For Boredom's Sake: Eric's Tale - Chapter 12: Other Doings

For Boredom's Sake: Eric's Tale

Chapter 12: Other Doings
By Eric Greer


"You have got to be kidding me!" yelled the Baroness, watching as the young hoodlum ran away with her handbag, disappearing into the crowd. Her personal guards were nowhere to be seen. With a scowl she gave chase, expertly weaving between people, jumping and turning, barely touching them as she passed.
Despite being dressed in an intricate attire of lace and leather, with her red hair tied back in a delicate-looking decorative knot, she managed to achieve an astounding speed. She had secretly been trained by some of the best combat instructors in the land, learning self-defense and the subtle arts of assassination - but despite these skills, she had been distracted when the child struck (if she had been alert, the child surely would have lost a hand for his effort).
While her training allowed her to nimbly pass through the crowd with nary an effort, the child had the size advantage, able to duck between legs and under tables. Her mind was sharp though, and through quick deduction and reasoning, she always found herself on his trail again in a matter of moments.
Almost as quickly as the chase had began, it ended - or so she thought. She had managed to grab the child by the shirt just outside of the market entrance. She had just started to turn the boy around when a large company of shirtless boys (monks in training, brandishing their newly earn tattoos - dragons and birds and sigils of great power) spilled from the market, engulfing them. Before she knew it, she was holding a shirt in her hand as the children passed by.
She towered over the children in her rage, growling as her eyes darted to and fro, scanning the milling crowds exiting the marketplace.

The boy looked around anxiously as he moved among the sea of legs, clutching his prize close to his chest. The sun was setting, and he had wandered the market streets as long as he could before heading towards his home.
The woman had looked like an easy mark - another newly arrived aristocrat, letting her guard down as she took in the sights of Romar - but as soon as he had her handbag in his hands she was after him. Her speed had surprised him, but he had been prepared. He knew the child monks would be heading through the market on their way to the north temple for their evening prayers - in a series of misfortune and dumb luck, she had gotten hold of him before he could reach them, but the children in turn had been early. Slipping out of his best shirt, he did his best to blend in with the children, moving slowly to the side before ducking between a group of merchants.
He looked around again. He was sure he had lost her. Making a sharp turn to the right, he ducked under a table and through a small hole in the wall. After crawling a short distance he found himself alone in a backstreet behind the shops. He and other children often used these service alleys (passing through tunnels made for cats), but he always felt uncomfortable and vulnerable in them - no crowds meant no cover to blend into.
The boy quickly and quietly moved through the alley, silently passing into a shop (almost literally under the shop owner's nose) and out into another alley. He knew the alleys well - a street urchin had to in order to make a living: being able to escape was an essential skill for his kind.
Finally, after passing through a labyrinth of shops and alleys, he found himself standing in front of a dilapidated building, the remains of a once grand store, it's doors and windows now boarded up. He cautiously looked up and down the deserted street before pulling a board from one of the windows. Squeezing inside, he then reached out and replaced the board. There were many children inside, the majority of them thieves, all of them orphaned, either having been left to rot on the streets by their parents, or washed out from training to be monks. None of them seemed to pay him any mind - he was nothing special here, just another face passing through for the night. The abandoned shops in the corners of the market were rarely checked (if ever) by the city guard, and the only adults to visit were information brokers seeking to hire the odd child to collect illicit information from various individuals, offering food or the odd gold coin.
He made his way up stairs and found an empty room. Kneeling, he emptied the contents of the handbag onto the dusty surface of a table: a mirror, several pieces of makeup, a vicious looking knife, and a bag of gold coins - quite the haul!
Emptying the bag of coins into his hand, he began to count them - all the while, a shadowy figure silently crept through the broken window. When he ran out of numbers (street urchins can only count so high), he started counting another pile, and another, and another as the shadow moved noiselessly across the room behind him.
He had eight stacks of gold coins so far, each twelve high - and he still had more to count. As he pulled out more coins he felt something else in the bag. Pulling it out, he found that it was a dull pewter vial, the top sealed by a metal clasp. Moving it around in his hands, he could feel liquid churning inside. He sat the bag of coins on the table and made to open the vial.
Suddenly, he felt a strange, cold sensation on his neck: a knife blade.
"I'll have my things back, thief," said a voice from behind him. He watched as the woman's free hand swept everything back into the handbag. His eyes went to the door. Downstairs he heard the crash of the front door and the screams of the children mixed with the voices of grown men.
"Catch every last one of them!" yelled one of the men downstairs. "I want this rat's nest cleared in five minutes!"
He was frozen. What had he done?
"And this," said the woman, taking the vial out of his hands.
The door burst open. Two members of the town guard rushed in, followed by two men dressed in black hooded robes.
"Baroness, have you recovered your personal affects?" asked one of the guards.
"Yes, I have, captain. This is the one who stole my handbag," she said, kicking the boy across the floor. "Have him separated from the others - I'd like to deal with him myself." She slipped her blade back into it's sheath with a snap.
"Yes, Baroness," said the captain as he and his cohort roughly picked the boy up from the floor.
She didn't look down at him as she passed by, disregarding his presence now that the hunt had come to an end.
"Come," she said to the hooded men as she moved across the room, "we're very late." They bowed their heads and followed her outside. While the woman had moved silently before, like a shadow, her footsteps now rang out confidently on the wood floor, echoing over the muffled sobs of the children downstairs.


 Copyright 2013 by Eric Greer. All rights reserved.

For Boredom's Sake: Eric's Tale - Chapter 11: Out in the Cold... Again

For Boredom's Sake: Eric's Tale

Chapter 11: Out in the Cold... Again
By Eric Greer

It didn't take long for Eric's greedy side to regret wasting a coin on such a grand exit. But, the greedy regret was soon replaced by a physical one as he was seemingly torn apart by razor sharp snow carried by icy winds. The weather had definitely taken a turn for the worse since he had woken up - squinting, he could barely make out the buildings to his left, let alone the ships to his right.
He eventually managed to make it to the docks without blindly falling into the frigid ocean.There he found two men standing next to the gangplanks to their respective ships, each bundled in comically large but totally appropriate coats, with their hoods up and tightened, leaving only enough open space to see out of. It was at this moment that Eric realized that he didn't know which ship he had chartered - an embarrassing mistake to say the least.
"I say, my good man," he said to the nearest one, his teeth chattering as the wind beat his face. "This ship wouldn't happen to be going to Audier, would it? I met the captain of one of these fine sailing vessels and managed to secure passage away from this dire, wind-pummeled rock."
Turning his entire body towards Eric, the man stared for a few moments before mumbling something unintelligible through his hood and turned away again.
"Sorry, I didn't catch that, my good man," said Eric, stepping closer to the man, hoping to better hear him.
Turning again, the man mumbled something indecipherable, though with a more aggressive tone, before pushing Eric away from the gangplank.
"I say! I was just asking a question!"
The man turned once more, this time waving his hands, gesturing for him to leave, as he continued to mumble aggressively.
"Fine!" he said, channeling his aggravation into an intense posh attitude. "I shall ask your counterpart over yonder! Perhaps he'll be more forthcoming! Good day to you, sir!" And with that he put his nose into the air and made his way further down the dock.
"Greetings!" he said when he had reached the other man, huddling close to him. "Would this fine sailing vessel be headed for Audier, by any cha-"
The man had started aggressively mumbling at Eric, and with a heavy shove to his chest, Eric found himself careening to the ground.
"By the gods! Have you no decency? No sense of politeness?" he exclaimed as he picked himself up off the ground. "This is an outrage! A travesty! All I asked was a simple question! Is this ship going to Audier? Is this ship going to Audier? Is? This? Ship? Going? To? Audier? Audier? AUDIER?" he said, enthusiastically waving from the ship to the open ocean to the east.
The man simply ignored him.
"Damn it all," said Eric, turning away. He looked around, hoping to find something to shield himself from the wind, which seemed to be coming from all directions. A few moments later he was huddled up amidst a group of barrels within eyesight of the gangplanks, his knees pressed against his chest.

"Lord Bamphris! Lord Bamphris!"
Eric had seen the captain and his companions arrive at the first gangplank. He had watched them share words with the asshole standing guard. He had even seen said asshole vaguely point in his direction. And he had watched as the captain made his way over to him. But he had been too cold to will himself to do anything.
"E-E-E-r-r-in-n B-B-B-B-B-B-B-am-ph-ph-ph-ris-s-s-s, a-at y-y-ou-r-r ser-r-v-v-ice, s-s-sir-r-r," he managed to stammer through the chill, not getting up.
"Lads, get him on board before his arse freezes to the dock," laughed the captain, waving at his companions.
They each took hold of his shoulders and heaved him up to his feet, then dragged him across the dock, past the aforementioned asshole, and up the gangplank, across the deck, and through a door. That's all he remembered before finally falling asleep.

When he had told the captain that he would be willing to sleep in a closet, it had been in jest, but in a closet was where he had awoken. He found himself curled up on the hard wooden floor, covered in a blanket, his head lying on his bag. A dim stream of light was pouring in from below the door. He could feel the ship moving with the waves. They must have left Saros.
Standing up, he wrapped his blanket around him and prepared to open the door.
"Well, at least you've managed to get off of that rock," said a voice from behind him.
He turned around, but it was too dark to make anything out. Suddenly he felt a light blow to his forehead and the snap of fingers as a small candle ignited above him.
"Dammit," he said, rubbing his head, "why are you here? Are you following me?"
"I'm just checking in," said Cyril, scratching his neck, his voice as lazy as ever.
"Well, you've checked in, now get out of here!"
"Alright, have it your way," he said. And with that Eric was once again struck in the forehead. When he opened his eyes, Cyril was gone. "But I'll be back!" said his disembodied voice.


Copyright 2013 by Eric Greer. All rights reserved. 

For Boredom's Sake: Eric's Tale - Chapter 10: Introducing Erin Bamphris

For Boredom's Sake: Eric's Tale

Chapter 10: Introducing Erin Bamphris
By Eric Greer

Eric was tired. It felt as if he had slept for fourteen months or so, but it was really only twelve hours. He hadn't meant to sleep so long, but after such a long and wearisome journey, his body decided otherwise.
As he walked across the room to stretch his legs, he peered out through the frosted windows. Outside he was relieved to see that the two ships were still at port, with men scurrying around the docks, fighting the frigid winds as they quickly unloaded the ships of their cargo, placing the large crates and barrels onto small wagons to be pulled into the nearby warehouses.

Walking down the stairs into the tavern, he spied the Liam fellow slouched in the far corner. His faced was obscured by his hands, but he was easily recognizable by his brown robes and the broken harp still hanging from his back.
"How was your night, apprentice adventurer?" he asked as he sat down beside him, heartily slapping the man on shoulder.
"Quite terrible, I'm afraid," said Liam, lowering his hand as he looked up.
"By the gods, man, what has happened to your face?" exclaimed Eric. The lad now sported a swollen lip and a blackened left eye.
"The ladies were very kind, and I quite enjoyed myself while it lasted, but they weren't too pleased to find that I had no money to give them for their services. The elder sister has quite a fist," he said, rubbing his eye.
Eric could hardly stifle his laugh.
"I would say that I'm sorry for putting you in such a situation, but I would be lying," he said, setting free the swelled up laughter.
Liam slumped down into his chair, once again covering his face.

Suddenly, the door to the whores' room opened, and out came the sisters, looking quite worse for wear. Seeing them, Liam somehow managed to shrink himself down even more, looking all the more pathetic. Turning slightly, he started to say something - until he realized that Eric was no longer seated next to him, but two tables over.
Liam looked flabbergasted that he hadn't heard the man get up. Shaking his head, he tried to get his attention while at the same time trying to conceal himself from the sisters'. Seeing this, Eric awkwardly averted his gaze away from the lad, suddenly finding the filthy chandelier above them quite interesting.

"Mornin'," grunted the innkeeper as he walked to Eric's table and picked up a few derelict mugs. "Sleep well?"
"Well, actually-" he started, but the innkeeper simply moped back to the bar, his arms dangling limply at his sides. "Lovely. Just lovely," he said to himself sarcastically. He was now sure that for this inn to still be in business, it must be the only on in Tal - or Saros for that matter.
Getting up, he walked up to the bar.
Looking up, the innkeeper pulled a face and groaned, setting the mugs onto the bar. "Oh gods, now what?"
"I was just going to ask if the captains of the ships outside had been in this morning," he said, becoming quite aggravated. Customer service was obviously not a priority at this establishment.
"Look, I don't know," groaned the man as he placed the uncleaned mugs back into the cupboard below the bar. "Do you really expect me to keep up with every person who comes into the inn?" he asked, waving his hand across the room. Looking, Eric saw only the three whores talking to the innkeeper's wife, a man dozing near the hearth, and Liam tucked away in the corner. As he turned around, he saw the door behind the bar close and heard loud string of cursing from within.
"The gods must have cursed this rock," he said, going back to his table.

As he made his way across the room, the front door opened as three sailors entered the room, loudly talking to one another over the howling wind - or so Eric thought: even after they had closed the door, they continued to obnoxiously converse in raised voices, bellowing with laughter. As they walked across the room to the bar, Eric attempted to tune them out - until one of them stereotypically said, "Aye, cap'n!'
Almost falling out of his seat, Eric turned and watched as the trio made their way across the room.
"I say, are you the captain of one of those two fine sailing vessels moored in the harbor?" he asked, attempting his best posh accent. He figured that if he could trick them into thinking that he was a rich, wayward traveler, they might try to take advantage of his naive self (and his wallet) - thus making it easier for him to secure passage off of Saros.
"Aye, mister..." said the man in the middle. No gaudy, oversized hat, unfortunately.
"Bamphris. Erin Bamphris of the house Bamphris, my good man," he lied in a posh accent, walking to the bar and shaking the captain's hand. He recalled conning a man by that name some time ago, a rich, miserly baron of some sort. At best they might recognize the name and lend his story some credibility, and at the very least it would provide him cover. "Fate has dealt me a cruel hand I'm afraid: I came to this isle a few weeks ago on the good ship Pimpherninny on the promise of some adventure. Unfortunately, I was waylaid by a few bandits outside of one of the villages south of here. They took my clothes and my baggage and left me to fend for myself in the wild South." He began to sob slightly, attempting to appear to be in a tizzy.
"Unfortunate indeed, but how does this concern me?" asked the captain.
"Well, like I said, I was waylaid, and though they stole all of my clothes, they did not find my pocket gold hidden in my secret spot," he said, with a sly wink (this appeared to make the captain slightly uncomfortable). "A kindly villager found me and nursed me back to health, in addition to clothing my nakedness. But, by the time I reached Tal, the Pimpherninny had set sail without me. Now I find myself in need of passage my good captain."
"My ship ain't no cruise ship, Lord Bamphris," the captain said gruffly.
"I understand, captain, but I believe I have enough money to secure a small room and a little food to maintain me. I shant be a nuisance, I promise! I understand your course is set for Steven's Town?"
"Steven's Town? No, we're going to Audier to the north," replied the captain.
"Oh, excellent! Even better!" he said excitedly, clapping his hands together. "What say you, captain? Do you have a small room on your ship for someone like myself?"
"I don't know..." said the captain.
"Oh, please, captain! Even a closet would do!"
The captain looked at his companions. Neither of them looked very bright, though one looked rather smitten with Lord Bamphris; that certainly was not expected.
"Sixty gold pieces and we have a deal. But," he said, "you stay out of the way."
"Oh, marvelous! Absolutely marvelous! I shall be as quiet as a whisper, my good sirs!" For added effect, he jumped up and down, silently clapping his hands."
"Aye, we've just finished unloading the last of the cargo. My mates and I were just about to pay the sisters one final visit before we go," he said, nodding to the whores in the corner, bickering at one another.
"Oh, that's... nice... of you," he said. "It's good that you take care of the help, I suppose."
"Aye. We should be casting off within the hour, so be down at the docks before we set sail," he said.
"Will do, oh captain, my captain!" said Eric, er, I mean Erin, saluting the captain and his mates.
"Actually," said the captain, turning around. "The boys and I could use a little extra coin. It's going to be a long journey. How's about you pay up front?"
"Oh, why of course," he said, digging through his pockets for the satchel of coins. A few moments later he had sixty coins in his hands. "Here you go, my good man!"
"Thanks, matey. Remember, within the hour."
"Yes, sir!" said Erin in mock excitement, saluting the sailors once more.
 And with that the three of them walked across the room to the whores. The lead sister stood up, but before she could say anything, the captain dropped his coin satchel between her breasts, and in unison, the sailors picked up the girls and ran to their room, as the girls giggled and mocked screamed.

Sixty coins up front. That left him with just enough With that he proceeded to order some breakfast, eat it as messily as possible, and flirt with the innkeeper's wife. By the time Eric had started kissing the woman passionately, the innkeeper charged at him - then found himself on the floor after being punched square in the face, covered in his own blood.
"Customer service really is important, you know," gloated Eric as he stood above the man, his arm around his awe-struck wife.
"Mugaflob," was all the innkeeper could muster as Eric leaned down and placed his last coin on his bloodied forehead. He was fairly certain his nose was broken.
Placing his room key in her hands, and with a final kiss on the woman's forehead, Eric raised his head high and left, leaving the front door open as he headed for the docks.

In the corner, Liam watched in shock at everything that had happened. He waited several minutes to find the courage to get up and leave, but when the innkeeper began to stir, he made due with fear and bolted out the door.


Copyright 2013 by Eric Greer. All rights reserved.

For Boredom's Sake: Eric's Tale - Chapter IX: The Last Temptation of Liam

For Boredom's Sake: Eric's Tale

Chapter IX: The Last Temptation of Liam
By Eric Greer

The inn was a welcoming place. Situated near the docks, it had become the central hub of the settlement. As Eric approached it, he couldn’t help but feel humbled by the sight of it: its wooden sides were grey and white, having been battered by years of vigilance next to the rough South Sea. A sign reading “IN” (the second N having been a victim of the wind) hung over the porch by moldy ropes creaked in the breeze, and the warm light of a fire inside illuminated its steely window panes.

As he reached for the door, all thought of good food, a warm bed and much needed rest were momentarily pushed from his mind as the sound of yelling and crashing emanated from inside. Before he could wonder what was going on, the door opened and a tall, heavy-set man came crashing out, landing squarely upon him. Another man, bald, beardy and gangly-toothed followed him, yelling at the top of his lungs, swinging a broom about.

“You get yer bastard ass outta my inn, you damn adventurer! Money! Money! We need money! Yer songs an’ tales’ll get you nothing here, you do-nothin’!”

“Oi! That’s not the proper way to treat your customers!” said the other man, pushing himself up, leaving Eric crumpled on the ground.

“Customer? Customer?! You call yerself a customer?! You ain’t bought nothin’!”

“Technicalities, my friend!” he said, brushing his robes off. “All I asked for was some left-overs, simple scraps! In exchange, I would play you a few tunes on my harp and serenade you with my tales-“ He stopped suddenly as he reached his arms behind him.

The inn keeper let out a bellowing bark of a laugh as the robed man twisted a harp around from behind him, now mangled and broken from the fall.

“Oh, bother,” he said, looking down at his precious instrument.

“At least you’ve still got your tales!” barked the inn keeper, laughing as he slammed the door shut.

“What terrible luck!” he sighed as he unstrapped the harp, his arms falling glumly to his sides.

“Ow…” moaned Eric, still on the ground.

“Oh, my poor fellow! My sincerest apologies!” cried the man, rushing to Eric’s side, helping him up. “I scarcely had time to discern my surroundings as I escaped from that brute inside!”

“It’s alright,” sighed Eric as he felt his sides, checking for any broken bones. When he was satisfied that nothing was broken, he looked up at the man: he was rather tall, standing well over six feet. He wore a thick, light brown robe, under which he could see large, dirty boots. His hair wasn’t short, but it wasn’t long either, and his beard was a mess after the scuffle. A pair of small spectacles sat upon his nose. Despite his size, he didn’t look to be a fighter. To the contrary, he had a vulnerable look to him that quite reminded Eric of a monk or scholar. He noted his accent. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

“What gave me away?” he said with a chuckle. “No, I’m originally from Usier, far to the North,” he said, pointing North. “West.” He repositioned his arm slightly to the left. “North West. That’s right.”

“Usier? That’s a long ways away. How’d you end up on Saros?” Eric had lived in Usier for a few months, whilst on one of his grand schemes for glory and riches (mostly riches).

“I’m apprenticing as an adventurer, my friend. The name’s Liam! Liam Reginald Baldwick the Third! Of the house Baldwick, of course!” he said proudly. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance...?”

“Oh, uh, Eric. Just Eric,” he said. “Apprenticing as an adventurer? I’ve never heard of that.”

“Well, um, it’s, uh- wow, it sure is nippy out here isn’t it?” he asked, veering away from the topic. “Surely that bloke in there has calmed down by now. What do you say we meander back indoors and chat over some ale, eh?”

“Uh, sure,” replied Eric, begrudgingly accepting that “chatting over some ale” would require payment on his part.

As they entered the inn, all of the hopes and expectations the exterior had planted in his mind were dashed away. While he could tell that the establishment had once been quite something, those days were far behind it. The large tables were now grimy and scarred by the uncaring hands of countless sailors. The floor was slick with questionable liquids and what looked to be rat feces. Even the unused chandelier above them had boots and stained pants hanging from it. Behind the bar to their left Eric could see the innkeeper glaring at Liam. He made note to keep at least three feet between himself and the Baldwick child at all times.

The patronage was your usual rabble of sailors: greasy-haired men of different ages and skin colors, all with weather-beaten faces. In the corner, surrounded by gaffawing sailors, were three women: one was quite plump with brown hair, her face greased by the large chicken leg she had in her right paw; the second was painfully thin, with whispy blonde hair and dark bruised-looking eyes; the third (possibly the eldest?) was a combination of her sisters: not overweight, but not overly thin, with a very well-proportioned chest and flowing blonde hair.

At the sight of new customers the trio leapt up and, pushing their breasts up, began to push their trade. The eldest sister was obviously the brains of the operation, as she immediately did all of the talking, only allowing her sisters the occasional supposedly-sexy moan or giggle.

“3 gold pieces per turn; 15 for the night and all you can muster. What do you say, loves? 20 for the both of you,” she said with a seductive smile.

Liam instantly turned a very violent shade of red.

“I’m good,” said Eric, trying not to laugh - he wasn't particularly in the mood for a whore (he still wasn't even sure if his goods had survived the trek through the snow).

“Well, sweety?” she said, turning to Liam, batting her eyes as she playfully ran her finger across his chin, down his neck and onto his chest.

“Have at it, Liam!” laughed Eric, pushing the lad towards the trio. “Think of it as an adventure!”

Liam somehow managed to turn an even darker shade of red as the women pulled him into their room (next to the bar; no doubt the establishment's owner got a cut from their "business" dealings); as they closed the door, Eric could have sworn his face was about to pop.

Still laughing, he walked to the bar.

“I hope you have actual money, and not a song an’ a tale, like yer friend thur,” said the innkeeper, glaring at him.

“Plenty, my good man,” he said with a smile, pulling out the gold he had stolen from Tom.

“What’ll it be, then?” growled the innkeeper.

“A mug of ale, a room and some information on the two ships docked outside, if you would be so kind,” he answered, putting a few gold coins on the counter.

“Hmm,” he growled as he sloppily poured some ale into a dirty looking mug.

“Thank you, my good man,” he said. Looking at the mug, he instinctively started to rub the rim with his shirt. The innkeeper glared at him. “And the ships?” he asked, quickly putting the mug down.

“Hmm,” he growled. “Thur both leavin’ tomorree afternoon; as far as I know, thur both headin’ to Steven’s Town.”

“Ah, good,” he said. He always had an easier time worming onto peoples’ good sides when he was well-rested. “And the room?”

“Hmm, Martha, honey! You got yerself a customer!” And with this the man stomped his way to the other end of the bar, where he stood, scrubbing a very clean mug (Eric was fairly confident that it was the only clean mug in the building).

“Ah, wonderful! A customer!” cried a female voice from the kitchen. When she revealed herself, Eric found himself face to face with a devastatingly attractive redhead. “A room?” she asked, a bright smile on her face.

“Um, yes, please,” he fumbled, trying not to look at her chest (which was literally popping out of her top).

“Good! Good! One second, deary!” she said, wiping her hands on her blouse (pulling her top down further). She then began to rummage through her apron pockets. “There! Room 2, deary!” she said cheerfully, pulling out a key.

At that moment they heard yelling from the three sisters’ room. Turning around, Eric saw Liam, face down on the floor, flailing his arms about.

“This man’s a cheat! We gave him a Slippery Jack, expecting well and due compensation! Songs an’ tales aren’t good around here, you bastard!” The eldest sister appeared to be very, very angry. “Get him girls!”

Eric didn’t wait to see what happened next. Laughing, he took the key from Martha and handed her a few more gold coins. As he walked up the stairs he could hear Liam down below trying to string together some sort of tune before he was drowned out by the sisters. Looking down at the key, he noticed that it had a stitch-worked butterfly attached it. Weird.

The room was absolutely pitiful. In one corner stood a pot with some dirt in it, with what looked like a tree limb sticking out of it; next to it sat a bucket for his business. Inspecting his bed, he found that it was nothing more than a burlap sack stuffed with hay, flattened out to give it semi-bedlike appearance. It hadn’t dawned on him that the inn’s main source of revenue would be, not from lodgings, but from food and alcohol (why would the average sailor pay to sleep at an inn when they could sleep on their ship?).

Resigning himself to his surroundings, Eric sunk onto the “bed” and quickly drifted to sleep.

Copyright 2012 by Eric Greer. All rights reserved.

For Boredom's Sake: Eric's Tale - Chapter VIII: More Snow

For Boredom's Sake: Eric's Tale

Chapter VIII: More Snow
By Eric Greer


Eric had been walking all night. He had planned on finally making camp a few hours before dawn when snow once again began to fall. Fearful that he would arrive in Tal to find no ships in port, he ignored the pains in his legs and pressed on.
It was not until sometime around noon that he finally allowed himself a break, and sat down on a fallen tree. Looking up, he watched as snow flakes slowly fell through the canopy above. Winter had taken hold of Saros. He took the small loaf of bread from his bag. There wasn't much left: even if he tried to ration it, he wouldn't be eating tomorrow. He also hadn't drank anything since he had left Mortimer's. He had considered eating snow, but he figured that, since it would lower his internal body temperature, he would save that as a last resort.
So, he ate half of his bread, saving the other half for that night.
He sat and rested for as long as he could, but he knew that he would have to get moving soon. In his mind he could see the last ship pulling out to sea. He ignored the pain in his legs as he stood up and picked up his bag.

He was either moving at a faster pace than he thought or Mortimer had been mistaken. He had reached the forest's edge and was now standing on a hilltop. Below was a rolling plain, beyond which he could spy the port of Tal.
As he began to stumble his way down the steep, snow covered hillside, his exhaustion finally caught up with him. As he tumbled down the hill, the only positive thought that ran through his head was, At least I don't have to walk. When he finally hit the bottom he was out of breath and caked in snow.
"God dammit!" he said. He was cold, sore, and completely out of energy. He had almost constantly been on the move for nearly seventeen hours, and he was probably another six hours from Tal, and that was if he ran. He hadn't been on this earth for four days and he was already starting to regret accepting Sol's offer.
He allowed himself to lay there in the snow for a few minutes before he reluctantly pulled himself up again.
"You couldn't have threw me somewhere a little closer to civilization?" he yelled, looking up at the sky.
Almost as if in answer an eastern wind picked up.
With a sigh (and more than a few grumbles of discontent) he stood up and willed his legs forward.

He hadn't been walking long when something to his south caught his eye. He couldn't be sure, but it almost looked like some sort of structure, though it appeared to be leaning to one side. He had almost missed it in the snow. His path had brought him into a shallow dip in the plain, and Tal was completely blocked from view. As the snow still hadn't let up (if anything, it had picked up), and Tal might as well be a million leagues away, the structure's allure proved too much, and he made straight for it.
When he finally reached it, he discovered it to be an abandoned covered wagon. It was indeed leaning to one side, as the left wheel appeared to have shattered completely. Luckily, it didn't seem to have been abandoned long, as the canvas top was still intact.
Crawling inside, Eric found it to be completely empty; all the more room for him to stretch out. While he had hated the idea of wasting more time, he also hated the idea of possibly freezing to death, and would rather risk missing a ship than possibly being sent back to that lake (which was probably frozen by now). Taking the last morsel of bread from his bag, he quickly scarfed it down. That took care of the last of his food. The coins he had stolen from that villager would go to good use: his first stop would be the inn for his first proper meal since....
Come to think of it, how long has it been since I died? he thought. His mishaps over the last few days, as well as his single-minded drive to reach Tal, had kept the question from popping into his mind. He had died in the final days of the spring of 489; had it only been a few months?
As he lay there, this question burned in his mind, driving away all thought of food. Finally, he fell asleep, the sounds of the wind outside lulling him to sleep.

He had slept through the night and most of the following day, much longer than he had intended. On the plus side, he didn't feel like total crap. Sure, his legs were still sore, and the blinding white brightness of the snow pretty much destroyed his retinas for about five minutes, but he felt much, much better. So much so that, after falling out of the back of the wagon, he began to run east towards Tal. If there were any ships still sitting in port, he was going to be on one of them, even if he had to kill everyone on board.
The clouds had once again receded. The sun was drifting to the west, while in the east the two moons were already visible.
He reached Tal by nightfall. The town was small and far from civilized by Eric's standards. Its primary purpose was to serve as a drop off point for freight destined to the other three villages of Saros. Most of the buildings were simply warehouses, though there was a general store, an inn, and a pub, mostly catering to the crews of passing freighters and trade vessels. During the coming winter months, the town would be deserted, except for a few families who would keep watch on the warehouses and work on the docks in the unlikely event that a ship would take to port.
"Yes! Yes!" he said, dancing, as he reached the docks: there were two large ships docked. Both were of generic design, with two masts, one centrally located, and one aft.
Relieved that he had arrived before the final ships had left port, he relaxed. Leaning on a wooden post, he looked out to sea. The night sky was clear, and the two moons and the stars reflected in the calm ocean water. For the first time in several days he felt like things were finally going his way. Maybe the gods weren't going to give him such a hard time after all.
Or maybe they were just setting him up for another fall. Who knows? He had learned a very long time ago that optimism was for suckers, and things like trust and hope can get you killed; this he knew from experience. Slipping on a patch of ice on his way to the inn only helped to further cement these beliefs.


Copyright 2011 by Eric Greer. All rights reserved.

For Boredom's Sake: Eric's Tale - Chapter VII: And a Parting

For Boredom's Sake: Eric's Tale

Chapter VII: And a Parting
By Eric Greer


"So, how much further does this forest go on?" asked Eric, munching on a small piece of bread. Mortimer had roused him from his sleep sometime in the late morning. Sunlight was pouring in through the window. Outside the sky was clear, without a cloud in sight.
"Not too much further," said the old man, picking up his bowl of slop from the table. "I'd say a day's walk, due east of here. You should set eyes on the port of Tal from the treeline, though it's easily another half a day of walking further." He lifted the bowl and gestured toward the door, spilling slop on the floor.
"Is Tal a major port? Will I be able to charter passage north?" asked Eric, relieved that the settlement he had chosen was indeed a port.
"Possibly," replied the old man, raising his spirits. "But, winter has come, and trade will slow." His spirits sank. "The seas in these parts get a violent streak in them during the winter months, and passage becomes treacherous. First snow fall usually tells the captains that it's about time to high tail it back north."
"Then I had better be on my way," said Eric, starting to stand up.
Mortimer suddenly grabbed Eric's arm with both hands. "Yes, I believe you'd better had. But...."
Eric could sense a some sort of delay coming up.
"But... what?" he asked.
Mortimer then let go of his arm and raised his bowl of slop to his lips and began to make a disgusting sipping noise.
"Well?"
The old man let out a sigh as he set the bowl down again, then wiped his face with his sleeve.
"Well?" Eric repeated.
"What?" The look on Mortimer's face was quite quizzical.
"I said I should be on my way, but you stopped me." This old man was most definitely addled.
"Oh, yes, of course. What was it again? Let me think for a moment," he said, putting his right hand on his chin and closing his eyes.
This is ridiculous, thought Eric. I'm wasting precious time while this old man... is he sleeping?!
Indeed, a soft snoring had started issuing from Mortimer, his head lulled to one side.
Standing up, Eric slammed his fist onto the table.
"Oh! What? What's all this ruckus?" asked Mortimer.
"I'm wasting time. If I don't hurry I'm going to be stuck on this backwater rock until spring!"
"Ah, yes! That's it! Time! Something I don't have much of, I'm afraid," said the old man, matter of factly.
"What the hell are talking about? I don't have time for this." Eric grabbed his bag and slung it over his shoulder.
"I'm going to die tonight, sonny." Mortimer said this as if he were telling him about the weather.
Oh, god, he though, don't tell me he wants me to stay with him while he dies.
"If you wouldn't mind, I'd like some company while I pass."
Damn. It. All.
"I'll make it worth your while!"
"How?" he asked flatly, sitting down again. He accepted that the world around him was most likely going to be hellbent on delaying him; this old man was probably just the first in a long line of pains in his ass.
"Will you stay? I promise, I'll die quickly!"
"Fine," he replied, his voice full of gloom.
"Oh, good, good!" He stood up and began to circle around the room, his arms held out as if holding someones hands, dancing.
This guy is absolutely, positively insane.
Suddenly, Mortimer slumped to the ground.
For a moment, Eric thought the old man had died.
"Just practicing!" he gleefully exclaimed.
Absolutely. Positively. Insane.
Slamming his head against the table, Eric began to curse himself.

"I used to be quite the adventurer!" said the old man. He was now lying in his bed, staring at the ceiling. "Yep! I sailed the oceans, looking for adventure! Why, I remember when my mate Peg Leg Pete and I pulled into port one night after a long stretch at sea. We must have bedded every lady on that coast that weekend. I says to him, I says, "Pete! There isn't a lass on this island under seventy!" But we didn't care; we had been at sea for so long, a pulse probably wasn't even required! Pulse optional! Haha!"
Across the room Eric was still slamming his head against the table. Mortimer had been regaling his life to him for hours, from his time island hopping to every woman he had bedded.
Why won't he just die? he thought.
As if in answer, Mortimer suddenly stopped.
"Oh. Oh. I think.... Yes, I think...."
Finally.
"Eric, please come over to my bedside. Please," he said.
Obliging, Eric crossed the room.
As he drew near, Mortimer reached one arm under his bed. After a few moments of searching, he pulled out a bundle of cloth.
"I give you my most prized possession, Eric," he said, pushing the bundle into Eric's arms. "It is my sword. I carried it with me in my youth, and it has seen many years of hard and noble service. It's-"
"A piece of crap," said Eric, bluntly. He had taken the sword from the bundle of cloth. The scabbard was worn and nearly falling apart, and the blade was a copper color, pitted with rust and nicked and notched. "Wait... is there potato on this thing? Were you dicing potatoes with this?"
"- name is Bob," Mortimer continued, ignoring Eric's comments. "I have foreseen that you will have great need of Bob in the future. You have a dire road ahead of you, my friend."
"This is potato. God, what a piece of crap."
"One more thing, my friend, before I pass."
"Huh? Oh, what is it, oh Mortimer, dear friend and giver of crappy gifts?" Eric was still examining the blade. He could swear there was something else on the blade. It looked like carrot.
"Please, take Mortimer with you," he said, looking at the sleeping dog. "Mortimer! I'm dying, Mortimer! Don't you want to be with me in my final moments? Here boy!"
The dog didn't seem to react.
"Damned... dog...."
And so, Mortimer passed on. Mortimer the man, not Mortimer the dog; Eric was fairly certain the dog was still doing fine.
"Good god," said Eric. As happens in real life, but is rarely depicted in literature or film, Mortimer's sphincter had loosened. "Good god!" Eric quickly grabbed his bag, and, covering his nose and mouth with his arm, ran to the door.

"Mortimer! Mortimer! Here boy!" He had been calling at the open door of the house for several minutes now, but the dog just didn't want to leave his bed of hay.
"Fine!" he said, turning away. "I don't like dogs anyways."
He then took the sword ("Bob") from it's scabbard.
This thing is embarrassing, he thought. But, Mortimer was right: he was going to need a weapon on his journey. But, still....
Reluctantly he attached it to his belt. Amazingly, it didn't fall apart.
He picked up his bag, and, with one last look at Mortimer's small home, he slung it over his shoulder and turned away, making his way east through the forest, on his way to the port of Tal.

After awhile, he began to wonder if the old man had wanted to be buried.
Oh well, he thought as he continued on his journey.


Copyright 2011 by Eric Greer. All rights reserved.

For Boredom's Sake: Eric's Tale - Chapter VI: A Meeting

For Boredom's Sake: Eric's Tale

Chapter VI: A Meeting
By Eric Greer


By midday it had started snowing again, and as night drew near, Eric began to wonder where he would find shelter. Of course, he hadn't been smart enough to steal a tent from that villager, or even a blanket. If he could time travel he could go back and steal a tent; then again, if he could time travel, he probably wouldn't have died and gone to Hell, and therefor wouldn't be in this whole saving the world mess.
Unable to find a worthwhile place to make camp, Eric walked deep into the night. The moons lit his way at times, when there was a break in the clouds, but he found himself mostly feeling his way through the dark. This mode of travel is fairly stupid, as forest floors sometimes have a bad habit of suddenly disappearing. This thought occurred to Eric as he tumbled rather violently down a hillside. When his body finally came to stop, he decided he had found a suitable place to camp.

"Hey, you! You!"
Ugh, where am I? he thought to himself. The last thing he remembered was falling.
"Hey!"
I must have hit my head on something, he thought, rubbing his forehead.
"Mister!"
How long was I out? The sky was still dark, but the cloud cover had broken, and the moons now hung bright in the sky.
"Will you stop with the inner monologue, I'm trying to talk to you!"
Looking around, Eric saw that he had come to rest on a tree-covered hillside. The figure of an old man stood a few feet from him, though his features were hidden in shadow.
"Oh, sorry," he said, getting to his feet.
"It's about time," said the old man, who was now making his way down the hill. "Well, are you coming?" he asked, looking back.
"Oh, uh, I guess so," answered Eric, somewhat bewildered.
Down the hill they went, neither saying a word. The old man was breathing heavily when they reached the bottom.
"So... where are we going?" he finally asked, as they continued through the forest.
"To my home, of course," answered the old man indignantly, not looking back.
"Of course, where else would I be following a strange old man to in the middle of nowhere?" he said sarcastically.
"Exactly," he replied matter of factly.
This old man was strange. Normally this would be where he would follow his gut and sneak off, but the idea of possibly being able to rest somewhere with a roof over his head was too alluring to pass up; he figured he'd have plenty of other opportunities to be one with nature on the long road to Lebin.

About half an hour later Eric spotted a light through the trees ahead. As they got closer, a cozy little cottage appeared.
"Nice place you've got," he said.
The old man simply ignored him, opened the door and shuffled inside, slamming the door behind him.
To say that Eric was confused would be an understatement.
"Are you coming in? Or are you going to stand outside all night?" yelled the old man.
As Eric opened the door, any preconceived notions that the exterior of the small house had created were blown away. The place was a pigsty. The floor was covered by the stained pelt of some strange creature and countless scraps of paper. In one corner stood a table (littered with dirty wooden bowls and more scraps of paper) and two chairs. A large dog slept on a pile of hay in another corner, next to a fireplace, not even acknowledging Eric's presence. On the other side of the fireplace was a disheveled looking bed.
"Welcome to my home. Sit! Sit!" said the old man, as he crossed the room. He pulled one of the chairs out from under the table, and, after picking what appeared to be a small, dead creature from it (which he nonchalantly tossed into the fire), offered it to Eric before slowly sitting in the other.
"Uh, thanks," said Eric, looking from the fire to the seat. Trying not to think about whatever had been lying there before, he sat down.
"My name is Mortimer," said the old man. In the firelight Eric could finally make out his face. He definitely wasn't much to look at: he had a woolly grey beard, a crooked nose, and his left eye appeared to drift inward. His hair was long and unkempt. All in all, he had the look of someone who wasn't quite completely there.
"Eric," he replied, quickly taking his eyes from the man's face.
"Nice to meet you Eric! My name is Mortimer!"
"Uh, yeah, you just told me."
"Did I now? How silly of me," laughed Mortimer. "Well, my name is Mortimer, and this is my home!"
"So, what were you doing out in the middle of the night? You were pretty far from home," asked Eric.
"Sleep walking, I suppose," he replied. "Nothing does a sleeping man more good than going for a midnight stroll!"
"I see." Mortimer definitely wasn't all there. "Nice dog."
"Ah, yes! That's my Mortimer! He's a good boy, aren't you Mortimer? Aren't you?" The dog didn't even open his eyes. "Damned dog. You must be hungry, am I right?" he asked, turning his attention back to Eric. "I've got some slop, if you're interested."
"Uh, sure." He hadn't eaten since the previous morning, having decided to ration his bread.
The old man then stood up and shuffled over to a large pot standing next to the fire.
"Come and get some, sonny!" he said, waving him over.
As Eric drew near, Mortimer pried the lid from the pot. Inside, Eric beheld something truly unholy. "Slop", as the old man called it, was a sickly color, somewhere between green and brown, but distinctly neither, with bits and pieces of what he guessed were small, rodent-like animals and mushrooms. There were other things floating in it, but these were the only things he could identify.
"Er, actually, on second thought, I have bread," he said, moving away from the pot, holding the bag up.
"Suit yourself," said Mortimer, grabbing a wooden bowl from the floor near the dog. "You don't know what you're missing!" He then dipped the bowl in the "slop" and replaced the lit.
"Oh, I'm sure it's delicious; but, I've, uh, made a vow to, uh, eat only bread for... ever. Yep."
"I see," said Mortimer, sitting down. He then lifted the bowl to his mouth and took a hearty swig. He sat for a moment before turning towards the dog and spitting what appeared to be a small eyeball in its direction, which landed a few feet short. "Damned dog."
What followed was several awkward, silent moments. Mortimer busied himself with his meal, sometimes pausing to spit something in the dog's direction. Meanwhile, Eric looked about the room, his stomach churning in disgust. Looking at the papers that littered the floor and table, he could see that some were covered in strange writing; others featured crude stick figures, depicting a wide range of things, from battles to gardening (others, he suspected, were pornographic in nature).
After a few minutes, Mortimer noisily finished his "slop" and threw the bowl back towards the dog. For the first time since he arrived, Eric noticed the dog react: he lifted his head to peer inside the bowl, then sat his head down again, closing his eyes.
"Well," said Mortimer, putting his hands on his stomach, "time for bed!" Standing up, he walked over to the bed. Lying down, he rolled over to the far side. "There's plenty of room for the both of us," he said, patting the empty side of the bed.
"I'm... good. I'll sleep on the floor...." This old coot was just getting stranger and stranger.
"Suit yourself," yawned Mortimer, rolling over. "Night, night."
"Night, night...."
Eric pulled the loaf of bread from his bag and tore a small piece off. As he ate, he began to wonder if this turn of events was just a coincidence or if it was fate. But, then he decided that he was too sore and tired to worry about that, and, seeing as a night of sleeping on a hard floor wouldn't help the sore part of it, he didn't plan on thinking about it tomorrow either.
When he had finished he proceeded to clear a small area of the floor, pushing the papers to one side. Using his bag as a makeshift pillow, he quickly drifted off to sleep, the steady sound of Mortimer's snoring filling his ears.


Copyright 2011 by Eric Greer. All rights reserved.