Trust your surroundings, you foolish mortal!

Zachary Xaviante sat in a wobbly chair, most likely due to all the fights that have ensued in this establishment causing the legs to become uneven. He sat there wondering why, in the pit of his stomach, he could feel something building up, as if slowly becoming enraged and feeling the anger move from the center of his stomach as it spreads its red heat throughout his being to the tip of his head. Though, it was not anger he felt but instead a strange, dark, empty feeling that was overwhelming him. Was it dread, regret, pity? Zachary became uneasy and swiftly stood to his feet, causing the onlookers a start as Zachary noticed the singing gaze of tens of locals as they were seated eating their breakfast, drinking their ale. Today’s breakfast, like most days, was a full wooden plate of two eggs, one slice of pork, and a piece of toast, although it may have just been crusted stale bread that mold had been picked off from. Whilst he stood, Zachary looked around as the peering eyes pierced through him like he was a ghost and he wondered if this sinking feeling was the cause of his abrupt change in stature. “Damn, this is got be da best toast I’ve ‘ad in ages,” he said, hoping to disperse suspicion and gawking. “Now, about that fella ‘at spoken to me near a score ‘go,” Zachary thought to himself, walking through the graveled streets, feeling the crunch of each stone underneath his leather sandals that wrapped his legs. The air was heavy this morning, thick with the mist and fog rolling in off the bank that harbored only a few fishing vessels. Zachary never was good at fishing and every time he passed the dock that lies upon the Lake of Sirens, he remembers the last time he attempted such a treacherous journey. That’s what if felt like for him at least. The night was drawing in but the weather was calm, the lake lay silent as glass, mirroring the reflection of the moon. Zachary had maybe a few too many ales that night, before being challenged by one of his comrades, Gustov, to a healthy fishing competition. “O’right ma dear Zac *hiccup* hary, ha hairy ye are inde *hiccup* ed,” Gustov said to his friend Zachary, introducing the game that lay within a moments reach. “Catch da biggen fish *hiccup* ye be da victor,” as Gustov introduced the game, Zachary was filled with courage and strength, however false it may have been from his inebriation. “On your mark, get set — Blast ye Zachary,” Gustov said as Zachary began sprinting toward his vessel that was already prepared by the fishermen that were on the lake this afternoon and most likely too tired to pack their gear. As he paddled out onto the lake with haste, he looked back to see how far Gustov was behind him, anticipating the revelry that should ensue at the expense of his inebriated friend. However, what he saw was a pack of snickering onlookers on the shore and leading the pack was none other than Gustov. Zachary’s excitement and courage turned to rage and frustration as quickly as his pace was when he was running toward the very vessel that he was paddling out to the open waters of the Lake of Sirens. A few hours passed, but Zachary was not going to lose courage, he knew that if he at least caught a monstrous fish than he would be the one laughing. Nevertheless, Zachary began dozing, feeling consciousness drift like the tide from his head. He decided to stand on this small vessel and it rocked back and forth. At one moment, Zachary even thought that he may fall into the freezing waters and be swallowed whole by the fabled sirens that supposedly inhabit this lake. But, he kept a sure footing and was now quite lucid following the rapid passing of his life before him. His line lay all but still as it bobbed up and down with the boat after Zachary’s attempt at keeping himself awake to become the victor in this endeavor. The surface of the lake had not even fully settled when Zachary saw that his rod was tugged an inch or two. As he grabbed the bamboo shaft of the rod he felt a weight like a dwarven planet filled to the brim with iron. His muscles strained and tore as he yelled, screamed out in agony. Zachary’s strength quickly was fading, but he did not give up, he held steadfast against whatever was on the end of his line. “I will be the victor,” he said.