B.T.V. -- Session 08 Interlude: Dragon's Eyes

A tavern’s table top sees a deal of poor treatment over time; the addition of a throwing axe’s tip point didn’t truly mean much, despite it striking hard enough to cause the weapon to stand upright and the table to shudder. The axe’s haft was worn from much handling and time. The grip was a supple skin. Where the head widened to join the haft the metal was embellished with fine, deep etchings of a city street scene. It depicted three people bent over a fourth who appeared dead or worse. Inspecting the scene would not determine adequately whether the three were helping the downed figure or helping themselves to whatever the figure might have. The noise the axe’s impact made was minor enough in the overall din of The Stippled Liar to go unnoticed by most. The two who did note it were meant to. They sat at the table across from the woman who’d short-thrown it. She nodded at the axe, upright in the middle of the table top.


“It prefers to stand. I don't. May I?”

Between the two men already seated, the one who was not in charge spoke, “Your name before we will let you sit and relax.”

“Oh, I’m not often relaxed. My name is Giaconda.”

The man who had asked held his hand up, stopping the woman from pulling the chair out any farther from the table, “Just Giaconda, nothing more?”

“Enemies always have other names for people like us. You’d have to ask them what they call me.”

“I doubt you are without a House. You’re draegeran. You will have another name that follows Giaconda.”

“I rarely talk of my House. They do me the courtesy of rarely talking about me. Our dismissiveness is mutual.”

“Your House?”

“Alright, Dragon. May their blood boil away by the Furnace’s light.”

“My thanks… You have that much hate for those who reared you?”

“It’s personal, my hate. I won’t speak of it to you two. I have reason to be alive and go where I wish, in spite of the Dragons knowing I mean them no good. That should be more than enough to interest you and certainly enough to let me sit.”




The man who hadn’t spoken motioned for Giaconda to sit. The other man said, “An axe that’s thrown usually has a partner. I don’t see it on you. Is it well-hidden or decanted to be unseen?”

“My throwing axes number a substantial count more than two. Not decanted, at least not in the usual way. They’re something special. A payment made by one I aided who normally would need no such help. I was as lucky as a Shahasan to be in the right place when this unique occasion occurred.”

“The axe looks decent but not overtly special.”

“That’s because its indoors. Outside it looks a little different.”

“We’re inside. Care to describe its outdoor appearance?”

“The heads go darker still. The metal blisters and peels as if its being heated. Instead of the ember glow of the forge though, the head goes from the silvered to black and violet. Attractive. I don’t mind describing them because if it were to come to you seeing them – well…”

The man who had yet to speak had heard sufficient, “If I see them as you have described, it will be as they fly into targets of our choosing.”

“You think we’d agree on targets?”

“Why not? Axildusk is a world of improbable things being possible, even likely. Your cooperation wouldn’t be the strangest occurrence.”

“It will be up to me to say how unlikely my helping you is going to be.”

“Name your price.”

“Just like that! You’re sure. I like that in an easterner. It happens rarely but when it does it’s excellent for business.”

“I have my reasons to be so sure. You are aware of my rapid rise within Karrion – most are.”

“It is spoken of in the mandatory manner.”

“You listened.”

“I did. It’s why I’m here. I’m here to see for myself. I’m still listening. Nothing you’ve done has marked you as dupe or puppet or a husk. What do you want from me and why me and not another?”

“Your weapons.”

“Them again? I’ve told you about them.”

“Your description wasn’t necessary. I knew about them already. My man here wasn’t aware so I let you say what you did. I know everything.”

“All about them?”

“Their origin. Their strengths. You look doubtful. I understand… I will tell you a name. It will tell you how I know about your weapons. You will know the name of Kayyya. She is the one you aided. She is the one who gave you these axes.”

Her body was still and Giaconda’s eyes were edged weapon slashes, “You speak Her name indoors? It is said that this will bring harm on you. Her name is to be spoken only beneath the starless dark of night skies.”

“I risk much.”

“Su, you do… I know she means this threat. You have reason to feel she won’t bring things against you in the night. You might well be one I can expect to survive until the ordained arrives.”

“This title has sometimes reached my ear. What can you tell me about this one?”

“Naught. Only that he will come. I expect he is jenoine but a unique one. Such is the fear he creates in the draegerans who hear the stories that the minstrels sing about him, that they cower at the end of each stanza.”

“A possible fiction then?”

“Anything is possible upon this world as you say. The Night’s Lady you named is proof of this... She and her lover have made Axildusk over into a place of shifting smoke which shows near as much as it hides. Upon the wisps-a-glow and cavort, gaping shades, She drapes her shawl along His opened form and they turn together inward and embrace, Their world and Themselves shrouded and black-enthralling all who cannot see.”





A few Stippled Liar patrons glanced over at her to see if their ears had been deceived or that they had heard the old tongue being spoken. She'd already finished. The words lingered only at the table of the axe. The patrons returned to their private conversations.

The other man shifted in his seat. Restless. Talk of the Night and Shadow were nothing to him. His interests were about solid, regular, ordinary things like action and reprisal and consequence. He pulled the point at the front of his hood lower over his forehead to hide not only his eyes but his unrest. His commander sensed this about him but carried on, “You speak with an almost winsome way about her.”

“Winsome? Lyric perhaps. These were my father's words. My father was a minstrel. Unusual for a Dragon.”

“It sounds it.”

“My mother was a dupe for fancy wordsmithing. I forget more of my father’s verse than I remember. My mother was a dragonlord and contemptible for her loving him.”

“We cannot choose our parent’s follies, only learn to live with them.”

“I need only two things from you to agree to your need for my assistance and your insights into childhood trauma isn't either of them. My price must be agreed upon first. You said name it, so I shall. You are something of a slayer... I will make utterance and you must kill one I name.”

The other man shifted abruptly. Hand to hilt. Hidden blade triggered. Impertinent woman.

“I can only agree if this named one is not needed to further my own agenda. I must stipulate this, but otherwise…”

“I doubt that will be a problem. If I have reason to wish one dearly important to you to die forever I will slay them myself.” Giaconda let her Dragon's eyes fly shadows across the subordinate who had moved in aggression.

“Agreed. What is the second thing you need to agree?”

“A simple answer to a question. Give me that and we are agreed. Then su, I will own your dreams and do all utmost to usher them unto unruly reality.”

Her words were draegeran spoken music and he knew that because of this, she was speaking her truth.

“Let us see if I can answer.”

Momentarily, her eyes widened to let loose some of their draegeran nature. In their brief, lifting shadow a violet flare from the embedded axe lit her face. Giaconda leaned forward on her elbows, laced her fingers and smiled through the lavender light at the men. She was an emboldened vanquisher and asked, “Just what is a Tai-Pan anyway?”