Wrathe's sensitivity to bright lights severely hampered his ability to work, as he had to rest his eyes often, which made Ssilax's assistance invaluable.
As Ssilax moves back to Dainoth there is a fleeting moment where Wrathe's stands next to the cot that had been made up for him. Fingers slowly trace down the waves of folds along the coarse woollen blanket. The casual humanity of this simple gesture, so absolutely contradictory to anything he has ever seen from his captors, overwhelms him. It is so foreign that he wonders if a devil could ever understand its significance. For a time he would be a guest, subject to his host's protection and treated with respect and dignity.
His arm raises so the back of his hand can wipe the moisture from his eyes.
Understanding the import of the tasks assigned to him, he quickly moves to Dainoth's side.
"Fascinating! No internal organs." He considers that for a moment, wondering if he has any internal organs. For all he knew he was made of the stuff of Hell. "I would be very interested to read that book and discuss its contents with you."
Wrathe smiles sheepishly, "As I would all manner of academic subjects...if you were willing, you have a keen mind Ssilax and it sounds as though we share the same interests in furthering our knowledge of those that walk the realms and beyond."
It would be wonderful to have a friend, especially one that does not rip his eyes out.
Argon is eager to please, especially since his life is at stake. He stands on weak legs, hoping he can walk well enough. The stench of the Puddles overpowers him, evoking the one time he had had to be in this district before. He recalls running from a pack of stray dogs, and refuge in the accursed, sunken part of the city had saved him from the dogs' loving kisses. They must have been middle class strays, for though they would not enter the Puddles, other (lower class) strays spent all their time in them. Judging by the amount of dog s%#~ about, Argon figures there must be a plethora of lower class Puddles strays.
When Rygear sets the task of opening the door, Argon makes sure he remembers the order. His mind is young, and he is bright, so it is not a problem. Even with his nose scrunched up in discomfort.
He moves painfully to the door in front of him, and knocks thrice. Counts to two, knocks twice. Then counts to three and knocks four times. Finally, he whispers to the door, feeling kind of silly doing so, "None shall pass."
He looks at Daxniss and nods.
Daxniss looks at Argon and whispers "It's a name, and I'm a girl." Her voice was still muffled by the thread bare scarf, after Rygear's ministrations she thanked the man still feeling uncertainty about everything. With an inward shrug Daxniss had a feeling that things were going to be out of her control for a while.
Moving away from things that could not be changed, Daxniss climbs out of the wagon trying to make little noise, mourning the loss of her hold hidey hole, her nose crinkles at the smell.
Back to the puddles district, she had spent an evening searching for shelter here on the first night. Daxniss would have rather avoided this place but she had little choice at the moment.
Nodding at Rygear's words she whispers " Be careful, and watch for folk that have been skinned." She turns to Argon and nods as well with a gesture of lead on.
Silently, the door swings open, the faint traces of red lines appearing for half a second and then disappearing. They can see a sparse living room, small reading desk, several battered chairs, a worn, but well padded chair, stuffing coming out in a few places. A fire, almost burnt out providing almost no light to the room. The light bathing the room was coming from an open trapdoor in the corner of the room.
Rygear's presence is known as he moves to catch up with Daxniss and Argon. Passing through the entrance, the hairs stand up on the back of your neck, and a slight tingling sensation is felt all over your body. The warrior priest shuts the door and slides the bolt closed.
"Down the trapdoor, the stairs are even, use the wall to steady yourselves if you need it," Rygear relaxes considerably once they were inside the building. He's still a little tense looking, but doesn't seem to be expecting to be attacked at any moment. "One moment," he leans over the trapdoor, "Dainoth? We have arrived and are heading down."
At the sudden sound of the deep baritone voice comes out of the open hole, Ssilax lets out a surprised hiss, looking at the doorway, his sapphire eyes wide and a scared look growing in the wide orbs.
"Your're early, come down here so I don't have to shout," Dainoth raises his voice so that it carries upstairs. He looks over his shoulder at Wrathe and Ssilax and shakes his head with a grin on his face. "Some day, people will actually arrive when they say they will, rather than early or late. It will be the sign of the apocalypse, " the old mans jokes.
"Wrathe once the liquid in this vial reaches a rolling boil, take it off the burner stand using the tongs. Slowly pour it into the bowl with the green paste in it. And don't get any of the resulting mixture on you. Giving your rather rare nature, it might be poisonous to you," Dainoth pauses for a few moments, looking at the boy. "Try to avoid breathing the fumes while your at it."
Dainoth moves a few steps to his left and looks to Ssilax and waves him over.
"I know your hands are damaged, this won't but much pressure on them. I need you to keep moving these bandages around in this tray," Dainoth points to the metal tray that had strips of cloth soaking in an almost florescent blue liquid. He carefully hands the dragonkin a pair of metal sticks. "Stir them around with these it's to avoid any possible debris from getting on the bandages. Good lads, I'll be back in a few moments. Give a shout if there are any problems." Dainoth turns and walks out from behind the cloth screen separating the Alchemy Bench from the rest of the chamber.
Reaching a basement via spiraling stone staircase that seemed much further down then it looked, Argon, Daxniss, followed up by Rygear enter a well lit chamber. It was easily more than twice the size of the battered stone hut above, very open and spacious. The ceiling is perhaps 20 plus feet above their heads. Rooms are sectioned off by means of cloth screens stretched across wooden frames. Some of the screens seemed almost like intricate tapestries. Others were more simple, depicting simple, but foreign, landscapes.
"Greetings Rygear, our survivors I take it?" an old man comes around the corner of one the more intricate screens. The old man looked like he might have been fairly tall in his youth, age having shrunk him down somewhat. His wispy white hair is cut raggedly short, complete with skin that looked about as thick as old parchment. His hands show signs of the Bone Twist that effects the elderly. However his eyes hazel eyes burn with a sense of energy and purpose.
"Well, don't just stand there mouths agape letting in flies, guests generally introduce yourselves. I am Dainoth, and my apprentices will introduce themselves in a few minutes," the old man looks at Daxniss and Argon expectantly.
"That would be great!" Ssilax's voice sounds excited as his hooded and cowled head turns to look at Wrathe, his sapphire eyes shining. "I haven't had anyone to..." the short figures bright sapphire eyes suddenly go flat, like a dull blue painted rock, as does his sibilant voice. "Anyway, yes, I would like to study with you. If I'm allowed to stay that is." Just as quickly as the excited tone energized the young dragonkin, a horrific memory bleeds the life out of him.
Claws scrapping heavily upon the stone, he shuffles over to Dainoth. The sudden sound of another's deep voice echoes down the spiral stairs. He lets out a short hiss, the human equivalent would be a short, surprised scream. It takes some effort, but Ssilax manages to calm himself down. After swallowing his thundering heart back down to his chest cavity where it belonged, he lets out the breathe he was holding. The dragonkin didn't know what it was, but something about the deep voice made his unburnt scales almost click with fear.
After Dainoth gives them their tasks and moves around the screen, Ssilax listens as he moves the bandages around in the bright blue liquid. He gingerly holds the metal sticks, one in each hand. Ssilax holds them in the crook of his thumbs, hissing occasionally when the stick pressed against damaged tissues.
At the sound of the words "My apprentices," Ssilax's covered head jerks up and he looks at Wrathe, his sapphire orbs large with surprise.
With a respectful nod to Dainoth the young Xthian sets about the task of giving the palliative liquid his undivided attention. So engrossed is he in the frothing liquid that he misses a step and burns his hand, the bubbling of his skin providing him empathy for Ssilax' wounds. It is a lovely reminder of the price of carelessness. Using the tongs he completes the task at hand.
"Apprentices", the word had shocked him, for it confirmed his grandest hopes. He takes a steadying breath, suddenly realizing how much tension he was carrying in his shoulders, and stands 10' taller. A wide smile plays itself across his face as he seeks out the dragonkin's attention and mouths the word "apprentice", then throws him a wink.
Tearing his attention away from revelations and alchemical reactions he glances around the cloth screen to steal a glimpse at the newcomers. It was a nervous business meeting new people, but he steels himself and moves to meet them.
Standing with his thin arms behind his back hides his fidgeting. He takes their measure, as best he is able with the too bright light in the room, while waiting for a opportune moment to introduce himself.
"I am Wrathe Jor Sepai."
Tattered rags entomb a sickly-thin frame, the holes of which reveal numerous fresh wounds and scars. Layer upon layer of deep bruises and lacerations, show different stages of healing, bedeck his filthy flesh. Upon his head is a deep forehead gash, which has dripped a jagged rust rivulet down to his chin. One pale silver orb is barely visible through the swelling from a recent beating. He has the look of prey that has been on the run for every day that he has drawn breath.
His eyes drift to the many tomes in the room, a unabiding hunger for the knowledge they hold filling him with lust.
Looking at Wrathe when he mouths the word "apprentice" Ssilax nods his head several times. His eyes shine with happiness, the nameless dread he had been carrying since he had been found by the old human draining away.
The old man returns to check on the progress of his two newest apprentices. Nodding his satisfaction at the work they had preformed, he shoos them out of the Alchemy area to introduce themselves. Dainoth finishes up a few more things before rejoining the others.
Shuffling after Wrathe, a short figure was seen. It was cloaked, cowled and cover by a dirty, ragged tan robe. Stained bandages cover it's hands and feet, although not covering up the claws growing from fingers and toes. From underneath the loose bandages, a glimpse of blackened scales with patches of gold can be seen briefly as the creature moves. Claws scraping on the stone floor, it stops several feet to Wrathe's right, standing a little further back.
"...I am called Ssilax," the dragonkin's shyly looks at the newcomers before dropping his sapphire gaze. The hooded figure has a sibilant voice, suggesting that whatever it is, it certainly isn't human.
Wrathe's attention flits about the room, taking it all in. To him it was a luxurious palace, rather than a musty subterranean hide. Here he could leave something for a time, rather than being worried that it would be stolen; here he would be safe from the fury of storms and the Puddles seemingly unlimited predators; here he could be clean and fed; here he would become the greatest wizard Sel Torin had ever seen.
Purely of their own volition his eyes drift to the tomes. He would read them all, scouring their deaths and memorizing everything.
A strange smell brings him back to reality, the alchemical concentration. He is embarrassed, One or both of these individuals was sorely wounded. It was not a time to dream about his future but their present.
"These beds have been made up for you."
Daxniss almost jumped when Rygear's voice drifted in behind her, swallowing a yelp she moves forward. Brushing a hand against the wall as she moves forward down the steps, keeping an inward check of herself in case she felt dizzy.
Following Rygear until he had stopped she tries to keep an out for trouble... well more trouble from things leaping out of the ether for lack of a better word.
Argon is at first reluctant to enter through the magical portal, having heard so many old stories about the folly of doing the same. It is not until Rygear gives him a nudge that he musters the courage to walk through.
The room is ... well, he was not sure what to expect, so it is pretty much that. He slips on the floor, his bare feet still muddy from outside, but he avoids falling. He descends the spiral stone stairs more cautiously, especially considering the state of his legs. Normally I would be able to run down them two at a time.
At the bottom, he finally takes in the larger room in front of him. After several seconds, he is asked to introduce himself, and the three new people in the room, an old man, a young boy with lizard looks, and another young boy with strange silver eyes, introduce themselves first.
Argon looks to be young, but perhaps large for his age. He stands slightly bent, favoring both his legs at the same time. Normally he stands straight and tall. His red-brown hair matches his tanned skin, and if one obseves his brown eyes, that one would notice his oval-shaped irises which mark him as something other that purely human. Like so many in this room.
It is all so very overwheming, but he tries to be strong, project a confidence he does not feel. By habit and instinct he regresses to the speech of his parents, the speech of his former life, when things seemed stable and safe (though it turns out they were not). He raises a hand in greeting, and speaks, "Hello, I be Argon Alma. I thank thee for thinking of us. Art thou healers?"
Daxniss looks around, her dirty mult colored scarf is hiding the lower half of her face. While her hair is cut short, patt her black hair are unevenly cut, her skin is an alabaster hue. Her eyes are green as a cut gem that almost seem to glow.
Her clothes are ragged but a black cloak seems to hide as much of her emaciated figure as possible. In fact at a glace you would think it was a boy until you looked closer. Her gaze never seems to stay in one thing as if looking for the next hint of danger.
Her footsteps make as liitle noise as possible. After Argon asks the obvious question, she says " Daxniss Sassith, hopefully someone can help us...." she trails off as if she was cold.
Wrathe's big toe probes a hole in the filthy wraps that encompass his right foot. The toe peers out, wriggling about to draw attention, then shyly ducks back into its hide.
He shakes his head, in response to Argon's question, his eyes playing over the two wondering what sort of malady they might have contracted, look to the alchemical concoctions, bandages, and then finally Dainoth.
Did the old man's cause enlist children?
How had these two lived when the others had fallen?
"Umm, no I-I am not a healer. I think that he is," the hooded figure turns a bit and nods to Dainoth as the old man returns. Shyness wraps the figure as much as the ragged robes and cowled cloak does. His sapphire eyes had glanced at the newcomers repeatedly, never making eye contact.
Curiosity picked at the dragonkin, the sight of the newcomers was a little scary to Ssilax. He did notice that the two younger looked almost completely human, kinda of like Wrathe. The events of the night was like nothing his young mind could have imagined.
'Perhaps Dainoth helps non humans. But he is human, why would he do that?' Ssilax thinks to himself, looking at the old human briefly. The only thing he could do was to watch and observe what was to happen.
Setting down an armful of items on the battered table, Dainoth looks over the grouping of people in his basement. A faint smile plays across his wrinkled face. The years seem to melt away from the old man, he looks a little more animated then earlier in the night.
Adjusting the alchemy items on the table, the old man's clear eyes look over his tools for a moment. Several vials of a blue liquid are seen, as well as a bowl of bubbling green paste, and a metal tray filled with a florescent blue soupy looking liquid. Strips of bandages where seen soaking in the fluid. There is also a small, very sharp looking skinning knife sitting upon a clean folded cloth. Several long, thin needles are next to the knife.
"Forgive the appearance of my apprentices, they clean up nicely, or so I've been told," the old man chuckles. The cheerful seeming nature of the old man helps to relax the room of almost all strangers.
"Daxniss and Argon, you are welcome in my home for the length of your re-cooperation," Dainoth says, sounding rather formal. "We'll see what happens after you till heal up. Also, the price of your care is that you have to tell me exactly what you saw, smelt, sensed, everything, from when you are attacked. Now, let's look at these wounds."
While treatment is indeed painful, it is mercifully quick, the old man's arthritic hands moved with surprising gentleness and skill. Argon's wounds are punctured with the needles and a thick, foul smelling blackish-green pus is drained from the wounds. Dainoth smears a line of of the green paste along the long claw marks carved into Argon's back. He wraps the boy wounds up with strips of blue bandages.
Looking at clawed handprint almost the size of the young girls shoulder blade, Dainoth lets out a low whistle. He picks up one of the small vials of blue liquid and opens it, pouring the contents over the mark. As Daxniss feels her shoulder grow numb, her eyes grow large as the old man picks up the skinning knife.
"I have to remove a little bit of skin, nothing to worried about. I'm peeling off the top layer of skin, since my hypothesis is this is how the Stalker track it's chosen prey. It won't hurt, thanks to the ointment I put on the mark," Dainoth is working halfway through talking, proof that Daxniss can't feel the removal of was a bit more than the top layer of skin. The old man actually cuts out the mark, blood seemed to be sluggishly flowing, as if being flowing through an invisible cloth.
Skillfully he bandages the wound, stopping the approaching Rygear with a hard look.
"No divine healing, nor magical healing. My theory from the evidence gather from previous victims suggests that actually speeds up the infections," the old man says. Rygear looks surprised, his hand grasps his holy symbol, the Mask of Nethys. The hand sized small mask is half black and half white, like the mask the god of magic wore.
Wrathe happens to notice Ssilax glaring at the new human that had brought the two wounded almost humans here.
"Then the rumors are true," Rygear runs a hand through his short hair, looking very tired all of the suddenly. Dainoth nods as he finishes setting the claw mark that he removed on a cloth.
"Wrathe, go and fetch me the tankard sized mason jar over in the kitchen area. Ssilax, back in the alchemy area fetch the small blue pouch from the cabinet," Dainoth instructs his apprentices.
"Rygear, when they get back, look over their wounds and heal them. I would prefer to have a pair of assistants that don't make me look agile," the old man wears a gentle smile and a bittersweet look in his eyes as he sits heavily in a chair. "Well, I suppose since it is a special occasion," Dainoth says to himself. With a few muttered words and gestures six large plates filled with an assortments of meats, cheeses, fruits appear out of thin air. A pitcher and six cups appear in the center of the table.
When the mason jar and pouch are delivered, Dainoth drops two leaves from the empty jar. With a few words, the jar begins to fill, water appearing to be poured from just a few inches above. It fizzes for a few moments, and Dainoth drops the skin in the jar where it floats. He puts the lid back on has Wrathe screw the lid closed. He puts a another cloth over it, people might be thinking of eating.
The old man looks at the two newcomers, waiting to hear what happened as he picks an apple slice from his plate.
Fully understanding the newcomer's distress (as he felt it too), he offers them the warmth of a crooked smile, and whispers, "Welcome."
Wrathe, freshly buoyed from hearing the "apprentice" appellation used once more, stands far too close to Dainoth while the old man works, fascinated by all aspects of the process he all but has to be physically rebuffed to keep him from crawling into their wounds. Edging forth once more, his brow furrowed with empathy at their discomfort, he understands that the errand to fetch the mason jar is as much from need as to provide the old man room to work.
Endless questions about the creature, the wounds, and the procedure, filled him nearly to overflowing, but he remained silent once more.
It takes him a moment to find the kitchen area, and he nearly trips over his own feet as the bulk of his attention remains in the area he just left, nosily hating to miss out on anything that might be said about the attack or the creatures. Returning, the jar looking comically-large in his small hand and wrist (the burn making him emulate Ssilax' method of transportation), he sets it down in easy reach of Dainoth.
Magical warmth pervades his damaged tissues, making a memory of numerous wounds, and permitting him to see through his eye for the first time in days. He stands taller, though he is still one of the smallest in the room, and nearly passes out from excitement at the use of magic to provide libations and victuals.
He can't help himself, as he finds his healed hands clapping in excitement at the use of magics and lets out a, "HUZZAH!"
Daxniss almost nodded at Danioth's words flinching when he brings the knife closer to the young waif. Daxniss stops herself from letting out a whimper, upon removing the cloak and the motley colored scarf, a closer inspection of the wound reveals a slight silver tinge to her skin as well as extremely fine scales.
Daxniss makes no other movements while Danioth starts his treatment waiting until he was finished with his task. Clearing her throat she redress herself and starts to talk, her voice flat at first " I had been walking towards the dock district looking for a spot to tell fortunes in order to get coin to eat. I saw three guards man walking out from an alley laughing about something, more then likely getting coin to look the other way or taking coin from somebody. I had heard scream come from the alley along with the dripping of water or so I thought. " Daxniss stops her breathing starting to grow harsh.
" I hid from the guards, the last thing I want is them taking a closer look at me.". Her voice braking as she stops recalling what she had seen. " I felt something drip on my face, so I wiped it off and saw that it was blood. I looked up and the blood got in my eyes, after I had cleaned it away.... I... Saw, I-I saw a woman without her flesh. She had been skinned and hung past a man's height on the wall.". Daxniss can feel wetness on her cheeks as the years flow.
She sniffles a few times and tries to slow her breathing, after a few moments, she managed to avoid breaking down. " Rats ran away from the alley and a dog had ran out of the alley barking, a man walked out only to fall face down. The back of his head was showing it's innernards, I was screaming cause of the woman missing her skin. "
" A number of people I think showed up, a number of them went down the alley, I saw the light of the torches go out then the crowd went silent and they all fell down. A worker had started to run with me and-and then it killed him and touched my shoulder. It made no noise, even when it was killing folk, they made no noise, they just fell over."
Ssilax flinched at the sudden shout of "Huzzah!" completely surprised. The robed figure watched the new human heal Wrathe, sapphire eyes full of mixed emotions. Ssilax held up his bandaged hands, looking at them, and then back to the human. It seemed that he was trouble deciding on whether or not to approach the tired looking warrior priest of Nethys. He does finally shuffle forward.
Hissing softly in pain as the bandages are gently unwrapped, exposing hands that carried several near skeletal fingers. Rygear's features harden as he looks at the robe. The healer asks if Ssilax has any other wounds or burns.
"I have more burns, and it hurts when I take too deep a breath, and I think some bones in my tail where broke when the human who bought me used me for a club, and my feet where hobbled so I couldn't flee." Ssilax's voice is flat as are his eyes.
"I'll have to examine your wounds to make sure I do not heal broken bones. May I?" Rygear slowly raises his hands to remove the cloak and robe. Several moments pass before Ssilax nods, letting the healer remove the ragged robe and cloak. Even as wounded as he is, Ssilax seems reluctant to let the human touch him. The warrior priest stares down at that battered dragonkin boy. Surprise, even amazement is plain to see on his face.
The scales on the dragonkin's face where a mirror of the holy symbol of Nethys. Half of the scales where of the purist white, the other half a light absorbing black, split perfectly down his muzzle. The four small horns that where growing from his head angling back at about a 45 degree angle. The ivory horns are blackened from fire damage. Wearing tattered trousers, torn off at his knees. Covering his body are platinum scales, blackened over his arms and visible legs. Golden scales would cover his hands and feet like a pair of gauntlets and armored boots had they not been scorched by fire.
"My mother was a priestess of Nethys," Ssilax says seeing the look on Rygear's face. "She lead our village. Until the human knights arrived and killed everybody with blade and fire." the battered creatures voice is flat.
Eyes filled with compassion, Rygear examines the dragonkins wounds carefully, unable to keep himself from looking at the boys face scales. He doesn't have any words to ease the boys burden, he begins chanting a prayer, holding on to his holy symbol, his other hand reaches out and touches Ssilax's face. There is a burst of golden tinged light that surrounds Ssilax for several heartbeats. Rygear's face is strangely blank as he acts the divine conduit.
When the light the fades, the damaged had been seemingly erased by the light. Now that the fire damage had been healed, Ssilax's are gleaming liquid metal platinum and molten golden hands up to his forearms. Wiggling his clawed toes, the dragonkin looks down at golden feet and shins. The dragonkin's tail swishes sinuously able to move fully once more.
"...Thank you for the healing," Ssilax thanks the warrior priest and sits down at the table in front of a plate. He smiles and promptly lays his his head down on his arms and falls asleep, snoring softly.
Rygear looks completely refreshed, where before, the man guardsman was grey with exhaustion. He shares a looks with Dainoth, the old man arches an eyebrow clearly looking for an explanation.
Looking at Wrathe, the old man arches a shaggy eyebrow, looking serious for a few moments. A small smile cracks across the old mage's face as he shakes his head at the boy's enthusiasm. After listening to Daxniss recount what she experienced, Dainoth reaches over and places a comforting hand on the young girls shoulder.
"You'll be safe here, the Stalker won't be able to track you anymore, and there's no way it can penetrate the wards that surround my home," the old man smiles gently at Daxniss. "Eat up young one, you need food and sleep to recover." His young apprentice can see the wheels turning behind the old man's eyes as he considers what he had just learned. Wrathe could almost hear Dainoth's mind putting pieces of some mental puzzle together.
Wrathe notes that the look of academic interest has returned when Dainoth spies the fine silver scales that line the young girls skin. It seemed clear to the devil cursed boy that the old man knew something, but he was keeping quite.
When Ssilax face scales came into view, a dark look appears in the old man's eyes for a heartbeat. Curiosity replaces the hard look in his eyes. When Rygear heals the dragonkin, the old man's mouth falls open in surprise. Managing to regain a degree of his dignity, he closes his mouth and stares at the dragonkin as he walks down and promptly falls asleep.
"What in the hells was that Rygear? That sounding like a light curing prayer, I didn't think you where capable of healing that amount of damage," Dainoth looks at Rygear, clearly expecting an explanation.
"I..I believe my Lord took a more direct hand in that particular healing. I felt another's presence when I was channeling the divine. I .. think it might have been his mother," the warrior priest says looking both awed and yet troubled. "I recall reading something about those marked by Nethys, but I'll have to find the scroll to refresh my memory."
Dainoth doesn't look particularly satisfied with Rygear's answer, but nods slightly as he pours himself a glass of water and takes a drink. The old mans eyes travel between the snoozing dragonkin boy and the warrior priest.
"Oh, Wrathe, would you mind telling Rygear your memory of traveling between the planes? He is a planer scholar in what little free time he manages to give himself, and I'm sure that he would be interested in hearing about it," Dainoth nods to the young almost human. Rygear turns to look at the silver eyed boy with sudden interest.
The old man looks at Argon devouring his plate of food with faint grin. He shakes his head slightly at the sight of all of the people in his basement. Feeding a bit of cheese to the rat still perched on his left shoulder, he observes the events unfold.
Argon thanks the adults profusely for the healing, as he notices the rat for the first time. Nobody seems concerned about it, so he does not worry. He stands and flexes his muscles. They are a child's muscles, but are toned, tanned and sleek all the same.
When he sees the food laid out before them, his eyes go wide. He has not seen anything like that since both his parents were alive. His big brown eyes feast upon the offerings before he digs in. His appetite is good - no, great. He seems to put back as much food as the other three youngsters combined.
After no small amount of wolfing down food, he slows down and starts telling his own story. Calmed down now, and fed, he speaks in the vernacular, using words he learned from his tutor and, more recently, on the street.
"I'll never forget that creature, whatever it is called. It was a lot taller than my father, who was quite tall, but it was also very skinny. Its skin or black leather clothes were all rotted. I couldn't really see its face - it was covered by the black leather, too - except the eyes, which glowed red. But the worst things were its hands. It had claws as long as daggers, dripping with some liquid! That was its poison, I guess."
"It was behind me, and I first saw it when I turned around - it had been scraping its claws against the wall, to tell me it was there. I suppose it wanted to play with me before it killed me. But I must have been lucky, because when I ran it tried to slash me, and missed. Or it missed on purpose, to try to scare me, more likely. The second one didn't miss, though. I tried to duck away from it but it hit me hard, slashing my back and at the same time knocking me off my feet and clear across the road. Luckily I landed on some sacks of food. It hurt so much, but I couldn't help thinking it was going to finish me off."
"When I looked back to see if it was going to come and kill me, I saw some city guards arrive. The thing forgot about me, thankfully, but unfortunately for them. It toyed with them, like, the way a cat toys with a mouse. They had no chance. It let them attack it first, for fun I guess, and then it just slashed them all, and their weapons too. When it was done, it started ripping up their bodies with its claws. That was when I tried to sneak away."
"I was about to run down another alley when I heard a bunch of guards arriving again. I'm not sure why, but I stopped to look, to see if they were better fighters than the first group. They were, and they had a priest with them too. They were fighting it, and casting spells and stuff, and it was taking them more seriously. I'm not sure which side was winning..."
"Then I saw something on the roof above the fight. It looked like a shadow cat or something, and they didn't notice it. It looked like it was going to jump on them from above, so I just yelled out a warning. I think I said it was a lion, but I'm pretty sure now it wasn't. Anyways, they looked up, threw a bunch of javelins at it, and killed it I guess."
"The next thing I saw was the priest casting a spell that brought down a super hot, strong fire, out of nothing! From above it came, and it seemed to really hurt the thing! And then the creature just disappeared... and I guess that's when I passed out."
Wrathe takes note of scales and tails, but it is in a casual manner, as one would notice someone's updo, or new shoes. Much research will be needed to recognizes all of the races present, including his own, but it was not only a task he felt equal to, but looked forward to.
It was good that their wounds had been tended, and that everyone was being offered a bed to lay their heads. It fell in line with his own belief system.
Relaxing a bit, he works his way over to sit at the table and partake of the summoned food, jamming fruit, cheese, and meat into his maw all at once, while lubricating his food hole to speed the process.
His cheeks bulging with food, he sheepishly finishes his bite, and works to swallow the bolus as quickly as possible without choking.
Wrathe leans back, his eyes distant as he recounts his experience to Rygear, demonstrating a lexicon so far beyond the child's years that it speaks of an impossibly insatiable intellect.
"Undulating waves of peristaltic force pressed me so hard I could not breathe, or think. I expected to die as I was shunted through the semi-solid tension of the inter-dimensional space. It yielded before me, though I was not fully conscious to see it. One moment there was the bedlam of total control, burning and screaming, and the next breather there was the solitude of sea. A low slithering mass of transportive energies entwined me for a time before it dissipated into the ether."
He stops stock still and listens to the duo's account of their encounters with the monsters of the night and is unable to hide his shudder.
Daxniss nods at Dainoth's words, understanding them even taking comfort in the wise old man's tone, trying to put a mental distance to what she had seen and what had happened was going to take time. Her body informed her that the basic needs still required her attention, she pads over to the table and starts to pick out food. She let's out a quiet giggle at Wrathe's manors and whispers " You shouldn't jam as much as possible in your mouth, the food could get stuck and you can choke."
Daxniss starts eating, resisting the urge to do the same thing that Wrathe had done while she was ravenous she wanted to be careful, she went with a little bit of everything, trying not to gorge herself on the meal in front of her. Daxniss noted the words that Wrathe was saying, not understanding them, as she tried to keep most of the people in the room in sight as she sits with her back to a wall.
Upon hearing Ssilax's words the girl nods, something very similar had happened to her village, it felt like a common thing that happened to those that were not human.
"That was extremely brave of you young man. Some might say foolish to draw attention to yourself. However, had you not draw that attention, others would have been murdered, and you would have died from the venom," Dainoth smiles gently at Argon. "Good job in saving my young nephew here," the old mans gestures at Rygear with his empty pipe. The warrior priest clears his throat as if slightly embarrassed and takes a drink of water.
Listening to Wrathe speak, Rygear seems very impressed with the detail that the devil cursed boy gives of his travel between planes. The warrior priest has a had a number of surprises this night. The latest being a seeming child having the intelligence, not to mention the vocabulary, of a sage. Rygear looks closely at the boy as he slowly chews a bit of cheese and bread. His eyes shift over to the old man, who just so happens to be packing up his pipe.
Wrathe sees that Dainoth doesn't bother with a tindertwig this time. He simple lights his pipe with the tip of his finger. As if sensing that he is being looked at, the old man turns his head to look at his apprentice. He sniffs at the air several times.
"Gods, that's what I was smelling," the old man shakes his head and points at Wrathe and Daxniss. Muttering under his breathe, a ripple spreads through the rags that the urchin and new apprentice wear. The clothes are repaired, not made new, and the stench of unwashed cloth is simply erased. "That's better, but you two still need a bath. Daxniss is the guest, so she will go first. My apprentice will show you to the bathing area."
"Oh, Wrathe and Daxniss there are a few minor enchantments to use the bathtub," Dainoth tells them the words to activate its magic. One to fill it with hot water, one to empty it. "To make it warmer or cooler, just touch the red tile or blue tile. The longer you touch the tile the more the water will change," the old man chuckles. "It won't boil anyone's skin off or freeze them. And don't be afraid of the soap."
"Speaking of bathing, the bandages the two of you wear will dissolve on their own in around a tenday or so. Water will not effect them. Just don't spill any potent spirits on them and they'll be fine," Dainoth tells Argon and Daxniss.
"Not to mention, there is what to do with you two once you've healed up. What can you do?" Dainoth looks at Daxniss and Argon.
Wrathe cranks his head around at the Wyrmkin's warning. Flashing her a smile, revealing a disgusting melange of partially-chewed meats and cheeses, he nods his agreement with her advice. He struggles to get the food down, reminiscent of a bird trying to swallow its unchewed food, so he can respond.
His eyes flash with merriment, and his eyebrows wag, as he whispers conspiratorially back, "Probably best to keep back a step or two, as I might eat your eyebrows!" With mock craving he dabs at the corners of his mouth with his sleeve to staunch the flow of pretend saliva as he eyes Daxniss' supposedly-sumptuous eyebrows.
Borborygmus brings a flush to his cheeks, showing the wisdom of Daxniss' words. He pushes his food back, shocked that he would ever be offered more food than he could eat, and groans while trying to placate his upset stomach with belly rubs.
Dull silver eyes flit back and forth between finger and pipe, a familiar smile finding its way to his face. A moment later his clothing is cleaned, and its many holes repaired, including the hood that the older boys had purposefully torn. The old man flouted the magic before him in subtle teases. One day he would harness such magics with ease, of that he vows. Wrathe's teeth flash as he accepts Dainoth's unspoken challenge to rise to the highest ranks of the order.
One day he would rise in the air, buoyed by his magic, and fly as the birds do. It was a dream he had since he could remember his dreams.
Innocently offering his hand to Daxniss, this one was skittish but did not look likely to drop dead if he moved too fast, showing his trusting nature....one that eagerly extends trust to everyone, he moves to show the location of the bathing area, good-naturedly accepting if the scaled boy does not want to hold his hand. "Don't worry, I'll stand guard."
He sets his feet facing away from the tub, imagining that all 58 pounds of him cuts an impressive sight to fend off monsters and pederasts alike.
Wrathe's turn at bathing is a novelty, since he has never had one before. It takes very little time until he is spending as much time with the enchantment as splashing about, and singing. It takes a reminder for him to remember to utilize the harsh lye soap, which he takes to without any complaint. In fact it is as if he is scrubbing off far more than just the obvious dirt, and as he towels off his skin is rubbed pink and raw.
His fingers trace over the surface of the bathing vessel as he redresses, raising his hood over his head to give himself a partial reprieve from the room's bright light. Hoping no one notices he pads over, dropping a sheet onto Ssilax's sleeping back, to pull down a book at random and begin reading with his back against the wall..
Falling into the depths of knowledge was like a lover's kiss, a mother's love, and the taste of iced cream all in one for him, and he all but coos in happiness of being clean, warm, fed, healed, and safe with a good book on his lap.
Against he starts to talk, hoping to have a piece of parchment and some coal to draw with, but again it is embossed upon him to leave one's wants unfulfilled, so he keeps quiet.
Daxniss blinks at seeing her clothes clean and repaired, it had been a long time since she had clothes that were clean. Blinking back a well of emotions, she is unable to hold back a smile at Danioth's words about a bath.
Daxniss thanks Dainoth and commits his instructions to memory easily, nodding at Wrathe attempts at humor along with his offer to stand guard while she bathed.
Scrubbing had at the grime that had caked her skin for the gods knew how long she lets out a quiet sigh of contentment. Daxniss had to wonder how long this was going to last or if this was going to be a cruel joke.
Dunking her head and scrubbing at her scalp, trying make sure she didn't have lice. A little time later she dries herself off, dress back in her cloths. Daxniss lets Wrathe get into the washroom, shutting the door, mulling over what Dainoth has said she pads quietly back to the others.
Daxniss had to think about what Danioth had said about what she could do, she rubbed her hands together a few times and says " I can read and write in common and I know the primors for the tongue of the dragons, I understand it better than I speak it."
" Besides that I can tell fortunes for coin, along with ummm 'finding' coin of thse that have fallen asleep in an alley, along with being quiet in walking usually. "
Stumbling over Wrathe's wet towel on her way back to the table, Daxniss rather painfully stubs her toe, summoning a squeaky curse. Leaving the screen off bathing area, the near human returns to the table to a slightly amused looking Dainoth.
The old man listens to both Daxniss and Argon tell him what they had some skill in. He puffs on his pipe several times as he thinks, mulling over what they had told him. He does warn the both of them that displaying the knowledge that they can read and write might mean their deaths. He does mention that he is glad that they can read and write, as it shows keen minds.
Noting the sheet that sheet that had been draped over Ssilax, Dainoth looks over at Wrathe for a moment. Spying the boy losing himself in a book, Dainoth nods himself, turning his attention back to his "guest".
"Rygear, collect my sleeping apprentice and drop him off on his cot. It the one back in the corner," Dainoth says to his nephew, gesturing towards the sleeping area, hidden from view my several cloth screens. Pulled from his thoughts, the warrior priest gently gathers up the sleeping dragonkin and disappears behind the screens.
"As for you two, I think I might be able to find someone willing to take you on as apprentices," the old man chuckles. "Doing something suitable to your budding skills. Nothing quite so mundane like dock labor, or sewing shoes." The Old Man casually offers a bit more hope to Argon and Daxniss. Escape from a short, painful life as a nonhuman street urchin.
Wrathe laughter turns into a drink, causing him to sputter in response to the tumult and clamour of Daxniss' attempt at skulking.
The future mage fights sleep like a nemesis, but his eyelids become heavier and heavier from the comforting heat of the bath. He is found a candle's life later curled up protectively about the book, holding it as a lover might.
Falling asleep with a book in his hands was to be common theme for the rest of Wrathe's lifespan.
It isn't much longer before the other youths are tucked away by Rygear. He does have to gently pry Wrathe's fingers off of the book. Leaving the text open on the table, he sets about putting the other two children to bed.
Sleep claims the three. Freed from the stress of trying to survive in the harsh streets it is a deep, restful slumber. Young bodies greedily eat up the chance for slumber without an eye open. Dreams are pleasant, for a change, refreshing minds as well as bodies.
While Dainoth and Rygear continue talking, joined the Gravel voiced individual, their conversation doesn't wake the youths. It is something that they are vaguely aware of.
Sleep is finally chased away but the sound of dishes being placed slowly bring them out of deep slumber. Ssilax is absent from the sleeping area when the other awake.
It was his first sleep he could ever remember without suffering the horrors of a nightmare.
Wrathe had slept so long that his muscles were sore, and confusion had set in. Hair akimbo, the boy blearily unravels himself from his bed coverings, and attempts to orient himself to his surroundings.
A smile fights to bring up the corner of his mouth, and after using the privies, and splashing cold water to remove the sleep from his eyes, he brings himself to the small library once more.
It wasn't a dream!
It was all he could do to stop himself from yelling out, though he was unable to restrain an impromptu dance.
His movements, upon magically-cleaned foot wraps are nearly silent as he pads to the closest shelf and runs his fingers along their spines, his mouth moving as he silently reads their contents, as he searches for anything that looks like it might give the characteristics of the races.
He starts to research those that share his lineage.
There is no thought of food. His sustenance is knowledge itself.
Finding a particularly interesting passage, he carries the book over to Ssilax to share it with him. That's when the search begins. The tome is left on the dragonkin's bed, and the Xthian starts the process of searching for the other boy, hypothesizing that Ssilax had protectively gone to ground.
Argon awakes from a long and very restful sleep. He recalls what he told the adults yesterday, hoping his trust in them is warranted. He sensed no ill will in them, nor in the other younger kids. No, not younger, he tells himself. Though they were smaller and appeared weaker, the four were all around tha same age, he had discovered.
Last night, upon being called brave or foolish, Argon had shaken his head, and offered, "No, it wasn't like that; I just reacted. I was scared, even while calling out, not brave. Maybe foolish." He'd looked down at his dirty bare feet, wondering if he should have first thought about it before he called out. But then it might have been too late...
When asked about his skills, Argon had shrugged and said, "Normal stuff for someone with nine years. Oh, I can speak five tongues, including the common one, and the tounges of earth and fire - my tutors called those Terran and Ignan; they're in my blood, 'cause I'm Alman." He had considered mentioning that fire had little effect on him, though he was told a very strong fire, like the one brought down upon the monster (he guesses) will still burn him badly.
"Also, I'm a faster runner than anyone I've raced. I even beat a fouteen year old boy in a race, when I was eight. But what I want to be - it's what I saw - the men fighting that beast - not the first group, but the second. They moved so quickly, and every move, every attack, every feint, had a purpose. They were able to hold that thing off, even without the divine magic, I think. That is what I want to do! What I am going to do. I'm fast, and strong too. And I can hit a pigeon with a rock at forty feet, oft as not. I wish to be trained as a warrior. A real warrior."
Now he wonders if he had said too much, but he figures the risk was worth the potential reward - training in weapons by the best warriors in the city. Or so he hopes.
As he stands and stretches, he notes and appreciates the light clothing he had been lent. He makes his bed, and ensures he still has his balança, his amulet containing the likeness of and the only item to give memory of his dead father and mother.
As he looks around for the others, and the rat, he wonders what the day will bring.
Ssilax had woken early, laying on his cot, sorting through the last nights dreams. 'No nightmares. I forgot what it was like to not be in pain constantly,' the dragonkin boy had thought to himself as he gets out of his cot. Stretching his muscles, he winches as a kink in the middle of his tail makes itself known.
Almost afraid to do so, Ssilax looks over himself over, curling his undamaged hands into fists and opening them up again. The black was all gone from his scales. Nothing but shining platinum and molten gold scales. He fills the length of his ivory horns, feeling for cracks and finding none. A large, happy smile gives way to a maw stretching silent yawn, Ssilax quietly makes his way out of the sleeping area to the screened off bathroom.
After finishing one of the oldest rituals of waking up, the dragonkin pads his way to the kitchen. Making sure to lift his toes so his claws don't click on the stone, a smile takes shape upon his muzzle. He was simply enjoying being able to freely walk once more. Ssilax takes stock of the kitchen, thinking for a few minutes.
Being extra carefully, for he didn't want to wake anybody up, Ssilax sets about making breakfast for everyone. Glancing at the small stove a shudder works its way down his spine, scales clicking as the muscles underneath shiver. It doesn't take him long to make platter of dried meat, cheeses and bread. He cuts the loaf into what he guesses would be manageable slices for such small mouths. Next he cuts up several relatively fresh looking apples into finger sized chunks.
Setting up places for Dainoth, Wrathe, Daxniss and Argon at table, he carefully sets the full platter down close to a jug of water. Back in the kitchen he woofs down his plate of food, heavy on the jerky. Cleaning off his plate, Ssilax pads over to the Alchemy Bench.
Knowing that fiddling with anything could be foolish, dangerous, even fatal, the young dragonkin instead cleans up a little. He organizes for a little while, putting unused equipment from the previous night back on nearby shelves. He avoids touching anything that had been used, unsure if there was a certain way the alchemy equipment needed to be cleaned.
Walking past the rather battered table a second time, Wrathe notices that there was a platter of dried meat, cheese, sliced apple and bread sitting upon it. Four plates where sitting ready to have the morning foodstuffs piled upon them. At a guess, someone had gotten up early and prepared the morning meal.
With a glance at the dinning/library area, Wrathe notes the tattered tan robe and cloak that Ssilax wore. The garments where folded up and sitting in an empty chair. There is a faint clatter coming from behind the screened off Alchemy area.
Dainoth walks out from a screen close by the bookshelf. Closing the screen behind him, he yawns behind an unlit pipe. Nodding, a still half asleep looking Dainoth makes his way to the kitchen. The old man is not the quietest in the kitchen, evident from the sound of several metal pots clanging together. A rather salty curse floats over the screen. The pungent smell of his pipe tobacco mixes with the strong smell of coffee brewing.
Argon feels well rested, refreshed, and his limbs feel strong once more. Rather then feeling as strong as wet noodles. His amulet is still around his neck. When he stretches out, the claw marks that dug valleys into his back remind him of their presence. It wasn't horrible painful, but it did make his eyes water a little bit. He remembers that Dainoth said it would take him a little while to heal the previous night.
The old man makes his way to the table and sits down heavily. Sipping on the steaming mug of thick black liquid, his brown eyes slowly open all the way.
When Daxniss rises and joins everyone else, Dainoth looks at the young girl and then at Argon. It's not clear what is waking the old man up first, the pipe tobacco or the coffee, but they seem to be doing the job.
"I did talk another of my contacts and their looking into an apprenticeship for the both of you," Dainoth looks at Argon and nods. "Unfortunately, by nephew doesn't have the time to train you young Argon, but he will talk to several people to see what we can do after you heal." He turns to look at Daxniss.
"The individual who saved you last night has someone trust worthy who might just be able to take you under their wing, Dainoth says from within a cloud of pipe smoke. "It might take a few days before I hear anything back from him. Giving you plenty of time to heal."
Dainoth blinks looking at the made breakfast as if seeing it for the first time. Turing his head to look at Wrathe, Dainoth arches a shaggy eyebrow.
"Did you or Ssilax make up breakfast? Speaking of my scaled apprentice, where is that boy?" Dainoth looks around. His grey furred rat climbs down his sleeve and takes a chunk of cheese from the Old Man's plate that he had filled. It's blue eyes calmly watching the others as it eats the cheese.
Daxniss had slept well for a change, her dreams were empty for a change, instead of the terror that had plagued her since she had started living on the streets. For now her subconscious kept it's hands to itself, she had a sneaking suspicion that it would take some time to process what had happened and the nightmares would return.
Upon waking up to someone moving around in the kitchen, her mind immediately trying to warn her of danger before she had really woken up. It takes her a heartbeat or two to figure out where she is and she let's out a quiet breath, remembering that she is in a safe place.
Wrathe tucks the expansive tome under his arm and sets about making a plate for himself, heavy on apple slices and cheese. He had never been a big eater, really the opportunity had never come up, so even he is surprised by his voracious appetite. Filling his cheeks once more he prepares for the journey ahead.
Pausing to listen to Dainoth he shrugs that he was unaware who the mysterious saint was and then wanders into the alchemy area to show in search of the naked apprentice.
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Suddenly chasing silence, the stunned youth blinks blankly at the surrounding debris. Covered in broken brick, choking dust, and enough blood and gore to make a gladiator arena proud, the buried youth bites his tongue in pain.
Suddenly the violent chorus of sound painfully pierces the disoriented youth to full wakefulness: The anguished screams of terrified citizens, the continuous cacophony of falling lumber and exploding brick, the terrible taunting laughter mimicking the pitiful defensive stand.
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Buried, bloody, bedazzled by the sudden appearance of the behemoth, Dorian begins to question the timing of this...happenstance? I wonder?
Waiting for the opportune moment, Dorian shifts his weight, lithely escaping his impromptu and ironic tomb. Easily blending into the panicked crowd,Dorian begins to remove himself from an immediate confrontation with that thing!
Ducking into an alley, Dorian is catapulted back by the sight of horror, skinless and exposed, hung by the ankles. The rising volume of voices penetrates Dorian's senses. He quickly escapes out into chaos! His searching ice blue eyes latches on to an apparently frightened girl being set upon a wagon as another youth accompanies her. They are being guided by two adults that--definitely--seem to know what they're about.
Time for a ride, perhaps!
" A few days is a small price to pay, I shall do my best at this training, there was something different about ummm gravel voice, I noticed it, I'm sure you know that there is something different about him. " Daxniss says while looking at her plate, trying to find a tactful way in her limited way. It wasn't that she was afraid at the moment, as she thought about what Dainoth could do however, gravel voices red eyes were strange and perhaps intriguing.
Daxniss takes another bite of fruit and almost asks Dainoth what his goal for the children was, but she felt that it would be rude to say the least after all, he had saved her life so the man's motivations were his own. The last thing that she wanted at the moment was to be thrust back outside with the 'stalker' or whatever demon was out there.
The previous night
The sudden snap of the reins foils Dorian's chance to jump to the back of the wagon. The black cloaked and cowled driver didn't seem to care about letting his passenger's set down. The sound of the piebald horses protest at their treatment was loud in the confines of the alley. He seems to be almost fleeing something or someone. Without really thinking about the why, Dorian's feet begin to beat a steady rhythm against the cobblestone.
With a quick step, and many lucky cuts through alleyways, Dorian keeps the covered wagon in sight. Angry curses from alley dwellers and those that normally dwell in the dark and refuse float being the fledgling monk. Nothing seems to come of the curses, other than the occasional thrown stone, wildly off target. It appears as though the driver is intent on either killing the horses, or the occupants.
Fine hairs rising along his neck, Dorian feels like he is being watched by something. Knowing if he stops to look around, he'll lose sight of the wagon, the boy touched by the chill of the grave digs deep. Legs blurring, Dorian sprints, his breath tearing raggedly in his throat. The stench in the air had thickened, large chunks of the street missing, potholes lurk eager to cause the monkling to lose his step. The sensation that he is being hunted gnaws on the primal parts of his mind. Visions of floating, skinless women begin to edge into his mind, bloody hands reaching to grab him as he ran.
The Next Morning
Wrathe finds Ssilax organizing several of the alchemy shelves. With a glimpse into his memory, he notes the dragonkin had straightened the entire room. Ssilax's scales almost glow in the light, almost polished to a shin. He is still wear his trouser that are ripped off at the knees, held up by a bit of twine.
Well, I would hope you would do your best. You don't have to prove anything to anyone but yourself. Failure will most likely end with a short lifetime spent upon uncaring streets, the old man shakes his head. I've seen enough of that in my life. That is why I have decided to offer the two of you living space here. When you are not busy with your apprenticeships. I would wager that you both will be gone for months at a time, if not longer." Dainoth looks towards the screened off alchemy area. "These two will have their hands full learning their chosen craft." The rat lets out a few squeaks, prompting Daninoth to rub it's forehead.
"As for my shadow cloaked associate with the gravely voice, well, what can I say? I actually know very little about the man, which vexes me a bit, I'll admit," Dainoth pauses to take a sip of coffee, his voice becoming a little more animated as he lectures. "While he certainly has a penchant for doing what most would consider "good" deeds, it doesn't seem to be out of any real sense of good will. I feel it seems to be more of "balancing of the book," possibly righting a wrong. I could be wrong, perhaps he is just adapt at concealing his true intentions.[/b]" Taking another sip of coffee he mutters, "and I sincerely doubt I'm wrong."
The Previous Night
Almost at ends of his endurance, Dorian leans against a building, panting and trying to blink the spots out of his vision. The place stank of mildew and rot, not a surprise as half the building was sunked. He realizes that he has followed the wagon into the Puddles distract. A once decent ward, laid low by the earthquake the cause the bay to flood the entire district. While a few sections where still above water, most where not. And here was probably the worst place to have lost sight of of the wagon.
The curious and sudden drive that made him take off after the covered wagon in the first place was still present. The image of a hound loosing the scent comes to his Mind's Eye. Trying to hear over his pounding heart, Dorian listens for the clatter of the wagon wheels. The Puddles ward turns out to be rather eerily quite compared to noise of the Dock Ward. It was almost silent. A faint shuffling noise spun the boy around.
Unfortunately, the club that the attack was already swinging was faster then the boy. It catches him in the side of the head, and his world explodes into a flash of bright lights before fading to nothingness.
Slowly, Dorian floats towards wakefulness, draw by what sounded like voices. His head was pounding mercilessly, and he could barely open his right eye. His thoughts flowed like cool molasses, and focusing on anything was difficult. Dorian can see six figures wrapped in filthy robes and bandages. They were talking about the feast that walked right into their laps. It takes the young monk a short while to realize that they meant him. Trying to move, Dorian becomes aware that he is tied up.
Turning around, the boy stares at the lepers that shuffle forward, licking the remains, or complete lack of lips as they closed in. Closer and closer they shuffle forward, surrounding the boy. Suddenly, falling to their knees hands grab at his limbs. The stench of their rotting flesh is thick in his nostrils. Unable to help himself, Dorian screams when one of the lepers tears out a chuck of flesh and muscle with it's teeth.
The twin sound of a wet crunching noise is heard and two of the lepers fall to the ground, bloody brains leaking out upon the ground. By the time the other four had stopped attempting to consume their dinner raw and screaming, two more dropped. The final two drop to the ground, heads severed by a pair of flashing kukri. A vaguely familiar black cloaked and cowled looks down at him with a sense of almost disinterest.
Dorian slips into unconsciousness as the figure in black reaches for him.
The Next Morning
Woken by the suns warmth, Dorian realizes that is lying on the sun warmed stone. Able to open both eyes, though his right was like was going to roll out of his skull if he moved to fast, he glances around. He was lying in the middle of a roofless building. By the smell, he was still in the Puddles Ward. Broken, furniture litters the floor of what was probably once a living or dining room.
Sitting against a shadow covered wall was the black cloaked figure. The sound of his kukri's being worked on with a wetstone had aided in the monk-to-be finding wakefulness. The hooded figure looks up, as if sensing he was being looked at. It could just be the angle, but Dorian couldn't really make out eyes or features for that matter. Just the bottom part of a cowl.
"Your awake. Can you understand what I am saying to you?" The gravel voice man says. "Last night, before you where attacked by a group of Drowned Ones, I caught a glimpse of you chasing me. Why?" While the voice sounds uninterested, the fact he is continuing to sharpen his blades while staring at Dorian is rather uncomfortable.
Dorian realizes that his hands are bound with rope. The gravel voiced man seems to be patiently waiting for an answer.
Focused on his work, Ssilax doesn't notice Wrathe at first. To the dragonkin's credit, he only jumps a little, letting a short hiss escape. A moment or two of composing himself, Ssilax's muzzle splits as a smile works it way up the sides.
"Good morning Wrathe! I hoped you slept well, Ssilax looks at the near human shyly and smiles nervously. "I hope I didn't wake anybody up. I just woke up early and figured I should get to work since I was awake."
"Umm, did you need my help with anything? I mean, I heard everyone's voices, but I was pretty focused on getting this room straightened out. Did I miss anything? Or does Dainoth need something? the young dragonkin asks of the almost human.
" I noticed that while he was carrying me his eyes held a red gleam, that is different from others that can see in the dark. " Daxniss whispers to Dainoth, thinking on his answer, she wonders how long until gravel voice had "balanced the books".
Fidgeting in her seat Daxniss asked one of the questions that had been on her mind " How did the Stalker arrive here and why us? " She finishes with a blush of embarrassment, as she hasn't wanted to ask that question.
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Bright, blinding, brilliant pain lances through Dorian's dazed mind, causing him to blink back tears. The saliva-sound of ravenous dogs creeps closer as he realizes his fate. The terrible tearing and crunching of flesh and bone bury Dorian deep into his self.
The cruel world has found another victim!
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Dull, but well-pronounced pain courses through just about Dorian's battered body. He swallows some alchemical combination of blood,saliva, and mud as he looks the gravel voice man in his eyes.
Escape!, he coarsely whispers.
The horror, the chaos, the death! I noticed that in a maelstrom of death, your wagon seemed an island of calm!
Dorian raises his head from the floor. Mad, drunken dwarves mine mightily inside his skull. In a clear, but strained voice, Dorian announces,
Upon my honor, Ser, I am lost, alone, and abandoned (once more). I only seek safe haven from the chaos!
The stress of the last Ten-day, coupled with the events of last night, finally, deride Dorian's will. He falls unconscious...
Vacillating back and forth for a time, he finally decides that he will approach Dainoth and ask if he could have a few pieces of old parchment and some chalk to draw with and record the findings of his research.
Words of greeting shoulder their way past the wad of food bulging his cheek out comically, "Good morning my friend. I appreciate your efforts to help break our fasts, it is appreciated." Glancing around for a moment, while calving off a portion of his food for his gullet, he adds, "As much as will your work in here. It looks gr..."
He stops for a moment, cocking his head slightly, trying to determine if Dainoth was speaking to them, but quickly deduces that the old man was speaking to another.
Having demonstrated impossible restraint, Wrathe sets the tome down on the floor and starts unleashing a rapid fire torrent of the most interesting tidbits that he had found in his studies. Everything was amazing to the sheltered Xthian, and his eidetic recounting is provided without referencing the text.
Glancing up, an infectiously impish smile splayed across his face, he seeks out confirmation that Ssilax was as enraptured by the unknown as he.
Daxniss slaps a hand on her mouth wishing that she could take back the question, as she really felt like she was looking for problems with the gift that she was given: A chance to not be just an urchin. Cursing almost under her breath in Draconic she quickly says in common " I meant no harm from my question, as I think I was looking for the hook. I am sorry Dainoth, you have saved my life along with the others your reasons are your own. "
Argon nods, accepting the delay as a bonus, since he was not expecting much anyways... Who gives training to street urchins anyways?
Anyways, the claw marks on his back still hurt a lot when he moves, so he's more than happy for a few extra days or a week. Hopefully the injuries will not take months to heal, but he knows little of healing so he's not sure.
He enjoys the breakfast as much as the dinner the night before, chatting amiably with the others to learn their stories. He carefully loads up his bread, with meats and cheeses in a perfectly symmetrical fashion, before devouring it. While performing this gastronomical architecture he seems very focused, and indeed, any discussions occurring and questions directed at him fall upon seemingly deaf ears.
Looking at the silver eyed Wrathe, whatever he is, he asks him what he's reading, and why.
Listening to the various tidbits of newly gleaned information that Wrathe had pried from a stubborn tome, Ssilax scratches the base of a horn as he thinks for a few moments. Something about the theory of applying magical energies to channel the power.
"Wouldn't it make more sense to apply the energy through all four of the gemstones facet's? I'm mean, I think you would have to alter the constant flow of energy, but would seem to be a faster way to get it to work," the dragonkin boy's muzzle is slightly scrunched up as he ponders out loud. He looks at Wrathe sheepishly after a few more seconds of rapid fire thinking. "I guess we could ask Dainoth, he would probably know," the shy dragonkin grins at the near human. "Oh, thank you. I'm glad everyone liked their morning meal. I was going to cook up some of the sausage that was in the cold chest. But the thought of fire..," A shudder runs down his spine, scales clicking from the muscles shifting, his hands clenched into fists.
Putting the finishing touches on what he was organizing, Ssilax steps back and looks at his handiwork. Nodding to himself, he turns to fully face Wrathe.
"I really want to know the answer to the gemstone question. Let's go ask mister Dainoth," Ssilax bends over and picks up the Advanced Theories of Energy Manipulation and hands it back to Wrathe. Walking a few clicking steps, Ssilax stops and looks down at his toe claws. "I will have to ask to borrow a knife to trim my toe claws. Something I thought I would never be able to do again," he says with a large smile upon his scaled maw. It's hard to not notice the stark contrast of the black and white of the mask pattern on his muzzle and face, compared to the rest of the dragonkin's platinum and golden makeup.
Argent orbs wide with wonder he whispers with a mouth finally devoid of any foodstuffs,"Your scales are magnificent Ssilax. You are truly blessed to born so exquisite." As he speaks there is an almost imperceptible change to the hue of his skin; becoming slightly mottled in a scaled pattern as his Xthian abilities unconsciously reveal themselves. So enthralled is he that even he does not notice the change.
The dragonkin had a keen mind and offered possibilities that he had not even considered.
Wrathe lovingly holds the book so tight to his chest as if trying to absorb it into his flesh, and falls into step behind the dragonkin.
Glad for any opportunity to speak of books, he sits down next to Argon and places the Advanced Theories of Energy Manipulation down for the other boy to peruse at his leisure. "It is a fascinating read!" There is such passion and excitement in every part of him, that you expect him to simply explode before your very eyes.
"I almost forgot!", snapping his fingers he speaks as he wanders off and returns with another tome that looks to have barely survived a burning.
"'Amongst the Begrimed Masses' by Desia H. Duvalle. It is a human woman that walked the realms decades ago writing of her observations of nearly 100 races and peoples. She did not editorialize, so many of her comments of non-humans could be construed as complimentary writing, which perhaps was the reason for the charred state of the tome."
Another kindred spirit?
He looks up to take in Argon's reaction to the information while keeping an ear out for Dainoth's reply to Ssilax' question.
Rapturously the boy has just enough restraint to stop himself from spinning in place.
Looking at Daxniss, the old man puffs his pipe a few times and smiles gently at the young girl.
"I think you might have misunderstood, I have no plans on kicking you to the streets. My goal in finding you and Argon apprenticeships was so that you don't end up back on the streets. Both of you being nonhuman does make it slightly more difficult. Not nearly as difficult as trying to my scaled apprentice to blend in," Dainoth's smile grows slightly larger.
As the old man takes another sip of his coffee, Daxniss notes that the cloth covered mason jar that held a chunk of her hide was missing.
"His eyes where red you say? Hmm, isn't that interesting, anything else you remember? Anything unusual perhaps? Take a few minutes to think over the event," Dainoth says, as he taps his chin, the wheels within his skull finally roaring into full wakefulness.
Getting up with a grunt, he walks over to one of the bookshelves. Concealed in plain sight at the base of the shelf is a drawer. Sliding it up with a mumbled curse, he picks up two books. These where almost half the size of many of the tombs and books that filled the bookshelves. Considerable smaller, they look much more durable. He set one down at the spot Wrathe had savaged his morning meal, and set the other in front of Ssilax's folded up cloak and robe.
Sitting back down, the old man sip his black coffee, looking lost in thought.
Elsewhere
Finding himself awake once more, Dorian is still laying under the suns pounding rays. There is a cup of water a foot to his right. Laying on top of the cup is a sliced of a thick, black grained bread and a chunk of strong smelling cheese. The black cloaked man is still sitting in the same spot, but is no longer sharpening his blades.
"Two things you need to explain. One, you have fangs. Two, why have you not succumbed to the Rot Fever?" asks the gravel voiced man. Seeing the expression on Dorian's face, he explains. "It takes a single bite, and those bitten begin rotting within a single day, and you have several bites. You're wounds should be dripping with rot and pus, yet you show no signs of the necrotic infection."
Mage's Hidden Basement
"Oh, umm, thank you. I was told my coloration was rare," Ssilax sounds a little embarrased by the attention, shifting his weight from foot to foot. The corners of his muzzle twist upwards a little. "Not included my birthmark. I'm guessing that is rare as well." A glance at Wrathe turns into a stare as he notices the almost humans skin shift slightly. "Wow, that's amazing! You can change your skin coloration. Its like a chameleon, only better!"
At the sound of their returning, Dainoth turns his head to look at the two. He looks sharply at Wrathe for a few seconds, before realizing what had happened. The old man watches with academic interest as Wrathe's features relax as he takes. Handing over a knife hilt first from within his faded brown robes,
"Careful, it's extremely sharp. And gather the claw clippings, I'm curious to see if they can be used as alternative components due to your draconic nature. Oh, and those Travel journals are for you and Wrathe." The old man offhandedly offers another treasure to the youths.
After listening to the dragonkins question, Dainoth glances at the book Wrathe had been carrying and shakes his head. There is a slight smile on his wrinkled face.
"Later today, the three of us are going to have a little chat so I can find out exactly where you sit as far as what you know. It might save me a little time in your training," the old man says with chuckle.
This is a special book, which came from the secreted drawer, and he treats it as such. Long, thin fingers run along the surface of the tome, tactilely drinking in every facet of its surface, ever mar of its travels and travails through the realms of Sel Torin.
He is too awed to say anything or even react. Wrathe slowly draws back the cover, half expecting a dragon to explode forth from its contents, to look within.
A travel journal.
It sounded so exciting. He pulls a writing implement forth and starts the process of sketch those around him, contented to relax and enjoy a full belly for the second day in a row.
"Thank you so much Dainoth."
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Dorian--quickly--snatches the food, washing it down with the cup. Looking up at the gravel voice man, he nods in understanding.
It is a fairly long story, if you the want and time. I thank yee for the food and water. My story is really as much a mystery to me as to any I have met. But I shall tell it--as I know it--to you, Ser, in hopes of a way!
Dorian sits up slowly. He relaxes and tenses all the muscles in his body. His teachings allowing an ease of discomfort.
