Open Chronicles Dumb Heroics

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Flint

Flint

The Barber
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Two men towered over the boy, casting his fearful face in shadow. In their hands, blades. On their faces, snarls.
"Where's the money, yih little shit?"
One man swung a fist at the boy, no older than 17 by the look of it. The young man cried out, falling to the floor before taking a kick to the gut, winding him. The two men raised their voices, raising their voices but kicking before they got answers. In fact, they were so loud they didn't see the man charging them. Nor did they see the sun catching his folding knife as he tore through one man's thigh, driving a fist into his gut and sending him to the floor.

Flint wasn't much for heroics. He wasn't much for letting kids get beaten up either. Such personal conflicts usually challenged the barber, but the choice was quite simple here.

The second man cried out in surprise, his friend curled up in a ball of agony. The brutish thug swung at Flint, the barber's neck within a hair's reach of the blade. Channeling his magic, the barber felt his hands jerk upward, slamming the butt of his blade into a pressure point on the man's wrist, causing him to drop his sword to the ground. Seeing his chance, Flint seized the thug's shoulders, attempting to bring his head to strike the bridge of his enemy's nose.

Unfortunately the thug saw it coming. He too seized Flint's shoulders with his hands, bringing his knee up to wind the barber, bringing him down. The thug retrieved his weapon, but before he could strike Flint down, the kid slammed a fist between the criminal's legs. The man fell, and was knocked out by a swift kick to the head from the boy. Flint looked at the boy, whose eyes were cemented open in fear.
"There are more of them. Run y'idiot!".
With that, the boy disappeared down the alley. Flint rose, groaning in pain before eventually straightening up.
"You're welcome!... maybe you were a little shit", he mumbled, looking down the alley just in time to see half a dozen men who looked equally thuggish as before charge the alley towards him.
"Ah crap"

Flint sprinted, leaving the alley and heading for the Elbion marketplace. Bursting through shops and vaulting counters before leaving through the back and repeating. Once he thought he'd lost track of his pursuers, the barber made for a nearby house, bursting through the door and closing it behind him, huffing and puffin with fatigue.

He didn't even consider the pair of eyes that now rested at him from inside the building.
 
Drake would stare at the man who entered his small temporary home for a while before realizing who he was. It was the man who had put together a job he partook in not too long ago. He'd look at the man waiting for him to explain what he was doing in Drake's house. Though he figured that answer wouldn't come very soon based on the look of the man. Flint, he suddenly remembered, appeared to be breathing heavy, and sweating a bit. Something that was indicative of a chase. Drake figured Flint was probably more concerned with what he had run from, than whose house he was in.

Drake would look back down at the scroll he had been writing, and would dip his pen in ink. He'd begin writing on it again adjusting his mask a little bit. "Why are you in my house?" Drake would ask flint the soft glow of a candle slightly illuminating his long gray hair, and mask. The candle was, as a matter of fact, the only light in the entire room. This left most of the room covered in shadows with the exception of the desk at which Drake sat. A scene which appeared at the very least slightly creepy when coupled with Drake's behavior.
 
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Flint's eyes darted to the location of a familiar voice. Drake was sitting at a table, either writing or drawing something. Flint wasn't sure how he felt seeing the man and well, after all of that drama in the tomb. The sight of the man's mask unnerved him, and Flint wondered if he stood a better chance against the thugs. He shook his head lightly as he caught his breath. Drake saved his life once, maybe he shouldn't have been so harsh.
"I uhm.. Well I helped a boy who was being attacked. Wound up getting a gang on me. I had no idea you were still in town".
 
Drake would look up from his scroll making direct eye contact with Flint. He never really cared much for heroics, and it seemed no good ever came out of them. Evident by the situation the man was in now after trying to help someone. Though he supposed he did owe the man something after what had happened before. He'd stand up from the desk pushing his small wooden chair back a bit. Drake would reach forward grabbing the candle from off the table walking around the room, and lighting a few more of them. The room would now be illuminated revealing a small room filled with books on magic, another wooden chair, and an abundance of cobwebs.

"You can stay inside until they pass... if you'd like." Drake would say a bit hesitantly attempting hospitality.
 
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Flint nodded thoughtfully, his breath under control and his heart rate close behind. Wiping a hand across his forehead, the barber sat in the chair, which looked like it hadn't been used in a while. "Thanks. Really". The barber looked across the table at the array of tomes and scripts, wondering what the man was working on. He supposed it was a good thing that Drake engrossed himself in words. It would keep the man's hands clean of blood, for however long.
"I've been thinking a lot, about what I saw down there", he said, thinking back to the tomb. "Thinking it might be best that I leave the city for a while".
 
Drake would look towards Flint after sitting down back at the desk. “An interesting thought.” He would say as he got back to work writing the scroll. Drake couldn’t say he hadn’t thought of it before. Though as much as he hated Elbion there was something keeping him there. For now at least. Maybe all he needed was something to force him out.

“Where?” Drake would say holding his pen still for a second without moving it. He would’ve have liked to finish the sentence with more words. Though the more he thought of leaving, the more he felt emotions bubbling up inside him. Though he wouldn’t let himself. Not like last time.
 
Flint didn't take his eyes off Drake, despite the masked man looking uninterested. Even throughout their quest Drake seemed distant... removed. With good reason, the barber now knew.
"I'm not sure... I have family in Alliria. Maybe I'll go visit". It was strangely calming, speaking to Drake about this. He'd never thought about where he'd go, if he did indeed decide to leave. Part of him wanted to wander, like Rainie had. He wasn't sure if he was cut out for that kind of life. Not yet at least.
"How've you been? Since..."
 
“Hmm...” Drake would simply hum in response thinking about his answer to that question. “Relatively normal.” He would after some more thought. Certainly things had been a bit rougher lately after what he saw, but he would endure. Just as he always had. After he got his mask repaired he’d been able to take control of things again.

He’d finish writing the scroll rolling it up, and channeling some magic into it. A subtle glow would surround the scroll before being absorbed into it. “You?” He’d ask clearly not used to having conversations with people. He would usually avoid a situation like this, but figured he owed it to Flint to try. Especially since he knew Flint’s image of him couldn’t have been very good recently.
 
Wondering what constituted as 'normal' for Drake, Flint leaned forward in the chair, resting his jaw on his hand, his elbow on his knee. "Well, things were fine up until about an hour ago". A stretched truth. Indeed, things had gotten worse after he ran into the thugs, but things were far from fine before that. The quest had left him jarred, and with a lot to consider. Of course, that wasn't important to Drake, nor did the barber expect it to be. He'd keep the visions to himself.
"I'm sorry, about this", he said, leaning backwards once more. "I suppose calling the guards will help clear things up..."
 
"I doubt that..." Drake would say thinking about the guards of the city. He'd never had all to good of an opinion on them. Though maybe he was a bit biased on that subject. As he very much was on anything having to do with the city. "They can't usually stop small groups... it's to easy for them to hide." He'd say for once speaking more than just a few words. He was a bit intrigued by Flint's behavior. He'd thought it was strange of the man to be apologetic to Drake when Drake was the one who offered for him to stay. Not only that, but he figured he would be more willing to solve the problem himself without the guards.

"Why not handle it yourself?" Drake would say to Flint. Though he was more thinking out loud then actually trying to say it. He didn't necessarily regret saying it as he was curious of Flint's response, but he certainly hadn't planned on it.
 
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Flint wasn't sure how he felt about taking the gang. Before he ran, the barber counted 6 men, including the 2 he'd taken down. He'd been in plenty of fights, but not against so many people at once. Sure, maybe he could take them, with some planning and a lot of luck. However, the barber wasn't out to kill, and somehow he had a feeling the gang wouldn't make the same distinction. It was a risk.
"You're right. Maybe I should take this into my own hands". The barber stood, moving toward Drake's front window. He didn't see any thuggish looking men outside. "Uh... thanks. For the.. advice"
 
Drake would look at the man curiously. Somehow his thanks felt a bit empty as if there was something else there. Though it was a bit hard to read emotions when you were mostly without them yourself. “Nervous?” Drake would ask him standing up from his chair. “I could help.” He’d say dusting himself off a bit. “I do owe you.”
 
Flint wasn't looking at Drake when the masked man made the proposition. Had he been, Drake would have seen a wave of emotions pass over the barber's face as he considered his choices. Drake was deadly, and the man could ensure the gang didn't get the upper hand on him. That said, he didn't want a bloodbath, and Drake hadn't shown much in the way of non-lethal combat. Seeing little choice, Flint looked to the man.
"Yeah, that'd be great, but... Let's not make this any bloodier than it needs to be, yeah?"
 
“Yeah...” Drake would say walking over to the door. He was considering a few different options of how to handle the situation. Drake could attempt to get the drop on the men since they wouldn’t know him. He could also attempt to take them all down at once with one large spell. Though that would be dangerous for the civilians and thugs both. Drake would get rid of that idea knowing Flint didn’t want any casualties. Maybe if he could get close enough he could subdue them somehow. With Flints help he might be able to freeze their hands together. Drake was more accustomed to stay further back in combat, but he could use his ice magic in close quarters. He decided that it might just be worth a shot.

“Take me to them, but let me go first.” He’d say to Flint opening the door, and looking outside. “I’ll use the fact that they don’t know me to my advantage.” He’d say a bit hushed to Flint elaborating on his idea. He’d pull the hood of his cloak up to cover his head securing it with his mask. “Ready?”
 
Drake didn't sound so sure about not killing these men. Flint would have to keep a close eye on the man. As his associate pulled the hood over his head, Flint considered some form of concealment for himself, but ultimately decided against it. He waited for the other man to leave his home, and followed close behind, ready for a brawl.
 
Drake would move quickly, and smoothly through the streets. As he always did since he didn’t want to be on them for long. Though this time he was moving with a purpose. One that could keep him busy on the streets for a bit. After a bit of walking he would reach the area where Flint last saw the men. “Do you see them?” He would ask looking around.
 
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Flint moved in time with Drake, feeling much more confident with the man by his side. As they came to the marketplace, his eyes fell on a group of five men, each as brutish as the next. One man, presumably the ringleader, barked orders at his comrades. He wore a ridiculous purple hat, much like that of a comical bard or jester. Each man wore a cloak, suggesting concealed weapons. Each man wore a scowl, suggesting a strong desire to see Flint's blood spill.
"Yes. that's them. Plans?"
 
"Yes... stay back until they come to us. Once they do that I can freeze their hands together with your help, or you can just knock them out." Drake would say to Flint as he began to rub his hands together. He'd take a few steps forward standing about ten feet away from the group. He'd draw his frost covered hand back behind him as he kneeled down. Drake would draw the hand down, and forward brushing it against the ground. As he did so a line of ice would appear on the ground that would extend past his reach towards the men. All the while the line would get larger, and more round eventually covering the ground beneath the men with a slick icy coat. Not only that, but their feet would be stuck lightly to the ground by the ice. Something that would prove to be a problem when the men tried to move their feet. The real issue was that if they tried to move towards Flint, and Drake they would inevitably slip on the thin ice. Drake would stand back up moving towards Flint readying himself for the groups next move.
 
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Flint watched in wonder as Drake summoned ice from the ground, freezing the earth that lay under the marketplace quickly. The gang leader noticed this first, though two of his men had already had their feet frozen solid to the ground. He barked at his men, and the remaining trio leapt atop the stalls before they could get hit by the ice. One of the men from the alley spotted Drake and Flint, pointing their way before the trio made their way towards the barber and the mage.
"Well, you've slowed two down", he pointed out as the trio leapt from stall to stall. "We may have to handle the last three the old fashioned way".
 
"Fine with me." Drake would say putting his hands out as a solid coat of ice surrounded them. Each hand would become encased in a large one made of ice. Hands which ended in sharp pointed fingers that appeared capable of piercing cloth. Drake figured he'd need them for when the thugs got close. Especially considering his ranged arsenal was limited by the little to no bloodshed rule Flint gave him. He'd put one of his iced hands out in front of himself pointing his palm at the closest of the group of men. Small, round orbs of ice would begin to form in the air in front of his palm. After a few had formed Drake would surge energy into his hand launching the orbs towards the group of men. They were large enough to hurt if they hit the men, but not enough so that they would prove lethal.
 
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The trio were more agile than Flint had hoped. Skilfully they traversed the stalls, taking cover behind them to avoid contact from Drake's projectiles. Eventually they landed at the dry ground before the duo. Two made for the barber, one making for the mage. Flint snarled as he moved, and felt magic course through his arms as the men threw their first punches. He grabbed the first man's fist firmly, twisting his arm sideways to the sound of an anguished cry. He moved out of the way of the second punch, using the men's balance against them as he pushed them off to the side, putting more distance between them. He called over his shoulder, but dared not to take his eyes from his opponents.
"You doing okay friend?"
 
As the man approached Drake he would wind up to throw a punch at him. Seeing this Drake would put one hand behind his back to begin forming an ice orb. He'd then put his other hand up to block the mans punch. The thug would swing his arm strongly towards Drake. Drake was however prepared, and managed to block the hit holding onto the mans fist with his own icy hand. Drake would dig the sharp pointed ice fingers of his hand into the man's wrist so he couldn't escape the grab. The other man was physically stronger, but completely underestimated Drake's ability up close. Within seconds Drake launched his orb from his other hand at the man's stomach. He would double over from the pain of being shot with one up close. Drake would use this as his opportunity to bind the man. He'd pull the man's trapped arm down connecting to his shin area. An easy feat considering the man was hunched over. Soon the all the ice covering his hand would like fluid wrapping around both the man's leg, and hand. After thoroughly coating them both, and completely leaving Drake's hand it would freeze solid. The man would now have his hand stuck to his leg by a thick wrap of ice.

"Fine." Drake would say simply as he used his frozen left hand to push the man to the ground. He'd turn to look at both Flint, and the thugs who were frozen. He would need to assess which of the two things to take care of first. The thugs Flint was fighting, or those which had yet to make a move. Though he supposed the real question was whether or not Flint would need his help. "Need any help?" He would ask Flint.
 
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The two men moved in turn this time around; the left assailant going for the barber's legs while his friend swung for Flint's jaw. Flint went low, diving forward over the first man to barrel into the second assailant, sending the pair to the floor. They tussled for a moment before Flint got on top and slammed a fist hard into the bridge of his enemy's nose. Rising to a stance, the man backed off as the other thug came at him, grinning to himself now. They were taking this brawl in their stride.
"All good, Drake", he replied, then eyeing his enemy. "Picking on a boy? That was just low?"
 
After hearing Flint's words Drake would give a bit of a nod moving towards the remaining thugs in the group. As he did so another ice hand would form where he had lost one. He'd step on top of the ice which lead up to the three men. Drake would walk across the increasingly slippery ice as if it were normal ground. He closed the distance between them until he was around five feet away from the group. After that he'd put one hand up beckoning them to come closer, and attack him. His physical prowess was nothing to be amazed at. Though when fighting him atop slippery ice terrain one was at a huge advantage. Especially if he kept his distance. The only reason he hadn't done so now was he was beginning to feel drained already. Though he'd only used a small amount of his capable magic abilities. It would seem he had yet to recover from the incident he'd gone through some time earlier. He would make it through the fight there was no reason he wouldn't. Even if he needed to use magic again he currently had a scroll in his possession. He had no reason to believe he would need it though. Unless the thug boss had some sort of ace card up his sleeve.
 
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