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Illian narrowed his eyes at the Shifter/Alkidike hybrid before him. The man gestured with broad hands about what the Alkidikes were currently 'up to' back home. His green tinted fingers clenched into fists and he recounted the violence against hybrids like himself, against any unfortunate earthling who stumbled across their path when they were worked up. It sounded like someone was trying to rile the crowd up to start another war.

It was atrocious how it was working.

The hot headed Obans in the crowd were eager to prove themselves, those who'd been too little to fight in the war were old enough now and were all but baying for blood. Those would bare keeping an eye on. The single pure blooded Alkidike in the crowd looked uncomfortable at the accusations wrapped in facts being thrown around. She'd caught more than one look being sent her way. To them it wouldn't matter that she hadn't been raised as her sisters were. All they'd see was the height, the color of her skin, her markings.

Illian felt sorry for her, in a detached manner. He watched at the Alkidike was quietly removed from the growing mob by a tiny Matori hybrid.

Turning his attention back to the speaker, he was faced with another one, this one a pure blooded earthling who sported fresh scars. She grimly added on to the hybrids tale with her own encounters, and why they were spreading the news.

Istanell was never one to join in a crowd mentality, though perhaps that had changed over the years. He couldn't help the tickling sensation oh anger bubbling in his stomach, at least. Maybe that was the hunger, there was no way of telling.

"You Outsiders come into our land and take and take. When the Alkidike attack are you even going to help? Bunch of cowards. You'll take everything then flee."

No, it was most certainly anger. While Istanell couldn't account for the many other 'outsiders' now traveling the world he knew that he'd taken little and less from the lands he'd entered, only going so far as to survive. But the Oban? Hah! Hypocrites, nasty hypocrites!

"Why would I ever help the Oban?" Istanell nodded his head at those words, immediately in agreement. It hadn't mattered that he'd helped out a small oban child just a few days ago, that hadn't been the same. He was pushed back slightly as someone else successfully tried to move into his space at the front of the crowd. "You won't help the Oban but you freely walk our lands? You come to our homes and use our supplies?"

Istanell snorted, arms crossing as the earthling who'd pushed past turned to throw him a nasty look. "Do you mean pay for Oban goods? Maybe even things that had once been ours?" He raised his eyebrows, speaking quietly. To the earthling in front of him, rather than the group as a whole.

"We don't owe the Oban anything. I agree with those words, why would I ever help the Oban? The very same who came into my village and destroyed it... who killed my friends, my family? What do we owe you?" Of course, the Alkidike would end up having to move through Jauhar if what was being whispered on the winds was true. Istanell wouldn't stand for that... he wouldn't let it happen again.

Jelanii perked up at the words from the shifter. All his thoughts were vocalized perfectly. He nodded at the man in agreement. If anything was owed it was the Oban who owed. The years of destruction, slavery, stolen goods, stolen family. If anyone should be calling for heads it was all their victims. Jelanii was just about to say that when someone else piped up, saying that the Alkidikes were following the outsiders, instead of the Oban's own bloody mess. Such cowards. They would rather blame the innocent instead of taking responsibility for their own actions.

This was what Obans really were like. Whatever Kalli might have shown him with her sweetness was harshly wiped away. These were Obans, not sweet girls, but spineless cowards ready to spread dissent wherever they went. And right on cue fist began to fly. It was chaos, but Jelanii didn't even hesitate to join in. This was what he was waiting for - a moment to lash out at the Obans who had destroyed the good in his life and left a gaping wound.

Jelanii rushed forward and immediately got punched in the face. His head snapped back and he blinked. Well, that hadn't gone quite like he wanted, but he recovered fast and just in time as another fist came flying towards him. He dodged the fist, catching it with one hand and turning into the man's space. He reached back and shoved an elbow in the man's gut. He crouched down and let out a soft, 'oof.'

It was just enough time for Jelanii to hook his foot behind the man's ankle and tug, sending him sprawling. It looked like all that fighting practice had paid off in the end. "One down. An entire country to go!" Jelanii grinned and dove deep into the fray.

His fighting abilities were honed from his years under his father and his borderline sadistic demands. and again as a gladiator. His staff was an extension of himself, though it was hard not to go for fatal blows. He'd catch himself going for throat blows only to jerk his staff down at the last moment and hit them in the chest, sweeping them and any other unfortunate enough to be standing near them away with a grunt of exertion.

In no time at all it seemed as if he'd cleared a bubble of space around him, exactly the length of his staff. Unfortunately this space had caught the attention of others and now several large Obans were eyeing him up and down, judging on if they could take him single handedly or together as a group.

He bared his teeth at them in challenge, aware that there was a little blood between them. Let the fools come. If he was going to be delayed like he was, he was going to make the most out of it. After all, no one could blame him for knocking down a Obans pride by several pegs.

Rule number one for getting into street brawls... definitely have lunch before doing so. Istanell needed to get his head out of the past, and definitely off of how much his stomach hurt, both from the devastating punch it'd just taken and the growing pains of having skipped a few more meals since he'd left Matori. His focus really needed to be on the earthling who still had him in a hold from behind, calling out probably for more cowardly assholes to gang up. The stranger had pulled one arm away only to go for Istanell's throat, which was perfect as far as the shifter was concerned. He grabbed onto the other man's arm with both of his, swinging his body hard as he hung on. He yanked forward on the other body, then jabbed his fist into the guys face while giving a hectic shove to create some distance. His father probably would have been ashamed of him, Istanell could already feel his breathing quickening. It was clear he hadn't made the wisest decisions during his travels.

"This is madness! We need to stop this!" He cried out, though the plea was ineffective. Luckily the man he'd been 'facing off' with was assaulted from the side by another. Istanell pivoted hard to check on the man who'd first punched him, only to be assaulted by a quick jab to the face. He was sure the other man had landed more blows, but it was hard to say amidst all the chaotic activity. Istanell kneed the other hard and stumbled back as he finally grabbed for his sword, unsheathing it as his back slammed hard into something. He turned, ready, before he recognized that Matorian he'd defended earlier. Was he smiling? He certainly sounded happy, where as Istanell had wide eyes and a slight frown, sure his face was bleeding.

Istanell's gaze automatically went to follow the matorian, his eyes floating over the figure for all of a few seconds. Was that? It couldn't be... but it looked like... there was no way! In such a random place like this? After so long? Istanell had froze up the instant his eyes had landed on 'one of his people', mouth slightly open as his mind tried to catch up to the reality of the situation.

Illian!

Even if it'd felt like he called out, truly, his mouth didn't seem to work. His gaze finally jerked away just as another body came crashing into his and he was sent sprawling to the ground, losing his grip on his sword. His head seemed to bounce off the ground as he felt angered punches connecting with his face, his brain still not caught up to exactly what was going on. That had been Illian! That was Illian! He looked different from five years time... but it had certainly been Illian!

Istanell threw his arm up to block another oncoming blow and then grabbed for a wrist, spitting the blood that had accumulated in his mouth right at the attacker. He needed to get to Illian!

That was amazing, Jelanii thought as he watched the Shifter take down two Obans in one fluid motion. The way the man moved it was pretty clear he didn't need Jelanii's help, still that didn't stop Jelanii from helping. Just because all the other Obans were hesitating, didn't mean he was just going to wait for them to move. Jelanii turned and punched the one closest to him. "Pay attention. You have more than one opponent now."

He leaped forward, swinging and kicking. He got hit in the chest, which knocked him back, but he wasn't worried. He wasn't all grace and power like the Shifter with the staff, but he was a good enough fighter to hold his own. Thought it wouldn't be amiss for a hand. He slammed his forearm against one attacker's throat, shoving him to the ground. As he did, He glanced over his shoulder, wondering where the other Shifter was. He thought for sure he would join him.

Then his glance found a group of Oban pilling on someone. A flick of a black arm the only thing he could see. "No."

He jumped up to his feet, giving the Oban a swift quick to his side. "Hey, Staff guy, since you can handle this, I'm going to help my friend over there." Well technically they weren't friends, but after this was over, maybe they could be, that is if he didn't get crushed under a bunch of sweaty Obans.

Jelanii had ever intention of running over there and pulling people off, but instead he was stopped when someone punched him in the eye. "Ow!" He was completely sure he was going to have a black eye after this. He let out a low growl and jumped at his attacker, once again being pulled into the fray.

He listened with half an ear as the Matorian babbled on about something, probably complete with gestures that he wasn't paying attention to as the fights continued around him. Friend? That must have been nice, fighting with someone familiar at your back, Illian thought as he spun on his heel to snap kick someone in the gut. He felt a hand grand his hair, his stupidly loose long hair, and use it to reel him in. No one touched his hair.

With a hoarse scream of rage Illian turned, jabbing his fingers into the soft parts of his assaulters arm. There was a hiss of pain but the hand didn't let go. Alright, fine. He used his grip on the other and pulled him towards them, faster than they'd been expected. His fingers found their eyes and their scream of pain was musical to him. The added bonus was that he was now free, even if his fingers now dripped with a colored ichor.

He tilted his head, he could have sworn he heard something? Someone calling his name perhaps. His heart gave a flip in his chest before tightening. Istanell's voice still haunted him, even though he hadn't heard it in over five years. Briefly he closed his eyes before opening them again. What was he doing, getting lost in the past in the middle of combat? His lip curled and he reset his grip on his staff, flicking the gore from his fingers. The Obans looked afraid, and afraid they should be. They had no idea how annoyed, how angry he was with them.