The Nightrise Chronicles

The Nightrise Chronicles
By Kittyluvver
Wrote this a LONG time ago... probably around the end of June, and I only remembered to publish it now XP. Featuring Anathema. Don't know if I'll be continuing... 
==Chapter 1==
She held the darkness of the night in her eyes.
They flickered about the busy innkeep, missing nothing. A SandWing stranger sitting at the grimy bar, his lilting accent indicative of the Scorpion Den region. Two MudWings huddled close by the fire blazing in the corner - one of them blood-egg, by the looks of he bore the flames licking off his scales. A scrawny SkyWing bartender lurked behind the counter, visibly bored, stealing sips from a beer tap.
Softly she walked, feet making no sound against the creaky wooden floor, the darkness of her NightWing form striking a stark contrast against the more variegated hues of the dragons around her. Sleek black scales, rimmed with violet accents, framed a slender form. Wide purple eyes opened in the midst of a delicate, fine-boned face - deep, bottomless violet eyes that spoke of mystery. She had the eyes of one that had seen great horrors, eyes that but yet still held the a youthful gleam that betrayed her young age and forceful spirit.
Anathema of the NightWings, code named Agent Nightrise, the finest NightWing operative on this side of the Claws of the Clouds, was no more than a teenager.
Dour eyes, belonging to SkyWing, MudWing, SandWing, turned to look at her with vague disinterest. She was remarkably young, especially to be out so late in such a distasteful place, but she wasn’t a sight so uncommon as to make a lasting impression. If anyone was asked to describe her the next morning, they would likely be unable to recall anything past that she was NightWing and female. No details that would get an official investigation any leads.
And get Ana was keenly aware of the eyes that followed her as she made her way to the bar. They were innocent bystanders, she knew - just curious dragonfolk from the rough side of town, who liked a little liquor to ease their way into the night. And yet she keenly felt the comforting presence of two sickle-bladed knives strapped within the folds of her wings, the weight of her handgun Spitfire tied against the inside of her thigh, the garrote wire wound round her wrist as a silver bracelet, the quiet burn of the paralytic poison that coated her foreclaws.
Ana was a professional, after all. She would not walk into a new, possibly dangerous location without extensive preparation.
The grimy inkeep was tucked away on the border of the territory between Sand Mud Kingdoms, hidden in a small town amongst the tussocky hills the formed the trailing Southern end of the Claws of the Clouds. The location had been carefully chosen - the town was small enough to be discreet, and yet large enough that any newcomer would not be immediately noticed and singled out. It was in a portion of the continent that held no attractions, no resources, and no real value - most dragons here stayed no longer than they had to while passing through on their way to Jade Mountain the south, or the MudWing Palace to the east, or the Scorpion Den to the southwest. The guests arrived, drank their fill in the dingy bar, and then continued on their separate ways each morning with pounding hangovers.
Ana had been in the area for the past three days, scouting out the location. She had not stayed in the inn itself - no, that would be too visible and too dangerous. Any amateur assassin with a general knowledge of the surroundings could murder her in her bed and be away before the first light of dawn. No, Ana preferred to do her reconnaissance on her own terms; she had set up a rudimentary campsite in the wild, brushy foothills on the outskirts of the village, safely out of sight and out of mind. And for the past three days she had been scouting out the town, disguised as a MudWing, a SandWing, and a SkyWing on different days. Amazing what wonders some prosthetics and scale paint could work. Amazing how dragons only saw what they expected to see.
Tonight she had forgone disguise, as her contact would not show himself unless she was recognizable. It was slightly disconcerting to be out and about without a protective layer of paint on her skin, but she would have to make do with a few hours of uncomfortable exposure. It was unlikely that anyone would be able to remember her, anyway, and she intended to be long gone before the night was done.
Now Ana made her way to the bar, seating herself on the stool nearest the end. She had chosen the seat carefully - it was out of earshot of the bartender and the other inn patrons, and close enough to the window and door to provide a hasty escape should one become necessary. It was also secluded, affording her a good view of the doorway, and half-hidden in shadow that melted in with her dark NightWing scales. She could see everyone, but it would be difficult for anyone to spot her.
The SandWing bartender slouched over, an empty beer glass clutched in his hand. “What can Ah git fer yuh?” he mumbled.
“A glass of your house brew, please,” Ana replied coolly.
The SkyWing bartender squinted at her, suspicion clear in swollen red eyes. “Now, I’mma need ta see some ID,” he drawled. “Yah don’t look a day older than seven.”
Ana reached into her bag and produced two gleaming golden coins, which she tossed idly onto the counter between them. “You’ll just have to take my word for it.”
Greed shone bright in the barkeeper’s eyes. Those two coins alone were almost an entire night’s earnings for the likes of him. Nevermind the drinking age, it hardly mattered anyways in a rough town like this. He wouldn’t lose any sleep over serving liquor to an underage dragoness - especially not one flashing gold.
“Coming righ’ up,” he affirmed, disappearing behind the counter. Ana watched him go, a slight grimace of distaste forming on her mouth.
She didn’t care about the drink in the least - she had bought it only to fit in. A teenage dragoness bribing her way past a spurious bartender was hardly unheard of, and would attract snickers but no lasting attention from the other bar patrons. But, a teenage dragoness who walked into a bar and then ordered nothing? That would make no sense at all. Heads would turn. And the last thing Ana needed was unnecessary attention.
“Here’s your drink.”
Ana looked up, rather surprised to see the bartender back so soon. But it wasn’t the SkyWing barkeep. Instead, a grimy-looking IceWing was slouching towards her along the bar, holding a glass of water in his paw.
Ana arched an eyebrow at him. “I didn’t order a water.”
“Yeh?” the IceWing grunted. “Well, you’re getting water.”
He blew gently on the water, dusting it in a light film of frost, and set it on the counter in front of Ana. Then he sagged away back down the bar - Ana’s sharp violet eyes tracking his every move - until he disappeared through the swinging kitchen doorway.
Anathema eyed the frosty glass of water with some suspicion. Of course she would not drink it - she hadn’t survived this long as a spy by drinking anything and everything that was set in front of her. She examined it closely, turning the glass around in a circle on the table.
And there it was. Scrawled into the dewy condensation on the side of glass were her instructions:
BACK ALLEY 5 MIN
The message had been written in rudimentary code, which Ana read easily - it was only a simple, well-known numerical cipher that she had learned back in the NightWing Academy of Espionage. She kept her face studiously blank as she committed the message to memory. Then she reached out and carefully wiped the glass clean with the palm of one paw, obliterating the words.
Five minutes. Four minutes now. Through the corner of her eyes Ana glanced at the exit through which the IceWing had passed through just moments before. Now she was certain that he was an agent, not the grungy, coarse bartender he had pretended to be. Perhaps he wasn’t even an IceWing at all - it would be child’s play for an experienced agent to disguise himself as a member of another tribe. Ana herself had a tin of silver paint and a set of prosthetic horns in her spy kit that allowed her to transform into an IceWing at will.
Though… he had breathed an icy blast on her drink. Ana frowned, tapping her claws on the counter in thought. Perhaps he really was an IceWing after all - she didn’t know of any way for a disguised non-IceWing to mimic the frostbreath.
Ana looked at the clock on the wall - it had been three minutes since the IceWing had departed. Her mind was working quickly as she stared at the ticking hands. Time - time was of the essence here. No, she could not afford to wait for the full five minutes to pass. She had no way of knowing whether the IceWing was her legitimate contact, or an enemy agent waiting for her to walk straight into a trap. For all she knew, she could be giving a gun squad five minutes to set up an ambush.
No, she decided. She would go out at the four minute mark. It would make hardly any difference if the IceWing agent was indeed an ally, and if it was a trap she might be able to catch the ambushers unawares. Neither would she go out the back exit that the IceWing took. She would go back out the front door, and then circle around to the rendezvous point.
Trap. Trap. The word ticked in her mind with every passing second. Anything to avoid a trap.
Discreetly she checked the knives hidden under her wings, the pistol against her leg, the wire wrapping her wrist, the poison on her claws. And those were only the weapons that she had concealed on her body.
Ana felt more confident at once, thinking of how well-armed she was. Perhaps it was a honest meeting, perhaps it was a trap. Either way it was a risk she had no choice but to take - she was already neck-deep in spy intrigue. Yes, she was well prepared for anything that might come - and she had fought her way out of ambushes. Fond memories - once outside the SkyWing arena, once deep in the RainWing jungle, once on an iceberg to the north of Queen Glacier’s palace. What was one more for the count?
Category:Content (Kittyluvver)
Category:Fanfictions
Category:Fanfictions (Fanon)
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