Chapter Text
Warm crystal blue water lapped lazily at cool river stones and the sand of the bank. Trees swayed slowly in the wind, some racking against the stone walls of the village and echoing between buildings. Beaten paths formed into grass and glover wove between mossy trunks. Distant sounds of chatter and bargaining traveled from the market not far from the small river. The sound mixed gently in the warm spring wind with that of birds above head, shadows filtered through bright streaks of sunlight pushing through cracked stone from above. The sun basking everything in warmth and comfort, beaming over rooftops and moving lazily along. Music and laughter warped in the wind from the shops, birds added there own song to the loud symphony.
Cool air blew off the surface of the water up into the face of a short skeleton sat at the edge of the white sand. A dirty smith’s apron sat loosely over his shoulders, light brown bell bottom overalls underneath, topped with a black long sleeve shirt. He gazed down at the water softly, lost in his own world, his eye lights flicking and changing with the lap of the water. His eyes trailing to linger on the walls and woven vines hanging from the cavern roof before steadily making there way back to the water, looking himself over in the ripples. His bones were stained in places with oil and ink and he had a good bit of dirt clinging to his face and arms from working in the forge. Grinning, he stuck his tongue out at himself.
The distant sounds of people and monsters just barely keeping him grounded as he fiddled with a hag stone he’d found moments prior. His mind was cluttered and jumped with thoughts of running through the trees and venturing over the ocean. His eyes locked on birds that soared over the walls and trees before disappearing out of sight.
A loud clatter of a door behind him jogged the smaller back into the present world from his thoughts.
“Ink! Get your ass back in here, we’ve a job.” Ink turned to meet the eyes of the large boar monster that had called his name, Remi, sweat and oil covered the large monster. He was wearing a similar smith’s apron, though his was far more warn in and years older. The petit skeleton gave a small apologetic smile before hopping to his feet to follow after the taller, brushing himself off and pocketing the hag stone in the process. He glanced back out over the top of the walls quickly before entering the stone building of the weapons smithery after the boar. Remi was a good guy, a bit rough and cold around the edges but kind, and the only person willing to hire the clumsy skeleton.
Ink wiped his face and shook his head quickly to ground himself, moving quickly through the back of the shop to enter the front room. His boss huffed and nodded his head to the counter. He pushed down the anxiety that rose when glancing at the counter and quickly took his place behind it, fiddling with the stone in his poker all the while. The sounds of the market were far louder inside the shop, Ink cased a glance out the massive windows at the front of the shop, swords and axes lining the walls around them.
The skeleton could see dozens of people and monsters moving in and out of shops and stalls of the market just outside.
Ink huffed a small laugh as he watched the people move about, there wasn’t much of anything for him to do other than that of course. The weapons shop was just as empty as ever, others only ever entered when they needed something small or had goods to trade. Merchants were there best costumers, some actually need the weapons to, some just wanted some new stuff to trade off and sell for later. Though that wasn’t to much of a surprise to anyone, the village was small and not in a very good spot for hunters or any travelers. North of a massive sea few dared travel, south of mountains and thick woods, east and west were boarded by more woods many had gotten lost or lost their lives in. The small village was lucky it had survived so long, tucked into a mountainside cave with only the walls keeping the only entrance locked up safe. The surrounding woods were full of myths and only the crazy ventured out. Ink shook his head at the craziness of the story’s, giggling as he heard bits and pieces of the tales through the noise of the market.
The small skeleton hummed to himself as he did some busy work to fill the last few hours of light, sweeping and enjoying the warmth of the lava furnace tucked in the back. Only a small handful of people interrupted him, most asking of daggers or carving knives, he ignored any small glares or insults that were thrown his way or behind his back. Not too bad for a slow day, though the insults still picked at him.
The sun set slowly as he listened to the market slowly close up, doors locking and people making their ways home. Ink shuffled some spare paper he had been doodling on into his bag as he packed up. His boss, remi, had left a while ago and left him to lock up. Ink puffed a small cloud of steam into the chilly air of the now lifeless market, he clicked the lock into place before setting out into the darkness of the streets. The lanterns lighting up the stone of the walks and the walls of buildings and small stalls, casting shadows around him. Deep and creeping, sharper and darker under the ground. The skeleton found it calming, the quiet of the streets only lit by the glowing fungus, small crystals hung from the roof and oil lamps, no chatter of people bargaining, just crickets and other spring life.
The warm wind from earlier now chilled the small artist through the bone causing small shivers to run through him. Ink just smiled at the feeling but definitely thought better of taking the long way home. His feet moved quickly though the dark streets, He looked over closed flowers and watched fireflies dance in the dark of the streets, though he still moved swiftly, not wanting to be caught off guard by anyone else out late, no one really does.
Though most wouldn’t have to fear for much within the walls, most wouldn't worry about being left to dust in some back alley corner.
The click of his shoes came to a hult outside of his house, unlocking the door and entering quickly. The smell of dried herbs and plants invaded the skeletons mind as he breathed in deeply, his body relaxing in the familiar house. He kicked off his shoes and make his way into his home, lighting candles as he went. His walls were covered in art of lands far away and plants covered almost every surface he had to spare. Garlands and racks of dried herbs and flowers hung from the sealing. Jars of colorful flowers and stones filled shelves, odd Knick knacks he had found in the river and edges of the village walls lined the spaces between.
He felt his mind wander to what more could be out past the walls, he knows it isn’t safe, he knew of the creatures that roamed the trees and skies in the wild. He had never been forced to stay in the village, but it had been ingrained into him that he should. He had seen the wounds and scars travelers bore and had heard hundreds of stories of creatures towering above the forests, of scaled birds flying above mountains, of serpents that lurk in the depths of the sea. He had heard it all but his curiosity was never quite quelled by the story’s and art of it all. He wanted to bring life to the story’s, give faces to beasts most never live to tell the tale after seeing, paint tapestry’s for forest spirits, dance with kobolds and sing with harpy’s. He wants nothing more than to live the life’s he’s heard traveling bards boast and sing about, he wishes his art could travel like the bards song. Lightning his way with confidence and curiosity.
To walk inside the void like a kid inside a cave.
The quiet coo of his crow sounded from her cage, dragging him back from his thoughts for the second time that day. He huffed a small breath and smiled as the bird chitters.
He moved quickly over to free her, “I really am loosing it today aren't I Ve?” The artist chuckled to himself as the small crow flew to his shoulder to purch. He continued to talk to the crow, about the day and anything interesting that came to mind as he cleaned up and loose paper or art supplies he didn’t want the pesky bird getting. humming as he dug around the cupboards for anything to eat but just found dust bunnies and some stale bread. His hum faltered slightly at finding nothing, Ve cawed loud and proud in song. Ink laughed and shushed the bird, pulling out some dried berries, though there were few.
The night continued on at a crawl, Ink drew as Ve fell asleep on his shoulder, tucked into a small scarf he’d thrown on. He glared down at his drawing, exhausted from the days work and lack of proper food for a few days. He ignored how the villagers glared and insults forced there way to the front of his mind as he shuffled to his room, putting Ve in her cage and getting a small squawk of defiance.
Ink giggled and moved to his bed, flopping down hard. He winced as he felt something dig into his hip, shuffling he pulled it out of his pocket with a huff. The hag stone, he’d forgotten he’d kept it. Oh well.
He turned it around in his fingers, pearing up through the middle of the stone in the dark. Tomorrow will be better, I’ll make more sales, I’ll try talking to someone.
Tomorrow will be better.