The Overture

There weren’t always dragons in the Valley.

When the sun first rose there were only humans, wolves, and fish. As the land and seas flourished so did these three. So much so that demons became curious and crawled through stone and flowers to see for themselves. They became the Orcs and Goblins. They brought with them the power of transformation and bestowed it upon the wolves and fish. Who in turn became Werewolves and Merfolk.

Forest and sea so filled with those converted, angels were compelled to step in. Sirens to soothe all ills with their beautiful songs. And vampires to right all wrongs with their swords. Peace was upheld—for a time.

When the vampires began to steal the life of others, that peace was broken. The more they took, the stronger they became until they were unstoppable. Their numbers growing while everything around them fell apart and died.

So the sirens began to sing new songs. They turned their healing into creation, bringing about the first dragons. These were titans of the skies with wings that would span across entire battlefields. The vampires were no match. Dragons forced their legions to submit. Peace was restored.

Unfortunately, as with all things, a heavy price was paid for this peace. That of the beating hearts of sirens. Millions sang their final song to bring forth such powerful beasts, taking with them the secrets of healing. Treaties were written. A council was formed. And the dragons? They flew into the Valley, rarely to be seen or heard from. It is well known they have no interest in anyone not born of song.

Our story begins several hundred years after. With a youth on the run, as these sort of legends go, arriving at a merchant’s tent.

The merchant in question is known simply as Laos. He is one of the few in the region that is human and takes pride in bartering with any and all. Crossing the space between the chest he has just opened and a table, he sets down a pouch no bigger than his palm. He smiles brightly, green eyes crinkling in the corners.

"I hope that is everything you've asked for, if not more."

"For everyone’s sake, I too have hope."

His client is tall and shrouded in a solid black robe. The only thing visible is the golden glimmer of eyes through the hood. He reaches across the table, revealing a ghostly white hand with talons hovering just above the pouch. Watching the fingers flex, Laos knows the customer is satisfied.

"My payment, good sir?"

"Yes of course, where are my manners?" Reaching into his cloak, the man produces a leather pouch. "That should prove to be everything you've asked for." He places it onto the table, stopping to take that which he has just purchased.

“I thank you Lord Valentine.” Laos bows. He knows the gesture will not be returned as the lord is already slipping through his tent, not to be seen again until the next summer moon. It is how he is but he pays well so Laos will not complain.

Laos opens his pouch and begins to count the gold when he hears the rustle of fabrics once more. A bumbling “I’m sorry.” and in walks a girl. The smile on Laos’ face is genuine this time.

“Little Fish, I was not expecting you today.”

“I thought I would say goodbye in person.”

“Goodbye?” Laos watches the girl linger in the opening. She is looking at the curiosities placed about his tent, things she has seen hundreds of times. The jars and vials of strange liquids, the boxes and pearls, even the odd claw of a werebeast he kept as trophies from his youth.

“I’m going to Gallia.”

“Are you dear?” Laos puts his pouch away in a lockbox and turns back to her. It’s then that he takes notice of the large sack by her side. “Oh, you are serious.” At once, he is swallowed up into the arms of the small girl’s embrace. He returns the gesture by wrapping his arms around her shoulders. “Have you...have you spoken to your mother about this?”

“I said my goodbyes at sunrise.”

“Little Fish, you’re so young to be traveling alone.”

“Well, I won't turn any younger. I'm going." She pushes Laos away. "Today. Somehow.”

“You don’t even know?”

“This is Merlo. Nothing but ships to board.”

“And have you any money?”

“Yes, did you assume I came to market for your company all summer?”

“What you peddle from your soothsaying will hardly be enough to get your further than the tip of the coast.”

“That’s what I came for today. Remember the promise you made me when I was five? Today is a better day than any to fulfill it.”

“What I promised was only under the condition of you being in danger.”

“I am!” She yells but covers her mouth instantly. She has never raised her voice to him before. He was more in shock than angered.

“What’s happened?” The girl looks away from Laos and begins pacing, contemplating her words. It gives Laos the opportunity to take stock of her general appearance. She was always a small thing, shorter than most her age even now at nineteen but with a body built sturdy from a life amongst merfolk. Her hair is a new color, a wild purple like the violets that grow inland. And short. Shorter than he’s ever seen it. Cropped so close to her scalp that it does nothing to hide the worry on her face.

“The Elders approached mother two nights ago about..." her words end there. He can just make out the tears forming in her eyes.

“Take your time.”

“I can’t.” She shakes her head. “They’ve already sent for an Appraiser.”

Very few words incite fear in Laos. Dread perhaps or anger or even bitterness towards clients unwilling to budge on their prices, but never fear. Today was the exception. “And she let them? I can’t believe Arielle would…”

“She didn’t. Elder Belon approached her last night and told her. They arrive in the next two days by carriage.”

“So you’re running away?”

“Laos, you know what happens to people like me."

"Yes, all too well." The merchant meets the girl's eyes and clenches his fists. "I know just the ship.”

---

The Markets of Merlo were as always swollen with life. Too much life if you asked the Lord Valentine. Too many tongues. Too many cheap trinkets and stolen goods. Too many smiling faces and bright eyes all pleased to be alive. With his bounty safely tucked away in his robe, Valentine makes his way through the throngs of people.

The mast head of the ship he would board stood out amongst the fishing boats that occupied the docks. As a passenger ship, it was polished and embellished with gold trimmings and flaunted sails almost pristine, they were so white. There may in fact be ships more beautiful but the Mistress Luu was a sight nonetheless.

“Lord Valentine, I hope the day finds you well!” A voice calls out from somewhere near his foot. Valentine finds himself staring at the top half of a merman, floating in the water.

“Captain Mink? It finds me as good as the last.” He holds out a hand for webbed fingers to take. He tugs gently and pulls the merman up and out of the water.

At 500 years, Captain Arlo Mink was old for merkind but his body said otherwise. His scales shone bright in vermillion and his fins gold. Colors that stood out all the more against his long, dark brown hair, curling even at its wettest. Valentine openly stares at the muscles bulging through soggy underclothes and wonders if Captain Mink made a deal with The Witch to have stayed so fit for so long.

“It’s the sea. She keeps me young.” The merman laughs having understood Valentine’s obvious attention. “Most of my people have adapted into land creatures but we were never meant to be. I have stayed at sea my entire life. Not one day goes by that I’m not in her arms.”

“But you’re a purebred as well, are you not?”

“Aye, both my mother and father fins from an island long since gone. Just as you Lord Valentine, are you not one of the firsts of your kind?”

“Hardly, but I’ve been around long enough to have known them in my infancy.”

“Tis what I’ve always sensed of you, an aura of age and majesty.” The merman smiles knowingly, revealing a row of needle like teeth. “Although, I am afraid I’ve a bit of unfortunate news.”

“That would be?” Valentine eyes the ship, searching for any visible damage.

“There’s a storm. A rather big one at that an’ I’m afraid Missy Luu will remain anchored. At least until sun up.”

“Storm? The skies are crystal clear and the air smells still.”

“That they do, but I’ve just come back from scouting several miles out. Something in my gut told me, Mink, go out there an’ see for yourself’. And I did. The current would have swept me up were it not for me swimming further into the depths. Missy Luu is a wonderful ship but she wouldn’t last longer than an hour in a storm like that.”

“It is because I trust your judgment that I will not argue any further. If the king of the sea says no, then it’s no.”

“M’lord, you’re too kind. I’m merely a servant.” Mink bows deeply.

“A wise servant then. Tell me, where could I find comfortable lodgings for the night?”

---

A sputtering of wet noises and squelching boots draws his attention from his still full tankard of ale. He had been content sitting in a corner alone, awaiting the appropriate amount of weariness to retreat to his room for the night. But his eyes travel across the tavern, heaving with patrons awaiting the storm’s passing, until they land on the door. It opens and in walks a girl.

She is short, barely a head over those sat at tables all around. She wears a scarf wrapped around her shoulders and carries a soggy rucksack in the other hand. She is saturated head to toe, her violet colored hair sticking to her eyes and ears.

Someone as old as Valentine was not curious by nature, yet his eyes watch as the girl crosses the room. She side steps and excuses her way through until she’s at the bar, not all that far from him. She takes a seat at the only available stool and still he watches her. Wiping the water from her face, wringing her shirt, pushing her hair out of her eyes. She fumbles with her bag before tucking it underneath her feet and finally noticing the barkeep staring her down.

"Odd." He says to no one in particular.

After what he is sure is an awkward exchange between the girl and the barkeep, he goes back to his own drink. He lifts the tankard to his lips only to put it back down. He doesn't actually want it but in places like this, one is compelled to blend in. He looks up to observe the girl once more but can no longer see her as she is crowded by three orcs.

---

"There is a room paid for by Laos.” The barkeep, an old sand-colored goblin with more eyebrow than visible eyes, grunts and walks away. She worries he won't come back but resigns to wait patiently.

"My, aren't you soppin’ wet luv?" An orc, the color of snot, leans into the girl from the stool to her left. He is missing a tusk with a jagged one jutting out from the right of his bottom lip. He wears leather armor, common amongst hunters and trappers in the region, with a short sword hanging from his hip.

"A little water never hurt anyone." She smiles kindly.

"Why not come up wiffus to dry you off luv?" Another orc, this one the color of clay and in similar armor leans in from her right. He has short tusks, two at either side of his lip. They're sharp, almost triangular in shape.

"We'll keep ya warm an' everyffin'". The snot one says.

"Thank you for your kindness but I am quite alright." She makes a small gesture with her hand and attempts to turn in her stool but a solid wall of fat stops her.

"What you in a rush for Dahlin', the boys can be a bit enthusiastic but they won't bite." A third orc, larger than the other two and the color of polluted water places a callused hand on her shoulder. Yellow nails curl against the wet fabric of her shirt. "Will ya boys?"

"Not if it ain't to her pleasin'." The snot one lifts his tankard.

"Well, as I said before, I'll be alright but I do thank you. The kindness of strangers is often lacking." She eases out of the big one's hand and begins to reach down as subtly as possible for the strap of her rucksack.

"M'name's Ulock, this 'ere is Bofat," he gestures to the snot one, "an' Dungfar, respectively speakin' dahlin. What's yo name luv? Then we shan't be strangers." Ulock has no tusks, only towering height and thicker bands of metal across his armor.

"My name is..." Her hand slips under the strap and pulls. "Sarah and I really do appreciate the gesture but you see..."

"Darling, I've been looking everywhere for you. I was afraid you'd gone out into the rain again."

This fourth and new voice comes from somewhere between Ulock and Dunfar along with a hand. White as death with sharp talons at the end of every ghostly finger.

"I've been here this whole time." She yanks her rucksack to her chest and takes a hold of the mystery hand. It's cold and wraps around her wrist to pull her through. Soon she is on the other side of the orcs, in the arms of someone in a silk shirt.

"Are you friends of my companion?"

"Companion? Don’t see her wearin’ ya crest anywhere.”

"That's because she has a horrible habit of having it fall off. Don't you dear?" She looks up into the face of her savior and has to physically restrain herself from gasping. His eyes are like gold embers burning in perfectly chiseled porcelain skin. His hair is impossibly wind swept and platinum white. He is the most beautiful man she has ever seen but in his smile she counts two prominent fangs.

"That's right!" She chimes, clutching her rucksack close to allow for some semblance of space between them.

"You see, this ring is much too big for her pleasantly petite fingers." He reaches for her free hand and lifts it up to demonstrate as he places a ring indeed too large for her finger. Its dense, cold weight slipping onto it before his fingers interlace with hers.

She stares at the ring. At first she assumes it’s silver but knows a vampire would not be capable of wearing such. White-gold then, with an emblem carved into the center of a white flower, it’s petals of enamel. Maybe ivory or moonstone. She then finds herself staring at the hand twice the size of hers.

"I'll have it resized once we get back home. This I promise you." He kisses her forehead with surprisingly warm lips and locks eyes with her, silently challenging her.

"Oy, looks like we're done 'ere. Forgive us sir, weren't aware." Ulock announces.

She turns to face the orcs still holding the vampire’s hand. Ulock's face held a look of both fear and disgust. He brings up his right hand, palm out with his two smallest fingers held down. It was a gesture denoting peace but usually saved for diplomatic matters.

"We bid you a prosperous journey tomorrow." She bows her head slightly.

Ulock takes one last, long leer at the young woman before stomping away. She refuses to breathe until she is staring at the backs of all three of their heads.

"Shall we retreat to our lodgings for the night?" The vampire whispers sweetly into her ear. It sends a cold shiver through her and in an instant she spins around to face him, finally letting go of his hand.

"Do not assume I am wholly ungrateful for your clever rescue but I shall not bed you."

"Oh but I had already began envisioning you beneath me." The vampire closes the distance between them, catching a strand of wet hair by her ear in his talon.

"A lady does not bed as repayment.” She takes a step back. "Especially if it was not necessary to begin with."

"Oh so you weren't being accosted by not one or two but three orcs twice your size?

"I was but I was…handling it."

"Just like you handled that rainstorm." He eyes the girl up and down, stopping to point at the large puddle that has formed beneath her.

"You assume my appearance alludes to distress." She crosses her arms over her chest.

"What I assume is that standing before me is a naive little girl too proud to realize that on top of a nasty cold she could have easily been kidnapped, beaten, and raped by a band of well equipped thugs. But you are right. Who am I to go around, helping stupid little girls?"

She watches him lift his hands up in defeat and begin to walk away. Her feet start moving along with her mouth. "I am not stupid. I have teeth to bite and nails to gouge. And I can run as fast as I can swim which is fast considering I was raised by Merfolk. So no sir, I did not need saving but I do appreciate it and I am eternally grateful." Here she does something she hasn’t in years. She bows, deeply at the waist with her free arm across her stomach. She watches as droplets of water fall from her head onto the floor where she can just see the vampire’s feet.

"I suppose it was rather presumptive of me to just come in with the theatrics." She watches his feet come closer. Two long fingers tuck beneath her chin and guide her face up to see him smiling. "Although I’m certain you'd make any man happy."

"I'd suffice to make just myself happy sir."

"Grimm, no need for sir. And that’s just fine a course, Miss?”

"Alegria.” She holds her hand out. He takes it and looks about to kiss it but decides on a firm handshake instead.

“Alegria,” he surprises himself by repeating it back to her in the same accent. “Could I entice you into joining me for a drink?”

“Oy!” The barkeep, seemingly annoyed at her change in location, calls out from behind the bar. He holds up a pair of keys.

“I thank you for the offer but I must rid myself of wet clothes before I succumb to any illness. And again, I thank you for your help and hope it may one day be repaid.” She throws her rucksack over her shoulder and turns to the bar. “A pleasure meeting you Grimm!”

“A pleasure indeed.”