City of Fate

A Couple Hundred Years Ago

The assassin stood over the body of the Elf. He wiped the blood off of the blade on the front of the elves tunic. A few feet away, where the elf had dropped it, a ornate, dark wooden box lay tipped on it side. He grabbed the box and spun into the shadows cast by the buildings , just as a group of people walked by the opening of the dark alley. The assassin ran and, with a few deft steps up a brick wall. lept to a nearby awning and clambered up window sills to the roof of an adjacent building. He navigated the roof tops, jumping the gaps between the closely packed city buildings until he reached the one he was instructed to meet on. 

The days washing hung from lines strung from a small thatch roofed shed and swayed in the night breeze. A man pushed aside the sheets, appearing as if he had diffused from the fabric itself. He was dressed in an immaculate suit common among men at the time, dark trousers, double breasted vest and frock coat, a black bowler hat atop his head. The cool breeze kicked up again and the man's frock coat fluttered, the assassin noticed a shiny Webley six shooter nestled in a shoulder holster.

"Do you have the item?" The man asked. He was tall, a full head taller than the assassin, and broad shouldered. A neat black beard covered the lower half of his face, clear blue eyes squinted out from above a broad nose.

"Of course, I wouldn't have the reputation that I do if I was not able to procure the paid for Item." The assassin said, going with a bit of bravado to try to intimidate the man. "Do you have the rest of my money?" A satchel seemed to just appear in the bearded man's hand and he tossed it with a clear metallic jangle, obviously filled with coin. 

"The box." The man said, a statement not a question, and held out a thick calloused hand. The assassin noticed an accent, but could not place its origin. The assassin swung the pack from around his back and pulled the case from within. He held it in both hand, extended for the the man to take and the man irreverently scooped the box up.

A sharp crack sounded, it echoed off the surrounding buildings ominously. The box clattered loudly in the preceding silence as it fell to the rooftop. The man spun clutching his wrist, blood oozed from between his fingers. A second shot rang out. A ploom of vivid red blood sprayed from the back of the assassins head and he fell bonelessly to the rooftop. The bearded man scrabbled, clawing his way to the box. He smeared a bloody handprint across the lid as he rolled to the edge of the roof, hoping for cover from the gunfire. He opened the box and pulled the item from within, an opalescent dragon scale the size of a tea saucer. It seemed to shine from within, an incandescence shimmering without any outside light source. The man used his uninjured arm to lift himself, shoving the dragon scale into the inside pocket of his frock coat. He ran clutching his injured wrist, hunched over, making his way between whatever cover he could find. More shots rang out, showering the bearded man with debris and splinters of wood as the bullets rained down around him. He slid behind another small structure, a shower of dirt and gravel projected from under his black gators. He chanced a look around the corner to try to gauge the location of the shooter and pulled the Webley revolver from his shoulder holster. A muzzle flash from across the road showed the suited man exactly where his attacker was positioned and he flinched as the bullet smashed into the wall just above his head with a cloud of splinters and mortar. He kneeled and took aim, fired several shots to cover his retreat and ran. He skittered around a corner and ran headlong into a wall. He braced himself to fall but instead was lifted off his feet. The bearded man felt as though he was being crushed and in the same instant realised he was enclosed in the fist of a Giant.

The Giant lifted him in its fist, bringing him face to giant face with the behemoth. A smell of rot assaulted the bearded man, whether from the Giants breath or from the dirty, unkempt facial hair that covered the things face, he was not sure. 

"The Scale, to me you give. If not, long you will not live." The things voice was loud and sounded  deep and gravely, like a landslide. The man hated how they always seemed to speak in rhymes and riddles. The Giants, as a whole, were loyal and clever but were not particularly smart or thoughtful. The man in the suit still held his Webley and fired two shots into the hand still clutched around him, the Giant immediately dropped the man who fell back to the roof. 

The scale rang melodically, a sound like a glockenspiel, when it popped out from his pocket as he hit the ground hard. The Giant in the background held its injured hand to its mouth, sucking on the wound as if it were merely pricked by a pin. Blood still oozed from the gun wound in the man's wrist and he rose clutching his side, a rib or two surely broken. He groaned as he bent to retrieve the scale. As he rose a slight flutter, like the beating of a wing sounded and the scale shattered, the pieces fell as if in slow motion, the man counted  three shards beside the one still held between two fingers. An arrow wobbled up and down sticking out of the roof a few feet away, the glow of majik dissipating in a wisp of blue smoke. A second arrow imbedded itself into the man's thigh and he screamed in pain. Knowing he had to cut his loses, he broke the arrow off with a grunt and ran, limping away, still holding a piece of the broken scale in his hand as he went.

An elegant figure stood a few roofs away, one foot perched on the raised edge surrounding the top of the building. The Elfs long dark hair waved in the breeze as she lowered the bow, an arrow still knocked. She pulled the arrow from the bow and slid it back into the quiver strapped to her back and lept across the the roof where the bearded man had dropped the dragon scale. A small figure flew over to her on wings like a dragonfly and landed on her shoulder. The woman bent to retrieve the scale shards, the creature on her shoulder fluttered back into the air. She reached up and held one small piece to the small creature. The creature was humanoid in appearance, a women dressed in wispy clothes, four thin wings sprouted from behind her shoulders, a sword like a needle hung from a belt at her hip.

"Take this to the Faery Folk and keep it safe, we cannot let the dark ones or the humans get it." The elf said. "I will keep the other piece and give the last to the tree folk." She tucked the scale pieces into a satchel on belt.

"Why you not give Firewing scale to me, I can take to The Folk of the Tree?" A booming voice rumbled from above. The Giant lowered a hand, almost as big as door, down to the level of the two other Light Ones.

"That is a fine idea my large friend, it could not be safer then with the Tall Ones. Go with haste my gentle giant and my the light mother bring you speed and luck in you travel." 

"We will all keep these most powerful of items safe until a time when the prophecy will be fulfilled." A twinkling voice, like a windchime, came from the area of the Elves shoulder. The Giant bent low, closing one eye theatrically, to see the tiny creature better.

"Ah yes, my itty bitty friend, I will protect the thing until the end." Boomed the giant, he seemed to speak slowly and deliberately, as he opened a locket around his gargantuan neck and placed the Dragon Scale into it.

The Three unlikely companion seperated and took off in different direction. All three knowing that they were now the keepers of an incredibly important artifact, but also knowing that the Bearded man had escaped with the final piece and for them this was very disturbing indeed.