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Tieron faltered and crashed to his knees on the muddy street. Outstretched hands and splayed fingers shattered the elbow-deep puddle, splattering his heaving chest and gasping face with thick, summer-warm water. The wild flickering of lightning and instantaneous shuddering thunder illuminated the whites of his wide eyes and drowned his coughing cry.

He struggled to his feet, dragging his boots through the puddle while he searched wildly over his shoulder. Sinking to one knee, left hand clutched to a pouch tied to his left shoulder, he saw them shift and bob in the archway of the alley from which he’d emerged. They oriented on him a moment later and darted forward.

With a frustrated growl that did more to clear his throat than make noise, Tieron lurched forward. A sprinter’s physique and trained balance allowed him to keep his distance, but the constant flight and wounds from his pursuers’ occasional success were taking their toll. His two-toned wheeze often caught into a rattling cough, raw pain pulled at abrasions on the side of his head, and his vision blurred constantly.

He turned another corner, pulling frantically at the catches of the pouch. He could feel the thick pulsing within, the slickness as the lining of the pouch seemed unable to touch the object within.

Another flash of purple lightning connected sky and earth, tearing away a chunk of tree not ten feet away. The sudden blast and fury blew Tieron off his feet. He rolled over mid-flight, thick rain soaking his body, the pounding of the thunder reverberating painfully through his chest. He slammed back to ground and tried to roll further to spread out the impact, but came up short against the stone of a wall.

Desperately pushing himself to hands and knees, leaning against the impeding wall, Tieron squinted back towards the tree. The cry of pain in his left arm echoed loudly from his mouth, but after a moment of eyes squeezed tight shut and shifting his weight to his right arm, he was able to focus. Thick strands of wet, black hair spread across his face, draped across his nose, getting in his mouth, drawing tight across his cheek.

There, struggling under the recently carved branch, the two pursuers writhed.

Tieron took the chance to catch two deep breaths, staring at the ground, before shoving himself up and cradling his broken arm. Swaying unsteadily, he wove his way down the muddy track and onto a wider street. Hot irons of pain stabbed through his left shoulder. He stood blinking dully through the thick rain, mouth open and drawing breath as fast and deep as the pain in his arm would let him. A sudden light across the way drew his attention, and he leaned towards the jovial and raucous voices that burst from the doorway.

Drifting across the street, pummeled by the rain, Tieron reached out with his good hand to the figure framed by the light.

A haggard, bedraggled man appeared suddenly before DragonTayl, then crumpled under the weight of a creature that threw itself atop him. Tayl leapt forward, sword already free of its scabbard. By the time the unfortunate victim touched the ground, Tayl had run the point of his sword through his assailant’s supine neck. With a swift and smooth sweep-sawing motion he severed the creature’s head and extracted his blade.

Two quick, low-crouched steps and Tayl closed on the second creature, now upon them. It reared back, reptilian maw agape. Tayl followed its motion, matching speed for speed, and gave it no time to strike forward, leaping instead as if to pass it. While the vile attacker swiveled to follow his progress, Tayl swung his sword through its body, cutting it in half.

Tayl turned immediately and knelt next to the fallen man. Sword in his left hand, Tayl rested his right palm against the man’s chest. Tayl’s long fingers, obviously pale even in the dim light of the storm, appeared bony, but touched with a tender motion as he rolled the man on his side. The head of the supine attacker moved with him, fangs still embedded in the back of the man’s neck.

A slow, labored breath marked Tieron’s only reaction. Unable to control his eyes any more, Tieron appeared to gaze upon the road. His right hand fell away from his left shoulder. A circular object dropped to the ground, falling over on the sodden street. Tayl frowned at it and leaned closer.

“Can’t... help...” the wounded man managed weakly, water pouring down his face, eyes still unfocused. His eyebrows quivered in an attempted frown. “...You...”

Tayl closed his eyes and rested his hand against the man’s cheek. “It is I who can not help you,” he said quietly, his voice bearing the touch of an exotic accent.

“Take it... quickly...” the man whispered, unmoving. “You... will...”

Tayl felt the shift as the man released his final burden. He crouched low over the gently expiring body and chanted quietly, privately, as the rain beat down upon them.

After a moment, Tayl looked at the ground where an ivory-white oval was already spattered in mud kicked up by the rain. It was of low profile, but one of the ends carried a short crest. He could see jewels embedded there, and the way the milky surface appeared to absorb the gloomy sky in an almost purplish hue.

He reached down, talon-tipped fingers of his right hand closing around what he was sure was a crown of some sort. His left arm came up reflexively, his attention immediately focused on the cracking power that sizzled down the street towards him.

As though a bolt of lightning had rebounded off a building and came at him sideways, blue-purple electricity coursed down the street to flood the air about him. Tayl flinched, crouching lower.

Even before it occurred to him that the energy had redirected around him, or that the crown in his hand sparkled in defiance, Tayl registered a howl of frustrated rage. It echoed down the street, forcing its way through the rain, plaintive as a wolf’s cry by the time the energy stopped.

Tayl narrowed his eyes, eyes that almost looked as though they had reflected the light like mirrors or the cut facets of crystal. Calmly he scanned the buildings, focusing on a balcony three quarters of a block down the lane on the left.

Ignoring the street for several precious seconds, Tayl filtered through the man’s clothing, removing an amulet, ring, pouch, and a patch sewn into the collar of his cloak. “I will take it,” he murmured into the dead man’s ears.

Tayl rose from the body and slipped away to his right, away from the supine beasts, away from the mysterious balcony, and disappeared behind the rain.