The Sandy Bluejacket

Chapter 1

Kundidian Waste; 1738

I sat on an old, rusted barstool, my legs dangling above a metal bar mounted several inches off the floor. Outside, the wind and low grumble of regulars drowned out the bartender trying to chat up the room while making a sloppy margarita. Scrap metal hung down from the ceiling with dim, half-broken light bulbs screwed into it, giving the bar an unsettling ambience while the old wooden tables creaked every once in a while, even though they weren't being touched. A tan, ripped cloth hung in the only exit, disrupting the foot traffic of the poor travelers with the well-adjusted waste civilians. It flung open as a rugged man sauntered inside and towards the bar, adjusting the long sword handing from his belt.

"Move it shorty." The man grumbled, breathing down my neck as he waited for the open barstool

"Says who." I kept my back turned to him, even though that's what Commander always said not to do. Besides, I've been out wandering in the desert for the past week, there's no way I'm giving up my seat for some bozo who thinks he owns the place.

"I said!" He grabbed the front of my tan hood and whipped me around to face him.

"Personal space." I grumbled. I almost punched him but decided not to out of the interest of my own safety, since a guy of his size could crush me like a tin can. I heard him scoff and I figured that this could all be over.

There was a hollow thump as a large wooden club crashed into the side of my head, flinging me clean off the bar stool. Everything went fuzzy for a moment as I stumbled back to my feet, blood beginning to pool inside my mouth. Everyone in the little desert cantina went silent, expecting some late-afternoon brawl to go down.

"I was sitting there." I sneered through gritted teeth, stepping forwards and shoving him back off the barstool, it didn't take long for him to jump back up and lunge at me. This is the moment I've been training for. I unsheathed my knife and darted to his left to avoid the initial attack, then a little in front of him to get a cut along his inner forearm. Using my left arm to check his right arm and keep it away from my face, I thrusted the knife into his armpit and levered his arm down to cut through his bicep. I continued turning until I was behind him and cut through his triceps. Checking his elbow so it was out of the way, I pushed the long side of the knife through his quadricep to push him off balance and reduce his mobility. He cried out and fell onto his back, blood leaking out and staining the sand. The bar was silent as people watched with wide eyes.

I pulled up my hood, so it cast a dark shadow on most of my face and stepped out of the bar, leaving that man to find his own way. I was quite proud of myself for fighting him so well, I haven't taken someone down someone that easily since... I shook my head and stopped thinking. I heard feet running in the sand behind me, getting close. I took a hold of the handle on my knife, just to be safe.

"That was some good fighting." The person said from behind me, being sure to stay in my blind spot.

"I try." I kept looking straight forwards, hoping that they'd give up and let me be. "Why are you following me."

"No reason..." They muttered, speeding up and coming into view. Their golden bracelets clinked against one another on their wrist as their blonde hair ruffled in the breeze. They had a faded lime tank top but it was covered by an old and torn jacket that didn't even reach below their elbows. "Where are you headed?" They asked, still keeping up with my pace.

"Nowhere but everywhere except where something is." I kept facing forwards, not letting them distract me.

"Haha, real funny." They mocked.

"Thank you, I thought it was quite clever." I kept surveying the terrain in front of me, mountains and deserts, amazing. Well, climbing is fun, I guess.