The Chronicles of Outsider: Humble Beginnings by Justin Wayne
Chapter Thirty: Memories
Outsider opened his eyes and stared at the glassy ceiling above him for several minutes. Arms folded behind his head and legs crossed comfortably, he waited in his cot beneath the house and cracked a rare smile; his dreams still dancing through his head. His focus wandered away to thoughts of what the day would hold for him and the smile faded.
As such he didn’t hear Dren enter his room who promptly struck him across the face for not jumping to attention.
“What’re you daydreaming again?” the drunkard wheezed and pulled Outsider from his bed roughly. “Get yerself up you pathetic excuse for a fighter; we’ve got work to do.”
Outsider stood up cautiously and looked about the room, wishing he had hid somewhere among the many mounds of luggage and old furniture within the basement he called his bedroom. He somberly followed Dren upstairs to the antechamber.
The smell of fresh food and warmer air filled his nostrils as soon as they ascended. The high ceiling supported by the various pillars crafted from black, glossy adamantine loomed over them too high to be seen in detail. The lower half of the room was lit by poison-green flames levitating against the walls and cast an ominous, deathly glow across the stone floor and onyx statues of famous dark elf barons and baronesses.
Outsider ignored the pangs of hunger in his stomach and tried not to think about how many days it had been since he had last “earned” his supper. Instead, he decided to actually pay attention to the words spilling from Dren’s forked tongue.
“..too many damn skyrns to cut through for them so you’re going to weed ‘em out yourself. Got it?” he asked and waited impatiently for a response. Outsider stared at him darkly and nodded. “Good, so get all your stuff out of the armory.” he said with a dismissive wave and left to get something to eat.
Outsider dragged his feet the entire way down the side hall and up the winding staircase to the second level of the house. The smell of incense burned his nose as he made his way past the chapel doors with his head down and eyes low; not daring to risk angering one of the priests or priestesses by looking at them. The women brushed past as if he wasn’t there and went about their duties lighting the ceremonial candles that lined the chapel’s area while chanting their dark prayers.
Past all of them and away from the bitter odor of incense stood the armory; its tall metallic doors engraved with protective runes that allowed only a house member inside. He placed the flat of his hand against it and with a shudder, they parted and swung open.
Outsider’s eyes glinted maliciously as he beheld the chamber fully laden with armor and stocked with weapons of all sorts of styles, shapes, and sizes. Of all the evil that had been forced upon him and his hand, he could not deny the call of battle that keened so clearly in his heart and mind, nor the thrill that coursed through his veins every time a blade screamed in his hand.
He strode across the familiar wooden floor and past the rows of weaponry to the small supplies closet in the far corner. Among the crates of sharpening stones and polishing cloths was a wooden barrel placed behind them; the lid of it wedged tightly. He popped it off with his nimble fingers and placed it aside as he drew his weapons from within.
A matching set of obsidian daggers, each with a foot long blade as dark as night and koa wood handles worn down over the years to fit his palms perfectly. He spun them experimentally to inspect any sabotage of his belongings then sheathed them along his wrists despite the warning not to do so Dren gave him every day. Replacing the barrel lid, he left the closet and closed the small door.
“Well look who we have here,” a voice he dreaded announced grandly. “A filthy little outsider sticking his nose around where he doesn’t belong.”
“You’re right, Blaine, I thought I smelled a half-blood rat.” a second voice added with a sneer. His face turned malevolent then and a strange light came to his eye. “I don’t like rats.”
“Nor I, Krew, they’re disgusting.” Blaine laughed and together they stepped toward him. “What about you Saleane? Do you care for rats?” He turned his head to the side as the girl approached from behind to stand beside him.
She gave a shrug and cocked her head to the side to size up the boy across from her, her brother, and his friend. “I could take or leave him.”
Blaine grimaced and scowled at his little sister. “What? How could you ever take a rat?”
She shrugged a second time and laughed. “I didn’t say where I would take him.” She stared into Outsider’s eyes as she said it then turned to her brother. “Perhaps I would simply take him to the chapel..”
Blaine and Krew shared a devious smile as they imagined the terrible tortures he would befall should he ever step foot within the chapel where only nobles and priests were welcome. Appeased, the two boys stepped closer to Outsider and cracked their knuckles threateningly.
“Don’t you know this armory is for seventeen year olds and up?”
“Saleane’s not seventeen though, Blaine.” Krew murmured.
“But she’s a noble.”
“Oh, right. But this one…I don’t see any rat poison around.” Krew observed and grit his teeth angrily.
“But we’ve caught one and can’t just let it escape.” Blaine added and crossed his arms. “So I think we should just smash it.” The two boys grinned viciously and started forward. Before they took a single step Outsider swung his wrists up and launched the two blades into his hands. He eyed them coldly and waited for either of them to make a move then switched his attention over to Saleane; her eyes melting into his with fear.
He flicked the daggers into the floor with dual thunks then stepped over them, closing the distance between him and the other two. He matched the intensity of their combined stare but kept his eyes straight forward; not focusing on the slightly smaller Blaine or larger Krew so he wouldn’t be distracted by one of them and attacked by the other.
The boys shared a quick glance then came forward at the same time with sucker punches they expected to collide with his face and stomach to incapacitate him so they could pummel him to the floor utterly disgraced and defeated.
However neither felt the impact they were anticipating.
Instead Krew felt his head knocked back as a palm struck him in the chin so hard he bit through his tongue, and Blaine felt a sharp pain course through his middle as a boot hit him in the fork of his legs. They opened their eyes, having shut them during the punch as those with experience instruct not to, and stumbled as nausea rose in the back of Blaine’s throat and a disorienting spin crossed Krew’s eyes.
They shared another glance then and shook it off. They stepped on both sides of Outsider and grabbed at him, accepting the blows to their face and middle. With a bloody nose and busted lip, Krew held Outsider’s arms while Blaine, with a black eye swollen shut and chipped tooth worked him over.
The aching pain shot through his stomach with every strike, jarring his ribs and abdomen. He could feel the bruises welling up on his cheek and lip as his face became the next target. He twisted his head to the side, avoiding a punch, and bit on his arm hard. Blaine recoiled with a shriek and gripped his forearm, turning away from them. Outsider headbutted Krew behind him, crunching the bigger boy’s nose, then gripped him by the hair and slammed his face against his knee.
Outsider turned on his heel and ducked a wild swing, then spat Blaine’s own blood in his face. Blinded, Blaine took a two-step kick on the chin and hit the ground unconscious with a groan. Krew stumbled past him and left his friend, holding his face with both hands as blood dribbled down from his crooked nose. Outsider turned to Saleane then and eyed her warily.
Her face, with flawless dark skin and pronounced cheek bones, bright navy eyes beholding a light of humor within, and angular pixie-like features, closed with his slowly. Her lips pressed to his swollen eye then chin, followed by his cut cheek, and finally rested beside his lips with the slightest pressure as if waiting for permission. Outsider shook his head and spat blood, then held her c
A voice called out to him from miles away; dull and muted.
The single light hovering in the empty sky that sheltered Duskenbaijan in its entirety, a glowing crystal now named Nethersol, the Bright Mystery or Light Secret, was now pitch black and signified the time for the various broods to return to their own and take up praise and worship the Nine of Night.
It was also the anointed time for Outsider to slip away unnoticed and perform his next task for “those above him”. Climbing up one of the slick pillars that lined the antechamber, he perched near the ceiling where it was darkest and waited several long minutes with straining arms that trembled as he hung on until at last he heard the booming echo of the chapel doors slamming shut. Hesitating just an extra minute to ensure those not allowed in the chapel would be at practice battling, smithing, crafting; those below priestesses and nobles own form of worship, in their respective dorms.
He slid down and rubbed his hands together to shake away the ache in his fingers. A shadow passed a nearby torch and a dirge guard soon made his way around the corner. He glanced about uninterested and scratched at the thick scruff atop his head with two thick fingers resembling elongated potatoes. Its tall, heavy body walked away with loud footfalls that shook its leathery flesh and the floor.
They look like trolls only uglier; he thought as it adjusted the loincloth it had been given.
From his hiding spot Outsider watched the dimwitted dirge stroll through the room with a low humming in its chest then to the front court to patrol the perimeter while the dark elves were in prayer or practice. It was rare for a brood to be attacked during this time as all were commanded to obey the tenants, however there were those below recognition such as himself, who were thought of as too lowly for any chance of receiving favor and therefore free to do as they pleased during times of prayer.
At least that’s how Outsider viewed it.
He would pity those doomed to whittle away the two hours required each day in worship if not for the miserable life they had thrust upon him. Blaine, his rival and enemy, was the youngest son of the Baron who ruled his house and therefore a noble, as was Saleane as the youngest daughter. Outsider smiled as he imagined the immense boredom Blaine must endure within the chapel surrounded by the upper class; set to fetch incense and other menial tasks.
But he quickly sobered as his thoughts turned to Saleane. They had been something of an item for over two years now, but only in secret; for as a noble female, she would be afforded the highest of responsibility in time and would be required to take on much more training and devotion to become a priestess. He knew, in a few centuries or so, that she would probably become a Matriarch; the leader of the priestesses. The sheer thought of it turned his stomach.
He shook such unpleasant tidings away and instead focused on his task at hand. Yet they remained. With the entire social structure of the dark elves dependent upon their relation to the Nine, priests and priestesses were of the highest regard; only the Barons and Baronesses their equal. For all worshipped them and heeded their every desire, even the most insane laws. Sacrifices, blood rituals, and black sacraments were common practices here and religious zealots were found dead every week.
Outsider was sure the Nine planned it to be this way. For they gave their most revered gift to only a single living person at a time: their true names. This devout follower is considered a prophet by most, and a target to some. Inter-clergy assassinations became typical as jealous followers needed the one living person who knew gone in the hopes they would be the next. With such backstabbing, often literally, going on, the Barons and Baronesses had to intervene; hence the decision to house priests and priestesses in small numbers within their clans.
This kept them relatively safe but also led to greater scale conflicts when murder simply could not be withheld. The victor clan often absorbed the remains of the loser and gained their power through triumph as well as a higher number of clergy to raise their odds of receiving the next prophet.
It was all just a sick game.
He found himself already at the gate of the courtyard with the titanic gothic structure of his house behind him. So inseparably fettered to it was he, he could picture every detail of it. The many levels of the building conjoined at sharp angles to resemble a gem that narrowed near the top to an oval shape, with four crooked and twisted towers protruding from it on each side in two parallel lines.
Outsider shivered and slipped over the gate while the dirges conversed in their guttural language, completely oblivious to the boy. Landing into a low crouch, he scanned the streets quickly then shot forward to the far left of the city where the fewest structures remained. Many years ago this had been the site of a prominent young sorcerer that had been invaded and destroyed before he could gain too much power.
Now, only rubble and detritus remained. He stole from shadow to shadow among the many piles of rock then to a large mound of stone where he laid low a minute to break up his pace in case he was being followed. Content he was alone, he circumvented more popular zones like the market and made his way past the dark stone structures that built up the center of Duskenbaijan; surrounding the colossal statue of Shogul; god of darkness, carved from emerald. He watched the city for a short while, studying the high sweeping walls and black stone that made up the basis of dark elf architecture here. Even the buildings themselves were twisted and misshapen as if their perverted and evil ways had tainted their pitiful excuse of a home.
He passed the warped walls without a second thought and slipped away from anything resembling civilization until he had crossed the border to the wild Shadowverse. He breathed in more deeply then and nodded.
As much as he hated it down here and wished to escape, he couldn’t refute the feeling of comfort the wild imbued in him. He liked to think it was his mother’s blood in him. Here, where things were natural and the way they were supposed to be, he couldn’t blame those that were twisted and violent. Mordose, dog-like reptiles, and Gurl, amphibious birds, were killers by design and knew no other way nor did they have the capacity to be taught any.
However those he had just left behind, the “people” who were “civilized” were more wild and animalistic than anything he would encounter out here. They bred hate and war together to ingrain into their society and based their entire infrastructure around raising children as soldiers who then kill one another for the gain of power simply because their gods demand it. At least the creatures in the wild killed to sustain themselves and protect what is theirs.
But those who had captured him and his parents; who kill for selfish gain and pleasure, they are the true monsters. He stared into the darkness as these emotions overpowered his thoughts and waited for the cloud to pass.
“Not now.” he told himself and pulled up his customary hood. His cloak stained then into a series of blacks and grays that melded with the background and rendered Outsider nigh invisible. He flicked his eyes into darkvision and scanned the patch of shrubbery before him for any signs of habitation.
The typically midnight caverns of the Shadowverse flared to life before him. Eyes glowing, he sifted through the varying shades of blue and purple that signaled heat or the lack thereof. Brushing a few low hanging branches out of the way and striding into the tunnel confidently he crouched low and raked the floor with his eyes.
Small heat prints along the cool stone floor shone faintly; hardly any warmer at all, with thin, clawed toes. He nodded as he recognized the tracks of a skyrn and knew he was going in the right direction. Typically difficult to track on account of being cold blooded, Outsider had some experience with them and had quickly learned a few tricks they used such as wetting their feet to make them colder and harder to detect through darkvision.
However, skyrns aren’t very bright and never realized the stone around their now-wet feet would cool as well in the water, leaving the ratio of their temperature to the ground’s nearly untouched. He swept through the tunnel easily, fin
A whisper came from behind and he flashed his weapons immediately in a battle crouch. He looked side to side cautiously as he came face to face with nothing. He sighed quietly and went back to searching; stalking his way through the wild Shadowverse.
A voice called out to him again, slightly louder this time but still as if he were underwater.
Gradually it faded away and he found himself facing his target; a small, even by elven standards, dark elf that after exhausting his repertoire of spells firing into the shadows where he thought Outsider had been, now sniveled on the ground and covered his head in his arms. The bodies of numerous skyrns lay about him and several more could still be heard fleeing.
“Please, I beg of you, don’t..don’t kill me.” he pleaded and gripped Outsider’s leg. “I didn’t mean to hurt anyone, I promise!” Outsider kicked him off and flipped him over on his belly, tying his hands behind his back, then heaved him to his feet.
“I’m not.” he answered curtly. “You’re going back.”
The little dark elf’s eyes widened and he dropped his head in defeat. Outsider tried to ignore the mirrored image of himself he saw in the escapee as he led him out of the caverns and back to the house. The mandatory prayer time was nearly over by the time he reached the outskirts of the city; his timeframe nearly missed, so he rushed back the way he had come with his prisoner in tow and arrived at the gate to his house just as the melancholy bass of the center chapel’s funeral bell tolled in a mesmerizing cacophony of sound as it reverberated through the stone and bounced from wall to wall, creating disorienting echoes.
Dren emerged first from the house and hurried across the courtyard to open the gate. “I see you found him.” he observed obnoxiously and looked down his nose at the latest target. “You got the books as well?” Outsider nodded and held up the sack in his free hand. Dren grinned greedily and approached the still-restrained prisoner. “Well, well, Siln, did you really think you could get away with our tomes? You must be the dumbest sorcerer I’ve ever met.”
He motioned with his head back to the house. “Get him inside; we’ll make an example of him there while most everyone is still about.” They led him inside and upstairs to the second level’s main chamber before the chapel doors. Dren shooed Outsider away then called out grandly to all that the thief had been caught with a triumphant smirk. “What shall we do with him, ladies?”
The priestesses eyed him malevolently for the term ‘ladies’ then shoved him aside to converge on Siln. They murmured among themselves for a short time then all went silent as the Baron appeared.
“What have we here?” His cackling voice called and he strode forward with an air or supremacy that choked Outsider. He held his chin high so that his tunic’s high collar rose to the back of his head and afforded a regal straightness. “Is that you Siln?”
The frail wizard nearly buckled beneath his glare. The women parted before the baron as he closed in on the trapped male then quickly supported him on either side. Dren hesitantly made his way back to the group with a deep bow and flourish.
“Baron Scorn, it is good to see you up and about once more. Feeling better I presume?” The Baron nodded and watched the old Martialmaster idly; slightly humored. “Excellent, most excellent,” Dren continued. “Then I hope the capture of this thief is fitting as a welcome back gift.”
Scorn mulled over the thought of laughing in his face and having him whipped just to teach him the finer points of respect. However the fearful shake that racked the little sorcerer’s thin frame was too tempting to pass up. “It shall suffice.” he answered and snapped his fingers.
Instantly two heavily armored guards gripped Siln by each arm and awaited his command. Scorn stood with his back turned to the room dramatically and announced his verdict: “It's been a whole two days since our last sacrifice to the Nine." He paused for effect then murmured: "Give him the grub treatment.”
Strapped to a table a moment later, Siln struggled against his bonds and cried out in fear until his mouth was gagged. His frantic eyes circled the room, at last resting on Outsider standing off to the side. They locked stares for what seemed like an hour until a priestess entered with a jar full of writhing worms, each an inch long, the pale yellow color resembling dead flesh.
“Here’s to all those who think they can escape. We own you!” she proclaimed and held the first worm between her fingers. “For the glory of the Nine!"” Then she placed it against the flat of Siln’s palm while another was placed opposite. The worms squirmed about then latched onto the skin of his hands and with a wiggle, tore their way into him. Two tiny lumps beneath his flesh inched up his arms slowly then vanished into his torso.
Siln screamed into his gag and thrashed about as more and more were placed on him until he had a dozen digging and eating their way through his body. The priestesses laughed maniacally and handed the jar of worms off to another. “By morning, his body will be hollow and the worms over a foot long each.”
Outsider cringed and broke away from the scene, searching for the solace of his room beneath the house.
When he arrived, he sensed a presence and spun about just in time to be tackled to the floor where they landed in a roll. He grit his teeth and stared up at his attacker who held him pinned, then relaxed as Saleane stared back. They watched each other in silence, still on the floor in a pile, enjoying each other’s presence.
At last she spoke quietly. “You went out again?”
He nodded.
“On a job?”
He nodded again.
“Why didn’t you just leave? You hate it here.”
Outsider’s smile faded. “They would find me.” He sat up with her still straddling him and rested his chin on her shoulder. The natural smell of her ebony skin and stark white hair brought him back into the wilds where the air was fresher; calming his racing heart.
She hummed a gentle melody that rose and fell in a sweeping stanza like the wind. He had always known it to be her song.
“That and I don’t hate everything here.”
She turned his face to hers until their foreheads were together. Her hot breath washed over his face. “Like what?” she teased and tickled his face with her long hair. He leaned in to kiss her when the sound of his door opening creaked loudly.
He wrapped her hands around his throat and banged his head against the floor. He grunted in pain, muttering curses as she turned to the door. Dren entered the room and froze as he saw his company. “What’s this?” he asked deceptively calm for Saleane’s, being a noble, sake.
She stood immediately and brushed her hair back into place. “I was just..” She looked down at Outsider who remained on the floor rubbing his head.
“She was showing me the error of my ways for not reveling in the despair of those I have captured.” Outsider interjected. “I left during Siln’s torture—I mean, sacrifice to the Nine.”
Her eyes widened then relaxed and she turned back to Dren. “Yes, I was just teaching this one some manners.” She turned to Outsider and struggled to keep her face calm. “When a priestess sacrifices a prisoner you’ve captured you should remain in attendance as appreciation!” And she gave him a small kick to the leg.
Dren laughed and made his way over. “Excellent, most excellent. Please do continue, though might I suggest you aim a little higher?” He gestured higher with his hand then kicked Outsider viciously in the chest. He scowled at the boy on the floor, missing the concerned look she threw him, and hit him again. “If you like I could take over for you?"
Saleane froze and stared at Outsider blankly before recovering. “Of course…thank you.” she hardly whispered then turned her back to Dren and looked down at Outsider who lay there clutching his ribs and watching her sadly. He nodded her on and gave her a halfhearted smile. A tear slid down her cheek and dripped onto his palm as she mouthed ‘I’m sorry’. He gripped it tightly and closed his eyes; retreating into himself as it bega