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Thorne twisted his dagger deeper into the rubble. The sight alone would be enough to make a weaponsmith wince, the whining scratch of the edge chipping off against rock was enough to seal the deal. He eyed a woman in a tattered blue robe who just entered the alley. She watched him hesitantly as she passed. A scowl grew on her face the more she noticed of the man. First, she saw greasy matted green hair. Then she saw the dirty and stained rags that covered the man, they fell apart at the seams and were ripped at several locations. Then she saw pointed green ears that traveled down to green dirt coated skin. Thorne grabbed the handle of his dagger tight, ready to point it at the woman. The lady in blue tensed and sped off deeper into the alley, occasionally checking her back to see if she would be followed by the goblin. Thorne smirked to himself and put his dagger into its sheath on his side.
Thorne turned to the entrance of the alley. A blue glow filled the ratty streets. Everything was haphazardly built with planks and nails. Since what felt like only a few days ago a terrible storm barreled through Newgrove. The storm flooded the lower city and whipped harshly at the buildings scaling the mountain. The flood destroyed the lower city's houses and shops. Buildings broke off into pieces and violent waves shaved off upper floors and roofs. The constant downpour raised the level of the lake at the foot of the mountain to an extra third of what it already was. Half of the lower city drowned. Violent winds blew out windows of the mountain houses and shops. Market stalls, lamp posts, benches, and anything else that didn't grow from the ground eventually ripped out its place and flew around in the wind. Trees were pushed sideways into walls, pushing holes into decades old brick and causing roofs to concave and collapse into itself. The streets were a death wish and a building could go at any moment. The elite got safety at the top of the mountain, everyone else was left for dead. The storm lasted 64 hours. By the end, pretty much everything everyone loved was gone. Even the small castle at the top of the mountain was rubble as the safe bunkers were evacuated.
Luckily, Newgrove citizens were quick workers, easily employing and managing the capable to get buildings in for broken families. They prioritized temporary shelter structures over lasting family houses. This led to the log pillars, with the wooden sheet walls and roof builds snaking and climbing up the mountain. The skies were still dark and occasionally the clouds still wept, but no storm happened since. The buildings were constantly drenched in water, sure to rot by the end of the season if nothing changed. The ground was squishy and struggling to absorb the water. The air was humid and had this indescribable sad wet odour that produced from everything. There was no choice but for the people of Newgrove to get used to it.
A loud wail snapped Thorne’s head from the blue haze down the slightly busy street. Thorne couldn’t see much other than passerby’s gaze locked onto something, and the closest market vendor trying to peek under his canopy to see the commotion. A few gasps erupted out of people and indiscernible voices grew louder. Thorne sat up straighter and his hand unconsciously tightened around his dagger. After a shout from an angry sounding gentleman Thorne could make out the noise of someone going through something. Other voices overlapping made it impossible for Thorne to tell if it was someone laughing manically or sobbing in a panic. The person wandered closer to the alley, getting louder and louder.
“IT’S-- th- ------ --kAY!??” cried the voice nearby. People who were walking down the street now stopped and watched a scene unfold. Thorne got curious and moved to a crouch, sneaking towards the entrance of the alley. The dull light caused Thorne to blink slightly as his eyes adjusted to the direct sunlight.
“THE WATCHERS WILL HELP US!! Y-you have to believe me! Please.” The face to the begging voice was quite unusual. Unnatural colours were seemingly painted onto his face, the details were impossible to make out right now, and the colours were dimmed by the shadow of an oversized hood hanging off the person’s head. He wore a long deep dark purple cloak that had rich blue swirls with hot pink and mint green stars. The cloak flowed out at the bottom, cut off at the ankles, along with whatever else he wore underneath it. Thorne struggled to tell what fabric belonged where when peeking under the cloak.
The boy grabbed the hands of a tall and slender woman with long ears pointed downward. She towered over the boy, a kid about 4”7, to her 6”4. Her skin was pale and her hair was a greasy and straight platinum blonde. She wore blocky navy blue rags, seemingly trying to convey money. She frowned at the contact and tried pulling away from the boy’s light grasp.
“Please ma’am. I’m okay, you just have to believe me. The Watchers, they protect us under their gaze. Please, tell me you believe me.” The kid spoke out in an unsettling panicked calm. He kept bouncing around on his feet, unable to still himself.
“Back off! Do not touch me, you clown.” The elven woman spat out, pulling her hands out of his grip. She waved her hand in his direction, backing away while repeating “shoo”. The boy choked out a noise between a chuckle and a scoff, a mix of emotions escaping him. He turned and faced the growing crowd, his head hung low. He was met with scowls and snickering.
The boy approached a dwarven man. An older man with a white bushy beard held out his hand, palm facing the kid. He shook his head steadily. The boy turned to another hooded person. They promptly fell back into the crowd and ran away from sight. A young girl in a headscarf pushed further into her mother’s leg, trying to avoid the other kid’s gaze.
Again and again the kid turned and begged more people to hear him out. Again and again people rejected whatever he was spewing. Thorne rolled his eyes, done with the sorry scene.
Another sad nut. A boy clutching onto false ideals provided by someone or something that is called “The Watchers”. Seems like selling away your privacy.
Thorne turned away, slinking through the crowd back into the alley, still lingering near the entrance in case things got more exciting. He continued grumbling to himself about the boy still preaching to an increasingly annoyed crowd. Shuffling of feet turned to slides against the dirt and gravel. Talking turned to shouting until there was a thump of a body skidding against pebbles.
“Jesus, kid!” Thorne yelped out as the boy in the mesmerizing cloak slowly got up. Now that Thorne could see, the boy had a star covering most of his right cheek, as well an almost rainbow acid spill under his left eye. The kid pushed himself up with an extra stutter at the elbow. He sniffled as he looked up to the goblin sitting against the wooden wall. Their green eyes meet. Thorne saw star pupils and the kid saw vertical slits.
“You-you h-have to believe me, I’m not going cr-crazy.” the boy wept, snot and tears running down his chin.
“I don’t think you’re going crazy…” the goblin lied, hand ready to jump into action.
The boy looked up at him, wide eyed with a crooked upset smile. “They’re calling me crazy. They don’t believe. I’m just trying to help them. Don’t you want to be helped?”
“Helped, how?”
“The Watchers! You see, they protect us, they bring us entertainment, they make fun safe!” The boy exclaimed, crawling towards Thorne. The goblin felt like pulling out his dagger for safety, but hesitated.
“I like fun, safely…” Thorne mumbled out, eyeing the boy carefully.
“See! You’re perfect! You should come with me, we can show our devotion to The Watchers together!” the boy rushed out, giddy and somehow already on his feet.
“Wait, what’s even your name?” Thorne asked as he also got up. His logic told him to ditch this kid, but the extravagantness of the outfit screamed shelter and money.
“Anzar!” the kid yelled out. He grabbed the hand of Thorne and ran back out into the street. The goblin squealed out as he was dragged through a crowd of pointed gazes. He hoped none of his buddies noticed him running around with someone as signifying as Anzar.