Flashback Help from an unsuspected source

[Larsel]

15th spring 512 Larsel stood with his back straight in front of the small group that was trying to encircle him. The halfbreed had backed off till he was standing with his back against a wall. He had been attacked by these goons enough to know how they worked most of the time. Encircle their prey and attack him from all sides at once. Overwelm him with pure numbers. “Are you guy’s still going after me? You’re almost starting your military service. shouldn’t you all get ready for that.” Larsel said with a sigh. He knew they probably had some kind of send off for their favorite punching bag. Specially miho, she hadn’t been able to take the fact he knocked out a few of her tooth a few years ago. The prideful little shyke, it was just a milktooth anyway! “We couldn’t just leave you behind without giving you a proper sendoff.” Miho said with a feral grin as she and her goons closed in on him like a pack of myrian tigers who had smelled blood. He balled his fists and raised his arms and lightly bend his knees. They all were taller then him, much taller. They all would be trying to punch at his face and shoulders. They always did that, not bothering to aim at anything else. Unless they had him pinned. then they delighted in punching him wherever they could. Usually muttering something about the bruises matching his skin colour. “Well if you want a sendoff. I’ll be happy to send you rats off to the medicine tent.” He growled. Throwing their own words back in their faces as he glowered down at them and did his best to look as intimidating as possible. All he got as a response was a snicker of them. Though there was an undercurrent of nervousness in it. “Now then, are you guy’s coming or are you guy’s afraid of a mere deyhan!” He snarled out. He knew he wasn’t going to be able to win against five myrians. Especially not five older ones who are ready to start their military service. But he wasn’t going to lay down, he would face whatever life and fate threw at him head on and beat it into submission! Two of the myrians pounced at him. Larsel managed do duck underneath the first blow, but the second myrian clipped him on the shoulder. At least that could have been worse. He slammed his fist into the stomach of the first myrian. Putting his entire wight into the punch like he had seen others do. The boy doubled over and with his face now into strinking range. THe short halfbreed followed it up with a punch right into his face. Laying the boy flat onto his back with a groan. This left him wide open though, something the other three goons and miho took advantage of to jump him. Larsel didn’t really think about what he was doing after that. He just struggled against the grips of the taller myrians with all his might. Tried not to groan from the punches he got and just elbowed, bit or otherwise tried to harm anything that he could.

[Ayatah]

The medicine house had become Ayatah's new home after the djed storm. She had survived the treacherous journey through the jungle back to Taloba, alongside her other non-pure blooded comrades, only to find the outskirts of their city to have been gobbled up by the jungle. The storm had not damaged those within the city, thank Myri, but there was still hundreds of pureblooded Myrians who had vanished when the djed storm hit.

It was still a great mystery as to what had actually happened, and where the djed storm had originated. Ayatah heard the many theories her fellow patients posited, though she found herself caring very little. When they asked her questions (and there were many questions asked by many people), she would give the shortest answer possible: no, she did not see the vanished Myrians - that's why they called it vanishing; yes she had felt extreme pain like she had never felt before; yes, at that moment, she wished she had died so she wouldn't have to feel the pain anymore; yes, she still wished she was dead.

It wasn't the physical injuries Ayatah had sustained during the storm that had damaged her the most; sure, she had vomited furiously and had felt a burning sensation as if something had been trying to escape from her body. And actually, something had. Her unborn child, whom she had known about for barely longer than a week, had been ripped from her womb. Before the storm, Aya had not known whether to feel joy about her pregnancy or fear - she and her lover Razkar had not yet said any vows, and they certainly had not planned on having a child anytime soon. But Myri had allowed her to carry his child, and for that Ayatah was grateful. She had planned on telling him the next time they saw each other, after one last patrol of the Zinrah entrance.

She had been so selfish, so incredibly stupid. Pureblooded Myrian women were known to go on patrols even when heavily pregnant. But Ayatah, with her half-Eypharian parentage, lacked that strength. She should have remained at home, resting with her slightly swollen belly, safe. But, in a fit of trying to prove to herself that she was as strong as her maternal people, Aya had gone on the patrol anyway.

And then the storm hit, and her unborn baby was taken from her.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

For the past fourteen days, she had remained in the medicine house. Traya, the ancient old medicine woman, had of course known exactly what Ayatah had lost in the jungle. After physical examinations, she had delivered news to Aya that the half-Epharian would not truly appreciate until some years later; the scar tissue that had formed on her womb would mean that baring any other children would come with some difficulty - but it wasn't impossible.

When Ayatah said nothing in response to this otherwise devastating news, Traya had quietly told the rest of her staff that Ayatah was to stay in the Medicine house for the foreseeable future. Her physical scars would heal within a few days, but the psychological damage, and the unduly amount of guilt the half-breed felt, would not shift so quickly.

But the medicine house had become overrun quickly, and death hung everywhere. So Ayatah volunteered to leave, with the same lack of emotion and interest she had carried since returning to Taloba. Traya had begrudgingly agreed.

Ayatah had been released that morning, and now she was plodding through Taloba city, deaf to the sounds around her and blind to the people she nearly walked into. She was going home, making her slow, lethargic journey towards the Scattered Bones' encampment, on the opposite side of the city. Usually, her mind would be buzzing with thoughts, questions, plans for her day. Now, however, there was nothing. Just numbness and guilt.

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[Larsel]

Larsel’s body was aching from all the blows his tormentors had been dealing out. He was still being pressed against the ground, but they were slowly getting tired of it. He didn’t know if they were just tiring of beating him, or because he was wearing them down physically. He just knew that miho had stopped beating him a while ago. Watching while her goons did all the work. a few moments later her female goons followed suit. Watching as the boy’s forced him against the ground. He saw the mocking smirk on Miho’s face as her two goons continued to beat the shyke out of him. He wasn’t going to take this, he gritted his teeth and hissed in pain as a fist hit him right on the nose. He wasn’t sure if his nose was broken after the blow, but he could feel the hot blood drip out of it into his mouth. The hot metallic taste of blood in his mouth was the straw that broke the ashta’s back. He snarled like a wild animal and headbutted the nearest goon in the face. He wasn’t sure if it was the same boy who might have broken his nose, but the sight of a myrian screaming with a matching wound did feel great. Bloody nose released his grasp on him and the other goon dumbly looked towards his compatriot. The grip loosening a bit in shock. He took advantage of it immediately and slammed his free fist into the boy’s jaw. the boy screamed in pain and grabbed his jaw. He pushed the older boy of him with his now freed arms. Before bloody nose could respond he punched him in the stomach again. The boy rolling of him in pain. He scrambled back to his feet, Miho and her female goons still looking with that self assured smirk on her face as she looked at the halfbreed. Covered in bruises, a bleeding nose that was slightly crooked and throbbing with pain and his knuckles were scafed and bleeding as well. “We really need to crack down on those two guy’s don’t we? Losing against a half breed.” Miho said with a laugh to her two remaining goons. Who nodded in agreement and cracked their knuckles. Three mostly fresh and unharmed myrians, each of them two years older. Against him. The two boy’s he punched were also getting back up, eyes full of fire and hate. He knew this was just struggling against the inevitable. But by myri, he wasn’t going to go down easily! oocfeel free to try and break up the fight

[Ayatah]

Fighting was a sound that always accompanied Taloba. Having served her duty in the Myrian military, Ayatah was as used to the noises of punches and grunts as any Myrian. But equally, having been subjected to more than her share of scuffles as a young half-breed, she knew the sound of a one-sided battle as well. It was against the Myrian people to fight amongst themselves so unfairly -- but half-breeds were not usually regarded as 'proper' Myrians, so the rules did not apply as protection for individuals like herself.

Ayatah followed the sound of punching and cruel laughter. Oh yes, she recognised that combination of noises. As a child, she had been the victim of such attacks by her pureblooded peers. But as she had entered adolescence, had matured sexually and physically, Ayatah had experienced a distinct change in how her male peers had treated her. Suddenly they sniffed around her like tigers on heat, and in their sparring matches they no longer try to sneak in extra punches, but instead they would grab at her and hold her close to them, breathing down her neck heatedly. The change had happened quickly, and had confused Ayatah until she learnt about the sensual pheromones the Eypharian people were renown for. Apparently such smells entranced and aroused, and in the heat of the jungle (which usually smelt of sweat and blood), the spicy fragrance that released from Ayatah's hair and sweat was a pleasant, exciting change.

Of course her female peers still detested her, even more so now the males ignored them in favour of the dirty half-breed that they had been more than happy to beat up mere weeks ago. But Ayatah, feeling a strange guilty pleasure, had delighted in the sudden change, as well the sexual indulgences that had usually accompanied her interactions with her male peers.

That was all a long time ago now, a hazy memory.

She was standing behind a group of youngsters now, all surrounding a young man with a bloody nose. Yes, this scene was familiar, but it was a strange experience for Ayatah to be witnessing it as an observer and not the victim. The boy at the centre, paler than the rest, was clearly the target of the attack, and the more attention Ayatah paid to him, the surer she became that he was also a half-breed. She had inherited the slightly gilded skin of the Eypharian people, so when she stood in direct sunlight (which was relatively uncommon, given the thick overgrowth of the jungle), her skin almost shimmered like a thin layer of gold. But this boy - Ayatah could not decide what other race must flow through his veins - had a peculiar, blue-y hue to his skin.

In fact, she was so busy considering the youngster's heritage that Ayatah didn't notice she was approaching the rowdy group of teenagers until she was almost stood amongst them, her lengthy, clearly un-Myrian form standing a good head-and-shoulders above the teens. She reached out to one boy, who was pulling his arm backwards to punch the half-breed boy in the head, and turned him to face her. The young man frowned in confusion as his target changed from a young boy to an older woman. Before he could lower his punch or deliver it - it took a chime for him to consider both options - Ayatah had delivered a swift kick to his groin that sent him tumbling down, in a tight foetal position and whimpering.

The teenagers were scuffling amongst themselves now, two still focusing on the half-Isur boy who had been their original victim, whereas a few other were facing this newcomer, staring at her with a mixture of disgust and puzzlement. She was clearly another half-breed, but at the same time she was also clearly seasoned in the matter of fighting and killing. Their adolescent brains, usually full of hormones and angst, appeared confused over this matter.

She stared back in their faces, blankly. For the past fourteen days, Ayatah had been the epitome of blankness; her expression had not once portrayed a single emotion, her voice had retained a worrisome monotonous tone. But now, as she watched each face of the teenagers in front of her, she felt a slow, buzzing anger in the pit of her stomach. Had she had her baby, had she not been selfish and stupid, would her child have experienced this? The thought sent another wave of sickening anger washing over her, and Ayatah's hands gripped into fists as she imagined her child returning home, beaten and bloodied like the half-breed in the centre of this scuffle.

These children would be punished.

oocFeel free to have some of the kids attack Aya too, I'm sure she'll get her own back!

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[Larsel]

Larsel had been ready to defend himself when one of miho’s goons stepped up again and raised his fist. Holding up his forearms and waited for the right moment to counterattack.. The moment never came. The mocking remarks and cruel laughter fell silent as an adult woman grabbed the boy’s arm. Stopping the punch in it’s tracks. Larsel was dumbstruck, that was the first time in his entire life that somebody had stepped up when miho and her goons were tormenting him. Or at least intervened in his favor. It happened often enough that a rather angry myrian joined in to try and improve it’s mood. Before anybody could react the woman kicked the boy into the groin and he dropped to the ground like a screaming sack of shyke. Now that the boy wasn’t obscuring his view anymore he could see that she was just like him. With blood from another race flowing through her veins. Most likely not the same blood as him. But non-myrian blood nonetheless. Larsel grinned widely. The woman was older, maybe this time he could walk away from the fight while those vagick’s were the ones crawling on the ground after a sound beating. He cracked his knuckles with a fierce grin. “Come on you pieces of shyke. Getting afraid when it’s suddenly two instead of just me?” He laughed mockingly, making a vulgar at them with his hands. “Some myrians you are. Afraid of a half breed unless they outnumber him one to five!” That was what broke the silence of the group. All of them looking at him and the other halfbreed with murder in their eyes. “How dare you!” Miho hissed. “We're proud chil..” Larsel didn’t let her finish her sentence and just punched at her. A hasty block the only reason why she didn’t sport a painful bruise on her stomach. “Less talking then.” Larsel mocked. Two of the other goons that were still standing almost rushed over to help her. Only for miho to cut them off with a firm gesture and point towards the older woman. “This deyhan is mine.” She said as she started circling her prey. The three remaining goons, two girls and a boy, tried to surround the newcomer as best as they could. Measuring her up with an unsure glance. The woman was a lot older then them. A warrior, who despite being a half breed was graced with myri’s mark. They looked at each other with an unsure and fearful glance. “Well? what are you waiting for!” Miho yelled at her underlings. “Get her!” Larsel took advantage of her being distracted for a moment by swiping at her legs. It managed to hit her. But she only wobbled slightly thanks to the kick. Not going down like he had hoped. One of the girls circling the strange woman let out a loud warcry and charged at the older woman and Larsel couldn’t help but grin. Finally, for the first time in his entire life he was part of a fight he might be able to win!

[Ayatah]

oocAh! Sorry for the delay in my reply!

Ayatah watched the faces around her, how they changed from confused to angry. She had embarrassed these adolescents by catching them unaware and had thus delivered some damage to their young egos. A pureblooded Myrian teen, feeling high and mighty because of their heritage, would hate nothing more than to be shown up by a lowly half-breed. Ayatah knew this, almost for definite, based on her own experiences growing up.

The word deyhan, so offensive in her mother tongue, washed over Ayatah as if she barely even heard it. The word had lost all meaning to her; it had been thrown in her face hundreds, if not thousands, of times. To the horror of the vile kids who used it to cause offence, Aya had actually started to call herself deyhan at times, and asked her few close friends to do the same. She had quickly learnt that by using the word playfully herself, the wannabe bullies lost their creative spark.

She had just as quickly learnt that silenced bullies were quicker to use their fists - her smart thinking was not always beneficial to her own wellbeing.

A strained war cry made Ayatah spin around to face a pig-ugly girl watching her hungrily. The girl was much younger than she, but when it came to scraps such as these, age was just a number and there were no moral issues in fighting an individual younger than oneself. Fortunately for the half-Eypharian, age also equated to battle experience - and this meant a great deal.

The ugly girl charged, like a Tskanna, towards Ayatah. Her thick arms swung around in a mad and desperate attempt to land a punch. The half-Eypharian managed to dodge the half-blind assault easily enough, much to the annoyance of her attacker.

The girl swore, hideously mortified at her failed punches, but came back with thrice as much fury. She swung her fists again, not aiming anywhere specifically, just in Ayatah's general direction. This time, a few of her punches landed on target, hitting the half-breed in the chest, arm and ribs.

The blows stung; it had been a while since Ayatah had actually been in a physical scuffle. She was out of practise, but old skills died hard. She landed a punch right on the adolescent's nose, connecting her knuckles with soft cartilage. There was a strange crunching noise and the girl yelped. Swiftly, Aya dropped into a crouch, dodging those furious little jabs from the pureblood. She swiped a long leg across the grass, knocking at the teenager's ankles so she fell backwards. Standing, Ayatah delivered a final kick to the girl's ribcage.

She had but a chime to catch her breath, before two other young females stalked towards her. Right, I've had enough, now. She thought grumpily, unhinging her favoured weapon; a wicked double-bladed dagger. The central hilt was carved out of bone, the two blades on opposite sides bent slightly in opposing directions. This weapon had gutted out the innards of many enemies. Today, it would serve well to scare off a bunch of kids. "I think you should all leave." The words were directed at the other pure-blooded adolescents; she barely even looked at Larsel.

oocHope you don't mind me using Miho there for a second. Lemme know if you want me to rewrite my post

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[Larsel]

Larsel had quickly lost track of what was happening with the fellow half blooded warrior when miho went on the counterattack. Not even waiting to get her own balance back. A shaky punch that Larsel managed to deflect away and he grabbed a firm hold of her upper arm. He janked her downwards. The girl hunching over, not able to keep herself upright thanks to her lack of balance. She looked at him with surprise on her face, just in time to see him raise his fist and smash it right in her face with everything he had. Pouring his anger and hate at the wretch of a girl in the punch. A sickening crack sounded as the girl fell like to the ground like a bag of dhani shyke. He had been fighting against them all for years. Only losing because they pushed him to the ground with numbers. But now, one on one. He knew he was stronger, more enduring and more skilled then her at fighting barehanded and he let her know that. He gave Miho’s body a kick for good measure, she groaned in pain and was clutching her mouth. Larsel looked towards the woman. Who was threatening the remaining goons with a strange double bladed dagger of some sort. He couldn’t help but smile at the sight of the bullies pained and afraid. For years he had wanted to see this sight. Maybe not with an alley in the picture, for who wanted to help a halfbreed. But beating those bullies into submission. had always been a goal he wanted to achieve even once in his lifetime. Larsel just smirked as the remaining goons gave a look to the girl the other woman had kicked to the ground, then to their leader who was sprawled on the ground, moaning in pain and still clutching her jaw. “Screw this.” one of the goons muttered, grabbed the ugly girl at the adult woman’s feet. Motioned towards the other’s to grab miho. Surprisingly they obeyed the guy and picked up miho from the ground and fled away like a spooked tskani. Barely slowed down by their wounded friends they were dragging with them. Larsel watched for a few moments. Enjoying the sight with a wide grin on his face before he looked at the woman that had saved him. “Thanks for helping me out.” He said, the wide grin still on his face, making him look slightly weird combined with a crooked bleeding nose, his knuckles scraped open from fighting and numerous other cuts, bruises and scrapes all over him. “They probably would have ground me into the dirt like usual if you hadn’t showed up.” He held out one of his bloodied hands. “Name’s larsel. What’s yours?”

[Ayatah]

Ayatah watched the children - because ultimately, that's what they were, despite their bolshiness - run away. She sighed heavily, suddenly exhausted. Pureblooded children, and adults for that matter, would always pick on and fight with half-breeds. Aya had been lucky; her family adored her like a pureblood, even if the rest of their society did not. And she had a close knit of friends, some of whom regarded her as an exotic foreigner, and others who saw as simply Ayatah.

She still experienced her fair share of pig-headedness though, but that barely bothered her now.

"You're welcome." Her words were distant, almost uninterested. She had hardly paid any attention to the young lad she had just aided. In fact, she had almost forgotten about his very existence.

He spoke again, and Ayatah examined him with a cool look. There was no mistaking his mixed heritage, though she still couldn't work out what other race dirtied his blood. Oh, he was badly beaten, for sure. His nose looked like it would need some medical treatment; the cuts and bruises would most likely heal on their own.

What did he say his name was?

"I'm Ayatah. You better get that nose looked at," She nodded pointingly at his crooked nose, and the dried blood around it, "What are you? Her question, to any pureblood, would have seemed rude and worth a slap. But there was another language, one that existed amongst the few half-breeds that lived in their society; what are you? meaning what else are you? If anything, the question was a sign of curiosity and tentative friendship.

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[Larsel]

Larsel slightly poked at his own nose, going slightly crosseyed as he tried to get a look at the thing. Now that the rush of a fight was slowly leaving the throbbing of his nose suddenly got a lot more painful. “Is it that crooked?” He grabbed his nose in between his two palms, trying to remember how the healer had set his broken nose back straight the last time he got a few hard punches in the face. He didn’t remember a lot of it. He remembered screaming and a lot of pain as the man roughly put the bones back in place. Still, he guessed it couldn’t be harder then putting two ends of metal back into their rightful place. Giving a try couldn’t hurt, he didn’t want to go to the healers anyway. They always treated him last and usually gave him to the apprentices who didn’t know their art. He roughly pulled down, gritting his teeth and letting out a very unmanly yelp as he felt the bone of his nose shift around in his grip. “That.. hurt a lot more then I thought it would.” The halfbreed muttered to himself as he looked back to the woman. No ayatah, as she had introduced herself. His nose was still crooked, just at a different angle. “My father was an isur. They’re a race of short, blueskinned people.” He answered the question. “So what are you then? aside from the weird skin color you look pretty normal.” He bluntly returned with his own. Quite curious about that as well. At least with him it was obvious if you knew of the isurs. Not many blue skinned races around.

[Ayatah]

An isur... The name rattled around Ayatah's mind for a tick, trying to match the word with an image or paragraph from one of her many, many books. Something, a distant memory of a sentence read long ago, made her believe the Isurs were a long living from the Mountains. They were a race quite irrelevant to her personal interests, thus she knew very little about them. Which irked her: Ayatah liked to be mentally prepared for most conversations, but she had not expected to meet someone who would be an Isur, let alone half-.

"I see." She muttered, still in that strange distant tone, "I am half-Eypharian." That was how she explained her heritage: not my father is Eypharian, not even that he was Eypharian. The man who sired her was not Ayatah's father, not how she regarded him. He was simply a man, who, according to her mother's own descriptions 'had the necessary tools' to make a baby. For that, Ayatah was eternally grateful to the man - she would quite literally not be alive without him. But other than her life, she had very little to thank him for. His genes had made her sparkly, had made her have a thirst for knowledge in the one place that it could not be quenched, and made her so long bodied that half of the traditional Myrian clothing did not fit her.

Her attention focused back on the young lad in front of her. For a tick, before she had thrown herself into his fight, Ayatah had convinced herself that he was the embodiment of her own child. As she looked at him now, she realised just how blinded she had been. The two of them - despite their shared maternal heritage - looked nothing alike. They both looked slightly like their pureblooded Myrian brethren, as all half-breeds would, but in this instance, two half-breeds could never be more different.

He is still like you, though, a wise old voice in her mind told Ayatah, your experiences will be undoubtedly his.

"You should try and not antagonize them." Her instruction was simple and blunt. The statement was obvious, but Aya knew all too well how easy it was to attract the unwanted attention of her peers, "they'll look for every excuse to beat the shyke out of you, so just don't give them any extra reasons."

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