"Ashes of battle suffocated the frozen air like black snow. Thieves scurried like vultures seeking their prizes for sacrilege and disdain; wedding rings, pocket watches and blades that shine like the silver for which souls are traded.”

The tavern table filled with hankering ears, enough to keep a story tellers tongue wet.

"It flew upon the battlefield from the Heavens as death: a hurricane cutting down all champions without care for colours nor cause. She was possessed, a demon, and brought Hell with her!"

"A wench!?"

A voice scoffs in the moment of tanker tilting.

"Make no mistake, this is no fairy tale...

Her husband was a farmer, a man of good qualities, people called him Sunny on account of his constant smile. One dark morning, Sunny returned home with a chest he had found washed up on his land. Ancient according to the runes carved on all sides, crafted in polished ebony and locks that took the blacksmith thirteen days to unfold. Brass joints screamed woe in a creak only things never to be opened again sound like."

"What's was it and what's it to do with anything?"

Impatiently heckles one of the ale-scented herd.

"The trunk contained a silver woven chainmail sleeve sealed at both ends, enveloped within: a sword unlike any other. The spearhead pummel to the tip was a single shard of black diamond forged into a curved blade, elegant as a swans neck stretched out towards the furthest stars. As long as a tall man's arm with perfect balance at the black ivory pointed handguard. An edge able to cut through the very air, the black glimmer, golden thread handle wrap, it was easy to become bewitched into forgetting the nature of a dancing cobra.

It is said that before the day the box opened, Sunny had never held a weapon but was unable to ever to let go of this mistress. He refused to sell it, refused to store it. He would take it to work to cut crops, take it to bed to protect his family. A good sword is worth more than the things it could be traded for he thought, his wife disagreed. Well known for kindness and wisdom, it is truly unusual to see such a man attached to something made for carnage. He changed almost immediately, his smile was the first thing the world lost that day. Patience thinned while impulses toward violence prevailed. Truly the sword without a sheath tasted blood frequently and cast a shadow of fear.

Sunny's wife was loving and loyal, she begged him

'Just let the weapon go, pawn it, bury it, give it away or throw it away, anything please just let it go, it's tearing us apart! You have changed. Our children are frightened of you, I'm frightened of you!'

Her words were leaves in the wind without hope for help. Everybody talks, everyone saw their family fall apart but no one could have predicted the fire. The cottage, the stables, the fields; everything caught ablaze. The population fought to extinguish the chaos but by the morn only her and the sword could not be found amidst the ashes. All thought one day her body would show up but today she was no ghost. Her name was Nyla of Sunnyfarm."

The pause of suspension is broken with laughter. The veteran bard felt smug to see someone else ridiculed for a change by the savage locals. Iced winds cut through the mockery with mighty force as the heavy tavern doors swing open. Silent eyes dart at the shivering, eclipsing presence. Hair like raven feathers, infinite black lashes, pale smooth skin, clearly sleep deprived, certainly hungry.

Limping across the crowd was a slow, silent feat. Between the magnetic beauty and repelling companion she protected fiercely, only the blood dried between her unbreakable fist kept curious seated. It was uncommon for travellers to enter The Bragging Dragon given its obscure location between opposing tribes and trade routes, more so a lone woman unless looking for work but such an artefact could never be prized by 'entertainment' no matter how beautiful. Paying no attention to the cowering figure making a swift exit from a crowded corner she sits, slamming gold adorned severed fingers on the counter. Eyes calling on the red curly haired worker she taps impatiently for first class service.

Fearful and attentive, this maiden knew how to serve every kind of customer she was cursed to have lay eyes upon. Quickly and quietly she places a basin of warm clean water, bottle of aged wine, bowl of meat filled stew, a whole loaf, a crystal goblet and a fresh apple. Laying down a small clean dry cloth the green eyed help reluctantly reaches for the finger wrapped in the least valuable family crest. The stranger grabs the young damsel's hand in an unforgettable grip, locking her eyes before letting go. Placing the sword across her lap Nyla washes her hands, splashes her face and eats as such to make clear she expects refills…

-

Sunbeams pierce through cold morning air over a white glittering forest, wrapped in winter's opaque veil. Deer herds, wolf packs, rabbit colonies and fleets of birds are a regular sight on the path forward while the fairies talked about are apparently invisible to anyone old enough to reach the cookie jar. All roads lead towards Vatala, not away. Walls as old as the forest itself pillared with watch towers look like a stone crown from above the frozen mountains.

Under the watch of tower gargoyles two men stand outside 'Silvertrees', a pawnshop well known for its eclectic stock and poor exchange rates. Slick back hair, trimmed beard, a grey robe, black leather arm braces and gloves with a black cummerbund, Axil, was unquestionably from amongst the Nakhflay tribe. Wearing a white tunic, brown high collar gambeson, leather gloves, dark eye kohl, ebony prayer beads halfway down his chest; Faris wore his hair combed back into a half pony all year round and his beard consistently well-groomed to fist length.

"...So he owes me money, he said originally that he would pay me in the morning, three weeks ago. I went and he asked me to 'wait for the weekend', then he said 'next week', and he never showed up, so I went to his house and he promised the money would come yesterday so here we are. It is not such a sum he could not cluster together easily enough or anything so I..."

Axil's venting is paused by his bead wearing confidants concerned look of suspicion. Axil looks back at Faris realising it may be better to just open the door...

"What have you done?''

"He had it coming!"

Axil replies boldly with an echo of doubt.

Faris scouts the shop, entering left foot first towards a man tied into a chair with an onion wedged between his teeth, muffling wrathful curses. Approaching the enraged man, squatting to his eye level, Faris measures up the gravity of the situation and asks the uneasy shadow behind him:

"What did you do?"

"I asked him for the eighteen silver and... well, basically he refused to pay again so I tied him up, wedged an onion in his mug and realised I should ask for your advice before things get out of hand."

Faris lowers his gaze, out of embarrassment.

"What?!"

Smirks Axil realizing he could have handled things better but still continues

"Look.."

He says putting out his hand.

".. He had it coming!"

Faris strokes his beard as he would anytime he felt he was doing something questionable.

"Right!"

Exclaims Faris looking at the onion.

"Are you enjoying this dillydally?"

Faris asks the dead beat.

"Surely as a businessman you knew something like this was going to happen, fortunately, you have the means to resolve this little mix up before somebody's feelings get hurt."

Removing the onion delicately.

The sour-faced hostage spits in opposition adopting a silent stubborn stance.

"Where do you keep your cache? I know you keep it here somewhere, there really is no need to drag this out."

The vulgar man's gaze can not help but point past his wealth of articles directly at an ugly, old, overpriced doll. Focusing on the doll, Faris sees enough of a reaction to confirm his suspicion that Axil should take a closer look at this 'prized' item. Lifting the head of the toy Axil discovers the glow of twenty silver piece coins polished to a mirror sheen. Axil feels disgusted to see over thirty of these coins hidden away this entire time right there! Axil and his wife make every fragrance in-house; every drop of oil is hand-milled, every tone is crafted with excellent measure.

Axil is outraged.

"Why did you not just pay me?!!"

"It's your fault!"

burst back the sneaky shop keeper.

"You gave the bottle knowing I indulge in exquisite beverages under the moonlight, surely you knew I would spill it!"

Faris rolls his eyes in disbelief, unable to comprehend such disdain. Axil's eyes widen in rage and takes a deep breath trying to calm, thumb rubbing his cummerbund; a place daggers are usually worn in his culture.

"Why refuse to pay even when I tied you up? It's only 18 silver!!!"

"I am not going to pay 18 silver for cologne I only used once! Who do you think you are?"

"Axil."

Faris says in a calm tone, reeling back to the topic.

Axil understands, returning a subtle brief smile.

"You're lucky I am only taking what is rightfully mine."

"Keep your hands off my collection, they are far more rare than your fragrance bottles around here."

Faris nods.

"Let's go, I'm needed outside the walls today."

Axil flicks his new coin high in the air, catching in a way resounding ownership and thanks the tradesman for making his coin so shiny. Faris places two dull silver on the counter on his way out, ignoring the loudmouth demanding to be cut free...

-

A silhouette could barely be seen before being consumed by a terrors shadow in the black● No body, just blood and thread, blue, elegant, expensive● Only one set of footprints that seem to come from the lake. Perhaps the victim was out for a little quiet time or a stroll of a romantic nature● Obviously something happened here near the water but beside the trail of a woman running, formal dress shoes with next to no wear and witness reports that make no sense; she must be somewhere?•

*Faris writes in Arabiya, his mother tongue.*

Faris closes the pencil into his journal and asks

"Are you sure no one broke curfew last night Commander?"

Commander Victor is equally as handsome as he is imposing. Dark side parted hair, warm blue eyes, square jaw crowned with a short wavy beard and dimple chin. Royal steel armour coats him throat to foot while his wedding band is proudly worn over his leather gauntlets.

"I keep guards posted at every watch and gate from nightfall till first light, no one is getting in or out without an official document from King Blackwood himself."

"Of course Commander. I have no doubt even bats find Vatala's defences impenetrable, just, I would not be doing my job if I never asked. Please let me know if anyone reports a female from a wealthy home missing, a little over five hands tall, petite judging by the length of the strides and depth of the prints, possibly last seen at a fancy gathering. I shall report any findings I unearth as usual."

"I would say it's nice working with you again but it is very rare our collaboration circulates around happy endings, even though you have always come through."

Commander Victor says, reminiscent of the monstrous findings they have uncovered in the past, wishing he could just forget the unspeakable.

"God willing, everything will be dandy."

Faris replies in an optimistic fashion, hoping to cheer up an old work colleague.

Victor mounts his horse, both men smile to one another placing their right palm over their heart

.

''Dandy?''

Victor chuckles to himself before riding off back to the city.

Faris crouches closer at the last visible print, scanning for anything he may have missed before pocketing his journal and walking back vigilant for explanations with his first task to enquire with the cobbler situated nearby the city's main northern gate.