Fate - First Reply Returning to the Forge

[Kovac Edward]

Kovac couldn't believe that Chaceledon was concerned with the quality of his room being subpar to his expectations. Not only was he being provided with a hot, soothing bath, but with also a delicious and hearty meal. He was being cared for in a way he certainly didn't expect from a captive. Then again, rich slaves have richer masters.

"I've travelled that way twice before, it shouldn't be a-" He was interrupted by Chaceledon approaching him to open the glass jar, looking up Kovac's naked form whilst in an almost naked form of his own. He found it strange how a man could have such feminine grace. Then again, this was no ordinary man, Kovac considered.

"...a problem. It shouldn't be a problem no. As long as we ride the boat up the river, we'll be in the heart of the sands in no time." He looked about himself, before readying himself and stepping out of the bath, one hand to cover his innocence.

"Do all Dragons care for themselves as well as you do?" He asked, whilst putting on the green bathrobe.

Chaceledon

 

[Chaceledon]

Chaceledon took the glass from the jar, choosing soft greens, blues, and sparkling gold rods. He stood up so Kovac could get out of the bath, flipping his hair over his shoulder. He nodded at the plan, tucking the sheer fabric into a complex knot at his hip. He watched the man cover himself and rolled his eyes.

“I’ve raised six hundred boys, I know what it looks like.” The dragon said. “Here.” He approached Kovac and adjusted the fit. He tugged a bit, straightening out the collar and making sure he tied it correctly. He stood back and looked at the human, nodding in satisfaction.

“When you go into your room make sure that’s hung up properly across the shoulders. I didn’t spend six months making that for it to get crushed.” he said, and was about to sit on the bed and begin melting the glass for his nails. It was about time for a new color scheme.

The door swung open. Chaceledon looked up with a furious expression, and immediately schooled it into cold indifference. The wraith walked into the room; he looked like a burned body given animation. He was withered and grey, flesh sliding over his frame like paper. He was dressed in a simple black linen robe, and while it was impossible to say exactly what he was looking at his skeletal face was pointed right at Kovac.

And what the hell is this?

“Someone who actually has a heartbeat. Just some drifter.” Chaceledon eyed Kovac as though someone had shit on his rug. “Are you still here?”

So you start fights with me...and you run off to fuck this? Oor approached Kovac, cracking his knuckles.

Kovac Edward

 

[Kovac Edward]

600 Boys? That's a lot.

Then again, Chaceledon was over 15,000 years old, so he wasn't surprised to hear that they'd raised more than a handful of people. Was it more of the warriors he trained that he mentioned earlier? He hoped not.

He felt embarrassed and ginger as Chaceledon proceeded to help him put on the Robe properly. He felt as if it were his first trip to Elbion again, his mother fastening his pack onto his back, and his hammer onto his side, with a piece of bread to see him off. And sixth months to make a piece of clothing? He'd say it were ridiculous, if his father hadn't spent equally long amounts of time working on armour.

"I'll be sure to be careful, thanks." He said, happy and bouncy in his tone.

All happiness was banished, however, when the figure entered the room;

It didn't seem human. Although its form was of man, its demeanour, its stance, its face were all but that. Cloaked in black, ash given motion. Kovac felt dread drip down his spine, and cold squat where wit resided. He viewed Kovac with disgust, which was incredible, as it was hard to tell if its face was making any emotion at all.

“Someone who actually has a heartbeat. Just some drifter.”

Wait, what?

“Are you still here?”

Oh, so-

So you start fights with me...and you run off to fuck this?

He had to think fast. The ghoul seeming to approach began to crack his knuckles, making an awful pop that bounced off the sides of the walls, reverberating in his ears. What could he do? If this were the man Chaceledon were ruled by, he must've been powerful. He couldn't fight him. Even if he decided to use magic, there's no guarantee it wouldn't end up with himself being killed anyway.

Kovac then began to cower, making as horrific an expression as he could, falling to the floor and moaning in terror as he edged his way to the bath.

"Please! Don't hurt me! I just work in the area! I don't know what came over me, please!" He pleaded as best he could, both his arms crossed in front of his face, the fingers on his right hand sitting on the catch of his vambrace. He could take a beating, but he knew nothing of what this man was capable of. He just hoped he wouldn't have to fight.

 

[Chaceledon]

Chaceledon rolled his eyes. “Honestly, you really think I’d touch that? But then again, look at what I have to compare to.” His voice held just enough of a sneer to make Oor turn around again and backhand him. Hard. Chaceledon sat up sharply. “May I remind you that you demanded that I leave because you were angry at me.”

Oor looked back at Kovac cowering on the floor. Get the hell out of here. He growled. Next time don’t whore yourself out to anyone with a fancy room, or I’ll have you hung. The wraith waited for him to leave, his eyes fixed on Kovac.

The rest of the night, Chaceledon tried not to cry out, but Oor was surprisingly good at destroying that cold resolve. Cries of pain and indignant slaps rang out intermittently.

In the morning, Chaceledon was quietly tending to an eye that was swiftly swelling shut. It was blackened and swollen, and there was a cut on his lip. He sat on the bed quietly darning the diaphanous robe that had been torn from him the previous night. Bruises peppered his arms, and the glass jar with his color rods had been shattered and scattered all over the floor. His robes, likewise, looked like fallen petals from some exotic flower. Most ripped, others burned.
Kovac Edward

 

[Kovac Edward]

Distraught by the situation, and by the act he had to keep up, Kovac cowered before the tall, shadow-man, before running towards the door, snatching up his clothes and bag as he left, almost tripping on the floor. He looked back towards Chaceledon, helpless to the situation. Or maybe just too afraid to fight. In any case, he made his way through the door, and back to his room.

Even through the night you could hear the gentle, stifled cries from across the hall, as they rang through the timbers of the wooden structure. He struggled to get to sleep, his heart still pounding in his chest, and the soft green bathrobe still clasped around him.

The next morning, he buckled himself up. His boots tight to his feet, his jacket, underclothes, his gloves, and - of course - his backpack. He had neatly folded the robe as best he could, and draped it over his arm, as he left his room, and back towards Chaceledon's. He gently knocked at the door, before entering the room.

He noticed how the room seemed disjointed from what he'd become familiar with; the beauty that was once there tarnished, flowers burned, clothes ripped apart, and Chaceledon bruised badly on one eye, with a cut on his lip.

"Chaceledon... are you...?" He was going to say okay, but under the circumstances, it felt a stupid thing to utter.

 

[Chaceledon]

Chaceledon had clearly done his best to look regal despite the circumstances. His hair was washed, brushed, oiled and scented. He took a break from darning the undergarment to pin his hair up with long brass pins emulating snakes; his delicate jade and garnet ones were smashed all over the floor. He looked up at Kavoc as he entered the room and refused to answer the question.

He finished the last stitch and bit off the thread, setting the repaired robe aside. “I won’t be but a moment.” he told him, standing up and putting the repaired robe on. He sifted through the pile of ruined clothing, finding a gray robe, another of slate blue, and a thicker top layer that had miraculously only lost a bit of the fur around a cuff. He layered himself slowly and purposefully, one layer after another. He held them in place with the flat of his hand; his fingernails hadn’t been replaced by glass, and were gnarled beds of scar tissue. Oor had effectively declawed him.

He eyed a red sash and sighed, using it to tie the outfit in place. He supposed it didn’t clash too much. He pulled a bag out from under his bed. It was a rucksack of soft and supple leather, embroidered with flowers and flames. He checked the contents. A bag of gold, which he opened and counted. Another bag, which was set out onto the bed. Rubies the size of a thumb, sapphires the size of robin’s eggs. Hunks of diamond, topaz, garnet, turquoise and smoked quartz in every shade. He selected a lightly colored sapphire, pale as the sky, and tossed it toward Kovac.

“Your down payment.” he explained. He hated that he looked like this. He swept up the glass rods, selecting colors that had been shattered. He blew flame on them to soften them, and arranged them on his ruined nail beds. He was an expert glassworker; it only took a few minutes to make a complex stained glass effect of blues and reds. The rest, along with his toiletries and the ruined robes, went into a small pocket dimension. He slung the bag over his back, put boots on his feet, and sat at a mirrored table.

A swift, painful prick to the swollen skin with a needle made the bruised flesh leak blackened blood. It was damaged blood and plasma, all of which caused the swelling. After a few minutes of bleeding, he could open his eye again, and set about his makeup with the skill and swiftness of someone who did it daily. He chose blue for his eyes, and a softer red for his lips.

“There. I’m ready.” he said with a shaky breath.

Kovac Edward