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Chapter 4 - Blood and Tears

22nd Day of Laren

116th Year of the Industrial Era

A small park along the eastern districts housed a small wooded area, complete with a few rolling hills. It was normally a site for happy dwarven couples to go for a stroll along the paths or to enjoy a picnic in the fields, to escape the otherwise industrious civilization that surrounded them. There was a kickball field that had been set up, as well as a sandy pit for a form of dwarven wrestling that was popular in the summer months.

The park was all but abandoned, save for a few individuals who didn't have anything to do that day. This left the park silent and peaceful, filled only with the birdsong of its inhabitants.

The tranquility was quashed by the raucous laguhter coming from Bartholomew. The sound was spurred by some joke that only his ears heard, and he rolled around in a fit atop one of the grassy knolls. The creatures that called the park home were silenced by the noisy guffawing, and fled into tiny nooks and crevices to hide.

Bart reached into the pocket of his leggings and fished out a vial of green. It was only a quarter full, but the ursar did not despair. Rather, he grinned to himself as he emptied its contents into his paw. There was plenty more at home under his mattress that he'd squirreled away.

The ursar leisurely licked the substance up, allowing the leafy taste and grainy texture to roll over his tongue. He was almost instantly struck by the powerful sensation of weightlessness and lightheadedness that sent him flopping back onto the grass. He could feel a hint of the soft green blanket beneath him as it tickled the skin under his fur. Bart shut his eyes and allowed a long sigh to escape his lips.

Images flitted through his mind like flocks of birds, each escaping his view before he could get a lock on them. Ideas for new sketches, for new experiences, filled his thoughts. Then he remembered a joke he heard on the street and began to laugh again, even though in truth it was never a funny one to begin with.

Much better than being in class, he thought through the haze.

School had become a rarity for Bart. He rolled in when he felt like it, but rarely did he stay for long. The abuse he suffered at the hands of Garen and his friends had made the environment too toxic for the ursar, and it was simply easier for him to avoid the school than to deal with them. It wasn't as if he could concentrate anyways when he was fighting to keep from busting out in laughter, thanks to the green.

Instead, Bart found it a better use of his time to simply be truant and wander the streets of Olaraa. It was a far more hilarious alternative to what reality was.

Bart's stomach growled, and he sat up. His laughter stopped so abruptly that it unnerved him a little as everything went silent. Such thoughts fled as his belly demanded that it be filled, and the ursar was compelled to obey.

He checked himself for some coin, but when he found none, he shrugged. All his money was still at home, with the rest of his treasure. Since Neriti locked the house up when she was out, there was no way of him being able to go back to pick up his coin purse.

Ah well, I suppose it isn't all that hard to steal something from the market, he thought.

Normally such an idea would have filled him with dread and paranoia. But with his mind in such a broken state from the green, he felt confident that he could pull it off without being caught.

As likely the only ursar in the city, failure wasn't an option; the militia would know where he was by his description alone.

Bart sprang to his feet, then giggled to himself as he reeled, trying to retain some semblence of balance. Once he was stable, he meandered westward through the park towards the nearest market. It was called the Golden Rows, named for the banners draped over every stall and storefront, which created a gausy wasp magnet in the fall. It was also the market furthest from their home, which meant that he was less likely to run into anyone who would know him.

As Bart entered the crowded bazaar, he folded his ears downward to help muffle the noise as best as he could. It did little to help the unexplained anxiety he felt in crowds, but at least the noise wasn't as painful to hear. Even without the green affecting him, it was often as if Bart was sharing the jumble of emotions of those around him, and it unnerved him to now small degree. Fortunately, the narcotics helped to diminish the feeling enough for him to tolerate a crowd . . . for a time, anyways.

The stalls outside store fronts were stocked with all manner of goods, notably meats from the farmlands and fish frm the harbor in Mithril Port to the south. Even raw, the various meats, both seasoned and smoked, were tantilizing to the ursar. His mouth watered at the prospect of sinking his teeth into something. He had to have it, and his eyes burned as he focused on a busy fishmonger's stall.

There was a small crowd gathered around to get fillets from the previous day's catch. Bart watched for a moment as the skilled merchant scaled, deboned, and filleted the body in smooth, quick, and fluid motions. The pink salmon was then placed on a paper wrapped, folded up by his assistant, and doled out to the paying customers in the order they approached the stall.

They were a well-oiled machine, and fotunately for Bart, totally focused only on their tasks and not on what was going on around them. Though his sense of emotions were confusing to him, it benefited him in this case. He knew they were distracted and focused only on their frustrations, whatever they were. In fact, the whole stall seemed to be drowning in a sea of frustration, undoubtedly from the long queue and other factors that Bart couldn't figure out.

It was the perfect situation for him to be able to do his thing. They would never notice the furry arm snatching a fish out of one of the wooden bins they were stored in at the front of the stall. They were angled slightly so that the customer could view them and have their pick of the catch.

Bart watched for a few minutes, acting as if he were merely waiting in line. He saw the routine that was going, and saw his chance. As the fishmonger was busy deboning another fillet, his assistant was conversing with a customer.

"I watched him!" the dwarf raged. "He cut it too much. This fillet is butchered!"

"Sir, the master does excellent work and has been doing this for over thirty-"

"I don't care! He has the skill of a hack! If I wanted fish of this quality I'd prepare the damn things myself! Get him over here, I want to talk to him, now!"

The crowd became more frustrated and engrossed in the argument as it unfolded. Bart's paw flashed out, using his claws to skewer his prize. He then snapped his arm back and, as quickly as it had appeared, he vanished down the street and around the corner.

He paused and listened with his acute hearing. He could still hear the argument going on between the fishmonger and the irate dwarf. No one so much as muttered anything about any ursar milling about or a missing fish. He felt like cackling at his victory as the effects of the green resurfaced as his focused mind faded. He opted instead to chomp down on the fish, snapping his maw shut just at the base of the tail.

Raw fish hadn't been something he'd tried before, but he figured if a wild bear could do it, he could, too. After all, he was certainly more than a bear, no matter how many times Remi compared him to one. It had a strange, pungent taste that was swiftly overwhelmed by something both familiar and foreign: the fish's blood. It was similar to his own when he'd gotten a bloodied nose, yet it had a slatier tang to it. Amidst his meal was the crunch of bone as his teeth ground them to dust.

He gulped down the stolen meal, feeling his hunger subside a little. He let out a belch and chuckled afterwards. He wondered what else he could get away with on such a busy day.

A couple hours later, Bart had made his way through the Golden Rows and devoured rabbit meat, dried jerky, and several apples, including their cores. By then, the green was wearing off and he could think a little more clearly. He was trying not to allow his paranoia to creep back into his conscious mind. He began to look over his shoulder periodically to see if anyone was following him.

Fortunately, no one said or did anything to imply they saw him take anything.

That was exciting! Bart thought as he began to saunter back towards home. Who needs Neriti and her slop if I can just steal all of my food?

Bart was grateful to find the house door unlocked for once. He slipped inside, not bothering to close it quietly. As he headed towards his room to get a fresh vial of green, he was stopped and pushed back by Remi.

"Where in the Nine Hells did you go!?" the dwarf demanded.

"Out," Bart replied, feeling agitated. What did he want now, he wondered. He was keeping him from being able to have some fun.

"Don't give me any of that smart mouth of yours!" Remi wound up and struck Bart in the stomach. All the air rushed out of the ursar's lungs as he doubled over. The dwarf backhanded him across the muzzle several times while he attempted to recover.

"Where were you?"

Hacking and coughing and wheezing, Bart managed to sputter a reply. "Th-the park."

The click of metal sounded as Remi removed his belt. Even through the minor drug haze that remained, Bart felt fear when he heard that sound. He hadn't managed to catch his breath before the dwarf bagan to lash him with the hardened strip of leather.

"Why were you not in school!?" Remi shouted. "I told you a thousnad times that you're going! Are you trying to cause trouble for me? Cause if you are, I'll kill you, you bastard!"

Bart shuddred and tried to get away from his foster father, but he could hardly move. Every strike of the belt, every fresh lesion, stole the strength from his limbs.

"And if that bitch school master of yours comes here asking questions about your whereabouts again, I'll make sure she gets it, too! Do you hear me? Do you want that on your conscience, you fucking animal?" He lashed Bart across the muzzle, leaving a thick cut on his cheek. "And if the magistrate or any of his militia come here, I'll make sure you suffer. Do you got it? Answer me!"

Bart managed to choke out a reply between a mouthful of his own blood. Experience taught him that spitting it out would only make matters worse, and he swallowed it.

Remi's boot flashed out and struck Bart in the stomach, and the ursar dropped to the floor. He used as much will as he could must to resist throwing up as he crashed onto the hardwood floor.

"Go to your room. I don't want to look at your disgusting face anymore." Remi walked off into the kitchen to clean himself up. The sound of water sloshing in the wash basin could be heard seconds later.

When Bart looked up, he saw Neriti standing by watching. Her expression was one of indifference and lacked any sort of emotion. She scurried into the kitchen, leaving Bart alone on the floor.

With labored movements, Bart managed to crawl down the hall and past the stairs. He swallowed the bloodied spit in his mouth and coughed as he tried to catch his breath.

The green isn't working! His thoughts raged in his mind. Why isn't it working? Naf promised it'd make everything all better!

By the time he reached his room, he managed to stagger inside. His legs shock beneath him as he slammed the door and stumbled to his mattress.

_ I need more! I just need more! One vial isn't enough._

When he pulled the wooden lockbox out from beneath his bed, he ripped the top off with a single yank. The hinges screamed in protest as bits of metal popped off and peppered the floor. Bart shoved aside the paltry sum of coins inside and grabbed three vials of green.

_ I can't take any changes! This has to work! It's all I've got!_

Clutching all three in a single paw, he stabbed each cork with a claw and ripped them out. The pop of each one opening was soon followed by the frenzied slurping as he downed the viscous liquid in one gulp. Some rolled off his chin and dripped to the floor. Bart was quick to lick himself clean before he dove to the ground to lick it clean.

Bart sat up and stared at the parchment covered walls. The number of completed sketches had grown, and as he stared at them, they began to laugh at him. The sound set his ears on fire, and he covered them with his paws, trying to shut the sound out. But it was to no avail. The noise could not be escaped, and seemed to come from every corner of the room.

He scowled at one sketch, the one he had drawn of his parents. Their forms changed as Remi's words echoed from the depths of his mind. They reminded him that his real parents were good for nothing and useless. A new image formed, that of a pair of surly thieves that strong-armed unsuspecting people out of their money by force. They were scum of the earth, fit only for the gallows. Their money would fuel their addictions to anything they would get their paws on.

The phantom laughter settled down as he became intensely focused on his paper and stylus. He knew what he'd sketch next. He sat down and the world around him faded to black as he worked. His paws were shaking and numb as they gripped the stylus. He began to create the true image of the ursar that had bore him.