FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Chapter 3 - Green

3rd Day of Ignis 115 I.E.

As time passed, Bart learned that his earlier experiences with Neriti and Remi were merely a prelude to what was to come later in his life. It seemed as if nothing the young ursar did mattered to them. His shortcomings were exaggerated, as if magnified through the lens of a telescope, and his failures only angered them that much more. His natural reaction was to clam up and seek shelter within the safety of his room whenever possible. It worked, but there were still days where Remi's drunken temper was inescapable. He kept himself as busy, and as quiet, as he possibly could. There was little else that he could do in a home that had swiftly become his prison.

Bart sat alone in his room, and had pulled his dresser closer to his bed to use as a makeshift desk. His legs were splayed to the sides so he could sit closer to it, and his joints ached from the odd sitting position. The desk was far too low to the ground for him to use it without hunching over, and his back screamed at him in protest, demanding that he sit properly. He was too engrossed in his work though, and he did not wish to disturb the steady rhythm he had going by stopping for something as immaterial as his posture.

In his right paw, he gently held a graphite stylus. The tool left blackened marks on his paw pads as he worked, but they wiped off easily enough on the leg of his pants. The stylus was small and difficult to work with considering the size of his paws, but over time, he had managed to make it work.

Smooth, gentle motions dashed lines onto the page as the graphite scratched the parchment he worked on. The image on the page slowly began to transform from an incomprehensible mess into something meaningful as more lines were added. Initially, rougher lines were wiped from existence through the use of a rubber tablet and by emphasizing the finished lines with darker strokes. The supplies had come from a combination of using whatever money Remi tossed his way and sneaking it out of the school house. No one seemed to notice a missing stylus or a stack of papers.

Bart sat up with a crack as his back straightened out. He smiled, looking down at his latest image. It was a crude sketch of his school. The lines were not perfectly straight, nor was the attempt at shading very good, but he felt that he'd accurately captured the building's appearance through his drawing. Bart had even taken the time to recreate the few small cracks in the foundation and added a floral garden into the mix, something that did not exist at the real school house.

With a contented sigh, Bart laid back on his bed. From where he lay, he could see the numerous other sketches he'd created over the last several months. They were arranged chronologically, allowing him to see his slow yet startling progression as his eyes traced the lines from his first attempts to the newest ones. It brought him a modicum of joy to see his work up on the walls, even if he was the only one who could ever appreciate them.

Only the best sketches made it up onto the wall, and they were the ones that made him feel the most happy to see. Though there were few joys in his life, his art was swiftly becoming one of them. The artform gave him control over something for once in his life. So much of what he did was dictated by others, or by his fear of what would happen if he did something that was deemed wrong, that he felt like he had no control over where his life was headed. Sketching was simple, and it gave him an outlet where he could be truly free, even if he was stuck inside his cramped, smelly room that shared a wall with the water closet.

His eyes fell on a paper in the middle of his collection. It was a crude sketch of a pair of ursar. It wasn't because the drawing was poor or because he didn't have the skill to properly capture the image, but rather because he had little to go on when he had sketched it. They smiled back at him every time he looked at the image. The female had her hand extended towards him, and he reached out for it. All he grasped was air, and he let his arm fall with a sigh.

It had been a hard image to create. He had never seen another ursar, and his reflection in a pool of water or on the back of a spoon was a poor reference. He also had no idea who is parents really were, or what they did. Remi always said they were good-for-nothing, and Bart wondered what it was they could have done to earn being called that. Were they truly bad people, he wondered? Was that why he was left all alone?

They wore simple clothes; nothing more than peasant's outfits that Bart cobbled together based on what he saw in town when he walked to and from the school house. They looked so plain, yet he hadn't any clue as to how to improve the sketch.

Who were you really? he thought, wondering if some member of the Pantheon would take pity on him and give him an answer. What happened to you that I would have to live here? Were you really no-good, like Remi says? Or are you decent people? Would you have been good to me, or would you be just like the Stoutmantles?

The ursar gave a huff and draped his arm over his face. Thoughts like that always tired him out. He knew he'd never get the answer to such questions. He was tempted to take a nap, since he didn't have anything else to do until his schooling started again in another day. But he felt he needed a distraction, and new ideas for more sketches were slowly percolating in the back of his mind. Not drawing anything was boring, and it unfortunately gave him too much time to allow his thoughts to wander into those dark places he dared not to go.

A loud slam echoed through the house, destroying Bart's train of thought. It was clear that Remi was home. The harsh treatment of the door signaled that things at the shop hadn't gone well, and he likely had guzzled down a couple ales to take the edge off.

Bart no longer thought of escaping into the realm of dreams. If Remi was in a bad mood, the last thing he wanted to do was stay in the house. Any excuse to escape would be ideal. He lamented that he couldn't fit through the window anymore, and avoid Remi entirely.

I suppose I could go for a walk around town, Bart thought, At least then perhaps I'll get some inspiration. And I can get away from the house for a while.

After waiting for a few minutes to allow Remi time to light his pipe and settle into his chair, Bart crept out of his room. He had to duck to fit through the doorway without bashing his head on the top frame. With quiet steps, Bart shut the door to his room and crept down the hall. As he entered the drawing room, he could see Remi setting in his chair with the day's edition of the Olaraa Crier. Just like he always did when he came home until it was time for dinner.

Bart tiptoed across the room. He never once took his eyes off Remi. He feared that if the dwarf noticed him, he would take out all his frustrations on him. He never needed a reason to be angry with Bart. It seemed like there was always one handy.

He was only a few steps away from the door when his elbow smacked into something and he gasped audibly as he watched a vase of flowers tumble towards the floor. He scrambled to try and catch it, but it slipped through his paws.

The vase clattered to the ground with a crash and peppered the hardwood flooring with razor sharp shards of ceramic.

Remi was upon him in seconds, screaming, "Worthless maggot!" He struck Bartholomew across the muzzle with the back of his hand. A thin stream of blood trickled down the ursar's nose and onto his lips.

Even though Bart was at least a head and a half taller than his foster father, as well as considerably larger in girth and muscle mass, he stood in place and took the abuse from the dwarf. He couldn't bring himself to strike back, or even defend himself. Such efforts were only met with harsher punishments from his family.

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to do it!" Bart shirked away as Remi backhanded him again. He knew the vase was there, but between his watch over Remi and trying to navigate the shrinking home as he grew, it was inevitable that he'd run into it at some point.

Not only that, but he knew that he was still growing, and that would pose problems if he was still with the Stoutmantle family.

"I don't care, you fat furball! I'll be docking your allowance until you've repaid for the vase, and then some! Now get outta my sight, bear." Remi always called Bart a bear whenever he was angry, which was more often than not. The term hurt Bart, and Remi knew it.

"Now! Or do I have to smack you again?" Remi asked as he raised his hand to strike.

Bart never answered. The ursar turned and retreated out the front door, into the bustling city street. When he left though, he bumped into Garen on the way out. Bart cursed his luck, and knew that the day was only going to get worse.

The dwarf had short cut brown hair and mutton chops that splayed out around his cheeks. He spent a lot of time moving equipment and supplies around Remi's shop, and his thickly corded muscles were his reward for his hard work. He wore clothing that was slightly too small for him simply to show off his strength to those whose eyes fell upon him. Garen was more than capable of shoving Bartholomew around despite their size difference, and he used such strength liberally.

"What do you think you're doing!? Move your lard ass out of the way!" Garen yelled before he slammed Bart to the side and into the door frame, then stormed inside the house. Garen and Bart weren't the same age, as Bart was several years younger than Garen, but they were still in the same school house every day for their lessons, which meant the two of them saw each other for most of the day. It was because of Garen that Bart had trouble making any friends at school. It was because of him that he was all alone.

It's the same thing every day,

Bart thought as he walked down the street and away from his home. Why can't I just learn to be more careful? This wouldn't happen if I wasn't so stupid and clumsy!

His wide tongue flicked out and lapped at the blood that was on his lips, filling his mouth with the taste of iron. He wiped the remaining bit away with his bruised arm, not the least bit concerned about the mess he had just made of his arm fur.

Guess I'll never learn how to avoid the beatings . . .

The paunchy ursar brushed past dwarves as he walked, ignoring their stares. As he grew older, he'd come to realize that he was the only ursar living in Olaraa. The stares used to bother him, but he'd grown accustomed to the looks and gossip that followed him wherever he walked. Because he appeared as a novelty to others, Bart had come to consider himself as nothing more than something people liked to stare at or talk about or abuse for their own amusement. His face stung from the slaps Remi had just delivered across his muzzle, but it wasn't the most grievous of wounds he had. Not counting the bruised arm and bloody nose, he was nursing another half-dozen injuries in various places around his body that he had received from Remi or Garen or one of Garen's friends. Bart began to lose track of why parts of his body were sore and when such injuries had happened. He'd been beaten so many times in recent years that he stopped paying attention.

Nothing I ever do is ever good enough for them...

Whenever Bart wandered the streets, he moved about without any goal or destination in mind. Initially, he had been hoping for some artistic inspiration, but after the altercation with Remi, all he wanted was to escape that house, to get away from those people. Bart had entertained thoughts of running away or living somewhere else. Eventually, he would realize that he had no where else to go. Not only did Bart have no blood relatives left, he had no friends since no one was willing to associate with him, and he was too poor to be able to simply pack up and leave for someplace nicer. He was stuck in place, with no escape. The knowledge of that fact did nothing to make him feel better.

It was hot that day, with the sun beaming down on the city through a cloudless sky. Bart's tunic clung to his body, and he realized he'd been sweating. He sought shelter in an alleyway between a textile shop and a store selling simple, sundry items. As he leaned back against the brick walls, the cool stone sent shivers up his spine and made his fur stand on end. He sighed as he slid down the wall until he sat upon the ground, content to rest for a short while in the shade.

His thoughts wandered and his face felt wet as tears that he couldn't keep down welled up inside him and rolled off his cheeks. "Why can't they just be nice to me?" he whined quietly to himself. He squeezed his eyes shut and stuck his head in his hands as he let his despair overcome him. "I hate being like this . . ." he mumbled.

Bart's ears twitched as the sound of footsteps approached from deeper in the alleyway. His eyes opened to look at the stranger approaching him. He quickly cleared his vision of tears to look more closely at the dwarf walking over to where he sat.

The dwarf was dressed in a large cloak, something that looked undoubtedly uncomfortable considering the heat. His head was bald, save for graying hair that ran from ear to ear around the back of his head. His blood-shot eyes, circled by deep dark bags, told Bart that the man clearly didn't sleep often. The dwarf's appearance made Bart feel uneasy, and he wasn't sure if it was because he was scared of adults by nature, or because something about the man appeared off.

"Yer lookin' a bit down there, lad," the dwarf said casually in the common tongue. His accent was thick, but Bart had little trouble understanding him. "Somethin' botherin' ye?" he asked, as if he knew Bart as a friend.

The ursar sniffled and responded in dwarvish. "No more than usual." He didn't like to speak common. It sounded funny to him and he had difficulty forming the words with his muzzle.

"Bad day?" the dwarf said, switching back to his native tongue.

"Bad life."

"Ah." It was all the dwarf said, and to Bart it conveyed a great deal of understanding even though it was barely even a word. The thought eased his mind a little, and, upon realizing how tense he was, he relaxed his shoulders.

"Who are you?" Bart asked.

"Well, I got a name but I don't much care for it. I ask my friends to call me Naf," the dwarf said with a grin. "I help people feel good about themselves. And you look like the kind of fellow who could use my help."

"You should look elsewhere then, Naf," Bart said as he turned away. "I'm not the kind of person that gets to feel good about anything in life."

After a brief moment of silence, the dwarf spoke again. "If that's the case, I can give you something that'll make things better."

"There's nothing that can help me."

"If you think that, you haven't looked too hard, my friend." The dwarf grinned, showing rows of yellowed and missing teeth. He unfurled his coat with a wave of his hand and held it open for Bart to see.

Lining the inside of the cloak was a large number of pouches, vials, and bottles all containing varying amounts and types of powders, herbs, and liquids. Each object was safely cushioned in a lined pocket, keeping the class from rattling and making noise as he moved. Bart didn't recognize what any of it could have been, and that only piqued his curiosity.

"I got just the thing for you." Naf plucked a vial full of a dark green substance and let his cloak fall back into place, concealing its contents once again. "Concentrated elfin herb. Alchemists use it to brew their healing poultices. Sorcerers use it for their magics. As for me? I use it to make folks like you feel better. I'm sure you've heard it called 'green' before, haven't you?"

Bart knew what elfin herb was. It was usually used in small quantities for healing salves, but enough of the stuff could induce a powerful euphoria. It was illegal in Olaraa to be caught carrying concentrated elfin herb, punishable by flogging. And for those caught selling them to children . . . Bart shuddered to think of what fate would befall Naf if he were caught talking to him.

"You should know I'm only eleven." Even if he was a narcotics dealer, Bart didn't want to get the dwarf into any sort of trouble with the law.

"You look plenty adult to me." The dwarf turned the vial over and around as he talked, as if inspecting it. "Besides, someone your size would look to be twice that age, at least." The statement seemed reasonable enough to Bart. Most people had no idea how young he actually was since he towered over everyone and he was fairly heavy-set. Still, he had issues with the dwarf's offer in the first place, and questions ran through his mind. What does he want? Is he a guard in disguise? Would he mug me? Kill me? Or worse? What if it's actually poison in that vial?

"You seem conflicted, friend." The dwarf seemed able to read Bart's reaction on his face, plain as day. He had done this before. "I'll make you a deal. I normally sell these for ten silver pieces a vial. But for you, I'll sell it for only five silver. Sound reasonable?" Bart dug into his pocket and counted his coins. He could easily afford it. Remi didn't like him, but he still gave Bart the monthly stipend he collected from the republic. It wasn't very much money, but it was enough for Bart to pay for his clothing and, sometimes, his food when Remi was starving him.

Bart looked up from his paw to the dwarf standing before him. He still wasn't sure if he should buy the green. "I wouldn't have any place to take it."

"I got you covered, friend." He indicated to the west side of the city with his hand. "Near the city walls, towards the Gushrum Gate, is an old industrial area from when the city was first settled. Plenty of hiding places to relax and do some green. And I assure you, this stuff'll make you feel better."

Bart hesitated only a few seconds more before handing the silver pieces over to the dwarf. He dropped the vial into the ursar's paw before pocketing the coins.

"Pleasure doing business with you, friend." The dwarf grinned again. "Just lick a few drops of that stuff and we'll have you feeling better in no time." He stared at Bartholomew for a few seconds, his eyes wandering over his body. "Though, a big guy like you should take a few drops more. But don't take too much, or you'll fall asleep and be unable to feel as good. Enjoy, lad. I'm sure I'll be seeing you again real soon." He sauntered further into the alley and disappeared around a corner.

The glass vial sat in Bart's paw, catching the sunlight from outside of the alley. The top was stopped with a piece of cork, and the liquid inside sloshed around. It was thicker than water, almost like a sludge. He hoped that it was as good as the dwarf said it would be. Bart got up from where he was sitting, tucked the vial away, and scurried off towards the Gushrum Gate as the dealer had suggested. He tried to act nonchalant, and though he was almost always assailed by the stares of the dwarves around him, now it felt different. To him, they felt judgmental. He felt like they could look at him and know what he carried with him. Even though he kept trying to tell himself that it was just his imagination, he couldn't shake the feeling that the looks now pierced his very being and saw him as a criminal and degenerate. They could turn him in to the nearest guard and he'd be in deep trouble. Bart decided to pick up the pace a bit as he hurried away from the busy streets towards the more quiet, nearly abandoned section of the city.

The Old Town near the Gushrum Gate was a crumbling wasteland of buildings and dust. Dead trees littered the streets and looked like twisted, shriveled hands reaching up out of the ground. No one bothered taking care of the Old Town, as the place had become a home for many of Olaraa's poor and destitute. Muggings were common in the area, and the dead bodies of murder victims were not a rare sight either. It didn't help that Old Town was adjacent to the ghetto where the sick had been quarantined in years past, further expanding the area of poverty.

Even knowing this, Bart headed straight in to find a safe, quiet place to try the herb that he'd been given. He was confident that no one would bother him due to his imposing stature, but he'd never been in a fight and he feared that any experienced mugger would recognize that. The ursar decided to pick up the pace and try to find a safe spot to sit down. It didn't take him long to find a crumbled, disused building to hide in. It looked to Bart like an old smithy's shop. The forge inside had long ago been disassembled and its remaining parts had rusted. The ceiling had a large hole in it that allowed sunlight to pour in and light the room, removing the need for a torch. Bart plopped himself down in the far corner, facing the door and the front window in case someone came inside.

Bart pulled on the cork and it popped out of the vial with ease. He let a few drops fall onto his open palm then licked it clean. He waited a few minutes for the herb to take effect, growing annoyed and frustrated with each passing minute.

Did I waste my money?

A tingling sensation over-took Bart as he was about to take a second dose. He felt as if his entire lower body had gone numb, like when one sits on their hand for too long. The feeling didn't last long, but it was soon replaced with a weightless sensation. Bart looked down to ensure his legs were still there, as he could barely feel them at all. When he was sure his legs were still attached to his body, he felt happy. He was overcome by uninhibited joy for the first time in his life. In that moment, nothing else mattered to him except for the overwhelming feeling of happiness and of a warmth that spread to every part of his body. He began to giggle, and as some unspoken joke entered his mind, he began to cackle almost insanely.

Bart slowly found his way back home just before dark. As he headed in the door, he didn't feel the usual overwhelming dread that accompanied him. He felt too good from the herb to care.

Remi stopped him in the hallway to shout at him. "Where in the Ninth Circle of Hell have you been!? Do you even know what time it is? I should smack you for your insubordination, you daft mongrel!"

All Bart heard was a series of slurred, mumbled sounds. Something struck him in the face, but he couldn't be sure what it was, and a moment later he licked at his lips and savored the new taste that filled his mouth. He wasn't sure what it was, but it tasted good.

"Go to your room! No dinner for you tonight, furball! And wipe that stupid grin off your face before I have half a mind to smack it off!"

A few minutes later, Bart found himself in his bed, laying face down with his clothes still on and a grin plastered on his face.