Make Me A Match

The Wyvern’s Rest tavern was much less busy this day, with most of the mercenaries already taken to jobs they found by contract or small-time.

Naturally, someone did come to Fila’s side, the sassy bartender by the name of Riley. She noticed the mercenary come in, and knowing that their hireling had called in sick today, she approached the mercenary herself.

“Hey,” she spoke with a voice that was suave and succinct, “Take a load off.” There was a mug of ale placed on the table before Fila. “And, uh, if you’re looking for the ‘Dame, she’s upstairs watering her garden with a-pfft, wine bottle.”

True to the bartender’s word, the Madame had been on the roof, tending to a row of dirt. Her dress was an icy blue color, yet it retained similar style to her previous dress. She held a large, thick bottle against her shoulder, filled with a liquid and her thumb on the neck mouth.

“Grow, grow, grow my little darlings,” she smiled as she poured incremental amounts of water on the soil, “There may always be clouds, but the sun will always be shining through them.”

At that moment, Fila emerged from the roof entrance, and the Madame turned herself around to face the dark mage. “Oh, Fila, my dear!” she exclaimed, her brow dropped down, noting the hint of misery in the elf’s voice, “Is everything alright? You sound a little... discomforted.”

Hm! Fila has some pride in her, that much the Madame could tell.

“Well,” she sighed, “Let me think for a moment...” Her eyes closed as she considered what she would give as a task to the hireling. Nothing too arduous, nothing so hard or dangerous, but paid well enough to put food on the table. It wasn’t as difficult a request to fulfill, what with some of her new hires being a touch flaky. Nevertheless, Fila had to be the right fit for it if this were to be a success.

“Why don’t you join me in my office?” the Madame offered, she proceeded to the staircase access past Fila, “I may have something for you to work with.”

“Oh, no, no, no, my dear, it’s quite alright,” the Madame shook her head emphatically, “I believe your asking-me to be most opportune!” She led the mercenary down to the second floor, then to a door across the room from the staircase access.

Upon the door was a copper plate with the words “Bureau la Madame” etched into it. The door was opened, and Fila was ushered inside.

It was a small space, yet well-furnished with a warm, red and brown aesthetic. A neat, well-organized table sat toward the back of the room, with three wooden chairs of similar, yet extravagant make. There was a large bookshelf upon the left wall, and a narrower desk on the right with local flowers in a pot. Next to the pot was a small picture frame, with an image of the Madame drawn in charcoal.

“Have a seat, Ms. Filigree,” the Madame’s hand motioned to the two seats before the desk, “I’m just going to ask you a few questions about yourself—ah, but nothing too difficult or life-prying. I just want to know if you’d fit for the job I’m about to offer you.” She herself proceeded to sit down on the chair after the desk.

"Alrighty!" the Madame nodded, she crossed her arms and leaned against the table. The eyes of the woman fixated onto the shade where Fila 's own would be.

She simply stared into the emptiness, her irises slowly, but surely becoming wider and wider, almost to the point where her crimson pupils had nearly eclipsed. The silence of the room, aside from the dull clattering of plates from the kitchen downstairs and street activity outside, became deafening.

"What do you... think of dragons?" the Madame finally uttered. Her tone was quiet, yet clear, with every word spoken with great care.

No opportunity to form an opinion.

That is unacceptable.

"My dear, I desire that you would allow me to ask the questions," the Madame replied as her eyelids shut halfway, "I am the one doing that already." She rose from her seat and approached her bookshelf, glanced it up and down, then pulled a book from it. "If you have no opinion, then I suggest you build one now."

The book in her hand was old, its leather cover worn and stitched together. Upon its front cover was the title “A brief Account of the Kingdom of Archanea,” and of its author, too debilitated to even make out. The volume was placed before Fila for her to read.

The Madame looked down to her, “Take your time. It is incredibly important to me that you have an opinion.”

Within its pages, the history of dragons were told: of the mythical dragon country of Archanea, the catastrophe of degeneration of dragons to mad beasts, the origin of the manakete tribes, the enslavement of the weakened race under humans, and the War of Liberation for freedom against Medeus and the Dolhr Empire.

However after that, the pages stopped abruptly, and the story was left unfinished.

The Madame returned to her seat, pulled herself in so that her stomach pressed against the table, and hands folded, resting with gentle demeanor. Her face held a refreshed expression, nevertheless her gaze remained shrewd and searching.

“I am a simple woman,” she said with a genial temperament. “I enjoy the company of others, the tenderness of fellowship, things that I... had not for a terrible count of years.” Her hand reached out as she pushed the tome aside, “... You might not think it, but I am old. Very old and... rather lonely.”

Her back straightened as she lifted her head high and strong, “Ms. Filigree... no, Fila, I have consecrated my mouth to speak no lies. May the heavens strike me down if I do. I am indeed a dragon of ancient days, and for more than three thousand years have I lived under the pretense that mankind remains disgusted with my kind.” She stood from her seat, both hands on the table. “I am here to be a catalyst of peaceful relations between man and manakete, yet I speak with you in secret because I am still unable to give my trust to every person I meet.”

The Madame bent her head toward the dark mage in an act of affirmation, “Ergo, I must ask: is my faith in you not in vain?”