Dragonnade
By Percy Tosscobble
March 26, 2001
Draft 1.0
Dragonnade: Part One--Discovery
Preface
He
can't stand nights like this. Nights alone. He huddles there, among the folds
of the rolling hillside, invisible to all but the most astute of observers.
It begins to rain. He hates the rain.
Still. Still. Stay Still, D.
Three inches to his right, a tiny squirrel scampers towards a nut on the
ground, completely ignoring the hidden rogue. He kills it without a thought, on
instinct, planting his short dagger between its skull and its spinal cord,
severing all life instantaneously.
He doesn't even move his head, doesn't blink.
Quickly, silently, almost without effort, the steely blade slips from the dead
animals body and back into the manifold of his black cloak.
Rain patters incessantly against his hood. He hates the rain. In the distance,
the last remnants of the reddened sun slip behind the range of mountains. He
sighs, then stands up, removing his cloak to reveal a dark, padded tunic, a
pair of brown leather leggings, and long, pointy boots. On his chest, he wears
a silver medallion.
He grasps it now, in his black-gloved hands, rubbing the smooth surface with
his thumb.
A scream comes from deep within--some primal yell, a flashfire, boiling up from
within his heart, throttling heedlessly down his narrow throat, and then
thundering violently out of his outstretched jaw--a scream no man could
understand.
"RELEASE ME!!!"
Chapter I
Its not like he could he could help it. He, after all, was a rogue. A thief. A
regular taffer extraordinaire.
So when she, the richest Madame in all of Freeport strolled by him lugging that
overly heavy platinum purse of hers, he couldn't help but relieve her of the
terrible, weighty burden.
And so, he did.
Right in front of Lieutenant Moore.
But no man could catch Dmitri Shadowstepper, no man. Especially not some oaf
weighed down with a hundred pounds of steel armor.
"C'mon Moore! Dint they train you to catch rogues in Goon School! A frail
one like me should be kidstuff for a vet like you!"
True to his name, Dmitri quickly ducked round a corner into a familiar
alleyway, into the shadows, and out of immediate harm.
Once he had lost the trail, Moore decided a good threat would keep the pesky
rogue out of his domain for good: "That is it, Dmitri! Never again shall
you step foot in the fair City of Freeport. I'll make sure of it!"
Dmitri, of course, didn't hear him. Minutes earlier, he had ducked beneath an
iron grating, and into a domain of his own--the sewer.
Down the long black tunnel. He can't see, but it didn't matter. He knew it by
heart. Thirty four wide paces, left, two-hundred and sixteen, right, ten, down,
forty-four, right again, and then straight, straight ahead.
The dim, flickering glow of firelight was barely visible from the end of the
long tunnel. Home. His pace quickened, his breath shortened, and soon, he is
ducking beneath the low, circular entrance of his room. He took a deep breath
as he glanced at the familiar surroundings. The floor, unlike the rest of the
rest of the sewers, was of dry (or about as dry as one could get in a sewer),
worn cobblestone, raw after years of enduring the incessant pacings of its
owner. Pressed up against the left wall was a simple, wooden table--four legs,
two pieces of wood for the surface-- he had pilfered long ago from some ancient
scholar at the Academy. Easy job, really. Just went in the door, 'acquired' the
table, and back out again. At night of course. And during a guild war of some
sort, but that really didn't matter. Hardest part was cramming the thing into
the Sewers. Ended up just cutting it in half with a hatchet he had 'found'
earlier, then repairing it in the comfort of his abode deep within the recesses
of the sewer. Did it out of necessity, really. Gotta have somethin' to write
on, after all. Or forge official documents, as it were. He moves his eyes from
the desk to the fireplace. Those first nights without a fire were pretty hard,
especially in the black sewer, and any kind of fire pit was out of the
question. Smoke would've filled the place, he'd have died. End of that story.
So, he jury-rigged a fireplace on the far wall, attaching a hood and a short
length of piping to a disused sewer pipe. Found out where it went once, too.
Pretty funny stuff. Turned out, the pipe eventually led to some cleric
monastery in the midst of construction. So when smoke began piping out of their
sanctuary floor, the elders concluded Innoruuk himself had defiled the ground.
Course, they had to stop construction of the place immediatley. Cost 'em a lot
of money, apparently. Funny stuff. His steely eyes quickly dart from the fire
to his favorite place in the whole of Norrath—his cot. Made out of the skin of
a kodie. Killed it himself, skinned it too. Well, after it brutally mauled most
of the rest of his party, but, well, that's doesn't really matter. Got a good
bed out of it, after all, and nobody else was around to tell it different. His
eyes moved on, from the bed, and settle firmly on an old friend, who, at the
moment, was hanging silently from Dmitri's clothesline.
"Ahhh, Magnus... I'm home. Didja miss me?"
The bat doesn't respond. He never did.
"Heh. I knew you'd say that. Well if my mere presence doesn't get your
wings a flappin' mebbe this will!" He held up his recently acquired sack.
The bat remains motionless.
"Oh, well the sack itself isn't really all that interesting I guess.
Standard leather fare. You've seen it all before, right? Well how about
this!" Dmitri proceeded to draw a fistfull of platinum coins out of the
bag. The bat tilted its head, imperceptibly.
"Thats it, Magnus? Thats all the reaction I get out of you?" Dmitri
grabbed some of the coins and flung them at the disinterested bat, missing.
"EEE! EEE!"
"Haha. I knew that would wake you up. Good times this week. Too bad you
hate the light and all. I know youd've been proud of my skullduggery.
Single-handedly cut down three rampaging Sand Giants in Northern Ro on my way
back from…"
"EEE!"
"Oh, ok, two then."
Magnus remained silent. "Fine, none. I didn't kill anything in the last week.
Not a single Veeshan-be-damned thing. Not an orc. Not a skeleton. Not even a
decaying skeleton," under his breath, he muttered "curse you, bat, always make
me tell the truth."
"EEE!"
"Hmmm? Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't say anything. I was just clearing my throat."
"EEE! EEE!"
"Oh right, right. Bats have good ears."
Dmitri's stomach rumbled. "Well, Magnus, I know you've got plenty of bugs
and such to eat down here, but I need something a little more... digestible.
I'll be back in a bit." He ducked out of the without hesitation.
And ducked back in almost immediately. "Where is it! I just had it!" He began
tearing through piles and piles of dirtied cloaks and tunics, old, tattered
tablecloths, pieces of discarded bread, a moldy hunk of dried cheese, in all
his boxes, taking care to avoid the traps of course, even behind the old
picture he has affixed to the wall. He didn't even look at it as he frantically
stuck his hand into the pipe concealed behind. Found it posted on a tavern door
once. Says:
"WANTED: Taffin Coppers, for acts of unconscionable roguery.
REWARD: 250 Platinum, preferably alive, or corpse in identifiable condition.
Taffin was an old chum, from back in the early, early days. They had a contest
goin'. See who could get the highest bounty placed on their heads. Dmitri had
gotten up to three hundred, but Taffin was always one step ahead of him.
Contest ended when Taffin got caught and killed. Poster was a memento of sorts,
he liked to keep it around as a reminder of the little hafling. The little guy
liked to expound big, clever-sounding quotes, which Dmitri had scrawled
errantly on the wrinkled surface of the poster: things like "Write the bad
things that are done to you in sand, but write the good things that happen to
you on a piece of marble", and "Discretion is being able to raise your eyebrow
instead of your voice". Too bad lil' fella didn't adhere to his own creed. Made
a name for himself pilfering gems, then started a bar fight during the peak of
his infamy. Bad idea, really.
"Its not here Magnus, where did I put it?"
"EEE! EE…"
"Right, right, eee, eee. Such a wondrous, damn help you are, you little
bastard. Now where is it?"
His hands plunged into all of the pockets in his cloak for the tenth time.
Nothing but the same three pieces of silver that were there all ten times
before. "Arghh!!!"
A gleam of light caught the corner of his eye. There it is! He scooped
up the small, silver medallion from the worn cobblestone, deftly placing it
round his neck in one quick motion. He grasps it in his hand as he ducks out of
the low door and into the darkened sewer hall, rubbing the bumpy engraving with
his thumb. "Hey, big guy", he whispers. "Hey".
Interlude I
He moves effortlessly from
tree to tree, shadow to shadow. His silhouetted figure is but a blur against
the great, infinite span of mountains that spread before him. Tendrils of red,
dying light claw a wary path from behind the jagged edges of the range,
bleeding into a cold, gray sky. Claw their way into his heart.
Its been getting worse lately. Like a tiny dagger, twisting. Head throbs now
too. Has been since...
He shivers. Can't think about it. Gotta keep movin'. Can't let 'em catch me.
His pack catches a branch, forcibly stopping him. He almost falls, teetering,
almost comically, on the edge of the branch. I don't have time for this. He
cuts the strap of the pack and leaps to the next branch.
Breathin' too hard, gotta cool it. Its been a long day. Looted some bread
from a local farmer, got spotted. Chased. In the distance, he hears the
sounds of yelling men, dogs barking.
Gotta keep on runnin'. Never stop.
Chapter II
"Huh? Rainin' again. Eh, no worries," Dmitri muttered to himself as he slipped
out from beneath the sewer hatch.
Night had fallen, and the rain striking his pale, white cheeks was bitter cold.
Pulling his hood over his face, Dmitri slipped silently onto the street,
heading intently towards a familiar target. Budgins. Budgins was the
proprietor of a local bakery, real small time, of course. Never steal from
really rich people. They can get you back. Dmitri knew that his Shark Rolls
were the best in all of Eastern Antonica. Killed a shark, once. Skewered it
on a spear. During a voyage to Faydwer. Thing was tryin' to eat the whole boat,
thougt it'd be an easy meal. Well, nobody eats free when Dmitri Shadowstepper
is around. Spear went right through its beady little eye, into its pea-sized
brain, killing it instantaneously.
They called me a hero. Captain himself shook my hand. So why did I hate
doing it so much?
"Rain keeps fallin'. Fallin' on my hood." Lotsa rain this week. Blacker'n
usual too.
Budgins wide, oblong-shaped hut crawls into view. Well, enough thought.
Gotta get to work. Gotta get movin'.
In through the window, out through the door. Same job, every week. Scam a few
shark cakes out of the pantries, mebbe filch a cupcake or two. Never take any
money. After all, gotta keep the lil' gnome in buisiness.
Job took four minutes. Every single time, he'd be in, borrow some food, be out,
in four minutes.
As he hastily moved for the door, the exit, a sackful of gold, tipped on its
side, caught his eye. He stopped in his tracks. So easy. One of his
hands involountarily reached out towards the bag. No! Gotta keep movin'!
Gotta keep on runnin'! And he is gone.
Rain stopped. Thats a good sign. A rush of cold wind bristled through
the alleyway, beneath his tunic, up his spine, into his mind. Better get
back. Gotta bad feeling about this. He began to run. Breathin' hard,
gotta cool it. Don't panic.
He rounds a corner. Uh-
"Dmitri Shadowstepper! What a pleasure to run into you on such a fine night."
Moore.
Oh…
"Heya Officer Moore… love to stay and chat, but I got a grumblin' tummy to
feed!" He turned, ran.
"Ah Dmitri! You of all people should know we feed all our prisoners the finest
pieces of bread and the purest of water. And I promise I won't room you with a
troll this time!" Moore yelled after him.
He's not pursuing. I smell a…
Three more guards in front of him, brandishing some really sharp swords.
"TRAP!"
He wheeled in place, turning headlong for somewhere… somewhere safe.
Moments later, the lead guard heaved his great sword directly at Dmitri's neck…
catching nothing but a cloud of dust particles. "'Ees on the roofs!"
Moore strolls up to the guards, staring past them towards something else. "Get
'em, Boys."
Two grinning Kolbods step out from behind the guards-- Kolbod Predators, with
long, glistening fangs, narrow, fiery eyes, and impossibly long noses-- each
brandishing a short, sharp sword, stained ever so green, ever so poisonous.
They leapt onto the roofs, hot on the scent of Mr. Dmitri Shadowstepper.
"Good hunting!" Moore shouted.
Interlude II
My heart always feels
best in the forest. For two days
he has ran. For two days, he has narrowly avoided men and dogs, swords and
spears. Tired.
Green light filters through the lattice of tall trees, and in the distance, a
noisy brook babbles endlessly. Dirt is hard, doesn't leave tracks. Smells good
too. Smells like... home. Not that filthy Freeport, mind you. Like home.
His destination looms in front of him: a great Fir, by far the tallest tree in
all the forest, that had served as his sanctuary from hell for the last two
years. Dogs couldn't smell him up there, men couldn't find him.
For a second, he stares at the tree. He closes his eyes, touches the rough
bark, and, after a moment, his skin begins to change color, from the usual pale
grey, to pure white, and then to an emerald green.
Seconds pass like hours.
Silence.
And he is gone, disappeared.
Chapter
III
He had a bad feelin' about this night. Too black, too cold. Must have lost
'em by now... no way those doofs could catch me. Stopping on a flat roof,
he turned his head to verify his safety. In the distance, two hunched shadows
leaped effortlessly from roof to roof. The shadows were not what interested
Dmitri, however...it was their eyes. Two sets of two red, fiery orbs, leaping
and landing in perfect synchronicity with one another. Even from a distance of
sixty meters, those eyes burned Dmitri, burned his mind, his heart, his very
soul. Those aren't humans.
Feet and legs and chest and arms and hands--frozen. The tight fist of fear
wrapped its tendrils round his throat, leaving him without a voice. His right
eye involuntarily began to twitch. And the rain resumed.
Fire, closer, Fire, closer... Those orbs, those eyes.
C'mon Dmitri. Time to move. Gotta move, gotta move. Can't ever stop!
Fire, closer.
MOVE DAMNIT!
Slowly, a quivering hand fell to his scabbard. The moment he touched the hilt,
the fear flooded from his body, fleeing heedlessly through all orifices. His
free hand pulled back the hood, revealing a long, sharp, grey face, framed with
pointed ears, sandy-blonde hair, and iridescent, emerald green eyes. Thin lips
formed a steely grimace round bared teeth. He draws the sword.
The two figures stood just one building away, hesitating ever so slightly for
the final jump to battle.
"Lets go." Dmitri whispers.
Interlude III
Up in the tree, I'm
safe. Don't have to kill up here. Don't have to run. Without effort, without thought, he scales the
tree. Meter after meter of dark brown bark fall beneath his slender legs and
hands. Much of the trunk is without branches or handholds, but he continues,
unimpeded. Far above, where the Great Fir pierces the forest canopy, he sees an
infinite blue sky tainted greyish-yellow by the fading light of the hidden sun.
?
White all around. My head feels... where is my head? Where is my hand? Am I
here?
Bush'aan sei u'n neenin' lon.
What? Who are you?
No response. Drums over there. Pounding drums. Now over here. Now its a violin.
Claps.
Nol 'nineen n'u ies nas'hsub
Chest gettin' hot. Damn medallion......*crack*. Didn't think I'd break it...
weird.
Quite a solo goin', love to find the bard playin' it. HEY! YEAH YOU! GOOD
WOOOOoooooooorrkkk....
Hey! My sword! I can see it. Why's it just floatin' there. Ouch! Burns my hands
when I touch it. Gonna try again!
Ouch!!! Eh, got it.
"She didn't stay when things got rough."
What? Who's that? Did I hear that?
Hey! Can't talk, huh?
What? Smells like Shark Roll...No, no thanks. I'm not hungry now.
White again. No smell, no sight, no touch, no taste. No hear.
Where?
Dragonnade:
Part Two—Resumption
Chapter
I
When he awoke, the kolbods lay dead at his feet, their heads and feet brutally
severed, their once hideous faces now indistinct from dirt in which they were
crushed.
Did I do that? What happened?
His cape was blotchy wet. Blood. Sword's got blood on it too.
Not a pretty scene.
Looks like a tiger tore through here.
Interlude
I
That was the second time it happened. Fight, then all white. When I woke up,
everything was dead.
Dmitri looks out over the sprawling green canopy of the forest, drawing his
strength from its strength. Far to the west, the last dying yellow rays of the
Sun slip beneath the rolling horizon. From this lofty perch, he sees the
silhouette of a small river of smoke sieving through the natural green velvet
of the forest roof. Hunters.
A rough, cold wind blasts his cheeks, hueing them a vibrant red. He shrugs, and
then pulls his hood over his face.
First time, I was sure it wasn't me. Me an Taffin' were in a bar...
The sun falls beneath the horizon, and the world is covered in a blanket of
darkness. Stars soon pinprick the black roof, quickly assuming their ancient
positions as constellations. "Hey guys," Dmitri whispers.
He kept complaining about the ale. Said it was watered down. Said he
wouldn't stand for such filth.
The moon crawls into view, casting an eerie shadow on things. Removing all
color from them. Shades of grey and black mingle nervously among the paler
whites. Dmitri shivers.
I told him to cool it. Said he shouldn't cause a ruckus when he had such a
high bounty on his head. He wouln't listen. Never did.
Dmitri holds his palm into the air, and immediately, a globe of fire appears,
levitating inches in front of his hand. Heat courses through his frozen
fingers, his aching limbs.
Finally, he stormed off in disgust, looking for someone to blame. I, of
course, followed. Ended up in the innkeepers face, some big Barbarian named
Trunk. Unfortunately for Taf, Trunk recognized him from a wanted poster, and
sounded an alarm cantrip. Moments later, Taf and I were face to face with ten
of Felwite's finest. They didn't even say anything when they charged in. Just
smashed through the door, surrounded us. Blood got pretty hot, so did the
medallion. Then everything went white.
He shuts his eyes, and prepares himself for another bout with the nightmares.