Title: Sigil Sworn

Prompt: You don't need a reason to help someone.

Group: 2PM - Wooyoung and Jun.K

Genre: Fantasy, action, adventure

Word Count: 5017

                Drawn by the raised voices of the crowd around the arena, Wooyoung couldn’t help but be at least a little curious when he rode into the small city of Thraken.  Really, he was only passing by and the broad bay at his back nudged his shoulder as if to remind him of that fact.  “I know, boy,” he placed a hand on the soft muzzle and smiled, his slightly concave cheeks filling out with the gesture.  At another bloodthirsty roar from the crowd, interspersed by the thin, pained cries of someone else and what he could only assume was a sand tracker, Wooyoung frowned.

                He’d had half a mind to bypass the city entirely except he was running low on supplies: water in particular.  Neither he nor Storm was going to get very far without that vital resource so they’d rode in somewhere around the latter part of midafternoon.  But he detested arenas and, with a dull look around the otherwise unremarkable civilization, he realized it was probably the sole source of entertainment in this dust bowl.  Storm whickered at his side again, lipping at upright, brown hair with a perturbed snort.

                “Stop that,” Wooyoung chided, brushing the strands out before he settled his cloak better around his shoulders, hiding his unique, travel attire beneath, and glanced around with a sickened lump settling in his stomach.  It wasn’t his concern.  He just needed water and a few supplies and he could be on his way again.  If anyone was even left manning the stores…

                Thraken looked fairly deserted and most of the establishments had closed doors at the moment.  If he had to guess, they were all probably watching whatever madness was going on in that stupid pit.  Just to make sure, he wandered along the relatively unoccupied streets, catching the odd child hiding in a corner and a handful of women peeking out from behind hastily closed curtains.  What a depressing place.

                The first store he stopped at was definitely closed.  Pity too since he figured Lee’s Goods in Stock would have been ideal.  But the Thirsty Oasis held only two drunk patrons on the bar and a sleepy eyed owner who looked as if he would rather have been anywhere but there.  “Get ye gone before they throw you in the arena too,” he huffed with a heavy sigh.  “They’re in a fine mood taday,” he added with a dismissive wave of his hand, disenchanted eyes flickering over to where a slightly raised platform could have been a makeshift stage.

                Annoyed but not exactly disappointed by the expected behavior, Wooyoung turned around and headed back out, retrieving Storm from the post on his way.  A skittish child fleeing the scene indicated he’d probably come out to inspect the horse but by the way his mount was shifting from foot to foot, with his ears swiveling around, he’d probably learned the hard way that wasn’t a good idea.  “What do you think, boy?” he asked, gripping the reins tight in his hand as they turned to face the cloth covered dome on one side of the town.

                Storm shook his head and whickered, the reins jingling over the sound of the sudden silence.  Unsure, Wooyoung frowned and began to head closer warily.  Either something had happened or something was about to happen.  Either way, he didn’t like the feel in the air.  With a cringe and a hand over his hair, he exhaled once and moved to the perimeter where another tying post allowed him to station Storm temporarily.

                “Be good,” he pointed a finger at the great, bay beast who blinked at him with innocent brown eyes.  “I mean it you,” Wooyoung added, not fooled for an instant.

                Both were slightly startled when the crowd started up again without any apparent warning.  They roared in some kind of frenzy, drowning out almost everything else this close, but he did manage to hear a single voice pick through the throng.  “You can’t do this!”  That didn’t sound like a villager from these parts; the accent was all wrong and the tone more outraged and fearful than one who lived here would be.

                “Throw him in!” the crowd volunteered in scattered voices and raucous cries that provoked the rest of them further.  Oh.  That was why.

                He heard the panicked cry just before the sand tracker snarled and frowned.  Nasty creatures.  It did not speak well of them that they kept one on hand for such sport.  Wooyoung patted Storm’s neck without looking back and headed into the crowd, keeping his cloak pulled around him, though the hood remained down.  Not that he needed to worry.  The villagers, mostly men and some women numbering close to fifty or so, clustered around the makeshift barrier around the hole in the ground.

                Unchallenged, he made his way to the front where the people moved out of his way as if he commanded them to.  Barbed wires strung between wood and iron poles created a barrier that those within would be hard pressed to get out from.  Never mind that the pit itself was nearly ten feet deep and close to thirty feet across at the longest point.  Dangerous indeed when the beast within could jump that high when not otherwise distracted.

                “Yeah!” the mob cried as the sand tracker prowled after its new prey: a young man who looked sorely out of place in the den of death and carnage.

                Panic was plain on his sharp, angular face and his dark eyes darted around quickly as he searched for something to help him.  He was scrawny too.  Or maybe that was just the baggy shirt hanging from his frame, the white fabric at odds with his short, raven hair.  His lack of height didn’t help any either.  But he was quick and resourceful, as evidenced when the sand tracker leaped at him with the crowd’s approval.

                Wooyoung watched with narrowed eyes as the stranger grimaced and then launched himself under the attack, just avoiding the swiping claws that tried to follow him.  He rolled from the center, shoulder first before the rest of his body followed, and when he stood up, his white shirt was stained with blood from the previous victim.  But he was otherwise unharmed.  For how long was the question.

                “e!” he cried out when the beast whirled around to lay predatory eyes on him, nictating lenses blinking to clear the dust.  Scowling with disgust, he reached down to pick up a gory bone fragment – likely a leg bone – from the ground and with a frightened cry, he yelled at the thing.  Well, Wooyoung had to give him credit for that.  He had more chance of living if he wasn’t running away but the sand tracker was no simple foe.

                All fury with dagger-like fangs in a feline face, cruel, curved claws, a nearly prehensile tail with a wicked barb at the end, and intimidating spines arching forward from the shoulder blades, it was a foul creature.  Add to that fact this one was nearly the height of a man at the shoulders, already starved in appearance, and utterly trapped within, it was essentially a death sentence to a pitifully armed man.  It gave another, throaty yowl and bounded forward, darting towards its target.

                The man’s eyes widened comically and he turned to flee.  The sand tracker leaped as they approached the wall close to where Wooyoung was and for a heart stopping second, he thought it was over and that he was about to watch a man die.  But then the stranger actually ran up the wall while the beast landed below him, sliding into the space he’d occupied a heartbeat before.  With a desperate cry, he twisted in the air and came down with the bone in both hands.

                It connected solidly with the tracker’s head, breaking over the fur covered surface all too quickly.  The beast hissed, fangs appearing frighteningly in its maw, and the tail swung around as the man attempted to back away on unsteady feet.  To his credit, he tried to block the attack with his broken weapon but his strength was no match for it and he was knocked aside, tumbling into the wall he’d just used as a running surface a moment before.

                Dazed and wounded from the nick of the tail barb in his side, he tried to push himself up with heavy limbs while the crowd howled, sensing the kill approach.  Tail swishing, its maw with a wide, pink tongue, the sand tracker prowled closer, shoulders shifting fluidly beneath brindle skin.

                “No.”

                With a disgusted hiss under his breath, Wooyoung walked on the barbed wires like they were steps and lithely hopped into the pit himself, his cloak flaring behind him as he fell.  The crowd’s voice shifted in confusion for but a moment before it rose again in eager anticipation.  Sensing the addition of a new person, the sand tracker paused and turned to regard the opponent with it, large nostrils flaring to catch the scent.

                Grabbing at the cloak with his left hand, the silver bracer glinting in the light filtering down, Wooyoung yanked it free and tossed it aside, revealing what was beneath instantly.  Black, hide pants paired with black leather boots hugged his lower body while his torso was covered by a brown leather vest with wide slits in the sides where a peculiar marking marred the skin of his ribs.  It could barely be considered a shirt and yet, with his bare arms out in the open, the beginnings of another mark curling just up his neck, and his uncompromising stance, he was confidence personified.

                Not that the sand tracker cared.  It roared at him and then jumped, fully intent upon taking him out in the first attack.  Wooyoung’s dark brown eyes narrowed as he reached his right hand to brush his fingers against the tattoo on his neck.  For the briefest of instants, it glowed and when he pulled it away, a banded whip extended from his hand.  With a resounding crack that cut through the shifting roar of the crowd, the tip of his weapon found one of the beast’s, large eyes.

                A pained howl and a thin spurt of blood told him his aim was true.  But the creature was still flying at him with outstretched claws, momentum unchecked from its leap.  Gathering his legs under him, Wooyoung bounded to the side, performing a more fluid shoulder roll that got him to his feet in a heartbeat.  Standing, he brushed his left hand against his ribs within the vest and came away with the hilt of a strangely crafted short sword in his grasp.  The blade pointed down, parallel to his forearm, and with a quick twist, it flipped it around to hold it more easily upright.

                Uncertain mutterings from above replaced the bloodthirsty thrum of the horde.  ‘Cursed fighter.’  ‘Demon spawn.’  ‘Hells born.’  ‘Blood marked.’  That last was the closest to the truth and still nowhere near.  And with his current troubles, Wooyoung wasn’t about to enlighten them.

                Blinded in one eye, a thin trickle of red seeping down the face as if it was crying, the sand tracker’s tail thrashed back and forth, carving agitated marks in the wall.  “Come on,” Wooyoung whispered, taking one careful sidestep after another.  The ground was littered with fragments of things he didn’t care to think about just then, and he nudged them aside with his foot while he moved.  A whisper of sound to his side told him the other man was finally coming around and getting to his feet.  He probably should have stayed down.

                He would have looked but the beast attacked again, wary of the whip this time.  Wooyoung flicked it out once more, but claws flashed in the air, extended and curved, to hook into it, snarling the weapon in flight.  Immediately, he dropped it lest he be yanked forward.  Without hesitation, he tossed his ornately woven, black short sword to his right hand, and pounded the right side of his chest with his left fist.  With a sharp shnick and the sound of ripping cloth, a spiked shoulder guard erupted from beneath, gleaming, foot long spines glinting in the light.

                The crowd gasped and the sand tracker sprinted forward.  Wooyoung saw the shoulders twitch before he noticed the semi-mobile horns darting down as if to impale him.  He jumped back on nimble feet with a sharp inhale and the tips stabbed into the ground where he’d been standing.  As soon as he landed, the tail came around to attack, barbed end promising pain.  Wooyoung raised his bracer covered wrist in defense, legs spread wide to hold his ground.

                With a wince, the tail bit into the metal, stalling just long enough for Wooyoung to grab onto the thick appendage with his left hand.  The creature yanked back, pulling him with it, but not before he brought his short sword down, severing the tip cleanly.  Enraged, the sand tracker swiped at him in reaction.  Still in mid-flight, Wooyoung could only curl up tight, bracing his sword arm next to his shoulder guard, ready for the blow he couldn’t avoid.

                Claws hit the edge of his blade, curving around to stab at his face, the deadly tips much too close to his eyes. Flinching, the power of the strike forced his hand back with the rest of his body.  He yanked his head back as he was sent spinning in the opposite direction with a burning pain in his chest.

                Wooyoung landed awkwardly, stumbling to catch himself as he came to a shaky stop, slightly disoriented but still on his feet.  Miraculously.  A quick glance down showed where the claws had ripped through his vest and snagged his chest up to the shoulder guard, leaving ugly, red gashes in their wake.  But blood on the spines of his guard promised he wasn’t the only one hurting.  The sand tracker prowled now with a limp, its front, right paw seeping red from the puncture wounds in it.

                Behind the beast, he noticed the battered, stained man from earlier, back pressed hard against the wall.  His eyes were glued to the combatants despite the fresh blood that marred his torn shirt.  Narrowing his gaze and sinking into a more defensive stance, Wooyoung returned his attention to the tracker.  “Let’s finish this,” he whispered with determination, pushing the sound of the feverish crowd to the back of his mind.

                Exhaling, Wooyoung inched forward as the beast did, controlled skill versus furious animosity.  Its severed tail twitched, splattering the ground with flailing droplets.  Shoulders flexed and horns shifted in response.  Fangs showed through its parted mouth with the lips pulled back.  And claws curved into the ground, digging furrows with each step.  This time, Wooyoung made the first move, drawing the creature to attack.

                In quick succession, it batted at him with two paws.  Wooyoung deflected the first with a modicum of trouble, teeth grit as he forced himself to match its strength.  He had to spin, contorting his body at an uncomfortable angle with his back arched, to avoid the second strike.  But from his new vantage, he followed the paw down with his short sword, impaling it into the ground.  Teeth snapped at him, catching on the spines of his shoulder guard instead of his head.  That didn’t mean they weren’t long enough to come uncomfortably close to him anyway and he inhaled sharply.

                “Let go, dammit!” he scowled, beating at the maw that held him trapped like a ragdoll.  It couldn’t bite down fully since the spines jabbed at the upper and lower jaw, but it tried, worrying his arm with the edges of fangs and splattering him in sticky saliva and viscous fluid.  Shaken until his bones rattled in his skin, Wooyoung realized it couldn’t let go since its teeth were wedged around the guard, leaving them both at an impasse.

                Trying desperately to gain purchase with his footing, Wooyoung was dragged around with each lurching, limping step of the beast, landing only long enough to be jerked into the air again at each movement.  One impaled paw, now slightly smoking from the blade buried in it, kept it from standing long enough on the other wounded paw to try and remove him forcefully.  Thank the Warrior he was too close for it to use the twitching shoulder horns without risking stabbing itself.

                Battered by the blunt force of the massive legs as they rose up into him, rattled by the constant shaking, and then officially bitten when the spines drove deeper into the beast’s mouth with an angry, pained howl, Wooyoung tried desperately to get free.  With morbid humor, he figured the thing might eventually choke on him before they got anywhere until he heard a clear voice shout at him within the pit.

                “Stranger!”  It was the man from earlier.  With unsteady vision, Wooyoung saw him running towards the downed whip.  He opened his mouth to warn him not to do that but then the stranger surprised him by using another broken bone to scoop it off the ground, tossing it to him without touching the whip with his hand.

                The weapon wobbled in the air, moving in strange contortions as it flew.  It fell short of Wooyoung’s reaching hand but he landed long enough to kick out with his foot, catching part of the whip with his boot.  His opponent moved again, dragging him with it.  Wooyoung tossed the whip up so he could snatch it from the air with his hand.  He caught it in the middle but it shifted in his grip, reforming so that he held the handle in an instant.  Shouting defiantly, he craned around to crack the weapon behind the beast, winding the end around the barbed wire overhead, and pulled hard.

                His action drove the teeth of the creature further into his shoulder even as it shoved the spines deeper into the mouth.  They both cried out and the sand tracker reared up, trying desperately to get away from the pain.  It yanked Wooyoung into the air and sent them falling to the ground as it landed on its back awkwardly, leaving him on top.  Still trapped but in a better position since his body weight helped keep the creature’s head tucked against its chest, Wooyoung braced himself just enough to brush his hand down the beast’s left leg.

                His fingertips touched short sword, not enough to grab the handle but more than enough to establish the connection.  Like with the whip, the weapon whispered free, turning into black wisps of moving metal before settling in the palm of his hand.  Armed once more, Wooyoung grabbed the sand tracker’s head and drove the blade into the soft jaw, driving the point through the mouth and into the beast’s brain.

                Hot liquid poured down onto his hand and he was battered again by the frenzied death throws of the yowling monster.  Riding it out with a fierce grimace, Wooyoung exhaled when the creature finally fell silent, the large chest stilling at last.  With a muttered growl, he yanked the blade free and hammered the left side of his chest again, retracting the shoulder spines from the monster’s mouth as they disappeared back under his torn vest.  He winced when he stood up, feeling the sting of fresh, open wounds, and then glanced around, skin crawling from the eerie silence.

                He looked towards the crowd above with a disappointed scowl before he rammed the short sword back into his side, making the blade disappear as if it never existed.  But the mark did and they all jumped at the sight, muttering to each other in quiet voices.  Stepping off the cooling body with wobbly legs, Wooyoung cracked his tense neck and finally laid eyes on the stranger trapped with him.

                “Are you alright?” he asked in a soft, uncertain voice, the whisper of sound slightly pained but also grateful.

                Wooyoung’s brows knitted together as he looked over the other man quickly.  He was short, as suspected, and somewhat small but there was a wiry strength beneath the dirty shirt.  Blood had made it heavy, allowing the fabric to cling to lean flesh beneath, revealing more definition than he originally suspected.  Obviously, he wasn’t just a commoner.  “Well enough,” he conceded with a small smile, the burning wounds reminding him of the battle all too loudly.

                With a nervous glance at the muttering, shifting crowd, the stranger drew closer and then focused narrowed, almond shaped eyes on him.  “Thank you, Sigil Sworn,” he smiled, his lips with an audible swallow.

                “Wooyoung,” the warrior’s smile widened and he moved to retrieve his discarded cloak from the ground, unsure if the man was just nervous in general or of him.  It was trampled and stained by the muck of this place, which made him frown, but he could wash it later.  For now, he just wanted to get out of this death pit and be on his way.

                “I’m Minjun,” he insisted without being asked, hovering close to his rescuer, shoulders bunched with tension as he held his side.

                The Sigil Sworn nodded his head in acknowledgement with the cloak slung over his uninjured shoulder but limped to retrieve his whip hanging from the wires overhead, yanking the weapon down with a grunt.  Wire bent but didn’t break and he frowned.  Trying again, Wooyoung added more force this time and cut through the material with a loud twang as metal sprung away.  The crowd gasped and stepped back when he sent the tip arching over the edge to catch one of the supports of the tent above them, the length of his weapon appearing to stretch as needed.

                Taking a breath as he shook his hands out, he looked over his mangled shoulder to eye Minjun.  “You coming?” he asked with a raised brow, rubbing his palms together before gripping the improvised rope again.

                “Absolutely,” Minjun nodded with the barest of hesitations.  But when he approached, he looked at the whip uncertainly.

                “Climb on,” Wooyoung instructed, tapping his back with his hand.  Definitely no normal commoner if he knew not to touch a Sigil Sworn’s weapon.  A pained yelp from above told him some of the others weren’t so knowledgeable.  Fools.

                “Are you su-?” the rest of the question died on his lips when Wooyoung merely looked at him with his lips pressed together thinly.  “Okay,” he murmured, awkwardly wrapping his arms around the other man’s shoulders, holding tight but trying not to choke him – or further aggravate the wound already there – at the same time.

                “Here we go,” Wooyoung murmured, beginning his climb with the silent prayer that the beam wouldn’t snap.  Doggedly, he held on while walking up the wall with his feet, shortening the whip instead of trying to climb himself.  It was a great deal easier than trying to use his arms and he figured it might well have been impossible with his passenger anyway.  Though he was trying to stay still, he could feel Minjun hanging behind him with his face pressed into his shoulder, the sensation awkward.

                When they reached the top, Wooyoung’s glare was more than enough to send those clustered close scampering back, whispering prayers under their breaths and making warding gestures with their hands.  “Superstitious fools,” Minjun muttered as he let go of Wooyoung when they were on solid ground.  Freed from the pit, he still stayed almost uncomfortably close to the other man as if afraid he’d be taken again.

                With a flick of his wrist, Wooyoung freed the whip and then slapped the handle on his neck.  Light flashed and the weapon disappeared as the mark reappeared on his skin.  He didn’t say anything as he began walking, feeling the shorter man follow him without a word, still hovering close.  Like a cloud, the crowd drifted after them, keeping their distance but unable to look away themselves.  Fear as thick as the morning fog after a heavy rain clung to them, preventing the group from actively doing anything against the pair.

                Wooyoung ignored them and smiled when he spotted Storm outside the enclosure, still standing where he’d left him.  “Hey boy,” he greeted, petting the soft nose as his horse whickered back with a stomp of his front hoof.  Footprints around him showed others had approached but nothing was missing and there was a particular gleam in his mount’s eyes as Wooyoung rubbed the beast’s head under his forelock.

                “Nice horse,” Minjun murmured appreciatively, wide eyes staring between the two, but keeping his distance from the creature with the unease of knowledge.

                “He is,” Wooyoung agreed, casting another appraising look at the stranger.  His clothes spoke of decent quality; his body of fair training; and his eyes of unusual knowledge.  “Who are you, Minjun?” he asked curiously, checking Storm’s straps with a critical eye before he opened one of the packs to retrieve two binding cloths: one for him and one for his companion.  He tossed the second to Minjun without looing and then deftly wrapped his shoulder wound to stop the worst of the bleeding until he could treat it properly.  When he wasn’t likely to be ambushed in his sleep or something.  He waited for an answer patiently as he watched Minjun take care of himself.

                His hands were competent as he lifted his shirt to hastily wrap the sliced skin beneath, a thin stream of blood leaking down his side from where the tail had caught him earlier.  And when he finished, the conflicted smile Minjun gave Wooyoung was amusing, to say the least.  It was clear he didn’t know if he should trust more information to the Sigil Sworn, but then again, said man had just saved his life, and given him some additional help.  For no obvious reason he could fathom either.  “Kim Minjun.  A bard of Anjora,” he bowed hesitantly, eyes never leaving Wooyoung’s face.

                A bard.  That explained a fair bit.  “I suppose you would have quite a story to tell about how you came to be thrown into a pit with a sand tracker,” he murmured, the statement lingering with the unspoken question of how within.  Deftly, he unhooked the reins from the post, planted his foot in the stirrup, grabbed the pommel of his saddle, and pulled himself up with a quiet hiss as the action made his shoulder ache, staining the fabric through.

                Minjun swallowed and shifted from foot to foot as he looked between the slowly dispersing crowd and the mounted Sigil Sworn.  “It’s not really much of a story, but yes,” he agreed, the obvious unease transparent on his face.  Clearly, he did not wish to be left with the city folk.

                Taking a deep breath with a half-smile and a shake of his head, Wooyoung extended his hand towards the bard.  “Care to tell me on the way?” he offered, removing his foot from the stirrup preemptively.

                “Where?” Minjun couldn’t help but ask, nerves still evident in his posture.

                “Somewhere that isn’t here,” the mounted man laughed once, his disapproving gaze landing on the citizens again before meeting Minjun’s eyes.

                “I would love to,” Minjun nodded in grateful understanding, accepting the hand that was offered as he moved to mount.  He was shorter than Wooyoung and so needed a little extra help in getting his foot in the stirrup.  And he was heavier than anticipated so it hurt more to pull him up, but he settled into place with surprising ease.  “Sorry,” he murmured when he heard the uncomfortable hiss from his rescuer.  Wooyoung waved it off with a shrug.  “Thank you.”

                Another shrug followed that utterance as he pulled Storm around to start walking through the city.  It amused him to see villagers flowing out of his way with all the haste they could muster.  “None needed,” he assured the other man with a quick glance over his still injured shoulder.  He really needed to take care of it but he was hardly inclined to do so in a city that probably wanted his head right about now.

                “But… why?” Minjun asked, obviously still confused.  “Not that I’m not grateful, mind you.”

                “Does there have to be a reason?” he asked thoughtfully, the reins held loose in his hands as he let Storm set the pace.

                “Usually,” the bard frowned, his hands brushing against Wooyoung’s side as he rested them on his thighs.

                “Because I felt like it then,” he chuckled, amused by his passenger’s logic.

                “Really?” Minjun blinked in further confusion.

                “Yep,” Wooyoung nodded, nudging Storm into a slightly faster pace to get them out of the city.  He still didn’t have much water and now he had a new passenger but he’d figure something out.  He always did.

                After the city fell away, leaving them in the broad expanse of a desert plain with rocky crags rising in the distance, Minjun spoke again.  “You’re not what I would have expected from a Sigil Sworn,” he murmured with a wince.

                “Have you ever met one?” Wooyoung asked in return, genuinely interested.

                “Eh… no,” the bard admitted quietly.

                Wooyoung shrugged and laughed to himself.  “Well there you go then.”

                Minjun didn’t answer but Wooyoung could feel him mulling it over.  If nothing else, he’d have plenty of time to figure out what he felt about meeting his very first Sigil Sworn.  In the meantime, he wanted nothing more than to find a place to break camp, fix this stupid sand tracker wound, and get a bite to eat.  In that order.  He’d figure out what to do with the bard after that.  Oh yeah.

                “So about that tale?” he prompted, glancing back to catch Minjun’s eye.

                “Huh?  Oh, right,” he nodded, his lips as he obviously tried to gather his thoughts.  “Well.  It’s not much but here goes,” he shrugged.  “It all started when I stepped into that good for nothing Thirsty Oasis…”