Bartholomew Quill's Arc

Chapter 1 of 2

Bartholomew Quill sat hunched over his workbench in the dim corner of his Mirkwood hovel. His clawed fingers traced the smooth surface of a polished femur. He dreamed of the night bazaar, where merchants sold their finest wares under moonlight. One day his bone jewelry would hang there too, admired by all who passed. He pushed himself up from the bench and shuffled outside. A large barrel sat beside his door, filled to the brim with bones of every size. Ribs, vertebrae, and finger bones jutted out at odd angles. He grabbed a handful and carried them to the water pump. Cold water splashed over the bones as he scrubbed away dirt and moss. Each piece needed to be clean before he could shape it into something beautiful. Behind his hovel, Bartholomew pulled out his weathered wooden cart. He had built it himself, board by board. Soon it would be loaded with his best necklaces and rings and bracelets. He gripped the cart's worn handles and pictured himself rolling through the bazaar entrance. Customers would stop to admire his work. They would reach for his jewelry with eager hands. His yellow eyes glowed brighter at the thought. The night bazaar waited for him, and he would be ready.