Disjointed Melody

The large reptiloid pulled the cloak he had found around himself. It was a bit of providence that he had found a cloak big enough to wrap himself up in among all these mammals. The rain was coming down in sheets, as it usually did in Vulane, and if he didn’t stay warm he would die very quickly. 

It was providence that he had escaped from the fighting pits too: he and the black bear he had been fighting crashed through a wall into a clock shop with a startled raccoon within. He’d taken the opportunity and ran into the night. 

Beneath his massive cloak the longsword the reptiloid had been fighting with was concealed. It was a bit smaller than the greatsword he favored, but it was a well forged and practical weapon. Other than the sword crudely fastened to his side beneath the cloak, Draknor only wore a loincloth, the bracers, and greaves from the arena. 

He was sure he was being sought after, he was a prime investment, a gladiator with many victories under his belt. His previous captors… he refused to say owner, was probably searching for him. Many others involved in the pit fights probably wanted to poach him for themselves. 

This town was run by criminals. 

Sure there were watchmen but they only operated in certain areas, and were most likely in someone’s pocket. 

The reptile flattened against a shop wall as a pair of drunken stoat sailors passed by him: carousing and singing lewd songs. He looked down the alleyway. Mad gibbering badgers, hares, and dogs lined it, their once proud surcoats dirty and torn. They were once Paladins it seemed. Now they were madbeasts. 

The great reptile drew in his breath. He had to escape from this place, he stuck out too much, though he felt he shouldn’t leave without his sword. His OWN sword - the one memento he had of his life before - not the one he currently held. Long before he had been tricked into slavery and forced to fight in the pits he was a wandering blade. 

Draknor. 

Some called him “barbarian.” 

Many mammals compared him to the ravenous Sh’ra that had recently invaded the Southern continent, but he had as much in common with the Sh’ra as a badger did a fox. 

But before he was a wanderer he was a warrior of his people. They were so few now. 

Taking a deep breath Draknor trudged down the alley listening to the madness of those within. His sword, did they still have it? Was it a trophy on a wall? It was too fine a blade to melt down, and too big and heavy for most mammals. Or were they trying to unlock the secret of the gem in the pommel? 

For the last reason he was loathe to leave without the weapon, but trying to retrieve it would be difficult even for him. 

Draknor exited the alley and huffed, he struck out to where he hoped would be the outskirts of town - choosing a direction and heading as straight as he could. He hadn’t had time to acclimate to his surroundings, as his captors usually kept him blindfolded between fights underground or drugged if he was to be relocated. He didn’t know where he was going, but the town had to empty out eventually... right? His only choices were to strike out into the woods, or stowaway on a ship. 

As Draknor walked - avoiding the crowds of well-dressed mammals, clowns, gibbering creatures, and even a roving gang of orphans who marveled at him - he saw a male rat walking towards him. 

The rat caught his eye - he seemed serious and determined... and trying to be nonchalant as well. Draknor considered changing direction, but instead set his jaw and continued on, hoping he would avoid drawing attention to himself. 

The rat’s fur was brindled, his blue eyes tinted red, his tail twitched behind him as he walked. His muzzle set in a determined look. They passed each other, and Draknor noted a look in the rat’s eye: he was focused on a goal. 

Draknor paused and looked back, the rat had also slowed to look at him. The two regarded one another with uncertainty. A slight move from both as their hands moved to weapons, but neither drew.

Finally after the long silence the grizzled rat spoke. 

“I’m not after you.” 

Draknor snorted. “Then we have no quarrel.” 

“Seems so,” the rat replied with a twitch of his tail. “I have my own problems.”

“As do I, mammal,” Draknor replied dryly. “It seems this entire city is a problem.”

The rat huffed his ears flattening against his skull, “Yeah, you’re telling me. Best to focus on our own problems.”

“Hurr,” Draknor grunted. “Then it seems we shall part ways, mammal.” 

The rat paused and scratched his chin. “Name’s Skreet, actually,” the rat said. “What’s yours?”

“Draknor,” came the reply.

The rat examined the shawl the reptiloid had on. He could see the studs in the leather armor beneath. 

“Are you that escaped gladiator?” The rat asked.

“Does it matter to you?” Draknor growled.

Skreet shook his head. “No. I’m after an insane cat. A ‘feline’.”

“I think there are many here that fit that description,” Draknor replied.

“I’ve noticed,” Skreet replied. “Makes my job harder. Much harder.”

Just then, a troupe of acrobatic squirrels tumbled by without uttering so much as a word to either. The two males were nonplussed at the performance.

Draknor’s tail thumped the ground. “Do you know the way out of here?”

“Haven’t been here too long myself: A week or so. I know the way to the harbor.”

Draknor considered it. It would be wise to leave, but then he patted his right thigh where his trusty greatsword used to be. Additionally, the docks were risky, he could be captured again by the powerful magic users who resided there.

“I know some of the districts,” Skreet said after thinking for a moment. 

There was a commotion from the market as a cloaked figure weaved through the crowd and scrambled up a wall to a rooftop. The figure drew back her hood to reveal a ferret beneath. She blew a kiss to the armed pursuers, likely hired muscle of some rich benefactor, before escaping. 

“That’s… that’s Farah!” Skreet exclaimed.

“You know her?” Draknor rumbled.

“I know of her. Famous thief.” 

The hired goons were trying to catch their breath as they grumbled about not being paid enough. They paused as they passed Draknor. One of them, a wolf, stopped in his tracks as he scrutinized the huge reptiloid. 

“Hey! It’s that reptile!”

“Selthia’d pay good to see him back in the arena!”

Draknor hissed as he drew his arena longsword. The thugs all drew various weapons, they were an assortment of canines and felines and a few rats. Six altogether. 

Skreet was being ignored, the detective rat cracked his neck before drawing a pair of fighting sticks. Draknor growled at the rat, seemingly choosing to stand against him.  

“Hah, seven against one! Come quietly,” the wolf gloated before he was struck upside the head by one of Skreet’s sticks knocking him out cold. 

“Five against two,” Skreet corrected.

Draknor gave the rat a nod as they took position, covering one another’s backs. A coyote with a falchion moved in swinging for Draknor, the experienced fighter deflected the blade easily enough and countered with a kick that sent his assailant flying backwards, the wind knocked out of him.

Skreet meanwhile was facing down a fellow rat who was armed with a hatchet.

“You’re gonna wish you threw in with us mate!” the rat snarled as he moved in with a downward chop of the hatchet. 

Skreet was ready for it - one of his sticks struck the wrist holding the hatchet, redirecting the blow and also forcing his opponent to drop the weapon. His second stick was already in motion hitting the rat in the base of the neck.

The rat cried out in pain from the quick strikes before Skreet delivered two more blows to his right shoulder and left knee. The hatchet rat was down in the muddy street.

No sooner had Draknor kicked his foe back then he found himself beset by another foe, a bobcat had crept to flank the reptile and thrust with a gladius for Draknor’s side. 

Draknor deftly parried the blade and followed up with a diagonal cut of his longsword, catching the bobcat unaware. The feline yowled as the sword split open his cheap light armor and torso. The feline doubled over, blood mixing with the rainwater and mud.

The coyote had recovered by then and he unwisely launched himself at Draknor falchion flashing upwards for the reptile’s throat. Draknor moved back, raised his sword and delivered a series of devastating chops. The coyote warded off the blows before being forced to his knees and his arm buckled from the offense, his guard dropping and the deadly weapon found its mark. 

Skreet meanwhile was avoiding a dagger meant for his belly being wielded by an imposing Serval. The rat turned the dagger aside with one of his sticks before giving the serval a bash to the snout with his other stick. Skreet pressed his advantage and delivered a strike to the ribs and torso and the serval went down.

Skreet turned to assist Draknor who was being set upon by the last ruffian, a rat with a mace. Draknor caught the haft of the mace on his blade as Skreet moved in and kneecapped the rat.    

The fight was over, and the rat and reptiloid regarded one another.

“Is this common with you mammals?” Draknor rumbled.

Skreet twitched his tail. “Ehh, depends where you are. We’d better make ourselves scarce. Everyone’s watching now. Follow me.” 

Draknor found himself following the rat’s lead. Skreet spoke. 

“You know, maybe we should stick together. For a time at least.” 

“Agreed,” Draknor grunted. 

“A gladiator and a detective. I think this is the start of something interesting,” Skreet chuckled. “So, the docks then?”

“Let’s just get somewhere out of sight for a bit first.” 

From afar a ferret watched them run after observing their unique fighting talents. 

“Interesting.” 

Farah the ferret thief wasn’t the only one that had taken an interest. Vulane was a place of interconnected strings, and all of a sudden a few started strumming.