The Rotten Heart

Confinement

It was the seventh hour of the day, his mid-morning queue of tasks never changed. He swept the dust off the wooden floors and arranged the cluttered tomes his master had left the night before. The morning game stew he had prepared before his morning nap had just perfectly finished simmering.

It wasn't customary to elves to take showers before their masters but it was one of the secrets within the mage's house that didn't escape the walls. His master preferred having his morning meals with his servant bathed and ready. Ready for whatever, that had been answered a couple of drunken nights in the past.

His master also allows him to share meals together as his master's table which is frowned upon by humans. That no longer concerned him after a couple of punches and slaps.

He washed away the nights gunk off his body and prepared the table for the two of them. The mage was still embellished with the previous nights alcohol-soaked clothing. The elf knew better than to point that out to his master.

"Rabbit stew again? Hunt a lion of me." His master grumbled as he sipped loudly in the rich and warm stew.

"I'll see what I can do, m'lord." He humbly answered as he sipped as quietly as he can.

"While you're at the forest, go to the Withered Route for some gnash mushrooms." He ordered as a dribble of soup crawled down from his lips. "The Lady Levinstine wants another potion of youth."

Once a Knightmage to the Crown but reduced to a common mage when the heir to the throne took his place. The mage's burly physique never left but his doomed outlook almost made him unattractive.

"But isn't that bound by Elfen law to never set foot on?"

The mage's eyes lifted themselves up from the food and stared deeply into the elf's. Deep dark emerald eyes swirling with anger.

"I am not a fool." He said as he grabbed the elf's hand tightly. "This is why I am ordering you to do so because you're just an elf!"

The elf's fingers threatened to crack within the grasp of the mage. He fights off any sign of pain on his face like any good servant would.

"And as such, you are not restricted to go to that dreadful prairie."

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Down and through the narrow streets of Belend he goes. It used to be the up-and-coming town, always in the sights of the Crown but as time passed by and the apartments grew higher, Belend turned into another deadlocked town filled with pasty humans living the rest of the lives with their slaves.

Belend was half a week away from the Kingdom so it wasn't long until the reigning King Dukard II lost all interest in protecting the town. Of course, with the exclusion of the rare sighting of the Royal Guards patrolling the streets, sending thieves and thugs into the dark corners.

The elf brought nothing but his wicker basket and dried maroon coat his master gave to him after the first nightly visit.

"Off for another rabbit soup?" Fesker, the grumpy gatekeeper asked as he wrote the elf's name down the ledger.

"Master was requesting a more feral kind, any thoughts?" The elf asked as he cocked his head to the side.

Humans mainly look down on Door Elves, as the other Elven kind dubbed the enslaved breed. But Fesker never look at species differently and was equally grumpy to anyone, human or not-human.

"What in Valsak's balls do I know about hunting?" Fesker grumbled as he kept his face buried in his ledger. "All I know is there was a report of some caracal attack by some rogues a couple nights ago down by the southwest end of the forest."

"The one near the Withered Route?" The elf gasped.

"Do I fucking look like a map post to you? I haven't set foot out this town for forty years!"

"Thank you, Fesker."

"Shut it, move along."

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