Quelya - Chapter 1: The Lady and the Dragon

 Part One - Pirates

Chapter One: The Lady and the Dragon

The Dragonborn’s name was Turok. Like all of his kind, he was tall and stout, larger than human or orc, though he resembled nothing more than a wyrmling dragon made to walk upright and wear clothes. Turok was a noble dragon, and a priest, and so he might have been a little more stout than his kin. The clothes he wore this morning were the loose shirt and breeches of a sailor, though over these he also wore the tabard of his faith. Dark purple with silver trim, it bore the holy symbol of his deity, Kuyutha; Exarch of Bahamut. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to the elbow, and the metallic brass scales that covered him shined in the morning sunlight when he stepped out of his cabin and onto the deck of the Reizoko no Tsuma.

    The salt wind of the WorldSea filled his nostrils and stung his eyes. He squinted against the morning sun, but there wasn’t much to see beyond the deck anyway. Nothing but horizon in every direction. Any islands they did pass were likely to be wild, untamed places. He didn’t know Quelya well, but he couldn’t think of any villages between Port Royal and Lagos; none worth stopping at anyway.

    He spotted the woman he was looking for immediately. “Doxy,” they called her, though she didn’t carry herself like any strumpet Turok had seen. She was lying on the deck, with one leg dangling over the side and the other propped up against a crate of tobacco. The Reizoko was a caravel, too small for all the cargo they were hauling, and so the deck was a maze of crates, barrels, and parcels of dry goods wrapped in canvas and cloth.

    Doxy had her hands laced behind her head, eyes closed. She must have been soaking up the sun, enjoying a rest break from the near-constant demands of life at sea. She wasn’t dressed any more or less immodestly than any other human woman, but Turok was surprised to find himself studying the way the loose fabric of her shirt lay against the curves of her body.

    The dragonborn hadn’t met a human before Kuyutha directed him to this soggy planet. He’d never actually considered whether or not they might be attractive. Really, though, she was too sleight. Humans were all so small and squishy, and Doxy smaller than most, not short like the half-men, but most of the sailors on the Reizoko were taller.

    “You gonna’ stand there all day and stare,” she said, eyes still shut against the sunlight, “or you gonna’ tell me what you want.” Now she opened her eyes and turned to look at him. Green like the summer fields on the Isle of Resplendance, splashed with brown; almost dirty. It was another thing Turok didn’t understand about humans. Their coloration was all over the place.

    Sure he had different colored scales, and different textures, but he was obviously a bronze dragonborn. Humans didn’t have Patron Dragons like his people did. They didn’t differentiate themselves by color and service to one all-powerful creature or ideal; but their skin tones ran a full range. This one had much lighter skin than the others. Her half-shorn hair was light brown or blonde, instead of the usual Quelyan black. What frustrated him was that none of that told him anything about her, except maybe that she too was from off-world.

    “No,” he said. “I apologize. I am unused to humans.” He stepped closer, careful to avoid standing too close and domineering. “You’re called Doxy?”

    “I’m not a prostitute,” she said sharply, “and I’m not looking for a thrust,” but she was smiling up at him. “It’s Dox, actually.” She indicated the other sailors with a turn of her head and a sideways glance. “The boys think it's funny, and I find it useful to let them laugh about it.”

    “I see,” Turok said. As the woman sat up, swinging her other leg over the edge, the dragonborn knelt beside her. “You’re a spacer, right?”

    She brow sharpened. Still smiling, she said, “how’d you guess?”

    “You’re the first fair-skinned human I’ve seen on this planet. All the other Quelyans have deep tans or skins of brown and black.”

    “Well, if you're looking to get off world, I'm not your gal. I'm here to learn about the water.”

    The dragonborn smiled this time. His dragon’s maw pulled back in a hungry grin, sharp teeth gleaming. “No,” he said, then tapped the symbol on his chest. “My patron has tasked me with journeying to the WorldSea to find and follow the path for which Bahamut has created me. I’m hoping you can help me adapt my spacefaring skills to sailor’s work.”

    She leaned against the rail beside her. “I could do that,” she said. “You’re Turok, right? The Cleric from Io’s Blood? Must feel pretty useless without a helm to sit on.”

    “Correct on all accounts. I have some experience working a ship because I dislike idleness, and even a priest can tire of prayers when he has the ability to hop a ship home and converse face-to-face with his god.” His eyes wandered around the Reizoko's deck. “I expect I’ll be sparring with the sailors before we reach the Freeport. I know I’ll be bored of sailing by then; but I want to make myself useful, and on the open sea, there are very few ways to do that.”

    “Alright,” she said. There was a slim dagger lying on the deck beneath her thigh. Turok only noticed it because she pulled it out and slipped it into its sheath as she stood. “It sounds like you did some actual sailing in the black?”