Closed Reason Not The Need (Azmere)

[Konrad Venger]

16th Bell - 66th Day of Winter, 516AV - Outside Endrykas

The girl didn't have a face anymore, and the beast was nowhere to be found, so that was the reason.

The pavilion mourned as if there had been a death, and he supposed that was right enough. The girl had barely seen a dozen Summers: she would grow into womanhood with those scared gouged into her face. Flaps of skin torn away, never healing properly. Stretching and contorting the first thing the world would see of her.

He had not met her, or seen her, nor was he likely to. But he knew what she must be feeling. Some ember of pity stirred in him, and then was quickly buried when the rest of the story was told.

Reward. Bounty. Menace to the city. Wild, dangerous, and trained. So that was their reason, but the first two words... they were Konrad's need.

Tired of being petching broke, too.

It was a familiar feeling, in a setting anything but. Konrad had stalked before; men and beasts. He'd chased down rats in the Sunberth sewers, when garbage pails did not provide enough. He'd hunted men and women and occasionally children through the alleys and derelicts, sometimes to return them to bondage, most times to end their lives. But to be a true hunter, pitting himself against the beast and predators of Caiyha's realm... that was a recent pursuit.

One that he knew he needed to master, if he wished to survive out there in the Sea of Grass.

And do you? Want to stay out here? With the endless moving and the constant stink of horseshyke and these damned, arrogant horse-petchers? Is that your future

There was no growl or sigh or huff; he knew better, now. Instead his crushed his lips together into a hard, angry line and kept walking. Knees bent, every footfall considered and calculated. Soft, wet ground was better. It muffled noise. He walked heel-to-toe, adding to the effect. His hands were filled with bow and arrow, nocked and half-drawn.

Not that it would bother a hunting cat, much. All it needed was enough to hide it, until something chose to wander within range.

Which, in this case, would be me.

He wondered why he hadn't seen any other Drykas around. Probably because they were following a more lively trail. He'd only found scrapings, scratching, the suggestion of a pawprint that looked like a house cat, if a house cat had been pumped full of steroids and stretched on a rack. Outside the pavilion where the girl had been mauled. Heading out the only place it could be safe.

The Sea of Grass. Such as it was.

More and more of the grass, now, as it turned out. Endrykas had been swinging up on The Run, coming up from the south, veering west and north, almost running parallel to the coast, or so he'd heard. The liquid bounty of Lake Lari had filtered into the ground and spread, demented, scorching "Winter" or not. There were rivers and streams, too, that hadn't been dried up by the drought. Animals were almost as scarse, but the vegetation was surviving. Even thriving.

Steppe and scrub and heather was giving way to grasslands. Tall and deep and swaying like endless fields of corn. Ordinarily, Konrad would have been heartened by that. It meant more animals, more prey, more fodder for his traps and snares and hunts.

Not that day. Something was out there that wasn't just designed by Caiyha to stalk and kill with inhuman efficiency... but had been taught other tricks by humans. That made it especially dangerous.

He paused by the latest paw print that he'd found. Same size, but even older. Either he was going in circles, this was a different cat, or... it was a different trail. Older, probably, but either way-

Grass rustled. Too fast and close together to be just the wind. His bow was up as fast as his gaze, and he pulled back-

Cursed. Sighed. Lowered his bow, but only a fraction. Something was walking out of the grass, without shred of fear in it's tread, and he could tell it wasn't a sodding hunting cat.

"Take a care," Konrad said in his pidgin Pavi, looking back down to try and discern a direction from the prints. "I may shot you."

When the figure got close enough, Konrad would look up. A glance, really. Casual and vaguely interested, just wanting to put a face to the feet and the figure. Then he'd take in that face, and for the first time in decades, the thought would wander idly across his mind-

Petch. And I thought I had it bad.

[Azmere]

SorryApologies for the long post. I started writing and it kind of -exploded. I asked one of the more active graders how she would divide a post that was nearly 2600 words and she said three separate ones.

Azmere, Sparrow and Lodai had been summoned to an urgent scene. A young girl had been attacked by a hunting cat –a trained one, at that. There was rumor mired in speculation but the bottom line was simple; sometimes, animals act like animals. He felt for the girl and for her family as did his brothers-in-arms. As one who grew up with scars, the watchman understood the burden. It was likely that the girl might lose her sight which would be almost worse than a death sentence. The three warriors spoke for several chimes on the matter and a decision was reached.

Endrykas had a healer but the woman was very busy as the demand for her talents was seemingly endless. She treated those with the highest chances of success first and had trained her staff in such things though there were always exceptions. The healer was a pure woman but her staff was comprised of just regular people. Normal folk had needs and coin had a way of fulfilling these things so it was not uncommon for the occasional bribe to be set down in order that one might gain a place at the front of the line. Sparrow gave his five gold mizas freely then Azmere added in his ten. Both men looked to Lodai who was holding the coins but appeared to be unwilling to let them go.

“It seems.” wrong. The big man’s face revealed his conscience wrestling with the idea.

Azmere put his free hand on the large Drykas’ shoulder and stared into the dark eyes of his friend –all the while, he kept his hand up to receive the coins. “We’ve killed men to save our people. We’ve taken things that weren’t ours to administer punishments.”

Sparrow interrupted. “But we were always following orders.”

Azmere turned his gold and blue gaze to the stocky young man. “It doesn’t matter. One day we will have to answer for all of the actions we make on this ground. You can’t hide behind a shroud and say ‘but I was told by others to do so’.” The ankal paused for a moment as he recognized the thoughts moving behind Sparrow’s icy blue eyes. “As men, we’re to hold ourselves accountable in all things. It’s not about right or wrong but owning what you do.” The scarred man looked back at Lodai. “Give or don’t give. I won’t judge you for not wanting to take part but decide. We have other business which needs tending.”

Lodai agreed and dropped the coins into the hand of his ankal. Azmere jogged over to the father of the brutalized girl. Through bloodshot eyes and tear-stained cheeks, his expression relayed some kind of awareness as the watchman delivered the boon and explanation. Hopefully it would be enough to secure the girl a spot at the head of the line with the healer. It would be a huge comfort to Azmere to know that this young lady wouldn’t have to grow up with the burden of being damaged goods in the eyes of her peers and the community. Scars were something to be worn proudly but for a girl in Drykas society, it did not bode well for her chances to find a loving husband. The archer stood for a moment then turned on his boot and ran back to his patrol. Aiyena was with them as well but she remained aloof of the crowd. The Shadowsmile girl was no good at providing comfort or compassion.

All of this commotion aside, there was the task of tracking down and killing the creature responsible. While bonds with family pets and companions were often very strong, once an animal attacks a human it was deemed a threat and like any other potential danger to the Drykas people it was handled swiftly. The patrol mounted their horses and came together in a bunch that shifted as the animals jockeyed for position. Azmere looked at each of them and pondered the best way to approach the mission. He was friends with all of them but suddenly realized that his paltry knowledge of tracking was the best out of the group. He shrugged almost imperceptibly while the thought of ‘no better way to learn’ floated in between his ears. He gave a sign that clearly conveyed his logic. Follow. Softly.

The scarred man turned Skylla about who blew a heavy puff at the large grey canine that had snuck up behind her and now stood in her way. Azmere communicated with the dog. Search. Grey perked his ears and went rigid while continuing to watch his master. The Drykas scoured the scene away from where half the town had trampled the mud. The grass had a language all its own and a way of protecting itself from discovery but that waned in particularly dry or hot spells. The blades became rigid and did not give and sway as well as when they were green and full of moisture. A soft shadow that almost looked like a gap in the vertical wall of vegetation caught Azmere’s gaze.
[/shadow]

[Azmere]

He ushered Skylla slowly towards that spot with subtle squeezes from his legs. The art of steering a horse required a great deal of muscles control. While not so much brute strength, the ability to hold pressure at various angles, positions and tensions applied quite the workout. Azmere felt that burn in his thighs while the multi-colored gaze went back and forth across the ground in an outward arc from the split in the grass. After several long moments, he spotted a definitive paw print. The pad arrangement was very similar to one left behind by Nyne or Zora.

Azmere snapped his fingers twice then pointed at the print. Grey trotted over and looked towards his human for a tick or three. After some more time had passed, Azmere reiterated his indication by thrusting the pointed finger again. This time, the dog turned and put his nose to the ground. The normally curled tail stopped wagging and straightened as the scent filled the canine’s nose then he took off into the grass.

Azmere waved for the patrol to follow him and used the inside of his boot to pat Skylla forward. He hard part of this combination of animals was not going to be whether or not they could work together. The challenge was going to come when the young mare wanted to outrun everyone and everything including the hunting dog. Azmere made sure to keep his weight back to prevent the strider from simply bolting. While he sat idle, he closed his eyes and focused on the stars in his eyes. He could feel the djed rushing into his ocular cavities –a pulsing sensation against his eyelids that made him shiver as a chill ran up his spine. For a second, he felt the heat from his violent initiation into the magic but it faded quickly.

When the Drykas opened his eyes, the starbursts that surrounded his pupils twinkled in their various colors. Azmere could see the bright blue patches of djed that Grey left behind. He had become familiar with his companion’s signature but everything else was hard to discern. The man guided his mare along the trail the canine left behind. Sometimes, the new discipline would glitch or fade suddenly. During the first fifteen chimes, Azmere had to stop twice to relocate his dog. Once, he did so by simply listening to the sound of panting that rose above the stalks. After that, it was relatively easy for the horseman to maintain a consistent distance in pursuit of the hunting cat gone feral. Grey had run for nearly forty chimes when he came to a complete stop.

Azmere had seen very little in terms of other paths on their journey so following the swatches of blue through the green and gold grasses was easy. When he finally caught up to his hunter, the posture of the animal instantly put Azmere on edge. He turned in his yvas and signed to his patrol. Silence. Alert. He turned back around and began to scour the grasslands in search of the reason why the dog had stopped tracking. Had Grey found the cat, he would have pointed. Instead, the beast was on all fours with his fur fully bristled. The icy blue eyes stared into the grass. Azmere knew enough about dogs that his companion wasn’t seeing something strange but rather that he smelled something that was either foreign or dangerous. In the ankal’s eyes, it was one in the same.

Azmere located a flash of red down along a trio of rolling hills. He sank down in his yvas and backed up until the blood smear was obscured by the rise. The watchman dismounted and motioned for the other riders to do the same. Once the group was on foot, Azmere let them in on his plan. He didn’t need to consult the web since the lone figure was the only splash of color for miles. Azmere did not speak but used his eyes and hand signals to communicate his plan. He closed his eyes for several moments and removed the djed that lingered and functioned to point out the discarded magic of creatures. The azure and amber gaze went first to Sparrow. The archer knew the man had an incredible spear arm but was also an excellent candidate for a second. The Stormblood patriarch paired the mocha-skinned and light-eyed man with Aiyena; the tiny yet deadly young woman. Azmere signed Wolf. Wide East. This would take the pair along the hill’s cover and into the rolling grasses below without being seen. From there, they could sneak inland on foot and act as either flush or catch. The elder watchman relayed this message as well. Lowlands on foot. Alert.

Next, Azmere turned to Lodai. The big man was not stealthy but he could be unnoticed if there was something else to draw attention. Being the leader, it was not always best to play to people’s strengths. Sometimes, it was necessary to play out someone’s weakness. The doe-eyed giant stared at his ankal with a sinking feeling like he was about to be told to watch the horses. In a way, Lodai was correct in his assumption but Azmere was going to put a spin on it that would keep everyone happy.

[Azmere]

The scarred man signed Wolf. Wide North. The Drykas touched his leather chestplate then signed Boar. With Grey. Sparrow and Lodai exchanged glances. Boar was a tactic seldom used by the Watch because it simply lacked respect for the dangers hidden within the grasses. The archer caught this and smacked his palm on the ground in a dull thud. When all eyes returned to him, he made one more sign. Faith. Then dismissed his patrol.

Azmere walked over to Skylla and gave her a headbutt that was somewhere between a gentle nudge and a playful bonk. The man held her jaw with his left hand then signed Shadow. three times and moved to one side after each signal so that she could see Atavan; Lodai’s black stallion. The ankal was going to walk the half mile or so down into the bowl where he had seen the figure. He released the mare then began walking through the grass at a brisk pace. Grey paused for a moment but after a quick double snap the dog followed his master.

Azmere moved carefully through the weeds and brush taking the time to pick his way around the stiffer samples of foliage rather than smash his way. When he reached the smoother terrain, he reactivated his pathfinding and located the red splash. It had moved but not much. The figure was either docile or lost –perhaps both. The watchman pressed forward despite the pain shooting up his left leg and did the best he could to not limp. The dog stayed with him even as the man hunkered down below the tops of the grass which slowed his pace considerably. Azmere didn’t need to see line of sight. He could follow the djed colors intermittently since they revealed a trail and not just the present location.

The traversing of the grassy plain was not easy to do for one who was used to riding. Azmere sweat in his armor and had to stop a few times to allow his heart some time to get more oxygen to his muscles. The Drykas was undeterred by the exertion and pressed onward. After moving in the same general direction for almost a bell, the archer found himself within range of his objective. He peered over the grass and found it to be some fifteen yards ahead. The twinkling eyes made sweep to the north and east until he found what could potentially be his patrol stuck in a holding pattern and out of sight. Azmere turned off his Iraso magic by closing his eyes and simply willing it to go away. He kept them closed for a few moments then stood up in plain view. The scarred man walked forward as did his canine friend. The blue and maize stare never left the figure that moved slowly along the waves of grass. The man was tall and wore a dark hat with a wide brim. For some reason that seemed familiar.

The fellow called out in a busted kind of Pavi but his pronunciation was off. It didn’t matter, the lone hunter had a weapon pointed and tried to express that he could have done Azmere harm. That might have been so but the archer could have pinned the man a few times without ever being seen so the thought crossed his mind to say so. All the while, the Drykas moved closer. It wasn’t until he got within five or six feet that the realization dawned on Azmere –this man was with Jonas. The weathered hands reached up slowly while he spoke. “No trouble.” The man removed the bow from around his head and arm and set it aside. He also nonchalantly dropped his club to the ground by undoing the loop round his belt. Grey moved off to one side when this started to happen. Azmere signed peace then took one final step to bring himself within arm’s reach. This man had a scarred face like the ankal and it created a tick’s pause.

“Pridesun” The word was almost hissed.

Azmere’s hands snapped forward. The first swept the bow arm to the side in what’s known as a closing motion. Normally in a fight, one would try to open or expose his opponent’s soft abdomen but the Drykas had a plan. The bow sweep was still being forced when his other hand came flying forward in a fist to pound on the man’s rib two or three times just below his armpit. The archer contemplated aiming for the face but someone with that kind of scarring obviously had some pain tolerance built up so he felt that body blows were better uses of his energy. As he was delivering the punches, the watchman moved to stomp down on the back of the man’s knee. Avoid the weapon, tack on some punches and immobilize the bad guy. Sounds simple, right?

[ooc=Note]Might as well make use of the voices thread. You announced Hansel's arrival and all. As we discussed, feel free to auto in tasteful ways. I don't expect huge posts of poetry while we write out the combat because I tend not to write anything more than directional detail. We can breeze through the scuffle then get on to the fun part.

[Konrad Venger]

Konrad was as out of place in the Sea of Grass as he would be in a finishing school for Syliran Squires. Oh, he'd learned plenty. How to follow tracks and place traps; how to shoot a bow and ride a horse (sans harness, as his forever-aching arse could attest to); even speaking a different language, shredded and hesitant though it was. Enough that he'd ranged far into the grassland, and trusted his senses enough to let him know if trouble was coming.

The fact he was carrying half-a-dozen weapons was always reassuring, too.

But he was still an outsider, and he knew not of the jaws comprised of flesh and instructed will closing around him. He saw only the Drykas, and couldn't look away from... buggeration, was this how people stared at him? With some horrible, sickly fascinating? Somewhere between abject pity, disbelief and suicidal curiosity? The Drykas was coming closer and garbled something about "trouble", but there was something before it, so Konrad was guessing he meant well. Then the bow and club went to the ground and he thought-

Something big and grey growled next to the man. Okay, well, maybe he wasn't all the way certain. One hardly needed to carry steel or wood when you had eighty pounds of claw-and-jaws at your command.

“Pridesun”

That, however... that was no friendly. Konrad's body was already sliding into silent, invisible action as it processed the word. No, not that: the tone. That told him far more, and the memories of a thousand bar brawls, alley scraps and gang skirmishes all churned up and congealed into a rather impressive tool for detecting ill-intent. Many a time he'd been simply having a pint and heard it: that self-same note of disdain, masked in disgust, heated and backed up by steel and muscle.

Konrad was an outsider in the Drykas ways, but in that bare patch of grass they occupied, the Drykas was one in his.

The bow went wide and the arrow twanged off into the grass. Konrad was already bracing himself, knowing that the rest was to come-

That's right, here we go.

Pound, pound, three blows right into his ribs, shaking them up, rattling his organs, and he soaked them up with a grunt for each and little more. Ugly shyke was strong but he was still being fancy about it. Punches and blocks, all very nice and neat. Konrad had lost count how many times he'd had his ribs broken; each time they'd healed even stronger, and right about then his mind-

-began working again, saw the foot stamp down for his knee. But... the back of it? With the man in front of him? Strange. Anyone else, maybe that would have worked, but instead of just taking it Konrad waited for the knee to raise, then come down-

-only to hit nothing, Konrad sliding that leg back and bending it as he did-

-going down to that knee, but on his own terms. Not out of pain but with a strategy in mind-

-hurling the empty, useless bow at the now-barking Grey, buying himself a moment or two even if he bollocks'd up what he planned next.

A straight jab. From a kneeling position. Standing up, he'd be too tall for it, but down on one knee, he was at the perfect height-

-to hammer his right fist smack into Azmere's balls-

"Bastud!"

-following it up immediately with a boomed curse and a left; not quite a hook, not quite a jab, but either way it was a three-knuckle rabbit punch into the weird, pliable mess of cartilage and joints just below the Drykas' right kneecap.

Aye, think of me when you're hobbling around tomorrow, ya cunny.

Between the two, the Drykas should have been agonized and stymied, legs failing under him, vision probably spotty with his scrotum driven an inch or two into his pelvis. Even blocking one would have still left him shaky, given Konrad a moment, a tick to lunge upward, legs exploding under him whereas the Drykas' were probably howling-

-careening upward and towards Azmere like a scarred, snarling thunderbolt, shoulder slamming into his breastbone as he tackled him to the ground. Before they'd even landed - Azmere on his back, Konrad on top - the walahk would be fumbling for the kukri at the small of his back, seeking to end this with the blade hacking down on face and neck and chest until all was but red ruin-

No, too much trouble, killing one of these idiots, you'll-

The still small voice stayed that way until it became to bloody well silent voice. He'd been attacked. Without cause or provocation. Now this petching little shyke bag could take the consequences of that, from someone that actually knew what he was doing.

That was the plan, anyway. Because just as his hand closed around the hilt of the kukri, something growled behind him.

Bugger. Nearly forgot about him.

[Azmere]

Azmere blinked. He wanted to vomit but the pain shooting in all directions from his groin would not allow itself to be removed in such a manner. The Drykas had never felt anything quite like this before. It was as if the man had reached inside his guts and stirred them with a hot poker. The scarred watchman staggered and buckled with a head full of nothing. The second blow aimed for his knee glanced off the cap which caused him to take a step back with the opposite leg to keep from collapsing. The man was seeing stars and suddenly found himself in a situation that he had very little experience - losing.

There was no time to react. The big man hurled himself into Azmere whilst he was still attempting to recover his balance and swallow the lump in his throat which he suspected might have been his manhood. A dry heave timed itself perfectly with the shoulder spear and there was nothing the ankal could do but go with it. Normally, the warrior would have an elbow or two to counter but clutching on to the dusty coat of the man was as good as he was going to get.

Azmere wrapped his arm around the man’s trying to pull the ugly skull against his ribs. That way, he could bury that hideous mug into the dirt when they fell but the cheap shot was still costing the Drykas and his arm slipped off. He felt the stalks first. It was almost like time slowed down as the archer’s weightlessness gave him something to contemplate.

Fooompf!

The ground was harder than it would have been had there been a nice thick blanket of snow. Azmere’s opponent took the ticks that the Drykas was using to recover his air as a means to draw his weapon. The gods gave the ankal a blessing and he intended to use it wisely.

The man from the Diamond clan sent his body into motion. He was used to pain and forced it aside. The arm that the man was using to reach for his blade was the first reaction. Azmere threw his arm up and matched the angle so that he could curl his fingers into a tight grip around the walahk’s wrist. The goal was to simply keep his arm pinned in this backbent position. The Drykas was a strong man and had faith this would hold.

The instant he felt his hold solidify, Azmere dropped that side’s leg underneath its opposite. He bridged his body by planting his boot and twisting his hips while also throwing a cross with his unoccupied fist –the hard leather of is bracers would make a nice print on the disfigured mug that hovered over him. The Drykas also pulled down with his grip. All of these things happened in the space of a blink and were designed to reverse the current order of their bodies or at least get them both onto their sides.

Grey was growing and barking with his deep and hollow shout but the dog was not a protector in the sense that he would readily enter a fray. The Drykas’ canine companion was a hunter and needed commands to act though instinct did flare and reveal itself from time to time. The others in the patrol had made their way up; Sparrow being first but Azmere caught sight of him from the corner of his right eye. The man had hoisted his spear but the Troha unleashed his own bark in the form of a denial. This was a matter of honor and pride. Only if the ankal was in mortal danger were his people going to interfere. Sparrow had known Azmere for a long time and he would make sure that Aiyena and Lodai adhered to this standard.

[Konrad Venger]

OOCHehe, was grinning the whole time I read your reply. Sooooo glad to be writing this stuff again with someone! As always, lemme know if I go too far. It's not me trying to godmod, I assure you, just trying to advance the story.

Konrad didn't respect the man. Didn't admire his tenacity or his quick-thinking. This wasn't a spar, or training, or a lesson. This was every other bastard he'd torn up in every other filthy little brawl he'd had in his life. Speed and skill were what carried the day in those affairs, but what birthed them both?

Hate. You had to hate the petcher with his hands around your throat. And that's just what Konrad did-

-as he yelped and opened his eyes to a world of stars, all the colors of a painful rainbow. A weight wrapped around his leg at the same time, toppling him over onto his side. He blinked and the stars wouldn't vanish, but the thump of his shoulder into the grass was proof enough-

"Wanka'!"

Again, the word was married to a blow. This time, it took into account one of two things he'd realized in the three ticks unfolded from Azmere grasping his wrist, the ugly sly sod, and him slamming onto his side.

Namely, that his hat had fallen off in the melee.

Konrad snapped his head forwards into Azmere's face, nearly breaking his jaw on his own breastbone, so fast and brutal was the movement. Usually a man didn't deliver such a blow horizontally, but Konrad worked with what he had and besides-

The crown. Not the forehead. Harder. Tougher. Denser. More painful.

He wouldn't wait to feel bone crack and muscle grind under his crown before he followed it up with an equally dirty move. Snarling like a bloody animal, spittle and blood flecks flying, Konrad-

-slammed his knee up (well, sideways) between Azmere's legs, and into a soggy patch of flesh that was already damaged as shyke. Had Konrad given any lip service or thought to the notion of honorable combat, that might have bothered him. As things were, it didn't.

If pounding on the same damn spot over and over again won him a fight, then pound away he bloody well would. Even if the narrow angle denied his kneecap access to the man's balls, at least he's smash the hard bone into his thigh, or stomach, both places that's rattle his bones and guts and give him pause, loosen him up.

Exactly what Konrad wanted.

Regardless of whether or not either blow landed, Konrad would wriggle like a caught eel, smashing his left, free hand into Azmere's kidney as he did and yelping again as leather armor ground against his knuckles. Clever bastard, that had to be said. But a really clever bastard would have the dog get into the fray, too, and that was the other thing he'd realized.

Namely, that he didn't have teeth and claws inside his tender sodding flesh. Apparently, Pretty Petch wanted to settle this honorably.

Fine by Konrad, because he had no bloody intention to.

So he wriggled and squirmed and while his right was gripped and useless by Azmere, his body weight also trapped the man's hand there, too. But if his knee and crown worked as well as he hoped, he'd have time to roll away from his loosened grip, put some distance between them both, get a blade into his hand-

And realize they were no longer alone. Well, apart from the dog.

[Azmere]

Azmere tussled on the ground with the big man. The contrasting gaze went wide as the man’s head sailed towards him. The Drykas managed to turn his face just slightly so the crown of Konrad’s head smashed just below Azmere’s left eye. It sent him reeling with starry vision –not the ones in his eyes but the ones now circling around his head. The force also pushed the ankal away a bit so when the man’s knee headed for his groin, it buried itself into the soft tissue of his inner thigh. This further separated the two bodies and Azmere was already in pain from the odd assortment of strikes he’d been dealt. The archer certainly learned a few things today.

Dizzy and angry, Azmere opened his eyes against the welled up liquid that had pooled in the left one. He saw Konrad rolling away. Should the Drykas allow the man to get to his feet, it would be over for the ankal. The scarred watchman reacted instantly. He lunged at the man grabbing for the wrist of the arm that trailed behind. Grasping it with both hands, Azmere tightened his abdominal muscles and inverted his body. Where he led with his hands and upper body on the leap, he now allowed them to fall backwards and used his grip to kick his legs forward. His hip rested on the grass as a point of rotation for the lateral flip. The archer tried to wrap his legs around Konrad’s arm while he pulled it up towards his stomach with an ankle lock over the shoulder being the clinch.

Once he got his body into place, Azmere tried to leverage the hold. His hands were strong but when he went to squeeze with his legs, the previous shots to the groin and thigh protested with sharp pains and weakness. The ankle lock slipped and Azmere knew he had to flee his position before he took another blow to his man parts. He had never fought someone so dirty but he had to admire the effectiveness of it. He strained his abdomen and back to twist away from Konrad. Once he got to his chest, he pushed up with his hands –chest and arms flexing eagerly to lift the weight. Azmere used the space to quickly bring his feet beneath him and he was once again upright. His left cheek was swollen and made a nice purple hill in the vision of his left eye.

The watchman could see his patrol closing in with weapons drawn and he stood straight and tall, waiting for Konrad to look his way. Grey growled fiercely but circled wide to come to stand near his master. The scarred ankal held his hands up so that his people would now to not attack. Lodai rumbled in protest but a stern look from the contrasting gaze stifled the giant. Aiyena ‘tsked’ and Sparrow remained silent. The bright blue eyes of the mocha-skinned warrior were on fire as he eyes Konrad; the tip of his spear just in the frame of the younger watchman’s face. Once Konrad and Azmere made eye contact, the ankal spoke in rough Common. “You fight well.” His hands instinctively passed through the Pavi for fierce and clever. The right side of Azmere’s face curled in his trademark lopsided smile. “You are a hyena.”

[Konrad Venger]

"What'n'theSHYKE!-!"

Konrad had just enough time to rattle out the words before his mind fully grasped what was happening. His head whipped back when his arm was gripped firmly, and he was all set to yank it back, other hand with his kukri half out of its sheath before-

-suddenly it was supporting all two-hundred-off pounds of pissed-off Drykas. Or was trying, too, rather. And failing.

His whole body was yanked downward as the Drykas kicked up and tried to wrap what seemed like all of him around his arm. The Sunberth man staggered, cursed again far less gracefully, kukri snickering into the air and he started to size up chunks of thigh and shin and crotch he could slice it into.

Then the man fell off him with a strangled yelp, all those nasty blows finally taking a toll. Weight suddenly gone, Konrad staggered back and a couple of stray brain cells wondered in quasi-awe what in the hells the bastard had been trying to do. But instinct acted without wonder, or query, and he slashed down with his kukri-

-kicking up dust with the blade and nothing more, Azmere rolling away, then pushing himself up and to his feet again with one fluid motion, injuries or not. Konrad took a privileged moment to spit out something nasty and foul to his side, kukri twirling quickly in his hand as he steadied himself.

New game. Old one's over. Time for blades.

But it was not to be. Like specters and wraiths, the rest of the Drykas' friends materialized from the ranks of swaying grass. Shining steel and taut strings and curved bows and hard eyes, just waiting for the word. That damn dog slinked back to its battered master, growling up at Konrad as if daring him to have a bloody go. Konrad snarled right back.

A man who made him feel small locked eyes with him and Konrad's already twisted face contorted further, sneering in naked challenge. The man he did not know as Lodai flushed for a moment, body tensed in a way Konrad knew was a prelude to a charge and the sellsword raised the kukri higher-

The leader raised a hand, and there was no movement. No violence. No will but his, enacted on all present. Leader. That had to be what he was. The others jusrt watched, alert but obedient, and Konrad's eyes narrowed as the bastard had the balls to compliment him. His answer was another spit, this time in the turgid, furrowed dirt they'd been rolling in.

"What you, then?" He barked out in his brutalized Pavi, a language his tongue was still adjusting to. "You no own land, so I not go where I not. You not own hunt, so you not say I steal hunt. I not know you, so why you attack?"

Konrad glanced around. Accessing weapons. Distances. Routes of attack and defense and escape. Plans formed and fell in his mind one after the other, all ending bloody and, unfortunately, with most of it being his. But he was not one to show his belly to a foe, or even three of them. All he did was lower his kukri-

Things to south, hurl it at the quiet old man, draw your sword and go for the spearman who wants a petching crack at you. The other two... shyke, guess you'll be going down swinging.

-and shrug his shoulders, a gesture hard to make out considering how hard his chest was already heaving. Bastard may not have been a natural brawler, but he knew plenty about how to put a hurt into a man with only his hands. Konrad could almost respect that. Then his head cocked to one side and it must have been the blows to the head, because he found himself blurting out:

"Wozza 'hyena'?"

Don't Make Me Repeat Myself.

[Azmere]

Azmere waited while the tension settled and then began to dissipate. There would certainly be no lack of sideways glances and second looks from this point on but something deep down in his gut told him to accept this man for the mission and forge a team; likely to be a reluctant one. Without taking his contrasting gaze from the stranger, Azmere addressed Sparrow by name then signed for him to retrieve the weapons that the ankal had dropped. The burning gaze of the younger warrior seemed to question the decision but when he caught the stare from the elder watchman, he quickly complied. The bald head and mocha skin vanished back into the taller grasses to retrieve bow, quiver and club.

The scarred face of the Drykas looked back to the scarred face of the walahk and he bowed his head in a sign of respect. “Hyena is big dog.” His Common was thickly accented. Resourceful. “Hyena survive much. Know how to make most in fight.” Grey was still growling so the ankal reached down and began to scratch the big head right between the ears. The rumbling began to subside so Azmere increased the affection by using both hands to rub and stretch the dog’s loose fur around his neck and face. The hunter couldn’t resist and the relaxation showed as his heavy mane slowly flattened back down. The archer looked to Lodai while he was doing this and gave a command in Pavi. “Call Atavan.” The big black stallion was the largest of the patrol’s striders but also had been bonded the longest. At this distance, a call from Azmere might not draw his young mare but the large onyx creature would come for his rider and the rest of the striders would follow along.

The big bear of a man shot Konrad a look that exemplified an unspoken truce but the flashy show he made of putting his massive falx back into its sheath was just as powerful a message. That was the end of the show and the Drykas threw back his head, opened his mouth then let out a call like the sound of an eagle roaring. It was certainly different and seemed to echo on for miles. It was after this that Sparrow walked up and handed Azmere his weapons. The archer dipped under his longbow, reaffixed his quiver and then hung the wicked looking club on his hip; a tiny glint reflecting off of the glassbeak horn. While he was allowing his heartrate to slow and reattaching his gear, the watchman called upon the djed in his body to pool in his left hand. It was an unseen gesture that looked like he was stretching his fingers then forming a fist repeatedly. As the novice shielder felt his media store grow, he placed the palm of his left hand on the hilt of his dagger. The djed was willed to begin to coat the weapon. This took time and focus. Several times in the ticks that he was using, the ankal had to close his eyes to visualize what he was doing but not once did he actually turn his face to the knife on his belt. Sparrow lingered next to Azmere but stepped away as the ankal approached Konrad.

The scarred man moved slowly, his hand extended out in the way that a man greets an equal. “We hunt together, yes?” The Pavi-laced Common reared its ugly head once more. “I mistake. You not Pridesun. Not coward.” With an unabashed expression of honesty, Azmere had apologized. Obviously, he wasn’t very good at it but he stood waiting for his gesture to be accepted. Sparrow was unhappy but silent and Lodai seemed to not care. The big man knew his ankal well enough to stay out of the business that involved picking apart Azmere’s decisions. The scarred man was no scholar but he had a way of working things out that the big warrior trusted. Aiyena was almost laughing, however. The pretty little Drykas had to turn away so that the redness in her cheeks and the devious grin wouldn’t give her away. She often felt Azmere was awkward with people and had tried to teach him some of the more graceful arts in conversation but he was a terrible student.

It was at this time when the thundering of hooves announced the arrival of the striders. Grey perked up and ran in a wide arc that brought him a loop to run beside Sylla but out of her way. Each horse found its owner quickly but none so fast as Atavan; Lodai’s behemoth black stallion. The chocolate and bone mare pranced up and danced behind Azmere. She nudged him with her nose and bumped against him a few times. Despite the half-faced grin, the Drykas maintained his offered gesture of apology. The stranger was under no threat to accept it from any of the watchmen who were ll paying attention to their mounts but Azmere’s gaze encompassed a great deal of details and one not lost to the ankal was the now-stilled blade dangling in the tall man’s hand.