"Alright, okay. I'm sure we can talk it out, get all the dirty laundry and wash it all away, right?" Caldor had both of his hands up, he was backing away as Durkhann approached him, still grimacing.
KILL HIM, shrieked the voice. Caldor protested: "no, I'm not killing him! If he really is the one who created you, then he's a Laraweian. If he is a Laraweian, he can tell us all that we're missing from their civilization! That is, as soon as we establish consistent means of translation, or at the very least, basic communication." I'm rambling, aren't I?
"To my chagrin, I am now able to understand your babbling, surface dweller." Durkhann growled, in Laraweian.
Caldor took a few seconds to process what was happening exactly, understanding this language he couldn't speak. "Fascinating… How?"
The runeweaver stopped 10 meters away from the scholar. He cocked his head in curiosity, briefly, then assumed his imposing stance again. "I owe you no explanation. Give me the suit, so that I may do with it as I will."
"Of course!" Caldor was eager. "I wish for nothing more than doffing this. It has given me enormous headaches, literally and figuratively. But there are two conditions."
Durkhann dropped his guard slightly. This was an intriguing surface dweller. "What are they then?"
Caldor, ignoring the voice gnawing at his mind said: "one: I've tried, and failed. So you need to help me do that and two: I must take whatever I find to the surface, to my guild. So that we may understand Larawe better."
The runeweaver seemed lost for words. He took a few seconds to consider Caldor's demands. Which gave Caldor time to notice that one of the runes on Durkhann's right arm was scabbed over and bleeding slightly. That one is new. "Why would I accept that? I fall into a deep slumber through someone's runic trickery, and when I wake up all I see are nosy surface dwellers callously using our runes as a crutch." To Caldor, Durkhann sounded hurt, not angry. He also wondered if he was talking about Fiannah.
The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.
"I… I understand, sir. We did not know your people were still alive. You are a marvel and a mystery. However, I can see how that can be disorienting, downright depressing. You have a right to feel robbed."
The gray man stared deep into the scholar's eyes, or where they should be. He had completely dropped his guard by now out of sheer confusion and curiosity. "What is your name, researcher?"
Not surface dweller? Caldor thought. "I am Master Lens Caldor of Anderon, though I would hardly call myself a master. You may just call me Caldor if you wish."
Durkhann's voice sounded collected and melancholic at this point, rather than enraged: "Caldor of Anderon-Ye. If you allow me I shall remove the suit from you. Then we can discuss your research."
Caldor took a few shallow breaths then suddenly fell to his knees, his migraine stronger than ever. KILL HIM demanded the suit. "No! I tire of you. This is my body, I will do with it as I please!" Was Caldor's response, pushing through the pain. Then, he fell silent.
Durkhann took a step back as he saw the bestial mask of the armor shine brighter, hard light claws forming on the tips of its fingers. "This quickly?" He asked, to seemingly himself.
The suit of green armor lowered itself, now moving in a feral manner. Like a predator. It spoke in Caldor's voice, but Durkhann knew it wasn't the researcher doing the talking. "You will pay, creator. For your transgressions against us, and for keeping away from us our claim to heaven."
I am sorry, Caldor of Anderon-Ye, I may have to slay you here. The runeweaver thought, and charged towards the armor, refusing to respond to its accusations. A pocket of air unnaturally formed around Durkhann's fist, the scar upon his back ached, and his runes shimmered dark red.