Salt. Sand. Dried Grain. It swirled in his mind like a so mellowing tune, while the noises of a waking city picked up the higher notes to start the upward spiral of a winter burdened city. It wasn't his favorite time of day to slip through the town, but he had to admit to some twisted sense of humor at watching the stumbling drunk nobles and prodigal sons come from the lower dregs of the town. They tried to be quite, to slip through the shadows unrecognized, but their tense, uncomfortable faces told the tales just as well. Here in a quite back alley he could see them drag themselves along the street against the outside walls, hoping to hide from the busier city center.
Poor blind bastards. Their idiocy was a nice morning elixir. Then, like spiking his orange juice with vodka, came those from the lower quarter travelling up who bore a rather different air. Those one or two nobles, dripping in their wealth or wearing simpily hundreds like it was a sack of grain, did not shrink at the light of the sun beginning to burn out the morning. They cared nothing for the wandering eyes, they welcomed them- no dared them. That was who Locke took note of, who he watched with curious eyes. In his new city, where he had slipped through for several weeks before taking a break to become a corporal figure on a south jaunt, he wanted to know those people. The ones who took the shame of the lower as well as the gold of the upper. The ones who ruled the whole city. Those he was find-
A roar, bestial, primal, and vibrating the muscle holding in his heart. That was not a mate catching one of the wanders returning from the lower. Locke picks himself up from the side of his alley watch with a growing suspicion. It could be normal. He'd only been in the city a month, it could be a seasonal mating call of some natural creature. Normal- The teryr lands with all the grace of a hurricane on the city walls, crashing stone, wood, and life to the street below. Right. He doubted that was normal.
Feathers on his back stood, as his heart flutters in his chest. His soft morning melody of the city began spinning wildly into sounds of screams, cracking stone, battle cries, and scents of blood and death. It wasn't his usual scene. Locke was not a hero. Not a warrior. He was a shadow slipping thief. Knight in shining armor was never even in the realm of possibilities. Nor did he want it to be. Several Solterrans, with authority of rank radiating off of their movements and commands, rush to the creature. The caution in the youth's eyes turns hard. Cold and calculating. He should go. He had no weapon, no armor, and little skill. Every brilliant brain cell in his head told him this wasn't his place, his time, or his fight.
Oh but all those reasons began to boil and simmer in his head, stewing into an elixir of adrenaline, daring, and cunning. It was a dare. When the teryr roared, it was a siren. He wasn't a warrior no, but he was a weapon on his own. A weapon made even more deadly by the williful ignorance of it gave towards common sense. Locke moves forward, mind speeding up to time with the battle. Glint metal- a spear readies under a warrior strengthened touch. The smirk flashes for only a second before he moves.
A piece of rubble, small and near useless is picked up by the youth and hurled with full force at the raging desert king. "City tours are closed, birdy!" Cried the lanky thief as he let his gold body flash into the sun (circling wide the beast, away from the spear brandishing warrior), hoping to steal the collosial's attention from the death tipped weapon that aimed its way. Hoping to turn its head, to lay bare its defenses. Then the boy looked, really looked. Good god. It was massive...Breath catches in the boy's throat for a moment. It was a magnificent creature, bristling in death and demanding reverence for its age, size, and the marks of experience it bore along its body. Shit- Locke didn't even have the breath to speak it as he grabbed another stone. It would be a shame... (The mutual respect rising like the dust in the battle.) Yet it had begun, and ever nerve in his body pushed him to end it, thrumming with the pulsating beats of a mortal body not ready to fall. Bells begin to ring. To scream. Locke let the second rock fly, but did not send any more insults with it..
OOC:: Apologies for the low quality here. Typed this up on the phone!
Recap:: Locke steps into the scene from an alley and throws a stone to try and get the teryr's attention away from Jahin. He begins to circle, and throws another.
Edited to reflect @Jahin 's clarification. Apologies!
