Trigger Warning: This backstory involves depictions of extreme violence (she is an assassin after all).
Dragonett was born to Wood Elf parents, who had originally been part of the small Elven community of Silvi located in the far northeast of Cauldomo, near the border of greater Galik and closer to Abzcar Canyon than most were willing to travel. The Wood Elves tended to keep to themselves, focused on self-sufficiency and fending off the raiding bands of gnolls that would pour from the Canyon foothills. Following a plague outbreak in 850 PR, or about 20 years before Dragonett was born, the Wood Elves decided to cut off all communication with the small human population that surrounded them and forbade any member of the village from interacting with them.
“But we make our living from them,” complained Dragonett’s father, Peren, to the village elder. Peren’s skin was tanned with a hint of green and his brown eyes and copper-colored hair complimented the colors of the forest that surrounded the village. “We’ve been the liaisons between Silvi and the local human villages for centuries.”
“And you know what that interaction has brought upon us,” the wizened elder responded. He was stooped with centuries of life and his face was covered with wrinkles. “There are so few of us left.”
“We don’t know where the plague came from,” interjected Dragonett’s mother, Lia. Her long black hair was braided into a ponytail and lay on the copper skin of her neck. Her hazel eyes flashed. “None of the human villages were affected like we were. It could have come from the gnolls, or perhaps it was a curse from Xevriss himself.”
“Invoke not his name!” shouted the elder, wincing at the reference to the legendary orange dragon. “If it was a curse, then it was for interacting with the humans. We must tend to ourselves and none other.”
“But we depend on the humans for trade,” Lia pleaded. “Where will we get our rare herbs? Without access to the outside world, Peren and I are useless to the Elves.”
The elder shook his head. “Our decision is final. If you leave Silvi, then you leave it forever.” Peren looked to his wife of three centuries and together they made what they would laugh at later as a very hasty human-like decision.
*********************************
Two decades later, the elven girl who would become Dragonett was born - in the year 871 PR - on a small farmstead located halfway between the Wood Elf village and the nearest human farming hamlet of Toohey. Her parents had only fleeting interaction with the Wood Elves of Silvi, mostly by supplying black-market items that were smuggled back into the village. The majority of their interactions were with the local humans, as Dragonett’s parents provided the services of a hedge wizard and a hedge druid to whoever could barter for a minor spell or potion.
Dragonett’s youth was spent as one would expect of a child growing up on a meager self-sufficient farmstead. In addition to her daily chores, she learned common and elvish from her parents and practiced archery with a shortbow that fit her still-growing frame more like the longbow fit her mother’s. They did not prosper, nor did they starve, and the slow flow of years saw Dragonett grow to be a healthy -if impetuous- young elf maiden with copper skin, deep brown eyes, and flowing raven-black hair.
This idyllic peace was broken shortly after Dragonett’s twelfth birthday with a sudden ferocity. “Get into the loft,” her mother commanded, bursting through the front door.
“Why?” Dragonett responded, looking up from the sweeping that she had been pretending to do. “What’s going on?”
“Just do it!” There was fear in her mother’s eyes and Dragonett heard sharp words being exchanged outside. She scrambled up the ladder to the loft and tried to push her hands through the roof thatch to see what was going on. Her efforts were interrupted when her father rushed through the door, slamming and barring it behind him.
“Grab the bows, Lia,” he said, pointing to the corner where both longbows rested. “Prepare yourself. They are coming.”
“I can fight too,” Dragonett called down from the loft. “I know how to shoot.”
Her father looked up at Dragonett and she was shocked at how frightened he looked. “No,” her father said. “You need to stay quiet.” He glanced meaningfully at his wife without speaking and then continued to Dragonett. “Give us your arrows.” She ran to her bunk, grabbed the quiver, and threw it down to him. Lia handed her husband one of the bows and they each took a place next to the two front windows, peeking around the frame to catch a glimpse of the yard.
“Come out and nobody gets hurt!” a voice called from outside. There was some laughing that followed.
“I told you,” Dragonett’s father responded without showing himself. “We don’t want any trouble. Just pass us by.”
“I’m going to count to three,” the man’s voice called again. “And then bad things are going to happen.”
Dragonett’s father gestured for his wife to lower her bow, which was aimed through the window. “They may just be bluffing,” he whispered to her. “I don’t want to provoke them.”
“One.”
“Please!” her father pleaded to the men outside. “We have nothing of value. Leave us be!”
“Two.”
“We should shoot now,” Dragonett’s mom suggested. “We could take three or four right away.”
“And what about the other ten?” her father asked helplessly.
“Three.”
********************************
In later years, Dragonett would remember little of the battle. In truth, she saw only one side of it - her parents firing arrows from the windows while the sounds of yelling and the incantations of spells echoed from outside the walls of their cottage. A few crossbow bolts flew through the windows and the cottage shuddered several times under the impact of a spell, but Dragonett could see nothing at all from the loft. As they fought, there was nothing said between her parents. They were methodical and unhurried as they aimed and fired, but Dragonett could see in their posture that they had little hope of prevailing. Their limited supply of arrows was soon exhausted and Dragonett knew that most of the spells they used were for healing and aid rather than retaliation. She guessed that less than two minutes had gone by before they had shot their last arrow and cast their last spell. Both of her parents pulled their daggers and backed up from the door, preparing themselves for melee. Just before the giant hairy bandit - the one Dragonett would later label as The Bugbear - smashed down the door, both of her parents looked up at her - still crouching in the loft. Dragonett saw them both do something strange. Her mother muttered an incantation and waved at her while rubbing a bit of fluff in one hand. Her father waved his dagger at her and simply said one word. “Freeze.”
Dragonett was paralyzed. She could not move or speak and she recognized that her father had cast a spell on her. All she could do was watch as the bandits quickly smashed down the door, overwhelmed her parents, and bound them to chairs. Dragonett counted ten who entered the cottage and almost all of them were wounded - a tribute to her parents’ accuracy with the longbow. One of them still had an arrow lodged in his arm. He had a bald head and had a dozen daggers in sheaths strapped all across his body. He stumbled to a corner and slumped against the wall. A ghost-white albino man started tending to his wound.
“Spread out and find anything valuable,” one of the bandits said to the others, his face was craggy and unshaven, but his long curly black hair was neatly tied up in a ponytail. His bloody hand was pressed against his side where an arrow had pierced him. The way he carried himself suggested to Dragonett that he was their leader. The others started ransacking everything.
“What do we do with Copper, Edge, Crackers, and Smoke?” another bandit asked. He had short black hair tucked under a tricorn hat. He wore an eyepatch and gestured with his thumb toward the front yard.
“What do you think, Jack?” the leader responded with a sneering smile. “We leave their corpses to the dogs and split their share.” A bandit searching near the hearth erupted into gleeful laughter at this. His messy mop of brown hair was uncombed, giving him the appearance of a madman. Dragonett broke into a sweat as one of the marauders crawled up the ladder into the loft and started searching through her belongings, tossing them everywhere in a useless search for valuables. She watched him out of the corner of her vision. He was a dark-haired man with watery eyes, a pointy nose, and buck teeth.
You look like a rat, Dragonett thought as he turned toward where she was crouched. He did nothing. How can he not see me? I’m in plain view. He even leaned over her back and she could feel his breath on the back of her neck.
“There ain’t nothing up here,” The Rat called to the others as he crawled back down the ladder.
Dragonett realized that her mother’s spell must have been an illusion that completely masked her. Since she was inside it, she couldn’t see what it was but guessed it was a broken chair or a piece of useless furniture.
“There’s nothing here either,” a man with black-brown skin called from Dragonett’s parents’ bedroom.
“They must have a hiding place,” suggested a blonde fancy-dressed man who was sitting at the dining table instead of searching. “All of these peasants do.” The funnyman who had been near the hearth laughed at this.
“As I recall,” the albino man muttered while he treated the leader’s wound. “You are a peasant yourself.” The jester laughed again - cackling insanely.
“Bah!” the pompous man replied, with a dismissive wave.
“Shut up, all of you!” roared the leader. He turned to Dragonett’s father. “Where is it?”
“We have nothing!” he cried. “We barter for food, clothing, and herbs with the locals. We have no need for valuables. Please!”
The leader turned to the hairy ogre of a man who had broken down the door. “Convince him.”
What followed were the worst moments of Dragonett’s life. Paralyzed by the spell, she could do nothing but watch as the bandits took turns beating, cutting, and maiming her parents in a pointless attempt to have them reveal the location of treasures they didn’t own. Feeling the rage boil within her, Dragonett took notice of each of these marauders, committing their appearance, mannerisms, and ways of speech to memory. She vowed revenge and tried to tense herself to leap at these monsters as soon as the spell that held her was released. Instead, the spell held. Her parents were slashed, battered, and bled but still, Dragonett was held motionless.
When the bandits grew tired and realized their efforts were in vain, they gave up torturing her parents. At a gesture from the leader, the man Dragonett would call The Butcher eviscerated both her mother and father alive. The marauders put the cottage to the torch as they departed but her parents still maintained the protective spells on Dragonett. Only after the fire engulfed the first floor did her father turn his bloody and swollen face to look at her. “Jump out of the back window,” he called to her. Compelled by this new spell, Dragonett crawled across the floor of the loft, coughing and choking on the smoke that billowed around her. She leaped out of the back window and rolled on the ground to break her fall. Finally released from the spell, she tried to rush back into the fire to save her parents, but she was blocked by the raging inferno. Soon the house was completely engulfed in flames and her parents were gone.
********************
Following the trail of smoke, human farmers found Dragonett hours later, covered in soot, ash, and dirt and wandering in circles around the yard next to the smoldering ruin of her home. For a long time, the only things she spoke were the mutterings of oaths under her breath. “Crush your skull…choke you to death…gut you…tear out your eyes…”
After burying her parents’ remains, the farmers held a short discussion and decided to return her to the wood elves of Silvi. However, as they approached the village, they were met with arrows at their feet from unseen archers instead of being welcomed. Hastily making a retreat, these farmers brought Dragonett to the small village of Toohey instead. There she was fed, clothed, and sheltered by the charity of the local trader.
It was a week before Dragonett talked to anyone. The trader, whose name was Dona, had volunteered to watch after her and was finally able to break through the silence. “I’ll give you another helping of bread if you tell me your name,” Dona said as she held a half loaf out enticingly. The human woman was in her twenties and had deeply tanned skin and hazel eyes which made Dragonett wonder if there was elven blood in her ancestry.
Dragonett shook her head, but she could smell the freshly baked loaf and her stomach growled, giving away her hunger. She looked down at the floor and muttered a word in elven.
“I don’t know elven,” the trader replied. “What does that mean?”
“Child of Xevriss.”
Dona laughed heartily. “I guess you were quite a handful, little dragon,” she said and then handed over the bread. “Then I shall call you…Dragonett.”
Yes, Dragonett thought, stuffing the still-warm bread into her mouth. The elven girl is gone…and no one shall use that name again. I shall be Dragonett and those who have wronged me will feel the wrath of the dragon.
Over the following weeks, Dragonett started working for Dona, doing odd chores, cleaning the shop, and making herself useful. Her days passed without event and she settled into a numb haze, her mind still trying to process what had happened to her and what would happen next.
“I understand there is an orphan living here,” a man said to Dona on a warm Foursday morning nearly a month after Dragonett had arrived. She was in a back room restocking some goods that had recently arrived from Galik and peeked around the doorframe. The gruff-looking man was dressed in a dark cloak and his boots were covered with mud from long traveling.
Dona nervously glanced at the back room before responding. “Aye,” she replied. “What about it?”
“I’m from Galik,” he stated. “I work for the Lord of Woodworkers, one of the Burghers that runs the city. Oversight of orphans and orphanages is under his purview and I’ve come to take the child into the care of the city.”
“First off, we’re in Couldomo, not Galik, so you’re out of your jurisdiction,” she replied. “Secondly, I thought that orphans were under the Madame of the Merciful Touch. Since when does childcare fall under woodworking?”
“I don’t understand the politics,” the man responded, putting his hands in the air defensively. “I just follow the orders that I’m given. We’re much nearer to Galik than to Nestle, so the city has been given authority over this area. As for woodworking…well, none of the Burghers stick strictly to their titles. After all, the Madame has more on her plate than just the houses of pleasure.”
“What if she wants to stay here?” Dona protested. “It’s not illegal for me to keep her.”
“Actually…,” the man started, reaching into his bag for a document, “...it is.” He handed the parchment to her and she took a moment to read it. “It’s not all bad,” he continued as he saw the comprehending look on her face. “We do compensate you for your trouble.” He took a small bag filled with coins and dropped it on the counter. Dragonett heard the sound and shuddered at what it meant.
*************************************
The city of Galik stunk of refuse and bilge water and the smell clung to Dragonett like wet clothes. She longed for the quiet peace of Toohey, but she had been a prisoner of the Home of Orphaned Children, or as the children referred to it - ‘The Hook’ - for nearly two years. The orphanage, dependent on the charity of others, was woefully underfunded and overcrowded with the unwanted youth of the burgeoning city. Children were constantly coming and going, and having been raised in relative isolation from others, Dragonett did not make friends. Instead, she quickly learned to lie, cheat, and steal to supplement her meager rations. She also learned - after experiencing a thorough thrashing - to keep a careful eye out for the headmasters while she did it. It was during one of these excursions that she made a decision that altered her path in life and made her become who she was destined to be.
“...but I don’t think I want to do this anymore,” Dragonett overheard a young man’s voice through an open window as she crept across a low roof of the orphanage toward the part of the building that held the kitchen. She paused, not because she was curious, but because she didn’t want to get caught again. It was past curfew, and she had been out at night before to steal a few mouthfuls of stale bread, but the moonlight threatened to give her away if she wasn’t careful. She hunkered down and tried not to make a noise.
“Look, you know who I work for,” a menacing voice hissed. “You know what they do, and you know what will happen to you if you make trouble. The best thing you can do for yourself is to keep your mouth shut, take the money, and we all go our merry way.”
“Except the children,” the first voice whimpered. Dragonett recognized it as the youngest of the headmasters - Marcon - the one she hated the least. “What happens to the children when they become slaves?” he asked.
“Trust me,” the other man replied. “They’re taken care of. This ain’t that kind of backbreaking labor, if you catch my gist. Most of my clients like ‘em plump anyways.”
“Oh dear…”
“Like I said,” the stranger cut Marcon off, “now that you’re in it, you’re in it through and through. And if you ain’t then you get run through, if you catch my gist.” Dragonett heard some whining from the headmaster. “You just keep the kids flowing in and I’ll take care of what flows out. Have the next batch ready tomorrow night or something will be flowing out of you, if you catch my gist.”
Dragonett heard them moving away, but it was a long time before she dared to move. Finding her appetite gone, she snuck back to her room and lay in bed, staring at the cobwebs on the ceiling as she worked through what she had heard. That’s why children keep disappearing from here. Who does the whispering man work for? What’s going to happen to the children who are leaving tomorrow night? What if I am one of them? When she rose in the morning, bleary from a lack of sleep, she decided to pack her bag for a hasty departure. If it comes to that.
When she returned to her room after a day of mandatory housework, Dragonett found Tana, the girl who slept in the bed next to her, busy preening her long blonde hair while others were gathered around talking excitedly.
“Shondri, you’re just jealous,” Tana said to a mousy-brown-haired frail girl.
“Shut up, Tana,” Shondri responded. “I just don’t understand how you got chosen first. I’ve been here longer.”
“It’s because she’s prettier,” one of the other girls sneered. The redhead had a large, bulbous nose and was horribly racist. Dragonett had not bothered to learn her name. “They always get picked first. Like puppies.”
Dragonett spoke up. “What’s going on?”
“Oh!” the redhead feigned surprise. “The elf queen speaks!”
“Shut it,” Dragonett responded and then turned to Tana. “What’s this about you leaving?”
Tana beamed and turned to her. “Yes,” she replied. “Six of us were selected to go to a party this evening. There’s a noble family that is looking to adopt children and we’re to go meet them. I do hope I make a good impression. Not that it hasn’t been nice here with you all.”
Dragonett thought that she actually meant it and felt sorry for her. “What if I told you that you weren’t going to be adopted.”
“What are you talking about?” Shondri interrupted. “What do you know about it?”
“They’re selling us into slavery for gold,” Dragonett responded. “I overheard a conversation about it last night.”
“You’re out of your mind!” Shondri exclaimed, throwing her hands into the air. “Is this from one of your dreams? You’re always screaming about bugbears and ghosts in your sleep. It wakes all of us up.”
Dragonett clenched her fists to keep from throttling the girl. “No,” she replied, feeling the anger surge inside her. “This is not a dream. This is about some group using the orphanage to funnel children into slavery.”
“Really, Dragonett,” Tana said, continuing to brush her hair. “That’s really preposterous. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were just trying to scare me into refusing this chance for adoption.”
“Listen to me…” Dragonett started.
“No,” the racist girl interrupted. “We’ve had enough of your stories. Go weave your elven nonsense somewhere else.” Dragonett glared at her, wondering how much punishment she would accept for punching her in the face. She took a deep breath and then walked away to the far side of the room in an attempt to cool off.
While she was pacing, a young blonde boy who couldn’t have been more than eight approached her. He had a birthmark across his neck that had an uncanny resemblance to a unicorn’s head. The boy must have been a new arrival since he still had baby fat around his face. “Excuse me,” he said quietly.
“What?” Dragonett snapped at him.
“Am I really not going to be adopted?”
She stopped mid-stride and turned. “What do you mean?”
“I got invited to the party to get adopted, but I heard you say that wasn’t true.”
Dragonett stared at the floor. “I don’t think it’s going to go the way you think it is.”
“So what do I do?”
She stopped and realized that she hadn’t considered that part. What should he do? What should all of them do? “Run away,” she blurted out. “Run away and don’t ever come back.”
“But where would I go?”
“Anywhere,” she replied. “Anywhere but here.”
“Are you leaving too?”
Now that Dragonett realized what was going on, she knew she couldn’t stay. “Yes,” she replied. “I’m leaving. Tonight.”
“Take me with you,” he said.
Gods be damned, she cursed to herself. What in the nine hells do I do? She stared at this little pudgy boy who probably lost his parents and his whole world just weeks before. How can I say no? How can I say yes? Deciding that the problem would resolve itself later, she made her decision. “We go in two hours,” she told him. “Pack your stuff now. When they call us to dinner, excuse yourself to use the outhouse, and meet me there. I’ll have your bag.”
Dragonett snuck out of the dormitory shortly after talking to the boy and made her way to the kitchen where she was able to steal a couple of loaves of bread and some dried fish. She hid them in a small sack near the outhouses where they wouldn’t be noticed and then made her way back to the dormitory to collect her and the boy’s belongings. When she got there, the room was empty and two of the headmasters were waiting for her.
“We heard that you were making trouble,” the fat one said. His name was Madislak, but everyone called him Madman behind his back. Dragonett hated him the most. The other headmaster was Marcon, the one who she had overheard the night before.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dragonett lied, backing away.
“You were planning on sneaking out,” Marcon said. “But we don’t care about that. It’s what you were saying that’s the trouble.”
“I won’t be a slave,” she spat. She tried to keep her distance as they closed in on her, but she could tell they were backing her into a corner.
“Well you don’t have to worry about that, elf,” Madman sneered. “Nobody wants your kind, nor half the waifs or idiots who end up here.”
“You can’t get away with this!” she yelled, hoping that someone - anyone - would come.
“Yes,” Madman replied. “Actually, we can.” He maneuvered to one side and then yelled to Marcon. “Grab her!”
Their first mistake was to believe that Dragonett was not nimble as she deftly dodged away from Marcon’s grip. Their second mistake was to believe she was not agile as she landed a swift kick to Madman’s groin, doubling him over. Their third mistake was to believe she was not desperate as she ran headlong toward the second-story window, jumping through it into the night. After a too-long fall, she landed on grass and rolled, twisting her ankle in the process. Hobbling away, she soon lost whatever pursuit might have been mounted but now she had nowhere to go and owned nothing but the clothes on her back. She found a doorway and nursed her ankle until she could walk on it and then, when she couldn’t stand shivering anymore, started to roam the streets. She wandered aimlessly, going over everything that had gone wrong. Someone had talked - most likely the boy; someone had squealed - most likely the redhead. Dragonett had been stupid and impetuous and it had almost cost her everything. A short fight, a leap of faith, and a stumbling run through the streets of the city can do wonders to start a new life. I am so screwed.
She wandered all night, sneaking from building to building and avoiding the few souls that were out on the street. She hurried when she could, hoping the exercise would fend off the chill of the night, but she soon saw that someone was trailing her. No matter how many times she turned or ducked in this street or that, her glances showed she was not alone. Finding herself in a dead-end alley she desperately looked for anywhere she could hide. She saw a second-story window shutter that was slightly hanging open and hurredly scaled the wall, nearly falling off twice before she was able to reach the window. She was barely able to squeeze herself through but finally wriggled free, falling headfirst into the room.
The space was unlit and she stumbled through, her hands outstretched. She found a small couch, low to the ground like that of a child’s. Exhausted, cold, hungry, and with nowhere to go, she curled up and fell asleep almost instantly.
***********************************
“How in Carceri did you get in here?” a voice roared at her.
Dragonett bolted upright and stumbled off the couch, putting up her hands to defend herself. The room was brightly lit in the daylight and she looked at the small, rotund boy with sideburns who had woken her. She had to shake her head to clear her vision. It was not a small boy at all. The creature was about three feet tall, but he had a round belly on him. His brown mop of hair was streaked with gray and he carried a cane.
“Are you a halfling?” Dragonett asked.
“Some balls on you, missy,” he replied, pointing his stick at her. “Ye’re in my gods-damned office sleeping on my gods-damned sofa and you’re the one asking questions? Nae. I’ll ask again. How did you get in here?”
“The window,” she said, pointing to it. “I was being followed last night and this was my only escape. I…” she hesitated before continuing. “I had nowhere else to go.”
The halfling walked across the room, not turning his back to her until he stood next to the window where she had snuck in. “That’s naught but six inches,” he said after he had looked at the shutter, pointing to the small space she had squeezed through.
“I guess,” Dragonett answered weakly. “I wasn’t measuring.”
“And up a sheer wall too…” The halfling looked at her keenly. It made Dragonett uncomfortable and she fidgeted with her crumpled clothing. “Ye say ye have nowhere to go,” he finally said to her. “No parents?” She shook her head. “Ye weren’t at The Hook, then?”
She was surprised. “You know about The Hook?”
He nodded. “I know what goes on there, too, and I’m not too keen on it. Can I take your reaction to mean you know too?”
“That’s how I ended up here,” she agreed. “I was planning on running away but…”
“But your plans went to shite and you were almost crimped by some Jack Tar as you wandered through the worst rookery of Galik?” Dragonett didn’t know several of those words, but the first part was true so she nodded anyway.
“I’m wondering,” the halfling said as he walked across the room to sit at an ornate, halfling-sized desk. “Ye’ve shown some skill that I could find useful. What I’m wondering is if ye would be willing to do a little second-story work for me and the crew in exchange for room, board, and a little something extra for your trouble.”
“You mean like climbing on roofs?” she asked, hopeful that she would not sleep in the street that night.
“Aye,” he replied with a warm smile. “And a bit more than that, but first thing’s first. He stood up and walked over to her, extending his hand. Dragonett took it weakly, but he gave her hand a firm shake and introduced himself. “Finnan Blackgallow. Rogue extraordinaire and head of the Black Brotherhood…at your service.”
“Uh…I’m Dragonett,” she replied.
“Well met, Dragonett. You look famished. How would you like something to eat?
Dragonett smiled. “I would like that very much.”
********************************
Dragonett became the newest member of The Black Brotherhood, which was a small thieving guild that focused mainly on breaking and entering jobs. She was quickly put to work getting herself into places that only she could reach and after demonstrating her skill at deftly and silently getting into and out of tight spaces, she was made to feel welcome among them. Dragonett also appreciated that they were not involved in human and drug trafficking which she learned was the territory of the Shadowguild. The Shadowguild had been the ones behind her own forced entry to The Hook and also behind the enslavement of children.
As soon as Dragonett made her first payday and Finnan Blackgallow dropped a few silver coins into her outstretched hands, the first thing she did was find a tattoo artist. Dragonett’s dreams were still haunted by what had happened to her parents. At the tattoo stand near the docks, she had ten names inked on her forearms – swearing to herself through the pain that she would ensure each of those bandits went into their grave. The names she had inscribed were the ones she had given to them: on her left forearm were The Butcher, One-Eyed Jack, The Bugbear, Knife Man, and Midnight. On her right were The Ghost, Jester, The Rat, His Royal Highness, and The Last One.
Over the following years, Dragonett learned the skills of the profession from the best the Brotherhood had to offer. Phyxias, a deft female halfling and a favorite of Finnan’s, taught Dragonett how to use thieves’ tools to open locks. Himar the Maniac, a crazed, but friendly half-elf taught her how to blend in with a crowd, carefully freeing coin purses from their owners. Smolder, a gruff half-orc, taught her how to cheat at cards, and Nendra Silvertongue, a beautiful chestnut-haired human showed her how to use weapons of all kinds. Under her tutelage, Dragonett learned the use of swords, rapiers, and crossbows, but unlike Nendra, she always chose the longbow as her weapon of choice – a skill at which she was especially adept.
Working for them, she would sneak into homes and estates all over Galik, relieving the wealthy owners of their jewelry, gold, and gems. All the while she would keep an eye or ear out for any clue as to the whereabouts of the ten targets on her arms. Over time, Dragonett became extremely adept at burgling and was assigned more and more prestigious contracts.
“I’ve got a doozy for ye,” Finnan told her one warm Tensday near her eight-year anniversary with the Brotherhood. The halfling had slowed significantly since she met him and rarely took jobs of his own, but Dragonett had seen him move like lightning when he wanted to.
“I’m up for it,” Dragonett said, feeling cocky.
“Ye are going after the Commissioner of the Docks.”
“I’m not up for it,” she replied. “Are you mad? The Commissioner of the Docks is one of the twenty most powerful people on the continent. He’s on the Council of Burghers. They run the city…and the city runs the region…and the region runs the continent.”
“I’m not mad,” he replied. “Just wanting to leave my mark before I fade away. I’ve got a lead that says five of the Burghers will be out of the city and we’re going to hit all five on the same night. It will be the stuff of legend.”
“Are you sure about this lead?” Dragonett had been burned on bad leads before but luck and skill had pulled her through. This, however, was on a whole different level.
“Aye,” he replied. “It’s from Phyxias and I’d trust her with my life.”
**********************************
Dragonett dropped to the floor of the Commissioner’s bedroom. Everything had gone smoothly, but she was on edge. This was too easy, she thought. She hesitated for a moment, thinking about just bagging the job, but she knew this was for Finnan. He needs this job to retire, and who knows, maybe I could lead the Brotherhood. She spied a desk on the far side of the room and made for it, knowing that the key to the coin chests would most likely be there. Her thoughts were interrupted by a single word.
“Freeze.”
The spell hit her like a maul. She was stuck in place and couldn’t even turn her head to see who had cast it. A person came into the room, carrying a lantern and he set it on the table in front of Dragonett.
“Too bad you didn’t see my wizard,” he said to her. “It seems the luck of the Brotherhood has run clean out. Now the Brotherhood is going to be out a sister, if you catch my gist.”
Something about this man triggered a memory of The Hook in Dragonett’s mind, but she couldn’t place it. She struggled against the spell but was still held motionless. She couldn’t even grunt in disapproval.
“Don’t worry,” the man continued. “By the time we’re done tonight, Finnan will be down to an only child, if you catch my gist.”
If you catch my gist... This was the son of a bitch at The Hook who was buying children. This is the Shadowguild!
Moments later, the Sherriff arrived and put Dragonett in chains just as the spell wore off. The Shadowguild man thanked the Sheriff for coming so quickly but Dragonett knew that the Sheriff had to have been summoned well before she had even set foot on the Commissioner’s estate for him to be there that fast.
She had plenty of time to mull over what had happened as she spent the next week in a solitary cell at the city prison. Her only entertainment was the daily hanging that happened in the courtyard outside her narrow window and that was over in minutes. As she thought through the events, she realized that the whole thing had been a setup from the beginning.
The guards, when they would exchange a word with Dragonett, confirmed what she already suspected. Every member of the Brotherhood had been caught in the act of robbing the estates of the Burghers. Every member except Phyxias, who had mysteriously disappeared. Even Finnan, although not directly involved, had been arrested and placed in a cell just a day before.
The next morning, she watched helplessly through the bars of her cell as Finnan Blackgallow, Himar, Smolder, and Nendra were all hung from the gallows, bringing the horror of her parents’ death back to her anew. Finnan’s last words, yelled as they placed the rope around his neck, were a mixture of curses toward the Shadowguild mixed with a message in theives’ cant that Dragonett understood clearly enough: ‘Traitor dead by my hands’. Finnan’s last act had been to kill Phyxias - his favorite - who betrayed him.
Dragonett did not sleep that night, knowing that the next dawn would be her last. The guards came and pulled her from her cell just as the morning light touched the top of the gallows. When the guards stopped, she was surprised to find that she was not at the gallows, but in a room with a table and two chairs. The guards set her in one of the chairs and left. A moment later, an older man who was dressed in flowing robes of silk sat down across from her.
“My name is Diero Colabra,” he said. “Does that mean anything to you?” Dragonett shook her head. “My role in Galik is the Commissioner of Docks. Does that mean anything?” Now she nodded. This was the man whose house she had tried to rob. “Am I to understand,” he continued, “that you were arrested in my bedroom?” She nodded again. “And that you either disarmed or avoided fourteen traps and alarms that were set up for the specific purpose of not having you do that?”
“There were fifteen,” she replied. “I missed the wizard.”
“So you did - but those men were not mine. Even so, that level of burglary seems quite exceptional.”
“Uh…thanks?” she replied. “Are you supposed to be complimenting thieves?”
“It depends on what they are thieving…and for whom they are doing it.” There was silence as the Commissioner gazed at her pensively.
“So…” Dragonett suggested. “What now?”
“Now,” he replied. “I have two choices for you. The first choice is that you come work for me - clandestinely and entirely off the books. You will use your skills to my purposes and to my ends.”
“So I’ll be your slave?”
“Hardly,” he replied, waving her comment away like a gnat. “You’ll be compensated. Not richly, mind you - I still need you to work - but you will be paid for your talents.”
“I see,” she replied. “And my other choice?”
“You may hang.”
******************************
Now working for the Commissioner, Dragonett put her skills to use uncovering a network of corruption, bribes, hidden tunnels, and slavery pens that lay within the city’s underbelly like a festering wound. The docks themselves were where the majority of illicit trade moved in and out of the city. Instead of taking a cut of this, like every one of his predecessors, this Commissioner was working to find and crush the ring of child slavery that thrived under the docks and throughout the city sewers. Knowing this, Dragonett was more than willing to do the dirty work.
She scoured the underbelly of the city and found who was selling children, who was moving them, and who was buying. She found out who the bribes went to, how much went to them, and what they were used for. She found out which guards and which officials looked the other way and which actively participated. And she found the pit where the bodies of starved or murdered slaves were thrown. There she saw the only thing that ever made her violently sick. Near the entrance to the pit was a pile of the freshly dead. Among them, she saw the body of an emaciated young man with a birthmark on his neck that had an uncanny resemblance to the head of a unicorn.
She reported all of this to the Commissioner who gave her more and more difficult tasks. Dragonett began breaking into the estates of wealthy merchants, city executives, and then the Burghers - but this time removing documents rather than jewelry. They finally found what they were hunting for in the estate of the Lord of Woodworkers, who Dragonett discovered was directly financing the ring of child slavery that plagued the city.
“Just turn him in,” Dragonett suggested after showing the Commissioner the evidence. “The High Sheriff isn’t taking bribes…at least not from them.”
“It runs too deep,” he replied. “I can turn in this evidence to the High Sheriff, but he owes allegiance to the High Burgher, who owes his to the Archmage of the Wizards’ Guild.”
“...who we know is a purchaser of child slaves,” Dragonett finished for him. “I hate politics. So what do we do?”
“The network of connections and corruption in this city will never result in justice.” The Commissioner stood and walked to the other side of his office. “We have to remove the head of the snake. The Lord of Woodworkers needs to be eliminated.”
“Okay,” Dragonett responded. “So get the Red Blades. That’s what they do.”
“We can’t,” the Commissioner replied, shaking his head.
Dragonett put her fingers to the bridge of her nose. She was getting a headache. “Let me guess…politics.”
He nodded. “I want you to do it.”
“I’m a thief, not an assassin.”
“I can fix that.”
Working through his connections, the Commissioner found an otherwise unassuming older woman to train Dragonett. This kindly but ancient woman - who Dragonett would have expected to knit scarves for cats - turned out to be the infamous and legendary Black Wraith. Dragonett found herself being trained by the most prolific assassin in the history of Galik. Under her training, Dragonett learned the art of disguise - not just in appearance but in voice and mannerisms. She learned forty different kinds of poison, how they work, on which races, and how quickly the victim died. She learned anatomy and the best places to hit a target so that they died instantly, bled out over a minute, or lingered in agony for hours. Dragonett spent months with the Black Wraith, absorbing everything she could, and knowing that the skills she learned would be useful not only for the Lord of Woodworkers, but for the names on her arms as well.
When the Black Wraith decided that Dragonett was ready, she departed and the Commissioner set his plan in motion. “We’ll be at the docks next Sevensday at midnight,” he explained to Dragonett. “I’m planning on constructing a new dock and we’ll need to make a large financial investment in woodworking to pull it off. That happens to be the high tide of the next full moon, so the water will be at its highest - which he knows is the best time to inspect it.”
“But how will you ensure he’s alone?” she asked.
“I intimated that a large bribe would be included. He doesn’t like to share.”
Dragonett nodded. “I’ll find a place to shoot from. What happens afterward?”
“You’ll disappear for a few months. Here.” He handed her a bag loaded with coins. “This should carry you through. When you return, the dust will have settled and we can move to the next part.”
“Which is?” Dragonett prompted.
“Premature,” he replied, dismissing her with his hand. “One thing at a time.”
On the night of the full moon, Dragonett made her way to the docks. The disguise she wore would fool all but the most thorough investigations, so she didn’t worry about a stray drunk or a passing vagrant as she weaved among the darkened streets and alleys. Once in place, she crouched in the darkness, hidden among a pile of crates and barrels. She silently unslung her longbow and waited.
She saw the Lord and the Commissioner arrive, both appearing exactly where and when they should. They walked to the edge of the pier and the Commissioner began pointing things out in the moonlight. This is for Tana, Dragonett said to herself. She pulled an arrow from her quiver and nocked it. With one long inhale, she drew her bowstring and aimed. The Commissioner leaned down - possibly to adjust his boot but Dragonett thought it was actually because he did not trust her accuracy. And this is for the little boy with the unicorn mark who I could not save. She released the arrow from fifty yards away and it flit through the night, passing through the Lord of Woodworker’s temples, killing him instantly. His body dropped into the harbor to be devoured by the sharks that prowled among the docked ships.
*************************
It had been three weeks since she fled Galik in the night. She traveled overland to Nestle, the capital of Couldomo, where she wandered from bar to bar, mostly listening, but occasionally asking about an albino or an overly hairy beast-like man. She handed out coins to anyone who would talk. Most of the information was useless. Yes, they had seen one of these people weeks ago walking through the streets, or they knew of someone who had seen this man. No, they didn’t know where he went. One person said they saw two of the same man together, and others gave a description that didn’t match any of her targets at all. Nobody had heard or seen anything useful until she found the old man. Three meads had gotten him friendly and a handful of gold had loosened his lips.
“Are you sure?” Dragonett asked. She was leaning over the table in a seedy bar near the docks, talking to this toothless man whose sailing days were long gone.
“Sure as the leaves is orange,” he replied. “Bald feller, wearin’ a bunch of knives strapped all over hisself. Looked like a damn fool.”
“Where did he go?” she pressed.
“Well…I can’t quite remember…” Dragonett sighed and passed another few coins across the table. The man greedily scooped them into his mead-stained shirt. “Ah, yes,” he replied, smiling. At least, Dragonett thought it was a smile but without the teeth, she couldn’t be sure. “I saw him get on a ship.”
“A ship to where? What dock was it?”
He pointed an arthritic finger over her shoulder and out of the grimy front window. “It was that one.”
Dragonett thanked him and quickly made her way to the docks. “Where does this ship sail to?” she asked the mate of the deck.
“Seawell,” he replied. “We leave in an hour.”
“How much for passage?”
“Ten gold,” he replied. “Plus half that for baggage.”
Dragonett walked up the plank. “Here’s your ten.”
Once she reached Seawell, the man she was looking for was not hard to find. Dragonett started by asking where someone would go who wanted to get as far from civilization as possible. Traveling overland, she found him sitting on the front steps of a small hovel that was attached to a slightly larger temple. He had aged significantly since his bald-headed image had been burned into her memory. He wore the simple robes of a monk and he looked like he had been waiting for her.
“End this quickly, please,” he said as Dragonett approached. As she got closer, there was something not quite right about him.
“So you know why I’m here?” she replied.
“Yes,” he sighed.
“Where are the others?”
“What others?” he said, confused. “It was just me.”
“There were nine others,” Dragonett replied, feeling the rage boil as she had to explain. “The Bugbear, One-eyed Jack, the Rat, the fucking Jester. You know gods-damned well which others.”
“One-eyed Jack?...” he trailed off for a moment. “Wait. Who are you?”
“I’m the twelve-year-old elf maiden who watched you and your band gut my mother and father in front of my eyes before you burned my house to the ground and left me with nothing to keep me alive except vengeance.” She pulled a shortsword from its scabbard and took a step toward him. “Now where are the others?”
“Wait!” he said, jumping up and holding his hands in the air. “I’m not who you think I am!”
“You’re the gods-damned Knife Man,” she hissed at him. “Where. Are. The. Others.”
“I’m not him,” he cried. “That was my brother! I swear it!”
“What in Hades are you talking about?”
“Wait, please! I can prove it to you.” He pulled up the sleeve on his left arm and Dragonett tensed, thinking he was going for a weapon. He froze and put out his hands. “He had a wound,” the man explained, pointing to his left bicep. “Just here. He told me an elf shot him with an arrow.”
Dragonett raised her shortsword again. “Wounds can easily be covered,” she said warily, but she was not as confident as she was before.
“If you want to be positive, we can dig up his grave,” the man replied. “He died last week. His body may still bear the mark.”
His body was a stinking mess of rotting flesh, but the brother had been telling the truth. Dragonett had cut away the worm-ridden meat of his left arm and found the tip of an arrowhead that had broken off in the bone. The Knife Man was dead. “Did he suffer?” she asked.
“Verily,” the man replied. “We were coming to the temple in hopes of a cure. I even had to sneak him aboard the ship since they never would have let him sail. He died the day after we arrived here.”
“Turn away,” she told him. When he had walked some distance, Dragonett picked up the skull of the Knife Man and set it on the ground. Then, using all her strength, she crushed it with her boot, fulfilling one of the promises she had made a decade before. The rotten brains squelched across the grass and she nearly vomited from the stench, but several deep breaths cured her of that. She walked back to the brother. “Who did you think I was?”
“Someone else,” he replied. “Someone who wants me dead.” He stopped and looked back at his brother’s grave. “I don’t suppose you could keep silent about me being here?”
“What’s it worth to you?” she asked, not caring what he did to deserve his own death sentence. Her vengeance was satisfied.
“Considering what will happen to me if they find out I’m alive – everything.”
“Then here’s my price,” she replied. “A couple of healing potions, passage back to the mainland…and some information.”
********************************
A frail elven man entered the tavern, leaning heavily on his cane. His skin was a tone of bronze and his silver hair was pulled up into a bun. He took a seat at the table nearest to the bar, which happened to be occupied by three brutish figures hunkered over a set of worn, greasy playing cards. “Just need to rest my weary legs for a moment, fellows. I’ll be on my way shortly.” He gestured to the barkeep and waved him over. “An ale for a parched throat, my friend,” he said, pulling out a coin purse bulging at the seams. The others around the table exchanged a glance and one of them giggled.
“Fancy a friendly game of cards, sage?” one of the men asked. He wore a patch over one eye and his short black hair was plastered against his head from wearing a hat all day.
“What’s that?” the old elven man said and squinted to look at the men at the table. The man on the elf’s left had his hood pulled over his face and he wore a leather apron. The muscles on his arms and shoulders suggested he was familiar with manual labor. The man with the eye patch was to the elf’s right and next to him, on the far side of the table, was another with bedraggled hair and a strange look in his eyes.
“Cards, elf,” the man with the hood said. “Do you want to play a hand or two?”
“Oh,” he replied. “Why, I haven’t played in years. That sounds like fun.”
With a smiling glance at his colleagues, the man with the eyepatch began to shuffle and deal. No one was surprised when the elf won the first hand. They seemed confused when he won the second. And they grew anxious when he won the third. Mumbling and cursing followed each loss, and the three others were growing increasingly agitated with each failure.
“Do I win again?” the elderly elf said. “What luck!” He shakily stood and leaned across the table, accidentally bumping the mug of the crazy-eyed player in his effort to pull over his winnings to an ever-growing pile.
“I think I’ve had enough of this.” The man with the apron stood up menacingly and threw his cards down. “I think it’s time some bad things happened.” He cracked his knuckles into his opposite fist. The crazed man laughed at this, taking a deep draft of mead. The man with the eyepatch put on his tricorn hat and adjusted it.
“No violence!” the bartender called, seeing what was about to happen.
The hulking man in the hood and apron scoffed at him. “If you don’t want violence, then you’d better disappear.”
“I’ll get the constable!” the bartender threatened and disappeared through a door behind the bar. The rest of the room cleared quickly.
The elf had been ignoring them and was busily stacking his coins.
“We’d best get this over with quickly,” the one-eyed man said, reaching for something at his side. “We won’t run as fast with a heavy purse.” The jester laughed out loud and started violently coughing.
In one quick motion, the frail elf grabbed a fork from the table with his right hand and jabbed it into the single good eye of the man with the patch. With a slash of the other hand, a hidden dagger cut open the midsection of the man with the apron, gutting him and spilling his insides. The laughing man on the far side of the table was now foaming at the mouth, holding his throat, and thrashing about in his chair.
The frail elf spun out of his seat, except that all frailty had vanished. The voice that he used was not the one he had used before. Speaking in Dragonett’s voice, the figure approached the blinded man, now stumbling around the room. “Tell me where I can find the other members of your crew who you ran with ten years ago.”
“I ain’t telling you nothing,” the man cried, swinging blindly at where Dragonett had been speaking a moment ago.
She used the bloody dagger in her left hand to cut his throat and he fell to the floor gasping like a landed fish in a puddle of his own blood. “Then you are of no use to me.” She turned and walked around the table and past the Jester, who had fallen out of his chair and was now scratching at his throat as his legs kicked helplessly under the table. She stopped near the man with the apron, who was rolling on the floor in agony and trying unsuccessfully to hold his intestines in. “I can make this quick,” she said to him. “Just tell me where I can find the others.”
He pulled a hidden knife and slashed at her, barely missing as she jerked away. She kicked his hand and the knife went skidding across the room. “Go to the Abyss,” he spat.
“I’m kind of hoping for Ysgard, actually,” she replied. “But honestly, with all the justice I’m dishing out, who knows where I’m going?”
He looked at her intensely. “Justice? Who are you?”
“I’m a twelve-year-old elf maiden who watched you gut my mother and father in front of my eyes before you and your band burned my house to the ground and left me with nothing to keep me alive except revenge.”
“Gods have mercy,” he winced in pain.
“They may have mercy, but I have none. Where are they? When did you last see them? What are their names? Who…” She saw him grab a second knife from his boot and she deftly jumped back, prepared for another swipe, but instead, the man slashed his own throat, and a jet of blood shot across the floor. He fell on his back and lay still, gasping, the blood gushing like a wellspring from his neck.
She waited to get up until the last twitches of movement had stopped. She carefully cleaned her boots and dagger, re-adjusted her disguise, and then took just enough of the table money to get her back to Galik. Without looking back, she walked through the back door and into the night.
*************************
Her welcome return to Galik was anything but. Within hours of entering the city, Dragonett discovered that the Commissioner of Docks had been mysteriously killed by poison. Most rumormongers blamed political intrigue for the death but with a few carefully placed questions to the right people she learned that he was killed by the Red Blades for the simple crime of assassinating someone without going through them.
For the fifth time in her relatively short life, Dragonett found herself being forced to start anew, owning only what she carried on her back. She knew she could walk freely through town. If the Red Blades knew it had been her, then she would already be dead. Grabbing something to eat from a local food stall, she ate it while she gazed at an airship floating nearby. They were everywhere on the continent now but she remembered the day when she was six years old and the first one had flown over her farmstead. Her mother and father had held her hands and together they waved to the cloud that you could ride. You will be avenged…I swear it. Four down and six to go.
She walked to the gate where the airships were floating and read the sign. ‘Tempest Brothers Expeditionary Company.’ Well, she thought. It’s as good a place as any other to make a new start.
