Dago was getting quite tired of Par and his goons. He wasn’t tired of the looting, the fighting, even the catching of women. In a way, it made Dago forget about the Jobless and the Hired versions of himself. This was him, a warring, surviving savage. But he was more experienced than these fools. And he knew it would not last. Chaos never lasted, which meant Dago couldn’t stay with Par forever.
One night, as he came back from a supply run—with just supplies this time—he remembered Lo Mallago, and he couldn’t help but see those strings all over Elpan. Lo Mallago had been a planned revolution, carefully orchestrated by the Gharo Family; Dago had been little more than a small piece of a big ship, a ship that had sailed right through the ruling family of Lo Mallago without stopping. Here in Elpan, the chaos was a true revolution. At least, that was how it seemed on the ground. But the same could be said for Lo Mallago, and Dago couldn’t be sure what was real here.
Even if nothing was, Elpan was a poorly defended, half-ruined city, but it was a gold mine. Someone or something would be profiting from this, and the profits would put an end to the chaos that Dago was, well, rather enjoying.
A few weeks into the 7th moon, Dago came out of one of their slave rooms, feeling very warm. He decided to see what sort of day it was, and went out doors. He no longer used his crutch. The sun was rather warm, but there was a nice breeze blowing through Elpan. Many of the fires of the night were invisible during the day. Could be they were just set at night, and the day resembled peace more. But he had seen rebels and criminals fighting in broad daylight a few times now. He hadn’t seen many guards yet.
“Tell me something about yourself,” Par said, coming out on the deck. There were eleven members of his group, but only he and one other were out on the porch with Dago, enjoying the shade. “Something I don’t already know.”
Dago shrugged. “Well, um… I’m a little insane.”
“How do you mean?” Par asked.
The sellsword shrugged and ran a hand over his head. Small bristles were beginning to poke up against his hand; he needed to shave his head again soon. “One day I think of your group and their slaves as animalistic. The next day I’m joining right in.”
“That’s alright,” Par said. “Everyone needs some relaxation, but half of us hate it once it’s done.”
“No, no,” Dago said. “I frequently think in contradictions. I have different modes.”
“Modes?” Par asked. “What do you mean by that?”
Dago stood up and walked to the edge of the porch. The street was empty. Parsetrin was leaning against the wall behind him. Dago yanked out his sword and spun, his sword clipping through the wood as Par ducked. Dago roared, angrily and smashed his good knee forward, knocking Par against the wall before the man could draw his own sword.
Par got his hands around Dago’s leg and shoved them both away from the wall. They collided with the railing of the porch, and toppled into the garden in front. The other criminal who had been out on the deck with them had drawn his sword but was shouting for others to come see.
Dago had lost his sword in the fall, but he grabbed Par with both his hands and dragged him out of the garden. Par flailed against Dago’s superior size, and an elbow caught the sellsword in the jaw. He dropped Par and stepped back, raising his hands in self-defence. Par rolled on the ground, and stood up. “You are a little mad,” the man panted, wiping blood away from his nose. “Raw!” he bellowed and charged at Dago.
Dago dropped both his elbows onto Par’s back as the man grabbed him around the torso. The elbows must have broke something—Par started screaming something horrible. Dago knelt and took Par’s head between his forearm and his bicep.
“I’m tired of your little crew,” he told Par, “And I’m tired of this city. I’m done following the orders of people who haven’t paid me.” The stranglehold wasn’t budging no matter how the man contorted. A fist caught Dago in the cheek, and fingernails clawed at his skin, tried poking his throat, slowly lost their grip, their energy, their life. A few minutes dragged on, and the body twitched. “I’m done with it,” Dago said, and released the corpse and stepped forward for his sword.
He scooped the weapon up and held it before him. His face was bleeding from Par’s clawing fingers, and he could feel a few smouldering bruises starting to grow.
Par’s men had arrayed themselves on the steps of the house, with drawn weapons. When Dago had taken a swing at Par, he had suspected the man would die then; in which case, Dago was going to walk through the house, killing each and every one of the sorry mobsters as they ran into the corridors and intersections without realizing what was going on.
Now they knew what was going on. “I’m leaving,” Dago said. He started to pace to the side, keeping his eye on them. “You can keep the house.”
One of them strode down to check their leader’s pulse. “You killed him!” the man gasped.
Dago kept walking. “I did, I’m done with this group.”
“You don’t get to walk away from that!” another one shouted, and they descended the steps.
Dago broke into a run. He didn’t limp much anymore; his leg had healed well. They reached the first alleyway, and Dago turned to glance over his shoulder. It looked like six of them were after him. He kept running, brushing his shoulder with rough bricks and jumping over puddles when he couldn’t judge their depth.
When next he paused, he wiped the blood from his face with the corner of his shirt, and then listened for his pursuers.
Two men came running into the street where he stood, and he sliced the first one almost in half using the man’s own inertia. The other charged him with a meat cleaver. Dago caught the man’s forearm with his palm, and ignored the man’s attempted gut punch, while still holding the man’s other arm in the air. He twisted sharply, and rammed the butcher’s blade into the man’s sternum.
“I’m done with this place,” he told the man, as the blood bubbled between the mobster’s teeth. He dropped the body, knife and all, without another glance. He strode in the direction of the city’s outer gates.