Several hundreds of ships visit the City of Padstow every month -- cargo ships, passenger ships, occassional war ships, not to mention pirate ships. It would seem that Lord Willelm, Marquess of Padstow, and his subjects do not discriminate. If it was a sea vessel whose captain could pay the dues imposed by Lord Willelm himself, then it would be welcomed in the city.

Padstow was not a small city. Despite its apparent distance to the capital, it could generate a sizable revenue due to the sheer volume of sea vessels. There were four districts that divide the city -- the port district to the east facing the Great ____ Sea, the market district (where one could find a combination of stalls and white two-storey concrete buildings) occupied the area after the port district, the residential district was west, and the residential district for nobles and rich business owners was north of the market, up on a hill overlooking the city.

The market at Padstow was the busiest in all Adalind. It was where products from all over the continent, and across the sea, could be found. Padstow was even known as the city that had it all. There was nothing that could not be found in Padstow.

Such was true for Catarina Frost.

The biggest fish of them all - The Dragon - appeared at the Fisherman's Hall, a cheap tavern frequented by pirates and other characters with questionable moral standards. The information she bought was true, after all.

Catarina leaned back, hoping the shadow at her corner table would hide her. There were about four empty tables and six, including hers, that were occupied. It was not the best night for the tavern. Neither was it for her. She pinched a bite from the stale bread served an hour ago, then dunked it into the tankard of sweet light Ale before thoughtfully nibbling on it.

Any or all of the patrons might be part of the target's crew. She could not act. Not yet. It was best, perhaps, that she study her target. Find that moment of vulnerability, then strike.

Contrary to popular stories and the lists of horrors attached to Wanted posters, The Dragon wasn't a monstrous man, wasn't obviously strong or heavily scarred or missing any limbs. Were it not for the layers of mismatched, weathered, highly expensive clothes and handfuls of glinting rings he might have blended in easily among any crowd. The only accuracy in his identity was the tattooed pattern of lines on the back of his hand -- the constellation from which he took his name. With this hand he scribbled numbers on a curled page of parchment, sitting alone at a sticky table on the grayer side of Padstow.

A wooden cup of ale appeared at his elbow, and above it the bartender gave him a tired look. "If ya ask me you kin sit here an' buy drinks all night -- but there hasn't been a ship since this mornin' -- who'd you say's supposed to show up?"

The Dragon finished writing another equation, then with a released breath leaned back, an elbow over the back of his chair and the pen dangling from his teeth, to peer up at the bartender. "Say a great fortune fell into your lap," he suggested hypothetically, waving the pen at the bartender, "but it had an old curse on it that'd drive you mad and to death. What would you do, Bonesy?"

The bartender puffed his chest and replied immediately. "Nothin' too foul fer my family, Sir! I'd take that fortune, Sir, and exchange it for clean money, an' give it to my wife an' my girls, and I'd go happily suffer whatever curse's waitin on me!"

The pen waved thoughtfully between the Dragon's teeth, and he grinned a little. "That didn't occur to me," he admitted. With a final decision, he slid a few coins under the empty cup and got to his feet, rolling the parchment between ringed hands. "If a snake-faced lady shows up, tell her the deal's off," he said while he strode out of the tavern, much to the confusion of the bewildered barkeep.

The air outside reeked of old fish and crusted salt, and the sky was turning blistered shades in preparation for evening. The Dragon moved quickly through the mud and stones, dodging a goat and a cart, headed into a back-alley shortcut to the docks and the ships tethered on the gray cove below.

When one talked of the Dragon, one was talking about destruction and despair -- of women taken against their will, daughters sold to the highest bidder, sons and fathers whose blood painted the paved streets, and babies with their futures stolen. Nobody was exactly sure how he looked like. The posters of him actuly differ from town to town. Although if one would ask around, he was described as a monster of a man whose skin was hard as stone that no sword could pierce it, and his eyes would glow like twin suns when he was angered, then he would open his mouth and spit fire. That was how he got his name, they said.

To Catarina, he looked like a pot of gold. A big one, in fact. And she would never forget the moment she first laid her eyes on him. He was exactly how she envisioned him in her mind -- brown hair, tanned skin, cruel eyes made more cruel by a perpetual frown. A scar from the right temple to the bridge of his hawk nose and down to his left cheek bone split his face in half. While he wore propee clothes, the brownish loose fitting tunic and vest did little to hide heavy muscles.

The Dragon slammed a couple of coins on the table and yelled, "Bones!" The only feature she could not verify was the constellation tattooed on his hand, which was the real reason why he was called Dragon. Her mind was screaming at her to check and be sure, but her heart was already sure this was the man.

"Over here you lazy piece of meat," he yelled again, gesturing with a thick arm. The other patrons seemed to not mind. Maybe they were used to the commanding presence of this man. The bartender, who was cleaning up the table that, a minute ago, sat the most wanted fashion offender, visibly sighed and left what he was doing. Catarina thought this had got to be the man.

The moon was full and bright. It cast its pale light even on the darkest of the alleys between two warehouses near the docks. Then suddenly the sky was lit by a web of lightning. One split the sky and zapped its way to the earth, lighting up that space in between two warehouses. It cast a long harsh shadow of a woman, then disappeared as suddenly as it came.

On the ground where the lightning kissed the concrete floor was the spot where a leather glove was. Its pair was clutched tightly in the mage's hand. Her teeth gritted, she uttered something under her breath, then her hand was engulfed by blue flame.

The brown haired man at the tavern, who now lay with a broken nose and other broken bones, there was no constellation on his hand. This was not the Dragon, this was a waste of time.

BOOM

The village flashed with bright light and resounded with a deafening noise; a few small screams and more surprised murmurs rippled through the frozen villagers, all eyes on the same spot.

A cat streaked past the Dragon's feet as he stumbled back to the entrance of the alley to see what had happened -- but from this angle, with so many gawkers standing in the way, there was no way to tell. He looked back through the narrow alley toward the ships at the dock, then ahead again at the thin trail of smoke winding over the heads of the gathering villagers and their carts and fish-barrels.

Curse his curiosity.

He sidled forward, blended with the crowd, slowly made his way a bit closer so he might see -- a woman with a blue fiery hand, standing over a smoking crack in the concrete and a twitchy brute he recognized from the tavern. It seemed he'd missed a fight.

"Am I speaking with the Dragon?" A tall, thin woman in a hooded robe had approached Catarina silently, and she now stood over the broken brute with a small package secured tightly across her chest with a sling. She had greenish skin, big gentle eyes, and slits for a nose. She smiled appraisingly. "I've heard much about your great power, but forgive me if I'm surprised. I'm honored, to be sure."

It was not Catarina's intention to draw attention to herself, but calling forth lightning was not as discrete as she would like it to be. By the time she realized her mistake, there was already at least a dozen pairs of curious eyes looking for the next juicy story. She unclenched the fist that was engulfed in flames to let the ashes of the glove fall to the ground as she extinguished the bluish flame.

"Let this be a lesson," the mage said raising her voice. There was no point in hiding ot running away, she thought. It would only make her look a lot like the offender. Although she hoped that nobody alerted the city's constables. "For any of you who has ever thought of assaulting a woman in the dark." Thankfully the fake Dragon was still unconscious. Murmurs rose from the small crowd. It was time to make her exit, but then someone approached.

"Am I speaking with the Dragon?"

It took Catarina a few moments to understand that the woman was talking to her. In her peripheral, two men broke from the crowd and ran towards the fake Dragon, calling him "Boss." Catarina couldn't care less about the minions taking their boss away. She was focused on the face that managed to look both human and not.

"I've heard much about your great power, but forgive me if I'm surprised. I'm honored, to be sure," the green-skinned woman said. That smile on her thin lips made the mage uneasy.

"I could be," Catarina shrugged. She pulled the hood of her cloak over her braided blonde hair. What could she gain by pretending to be the Dragon? Perhaps she would find out soon enough. "Come, let us talk somewhere with a little privacy."

She led the way back to the tavern where he spotted the fake Dragon. Furtunately, the table at the far corner of the room was still available. She took it, then gestured to the bartender. "Two of your house blend," she ordered.

Catarina turned her attention back to the woman. Under better lighting, she could see that the stranger oddly resembled a snake. She was half expecting a slender tongue would peek from the woman's lips. "I hope you drink ale. This place might not look the part, but they serve good ale. You are not from around here, are you?" Catarina made it sound like an accusation. "And why did you think I am Dragon?"

Everyone knows that the Dragon was a man. The posters did depict a sketch of a man, but then again, she had just made a mistake because she relied on the wanted posters. Perhaps she could learn from the stranger. Perhaps the stranger knew something about the Dragon that Cataria and the rest of the kingdom missed.

The bartender opened his mouth, intent upon something he meant to say upon meeting the woman with the snake-face -- but his words and his resolve quickly failed him when faced with the two women, and he fetched the drinks instead.

The woman, meanwhile, followed with silent grace, and took a seat with an air of precise certainty. "I do enjoy a good ale now and then, thank you. We don't usually have such beverages in Maruiin. I find it pleasant." As she spoke, she removed the sling from across her chest and placed it carefully in her lap. She laid a hand over it protectively, and she smiled.

"The fire in your hand," she answered the last question simply, watching Catarina with steady eyes. "The broken stone, your quick defeat of an enemy that, if I may, by appearances should have bested you. The Dragon, as I was told, holds fire, destroys anything with a touch, and though by appearances may seem insignificant ... has never lost a battle. There are many accounts of the Dragon's description, but I'm very willing to believe there are some witnesses who will refuse to attest they were bested by a woman."

She gave a warm smile and thanks to the bartender as the mugs were set down. While the bartender blushed and scuttled off, the woman took a small sip and licked froth from her lip. "I've brought my part of the bargain," she mentioned offhandedly -- though now there was a slight guard to her voice. "Do you have yours?"

The Dragon, meanwhile, had noticed the interception of his intended guest. While lackeys exclaimed over their broken 'Boss' and the onlookers one by one decided they'd seen nothing, he studied the tavern door in a silent debate.

On one hand, he could just leave as he'd intended.

On the other...

"... Shit." He crept around the corner of the tavern, and though he couldn't see or hear anything inside, he waited for the inevitable.

Maruiin. She heard of such a place before, though the mage couldn't quite recall where it was. She was distracted by the grace that accompanied the snake-faced woman's every movement. Even the way she set the package on her lap looked like a dance. It made Catarina realize how much she lacked on that aspect.

She smiled at the stranger, but her eyes lingered on the edge of the table where the package disappeared into. "I hope the ale would not disappoint," she said, then listened carefully to the reasoning behind the conclusion that she could be the Dragon.

The snake-faced woman had a point. It could be that the description on the posters were all wrong and the Dragon was a woman, or a dwarf, or maybe a real dragon. Catarina did not think to try and track the target using means other than his alleged physical appearance. She took a mental note to do so. But thanks to the snakr woman, Catarina was a little more certain that the Dragon was in Padstow.

"Thanks," she murmured when the bartender approached theit table. Absently, she reached for the wooden mug and took a sip that was longer than that of the other woman.

"I've brought my part of the bargain. Do you have yours?"

There it was, finally, a crack on the snake woman's perfectly polite mask. And there sat Catarina who thought that the woman was a fan of the Dragon who could possibly share with her what she knew about the man, or woman. But the snake woman talked about a bargain with the Dragon. What could she be holding? Regardless, it was something the Dragon wanted.

Smiling, the mage put the mug down ever so slowly. It was easier sweet-talking men than women. This particular woman, Catarina thought, was not the type who was easily fooled.

"Ah, straight to the point. Maruiin should learn to take it slow and savor the moment." She took another long drink from her mug before she continued with as much edge as the other showed. "Will you show me. Then I will decide if it is worth what I offer."

"But before that." She raised a finger, silencing the protest that was about to come out of the other woman's lips. "Another round here, please," Catarina called sweetly to the waiter.

The woman -- who had very specifically avoided her own name -- raised her head very slightly, a keen stare settled on 'the Dragon.' Her gaze didn't falter, even when the bartender returned with a second set of mugs and left again.

She smiled sweetly. "Of course. It is only good business to validate authenticity before settling an agreement. I trust you will do the same."

With quick dexterity she unlatched the pouch in her lap, and she placed a hand-sized wooden box in the middle of the table. It was made of a fine wood that shone with expensive taste. She lifted a delicate silver chain from around her neck, and with its little key she popped open the box.

Inside were layers of silk and plush, and a marble that swirled and glowed a haunting violet. The longer one looked at it, the deeper it seemed -- as if every answer to every question were hidden in the violet chaos inside that little ball of glass.

"Pyre's Fortune," the woman introduced her prize, while violet light cast shadows on the table and their drinks. "Kings and empires rose and fell around it. The luck of the gods -- riches and victory -- in exchange for the horrors in the night."

The box was closed with a snap, the key returned to her neck. Her smile hadn't wavered. "Of course, I would like to see the map. If you don't mind."

She hadn't touched the second mug.

The second round of drinks landed on their table without a fuss. Neither of the women bothered to thank the bartender. The mage could not talk for the woman, but Catarina was filled with curiosity as to what the Dragon would bargain for. She held the woman's steady gaze with cool confidence while she waited for the big reveal.

It did not take long though before the thin line of the woman's mouth relaxed into a semblance of a smile and she presented the contents of the pouch. It was a finely made wooden box with smooth edges and a tiny hole where the woman's special key fit in. The snake-faced woman, who refused to touch the second mug, unlatched the box then peeled the silky layers of protection inside to reveal the Dragon's desire. The mage's eyes widened.

"Pyre's Fortune," she whispered just as the woman announced what it was. Te mage involuntarily grabbed her second mug then she took a swig.

The Academy at Aldcourt was where she first heard of the artifact. It was said to be in the posession of the Emperor himself, guarded by his elite circle of mages, the Golden Shield. There was also believed that it was the sole reason why a human was at the throne. No way could it be the real Pyre's Fortune. And if it were, then perhaps she was looking at the next biggest bounty.

Catarina leaned back shaking her head. "Forgive my bluntness, but that couldn't be real," she said in a matter of fact tone. Her mouth was set in a hard line while she fished for a couple of coins. "I'm sorry, but it felt like I wasted my time. It was nice meeting you, though. Please enjoy drink, but please excuse me."

She got up from her seat and went to the bar where the bartender was wiping plates. Tired eyes looked up from the plate. "Here," she slapped the coins on the table. Normally, she would have called the bartender to the table then pay, but she was eager to be away from the snake woman. She did not trust the stranger.

The bartender picked the coins on the bar, then nodded. He was about to turn his back, but he hesitated and did face her again. "A man in expensive clothes said to tell the snake-faced woman that the deal's off," said the bartender. "Tell yer friend, he said so." He jerked his chin towards the woman.

Catarina's ears perked up. "He?" Her eyebrows rose in curiosity. "What does he look like."

"Like jus' another man, madam. Brown hair, green eyes. Though ye kin spot him 'cause of his odd clothes." She nodded, then tossed another coin at the bartender's direction.

"Thanks," Catarina walked from the bar, but as she passed the snake-faced woman, she said, "The deal is off."

The snake-faced woman maintained a serene smile, and she finally raised the second mug to her lips while Catarina excused herself to the bar.

Upon her companion's brief return and subsequent departure, the woman very simply placed the mug back on the table, rose delicately out of her chair, and plucked Pyre's Fortune out of its comfortable encasement. She stepped away from the table and faced Catarina's retreating form -- still wearing the same gentle smile. Her other hand balanced the hilt of a thin blade.

"It appears I was mistaken," she called after Catarina.

All at once, the other occupants of the tavern stood, their chairs rumbling on the floor. All at once, blood spilled: all six of them broke bottles or took up the knives from their tables or their belts, and all six drove glass or blade into their own throats. Quietly, swiftly, they all sank to the blood-slick floor. Their bodies crashed into chairs and tables and thumped, grotesque, into contorted positions.

The snake-faced woman hadn't moved or changed her expression. Pyre's Fortune had already claimed a firm hold on her mind.

The Dragon, meanwhile, had found a window to peer into.

At the first sign of quiet chaos, he felt he no longer had a choice. He'd changed his mind -- that little bauble was worth far more than he'd anticipated. He pulled a roll of parchment from his gilded coat and displayed it pressed against the windowpane: a map of very old and unusual origin.

The snake-faced woman, however, was not looking at the window. She pointed her rapier at Catarina, smiling serenely.

There were a number of ways that the night could end, but none was more exciting than meeting a snake-faced woman carrying Pyre's Fortune. If it was the real thing, then here was a potential prey that could potentially be her last. Imagine how much the Emperor would pay to have the little stone returned. But first, she had to talk to people with the right connections to authenticate the woman's claims. Finding the dragon could wait another night.

The cloak she wore billowed about her ankles as she made her way to the exit. The light tapping of her boots were lost in the usual sounds of loud voices and laughter. It could have been just another night in the tavern, except that she heard the snake-faced woman's voice call after her. Did the mage think she could get away from the mysterious woman that easy? No, she didn't, but she did wish it was.

Catarina sensed magic before silence enveloped the establishment. The little hair at the back of his neck rose and she felt her boots glued to the wooden planks. She dared not to turn around when the silence was broken by one strangled cry, followed by a dull thud. Several dull thuds.

When the last man fell, and she saw red from the corner of her eyes, the mage slowly turned around. The face that met yer hazel eyes was calm and seemingly pleased. All around them were dead and dying men. The bartender, Catarina noticed, was slumped on the bar with the edge of a knife barely visible behind his head. This was the work of Pyre's Fortune, no doubt. No mind mage could have done such damage at such a short period of time. But how did it end up in the woman's possession? Nevertheless, she needed to get her hands on that thing before the Dragon finds it.

Catarina drew the two short swords strapped at her waisĺ. Rune gleemed as the swords were freed from their confinement. She pointed one at the stranger as Catarina smiled back. "I was going to let you walk away," she said then paused. A movement on one of the windows caught her attention.

The snake woman missed it. There was something pressed on the window, something that the stranger might have been looking for. And the one holding it, if she was not mistaken, was none other than the Dragon himself.

The smile on the mage's face faltered. She glanced quickly at the window then back at the snake woman, and made a hasty decision. A spell circle appeared at her opponent's feet, then the floor boards cracked and broke as the earth beneath them crept up her boots to restrain her movements. Just then, Catarina made her move aiming for the hand that held Pyre's Fortune.

"You forget, my dear," the woman said with an easy smile. Pyre's Fortune cast a haunting violet glow on her slitted face. "Luck itself is on my side."

The earth and splintered wood around her boots dried and crumbled away.

Catarina's skilled and precise lunge ... missed. As if her target had moved suddenly, the mage's best efforts were made to seem the fool's effort. Through spell and stab, lunge and strike, the most improbable outcomes again and again made the snake-faced woman appear untouchable. "You don't have the map. Do you." Her smile hadn't faltered. She turned Pyre's Fortune in her fingers. "I suppose I don't need you then."

The door slammed open with a sound like a gunshot. The Dragon -- in his gold and weathered silks and graying lace -- stood grinning terribly, the map rolled in a glinting fist. "Ifrit!" he greeted the snake-faced woman.

The woman tilted her head slightly, her smile thoughtful. "Ifrae," she corrected him gently -- and she returned her eyes to Catarina with a beautiful smirk. Luck would always love her, as long as she had Pyre's Fortune -- and Luck had brought her the map she desired.

The Dragon held the rolled map close to his chest, his eyes steady on Ifrae and his grin unchanged. "I'm not about to get into range while you're holding it," he called across the tavern at her -- and his eyes shifted knowingly to Catarina. "Once it's back in its box, we'll talk."

"Just one more loose end to tie up, first," Ifrae begged charmingly, and with a glance at Catarina she willed that it would suit her very much if the mage simply ended herself in that moment.

((this is late bc I wrote myself into a corner, hahaha. Feel free to conclude as you see fit!))