[Windward Boardwalk] Snowballs in your Face! (Berus)

[Stitch]

"Stiiiiitch." A group consisting of five little boys and girls cooed out for the blind man, every single one of them bundled up within wool and furs. They were mischievous-looking little ones, playful little grins splayed across their young and innocent faces. There as nothing innocent about the snowballs they each held in their hands though, tightly gripping the icy weapons with the ill intent to send them flying. Who would they send them flying at? Stitch, of course. They knew how much he hated the ice and the cold, and they planned to tease him and pester him with it until the very day he left Avanthal. To that end, today they were stalking him through the streets of Avanthal, chasing the poor blind man with the threat of pelting snowballs. He had managed to evade them several times, but now, they were almost positive they had cornered him. They had spotted him walking into the Windward Boardwalk, and being the sneaky little kids that they were, they had followed him. Now, they had managed to trap him in a little area with a frozen fountain and small brick walls. He was ripe for the picking.

Shyke. Stitch was bundled up in a wool outfit and a wool cloak. He had originally come into the wooded area of the Boardwalk to seek a small reprieve from the wind... and in his blissful warmth (which was more of just a "blissful not-as-cold"), he had failed to notice the little devils stalking him. They were a few of the young students that he taught at the Icewatch. Who knew that they were such skilled rogues, as well? He was crouched down behind the small brick wall that encircled the frozen fountain, on the opposite side that they were on. They were just children with balls of ice and snow. He could run. He could dodge the flying missiles, and make his way out of the park. They couldn't catch him. But Priskil, they were such good shots with those blasted little iceballs. Was it a racial trait that all the Vantha had? Why did they even train in anything else? Finally, Stitch made his move. Shooting up from his hiding spot, he darted out across the ice and snow, his woolen cloak whipping in the air. Shrieking, the children spotted him, and let all of their missiles fly. Stitch ducked under one, and in turn, managed to catch the next one to the face. Right at the same time, his boot hit a patch of ice, and he slipped, flying high into the air. A helpless yelp shrieked from his lips, and the rest of the snowballs caught him midair, battering his humiliated body as he smashed into a drift of snow, halfway burying himself in it. Stuck in the snow headfirst, about the only thing one would be able to see of the poor helpless Stitch was his kicking feet, waving frantically in the air. The children ran off, giggling and shrieking, proud their mission was accomplished.

[Berus]

Berus wandered aimlessly though the Boardwalk, eyes barely registering his surroundings as he turned inwards in search of inspiration for his music. He held his lyre in his hands, absently playing slow tunes just to hear what they’d sound like. Unfortunately, this ended up creating a bit of a cacophony due to the young bard’s inexperience, so people hurriedly avoided him and his wailing lyre. Berus was blissfully unaware of this as he joyfully pranced around spreading his “music.” The slight chill hardly affected the Vantha, who had lived his entire life in this eternally cold northland and the snow only assisted him in that it softened his steps so that they would not cause a continual thud-thud and ruin his concentration.

Unfortunately enough, that was what five little children in the area aimed to do. They ceased their cheerful giggling suddenly as the wailing crashed into their ears as if they were unsuspecting sandcastles built too close to the waves. As one they directed their sights upon him, removing their hands from their ears just long enough to gather up some of the hardest looking snow and form them into rough spheres. Coordinating themselves with shouts, they, as one, reared back, took aim, and launched their deadly barrage at the wandering ear-slayer.

Berus heard something rushing though the wind and looked up just as the five snowballs pelted him. He was knocked back a step by the fury of the blows, dropping his lyre and sputtering though a mouth now full of snow. Luckily enough, most of the blows were aimed at his lyre, the source of the evil death-wails. However, one particularly vicious snowball smacked him directly on the nose, sending him down into the snow. Berus rolled over and crawled back to his feet, intent on getting his revenge on the evil little music haters.

However, they were running away from him as fast as their little legs could go. He heard them laughing loudly and congratulating themselves for saving the entire boardwalk. He thought of pursuing, but the thought of a now-grown man, even as small as he was, chasing children down through a park just to pelt them with snowballs was… comical. That didn’t stop him from scooping up his own snowball and tossing it angrily at the hopelessly far children.

Shoulders sagging, Berus retrieved his lyre and decided to head back for home. If no one here wanted to listen to him, then he’d just hide up in his room and practice. He turned to leave but stopped himself suddenly as his eyes spotted something in the snow. For a moment he stood agape, unable to react to the unexpected and bizarre image that greeted his eyes.

Are those… flailing feet?...

He barely stifled a laugh as he rushed forward to help the man who was apparently stuck in a snowdrift. He placed his lyre gingerly on the ground, being careful not to anger the fragile strings, and attempted to grab the man’s legs. Berus’s wind was knocked out of him as one of the legs kicked him hard in the stomach, so he grabbed both of the legs firmly as he contemplated leaving the man here. The thought passed quickly as his breath returned. Sighing, Berus mustered all of the strength in his five feet and four inches and attempted to tug the man out of the snowdrift.

[Stitch]

Stitch struggled to free himself out of the snow, but was quickly reduced to a pile of helpless shivers. He hated the snow. He really did. All of the icy cold powder-like substance crowding around him... ugh, he couldn't stand it. He had never really been exposed to it in Syliras, and when he had been, it hadn't been in such crazy amounts. It was almost a weakness of his. Flapping his arms through the snow, he managed to get the muscled limbs wrapped around his body, rubbing at himself for a little warmth. It was pretty much useless. Even if he did generate a minor amount of heat because of the friction, he was still stuck waist deep in the snowy hill, and he had managed to get stuck with the wrong end in. Stupid snow. The blind man had almost resigned himself to his fate. With a soft sigh, he decided to try one more trick. How pathetic would it be to freeze to death here, pummeled into the snow by a bunch of kids with killer snowball throws? Reaching deep within himself, he gently tugged at his pool of Djed, and slowly began to push more of it throughout his veins. He just slowly powered the entirety of his body, pushing more and more Djed into the natural flow of things, slowly powering up his muscles as a whole. Perhaps if he dug deep enough to get to the ground, he would be able to turn himself up and around. He was about to start the foolhardy trek when he felt his boot make contact with something. What was that? Kicking his feet a little harder, Stitch attempted to make contact again. Ah, it was hands! Hands were grabbing at both of his legs! Even amidst his shivering, trapped torture, Stitch couldn't help but let out a grin. He was to be freed! He had a savior! ...But his savior didn't appear to be that strong. Stitch waited, and the savior continued to tug at his legs, not really making that much progress. The man didn't appear to have a lot of muscle to him. Stitch was sliding out, but slowly. His teeth chattering, Stitch just couldn't take it anymore. With a slight grit of his jaw, he directed all of that gathered Flux to his legs, and bulked the energy flowing through the muscles there. Berus would feel a sudden tensing of all the leg muscles that he was so desperately holding on to, and then, he would see all of them flex at once. With a huge burst of strength, Stitch actually just performed a sit up, hoping the man wouldn't be taken off guard and thrown off balance. He exploded from the drift of snow with his improvised maneuver, a grin upon his young-looking face, snow all over his features. Berus would be met with a loony-looking blind man, bandages wrapped around his damaged eyes. "Hello, milord! This one t-t-thanks you f-for the r-rescue! How can t-this one repay you? Th-this one thought he was done f-for!"

[Berus]

One second, Berus was faithfully tugging at the legs of the man, making slow but steady progress, and the next he found himself once again lying on the ground, covered in the snow that Stitch had dislodged. It was an awesome sight to behold; the trapped man had just sat up and burst through all of the snow like some… some… crazy monster from the stories. He certainly looked like a monster, though he was a bit scrawny. Bandages covered the man’s face and snow still clung to his body, which looked as if it were taking a bluish tint from the chill. Perhaps it was some kind of undead that had managed to break free of its earthen prison, only to trip and fall into a giant snowdrift?

Berus stared at him for a moment, thinking to exclaim something dramatic along the lines of “Rhaus, protect me!” but he couldn’t decide if the bard-god was really into protecting or if he simply played music. After a few moments of struggling with himself he finally shrugged and gave up, deciding that he’d missed the opportunity and no one was around to hear anyway. Then he noticed that the man was smiling kindly and speaking to him in a voice that’s only rough edges were caused by his teeth chattering so badly.

After taking a moment to decide that the man was indeed one of the living, Berus quickly leapt to his feet and unfastened his blue wool cloak. He tossed it to the man as he sent his greetings, “And hello to you too sir! I don’t know how much of a ‘rescue’ I was, I think that you really did all of the work there! That was perhaps the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen in my life, you’ve got to tell me how you did it! But first, take my cloak and warm up a bit. I think I’ve sweated enough trying to pull you out that I’ll be fine for a while.” Berus grinned boyishly and walked up to the man, offering a friendly handshake. Oh wait.. the man has bandages over his eyes! He can’t see! Realizing his mistake, Berus moved to withdraw his hand.

[Stitch]

A delighted little gasp escaped Stitch's lips at Berus tossed his jacket towards him, and the blind man practically leapt toward it. With a sound that resembled a mad giggle, the man quickly pulled it around himself, tugging the warm article of clothing around his shivering figure. Tugging at some of the Flux that was still powering his legs, he once again started to sent it flowing through the rest of his body. Perhaps if there was more circulation through his cold veins, it would help his body heat up faster. Praying that this theory was actually true, he kept the Flux moving, just using it in the gentlest way he knew how. Using all of that extra energy he had summoned to just increase the speed of the Djed flowing through his body. That shouldn't be that difficult to maintain, right? Returning his attention to the man, he beamed gratefully at him, the combined power of the Flux and the newly gained jacket doing wonders to warm his cold body. "Thank you, milord. Are you sure you don't need this? This one knows you and your people barely have a hard time in this cold at all, but this one can't help but always feel concern..." Ah, the blind man apparently could somehow see more than he let on. He had already managed to deduce that he was a Vantha? And, if Berus thought back, the blind man had easily caught the woolen cloak! "And as for how this one managed to escape from the snow... Well, your amazing strength certainly made it easy for this one just to tug the rest of the weight up using his abdominal muscles! Nothing to brag about at all! The work was all done by milord!" Stitch chuckled, giving the man a firm pat on the shoulder. Before Berus could fully snatch his hand away, Stitch had already snapped his down, and swept the bard's fingers up in a firm handshake. He shook the extended greeting enthusiastically, happy to meet the man, and learn the name of his savior. "You can call this one Stitch, milord! And might this one ask your name? This one thanks you once again for saving him. This one was attacked by a group of snowball hurling children, and this one tried diving into a snowdrift to hide... but alas, this one just trapped himself in an even worse predicament!" Stitch let out a loud laugh, the carefree and happy man obviously in his element. It was hard to tell if he was joking or not, or if he was serious. How else could he have gotten trapped in such a way?

[Berus]

Berus laughed alongside him, swept up in the man’s kind and jovial attitude. This was a rather odd figure; blind but able to see, kind but capable of incredible feats of strength. He seemed very concerned for other’s wellbeing and even managed to crack a joke at being trapped in a heavy snowdrift. Berus decided this was a very cool guy.

Berus smiled widely when the laughter played itself out. Then he bowed to the man with a flourish as he introduced himself. “I am Berus the Bard, humbly at your service oh master of sit ups. I am merely the humble player of the magnificent lyre that lay-“ He was interrupted suddenly by a loud twang. Berus whipped his head back to investigate and discovered that one of the strings of his lyre had snapped. “Ah… humble player of that frustrating lyre that lay over there.”

Berus shook his head, returning his attention to the man. “Anyway, what is your name, stranger? I assume it can’t be ‘One,’” Berus said with a sly grin. “And what brings you to the northlands? You seem much more suited to the sun than this barren frozen wasteland!” This man certainly had a constitution much more suited to the southern lands and that interested the youthful bard. He had only read stories all of his life about great heroes down south, in lands that weren’t eternally covered in snow and ice. Perhaps he could find the great adventure he sought down there?

[Stitch]

A frown blossomed over Stitch's features as he took notice of the broken Lyre. He instantly took a step toward it, then hesitated, looking back at Berus as if afraid his approach would further agitate the picky instrument. After a few moments of this silent stand-off, Stitch stilled, and offered his apologies to the bard. "Well, Milord Berus, it is quite lovely to meet you. This one is sorry that you had to discard your lyre while on route to save this one. If you look at it that way, it is kind of this one's fault. May this one buy you a new lyre? Or a new string? This one does not know what is required to fix such instruments..." Ah, the blind man was genuinely offering an apology for something that was barely his fault. With that frown on his face, and the amount of distress that his features were giving away... well, he was actually sorry for it. But then again, the minute Berus started teasing him, the blind man brightened up. He was something like a child, with his emotions dancing all over the place. Crossing his arms over his chest, flexing slightly, he grinned and quickly replied. "Stitch, milord. And this one is simply here to learn the art of snowball fighting. It seems to be a means to defend ones self, and with the talent that these Avanthal children have in it... well, this city could win a lot of wars. Would milord perhaps like to teach this one in the fine art? Or is milord only excellently skilled with his lyre? Did milord grow up in this beautiful city?" Shuddering a bit, Stitch once more gave the Djed swirling through his body a gentle push, only taking a few seconds to focus on it. He tried a different method this time, and instead of trying to keep all of his Djed veins moving at once... He simply focused on one limb at a time. While standing there and conversing with his new found friend, he let the Djed flow increase in his left arm, hopefully increasing circulation as well. This icy wonderland was an excellent way to train himself in the Flux. He needed it just to keep warm!

[Berus]

Berus waved away Stitch’s concerns over his annoying lyre. “Don’t worry about my lyre; it’s just a quick string replacement is all. I’m getting rather good at it after all the times it’s snapped. Besides, you should consider yourself lucky! Many would pay to have that lyre snap and fall silent,” Berus joked, grinning. He wondered why the man would take the blame for the snapping lyre string, despite the fact that he had nothing at all to do with it. Perhaps he was just overly nice? His contemplations faded away the instant that Stitch brightened back up, though, for he was caught up in the man’s kind and friendly demeanor.

Berus almost laughed aloud at Stitch’s explanation as to why he was up here in the north. “Well, I don’t know about all that. Up here we just consider snowball fighting a game, thought we might be able to drive away a couple of armies with our frozen balls of death. And as for myself? I am just a dabbler in the art of music, yet I am a master of the snowball. Woe be to those my shadow falls upon when I am armed with my most deadly weapon.” Berus winked slyly at Stitch.

He crouched down and gathered up a bit of snow, quickly forming it into a hard ball and compacting it. “All you have to do to snowball fight is grab up some snow, find an unsuspecting victim-“ Berus looked around a moment, trying to spot someone- “and simply lean back and throw it with all you’ve got!”

In a drastic act of betrayal, Berus reared back and tossed the ball of snow directly at Stitch’s chest, barely holding back a cackle of glee. “And yes, I did grow up in this beautiful, if a bit chilly, city! Where did you grow up, kind sir?” He grinned innocently at Stitch, acting as if he had done nothing out of the ordinary.

[Stitch]

Snowballs? A game? How could they be a game? Stitch often marveled at how these charismatic and kind people managed to find a bit of fun in their ice-cold world. They seemed to be in love with the snow and the ground it covered, and had adapted to it in so many different ways. They even could have a good time throwing little balls of ice at each other! Stitch supposed he could see the skill in it. You had to have good reflexes, and a good aim... it was kind of like dodgeball, in a way. He had often played that one with the children. He just couldn't get over how cold snowballs were, though. He was really a bit of a wimp when it came to the snow. He took a bit of time to study the man as he bent down, gathering the snow in his palm. Touching into his Auristic ability, he slowly made an attempt to meld his mind with that of the man's Aura. He hadn't taken much time to notice it before, as he had been a little too busy thanking the man over and over again... now though, he would use a few quick seconds to better know his newfound friend. The man had a white and blue Aura, much like every other Vantha he had ever seen. His kind were almost effortless to identify. Their Auras weren't fazed in the slightest by the cold assaulting them from all sides, and they also had a mark on them. A heavenly Mark, much like the Mark Jaeden or Jilitse had worn. Each of these people were blessed by a God, although what that God stood for, Stitch had no idea. He had heard the name around town, though. Morwen. Stitch had become too lost in his own thoughts to actually study the Aura as far as he had wanted. He had melded his mind with it a bit though, and therefor was able to notice something strange. While the man was casting his eyes all about the landscape, as if looking for a target to pelt with his snowball... his attention was remaining on Stitch the entire time. All at once, Berus spun, and all at once, Stitch understood. He stepped forward suddenly, his foot slamming hard into the snow, his muscles rippling in a slight forward motion. With a slight "Hah!", Stitch threw out a flashing punch, firmly burying the fist into the oncoming snowball. It was an almost instantaneous reaction from the blind man, and the speed and accuracy at which he struck was stunning. For a second, both men would be blinded by the sudden cloud of snow, generated by the broken snowball. When vision was restored, Berus would catch a glimpse of Stitch, a broad smile on his face, scooping up a snowball with both hands, windmilling both arms as if to throw a ball... and then hurling both snowballs at him, a counter-attack to his sneak attack.

[Berus]

Berus was still grinning as the cloud of snow burst forth, his eyes not immediately registering Stitch’s lightning-fast punch. The next moment, however, he frowned as he felt oddly like he’d seen the blind man managed to actually punch his snowball in midair, despite that it was thrown from point blank! It took him a moment to finally accept it as the cloud of snow enveloped him and by that time he saw Stitch tossing two snowballs right back at him! This guy is just insane… Berus thought as the realization struck him.

Berus brought his arms up reflexively to protect his face from the hurtling balls of deadly ice. However, he was no Stitch and possessed no lightning fast reflexes and certainly none of his coordination. Luckily for him, Stitch did not aim for the exposed face of the young Vantha but rather his chest. Both of the balls of snow hit home, right into his chest, and Berus was knocked back a few steps by the blows. He looked down at his chest, a bit surprised by the bite of the snowballs, and stood for a short moment as he digested everything.

Then he laughed loudly. “Well done, Sir Stitch, you have bested a Vantha at their own game! I have honestly never seen anyone move quite so quickly before nor respond with such an accurate attack in so short a time! You could, with a bit of proper training, perhaps even win the Snowball Championship!” He joked, winking at Stitch. “I guess I know not to attempt sneak attacks at one of your prowess again!”

Truthfully, Berus was rather amazed at this man. He seemed to defy physics with every other movement and was still quite a jolly young man. Berus had always read that those of great power always went powerhungry and went on great quests to further their own glory, generally killing many including themselves in the process. However, this man seemed the epitome of a kind hearted man, perhaps even a tramp, and did not even possess the arrogance of an old artist whose work had been selected as worthy of Morwen’s great hall. This was the kind of stuff that heroes were made of.

Berus knelt down and grabbed up another bit of snow, quickly forming it into a snowball. “So, you’re fast, but are you accurate?” Berus asked, smiling broadly, determined to make up for his loss to this newbie, no matter how exceptional he was, with a good old fashioned snipe. “How about we duel? What we do is stand back to back, count to ten as we take ten steps in the opposite directions, and then, on ten, we turn and fire!” Berus’s eyes flashed maliciously, for he had been ‘dueling’ all his life, learning exactly how to let go of the snowball in the middle of his spin so that it would retain some semblance of accuracy. “So, whatcha say? I don’t take losses too easily, as you can see,” he admitted.