The say that the past few weeks had been "rough" would be a grand understatement. Somehow, perhaps through circumstance or simple greed, the rent had been driven up to unreasonable prices. Or at least, unreasonable for an operation like Beyhe's. She had haggled and conducted plenty of negotiations with her buyers and sellers, but no amount of clever wordplay was going to get her the amount of money needed to pay the price of her lodging. She had saved up
some money, and it would take an act of the Divine to get her to reach for those silver and gold coins. Being evicted simply meant she would have to find a new place to live. But... That part was noticeably difficult: Everything in accessible distance of the markets she frequented had been either bought up or had rental costs far higher than what she could make as a weaver... Collectors would come for her eventually. She just needed more time...
Delicate, bandaged hands worked away at the small loom before her. It was no grand-standing piece of equipment like those found in dedicating weaving workshops, but rather something one could fit comfortably against the wall of a room. Clack, swish, clack... Various colored silken thread being bound together to form beautiful works of art. Weaving images and designs as one worked was an extremely complicated and long process... But the results were undeniably beautiful. In this case, she had woven together a stylized image of a mongoose locked in combat with a venomous snake. It was a common sight in Thanatos, but that made the dance of predators no less impressive. Beyhe's image was one frozen in time: A clever mongoose jumping out of the away from the aggressive lunge of a tree viper, its fanged extended as it aimed for the mongoose's throat. The shining emerald green of the viper's scales and the brown of the mongoose's fur did well to complement the deep blue of the rest of the sash. This would net Beyhe quite a bit of money, if she could complete it in time.
Unfortunately, the pounding of fist-against-door was one unexpected.
Her old landlord had been very lenient with her, as Beyhe had done more than a few favors on the old man's behalf. Though old Ibrahim seems to have disappeared and had been replaced with one
much more aggressive and prompter person.
"You're four days late, wretch," roared someone from the other side of the door. "Open up."
Beyhe immediately stopped and looked up from her work. She drew her mask from beneath her robe and quickly placed it against her face. This was... Not going to be easy, and chances are she would have to fight in order to get out of here. She could easily slip away in the night
if she could fight her way through whomever had decided to come to her home at this hour. As she approached the door, she reached beneath her robe and tugged loose the silk rope that held her sword against her side. It was a
short, curved weapon, no bigger than a machete used to clear brush. But while the weapons of the Thanati Temple's warriors were developed from farming tools... This elegant and master-crafted Thanati steel was born to taste blood. However, it is the role of a Temple Warrior-Monk to know that taking a life is not a decision lightly made, and there is great responsibility in carrying a sword. Each life taken was one Beyhe had to carry for the rest of her immortal life; she would not kill if it could be avoided. The last life this sword had taken was that Necromancer that murdered nineteen of her comrades. She tied the blade's handle to its sheath with that silken rope and held it in the center like a baton.
"I'm closed. Come back in the morning," she whispered as loudly as she could while she stalked to the door.
With a moment of concentration, Beyhe caught a glimpse of her immediate future. One of the two guards would kick the door in and charge, his club raised. The other would follow in after him to try and flank her. With a work of artifice, she conjured a bow. The construct appeared, ethereal and beautiful in its own way, like snow or fog caught in the wind and molded into a form. The arrow she created was a blunt one; it would hurt, but it wouldn't go taking anyone's eyes out or gouging organs.
When the first man kicked in the door and entered searching for her, she let the ethereal arrow fly. It struck him squarely in the jaw and knocked out a few teeth, disappearing shortly after making contact. The bow disappeared and Beyhe quickly moved to drive the steel scabbard into the side of the man's knee. It landed, but not as hard as she would have liked. He howled and swung with his club, forcing her to double back... Which unfortunately made room for the other thug.
"Don't make me do this," Beyhe rasped. She should have known that they wouldn't take her warning. They rarely do.
Hardwood met steel as they exchanged blows. Beyhe moved around and between her two opponents with the grace of a dancer; the swiftness and light steps of her footwork made her seem as if she were floating above the floor as she parried and returned attacks to her two assailants. The stories of Thanati martial arts are true: Their movements were swift, beautiful, and surprisingly effective. Centuries of experience had given Beyhe a leg up over most combatants; most warriors don't live long enough to reach her age. But even so, an old, frail woman fighting two opponents in a closed space was a difficult venture, and despite all the blows she was landing, they were whittling her down.
Her Affliction reared its ugly head, and Beyhe suddenly found herself unable to breathe as she drew another in. Blood caught in her throat and she began hacking and coughing as she tried to fend off her attackers. Even when weakened and tired, she made the two thugs work for their keep. She found herself choking and gasping for air as she desperately parried and shunted away blows that surely would have knocked her down or out. She had taken a blow against her arm to protect her head, and the impact had ruptured her fragile flesh. The bandages covering her mouth became wet with blood as the Elf continued coughing. Another swing found its mark on her leg and she found herself tumbling to the floor as another swing barely clipped her sword-arm. Now that she was on her back, it should have been over... Should have. As the two moved in to apprehend her, Beyhe pulled a sash from a nearby box and used it to catch a swing from their clubs. The thug found himself caught with his wrist caught, and a quick kick to his knee had him down on the floor. Beyhe grappled him and, in a quick series of motions, had used the sash to tie his wrist to his own neck. She tried to stand, but that blow to her leg had not been a light one. She could feel the pain of more than ruptured skin... That one may have cracked something.
But despite her inability to get in a full breath of air and her injuries, she kept on parrying swing after swing. If she was going to get dragged off, it would not be without a fight. But with the moments passing and her energy running out, what little strength the woman possessed had left her, and the next downward blow from the Essyrni thug knocked the sheathed sword from her grip, and the club he carried found purchase right in her ribs. That was it; the final strike that had done her in. Beyhe's vision darkened, and she faded into unconsciousness.
All told, she had done quite a number against her two attackers... They would be feeling their injuries for weeks, if not months from now.