The Seeds of Justice [Istril]

[Leviathan]

Timestamp: To be Decided by Istril Heroes. We are living in a time of heroes, gods, magics, and most of all, darkness. This may be an age of darkness, but this is also the age of heroes and heroines. There's a beacon of hope in such a vile places as Mizahar, and that beacon has a name. Syliras. But we don't live in Syliras. On the contrary, this is Sunberth, and don't let their physical closeness deceive you. Sunberth is almost as filthy, as corrupted, and as dark as they come. There's only a handful of cities that can truly be considered worse than that of Sunberth, perhaps Ravok alone holds that right. And in this city, Sunberth, there is no great shining beacon of hope to pierce that blackened soul of evil that holds this place. Rather, it only has the wicked to combat the wicked. Perhaps, until today... "Run fat man! Run!" The crowds jested and jeered mercilessly as the merchant, an obviously wealthy man dressed in sweat-stained, dirt covered silk clothing and countless droplets of water dotting his smooth forehead or chubby wobbling cheeks and second chin. The man's one-tidy small long black beard (somewhat resembling a spear if you think about it) had come loose as various strands lay plastered to that fat pained face of his. For a fat man, he could run decently, but he was almost out of stamina, not that there was a good deal of it to begin with. In the alley on one side and exploding out the opposite end, the merchant stumbled into another wave of people, farmers screaming curses and women with children, an old man who seemed particularly pained to be crushed, and various others who scolded or cursed the man. But here, in the Merchant's Square, surely he was safe. Right? The fat foreigner lay on the ground, propped up on his elbows as he searched through the crowds for his pursuer. Whoever the man was, it appeared he lost him. "Come 'ere little piggy. I want to cut me off a slice of ham." Apparently not. Fat man jumped to his feet to run again, only to turn into the very man he was trying so desperately to evade. A punch to the stomach and a shove later and the merchant was on the ground and a large open circle formed. Everyone was here to watch now, but you could be sure that no true Sunberther would dare lift a finger to this. The assailant drew a knife from its resting place as a woman stepped out from the crowd. She was dressed, much like the male assailant, in patches of leather and pieces of iron armor. Nothing near a full suit, but enough to provide coverage for an arm or shoulder. She as well drew a wicked dagger. "Oh, I'm going to enjoy this."

[Istril]

Since her arrival in Sunberth, Istril had seen nothing but filth and disorder. This place was a haven for anything and everything that the rest of the world that did not want to deal with. The entire society was based on who could kill the most without being killed, who could watch out for themselves and make the right friends without trusting someone a little too much. It was like a game to the inhabitants, a game that, every day, took several lives, just for the sake of its continuations. The chaos, the complete and utter lack of organization was enough to make Istril wonder why the God of Chaos had chosen to bless Ravok with his presence instead of this cesspit. It seemed like this place was more deserving in every way, if the stories she had heard of Ravok were anything to judge by. Sadly, while walking the streets of Sunberth, it is never safe to lose oneself in a world of imagination and fantasy. Every detail had to be watched, from the way the hulking behemoth carried himself as he strode down the street to the way the 'merchant' watched you as you walked by his stall. Not like anyone sold the fruits of their own labor in this city. So, with a little bit of irritation, as she would quite prefer to be in her own little world, Istril watched the world around her attentively, hood pulled up over her pale, blueish face to hide her identity from the people around her. It was only because of her dedicated focus that Istril picked up something unusual, the cheering and screaming of a crowd. If there was a large gathering of people in Sunberth, that meant there was something interesting enough to keep them all from murdering each other for a few moments. That alone was enough to pique her curiosity. Following the noise, Istril eventually found the source-- though she couldn't tell what was at the center of this massive crowd. That was one of the plagues of being an Isur. Grumbling under her breath about how she wished she could grow five feet taller for just this sort of occasion, she shoved and scooted her way through the crowd, ignoring the angry yells that got from a few people. It just sort of mixed in with the background noise. It was only when she reached the front of the circle that she could see what was going on in the center. A robbery. This happened all too often in Sunberth, but this one was different. The man who was being robbed was clearly not of the city-- he had no guards and no weapons on his person, and he weighed far too much more than a Sunberthian diet allowed. He had come to a place, likely seeking profits of the financial sort, and instead, was about to lose his life. Yet, something interesting hit Istril. He was, likely, one of the few people in the world that could afford to live lavishly enough to weigh that much-- and as such, he was a very important piece on the scales of the world. As a member of the Cult of Ano, she could not stand idly by and watch as the scales were knocked even further out of alignment than they already were. Silently, she stepped out of the crowd, speaking after a pause. "Leave the man, or you'll have to find your enjoyment in your own broken bones," she said, coolly and levelly.

[Leviathan]

A hush fell over the crowd like the first heavy fall of snow in the northern reaches. Men and women alike turned their attentions down to the young Isur woman stepped up and made herself known. It would be a temporary moment of renown. Few people got the pleasure to bask in notoriety or popularity for long. Robern was one of the few that both held it and survived with it. There was a silence, swiftly broken by the Isur's short sentence. Then, a few voices around them laughed. Several whispered. The fat merchant looked up at Istril with worry. He wanted somebody to save him, that was for sure, but what did she have to offer? Five foot nothing. She was, to almost everyone here, just a child. It evident by the look in his eyes that he had no faith in this woman. She has no visible weaponry, and even if she did, she seems too small to be threatening. The Merchant doubted her. From behind her, Istril heard an elderly woman speak, softly, but to her. "Please child, do not interfere. It's not our place to interfere in these things. It's just business." A gentle hand fell upon the muscular, dense arm of Istril as she stood then, and with a soft squeeze the arm recoiled, as if detecting the strangeness in that limb as something more dangerous for her. It was the realization that she wasn't a child, but something nonhuman. Still, she pleaded for Istril to leave matters be. After all, she was right. This didn't involve her, no reason to make it. It was obvious. The People doubted her. "Oh! And let me guess. You're the lit'l whore that's going to break my legs eh? Listen kid, I had not intentions of killing a child today, but I won't think twice to spill your guts. Get lost before you wake up dead." The woman stepped forwards. She was short, though still had half a foot of height on the Isur, Istril. Bright brown hair rested on her head, short as a typical boy's hair might be, and obviously missing the top two center teeth in her mouth, which caused those within a foot's reach of her tongue to fall victim to merciless misting. The woman of the pair, she doubted Istril. The merchant, hoping Istril was a sufficient distraction, turned to crawl away, but was stopped as the larger of two assailants stepped onto his back, pressing his overweight body into that dusty cobblestone path. "Easy there piggy. We aren't going nowheres." The man was tall, slightly over six feet tall, but thin as they come. He was obviously a rough man, giving the impressive he was actually younger than he appeared. The life of a Sunberth Street Rat weren't known to be easy or kind to the body though. It was no wonder these two were hunting down this merchant, they were poor and desperate, most likely, and the merchant was only too easy of a target to pick out. No guards, no true physical fitness, no friends to protect him. He was like a gift from the gods. It would be sacrilegious to whatever god blessed them if they didn't take the offer. The man looked up from his victim and towards Istril. A grin was as telling as anything. There was also pleasure he was having in tormenting the Merchant. Besides just the need to survive, he was going to enjoy this wickedness. He pointed a scrawny shivering finger at Istril and nodded. "Get going bitch." Even this man doubted Istril.

[Istril]

As members of the crowd around her laughed, Istril remained perfectly still, her arms down at he sides. Damn what the uneducated masses around her thought-- she was more than capable of taking out two untrained muggers whom had spent their entire lives in poverty. When she felt a hand on her arm, Istril turned her head for a brief second to see the woman behind us, look at the look of complete surprise on her face as she felt the arm beneath the robe. This woman was right about one thing-- it was not the place of anyone else in the crowd to interfere with any interactions. That duty was hers and hers alone. Her job was to maintain balance and bring Order to the world. Still silent, Istril turned back to the merchant and the two muggers, cocking her head as she examined the two of them. Doing something she had done so many times, she looked deep inside of herself, finding the Djed reserves inside of her. Closing her eyes, she pulled the energy out of her body, letting it leave her body as beads of purple Res. When she manifested enough of Res, she shut off her connection to her supplies, already feeling a little woozy from her quick expenditure. Slowly, she drew her hands over each of her arms, and then held her hands out in front of her, watching as the Res slowly transformed into a purple haze in front of her. Despite her intense focus, she was still able to spit out one little counter-insult. "Then I hope you don't care for your legs... or your arms... or your lives," as the last word left her lips, she took one step forward, flinging her right arm forward. With careful movements of her fingers, she led the gas around the feet of the woman. Then, with a quick movement of her other foot so her feet were parallel, she moved her right hand downwards rapidly, transforming the gaseous Res into solidified stone. If all went well, one of the pair would be eliminated for a long while, allowing Istril to pick them off at her whim. Quickly, she dropped down into her fighting stance-- her right arm raised, ready to shield her body from any blows, with her left hand slightly further back, ready to deliver blows to any assailants that dared to throw themselves at her. Balance would be protected-- she would make sure of it.

[Leviathan]

The woman did her best to deal with the gaseous res that was swarming about her feet. How do you fight something you aren't experienced with though? Kicking at the violet mist proved futile. There was only one option. Break away from it. It would have been simple to slip away from the res before it was solid stone bound to the ground if she had thought to do so moments ago. Yet, now, she was simply thrown to her back as she failed to maintain her balance, her feet alone remained standing. "Toddey! Go get the boys! This bitch is a wizard!" The woman called out to her companion as she sat there. With her feet thoroughly trapped until the stone broke down and fell from her, she was useless. Toddey, as she called the man (likely a nickname), didn't hesitate. He was already running, full speed through the crowd which parted for him, giving just enough room for him to weasel through. He didn't think twice about abandoning his now immobilized companion. Welcome to Sunberth. The merchant stood up slowly, patting at his fine silk clothing with grimy sweaty hands. It was fretful to see his clothing in such unkempt shape, but given the circumstances, he was feeling quite jolly. "My girl, I owe you a great deal." The man chuckled nervously as he approached Istril. His chubby cheeks jiggling in synchronization with his shaking hands. He was still bewildered by how fast he was hit by those assailants. Yet, he still didn't understand the situation he was in. He was no safer now than he was moments ago with the looter standing over him with a knife at his back. Sunberth was still there, all around them. And he was a big target. "I am Helian. I'm a merchant. Here, let me repay you for saving my life." Helian's smile quickly faded as the woman chuckled, despite being trapped on the ground with her legs being magically bound by stone. Her position was only favorable over his because she wasn't worth killing for money. She likely had none. "Nice ta meet you Piggy." Eerie, that smile seemed very confident, despite her life easily being ended. She knew something.

[Istril]

It was hard to be surprised by the sudden flight of the second criminal. A part of Istril had suspected it, considering he had never undergone any sort of discipline training. Istril moved her arms up into the air and then back down to her core in one fluid motion, exhaling to relax herself. The combat around her had subsided for now, but it was uncertain how long it would remain in its current state of docility. The girl and the man both had made it clear that reinforcements would arrive soon, and she had to prepare for that inevitability. As the merchant rose up to his feet, Istril spared him only a passing glance, speaking to him only half-attentively as she crossed slowly over to the disabled criminal. "Yes, I believe you owe me your life," she cooed out honestly, crouching down next to the captured criminal. A quick movement of her gem-arm disarmed the criminal, sliding the dagger to the merchant. Silently, she examined the face of the woman, he arms on her knees. In her head, Istril was literally weighing out each of the qualities she had seen the woman display so far. Certainly, she displayed courage in the face of adversity-- something that far too many people lacked-- but she was also opposed to any and all semblances of true Order, the very basis on which logical thought and the Cult were founded. Ergo, she could not be allowed to persist, as she would knock the world out of balance. "Funny," she finally spoke, tapping the stone around her feet, "how you're still so confident when your means of locomotion are taken from you. It is a shame that your other qualities are things not worth keeping in the world. Your courage could certainly help the scales," then, almost as an afterthought, she whispered, "by the way, I'm an Ano Cultist, not a wizard." With those words, Istril pulled back her gem arm, driving it downwards into the woman's throat, likely crushing her trachea along with her spine. Her face showed no rage, no perverse satisfaction. This was not the completion of a personal vendetta, this was the maintenance of balance. If the first punch wasn't enough, she delivered a second. Once she was certain the criminal was put out of her misery, she rose to her feet again, turning to give the merchant her undivided attention for a few, fleeting moments. "Save your payment for a later time, Helian. Her friends are coming. You aren't saved yet. Can you use a weapon?" Istril tilted her head curiously at the man, motioning at the dagger she had slid to him. It was a silly question, as his physique pretty much answered the question with a resounding no, but it was more logical to ask and be certain than to persist in uncertainty. Regardless of his answer, she dropped down to a kneeling position, closing her eyes as calm hands slowly placed themselves on her knees. Focusing on proper breathing technique, she allowed each breath to fill her lungs fully, trying to focus on a singular idea with little success. If she were to take on an unknown number of assailants with little or no help, it would be best to do it with a clear head. Silently, she looked inwards to her set of mental scales. She watched in her mind's eye as she slowly placed weights on either side, trying to bring them into perfect alignment, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't bring them to balance. They were always just a hair's breadth away from being even, even if she put the smallest fraction of weight on the one that was lighter. Finding no solace in this failed meditative exercise, Istril instead rose to her feet and opened her eyes. Any enemies that were to approach her would befall the same fate as the woman behind her. Balance would be upheld.

[Leviathan]

The only resistance Istril met was the woman grabbing desperately at that arm. Her nails scratched and fingers attacked in a way that wouldn't even have harmed a human's hand. It was desperation that drove such a feeble and futile attempt at survival. That face, it didn't look so confident now. And then it didn't look like anything but a corpse, for it was one. It was strange how such violence could bring such a sense of peace to a person who had probably never known it in their life. Helian watched the brutal kill with surprising stomach-strength, and when the deed was done, he merely nodded approvingly. Despite being a nervous wreck when his own death was so close, he seemed untouched by the chilling grasp of death on others. "Good riddance. Maybe we should leave before others come." Again his anxiety returned as he took the rusty knife from Istril. He stared at the blade cautiously, as if it were a snake aiming to strike him down. He knew only the basics. Stab them with the pointy end. Anything else was beyond him. He was going to be useless against whatever army Todden was going to bring. And that's assuming he even bothered to return. These people Istril were fighting with were feral dogs. Hungry, desperate, but not foolish enough to die without reason. Fear was a strong enough motivator to create survival in any circumstance. They waited several minutes, and by now the crowds dispersed (which started abruptly when magic was introduced, nobody trusted it here) into almost nothing. A few stragglers plenty of distance away with no appointments were lingering if only to see another struggle. Entertainment was not lacking, not in this city. "That's her!" The familiar voice erupted from down the street. Todden, the partner to the now-dead woman. In his hands were the knife he held earlier, and the other held a simple rod-like wooden stick, perhaps a chair leg? Regardless, behind him were six other men of all height. One boy that couldn't even be a grown man held a broken pipe. A taller muscular man held an empty bottle and fists that were heavily wrapped in cloth, a brawler. Another had only a board. Another with a rusty knife. Another young man had a slingshot, and a small bag at his hip likely contained a small pile of pebbles for ammunition. Lastly, the sixth companion to Todden held an actual weapon, a short sword, though it was worn and chipped. Likely dulled, but could still be dangerous if Istril wasn't careful. Helian gasped as he dropped his knife, moving behind the Isur with caution, as if her small frame could hide his rather plump self. "Let's run. I don't want to die here."

[Istril]

"Yes, it's the harbinger of your deaths," Istril uttered, looking out at them from under her hood. Quietly, she spoke to the merchant behind her. "If you wish to run, than you can, but you will live your life looking back on this moment knowing that you were a coward. You will live out the rest of your life knowing in the back of your mind that the only reason you have those days left to enjoy is because you let cowardice control your actions. The alternative is that you can stand here with me, and we can have a chance a success. Even if we fail, it shall be known that though we died in battle, that we stood and never knelt. Make your choice, merchant," with that, raised her right arm, scanning the foes that were arrayed before her. The first and foremost threat was the superior number of foes ganking up on her and surrounding her, so that she had no room to maneuver. In order to prevent this, she would have to keep moving. If they got a steady grip on her, and brought her to the ground with their superior size and numbers, the fight was as good as over. With one last intake of level breath, she began moving. Her feet danced across the street as she broke into a run, closing the distance between the beggars and Helian in but a few heartbeats. Likely, the beggars would expect her to have the weight of someone her size, and so she used this to her advantage, rushing past one of the men with the daggers. As she ran past him, she swung her right arm with all of the force she could muster, aiming at his closest knee, or, if possible, both of his knees. She didn't stop for a second. She kept on running, he large, dense form trying to break through as she charged the sword wielding man, her arm peeling back to drive itself into his sternum. The moment she came into range, she released the blow, which had all of the momentum of her charge and all of the strength of her arm behind it. His poor sternum likely didn't stand a chance if the strike connected.

[Leviathan]

It didn't matter that Helian already owed Istril his life. His cowardice was strong, stronger than he ever could be. "I'll not stand here to be sacrificed to these uncivilized streets! I thank you for the rescue m'lady, but I make for the city of Syliras immediately. If you have any wisdom about you, then you'll come with me. I'll pay you, I'll fund your meals, purchase your horse. You'll never need to know discomfort again, just, leave with me. I... I cannot stay here any longer!" His fear was heightened as the sight of men. It was panic. Perhaps she could kill a single foe, a scrawny young hungry girl, but so many, and larger stronger foes. His confidence in Istril, what little there was, had evaporated. The chubby man took his chance to flee, leaving the Isur alone to suffer the consequences. The sudden attack of Istril on this disorganized group of makeshift warriors was effective. The initial blow hit true as the man screamed violently in pain. The mighty Izurdin-blessed arm not only collided with the knee, but it shattered it, forcing the victim to collapse face first into the dirt, clenching onto his leg in futile attempt to soothe the pain that would make any soft non-Sunberth dweller vomit in agony. He was left behind to cradle his knee. Never again would he walk without a limp, or feel a rainfall that didn't burn his leg. The next target had more time to react. His sword swung out viciously, biting for the Isur's incoming figure in attempt to kill her, but the blade only struck, again, that arm that only a true Isur was gifted with. The blade, which was already dulled and chipped, made the ear-agonizing sound of a blade against stone as the sleeve of Istril's clothing split. This, however, was the limit of damage he caused before his ribcage was punched. The floating ribs were certainly floating somewhere in his body now. He stumbled backwards, winded, wincing, and unable to stand. Another foe down, leaving Istril at the still-disadvantaged side of one again four. Perhaps... As the Ano-cultist surveyed the area, she would find that the remaining four foes were not foes at all anymore. Two of them had crossbow bolts lodged into their bodies, where the other two had vanished into the crowds and down alleyways. Surely, this time, Todden would not be eager to return with any number of friends. Even the crowd had mostly dispersed from the area. A little chaos was fun to watch, but too much became dangerous. A true denizen of Sunberth knew when it was crucial to survive, rather than to entertain oneself. Yet, excluded from the mass exodus of the crowd, a taller thin woman stood, a faint smile spread across her lips as she loaded a bolt into a crossbow she held into her hands. A crossbow that was, obviously, not standard. Istril would recognize a typical crossbow, heavy or light, from her childhood in Sultros, but this thing was odd, more gadget-oriented than the usual weapon would be. "Never seen such a fierce little girl in all my life. What's your name darling?" The woman casually lowered the ranged weapon, though it was obvious her finger never stopped caressing that trigger. The crossbow itself would, without a doubt, be more dangerous than any of the six men Istril had just squared up against.

[Istril]

Two down. Four to go. As Istril came out of the clump of men, no worse for wear than she had entered, sans a torn cloak, she wheeled around. More out of instinct than out of any conscious thought, she lowered her upper body. Breathe in, breathe out. Balance. Analyze the situation. Quickly, her eyes darted around the area arrayed before her, searching for her foes. It took her a long moment to realize that they were no longer standing. Were it not for the crossbow bolts buried in their backs, she would have assumed they were sleeping, given their peaceful expressions. Crossbow. Threat at range. Istril shook her head quickly, closing her eyes as she dug deep into her body. It took several moments for her to find her her Djed reserves, but when she did, she wasted no time. Quickly, she began moving Djed from her reserves to the outside world in the form of Res. Still focused on the process of making Res, it took Istril a few extra seconds than it should have to see the woman approaching her. There was a crossbow in her hands. Though it wasn't leveled at her, Istril couldn't help but feel a little antsy. She knew that her chainmail wouldn't stand a chance against a crossbow. She closed her eyes and focused on breathing for a moment. Purge the fear. It is unnecessary. With a slow, reserved movement, Istril cut off the turning of Djed into Res. Another movement, this one quicker, moved the Res to her left side, where it quickly gathered in a cloud, made more intimidating by its purple color and translucence. Its purpose was two-fold-- to create a shield of earth if the crossbow-wielder opened fire, and to show that she was not unarmed. It was at this point that the women spoke. Her voice showed interest, and perhaps had that slight tinge in it that showed she was entertained. Istril's response came slowly, impeded by the departure of adrenaline from her system and the sudden loss of energy to Reimancy. "Where I come, we don't share names idly," there was a long pause between this and her next statement, which was punctuated by a tired sweep of her arms to the dead men near her. "You shot them. Why? It was my fight."