Briza

Streetlight Dragonflies

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Putin & Otets are spelled with five (5) letters, just like the name Briza.

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Streetlight Dragonflies

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Phosphoros

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E f r a y i m W a r a q a t e a d a '

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Baccum was truly the most disorganized organized civilization. It allowed for a more synchronized style of attributes to become a confusing mess of incoherence for outsiders to try and decipher. Efrayim took much pride in this philosophy of his home, even when the internal feeling of sick disgust of the Cult of Marra follower snatched the egg right from his fellow brother's hand. There was something so repulsive about lies that exuded silently from another's being, and hers smelt stronger than what he was used to putting up with; and her body and slithered through the group, gently coiling her footsteps as ladylike as possible. She was just nimble and pliant enough to steal the the gem without as much of a shadow's notice. If the other Baccumese had not done something, Efrayim would have most certainly been the first to concern himself with her actions. There was too little respect for her in his book of obligations for her well-being, and he was more than willing to extend any blood lust and torture legends about the Baccumese upon her.

Civility had stopped him or rather the quickness of other Baccumese, who had already swooped the egg and made his way towards the tavern wall, behind the Elder. With all reviling measures, he was thankful after her strange display of comfort in pain. There was endurance for pain, and then there was an addiction for it. She was a vile creature, and all the same, scoffed at her behavior, outwardly snarling at her. A hefty hand quickly found itself around the hilt of his dagger, as he re-positioned himself, back-glancing several of the newer arrivals for charlatan intimidation. There were several of them. Some were more noticeable than others, one in particular being a lithe man. He was unassuming in many ways, and Efrayim suddenly took his eyes from him to watch the Elder's response, as if for this moment his eyes had ears, as well.

"The Elder is right!" He spoke in calling with authority and a mock in his voice. His body was ready for action, although holding itself taller now. "We're wasting time by all these needless questions," his body shifted towards the blind woman as he imagined the unruliness of the group mob -- especially hers, "like a disobedient bride," his lips pressed together as he finished speaking and then slowly parted and grinned, again, to reveal gritted teeth -- hungry for something, perhaps. He had wanted to hold the egg for himself and was unashamedly annoyed with the disturbance. He let the anger roll onto the culprit of his disdain. His tongue swiped over his bottom lip, followed by teeth that scraped over his skin, a warning for his own to control any want to destroy the heretic on sight.

And as fate had it, the gods decided to spare Efrayim's wrath. There was not much time for him to stew in his anger, when a handful of peasants came running to the tavern, breaking through the speech. He let his spirits simmer and float to the sky, as he looked towards the beginning of the small town. Soldiers were already hurtling through the streets, upon them, and Farrin was certain they could not fight them off. The Baccumese, in his glory, was certain there was more this group could do. He knew certainly his own fighting capabilities and was unwilling to believe the ones around him were so much weaker than he was after such a childish display. As well, he had Charu.

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The elephant had been near the stables, unable to be in them due to her size. She was a bit away, not to accidentally bully or draw so much attention from the horses. Her size made it easy for scare, like a good Baccumese, which meant she was made for much more than just aesthetics. She had found a jade succulent plant to munch, and as Efrayim veered from the stables to unhinge her, Charu's trunk was sniffing at the ground where the plant had been and now was not. Her trunk immediately perked and raised in the air to the sounds of her master's footsteps. She was in line with his attention before he even whistled to her. His lips perched over his two fingers and made a quick blow, steady with the swift pounding of his feet against the sandy ground, "Charu!" Her body conditioned itself, readying her stance before Efrayim's body took a quick leap of a step, that turned him into a panther of a man, climbing upon her tapestry and tassels, as if a tree.

Efrayim tugged on her, pressing his leather boots into the wear of her armor, as his body stood, with flexed and bent legs atop of her for balance. A sharp whistle budded from his lips, a slightly different sound from the sharp one made earlier followed by the quip, "Yalla!" and Charu began moving forward. Her body was paced briskly with clinking armor and dust arousing from her rapid march. Efrayim motioned his body, grabbing hold of her tempo and pulled out one of his tulwar. It was held out front, with his arm bent in defense, bracing for the impact of the damage that Charu was about to ensue. A sharp whistle came from his lips, again, and Charu made a triumphant blow from her horn as her sworded tusks struck from a house and her body crumpled the architecture forward -- walls cracked and broke in various directions with a thunderous roar that shook the ground nearby. He kept her charging, having gnashed the body of a Kothar soldier with her heel.

Efrayim gave her another whistle, and without much thought, slid from the elephant, who sounded from her trunk again, and using a similar feline agility, he landed close to the broken down rubbish, still stirring dust in the air. His body continued to stay low to the ground, carefully maintaining his balance, as he spotted an injured Kothar spwarled and lying near the debris. His arm was twisted in an odd manner, with the bone of his wrist was trying to protrude through his un-gloved, yellowing skin. With several quick steps, his footing was upon the man's healthy wrist, crunching the bones of his hands from their joints, "You're wrists," his sword thrust through the slit of the man's armor and into his throat and twisted his own wrist, "are weak," he jested. The action was deep and committed as a common task, before being raised and on guard for it's next victim. Like magic, the head of the solider appeared to have been decapitated -- sallow and bloodied next to the Baccumese's own footing, now dismissed from atop the corpse.

Streetlight Dragonflies

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