Post by ryota on Dec 19, 2007 2:52:22 GMT -5
Name: Jochi
Age: Thirty-one
Gender: Male
Group: Si Wong Nomads
Nation: Earth Kingdom, Si Wong Desert
Bender?: Sandbender
Physical Appearance: Even though both his parents were average height, Jochi has found great disappointment and annoyance in that he barely topples out at four feet and eight inches. Though short, his build is much like a tree stump, packing a good deal of muscle onto a body that lacks much in the way of loftiness. Muscles solid like rocks bulge from his bronze skin all over, but very little actual body fat clings to his frame; ostensibly, his musculature composes a generally even width, not disconcertingly large for his body's structure. Since his sides, pectorals, and abs have developed muscle and defined grooves just as well as his chest, back, and shoulders, the result is something of a toned, rectangular build. Adding to this are his thick hips, where strong thighs take root and assist a very low center of gravity. This may give him relative strength and agility, but the sheer shortness of his legs leaves him unable to sprint quickly at all. From his broad shoulders extend brawny arms, which like his legs are taut with muscle and measure to a length altogether proportional to his stocky, toned torso. From sturdy wrists emerge his hands, which have been broken and mended more times than he cares to count; they, like his feet, are a shade large for his size. When covered by clothing though, one may easily think he was a stocky child if his face was also covered.
Forever altered by sandy winds and blazing sunlight, his complexion is a leathery golden brown. He primarily keeps it covered from the damaging sun, since skin cancer is one of many dangers in the Si Wong. Other than limiting time outside of the shade, he exerts almost no care for his skin in any way whatsoever. His only body hair worthy of mention rests at his armpits, legs, and a thinned patch of fuzz on his lower back, colored only a shade darker than his skin.
Thick, deep brown eyebrows stretch across his prominent brow, curving almost to a perpetually angered state with but the breadth of a finger between them - in any case, they're quite wide. Below are his small, hooded eyes, shaped like almonds and set deeply with creases at the corners hinting at his age and granting an image of apathy. Their irises, which rest against an often bloodshot background, are a gray-asparagus tone. His wide nose is short depth-wise, with a deeply curved bridge that extends to a vaguely squared tip. Dry and chapped, his lips and mouth are fairly small, but far too easily pull into a scowl. His jaw is sharp, angular, and covered with stubble easily within a day's range. Strong like his cleft chin, it provides solid basis for what can rightly be called 'rugged' features. When his hair grows in, one can tell his forehead is broad but a bit on the narrow side, but it and his jawline are reasons for the square shape of his face. Though not large, his ears appear to stand out due to the remarkably short length - and often total absence - of his hair. His neck, whose veins enjoy bulging when he feels angered, is almost as wide as his head.
Keeping his head shaved, it would become obvious his scalp is free of scars. He never allows his bistre tresses to reach more than half an inch in length before shaving them off again, since he enjoys not having a need to care for troublesome locks. Were it to grow out, it would be straight, coarse, and would lay close on his head. In this case, one could tell his dark hair was thinning at the scalp and peppered with gray at the temples. This may be a reason why he shaves it with regularity, far more often than his facial hair.
Clothing/Armor: A dull gray breechcloth starts off Jochi's everyday attire, while a warm gray undershirt with long sleeves covers his upper body. Covering these is a thoroughly plain smoke gray tunic, which has a neckline somewhere between a round and triangular shape thanks to excessive fraying. It has no sleeves, but its arm openings and mid-thigh length hem are all tattered. A taupe gray thrice wraps around his waist to keep his current garments in place, and warm gray trousers fasten onto his waist with a leather drawstring. These pants are a bit long, causing them to pool at his ankles when unrestrained, and the cuffs are rather weathered.
Like other desert natives, he wears a number of taupe gray cloth wraps. Wearing no shoes, both of his feet are wound by these sorts of wrappings, which end halfway up his calves, tying around the cuffs of his pants while leaving only his toes and heels exposed. His hands and forearms are also swathed in these bandages, with his fingers uncovered.
The longest of these cloth strips drapes around his head, face, and neck, leaving only his eye region bare, though a pair of camelphant-hide goggles (basically a blindfold with two slits for eye holes) continues to keep this part shielded and unharmed by flying sand.
Weapons: Bending is his sole weapon, though he uses it with deadly skill. His prime objective in a fight is to attack relentlessly, inundating the opponent to leave little chance of counterattacking. An all-around fighter, he focuses on a wide variety of techniques, while not leaning on one type in particular. Loose sediment is the easiest material for him to manipulate, though he's capable of creating tremors or moving rocks and slabs of earth if necessary.
Personality: Put simply, Jochi is an irrational and audacious man who needs to control his temper. On a bad day, most insults at his expense would throw him into a violent rage where something is likely to be broken. When his mood is lighter, the results would hardly be different, but the outburst would be much more verbal than physical. Above all, he hates being belittled because of his height, though he still loathes condescendion of any kind. Tense or emotionally pressing situations also make him rather edgy, making him likely to lash out at any provocation. Still, when one has not taken on the easy task of provoking him, they would plainly see his normal loud and foul-mouthed self. He has no qualms about speaking his mind or insulting other people, and he rarely watches his foul language in any given company. To him, tact and manners are unnecessary restrictions, so he tends to dislike people who greatly uphold them. Around any other company, he's perfectly comfortable, though he tends to be annoy most womenfolk with his lewd and lecherous demeanor.
Competitive and confrontational, he takes joy in picking fights with whomever he sees as a worthy challenger. His motivation stems from an undying need to prove himself, making it nearly impossible for him to back down from confrontation. He also takes joy in seeing his opponent suffer, making him somewhat of a sadist. However, being a rather poor judge of character, Jochi underestimates people based on appearance or first impression. He also tends to have negative and stereotypical views of those who do not share his heritage. Boasting about his abilities is one of his favorite pastimes, which he does whenever he can. It would be quite unlikely for him to form an attachment to something, considering his independent and stubborn nature. Though despite this, there are times when kicking back for a drink or two at a tavern will be his top priority. He truly fears little in life, though his worst fear is commitment followed closely by a fear of getting fat.
Background: The Mogui clan had settled in the eastern reaches of the Si Wong Desert when Bayar and Ogderel bore their only child. Both in their late thirties, the married couple had in the preceding years given up any expectations of bearing children. Ogderel was aware of her pregnancy from early on, and, having delivered many a newborn and babysat often in the caravan, she was eager to face motherhood head-on. But the arrival of baby Jochi was far from easy. A long and painful labor ended up producing the loudest baby the tribe members had seen in years, and the crying would not stop then. The tiny infant cried nonstop and wore out his parents, especially since it drove the other caravaners to refuse babysitting the noisy tyke. Little could be done to stop the baby's bawling as time went by, and the tired parents eventually would bear with it. Though after four months or so passed, the nonstop noise came to a screeching halt. Bayar and his wife were grateful, since they were finally able to rest again. Though, considering he began teething around that time, they had little time for relaxation.
Nomadic in nature, the oft-moving Mogui tribe moved with each season to a specific locale in their territory. Each family dwelt in their own yurt, or portable, easily-disassembled hut. While on the move, most traveled on the backs of camelphants, with the rest on sand-sailers positioned all around the caravan to protect it. His father was a proud and strong man of this tribe, large in size with courage to match. At times, he would be away for weeks as a hired hand, protecting merchant caravans or any other desert travelers who could afford it. Also a warrior, the raids and intertribal conflicts he joined in would lead his young son to view him as somewhat of a hero. His mother was also a strong person, both in will and stature, and dealt with her son accordingly. This was wise, since the boy had a habit of throwing a fit whenever something upset him. Even despite his mother's strict and common punishments, Jochi's conniptions were something dealt with quite often. From the toddler years into early childhood were challenging for his parents, since he showed a massive streak of contradiction and defiance during this time. The young Jochi still had a healthy relationship with his parents, though he pushed the limits whenever opportunities arose. Temper tantrums would not stop altogether, but they only occured when Jochi's frustration grew extreme. He would also play wild and rowdy games each day with the tribe's other boys, including his cousins.
At four years of age, something peculiar was presented, where, after a period had passed where his parents thought he had grown out of it, young Jochi threw a hissy-fit and began stomping on the ground when his mother denied him any more date cakes. Throwing sand much higher and farther than before, Ogderel suspected something about her boy while she shielded her eyes. But, after disciplining her son, she waited until her husband returned from a day of carousing before concluding anything. The following afternoon, when Bayar was sober, he and his wife tested out little Jochi's abilities outside of the tribe's camp. Since both of them were sandbenders themselves, they bended a stream of sand between each other, hoping the boy would follow. Gently, his mother moved the stream of sand toward him, and he quickly batted it away. Bayar tried this a few more times before concluding his quickly-distracted son was a bender.
Jochi would be trained mostly by his father, but also his paternal uncles, Orda and Kangti. At times, he and the cousins closest to his age would practice in a group, supervised by their parents to ensure no one would get badly hurt. He would also train with the tribe's other children, which became more common as he grew older. His skills grew quickly, enabling him to best any opponent near his level the majority of the time, though there was one whom he could never seem to beat in a duel at all - His cousin, Yuwen. Always half a step ahead of Jochi, the boastful girl would rub it in his face all the time. While annoying him to no end, her gloating would make him feel inferior and edgy. But, being a glutton for punishment, Jochi would frequently challenge her and lose ignominiously. As far as education, Jochi was taught everything he needed to know by his parents, whether it be tradition, folklore, or how to read.
Voyaging through puberty, Jochi was only different from the other young men in one factor. While boys and girls grew like weeds to tower above him, he grew slowly and stopped after a while. Since he was only a little smaller than average when he was younger, and both his parents were more or less average-sized, he hardly expected to be as short as he wound up. He was teased scarcely by his peers, considering how one or two offenders were buried up to their necks in sand. Thus, his height was soon overlooked by those who grew up around him. During these years, his friends introduced him to a place called the Misty Palms Oasis, which was frequented by many other sandbenders including his father, as well as travelers from around the nation. The partying scene that took place here was enjoyed greatly by the teenaged Jochi, who indulged in his fair share of lewd revelries.
The late teenage years, when much more muscle had piled onto his diminutive frame, he would join the raids in place of his aging father. He held his own in these intense battles, though he nearly lost his head near the beginning. Being totally independent of his parents at this time, most of his free time was spent at his favorite tavern, where he flirted and discreetly started a few bar fights. Rarely was he questioned when he returned to camp covered in bruises, since everyone knew what he was up to. While his mother disapproved, she did nothing to stop it, and his father was proud that his son had grown into a fine young man who was able to defend himself. After that, life continued to be exactly the same.
Adulthood has proven itself as normal as can be for Jochi. Though the question of courtship, marriage, and fatherhood is presented to the sandbender, his response is always the same. He tells those nosy sorts that he'll settle down when he finds a woman who can handle him. He still lives by himself at the ever-moving Mogui tribe with his tent always set up near that of his aging parents, though he happily claims that the Misty Palms Oasis is his home away from home. Now a full-fledged warrior just like his father, Jochi is involved with every raid that would arise, but also has been employed to scavenge for food or find sources of clean water. In the recesses of his mind, though, he cannot help but wonder what life is like outside the vast, sun-scorched dunes where he grew up.
Sample RP: There he was, face-first in an ice-carved bowl filled with fruity orange goo. The palatable aroma of the tavern's famed refreshment would have been alluring, had the sweet mire not been shoved into his nostrils on impact. Not the most noble position for the desert-dweller, nor was it at all to be expected. Jochi had simply been minding his own business, chatting up a woman in robes of ecru and rose taupe, while a rogue elbow hit the back of his head and knocked him forward. This jostle came from an innocent patron of the tavern, no doubt, but that would do nothing to change the stumpy sandbender's opinion. To him, it was humiliating and ruined his chances with the woman, though her clearly overlooked expression of disgust beforehand was a telltale sign she wanted him to leave. Rising his stubble-coated head and face from the bowl, his rough skin bore a vibrant red, a trademark vein bulging from his forehead. Snarling and scowling, he hastily wiped his face with his sleeve. He turned to the offender, who was all but blissfully oblivious, and pointed a callused index finger. "You! You asked for it!"
Turning, the accused man turned to see the short sandbender. Quirking an eyebrow, an incredulous stare formed across his face. "Excuse me? I was..."
But it was no use. Soon, the Si Wong native pounced at the man's midsection, shouting some profane threat before they both collided with the sandy floor. Such violence would probably not have occured if Jochi had been in a better mood, but the day had not been kind and left him feeling somewhat sour. Not to mention the alchohol in his system lowering his already loose inhibitions. Throwing a flurry of punches, the other man was aware enough to move his head swiftly, avoiding the majority of Jochi's angered walloping. Only the final right hook to his face actually hit, the impact leaving the man in sort of a daze. Another larger man from the gathered crowd rushed in and picked up Jochi, which left the sandbender flailing his limbs, struggling and shouting, "Let me at him!"
The deep voice from above him sounded a stern threat while meaty arms wrapped around Jochi's midsection, leaving his cloth-wrapped legs dangling in midair. "No. Calm down. He didn't do anything wrong."
After squirming and writhing in an attempt to escape, Jochi let his well-muscled arms and legs go limp. Heaving a sigh with rumbling undertones, he flashed a nasty glare at the man he attacked, who rubbed his own swollen cheek as he knelt. Crassly, the stubble-laden man said, "He's a wimp anyway."
The large man then sensed a change in the sandbender's disposition, at which he loosened his grip, allowing Jochi to drop to the ground. The short desert native looked the kneeling man straight in the eye and smirked, then spat some fruity residue mixed with saliva off to his right. Raising his cloth wrap around his mouth, he walked away with his chest puffed out, a sense of pride imbued in each step. Walking out the bar's door and into the bright sunlight, Jochi mumbled, "He got what was coming to him..."
Age: Thirty-one
Gender: Male
Group: Si Wong Nomads
Nation: Earth Kingdom, Si Wong Desert
Bender?: Sandbender
Physical Appearance: Even though both his parents were average height, Jochi has found great disappointment and annoyance in that he barely topples out at four feet and eight inches. Though short, his build is much like a tree stump, packing a good deal of muscle onto a body that lacks much in the way of loftiness. Muscles solid like rocks bulge from his bronze skin all over, but very little actual body fat clings to his frame; ostensibly, his musculature composes a generally even width, not disconcertingly large for his body's structure. Since his sides, pectorals, and abs have developed muscle and defined grooves just as well as his chest, back, and shoulders, the result is something of a toned, rectangular build. Adding to this are his thick hips, where strong thighs take root and assist a very low center of gravity. This may give him relative strength and agility, but the sheer shortness of his legs leaves him unable to sprint quickly at all. From his broad shoulders extend brawny arms, which like his legs are taut with muscle and measure to a length altogether proportional to his stocky, toned torso. From sturdy wrists emerge his hands, which have been broken and mended more times than he cares to count; they, like his feet, are a shade large for his size. When covered by clothing though, one may easily think he was a stocky child if his face was also covered.
Forever altered by sandy winds and blazing sunlight, his complexion is a leathery golden brown. He primarily keeps it covered from the damaging sun, since skin cancer is one of many dangers in the Si Wong. Other than limiting time outside of the shade, he exerts almost no care for his skin in any way whatsoever. His only body hair worthy of mention rests at his armpits, legs, and a thinned patch of fuzz on his lower back, colored only a shade darker than his skin.
Thick, deep brown eyebrows stretch across his prominent brow, curving almost to a perpetually angered state with but the breadth of a finger between them - in any case, they're quite wide. Below are his small, hooded eyes, shaped like almonds and set deeply with creases at the corners hinting at his age and granting an image of apathy. Their irises, which rest against an often bloodshot background, are a gray-asparagus tone. His wide nose is short depth-wise, with a deeply curved bridge that extends to a vaguely squared tip. Dry and chapped, his lips and mouth are fairly small, but far too easily pull into a scowl. His jaw is sharp, angular, and covered with stubble easily within a day's range. Strong like his cleft chin, it provides solid basis for what can rightly be called 'rugged' features. When his hair grows in, one can tell his forehead is broad but a bit on the narrow side, but it and his jawline are reasons for the square shape of his face. Though not large, his ears appear to stand out due to the remarkably short length - and often total absence - of his hair. His neck, whose veins enjoy bulging when he feels angered, is almost as wide as his head.
Keeping his head shaved, it would become obvious his scalp is free of scars. He never allows his bistre tresses to reach more than half an inch in length before shaving them off again, since he enjoys not having a need to care for troublesome locks. Were it to grow out, it would be straight, coarse, and would lay close on his head. In this case, one could tell his dark hair was thinning at the scalp and peppered with gray at the temples. This may be a reason why he shaves it with regularity, far more often than his facial hair.
Clothing/Armor: A dull gray breechcloth starts off Jochi's everyday attire, while a warm gray undershirt with long sleeves covers his upper body. Covering these is a thoroughly plain smoke gray tunic, which has a neckline somewhere between a round and triangular shape thanks to excessive fraying. It has no sleeves, but its arm openings and mid-thigh length hem are all tattered. A taupe gray thrice wraps around his waist to keep his current garments in place, and warm gray trousers fasten onto his waist with a leather drawstring. These pants are a bit long, causing them to pool at his ankles when unrestrained, and the cuffs are rather weathered.
Like other desert natives, he wears a number of taupe gray cloth wraps. Wearing no shoes, both of his feet are wound by these sorts of wrappings, which end halfway up his calves, tying around the cuffs of his pants while leaving only his toes and heels exposed. His hands and forearms are also swathed in these bandages, with his fingers uncovered.
The longest of these cloth strips drapes around his head, face, and neck, leaving only his eye region bare, though a pair of camelphant-hide goggles (basically a blindfold with two slits for eye holes) continues to keep this part shielded and unharmed by flying sand.
Weapons: Bending is his sole weapon, though he uses it with deadly skill. His prime objective in a fight is to attack relentlessly, inundating the opponent to leave little chance of counterattacking. An all-around fighter, he focuses on a wide variety of techniques, while not leaning on one type in particular. Loose sediment is the easiest material for him to manipulate, though he's capable of creating tremors or moving rocks and slabs of earth if necessary.
Personality: Put simply, Jochi is an irrational and audacious man who needs to control his temper. On a bad day, most insults at his expense would throw him into a violent rage where something is likely to be broken. When his mood is lighter, the results would hardly be different, but the outburst would be much more verbal than physical. Above all, he hates being belittled because of his height, though he still loathes condescendion of any kind. Tense or emotionally pressing situations also make him rather edgy, making him likely to lash out at any provocation. Still, when one has not taken on the easy task of provoking him, they would plainly see his normal loud and foul-mouthed self. He has no qualms about speaking his mind or insulting other people, and he rarely watches his foul language in any given company. To him, tact and manners are unnecessary restrictions, so he tends to dislike people who greatly uphold them. Around any other company, he's perfectly comfortable, though he tends to be annoy most womenfolk with his lewd and lecherous demeanor.
Competitive and confrontational, he takes joy in picking fights with whomever he sees as a worthy challenger. His motivation stems from an undying need to prove himself, making it nearly impossible for him to back down from confrontation. He also takes joy in seeing his opponent suffer, making him somewhat of a sadist. However, being a rather poor judge of character, Jochi underestimates people based on appearance or first impression. He also tends to have negative and stereotypical views of those who do not share his heritage. Boasting about his abilities is one of his favorite pastimes, which he does whenever he can. It would be quite unlikely for him to form an attachment to something, considering his independent and stubborn nature. Though despite this, there are times when kicking back for a drink or two at a tavern will be his top priority. He truly fears little in life, though his worst fear is commitment followed closely by a fear of getting fat.
Background: The Mogui clan had settled in the eastern reaches of the Si Wong Desert when Bayar and Ogderel bore their only child. Both in their late thirties, the married couple had in the preceding years given up any expectations of bearing children. Ogderel was aware of her pregnancy from early on, and, having delivered many a newborn and babysat often in the caravan, she was eager to face motherhood head-on. But the arrival of baby Jochi was far from easy. A long and painful labor ended up producing the loudest baby the tribe members had seen in years, and the crying would not stop then. The tiny infant cried nonstop and wore out his parents, especially since it drove the other caravaners to refuse babysitting the noisy tyke. Little could be done to stop the baby's bawling as time went by, and the tired parents eventually would bear with it. Though after four months or so passed, the nonstop noise came to a screeching halt. Bayar and his wife were grateful, since they were finally able to rest again. Though, considering he began teething around that time, they had little time for relaxation.
Nomadic in nature, the oft-moving Mogui tribe moved with each season to a specific locale in their territory. Each family dwelt in their own yurt, or portable, easily-disassembled hut. While on the move, most traveled on the backs of camelphants, with the rest on sand-sailers positioned all around the caravan to protect it. His father was a proud and strong man of this tribe, large in size with courage to match. At times, he would be away for weeks as a hired hand, protecting merchant caravans or any other desert travelers who could afford it. Also a warrior, the raids and intertribal conflicts he joined in would lead his young son to view him as somewhat of a hero. His mother was also a strong person, both in will and stature, and dealt with her son accordingly. This was wise, since the boy had a habit of throwing a fit whenever something upset him. Even despite his mother's strict and common punishments, Jochi's conniptions were something dealt with quite often. From the toddler years into early childhood were challenging for his parents, since he showed a massive streak of contradiction and defiance during this time. The young Jochi still had a healthy relationship with his parents, though he pushed the limits whenever opportunities arose. Temper tantrums would not stop altogether, but they only occured when Jochi's frustration grew extreme. He would also play wild and rowdy games each day with the tribe's other boys, including his cousins.
At four years of age, something peculiar was presented, where, after a period had passed where his parents thought he had grown out of it, young Jochi threw a hissy-fit and began stomping on the ground when his mother denied him any more date cakes. Throwing sand much higher and farther than before, Ogderel suspected something about her boy while she shielded her eyes. But, after disciplining her son, she waited until her husband returned from a day of carousing before concluding anything. The following afternoon, when Bayar was sober, he and his wife tested out little Jochi's abilities outside of the tribe's camp. Since both of them were sandbenders themselves, they bended a stream of sand between each other, hoping the boy would follow. Gently, his mother moved the stream of sand toward him, and he quickly batted it away. Bayar tried this a few more times before concluding his quickly-distracted son was a bender.
Jochi would be trained mostly by his father, but also his paternal uncles, Orda and Kangti. At times, he and the cousins closest to his age would practice in a group, supervised by their parents to ensure no one would get badly hurt. He would also train with the tribe's other children, which became more common as he grew older. His skills grew quickly, enabling him to best any opponent near his level the majority of the time, though there was one whom he could never seem to beat in a duel at all - His cousin, Yuwen. Always half a step ahead of Jochi, the boastful girl would rub it in his face all the time. While annoying him to no end, her gloating would make him feel inferior and edgy. But, being a glutton for punishment, Jochi would frequently challenge her and lose ignominiously. As far as education, Jochi was taught everything he needed to know by his parents, whether it be tradition, folklore, or how to read.
Voyaging through puberty, Jochi was only different from the other young men in one factor. While boys and girls grew like weeds to tower above him, he grew slowly and stopped after a while. Since he was only a little smaller than average when he was younger, and both his parents were more or less average-sized, he hardly expected to be as short as he wound up. He was teased scarcely by his peers, considering how one or two offenders were buried up to their necks in sand. Thus, his height was soon overlooked by those who grew up around him. During these years, his friends introduced him to a place called the Misty Palms Oasis, which was frequented by many other sandbenders including his father, as well as travelers from around the nation. The partying scene that took place here was enjoyed greatly by the teenaged Jochi, who indulged in his fair share of lewd revelries.
The late teenage years, when much more muscle had piled onto his diminutive frame, he would join the raids in place of his aging father. He held his own in these intense battles, though he nearly lost his head near the beginning. Being totally independent of his parents at this time, most of his free time was spent at his favorite tavern, where he flirted and discreetly started a few bar fights. Rarely was he questioned when he returned to camp covered in bruises, since everyone knew what he was up to. While his mother disapproved, she did nothing to stop it, and his father was proud that his son had grown into a fine young man who was able to defend himself. After that, life continued to be exactly the same.
Adulthood has proven itself as normal as can be for Jochi. Though the question of courtship, marriage, and fatherhood is presented to the sandbender, his response is always the same. He tells those nosy sorts that he'll settle down when he finds a woman who can handle him. He still lives by himself at the ever-moving Mogui tribe with his tent always set up near that of his aging parents, though he happily claims that the Misty Palms Oasis is his home away from home. Now a full-fledged warrior just like his father, Jochi is involved with every raid that would arise, but also has been employed to scavenge for food or find sources of clean water. In the recesses of his mind, though, he cannot help but wonder what life is like outside the vast, sun-scorched dunes where he grew up.
Sample RP: There he was, face-first in an ice-carved bowl filled with fruity orange goo. The palatable aroma of the tavern's famed refreshment would have been alluring, had the sweet mire not been shoved into his nostrils on impact. Not the most noble position for the desert-dweller, nor was it at all to be expected. Jochi had simply been minding his own business, chatting up a woman in robes of ecru and rose taupe, while a rogue elbow hit the back of his head and knocked him forward. This jostle came from an innocent patron of the tavern, no doubt, but that would do nothing to change the stumpy sandbender's opinion. To him, it was humiliating and ruined his chances with the woman, though her clearly overlooked expression of disgust beforehand was a telltale sign she wanted him to leave. Rising his stubble-coated head and face from the bowl, his rough skin bore a vibrant red, a trademark vein bulging from his forehead. Snarling and scowling, he hastily wiped his face with his sleeve. He turned to the offender, who was all but blissfully oblivious, and pointed a callused index finger. "You! You asked for it!"
Turning, the accused man turned to see the short sandbender. Quirking an eyebrow, an incredulous stare formed across his face. "Excuse me? I was..."
But it was no use. Soon, the Si Wong native pounced at the man's midsection, shouting some profane threat before they both collided with the sandy floor. Such violence would probably not have occured if Jochi had been in a better mood, but the day had not been kind and left him feeling somewhat sour. Not to mention the alchohol in his system lowering his already loose inhibitions. Throwing a flurry of punches, the other man was aware enough to move his head swiftly, avoiding the majority of Jochi's angered walloping. Only the final right hook to his face actually hit, the impact leaving the man in sort of a daze. Another larger man from the gathered crowd rushed in and picked up Jochi, which left the sandbender flailing his limbs, struggling and shouting, "Let me at him!"
The deep voice from above him sounded a stern threat while meaty arms wrapped around Jochi's midsection, leaving his cloth-wrapped legs dangling in midair. "No. Calm down. He didn't do anything wrong."
After squirming and writhing in an attempt to escape, Jochi let his well-muscled arms and legs go limp. Heaving a sigh with rumbling undertones, he flashed a nasty glare at the man he attacked, who rubbed his own swollen cheek as he knelt. Crassly, the stubble-laden man said, "He's a wimp anyway."
The large man then sensed a change in the sandbender's disposition, at which he loosened his grip, allowing Jochi to drop to the ground. The short desert native looked the kneeling man straight in the eye and smirked, then spat some fruity residue mixed with saliva off to his right. Raising his cloth wrap around his mouth, he walked away with his chest puffed out, a sense of pride imbued in each step. Walking out the bar's door and into the bright sunlight, Jochi mumbled, "He got what was coming to him..."