Knives Out

[Gracen]

13th Spring, 512 A.V. Gracen had no shame. Here in Ahnatep, there was money to be made with drugs, slavery, and prostitution, but what he was good at was violence and the dogged tending of the flames of revenge. That made him good at tracking people down and getting money out of them, money that belonged to someone else. He pelted through the Pillars of Dust, chasing the man who owed another some money. The collection had gone bad, but he had been the only one to give chase. Some people had no work ethic; not so, Gracen. Bored with this, he tapped into that light within him, that core of energy that was soul, and let its power seep out into his limbs, giving him a burst of speed, and he leaped onto his quarry's back, bringing him down into the gritty sand, their bodies slamming into the wall. He groaned, but the man beneath him was in worse shape. At least they had landed in the shade, but now there were others converging upon them, and they seemed not to be on his side. Nobody was ever on his side. Scrabbling to his feet, he drew the long, elegantly curved blade that rested cutting edge up in its sheath at his waist. Many had lost their heads or at least their blood to its thirst, and more would today, it seemed. These others had knives drawn, and though they outnumbered him, he had the longer reach and, if his confidence and the low position of the blade's point were any indication, better training. But they moved in at various rates of speed, attempting to distract him, draw him out, and when they came close enough, the blade sang out to warn them back. Again and again, his blade flashed out, catching the sunlight here, falling back into shadow there. When one of the attackers came too close, he knocked the blade right out of hand, but the damage was done. He caught one of their gaze's flicking toward his flank and he caught sight of his quarry making a break for it. Biting off a curse, he wove his blade in a complicated pattern to keep them retreating, then turned to bolt after the man, putting on speed with that slight magical edge. He wasn't fast enough, however, and he felt something sharp graze his neck that immediately began to burn. Somehow he knew immediately that something was amiss, and ass the fleeing man bolted down one alley, Gracen took another in the opposite direction. Whatever money he might make was not worth dying. He sheathed his sword and pulled the shorter of the pair, which was better suited for fighting in close quarters. His modicum of magic wore off, and he could feel the tips of his fingers and toes and even his nose tingling. His vision seemed a bit off, as well. Turning occasionally, he kept watch on his back as he staggered away. Two of his pursuers found him, smiles turning jackal wide. One dagger sped toward him, blade over hilt, and he swung his shorter sword to knock it away. Another dagger came from the hand of the other, and this one too he swatted away. They advanced, but he ran at them a few steps, brandishing his sword and bellowing his defiance as if this were a battle. Even his voice swam strangely in his ears. The more prudent of the pair stopped the other with a hand and a handful of words; Gracen didn't speak Arumenic or Shiber or whatever shit language it was, but when they smirked and left him, he knew they thought their poison would end him. Staggering backward, he sheathed his blade and staggered out into the sun on the other side of the alley, and grabbed someone, mumbling about a healer and poison. He was shoved aside, which was only fair. He wasn't a good man, after all. Then he stumbled into...

[Dhissir]

Dhissir moved better when he was in Dhani form. Senses pricked into a sharpness humans did not experience, the movement of his tail across the ground was natural in a way that his legs would never really match. But even with all his senses attuned to his surroundings he did not see the bloodied man hurl himself into Dhissir's back. The full weight of the man hit him in the lower back and he hissed as hie was flung forward into the sand. He coiled himself and sprung to full height, which was not much on account of him being a Viper, but was still a bit taller than a man. The culprit lay on the ground with a sword in hand and dark, almost bright blood running down his neck and into his shoulder. He muttered something in common about a healer. Dhissir was not fluent in the language, but he knew that word. Just as Dhissir was about to help the unfortunate man to his feet, he caught sight of two newcomers slink their way out of the same alleyway, knives in hand and murderous grimaces about their hard faces. Dhissir felt his heart beat faster. He had never been in a real fight, least of all with people who made a professional existence out of it. But lucky for him, his fear did not show on his scaled, reptilian face. He swayed back and forth, waving his tail menacingly and hissing at the two men. They brought their daggers. Well then he'd bring his venomous fangs and they could both see who came out on top of that fight. But the two simply smiled and glanced down at the wounded man. They disappeared back into the shadows, sheathing their blades. That, Dhissir thought, was not how that should have worked. He glanced down suspiciously at the wounded man. He was now sitting up and muttering in common again, hand to his wound. Dhissir began to get a sinking feeling in his stomach as he looked at the wound. He leaned forward and pulled the man's wrist from his neck, revealing the wound. He was releaved that the cut had missed the man's femoral but noticed a peculiar smell, almost like a freshly brewed cup of coffee. His tongue flickered in and out of his long mouth. "Poison! You have the Dark Tongue in your veins!" He hissed to the stranger, but of course the man could not understand him. He pointed to the man's wound, then his own fangs. Then he shook his reptilian head in a distinctly human way. The scene would have almost been comical if not for the dire situation at hand. He rummaged in his bag for a moment and found a tourniquet. He quickly dropped it back into the bag in search of a more mundane bandage. A tourniquet on a neck wound would leave the man strangled. He found a ratty bandage and began to wrap the wound gently, a white band from neck to opposing armpit. The wound was shallow and not meant to kill, but to leave the man weak and unbalanced. They meant to wait until the poison had taken it's course and come slay this poor fellow when he lay dazed on the ground. He would need to find an antidote before the effects of the poison got worse and the thugs came back. More than likely they simply waited in hiding for the man to become too weak to fight back. Dhissir slid the bloodied man onto his back, helping him to interlock his hands around the Dhani's shoulders. He hissed in disgust as the man's blood smeared his shoulder-blade. The street was nearly empty and those in it were very skilled at not noticing the pair as Dhissir slid smoothly along the sandy way. He concentrated on the joints and nerve-endings of his tail, pouring djed into it. It took him a few tried since he had never done it with so much outside stimuli to mar his focus. But eventually he was able to maintain the pathway in his tail and speed his already rapid movement down the road. He wove through crowds and vendors with the man on his back as if he was the only thing moving. The Flux made him quicker, but it was his nature as a Viper to be the quickest. He just hoped those thugs did not have any friends between them and the apothecary he meant to go to.

[Gracen]

Of course he would stumble into a Dhani, but this one didn't seem inclined to help him along into Dira's dance. He couldn't do much more than hold onto the creature's shoulders, hating himself for the weakness, hating himself for the dependence, and hating himself for botching the job. But he tried to mitigate the weakness, his feet attempting to catch the ground and walk along, but they always failed. When he realized he was risking turning over an ankle and doing more damage, he let the strong Dhani carry him. The thought crossed his mind that the Dhani might be one of the larger ones who was taking him somewhere to eat him while whatever poison had been on the knife worked him toward paralysis. But, really, if that was the case, his goose was cooked unless he was lucky enough to survive long enough for it to wear off. He let his forehead fall onto the naga's shoulder, and he began to repeat to himself an old litany, all but forgotten, from his childhood days, a paean to Sivah, god of summer, who had turned his face away from Gracen. The snake-man would take him where he would, but Gracen didn't have it within him anymore to have faith in Sivah's grace. Perhaps he would die at that.

[Dhissir]

The man seemed to be holding up relatively well against the lethargic effects of the poison. His resilience may be enough to overcome the poison a bit early on his own, but never before those thugs find them. And Dhissir had been thrust into the middle of whatever conflict it was. He had a sinking feeling he was on there loosing side. He could smell the overwhelming stench of the man's lifeblood on his tongue, he would have to change the bandage and perhaps clean the wound. Broad roadways and orderly shops turned into winding back alleys and crumbling buildings with faded signs. This was clearly the shabbier side of town, but this was the place if you wanted a quiet, quick business transaction with relatively few questions asked. And this was were the apothecary maintained his shambled shop. The place was situated on a street corner where the front of the shop overlooked a crowded area infested with street urchins and pickpockets. The north side was embedded in a shady alley full of vendors of dubious legality. He was forever fearful that the thugs chasing his passenger may have friends down this way, but Dour Durv was the only friend he had who might be able to help. He had met Durv when looking for cheap ingredients for his studies in medicine, and in exchange had occasionally given her some of his venom. The Eypharian could handle herself, but he was worried about where he loyalties would stand once she figured out he had someone on his trail. Upon entering the shop, Dhissir slid the man off his back to stand weakly against a shelf full of assorted desert plants. He knew the man could not understand him but pointed two tanned fingers at the man's eyes and then out the door. He'd have to be an idiot not to understand that. Dhissir groaned inwardly as he saw the tall, leanly beautiful form of Durv fuming towards him. "What the hell have you brought me now, Dhissir!" she squawked vehemently. He would have to pull out all the stops to convince her to help the man. "Injured, needs anti venom on the wound in his neck. You only one I think of." Dhissir said in broken, heavily accented common.

[Gracen]

Too disoriented to remember where they had gone or if he had ever known where they were going, it was all Gracen could do to keep it together, but he was still conscious for the time being. Eventually they ended up somewhere cooler, and the naga looked him in the eye, mimed watching the door and he nodded dumbly, whipping out his shorter sword, still wicked for its sharp edge and bare curve. It would be the easier to wield inside, and he hoped the many armed proprietress did not need arms lopped off to shut her up. He could manage to watch the door, though its edges blurred a bit in his vision. He could keep his gorge from overflowing if not rising. And he could keep his hands on the long hilt of his blade, point held low, and would use it if need be to protect himself and, for the time being, the naga he owed a favor. But that was about all he could manage now, and he wished he could lie down and sleep, but if this was indeed poison, that might not be the best of ideas.

[Dhissir]

The human did not look well. He was pale and leaning dangerously far. Dhissir was worried that the thugs would gain enough courage to attack again before the swordsman was cured. Dhissir knew he couldn't take more than a few by himself, if that. He tried not to panic as he forced himself to explain to Durv the situation. Arumenic came haltingly at best in his Dhani form. He groaned inwardly as Durv became red with indignation. "You come in my shop with some human! Dragging trouble you can't handle, no doubt! I'll cut out your snake heart, Dhissir, if you bring harm to my shop." She gestured madly with her four arms, waving them like fleshy scimitars at the worrisome Dhani. He was afraid she would kill him before anyone else had the chance. Pulling his kilt self-consciously from his bag, he thought it was time to shift into human form. He began to feel his bones and muscles slide into a new order. His rough scaled face began to have a more refined sense of touch and his eyesight blurred. He shook his head slowly as his neck became stiff and lost it's flexibility. A prickling on his scalp told him his jet black hair began to grow, one of the last phases of his transformation. The entire grisly process took no more than half a minute, but it always felt like ten. He blushed and hurriedly wrapped the kilt about his waist. He glanced up at Durv, the full detail of her indignant rage finally clear to see. He was definitely out of his element here. "Durv! He's been poisoned. I brought him- brought him here to get the antidote. Please, there are men who want him dead." He stuttered quickly in Arumenic. His own mention of the killers that lurked somewhere outside made him glance out the smoky glass window facing the alley. Surely they hadn't seen where he took the human. "Men want him dead and you brought him here?! Here, to my shop and involved me!" Durv threw her hands up and bared beautifully white teeth at the small Dhani. Dhissir began to retreat a few steps. Finding some measure of bold logic he pointed at the human. "He's the only one here who's a professional swordsman, Durv. If anyone can get us out of this it's him. You were on our side the moment I came in the shop..." He finished in a frightened hush as her livid gaze tore his courage apart. Anxiety was eating him. His martial practice was never like this, always calm and orderly. Motions and emotions always focused internally on himself. Now it seemed like the whole world was baring down on him with it's hostile fangs showing. And the only one with him was a limp-limbed swordsman barely able to stand. Durv halted mid sentence. She stared at him a moment, the flare of anger slipping out of her eyes. Apprehensively she walked to the window and peered out. "What is the poison?" She muttered grudgingly in common. Her words brought with them a wash of relief and a staunch hope to stand against the hopelessness of their situation. "Dark Tongue, a serpent's venom distilled to a deadly extent-" He began in a quick, helpful air as if reciting some knowledge for his old master, the Doctor. "I know what it is, thank you! A relatively moderate anti venom should do the trick." She spat vehemently at Dhissir, glowering over at the human a moment before her stare softened slightly. "I should have something..." As she turned to shuffle through her shelves Dhissir walked over to check on the human.

[Gracen]

For his part, Gracen was watching the door with feverish intensity, the shorter of the blades held in his hands. He looked like he knew how to handle it, and the unholy light in his eyes made him seem doubly dangerous. But Dhissir was a snake, and who understood danger better than him? Gracen bared his teeth in recognition, his gaze having snapped to the naga as soon as he approached. It might have been a smile, but it was a feral one at that. "Guarding," he reminded his small time savior. Clearly he was holding onto motor control and consciousness through sheer willpower. The antivenin could not come soon enough, the better to allow him to fade into sleep, the world's best healer. Perhaps with rest, he would regain his wits, his strength, and they could speak on things in a rational manner, but for now Grace was a wild thing.