The Dragon Realms Saga

Dragon Realm Cypress

Elucard perched in the rafters hidden by the flickering shadows of the old armory factory. To his sides and on parallel crossbeams, hid his new Ghost Fox brethren. Like him they wore darkly dyed leather jackets and wooden theater fox masks. Their outfits were accented with white hooded cloaks that ended in a pointy, grey tail, which resembled fox tails. They chose the uniforms to stand out from the traditional Black Rabbits or ARO garb. A sight to evoke curiosity and gossip.

The veterans gathered around a fire fueled with broken furniture and debris once found around the abandoned building. The crackling flames kept the immediate area warm, while a chilled wind blew through the open windows. A small stage stood at the foot of the fire where a lone panther yikahti counted the heads of the rally participants.

Wiccer hopped to Elucard’s side. “He must be the yikahti from Bremscott’s journals.”

Elucard rubbed his hands for warmth. “Any idea who he is?”

“He carries four swords and bears a black snowflake and twin moons on his cloak.” Wiccer glanced at Lear, then back to Elucard. “Lear has never heard of such a cat.”

“No sign of Inle either.” Elucard’s tone broke with a hint of disappointment. He had hoped to come to blows with Inle, not so much for his still seeded hatred of the young shadow elf, but he had come to miss his rival. As he learned to recall his Rabbit teachings as a tool more than a shame, he yearned for more memories he could call pleasant. His old mentor, Legion, felt differently. Elucard could never tell him of his torture methods. His mentor had locked away any Rabbit teachings that Elucard once held onto. Legion was closer to Wiccer than Elucard now, and Elucard had no clue how to feel about that.

Is the Rabbit still in me? Do I want to go back to my old… familiar ways? Jetta, please guide my conscience.

“Elucard. Focus.” Wiccer pressed his hand down on the elf’s shoulder. “The cat speaks.”

“Not many of you have gathered this time around,” spoke the Collector in his raspy voice. He

paced the stage, dabbing a single claw in the air as he counted each veteran. “Not many at all. Have you all decided your cause is no longer worth the effort?”

An older veteran, one who served as a White Cloak before joining Long Whisper’s military, stepped forward. “The Anti-Rogue Ops dismantled Bremscott’s gang! They all are to be hanged in the town square by the end of the week!”

The Collector mocked the veteran with an exaggerated frown, “You were all blood and thunder about seeing your king dethroned before the arrests…”

“We still want justice for our brothers!” another veteran shouted.

“Then who of you is prepared to strike back at the Dawnedge?” the Collector roared. Another wave of silence. “There is heart here, but no soul.”

“We will fight for the broken!”

The voice cracked the rally like lightning from the rafters.

“Step forth into the light!” called out the Collector. His eyes strained to peer far into the shadows, but despite his keen senses, he only made out abstract forms.

Elucard leaped from the ceiling and stomped down onto the wobbly stage. The yikahti was a head taller than the elf. The cat’s lanky frame and many swords dominated the former Black Rabbit’s presence, but the mystique of the Ghost Fox caught the Collector off guard. The panther reached for a sword and tried to slide it from its sheath, but Elucard whipped out his ninjato slightly faster.

The Collector sneered at his own reflection in Elucard’s sword. The edge rested on the flat of the yikahti’s hand. One false move and he would leave the rally short one limb.

“You are quick, assassin, but how quick?” said the Collector, coolly.

Elucard had only mere seconds to react as a shadow descended upon him. He rolled backwards just as Inle drove his sword into the stage floor.

Elucard’s narrowed his eyes as Inle’s steel mask met his gaze. After two years, the Black Rabbits were united, but only momentarily.

“He is skilled,” reported Inle to the Collector. He stood and sheathed his blade. “I would have sliced a lesser warrior in two.”

Elucard staved back all feelings and emotions to rip Inle apart.

Several more Ghost Foxes dropped to the stage, blades drawn. Elucard inched closer to Inle, preparing himself for an all-out war. Wiccer moved in front of Elucard, holding a hand up as an act of peace.

“We are not here to fight with you. We are here to fight for you,” Wiccer said slowly.

“Forgive my haste, assassin. Your companion took me off guard.” The Collector nodded.

Wiccer lowered his sword to the ground and knelt. “We wish to fight for the broken and

abused.”

“What do you call your clan, Assassin?” the Collector asked.

“We are the Ghost Foxes. We will take the weight off our veterans to deal with the throne, provided….”

“Provided?” Inle asked, enticed by the prospect of the Ghost Fox’s request.

“You bring us into your fold,” finished Wiccer.

The yikahti snickered, showing off a wide smile of fearsome teeth. “Our fold? What is your angle Ghost Fox?”

“What is your angle, cat?”

Inle drew his sword again.

“No.” The Collector gestured for Inle to back down. “Very well. You wish to join our organization? Then you must work, Cunning Fox.”

Wiccer crossed an arm over his chest in a salute. “What do you ask from us first?”

The Collector smiled. He paced around Wiccer as other Ghost Foxes watched with weary eyes. Finally, the yikahti spoke again, “Koda has a treasure caravan approaching Lost Dawns from Sparrowport. The funds are to supply his military. Rob the caravan and redistribute the wealth.”

“For the people.” Wiccer nodded.

“Indeed.” The Collector grinned.