Runaway dragon – Chapter 2

The sweep isn’t being as fruitful as Eyren would’ve cared for. Having spent several days across the lanes of Kambaresa, reviewing taverns, market visitors and rattling with a number of laborers, her results are fairly lacking. There’s been nothing specific of use that has come up, and though she did stumble across an individual who contended that he spotted a pair of dragon horns, Eyren wouldn’t pin plenty of faith on him, mainly influenced by that he was fairly drunk at that point. Then again, a drunkard’s vagaries is all that she has to go on at this point, which concerns her. She’s traditionally quite a decent hunter, but her fields of foray trend towards including animals and Herdbrand, not people. Maybe it’s time she starts moving on, see what she might attain in the next town over.

As of this moment, she’s remained in her room at an inn that she’s rented the past couple of days. Simultaneously, Razz has been stationed temporarily in a stable, mainly on account of that this is how she has to operate in cities. She’s not hugely fond of it, as splitting from her close friend during any parts of her travels is something she’s averse to, but no innkeeper would accede to a raptor being billeted in a room, no matter how tame Razz is.
To distract herself, Eyren is sitting by her bed while reading a book that she acquired in a northern city some months past. It’s a piece of literature about the alfella, a people that is said to have lived in ancient yore. One shouldn’t mistake the tome for verifiable history, though, for such elements do not exist. They’re said to have been a long-eared and magical people who once inhabited the northern regions, partially underground, and cooperated with humans up there to show them the way of survival in the cold and to fend off the dangers. Whether this is accurate or not is hard to say, for solely these legends persevere about them, and the only testament of their validity is spotted on people like Eyren and her own ears. Could they have been real and intermingled with humans to get offspring? If so, what does that say for specimen such as this dragon-horned lady Eyren is hunting? Did she have ancestors that were dragons, or is that just tall tales too?

Her stream of consciousness on this eve is punctuated by a level of racket beyond the door, which she would deem as several pairs of boots that strut up to it, but doesn’t pass. Shortly succeeding, she catches a knock on this opening, which negligibly troubles her. A whole band has elected to come to her directly? Who in this city would that be? Feasibly someone who’s learnt of her pursuit and stands to make a deal out of it should they carry data on the subject, but she isn’t taking that for granted. Seizing her sword, she rests it at her belt and walks up to the door. For the present, she’s only in a tunic and her trousers plus shoes, as her armor has been peeled off to lay against the floor.

Unlocking the entrance, she only slides it clear enough to show her face, whilst scanning those beyond and their identities. She can distinguish loosely half a dozen characters out there, most of them armed. She doesn’t recognize any either, but they don’t cut the figure of sentries nor other officials.
“Yes?”, she asks calmly.

One at the fore, a fair-skinned man with yellow eagle-like eyes, black unruly hair and thin black beard is the one to speak for the team.
“Evening”, he says in pretty natural Ahteron. “We’re interested in the one who’s been looking for the runaway with a price on her head, named Nivra. You the one who’s been asking around?”

Arching her eyebrow and trying to run this question through her head as to what it represents, she figures it’s best to set out to be candid.
“I am. What about it?”

Surveying them shortly after this question, Eyren notes that their attires appear somewhat eastern. By the coloring and the design, particularly the longer sleeves, the intricate design on some of the pieces and not to forget the choice of fabrics, where both cowls, turbans and more flat hats are preferred, could be judged as Ahterilonan. And she can’t ignore the accent from that first man, which was clearly native to the east. The old Empire is known for its more rigid patterns and well-honed weaponry, which she can see both of among these people. She’d guess they’re mercs, since they don’t keep any explicit markings.

“Well, as a matter of fact, we’re also interested in this topic.”

“Okay…and you are?”

The man smiles a bit slantways.
“Ones who trust that we might benefit from sharing the scoop that we’ve accumulated. I figure you must be of the same mind.”

“I could be.”

“Vague, I see. Alright then. Wanna at least relay if you’ve found anything of note?”

Honestly, she would rather not, but maybe if she denies worth, they’ll just leave her be.
“About this topic? Can’t say I have. Investigated a little, but never heard anything clear.” She doesn’t bring up the drunk, but then again, even she can’t tell whether that was bosh or not.

“Well, you know there’s a lotta gitties incorporated in this deal, right? It’s kinda treacherous to go stomping ’round these parts alone. Especially with competition present.”

Eyren frowns at that, studying the group as a whole once more and takes a shot at uncovering signals that they might be seeking to break in, but while half look at her, the others seem to be focusing elsewhere.
“That’s up to me to decide.”

“It is, but if you wanna hear my take on it, it’s that those who stride as lone wolves should stay out of this and leave it to professionals. Better for you, and better for this girl’s own hopes of survival.”

Eyren snorts, and in moments, she’s getting a sense that this guy absolutely isn’t looking to cooperate, but to slash further fights for the coin that can be won.
“Fortunately, I’m not interested in other opinions.”

With her assertion made, she clutches the hem of her door and seems wholly intent on slamming it right in the faces of this gathered squad without delay. Unfortunately, the act in itself never goes wholly through, for when it’s but centimeters from sealed, a boot has poked right in, and paused her capability of cutting them off. Taking a glimpse down at it and then upwards, she gazes up into the man’s yellow vision and his head which is tilted mildly diagonally, a smirk undeniable on his lips.
“Not willing to play ball, huh? Sorry, sister, that ain’t gonna fly.”

Slinging his arm into her room, he snatches her forearm with his fingers and instinctively pulls at it with a strength that’s not half bad, but simultaneously not anything which she would regard as being overwhelming. He does if nothing else avail himself of pulling her out enough that her shoulder hits the doorframe and she loses control of the door, rendering it challenging to get it shut. To scrap his hold on her, Eyren heaves her foot and barrels it impulsively into his gut, tossing him back through the corridor behind his comrades. This is what instigates a cascade of hostility from the remaining five, where one draws his sword and the others ready their fists.

Eyren’s first defensive snag occurs already in the initial two seconds, where a fist is delivered smack-dab to her face, stinging more than a little, but she keeps herself standing. To avoid any seconds of those coming at her too quickly, she equips and lashes out with her blade, cutting at one of the arms for that person, which drives them off to retreat into the corridor. One of the four who’s still going at her appears better trained in martial arts and layers a number of kicks and fists in her direction which gets her a little stuck in a corner, but not without maneuverability. Dodging off to where her bed is, she fetches her shield from the floor and when next her opponent tries to kick at her, she blocks those bashes with ease, before pressing her feet against the floor and steamrolls forth like a battering ram, hammering this person into another comrade of theirs.

One thing which Eyren can leverage in here is that this space is pretty small and it’s practically impossible for them all to go at her together, which conveys that they have to come at her in pairs or one at a time. In time, she’s gotten snared once more close to the door, but as one of the people beyond were attempting to get inside, she parries a couple of blows from another opponent who’d raised his mace and then shuts the door over the fresh entrant’s arm, making him scream and yield his own weapon in an instant.
It’s here that it must be fairly frustrating for the lot of them that three of theirs have to some degree become injured, while Eyren personally stands tall and only with minor bruises across her frame while yet able to dance around their attacks, using every element in the room to some form of gain. This is by all odds why one large lady with a hammer seeks to undo a little of these perks by smashing the door, making wooden splinters fly everywhere and Eyren to leave the vicinity of it.

The extent of Eyren’s luck runs dry not long after this. It’s after she slashes down the talker of the crew across his belly and swirls around to pierce the arm of a woman with a rapier that she finally bones it. Not keeping the greatest length of oversight for the totality of the battlefield, she overlooks the fact that the hammer-wielding woman is not far behind her and its weighted hide slams right into Eyren’s shoulder. Fortunately it’s not a full-on smack which flies into her, but enough that she can nearly sense that something in there breaks, making her gasp and stumble forward immediately into one of the walls. Had she been wearing armor, this wouldn’t have been as tough of a blow, but in this instant, she’s not at her finest.

She keeps holding the four who stick around at bay to a minor degree, but it’s the sum of her current capacity. Barely qualified to counterattack or to outmatch any of their impacts and delivered flanks, she can do little but take it. This business is looking more than slightly grim and even if Rittmark aren’t known for being insurmountable, the fact that she’s getting bested by squadron of lowlifes who care for nothing but impercesms in this scenario, well, it does mar her pride to some degree. And what’s gonna happen with Razz if she does have to pay in blood? The thought of her getting sold off, abused by someone who doesn’t fathom her particular temper, or worse, just get slaughtered for not serving adequate purpose to this town’s defenses…it’s an image Eyren can’t stand.

And so, whatever wish for a salvation that had been cropping up in the back of her mind and sent out into the ether of the world somehow gets answered. Eyren has never believed wholly that fate or luck were elements that one can affect, for that’s what they’re taught in the north. It moves via its own whims and creeds, and no matter what you think, it won’t be help by you simply begging it on your knees. So, what’s the point in wishing for its mercy?
And yet, Eyren can’t help but sense she’s done something to move it in her favor when another figure whirls through the broken opening and clips into one of the fighters. Not Eyren, though, but one of the mercs. First off, Eyren is scarcely able to pick up what precisely it is that takes place, for she can only spot in the corner of her eye how an arrow of a person flies in, spear in hand which they employ to impale one of the four who’s standing. This not only induces a scream from him as he’s shoved into a wall, but draws the eyes of his fellows who hadn’t gone so far as to envision a secondary assault. Once the spear-wielder is satisfied with the opening jab, they spin around and in the midst of the pirouette clocks the blunt end over the chin of another guy, knocking him back.

It’s not solely the thugs who’re balled over by this drastic alteration in circumstances, for Eyren hadn’t foreseen it either. And with three in total injured, the mercs as well as the odds are looking highly interchangeable. Eyren isn’t slow to act on a window unclosing for her and she cuts downwards at the large hammerwoman’s kneecap, before driving her sword straight into her opponent’s side for a brief pinprick. With the clobber falling out of the large woman’s hand, and with the prospects looking a lot closer to them possibly dying here rather than coming out on top, the mercs see no other solution than the most obvious one – hightail it out of here. The four who can run do so, while the last two have to stumble forth, bloodying the floor after them, while completely disowning their weapons.

Taking a moment to breathe out in the aftermath, Eyren fails to resist the fact that she’s moderately disoriented and swamped, to the point where she rests a hand along the wall and pants somewhat severely for ten seconds. The pain which she’s been suffused with and the wounds which ranges across her body, which she absolutely cannot dismiss when she’s not injected with her supernatural capabilities, are both aspects she’ll have to take care of in time. But those will have to take a minor backseat while she confirms what in the hell went down in the room.

It would seem that the person who became her unexpected savior had the same thought in mind, for at the second where Eyren diverts her head at the final person in the room, they too face her, albeit their features are loosely obscured beneath a hood above their head.
“Hey…thanks for the save. Didn’t think anyone was gonna interfere.”

“Heh, no worries”, says the person in a voice that’s more feminine, but also notably firmer and a little deeper. “Looks like ya needed a hand back there.”

“You could say that, I guess. Dunno why it would be an issue that a stranger might feel like pitching in about, however.”

“Well, let’s just say…feel like I’m not the only person with problems from thugs in this place. And maybe ya feel like one good turn deserves another?”

Arching one of her brows as she heeds those words, Eyren can’t help but study the lady’s body further, taking in the tighter dark green clothes, the tall black boots, the red scarf which covers part of her face, plus the black hood of course, as well as the wrist and knee guards. Her frame is somewhat thinner but well-rounded, although there’s no clear outlines of further sizable muscles like on Eyren. None of these scream out loud as defining features to the same degree that the lengthy black hair in a micro-braided ponytail which reaches down past her waistline does…nor the suspicious black scaly tail with grooves and spiked knots.

“And…who are you, exactly?”

After a moment’s hesitation on whether she’s at all willing to respond to that question, it would seem this lady comes to some form of verdict that she might as well be up front, and tugs down her hood. Below, Eyren can no longer deny that suspicion lying somewhere in the recesses of her mind, for what she spies is not merely the dark brown skin, round nose, full lips and steady hazel-grey eyes of this lady, but the backwards-reaching ebony draconic horns that loom from her forehead up to the back of her head. A piercing with a silver ring rests in her left ear and it dangles somewhat when she sets a hand against her hip, while heaving her steel glaive which keeps red cloth around its ‘neck’ and lower end over her other shoulder.

“The name’s Nivra.”