Brawn and Brains: Pleasant, No? {Xanthus!}

[Mjollnir]

Left, right, uppercut, and SMASH! Mjollnir let out a cheer as a rather frightening beast of a man broke another giant of a human’s ribcage, sending him flying over the ring’s boundaries. Times like this… Were great fun. Secstial was such an interesting place to loiter around in. There were always plenty of thieves to tell off, lots of haggling to do, and the ever popular street brawls. The latter was Mjollnir’s favorite. Because of the restrictions that Socrates had placed upon him, he found it hard to physically train himself. In fact… He rarely did any physical training at all. Today, however, was different. He’d already decked five men who were twice, if not thrice, the size of him. It was exhilarating and was doing wonders for his back.

“Who’s next then?” The words were spoken by the behemoth who had just incapacitated his last contender for the next couple months, assuming he was too poor to hire a proper healer. Mjollnir raised his hand up into the air and shouted out in the quiet, “Me! Oh me! Choose me and you won’t regret it!” The crowed shifted and allowed Mjollnir to enter the makeshift “ring”. It was a comical sight. The man that Mjollnir was to face was somewhere within the height of six feet and five inches, much taller than Mjollnir’s stature. The muscles on the man seemed to wish to explode right out of his skin, while Mjollnir was still wearing his concealing overcoat and had upon his face a crooked smile.

Mjollnir raised his fists and took a strange looking stance. The other people in the crowed murmured to each other, the little man had already beaten several respected fighters… Would he be as lucky this time? The behemoth let loose a loud guffaw of a laugh, akin to the sound of thunder when it’s right above your head. He got into his own stance, hands held out in front of the face, and legs bent in preparation to move out of the way if need be. The people shouted, the signal to begin the match.

The behemoth took a swing at Mjollnir, the intent of the punch was to dislodge the necromancer’s head from his bony shoulders. Mjollnir deftly avoided the strike, twisting under the behemoth’s large, burly frame and made several quick and successive strikes to the man’s abdomen. He let out a roar of anger and pain and turned with what seemed like inhuman speed, taking into account his size, and lashed out once more. The fist reached Mjollnir’s chest, just after the arm had stretched as far as it could, thus landing a light blow upon Mojllnir’s sternum and allowing him to quickly turn and dislocate the man’s elbow.

The crowd cheered as the behemoth fell to one knee, pulling his arm into his chest. Mjollnir laughed and spun, landing a kick with his heel directly to the left side of the man’s head. There was a strange cracking noise, and the man fell to the ground. Mjollnir raised up his hands to the cheers of his “fans”, grimacing slightly. Though the blow to his chest had been light, the power in the original punch had been quite devastating. There would definitely be a bruise there tomorrow. That… And his heel was killing him.

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[Xanthus]

The weather here was vastly different then what he was use to. Long ago the green had turn brown from dehydration. Before that the cool temperatures of the forest had given way to dry heat. Now it seems that very dry heat had scorched away all normal vegetation he was use to. The ground was now golden brown sand. The blazing heat and the near bare surroundings didn't seem to stop people from living here. If anything it seemed that it was the reason people to live here. This town was huge!

The people of the town were clothed in many ranges of clothes. He supposed it all had to do with wealth. There were those that looked like the dull ground around them then there were the vibrant colors that almost hurt to look at in the white sun. All of them were bustling around getting from one place to another, carting supplies, or pick someone's pocket.

But instead of touring the town he was enjoying one of the best past times ever created. Men bragging about their strength in the only way they knew how, through example. The young centaur had tried to get as close to the ring as he could. At his size, it was pretty easy.

As the cheers broke out he would carefully rear and cheer as well. He chose no fighter to cheer solely for. What was the fun in that? But when the dwarfed man came forward to face the current champion he didn't know what to do. Muscles weren't everything when it comes to street brawls, though it really did help.

Street men wasn't his interest, and then to narrow it down even more neither were desert men. The way their muscle rolls just didn't seem right to him. But the small man that came forward was neither. In actuality, it looked like he was much like himself. Someone just looking for fun.

Xan cheered at the small man felled his opponent. It was easy to see it wasn't a clean victory though. The centaur made his way to the ring.

"Are you ok, there young man?"

[Mjollnir]

The words of someone other than his own mind startled the necromancer and he turned around quickly to face the one who had produced them. Sadly, he had been off balance because of his throbbing heel, and he tumbled slightly forward, using the bad heel to catch his balance. A slight moan slipped out of his lips as he bounced back to the other foot and took all the weight off of the injured one. He quickly looked up at the centaur and blinked, “Uh…” For once he had little to say. He wasn’t about to admit that he might have broken his foot on the street fighter’s thick skull, nor was he going to lie and say that he was fine. It was quite the predicament… If only Socrates…

“That being is trained in magic. This cat can smell it upon him. Perhaps he wishes to heal thee?” Though the cat was nowhere in sight, the Mjollnir picked up the words out of all the noise as another brawl began. He licked his lips and studied the centaur standing before him. He was well built, young looking, and as attractive as any other centaur Mjollnir had seen before. Right away, Mjollnir could tell that the centaur was not a fighter. The way the beast carried himself was enough to tell, without the obvious difference in muscle build. Still, it would seem that he enjoyed fights as much as Mjollnir did.

He tried not to look too much at the centaur’s lower-half. It wasn’t working out so well. The stallion side of the creature was just far to interesting. The… Pelt? It was the same color as the hair that was shaggily placed upon his head, with a stunning patch of white around his hindquarters. The sun gleaned off of it, giving it a rather entrancing shine, and Mjollnir was extremely tempted to touch it. And, of course, there was the connection between horse and man. Mjollnir had never been one to stay in one place for very long, and rarely did he travel with anyone aside from his undead cat, so whenever he encountered a species that he found interesting, he often studied them for as long as he could.

The hair abruptly stopped before the body changed into a stomach. How very odd that the horse-like side retained its stomach as did the human half. Mjollnir found his arm extending towards the hairline to see how far up the hair was no longer connected, but stopped himself before it became to obvious. Centaurs were truly strange creatures.

All this happened within the course of a few moments. Before it could go on any longer, the crowed roared once more and broke Mjollnir out of his trance-like investigation, “Right! Ah… I’m not. No, not at all. I think I may have broken my heel on that brute’s head! Imagine that… It would seem age has made me far less careful. I thought you lost that sense of rashness once you left childhood.” Mjollnir winked and laughed, “It would seem not!”

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[Xanthus]

The centaur watched him with a smile. It was obvious to the untrained eye that the man was in pain. But to his trained eye he had a much better idea of what was really going on. His bill of health would register much more then just bruising. The dumbfounded look on his face was hard to resist laughing to.

However, it seemed that his attention to answering his question was transfered to something else. Xanthus didn't find it at all awkward to be stared. In fact, he would have found it rather insulting if he wasn't. After all, how many centaurs does one see? He began flaunting his stallion half as if it was of habit. The weight of his body was balanced back onto his hind legs and his chest was more proudly presented.

The crowds roars brought a halt to his proud stance and into full alert. Towering above most of the other desert dwellers he could see the action with no trouble at all. Though he wanted to watch the next fight this was proving to be a bit more interesting. He turned back to the man just as he began to speak.

It was quiet amazing that he went from his previous bewildered state to admitting the issues. Never had it been that easy. He couldn't help but laugh at the last of his sentence. "No one ever out grows it. At least not that I have found. But some aren't quiet that rash."

"If you wish, I can take care of that heel of yours." The centaur turned to head out of the crowd. "With that victory you had, I'll do it free of charge."

[Mjollnir]

Mjollnir clapped his hands together and laughed, “Free of charge? That’s really the only way to pay, in my book!” It was a short lived burst of mirth, however, as the bruise on his chest began to throb slightly, and the motion of his laughter putting too much weight on the broken heel made him wince slightly, “Sooner is better, I think.” Mjollnir eased his weight onto his other foot, effectively removing the pressure upon his injury. Due to his nimble disposition, Mjollnir was quite at home on only one foot. Though one might think that two thousand odd years of life would lead to extraordinary and superhuman feats, Mjollnir had simply learned numerous – though rather eclectic – skills which he found applicable to whatever situations he might come across.

Standing on one foot was something that Mjollnir was rather proud of. It wasn’t that the skill was so difficult, but it was the foundation upon which his whole “one-footed” fighting style was based. He used this when something that like this occurred; thus, if it was a life or death situation, Mjollnir could still continue to fight without further damaging his injured appendage. Now, as he stood quite comfortably on one foot, but appearing as though he were standing on two, with his hip slightly jutting out towards one side, he was able to smile at least.

Laughing was still out of the question as it hurt his chest. Maybe he hadn’t dodged that hit as well as he had thought before. Still, this strange… and seemingly prideful young centaur – Mjollnir assumed he was young, in truth, he had no idea how old the centaur was. Even if he did, he hadn’t yet ascertained the average life a centaur, having not been around them very much within his lengthy lifetime – was willing to help him fix the problems that Mjollnir had caused himself: a wonderful prize for having done something so reckless… Still, it had been lots of fun, and Mjollnir would have done it again without batting his eyes once.

“Mjollnir, there are few people outside of the brawl, take care as you leave.” Mjollnir nodded, as if the cat were right next to him. An odd gesture, but not entirely uncalled for, as he was about to speak. “Well, Good Centaur, it would seem that we simply must navigate through this crowd! For you, I am sure that that should cause little concern for you, but I find it rather tedious to move more than a strike’s distance from where I currently stand… if you would assist me…?” The last question was far from a command. Mjollnir rarely asked anyone for help (not including Socrates) and found it rather… Unwonted. Still, the centaur was going to heal him, and Mjollnir assumed that acting as a walking stick wasn’t going to be too much trouble for him.

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[Xanthus]

"That book of yours sounds like it has some good ideas in it." He said before peering over the heads of the crowd to view the now much less exciting brawl. "I would very much want to know more about it." He looked back to him and smiled.

It was very easy for him to tell that the man before him wasn't normal. In fact, there was probably very few that couldn't tell. The air about him was dark and didn't feel very much like the humans surrounding them both. Instead of being worried about it like he should be, Xanthus was actually quite intrigued. Whatever this man was he wasn't going to hurt him. If anything, not yet. He appeared too much in need of a healer's services.

"I'll fix you up in no time at all," Xanthus said as he continued to watch him. He was quiet curious on how he was going to cross the crowd. Unless there was the idea that they were going to heal him there. But he doubted that that was the case. If it where he had greatly overestimated him. There was a slight fear that the man was going to easily leave the crowd.

The centaur's now what seemed permanent smile grew slightly larger. With ease he came to the side of the man. "Of course. You are not too injured are you?" He had to leave a small tease.