He hadn't the strength to work on anything too complicated after his encounter and the fatigue of being away from home and had ended up in bed early with the book Bog had told him to take, just to see what it was before he blew out his candle.
That book had kept him awake an extra couple of hours, his attention poring over the crisp aroma of fresh paper and ink, his mind intoxicated by the content. Each and every story of Alouella plus the newest one recorded by a scribe who had not been hired but happened to be in the area at the time.
...mass devastation and earthquakes gutted the mining town of Koar, innocent lives torn asunder under the claws of the massive, scaled monster. It's hide too thick to penetrate with arrows, skin hard enough to deflect the sword and hammer blows of the stoutest guards, it surged forward, devouring anyone it came across. Sickness fell in its wake from whatever poison emanated from its toxic body.
Then she appeared.
It went on in great detail about Alouella's beauty, the magic crackling around her, the beast projecting a bright green glow from it's eyes in more flowery description before anything happened. He'd eaten it up.
...though weakened and close to death, the brave mage called down a bolt of lightning that lit the night sky bright as day, the bolt crushing the beast into the ground in a continuous stream until it smoldered. It's flesh sizzled and burned, fire caught over it's body and it roared weaker and weaker until it fell...
A legendary beast from who knew where! Clarke could barely sleep after reading it, relishing how well someone he once knew was doing. The story was likely spreading only now since he hadn't heard a word about it before, sure to be the next big tale every bard knew.
Morning came and, despite his exhaustion from very little sleep, there were things to do besides read the same stories over and over. He put on some somewhat clean clothes, grabbed his jacket and an empty book and put on his best serious face to see if Bog had any new work for him as well as thank him for the book.
The small group of scribes crowding the society entrance was his first clue that something was wrong. Some turned to look at him, whispers passing among them just low enough that Clarke knew he was likely the subject. Gawkers stood across the street and watched, all wondering what was happening.
“What's going on?”
A younger scribe spoke up, one of the kids who would likely only last a month before getting enough credibility for safer work in a school or merchant house somewhere.
“That merchant Darius is in there raising holy hell about how you killed his son and about how Mr. Bog has been harboring a serial killer. About your...you know...reputation...he brought a dozen guards with him to lynch you or something.”
“Ah.”
His teeth clicked, scowl turning his face to a much darker look. Just the facts, the world as it is, was how his mother had taught him to write. One of the problems with words was that anyone could write them. They didn't even have to be true! Somehow the people who wrote the most truth ended up in the most trouble.
The young scribe looked behind Clarke and quickly pretended to be walking anywhere else, the group widening around Clarke.
He knew what was coming and stepped to the side just as a heavy hand came down where his shoulder would have been.
A quick turn, a few steps backward and he saw two men in typical guard garb. Not city but personal, leather with a splash of red color, a little personal merchant symbol sewn over the left breast. Darius' men if he'd hazard a guess.
“So you're the guy that sold out Darius' son to those scaly, scavengin' baby eaters?”
Clarke's pulse quickened and he tried to maintain a neutral expression but his lip curled involuntarily into a little snarl at the usual racist epithet people spit up for lizardfolk.
It's fine. They're just words, they're just slurs that aren't even about me. Bog will sort this out. Don't give them any reason to make this worse.
“That's a common mistaken opinion ignorant racists spout to justify their prejudice about 'savage' lizardfolk. The ladies lay unfertilized eggs same as chickens part of the year and don't mind eating them. They don't eat their young.”
They shared a confused look with the unnecessary change in topic.
“Did you just call me ignant?”
“I said ignorant people say it. And you did say it before that. So yes.”
One of them came closer, unshaven and mean looking. His finger jabbed Clarke in the chest, a point that brought them back on track.
“Everything you just said sounds like a guy who's in bed with them scaly savages. Probably literally.”
He backstepped the grab for him and slipped a potion out of his belt. A hop back for distance and he hurled it at the guard's ugly mug so that it broke over his cheek, exploding in yellow smoke that clung around his head like a living cloud.
The guard reeled back, coughing and spitting. His knees hit the ground hard, the other guard pulling a sword while his buddy suddenly vomited onto the cobbles. Clarke kept his hands up and near his coat, cycling through a mental checklist of what he still had. It had been a while since he'd had the chance to spend a day making new potions or the money to buy really fine reagents.
The guard leaped at Clarke but jerked backwards with a yell, flying up and over a familiar dwarf girl to land in a tangle of limbs on the concrete. Gwen stood triumphantly despite the small danger her enemy possessed, and nodded at Clarke. For whatever reason she was in an apron with the crudely painted words 'KO Coffee' and a picture of a little humanoid head with X's for eyes underneath.
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“Hey there.”
“Are you stalking me?”
“Hardly. You're fighting in front of my cafe. Lucky for me though, isn't this how a lot of adventure stories start?”
“The bad ones.”
The guard on the ground gurgled out a yell between spilling his innards, calling for anyone to help before spewing a new cascade of stomach stew over the ground.
The scribes scrambled out of the way and guards filtered out into the street from the scribe society to see what all the noise was.
“What in the the name of Boots is going on out...”
The one seemingly in charge bellowed, trailing off when he saw his men mewling on the ground. Behind them all came an angry lump of a man, all sharp angles in his fancy clothes that probably could have bought a small building. He looked every bit an older (if less muscular) version of Darius Jr.
Bog waved desperately from the back of the group to catch Clarke's eye, silently screaming for Clarke to run, waving his hands down the street.
“And if you DON'T turn him over to me I'll RUN your business so far into the ground DWARVES will be mining you out of the ROCK in a hundred years!”
Darius Sr. looked at the men, to Clarke, a little confused about the dwarf and back at Clarke.
“That's him, right!? I want him dead RIGHT NOW! I'll handle the LAW, just KILL him!”
His guards had no fear that he could handle the law and drew weapons, sending the crowd scattering in a wild scramble.
The dwarf set her feet apart, fists coming up one higher than the other and a look of brutish glee.
“I'll take the ones on the right, you take the left?”
No response had her look to her new partner to see him fleeing down the road with book open and furiously scribbling.
She dashed off after, the crowd slowing the guards but knocked aside as she barreled through them with her bulk.
“Hey! What're you running for, you haven't gotten the chance to be wowed by my fighting skills!”
He looked back, annoyance written clearly on his face.
“Get out of the way!”
He tossed a fist size pouch backward that immediately had her zag to the side and leave the street full of pursuing guards clear. The bag hit the street and jagged shards of metal sprung out in arcs, skittering over the stone.
The first few guards tried to stop but others rushed past, stomping on the pointy caltrops and jumping back or falling then and there to end up landing on several at once. They howled and whimpered but the others ran around, angrier with every step.
Clarke dodged down an alley between two warehouses, empty boxes toppled over in his wake and a few workers on break shoved aside.
“Hey! I'm still back here!”
Clarke growled, looking at the heavy gate ahead, thick chains and giant lock buckling the gate to the wall. He couldn't vault the gate for the spikes at the top and looking back he knew he wouldn't be able to leave the dwarf if they thought she was with him.
He dug through his jacket, realizing just how empty it was and cursing his skipping last brewing day. Of what he needed, all he could find was a weak acid hidden away.
The door was solid metal. He'd need something much stronger to eat through any of it or chew away the lock before they were beaten to death by an angry noble's trained hit squad.
Clarke's eyes lit up. He did have another tool.
He hit the gate and began dripping tiny drops of the potion along the wooden wall of the warehouse, just where it met the gate. The wood smoldered easily, much weaker than the gate was and he turned, screaming at the dwarf.
“Charge into the gate!”
Guards were catching up to her and she'd reach back to grab one, slamming them into the wall of the warehouse.
“What!?”
“Hit the gate as hard as you can!”
She shrugged and pulled away from the guards, throwing her arms up as she put her weight into it. The gate ripped from the wall, swinging in and scraping across the dirt of the outdoor storage area. This place was owned by a single company, enclosed on all sides by buildings where they could store larger goods before moving. Workers stared as the flood of people rushed in, dropping their work when they saw the weapons.
Clarke grabbed her hand as the guards caught up, pulling her after him and surveying the area in quick darts of his head, taking in what he could use to save them.
She pulled her hand from Clarke's, turning and throwing jabs into passing faces. Every jaw she caught would have the guard fall straight as a pin. They began to surround her now, daggers and swords held at her and lunging. Her body moved fast, dodging aside and her fist coming straight up in a short uppercut that laid out one, then another, short jabs and crosses throwing them back into their buddies.
There were far more than the simple dozen they'd seen at the scribe office, somewhere around twenty now as Darius called in more for the pursuit. Clarke refused to let the dwarf girl get hurt just because she was young, stupid and wanted to impress him.
His eyes darted through the boxes and cages and enough merchandise to supply an army if they'd happened to need some sculptures or a bunch of rugs. Then he saw the wooden gate, the numerous and crudely drawn warnings all around it, and smirked.
The guards were wary now, too many broken noses and busted bones for them to just charge her now but she was starting to feel it too. Her lungs burned pleasantly and a smile graced her lips, a madwoman's fightlust.
“Gwen! Move, get out of there!?”
She heard the voice, faint through her need to fight but felt she could trust it just as it had led her properly with the gate.
She broke off the fight and shouldered through the circle, suffering knife cuts as slashes tried to stop her escape. They never saw the bull coming. Men flew heels over head as it bashed into them, its horns twisting to catch and gore those around before it turned and stomped on others. It stomped and snorted in a wild circle, forcing everyone from fight to flight. It took off after them.
“C'mon!”
Clarke yelled to her as he passed, dragging her with him as he set eyes on the way they'd come in. He heard the thunderous hoof beats behind him, glancing back just long enough to realize he'd traded a bunch of small wasps for one giant bear.
A rapidly gaining bear. His mind whirred, hands flying through his coat for a paralysis poison, an elemental bomb, anything.
“Keep running!”
She yelled at his back. This had the opposite effect as he turned, still jogging, to see her stop, spreading her feet and digging holes into the earth.
“What the hell do you think you're doing!?”
Her fists curled tight and she reared back in the most easily read haymaker. Her arm bulged and coiled before one ton of bull. Her arm shot forward and hit the bull head on, knuckles pounding skull in a straight punch. The bull kept moving forward but squished into itself, stopped by her fist. She slid back leaving a wake of upset earth.
The bull fell on its side, breath steady and tongue flopped out of its mouth.
Clarke's jaw dropped. He'd never seen anyone do something so stupid and actually succeed. He'd usually be thinking of how best to describe the pile of meat on the ground but this pile of meat jogged to him, rubbing her now sore knuckles.
“That was fun!”
Then she opened her mouth and spouted childish non-sense.
“You could have died, you moron!”
He slapped her upside the head but she smiled, a beaming glow of pride and pure joy. They ran back down the alley, hopefully to a busy street they could disappear into.
“Yeah yeah, where are we going now? Where do we hide?”
They came to an immediate halt when they exited to the road. City guards in mostly brown with the city guard emblem over their chest, those tasked with protecting the people more than the many companies, had them surrounded due to the huge ruckus. Polearms all pointed at them, the non-lethal staffs topped by tightly packed balls of sand but they'd still hurt to get beat with. Clarke raised his hands in surrender, tapping the dwarf so she'd get hers up too.
“Jail.”