90th Day
Protectorate City
“Bandits? What the hell kind of bandits are these?” Cidny barked.
The southwest wall was but smoldering remains by the time any soldiers of the Guard arrived. The fires had been put out by the people who had businesses and homes in that quadrant. The wreckage, the burnt corpses, it was an attack.
“A bolder kind,” Homar stated.
The group of leaders hastily concluded their little meeting to inspect the situation.
Soldiers swarmed the place, asking witnesses about the attack. They concluded that the group consisted of fifteen to twenty raiders mounted atop Grelb beasts. They were masked, so none of the people could identify them. They took several people captive and apparently a man who tried to resist them.
The breach of the wall was the deadliest since the Drakyvarian siege of the city during the Second War.
“Well then, start mending the wall, I feel a bit naked,” Abaryn commanded the soldiers.
“I’m sure you do,” Quinta gestured to his rather loose garb that was meant to show off his rippling abdominal and calf muscles.
“It will take days to repair it, what if the bandits return?” a Guard Captain asked.
“Then post sentries as repairs begin,” Homar said.
He picked up a plate of metal that had long been burnt off, “How did this even happen?”
The Guard Captain shook his head, “They hit a blind spot, I don’t know what happened sir. We all heard a loud boom and saw smoke and dust. It seemed like a storm.”
Abaryn turned to the bystanders who watched the soldiers work, “Did any of you see what happened?”
Nobody raised their hand or uttered a reply; they just stared back with their grim faces. It was hard to get anybody to tell the truth.
-
Somewhere in another part of town, a Drakyvarian in dark grey, scaly skin with an eye patch across one of his eyes, strapped to one of the two short horns protruding from his crest, arching backward. His other green luminous eye moved through the streets quietly, not trying to attract any attention. A Drakyvarian not trying to attract attention was hard, seeing as how they on average stood at approximately anywhere from five feet and eleven to six feet five.
He had a shrewd grin as his long tongue dangled between the sharp fangs lining the front of his mouth. Two horns jutted above his eyes, and two more from below his chin. A row of more rounded horns lined the ramus on both sides of his mandible. His build was slightly toned, but by far not as muscular as most Drakyvarians. His weapons of choice were a pair of tonfas that were strapped across his back and to the pauldrons that protected his shoulders.
Then his lower body was covered by faulds, a crotch guard, and greaves, all made of Xth metal. He walked barefoot across the poorly paved street, not that it mattered, a Drakyvarian's feet were made for rough surfaces.
He continued along until he reached a tavern shack with the stools out in the open. He spotted a single man draped in desert garb, seated alone, drinking alone. A blue and orange textile adorning scarf his head as a turban like so many other desert travelers. He had blue eyes, eyes that were almost like water.
"Thought I might find you here."
A small smile stretched on the man’s face. "Found me? Well, you sure did, but I wasn’t thinking to find you."
"Good to hear," the Drak began, he pulled up a stool quickly.
"Tea," he gestured to the tavern keep before turning his attention to the assassin, "Five heads. I'm not the person ordering though, I just manage the in-between. The grey area. That fuzzy place. And ensure that everyone wins," he grinned.
The assassin’s head tilted to the left slightly as if in confusion. "I’m sorry, but are you sure you’ve found the right person?"
"You're an assassin, no?"
The tavern keep delivered a black tea pot, half filled, and a cup. The Drak helped himself to a serving, and drank slowly, letting the aroma seep in.
"This place, is one of the few places that serve tea in this manner. You have great taste, friend. So how about it?"
The man’s head tilted to the other way, simply saying: "I don’t usually work for some normal citizens."
"I wouldn't say that I'm normal, oh you meant my employers. They're not either. They're something else entirely, I guess would be the way to put it."
After he seemed to give a small thought, the man grinned a bit. "I’m listening," he said as he leaned forward, resting his head on his hands.
"Ixtoth Karlein, Harl Moyro, Michael Lyk, Pala Biurin, Jain Valire," the Drak paused to take a sip of his tea.
"And I've decided to add one more, maybe you could take care of him for us," the Drak slipped the assassin a note.
Listed on the note was 'Jolo Grossman.'
"Take care of him last," the Drak pointed to the note.
"The others will be in Solaria. Get to it quickly," the Drak tossed him a coin, "Advance, you'll get the rest after."
The grey scaled Drakyvarian stood up, looked around, and slipped away through the streets.
The assassin, looking upon the note frowned a bit. Jolo Grossman; a ranger. It was, for the most part, interesting. While he knew nothing of that Drakyvarian, the job was imposed. Could he be someone from the group? The assassin had no clue, but since the draconic creature seems to know much about the man he had a small doubts of who might be behind the broker.
The man rose from his seat, leaving his drink there as he folded the note and shove it into the back of his pocket. He pulled over his textiles to form a mask over his mouth as he stepped out of the tavern, soon making his way to Solaria . . .
The southwest wall was but smoldering remains by the time any soldiers of the Guard arrived. The fires had been put out by the people who had businesses and homes in that quadrant. The wreckage, the burnt corpses, it was an attack.
“A bolder kind,” Homar stated.
The group of leaders hastily concluded their little meeting to inspect the situation.
Soldiers swarmed the place, asking witnesses about the attack. They concluded that the group consisted of fifteen to twenty raiders mounted atop Grelb beasts. They were masked, so none of the people could identify them. They took several people captive and apparently a man who tried to resist them.
The breach of the wall was the deadliest since the Drakyvarian siege of the city during the Second War.
“Well then, start mending the wall, I feel a bit naked,” Abaryn commanded the soldiers.
“I’m sure you do,” Quinta gestured to his rather loose garb that was meant to show off his rippling abdominal and calf muscles.
“It will take days to repair it, what if the bandits return?” a Guard Captain asked.
“Then post sentries as repairs begin,” Homar said.
He picked up a plate of metal that had long been burnt off, “How did this even happen?”
The Guard Captain shook his head, “They hit a blind spot, I don’t know what happened sir. We all heard a loud boom and saw smoke and dust. It seemed like a storm.”
Abaryn turned to the bystanders who watched the soldiers work, “Did any of you see what happened?”
Nobody raised their hand or uttered a reply; they just stared back with their grim faces. It was hard to get anybody to tell the truth.
-
Somewhere in another part of town, a Drakyvarian in dark grey, scaly skin with an eye patch across one of his eyes, strapped to one of the two short horns protruding from his crest, arching backward. His other green luminous eye moved through the streets quietly, not trying to attract any attention. A Drakyvarian not trying to attract attention was hard, seeing as how they on average stood at approximately anywhere from five feet and eleven to six feet five.
He had a shrewd grin as his long tongue dangled between the sharp fangs lining the front of his mouth. Two horns jutted above his eyes, and two more from below his chin. A row of more rounded horns lined the ramus on both sides of his mandible. His build was slightly toned, but by far not as muscular as most Drakyvarians. His weapons of choice were a pair of tonfas that were strapped across his back and to the pauldrons that protected his shoulders.
Then his lower body was covered by faulds, a crotch guard, and greaves, all made of Xth metal. He walked barefoot across the poorly paved street, not that it mattered, a Drakyvarian's feet were made for rough surfaces.
He continued along until he reached a tavern shack with the stools out in the open. He spotted a single man draped in desert garb, seated alone, drinking alone. A blue and orange textile adorning scarf his head as a turban like so many other desert travelers. He had blue eyes, eyes that were almost like water.
"Thought I might find you here."
A small smile stretched on the man’s face. "Found me? Well, you sure did, but I wasn’t thinking to find you."
"Good to hear," the Drak began, he pulled up a stool quickly.
"Tea," he gestured to the tavern keep before turning his attention to the assassin, "Five heads. I'm not the person ordering though, I just manage the in-between. The grey area. That fuzzy place. And ensure that everyone wins," he grinned.
The assassin’s head tilted to the left slightly as if in confusion. "I’m sorry, but are you sure you’ve found the right person?"
"You're an assassin, no?"
The tavern keep delivered a black tea pot, half filled, and a cup. The Drak helped himself to a serving, and drank slowly, letting the aroma seep in.
"This place, is one of the few places that serve tea in this manner. You have great taste, friend. So how about it?"
The man’s head tilted to the other way, simply saying: "I don’t usually work for some normal citizens."
"I wouldn't say that I'm normal, oh you meant my employers. They're not either. They're something else entirely, I guess would be the way to put it."
After he seemed to give a small thought, the man grinned a bit. "I’m listening," he said as he leaned forward, resting his head on his hands.
"Ixtoth Karlein, Harl Moyro, Michael Lyk, Pala Biurin, Jain Valire," the Drak paused to take a sip of his tea.
"And I've decided to add one more, maybe you could take care of him for us," the Drak slipped the assassin a note.
Listed on the note was 'Jolo Grossman.'
"Take care of him last," the Drak pointed to the note.
"The others will be in Solaria. Get to it quickly," the Drak tossed him a coin, "Advance, you'll get the rest after."
The grey scaled Drakyvarian stood up, looked around, and slipped away through the streets.
The assassin, looking upon the note frowned a bit. Jolo Grossman; a ranger. It was, for the most part, interesting. While he knew nothing of that Drakyvarian, the job was imposed. Could he be someone from the group? The assassin had no clue, but since the draconic creature seems to know much about the man he had a small doubts of who might be behind the broker.
The man rose from his seat, leaving his drink there as he folded the note and shove it into the back of his pocket. He pulled over his textiles to form a mask over his mouth as he stepped out of the tavern, soon making his way to Solaria . . .