Mirrored from my DeviantArt account. In the next day I'll translate the second part too.
In the rain
Dagran stopped to observe the sky getting darker. Storm clouds were quickly choking the little light left before sunset. It was just time to go back.
He had wandered all that late summer day in complete solitude, as it was his habit to do at that time of year. Zael and Lowell were aware for a long time about his need of insulation, so it wouldn't be a problem for them to explain it to Syrenne and Yurick.
It was his way of paying tribute to his fallen comrades, died five years earlier, during the only, real defeat in their mercenaries' life. When that time came, the remembrance of their demise was more painful and he became intractable. That's why he took a day or two for himself, letting Zael and the others to have a good time, gain permitting. It seemed like every time arrived faster than the previous one to Dagran, but lately the work had gone better than expected, so he could leave the others without problems.
Before continuing on his way back, he pulled out from under the shirt the pendant he wore around his neck, a rectangular metal plate with a missing corner. As the ornamental feather tied to his hair, that too was a memory of a lost love.
His soul mate, Celes.
He gripped it angrily, thinking about all that it had been torn in his life, and he repeated to himself the oath he had made as a child, when he left his village in flames, as the only survivor.
He gave one last look at the pendant before placing it back in its place, then he hurried to the street, hoping that the rain expected his return at the Inn before starting to fall.
Needless to say, after a few steps, a wall of water swept over him.
Luckily, he brought the cape, along with a collection of local epithets that he repeated softly, addressing them to each and every single cloud over his head.
After running for a few minutes, he arrived at the city gates. Behind the clouds, the sun was now gone and only the lightning lit up the street. The guard on duty at the gate had let him pass without problems and he also suggested to him a road to reach the Inn bathing as little as possible. Dagran appreciated the advice, though on balance it was useless now: the cape he wore was fine to cover saddlebags and weapons, but it was too small for a man of nearly two metres as he, and in fact he had arrived in town half soaked.
He left reluctantly the shelter of the gate and he walked down the streets of the city, following the route suggested by the guard. Apart from him, there was no one else in the street. It was better this way.
While hastening to go back to the Inn, he mused about how to use his part of the profits of the last job. Room and board were in place, since they had paid in advance at the Inn, and even their weapons were still in good condition. He had considered the idea of visiting the brothel on the other side of the city to have some fun with a couple of their ladies, but the torrential rain that was cutting down on his head suggested that perhaps it was better to think to a renewal of his small wardrobe first, starting with a cloak itself.
He was thinking about a way to organize the expenses and being able to do both, when a carriage from a side street nearly swept him.
«Get out of the street, you ragamuffin!» shouted the coachman. Actually, there was more than enough space in the street for the carriage to pass freely, but the coachman had prodded the horses to go on straight to Dagran.
The mercenary jumped sideways and the carriage whizzed next to him, passing on a huge puddle and soaking Dagran for whole.
Between the water and the mud which oozed out on him, he had noticed two things: the smug grin on the face of the coachman and the indifference of the passengers behind the window of the carriage; two noblewomen all bejewelled and a middle-aged man, dressed in layers of fur, silk and other fabrics certainly expensive, which gave the impression that he had never made a physical effort other than take a fork to his mouth. For what little he was able to discern, the three had not shown any interest in what was going on outside the carriage, in fact it was likely that if the coach had invested him, they complained of possible damages that he would have gotten in their way!
That glimpse of aristocracy moved away, leaving him in the middle of the slush and Dagran was left with nothing to do but take off all the dirt he could and return to the Inn more sodden and furious than before.
What a shitty life!
He went down the road he had left cursing all the nobles and rich people and their privileged lives. That was certainly not the best way to commemorate his fallen comrades, but for that time it was going so.
He was now in sight of the Inn, the entrance lit by one of the few street lights that characterized the city centre, when a strange sound attracted his attention.
He heard some thuds from a shady alley next to him, followed by a hushed growl. Before the mercenary could wonder what would cause that noise, a crash of broken wood echoed by the way.
A person with an ounce of common sense would have moved away from there and would search for a guard, but the foul mood of Dagran that night made him anything but sensible – not to mention his impulsive nature – and so, ready to draw his sword and with a great desire to come to blouse, he slipped into the alley.
At first he saw nothing because of the darkness and the rain, then his eyes became accustomed and he noticed a shape on the ground. It was a woman. She fell and bumped into some old empty crates, causing them to collapse to the ground.
While he approached, the snarl rang out again into the alley. Dagran wielded the sword and prepared to ease it out of its sheath, ready to react. It was very close and yet there was nothing in the alley besides him and the woman on the ground, and rain and lightning distorted sounds, preventing him to understand its origin.
Whatever it is, it's better if I deal with her first, then I'll try to alert the guards.
He left for a moment the sword and knelt beside the woman, casting glances all around to make sure that that thing doesn't take him by surprise.
The woman at his feet was a little younger than him and was wearing just a simple grey tunic drenched by rain and a pair of boots that had seen better days. Long black hair covered her face, topped by a large white flower that seemed to resist effortlessly to the pouring rain. When Dagran tried to remove a lock to see her better, she stirred and lifted her face toward him. At least he was certain that she was alive.
A pair of grey eyes stared at him vacuous, but he took no notice, too intrigued by the signs that were above them: eight azure points that formed a circle in the centre of her forehead.
As he watched her, she tried to pull herself up, but she ended up tumbling back to the ground. He heard her mutter something without understanding what she said.
«Don't worry» he said while he moved to help her «I don't want to hurt you, I'm just trying to help. Look, I'm at the Inn over there. I'll take you there so you can warm up and tell me... Hey! What the hell are you doing?»
The woman had crawled toward him as he spoke and without notice she sprang forward and had sunk her teeth into his boot. Dagran lurched back to get free by her powerful grip and gave her a shove away. The woman swung indifferent and spoke again, and this time Dagran understood what she said.
«Food» her voice was distraught.
«Uh, okay. I can get you something to eat and...»
«Hungry!»
The woman attacked again, and this time it was at the expense of the right arm of the mercenary, stood up to defend himself. Due to rain and some residue of mud from the encounter with the carriage, Dagran broke free with a tug without losing a piece of flesh, but in doing so he lost his balance and fell back on the wet stones of the street. The woman was soon upon him.
«Food!»
She was a crazy possessed person.
Dagran was at a disadvantage: both his swords – the one he used for fights and the ceremonial one – were locked beneath him and even if they were free, she was too close so he couldn't stand on them and use them properly. The thing however was not important, because his punches were more than enough. He prepared to launching an offensive punch as soon as she attempted another attack, so much for gallantry. She moved, he was ready, but before he could do anything, the fight was already over.
The woman, straight on him, staggered for a moment and shortly after she collapsed half unconscious on him with a gasp. Despite being slender and much smaller than him, her weight was such to leave the mercenary breathless.
The two stayed still for a while, then, seeing that the woman didn't move, Dagran pulled out and shook her off. He considered the idea of abandoning her there in the rain.
I try to help her and she bites me as if I was a steak?!
In the end, however, he decided to take her to the Inn. It didn't seem fair to him to leave her at the mercy of the snarling thing hidden in the alley… or leave her free to assault someone else, mistaking him or her for a meal.
«At least there will be a danger in less around the streets» Dagran muttered to himself.
She seemed conscious enough to be guided in her footsteps without risking other bites, so he passed an arm around her waist, encouraged her to reciprocate the close and trying to cover her by rain as he could, even though they were both already soaked, Dagran led her to the entrance of the Inn.