Baine

one of the guards at Sevetrin's House of Delights. sharp-eyed, has a very pointy spear and very pointy teeth so you'd better not try to steal that thing you're thinking of stealing. also specializes in massages, though he reserves his skills for only a select few.

very loyal to and fairly friendly with Sevetrin himself; some say his easygoing nature is one of the reasons why Sevetrin keeps him around. he's certainly quick to follow through on any orders the Coatl has for him.

many of the House's guests seem to think he's "very handsome" ("too pretty to be a guard") and frequently try to flirt with him, which he tries to gently discourage. Valencia, as she's not a guest, gets firmer discouragement and visible annoyance. it doesn't seem to have dissuaded her from continuing, but she also hasn't crossed any boundaries to make him truly upset. it's become just another part of their odd friendship.

bisexual. has a soft voice. prolly early/mid 20s by human equivalent. grew up on the streets on the rough side of Byzmara, Sevetrin found him and took him in to train him as a guard. something something diamond in the rough; Sev saw some sort of promise in him. maybe has a bit of a crush on Sev?

---

You enter the Palace of the God of Fortune, and all that glitters is Gold...

You watch the luxurious scenes about you melt into one another as you walk, the House of Delights far grander than you had ever fathomed it to be. Your task was both to enjoy yourself and rob this palace of its gilded treasures, and yet, you already feel uneasy, noticing you are being closely watched... Your nerves may have already been on the edge, but you reassure yourself now. Nobody will know what you will have done, with all these golden trinkets. It will go unnoticed by all, you believe, but you simply can't help but doubt...

You masquerade as the common guest, having word-played your way into the gates. A simple trick, that was, and yet, the rewards are dazzling; even more so in gold... You manage to slip past the watchful eyes and snag a chalice, encrusted with jewels. It goes into your bag as all other trinkets do, never to do seen again by the owner. That's how it almost always plays out, unless they find out who you are...

You feel those eyes upon you again. Worry begins to stir as you make your way off, heading directly toward the dragon-filled ballroom in an attempt to escape. Blending in with the crowd is easy once you grab a woman's hand, twirling her a few times before kissing her hand and disappearing - or so you hope. However, you feel those eyes following you once more, causing you to shiver. It seems this little game is going to come to quite the ending...

The source of the constant gaze makes himself known to you. He claims to be a guard of sorts, watching, waiting for your response. It takes you mere moments to start reaching for your bag, but he snatches it away, a low snarl rumbling from his throat as a Coatl appears on site of the scene. The Coatl's wings twitch as he watches you, some twisted look dancing in his eyes.

"Do away with them, Baine, and make it good for me..."

You feel your stomach churn as you back away, a spear pointed at your throat. Unforgiving walls trap you, sharp eyes watching your every move as you cower. Tonight would be you last heist, you knew. Tonight was the night, and it wasn't a good night. Your back's against the wall, your breath hitches, you watch in terror as he nears.

It gets quiet for a moment, and then a scream echoes before being cut off.

Just like you.

---

When Baine opens his eyes, the dome of the sky outside is still a deep, pure blue. He can see where half of the horizon is stained by the light of the sun.

As usual, a low murmur of voices comes from beyond the estate’s walls: traders and travelers all heading about their business, possibly back to their homes. Baine always counts himself lucky his home and job are in the same place. A commute through Byzmara can be dangerous. He, who has spent most of his childhood on the streets, knows this very well...

He remembers the day he first met Sevetrin.

He’d grown up on the streets of Byzmara. His parents had died or simply abandoned him; it didn’t really matter. Once parents were out of the picture, a child did what they had to survive.

For him, this had sometimes meant ingratiating himself with strangers. It hadn’t bothered him as much as some might think, for he’d been too young and hungry to care. And it was a lot less risky than crime. “Park your Skiras, sirs?” he would ask the merchants who bustled into the market with their pack beasts. “One copper coin for my efforts, noble masters, and I’ll make sure your beasts are watered and fed...”

He had been blessed with uncommonly good looks. He learned to be charming, to always wear a smile. More fortunate dragons tended to shy away from urchins who importuned them with high screams and teary eyes — they gravitated to Baine, with his soft voice and cheery smile, and sometimes even gave him food and drink for his troubles.

When he was on the threshold of adulthood, his luck changed. “Need help with your beasts?” he asked a dragon who was struggling to control a pair of Dreadrams. One of them tossed its head, and when the groom dropped the reins in fright, Baine instinctively took over. He guided the rams’ heads to the fountain, and they plunged their noses in to drink. He couldn’t help laughing at this. “Ah, how thirsty you were! All better now?”

His voice seemed to soothe the Dreadrams; they stopped stamping their feet. They were drawing an intricately-carved wooden coach, and as Baine watched, the roof folded back with a rustle of paper and dried bamboo slats. The passenger, a Coatl with pale blue eyes, looked curiously down at him.

The Wildclaw immediately dropped his gaze. “Noble master,” he greeted the other dragon, bowing perfunctorily. He didn’t recognize the Coatl, but it always paid to be polite — sometimes literally.

“Many gratitudes, young drake. It was not a comfortable trip until you led these sheep to the water.” The Coatl paused to glare at the groom, who was cringing nearby. Baine momentarily felt bad for him, but that vanished when the Coatl held out a gold coin — the largest sum of money he had ever been offered.

“What is your name, young drake?”

“I am called Baine, sir.”

“Baine, hm?” As Baine took the gold coin, the Coatl clasped his claws in a handshake. “You seem like a capable fellow with much good sense, Baine. Would you like a real job?”

---

Baine leaves his quarters already fully-dressed and -equipped for his shift. The House of Delights always throngs with activity, but at these hours, it is different; there is a strange electricity in the air. He has never really gotten used to it, and for that he is grateful — it keeps him alert.

Still, when someone grabs the back of his tunic collar, he nearly freezes. And then he hears a familiar laugh. She comes into view, stepping daintily around him, deftly straightening his rumpled tunic.

“Good evening, Valencia.”

She isn’t fooled by his airy tone. “Hmpf! Still a bit groggy, are you, Baine?”

“Have a heart! The sun hasn’t dropped below the horizon yet.”

“I expect you to always be alert, Baine,” Despite the hectoring tone, her eyes and smile are warm, so Baine isn’t one bit fooled. And anyway, they have played this game for years.

He certainly was fooled when he first met her, though.

It was the day after the Coatl, Sevetrin, had hired him. He was admitted into the estate, led to the dining room where Lord Sevetrin waited.

The Coatl greeted Baine and bade him take a seat. They were joined by another Wildclaw, this one the color of a blushing rose — though there was no evidence that a blush had ever touched her face. And her cheerful smile was just a bit too impish... Sevetrin introduced her as Valencia, and she responded with a curtsy that had no submissiveness in it.

By now, Baine knew that Sevetrin was a House Leader who had recently come to power. He’d expanded his estate and was now looking for new staff, and he thought Baine would be a good fit. “As I have my duties as a House Head, Valencia will be taking care of you,” Sevetrin explained. He indicated the rosy Wildclaw, and now she grinned unabashedly back.

Baine wasn’t really comforted by that. With Valencia, he suddenly felt as though he’d been shoved into the deep end of a pool — and considering they were in the middle of a desert, that was saying much. “I’ll be fine—” he started, but Valencia stood up, placed a hand on his shoulder, and gently pushed him to his feet. She propelled him out of the room. Sevetrin didn’t object, and when Baine looked back, the Coatl was daintily lifting a grape to his tongue. The interview with the House Head was over.

---

“Coming through!” The call is accompanied by a clatter of metal, and Baine quickly steps back. To his astonishment, a Fae whirls towards him. She carries stacks of burnished metal bowls in her front claws, and another stack is balanced on her head.

He recognizes her; she is a newly-recruited servant who started work about a week ago. She already seems to be fitting in. Nonetheless, he offers, “May I help you?”

“I’ve got this; thanks, Baine!” And then she is gone with another clatter and a sparkle of green. Baine can’t help chuckling to himself. How confident this newbie is, how self-assured! He wonders now if he had half her panache back when he was starting out... Valencia would probably disagree.

She kept him busy from his earliest days. Baine recalled how she first toured him around part of the estate. His jaw was actually open most of the time; he’d never imagined, let alone seen, such luxury before, and it absolutely floored him. Ceilings enchanted to show the paths of the heavens! Pools and fountains where rare salamanders frolicked; aviaries with music piped by birds in a million scintillating colors. There were artifacts studded with gems and others wrought of pure magic. Faint perfume drifted through the air, and the carpets were so plush and deep, Baine’s feet vanished into them.

Aside from his open jaw and the nigh-overwhelming torrent of opulence, the only other constant was Valencia’s chatter. She was a tireless commentator, gesturing here and there, her speech nearly as dazzling as the House itself. As she led him down yet another corridor, she glanced back over her shoulder. “Am I boring you, kid?”

“Mm?” Baine momentarily snapped out of his trance — he felt faintly annoyed. “I’m not a kid.”

Valencia smirked, but her eyes had softened, and she didn’t seem that irritated with him. She clapped him on the shoulder. “Well, you’ve had the grand tour — the introductory tour, anyway; but Baine, did Sevetrin tell you why you’re here?”

“He offered me a job. I thought I was going to tend the Dreadrams—”

“That might be a part of it. You see, here in the House of Delights, we require staffers who are skilled in a wide range of fields.” She shook her head, and her silks and jewels jingled. “Most dragons who come here are untried, inexperienced — Sevetrin likes them that way, and I concur. It is, shall we say... difficult for experienced dragons to unlearn old skills, make them conform with what the House needs.

“So, we shall be training and testing your capabilities in various fields. Who knows?” And she gave Baine a broad wink. “You might have some secret, surprising talent behind those sweet good looks of yours. Maybe you’ll be a dancer? Perhaps a gourmet chef?”

He couldn’t help laughing at this. Valencia grinned back, and then she threw open the door behind her, revealing an armory. Baine’s training was about to begin.

- - - - -

His trainer was a huge old Guardian, her hide traced with scars. None of them were particularly large or deep. She still moved smoothly despite her age, and Baine understood that the scars weren’t serious because the wounds that’d left them hadn’t been, either. This dragon might’ve been nicked a few times — but never actually hurt.

She later confirmed his suspicions: “A guard must be like the desert sand: unobtrusive, inoffensive — but quick to rise with the wind, quick to overwhelm. The question is, what weapon shall you best overwhelm with?” Her orange eyes narrowed as she studied Baine.

Her first assessment was withering, to say the least. She pointed out his skinny limbs and how skittish he was. Baine was hurt; it wasn’t as though he’d had enough to eat on the streets, and of course he was skittish. For the homeless of Byzmara, it paid to be skittish.

There was a rack of weapons nearby, and while Baine was still pouting, the Guardian threw some of them at his feet. “Arm yourself, child,” she rumbled.

Baine stared at her in disbelief. Those weapons were very real and very, sharp. Supposing she couldn’t avoid him?

He needn’t have worried. The Guardian had lived this long; indeed she was skilled. Throwing knife and axe — she turned only slightly; they hissed past her scales. Baine picked up a warhammer and rushed forward, intending to swing at her forelegs. It was too heavy for him — as he staggered under the weight, she simply shoved him away. He tried a sword, with similar results: she brushed him aside with a knuckle as unconcernedly as Baine himself might brush away dust.

“You’re too light,” she growled down to him. She gestured to the rack again. “Choose something with a longer reach. Perhaps a spear...”

She wasn’t the only tutor Baine had to contend with. He had a list of training sessions, and Valencia appeared at certain times of the day to whisk him away to them. Some lessons, like the Guardian’s weapons training, were long-term and could not be wiggled out of. Others lasted only a short time. These were largely meant to test his secondary skills, to draw out those “secret, surprising talents” Valencia hoped he had.

It was as fascinating as it was frustrating. Within a few months, Baine had gone through tutors for cooking, painting, singing, dancing, and flower arrangement. He could appreciate art, but didn’t see the need to actually do it. He was a practical fellow who excelled at practical tasks. Valencia eventually took him to learn from the estate’s familiar handlers, and Baine saw his old friends, the Dreadrams, again. To him, they were much the same as he remembered: placid, self-assured, largely unconcerned with the rest of the world. Valencia was surprised to see him working calmly with them, though. Dreadrams were aptly named. A lot of grooms and ostlers had quit their jobs because they couldn’t stand working with this particular pair.

She found herself nodding approvingly as she considered Baine’s performance. Perhaps Sevetrin was right — there were indeed diamonds in the rough, even in the murkiest of places...

- - - - -

It was time for Valencia to report Baine’s progress. Sevetrin himself welcomed her to the dining room. They began their meal with the usual catching-up chatter, each asking how the other was doing. It was only the two of them, but the room rang with laughter, and the conversation flowed between them as easily as water did.

Eventually, Sevetrin queried, “I’m curious about our newest staffer — that Wildclaw I recruited beside one of the city wells. What was his name again... Vine?”

“Close — it’s Baine,” Valencia corrected him with a laugh. Severin clucked and snapped his fingers. “Ah, yes, that sunny-looking young drake. Well, Valencia, how fares he? Is he still with us?”

“Indeed he is! I’ve run him through a gauntlet — erm, gamut of lessons, and while he’s absolutely woeful in the daintier ones,” Valencia rolled her eyes, “he is doing quite well in guard training. So he’s not a complete loss.”

Sevetrin had been counting on his fingers. “He has been here for... hmm, nearly half a year now, eh? And you haven’t driven him away with your nagging?” His jaw dropped in mock horror. “You must be losing your touch, my dear.”

“Sevetrin.” Valencia’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Be nice.”

The House Head only laughed at that. He lifted a glass of wine to her, either in praise or friendly mockery; Valencia couldn’t be sure which. Knowing him — and she did know him — it was probably both.

“Can he be trusted?” The question came suddenly, and another dragon would’ve paused to consider it. Valencia, however, promptly answered, “I believe so, yes. His time on the streets has not wrung the optimism out of him, and shockingly, he still maintains several principles.” Valencia did seem a bit shocked at this — perhaps a better word would’ve been “fascinated”. “He’s a rare find.”

“Yes,” Sevetrin answered calmly, “I knew it the moment I set eyes on him.”

Valencia nodded in agreement. She was still smiling, but it was faint now; there was also a somewhat faraway look in her eyes. Sevetrin had seen something in her the moment he’d lain eyes on her, too, quite some time ago...

“I did not always work for Lord Sevetrin,” she said later on, to Baine this time. As she’d explained to Sevetrin, Baine was an optimistic young dragon with good sense, easy and pleasant to talk to. She felt quite comfortable telling him a little bit about herself now — which was saying a lot, since her story involved some awful memories.

Baine, despite his naivete, had indeed learned a lot from his training, including how to read other dragons’ moods. Valencia was still in good spirits, but noticeably subdued; it was like seeing a cloud glide over the sun. “You didn’t?” was all he said, leaving her room to stop speaking — or continue.

“Like you, I was a poor, lost youngling on the streets of Byzmara. We dragons without families, we’re like discarded objects for anyone to pick up. The prettier ones get picked up first. Sometimes played with.” Valencia shrugged, almost as if trying to shake something off. She tugged her silks more tightly around herself.

“Lord Sevetrin came to that part of the city....He had some other business of his own. He’s a very busy drake, you know. But he still stopped when he saw me and the others. We had a master then — someone who’d picked us up and decided that we belonged to him — and we were quite...valuable to him. But Sevetrin didn’t hesitate to extend his hand to us, although the price was high.

“And so we came here, to the House of Delights. Mind you, when I heard the name at first, it gave me quite a turn!” Valencia chuckled hollowly. “I thought we would be reduced to playthings again...”

“But that didn’t happen,” Baine burst out — he just couldn’t hold it in any longer.

In the past, Valencia might’ve been annoyed by his interruption. Not so now. “No... It definitely didn’t happen.” Her eyes warmed, like the sun coming out again, and she patted him fondly on the head.

There were other trainees in the House of Delights. Many were like Baine — young and close-mouthed about their previous lives. Valencia’s story had made him realize that they might still be wrestling with some bad memories of their own, and thereafter he made an effort to be kinder to them.

So when he saw one of the guards limping away after a sparring session, he ran over to help. “Are you OK? Here — let’s have a seat...”

“Thanks, Baine, you’re a real pal.” The Skydancer accepted his assistance and sprawled on a bench. His feathered wings furled awkwardly. “I think I pulled a muscle back there... Can you reach it for me? It’s on my right shoulder, bang between my wings.”

Baine flexed his claws. He pressed a forepaw to the Skydancer’s back, kneading experimentally. His fellow guard grunted, “Put a bit more pressure into it, pal! Ahh... there we go! Blessed be, I can flex my wings again! I mean, not that I couldn’t before, but hey, you’re a natural at this!”

Within a few days, Valencia had a new set of lessons for Baine: He started training as a masseur. “Definitely not something I would’ve thought of myself!” he chuckled after the first few lessons. He’d found it weird at first, but there was something to be said about helping other dragons recuperate, finding their little aches and pains and steadily easing them away.

“As secondary skills go, it’s not too bad,” Valencia remarked. “It can get exhausting, having to knead and flex like that, but as long as you pace yourself, you’ll be fine.”

“I still have my guard training, though, right?”

“Yes,” she answered, “and that’s also partly what I mean about pacing yourself. You might’ve noticed that many of your fellow guards have secondary tasks around the House, just as you do.”

Baine’s brow furrowed. “There are so many of us...”

“Not all at once in the same place! That would just look silly.” Valencia couldn’t resist pulling a face. “But yes, this House needs plenty of guards. We’ll soon be ready to start accepting visitors again, and an open House is usually a vulnerable one. You might be off the streets now,” and she placed a forepaw on his shoulder, “but we are still within Byzmara’s walls, Baine. That’s something you shouldn’t ever forget.”

---

The other guards begin going about their business. Baine recognizes them all, even the ones currently in plain clothes. Some of them are even unarmed, but that doesn’t matter much; they have been trained to kill with only their hands and feet. And where the body fails, magic takes over...

His years of training and service have honed his body and mind, but his magic... As Valencia once mentioned, it is woeful. He does not have much magic within him. He does know a few useful spells, but because of the aforementioned weakness, sometimes they are easy to surmount.

He found this out the hard way.

By then, he had been a guard for three years. After the initial shock had passed, he had gotten used — or numbed — to the House of Delights, especially at night, in all its wildness and peculiarity and exoticism. He had also become accustomed to the visitors, had learned not to stare too hard or pry too closely. The charms he had plied as a young beast-herder came back to him as he coaxed visitors to stick to the House rules: “Let me take your cloak for you, Ma’am. And over there, you can see a pool for your familiar to play in. Please, allow me...”

Most visitors didn’t mind him; in fact, a lot of them seemed to like him, too. They smiled beneath the masks they wore and answered in equally honeyed tones. Some of them expressed interest in him, saying how handsome he was....Baine always managed to gently rebuff them. It was not only the visitors who had to observe the House rules.

The hours between dusk and dawn were largely safe; the palace was filled with illustrious folk, and only the most confident or insane assassin would dare attack with them about. No, the most dangerous time was that small window just before dawn, when the moon sank below the horizon and the guests began to leave. That was when the dark was deepest. That was when the Lord of Delights came to the doors.

With their wealth and power, House Heads were always prime targets for assassination, and most of them preferred to hide indoors, especially at night. But not Sevetrin. Whenever one of his grand parties wound down, he began escorting guests outside. He personally bade them farewell, lingering on the steps as he watched them vanish into the blackness. On the rare nights all the guests left quickly, he still seemed disinclined to head back inside. He usually elected to wander around the grounds, savoring the silence.

It was one of those nights, and Baine had been assigned to guard Sevetrin. The young Wildclaw trailed his employer through the gardens. He halfheartedly suggested, “Milord, it has grown chilly... Shall we retire for the night?”

“Why bother? It’ll be dawn in a few hours. Leave me be, Baine.” Sevetrin sighed. “Byzmara is hot and chaotic in the daytime, so full of dust and noise....The night is quieter and more conducive to introspection.” His brow furrowed slightly. “Besides, haven’t you been experimenting with those detection sigils of yours? I noticed you placing them round the garden earlier — shouldn’t they keep us safe?”

“Yes, sir.” Baine tried to sound more confident, but he knew his magic was not strong, and that worried him. The sigils were well-hidden, but if anyone knew they were there...

Even Sevetrin noticed that something was off. He watched as Baine’s claws fluttered. “What is it?”

Baine felt the sigil break — someone had come through. He immediately leaped before Sevetrin, his shield and spear at the ready. “Get back — milord, go inside!”

Sevetrin’s reply went unheard as the assassin thudded down: a Bogsneak, gliding over the House roofs as swiftly as she might through a river. Her forked tongue flicked out, tasting the air. Underneath the mask she wore, Baine saw her lips peel back in a smile.

“Found you,” she whispered. She rushed forward. Baine drove his spear towards her, and to his shock, her head twitched to the side — and she wrapped her tongue around the shaft. Her heavy jaws snapped shut, and the spear was torn away. She smashed sideways into Baine and hurled him aside.

He bounded upright and threw one of his knives. It bounced off the assassin’s back with a clang; apparently she was wearing armor. Sevetrin pressed back against the wall as she reared up on her hind legs, preparing to slash at him. “Where is your luck now, caplin?” she taunted him.

“Still with me, I should think,” Sevetrin retorted. His forepaw moved — a short, sharp motion that Baine still noticed. Almost as though he were tugging on a string...

“Baine!”

Baine threw his last knife. The Bogsneak turned to leer defiantly at him — and then with a spine-chilling rasp, the knife hit her. It had flown through a gap in her armor like paper through a slit...

She gasped; Baine gasped, too. He knew he was skilled, but not that skilled. He’d intended for the knife to distract her so Sevetrin could flee, but instead...?

A direct hit, piercing her throat. She gurgled and hissed as her blood began to spatter the grass. Baine walked over, his spear already in his grasp. Without really thinking about it, he drove it into the assassin, silencing her for good.

His first kill. He thought he would be sick. The world spun; he could hear his fellow guards’ shouts, but they seemed to be coming from very far away. The only thing that was clear was Sevetrin. His employer stood in stark relief, calm and unmoved...

Baine coughed. “The assassin. She said...”

Sevetrin arched an eyeridge.

“She called you... caplin. Is it true?”

Sevetrin sighed. “It’s something I’d rather not have noised about, for reasons I’m sure you’re aware of.”

“Does anyone else know?”

Sevetrin shrugged carelessly. He seemed disinclined to answer. “As I said, it’s not something I wish to become common knowledge. I was considering informing you, it’s true — but I needed to be sure I could trust you first. And I can trust you... Can I not? Haven’t I treated you well?” He looked expectantly at Baine.

There were ugly rumors about caplins, but then, Baine realized, couldn’t that be said about everybody in Byzmara? He remembered Valencia’s story: “He didn’t hesitate to extend a hand to us, although the price was high.” He recalled the day he’d first met Sevetrin, how the Coatl had proffered a golden coin and hired him without hesitation. His life had been strange and difficult since — but not unduly so. In fact, thinking back to his earliest days on the streets, he had it a lot easier now....

“Yes,” he answered Sevetrin, “you have.” He saluted his master, and the Coatl accepted this with a smile.

---

The party is in full swing, but Sevetrin will be there for but a fraction of it. There are staffers to see to the guests anyway; he has business of his own to attend to. Baine joins him in one of the House’s inner rooms, where they make ready to leave. “Another caplin meeting, milord?” the Wildclaw queries mildly. Where once the word “caplin” made him look furtively over his shoulder, he has absolutely no fear of it now. He’s employed by one, after all.

“Now, now, Baine, we’ve been over this before,” Sevetrin chides him. The Coatl’s forepaws flutter over the wall, tracing secret signs, and with a gentle sigh, it fades away, revealing a tunnel stretching into soft lilac fog.

Their footsteps are deadened as they step into the passage. Baine’s words, however, are still very audible: “That talent of yours is really handy. I’d say that being able to manipulate others’ luck makes you practically invincible. What d’you need a bodyguard like me for?”

Sevetrin laughs softly. “Why, for the pleasure of your company, Baine. It’s a fun game, life is — and like all other games, it’s best when there are plenty of players.”

Other dragons might shiver at this, but not Baine. He nods in agreement instead. Policing parties, dispatching assassins, and tagging along on caplin meetings... It might be the stuff of thrillers and gossip, but it’s all in a night’s work for Baine.

---