Final Fantasy IX copyrighted 1999 Square-Enix. No copyright infrigement intended.

Squinting at the rude interruption to my otherwise peaceful sleep I crawled out of bed and fed the last of the firewood into the hot embers and softly fanned them to ignition. I then rinsed the slimy sleep taste from my mouth and brushed my teeth, proceeding to comb my fur thoroughly before concerning myself with the day ahead.

Packing my bathroom kit safely away, I tossed a hunk of cold rattler next Threnwin who was lightly dozing at the foot of my bed roll, the slit of his eyes hardly noticeable. Shivering slightly in the dawn chill I quickly slipped on my undergarments and trench coat, the soft leather warm against my fur.

After disassembling the window barricade I marveled at the crystal beauty of the sun. Its fiery corona highlighted dark storm clouds on the distant horizon and illuminating the fall foliage in the valley; illuminating the hazy mist and lending a dream like quality to the day.

“With any luck we’ll reach Vasguard today, before those storm clouds get here,” I mentioned to Threnwin, who was busy tearing at the meat with his beak. “If not we’re going to be for some nasty weather. Finishing my breakfast I doused the fire with a bucket of dirt and headed outside.

With a snort of indifference Threnwin knelt down outside allowing me to saddle him, shifting his weight expertly as I adjusted my pack. Pausing only briefly to admire the view once more I proceeded southward towards the trade town Vasguard, now roughly 15 miles away according to the map I’d used to get this far.

The forest seemed oddly subdued that morning as I picked my way down an over grown hiking trail that was nearly obscured with tree limbs and ferns, the orange trail markers faded to a pale yellow and all but invisible among the vibrant leaves.

The rain began as a faint mist that collected like dew upon the leaves and Threnwin’s feathers before evolving into a steady drizzle of freezing cold droplets that slid under my trench coat and along the curve of my back like splinters of ice. In the distance the howling of wind toppled older trees and sent the branches above us swaying, the echoes of thunder reverberating throughout the valley like a bass drum.

“Just be glad it’s not snow.” I told Threnwin who continually Shook himself and Cawed at the sky as if to threaten it. With a soft whine he lowered his head and padded silently as a ghost at my side.

By the time Vasguard was visible through the autumn leaves I was shivering in the chilly air and Threnwin looked thoroughly soaked. “Time to find some place warm.” I whispered, more to myself than Threnwin, who despite being even wetter than I was seemed unaffected by the rain. Adjusting the sling of pole arm I picked my way down the broken mountain path into the main street of Vasguard, overwhelmed at the sheer size and decadence of the town.

Vasguard, a out of the way trade town that catered to all manner of ilk and was known to harbor cutthroats and bandits at best. Yet it was still one of the few outlying towns along Burmecia’s borders that survived amidst the monsters and mist, and thus the town was something us a necessity.

However now that I was within in its reaches, Vasguard looked to be more of a small city than a town. Not only were there normal log houses but dozens of lean-to’s and shacks cropped up all over the area constructed from everything from leather, wagon parts and aluminum roofing to wood and cinder blocks.

Trash of all sorts filled most of the alleys and overflowed into the street, some of it even seeming to ooze with a life of its own as a drunk man stumbled past it, a bottle of some dark liquid clutched in a grimy hand.

A gust of wind stirred the lighter pieces of garbage and sent a miasma of odors drifting towards me, the smell of cook fires combining with that of rotten meat, vomit, and human waste to create a stench so palpable I almost felt as if I could touch it.

Choking back the bile I felt rising in my throat I clenched my pole arm and walked with slow even steps down the center street, Threnwin marching along beside me with even paces.

Form over ahead the storm raged, sheets of lightning showering the distant peaks and thunder booming loud enough to make me cringe and make conversation all but impossible. Numerous people glared at me from under overhangs of bars and brothels, some fingering the hilts of knives or thrown together cross bows, though none dared risk the wrath of my pole arm and Threnwin. Even here the reputation of the Dragoons preceded me, marking me as off limits to the lesser thieves and someone to prove themselves against for the better ones.

Nearing the end of the main street I discovered a rather large house setting a little way off from the main town. A wooden stake fence surrounded it and a partially maintained parking lot, in which was parked a lone wagon, some sort of carriage that seemed well maintained and out of place in this village of brigands.

What really my eye was caught my eye was a set of guards, their chain mail suits and identical cross bows reminding me that a twisted sense of law persisted with in this town.. They stood flanking a hand painted sign over the entrance that declared this to be the red cardinal inn.

Lowering my pole arm I approached them with a friendly smile that puts most men off guard. “Greetings, are their any vacancies at the inn?” Without so much as a glance in my direction the man on my left nodded once. The guard on my right shifting position to point his crossbow at my chest without making it obvious.

Deciding to return the silence I brushed past them and headed toward the entrance, noticing a setoff stalls near it to leave Threnwin. The hay damp but more or less clean. “I’ll be back, this place isn’t somewhere I want to stay for long.” I whispered to Threnwin noticing two other Choboco’s stabled inside here as well. From the looks of them they were well cared for and seemed contented to watch me with one eye.

Proceeding back outside into the storm I approach the entrance to the inn itself, the smoked glass of the double doors clouding the interior. Pulling the door open I staggered back under a virtual wall of smoke that rolled out and over me, the sickly stench of pipe tobacco overwhelming.

Swallowing bile for the second time that day I forced myself to step inside and confront the desk clerk, praying this would only take moments, otherwise I’d likely choke to death and die on the floor.

Through the haze I saw the lobby was decked out in fading carpet that still held a deep reddish hue, the white walls a sickly yellow color and the desk a deep mahogany that some monstrously fat female was squatting behind. She held a tobacco pipe that looked to be constructed out of a tuba resting on her stomach, and billowing out cloud after cloud of noxious vapors as she sucked at the thing much like a man dying of thirst would a canteen.

“May I ask you a question?” I managed to gasp.

“Sure thing Sugar.” She drawled pausing her vacuum like suction long enough to give me a yellow toothed smile.

“Why do you smoke that thing?” I said through teary eyes.

“Keeps the bugs away. If’n yo want a room the rates are posted on the wall over ’dere.” She gestured to the far wall where I could barely make out a sign amidst the swirls of thick smoke.

“Would you mind extinguishing disgusting thing out so I can see the sign?” I asked, my stomach beginning to turn in slow waves.

“If this thing bothers yo why don’t ya make me put it out? Provid’n a little mouse like yo can.” She said, giving me an evil grin and curling one huge hand into an approximation of a fist.

Giving her my sweetest smile I bent over as if to bow, before suddenly whipping my pol arm up and thrusting it at her tuba pipe. The impact of my weapon whisking the mutilated musical instrument off her belly and smashing it against the wall with a loud crash that was more than drowned out by the roar of the thunder storm outside.

With an “o” of surprise she stared at the mangled remains of her pipe and the glittering razor edge of my pole arm inches from her chest before fainting dead away, her rolls of flab sliding to the floor with an audible thud.

“What’s going on?” a male voice said from among the smoke that covered the hallway to the right. Glancing over I noticed a thin humanoid crouched slightly eyeing me with the practiced ease of a skilled rogue.

He appeared to be a human, save for the monkey like tail that waved from behind him, and the thin, almost cat like grace with which he moved. He stood about 5 and a half feet tall with lean muscles visible under his jeans and vest. The daggers held at his side looked to be well used but serviceable.

“The beached whale called me a little mouse and told me to make her extinguish her vomit inducer.” I said, gesturing towards the twisted remains of her tuba pipe.

Shrugging he turned around and whispered to a younger woman who was cowering behind him for her to wait for him in his room, my keen hearing easily picking up the quiet words. “What about the guards outside?” He asked turning back to me.

“The lobby’s airtight or the smoke would’ve leaked outside so it’s probably soundproofed somewhat, plus with the storm I doubt they’ll hear anything.” I told him, still gagging on the lingering smoke and still over powering odor.

“Let’s go back to my room and get away from this reek.” He said, quickly retreating down the hallway when I nodded.

Inside his room the air was incredibly cleaner and the walls a light blue, the furniture seeming to be in good repair despite the obvious age. In the corner on a small char the woman was crouched over a desk writing something on paper her simple dress a smoke gray.

“So is that your wife?” I asked him, sliding my pack off and laying it against the corner.

“She’s just the inn’s maid, I told her to wait in her incase there was trouble. I’m Zidane, and you’re beautiful.” He said woith a smile, odding slightly and extending his hand.

Hiding my blush I shook his hand, reminding myself how bold some people could be. “I’m, Freya.” I told him.

“You handled yourself pretty well out there.” He mentioned down low, giving me a warm smile.

“I only did what was necessary.” I replied dropped his hand and turning to look out the window at the storm still raging overhead. “I probably shouldn’t stay long, when that woman wakes up she’s going to call her guards.” I told him, wondering if he owned the carriage outside.

“I wouldn’t worry about it, she won’t think to look for you in here, and she’s probably to embarrassed to admit to the guards a mouse got the better of her.” He chuckled, heading over and locking the door once the maid left.

“Listen monkey boy, I’m no little mouse.” I said, gripping my pole arm tightly and wondering if he needed a lesson in manners as well.

He looked back at me with a slight smile and cossed his arms, leaning against the wall as if I posed no threat. “I think you explained that to her well enough.” He said, looking at me with a curious eye. “Maybe next time she’ll treat a dragoon with respect. “ he paused as if thinking something over.

“Perhaps, not that many of us visit places like this.” I mentioned to him, setting down at the desk and relaxing, my fur damp despite my trench coats covering.

Turning away from the window suddenly Zidane walked over reaching in his pocket and pulling out a deck of cards. “Do you play? It’s called tetra master.”

Smiling at the flood of memories his question bought forth I removed my trench coat and settled more comfortably in the car. “Yes, on occasion, a dear friend tought me how to play a long time ago.”

“Really? What was his name?” Zidane asked me, shuffling the cards expertly, his hands a blur on the desk stop.

“Sir Fratley.” I replied, smiling ever so slightly as he delt the first hand of the game….