Back against the stone wall of the guard office, Sark was trying not to have his heart beat out of his chest. This was the night he had been planning for. Running his finger through his oily blonde hair, he looked over the canals that marked the Carns, his home, his hole. All of the guard buildings were raised at least a full story over the Carns' ramshackle buildings, giving a great view of its shambling streets and perfectly straight canals. Sewage from the citizens of the city, industrial waste from the workshops, and sometimes literally trash, made the Carns reek as the waste flooded through them away to the sea. He needed to leave. He had planned for this. He had spent three weeks finding the particular guard tower that items confiscated from merchants were stored at before they were valued and disappeared from his reach. Another week scoping out the office until he had memorized how far it peeked out from the city wall, could recount the times when the guard changed by the bells, and managed to find a way to distract one shift of guards through drink. Well, a drink of sleep potion that is.
Sark released a breath he didn't know he was holding when he saw Cyrrho round the corner, his long bright red hair catching the light as he gave a thumbs up that the guards drink had been spiked. Now to wait. Sark hated waiting, but looking at the shit-eating grin on Cyrrho's face made it worth it. This was it. This was how they were going to get out.
Cyrrho and Sark were both orphans of the canals. Having never known his parents, Sark couldn't get into the city since he had no proof of citizenship. Cyrrho was in a similar situation, but had apparently known his parents before their passing. They never left either because getting enough money to travel and feed themselves was seemingly impossible. Both of them were likely something close to full grown, but neither of them had started to sprout a beard or were as big as the traveling men they saw entering town. Some orphans were picked up as children to be house servants and the like, but Sark and Cyrrho were never chosen. Sark believed it was because they both looked strange. He had straw colored hair, and rather pointed ears that had always made him wonder a little more seriously than most orphans what his parents were. Cyrrho had the bright red hair and little red dots up all of his arms and across his face that city folk would gawk at calling them "plague dots". He was never short on energy though, and always was concocting weird 'potions' with the sewage water.
A few minutes later, the duo heard a small thump. A small sound like a cat in the night, but Cyrrho insisted, gesturing widely with his hands, that it was the guard falling asleep. So the two crept around the corner, and sure enough, the mustached guard was open mouthed and out cold against the stone-wall, barely propped up by the wooden stool beneath him. Now it was Sark's turn to grin, a small smirk. He slipped the key off of the guards belt, smelling sweet smells of soap as he got close. Then, he simply unlocked the door and the two easily entered the shelf-lined room of treasures. It was musty, and the valuables were haphazardly laid out on wooden shelves in broad groups that appeared to be: jewelry, books and other. With a look at each other, they decided to skip the books section. Cyrrho handled grabbing as much jewelry as they could safely take and resale, while Sark shuffled through the miscellaneous items. Most of them were tools, or other devices. Maybe that was the reason why, the shiny scaled egg stood out among them, hidden behind a brass scale. Sark couldn't resist, he held up the egg, which was just the right size to fit in one of his palms. It was heavy enough though that holding it out with one hand was uncomfortable. Even stranger, it was warm. Not as warm as a fire, or anything, but it was warm as animals are warm. Sark had heard stories of magical animal eggs, something that could be priceless if he managed to train the baby within it. Visions of him riding a griffon, or being the boss of a fire-breathing dragon floated in his head as Sark poured some of the more precious looking devices into his bag one-handed.
Once their two sacks were full, Cyrrho rolled his free hand in a circle, gesturing that the two should go. Relocking the door, and putting the key back on the gently snoring guards' belt. They quietly snuck back to their usual place, a shack they had constructed by the stone lining of one of the canals complete with a canvas flap for a door and a hay-weaved roof that almost didn't leak. Having a home was an interesting thing. Strictly speaking only those living right around the city walls had documents and ownership of their land. Cyrrho and Sark were like everyone else. If they came back and someone was in their shack, they would either make a new one, or fight them for it. It really depended on who stole their shack though. Luckily, it was still empty when they came back with their haul. Just in time for the sky to rumble with some anger, lighting up the sky as bright as day. Quickly, like the mice they were compared to the wind gods' anger, the two scurried into their shelter and started a fire in the center of it. Falling asleep on nights like these were a gambit, since heavy rains often made the canals flood. So placing the egg in the warmth of the fire, the duo began showing off their hauls to each-other from within their linen sacks. Cyrrho, as always, had great ideas about where to sell the metal off of the instruments and the jewelry piece by piece.
"I don't know where to sell the egg..." Cyrrho admitted. "Do you even know what type it is?" He pulled at the braid he had twisted his long hair into a while back. Cyrrho was constantly fidgeting, but his voice was always calm and clear.
"We aren't selling that! What's inside may be worth more to us than any quick money now" Sark replied, hoping his gut feeling would be right. Another crack of anger sounded from the sky, and almost as if in response, the small egg by the fire chipped as well. All was silent in the hut as the two men gasped, forgetting their other treasure to surround the scaly shell. Slowly, other bits began to crack and the egg wobbled a bit, side to side perpendicular to the flame. Finally, a bird-like claw punched through the shell, shoving a three talon-ed yellow claw through the tiny shell. Once that was through, bits of another claw inside the shell began tearing at the hole, struggling to enlarge the opening in the tough shell.
"Think we should help it?" Cyrrho asked. His hands had moved to hover around the egg, with all but the tinge of fear from the unknown stopping him.
Sark looked at him with a jolt, "Why? In the wild this guy would have had to hatch on his own."
"Like you know that!" Cyrrho retorted. "What you get one monster egg and now you're an expert?" In the meanwhile, the creature inside the egg had managed to push its black-scaled snout through a small hole it had carved out of the shell, and a moist breath resonated by the fire as it paused to breath the heavy storm-laden air. Both of them jumped at the noise and returned their attention to the egg.
"Not a griffin. No beak." Sark observed dumbly, fighting some urge to argue back that he knew a reasonable amount about the non-humans that inhabited the Carns. Goblins, orcs, and kobolds had long since fled to the city and set up shop when they hadn't been allowed through the gates proper. Word is they even had made interesting hybrids between humans and each-other. The problem was the many species that didn't like human cities. Dragons, mermaids, lizard men, elves, and griffins were the only five groups he knew that lived beyond the Carns. He was pretty sure that wasn't all that existed either.
Cyrrho snorted, the hints of a grin peaking at his lips as he too ran through a mental list of magical creatures he knew. Captured, they continued to watch as the little one resumed picking away at its shell, which was beginning to give way more. With a final crunch, the shell split straight down the side and a wet, partially feathered lizard-like creature the size of Sark's palm fell out. Small gray-baby feathers wrapped around the small creatures neck and faintly from its crown down past its fore-shoulders. Its front-arms were the yellow bird claws but the back ones were hinged like a horse and more flat like a lizards. Its eyes were closed, making it hard to tell the head proportions against its dark black scales. Longer than tall, the small thing opened and closed its mouth repeatedly like it was crying, wriggling on the floor in silence.
"I think its crying," Cyrrho stated. He reached on his belt for a piece of stale bread he had stored on his person. Ripping off a small piece, he reached it out past the canvas tent flap to soften it into a mush before holding it next to the small creatures' mouth. A deep sniff once the food was close and then the small creature snapped up the piece of bread. Slowly, it worked on dissolving the mush in its mouth and swallowing. Sark had been completely silent. He knew what was inside the egg would be a baby, but somehow he had pictured the resultant creature would be able to care for itself more from birth. It wasn't a human after all. Was it a longer lived species? He couldn't imagine being so weak and helpless, though he supposed he had been once upon a time.
"The little one needs a name." Cyrrho coaxed his friend out of his reverie while he gently ruffled the baby feathers on the monsters' neck with his finger. Once it had consumed half of the bread mush, the little lizard leaned into it. It moved its mouth in much smaller movements than earlier, almost content, but still without a sound. "You found the egg. Would you like the honors?" Sark stared at the creature. Even if it hadn't been what he had expected, it still wasn't a bad thing. One of the non-human vendors may even be able to identify it if they took it with them while shopping. It didn't eat much, and the way that the fire-light seemed to reflect off of its pitch-black scales gave Sark a thought.
"Onyx. That's a fitting name for it, right?" The fire-light seemed to stick to the black scales just like the stone he had seen in the goblin workshops. The little lizards' claws would likely get sharper as it grew, and then it could be their onyx blade of protection when they entered the city proper. Right now, it didn't seem to eat much and therefore, wouldn't be much of a burden as they sold off their spoils.
Cyrrho nodded, and continued stroking Onyx until he went to sleep when the rain let up.
The next morning, Sark took Onyx on his journey to sell some of the jewels to orcs. The little bugger had finished its bread scrap when it woke up again, and still hadn't opened its' eyes. That made it particularly easy to pick the lizard up and wrap it around his hand while Cyrrho stayed to guard the rest of the spoils. Its nose tilted this way and that as it not quite painfully, but certainly uncomfortably, latched onto Sark's hand while they walked. Knowing that with his grime smeared appearance, selling jewels would certainly raise some red flags, Sark went to the orc he knew best, Grelda. She ran a shop by the edge of town that was stably constructed of mud, and towered maybe two heads over him. She mainly sold swords that her family forged to travelers, but she had been known to make anklets and other trinkets. Moreover, she had told him that jewels made items easier to enchant, so she would like some if he ever came across any. Not that Sark could tell if anything she was selling was ever enchanted. Nothing ever seemed to have a magical glow or anything the stories had equated with magic in his mind.
"That's an odd thing ya got on yer hand there, Sark" Grelda started. She had never been one for greetings, so Sark knew to get down to the point. Holding out his hand for Grelda to see, he rotated Onyx around a bit to give her a few views.
"Onyx, we call 'em. Hatched last night, but Cyrrho and I don't have the faintest clue what it is. Got any ideas?" Grelda then gently pried Onyx off of Sark's hand to see. However, the second it's legs were off of Sark's hand, Onyx appeared to panic, wriggling and scratching up the old Orc's hand as it tried to break free. Sark's eyes widened with horror, but Grelda only laughed, even as small cuts formed on her hands.
"Feisty little one, ain't ya. That'll get you far in this world little one." She then returned Onyx to Sark, where the little one immediately returned to his perching position in his hands as if nothing had happened. "Its definitely in the drake family. Not sure if it can be called a full blown dragon without the wings though. Their hearts are magical stones in their chests that grow as they do, and I felt that he had one. Hold on a moment." With that Grelda, left Sark alone at his store front to gape at the little creature in his hands. Drakes' were able to breath things like dragons could. Was the fire breathing vision in his head still possible? He absently petted Onyx's smooth head and found that like with Cyrrho, the little guy leaned into it like a little cat. A few moments later the old orc returned with a beautiful green stone the size of a melon and jar full of mush.
"What are those?" Sark couldn't help but comment because the smell of the jar alone was enough to make him recoil.
"The jar's baby food. Mashed up fish and some vegetable. Figure the little guy deserves some treats for his trouble. Plus, don't want it to end up as underfed as you are." She then took the wooden spoon and ladled up some of the mush to Onyx's snout. After a moments hesitation, the little one began slurping up more the mush than Sark thought possible to contain. "The stone," Grelda continued getting another spoonful for the lizard between them, "is the heart of a 50-year old or so wind drake. See the magic radiating off of it?" Sark did not, but he took her word for it. The green stone had a crystalline look like a gem, and Sark had a feeling that it would take a good amount of effort to crack it.
"On that note, Cyrrho and I happened to find some gems like you were asking for." He stated, pulling out five beautiful stones from his pocket for her to see. Her mouth turned into a small o-shape as she looked at them, and she quickly abandoned feeding Onyx to get a closer look. Holding up the gems for investigation, she continued to look amazed the the quality of the stones. Onyx began to wriggle in Sark's hand, so he placed the drake on the table, where it bee-lined for the jar of mush.
"They're good quality" Sark assured her.
"I know and that's why I know I can't afford all of these in coin." She grunted. " Would you accept items in trade?" Sark nodded with a bit of disappointment. Even though the shopkeepers may have had more readily available food, that didn't mean they had money flowing out their ears. Grelda reached under the counter and pulled out 3 silver coins and a jeweled dagger, that was slightly curved like a bend in a river. Sark tried to keep his face neutral, like he hadn't only held one silver coin at a time. Copper bought food, but silver. Silver bought clothes, simple medicines, and shelter. Enough silver and they could travel anywhere they wanted.
"That all?" he tried to halt himself from grabbing the items immediately. However, Grelda had known him for a long time and she only snorted. "That's more than you had at once in as long as I've known ya, and I'm throwing in the baby food!" She gestured to the jar where Sark saw that the little lizard had been continuing to eat, precariously perched on the rim of the jar. It must have eaten more than double its body weight. He only hoped it would all stay down. .
Sark gave in and agreed for to trade for the goods including a cloth holster for the knife to hang off his waist. He pocketed the coins and plucked Onyx off of the jar before it somehow overate itself into oblivion. Sealing the jar with Grelda's lid, he waved her good day and set off back home to where Cyrrho was waiting. Maybe he was a bit too happy from the coin though, because Sark didn't realize he had been surrounded until it happened.
Going down one of the alleys on the way, he found himself surprised by another grubby Carns dweller that was a full head taller than him. She sneered revealing some lovely missing teeth as she held out her palm she crooned "Seems like you came into some money little one, hand over some and we can solve this all civil." Looking over his shoulder to try to run, Sark saw her companion with a long iron pole blocking the way he came down. They both had identical brands of some squiggled letter that Sark couldn't read on their shoulders, identifying them as part of one of the many gangs that came and went. He didn't recognize it, so it couldn't have been a very powerful one. Just when things were starting to go good, his luck was shit enough to make him mad.
He really should have handed over the money, but they were just starting to get the rewards for their planning. Sark gripped the hilt of the knife and the put the small drake on his shoulder, where it immediately latched through his rough-spun shirt onto his shoulder. The pinch of pain was good enough to let him know that Onyx was secure. Sark had always heard people talk about anger like it was a fire, something smoldering that burned. Whenever Sark got angry though, it was as if a rumble went through him, roared in his ears so he wouldn't forget. Maybe he could blame that for the fact he could no longer hear what the gang reject in front of him was saying. Her face seemed twisted with some mix of anger or fear, matching how he felt. Sark didn't have much, but the few things he had obtained were beyond precious to him. His grip tightened on the knife as he felt the man behind him kick the back of his knees. He should have done it harder to buckle Sark to the ground. Using the momentum given to him, Sark spun drawing the knife and slicing the gangsters arm. It must have been the magic in the blade because the small knife cut easily through to the bone, sliding out with a creeks worth of blood. The roar in his ears covered the sound, but he knew the gangster must be howling in agony as he crumpled to the floor, tearing at his shirt to bandage his arm.
Sark turned to the woman just in time to see her punch his face. It pushed him backwards, almost flat into her companion, during the skid he looked over to his companion on his shoulder. Onyx was still latched on, but somehow seemed smaller on his shoulder. He couldn't dwell on it. The woman had paused to shake out her hand, blood was on her knuckles and it didn't feel like it should be his. Maybe it it was. Either way, Sark lunged with the knife, attempting to stab her in the thigh. Distracted by her hand, he got too close before she had time to react, but it turns out the curved blade was not all that good at stabbing. Once it was in, he was having trouble pulling the blade out, and in her agony, the woman grabbed his throat. The roar was all consuming now. Was he even breathing? He couldn't hear it, couldn't feel it, slow and clumsy he pulled up his leg and kicked. Surprisingly, she flew backward, dislodging the knife and releasing his neck.
With a deep breath, sound was back. He could hear the man screaming curses at him in languages he didn't understand. "If she's dead, you're dead!" He would throw in sometimes for flavor. Sark was starting to feel weak. Tired. He wanted to loot them like they had tried to do to him. He wanted to tell them that he was strong now that he had this magic knife. Instead, he ran for the canals after double checking Onyx was still on his shoulder.
Once he was a safe distance away, everything hurt. His shoulder, his hands, his neck, they were all burning. A price worth the coins, and everything he had worked hard for. He had taken on two people at once thanks to Grelda's weapon. He couldn't believe how powerful the thing was, once he had drawn it it felt like he could barely be pushed by any of the punches he took. Giving the knife the silent thank you it deserved, Sark cleaned the blood off the blade with his shirt and sheathed it. He should probably make it back home before he collapsed.
Thump.
He looked over to see Onyx nestling his chin. Chuckling, he picked the drake up in his palm. "Whats' wrong little one? Did you want a piece of them too?" At the sound of his voice, the little creature lifted its head, revealing two bright yellow reptillian eyes. The little orbs sat mostly forward facing in its head, staring intently into Sarks eyes. If Grelda had asked him if he could see magic after this moment, Sark would have answered something closer to the affirmative because in Onyx's eyes Sark could have sworn he saw rumbling electricity from the storm it was born in. Weak-kneed and now completely out of breath, Sark stumbled a bit forward, toward home. "Cyrrho's gonna flip when he sees this, Onyx."