Komodo

A long time ago, in a city far far away…
The cry of a child during supper time was hardly out of the ordinary at an orphanage might have drowned out the screaming baby outside. But this was hardly an ordinary baby. The cries of something that was part wildcat, and part tortured soul finally caused a middle aged woman with a mean backhand in what another world would call a nun’s habit to kick the door open, and very nearly hit the basket that was placed on the doorstep.

“Da f*ck is’at noise about?!” she growled in a tired voice that sounded like it’d done its fair share of shouting throughout the years. Her query was answered by silence as the infernal crying ended abruptly. It took her a half second for her to process the basket at her feet, and almost a half minute to process the contents. Staring back at her with golden eyes slit like a snake was a “baby” if one could call it that. Most would settle for hellspawn. He had also been chewing on some sort of envelope with sharp teeth a baby should never have had. After a long and pregnant pause, the child’s paper flecked mouth opened to let out it’s horrid screech once more.

“Hell no you don’t, kid. Auntie Marge is in no mood fer’at,” the disgruntled nun snapped irritably, “Sell the booty, they said. Quiet life, they said. Ain’ta f*cking thing quiet abou’it.”

She winced inwardly, knowing she’d probably only made the child more upset until she heard happy giggles coming from the basket. Auntie Marge blinked a few times at the child before sqatting down and dropping a precision “F*ck” bomb and causing the child to giggle and stare in adoration. “Well, I be damned, an yer proof of it, seems. Fine, now the hell do I call you?”

She looked into the basket to find what remained of the letter wasn’t chewed up, along with a small pouch of gold coin that had been the child’s pillow. Pocketing the money, she read a scrap of paper that she could salvage. “Konan… can’t read’at… mmm Morgan? Yeah we’ll go withat. Sh*t, or is that Dol… gan? F*ck it, Konan Morgan Dolan. Tha’s your name, kid.”

In a not so distant three days ago…
“Really? That’s how you got the name?” asks a friendly barkeep with average features that just kind of blurred together in an alcoholic haze. In a seedy tavern called “The Barnacle”, a six foot tall tiefling who looked like he’d seen better days, stares into his seventh mug of ale.

“That’s how she told it,” the hellspawn replies, taking another swig. The bartender seems to notice the use of past tense, and opens his mouth to say something, but the tiefling shakes his head once. “Charged with the crime of Illegal Privateering. Wrong port wrong time. And that’s all I’ll say about that unless you’re no longer out of the hard stuff.”

“Fair enough. High seas ain’t what they used to be. So, that’s how you got the name Komodo?”

“Yeah. Oh, don’t go mentioning my real name by the way if anyone asks,” the tiefling slurs, placing a gold coin on the counter.

“This bar is for people who hit rock bottom and everyone knows it. Spilling beans is bad for business.”

“Good to hear. Now, where was I again?”

One week prior…
So there we were, dead of night, foggy and no moonlight. Perfect conditions for business you don’t want folk to see. Me an’ Spider had a bounty on some kooky stone idol we were lookin to collect. Some sort of ancient artifact or whatever. Honestly, my history and religion ain’t so great, and it didn’t involve alchemy or magic so it went over my head. Point is, me and Spider were going to be set for life if we pulled this off.

“You actually went with my idea?” Spider asked me as we ducked into an alleyway by the docks to discuss our strategy.

“After you went out and made the disguise, I couldn’t say no forever,” I smirked, donning a cowl to hide my gruesome self. Horns? Check. Tail? Check. Lizard face? Check. I had the perfect disguise to be a dragonborn. As strange as it was, Spider’s ideas usually worked out. Plus I was looking to avoid my 5th “I told you so.” our of our 10th heist.

“Trust me. Better they be looking for tall dark and scaly rather than my tall dark and handsome in case the plan goes to shit,” she giggled, getting changed into her own disguise while I kept a lookout and started mixing a few ingredients.

Plan was for her to slip the guards something in their drink. Something I had the pleasure of mixing. It was one of Aunt Marge’s old recipes, with a few extra toxins mixed in. A little dried and ground Snaketongue Kelp, some distilled extract of Ghoulweed, and the venom gland of an indiginous pufferfish. The perfect blend to put someone on their arse for a few hours with only a 20 percent chance of brain damage. My finest concoction to date. “Here you go love. I added extra just in case. Try not to slip them more than a few drops or they’ll wind up dead,” I chuckled, marvelling at my handiwork.

“Roger that. I’ll give you the signal when they’re down,” she nodded, “Got your flare?”

“Aye. Anything happens, shoot yours and, I’ll meet you at the rendezvous,” I replied, waving the little light spitting stick. Spider smiled, “Good. I have something special for you when we start our new life.”

“I solemnly swear to not die until I find out what the surprise is,” I chuckled back, making sure my own tools were all where they needed to be. Bombs, knives, a bit more of that poison, everything seemed to be in order. Waiting was the next phase. Course, when I got the signal, it was not the one I had been hoping for.

Present day…
“So you ran to the rendezvous point, and she wasn’t there?” Barkeep asks the tiefling. At this point, it was just the two of them in the bar. It was debatable by his demeanor whether he was actually interested or just on autopilot to pass the time.

“F*ck no! I went to go save my girl,” Komodo snaps back, downing his drink putting down another silver coin.

Back then…
“I’m coming, honey!” is what I wanted to yell. But when was the last time you saw a thief who clearly announced his approach? The orbituaries. I wanted to run, I wanted to leap heroically into the rescue, but the gods bless us all with different gifts, and being a folk hero ain’t one of mine. So I quietly crept along, looking for anyone watching before I tossed my grappling hook onto the railing and started climbing. Another one of Spider’s “I told you so’s”. The fear that I’d never get to hear one of those again hurt worse than anything that could be waiting for me on the other side of that rail. Course, the mace to the stomach I took after vaulting heroically was a close second.

Immediately after reaching the top of the rail, I vaulted into my special aerial bomber technique. Only for a startled ship guard to clock me in the stomach with his backswing. I fell to the deck gasping for breath, as one of the sailors picked me up by my flak jacket. I pretended to be unconscious, watching Spider hold off three conscious guards with her dagger. Spider was always the better fighter between us two, but it was f*ckin embarrassing to let my girl do the work while I was playing dead fish.

“What the shit is a scaleface like you doing on our ship eh?” Grogbreath growled into my mask. Oh good, he was drunk and couldn’t tell I wasn’t a dragonborn at all. “You with that feisty bitch over there?”

Okay, that pissed me off. I muttered something that he couldn’t quite hear until he had to lean in.

“Are you just happy to see me? Or is that a bomb in your pants?”

The one liner took a bit longer to croak out than I expected, so as soon as I kicked him in the chest to get open some distance the bomb in his trousers went off. Most people don’t really do much but curl up and cry when their junk is blown off. I really didn’t pay attention because me next step was to soak a rag in the sleepytime toxin I’d spent a week making and hop on the back of the next sailor, monkey style. I got slammed into the mast more than a few times, until I crammed the rag into his mouth, and tossed him onto the dock. I had just enough time to catch my breath before I saw Spider slowly choking the consciousness out of a sailor with a sleeper hold. He was putting up a struggle until Spider put her hand on his forehead and started zapping him. Unfortunately, grapple is not what one does with a drunken sailor when he has a foot of height and a hundred pounds on you. Spider was bashed repeatedly against the cabin door until she lost her concentration on the spell and fell to the deck, battered and stunned. He picked up a hammer and raised it above his head, letting out an enraged shout.

Doing the only rational thing I could while someone tried to kill my girl, I dunked a whole vial of my sleepytime poison into his mouth.

And back to our friendly neighborhood hellspawn…
“And then what?” Barkeep asks, having been slowly getting more and more hooked on the story. He was about to be sorely disappointed though.

“And then I blacked out. The hammer came down anyways and I took it right to the face. Next thing I knew, I’m in my bed, wounds healed as if nothing had happened, and enough money to eat for a week,” Komodo grumbles, “The rest you probably heard about. Merchant ship robbed, murder at the docks. A wanted dragonborn.”

“,” Barkeep shrugged, starting to pour his own glass

“I always get sh*t-faced before travelling. It’s tradition at this point,” Komodo scowled.

“I’m guessing you’re going after her then.”

“You learn quick, friend,” the tiefling smirks, taking a box out of his pack, and revealing what looks like a bejeweled ring too expensive for someone who wound up in The Barnacle. “Came with a note saying to use it to buy myself a quiet life… That idiot. A quiet life was never an option for either of us.”

“Save some money up for travel expenses then. This is my polite way of cutting you off before you blow your travel fund.”