Chapter 2

Does It Hurt?

Trog walked past the column of marching soldiers wishing he could join them, when he heard a horse approaching from behind. Turning to see who it was, Trog couldn't help but feel relieved that it was the orc officer. However, the orc did seem to have a pained look on his face.

“Trog, the captain has ordered me to take your military gauntlets back to the front lines with us. He says that a farmer will have no use for them.”

Trog felt as though his heart had been ripped from his chest, his body felt cold and the world seemed to darken. He could feel the eyes of the passing soldiers on him which just made what was about to happen so much worse. Slowly he unclasped the fasteners on his gauntlets and stilled his face to not show any pain. The gauntlets slowly slid from his arms taking the top layer of charred flesh with them. This was the outcome of charging through dragon fire so many times. The skin on his forearms and hand were forever burned and would never be more than thin and burnt. Trog could hear gasps from the young soldiers walking past him.

The orc looked over his men marching and called out to them. “This is Trog known as The Burned Fist or the Low Blow Legend. You should feel honored to have seen him at the moment he put his weapons of war down for the last time. Earning a War Title is what we all strive for and most soldiers retire or die before they earn a single one. War titles are not gained without sacrifice and excellence, and no one with a War Title should ever be dismissed or underestimated as a threat.” He turned back to Trog and reached out for the gauntlets not flinching as blood that ran out from the inside. And in a lower voice said “Precision Brawling is an honorable skill, if I were you I would travel to an orc city. My people respect War Titles and will be glad to have a master teach such a skill to our young, maybe even the adventurers guild will hire you to teach." The orc took a healing potion from his saddle bag and held it out to Trog.

Trog made no move to take the offered potion, “Thank you for your words sir, but that potion like the gauntlets are made to be used by soldiers.” Without another word Trog turned and kept his head held high as we walked away leaving drops of blood on the ground behind him as his arms slowly began to scab over again. At least now the charred flesh would not attach itself to something that would rip the skin off again once it hardened.

~*~

Trog spent the night camped by a stream not too far from the main road. The sound of the water was peaceful and the few frogs he had found made a wonderful supper. The taste reminded him of home. Of course, the frogs at home were much bigger, they would have to be to survive the Great Green Swamps. Everything there wanted to eat you, these frogs were one-third the size of most juveniles from back in the swamp. The best thing about the frogs here was that there was no need to cook them. Raw and juicy, sadly there was no ale or mead to wash them down with but maybe he would find a village or town with a decent tavern in the next few days. Just as Trog was drifting off to sleep a battle cry broke the peaceful sound of the stream. Trog had heard cries like that before, one last shout of defiance for doomed soldiers making their final stand.

~*~

A few minutes before, not far south from Trog, a young halfling tumbled into a large gorge while running for his life.

Bowen Thornside knew he was done for. No matter how fast he ran there was no shaking the bandits that had been after him. He had not seen the small drop and he had fallen into a large gorge. Now they had him surrounded and they took their time sliding down to block the only exit he could see.

“Well you have some quick feet halfling, I thought we would have had you long ago with those short legs.” The tallest bandit holding a club grinned at him as he spoke. “I was just going to take your bag and let you go, but now my blood is pumping and I feel that the boys agree that we wanna see you bleed.”

The other three men started laughing and started slapping their clubs into their palms.

“I told you on the road I don’t have anything of value in my bag, it is just my research notes.” Bowen said a little misguided courage causing him to blurt out “And you are too dumb to understand them.”

The leader laughed and Bowen didn’t even see him move before the club landed in his stomach. Coughing and trying to catch his breath Bowen looked up from where he had doubled over just in time to see the boot hit him in the face. The rest of the men just laughed at him and he rolled over and tried to get back to his feet.

“Come on Owen, it isn’t even sporting like this. Let me give him my knife and see if he can do better.” one of the men said from behind Bowen

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“Go ahead and give him one, it’s more fun if there is a risk even if it is the risk of a scratch.” Owen and the rest of the men laughed louder and Bowen felt the knife land near his foot.

Bowen was filled with rage instead of terror like any sane halfling would be feeling right now. He had finally completed his latest research and was in such a hurry to get some to work on a new recipe that he had chosen to travel through the night. This would not be his end, not when he could feel he was so close to a breakthrough. Grabbing the knife he stood and let his rage build in his stomach and it came out as an ear-splitting cry and he threw himself at the laughing man. The next sound he heard was the snapping of his forearm and the man brought his club down upon him. The knife fell to the ground and the pain made him feel faint. The men continued to laugh at him and one grabbed him and pushed him to the ground. The man bent close to Bowen's face and softly said, “Now hold still, this is going to hurt no matter what, but I want the lines to be straight.” All Bowen could do was scream as the man started cutting lines into his chest.

Bowen didn’t notice when the cutting stopped exactly, by the time he had opened his eyes back up the man on top of him was gone and he could hear the men shouting and screaming out in pain. Looking to his left he saw a goblin attacking three of the four men at once. He was so fast and seemed to keep his body lower to the ground than Bowen thought would be comfortable but the goblin moved with purpose as it almost seemed to crawl and roll under the attacks of the men. He didn’t strike back often but every time he did there was a cry of pain from the men. Bowen couldn’t help but wince as he saw one man’s knee visibly pop apart. He went to roll to his side and the pain from his arm reminded him that he was hurt just as badly if not worse. As his vision began to darken, he couldn’t help but smile, the last thing he saw before passing out was the goblin landing a blow directly into the groin of Owen.

~*~

When Bowen awoke the goblin was sitting in front of him holding a healing potion in one bloody hand.

“Welcome back to the land of the living my friend, it is lucky for you these idiots had a few healing potions in their packs.”

Bowen sat up and immediately grabbed his arm. It was in a splint now but the pain was throbbing.

“Yeah, sadly they only had low-quality healing potions. I set the bone, but you will need something of higher quality if you want to use that arm anytime soon.”

“I have some back at my place,” Bowen said, gritting his teeth through the pain “I should be able to make it there by tomorrow night.”

“Well that’s good to hear, do you live in a village or town that has a garrison? I need to drop these men off and see if there is a bounty.”

Bowen looked to where the goblin had indicated with a head nod and saw the bandits that had attacked him. They were all tied up back to back except for one who was lying down. The one on his back was obviously the one that Bowen had seen have his knee broken before he had passed out. Turning to face the goblin his manners finally came back to him and he silently cursed himself for his lap in manners.

“Yes, my town has a small garrison. My name is Bowen Thornside, thank you for saving me. What is your name, friend?”

“I am Trog, you are very welcome for the assistance” Trog held the healing potion bottle out to Bowen for him to take. “You can use the rest of this on your chest if you want to reduce the risk of scarring or drink it to dull the pain from that broken arm.”

Bowen looked at the potion bottle in Trog's hand and it was covered in blood. He shifted his gaze to Trog's hands and noticed that it looked as though he had peeled the skin of his hands and some of his arms. “It looks like you could use it more than me, how hard do you have to hit someone to peel the flesh off your hands?”

Trog let out a laugh.”I hit hard, but not nearly hard enough to peel the skin off. I suffer from Draconic Burn Syndrome so healing potions don’t help much. You know what that is?” Bowen shook his head no so Trog continued.

“It’s when you have had your flesh burned off so many times by a Breath attack from the dragonkin that their magic becomes one with your body. It makes it so your skin never comes back fully healed. It is thin and burnt like this here,” Trog pointed to a piece of blackened flesh near his elbow. “ It doesn’t take much to cause the skin to peel off again and if you wrap it in bandages it will just stick to them and when you remove the bandages the skin comes off with it.”

Bowen knew he had to have a look of horror on his face but he couldn’t help it.

“So now anytime you punch someone you lose your skin?” Trog nodded “Isn’t that painful?”

“Of course it is,” Trog said with a grin. “But you can’t let a little thing like pain stop you from giving someone what they have coming to them.”

“Have you seen healers? Maybe the army healers will have a spell….” Bowen stopped talking when he noticed Trog shaking his head.

“No cure for this I am afraid. I was just discharged from the army for having this condition, for the last 2 years I spent every day after a battle with the healers and alchemists,” Trog let out a little chuckle. “ I even let the elven priests perform a blessing of healing, nothing did more than make the same burnt skin grow, it just grew back a little faster and tended to get peeled off even quicker.”

Bowen took the offered bottle from Trog and looked down at his chest. The cuts were closed but not having scars was more important to him than having to put up with the throbbing pain in his arm. After pouring the potion slowly over the cuts they healed quickly, now they didn’t look bad at all and would most likely heal just fine. Now all he wanted to do was keep his mind off painful things like his arm or the idea of skin ripping off your own hands and arms for the rest of your life.

“So Trog, what do you plan to do now that you are no longer in the army?”