Closed [Riverside Isle Park] Damsel in Distress (Razkar)

[Star]

55th day of Winter, 513 AV. Around the 22nd Bell. Star screamed as she ran from the men chasing her. Nobody would care. Nobody would help. But still she screamed. She didn't know exactly what the men wanted but they came out of the darkness and grabbed her and that could only mean one thing. Trouble. "They told me not to go outside at night! I know I shouldn't be out at night! But the allure of being outside..." She shook her head. She needed to focus on where she was running to. She didn't even know where she was. Ahead of her was a bridge, she looked behind her and, unfortunately, the men were still behind her. And catching up. She whimpered softly and shook her head, running over the bridge and into some sort of park. As she ran around a tree, she hit something solid. And warm. She screamed again and started crying a little, thinking it was one of the men catching up with her. "Please don't hurt me please! This dress is all I have to my name! Please for the love of Leth let me be!!" she begged the man she ran into.

[Razkar]

Just like The Flux, Razkar was finding that the key to Shielding was tranquility. He wondered if all the wyrd arts were like that. Perhaps only at the lower levels, for he'd seen masters of magic conjure stunning power without words or meditation.

But you are not yet a master, are you? This is where you are; this is what you can do. So, until you can do more, concentrate on the task at hand...

Which was, in fact, rubbing his hands together in the dark of Riverside Isle Park. The temperature plummeted when Syna went to her rest, Leth shining wetly through the brittle air... but it was darkness he needed. Before him, the one speck of light for half a league around him, was a rough and rude fire it had taken him only a few chimes to build.

A little wiki-up of dry sticks and some scraps of paper he'd scavenged on the walk over to the park. Lit with sparks from his blade, now crackling and flickering merrily, a little aura of warmth and light the hot-blooded savage was grateful for.

But currently could not see. His eyes were closed, and he had sat for chimes with his hands pressed together... disappearing into himself... listening fo any approach, but other than that...

Feel it, waiting within you. That flow of djed that you manipulate for The Flux; that you call upon when you work the Power of Bones. Now find it and weave it for this.

His breathing was slow, steady, gentle jets of steam fogging in the air as he exhaled, ice tickling his throat as he inhaled. Soon even sound began to dim, though the Myrian knew the sight of him - scarred, muscled, tattooed, festooned with blades - would ward off most enemies. He felt that now-familiar rippling under his skin; the-

Muscles under your muscles.

Once he did, Razkar began to rub his hands together. Edreina had told him before, when he last practiced, that practical application was best achieved through familiarity when it came to Shielding. Want one for a door? Imagine it's a large, thick plank of wood. Want it to protect you from djed? Weave a shield before you.

And if you wanted to throw a blanket over a fire and block its light? Well, that seemed simple enough to answer...

Still save for his rustling, circling hands, the Myrian felt some... force, some energy, begin to mass between his palms. As they filled he expanded his hold... and smiled tightly as he realized the ball of djed was growing with him. Dare he open his eyes? He had to, he had to know...

And they widened when he saw a shimmering sphere of air before him, within his flat palms. Immediately he willed himself to calm, not to celebrate yet. What good was a ball when you needed a barrier? Instead he waited until the ball was bigger, bigger, until he could see it start to eclipse the light-

-then he formed his fingers into almost-claws, gripping the sides of the djed ball, stretching it, shifting the construct from sphere to... almost a pillow, fat and nearly-rectangular-

-before dropping it over the flame, pulling it as one would a cap over someone's head-

-and the fire dimmed. Or thereabouts.

Razkar sat regarding his work critically, hands flat on the shimmering shield. Shifting, convulsing chunks of the fire - or his vision of it, more accurately - were more covered by blackness. In some smaller places it was thick enough to blot out the light entirely; in others it just blurred the flame. But it was there, and it was holding... holding...

Well, this is definitely an improv-

Pounding feet, panting breath, approaching fast-

-and as his head snapped around in surprise his concentration shattered and with it-

-the flame grew to his eyes again, bright as ever, fragile shield vanishing.

"Ah... shyke!"

Razkar whirled to his feet as the running got closer, louder, shifting from leather and wooden soles on cobbles to crunching through snowy, sludge-covered mud, gladius hissing from his sheath as he pulled it, turning around-

-and a shadowy, panicked blur slammed into his chest.

The Myrian grunted and it was dwarfed by a high, terrified scream. A female, by the shine of her eyes and the almost-outlines of her face. Immediately a thousand years of matriarchal conditioning had Razkar lowering his weapon, concern knotting his brows-

-until he saw the horns curling and curving from her head, revealing her as... what exactly?

"What in the fu-"

"Please don't hurt me please! This dress is all I have to my name! Please for the love of Leth let me be!!"

"I... Let you be?!" Suddenly his mistrust was replaced by wounded male pride, gesturing to the strange figure with his gladius as he looked her up and down. "You ran into me, woman! What manner of thing are you, anyway? Why are you-"

The answer to the unspoken question came sprinting around that same tree ticks later. Razkar cursed himself: the running hadn't stopped when she did, just dimmed slightly. Now he knew why.

Six fetid and filthy examples of Sunberth masculinity suddenly skidded to a halt when they saw the barbaric figure that had stopped their prey. Brown and blue and green eyes crushed under bushy brows exchanged glances, hands sliding in silence to hidden weapons... until their leader found his voice.

"No trouble, savage," he said, tone indicating just the opposite as he stepped forward, "Just let us have the bitch and we'll be on our way. None of us've fucked one a' the Leth people before."

A chuckle that sounded more like a death rattle seemed to spread like pox to the others, some foul hope of male understanding utterly failing in the face of Razkar's grimace. Savage he may be, and barbarian she certainly was... but she was a female, and he wouldn't let this come to pass.

"No." He said simply, gently pushing the female around and behind him, brandishing his gladius. "You go, leave the female alone, and there will be no trouble. Stay, and you will all die in this place."

The fire made his face a bowl of dancing shadows, tattoos and scars and piercings warping it like a daemon's, he looked more than capable of backing it up... but the stink of booze and other, herbal delights reached him even from where they stood. And it was "they", not just "him" or "the two of them".

The leader grinned, yellow teeth jagged in the light of Leth.

"You're outnumbered."

"You think that matters?"

"We can rush you and it will be over in a tick." Steel slid from belts and sheaths and boots. Blades grinned at the Myrian. "You can't kill us all."

"Then do it." Razkar said, grinning back as the gnosis at the back of his neck purred. "I'm in no mood for conversation, anyway..."

The wind blew and the branches rustled. Silence reigned in that pregnant moment between the gang of would-be violators and the still, ready Myrian.

"Come forth, barbarian... let Myri decide who is granted victory..."

[Star]

Star whimpered as she stared at the man, who seemed confused as to who she was. The man was tall and armed and covered in tattoos, as far as she could see from the light of the man's fire and the soft light of Leth. He seemed scarier than any other man she met in Sunberth, even worse than that horrible man Wrenmae. She shuddered as she heard the men chasing her state their purpose and the laugh...Oh gods. She'd heard many men laugh like that at her misfortune. At what a pitiful thing she was, what easy prey. What surprised her though was the tattooed man helping her. Her eyes widened a bit as he stood up against all those men. Sure he looked tough and was armed to the teeth but surely he couldn't take all of them on. "S-sir thank you, but don't kill yourself over me..." she said softly.

[Razkar]

"S-sir, thank you, but don't kill yourself over me..."

"Believe me," Razkar murmured without taking his eyes from his fresh enemies, mind already whirring with angles, calculations, probabilities, katas and scenarios, "You wouldn't prefer the alternative."

Six men. Four drunk. Daggers, brass knuckles, coshes... one dirk and a cutlass.

"Look!" The leader said, frustration destroying with faux affability he had as he stepped forward... but carefully. He was threatening a Myrian, after all. "We're getting tired of this."

He's the mouth, and the brains. Their courage comes from him, and their numbers.

"Now hand her over!" Steel was raised higher and at his prompting (and subtle step back), his fellows were ready to charge. "There's six of us and only-"

Confuse them. Quickly. Your first blow.

"What color are your undergarments?"

The question struck them all like a mallet on a pane of glass. Eyes went from intent and fixed to flickering and questioning, weapons wobbled, stances shook from the sheer absurdity of the moment-

"Wh-What the f-"

-and in that fractured, blessed second, Razkar exploded.

"For Myri!"

The thugs seemed to inhale as one as the tanned blur rushed towards them, silver streak flashing before it-

"-uuuucrrghhhhh...!"

-slashing across the leader's throat in a precise blow that opened up his windpipe, carotid and jugular in one blink-fast swing. For a moment his aborted word spoke true, then drowned in blood, stream of it arcing from his suddenly-gushing, gaping, throat, dagger tumbling from his hands as he grappled at the hopeless wound-

"Gods-!"

But Razkar was already engaging the rest.

Kill three, perhaps four. The last one or two should bolt. But be prepared to kill them all.

Were he not buried in that glorious moment, Razkar could have grinned. Like he needed to tell himself that last part...

He crashed into the ragged rank like a shadow made of blades. A beefy specimen lashed out in panic with his brass knuckles, only for the Myrian to sway back-

-gladius swinging neatly upward and inward vertically, taking off his arm at the elbow-

-finishing the movement of his arm by straightening it, fast as a blink-

-impaling the man on the farthest side with the jutting length of sharpened steel, blade punching through the man's soft belly and bursting out his back.

Two ticks, three dead or disabled, but now you're vulnerable-

On his right the remaining trio were reacting, and fast. You didn't live to be their age in Sunberth unless you could take advantage of any weakness but fast, and now they were lunging-

-Razkar braced his free hand behind the neck of the impaled thug, pulling him forward towards him, but also using him as an anchor to slide away from the remaining threesome, twisting to the side-

-ripping his gladius free with a wet, sickening sluuuuuuuurp and letting him fall towards them, ruining their charge, two of them actually burying their weapons into their dying comrade, the air their enemy had occupied suddenly vacated and then replaced-

"Gods, just fuc-"

The Myrian didn't hesitate for a moment. He spun and hurled the gladius backhanded at the end of it, blade spinning horizontally like a falling star until-

-it slammed into some goateed ruffian's chest, blade wobbling and shaking comically even as he staggered, staring in shock-

"Fuck this!"

One of them just ran. Turned on his heel and bolted, keeping a grip on his weapon but apparently (if Razkar's nose was accurate), not his bowels. As his footsteps decreased the last man standing turned from him and saw-

-Razkar draw his kukri from his chest in one sharp pull, then stabbing it upward-

-into the chest cavity of the newly-mono-armed thug, the bulky street trash stiffening in shock as a foot of curved, cold steel embedded through flesh and bone and split his lung in two-

-before Razkar pulled it out and let him tumble, pointing the kukri at the last man...

Eight ticks. Maybe seven. Definite improvement.

"Run... or join them."

Last Man Standing weighed his options. He was young and bold and hopped on the good grass and the bad booze. He thought he would live forever and blades slid off his bare skin. But where once were six, there was only him... and four of them were lying in pieces or cold, stiffening corpses before him. Enough time to take three deep breaths, and he was all alone...

And it wasn't like anyone would see him run, anyway.

"Petch it."

Razkar waited until his fleeing form had vanished into the distance and his footsteps had faded to background noise... then turned back to his trophies. The female was apparently still there. He couldn't see the expression on her face, but could make out her trembling form.

Stunned, aroused, disgusted or impressed, Razkar could not see it, nor did he care to. He had business to attend to... lifted the barely-breathing Impaled up by a handful of hair... slashed around his hairline with his kukri... and ripped his scalp free in a sound like a sail being torn in two.

"I know it's seems grotesque to your kind," he said over his shoulder as he flitted from corpse to corpse, fluent Common clashing with his savage deeds, "But the Goddess-Queen must have her tally, and honor must be satisfied... are you injured, by the way?"

[Star]

Star nodded slightly as the man whispered back to her and stepped back a bit, not wanting to be too close to the fight. She listened to the conversation and then all of a sudden the man asked the most ridiculous question. "What color are your undergarments?" She broke out in quiet giggles, a sound that hadn't left her lips in a long time. It was even funnier that it threw off the six men who had chased her here. But her giggles were cut short by a gasp as the tattooed man charged forward and quickly ended the leader's life. She watched in awe and fear as the man slashed one man's arm off and quickly stabbed another through the stomach, using the body as a shield to stop the charging men. As one man ran from the fight, Star looked around on the ground and picked up a handful of rocks, lobbing them at the retreating man. Of course none hit their mark but she tried. Star turned back in time to see the one armed man be killed and the last survivor run. She wrinkled her nose a little as the tattooed man scalped the dead bodies, shaking her head at his question. "No I'm fine, and to answer your previous question I'm an Ethaefal."

[Razkar]

"No, I'm fine... and to answer your previous question, I'm an Ethaefal."

"Eth-ay-fal?" Razkar sounded out the word syllable by syllable, tasting it as one would fresh cuisine, getting to his feet and tucking the fourth and last scalp into his belt. "Can't say I've heard of your kind..."

The Myrian wiped his scarlet weapons clean and silvery on what rags were untouched by blood, then sheathed them. One of the few things he did enjoy about Sunberth was there was no need to worry about the aftermath of such a fracas. Within half a bell the streets would strip these men down to their skins... and then even the corpses would be dragged away, sold to the gods knew where.

But he had his victory, and his scalps, and now?

You saved her. So, unfortunately, your're responsible. At least for now.

"My name is Razkar of the Shorn Skulls." He rattled off his name in the darkness, giving her a short, formal bow, just as he would to a female of his race. "I shall escort you to your lodgings, if you wish." His black eyes roamed over her horns for the tenth time and he gave a surprised little snort. "They told me the barbarian lands were full of beasts. Many I have seen, and still, many surprise me..."

Whistles and calls in the streets, rattling off the walls and trees, answered in turn. One corner of hips moith turned up in a wry smile. It reminded him of the bird calls his clan and fang used to communicate, camouflaging their plans in the ambient noise of the jungle. Now, thousands of miles away, the homeless and the gangers did the same: exchanging reports, communicating... converging. Fresh pickings. Loaded pockets. Salvage.

Speaking of which...

"Time to go, female," Razkar said, bending down one more time and pulling off a set of gnarly brass knuckles from the amputated arm, offering the shining steel frame topped with short, blunt spikes to the Ethaefal. "Souvenir. Keep it close. Very useful..."

Then Razkar started walking, hands on the hilts of his sheathed weapons, stalking off towards the entrance of the park.

[Star]

Star nodded when the man said he'd never heard of the Ethaefal before, she had figured that from the beginning when he was confused by her horns. She watched him clean off the weapons, blushing slightly when he bowed as he introduced himself. Star smiled and nodded when Razkar offered to take her back to where she was staying, though his next words threw her off for a second. She took the offered weapon and slid it onto her hand, the shiny spiky object contrasting with her delicate hand. She hurried to follow Razkar, finding words to respond to him calling her a beast. "Excuse me sir but I am not a beast. I'm a child of Leth! I should be with Leth now but..." she sighed softly and looked longingly towards the sky. "But I fell and I don't know why. I don't know if it was an accident or if he threw me from his domain. Either way I landed in the worst place I possibly could. Here. Naked, nothing not even a loincloth to my name. It...it wasn't good for a while. It still isn't.." Star ran her fingers through her silver hair and looked up at Razkar, sighing again and giving him a sad smile. "So what manner of 'beast' are you, Razkar?"

[Razkar]

"Another child of a go," Razkar said ruefully as the female gave her own introduction, "The world seems to be filling up with them..."

"So what manner of 'beast' are you, Razkar?"

The Myrian ceased his march across the cobbles and regarded the female with a harsh gaze... but it couldn't last. He'd forgive her for calling him a beast (hadn't he just done the same, after all?), but more than that... she didn't know a Myrian when she saw one? Razkar actually grinned and spread his arms, as if to say "what, can't you guess?"

Apparently, she could not. Well... time for an education.

"I am a Myrian. Named for the Goddess of War and Victory, Blessed Myri-" his fingertips brushed the tattoo over his forehead at the utterance of his Goddess-Queen "-and my people come from a green land far from here. We are a warrior race, you see. Born and forged for battle. But here...?"

A gaze that could have corroded Isurian steel swept the street they found themselves on. Ragged urchins and glaring thieves, pimps, hustlers with rodent eyes regarded them with hunger, but kept their distance. Word spread, after all, and the Myrian had plenty of bodies to his face.

"Well... suffice to say, there is not much of that to be had here. Just scum and feuds and guard work." He left out the part about him being on the hunt for a man on behalf of the shadowy Nuit Everto. First meetings and all. "One does what one can."

After a few more corners, Razkar finally frowned and faced the female again, fumbling for his tobacco pipe.

"You might want to tell me where you rest your head, female, if that's where we're going..."

[Star]

OOCsorry for taking so long, work wipes me out sometimes Star glared right back when Razkar glared at her for calling him a beast but he was more of a beast than her! Horns did not make her a beast, did she look like she could hurt anyone? She rolled her eyes when he spread his arms and smiled at her, as if trying show what he was, obviously she'd have to explain the fact that she didn't know a thing. She nodded at his introduction and pointed to his chest. "So you are a beast. More than me. You're bred for fighting and hunting like an animal. I'm not a beast, I couldn't hurt a fly, I mean look at me! My horns don't work as weapons and besides I'm a weakling." "Oh!" She said when he asked where she stayed. "I'm staying at Sunset Quarters for now. And by the way my name is Star. And I didn't know what you are because I don't remember anything. I'm like a child I guess. I was a Drykas in my past life but I don't remember how to ride a horse. I remember dying. That's all... she whimpered slightly, remembering her past life's death, and shook her head a bit.

[Razkar]

"Beast?" Razkar said with a soft snort, shaking his head as he packed a bowl's-worth of Taloba Grey into his pipe. "You think that's the worst I've been called? And I've seen what horns can do to a man, female..."

The Myrian watched her unblinking as he lit his pipe and she said her piece and even after he got what he needed, his gaze didn't flinch from her face. Such a horror it must have been, to be without a history. Liberating, perhaps, but what future could you make for yourself without knowledge of your past? What were you if not the sum of your experiences, your memories, your triumphs and failures?

Too late for thoughts like that. Best to get the wench home.

"Sunset Quarters?" He said a little too loudly, not even trying to be subtle as he changed the subject. "What luck! That is where I am staying, too. Come, it's this way. I'll escort your to your very door, female... even if you did call me a beast."

In retaliation.

Whatever.

They'd walked only a few streets before Razkar spoke again, smoke curling from his lips as he exhaled from his pipe. "And what is a Child of Leth doing in Sunberth, hmm? I would have thought you'd prefer a more peaceful clime than this canker-sore of a city..."