Love / Hate

by David J. Turner, posted on March 27th, 2001

Prologue - Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4

Part I: The Execution

          Shoar smiled his thanks to the barmaid who set his drink down. He idly thought that she was very pretty for a human, when he almost blushed at the thought. He raised his mug to his lips, letting the warm mead slip down his throat. It was sweet, but tasted just right. As he lowered it, a dwarf walked in the door. A large half-ogre with an axe over his shoulder and a smaller man with a rifle over his flanked the dwarf. He had a long, grimy black beard, thick with smeared oil and grease. His unruly hair was just as filthy. He wore black leather clothes, torn and tattered in several areas, with a dark brown cloak around his shoulders. His eyes squinted passed his dark, pock marked face. His nose had obviously been broken before.
          Shoar was a bit shocked to see them, so he took another draw to hide his expression. Perhaps, he thought, they won't notice me. They walked right over to him. The ogre who, surprisingly, smelled worse than the dwarf, who was none other than Hoaron, and the raggedy, humped man, growled threateningly. Shoar could smell the thick ale on their breaths. He took in each of the unfriendly face, and did the only thing he could do; he held his hand out in greeting.
          Tears came to his face shortly after the rancid smell of their laughter. He could barely keep from gagging. Didn't they ever clean themselves? He supposed not as Hoaron's soot covered hand grasped his, squeezing almost painfully. The dwarf glared at him. "Ah, pointy ears, an' jus' what 'n th' world do ye be doing 'ere?"
          "I… ah, I came to have a drink. Will you please join me?"
          Hoaron barked another laugh as he tugged a chair out, dropping into it. "'At I am, me frien'!" He took Shoar's drink without permission, draining it. The healer tried to smile in his warmest, friendliest way. It seemed lost on his burly companion.
          "Now, ye be a frien'ly feller, ain't ye? I'd almost let ye be one 'o us if'n you weren't a freak, like ye are!" The dwarf roared at his own jest, pounding his fist against the table. The tavern slowly began to empty out.
          Shoar cast a confused glance at Hoaron. "A freak, good sir? I am not sure what you mean. Surely you must be mistaken. Why, I …"
          His words were cut short as ringing erupted in his ears. He almost swooned, wondering what hit him, when he realized Hoaron had smacked him. He felt if his head had just exploded, ringing filling his ears. He began to stutter as the half-ogres hand clasped around chest, pressing him against the table. His razor sharp ax was pressed against his throat.
          "Don't ye 'good sir' me, ye freak! Ye be know'n what ye are, ye wretch! A curse, a freak! Ye an' ye vile spells, defiling the world! Don't ye dare look me in the face!"
          Shoar quickly looked away. He was trembling now, terrified to his core. He began to move his lips to speak again, when Hoaron's fist exploded his lip. Shoar cried out; it felt like his teeth had just been shattered.
          "Don't ye speak, elf! I'm not fer hearing ye excuses! Ye are an abomination, a blight on the earth! Ye be a pest, and I be an exterminator!"
          Shoar was crying now, he shook his head, trying to deny what was happening. He tried to speak again when a kick between his legs took his breath away. Hoaron was holding a flintlock against the poor healer's forehead. His voice filled the whole inn, echoing back. "I told ye not ta' speak, pest! Now ye pay!"
          The enraged dwarf's voice was soon followed by gunfire.