#4 Porta Louis

Drake

Working alone suited Drake, it meant no distractions, no vulnerabilities. It had been a while since he had left the Adderson's with their neighbours. His job had been done as soon as they were safe. But even that he hadn't been able to do. The job was screwed, as was Drake. The whole job was a mess, if only he had been a couple weeks earlier, a couple days even. Maybe then he'd have been able to prevent disaster.

Drake looked up from the well-travelled road he now found himself on as he approached the city. Porta Louis. A beacon of false hope and liberty that's marble pillars and spires towered over the people. Its white stone was complemented by the metallic-grey accents of the spinel, a valuable and resilient material, that ran down the side of the buildings like a gentle stream of water. The light almost seemed to bow to the towering, spectral forms that loomed over the entirety of the city. A large pyramidal building, stone black as night and lined with golden seems, stood apart from the other large structures that littered the city. The symbol of the crescent moon was engraved on the supports at the front of the building with 3 silver lines drawn above the moons curve. The mark of the Guild.

City walls loomed in front of him, the foundations they were built on were strong and dependable, yet due to the relatively recent influx of wealth in the city, the walls had been turned into some sort of grand piece of art. Forgoing basic defensibility, huge, intricate towers and structures had been erected with looks rather than protection in mind. Nevertheless, atop these structures were the watchmen, adorned in bronze armour and carrying ironwood crossbows imported across the Ocean from Gardia. Amongst their ranks, entrusted to the higher ups, the occasional soldier carried a new weapon known as a boomstick by the Dwarves and wild Elves who made them, but the city council had named them muskets. Their design was simple, the elemental crystals mined from within the hills that enveloped the city on its East and West were used to generate explosive force that propelled a small pellet of metal out of the barrel. They were accurate, deadly and a devil to reload. However, they were new and flashy, perfect for the self-righteous pricks who carried them. Drake was not fond of the city, but it was the place he called home.

"Clear for entry. Next!" The guard's voice is faint over the bustle of caravans and wagons that journey in and out of the pale white gate.

"What do we have here sir?" Questions the guard knowingly. It seems the man had tried to sneak extra produce through the gate untaxed by the city. Unfortunately, the guards had chosen him for examination and found the extra compartment beneath the boards of the wagon. The woman's draconic face creased with fear and her tongue flicked violently. The excess grain spilt out to the floor. To Drakes surprise, it seemed as though the Guard had uncovered more than just excess supplies. Violite grain spilt to the floor. The grain itself was dangerous, but the drug it created was even more so. A cloud of grey smoke billowed up from the grain as it fell, engulfing the Dracon and Guard. Luckily the guard was quick to react and with an amber flash, darted out of the cloud, his neck covering pulled up onto his mouth. More soldiers ran over as the Watchmen spluttered and keeled over onto the ground wheezing. Unlike the watchmen, the Dracon woman stood shocked and motionless. It was her mistake. Now she lay convulsing on the floor within the smoke, her single slit eye rolled back into her skull. Her body arched and writhed in pain as her rose skin almost boiled beneath the surface and grew grey. In the matter of ten seconds her body was still, and within another ten the guards had already begun clean-up operations.

If there was any time for Drake to pass through the gate unnoticed then it was now. Darting forward, Drake passed the distracted travellers and watchmen as he moved swiftly for the Gate. Almost there…

"Where do you think you're going in such a hurry… Drake?" Markus positioned himself in Drake's path.

"I don't have time for your shit. It's late" Drake stated clearly. Markus did not move. Instead, his head reared back, and he spat at Drakes feet. "Well; that wasn't polite, was it?"

"You owe me Drake; you've owed me for months now you gutter rat!" Exclaimed Markus.

"How?"

"What do you mean how, you filthy halfwit?" His eyes almost seemed to bulge out of his head in rage. The venom and fire in his words could put the that of even a Wyrm to shame.

Drake stared impatiently. "You, you stole my fucking dagger!" Shouted Markus. "And that's not all. You cheated me out of half a months pay, tampered with my drink. That isn't even the half of it. You then, whilst I was passed out, proceeded to sleep with my girl and then take the ring that I gave her for her birthday." His cheeks were bright red from all the jeering. "You are scum!" Attempting to spit again on the floor, the guard had to catch himself suddenly as a figure moved behind Drake. Drake's gaze glanced from the raging man to his back. Behind him stood another Watchman.

"Markus." Spoke the soldier, his voice confident and commanding, "Is there a problem here?"

Markus's eyes darted between both Drake and the soldier. The man's attire was similar, the bronze splint armour covering his vitals, however the armour was well worn and a small shoulder covering depicted his rank. Markus did not have to even look at the mans rank though, he immediately recognised his authority and stood to attention.

"Sword Master Cassian, I…" Markus's words faded as he stared at the soldier's face. Drake had heard of the Sword Masters; they were few and far between. They're organisation created the finest swordsman the in Veia. Rumour had it that they were particularly fierce in their training, many died just to become pupils of the order of Sword Masters. 'To have one employed as a city guard… clearly Porta Louis had a lot of money lying around' thought Drake. The man himself was not a very outstanding figure, being shorter than Drake and having almost no distinctive features . What scared Drake was his presence or be it the lack of that. Somehow the man had easily snook up on both Drake and Markus completely unbeknownst to them. Unlike Marcus, Drake realised not to trifle with this man.

"Markus." Cassian's voice was soft, and he spoke slow and confidently. "Why do you insult this man? As a city Guard you should not be gambling away your money." He stated.

"Sir I…"

" On what basis do you accuse this man as well, have you evidence?" The silence was unnerving. Markus had no reply other than staring blankly at the man.

"Cassian, is it?" spoke Drake to break the silence. A nod was all the reply Cassian gave. "Markus is clearly tired. It may have been a long day for him."

"No!" uttered the Sword Master, his gaze never leaving Markus. "To me it sounds like Markus is being very biased in his thinking, simply based on your origins. I am correct am I not Markus?" Cassian's light brown face seemed to tense up as he stated the words. "Is it not a Guards duty to uphold the law, to protect and respect the citizens? Are you fulfilling your duty right now Watchmen?"

"No… sir" whispered Markus. "No sir!" Repeated Markus, seeing the face of the Sword Master curl in displeasure.

"Better. Now leave this man be, I'm sure he has better things to be doing."

"Yes sir." Said Markus, his voice faint and disheartened by the grilling he had received from his superior. Scraping his boots along the floor, he made busy of himself elsewhere knowing that Cassian's watchful eyes would now be upon him.

"Sorry for the inconvenience sir." Cassian's words were almost like gold to Drake. It was rare for any of the Guards to treat him with respect. To them he was some scummy street rat, raised in the gutters of the city. Drake knew he had done nothing but beat the man in a game of chance. Although he may have tipped chance in his favour whilst playing cards with the watchmen and scored a dagger out of it. The other allegations he assumed were because he was an easy target of blame.

"It's fine. Just get your soldiers in check." Spoke Drake passively, not wanting to anger the man. Surprisingly, the long, thin blade at the Sword Masters hip warned Drake against any mischievous behaviour. Cocking his head and rubbing his greying beard, Cassian spoke to Drake.

"The men here have seemed 'quite' disorderly. My job from the council is to get these men in shape and to reduce the number of guards needed." His hand leapt from his beard and pointed at drakes' markings on his chest, the crescent moon of the Guild. " With the number of Demonics you hunters are dealing with nowadays, its only right that the city invest in the guard to help you out." Again, his hand moves through the air, this time to the crest of Porta Louis sewn on his garments. "Its my job to make sure these lads and ladies are ready for when they encounter those sick creatures. I'm sure you're probably accustomed to them by now however."

Drake wasn't one for idle chatting, but the man seemed honest, and Drake didn't want to make an enemy out of someone like him.

"Just culled some actually." Stated Drake plainly. Cassian's eyebrow raised in interest, and he began again to stroke his beard. "Like you said, they're nightmarish and now seem to be breeding like rabbits. These parts have become infested."

Cassian looked knowingly at Drake; His eyes seemed to focus on him, and with words that could have caused war he declared "Maybe it's the towers."