A brief exploration of an author in training - A series of very short stories

Lunga and the cloak of secrets -Short Story

-Raf at the bridge-

Raf pulls his legs in closer to himself. The tattered blanket is too short for his long, dark legs. Luckily, the spatter of raindrops doesn't reach him under the massive Samora bridge. He can't stand the shivering, but the cold helps him to forget the unending rumbling of his empty stomach.

-A bloody Glove-

Above, on the wet road, a runaway carriage crashes over the bridge railing. The one-horned Abada that had been pulling it galloping away after a close lightning strike.

These are common in Korra, especially in the mountain built city of Orroko. Raf, who ignored the bright flash of light, couldn't help but get up as the formerly fine wooden carriage had landed in front of him and a few shards of wood hitting him coupled with the thunderclap that always follows lightning. Raf rubs his left leg where the rich wood had hit him. His ear infection mildly soothed by the vibration of the thunderclap.

A bloody gloved hand forces the shattered remains of the carriage door open. Her overcoat is made of rich Tuareg, coloured a dark navy which blended well into the night. Above whistles started blowing.

Raf moves towards the bloody hands sensing an opportunity. He moves carefully making sure to stay as much under the cover of the bridge as possible. He didn't want any trouble with the poppers, they always treated him poorly. They treat everyone poorly as if a little power somehow made everyone else less than them.

Raf slinks inside before the bloody glove could finish opening the door. Inside a stunning revelation. A beautiful woman with blood in her hair was struggling to climb out. Her dress is of the new style, a bright crimson Kikoi wrapped around her body. Raf grabs at her...

"Somebody call the Poppers, that's magistrate Colins carriage." A small procession of carriages of equal finery had stopped at the bridge above. The voice was loud enough to be heard through the storm though the owner of that voice had been as fleeting as the thunderclap. The nobles being true to form will not risk their lives, especially for a controversial magistrate like Domra Colins.

...Raf grabs her bag, she is holding it in her other hand over her wound. 'Must be mighty important if she trying to take it with her.' 

Raf didn't care if the woman was dying or not. The streets didn't allow him to care for a crust, especially for one with so much. It hadn't taken but a moment for him to see she must be high royal. Her red clay stained hair, beads and gems. If he had a knife he would have stolen them, they are untraceable and even the smallest is said to go for a few hundred Kor.

Raf rips the black leather bag out of her hands. Surprisingly she tries to hang on. Even with the red clay in her hair slowly mixing with her blood. She has several other cuts, that no amount of Orra can heal even with her power sources in her hair.

"Stop!" She said weakly, a red bead lights up. Normally any Oraka is too powerful for him to even get close to but, the amount of focus required is well beyond the abilities of one so injured. Raf wiggles the bag, the situation above is about to come below. The nobles had signalled for Poppers to be summoned. Some of the more curious ones even trying to see what's happening down below.

"Don't! He will kill us all," a sluice of uncontrollable blood leaking from the dark woman. She is losing too much blood, succumbing to the cut in her abdomen. Raf peeks around quickly. A man wearing a black Kikoi suit lies pierced through spine and stomach. Raf as quickly as he can throws himself at the sleek Oriki. The black tanned leather armband is laced with a number of casting gems. Each gem shimmered a different colour.