#nadox

[gnfde]

[the-little-nightmares]

Okay... I tried to draw Nadox as a follower of the Church of the Broken God...

[ocean-lilypad]

Derdekeas! :D

And then him and his traveling companion

Decided to make him less cluttered than my last design, but I also decided to keep some of that oxidation bc that copper is old

[maltibones-and-wires]

I'm not a religious person. But if I were,

I'd be Nalkan 🫶

[missy-the-dragon]

Nadox and Derdekeas sketches im gonna use for my final project. Nadox is ready to snatch this mehkanite's weave.

Nadox design made by my gf @homalculus2

[hisclockworkservants]

SCP Foundation art, SCP Tarot Card - Four of Swords: Four Klavigars.

Sarkicism Hub by Metaphysician: http://scp-wiki.net/sarkicism-hub

[asdrubael]

ion's klavigar -> nadox

and nadox wept, as more did skewer themselves in ion's name, for he had seen and now knew the truth of his words.

[the-siren-and-the-sailor]

Tag list: @caloroso-cosmos @kissthe-gogoat Let me know if you wanted to be added or taken off!

Nadox once compared himself to Cain. I wonder now what it’d be like if they ever met. I’m gonna edit this to say that since Nadox is Sarkic, there’s gonna be mentions of gore. Mild stuff though, it’s only mentioned.

Can air become like lava’s equal?

It certainly did here. But then, it had easily tasted like bitter winter not a few weeks and several hundred leagues ago- the season’s fluidity by locale was more than typical for this eternal wanderer.

Yes, the man thought, I suppose it can. The sun was sweltering and the sand burned Cain’s feet, yet he did not falter between them. He did hope to find a town soon- he seemed to only ever stumble across one when he was most desperate. Forlorn of fresh water and conversation, Cain sighed and kept trudging.

A nearby hill obstructed vision of the continuing path in all directions, allowing a separate, similar man- one who in actuality, could not be any more different than his sunbeaten analogue- to be hidden in it’s gracious shadow.

He sat, cocooned in his cloak, not worried about anyone seeing the scroll he so plainly pulled out of his own body (he had several extra eyes grown around and about to watch for the prying ones of strangers).

Not enough, however, and he straightened upon finding that some blue-clad traveler had managed to evade him. By no means had they snuck up, but their progress was certainly noteworthy- only his serpentine little sister had ever managed that fully.

Regardless, he covertly tucked the parchment and the rest of his far-spread flesh back into a compact, human form again. Hopefully he would be ignored this way.

He was successful in replicating a mundane appearance, but was nevertheless a perfect fit for the other’s lacks.

“Hello there!” the person, a man, said with a voice that was distinctly… metallic, somehow.

Shrinking back into his coat wouldn’t work now, so he simply waved back as dismissively as he could. Of course, it was no use. But as the man approached, an odd thing became clear; it seemed at first that his skin tone differed from face to limb, but this was in fact, not skin at all. The tinny clicking of his ankles proved that.

“I was beginning to lose hope of finding my way, but it seems the gods have been merciful. You wouldn’t happen to have a map, would you? I’m afraid I may have lost my way.”

Gods, plural? Perhaps the assumption that this was just another Mekhanite was incorrect. What a strange occurrence. The cloaked sage shook his head. He did possess one, but would rather not be forced to speak, let alone quite literally spit it out.

“Oh that’s unfortunate,” he paused for a moment, a finger sheathed in leather curved to his chin in thought. The loose sleeves of his tunic fell around his elbows. If he was trying to cover up his metal parts, he was doing an extraordinarily terrible job.

“Well, you must’ve gotten here somehow. Do you know where the nearest dwelling is?” From Cain’s perspective, this fellow was being more than slightly suspicious, and he was curious to draw the conversation out.

The cloaked man simply pointed down the path. Cain was about to give up and be on his way, when a thought seemed to occur to the other, and he reached to his side. It struck Cain that he had not yet seen the man’s face.

He faced back a moment more, this time producing a parchment and quill (from where?), and simply wrote on it, Forgive me, I cannot speak. Turning his head, it appeared that his mouth was coarsely sewn shut with thread.

“I’m terribly sorry. If I have been a bother at all-” but the mute shook his head, returning to the writing, coming back with a, Who are you?

And he meant the question. What was someone like this doing out, alone, in the hot desert? He had a hunch, but-

“My name is Cain, I come from far away. You seem to as well. And who might you be, if I may ask?”

Cain? Certainly not that Cain. Well, it made some semblance of sense. But in that case…

Certainly you know already, he wrote.

This only served to confuse Cain. He didn’t- should he have? Oh, if he should’ve, it would’ve come across as so very rude.

“I hate to say it, but I do not. Could you perhaps elaborate?”

I fear I would frighten you away with the only method I have for a voice.

“I’ve had conversations in strange ways before. Whatever it is, I’ll understand.”

Instead of responding by text, the man stood to his full height, several inches taller than Cain, and motioned for them to walk. Cain, still confused, obliged.

After only a few paces, the gaunt man turned his head, still in step, divulging his brilliant orange eyes. A voice, silvery yet brittle, rang through his mind. “I am Klavigar Nadox. Perhaps you recognize me now?”

Cain stumbled and gulped. Oh, just his luck that his only company was a Sarkic saint! “Oh my, I do. I mean you no harm, I swear! I was travelling to visit my cousin, I only met you by accident-”

“I heard stories of you as a child. Perhaps you even inspired me, in a way. Are you truly the son of Adam? King of Canaan, the Reassembled One?”

Cain stared at Nadox, a mixture of expressions along the lines of confused fear on his face. The henchman of Ion himself, simply… talking?

“I don’t understand. Am I not your enemy?” Cain paused, trailing off and warily eyeing the other.

“You tell me.”

“…”

Well, this was awkward. Nadox, while wanting to know more about Cain, was really just as scared of him as he was of him. Derdekeas had been formidable, and he was just a man- this, on the other hand, was no less than a demigod.

“Do I have to be?” Came Cain’s response. Ah, there it was. A note of distinctly regal conviction.

Cain’s mind was, in all honesty, made up before they met- for he had also heard stories of Nadox. The Flesh was not the be all, end all of evil, nor was Bronze designed to be its foe. This was not a confrontation: it was a learning opportunity.

“I don’t suppose you are, then. If this is true, then I am not yours.” He really wasn’t. It was rare to cross an immortal’s path, why mire the chance with old tired conflict of broken and dying gods? Surely Ion could not be upset with this bid for knowledge, upon his return.

“Well then. Would you care to walk with me? I’m sure I am as curious of you as you are of me.”

“I am, and I would.”

Yes, this was a shining arrangement. The only problem was…

“A moment. Does this restless wanderer’s feet always know where to take him?”

“They don’t usually do an especially decent job, no.”

“I’ll give you a map if you promise to remain level-headed despite its whereabouts.”

Cain’s nod quickly turned to gagging upon the sight of the paper’s… method of containment. Was this how all shepherds of the flesh kept their documents? It begged many questions that the metal man did not particularly want answers to.

But then, Nadox had bristled later on, when Cain unlocked a compartment in the metal of his leg to retrieve a quill and compass.

Clearly, they each had much to learn.