6The Dagger
Some of us live & die by work, some of us live & die by time, but a great many more live & die by the bite of a dagger.
Intro
The wind played in the blood red sails as the crew's feet danced to their own tune. The stars continued to dance merrily even after the nights events, in the town the crew had just left lay bodies, scattered dead, robbed bodies and on the ground next to that of the governor lay a small piece of paper with a dagger painted on the front. An emblem, the scar left was always claimed. Everyone knew the stories of the dagger and it's Captain Gonzaku; the wolves of the sea and land alike. But we aren't here to discuss the tale of Captain Gonzaku, the tales of the progenitor are well-known enough without our help, we're here to discuss his successor Artuzo Endar.
The merry tunes floated about the city as the maidens strung whimsical melodies on their harps, being the favored instrument of the city they dominated all the musical pieces played in the festivals. The remaining maidens and infants danced along, trailing sashes of gold and silver in their wake. It was a sight to behold.. Though none of this interested the blacksmith's apprentice, he was never one to indulge in the frivolous, as he liked to put them, activities that took up your time and your money, leaving you only with lighter pockets and a bad headache. Not that he had any money to be made lighter of.
His eyes narrowed in concentration, "I can do this.. I know I can, I've seen him do it a thousand times before.." mumbled Artuzo under his breath as his nimble fingers set about making the last blade for his set, a dagger. Tossing the metal in to melt he waited and watched. Taking the beaker tongs he poured the hot liquid into the mold and tossed in a pinch too much of the red powder his teacher used when making swords. Slowly he watched as it began to cool and as it was still not completely hardened, he took the other tongs and took it out of the mold and dropped it into the bucket of cold water. The hissing sound of the water made him cringe, "Please let it have worked..." he mumbled again, this time hopefully.
Artuzo looked at his new red dagger and grinned, it had worked after so much hard work, he'd finally done it and it was the only red dagger ever made in the city and it would remain that way for a long time, but that's beside the point. Artuzo grinned and felt the edge of his dagger with his index finger, it was a blunt blade but that could be fixed.
Proudly he got up and walked over to the chair and block of stone he'd always used to sharpen swords for his master. Taking it, he carefully set about sharpening his blade as to not scratch it while he sharpened the edges to a skillful point. Fifteen minutes later he ran his finger gently along the once-dull edge of his dagger and drew a line of blood.
Grinning like a madman he ran around the room looking for a chisel to carve the designs in the blade before he would polish it and the blade would be done. The ting, ting, ting sound echoed through the room and he carved the creeping designs he'd mastered a while back for this very purpose, he carved supposed signs of good luck, fortune and protection. In dooing this Artuzo hoped his blade would last longer than most. Running around, he set about adding the final touches to his blade and he wrapped his creations in a cloak before digging a hole in the soil near the back of the black smith's forge, he hid his sword out of reach of the heat and prying eyes who would seek to possess it. It would be his blade until the day he died, Artuzo vowed and he continued aloud, "No one but me can use them; they're mine and Master won't sell them for profit."
Artuzo, suddenly feeling the need to use the privy left the room. When he returned the Master was waiting, "Boy!" he said harshly, "What've ya done to ma shop! You little Mongrel, ya've ruined my tongs!" he continued even more harshly before backhanding the boy for the tongs that he himself had broken earlier that day.
In his drunk stupor he began to get violent and Artuzo was forced to run, the Master was always like this after festivals; that was another reason he disliked them with a passion, Master would beat him after they died down. Artuzo scurried accross the shop and pulled out the cloak from the ground as the Master sought him out, no more.
The red dagger gleamed in the flickering light of the forge, as did the masterpieces of a sword and katana. They all seemed to yearn for something to quensh their desires, an unquesh-able thirst they harbored for blood like many a weapon before them and Artuzo would be the first to temporarily quensh that thirst..
Master Yoko's blood was shed that night and his apprentice Artuzo Endar was no where to be found, had he been kidnapped? No, he'd killed Master Yoko and fled liked a bandit in the night, taking all he could with him so that he could start over in a new town where he'd have a new life. Unfortunatly for him, he'd choose the wrong town.
The three days that it took to reach the seaside city Yumikai flew by for Artuzo, he held no guilt over what he'd done; figuring in his logical way that Yoko had deserved whatever was coming to him and if he just happened to be the one to serve him his sentence what was the difference? Artuzo entered the city an hour before nightfall on the fourth day of his journey, the gulls sounded overhead keeping a tune that would make many cringe.
No harps were seen in the town square where they were celebrating some old festival important to a heritage that he had never heard. The festivities were still merely festivities and they still made him sick at the memories, the frivolries he could do without and would. Entering the tavern he looked around, it was empty, no sailor in sight as well as barkeep. What was happening? Artuzo had heard this was the place to be if you were seeking a sailor or dark merchant, the kind that traded some of the more shadowy circles. This worried him immensly, what would be frightening enough that the whole tavern would become deserted?
His question was answered a mere moment later.
With heavy shakles weighing down his wrists and feet, he was dragged to the ship. None of the pirates had checked him for weapons and he was glad about that at least. Still he cursed Yoko's name, if that man had been less violent or if the town had had less festivals, he wouldn't be in this mess. All logic was fleeing from the depths of his soul as his eyes searched in vain for a comforting face. None was found and none seemed to care about the boy in shakles as he was dragged away, this seemed to happen often from the disgusted looks on the townsfolks faces. Perhaps this was part of their festival? It was. There was no escape for the lone traveler that wondered into the wrong bar on the wrong night of the year.