#vashkata

The bas wouldn't stop coming.

For days, they had held the crossroads at the mountain pass, Fog Warriors pelting them with arrows from the north, what passed for Tevene warriors from the south and west. Whoever won and held this village, nameless and primitive despite its tactical significance, gained control of the entire eastern half of Seheron. They were already predominantly Qunlands. This victory would simply seal it.

But it would be hard won.

A victory all the sweeter, the Arishok thought to himself as he carved is way through the fray. Sataareth in hand, he rallied what soldiers he could to him. He would not suffer the enemy any longer than need be. A shield wall was formed, and they shoved their way deeper behind enemy lines. He felt the sticky warmth of blood across his face as basra fell to his axe. Broad, white teeth gleamed in the fire of the setting sun. Explosions of gaatlok sprayed clods of earth and gore into the air ahead of him. Only here in war was destruction such a pleasing force to behold.

He was born for this.

The forces should have pulled back at dusk. It was unwise to fight when you were as likely to hit ally as enemy, but fires both magical and mundane lit the field with the rage of a thousand suns. Sweat cut paths through the blood on his skin. Muscles burned from the continued effort, his body giving in to weariness even as his mind would not. He was Qunari. There was no room for weakness.

His back pressed up against that of another. Kithshok, his right hand. The younger kossith used both sword and shield as weapons, bludgeoning a foe to one side while removing the arm of another. In a fluid motion, that shield came up to block burning arrows from the Fog Warriors before arcing out to have one of its four corners bite into the pallid flesh of a Nevarran mercenary. The Arishok smiled grimly as he lashed out at his own opponents. Sword and axe swung in tandem to clear the rest of the area. It afforded them a space to breathe.

“Vashkata has the Fog Warriors pinned,” Kithshok panted, his sharp eyes darting about even as he addressed his commander. It was a fool who let himself be caught unawares. “What they fling at us is little more than a dying breath. Tevinter is pulling back into the forest barrier. They have not sounded retreat.”

The Arishok nodded. “Then they hope to catch us in a ruse. Have our men fall back to the village. We will force these bas to fight where we can see them.”

Kithshok gave a salute and barked orders to his karataam and any others within earshot. He shouted loudly enough for the enemy to hear them. The Arishok did likewise, moving back through the throng of still-fighting bodies until he was well within the confines of the low buildings and ruined fencing. A shield wall was erected as a barrier. The arrows eventually stopped raining down. When Vashkata and the others returned, the besieged occupants of the village began to creep out from under cover, curious and hoping that the battle was over and that their captors would be merciful.

The officers gathered about the mud of the town square, quickly and crudely drawing out the current battle formations. The Fog Warriors were no longer a threat, their main force routed and any stragglers killed or captured. The Tevene were spread thin along their front line. The trees masked them in the cloak of night, but the ashaad had paid close attention.

“They still have saarebas,” Vashkata reported, marking places on their makeshift map by throwing blood-soaked stones to the sodden ground. “Here to the southwest. They hide in a grove chanting their vile nonsense.” He spat off to the side in contempt. “We kill them, we win the field.”

“They are protected by living rock,” Arvaraad added, holding out a control rod for the Arishok to inspect. “We felled one of the giants, but there are a handful more. Our cannons run low on ammunition, and swords and spears do little. Not unless we can overwhelm them.”

There was silence as they waited for the Arishok to respond, the elder kossith's great head and horns silhouetted against flame and smoke and deep, black sky. He turned the control rod over in his hands. It was a heavy metal plated in gold and laden with stones the basra considered precious. His brow lifted as he considered such a concept, the foolish decadence showing no sign of practicality. Yet this thing was known to bring stone to life and control it with minimal effort. Magic. Madness.

Kithshok cleared his throat. “Arishok? What do you propose?”

Vashkata sat at the edge of the pier, his feet dangling over the murky water of the harbor. It stank here, reeking of basra and old fish. There was a half-empty bottle of Antivan brandy in his hands. The other half already warmed his stomach and tingled numbly through every limb. It was a bad habit. But it kept him sane.

They had been two years in Kirkwall, confined to wretched quarters not fit for basra habitation let alone Qunari. Two years and they were no closer to finding the relic they were honor-bound to secure and return to Par Vollen. Well...the Arishok was honor-bound. The rest of them were here by proxy. That's how he'd come to understand it anyway.

He tilted back the bottle and practically gulped at the acrid liquid, hoping to eventually numb all his senses if for only a few minutes. Two years. No progress. The Arishok said to be patient. The Arishok said to wait.

"I don't suppose you have your wits about you."

Under normal circumstances, Vashkata would have sensed an approaching cat long before it could rub against his leg. As it was, he'd no idea there was even a kossith beside him until he spoke, and the surprise nearly dropped him into the water.

"Aqunan! Ah, brother, come and share a drink with me!" He held out the bottle, brandy sloshing hollowly inside.

"Kithshok," the other corrected firmly, taking the bottle and tossing it as far out into the harbor as he could. "Has the poison addled you so far you think us children again?"

"You were aptly named you know," Vashkata went on, his eyes almost sad. It was hard to know if it were a reaction to memory or the glittering bottle of wasted brandy bobbing on the tide. "As constant as the sea."

"In this particular moment, the same cannot be said for you." Kithshok leveled a look at his brother.  "A quick-witted Tenethari, I do not see."

Vashkata snorted, a smile coming to his face at last. He reached up and clamped a hand to Kithshok's shoulder.  "Too true, too true." But his tone immediately sobered. "It is this...place. The longer we remain, the duller my senses become."

"And you know why we stay."

"We stay for the future of the antaam, for the future of all Qunari." His eyes narrowed a little. "We stay for a book...one that I'm certain has been copied in whole or in part dozens of times by thousands of imekari."

Kithshok stiffened. "You say that as if its purpose was not something--"

"Don't lecture me like an old tamassran." Vashkata went to reach for a brandy bottle that was no longer there.  He sighed. "I merely worry that all this waiting is...dangerous.  We should have cleansed this place when we arrived. The taint is palpable."

"You drank a good bit of it voluntarily just now." The tone was serious but eyes twinkled with no small bit of mirth. "Peace, brother." Kithshok got to his feet and dusted himself off. "I need to return to my post, but you should know that there is nothing to worry about. Victory is in the Qun."

(Author's Note: I'm actually cycling through all three headcanon Arishoks in my alphabet.  Rather than focusing on the character, I'm focusing on Arishok as a rank.  It will flow Taarbashok, Game!Arishok, and Vashedshok, though I will continue to label each.)

~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~

The waves were high as they neared the shore, the sky an ashen gray and the roll of thunder not far off. The Antivan craft was not far ahead of them, its sails rising and falling with the swell as it plunged forward toward the statues known in these basra lands as the Twins.

“Hold your bearings!” Kithshok shouted over the howling wind. “The thief will not escape us so long as we stay true to our course!”

“So you say, brother!” a call answered back. Vashkata swung down from this place in the rigging, landing lightly beside his comrade on the drenched wood of the deck. The two had fought many battles together, lived in the barracks together, played as boys together. There was a kindred link between them that the Arishok had noticed straight away and made sure to always keep them together no matter the task or danger. Kadan-fe, such a rare and precious thing even among Qunari.

Kithshok smirked even as torrents of rain water drenched him. “You doubt me?”

Vashkata smiled back, almost grimly as he took in the summer storm upon unfamiliar waters. “Never, my brother. Though, I do admit it is hard to maintain a true course when the ocean is set against us. Look there!” He pointed, white foam spouting into the air as waves crashed into the reefs just off the Wounded Coast. “We should use the cannons—hole the vashedan ship. It won't sink it but let us gain. The Tome of Koslun will be ours before we're too close to the shore, and then we can be gone!”

The other shook his head, platinum hair soaking and plastered to his silver skin, sinewed hand grasping at rigging to keep his footing. “The Arishok wants the thief alive. We cannot risk it.”

Vashkata's expression darkened with a scowl, but he nodded his understanding. Gritting his teeth, he carefully moved forward, positioning himself to have the best possible view of their quarry even through the storm.

Lightning flashed. The thunder was deafening. Waves cut through the air and flailed down upon them, stinging with their weight and power as they crashed upon the deck and the soldiers there, threatening to wash them all away like sand in the tide. There was the muffled shout as one or another was washed overboard, but Vashkata held on, clinging to the wooden railing with the red fever of anticipation in his eyes.

They were gaining.

Another tremendous wave. A crack. The mainmast broke in half and toppled into the sea with sail and rigging and men. Caught in the sweep of motion was Kithshok, Vashkata catching sight of his form caught in the tangle of rope as he was swept into the sea.

“Brother!”

His cry barely reached his own ears through the roar of the sea and storm. The ship in shambles, breaking apart more and more as the waves tore it apart, Vashkata did not give Fate a chance to do what it wanted with him. Inhaling a deep breath, he dove headlong into the choppy gray-green and swam. He swam against the tug of the undertow, against the strong current of unknowing. He swam until his limbs burned and grew tired and heavy. And still he swam. He caught a glimpse of the black wood of the masthead, the sodden clod of sailcloth clinging to it. Somewhere...somewhere nearby had to be Kithshok.

“Brother!”

Vashkata's voice broke as he called out over the swell, his arms and legs viciously treading water to keep his head above the surface. There was no sign of curling horn, of pale hair, no answer carried back on the blustering wind. Inhaling again, he sank below the violent waves, forcing his eyes open to search about in the salty gloom. It burned, like the sun's fire it burned, but still he looked. There were so many shapes, forms, limp shadows drifting down into the murky depths.

A glint. The faint glow of bronze. Vashkata kicked and dived down, reaching out a hand in a frantic stretch until his fingers curled around the flesh of a wrist. He forced his way upward, defying the very will of the ocean to get both himself and his brother to safety. Breaking the surface could not have happened soon enough. He burst from the water with a loud gasp for breath, the thunder and lightning and rain relentless in their onslaught. He tugged Kithshok above water, the other Qunari seeming to barely hold on to consciousness.

The ship barely existed, and it was certainly no longer a ship. Wreckage cut through the water in dangerous shards, but Vashkata found a large piece of planking still held together by a crossbeam of what once had been a deck. He shoved Kithshok upon it before grasping on himself, doing what he could to guide them through the jagged, unforgiving reefs.