The World of Beline

Eric's Journal #1

Eric stood with his new clothes. A fashionable outfit, far nicer then perhaps his father or any within his family had ever owned. They did not sort with nobles or wander museums, but sold honey and wax from their small farm, his mother sold flowers that they grew and maybe a few candles. No, theirs had never been a life of ease or complex comforts.
Honey on biscuits, a warm fire to keep the chill away and a well thatched roof to keep the rain off. Those were the things that were sought, those along side friends and family to share them with, but here Eric was. Last of his family, dressed in cloth, the coin cost of which would be a good seasons pay, spent for no more need then to please some rich folk who’d not cared of his plight in the streets nor of the pain suffered for his family.
But that wasn’t quite true, the gnome had asked, she had taken him in as one of her own, the mage would be there as well needing one to help him out perhaps if needed. Eric knew on some level the mage was older then himself with his elven blood, but still he acted like a lad.
Turned away at the door for his one, single weapon he’d gone back to.. home? Was that was it was now? The Golden Grog Taproom anyway. A few ales as he pondered just staying there rather then heading back to a place to be trotted out like some show horse in fine barding to do tricks for the bored nobles and royalty. He had never been that kind. As a boy he’d kept his head down and rushed to do his work, often faster then he could keep his head on his feet which meant he tripped a lot. Muddy and scuffed he’d learned to get back up. Later when he was older and on the streets of the city he’d learned to slow down enough to watch where he was going, to look before he leapt, but he’d been a child of the gutters by then. Even when he’d become big enough to intimidate he was a thug and little more.
Still, the gnome had bid him to come back to the foolishness, and he didn’t look forward to listening to the old woman’s lecture if he failed to show once more, though he had gone already. It was with a heavy sigh he got up grudgingly and headed off into the streets and to the museum once more.
Without the axe at his side he felt unsteady, for most of his life he’d had a weapon at hand, but not this night, but they did let him in without it. Moving through he found the group and snatched an ale before attempting to grab a decent sized plate only to be told ‘no’. Then came the patrons with their curious questions, those who looked to him with eyes that said he was most certainly less then them. Not that, that was anything new for Eric. When one lived in the streets, one got used to that look.
As the night went on, Eric kept to the back of the group and the shadows rather then chatting. He knew his place from the streets, normally someone else did the threatening and chatting while he simply broke a leg or arm or delivered the beating. His was to keep quiet and keep his head down. It generally worked for him.
The night done he walked the group home as best he could although he had to take special care with the gnome. She was seen too over the others, even the old woman. But he frowned as he looked to his new clothes once they were off and his worn old blue trousers and once white tunic were back on. A night, a season’s wealth spent on playing dress up for a single night and then what? It was simply a bundle of cloth to cart around that he’d probably never need again.


EmeraldKnightR TGMDBHunter

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