The Dragon Realms Saga

Dragon Realm Scorch

Three men sat around a crackling campfire as a skinless skewered jackrabbit slow roasted over the fire. A cool wind swept through the badlands chilling them through their silky garbs. The third man shivered, jingling his heavy iron chains and shackles.

Vroke stirred the campfire, watching glowing embers dance in the night like fireflies. “Sometimes I wonder where the damn heat goes when night falls,” he rotated the rabbit to inspect his handiwork, “The Badlands wouldn’t be so bad if it stayed this temperature during the day.”

Brizz threw up his hood, “Pay attention to the food and less about the weather. You’re going to burn it!”

“Brizz, brother, let me do the cooking. All you have to do is eat it and here you are, complaining already,” Vroke huffed.

Brizz looked at the third man, who was dressed in a ragged kilt and drab, gray tunic. A canvas bag was masked over his face. Brizz inspected the collar for any sores before responding back to his partner. “Well hurry up, We’d have this one returned by the time you finished.”

``You wouldn’t be so hungry if you didn’t eat all your vittles this morning,” said Vroke.

“Can you blame me? You-” Brizz was interrupted by the sudden appearance of a stranger

bumbling into their campsite.

His skin was pale for someone in Scorch, unlike the two men native to the Dragon Realm. Dark red hair peaked under his derby hat. As well his goatee and light scars made up his rugged features. His long duster swept back and forth, catching on the rustling thorn bush as their unexpected guest kicked aside a tumbleweed before plopping down on one of the large stones that were scattered around the camp. “I’ve been walkin’ dese parts for a bit,” he scratched the side of his face. Now eyeing the charred rabbit over the fire, “I'm pretty lost and hungry. You folks wouldn' happen to be in de mood to trade some of your food for good company tonight, would you?”

His accent was crude and not easy to understand. As if he spent his life in some backwood swamp. The two men caught the glint reflecting off several rows of daggers fastened in the stranger’s coat with. He caught their roaming eyes and chuckled.

“Right, dose daggers aren’t for you boys. Here, let me take off dis coat. It may be a bit chilly dis night, but your blazin’ fire will do de trick,” The man dropped his coat in a heap to his side before continuing, “Name's Guster. What names you fellas go by?”

Brizz warmed up a bit more to Guster once he disarmed himself. He seemed friendly and his bayou charm was curious and endearing to him. After weeks in the Durran Badlands, Guster was a welcome distraction. “I’m Brizz and this be my partner Vroke. Welcome, brother.”

Vroke nodded politely to Guster, took out a serrated dagger, and sawed off a haunch off the cooked meat before tossing it across the fire to the eager hands of their new guest. Guster savagely tore into the tough, dark meat. “I'm new to dese badlands,” he said between mouthfuls. Specks of rabbit meat spit out of his mouth. “I can see why dey are so bad. Just an empty strip of land covered head to toe with rattlesnakes and sand vipers. My lizard-cow of a borgren stirred up some trouble and went and got bit by one of dem diamondback bastards,” He picked at a bit of meat wedged in his teeth with his finger, “I’ve been lookin’ for help wanderin’ like a headless chicken before I saw your campfire. Any of you two have an antidote for snake venom?”

“My friend, you can't go trekking through these lands without antidotes. We can spare a vial or two for you,” Brizz said as he rummaged his hand through a linen satchel. “You were lucky we were here, else you'd be a dead man.”

Guster nodded, sucking the oily grease off the leg bone. “Aye, ole’ Guster is quite the unprepared fool. Y’all are lifesavers.” He tossed the bone over his shoulder and licked his fingers clean before pointing at Brizz and Vroke's prisoner. “Hey, what's de story with dat one? Is he someone important?”

Vroke walked over and smacked the back of the prisoner's head. “An escaped slave. We are bringing him back to his master.”

Guster cocked his head in a curious manner, examining the exposed large and toned muscles of the prisoner’s arms. Both brimming with shapes of old scars. “He is a bit fit for just some servant. Is he a gladiator?” Guster prodded.

“Right you are, brother. This is Treylun'Vey,” Brizz said, swelling with pride for his prisoner.

Guster eyes widened in awe. “Treylun'Vey. Dat one's pretty famous in de arena. He killed many men. Worth a bigger purse dan thirty lesser gladiators put together.” Guster squinted his eyes and shifted his face to a slanted frown, “Y’all aren’t pullin’ my leg, are you?”

“He is the real deal, brother,” Brizz asserted.

“Show me his face den. I don't believe you.”

Brizz chuckled and lifted the sack off the gladiator's head to reveal an olive skinned elf. He bore wild blue dyed hair and twin green feather tattoos under his eyes, the signature appearances of Treylun'Vey.

Guster nodded and stood up nonchalantly, draping his coat back on. He stretched his back, removed his derby hat, and bowed to his hosts, “Ole’ Guster needs to thank you for doing de legwork, but I’ll be takin’ Trey off your hands now.”

Brizz and Vroke raised an eyebrow in confusion. Vroke moved around the fire and approached Guster. “Say that again?”

With a flurry of movements, Guster tossed Vroke his hat before bowling him over with a stiff kick to the chest.

Brizz attempted to rise to his feet, fumbling for his scimitar in a panic. A whistling dagger twirled through the air and lodged deep into his forehead.

Vroke crawled backwards, kicking sand with each motion. A sick crunch shattered the night air as Guster stomped on his ankle. Vroke hollered in pain, chattering his teeth as he desperately formed his words, “Q-Queen Ylynn Isana paid the Network d-double the sendatti s-so no competing slave master c-could hire a bounty hunter for t-this one!”

Guster applied more pressure on the fractured ankle as he leaned over. “Is dat so?”

Vroke wretched and squirmed under Guster's weight but nodded furiously. “T-turn in that s-slave to anyone other than our q-queen and the Network will know!”

Guster cracked a ruthless smile before drawing out a dagger, “I'll take my chances,” he said, driving his knife into the skull of Vroke.

Retrieving his hat and daggers, the bounty hunter made his way to his prize.

Treylun’Vey had only made it a short distance during the skirmish, due to his heavy shackles bound to his wrists and ankles. Guster growled under his breath taking off in a dead sprint before tackling his bounty.

“Give me my freedom! At least give me the chance to fight you for it!” the mist elf wrestled underneath Guster.

“You want to rumble with me?” Guster rocked the elf’s head sideways with a hefty punch, “I just killed two men without breakin’ a sweat!”

“Your borgren will be dead by now,” Treylun’Vay spat, “My master will have your head on a spear by sunrise. I can’t be worth it!”

“My lizard-cow hasn’t been bit by a rattler. Dat was just a lie to get cozy with dose fools.” Guster threw another jab. “And my employer would love to see de face of Isana when she loses her favorite slave!”

The prisoner grew silent, knowing now his chance at freedom had passed.

“Let's get goin’; we have a long ride back to Ra'Sheer,” the bounty hunter huffed as he tugged on the chain attached to Treylun'Vey's collar. Guster paused to pick up a bottle from Brizz's satchel and snatched the rest of the cooked jackrabbit. “A little dry,” he commented, looking over the carcass, “but will make some fine company with this whiskey.”