Dagon stood in the city’s garden quarter. It was less humid here than in other portions of the city-garden, and clematis and ivy thrived and twined around the door on which he knocked. Dagon listened to the whispers behind the door. They were too faint to understand, but the tone of argument pricked his sensitive ears. The faded blue door was divided into two sections three-quarters up from the ground. This was the sort of affair favored by mixed households of halflings and tall folk. The slender, white-skinned elf who opened the door should thus not have surprised him—but he’d expected a halfling. At least, a halfling shape. Dagon’s thin lips creased into a polite smile.
“Good day,” he began. He accompanied the words with a bow. There, while he bowed, Dagon’s nostrils flared. He straightened up, and his smile was a little warmer. “Good day,” he repeated. The woman looked at him. Her gaze glanced off his bronze skin. She met his silver eyes, and then moved to shut the door. It took less effort than stretching for Dagon to hold it open. He noted more greenery behind the elf—anyone who lived in this quarter was or became obsessed with plants—and, nestled among it all, a table and two stools. The dark hearth contained yet another plant where the flames should be.
“I’m passing out some information,” Dagon said. “Matis is full-shaped, you know, and he hates crushing the trees. He asked me to do the rounds. First,” he said as he leaned in to breathe, “We’ve delayed the summer festival in the common due to the drought.” He glanced at the greenery over the door. “I promise, there is a drought. Anyway. Second, as Dragonguard of the red quarter: there was a robbery there some time this morning. The robber fled this way. Have you seen anyone out of place and... heavily laden?” His eyes started to travel down from the elf’s face; she tried again to close the door, but she might as well be pressing against a wall.
“The red quarter. No,” she said. Her voice was like dry leaves; the strain in it said she was still trying to force the door shut. “Nothing like that. But if I learn something, I will ensure Matis is made aware.”
“Matis,” Dagon repeated. “Matis doesn’t care. He wouldn’t—.” The elf jerked back; the movement twisted the air around her. Dagon’s nostrils flared, and then his eyes glazed a little. He took a slow breath. “I’m sorry. You’re very right to alert your quarter’s Dragonguard, or his handlers.” Another breath, and a smile stretched across his face. “You know, one of my own partners recently retired. There’s a spot among the dragonguard that needs filling, and—”
“Aren’t you the dragon guard?” the elf demanded. “Who else is loitering at my door?” Dagon laughed. He cut it off to answer her crescent-eyed glare:
“Sorry, sorry. You’re right, of course. Just—think about it. Or, come visit. The red quarter has a lot more to offer than people joke about.” Dagon leaned in again to breathe, and to insert himself a little further into the door.
“Are you looking for your thief? You think you will find him here? Or you are recruiting for your... clubs.” She spat the words. Dagon drew back.
“What? No, no. That’s not—.” He slid a hand over his face. “I. I have other households to visit. Good day.”
“Good day,” said the elf. She’d closed the door before he finished turning away. Dagon lingered there. Through the faded wood, he heard a higher-pitched voice ask who the visitor had been.
“Dagon of the whores,” the elf answered. “He thought I was you.” A sigh from the halfling. “He offered for me—you, really—to join the dragon guard.” A gasp.
“Did one of the Dragonguard... wait. Wait, I’m way too young.” Dagon flinched as the halfling broke the silence with unkind laughter. “As a mortal! He forgot himself. It gets worse every spring. Can you head to the market? I have this list, and—look at me. I can’t go outside. If one of the Dragonguard forgets himself—.” Dagon shook himself and hustled away. Under his tan skin, his face burned.
His blush only worsened when, in the course of following the meandering walkways out of the city-garden, he stumbled on more than one pair of dragons in a variety of shapes tumbling among the green alcoves and burbling fountains. Someone who lived here called his people whores. It did get worse every spring.
Thus just seems like most places be dragons. I was promised everywhere would be dragons.
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