash began as he brought his hands down and swiped the mess from his jaws. "I'm sorry I blew up on your purpose, but it's really not that bad. Noble and monarchs, it's leaders that are the problem because they make all these systems that benefit no one but themselves. And sure, they make laws to 'protect people'," he spoke with quotations, a flex of two fingers on each hand. "But those are just to preserve their own system, they ensure people aren't killing each other so they can reap more taxes, for example. They support the construction of businesses because they benefit their economy. It's all for self-gain!" he continued with a throw of his hands.

"Your purpose doesn't sound like that, you don't even want to be a noble. You don't have to reject it on my values, Vesper," Arkash continued, so far from the mark.

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[Vesper]

“Arkash...”

Vesper struggled with how to frame what he knew about the people of Atharen. “I... spend much of my time walking within the dreams, viewing the identities of others, picking apart their minds. Witnessing their memories. Learning, studying what they are. Adapting what makes sense, to me.”

“Ambition knows no end,” he said. “Every race on Atharen has some number of the ambitious, born and forged because something has been stolen from the heart that they wish to retrieve. Even if you succeeded, these people would never be satisfied with survival predicated on strength. They will circumvent it through the exploitation of others.”

“You needed your Purpose. You are strong now; I am strong enough now that I do not need mine,” he told Arkash. “The Purpose is an arbitration by a god I cannot ever know. It may be deeply rooted within both of us. What of those Rathor who have the Purpose to serve, to be abused, or looked down upon, to chase crime with abandon until they are caught and executed, to abandon what they have and chase their own tails?”

Vesper shrugged. “It is what it is, to me. You are welcome to your own beliefs. Who am I to say what is right and wrong, I only have my own experiences with the minds of others as a measure.”

“I’m glad you understand who I am, Arkash,” said the feline with his stony gaze. “The desire for self-gain will not disappear, even when the last city has fallen,” he told his fellow Rathor. “The problems you speak of are endemic not to society, but the individual. The peasants are every bit as twisted as the nobility. The nobility just have more power.”

Holding his hands together, Vesper recalled the last time he had tea, and drew forth the apparition from his mind. The feeling of the porcelain plate and that little cup filled his paws, and he sipped back the steaming liquid, eyes lazing from the pleasant feeling of that hot liquid running down his throat, washing away the taste of meat with that same faintly meaty, herb-laden broth.

It just so happened that the teacup matched the same tea set as Vesta Marcella, the old Rath woman whom had shared her tea with Arkash in Lorien so long ago, together with that large woman, Alphonse. A strange coincidence.

“I reject my Purpose on my own values,” he told Arkash, “because I can never feel true satisfaction until I have done away with it.” In some ways, he disliked the Blight core to his being for that exact reason, but at least those feelings were easier to cordon off within his mind.

[Arkash]

Already, he knew it was true. Brilan Ald was an example enough of how far an individual would go to attain power, splitting their own soul to ascend multiple times. Extorting and abusing others was just the natural progression of power without something like magic to feed that ambition.

The emancipated people would reform their groups, their villages, towns, and cities. Willing or not, the weak would see themselves ruled; food for the strong. Arkash curled his nose to bare his gory teeth. Was that it then? Did every follower need to die, in addition to their leaders? But who did that leave left? Was Vesper right after all? "That's..." he started before he brought his hand to wrap around his muzzle. His eyes stared on in thought, a slight press to his brow. "...There has to be a way," he returned at last, jaw movement limited by the hold of his claws. After a moment, he exhaled deeply and shook his head. "Why does everyone have to be so..." Stupid? Weak? Submissive? But it was the Strong that were the problem, too. They would exploit others for their benefit, not all could find Arkash's independence. Again he came to hold his head with his claws while he thought. Was there no answer to the problems proposed by Vesper? There had to be, he just needed time to think.

The conversation on the purpose continued, and Arkash remained there with his hands on his head, deep in thought. He nodded occasionally to relay that he understood what was proposed by the feline. He supposed that for some, the purpose was an evil thing that led them to their deaths... And for what? What was the purpose? Vesper claimed it what an arbitration by a god, which he couldn't confirm or deny. Lorien was so detached from the Adac, and the people of Daravin even more so. Vesper's and Taelian's knowledge was all he had on the beings that called themselves Gods.

"Good," he agreed when Vesper declared it was for his own values. Vesper wanted satisfaction, to see his journey fulfilled. If they really were both caught in some paradoxically eternal quests, did he not also want to see it end? In some ways, he found himself foolish. In others, he found anger. Was it all really futile? Could the world never be rid of tyranny?

"I know what you're saying, I do," Arkash assured as he straightened up and brought his fingers down over his eyes to wipe them clear. "You're... Wiser than I am," which hurt to admit. Arkash had originally thought he found himself with the upper hand when he unraveled the being's disguise, but he was no politician, he was no scholar, scientist, or molder of minds. "I don't know what the answer is, but I know the evil in the hearts of the peasantry. I..." he stopped while he thought to the night of Catherine's death, the horde calling for the death of the woman who was guilty by association. "...I doubt they'd do any better if the roles were reversed, you're right."

Everyone had the capacity for evil, even Arkash knew he wasn't free of sin.

"What will you do?" He asked as he breathed in through his nose and closed his eyes, inhaling the scents of iron, the unknown sweet scent of the Corvo, and the herbal tea. His eyes finally furrowed, then returned to Vesper with a sharp turn of his head while he caught the smell. His eyes fell upon the cup in his hands, the design was oddly familiar; something he'd once seen to leave an impression on him, but couldn't quite place where he'd found it before. "...If you build your army and march on the Entente, what will you make from their ashes?"

Though he was curious about the appearance of the teacup, he had more important questions. Even so, he found his eyes lingering on the floral patterns in the china of Vesper's tea set.

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[Vesper]

Tail curling as the caffeine surged through his tired, road-worn mind, Vesper slowly shut his eyes and set the cup down with a soft clink. Despite having tilted it all the way back, it still somehow held a brimming surface of liquid. Seeing Arkash take heed of it, he rose and extended the plate to his fellow Rath. “Tyrclaid Tea, from my memories,” he told Arkash of the phantasm.

Clasping his wrists behind him — or else tossing the tea set had Arkash not taken it — Vesper turned his back on Arkash and gazed up at that profoundly bright celestial body. “I...” He’d never really thought about it, to that extent, but he knew he had to appeal to both of their Purposes if he was to seem genuine. “I would outlaw the Mark of Control and indeed all magic save for Artifice, as it can automate many of the civil problems society faces. I would establish a faction of witch hunters — mages swearing to repress those vying for power beyond natural means — and defend my territory from foreign powers, selecting from among the hunters to aid me in war and diplomacy with other nations I sought to bring in line.” He glanced at Arkash. “I would forbid the Blighted from sharing their curse, but placate them with satiety gleaned from those who fight against the idea of a land where everyone is born equal.”

“There would be honor, etched into the cornerstones of that new world born from a sea of blood.”

“Vices would become blessings.”

“Money would be replaced by bonds, and no individual would own a palace.”

“No individual would need to be governed beyond the barest expression of law, and I would segregate the races between communities of their own to keep them homogeneous and make sure the quality of life is equal through a network of spies reporting to me — they would fight, otherwise.”

“If everyone was born with a promised allotment of land, and land could not be sold, only loaned, then others could come together to do great things, and the system would not molest them every step of the way.”

“...And then...”

“I would explore the stars until I found a way to kill each and every last god and destructive being threatening Atharen. I will absolve myself of my Purpose, ”

“And then I will die.”

“That is what my fantasy would look like, if we lived those dreams together, you and I.” He pulled his eyes from the moon, and took a seat by the lizard, leaning into that smooth carapace of blood and scales without a hint of dread or fear — he just didn’t feel it, like this. That tail draped over the lizard’s, the dangerous smell of him growing stronger, lingering in the nostrils like a fine, dizzying perfume. “All there is yet to do is roll the dice on whether or not I can survive a third Mark of Control, or if I will die and be forgotten...”

[Arkash]

It really was exhausting to think about, what one would do with a world they could mold the world to their perfect ideology. He understood the fatigue that reflected in Vesper's eyes as he offered the cup he'd been eying; he felt it too. There was so much to Mornoth, and he had yet to see all of Atharen. There were so many different facets that people needed to fulfill to thrive, and though they thought they'd found it in countries like Lorien and Daravin, they were very wrong.

A bow of his head accompanied the reach of the claw he used to accept the offered saucer, and he perked at the name.

Tyrclaid tea.

"...The kind with dried blood mixed in?" He asked with some spark of recognition. He'd seen it before, the tea, the set. As he peered into the drink, he was reminded of a time when he sat on a pillow in one of Lower Nivenhain's dilapidated homes, where he drank the tea offered to him. His blinded eye, the stump of his arm... The fingers of that limb curled a little. Vesta was her name, not too dissimilar from Vesper, he supposed.

A smile pulled at his lips while he thought, then set the cup aside.

It wasn't all doom and gloom, he often forgot. There were good people in the world. Those rare few that had treated him with kindness without asking anything in return left so many impressions on him that it was difficult to recount them all, but he never once failed to count his mended scars and old wounds.

His mind trailed on down the rabbit hole before he delivered his question to the other Rath, and so came the explanation of Vesper's ambition, all he aimed to achieve once the wheel of society had been broken. What would he make anew?

Everything.

Vesper had an idea to remake everything, it seemed. Everything from the land people lived on, the communities they lived with, the economy, magic... Even the Gods themselves. He didn't know why, but he found himself smiling through the feline's ideas. Fair governing for all, equality from birth. Was such a thing possible? Would people enjoy living like that? He didn't know. All he could say for sure was that the mortal rath before him, flesh and bone as he was, had some of the loftiest ambitions he'd ever heard of, even surpassing his own. Could those beings that called themselves Gods even be killed? It didn't sound like it, from what Taelian had told him. Arkash wasn't even sure if they truly existed. If Vesper's goal was to kill the Adac themselves in the end, then...

"Anyone else would call you a Madman, you know," his eyes smiled while he thought, and then Vesper was beside him. Arkash perked at first, then grew tense as the other Rathor came to lean against him. He hadn't expected such a thing, considering all the mess that clung to his scales, the stink of copper that was the wasted lifeblood of murderers and rapists. His aversion to touch often stood as a barrier between his body and most others, but not this one, it seemed.

After a moment, he reached one claw around to take the other rath by the shoulder, then lowered the hold of his claws to the feline's arm as he brought his head to rest atop Vesper's. "If you're really going to try and kill the Gods themselves..." he spoke softly before the slender cat's tail draped over the balance bludgeon Arkash had to heave around. "...Well, uhh," he continued as his mind went blank, words escaping him. "...Well, I'm glad you're at least planning to be around for that long." He smiled a little at the thought while his chest fluttered.

"A third Mark?" He asked with some degree of intrigue, then recognition flashed in his eyes as they widened. He hummed a moment, still breathing that sweet smell beneath the coppery tang of blood. "Hold on," he said as he pulled the cat's arm to straighten him up, then lifted one leg over the log to sit while facing the other Rath. With a reach of his claws, he liquified the blood that clung to his and Vesper's clothes, fur, and scales in all parts, then balled a fist to hurl it all from their bodies; every last drop. His scales shined in the light of the fire, apparently in good health despite the faded marks of the earlier fight's cuts. With both hands, he tried to maneuver the feline to face him in a similar fashion, then guided the smaller Rathor's body to his so that their chests were pressed flush.

There, Arkash draped the feline's shoulder with his chin and wrapped his arms around the feline's back to maintain their closeness. "If it's Blood Magic..." Arkash began an offer, his voice a low hum, "I'll make certain you survive..." he spoke with a warm smile, basking in the natural heat and the sweet scent of the Corvo in a way that Arkash had yet to share with anyone else. "And if you're certain about living those dreams together... I'll show you everything I know, too."

Image source.