Chapter One: Heir of Antiques
Brett Locute was thumbing his way through the newspaper behind the counter of his antique shop. Another day, another half a day's pay. He had begun to count the moments he had remaining in business for the day, as the sun's foot had daintily landed atop the rooftop of the market across the cobblestone street outside. Another fifteen minutes and it would be just dark enough to warrant closing shop and heading home before the streets began to swarm with the most unsavory characters of Hoax.
Brett didn't enjoy being out at night, but he did love where he lived. He adored the historical significance of his town, and treasured the testament to valuable items of a time long past that he'd inherited from his father. It was the only antique shop for miles, and as long as there were old folks with old money, he'd have just enough to keep his head above water; regardless of the steadily declining economy.
Suddenly, the entrance bell rang, and in walked a younger man, with a hood drawn over his head, which was ducked down. Brett closed the newspaper and leaned forward on his stool and placed his elbows on the checkout counter. "Hi there, looking for anything in particular?"
The young man slowed his pace and turned his head just enough for Brett to catch an eye. He was nervous…
"Oh, uh… not anything in particular, just something nice to get for my mother…" He stuttered.
"Aaaahh, your mom likes antiques?" Brett asked, standing up from his stool, placing his palm lightly on the counter instead. He walked around to the edge of the counter.
"Y-Yeah, what are some of the more pertinent things you have here?" The young man asked.
"Pertinent? You mean of historical value?" Brett asked. The day was almost over, he wasn't about to waste time with either an unsure shopper or a possible robbery. He'd placed that word in his sentence intentionally to gauge the response of his customer.
"Yeah! Valuable, she sent me in to get something no one else has, something she can brag about, you know?" The man's expression had gone from nervous to nervously hopeful. It was the look of a first time criminal that was starting to think he just might get away with something.
"Okay, well look no further," Brett said. "Does she like gold? Silver? Rubies?"
"Gold. I-I have plenty of money, she gave it to me. Just said get whatever has plenty of gold."
"I bet she did," Brett said, turning on his heel and heading for his dummy item. He'd chase the young man off if he preferred it to the smaller item that actually held significance.
He came back with a shield, and a palm sized coin. He held the coin out first. "This right here is a pretty decent chunk of history; Hoax history, if you could believe it. It – "
"-The other one."
"The shield crest?" Brett asked, following the direction of the young man's finger to the larger item in his other hand. It was a beautiful design, a stern looking sun, made of nickel, that had been painted gold, with false rubies held in the tendrils of its rays. It probably cost Brett about 5 Gold, but with it consistently aiding Brett in identifying criminals and idiots, it was priceless to him.
"Definitely, she will love that."
"Good! It only costs about-" Suddenly Brett was shoved backwards by the young man, into a shelf. The thief quickly grabbed the dummy crest and tore out the door, turning right and disappearing out of view from the windows out front. Brett stood up quickly and walked to the door, he stuck his head out and looked left, and right. "Guess I'll just have to buy another one tomorrow and rough it up a bit," he spoke softly to himself. He closed the door and locked it from the inside. He slowly dimmed the lights, chuckling to himself.
He sat back down and began to collect his things in the failing light. He'd be back again in the morning, through the day, and the next day, and the next day, and so on... But that was fine.
*Knock, Knock, Knock*
Brett looked up to see a figure at the door. It wasn't an unheard of occurrence, but it certainly wasn't welcome.
"Closed for the day, thanks!" Brett shouted from his perch. Three slow knocks came in response. Brett sighed, and walked over to the door. He cracked it open and looked around through the threshold. What he beheld then was a first.
He saw a tall man, with brown hair that was short on the sides and longer on the top. His longer hair was folded back away from his face. He had brown eyes, that stared sternly at Brett. A short beard covered his lower face, above a thick neck and muscular build. He wore a brown leather jacket, and dark gray cargo pants that were tucked into brown leather boots that had seen quite a bit of roadway in their lifetime. What Brett found so astounding about this man's presence, however, was what was in his hands. Dangling with his own feet a few inches off the ground, was the thief from a few minutes ago!
"This young man tells me he's got something of yours," The stranger said in a deep, calm voice.
"Uh, yeah, he ran off with a shield crest a few minutes ago," Brett answered, unable to remove the quizzical look from his face. "But-"
"Give it back." The man ordered. Without hesitation the thief placed the shield crest before him and Brett accepted it.
"Th…thanks?" Brett said, utterly confused. Finally he managed to snap out of it. "Did you realize this thing is relatively worthless?"
"What?" The man asked. His eyes lit up with worry. He'd risked so much, and even with success, he'd have gained nothing. He then looked to the stranger again, and back to the street, in shame.
"Don't go anywhere," Brett told him, then turned to the stranger. "You can set him down now. How is your arm not screaming from holding a person?"
"I keep my muscles busy." The man said dismissively. He lowered the man down, but kept hold of his jacket. The young man's eyes didn't lift from behind his blonde, curled hair. They did, occasionally dart toward his keeper. He was obviously afraid of him for some reason…
Brett asked them to wait for a moment, stepped inside and then came back to the door. "Did we learn something this evening?" He asked the boy. A weak nod was all he got in response. "Good, do you know what you're going to get now?"
The young man's eyes darted up in fear, he looked to Brett, then – much more fearfully- to the stranger.
"Calm down," laughed Brett. He held out his hand, and gave the boy 10 Gold. The boy took the money slowly, and stared his question loudly to Brett.
"Why am I giving you money after stealing from me?" Brett asked. The boy could still do no more than give a quizzical, untrusting look in response. "You aren't a criminal, pal. What's your name?"
"…Jonathan," replied the repentant thief.
"Okay Jonathan," Brett responded. "You look like your… I don't know, twenty? Just a few years younger than myself, and you probably didn't steal an antique shield crest because you wanted to get your mom something for cheap, am I right?"
A cautious nod came from the boy as an answer.
"So how about we just forget you did that, but no more stealing. If you are ever thinking that you're so desperate that you need to steal again, come see me here. I'm sure I can come up with some odd job here for you to get you a little money to keep you afloat until you find yourself some form of income…" His eyes then looked up to the stranger. "What's your name, sir?"
The stranger looked confused…and possibly a little angry at what was unfolding before his eyes, but answered. "Sean."
"Sean here probably didn't want to spend this much of his night with two strangers, but I'm glad he brought you back here. Come by and see me sometime Jonathan, the world doesn't have to breed nothing but criminals and desperates." To top off his speech Brett grabbed a book and set it in the boys jacket pocket. "There are some good stories in there, true stories about what people can do, even with all odds against them. Read through it and see if you don't catch a little inspiration. Have a good night," Brett finished, dismissing him.
The young man walked quickly away from the awkward scene, Brett looked around and realized night had totally fallen on Hoax now. "Hey Sean, care to have a drink?"
It was Sean's turn to look quizzical. He looked down to his chest, and then back up to Brett. "Are you always this generous?"
"Nope! But I do know that having a few sips of liquid courage helps the nerves with walking home once it gets dark in this neighborhood. Come on in," Brett said, swinging the door fully open and turning inside. He sat down behind the counter that would now serve as the tavern bar for a few drinks with this new acquaintance. As he raised his head to look, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror across the aisle, and smiled. He was proud of how he'd handled that tonight… his father would have been proud, too. He reached behind the back of his head to scratch his short blonde hair. And as his eyes trailed off he caught another glimpse of Sean in the mirror looking at his chest, and then he rolled his eyes and sighed as he looked up.
"Hey, if you don't want to have a drink that's fine, I just thought it would be polite to ask. Sean, right?" Brett asked, trying to spark up conversation.
"Uh, yeah." Sean replied shuffling with something under his shirt collar and sitting down on the other side of the counter. "It's fine, I've actually got nowhere else to be."
"Good then, you drink whiskey?" Brett asked turning around to grab the bottle that his lowest filing cabinet served to hide.
"Not picky." Sean responded. Brett chuckled.
"You don't get into a lot of conversations, do you?"
"Not the kind you'd think I would, no."
"What kind DO you get into then, Sean?" Brett asked. Sean shuffled a little in his seat, and scratched the back of his own head with a strange look on his face that told Brett he really didn't want to talk about it. "Gotcha, okay then, how'd you meet Jonathan out there?"
"Oh, I thought the kid had something I was looking for. When I talked to him, the little bastard tried to pull a knife on me. I could tell it was the first time he'd ever held it in defense, so I started asking what he was doing when I took it from him," Sean answered, rather casually.
"Poor kid, are you a knight of some kind?" Brett asked.
"…Of some kind," Sean answered. "That's actually what I'm looking for."
"Another knight?" Brett asked.
"As many as I can get," Sean answered.
Brett was growing more and more intrigued by the story Sean wasn't fully divulging that he'd completely forgotten to slide Sean the glass of whiskey. After analyzing his words for a moment he slid it over to him, and watched Sean take a sip. Brett then took a sip himself. He watched Sean's shoulders relax a little as he looked around the store, but then his eyes fell to the floor.
"Is that what I think it is?" Sean asked.
Brett leaned over the counter to see what he was looking at, and on the floor was the coin that Brett had dropped when Jonathan had shoved him. He jogged over to it, picked it up, and dusted it off. "Sure is, you recognize it?"
"I've heard about the Dragoon coins before, and I'm not ignorant to what town we're sipping whiskey in right now," Sean said. Brett let him hold and examine the coin. Sean was right. This very coin had been fastened to the very street as a monument to the area that Dart Feld had first become the Fire Dragoon over six hundred years ago. It had been replaced some years ago with statues, commissioned by the government, along with all its relatives at all the previous coin locations.
"Yeah," Brett said, when Sean handed the coin back to him. "These things are real history…. INTERESTING history, I can't get enough of all those Dragoon stories. It's a shame that all the remaining Dragoons keep winding up as politicians nowadays."
"…Indeed." Sean said. "That, actually has something to do with what I'm doing in Hoax tonight. I'm looking for someone to help me find some historical relics. I need someone who knows those old stories. I saw the Tale of the Dragoons that you put in the boy's pocket. I'm guessing you know those stories really well?"
"Like the back of my hand," Brett said with confidence. Out of all of the history of the continent of Endiness, nothing even remotely compared to the excitement of the Dragoons. Brett considered himself a touch obsessed.
"Good, think you can help me?" Sean inquired. His eyebrows were raised in a strange sort of surprise.
"What do you need to know?" Brett asked.
"Locations. I need to know where the last dragons fell," Sean Said. Brett slowly lowered his glass to the counter.
Immediately after the gentle glass-on-glass tick, Brett asked "the last dragons?"
"Well, specifically, Feyrbrand, Regole, and I'd like to know where the Divine Tree is," Sean continued. "I've got a….source… that tells me that when these immortal dragons die they leave their spirit behind, whether they choose a bearer or not. I need to verify that."
Brett was staring Sean intensely in the eye… he wanted to find Dragon Spirits? Why?
"Yes, I'm looking for Dragon Spirits," Sean said. He then reached behind his shirt collar and pulled out a necklace with a gray-green orb on the end, divided in the center by a red, reptilian slit. "More than what there were at first."
Brett was dumbfounded. "I-you…we want- you.. YOU want me to tell you where to find Dragon Spirits?"
"I don't recall stuttering." Sean answered.
"How would you think there would be a spirit to find?" Brett asked.
"Simple… I've already found one, it's what I came here looking for. " Sean pulled a different orb out of his jacket pocket that shimmered with a bright violet light, dimmed in the center by a black dragon's pupil.
Brett was desperately trying to process the portents of this experience, and found himself filling his glass far taller with whiskey than the first time. He took a large gulp, and pointed to what looked like the Violet Dragoon Spirit. "May I?"
"Certainly," Sean said. As he turned his palm over and dropped the Spirit into Brett's open palm the entire store lit up with brilliant light. "I've found the spirit, and I just found him a bearer."
Brett held tightly to the Dragoon Spirit. It was buzzing in his palm, and staring him in the eye. He finished the glass of whiskey, poured another, and finished that one as well. When he set the empty glass down, he looked up to Sean and said the only word that he could conjure up, but tried his best to form it as a question. "Explain?"
Author's Note: Hi there! Spike here returning from an 11 year long sabbatical. For any of those who would remember, my co writer Archangel and I wrote the Legend of Dragoon: The Next Generation series. If that doesn't ring a bell, don't worry. We talked recently about completely revamping the whole series, because we love what we created here, and we missed you guys. However, we felt we could do MUCH better. So here it goes, a few names have changed, and a few have been added. The scenario will be very different, and hopefully all the writing will be much faster. I'm kind of spear heading things here, but Archangel will be involved the whole way as much as he can. He's busy being an author of his own original works, if any of you are interested in checking that out, please let us know in the reviews; and please tell us what you think of this story. Thanks!