Being Brown Is Rough (Gideon)

[Ehsan]

3rd of Winter, 512AV "My fat arse there is a market tax!" a very loud, very angry male voice shouted in thickly accented Arumenic. "Hey, hey, easy on the language old man. We're not asking much. Only two dozen mizas..." a leering, spider like Jackal sniggered at a furious, red-faced Benshira practically hopping in front of a moth-eaten tent. "I'm not stupid, azmashe!" Ehsan snapped, jabbing a stubby, clay covered finger at the Eypharian's chin. "I've been doing business here since you were a mewling infant, and I know for a fact that I don't owe you thugs a thing!" While the potter had never been treated quite as pleasantly as an Eypharian, he was still shrewd enough to know when he was being hustled. Today, it was a pair of young, likely idle Jackals that had decided to harass him. Probably to pull together a few more coins for a night out. Ehsan, however, wasn't having any of it. He had been arguing with the two men for almost half a bell, a vein had popped in his temple, and he was showing no signs of backing down. Unfortunately, the two Jackals were aware of this as well. As such, they decided to take a much less diplomatic approach to getting their coin. When Ehsan nearly poked him, the one nearest the Benshira grabbed hold of his wrist with one hand before letting loose a trio of punches into his soft, doughy gut with the three on his other side. The other Jackal soon caught the gist and moved to restrain the doubled over, fifty-two-year-old man, a task that was as easy as it sounded. With his arms pinned behind him, and a guard beating him, Ehsan could do little but wheeze in pain and, occasionally, kick out at his assailant's shins. A move that only resulted in a faint bumping sound against the man's leather bracers and a blow to the jaw. This was not turning out to be a good afternoon.

[Gideon]

Across the street and tucked away from the troubles of the world, two men sat beneath the fickle shade of a small copse of palm trees, sipping from borrowed clay mugs filled with a savory sweet barley beer that eased their minds of the sordid transaction they'd come to make. One man was obviously a native to this depraved world they found themselves in, dark of skin and blessed with more arms than the other had appendages. His mannerisms bled the rich blood of aristocrats despite having a purported lack of affiliation with them, and his smiles were poisoned by dishonesty that poured from kohl lined eyes like faucets. Gideon accounted for the other party, and was used to working with such hollow shells of men on a daily basis. But that didn't mean he lauded their company any more than he might enjoy being stuck in a pit full of disgruntled Dhani. Their business was not so unethical that they needed concern themselves with eavesdroppers, though. This sort of work could be spoken about as candidly as one man might talk to another on the sad state of Eypharian politics. Either way, the only entities that posed any threat at all to them were presently preoccupied by the delight of spinning a Benshiran's day into a woeful tale. Gideon felt a twinge of pity balling up inside his chest, watching the interaction slowly sour over the course of a half bell while sharing vacant words with his business associate in between. He found himself silently praying that the old man would surrender before things got ugly. Jackals were rarely to be trifled with. But this Benshiran did not seem one to be easily cowed, much to the chagrin of a man who was showing a growing interest. Turning towards the slimy-eyed Eypharian whom he'd been meeting with for perhaps the twentieth time this year, the mercenary's damaged smile surfaced for a brief moment when he realized the other had just finished telling a joke he found to be worth his own uproarious laughter. It meant to Gideon, if he were to follow precedent, that the anecdote had most likely been a lecherous tale of sexual exploitation ending up in one party being maimed while the other was left in compromising position. And while never having developed a sturdy opinion on the habits of man, Gideon found this particular man's habits to be in poor taste compared to his own. He may have done some cruel things in his life, but deriving pleasure from them was not something they shared. Perhaps that was precisely the point of their disconnect. The Eypharian's face darkened noticeably when he saw the other not laughing, a look of mild annoyance sculpting his features as he rose a hand to brush the black scruff along his chin. "What's the matter, Gideon? Have my jokes become so tasteless that not even your black heart can find humor in them any longer?" "No Ahmet," the sellsword lied with a detached tone, grabbing his mug of beer as he tipped a small sample of its contents down his dry throat. "I'm just curious as to what's going on over there," head nodding sharply in the direction of the clearly vexed potter. "Never understood why a Benshiran would choose to stay here." He set the mug down atop his knee for a moment while pondering the stranger's audacity. "Didn't his kind used to be slaves to your people?" he asked offhandedly. The Eypharian leaned back against one of the palms with a heavy sigh, looking gravely in the direction his associate pointed. It seemed he was not entirely comfortable with talk of history when only moments before he had been regaling his company with a silver-tongued joke. "Ah, it's none of our business, my friend. Let the Jackals do what they must. It keeps them from questioning our own little parley we're having." He chuckled into his own mug, drowning himself in what remained before peering over his nose into Gideon's own. "How's your drink? Might I offer you another?" "That sounds good," Gideon muttered, unconsciously sliding his mug towards Ahmet's waiting hand. The mercenary's eyes never left the heat of the argument, distracted most by troubling idiosyncrasies he noticed in their demeanor. An imminent threat of a brawl seemed to stiffen the air like the silence between a bolt of lightning and the crack of thunder. His Eypharian associate was hard pressed to take notice however, gathering himself up to dust his leggings off before returning to the tent where they'd procured their drinks. Then, the floodgates of iniquity crashed open. A visceral nerve within Gideon's chest snapped to the Benshiran being keeled over like a bag of bricks, all witnesses in the area averting their gaze quickly for fear they might somehow be dragged in. When it concerned the Jackals, very little was more intimidating than men who boasted several sets of arms with the capability of using each as a functional weapon. It kept even the most sympathetic and bravest of hearts from tempting their involvement. But something about this Benshiran pulled upon the strings of familiarity for the man whose silent blue eyes watched from across the sand-kissed street. Springing to his worn sandaled feet, Gideon quickly paced forward, not entirely sure what good he could do against two trained men, but sensing that he at least had to try. Past a trickling stream of sweat ridden bodies that lined the dusted thoroughfare, the sellsword weaved his way through carefully until slithering out the other side. Greeted by the bronzed flesh of a Jackal's back, Gideon was pleased to see his actions had thus far been neglected by the waspish eyes of men who indulged their thuggish appetites. What left him less than satisfied however, was the direction in which he felt his conscious mind was taking him. It wouldn't require much from him, only a little bit would do, but it was not the amount he wished to call upon that troubled him. It was the latent fear that swirled around the ancient power that went along with it. Res drooled from the base of his palm like a spring bubbling to life, clinging to the concave flesh that he immediately swept over the shoulder and across the gasping eyes of the Eypharian, swinging fists stilled momentarily by the surprise that washed over him. That was until... A violent scream pierced the cloudless day, moisture ripping from the Jackal's eyes as Gideon activated the magnetic properties of the djed. Sweat and tears tore away from the afflicted man's flesh in small rivulets, a multitude of hands clawing at burning sockets whose blood vessels began to rupture, begging for reprieve that not even closed lids could prevent. But when the Jackal fell to the floor, so did the connection become severed, a spherical ball of clear viscous rolling around in the Reimancer's palm whose visage was one of utter disbelief. Barely the size of a copper miza. And it worked. Stunned, the supporting Eypharian released his grasp upon the Benshiran, rushing across a small field of tangled limbs with the fires of enmity toiling beneath his eyes. Gideon had only a moment to look up from his little watery creation before his concentration shattered to pieces, plummeting to the ground as a blue sky became his vista, droplets of water splashing across his hand. The air from his lungs was sucked dry instantly, a rasping cough filling his throat as he winced in pain. The Jackal was already upon him, a hail of sturdy blows striking his body around the thighs and abdomen before the mercenary had a chance to ward them off with a fury of haphazard kicks. He only hoped the old man wasn't so useless that he couldn't lend his own hand to the struggle.

[Ehsan]

Ehsan was a bit too busy avoiding blacking out to notice Gideon's magical intervention, which was fortunate for Gideon; the Benshira would have been more afraid of him than the Jackals if he did. As such, he only became aware of a change in his condition when he was dropped like a sack of potatoes.That was strange. Jackals didn't just decide to walk off and find greener pastures, or... Whatever they did. Kick puppies? Pushing himself slowly to his feet, Ehsan was greeted, after a few ticks of confused blinking, to the sight of two angry men mauling each other. Clearly, the human had saved him, judging by the stupefied state of the assailant collapsed in front of the potter, and the boxing match that was occuring in front of him. Naturally, he did what any self-respecting Benshira would do. He gave a litte jump, and scurried into his tent with an alarmed squeak. Meanwhile, the Jackal was not amused by Gideon's flailing. While the sellsword had succeeded in creating distance between them, his opponent reacted by unsheathing a quartet of short swords from his belt. "You ought to have had more respect for the law, Foysha..." he hissed. The Jackal took a step forward... Before there was a noise akin to that of a flower pot striking pavement accompanied by a shower of colorful clay shards exploding from the back of the guard's head. The Eypharian went cross-eyed, stumbled forward for a tick, then face-planted in the sand. Behind him stood Ehsan, still crimson faced, eyes bugging out at the unconcious form before him. The Benshira took a couple cautious steps forward, prodded the prone Jackal with a toe, then spit on him. The potter finally looked up at Gideon with a somewhat alarmingly huge grin, walked over the Jackal to him, and gave the sellsword a hug. "You glorious, crazy bastard!" he cried in Shiber, lifting the young man off his feet for a moment. "Yahal praise you!"

[Gideon]

Corded muscle burned against a tumult of kicks that sprang from Gideon‘s prone body, working twice as hard to keep the Eypharian’s multiple arms at bay long enough to give him a chance at recapturing his footing. Rewarded with a glancing heel to the Jackal’s inner thigh, both bodies became disentangled while sand splashed wildly in all directions. But where the sellsword initially felt safe within the clutches of opportunity, he just as easily found himself wishing to recant. Blades of argent steel burned grief into his bold, glimmering irises, brandished with a discerning antagonism that left him scrambling back towards the street rather than willing his body to stand up. Strange yet familiar words fell to his ears from the guard‘s venomous tongue, their intent clear even if their translation left much to be desired. The world stilled to the pounding of Gideon’s tense heart, hand reaching in vain to the longsword he kept at his side, no more than a mere pittance of security. But just as his callused fingers began coiling around the supple leather handle, a loud crack resounded against the mud brick walls around them. Debris scattered to the heavens and came pouring down in small fragments of clay, a look of complete bewilderment dismissing the anxiety that tore dark lines against his face. The Eypharian’s body drew limp in the air before it slumped heavily to the ground, revealing the instigator behind the mess as none other than the dark silhouette of the man returning a favor. Lurching to his feet, Gideon was quickly met by the crushing force of barreled arms, lifted from the ground long enough to find that the breath he’d been steadily regaining was quickly squeezed out again. Rasping for air, the Benshiran’s words fell incomprehensibly to the sellsword’s ears, but he could tell by the excitement in each syllable that there was no trace of admonition to be found. A worn smile teased the corners of Gideon’s mouth, sharing in his savior’s joy and lucky to be alive. “Thank you,” he wheezed in broken Arumenic, half crippling over to accept deep breaths of air while his eyes moved between the two wounded Jackals. “We leave. More coming.” There was an order to maintain in this city, even if Ahnatep secretly prided itself on being as corrupt as the sands were dry. Likely a runner had gone to fetch more help, and if the pair were unlucky, perhaps several. Between a dark haired, blue eyed northerner and a surly looking Benshiran, the odds were greatly in their favor that more trouble loomed just around the corner. Clutching his chest as he straightened back up to his full height, Gideon took one discouraging look at the man’s tattered home and heaved a heavy sigh. “Can leave now?”