“Give us your money!” the shout came from a stout yet wide man, a bandit, intent on robbing and beating the lone man that stood in center of the dirt road in broad daylight surrounded by his goons.
The individual the bandit and his goons had surrounded was a thin yet tall man, a black furred kobold in fact. Wolf-like features covered him as he wore a light blue kamishimo; a robe of sorts worn in two pieces, baggy and loose for ease of movement and nimbleness. A long, slender curved blade rested on his hip as he calmly eyed the six opponents that sought his possessions. The kobold was still, fur that hung from atop his head concealed his eyes including a brown tuft that curled among the black, left ear with a slight droop, he was alert while facing the bandit leader who blocked the kobold’s path, his expression unreadable.
“Didn’t you hear me flea bag?” the human bandit roared. “Give us your things and you might leave here with a few broken ribs!” he ended in a belly laugh.
The kobold was still yet his disposition was relaxed, calm and he said nothing. A light breeze rustled loose leaves along the dirt from the nearby trees that lined the road.
Three of the bandits closed in, each had a mace or club in hand. The leader, thin with patience finally said, “If you can’t hear, then you don’t need to scream either, kill him!”
The three closest bandits to the kobold raised their weapons as they charged and in a flash of lightning blended with a whirlwind, the kobold spun in a calming storm, no one even saw the short blade; a tanto drawn from inside his kamishimo. The tachi remained sheathed. Blood littered the dirt as the bandits each grabbed for their throats trying to keep their blood inside their bodies.
The three that didn’t jump into the fray staggered back and even the leader tripped over himself witnessing such calm yet keen precision. The tall kobold, had to be six feet tall if it was anyone’s guess as drops of blood rained on him. He took a step toward the bandit leader who had thrown around threats like they were going out of style. His blade in hand and it reflected the sun’s rays as it had a gentle, blue-green shine.
“Wh-what are you?!” the leader cried as his eyes quivered in horror.
“Gunnolf,” the kobold said calmly and still, pointing his sword at the bandit. The hilt was layered in black and gold scales. His other three lackeys stepped back as they quivered, each of their mouths dry and eyes stricken with fear.
“The W-Wandering Dark Wind, Gunnolf Fulin…” muttered one of the lesser bandits as his voice trembled.
Two of the other human men fled in terror while the fat leader gritted his teeth. “You haven’t seen the last of me, Bazurr the Bone Snapper!” the fat man fled the kobold as well as the last trembling lackey followed and together they all went southeast leaving Gunnolf standing in the road alone.
Sheathing his sword Gunnolf trekked west, opposite of where he initially seemed to be heading. He came to a simple wooden cart where two women, one with features and characteristics of an anthropomorphic rat, known as a raxen, complete with a short snout, twitchy nose and whiskers and the other was a fenara woman, fox-like characteristics with pointed ears, covered in black and brown fur with white on the tip of her tail. The pair of women sat against the cart. Gunnolf approached steadily and coolly.
“You’re covered in blood, are you ok mister?” asked the fenara woman.
“Were there bandits ahead?” asked the raxen woman.
Gunnolf stared at them in silence a moment as he had some blood on him still before replying, “Ruffians. Nothing more.”
The pair of women eyed each other as the fenara went on, “Were you hurt? We have some salves and rem─“
Gunnolf turned away from them silently, but his action cut the woman off, “Road has been cleared. The town is ahead,” he said as he went onward as if to leave them.
“Wait a moment!” said the fenara woman as both of them pulled themselves up into the cart drawn by a shaggy furred creature known as a galcudos. A simple docile beast of silvery fur and four legged, it seemed smaller than most creatures used to draw carts or wagons but it had pure muscle beneath all that fur. A pair of wide, dark eyes were obscured by the fur on its head, almost comparable to Gunnolf's own appearance. The creature gracefully seemed to chew the same bite of grass for hours. The cart followed steadily after the kobold who guided and protected them.
The winding road twisted and turned along the ascending great hill that overlooked the deep mire below. Within the hour the wagon and the three with Gunnolf in the front would be at the city on the lake, Saha’dryr. A large lake, spanning over twenty-two miles across and almost fifteen wide floated a whole city on its surface. Wooden planks built almost like a dock served the city’s streets and walking paths. Wooden huts with large leafy thatched rooftops were common buildings throughout this city no matter if it was house, inn, shop, or smithy and rarely was a second floor seen for any of them.
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The cart was left on the shore, where the stables were along with all the other wagons and carts merchants had brought beyond the entry gate of the city almost a mile from the lake’s edge. Gunnolf led the two women he guided here on foot across the wooden planks as the warm breeze of midday swept across the water below. People were bustling about, humans, scaly aquatic folk with fish-like heads called the gilken, and even a few raxen were common in a city like Saha’dryr.
The three of them came to a round hut on the city’s north western side where the water was a deep blue indicating the depths were some of the deepest in the lake. Gunnolf stepped aside to allow the two women entry.
“This is where Zarmhel waits for us?” the fenara woman asked.
Gunnolf remained silent but waved a hand, motioning them to enter.
“You can speak from time to time,” the rat-faced woman said sternly in irritation.
A deep yet slick masculine voice from inside the hut was heard, “Please pay the hired blade no mind, enter, enter.”
Into the quaint little hut the two women went. Well after twenty minutes, with Gunnolf standing by, the two women left the hut giving their thanks to the kobold but he remained silent and unmoving, his head fur sheathing his expression was a true enigma. None could tell if he was asleep or ready to pull his blade. He simply was.
“Come, Gunnolf,” the bellowing voice came from within the hut.
Entering the hut and closing the door behind him he stood ten paces away where a round wooden table was and at it, the interior was dim, but things were still visible, a large man sat covered in feathers of brown and black with an owl-like head, sharp eyes, as he sat in a large gray coat opened at the top showing white feathers. This man was what was called an aviar, bird of prey like folk that varied from owls, hawks, and eagles. Humanoid shaped bodies and torsos with talon feet and wings on their backs.
Gunnolf approached calmly, coolly as the aviar tossed a pouch on the table that rattled with coins.
“Two hundred Zoa for a job complete; those ladies brought quite a load of basilisk potions and pure drops that seem to be ailing some of the city guards,” said the feathered-man. “Was there any trouble on the route?”
Gunnolf shook his head; no need to mention the pathetic bandits that he easily dispatched. He slowly collected the brown pouch and slid it into an interior pocket of his open shirt and stood in wait after securing the shirt more closed again.
The aviar raised a heavy eye brow toward him, “Need more work, eh? If so, come back tomorrow before dawn. I may have something for you. Waiting on more intel to arrive first, the sun being out makes me rather lethargic to fret of it now.”
Gunnolf gave a short bow, “By your leave, Zarmhel.”
The owl man waved him to leave.
Not more than ten minutes later, Gunnolf strode into his favorite tavern of the town, The Capsized Fish was the name on the sign just a few paces outside from the door. Into the entry way, long rectangular tables were near the door as some patrons were tossing dice for coin and taking shots of rum. The bartender, a burly blue scaled gilken man with scars across his face and earrings on his outer head fins was known to be not only a good listener but served as his own bouncer when the occasional brawl got out of hand. A cloth tan jacket with torn off sleeves and black trousers with rubbery matching boots was his common attire, his green eyes found Gunnolf as he reached the counter.
“Blistering weather out there eh, Gunnolf?” the two had known one another for some time but how long was a guess of years perhaps.
Gunnolf stood there, quietly and after a moment placed four coins of Zoa on the counter and finally said, “The usual, Lunk.”
The green eyed fish man nodded, “I was about to assume such,” he reached below the counter and brought up a short glass and filled it with some brandy, the kind Gunnolf always ordered, daily. Gunnolf took the glass and down it went. Lunk filled it again.
Some laughter rose from the other patrons tossing dice near the door. Gunnolf gave pause as he had his glass mid-raised already.
Lunk leaned on the counter, “Pay them no mind, they’ve been here about an hour and they haven’t been noisier than that. Having a few wagers and they ordered food as equally as their drinks.”
The kobold nodded and gulped his second drink down. With the glass landing on the counter, he placed four more coins for his host. Gunnolf eventually moved over to a small table for just himself in the corner of the establishment where he kept to himself after ordering another drink. He would spend his hours into the evening like this. Listening and watching the patrons that would come and go.
“I hear Illisea Kingdom wants to regain control over the Low Lands again, claims about the return of the undead are making them want to take action,” said one patron two tables over to the fellow next to him as they were enjoying tankards of ale.
“Saha’dryr is much too large to allow that to happen and with support of the other free cities and provinces around Saha’dryr I think that opportunity has long since passed for fifteen years I’d bet,” replied his companion.
Gunnolf listened in silence.
The first man spoke, “Who knows, trade may become tight in the coming days. Be cautious is all I’m saying. I don’t need Illisean Guards looking into my business all because I spend most of my time down here.”
“Sure, sure,” replied the other as he got up to go pay his tab. “I must go meet a client here soon anyway,” he said as he strode to the counter where Lunk was serving another patron a tankard of ale. He paid the gilken host and on his way back to his companion he noticed Gunnolf in the corner, he squinted unable to determine if the kobold was watching him or staring off into space. When he reached his table, he muttered something to his friend inaudible to the kobold and both left the establishment rather quickly. Gunnolf took notice of three scars on the first man’s left arm, like claw marks from a griffin or chimera, two creatures not from the Low Lands at all. His thin, greasy dark hair marked him out from the rest in the establishment that had lighter colored hair and kept shorter.
Gunnolf merely got up, despite the several drinks he had calmly strode out of the tavern with Lunk catching a glimpse of him. “Same ol’ Gunnolf never changes,” muttered the fish man.
Outside, the cool evening air swooned over the waters of Saha’dryr. The sun still fleeing the western sky as the two men from the Capsized Fish were almost at jog now. Gunnolf simply looked their way, as one of the men looked over their shoulder to him Gunnolf flashed his teeth, giving a sinister grin at them. The man said something to the other and they ran harder a few more paces until they tripped over themselves and off the docks they went making a thunderous splash. Gunnolf huffed as he watched the men scramble out of the water and flee the scene before strolling onward toward the inn, Nightwaterer, where he would spend the night.
