[i am not promoting criminal activities, its the lore of the story, and I will not glorify gore, but there will be action fights in the future]
In the shadow of crumbling castle walls, where the scent of woodsmoke and mud clung thick as a winter's fog, dwelt a youth named Kaelin Thorne. Kaelin's stature stood at a mere five foot eight inches, but his wiry frame belied a latent strength, forged in the unforgiving crucible of poverty. His shoulders sloped slightly, a testament to the countless hours toiling in the fields, his once lean muscles now softened by malnutrition. Taut skin stretched over bony ridges, giving his frame an almost scrawny appearance, save for the defined muscles of his arms and legs, honed from years of physical labor. Kaelin's face was a topography of worry lines and freckles, his eyes a deep, piercing blue that seemed to bore into the souls of those he met. Dark, disheveled hair clung to his brow, often flecked with dirt and grime.
His features were lean and angular, his nose a slight crook from a childhood injury.Adorned on his lean torso, a simple tunic hung loose, its hem often mud-streaked from his daily forays into the nearby woods in search of firewood. Kaelin's attire, a patchwork of hand-me-downs and second-hand rags, hung in tatters around his gaunt form. A pair of rough-hewn boots, worn soles cracking against the cobblestone streets, served as his sole footwear. A threadbare cloak, fringed and faded, flapped against his back as he moved, a meager barrier against the elements. Around his narrow waist, a wide leather belt cinched tight, supporting the weight of his short sword – an unassuming blade, perhaps a foot in length, its hilt worn smooth from countless grips and draws.
The sword was his only true wealth, a family heirloom passed down through generations, though its once-sharp edge had dulled from disuse and neglect. Kaelin's gaze, a window to the resilience and fortitude within, reflected the stoic acceptance etched into his weathered features. Though poverty and hardship had carved lines of perpetual worry into his countenance, a spark of hope flickered in his eyes, a testament to the indomitable will of one determined to rise above his circumstances, come what may. The land upon which Kaelin Thorne called home was a realm beset by strife and hardship. The kingdom, known as Tenelda, had once been a bastion of prosperity and peace, its rolling hills and verdant forests teeming with life and laughter.
Yet, a series of devastating droughts, coupled with the depredations of raiding tribes from the east, had cast a shadow of misery over the land.Towns and villages, once thriving, now stood as mere shadows of their former selves. Many had abandoned their homes, flocking to the larger cities in search of work and sustenance. The streets of these urban centers bustled with the desperate and downtrodden, their faces etched with the lines of hunger and sorrow.The countryside, once a tapestry of lush fields and vibrant wildflowers, had withered under the unrelenting sun.
Crops failed, livestock perished, and the forests, once a verdant green, had turned to rustling brown. The stench of death and decay hung heavy over the parched earth, a grim reminder of the kingdom's plight. In this bleak landscape, Kaelin Thorne struggled to survive. Kaelin awoke before dawn, his eyes cracking open to the inky blackness of his small, cramped room. A shared space with three other families, the air was heavy with the stench of sweat and stale bread.
He pushed himself up, his joints creaking with the effort, and shuffled over to the small window, peeling back the tattered curtain to gaze out at the mist-shrouded streets below. The city was already stirring, the flickering glow of candles and lanterns painting the gloom in muted hues. Kaelin's gaze fell upon the town square, where a makeshift market was setting up for the day. Merchants haggled over their wares, their voices rising above the clatter of pots and pans being hung from hooks outside the kitchens of the local taverns and inns. A pang of hunger gripped his gut, and Kaelin knew he would need to venture out soon to forage for whatever scraps he could find.
He donned his tattered cloak, belted on his short sword, and crept out into the chill morning air, his eyes scanning the streets for any sign of food or work that might sustain him through another day in this unforgiving city. The chill of the morning clung to Kaelin's skin as he made his way through the winding streets, his stomach growling with each step. He passed by the town square, where the market was in full swing. The pungent aromas of fresh bread and roasting meats wafted through the air, making his mouth water in spite of his better judgment. Yet, he knew better than to linger, for the merchants and traders were a wary lot, their eyes ever watchful for the hungry and the desperate.
Kaelin's path led him to the city's outer wards, where the buildings grew less frequent and the streets narrower. Here, the poverty was more pronounced, the thatched roofs of the humble cottages sagging under the weight of generations of neglect. He knocked on a few doors, his plea for scraps or work often met with the same cold, unyielding silence that had grown all too familiar in his years of struggle. Among the shrouded alleys and crumbling facades, a lone figure emerged from the shadows – a hooded man, his face obscured by the darkness beneath his cap. He beckoned to Kaelin with a gnarled finger, his voice low and gravelly as he spoke."Thirsty, lad?" Kaelin's eyes narrowed, his instincts on high alert as he approached the hooded figure.
The man's voice, rough as bark, sent a shiver down his spine. Yet, the pangs of hunger and the allure of a potential source of sustenance proved too great to ignore. "I could be." he replied, his voice steady despite the unease that gnawed at his gut. The figure nodded, leading Kaelin deeper into the labyrinthine alleyways. They navigated a maze of half-ruined buildings, their crumbling stones slick with moss and grime.
The air grew heavy with the musk of decay and neglect, the stench of forgotten lives and forgotten dreams.The hooded man stopped before a particularly dilapidated structure, its wooden beams warped and weathered, its door a rusted metal slab that creaked with an otherworldly protest as he pushed it open. "Down here." he grunted, beckoning Kaelin to follow. Kaelin hesitated for a moment, the darkness that awaited him seeming to writhe and pulse like a living thing. Yet, the promise of sustenance outweighed his trepidation, and he descended the creaking stairs into the unknown. The air grew thick and heavy as Kaelin made his way down the narrow staircase, the darkness pressing in around him like a physical entity.
At the bottom, he found himself in a small, dimly lit chamber, the walls lined with crates and barrels, their contents shrouded in shadow. The hooded figure loomed before him, his features still obscured by the darkness beneath his cap."What's your game, then?" Kaelin asked, his voice low and cautious. The man's laughter, harsh and mirthless, sent a chill down his spine."I can help you find work, lad," he replied, his words dripping with an unspoken menace. "Work that pays well, if you're willing to...get your hands dirty."Kaelin's grip tightened on the hilt of his short sword, his heart pounding in his chest. He knew better than to trust the words of a stranger, especially one shrouded in mystery and suspicion.
Yet, the promise of food and coin was a siren's call he could not ignore."What kind of work?" he asked, his voice steady despite the turmoil within."Ah, just little jobs, here and there," The hooded man chuckled, a sound that sent a shiver down Kaelin's spine. "Oh, just this and that, lad. Nothing for the faint of heart, but if you're willing to...get your hands dirty, you can earn a pretty penny." He paused, his gaze boring into Kaelin's like a physical touch. "Say you're interested, and I'll show you what I have in mind."Kaelin hesitated, his instincts screaming at him to turn and run. Yet, the pangs of hunger that had brought him to this point refused to be ignored.
He swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. "I'm listening."The man grinned, his features still obscured by the darkness. "Good, good. Follow me, then." He turned and strode out of the chamber, Kaelin trailing behind him through the winding tunnels. They emerged into the chill morning air, the city coming to life around them. The hooded man led Kaelin to the outskirts of town, to a large, dilapidated warehouse. Its wooden beams were weathered and warped, its door hanging off its hinges like a rusted gate. Inside, the warehouse was a labyrinth of crates and boxes, their contents shrouded in shadow.
The air was thick with the musk of decay and neglect, the stench of forgotten lives and forgotten dreams. Kaelin's gaze darted around the dimly lit space, his heart pounding in his chest as the hooded figure gestured for him to follow. They navigated through the maze of crates, the only sound the creaking of old wood and the faint rustling of unseen creatures in the shadows. Kaelin's skin crawled with unease as he realized the true nature of the "work" the man had in mind. The crates were filled with all manner of illicit goods - stolen goods, contraband, and other nefarious items. The man's game was clear: he sought to employ Kaelin as a thief or a smuggler, preying on his desperation and ignorance to further his own illicit endeavors. Anger and indignation flared within Kaelin, but he tamped them down, knowing that he had no choice but to play along for now. He needed the food and coin, no matter how tainted the source might be."What exactly do you need me to do?" he asked, his voice steady despite the turmoil within. The man chuckled, his features still obscured by the darkness beneath his cap.
[TO BE CONTINUED]