SUAW Workbook

Board game: Space 17

Prompt: Your character is being followed at night, and they are scared. Write a short story between 400-1000 words.

Az didn't know what to think about the compound being empty. What disturbed him more was what remained: dried blood, cages large enough to hold dragons, and half-destroyed rituals. The Kinsmen had definitely been there, if not hours before, but they had somehow been aware of their arrival.

As he surveyed the area, looking for any evidence of where they could have gone, he couldn't help but let out a nervous chuckle at the location. A red-light district in the center of Sa'aremak, absolutely filled to the brim with what you would expect. He was flustered, of course, when they first entered the district—his mother would never approve of him being there—but he quickly pushed on, focusing on the mission.

He pulled his cloak closer around him, giving a shiver to the cold desert night. Or at least, he made it appear to be such, only for him to rest a hand on his sword.

Someone was watching him.

The hairs on the back of his neck raised when he heard a slight noise behind him—perhaps a loose stone or too heavy of a step—but he continued forward. He refused to give his hunter the upper hand. He would rather they believed they were catching him off guard.

There was a light click, the sound of steel against steel, and Az flung his cloak aside as he drew his sword. A great crash echoes throughout the empty streets as two swords collide. He had little time to see who it was, but the sword and mask were unmistakable:

The Snarling Dragon.

With a shove, the assassin pushed Az away, causing Az to stumble and nearly lose his footing. The assassin was much stronger than he anticipated. Blow after blow they exchanged, but it was soon apparent the assassin was much more of the experienced swordsman. It wasn't long before Az's sword was thrown from his hand.

"Drae vak!"

An acid green arc of light lashed out from his palm, only for the assassin to wordlessly erect a deep red barrier.

A drakon caster! he realized in horror. Dread pooled into him. This was not a battle he could win.

A spell hit him in the chest, one he didn't have time to identify, and it threw him back into the wall of a building, his head crashing harshly against the stone. He was sure he could feel blood seeping into his hair. Before he could even reach up to assess the damage, however, a pitch-black blade pressed against his neck. An arm pushed against his chest to keep him in place.

I'm a dead man. He squeezed his eyes shut. I'm a dead, dead man!

And seconds ticked by.

...I'm still alive?

Peeking one eye open at first, he blinked the blur from his vision. For a moment, he wondered if this was the last thing the Snarling Dragon's victims saw before the assassin killed them.

Without the mask and the sword, he was sure the assassin would've blended seamlessly into the crowd. The first thing he noticed was that the assassin stood just past his chin. The mask looked worn with bits of red, black, and white paint chipping off, but it was no less fierce as it morphed the lower half of the assassin's face to resemble a dragon bearing its teeth. He had bronze skin, dark hair and eyes, and the common, billowy pants most Sa'aremakian men wore. His torso was bare. A gold armband wrapped around his right arm and another near his wrist. His left arm had bandages covering it. Kohl lined his eyes. Although he could only see the top half of the assassin's face, he still felt as if he looked familiar. As if the hair and eyes didn't truly belong to the face.

The Snarling Dragon then spoke.

"I wouldn't walk alone anymore. They're looking for you, and they want your head."

A different sort of dread pooled into his stomach. He was sure he knew that voice. It was deeper than before with a slight gravel to it, but it still held an oh-so-familiar tenor.

He wouldn't get the chance to respond, however. Before he could utter a word, he felt a wave of magic wash over the area before the assassin vanished, leaving him alone with a nostalgic name caught in his throat.