Chronicles From the End of an Age

The Weight of Tears - 7Yrs BTA

The beer mug slammed against the spruce wood table, the frothy brown liquid inside swirling back and forth like a roiling ocean. Chatter and laughter in the background made as much sense as crashing waves, and flickering lights danced at the edge of vision. Stars with the same red-yellow colour as flaming torches.

Grizzly calloused fingers held the mug, slippery with alcohol, and with white knuckles as the man gripped the cup as tightly as he could. His brown eyes stared down at his drink, unfocused and dizzy as his body swayed atop the tri-legged stool he sat on. A heavy fur jacket lay on his back, accompanied by ragged brown hair and a misshapen beard dripping the remains of the frothy beer. His stomach gurgled and rumbled in complaint as he raised the wooden mug back to his lips and gulped down the last of the bitter, stale liquid. A cough escaped him, followed by a wretch as his stomach tried unsuccessfully to dispel the drink.

He put the now empty mug back on the bench, turning his eyes to the spinning room around him. There were too many people to count... or not enough. Torchers were scattered all over the walls, moving around like shooting stars. Tables and chairs twirled and twisted. One man... or at least the drunk assumed one... stood on the other side of the bar.

"Sir... refill," muttered the drunk, sliding his jug across the bar table toward the barkeep.

Footsteps banged against the floor, and a hand firmly grabbed the mug from the table and out of the drunk's reach, "Look, sir... I think you've had enough."

"No... no. One... more," the man slurred his words, blinking as he tried to keep the barkeep's spinning head in his vision, "I'll... befine."

"No, you won't. You need to go home, alright. It's almost midnight."

The drunk blinked again. That didn't sound right. He had only been there for... he couldn't remember. When had he gotten here? Was the sun up then? He could have sworn it was. Or it was bright. Brighter than usual. Mid-day right? Yeah, that sounded right. Maybe he should go home. But it was so far away... so far away, and he hadn't been there in so long. He couldn't remember exactly how long. Had to be years, right?

"Sir?"

The drunk grunted, pushing himself off the chair and gripping the counter to keep himself from falling over, "I'll... I'll leave."

"Okay. You need to pay your tab as well sir."

"Right... right. How much?"

"Two gold pieces sir."

Gold piece? Was that a lot, or very little? The man shrugged, reaching carefully into his woolly cloak, and pulling out a pouch of jingling coins tied at the top by a small string. It took him several tries, but he was able to undo the top. The glinting of gold in the firelight did very little to subside the pounding headache that was rushing through him, and for several moments he simply stared down into the pouch. Why had he taken this out again?

"Sir, payment."

Oh, right. He put his hand into the pouch, grabbing several gold pieces and dropping them onto the counter, "Th... that enough?"

"That's too much... its only..."

"Bah!" the drunk grunted, waving it off, "Consider it... uh... a tip! That's it... tip."

He placed the now loose pack of gold back into his coat and staggered toward the bar's exit. He heard a couple of words of protest but didn't know what was said, so he ignored it. He knocked his knee against one of the chairs, grunting in pain as he pushed open the heavy wooden door. He was blasted with a freezing wind and the whirling of pattering rain.

As the door slammed behind him he looked around with squinted eyes. He could make out a few speckled torchers along the darkened ravine walls. That's right, human eyes were horrible in darkness. Where was he staying again? He shrugged, stepping out from the small overhang. He was instantly drenched. Oh, it was raining. At least it cleared his head somewhat. It only made him more aware of the roiling in his stomach. He felt it rising up. He fumbled over to a nearby alleyway that he could just make out from the few protected torchers hiding under overhangs.