It was the following morning and the sun had only begun to creep over the horizon to fill the morning skies with its red glow. Taima as usual had risen at the crack of dawn and made her way to the smithy to begin the days preparations, but today she found herself distracted from the morning's chores, her mind wandering to the man she had met the night before. The gunslinger had come out of nowhere, weaving words of fantastical legends and tales from an age past. She had spoken practically when she declined to accompany him, but the draconian fervor burned hot within her breast and she couldn't help but entertain the thoughts of adventure and renown. The thought of recovering the ancient relic of the draconian people, to fight in wars and battles like her ancestors, to bring honor to her family, it was the passion of every young draconian. With dreams of grandeur to fill her head, Taima meandered through the morning hours cleaning up the front shop before the days customers began to arrive.
Meanwhile a figure approached the small structure on silent feet, the early morning providing the cover of an empty area in which to work. Quietly, he pointed a hand to the front of the door, tugging off one of his gloves as he did so. Letting himself breathe outwards, relaxing his spirit, the figure manipulated the metal in his opposite hand, forming six long bars that fastened themselves along the door, keeping it from opening outward.
His work done, the figure moved around to the side of the shop, reaching back into the sack that held the metal, he placed three bottles at the side of the house, leaning against the wood. He took four cautious steps backwards, examining his handiwork. Then, he grinned.
With a whirl, he drew a single long-nosed revolver, a small rubber cap enclosed around the tip. When he pulled the trigger, the revolver made nothing more than a short whiffing sound, the bullet smashing into the three bottles, one at a time. The bullet scraping against the scrap of flint inside each ignited the liquid inside, and the flames hungrily latched onto the wooden shop, quickly beginning to eat away at it. Strolling around to the back, the figure drew his second pistol, and waited for his prey.
As the first wafts of smoke began to fill the room, Taima set her broom down. She hadn't noticed it at first, but the temperature of the room was on the rise. Her instincts had her on edge as she made for the front door. Giving it a push, the wooden frame didn't budge. Frowning she threw her shoulder into it to try and unjam it, but still it didn't budge. She could hear the crackling of flames now, and though she couldn't see them, the room was growing stiflingly hot.
Suddenly, a loud boom came from the forgery area, flying over her head and to her left. Another shot sunk into the wood, closer to her skull. A third shot rang out, slamming into the emergency lantern that was kept near the door, sending flaming drops of oil over the draconian's head. She threw her arm up to shielding her face from the burning oil, but she was swiftly driven back from the door by the rain of fire. Taking shelter behind the edge of counter she patted out the flames upon her clothes. The smell of oil was thick upon her and her hide had been scorched. Meanwhile the spilled oil was rapidly beginning to burn, sending trails of fire licking across the floor as it followed the rivets of flammable liquid.
Grabbing a cleaning rag from atop the counter, Taima swung it for the flames upon the floor to try and put them out before they could spread further, but another shot rang out missing her hand by a hairsbreadth. Swiftly jerking back behind her rudimentary cover, Taima abandoned her attempts to stem the flames. The earlier fire was spreading rapidly now having reached the thatched roof outside, and smoke was beginning to choke out the room as the burning oil lit up the dried wood paneling of the floor boards. Covering her snout with her arm, Taima stifled a cough.
"Come on out, now." A voice growled in the distance.
The draconian was trapped. If she stayed she would be burned alive, but if she made for the back, her assailant lay in wait. Her eyes burned and watered from the sting of smoke and another cough wracked her form. Overhead she could see the red glow of embers through the burning thatch.
"Ain't no use hidin'. You either die in there, or die out here, friend. May as well be here; quicker, and I'll make it painless." Another shot was fired into the smoke. "Don't be shy!"
As the smoke grew thicker, visibility grew poorer and Taima was wracked with wheezing coughs. Squinting through the haze of smoke, she made out the shadowy shape of the weapons rack across the shop. There wasn't any cover save for the smoke, but it would have to be enough. Abandoning the counter, Taima quickly made for the weapons rack, grabbing up a hefty axe. She could barely make out the red embers through the smoke, but she had known this shop since she could crawl. With a grunt, Taima sent the axe hurtling end over end where it struck the support beam near the back entrance. With an audible crack, the blade bit deep. At first, nothing further seemed to happen before a loud creek filled the air and the support beam gave under a rain of fiery embers and burning thatch to block the doorway.
With her assailant's line of sight marred, Taima turned her attention to the front door. In a reckless and brazen disregard for the flames, Taima hurtled herself forward, slamming the full brunt of her draconian form into the door shoulder first. In a splinter of wood, she landed outside, her clothes smoldering. Villagers were already beginning to take note of the fire as shouts rang up through town, and several townspeople rushed forward to help her to her feet.
“I'm fine,” she growled gruffly between the rasping coughs.
A gloved hand raised to tug down a wide brimmed cap. Two hands twirled a pair of guns, slipping them into leather holsters. A small smile was visible on the figure's face as the man turned, slinking into the shadows of early morning, making his way away from the scene of the crime.
Anzo came walking up the path, his gait hurried, eyes wide, to see the charred-out remains of Taima's shop, being fought and tempered down by the villagers. Among them he spotted Taima, fighting the fire with the others. Quickly, he closed on the Draconian, his holsters popped of their safeties, hands at strategic positions along his belt.
"Taima!" He called. "What in the River happened here?"
“Here, take over for me,” Taima told a townsman as a bucket was passed into her hands. Hurling the water at the dying flames, she quickly passed it back. The townspeople had mobilized quickly and for all the urgency and chaos of the situation, there was an organized efficiency to things. The flames had died down to a dim glow of embers, though the damage to the structure was extensive and the building was little more than a charred husk.
“Someone attacked me and burned the shop down,” Taima growled lowly as she approached Anzo. That the incident had happened the morning after Anzo had arrived in town was grounds for suspicion. “You wouldn't know anything about that?” she asked.
Anzo raised his eyebrows. "I wouldn't, no. Reckon I could help, though. How did the attack happen?"
“He used magecraft, I didn't see much,” Taima admitted.
Nodding, the gunslinger's eyes roved the charred skeleton of the shop, resting on two broken bottles that were tossed off to the side, blackened by smoke.
He pointed a gloved finger. "What're those?"
Taima turned her own gaze to the indicated bottles and made her way over. Squatting down next to them, she picked up a piece of broken glass, running her finger along the inner surface. There was a thick oily sheen on it that she rubbed between her fingers. Giving it a sniff she frowned. “It smells like oil, but there's something else that I can't place.”
The gunslinger followed her, crouching on the other side of the broken glass. Shifting one of the bottles to reveal a small insignia in the shape of a shattered heart, Anzo tapped his chin.
"Apothecary oil, used as a firestarter on the road. Popular with guerilla warfare." He raised his eyes to Taima, a worried expression in his gaze. "Way I figure, someone overheard our conversation yesterday, figured you were better off charred meat than with the sword."
He wiped his glove off on his pants and surveyed the crowd, silently. "Made any enemies of late, ma'am?"
“Of course not, this is a peaceful village. There have been a few rumors that the Strakken are encroaching into cedar reach, but that's about it.” Taima scowled as she stood up, wiping the oil off her fingers.
Anzo shook his head slowly. "This weren't Strakken, that's for sure."
He turned towards her, his expression grave. "To be blunt, ma'am, I believe you're in danger if you stay here. Whoever burned the shop down came a long way to do it, and I reckon they ain't done yet. I think it's now in both our best interests for you to come with me."
“And leave just like that? Someone could have been hurt, or killed. And what of my father? If there's danger here and I leave, he could be walking right into it. Whoever it was needs to be found,” Taima replied.
Anzo nodded. "I agree with ya, a hundred percent. But think abou' it. They didn't burn down any of the surrounding businesses, which to me meant that this was a specific attack. The faster you leave, the faster everyone here is safe. Though, if I'm truthful, I don' know 'bout your father's safety. All I reckon is that this is personal."
The gunslinger rubbed at his lower lip in thought. "I'll send a message to your father, let him know what happened here, so at th' least he'll be prepared for a possible encounter."
“But how? Even I don't know where to find him,” Taima replied with a touch of apprehension.
The young draconian was torn. The part of her that was driven by duty and responsibility urged her to remain here in Darsia, but the fervent fire that drove the draconian people to greatness urged her to leave. It whispered softly to her that her father would understand, that the path offered to her was greater and more important than anything she would be leaving behind.
Anzo smiled, before putting two gloved fingers to his lips and emitting nothing but a short blast of breath. Suddenly, a shape swooped down towards them, getting larger and larger as it closed the distance. A small bird, its beak hooked and sinister and its eyes black, shot towards the two, before pulling up at the last moment, landing smoothly on Anzo's outstretched forearm.
"This," he said, with affection, "is Moriarty. He's a messenger hawk; the Gunslinger's best friend. All he needs is a trinket o' yer father's, and the intent to find him by you, and he'll deliver the message straight and true. He hasn't failed yet; have you boy?"
The hawk spread its wings and screeched its assent at Taima, before beginning a complex looking preening ritual.
It all seemed so simple to Taima, Anzo had an answer for everything. Youthful inexperience, or just reckless disregard left her overlooking the seeming convenience of everything at hand. Even the coincidental timing of Anzo's arrival the night before a mysterious man attacked her was pushed to the back of her mind. With a glance towards the smoldering wreckage of her father's smithy, Taima made her decision.