Not Surrounded, In A Target Rich Environment!

Clad in long, khaki pants and indigo robes, Marschal trekked alongside Siennah Burke underneath the unbearable sun as it beat down upon them. It was mid evening and the sun was already beginning to go down, but the heat was still hot enough that it burned at his sandaled feet and unshielded eyes. The rest of himself was hidden beneath a head cloth that was tightly wrapped around his head and face to keep him cool and the sand out of his eyes. Despite how layered his clothing was, he didn’t feel hot at all; in fact, the sweat that dripped down his body managed to keep him cool while they traversed the desert. More so, the cotton fabric kept him warm in the frigid weather of the desert night, though his body temperature was already higher than a normal human. Unfortunately, his ears were bound tightly up in the cloth, so he couldn’t hear as nicely as when the fabric was off of his head. So, if Siennah were to at all speak to him, it was likely he wouldn’t hear what she had said right away versus if he had the cloth off.

Luckily for Marschal, his eyes were accustomed to bright lights, so even the brightest of days in the desert didn’t hurt his sight as much as at may a human. His natural-born eyes lacked a lot of colors from the color wheel, but it was all in goodness that he did not have to constantly adjust to different colors. Bland yellowness was everywhere around him, hazed over by his second eyelids, which prevented sand from getting into his eyes. However, he couldn’t see that far beyond his own two feet that stretched out with each step that he took, everything a blurred mess beyond three feet in front of him. He didn’t mind this one bit, but he knew that it was often troublesome when it came to fighting opponents that were far away. If they weren’t right up in his face, he had to use his other senses in order to make sure that he was fighting the correct person. Anytime outside of battle, such as during the night, his eyes were impeccable and capable of seeing in darkness that humans were not capable of doing.

Despite the fabric that tightly covered his ears, Marschal was fully aware of the change in Siennah’s emotions, something a cat like him was able to tell the difference between. His pupils dilated momentarily as he was caught him in his thoughts, though decided not to disturb the shorter magus in her own thoughts. She was thinking of something, but he didn’t know what; perhaps she wanted to say something to him, but didn’t want to come off as stupid. Instinctively, Marschal let out a comforting purr in Siennah’s direction, the soft sound a low rumble in the depths of his throat. It was something he had inherited from his father, the capability to twitch his laryngeal muscles in order to make such a strange, yet calming sound. He could sense the irritation radiating off his partner and, perhaps, it was that reason why Marschal simply began to purr. Marschal wasn’t frightened or nervous himself, but he figured that purring for Siennah would help calm her nerves some.

More so, it wasn’t helping that the camel they had been given was a terrible creature to ever have existed in the planes of Earthland. It constantly tried to bit at both of them when they weren’t looking, as well as spitting at them whenever it had the chance to. Hell, the beast even tried to bite them while they were looking at it and that was the whole reason behind why they didn’t use it as a means of transportation. Of course, the creature held all of their belongings on its back, but because of the spitting and biting, they weren’t able to access them. The only thing Marschal had to drink was the gourd on his hip that contained the magical alcohol that he used to enhance his hand-to-hand combat. One thing to know about Marschal was that he was completely a melee fighter; he had very little spells up his sleeves that were long-ranged. In a sense, he was a frontline fighter, the barbarian if one will that was designed to fight off the opponents while the rest fired off from the backside.

Marschal’s gaze constantly swept toward the camel that he held the rope to, tugging at it whenever the beast began to get too slow. How the beast was still alive was beyond Marschal’s own comprehension because he felt it should have died of thirst long ago. However, camels were designed to live in the desert, so it was expected that it would be able to survive of the water it collected in its humps for long periods of time. In spite of his purring, Marschal bared his fangs at the creature and let out a low growl between the frequencies of purring he was creating. The sound was low enough that Siennah wouldn’t be disturbed by it, but the camel was capable of hearing the sound quite clearly. This caused the creature to be antagonized by the feline male and spit in his direction, which he dodged quickly and would likely hit Siennah if she didn’t get out of the way. Personally, he shouldn’t have been holding onto the camel, but out of the two of them, the camel seemed to comply to him the best.

As he did this, his ears perked forward underneath the fabric, picking up the sound of Siennah’s half-snort, half-sigh at something. Blinking, Marschal turned his gaze toward her and cocked an eyebrow, even though it wasn’t possible to see his eyebrows under the head cloth. “Something on your mind?” he inquired, curious to know what was going on inside of that head of herself that kept her so quiet. The words he spoke hadn’t even broke the purring that he was still making, like he had easily talked through the purr as clear as day. “The desert village can’t be too far off, I promise, but at the rate we’re going, it could be a few more hours to a whole other day yet.” Saying these things, Marschal would shrug his shoulders nonchalantly, as if he didn’t much care how long it took them to get there. However, he wanted as far away from this camel as quickly as possible and with how far out the village was, who knew when that would be.

But just as he had said that, over the horizon, a set of colorful tents with flags poised on the tops would appeared just out of reach. Due to his terrible vision of seeing anything more than three feet out in front of him, he wasn’t able to make out what they were. Yet, he was able to tell that there was something thin waving in the gentle breeze of the desert that mimicked the motion of a flag. “Well, it looks like we were closer to the village than I thought; let’s head in, get rid of this camel, and find out who the Red Sand Bandits are,” he stated. Marschal instinctively picked up the pace of his walking until they had entered the small village of desert dwellers, tying the camel on the nearest post he could. After which, Marschal would look around for someone that he could ask about the Red Sand Bandits, but it seemed no one was around. “Do you think they’re all hiding from the bandits or something? It’s pretty qu-” Marschal wasn’t able to finish his sentence before he coughed up blood.

Pain seared in his side and he moved a hand slowly down to cup the place that ached, his hand painted with red when he took it away. A low, menacing growl erupted from his throat and he whirled around on his toes to face a desert-dressed man wielding a magic pistol. In spite of the pain that coursed through his body and the excessive blood that trickled down his side, Marschal yanked his weapons free of their sheaths. Gripping them as tightly as he could in his hands, the magus, stepped back slightly and launched himself at the Bandit Gunner. Dashing off to the side, the magus stretched one arm out and slashed across the open space, the flame-styled blades digging into the flesh of the gunner. In close combat range, the gunner wouldn’t be able to wield his pistol correctly, so if Marschal could keep the man at bay, they wouldn’t have issues. “Be careful! There may be more than one of these guys around,” the magus called to his partner in the midst of his battling.

Marschal glanced toward Siennah momentarily, hearing her call out his name in a rather strange fashion, but his name nonetheless. He only grinned at her in response to her panicked voice, trying to inform her through his looks that he was going to be all right. However, a barrel to the side of the face caused him to spit out blood and stumble away from the unsuspected attack from the gunner. Shaking his head, the magus staggered in his place and glanced bleary-eyed at the man with the barrel facing his direction. Gritting his teeth, Marschal lunged forward at the gunner, raising his weapons and crossing them over each other to slam into the gunner. It pushed the man back enough that it allowed for him to duck below and swing his weapon at the legs of the man, bringing him down. The gun was knocked out of the man’s hand, skidding across the sand and kicking up dust that caused Marschal to go temporarily blind.

Of course, that didn’t matter much because he couldn’t see more than three feet in front of him anyway; plus, he had his other senses. So, it wasn’t like he was completely useless when it came to fighting in battle; besides, he had been trained to not use all of his senses at once. If anything, he had been taught to utilize his senses all at once only when he had them all; other times, he was meant to utilize only one at a time. Marschal crept toward the man, weapons in tow, then stood over him in a low crouch, his arms resting on his legs and his head tilted curiously at the man. He blinked and ran his tongue over his lips, but he was momentarily distracted when Sienah threw a piece of paper at him. Picking the glowing piece of paper up, the magus looked it over, then did as he was instructed, placing it on his side where the wound was. After which, he turned his attention back to the gunner, and twirled one of his weapons in his hand, then took a blade and cut him across his face.

By now, Siennah had long-since disappeared on him, likely to take care of some more of the gunners that were in hiding. His attention was soon brought to his surroundings, finding it to be extremely quiet, especially for a place that was as lively and colorful as this. Marschal’s ear tweaked slightly, his head turning just as a gun was fired off and a bullet went whizzing past his face, nearly nicking him. He bounced and spun on his heels, facing the man who had shot him, then charged the guy holding the gun and ready to fire again. However, Marschal slunk low to the ground, voiding the aim of the man as he rushed him and swung his weapon at the man’s hips. Blood splattered out from the injury that Marschal induced on the man, coating his blade in the sticky liquid as it spurted out. Slinking around the gunner, the man slashed at the other hip, cutting it open and causing the gunner to be downed on his knees.

Once the man was down on his knees, Marschal attacked his arms, slashing the blades across the biceps and forearms to hinder him. The weapon instantly dropped from the man’s hands, clattering softly into the sand below while the man remained on his knees. Marschal would come to face the gunner head on, staring down at him with slitted pupils and a snarl peeled across his lips. He lifted a leg and shoved his foot into the chest of the man, causing him to topple onto his back and be unable to get up from where he was. With four gunners down, they had six more to go, but he doubted they would be at the entrance like these guys happened to be. If at all, they would be located deeper into the campsite, likely more closely to where they were holding the people hostage. “I doubt every gunner in this place is going to be here at the entrance of the city, so I suggest that we head in deeper into the place,” he called to Siennah.


Not waiting for an answer, the man sheathed his weapons and headed deeper into the city, looking around for anything suspicious. Despite how eerily silent the city was, there didn’t seem to be any sign of more gunmen or even other bandits from the group. Yet, the hair on his arms were raised, like he could sense that someone was watching him in the shadows of the tents and boxes. His eyes ran across everything, however, but nothing moved; it was simply a strange feeling that he was getting from where he was. A cry rang out, causing Marschal to whirl on his feet to face the one who was rushing him, finding a woman with a bat raised. He scoffed and grabbed the woman’s wrist hard enough that it caused her wrist to snap and drop the bat to the sand below. Marschal smirked at her, then twisted her broken wrist around, pinning her arm against her back so that she was not able to move it.

With her arm pinned, Marschal bent down and grabbed the bat that she had wielded as a weapon, then let her go and backed up. He raised the bat up, spun it a little, then sent it flying in the direction of the woman’s head, cracking against her skull and causing her to go down. Marschal chuckled and turned away from the unconscious bandit, continuing to go deeper into the desert city in search of the hostages. However, he momentarily paused in his tracks, letting his ears tweak around in order to listen to the minor details of the place. The most he heard were squeaks of desert mice as they preoccupied themselves with stealing as much food as they could. Seconds later, the firing off of a gun entered his ears and a bullet slammed into his bicep, causing his arm to go limp slightly and for him to grit his teeth. “Goddamn bandits and your guns, I swear to fucking god, I’m going to kill every single one of you so you can’t shoot your damn bullets at me!”