Completed Riot In The Market

[Erik Murphy]

12th Bell - 50th Winter 517 AV - Seaside Market

It had all escalated rather quickly.

Erik hated the market at the best of times, he’d simply worked as a hired thug for too many stall owners over the years to ever walk down the rows of merchants and not recall every tedious barter between entitled customers and greedy salesman. Not too mention that thieves were rife and Svefra all too common, not that there was much difference between the two in Erik’s eyes.

He had been hired to stand guard for a food merchant, keeping an eye out for thieves, staring down customers, and crossing his arms when a negotiations got rowdy. Right now he was listening to a customer and the merchant haggle, it was beginning to give him a headache as they had been arguing over the prices of oats for far too long. The glut of Sunberthers that hadn’t perished in the cold were driving prices sky high. He himself had cursed Morwen’s absences silently many times and a couple of times out loud when he had felt brave.

He sighed, surveying the faces of the crowd that mingled past, it was fine art to tell a thief apart from the shifty looking that most Sunberthers seemed to naturally possessed. Erik didn’t have this talent and instead relied on stereotyping. Anyone skinny, dirty and under the age of thirty found Erik standing right next to them, glaring down on them and any hands that got too close to the product got a sharp, swift smack by the flat of his blade. Finding no-one of interest Erik turned back to the negation that between two locals, often, quickly and perplexingly descended into name calling.

“Four gold mizas for a pound of oats is load of horse crap. It was barely one gold in the summer.”
“Its called basic economics you uneducated moron. Supply and demand. No-one is bleedin’ dyin’ and we ain’t got enough to feed everyone.”
“That doesn’t mean ya have to ram up prices till no-one can bloody afford it! You can still make a profit sellin’ it at lower prices you greedy tosser!”
“I am sellin’ at what people who can pay are willin’ to pay and if you ain’t willin’ to pay that much then you can go fu-”.

Then the scream had rung out. It was bleak and hopeless, thick with terror and desperation, it was call for help yet it sounded like a chilling surrender. Erik’s weathered hand had reached instinctively for the worn hilt of his cutlass yet it was more a reflex and he did not draw the blade yet. “She’s a bloody mage!” A rough voice shouted accusingly as Erik, standing on his tiptoes to peer over the crowd, his eyes following the ripple in the crowd as people began to move away or towards the commotion.

There the girl laid, sprawled out with little dignity, her dishevelled hair and dirty skin quickly became soaked and sodden as a wave of blood rushed out from under her, saturating her clothes and surrounding her in ocean of crimson. Erik had looked around, his eyes scanning for a bloodied weapon or defiant killer but neither could be found in the immediate vicinity and instead of searching for such a man, or woman, those closest to the body had begun arguing, with escalating passions on either side quickly reaching boiling point as Erik watched and listened closely, his hand still on the hilt of his weapon.

“This woman was murdered!”
“Petch her! She was petching mage!”
“Just because she a mage doesn't need to be murdered!”

Those last moment had brought a moment of silence, what would pass for common sense in most cities was downright heretical in Sunberth and Erik felt his blood boil a little, the burn scars on his arm flared up for a second as he gritted his teeth as the rather unintelligent discourse continued.

“Shut up your shyte mouth, woman! All mages deserve the torch!”
“Don't you ever talk to my wife like that!” 

Then the scuffled ensued, it always went the same way; heated words, the first punch, the flurry of activity as people rushed to join the fray or rushed to get away from it, which inevitably led people getting pushed, shoved and crushed which only ended with more people getting pulled into the fight as the conflict swelled outwards.

Erik turned back away, disinterested, it was just another day at the market.

[Erik Murphy]

Erik reached into a small leather pouch, groping around slightly, searching for its contents before he managed to pull a thick clump of dark, damp tobacco from within. He raised it to his nostrils, noting the dusty, bitter scent that exuded from pipeweed. Nodding appreciatively to himself, he began to pack the pipe. First he slowly ground the pipeweed between his finger and thumb, letting the loose Sallowbell form the first layer till the tip of the mound that formed reached the rim of the bowl. He then pressed down gently with his thumb, till the mound halved in size. He repeat this twice again till he was satisfied with packing. He had emphasised to his children multiple times, the key was a light loose bottom layer to encourage airflow and a pack top layer that was firm enough to stay lit for long amount of time. Not that any of children actually smoked or even cared, but that didn’t stop him making sure they knew what he considered and invaluable life skill.

“Are you gonna bloody do sumthin’?”

Erik looked up, looking very unconcerned and mildly miffed about his employer disturbing him from what he always found to very therapeutic and relaxing ritual. Of course, it was noting that while this was going on the violence had continued to swell around them. It had become incresingly brutal. Swords and daggers had been drawn and the inescapable sound of clashing steel rung through the market streets. Meanwhile some men were simply being beaten to near death and beyond with fist and feet, and Erik doubted that any of these combatants even knew why the fight had broken out or even cared. He even spied some opportunistic thieves and corpse looters, taking the iniative and risking the active battle for the best loot. Once the riot died down Erik knew full well more vultures would swarm, nothing would be wasted.

“I was plannin’ on lightin’ my pipe, I don’t s’pose you got a splint handy?” He said nonchalantly, briefly pausing to duck out of the way of thrown stone that whistled past his ear.
“You jokin’? We got a bloody mob on our hands! We gotta load this stuff and get outta here!” He shouted, his eyes wide with panic.
“Alright, calm down, don’t bloody shit yourself. First of all, ya hired me as a guard not a labourer and I’m guessing all ya boys have pissed off and they won’t be comin’ back till all this dies down. Secondly, how d’ya think you gonna move all yer gear through this mess?” He declared, gesturing around him to the absentee labourers and the violent surroundings “And thirdly, this ain’t The Mob. Its just some riot, don’t worry about it, just people blowing off steam.”
“And I reckon these fellas are lookin’ to do just that.”

The merchant nodded forwards, indicating towards two lads who had stopped to take interest in their stall. They were typical looking Sunberther gutter trash; skinny and adorned in dirt-streaked and torn clothes, with eyes that seemed to have a real unwillingness to look at anyone else, as if that would stop them from being spotted. Both carried daggers that were rust-spotted and dull, more likely their victims died of infection than actual wounds. Their hungry eyes almost didn’t acknowledge Erik and his employer, instead fixated on the food behind them, the raw grains and vegetables must’ve seemed like a decadent feast to them. Erik turned back to the merchant, his expression was one of disinterest, his tone was neither intimidated nor concerned.

“You got a splint or not?”

[Erik Murphy]

A fine trail of smoke rose and twirled off the tip of the flame that quivered and shook, dancing in the soft wind before being plunged into darkness and snuffed it out. But ember endured and a nurturing breath gently ease these embers into life, coaxing the sour smoke away from the embers and through a pair of crack, dry lips. 

“Cheers mate” Erik said cheerily, chucking the splint away as he puffed merrily on his pump as he continued to watch the ensuing carnage that rage around him, ignoring the two lads that were weighing up their options right now.. It seemed to show no sign of dying down but the area where all began had certainly begun to slow down as many of the rioters were now either dead, severely injured or looting the former two. Erik himself rested a leather body against the skull of a rioter that crawled up to them, begging for help, only to be gently and unceremoniously pushed back down to the ground by Erik’s foot. 

The two would-be rioters finally decided that it was worth the risk, their fingers whitened as their grip tightened on their daggers, stepping forwards with clear intentions. Erik rolled his eyes to the heavens before responding. His right hand reached down, sliding out the kopis from its sheathe and swung left and right a couple of times, as if warming up for the fight as Erik pushed his chest out and glared down at them through a stream of thick pipe smoke, trying his best to intimidate them. The stopped for a moment. His blade glinted menacingly in the sunlight, unlike their blades it was cleaned, sharpened and free from rust, yet it bore the marks of frequent use. It was a weapon that looked like whoever owned it knew how to use it and how to care for it. It was an intentional image Erik wanted create, while many mercenaries enjoyed a good fight, it was always good to try an avoid the risk of a fight, in this city and this line of work the fights came looking for you. Erik’s stand off didn’t work, with hungry stomachs and numbers on their side they were willing to risk stepping forward once more.

When it came to fighting multiple opponents footwork was crucial. The aim was to manoeuvre around the group so that you only squared off against one opponents at time as they tired themselves out running around each other and hampered each others effectiveness by getting in each others way. But, Erik was in a crowded market with a riot going on and his footwork had always been more than a little shoddy, he was a Sunberther so he fought dirty and he began plotting out his and their next moves in his mind.

“You lads sure you wanna do this?” Erik asked, withdrawing the pipe from his mouth with his free hand to ask as they stepped close to Erik. It was a rhetorical question. Mid-sentence, he chucked his pipe swiftly forward, aiming it at the lad on Erik’s left. Both their eyes were immediately drawn to it as they both pulled their heads back to avoid the pipe and its hot embers. As Erik threw the pipe he had already begun to pull his blade, raising upwards and backwards, before swinging it forward as his right foot stepped towards the lad on the left.

[Erik Murphy]

Erik had never seen the point of using a dagger except as a last resort, you had to dangerously close for them to be effective with little to no ability to block a heavier, longer blade. He watched both pairs of eyes move away from the pipe as it flew unimpeded past their heads and settle on the sharp edge of Erik’s blade as it made its way forward. They began to retaliate but the edge of the kopis had already began to slice open the left lad’s gut. The smell of blood was instant. The smell of shit came later as the blade tore open the lad’s bowels. Erik watched his eyes react, first surprised, then resigned as he acknowledged the pain. His arm slowed in its tracks, the dagger falling to reach Erik’s gut in time, the short blade perilously close to being buried in his flesh.

Erik felt through his hilt, the resistance against his blade suddenly drop as the metal slipped free from the flesh, covered in blood. With this information, Erik had already began to step his right foot backwards, twisting his torso along with it, presenting a smaller target as his pulled against the momentum of the kopis, twisting the blade back round, ready to knock the dagger that belonged to the lad on the right. In Erik’s mind, as soon as he slit the gut of the left lad, the lad on the right would’ve had enough time to thrust his dagger forward so Erik moved to knock it off course while dodging the blade. The bad news was his timing was off. This became to known him as he felt the blade's edge slicing against his right side, adrenaline did itss best to mask the searing pain that smouldered against him . The good news was his own blade still found a targeting, digging its way into the rioter’s forearm, not quite having the weight or speed to break through the bone, instead just burying itself in the flesh.

The screams masked Erik’s own grunt of pain as he instinctively clenched his side, feeling the hot blood slip through his fingers, he hoped that he would have to go see a doctor. But the would be thief had bigger problems as Erik yanked his sword out of the wound, releasing the pressure as blood began pouring out of the wound. Erik was tempted to stab the lad in the gut but it seemed kind of redundant now. “I’d find a doctor if I were you” Erik stated plainly as if they hadn’t just been willing to fight to the death over food. The other rioter had fallen to the floor, his skin paling incredibly fast as his arms were clasped around his stomach, trying simply to hold his guts in, Erik wasn’t even sure if he was still conscious. “I think its a little late for your pal though” He declared, poking the dying man intensively with his boot to check if would even react to it.

The lad’s eyes darted between his arm, his friend, his dagger and Erik. For a moment Erik thought he was going to carry on the fight, and he readied himself for any hostile movement but it was for nought, the lad turned on his heels and broke into a sprint, clearly deciding it wasn’t worth joining his friend.

[Erik Murphy]

Erik stepped over the dying rioter to pick up his pipe before joining the merchant back on his stall who looked at Erik with a small amount of incredulity and fear. “How did ya know he was gonna carry on attackin’ you?” The merchant asked with a morbid curiously. 
“Eh, I didn’t” Erik declared as he examined his wound, it wasn’t as bad as he feared, based on past wounds it would probably hamper his movement for a few days and it would certainly scar up nicely but he wasn’t worried about bleeding out. He still kept pressure on the wound with his hand to help stem the bleeding as he slid his bloodied kopis back into his weapon harness before explaining to the merchant “He’d just seen what happened to his mate, no honour amongst thieves y’know?”
“Hmm, I s’pose. Still, all this trouble over a mage.”
“You don’t think its worth killin’ a mage?” Erik said, turning his head slightly and cocking a curious eyebrow, it was certainly a loaded look as he put his pipe back between his lips.
“That’s not what I mean” He explained, clearly not wanting to appear to sympathise with mages “A woman turns up dead with no proof of being a mage, yet they barely even questioned that she were one. That’s not justice, sometimes I think there’s something wrong with this city.”
“Better safe than sorry” Erik replied, rather cruelly, perhaps he had just become too desensitised to murder and the death of this young girl barely rested of his mind.
“Oh that’s fuckin’ moronic logic” The merchant snapped back, waving his hands about as if to dismissive the idea out of thin air “We might as well just go from house to house, slittin’ everyone’s throat ‘just in case’ they’re a mage. I’ve dealt with Zeltivans, Sylirans, Ravokians; the lot. And all of them are scared of magic, but none of lynch them.”
“Sounds like they’re cowards” Erik retorted, he had a very low opinion of Sunberth’s neighbours which he tried to interact minimally with.
“Oh they are. They’re like sheep. They don’t feel safe if there isn’t someone tellin’ them when to eat, sleep and shit. They need to be put in their place, they want it. But magic ain’t used as an excuse to kill people” He reasoned.

Erik mulled over his response, puffing away on his pipe, letting the smoke billow out from his nostrils as he scratch his rough beard. “People find any excuse to kill each other. Money, revenge, voices in their heads. Just ‘cos I didn’t see ‘er do magic, doesn’t mean she ain’t one. Can we risk lettin’ one go and wait for evidence till it’s to late? I hung a bunch of the fuckers last year, they begged and they cried but they could’ve burnt this city to the ground. Why would anyone learn magic if not just to control others? Its evil.”
“Magic is evil, that ain’t up for debate” He responded, an opinion many would disagree with in its entirety, but continued nonetheless “But that ain’t what I’m arguing. You might think the Mob is all just and true and all that Knight crap. But I think most people just use it as a cover to loot, steal, rape and kill.”
“Oh that’s bullshit, no-one said that when we marched on Robern’s mansion” Erik spat back, his anger stoked and his face showed it.
“Really? One girl gets murdered, a guy shouts that she’s a mage, then a bunch of people riot” He said triumphantly, gesturing around him to the bloody street and overturned stalls, not everyone had simply managed to blend into the background.
“That’s just...” Erik began to say but his voice trailed off, his mind failed to formulate a response.
“Let’s face it, the rest of the world are sheep, but that doesn’t mean a pack rabid wolves is that much better.”

Erik was left in an introspective silence as the merchant clapped his hands and looked around his surroundings. “Right, I reckon we can move this lot out of his here, might have to run over a few folks but serves ‘em right...” But Erik was hardly listening, instead thinking this bitter truth over as he begrudgingly begun heaving the goods off the stall.