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Istanell was feeling worn out, this had been a royally stupid idea. A royally stupid idea.... that had lead him straight to Illian! He had to hold onto that thought because right now it was probably the only positive thing going for him. He clearly wasn't trained to be handling his bow wood like a staff or any pole like weapon, because he was having a hard time defending his back. He knew it needed protecting, but he was slow in doing so. Turning rather than just glanced and swings, forgetting he could reach perfectly fine without turning around in full.

Several Oban had been attracted to the messy situation though and before Istanell knew it he was being tackled. His own weapon cracked him in the face as he went down and for a fleeting moment he felt a tiny bit bad for all of the earthlings he'd just cracked in the face, because even an accidental hit hurt. He tried to shove upwards using his bow for extra leverage, wondering how in the world the man was so heavy. He hadn't realized the Matorian from earlier had actually fallen on the pile as well.

Suddenly the attacker was half rolling, half being forced off and Istanell was thankful. He couldn't take much more of this, he knew that. He was greeted with the face of the crazy Matorian, apparently enjoying every moment of this. Of course, the Matorian didn't seem like he was getting his a** handed to him so that was probably why. Istanell clasped the other man's arm, gladly taking the help up.

"I might as well be.." he groaned out, all of his muscles were protesting against him now. He shut his eyes, swaying slightly before they snapped open again and he shook his head, trying to fight off the awkward feeling that had settled into his bones. "The other shifter... we need... to get to him. And we need to get out of here..." It wasn't a question, madness had erupted in the street and it would be long before it stopped. There was no 'winning' in this sort of fight, it would just keep going on and on.

Jelanii felt a wave of disappointment at the shifters words. Sure he had been knocked around a bit and he was pretty sure he would have a black eye, but he could still fight. It was all worth it to kick some Oban butt. Yet, when he took a look around he could see what the Shifter was talking about. The crowd was inches away from being a full blown mob and that would certainly lead no where fast. He wasn't sure how the laws worked in Oba, but he had no intention of being imprisoned. Besides, he still had to get to Sulburi. If his sister was really there! He clenched his fist, determination running through him.

"All right, but why are we going after the Shifter?" He asked in confusion. The Shifter had been able to take of himself without anyone's help, so he was certainly not in need of a rescue. While he was thinking this a fist came flying toward his fist, but he dodged, throwing the Oban off balance. He used the opportunity to shove his foot against his backside, causing the man to completely tip over and go face first into the ground. Jelanii smirked, before returning his attention back to the task at hand. The Shifter with the staff.

He looked over the crowd, bodies being thrust, arms swinging, and there he saw it. The flash of long white hair and the sweep of a staff as the Shifter cleared a path. He smiled, admiring the man's handiwork, before nudging the shifter next to him. He pointed in the direction of the other shifter. "There he is, but he looks like he's busy."

He could swear that someone was calling his name, but a quick scan of the crowd showed no one he knew. Perhaps it was a spectator who knew him by face? But there was no chanting, no cheering, nothing to show that it was a fan. Or perhaps a betting man. Disgust swept through him at the thought of it being the latter. He hoped they lost their gold with his exiting of the fight.

Distracted as he was he missed the glint of metal that swung by him, until a line of fiery pain bloomed along his arm. Hissing he jerked back, but the owner of the blade hadn't seemed intent on targeting him. It looked like someone was taking advantage of the brawl to claim a mark. It really was time to go. A quick glance at the cut showed that it was bleeding freely, the blood a bright red. His gloves soaked it up, turning the light blue colored garment purple.

He sighed, blood was always a pain to get out of clothing.

It was just his luck that as he looked away from his wound, he saw the long white locks of a shifter float down around a body. The face on the shifter looked familiar enough to be painful. It came to him as swiftly as a gut punch. "Istanell?"

He scrambled over to the other, shoving writhing bodies out of his way. Here and there he would catch sight of a colorful Matorian, but most of the bodies were dark of skin, with brilliant yellow-orange gems decorating their skin. He felt bruised by the time he made it to the shifters side, fingers and wrists throbbing enough that he knew he wouldn't be wielding his staff for a while. Carefully he touched the other, pushing white hair off of a bruised face. "Nelly?"

Istanell couldn't believe the weird stroke of luck that had hit him in the middle of all this nonsense. It was bizarre, frankly. Not in a million years would he really think something like this was possible… even knowing how often he heard others tell tales of strange coincidences and 'miracles' and all number of things like that. And here something akin to a miracle was happening to Istanell but in a weeks time he'd likely claim things like fate and miracles were nonsense again.

His brother had been magnificent from the little fighting Istanell had seen in all the chaos… in stark contrast to himself. It was almost laughable because Istanell had trained since young to be the best warrior he could be… the last five years had changed that. The last five years all that mattered was finding his brothers again. And here one was! Right above him, it was almost surreal in Istanell's worn out state. "Illy." He replied back, calmly and with a slight smile pushing onto his lips. Even that hurt in it's own way.

Their moment was cut short thought, rightly so, because the middle of a street brawl was no place for a brotherly reunion honestly. Istanell was suddenly being hoisted up by the Matorian and he gladly latched on. He wasn't stupid or proud enough to think he could get away without the help of another supporting his weight. Istanell would have laughed at the other's words if not for the sore ribs and battered body. He felt seriously hurt… even if he knew what the other meant. Istanell waved his hand, "Go." A path was smart, getting out of here was smart… they could talk once they were clear from all of this!

Now that he was relatively safe he felt exhaustion hit him like a ton of rocks, so he put most of his efforts into staying on his feet and staying awake more than alert.

When Jelanii helped the Shifter up he expected to have to heave him around, what he wasn't expecting was the man to be so light. He glanced at the man, noticing just how thin he was. He frowned. It was no wonder he had gotten knocked around so often. It actually said a lot of his endurance that he managed to hold on throughout the brawl. A surge of new respect flooded through Jelanii as he hurried forward, while the other shifter cleared a path.

And clear a path he did. He didn't expend unnecessary energy, but instead used the people around him to do the work for him. Even something so simple told of a man who was used to fighting. His movements were strategic and effective. Jelanii found himself not needing to do anything, but make sure He and Istanell got through the crowd. Lucky enough they managed it without anyone drawing them back into the fight. A shame that, but it was better this way.

Finally they reached the outside of the brawl. Jelanii looked around, at a lost to where they should go from here. "Is there a place we can fix him up?" He asked, nodding to the man hanging from his shoulders. "I think he's okay, but I would like to make sure."

He might not have any connection with the man past their fight in the brawl, but he rather not do things half-way. Since he decided to get him out of the brawl, it would be best to make sure he got out in somewhat good health.

Cool eyes turned to his brother, the short trip having done wonders for his composure. It was...it was still something he couldn't wrap his head around. Istanell was here, where he'd been expecting to find information on Incanthis or Isaris or Issaly. His heart hurt seeing how beaten his older brother was, how painfully thin he'd become. It was clear to him that he hadn't been taking care of himself, or that circumstances had prevented him from doing so.

But he would bet all of his worldly possessions on the former rather than the later. People called him the stubborn one but to Illian, out of the two of them, that was more Istanell.

He couldn't help the twitch that skittered over his skin at the sound of the wooden bow hitting the ground. A warrior never tossed his weapon aside like that, never, no matter what was happening or who was in danger. You treated your weapons like you would treat a lover, a family member. Respect and care and in turn they would never fail you, break on you unless something happened to it. It made Illian wonder just what was going on through his brothers head, that the training their father had put them through would be so carelessly discarded.

"Istanell." He murmured, carefully setting his staff down. It took some effort to get his fingers to unclench enough to release the wooden implement, and the pain and faint popping assured him that it would be a struggle of will to pick it back up again.

Gingerly he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around his brother, accepting the request and the need to be held by him. Just feeling his slight weight made it all the more real and he had to blink back the sudden sting in his eyes. "You're a mess Nelly, what happened to you?"

Istanell took in his brother's slow and much more careful moments, instantly wondering if he was more hurt than he appeared. Their father's near-religious teachings of weapon handling hadn't even graced Istanell's thoughts, they had not been a common occurrence in a long time now. Most nights what occupied his mind were thoughts of his brothers, worries of where they were and if they were alive. Istanell shut his eyes as he wrapped his arms around Illian, taking a shuddering breath as he fought of the urge to break down crying. It was overwhelming, the reality of the situation.

It was clear to the older shifter that his brother was in much better conditions than himself. He was glad of this, it wouldn't do to be malnourished and prone to sickness, like himself. Illian's words confirmed that Istanell was a mess, and a sad smile touched his lips as he opened his eyes and stepped back, still wavering but much less. "Life." He said simply, though that wasn't quite the right answer. He'd been so focused on finding his brothers that over the years much had become of little importance. And once V'Rin was forced to leave his side due to injury? He had no one to reel him back in when he went days without eating or nights journeying without anything more than a five minute rest here or there. He'd gotten so close to the Oban borders... and now he was here. And now he was with his brother. It was all worth it... now they could search together.

Honestly he thought it would have taken much more to find any of his brothers in the Oba territories, mainly he'd only heard that Incanthis had been here... and how long had that been now? "Traveling..." He continued, figuring maybe his brother was owed a better response. "Traveling hasn't been kind to me. I've.... been too focused on other things, I fear." His hands were still gripping onto Illian's shoulders, afraid that if he let go of his brother he'd find that this had been some cruel trick of his mind.

His eyes jerked away from Illian as the Matorian spoke up, Istanell was obviously surprised. He'd forgotten the other was there with them... he really needed to rest. Jelanii. The name suddenly popped back into his head, and he was glad. "Illian is my precious younger brother." He grunted though because he'd moved from Illian finally to lean down for his bow. His arm cradled his ribs as he stumbled a little, wincing in pain. He shook his head and straightened again, abandoning the task in favor of moving into the shade, though slightly apart from the Matorian. He couldn't help but feel part of his reunion was stollen by the presence of the newly met stranger... of course, if it hadn't been Istanell could have likely been dead from that fight. "I saw a few merchants selling goods earlier in the day... as far as healers go.." He shook his head, not knowing any.

His mouth felt sticky, parched. His words were slow and tired sounding. He would rest, he would speak to Illian... he could find bandaging later. Nothing seemed to be bleeding still, which was a good sign. "Illian, come, let me look you over." His words were soft, more of a plead than a command. It was clear Istanell was in worse shape, but he still felt like it was his duty to at least check over Illian's injuries.

Serin was finally turning a favorable eye on them, it seemed.