Bottomless [Chapter Five]

The sun was setting as Skrog left the eatery. He could smell the salt of the sea and the faint burning of wood as the townsfolk began to light their fires for the night. The sky was clear and the stars twinkled delicately above him. Skrog closed his eyes and took a deep breath through his nose. He breathed in the anxiety of the day and held it in his chest. All the anger and hostility were in there, all bottled up ready to burst out.
Then Skrog let it all fall away. His lungs deflated, air rushed out and swept all the pent up anxiety and threw them back out into the world. It was almost overwhelming, the sudden sense of calm that filled him. He was at peace.
Then something struck his shoulder.
He spun violently to the ground and fell into a puddle of slug, his staff skidded nosily across the cobblestone street.
"Make way for the Deacon Viceroy, Lord Granum!" A booming voice called out. Skrog looked up and saw that it was a horse that had hit his shoulder. He was so lost in his calming meditation that he hadn't heard the loud clomping of its hoofed feet. Atop it sat a stout mustached human with cerise skin around his eyes. His double chin cascaded into the neck of his armor that glistened arrogantly in the violet light.
The human held his head upward and pompously ignored Skrog and other pedestrians in the street even though he nearly trampled several of them.
Behind him was the rest of the royal entourage. A dozen or so more horses, each with an equally pompous rider, followed the mustached human. Each of them was adorned with gaudy armor that Skrog could tell was only for show.
In the middle of them all, on the only white horse, was Lord Granum, the Deacon Viceroy of Hamwall. The Viceroy was slender and covered in a regal silk robe. It was a vibrant violet that was trimmed with gold hem. He raised a delicate hand and waved it as if he were in some kind of parade. Few onlookers applauded, the rest were more concerned with not being trampled to noticed the vanity.
Skrog got to his feet and patted his robe off as best he could despite the slug that now clung to it. He waited until the last horse trotted by before reclaiming his staff.
"What a vain old bloke, he is!" A dirty human woman with a shrill voice and orange teeth jeered as loudly as she could. "Ain't gots no respects for us common folks, he don't!"
"Oi, keep yer voice down ya old hag!" An equally dirty human man shouted in reply. "I doesn't wants anuva' tax on accounta you!"
"Who you callin' 'ag!?" She screamed.
"Why you'd be th' one, miss!"
"Alright, you two!" Skrog shouted. "That's enough!"
The two of them shut up immediately and gazed wide eyed at him.
"All that screaming is just going to bring a guard over here, and I can tell you," He paused and looked over his shoulder. "I'll be the first one on their list for a lynching."
"Yeah, and what's wrong wif that, half blood?" The man asked. "Yer people deserve a good lynchin ever now and again."
"My people?" Skrog asked.
"You 'eard me!"
"My mother was human and she-"
"Was a filthy tart whore!" The man cut Skrog off.
Before Skrog had realized it the man was rolling around on the ground with a broken nose, crying pathetically. Skrog looked down at his hands and saw that he was clenching his staff so tightly that his knuckles had lost their color. There was a thick glob of blood dripping from the end of his staff. He jumped as if a loud noise had startled him.
"Ya, see!?" The woman screamed with one finger pointed at Skrog. "This goblin trash bring nufin but pain and misery t' our streets! We best kill 'em all 'fore we all end up like Rod 'ere!" She was referring to the man with the broken nose writhing on the slug covered cobblestone.
Skrog raised his hands, although he kept the staff in one, in the most submissive way he could. But it was pointless, there was already a mob surrounding him.
Skrog thought to himself,
"This is going to be a long night."

-Jestro

The Book Without Eyes [Chapter Three]

Aggravation was my initial response. Twice they had failed me and the hope of ever completing my Eva collection was fleeting. The delivery company stopped taking my calls and emails after two weeks. They claimed with certainty, that they had delivered the package I ordered. Frustrated, I threw myself into the walls of my apartment and onto the hard wooden floors. My tantrum was meaningless for soon the mystery of the book and key would have solely filled my mind.

I decided to open it. 

Why not? I thought. If this is supposedly what I had ordered then its mine and nothing is worse than an unread book collecting dust on a shelf.

So it was to be read.

I drew the keys and inserted them into the identical locks. The penetration was rough and difficult, for the lock had a layer of rust preventing a smooth entrance. The keys turned with a scrapping CLICK! and I expected the book to swing open and reveal some old Greek myth. 

But it did not.

In fact, the book seemed to act as if I hadn't unlocked it at all. I tried pitifully to pry it open but my quivering arms were no match for the cold iron that wrapped the book shut. 

"Come on, dammit!" I pleaded in a flustered whimper. It was that moment, looking back, that I sealed my fate. I had done the worst possible thing: consenting to the book's opening. But this is not the tale of what I shouldn't have done, only the tale of what I did.

After my pathetic whimper of consent the book flew open so quickly that I nearly dropped it. However, I was keen enough to catch the tome before it landed heavily on the floor. It had opened to a page near the end and as I beheld the strange and indescribable writings of a language I had never seen my eyes were filled with an incandescent luminosity.

Very gradually my balance began to shift as if I were standing on the bottom of the ocean and was being pushed gently by a current perpendicular to me. My body swayed to and fro and my head began to feel very light. Then I started to fall toward the book. A shimmering of phosphorescence illuminated my eyes and all I could see was the radiating beauty of what might be described as a sun made of blue.

Then I beheld a grand vacancy. I was floating in empty space the like of which no man has ever felt. But there was however, something floating. I hadn't noticed it at first, the sheer vastness overwhelmed me initially. But now I had gathered some bearing and could see a platform.

Atop it stood nine figures. They each stood in a lopsided circle around a massive mound of writhing tentacles. Each of the figures had before them an item that I soon realized was a relic of immense power. I had concluded that they had used these artifacts to summon the beast and now awaited its divine judgement.

The figures were all standing placidly around the shambling behemoth. Each contact with their totem at their feet. Then I noticed one who offered a revolver held something spherical dangling in his left hand. The thing was my decapitated head.

Coagulated blood clung to the stump that was once my neck. My skin, a deflated blueish white, shimmered with what I imagined was a dying sweat. The remainder of my neck stump was riddled with dark purple bruises that crisscrossed in aggressive X's all the way around.

My chin was encrusted with dried spit and blood. They drew flakey lines from my lips to the center of my torn neck. My mouth was a sunken hole in which no tooth resided and only the flabby pink of my ruined gums could be seen. 

My cheeks were sunken and thin. My eyes had deep bags beneath them and the rims of my eyelids were a discolored, urine color, yellow. But the look in my dead, unblinking eyes was most terrible. For it held within it a wild and shattered look. I must have seen something truly mind shattering.

I then descended into the pupils of my horrified eyes and was lost in the nothingness of the void.

In the darkness of my room I saw phantom figures of my furniture, they comforted me. I regained my composure and stood. I was at that time a religious man and had decided that these were nothing more than wild visions brought on by some sort of demon. I believed then that I came back haunted. But those archaic notions are broken somewhere, floating with that platform.

-Jestro

Bottomless [Chapter Four]

By the time Skrog's feet slowed their pace he was already in the center district. His throat felt like fire and his legs burned. He could feel his head pound with the rapid pulse of his heart. He leaned against a shop wall for stability and let his staff fall to the ground. It hit with a loud CLACK and rolled slightly into the street.

Skrog's eyes began to focus and he noticed that the common races were staring at him. He adjusted himself as best he could despite his fleeting strength. It was then that he noticed he had been leaning against the center district's armory.

It was a moderate sized building with nothing more than a small wooden sign to discern its name. There were two heavy oak doors that lie against the exterior walls, open to the public. Skrog craned his head so that he might gaze inside.

There were an assortment of swords, knives, axes and all other hand held weapons. They glittered from the refracted light of day back and forth between each other, as if they were having some sort of luminescent conversation. It filled Skrog with wonder. 

He had traveled past this shop on many occasions and there was one item in particular that had continually peaked his interest. Inside the shop along the far wall, directly across the front entrance, was a glorious ebony bow. It had intricate Elvish markings all along its polished limbs and the riser was grooved smoothly so that any hand could grasp the bow with ease. The bow string glittered like star dust and it was then that Skrog decided he would get that bow even if the old man was against it.

"I'll just keep it here and use it on the top of the hill above Hamwall." He would tell the old man.

"Skrog, to wield that weapon will bring unwanted attention." The old man would probably reply. 

At that point Skrog wouldn't have any idea how to reply because deep down, he knew the old man was right. Despite all that Skrog knew that he could defend himself better with a bow than a staff and that comforted him more than the robes and the words of the old man ever could. He felt a wave of melancholy pass over him as the thought hit him. The old man tried very hard to help Skrog and Vola, help them try and erase their pasts. But the prejudice of the world would always have more power than any one old man. More than that, the prejudices that Skorg and Vola held in themselves were most powerful of all.

Skrog felt something tug at his robe. He turned with a start and saw a small gnomish child pulling at his robe.

"Hey, mister!" The girl called to him. "Is that yours?" She pointed to his staff still lying on the grimy city street.

"Why, yes it is, young lady." Skrog replied calmly. He knelt over and picked it up. It was always heavier than it looked and Skrog never got used to that. "Many thanks."

"You're welcome, healer." She replied and ran off.

Skrog watched her as she faded into the masses that were emerging from the buildings of the district. A small bubble formed in his chest, it traveled up his throat and spread across his face into a smile. He walked to an eatery and bought himself a loaf of bread and a thigh of turkey, he washed it down with water and felt that maybe there was hope for this world after all.

-Jestro

The Book Without Eyes [Chapter Two]

The days that followed were filled with arduous amounts of research. I surveyed every website, forum and thread I could think of, but alas, the internet held no answers for the whereabouts of my missing Eva figurine or an explanation for the presence of the mysterious book. 

I finally, after nine straight days and nights, succumbed to the humiliation of a help hotline. I cannot entirely remember when the last time I spoke to a human was, but it must have been some time for my ability to convey my dilemma was challenging. 

"Thank you for calling The Delivery Help Line, my name is Le'Quanda I'll be assisting you." The voice was from, what I assumed to be, a woman of African decent. The way in which she recited the words seemed jaded and mechanical. "This call may be monitored for training purposes. How can I help you?"

This would be it, the first words uttered from my lips to another human soul in a long time. What should I say? How should I begin?

"…Hello?" She asked, her voice heavy with irritation. "Are ya' there?"

I tried to say 'hello' but what came out was more of a squeak. Then I coughed slightly.

"Ye-yes, I am here." The words felt strange coming out.

"How can I help you, sir?" Her tone hadn't changed.

"My figurine, where is it?" I asked. 

"Excuse me?" She asked. "I don't know what you're talking' about. Can ya' please give me the account information or tracking number of the package?"

I obliged the woman with the appropriate information.

"Please hold while I pull up the information." Then she rudely added a passive aggressive, "Thank you." and I was hurriedly bombarded with overtly poppy music. If this music were to have been food I imagine it resembling something made of nougat, covered in marshmallow and caked with butterscotch, all topped with sour chucks of crystalized sugar assorted candies. I held the phone away from my ear for fear of vomiting. 

An eternity may have passed before Le'Quanda returned to the line, but I will never know for sure.

"Theodore, are you there?" She asked in the same mechanically jaded voice.

"Yes." I replied.

"Kay." She added quickly. "It looks like your package ended up in Wisconsin. We've contacted the local distribution office. They'll contact you when they find the package. Is there anything else I can help you with?"

"The book?" I asked.

"What book?"

"I was sent an old tome with strange Greek writing on it."

"The hell's a tome?" She asked. 

"A book."

"Someone sentcha a Greek book?" 

"Correct."

"Who?" 

"That's what I'd like you to tell me." I asked rudely.

"Excuse me, sir." She replied. "There's no need to raise your voice at me, mkay!"

"Thank you, for your time." I replied sarcastically. "I'll take this matter into my own hands." Then I promptly disconnected the line. It was at that moment I was reminded of why I ceased verbal communication originally. 

My statement may have been made in a blinded rage of anger, for I knew not where to find any more information on the tome; it could not stay in here, not while my Eva figurine was out there somewhere, lost and alone in the world. So at great length I concluded to take a photograph of the tome and post it on several book related forums.

And then I waited.

Eventually, the distribution company had contacted me. They had received my package and would promptly deliver it on the next business day. To hear that I was thrilled, in what I had approximated as a week's time, I would be finally united with my figurine.

The sun and moon traded places and before long a week had passed. It was on the eighth day I harkened a rapping sound at my door.

"Ted, its me again. I'm leaving the package outside your door, just sign for it. I'll be back in ten." It was the same delivery man from before. I waited until I heard his footsteps no longer before venturing into the hallway. 

Atop the faded red carpeting that covered the floors of the building sat a much smaller package, roughly the size of a fist. A more fitting size. 

I scribbled my name on the digital pad and selfishly snatched up the package slamming my door and locking it behind me. Eagerly and in a maddening frenzy I opened the package, removing the contents wildly with my hands. 

But my heart sank when the excitement wore off. On the ground was again, not my Eva figurine, but two identical ivory keys with monstrous engravings on them that make my hair stand on end just remembering.

-Jestro