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“I don’t have anyone to go home to anymore…” I mutter darkly.
“Oh… right,” mutters Khudiax. “I’m sorry to hear about that, Rathmar.”
He looks at me with deep thought as an expression of sympathy comes over his face. Sighing, he gazes down, which I spot as an opportunity to sprint out of there. I whisk the bottle from the counter and make a break for the door.
“Hey!” he yells.
I barely take two strides before I trip over my own feet. Hurling to the floor, I wrap my arms around the bottle to protect it, causing me to hit my head as I hit the ground. A loud ringing noise echoes through my head as Khudiax stands over me. The bottle is taken from my hands.
“I ought to report you to the city guard… But what you need more is help. Go sort yourself out, and don’t step foot back in here until you do.”
“Whatever buddy,” I snap as I slowly get back to my feet.
Leaving the shop, I grip my head in agony as I walk down the road. Walking past an alleyway, I don’t notice the group of thugs emerging from it until they encircle me.
“Give us all your money, that way you’ll walk out of this on two legs,” snarls the leader.
“Hold on,” says one of them. “Look, he can barely walk on his own feet as is.”
“Hmm, makes for an easier target then.”
“I don’t have anything,” I groan as the leader sticks his hands inside my pockets.
“The fucker isn’t lying,” he hisses. “This guy’s a loser.”
“Let’s leave him be. It’s no use wasting time on him if he’s got nothing.”
The thug pushes me to the ground, causing me to fall over a small pile of trash. I look around, gripping the wall as I try to get back to my feet. I slip and fall again, landing hard on my knees.
“Damn it,” I mutter.
Just then, a stray batlaz comes my way, curious as he sniffs my coat. His eyes look to me as if begging for food.
“Hey buddy,” I chuckle, reaching out to him.
The batlaz suddenly snaps and nips at my hand, causing me to yell out in pain. I shoo him away as he takes off running in the other direction. Grasping my hand, I feel more pathetic than ever.
Not even the damned animals want to be my friend.
As I straighten myself up, I look across the street, spotting the Broken Horn Tavern, a sight that puts a smile on my face.
The people working there are nice,I think to myself, eager for someone to treat me like a normal person.
Walking over, I open the door and step into a warm room, aglow with the usual buzz of both the decor and conversation of the regulars. Some turn and look at me, instantly turning back when they see who walked in.
I stumble over to the bar, holding a stool for support before taking a seat on it. From behind the counter, a bartender with long blonde hair walks over.
“Hi Rathmar!” she greets, brandishing a beautiful smile.
“Hello there Kyra, how are you this evening?” I ask.
“Just fine, thank you. Are you okay?”
“I’m alright, why do you ask?”
“Well… You don’t look so good,” she says, crossing her brows in concern.
“Oh I’m fine, don’t worry about me. Can I get a drink?”
