Closed (The Scorched Skull) The Old Hangout (Shikoba)

[Shanapar]

Time Stamp: 7th of Sping, 513AV Location: The Scorched Skull Who: Skikoba Shanapar the Untamed was a frequent visitor to the Scorched Skull when he was part of the street gang. He was curious if it changed in the last six years since he been away from Ahnatep. Walking down the alley, he glared at anyone who got to close to him since most of these beggars were probably thieves acting as beggars. However, when he was about to get to the end of the alley, he heard a voice behind him demand softly in common, “You might understand the drill, black eyed devil, but I want you to take out your coin purse and put it on the ground besides you.” Shanapar sighed to himself, and he could tell the man was a coward because he wasn't very close to him when he threatened to mug him. Shanapar turned around, took out his angle blade, and looked over the man. The man was a human mostly likely a benshira, but he looked like he hadn't eaten in days. The cuts, bruises, and black eye made Shanapar wonder if the man's judgment was impaired by either alcohol or drugs since it looked like he lost most of his fights.The benshira scowled at him and said with a hiss, “I told you to drop you purse, black eyes!” Shanapar spread his arms out and said simply, “You heard me before human, so if you want to die, than I won't deny Dira a fool like you.” The human charged the large Chaktawe and thrust the dagger at his chest with all his strength. Shanapar side stepped the man wild attack and used his free arm to defect the blow. Shanapar could feel the man's blade slice the top of his arm. However, Shanapar was free to strike, so he slashed his curved dagger across the man's exposed chest. Shanapar smiled viciously as he saw red blood dripping the human's chest. The man stumbled back putting a hand over the worst part of the wound. Shanapar didn't stop his attack, so he stalked forward and the man thrust weakly in his direction. The black eyed man jumped back out of reach of the wounded man's attack, and when the man momentum brought him closer to the Chaktawe. The black eyed man aimed a quick snap kick towards the stomach of the man, but he missed horribly when the human jumped back with a arrogant laugh. Shanapar could start to see the crowd gathering around them, and the human did another quick thrust with his dagger to the face of Shanapar. However, Shanapar anticipated his attacker's attack and quickly moved his face out of way of thrust. Since the man brought himself into range once again, and Shanapar grabbed the man by the scruff of his shirt, and he pulled him to him driving his forehead into the man's face. The black eyed man felt the warm and sticky feeling of the man's blood on his face, so Shanapar drove a knee in the man's stomach. The Chaktawe heard his knife fall to the ground as the man stumbled back, but Shanapar frown when the man didn't fall. Shanapar clenched his hand over the dagger as he put his right hand with the dagger in front of his face as he left arm rests on hip. He puts his left foot back and he lifts up his right leg, so his toes are touching the only part of his left foot touching the ground. The Chaktawe turned left foot straight back and he bring right leg back and thrust the heel forward in the stomach of the benshira. Shanapar smiled to himself when the human was propelled back by the force of his kick as he landed in a pile of garbage. Shanapar looked on the ground, and he found the man dagger, so he looked over and found a barrel of water. Shanapar gently tossed the dagger into the water, and he looked back at the groaning man. He could tell a few of the beggars were already relieving him a valuables. The Chaktawe thought it was a fitting defeat for a mugger, so he walked into the street. He could see a few prostitutes hanging out on the walls of tavern. He nodded respectfully to the female and male whores as he made his way into the tavern. He walked into the crowd tavern, and he could tell the place hasn't changed at all in six years. Shanapar could tell that the owners added a few more human skulls to their collection, and the patrons were law-a-binding citizens of the great city of Ahnatep. Shanapar was thrown a few look, but they quickly turned their head away when the Chaktawe's black eyes feel on them. Shanapar was dressed in his standard black feather mantle of his people with raven feather and a few bones tied into his black hair. The black eyed man had his quiver strapped to his back and short bow slung over his shoulder since he was spending the afternoon hunting. It was disappointing day since he couldn't find the desert cow. He was stalking for miles. The hunter walked up to the back, and he saw the benshira behind the counter. He walked up to the bartender and said softly knowing the only drink of choice in the bar, “May I get a pitcher of beer, and if you can spare a glass of water, and a clean rag. It would be much appreciative, sir?” The benshira looked at the chaktawe and to his bleeding arm, and he said with a amused grin, “It looked like you had a run-in with the local wildlife. I will find you a clean rag no charge.” Shanapar nodded to the man and said softly, “I am going to find a cozy table to nurse my troubles away.” The benshira nodded and said softly, “I will have Ssahnya bring you the pitcher of beer, water, and clean rag to your table.” Shanapar reached into his coin purse and pulled out five silver miza put it on the table in front of him. When the bartender takes the money, Shanapar walked to a empty table by the fire place, and he slide into a chair waiting for his beer to come.

[Shikoba]

Walking down the very same alley, Shikoba the Wanderer notice the already dissipating crowd. The iron sent of blood filled the air, and so she kept to the shadows, watching as a few stray thieves stole from the downed man. 'Poor fool,' she thought with a small thread of sympathy, continuing down the alley. She paused by the barrel, slipping the glove off of her right hand, dipping her fingertips in the water. She had seen a few reserved glances towards it, which piqued her interest. Through the touch, she felt some obstruction to the water's movement within it's depths. It was a medium sized barrel, not completely full. With an inward sigh, she reached in, holding up her long black hair with her gloved hand, grateful that she had decided to where her tunic instead of her feathers, and snagged the dagger. Passing a cursory glance over it, she tucked it in the folds of her robes along with her feather shaped daggers, and continued towards the tavern. She noticed that some of those she passed gave her wary looks, which she chalked up as the usual discrimination, until she heard snags of conversed whispers. "Black eyed devils.. Is she with him?" said one, "Chaktawe...", spoke another, the voice belonging to one of the prostitutes. 'Interesting,' came a slightly amused, rich, male voice, belonging to her Spirit guide, Rinathwa. It was one of the rare moments her guardian shared his opinions. She felt his presence briefly as he spoke in her mind, before it disappeared as if he had never been there. 'I only came for a drink,' she thought back in Tawna, as she entered the street, her pitch black gaze lowered, scanning her surroundings. Shikoba was relatively new to Ahnatep, and had heard that The Scorched Skull was on of the more lively taverns. She had first started going there two days after her arrival, and had gone ever since. Ignoring the hushed comments that followed her, she continued on towards the door of the seemingly crumbling building. Turning the faded purple door nob, which she personally found strangely fascinating, Shikoba opened the door to reveal a lowly lit room, the strong stench of beer wafting to her nose. Upon entering the tavern, she noticed the bar and bartender, and approached it while keeping a low profile. Luckily, she was able to snag a bar stool in a corner, just as it occupant rose, swaying slightly as he made his exit. Rapping the sandstone lightly with her knuckles to catch the benshira's attention. "A mug of beer, please," she said in rough Common with a smile. He seemed to size her up before nodding. "Haven't seen you around much. New to the city?" he asked, though his tone didn't seem to invite conversation. It was her turn to nod, watching how he glanced around the room every few seconds. "My name is Shikoba," she said as he placed the mug before her, and nodded her thanks, placing five copper mizahs on the counter. "The name's Jaben," he said, nodded, picking up the coins, and moved on to take care of another customer. Taking a sip from her beer, she glanced down the row at the counter, keeping her eyelids lowered. Seeing no familiar faces, she turned her back to the wall, leaning against it, and surveyed the room, her expression calm and emotionless. It was not as if she expected to recognize anyone in particular, except perhaps the woman she had met a few nights before. She noted a couple of unsavory characters, who seemed to be arguing on the other side of the room. Tracing her fingers lightly around the rim of her drink, allowing her gaze to continue wandering, though she kept an eye on the small group. 'Trouble,' she thought warily, absently touching the hilt of the dagger she had filched from the barrel.

[Shanapar]

Shanapar walked to the table, and he sat down facing the fireplace. He took out his cut arm and eyed the damage. The injury wasn't too bad since it was just a shallow cut. Luckily the moron's dagger only grazed his arm, but he needed to clean wound and dress it before it started to fester. He felt the heat of the fire start to irritate the S-shaped scar on the middle of his chest given to him by a old enemy. Shanapar said to himself softly in Tawna in honor of the person who gave it too him, “You were fine warrior Syliss. I will save a drink for you in honor of your memory.” When he heard someone walk up behind him, he tilted his head back to look at a the woman. The Chaktawe stared at her for a moment because it was rare to see such a fair skinned and blond hair this far south into the desert. She was a rare beauty, but when she started to talk, he understood why she lived the south lands, the woman as a Dhani. The woman spoke similar to Syliss, “I hope yyourr not taalkiing to yourrselff because of bloood losss.” The hunter smirked at the Dhani joke and said with a shake of his head, “No, I am honoring a memory and the spirit of a old enemy...” The Dhani women set down his pitcher of ale, glass of water, and the rag in front of him. She pretty waitress smiled at him and said softly, “Ifff the sppiirrit ansswerss you back than I suggesst you seee a doctorr.” He felt her glide a hand over his shoulder and said softly, “Iff yoou neeed anyythiing elssse, pleeasse let mee know.” Shanapar turned back to his wound as he listened to the Dhani woman walk away. He knew he would pay the bartender for the rag at the end of the night, so he took the rag and tore it in half. He took one of the half of cloth, and he poured out some of the water onto one side of the cloth rag, so it is wet. He brought the rag up to his arm and started to wipe the would clean of blood. He poured some of the beer into his mug, and he pour a little bit onto the rag. He didn't want to dip the rag into pitcher of beer because he wanted to drink it afterward. He took the beer soaked side, and he started wiping the wound with it. He winced at the sharp pain of the alcohol stinging his wound. When he was finished cleaning the wound, he tossed the dirty half of the rag into the fire. He took the dry piece of cloth, and he put one end in his mouth, and he started to wrap the rag around his cut. When it was completely covered, the chaktawe tied the two ends into a tight note. Shanapar smiled at his bandaged, leaned back in his chair, grabbed his drink, and took a long swig of his ale. He smiled to himself at the sharp grain flavor of Ahnatep beer. Shanapar put down his glass on the table, and he saw a group of men arguing in the far end of the bar. He wasn't too concerned since fights were a normal occurrence in the bar. The Chaktawe hunter looked to the other side of the bar, and he looked over the patron and his eyes fall upon a woman with a long black braid with feather woven into it. He tilted his head and he noticed her eyes were completely black. The hunter expression soften when he saw one of his kin in the tavern of ignorant city-dwellers. She was a pretty woman, but the odd thing about the chaktawe woman was he lack of face paint or paint of any kind on her body. He wondered about it for a few chimes, but he figured the woman didn't want to stand out in a city of ignorant fools like eypharians. Shanapar decided to take a chance and approach the Chaktawe woman. He was slightly nervous because the last time saw and talked to his people. He was almost banished by the elders, so he decided to choose his words carefully. The hunter picked up his pitcher of ale and walked to the bar stool next to chaktawe woman, and the bartender Jaben walked over to him and said with a laugh, “I see you used my rag as a bandage. I hope your willing to pay extra for it.” Shanapar put the pitcher on the counter, and he set down another another two silver miza, and he said to the bartender, “Yes, I am sorry about the rag. I needed to stop the bleeding, so here is some coin for your cloth and your trouble...” The bartender took the money, and he tossed it into the till behind the bar than he went to serve another customer. Shanapar didn't want to come off sleazy to the woman, so he sat on the bar stool next to her and said softly in tawna to her nodding to the pitcher of beer, “You seemed to be getting low on your drink. Would you like me to top it off?” He waited for a moment to get her reaction and he said with a nod, “By the way, my name is Shanapar the Untamed from the Suli tribe. May I ask you your name?”

[Shikoba]

She only noticed the man as he began his approach, and quickly removed her hand from the hilt of the dagger. Shikoba had been abandoned by her tribe, so she was shocked at his appearance, and tensed slightly. As she watched his progress, she felt her internal guards go up, and had to resist the urge to flinch as she heard him speak to Jaben. However, none of her emotions were displayed on her face, despite the gut wrenching pain she felt. Instead, she smiled, and shook her head. "I wouldn't want to become drunk," she said in reply to the Chaktawe man's offer, also in Tawna. He seemed to be free with his money, but that did not mean she had to accept it. She preferred to not owe someone. "My name is Shikoba the Wanderer... Of the Kalanue tribe." She said, hesitating when she spoke of her tribe, deciding that speaking as if she was still apart of her tribe would incite less questions. "Do you come here often?" she asked as means of small talk, as she searched for a subject that would lead the conversation away from the tribes, and her past. Glancing at his shoulder, she asked "Got into a scuffle?" then, recalling the dead man in the alley, "I'm guessing you won in the alley," she said, her tone light. She wondered what had provoked the confrontation. Despite having not had a clear look at the downed man, she was pretty sure that the man beside her had been more than a match for the poor fool. "I don't envy an enemy of yours," she said, her voice dropping slightly into a husky tone, just before she lifted her mug, and took a sip of her grain flavored drink. Placing it back on the sandstone surface of the counter, Shikoba gazed at the paint Shanapar wore. "It has been a while since I last saw these..." she trailed of as she reached towards his marks. The last time she had seen such paint, had been the day she had been left for dead by her family. She could still see the backs of her family as they left her for dead. She froze once she realized what she was doing, retracting her hand in the blink of an eye, and turned her face to look around the room. "I... sorry," she murmured quietly. She was silent for a few moments, allowing her gaze wander around the dark bar. Her face became expressionless for a few beats, before she smiled slightly, turning to face him. As she did, she caught a small movement out of the corner of her eye, followed by a loud shout. Her hand was on the hilt of the dagger, before she realized what was going on. "Why you petching piece of shy-" came from across the room. "Looks like things are about to become... exciting," she remarked dryly, turning a wry look to Shanapar, lifting an eyebrow for emphasis, just as the loud impact of a table shattering under the stress of a body, reached her ears. 'Get down!' came the barking command of her Spirit Guide in her mind, causing her to slip of her stool, and drop to the floor, without so much as a second thought. Lucky she did, as a chair flew mere inches from where her head had been moments before.

[Caelum]

Thread Award Name: Shikoba. Skills: Observation +1 Socialization +1 Notes: Please delete or edit your post with this thread link in the grade request thread if able and, as ever, don't hesitate to contact me with any questions, concerns, or cobbler.