Closed Worst Fears (Rinya)

[Jorin Ertihan]

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Day 47, Season Spring, 514 AV

Jorin had found that oftentimes, it was significantly easier to simply do a lot of the errands of the Amphitheater himself. It wasn't so much that he wanted to do so - the place had understudies to carry out most of the heavy lifting and prop work. But understudies and stagehands were notoriously lazy when it came to doing anything outside of their "jurisdiction". As though they even had jurisdiction, Jorin was thinking crossly as he passed the Akalak guards and made his way up the main Kabrin road. He wasn't going very far - just as far as Sanctuary to see if Kavala had any animals that could serve as living props for their next production.

It wasn't something that was done very often. Using live animals for their performances, that is. For the most part they had wooden carved props for that, but sometimes the Amphitheater really wanted to put on a show. In those circumstances, they'd "rent" an animal from Sanctuary. Jorin would have asked why a Kelvic actor wasn't utilized. But he knew the answer to that one - there weren't any Kelvic actors. The unfairness of the de-facto discrimination against the Kelvic race made Jorin frown slightly.

But he didn't have very much time to contemplate such matters. Blinking slightly, he noted a tall, muscular man in front of him with broad shoulders, large green eyes set into a face that seemed in a perpetual scowl, and messy brown hair that seemed to have never known a comb. The man's fingers were dancing on the hilt of what looked to be some sort of short-sword, though from the distance that Jorin was standing he couldn't tell exactly what form of weapon the man was carrying.

Regardless, one thing was for certain. The man was not friendly. Friendly people did not accost travelers halfway to Sanctuary, armed and with clear intent to harm. Jorin knew he wasn't particularly close to Sanctuary or Riverfall at that moment. So he was not likely to get help from either the door guards nor from Vanator. He gripped his staff tightly and gave the man a hopefully reassuring smile.

"Greetings friend!" he tried, though the lump in this throat gave away his nervousness. "Is there anything I can help you with?"

The man stepped menacingly forward, drawing his sword as he did so. Jorin's heart fell as he saw the steel leave the sheath. It was a longsword then; he'd misjudged the length from the angle that he was viewing. Now that the sun glinted off the blade Jorin could clearly see that it was what looked like a fairly well-made longsword, and the man was wearing what appeared to be at least leather armor. He might have had some sort of chain beneath it, but Jorin couldn't see so there was no way to know.

"I think you know how you can help me, 'friend'," the man growled, with a mirthless smile playing on his lips as he threw Jorin's greeting sarcastically back at him. "Just hand over your Mizas. No one needs to get hurt."

Jorin's heart sank further. Highway robbery was not particularly common, at least as far as he knew, but then it wasn't necessarily uncommon either. Jorin had no idea if this man was working alone, or if there might be other bandits in the tall grass beside him. Regardless, he wasn't really all that interested in finding out. Better to give him what he wanted so that he could leave.

"I only have about twenty..." Jorin explained, but nonetheless detached his coin purse and offered it to the man. To be completely honest, he had absolutely no interest in fighting the man. Even though he was armed with his quarterstaff, Jorin far rather pay the man off than fight him off. The Kendoka's training was, at least as far as Jorin was concerned, for purely defensive purposes. If it was possible to resolve this without bloodshed, Jorin far preferred to do so.

The man roughly snatched Jorin's money from him, counting the coins inside and realizing that Jorin was telling the truth. Only twenty gold mizas clinked inside, barely worth the danger of plying the bandit trade this close to Riverfall. The man glanced back up sharply as he noticed movement out the corner of his eye - Jorin was trying to surreptitiously back off as the man was counting his loot. "Hold it right there," the man commanded, and Jorin froze. What did he want now?! He already had his money!

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[Jorin Ertihan]

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The man sized Jorin up for a few ticks. He seemed in fairly decent shape, and probably had been training with the quarterstaff long enough that he'd have developed some musculature. While the man was a bandit by trade, he knew a few slave traders that would take such a specimen for a fairly handsome price. And he didn't seem that strong, as evidenced by the quick capituation of his money. Or at least that was what he thought.

Jorin wasn't liking how his opponent was eyeing him. If he didn't know any better, he would have thought the man was appraising a side of beef. Or perhaps about to ask him out on a date. Regardless Jorin wasn't encouraged by either possibility. Nor did he like how the man gripped his sword a bit tighter and approached menacingly.

"Come quietly and nobody gets hurt," he grinned, his teeth glinting in the sunlight. Jorin backed off a bit more, instinctively dropping into the forward stance with his staff at the ready and pointed at his opponent.

"Uhh, look, I'm married already," Jorin joked weakly, with a shaky smile. His attempt at gallows humor was not met with what he had hoped for. Rather than a grim chuckle or perhaps a blank stare, the man just grinned wider and Jorin felt a cold chill run down his back.

"That so?" he mused. Jorin didn't like the tone of the man's voice. He didn't like it at all. "Maybe once I'm done selling you, I'll go find her too."

That was when the red haze descended. Jorin frankly didn't remember very much of what happened. But the idea that this horrible man would try to lay even a finger on Rinya was enough for Jorin to dash forward, the end of his staff shooting straight for the man's solar plexus. The attack was clumsy and not entirely well-aimed, actually striking the man higher on his body than Jorin was aiming.

But it was fairly quick and more importantly, unexpected. The man saw an almost instant transformation of his opponent from a frightened weakling to a raging berserker in less than a tick. The shock of the unexpected change meant he hadn't raised his sword in defense as he should have, which cost him as he felt the wood of the staff strike home.

"Ouf!" the man cried out as he staggered back, raising his sword to the defense finally as Jorin followed up his initial thrust with a leg sweep. His opponent was nimbler, however, and leaped over the strike, lashing out with the edge of the sword, slashing Jorin hard across the arm.

Despite the books and plays depicting blood spurting from a wound like a fountain, the reality was much more... subdued. In fact if one were looking at him, one would imagine Jorin was just fine. The wound did not bleed very much and for a period of a tick he didn't even feel the impact of the steel against flesh. But a moment later he realized he could not properly hold his weapon, which was lagging on the left were his shoulder was not responding as it should.

Pain blossomed as he tried to raise the staff to the man's next swing, which arced high this time to nick Jorin's wrist. He realized the man was far more skilled than he was - he wasn't aiming to kill him. Ironically, he also was aiming to subdue. Once could not sell a corpse, after all. While on the one hand that provided Jorin with some comfort in knowing that even losing would not necessarily result in death, it also meant that he was fighting a losing battle he was not liable to win. Or even reasonably draw.

But there wasn't time to think on that. He was losing blood fast, and the opponent was much quicker on his feet than Jorin was already. Exhaustion was beginning to set in after the initial adrenaline rush, and Jorin barely parried a blow meant to send the flat of the blade clanging against his head. Instead he felt the impact of the block reverberate through his shoulder and the dull ache exploded again, drawing a cry of pain as he staggered backward, swinging wildly with no plan or technique, forgetting much of what he'd learned at the Kendoka. A near-fatal mistake.

The opponent, keeping a far calmer head, leaped forward, feinting first to the left to draw a blind staff-jab before swinging to the right, leaping into the air and jabbing downward with his sword, plunging it deep into Jorin's left foreleg. Jorin howled as the steel slid home, the metal making a sickening crunching sound as it ground against bone. He collapsed onto his knee as the opponent withdrew his weapon, and Jorin could barely see from the sweat streaming down his face.

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[Jorin Ertihan]

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Things were looking grimmer by the chime. Jorin could barely feel the rest of his body, it was like everything was just red and black. The pain in his arm and leg throbbed in tune with his heart, rushing blood through his eardrums. The terror and agony lanced through him, and he felt something else too. A sympathetic terror and worry. Rinya, he realized. She was worried about him. He couldn't die here. He couldn't die, he had to see her again!

But Jorin's opponent certainly seemed satisfied with his work. He lunged forward this time, and Jorin was already tottering and teetering on the edge of his staff, barely able to stand. It wasn't much of a block that Jorin attempted - he tried to parry the strike by swinging the end of the staff upward, but it was easily deflected along the edge and the man deftly surged forward to nab Jorin's wrist and pull him forward, turning the blade once Jorin was off balance and with a quick strike, clanged the flat of it against the back of Jorin's head.

As he went down, Jorin tried to roll to the side, but that only caused him to roll right into the heel of his opponent's boot, which knocked the air right out of his lungs and caused him to cough and hack repeatedly. His right hand maintained a death-grip on his weapon, as he knew the staff he held was the only reason he wasn't dead yet. Of course, the man was not aiming to kill him, just drive the fight out of him, but at the moment Jorin felt as though he was in a life-or-death struggle.

But Jorin was exhausted. And had lost so much blood the weakness had spread all across his body. He just wanted to lie down on the grass and sleep, which was beginning to look like a more and more tempting possibility. His opponent, much like the ones in the Kendoka, wasted no time to press his advantage, sending a half dozen more savage kicks towards Jorin's midsection, each one weakening the ribs there before a sickening crunch told him that at least one had cracked.

The next cough sprayed blood onto the dirt in front of Jorin as he squeezed his eyes shut and tried to blot out the pain. It was hopeless. Jorin summoned what little strength he had left, rolling a few times until he was a fair distance away. Apparently the man thought he was mostly defeated, as he casually strolled over, sword-in-hand, clearly looking to strike a "finishing" blow that would render Jorin unconscious.

Jorin rose shakily to his feet, but his staff was easily batted away by a casual block from his opponent's sword. Jorin's throat was dry from dust and shouting, so he could only manage a pained grunt as his weapon was finally knocked out of his hand, and the man grinned and reversed the grip on his weapon, striking Jorin full on he head with the pommel. The young actor, robbed of his only means of defense, collapsed to the ground.

Things were certainly looking grim for Jorin. He wasn't entirely certain he could walk easily anymore, he'd lost a great deal of blood, and his left arm was a mess of pain. His head was swimming from the blow from the pommel of his opponent's sword, and as he fell he could feel the rough handle of his hunter's knife. It was a weapon he carried with him more for utility's sake than for combat. He was loathed to carry any edged weapon period, but a hunter's blade was simply too useful to not have, especially if one was going to be out and about.

It was instinct that caused Jorin to lie there, as though defeated and near-dead, while his opponent walked over to examine his handiwork. If he hadn't lost so much blood and his mind was clear, Jorin would have probably realized that the man was deliberately trying not to kill him, so it was highly unlikely that at this point he'd change his mind, especially as his quarry was defeated already anyway.

But Jorin's instincts were in high-gear. He was in fight-or-flight mode, and in his current state he had no way to flee. As soon as the man bent down, turning the body over to examine the damage and how much he'd have to pay to fix the product up in time to sell, Jorin's right hand wrapped around the handle of the hunting knife and pulled it from his belt. In one swift motion he swung it in a wide arc, and the steel of the blade sank into the opponent's neck as Jorin jabbed upward blindly, wielding the weapon like an ice-pick.

The man gave a gurgled cry, staggering backward and pulling the knife out of Jorin's hand. It remained embedded in his opponent's neck, the gurgling becoming rather alarming as he fell to his knees. His eyes took on a rather glassy look for a few ticks, mouth working though Jorin saw none of it. He heard and felt rather than saw his opponent's body finally collapse onto the ground but at that moment, Jorin was far too tired to even get up and check. He just wanted to sleep for a million years.

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