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