Closed Far From Home (Basek)

[Razkar]

45th Day of Winter
Riverside Isle Park
11th Bell

With time, and application, he felt it. Once his breathing had almost been forgotten and even the feel of the grass and wind on his skin had become just another nuance, Razkar felt the prickling epoch of awareness just under the ink of his tattoos.

His astral body. His skeleton of wyrd. The reservoir of djed every body possessed, but few could harness.

He would harness it. Time and application...

The Myrian inhaled deeply and rose to his feet in the middle of the trimmed pasture. His eyes closed, he heard the faint suggestion of watchers and the usual Sunberth trash milling around the Park, but true to experience, none bothered him. Even after the death of Robern, the leader of the Daggerhands and patron of this place, Razkar noticed that the Park was seen almost as neutral ground by the denizens of that doomed town.

Perhaps some corner of their souls wishes for one lone patch of unspoiled Caiyha in the midst of their evil. Perhaps they simply haven't gotten around to defiling it...

His bow knotted and he chased the spurious thoughts away. Focus. That was the key. He turned his sightless eyes inwards and felt djed ripple under his arms... in his muscles... into his hands as they closed to fists.

"From my Body, Power..."

He murmured as he slid easily into a ready stance, fists up, knees bent, weight properly settled onto his feet. As he inhaled for the rest of the incantation, he willed the djed into his right side-

"To my Fist, Strength-"

-then his right arm exploded outward, far faster than it should, djed adding speed and strength beyond mere muscle, capable of breaking a jaw and throwing the Myrian off-balance. Still he was unused to such power, but as he inhaled again he shifted the flow from right to left-

"To my Fist, Strength-"

-and lashed out with his left at the same invisible enemy, lower that time, a body blow that could crack a breastbone like a chicken leg. But again he threw him, and it was only a matter of ticks before-

"Yesssss..." Razkar hissed, drawing out the last letter as the familiar ache bloomed sharp and fast in his shoulder, traveling down into his arms. "Always... a price..."

Overgiving. The ache and needles he felt was but a whisper of what could have happened to him, of course. Practitioners who had strayed too far into The Flux had broken their own backs and exploded muscles by not respecting their own limitations. Razkar would not be doing the same.

Instead he walked in slow, patient circles, rolling his shoulders, shaking his arms, waiting for the pain to subside. He cut a curious figure as he paced: feet clad in worn, solid sandals, otherwise naked save for his breeches. His weapon harness and cloak lay off to one side: he didn't want the weight of his blades impeding him.

The watchers noticed him, of course, but dared not approach. Few Myrians set foot in Sunberth, and all of them were cause for fear. Dastana, mistress of the Wolf's Den and the city's resident cautionary tale, was the prime example... but the story of the Dock Savage had already spread. Just as Razkar had intended.

The wind whipped through his ebony hair, streamers of pitch blowing as he felt it brace and sooth him.

Fine, then... time to begin again...

[Basek]

Another long windy day spent doing nothing much of anything at all. Basek strode across a wooden bridge to his destination, boots thumping along the boards beneath his feet. His eyes glanced down at them, and he could feel a smug hint of irony at the fact that there were still nails in this bridge that Sunberth had not yet picked clean. The Riverside Isle Park... A place one could come to revel in the peace they had lost sauntering about in the city of gangs and thieves. The only true neutral territory one could find among bickering men. Basek was here to enjoy himself, but he could feel a pang of annoyance when he saw the place was more crowded than usual. He approached the crowd, intending to see what they saw. He raised his arms to squeeze in between two people, and lo and behold what he did see. One of Myri's children standing there with his bare skin showing proudly to the world. As soon as he saw the man, Basek was a bit envious of him, if a little distrusting. He narrowed his eyes at the Myrian, trying to make something of him. He hadn't met one of his kind in a couple seasons at least, though the last meeting had gone awry when he was challenged and promptly fled. Whispers began to circulate around Basek, and he was careful to listen in. "Savage of the Docks" came the rolling whisper off the lips of a nervous man next to him, speaking of a title. These people were terrified, should he be too? No. A child of Myri had more honor than that. He had to step up to the occasion. Basek attempted to control himself, keeping his worried look hidden behind the mask of a sly grin. A hood over his head, he stepped forward out of the crowd as his cloak billowed behind him in defiance of this act, Basek saw Razkar's ebony hair blowing in the wind as well. He took a few slow steps forward before he was no more than thirty feet from Razkar. "I am Basek of the Tiger Eyed." He said, introducing himself as proudly as he could, though a little weary of the crowd around him. Quick to follow up with a question, he could not help but narrow his eyes unknowingly at the man before him. "Who might you be, fellow son of Myri?" Perhaps it had already been too long, had he already forgotten how to address a fellow Myrian? This city... it was a plague on his wisdom at times. So immersed in the culture he was, so absolved of honor he had been, that he could not feel honorable addressing another Myrian in any manner. Basek finally noticed the man's gear was set aside, weaponry tossed away in favor of peace in this city. He deducted that the man had no ill intentions from this evidence and it made him feel more at ease, though he felt as he if could break under the pressure of this man's gaze should he chance upon being the subject of scrutiny.

[Razkar]

Don't rely so much on set katas. You are a novice, true, but the whirl of battle and the cunning of your enemies will not allow for the routine.

Razkar's mind blew the words softly across his being, almost whispered, less he lose the fragile focus he had over his astral body. Heeding the advice, he crouched and as he dropped he willed his djed to pool in his lower body, his pelvis and leg area.

"From High, and Low-"

Then he burst upward, djed making his legs tingle as he shot diagonally forward, right knee pounding hard into an unseen opponent's stomach or groin-

-but the otherworldly power The Flux gave him lifted him off his feet, a wobbling mannequin suspended briefly in the air-

Footing! Land clean and find your footing!

-which he just about managed when he crashed back down to earth, bending his aching knees and gritting his teeth as the effects of The Flux pained them. Breathing slowly, surely... exhaling the pain with streams of foggy air...

But the crunch of his landing was not the sole sound assailing his ears. Footsteps, steady and unafraid, were approaching him. Razkar turned and saw a hooded figure approach, gaggle of gossiping Sunberthians left behind. A good half-foot shorter than him, the stranger walked with purpose, almost... familiar, in his gait.

"I am Basek of the Tiger Eyed."

Razkar blinked, twice, and fought to keep his expression stony. The introduction of a Child of Myri, true, but given in Common? A true Myrian would only speak to barbarians thus; why taint the air between them with it, and not their mother tongue?

"Who might you be, fellow son of Myri?"

Razkar kept his peace for a few ticks, studying the stranger. By his jaw and the color of his skin, he could surmise it was indeed a Myrian before him. Suspicious whispers clouded his mind, though; far from home and Myri's light, who could say what had become of one of Her children? Sunberth was a cancer, and it was infectious.

"You must have been far from the jungle to speak to a brother in the heathen tongue," he said levelly, rising up to his full height, the patchwork of scars and ink on his callused, athletic body rippling as he did, "I am Razkar of the Shorn Skulls. The Tiger Eyed..." Black eyes glittered as he remembered the honored name of Rahi's clan, Spy Mistress of the Council. "... a hallowed name in the Sacred City. Odd, to find one of their kin so far from the jungle..."

He did not bother to keep the suspicious, probing edge from his tone. Myrians were few in the barbarian lands, and like all minorities they generally cast aside their past feuds in favor of a united front against the heathens. But Razkar had known this man for less than a chime, and he was entitled to his questions.

"What brings you to this place... brother?"

[Basek]

Close enough to catch Razkar in the throes of the Flux, Basek knew something was amiss. The way he moved showed incredible power, but incredible restraints placed upon his limits... it was as if there was a vice placed upon his spirit that prevented him from shattering the earth beneath him as he stomped the ground. He had never seen the Flux before, nor did he know it was actually the Flux. It was interesting, to him, but also a little threatening that such a man could hold so much power at a whim in his movements. "You must have been far from the jungle to speak to a brother in the heathen tongue." The words came as a sudden sting to his pride. He bowed his head in disgust, of himself. He had lived among these people for so long and embraced their culture so fully that he had lost the view of them as heathens. It was disheartening to him, to think that he may not be a Myrian anymore, even in soul. He quickly switched to his native tongue, the words a little jarring to him as he found himself out of practice. "I had used the heathen tongue for so long, I had forgotten my place. I apologize for this misstep..." He paused for a moment, regaining his composure which he had lost for but a moment mid-sentence, raising his face to meet Razkar's eyes. "It has been long since I had spoken to another Myrian." "I am Razkar of the Shorn Skulls. The Tiger Eyed... a hallowed name in the Sacred City. Odd, to find one of their kin so far from the jungle..." It was true, his clan was honorable to other Myrians, perhaps this had been why they had put up with who he was for so long. Perhaps I should not make my eyes known to this man... the consequences could be dire. Razkar's clan, the Shorn Skulls, had a fearsome reputation, talented skirmishers and hunters carrying with them martial prowess, with a knack for taking trophies. What he had heard about this clan shined prominently in the man before him. Basek attempted to cast away the brief doubts that began to crop up in his mind. No... he seems to have more honor than I. He would not murder me under such short notice. His thoughts spun around in his head for a moment, before finally settling on a choice. "What brings you to this place... brother?" Here it was, the prodding question that could be his downfall, or the beginning of a rocky comradery between Myrian, and one somewhat less than so. "For that answer, one need only look into my eyes as to the reason..." He stepped forward even more, close enough for Razkar to get a good look at his eyes, reaching up and lowering his hood. "A truth concealed to even I by my mother, I had been told they were the eyes of a tiger for many years of my life. A lie not of my own doing, nor something in my control. I have Dhani blood running with the Myrian in my veins, so I had no choice but to leave before I shamed my clan further." He paid no heed to the gossiping crowd behind him, for his face was not a common one. At worst he would be known as the Myrian with the eyes of a snake. Basek did not plague the man with further questions, for the burden of his answer carried its own heavy weight. He waited with a weary caution as to how Razkar would react. The intricacies of future pondering could be dealt with later.

[Razkar]

"For that answer, one need only look into my eyes as to the reason..."

He wasn't even aware he was doing it, but his body moved all the same. At those ominous words and then stepping closer, Razkar's body shifted into a defensive: left side slanted towards the man, right arm vanishing behind his back... gripping the nasty little push dagger he had stuffed down his breeches at the small of his back.

Just because he wasn't carrying his blades, didn't mean he wasn't carrying any.

But that was nothing compared to the sight of those slit-eyes that gazed at him once the hood was lifted. Not the solid black of Razkar, nor the shimmering blue of Edreina, not even the browns and greens and grays of Myrians and humans the world over.

Slits. Straight and narrow and glaring out at the world with the cold contempt of all reptiles.

"Ancient Enemy..."

Razkar felt his whole body tense as he spat the words, the age-old term his people used for the Dhani they had hunted and sought to make extinct for centuries. The push dagger slid from its sheath and he calculated the angles without even trying-

Distance: less than four feet. Lunge in close, bury it in his throat. Plant your knee in his balls, bend him over, rip the hole bigger and then break his neck when he's doubled over. Don't give him time to react, let alone change.

-but he didn't. Because Basek kept talking. He spoke in a mournful, pained tone that he recognized. He spoke of lies and shame... shame... and for one stark instant it was not a lithe, unshaven male that Razkar saw. It was her.

The friend he had loved and protected, despite her tainted blood. The female he had defended for years when all others shunned and scorned and abused her. Because her actions bespoke of a Myrian, not a Spawn of Siku.

No longer. Now she is bereft of you, and... Goddess knows where.

Sunberthians have an unerring ability to smell a brawl brewing. Razkar's shift in body language was enough for the amateur bookies to break out their charcoal sticks and scraps of paper; once the half-breed revealed himself, adds started to get calculated...

... and then, with a collective, disappointed groan, they saw the Myrian's hand come back to his front... only it was empty. Rank suspicion dripped from his black gaze but it was clear he would not act on it. His eyes flickered up and down the male and his face twisted into grimace so very, very close to sympathetic.

"An impossible burden for a Child of Myri," he said softly, as if remembering, "I can see why you thought these lands would be... more understanding."

A harsh chuckle, unexpected and framed with sharpened teeth, rustled from his throat, and he nodded to the crowd behind them.

"This place, though? It wouldn't have been my first choice..."

[Basek]

Razkar stared into Basek's very being, if only for a brief moment, through the windows to his mind. It was unsettling to Basek, who often found himself concealing his eyes from those who would seek to see them. They were a source of buried resentment. "Ancient Enemy.." The words broke a silence, a situation turned sour as Basek watched the Myrian reach behind his back to rest his hand upon some unknown object. He was taken aback by this, feeling inept that he had neglected to even think someone of this caliber would conceal weapons of their own. He saw the posture in the man, a posture that showed signs of hatred, but he kept talking. He told him his story, why he was here. He was brief, but the words carried their meaning. As Razkar's posture changed, it was enough to stay that hatred for his denounced kin. The male would put up with him for a bit longer. The crowd behind him shifted, and the busied noise of bustling voices began to creep through the shifting mass. Basek took a step back and turned to his side to glance briefly at the crowd, then back to Razkar. However, the crowd quickly hushed, expressing displeasure that a fight had not broken out. He returned his glance to Razkar, who by now had broken under the guise of sympathy. Watching Razkar's eyes upon him, he judged that the Myrian was sizing him up. "An impossible burden for a Child of Myri, I can see why you thought these lands would be... more understanding." The words brought a pang of gratitude, to know that his situation could be felt by another Myrian. Most had been far more unkind to him over the years, and though he held no quarter for humans in his machinations, he had no other choice than to be brutally honest in his native tongue to those who would tolerate him. "This is the only place for my kind. I was more befitting of a scout since none would spar with me in our homeland. I had not grown into the proud warrior I had wanted to be, nor was I strong enough to take that title as my own." He stated, with a hint of lamentation sneaking its way into the crevices of each word. "I feel as if I could not please Myri by rotting under the achievements of my brothers. I had to claim my own burden, not only the one bestowed upon me by my blood, the burden every person faces in their lives upon birth." He paused, the words ceasing to spill from his mouth, finding time to finally throw in a brief question to his subject of fascination for the day. "And what of you, Razkar of the Shorned Skulls? What brings you to this land?" It was an easy question to say, though Basek couldn't help but feel intrusive as he finished rolling the words off his tongue. But then a ferocious chuckle splintered away from the Myrian's mouth, allowing Basek to notice Razkar's pointed teeth for the first time. It was followed by a patronizing nod came from the Myrian, addressed to the crowd as Razkar's eyes seemed to fill with a hunger, a hunger for battle which seemed to focus its intentions upon Basek. His rare introverted feelings suddenly came to an end as things took a more serious tone. "So you want to spar, then?" He said with blunt words, betraying the fear with a slight tremble upon his last word, a fear which he had buried so callously deep withinr.Things were getting heated, and Basek was beginning to feel a little timid in the face of the powerful warrior before him.

[Razkar]

"This is the only place for my kind. I was more befitting of a scout since none would spar with me in our homeland. I had not grown into the proud warrior I had wanted to be, nor was I strong enough to take that title as my own."

Razkar blinked and tried to find the words to ease the male's pain, but found he had none to give. Weakness and the discussion of it... they were alien among the Myrians. Discussing your problems was actively discouraged, so even though it went on, few were equipped to offer sage advice.

But you're not like most, are you? You've been tainted by the barbarian lands. Perhaps that gives you... fresh perspectives.

"You remember your devotion to the Goddess-Queen, and slay in her name," Razkar said, rolling his shoulders and shaking his legs, feeling the last of the pins and needs sloughing off him, "And if you were weak then? Grow stronger now. But these lands do provide the chance to be please Blessed Myri. I know."

"I feel as if I could not please Myri by rotting under the achievements of my brothers. I had to claim my own burden, not only the one bestowed upon me by my blood, the burden every person faces in their lives upon birth."

Alright, now this is becoming uncomfortable.

"We all have our own paths. No-one can walk it but you." Yes, that sounded suitably deep. He shrugged again, gripping his hands behind his back and pulling them upward, stretching his deltoids mercilessly. "But... there's no guarantee you'll get what you want out of it. Just that you'll walk it."

"And what of you, Razkar of the Shorned Skulls? What brings you to this land?"

Razkar's eyes flickered up sharply. Grateful as he was for the half-breed to stop gushing, he still hated hearing his clan name besmirched... even if it was both minor and unintended.

"Shorn Skulls. Not Shorned. Don't worry, common mistake. And I came out here on Pilgrimage." He spoke as he bent down and checked his rucksack, his weapon harness, the blades enough for two strapped to it. "Someone... close to me, was leaving for the City of Scrolls, Zeltiva. I accompanied her, but needed a reason. So I took my vow at The Temple in Taloba and swore a Pilgrimage in Myri's name. I would reap the souls and scalps of warriors in the barbarian lands, until such a time as fate decided I should return. So far... it has not been too disappointing."

He sighed and shook his head, getting back to his feet, expression more open now, almost amenable in that he was letting Basek see his frustration, not just the cold stoicism he showed the rest of the world.

"There is no real war out here, brother. Feuding gangs and slavers, hunts for Zith, scouring of Earth Demon hordes from time to time, even hunts for great beasts... but there has been no great clash of armies for a long, long time. Better to head back to the jungle and slaughter Dhani, instead."

"So you want to spar, then?"

Razka's hand paused just as he reached for his weapons, once again torn. Meeting one of his own - well, not in terms of blood but Razkar liked to think he could look beyond that... mostly - was a rare pleasure for him, but anyone with half a brain could tell Basek was desperate for someone to talk to, connect with... and much as he sympathized, the life of a sellsword did not allow for that.

"Not today, Tiger Eyed." He rumbled, good-natured smile on his face despite his refusal, pulling his weapons harness on. "I have places to be, sadly. But if you do seek a challenge for your skills... ask for Razkar at the Sunset Quarters. The blind mistress will aid you, I am sure."

With that the Myrian finished with his straps and buckles, stepping forward to grasp his brother's forearm, Basek doing the same. Their eyes met. Bisected grey and solid black. Not friends, perhaps, or comrades... but the love of Blessed Myri was with them both.

"Until that day."

Razkar said, smiling softly as he gave the classic Myrian farewell, and then marched off through the swiftly-parting crowd.

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