try finger but hole
~ osuaddict
~ A written message on a scrap of paper left behind on a table in the Ivory Swigs Inn, signed by Player ‘xXx_osuaddict_xXx’, found by Innkeeper Mathals.
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Apple
Description: A sub-standard apple. A portion of it is slightly bruised, making it look particularly unappealing.
Recovers: 4 HP & 20 SP
Applies Status Effect: 4% Satiation
Quality: Poor
Cost: 4 coppers
I walk along the main road, tossing the apple into the air, catching it before it falls past where my waistline ends. A commotion could be heard behind me. The fruit stand owner causes a ruckus as I escape.
I chuckle to myself, tossing the stolen apple in the air, repeating the cycle.
The streets are relatively busy today. With it being midday, much of the hustle and bustle is just adventurers returning from their dungeon runs, and other adventurers going to theirs.
I take a right turn on the road, making my way to the main plaza of the city where a large group of people were.
Many people line themselves around the circular fountain, talking amongst themselves, setting up shop, and selling their wares on the floor. They sit on the fountain’s walls, blocking the fountain itself. A passerby throws a gold coin into the fountain, tossing it high over the barrier of bodies, never to be seen again.
The coin will be gone come nightfall, stolen by one of the many peasants or ne’er-do-wells that hang around the city.
The fountain is always disrespected. As it should.
Wishes never do come true.
I continue walking past the plaza, taking a bite of the apple, making my way to the inn further down the road.
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“Stay the hell out of our inn!”
A rather large and tall man shouted as he threw two people out of the establishment. One of them lands on their side, rolling on the cobblestone street, while the other lands on their face, the momentum flipping them over and landing on their back. The man who threw them shuts the door on them very loudly.
They groan on the floor, rolling on the ground as I walk past them and open the door, ignoring their complaints as I close it behind me.
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You are now entering the Ivory Swigs Inn.
A rather rambunctious inn, located on the western side of the city of Tryndaveid, near the Wishing Fountain.
Well-known for its many cases of drunken brawls throughout the day, much to the chagrin of the innkeeper, Mathals.
The inn is packed as always, the patrons’ voices loud, speaking over one another.
Every seat is taken, so I stand off to the side of the front bar, waiting for a spot to open up.
Mathals finally makes his way back to the other side of the front bar after having thrown the people outside. Once he had finished dabbing at his forehead with a stained handtowel, he notices me in the corner of his eye. He turns his head slightly to look at me.
I nod to him. He nods in kind before returning his attention to the person asking for a drink right in front of him.
A hooded elven woman stands up from her table in the corner of the inn, bringing her wooden tray along with her. Bowls were stacked high on top of the tray, the utensils neatly placed to the side of the tower of bowls.
I walk past her to get the table before anyone else could take it, successfully seating myself in the booth. The table has a good window view of the outside, where the two people still linger, yelling and cursing at the door of the establishment. I turn to look back at where Mathals was.
“Thanks for the food, sir!” the woman told Mathals, loud enough for me to hear, placing her tray off to the side of the bar front.
“Please do come again, madam.” The large man responded with a polite nod at her unnecessary but appreciated courtesy, smiling kindly at the woman as she leaves the inn, blue light twinkling from her hand where a map suddenly appeared.
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Mathals walks around and out of the bar, making his way to where I sit. I look at him for a second as he approaches, a wooden tray with steam rising above it in his hands, before turning my head out the window again, my chin resting on my hand. The stars are very pretty. I look at the obfuscated light in the sky.
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The moon is shy tonight, hiding behind many clouds.
The wooden tray moves into my peripheral vision below me. “This was today’s family meal,” the man said, pushing the tray further down the table, scooting me to the side as he took his seat where I was formerly sitting in the booth. He is looking up at the rafters, a contemplative look on his face.
I look back down from his face to the bowl of stew in front of me, taking the spoon on the tray and giving it a try.
It is a great stew.
“You know your mother wouldn't want for you to live like this, Arthur.”
“I know.”
He sighs, before continuing, “Then why?”
“I don’t know.”
He looks back down, rubbing his face like he was exhausted. “Arthur, you can live with us, you know?” His hand points past the empty tables to where the many, many rooms were, “There’s an empty room in the—”
“I don’t want to.”
The table is upheaved and thrown as he stands, the bowl of stew landing far away, making a mess.
In the corner of my eye a door opens, a patron poking their head out of it, seeing what the commotion was. Upon glancing at the furious state of the innkeeper, however, they retreat back inside, closing the door quickly.
That one has a good head on their shoulders.
I am lifted off of the ground by the cuff of my shirt, Mathals holding me in a single hand.
His face is contorted, the embodiment of pure, unadulterated rage.
He carries me off, walking towards the front door, and opening it violently.
I do not fight back.
You are now exiting the Ivory Swigs Inn.
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Innkeeper Mathals
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Inside the Ivory Swigs Inn
Mathals slams the door shut right after he threw the kid out.
He turns around, immediately sitting on the floor with his full weight against the door, his arms hanging over his legs, while his head lies on his knees.
He stays like this for a while, thinking of how things got to this point in time.
He lifts his head just enough to see the picture of himself and his four other siblings that hangs on the wall.
It is an old drawing, done by a family friend. He was 10 years old in that picture, the youngest of the bunch. He shakes his head to clear his thoughts, as he focuses on a single person in the frame. The one in the middle.
“Eliza...” He says as he looks at her in the picture – the kid’s mother.
“What do I do with that idiot...?”
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It is a quiet night. There isn’t anyone else out in the streets.
I am sitting right outside of the inn, on its steps, my arms held around my body in an attempt to keep myself warm.
It is another cold night.
A loud creaking sound comes from behind me.
“Come back in, Arthur.”
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I slosh the mop around in the now-dirtied water, the bucket tipping over slightly from the movement.
I wipe my sweaty forehead with my arm, taking a look around in the now spotless inn.
It is a homely place. A lazy fireplace crackles and spits, radiating warmth to all inside, keeping the cold chill of the night at bay. Many drawn pictures of people adorn the walls, some I recognise, many I don’t.
One picture stands out to me – it has all of my three uncles, my aunt, and my mother, arms slung around each other’s shoulders. They are in front of a home, in a clearing with a forest behind them. They stand on a grassy plain. Smoke rises behind them from the chimney of the home. They are very young, younger than I remember seeing them.
A v-shaped hand was behind Uncle Mathals’ head, not even aware of what was transpiring behind him, a smile that comes off as a bit too forced on his face.
Uncle William was expressionless, his face neutral, eyes closed. It was his hand behind Uncle Mathals.
He had his entire eyes closed as they were being drawn?
Amused at the man’s antics, I move my eyes to the next person to the right. My mum.
My mum’s face was... wacky. Her eyes were wide open and cross-eyed, her cheeks purposefully sunken in. She looked like a fish.
“C’mon dear,” she had told me many, many years ago, “You need to suck your cheeks in!” She sucked in her cheeks to demonstrate to me, crossing her eyes as she does.
I can remember her laughter when I finally managed it.
It was the purest thing in the world.
“Your mother was a good woman.” A voice from behind me said. I turn my head just enough to acknowledge his presence before returning it to the picture.
“She always looked out for us when your grandpa and grandma died.” Uncle Mathals continued, “She never stopped working in those dungeons, always returning with a pouch of money full to the brim.”
His hand goes past my head, touching a round shield and shortsword that was in the background of the picture, leaning against the stone home.
“She’d earn our keep using that.” He taps the equipment on the picture, “I remember when she made me spar her with sticks we’d find around the home and pot lids as shields, I was about 8 years old when we first started if I remember correctly?”
The man chuckles to himself. “I remember the one time she poked me in the eye with the stick—mind you those things were dulled—but damn if it didn’t hurt!” His chuckle turns into a hearty laugh. “I was 10 years old in that picture, by the way.” He interjected, poking at himself in the picture, still laughing.
I laugh along with him, imagining the little 8-year-old boy fighting with the 14-year-old girl, accidentally being poked in the eye.
“She worried and fussed so much as soon as that happened,” his face looked on as if reminiscing, his laughter turning into a smile that conflicted between happy and sad.
“So, when she had you at 17 years old, she was rightfully terrified.” I turn to look at him. His eyes are still on the picture.
“I’d never seen her more scared in my entire life – not even when she poked me in the eye.” He continued, his voice going a pitch higher to imitate my mother’s voice. “‘How do I do this?’ she’d ask your Auntie Freya.”
I turn my head back at the picture, looking at the person at the far right end of the line of siblings.
Auntie Freya was a very pretty woman.
“We all took turns taking care of you, you know? Especially your Uncle Pete. He loved you like you were his own, that one.”
Uncle Pete. His real name was Pietre, but people found that hard to pronounce so he went by Pete. I look at him in the picture, his arm slung around my mum and aunt’s shoulders, a cheeky smile plastered on his face.
I look down at the engraving on the wooden frame of the drawing.
~ The Kinwright Siblings ~
“Um…” A quiet voice from behind spoke up. We both turned around to where the front door was, now opened, a head sticking through. It was the hooded elven woman from before. “Is there still a room open?
“Oh, hello there again, madam,” Mathals said, walking to the front of the bar where the many room keys were, grabbing one of them. “One person?” She nodded. “Alright, that’ll be 15 silver, room 10.”
They exchange hands, the woman walking to where the rooms were, but not before giving me a polite nod and smile, her footsteps fading behind the closing of a door.
We stand there in silence for a while, Mathals looking at me with a mix of sadness, regret, and hope on his face before he opens his mouth.
“Just... Stay with us, okay?”
I look down at the floorboards.
“Okay.”
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I lie in my bed in my new room, laying on top of the blankets which are still tidily folded, making the bed look presentable. I look at a particular object in my hands.
How do I explain you to them?
A shimmering, grey shard rolls between my fingers.