A Long Piece of Fiction
Chapter 2: The Eel's Eye
It had been a fortnight since Trespen had awoken to the remains of his companions. Their charred and bloody remains had long since fed the creatures of the Fornwell Forest, but that did not stop Tespen from seeing them. Whenever he closed his eyes, images of Borf and Marg appeared before him like phantoms of the past, beckoning him to the land of the dead. There was no solace for Trespen, only regret. If only he had not drank so much. If only he had not been born a contemptuous half halfing. Maybe, just maybe he could have been conscious enough to prevent whatever happened that night. Now he was alone, left to busk for money on street corners and dingy pubs. Benjamin was now the only friend he had in all of Rorenfeld.
"Benjamin, if we score enough tips tonight we might finally eat something other than moss and bread." Trespen sat on a log outside of Glarm's Port, holding his lute in front of him, politely listening. "THAT'S A FANTASTIC IDEA!" he bellowed, startling a pack of spiderbats from the trees. Trespen looked around and began to whisper to the lute, "Benjamin you are a genius. That's exactly what we'll do. I can't believe I didn't think of that myself." Trespen got up and began skip down to the town, playing Benjamin and singing his skipping song.