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Chapter 2 - Stoutmantle

6th Day of Abyss

110th Year of the Industrial Era

As the years passed, so too did the republic's memories of the plague and all the awful things that accompanied it. The aftermath of the widespread riots had vanished with the recovery efforts of public servants, and slowly, foreigners began to travel to the country again as religious zeal fell away as the more liberal minded Church of the Lightweaver took root. Olaraa began to prosper as the international quarantine was lifted and they could resume trade with the rest of the Freedom Coalition.

The laughter of children, something that had been a rarity only six years ago, filled the streets as life returned to the cities. The end of the plague saw the reopening of schools, theatres, taverns, and other public spaces. The dark days seemed long gone for almost everyone. There was only one individual who seemed to be unhappy.

Bartholomew ran through the streets, past all the laughing dwarven children, past all the merchants in the market square, and past the homes of his classmates. Behind him, he was being chased by the voices of his tormentors. They floated upon the air, tickling his sensitive ears like a mosquito at bedtime.

What kind of mongrel are you?

_ His voice sounds funny! And look at his nose!_

_ Go away, fatty!_

_ This school is for dwarves. Go back where you come from!_

Bart wiped tears out of his eyes with the back of his arm. He didn't understand how they could be so cruel to him. It was his first week at school, and he kept wishing it would be his last. Their hostility took physical form and became tangible enough to make Bart sick to his stomach.

"I never want to go back! Never!" the ursar cub shouted in frustration as he ran. His gasps for breath were choked by his sobs, making it all the more difficult to keep going at the speed he was sprinting at.

Bart knew he was different. It was hard not to notice that he was physically unlike his peers and family. What did it matter though? He spoke dwarvish, just like they all did. He grew up in Olaraa and never knew any home other than the capital. When he spoke in the common tongue, his accent was thick, just like a dwarf's. He knew all the same things his classmates did.

"Why are they so mean to me?" Bart whimpered as he rushed towards the front steps of his home.

His family lived in the more affluent section of the city called the Topaz Row. The streets were lined yellow-colored alchemical globes that provided a soft, daylight-like glow at night. The houses were of newer construction, and their walls were made out of plaster with wooden support beams around the frame of the structure. Many of the homes had verandas that looped around the front and part of the side of the building, and large windows to let light in.

The second floor of the house was notably smaller, and it had only a pair of bedrooms at the top of the stairs, with a balcony outside the master bedroom. There was a small trench along the side of the house that stretched down the street, where people used to dump their refuse and chamber pots. Such a system had gone unused in ages, since the establishment of Olaraa's sewage tunnels.

Bart hopped over the waste trench and bounded up the stairs. He reached up to the door knob, but found it was locked when he tried to turn it.

"Mother?" Bart called out as he banged on the door with his tiny fists. "Are you home?"

There was no answer as he continued to wail on the door for a few minutes more. When his hands became sore from banging, Bart gave the door one final, firm kick before he slumped down on the stoop.

"Where is she?" he wondered out loud. He thought about taking a walk around to look for her, but his foster father, Remi, had always told him that if he were to wander away without permission, something awful would happen to him.

And so, Bartholomew sat on the doorstep and waited. His eyes scanned the roads for his family. Every time someone appeared in the distance, he felt a spot of hope until the individual came closer and he could see who it was. As soon as he realized none of these people were his foster parents, he felt a twisting sensation in his chest.

Bart sniffled through his large snout. When he wiped his muzzle with his forearm, it came away wet with mucous. He wiped it off on the scratchy, burlap leggings he wore and rested his head in his hands.

His eyes caught movement along the ground, and Bart found himself watching a tiny, long-legged spider creeping along and over the cobblestone road. As it got unknowingly closer to him, his boot flashed out and he squashed it. It wasn't because he feared the spider though. He couldn't pin exactly why he'd done it, save for the fact that he simply felt like it. He looked around for other insects to squash, but finding nothing, he returned to his eternal vigil.

Clouds began to form as the sky turned slowly from blue to a mute orange. A chill wind rustled up dirt from off the roads, and Bart shut the offending particles out of his eyes until the wind died down. When he opened his eyes again, he could see his mother coming down the road with a large brown bag in her hands.

Neriti Stoutmantle looked every bit like the carpenter's wife that she was. While her husband Remi was minding the shop, she tended the household and looked after their two foster children. Her auburn hair was tied up in a bun, save for some stray bangs that hung over her face. Her dress had a light dusting of flour from earlier in the day that had accumulated while she had been baking bread for dinner.

Her earrings, dull from many years of wear, signified the laboriously earned riches the family had gained over the years. When Bart looked at her, her face always appeared cold and unfeeling, though at that age, he could hardly vocalize it that way. Rather, he looked at her and realized that Neriti never seemed to smile and she was always saying she was tired.

Bart rose to his feet as Neriti approached the house. He felt a strange conflict within himself. On one hand, he wanted to seek comfort from the woman, but on the other hand, he felt something else. He wasn't sure what the feeling was, but it made him angry. He couldn't stop thinking about how she had forgotten him.

Bart felt tears well up in his eyes as his desire for sympathy won over. "Mother, you left me all alone . . ." His voice trailed off into a dog-like whimper.

Neriti gave a huff as she moved past Bart. She held her groceries in her left arm, balancing the bag precariously against her body. With her right, she reached under her blouse and pulled out a key that hung from a necklace.

The door unlocked with a click and Neriti pushed her way inside. Bart's ears flattened against his head and his face drooped just a tiny bit more than before. Why hadn't she stopped to say something to him?

When Bart followed her inside, he could hear the clatter of dishes and the opening and closing of cabinet doors. Their rusty hinges creaked noisily, and the sound was anathema to Bart's sensitive ears. He closed the close behind him and stepped into the darkened drawing room.

The center of the room had a large table atop a cheap, indigo colored rug to keep its legs from scratching the hardwood floor. Four chairs, one along each edge, surrounded their dining table. Two more were tucked in against the wall, for when guests were over for dinner. A small window to Bart's right provided the only light into their home, and beneath that was a plush arm chair that Remi often reclined in after working in his shop.

Bart crossed the room, passing the staircase that led up to the upper rooms, and into the kitchen. Neriti was still working to put her purchases away. He stood in the doorway, and watched for a moment until she was finished. He knew if he bothered her while she was busy, she would tell Remi and he would be in trouble.

"Mother?" he asked slowly, testing the waters. She looked at him over dark bags beneath her eyes. "I -"

"Not right now," she huffed. "Go play in your room until Remi gets home. I'm too tired for whatever nonsense you want to talk about right now."

Bart hung his head and sniffled. "O-okay . . ."

He left the kitchen and went around the stairs. His room was at the end of a small, dark hallway, next to the water closet and across from the cellar door. It was tiny and cramped, with barely a window to let light in.

Bart curled up onto the straw mat that passed for his bed. He pulled his knees against his chest and tucked his muzzle between them, and began to cry as the taunts from earlier in the day swirled around his head. He whimpered quietly, afraid that making too much noise would only anger Neriti and cause Remi to yell at him when he got him.

Why is everyone always so mean to me? he thought. His young mind was incapable of remembering a time where he could remember smiles or warm welcomes from his family. Mother doesn't even care. Why!?

Bart remained in his bed and dozed off lightly. He was awoken by the sound of the front door slamming shut. He blinked his eyes open, feeling his eyelids tug at his fur from the dried and crusted tears. Bart sat up and listened at the sounds in the other room.

Neriti was in the kitchen, and as she prepared dinner, he could hear the sizzle of meat and the clatter of dishes. Bart was also able to pick up the sound of Remi sighing as he crashed down into his chair.

The door opened and closed a second time as his foster brother came home. Bart waited until the dwarf was heading upstairs as the thunderous sound of his boots on the steps shook the walls.

With cautious steps, Bart left the confines of his room and quietly shut the door behind him. He didn't want to run into his foster brother, Garen. The dwarf had done nothing but tease him along with his friends.

As Bart entered the drawing room, he wiped his face clean with a paw and sought out Remi. The podgy dwarf was sitting in his favorite chair, as was usual for him, and was reading the Olaraa Crier. The parchment crackled as he snapped it to get the folds out. From over the top edge of the paper drifted a thin cloud of smoke. The acrid smell of tobacco filled Bart's nose and his muzzle wrinkled as he cringed.

"Remi?" Bart said, drawing his attention.

"What?" Remi let the paper fall into his lap. He glared at the ursar. His face was framed by an orange beard that had several strands of grey throughout it.

"Th-the other boys were . . . making fun of me at school today, and . . ." his voice was nothing more than a mere whisper. Bart swallowed a lump in his throat before continuing. "I don't want to go back there tomorrow."

"You're going again," Remi said with a grunt. "I'm not letting you stay here alone all day."

"But why?" Bart asked.

"Because I said so!"

"I'll just stay in my room! I promise I won't do anything bad!" Bart pleaded. "They're just going to tease me some more. Please let me stay home!" He was desperate to make Remi see his side of the situation. "They keep making fun of me because I'm not a dwarf."

"You're not a dwarf. You're just a mangy bear."

The words struck Bart like a slap in the face. It stole the wind from his sails, and he could feel his body tremble beneath Remi's gaze. "B-but, the schoolmaster says I'm just like a dwarf . . . even if I look like an ursar."

"She sounds like an idiot!" Remi spat. He set the paper on the table next to his chair, and rose from his seat.

Even at Bart's young age, he was still nearly as tall as his foster parents. That didn't make the dwarf any less intimidating though.

"You are not a dwarf, and you never will be! You're nothing but an accident that should've died with those filthy, no good parents of yours!"

Remi moved with startling swiftness and delivered a backhand across Bart's muzzle. The cub was dazed and fell to the side with the force of the blow. He was unprepared for it, and failed to brace himself in time as he toppled over.

"What have I told you about interrupting me when I get home from the shop? Huh!?" He smacked Bart again.

The cub's world spun as the strike hit him. He was stunned and it took several moments for the tears to start flowing again. The spot where Remi slapped him throbbed painfully, and he couldn't think.

"You are a freak!" Remi shouted. "All you do is cause trouble for everyone! Do you think I wanted you here? I never wanted a filthy bear in my home! You're only here because the state wouldn't send you back to your Gods-forsaken homeland and I drew the short straw!"

He bent down and picked Bart up by the collar of his tunic. "Don't you ever think you're the same as us again. Do you hear me? You are nothing like us, bear!"

Bart shirked away from Remi as the dwarf continued to yell at him. He fell from his grasp as he wriggled out of his tunic. His loud, harsh voice stung his ears, and his face hurt from the slap. Vague, clouded memories splashed onto the shores of his mind as he recalled similar outbursts, but they were accompanied by a thick fog that made it difficult to discern what they were.

"I-I'm sorry, Remi!" Bart wailed as he stood up and moved away from him.

"You better be sorry, you bastard." Remi leaned forward as he yelled, and Bart's nose picked up on a strong scent that was both familiar to him, yet unknown at the same time. It was the same scent that Remi always had about him when he was furious.

"Quit blubbering! You're pissing me off with this mewling of yours!" Remi gave Bart a shove in the chest. The cub tried to balance himself, but he was still young, uncoordinated, and weak. He was knocked over with ease and he landed hard on his rear end, nearly sitting on his stub of a tail. The ursar let out a yelp of pain and tried to keep from crying, so Remi would stop yelling at him.

"To your room, now!" Remi ordered, jabbing a finger in the direction of the hall. "You're not getting any dinner tonight! And if I see you again before the morning, I'll smack you again! Do you hear me?"

"Y-yes, Remi!" Bart shut the tears out of his eyes and all but bolted for his bedroom.

As soon as he crossed the threshold, he shut the door. The room was dark now, and he couldn't see. Bart managed to make it to the bed without tripping or banging into his dresser. He crashed atop it with a shuddering whimper and buried his face in the old, stained pillow he had been given.

For the first time that the young ursar could remember, he cried himself to sleep. Later in life, he would come to realize that it was not the first time that he went to bed without food and in a fit of tears.

It was certainly not going to be his last, either.