Dragongirl

It was a dirty harbour town, filled with mud, excrement’s, dirt, and other things one better not thought about. The smell was indescribable, a stench making you cough, until your lungs realised that it wouldn’t help.

The patios for the citizens to walk on lay almost two feet above the street.

Still, they were dirty and mud-covered in the rainy season and dirty and dust-covered in the dry season. Dry season was in many ways worse than rain season because it didn’t wash the stench down; instead, it caused the dust to crawl everywhere, making you wish you could have a bath every five minutes.

Only the working folk and the sailors occupied the harbour. The richer citizens and nobles lived in the hills above the town. From there, it looked even … well, nearly idyllic.

Several ships were in the harbour, and the place buzzed with business. The taverns and brothels were making good money, and everyone was in a good mood, aside from the smell and dust.

Many strangers travelled the town on busy days, and so nobody paid much attention to the cloaked and hooded person that moved carefully across the street, carefully to avoid the remains of horses’ dogs and other animals.

On the other side of the street, the figure climbed the three wooden steps to the patio and moved along the shaded fronts of some shops, which offered everything one could think of.

Including things like eyeballs and brains in grain alcohol or dried lizards ... Another had clothes, and yet another offered groceries.

It was the age of magic, more so the end of it, and the people turned away from the mages to priests. Who told them of false gods and idols. New religions were born each day, burned like a flash in the pan, and died as fast as they had come.

The figure we watched paced past a dirty couple, making out in the streets, before someone threw a bucket of water on them, cooling them down for only two seconds, enough to shout, “Go elsewhere, you dirty whore!” which was answered by the female with a rude comment about the man’s mother, and the couple disappeared.

Our figure didn’t pay any visible attention to the scene, but it would have been very hard to tell.

Cloaked from head to toe was the thick black material, which had seen better days and was far too warm.

The hood covering the head was pulled down deeply, so the face remained in the shadow and the head was lowered.

Nothing unusual; one always had to watch its steps. Heels of leather boots thudded barely audible on the wooden patio, accompanying our figure’s way, until it stepped off the patio again and turned into a side street closer to the harbour itself. The figure needed a ship, and that was more difficult than one would have thought of, considering the amount of ships in the harbour.

A close and keen viewer might have noticed that the figure favoured its left side slightly, but you had to be very good to tell.

Unfortunately for the cloaked person, there was someone very versed in observations in the close-up surroundings, and its gaze had fallen upon our figure.

It followed the hooded one like a shadow, disappearing in the crowd, when the cloaked person stopped. Turning its head slightly, it looked back, as if it had sensed the shadow, because it was impossible to hear it. The follower whistled quietly; the cloaked one was good, but he was better.

Seeing where the person headed, he ran down a side road, managed to enter the small pub before the cloaked one did, and already sat with some makeshift friends at a game of cards.

The cloaked one moved all the way through the bar after its eyes got used to the nearly not existing light and approached the keep.

Nobody understood what the stranger asked, but the keep shook its head, and the figure moved to a table as far from the others as possible.

Moments after it sat down, the keep brought ale over, which one should stay clear of if they weren’t used to it. Not because it was a strong ale, but because it was not served in the cleanest pitchers. Thus resulting in health problems that would make it advisable to stay close to a lavatory.

The cloaked one and its shadow sat for hours motionless; every time the door opened, the hooded head moved up slightly, giving the keep a glance. The keep shook its head, and the cloaked one returned to its statuesque pose of waiting.

Eventually, the keep nodded upon the entry of a certain person, and the shadow whistled again.

The newcomer was no unknown person to him.

Way over 6 feet tall, broad shoulders, arms and legs like tree trunks, and a chest like a barrel. Hands like frying pans, long black hair, stunning blue eyes that were as bright as the sky and as hard as steel, a suntan like only the sailors had ...

Yep, that was Aruco, the captain of the Dragonfly.

Aruco was a sailor, fighter, lover, pirate, and murderer; he did what he was paid for and for who was paying him.

Not very trustworthy, unless you could pay his price.

He was loyal to himself, his ship, and his crew in that order. He didn’t exactly care, if a woman said no to him. He took what he wanted, where and how he wanted it. But like I said, you paid him high enough, and he would sail to hell and back.

The keep nodded Aruco to the table with the stranger, and without a word being exchanged, the huge captain moved over to the table and dropped his massive shape on a wooden chair that groaned dangerously under the weight of the man.

The shadow couldn’t hear what was said, but a black leather purse went from the cloaked one to Aruco, who took it and idly shoved it into his leather shirt, which was held on both sides of his body by crossed straps. The sailor was armed with a lightly curved sabre with a broad blade, several daggers, and himself.

Nobody in a clear mind would mess with this man.

The cloaked one pushed the ale over to Aruco, nodded once, rose, and left through the back door after paying the keep with a gold coin, causing some interest among the other guests in the bar.

Gold was rare, especially in a place like this.

The shadow didn’t need long to count up; where there was one, there was more, and the stranger had left. That meant business was planned for him or Aruco, and he would get the gold from the stranger.

He swiftly left the bar, and using his knowledge of the harbour, he soon was close up behind the cloaked person, who rushed along as if it had something to hide.

The man planning to rob the stranger grinned to himself; it was always good if the victim had to fear the guards as much as everyone else. That meant they wouldn’t scream for help but hand their money over and die … or the other way around.

The thief knew every inch of the harbour, so he used the first opportunity to climb some bannisters to follow the cloaked and hooded person with ease. Away from the main road, the streets were even worse-looking and smelling. It made it easier to follow the covered one, as there were fewer people around.

Nonetheless, the cloaked one stopped and had a rest, leaning against the wooden back wall of a building. Indeed, the stranger wasn’t in its best shape; it didn’t expect to have to wait so long for the captain of the Dragonfly. It allowed itself a few seconds of deep breathing to fight back the pain that screamed into its head from its injured side.

Aruco had accepted the cloaked figure as a passenger, but he had refused to leave until midnight. His ship needed the high tide, like everyone else did.

It was stupid to try to sail against it, especially when there was barely any wind.

But he would send a skiff to pick up the stranger at the quay wall at 10 p.m.

“Be there or be square,” the giant captain had said, which meant nothing but that the stranger would lose money and ride if it wasn’t there in time.

Now the cloaked one took a few deep breaths and pushed away from the wall. A safe place near the harbour was needed and was almost as difficult to find as the giant captain.

It had to be Aruco; he was the only one who dared to sail to the island, the stranger needed to reach.

Needed to reach in time, otherwise ...

Shaking its head slightly, the hooded figure we watched moved on like before, searching its steps carefully. It didn’t look back, or it would have seen the wet patch on the wood where it had leaned on.

The thief, however, saw it and grinned. Indeed, the stranger was injured badly by the looks of it, and it would be so easy to just knock him over and mug him.

And if something went wrong, the stranger caused trouble… Well, a knife covered in faeces would ensure the stranger died anyway.

Still being above the cloaked figure’s head, the thief moved along and was pretty surprised, as the stranger stopped and looked up, right at where he was.

But it only lasted for the blink of the eye, and the thief leaped down on the stranger, aiming to knock him to the ground and to use that body as a cushion for a softer landing.

The first part of the plan worked out, and the cloaked stranger was knocked to the ground.

It cried out in pain, and the thief frowned slightly. That sounded strange, but hey, the foreigner had gold, and gold makes you rich.

Stabbing violently at the knocked-over creature under the cloak, the dirty blade missed mostly, but not entirely.

Still, the hooded one managed to get back to its feet.

It swayed and groaned, and again, the thief thought it sounded strange.

This was also the last thought, aside from “oh shit.”

The stranger rose, took off its hood, and the last thing the thief saw was a ball of blue fire coming towards its upper body, burning it within seconds beyond recognition. Once done, the stranger covered its head again and moved on, forcing its aching body to move faster.

The incident did draw an unwanted attraction. The fact that a thief died because the victim was better was nothing unusual, but the way it died was VERY unusual.

It was magic, and magic was to blame for everything that went wrong in one’s life.

Once around a dirty corner, the cloaked figure fell against a door, and by chance, it opened into a larger, dark stockroom.

Barrels, crates, and burlap bags were stocked in there, forming a labyrinth of kinds.

The stranger moved deeper into the soothing darkness and fell relieved onto some tightly filled sacks. Silence filled the room; all that was heard was heavy breathing, but it didn’t sound like the breathing of a human, more like that of a huge creature.

Pressing a gloved hand onto the injured side, the stranger, who became stranger by the minute, leaned backwards and closed its eyes.

It couldn’t afford to sleep; it would rest on the ship, but it was way too dangerous to rest here.

However, it needed a break; it needed to heal, at least a little, to survive the next few hours.

It was quite some time until 10 p.m.

Still, the darkness was soothing, calming, and welcome.

Even the smell was better than out on the streets. It was dusty, yes, but it smelled of wood, of Brandy oozing from a barrel, of grain stocked in sacks.

Sighing softly, the stranger got himself a little more comfortable, used a tiny bit of magic to hide itself from being discovered, and placed its focus on recovering.