Open City of chaos

[Lo'campo]

Sunberth, 2 Fall 514 A.V Fall began to set in as the colors of the leaves began to set in showing their permanent colors for the season. The wind began to pick up bringing the smell of the seasons food through the streets filling the nostrils of every person on the street making Sunberth seem like a pleasant city though those that lived here could see through the heavenly smells and smiles upon the faces of new visitors entering the city for the season. Lo'campo walked the main street window shopping looking at what the merchants had to sell even though he never planned on buying anything. It was a new hobby of his to help him keep calm and see what was changing in the city. The wind blew through his long thick hair keeping it from falling in his face. He kept his hands in his robes keeping them and the rest of his body warm. There was something about the city that seemed 'off' to Lo'campo this day. It was quiet though bustling with activity as the chatter of city filled the air. He didn't know what it was but something felt out of place, as if her were having an out of body experience. The hair on the back of his neck stood up giving him a jumpy feeling. He continued his somewhat of a shopping trip stopping at a stand looking at the different fruits and vegetables thinking of taking some home to practice his cooking seeing that he needed to eat. "How may I help you sir?" the merchant asked the sound of generosity coming from his voice. There it was again. Lo'campo caught a shiver down his back. Something was up, he didn't know what it was but what ever it was he knew it. The towns bell sounded off signalling that it was the 9th bell of the morning and that the slave market would be opening now. Lo'campo continued his stroll listening out for the yelling of the slave holders barking out their high prices for slaves, and the buyers that actually agreed to paying the amount of money asked for. He listened, but there was no call. Lo'campo assumed that they would be late but the cages would already be here and the sounds of chains and crying families would still be around. He knew for a fact that something was out of place taking hold of his lakan and hugging the wall. People began to gather around the Akalak looking at him as if he were some deranged man with some type of sickness. They didn't know what he knew so they didn't act as he did. He realized what was missing. The key element that made Sunberth the city that it was.Thieves, thugs, gang members, slave holders all missing. The city that seemed to be always chaotic was peaceful for a change. Something had to be wrong. The first scream came from the upper part of the city, everyone's attention turning there as the sounds of feet stomping the ground became louder with every second that passed. Another scream from the south as a different set of footsteps now approaching. It didn't take Lo'campo long to realize what was going on. It was a gang war, it had to be seeing that the clues were obvious. By the looks of it the two forces were the Night eyes and the Daggerhands. By the way that Lo'campo looked at it, it was a fight for territory and anyone caught in between the two forces would be apart of the man slaughter. No one hesitated now processing what was about to play out the street went into a frenzy. In every direction citizen, and visitors ran bumping into each other, knocking each other down and trampling who ever fell beneath their feet. The two gangs now fueled by the chaos let out their war cries and charged. He couldn't go left or right, he was stuck like everyone else. Gripping his blade he braced himself. The grunts were on the front line. Now in melee range Lo'campo stood his ground blocking and attacking what and who ever came in his direction as a threat to his safety. He could tell that he wan't the only one, noticing other bodies standing their own ground in between the two forces lost in the heap of foes.

[Amon Torque]

Amon looked out his single, dirty window. Through it he saw a sea of bodies, all with weapons. In the center between the lines was a man, clearly not apart of this. Hurriedly Amon remembered past gang wars, and how long they could go for. If it got out of hand, some of the members may just kill, for the thrill of killing. Amon began to panic, he pushed his bed up against the door, trying desperately to blockade it from intruders. He turned his simple lock, hoping it would be enough.

At least until he looked outside, and saw the slaughterhouse beginning. Innocents in the way were mercilessly stabbed, anything else destroyed. The ground was stained red, like a storm of paint blew through Sunberth.

The paranoia grew, and he began to worry about things like reimancy, although it was extremely rare in Sunberth, it was still a concern. Amon sat down and held his charm bracelet. He began to relax, clearing his mind of all his troubles, calling out his djed. It began to pool in the palm of his hands, he stood up and smeared it over his door. After the first thin layer was complete, he took out his serrated steak knife. He made a tiny cut on his hand, and let it bleed into his djed, tinting the color red. Amon rubbed the bloody djed on the door, forming the second layer, he tasked it to keep out anyone with human genes.

To finished the shield, he made a thick, smooth layer of pure djed. It was tasked with blocking djed. The shield quickly showed itself, it looked like a wall of water on a calm day, It was basic, but it was the best he could do. Amon needed to test it, so he attempted to walk through his doorway. It was an unexplainable sensation, he hit the wall, it gave a little, and he was forced back a few steps, the shield briefly appeared. Then vanished. Amon finally relaxed, "perfect," he muttered.

He looked out his window, most of the innocents were dead, although one man, gripping a blade, was fighting desperately, holding his ground. Amon looked out, wanting to help, but knowing it was no use. "Sorry," he said sadly, "I can't help... Yet." Amon cut a piece off of his only shirt, and put it over his wound, applying pressure.

[Aerer]

 

Aerer – Early morning for a drunk


Sunberth, 2, Fall, 514 A.V



What. The. Petch.

A second cataclysm had arrived in Mizahar and was centralized between his ears. Muscles creaked and cussed like a sailor at every action - a reminder of last nights stupidity. His five o' clock shadow had grown to twelve and the unfortunate scuffle resulting in a bloody nose had not been cleaned off leaving him looking closer to the grave then with the realm of men.

“Shut up, Shut up. SHUT UP.” Shrieking at the loud din of the ongoing war did not seem to be having much effect and the brilliant fall colors and sweet smells wafting through the air did little to improve his spirit. Sheer force of will mixed with curiosity propelled his body forward through the side alleyway, left foot following right following...gods be good, a drink or eleven would do him well right about now. He prepared to draw his weapon but thought better of it, opting instead for a hiding spot against the alleyway corner, partially covered through some refuse and empty barrels. The smell was frightful, though whether the stench was from the half eaten fish heads or his desperate need for a bath he was afraid to guess.

Bloodshot eyes spotted an enraged, shirtless beast of a man crying out for bloodshed. Grunting some unknown words he raised his mace high only to be chopped open by what he could only assume was another gang. Blood stained the local bakery’s door and the ground, already an ocean of limbs and death. He tried his best to recognize, or at least remember, the symbols and slogans of the fighting men and of the surrounding dead. Even more importantly, he tried to determine who was winning and who might be interested in hiring him – a few extra Miza might make these kinds of mornings a bit more tolerable pending that he would never have to sign up for this types of soiree.

His hungover investigation also spied what looked to be an Akalak fending off whoever was foolish enough to pick a fight with him. He admired the skill of which he managed to do so but also relished his safety of the nearby shadows. If today was to be an improvement then he aimed to pick and choose his battles carefully. That meant not insulting any Akalak's, nor upsetting the balance of the gang war. That could be challenging, but once he found a warm breakfast and not so quite warm ale, it would be doable. He hoped. A gruesome blow caused him to look away. It was dangerous to be here. Stupid, in fact.

An audible grunt, he pushed himself to a standing position. He locked eyes with a peculiar young man bandaging himself in the window. A brief nod was all he could afford to offer, all he really felt like offering. Sunberth was sucking away what little empathy he had left. He made sure his sword was still at his side and then slunk back home.

[Lo'campo]

Lo'campo continued to fight hard as an unidentifiable liquid dripped off his forehead. He couldn't tell if it were sweat or blood nether the less if it were his own or belonging to one of the bodies coliding and falling around him. The two gangs had met blades now and whom ever had not escaped or raised arms of their own in defense were apart of the slowly growing pile of corpses that lay in the blood splattered street. Everything was in chaos. The peacefulness of the crime filled city soon replaced by the shrieks and sounds of citizen's screaming and blades tearing through flesh. The merchant who ran the stand that he was standing in only mere seconds before all mayhem broke loose was now slumped over his goods with a decapitated head in a basket. Lo'campo veered backwards letting the body of another man take his place of an oncoming sword before moving back in and slaying the swords man with a few strikes from his lakan. That was one less person to worry about, but there still was more who didn't care for the Akalak's life. Arms tired the blue warrior retreated to deck of a building that stood behind him, defending his position against anyone that dared step toward his blade. He was always one up for fighting but this seemed to overwhelm the Akalak defending multiple attacks from all directions. He prepared himself for a small duel with another gang member bringing the man down in a puddle of his own blood and gaining the attention of a few of his fellow mates. The men had different symbols representing who they were affiliated with forcing a look upon Lo'campo's face. The battle being about territory was only a small portion at this point, now it had turned into an all out bloodshed and who ever happened to be the last one standing would bring glory to his gang. Lo'campo cursed as he snapped back into reality not paying attention to the oncoming attacker, letting them get too close for comfort, barely avoiding a swing of a war ax. He fought back though it hurt him more than he could hurt them his body still not healed from his last fight, but somehow he overcame the men only suffering cuts and bruises as his battle wounds. There was a loud *whip* like sound as if someone had swung a leather belt with all of their force. Lo'campo's attention snapped to the mesh of fighting watching random bodies drop in the crowd. At first he was confused until he noticed a small reinforcement of cross bow wielders approaching from the left. He didn't know what gang they were with nor did he care raising his lakan in preparation to fight as an high speed crossbow bolt landed inches away from his feet quickly changed his mind about he choice. Lo'campo ran turning into the opposite direction hugging the wall as he stealthy moved behind the waves of blood shed, holding a dead body up as a shield from the on coming arrows. He was a half way there slowly shifting to his target destination. Pacing and taking his time until another bolt of inspiration lodged itself in to the building wall now not too far from his head. Dropping the body Lo'campo put his legs on overdrive running like his life depended on it...which it did. Adrenaline was pumping into his body cushioning the impact of a bolt striking him in his shoulder just above the blade. Lo'campo looked back checking to see if anyone followed and not paying attention to his front as he ran into the back of a bystander taking himself and the black haired man down to the ground.

[Nellie Hawkins]

Aw, shyke.

Nellie cowered. There was no other word for it, and no other option for her, given the violence that had just seemed to wink into existence around her. Every instinct shouted at her to run, run, RUN AWAY; but if a lifetime in Sunberth had taught her anything, it was that drawing attention to yourself was bad.

In this instance, a lone girl with a bucket full of clams careening through the street would probably draw attention. Even if it didn't, there was every likelihood that she would simply run into something sharp and pointy. Or blunt and just as deadly, and that was if she were lucky. Snatched up alive would be much worse, in Nellie's opinion.

So, when the street erupted and blood started flowing, she wasted no time; dropping her bucket, and three bells' worth of this morning's work, she wedged herself under a wagon, scooted as far back into the shadows as she could manage, and hoped like hai that she'd managed it without being seen. Sighing resignedly at the clams spilling onto the street, she tried to remember how many mizas she had left. There should be enough. Today's lost money would pinch, she'd not have to resort to begging at the taverns for scraps.

A litany of daily worries flooded her brain, attempts at distraction. Would her bucket be damaged? Would she have to shell out mizas she couldn't afford for a replacement? Would there be time left before the tide came in to go digging for more clams? Petch! There surely wouldn't be if she had to replace her bucket first; cutting her eyes to her bucket again, she skimmed over the glazed and unseeing eyes of a dog, its life rather suddenly interrupted by a large and gaping hole in the belly. She winced, dragged right back to the ugly reality of the situation.

Nellie felt the first stirrings of panic then, and her eyes darted around, desperately searching for something reassuring amongst the chaos. For a moment, she'd thought she found it. A large, blue-skinned warrior, standing, fighting. Not dying. It was gruesome to behold, death being meted out still, but for a purpose; the man fought to keep his own life, and Nellie couldn't help but wish him well. But he was tiring.

Apparently, it was a fact the fighter also recognized, for he chose that moment to make his desperate escape. No one gave chase while he ran, there were plenty of bodies left to skewer, and Nellie thought he might make it away unscathed. She found herself holding her breath, eyes glued to the runner, blocking out all else but the swiftly moving blue distraction.

When she saw him collide with another man, she simply closed her eyes, sure that he was doomed and unwilling to watch him die.

oochope no one minds a mostly innocent bystander.

[Amon Torque]

"When will those bastards quit?" Amon asked himself, armed with his signature steak knife, looking at his door as several gang members pounded on it. Amon thought about laying another shield over the door, but decided that if they found he was using magic, they would probably kill him slower with more pain, just because they knew what he could do. It scared them, and Amon smiled at that thought, but quickly stopped as a louder, more synchronized sound dragged Amon back into reality. Amon grew worried, there were at least four men outside his door, all ramming it at once.

The hinges could only take so much and began to bend slightly. "Maybe a second shield would have been a good idea," Amon muttered quietly, but it was to late now, and Amon had accepted his fate. He held his mothers charm bracelet tightly, "see you soon Mom." But Amon wasn't the kind of person to just die, he would fight with everything he had. He set down his knife, and picked up a stray brick that had fallen out of his wall earlier that day. He readied it, arm thrown back, prepared to let it fly. The doors lock snapped and the door was almost open, only his bed keeping it shut.

Amon had a quick flash of a memory. A tactic that may keep him alive if it became a brawl. Once before, when he was running errands for his fathers friend, he had seen a hypnotist in the market, charming people into buying her wares. Amon saw the how cruel the tactic was, and saw a need to stop it. Amon had ducked into a back alley and knew that he couldn't let found hypnotists djed get into him. From his fathers teachings, he realized all he had to do was make four small shields, covering his ears and eyes, preventing the hypnotism completely.

He had focused as hard as he could, for at the time his skills were still in the very beginning stages of the learning curve, and tears of djed came out of his eyes, coating them with small shields. He breathed steadily and manipulated djed to come out of his nose, controlling the gas over his ears, and solidifying it. At the time he could only block djed, and that was all he needed. He had a maximum of a ten minute window before he would have to remake his shields.

Amon had approached the hypnotist quickly, getting right to the point. "Stop this, now." Amon said, commanding the attention of the shopkeeper. She turned her gaze to him and Amon immediately felt her foreign djed colliding with his shields, which had shown themselves, for they were in use. The hypnotist began to stutter, feeling powerless over him. She backed away from her stall and jogged in the opposite direction, not having her advantage made her weak.

Amon smiled gleefully at the memory, he had felt so powerful when she ran away, but he knew he had little time, for his bed was already being moved with each pound on the door. Amon slowed his breathing and concentrated, slowly sweating djed through all of his skin pores, tasking it to keep out people, blocking them from his body. He was coated and the shield solidified, appearing and suddenly disappearing, but Amon felt it hugging his body like a tight coat. It was uneven and messy, but would keep out a few punches before it disintegrated.

The door flew open, the bed pushed out of the way. Amon threw his brick as hard as he could, hitting an attacker in the head, catching him with surprise. He was at very least knocked out, possibly dead. One down, three to go Amon thought, looking at the group standing outside his door. Petch! he internally yelled as he noticed one of the gang members stopped just standing there and knocked an arrow on his wooden bow.
Amon flipped his table, and ducked behind it, watching an arrow fly to where his head had been only moments before. He peeked out over his shelter and watched as the other two men, both carrying daggers, attempted to run in. It was hard not to laugh as they hit his shield, and very ungracefully tripped over each other as they stumbled back.

Amon quickly rolled toward the wall, out of range from the archer and blocked from view. Amon slid, staying flat against the wall, right next to the door. He made out some words from his attackers, mostly just curses spat out toward him and his 'petching magic'. One of the men got up and walked toward the shield, reaching out and touching it, causing it to reappear, it was moving like a wall of water to his touch. He placed his body and shoulder against it and pushed, Amon saw his chance and quickly lashed out with his steak knife, its serrated blade going deep into the mans stomach. His hand hit the shield and he recoiled back behind the wall.

The large thug he had stabbed fell back against the wall, not in any condition to fight. Amon knew it was over, his surprise tactics were done, and he still had two larger, better trained men with real weapons outside of his door. He knew together they could break his shield with enough effort. All he could hope for was that someone found him and would help, which would be extremely doubtful in Sunberth, here, all that mattered was surviving, not helping. With his last bit of hope Amon cried out, "Help!" He yelled, as loud as he could, but the men outside were already hitting his shield, weakening it. Amon slumped against the wall, knowing what was to come, they wouldn't make this easy now, he had killed two of the gang members, and now the others wanted revenge.

[Warion]

Warion roamed on the debauched streets of the city. It was a normal day for him, venturing from his tent into the urban district, looking for mizas to be acquired, or at least some crooks to loiter with. Fall was now in session. The temperature had dropped a couple of digits, the leaves only beginning to turn into lovely shades of cardinal and yellow. A gentle breeze drifted through the marketplace, grazing his skin. Luckily, his vividly red stitched top was designed for this climate kept the warmth in.

Warion strolled toward the marketplace, his longbow and knapsack positioned on his back. Run-down, feeble structures that he walked by reminded him of the angst and instability that Sunberth possesses. As he made his way around the block, there was an indisputable scent of fruits and cooked food. However, there was something off about this scent - actually it seemed to be an odor of blood, if he wasn't mistaken. He felt an uncanny disturbance was taking place. After being around trauma for a large fraction of his life, he could perceive when danger is in his vicinity.

He quickly took a turn around a corner of a wooden building and witnessed a horrific sight. A horde of people at war was situated in the center of the street. There were bodies laying on the ground. The stench of death and blood was now much more evident. He couldn't tell who was fighting as there was a mass of confusion throughout. He noticed a person fleeing for his life out of the warzone, blood dripping down his face. Warion looked at the direction he was departing from and observed what looked like a group of gang members standing at the edge of the street handling crossbows. At that moment, he knew he walked into trouble. The crowd was busy battling it out, but the crossbowman were just beginning to enter the brawl. One of them noticed Warion lurking by the shabby wall structure, and raised his bow directly at him. Warion immediately ran and ducked, just in time too, as the arrow hit the ground where he was standing. Warion had to think fast now. He didn't know Sunberth too well, so he was searching frantically for a spot he could shelter at for the instant. He noticed an alleyway between two decrepit buildings. He entered the passageway and leaned up against the wall. Grasping his longbow, he quickly armed it with an arrow. Being a decent bowman, he knew he could handle himself. He's been on his own for almost five years, and there was no way a couple of novice delinquents could finish him off. A fiendish smile covered his face. He loves the rush of a fight. If only he had his crew members here to back him up...

[Lo'campo]

Though he fell hard, he didn't feel the impact that he expected when he actually made contact with the ground. Either he had a lot of adrenaline pumping or he was stronger than he thought. Lo'campo stood up and dusted himself off quickly before the sea of warriors made it's way to his location. He went to take a step only to stumble over something limp on the ground, looking down he saw a man who was face down into the street as if he were drunk. The gears finally started to move in the Akalak's head as everything started to play through in his head. Shyke! he yelled to the sky realizing that he fell atop of and possibly killed a man with his body. Half of him was glad that his ways of killing had evolved filling him with self satisfaction while the other half was agitated with the fact that he would now have to take on what ever gang that the man was affiliated with which he knew that he was in no such condition to attempt such a feat, not yet anyways. Lo'campo paced for a few seconds hoping that the man would come to and he would have one less problem to deal with, but the fighting had reached a point of where all the skilled fighters where left and the battle was more dangerous than it had begun. Lo'campo looked around for a good spot to dump the body, spotting a sewer only a few feet away from were he stood. Giving to quick looks he began dragging the body toward the sewer cover trying to move as fast as his aching body would let him. He groaned at the limp man cursing him for being so heavy. Lo'campo didn't believe in the mizaharian gods, but what ever this man worshiped must have been on his side. He was almost there, only a few inches from the sewer when a line of warriors clearly from another gang flanked them forcing Lo'campo to drop the extra weight and fend for himself. He knew that he was with a gang. The Akalak now making a defensive retreat. He noticed swordsmen making their way toward the now dazed man that he had the pleasure of flattening in the streets armed with the look to kill. Lo'campo was relieved that he didn't kill the man, but now he was pissed that the man had not come to earlier and could have prevented all of this from happening. No one was going to take his kill. The Akalak pushed his body, parrying his attacker and flinging his Lakan into the back of the closest goon to his now prey. He rushed over to the man taking hits from the men that tried to stop him. Using the only strength he had left in his arms his lifted the man and plopped him onto his shoulder as well retrieving his lakan with his free hand. He made another attempt at retreat now moving slower than before. He searched for a place any place to hide. He stopped in his tracks mentally though his body continued to move. The word echoed in his mind as if it were new and unheard of before. Hide the word sounded off again like a bell. He was running away, hiding like a child. The thought finally set in. This was not who he was. Running from a fight, looking for places to hide, carrying bodies of people the fell on to safety, he was still going to kill the man when he had the chance this was still his fault in the end, but that wasn't the point he was feeling fear if this was what fear felt like. He forged ahead his eyes catching a goon dying on a window from inside a building. It looked like he wasn't the only one fighting back. The only things was if the person defending themselves were on the same page as he. Looking back at the new gang that joined forces with a smaller gang to even the numbers Lo'campo took a chance. Using the man as a ram he fell against the inn door flinging it open causing a loud sound that caught attention. Petch he whispered under his breath using his legs to disable another attacker and loosing his lakan that flew into the crowd nearly impaling a woman with a bucket. His instincts told him to go, to drop the man and risk his life to retrieve his weapon, even if he died trying he had to reach his wea-. Once again not paying attention, a war club came from thin air knocking the Akalak in his abdomen nearly forcing all of the wind from his body before the thug was hit by an arrow and dropping to the floor. Picking up the club Lo'campo made his way up the stairway lumbering over dead bodies trying to carry his own weight plus extra. He let out a sigh of relief as he made it into the room that he spotted from the street only to let out a groan of disappointment at the sight in front of him. He was right there was someone in here killing thugs as he followed the sound of hitting and cursing. There was the dead goon still leaning on the window as well as another on the floor with a knife in their back. Tired of lugging his passenger around Lo'campo dropped the man to the floor and proceeded to drag him along with the war club that he acquired. A cry for help came from around a corner in the room and Lo'campo cursed. Why did he have to play "commander save the weak" today. He took hold of a bureau barricading the door so no one could easily enter and quietly dragged the club and the man to where another man cowered in a corner with two gang members beating at what seemed to be a magic shield. Poorly lifting the club Lo'campo brought it down hard as he could manage placing two Akalak driven onto there head not stopping until their bodies showed no breathing what so ever. Dropping the club and then himself Lo'campo breathed heavily. His body hurt, he needed to rest, he needed his lakan. His lakan, the thought of his weapon giving him the energy to bolt up and to the window locating it in the bucket of an innocent woman trying to escape the bloodshed. He looked to the dazed man from the street and the cowering magic man We have to go get my lakan! he said looking at the two as if they were in the condition to retrieve his possession. He knew that they were all in no position to fight let alone make the trip out into the street and back unscathed. Lo'campo looked back out to the street sighing in sadness at his weapon when another non-goon if not killer caught his attention from behind a building. He had to get that guy's attention somehow so he could bring him his lakan, seeing the obvious Lo'campo began waving his hands hoping that the man would look his way.

[Nellie Hawkins]

Nellie's eyes popped open mere ticks later, despite fear of what they would find. To her surprise, she did not see the body of the hulking blue warrior lying prone on the dusty street, covered in blood.

'That could mean anything,' she told herself realistically. He could have been dragged into a building to be finished off. He could have been grievously injured, crawling off to die on his own time. Or he could have, miraculously, escaped. Nellie chose to believe the latter. Something good had to be happening in this petchin' city, and that was it: he lived.

The truth of that conviction was unconfirmed, but thinking it made Nellie feel much better about her own options.

Options that were looking either much better, or much worse, depending on your point of view. The fighting had cleared the streets and gotten earnest by now; those left alive were skilled, and ruthless. They were also engaged in vicious combat with other skilled and ruthless thugs. As far as chances went, this was the best she was likely to get if she wanted to make her escape anytime soon. 'And I do. I really, really do.'

With a regretful glance at her bucket and its contents, she shook her head. Too risky. It pained her, thinking of the wasted hours collecting clams - and the wasted coin spent on the bucket. But, despite its pitfalls, Nellie discovered she definitely wanted to live more than she wanted to try walking out into the street to retrieve anything. She would simply have to cut her losses and make a run for it, and hope for the best.

Taking a deep breath, she eased her way out from the underside of the wagon, eyes on the street, just in case one small woman was enough to distract from the violence at hand. A solid thump of her head on the axle was her reward for the misplaced attention, and she swore softly. Hugging the ground, she shimmied her way into the alley and then crouched low, throwing a glare at the wagon as she tried to disappear into the shadows.

The ringing clash of weapons seemed much louder, more threatening now that she'd left the relative safety of the wagon, and Nellie flinched at every metallic clang. The rough wood of the building at her back grabbed and tore at her shirt as she slid along it; though no one had noticed her yet, she was convinced it was just a matter of time before one of the ruffians on the street finished off his opponent, saw her and gave chase.

Against the wood, her body began to shake in paranoid fear; self-preservation kept her moving while her brain began to, finally, register the panic she'd been suppressing. 'Just a few more feet. Keep moving. Panic later. Do whatever the petch you want to do - later. Right now walk.' Berating herself, motivating herself, forcing her feet to keep moving her further and further from the chaos and blood, Nellie scraped and slid along every building til she came to the end of the alley.

And then she ran.

oocI'm out, have fun!

[Amon Torque]

Saved by a blue man, right after I except death? Amon through the thought around in his head, pondering what the chances of the events that had just taken place were. Amon couldn't even really make out what the man was saying, and he honestly didn't care. His mind and body were out of sync and Amon was clearly not helping anyone. All that Amon could do was look up at the yelling man, and unhelpfully smile gratefully. Who knows, he thought, maybe not everyone in Sunberth is just looking out for themselves.

It would have been humorous if the situation was different, Amon was perfectly fine, yet more helpless than if both his arms and legs were broken. There was no pain, but then again, Amon had little feeling anywhere. Maybe it was just shock, or the tons of adrenalin pumping through him had suddenly stopped once he realized he was fine. But then Amon realized something, what if the man is threatening me, and I am just sitting here? A look of panic came to Amon face as he came rushing back into reality, hurriedly inching away from the large man. Amon made a very ungraceful roll across the ground, hitting his head on the flipped table in the process.

Clutching his head, Amon hid, as if the large man wouldn't find him behind the only hiding place in the room, his table. Amon's senses went into overdrive, and the mans yelling still sounded like gibberish, "Lakan! Lakan!." That was all Amon could make out, maybe it was a curse in wherever blue men came from. And although there was little to no chance of that, Amon was taking no chances. And his heartbeat hammering in his ears again was drowning out the yelling, leaving him clueless once more.