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