A Long Piece of Fiction- Chapter 2: The Eel's Eye

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.

Skip to the left, skip to the right.

My friends all died drunk one night.

Neither can win, they both just lose,

But I'll skip better with a bottle of booze.

So learn a lesson from Marg and Borf,

I'm a half halfling, not a dumb dwarf.

I'll just keep skipping all of my days,

Until the phantoms of my friends finally eat the rest of my soul and only an empty husk remains.

        Trespen spent the next few hours singing to the locals at The Eel's Eye. A tavern by night, fish market by day, The Eel's Eye was where some of Rorenfeld's most eclectic orc fishermen would gather. Earning tips from orc fishmen, this was Benjamin's grand plan. Admittedly all of Trespen's plans did not play to his musical strengths and usually involved picking fights with half orc halflings (the lands of Rorenfeld are quite the melting pot). The Eel's Eye was especially busy that night. Orcs of all shapes and sizes filled the room, and not a single one tossed Trespen so much as a copper. Having already sang the Ode of the Blind Fisherman three times, Trespen knew he had to try another seaworthy song to have any chance of earning a few silvers. "Benjamin do you know any other sea songs? I only know the one." Trespen stood in the middle of the tavern filled with orcs talking to his lute. For the first time in The Eel's Eye's history someone was talking to a lute (who was not drunk).

        "Wif, I think this ones had enough!" yelled an orc to the barkeep.

        "I only gave the little guy water." Wif replied.

        A roar of laughter filled the room. Trespen spun around staring at the crowd. Among the many pustule orc smiles, Trespen saw two familiar faces; Borf and Marg. "YOU'RE DEAD!" Another roar of laughter hit Trespen in waves. A large orc wearing an eye patch, iron skull cap, and torn leather armor stood up.

"Are you talking to me?"

        "No of course not. I'm talking to them!" Trespen pointed at Borf and Marg, but then two other orcs stood up. The laughter had subsided. Chairs shuffled as the two orcs slowly walked up to Trespen. One tried to crack his knuckles, but they did not make a noise. Embarrassed, he grabbed Trespen by the collar and lifted him up. Trespen's nostrils filled with foul orc breath, but all he noticed were Marg and Borf, who were now drinking pints at the bar.

        "The kid is clearly simpleminded. Just let him go. I don't want any problems." Wif relished being able to use the word simpleminded in reference to someone other than an orc.

        "Alright Wif. Just as long as he doesn't play the Ode of the Blind Fisherman again." 

        The orcs sat back down and began to converse among themselves once more. Wif gave Trespen a look that said "don't cause any more trouble" but Trespen only could focus on his two dead friends dancing on top the tables. Borf was eating a chicken leg out of an orcs mouth while Marg stole a few silvers from another orc's pocket. Benjamin smiled. "Play the song about Marg and Borf. We know that one by heart," the lute whispered.

A little old map and onion wine,

Borf and Marg were drunk.

Marg was rude, a man not fine,

Borf smelt like a skunk.

The map is mine they both did say.
Neither had any sense.
Marg stood up and fell Borf's way,
The fighting did commence.

Borf was stabbed and began to bleed
Marg was caught on fire.
Both were killed for their own misdeed
Now they're ghosts for hire.

They are both gone or so they think,
I hear them in my head.
I see their faces each time I blink.
I say again YOU'RE DEAD!

        One last sour note played from Benjamin. The entire pub was silent. One orcs sat pouring a pint into his lap staring shocked at Trespen. No one dared to move, not even Marg and Borf, who had quite enjoyed the song. Especially the bit about how they were ghosts for hire. The large orc with an eye patch stood up and looked at Trespen as he slowly walked over. The two were face to face when the orc finally spoke. "Nice song," he said dropping a few silvers at Trespen's feet. "A round on me boys!" the orc bellowed. The Eel's Eye was more lively that night than the time Babbles the half troll came into town with The Morh and Thym Circus of Mysteries. Trespen ate and drank until he felt like Borf. It was a great feeling.

        The next morning, Trespen felt lighter. His spirits were lifted and he finally felt like he may have found a place to stay for more than a night. The air did smell of fish and salt, but the food was good. He was one of them now. The night before, he became a blood brother with at least half of the orcs in town after playing a song about all the amazing orcs that ever lived. It was a fresh start for the half halfing. Benjamin no longer spoke. Marg and Borf took an early boat to Stohenmorh. And the map was mysteriously missing from his pack. He did not dwell on that though. If he had learned anything from his friends, the map only led to misfortune. So he slipped on his boots and made his way to the docks to join Brother Gormis and Brother Shlem on their fishing trip. For the first time in Glarm's Port, the air smelt sweet (metaphorically of course).