The boy slowly opened his eyes, his head still hazy and throbbing with pain. The boy was left for dead behind that wooden shack of a tavern, his stomach growling with the occasional pangs of pain of hunger accompanied with the throbbing pain on his forehead and chest from the prior night.
Nothing new for a outskirts vermin like me. He thought, the boy stumbling onto his feet, swatting away the excess dust and dirt off his clothes.
The back of the tavern was meticulously integrated into the right side of the back ally, the floor littered with rat faeces and rubbish, junk proped against the walls in mountainous heaps.
What a cesspool, the outskirts of Sol leora sure are something.he thought, never turning down a opportunity to curse this mirage of a city.
Sol leora was a illusion of a prominent city, on the inside it was truly a inescapable poverty trap, filled with slums and crime but on the outside it was the glorified capital of the kingdom of Milagros, 'where the people strengths become one and are United'.
Sol leora had three main districts: the outer district, the inner district, the retail service zone. The majority being comprised of outer district, where the boy lived pitiful for the duration of his life and where many like him compete to survive. Sol leora's inner district however was the opposite. It was full of the affluent, the elites of the elites, people who have been born into generational wealth and status, decorated with a plethora of schools and secured with numerous knight posts, protecting the area.
Breaking in to it was near impossible, those who tried,beaten, and those that somehow did manage to sneak in where easily distinguishable, thus caught then killed.
Lastly, The service district was synonymously developed and integrated into the inner section of the inner district, only accessible to those who live around it ,segregating those less well off, further restricting the services and goods available, exclusive to wealthy. Leaving the outskirts people to survive on the scraps just as the boy did from day to day to survive.
The boy finally managed to stumble into a part of the alley that adjoined to the outskirts main dirt roads. He could see the bumbling desperate struggles of the outskirts people day to day life. The streets were compact with all kinds of characters, Many just as ragged and filthy as him willowing in their pitiful reality, some using trash to create stalls and vendor basic nessecities made of anything they can find, some even lay on the street Dead and ignored, a overwhelming common occurrence within the outskirts.
The boy stepped out the darkness of the alley into the soft morning light of the hustling street,his disheveled appearance now partially visible in the reflection of dirtied windows on the side of the Main Street, encompassed by the soft golden hue of the light of day. As he walked through the busy street he managed to catch glimpses of himself reflecting off the windows.
the boy wore brown pieces of fabric he called shoes that was nearing its life span. Tears on the sides above the soles of the shoe exposed his toes to air and filth around him. He wore a thin black oversized tunic that was smeared with Grime and stains. His trousers were also brown-black but fitted him perfectly, an anomaly for someone who found his clothes ravaging around inside a bin. The pungent smell of his body no better to the quality of the clothes, the smell was not different to the smell of faeces and rot that permeated the stifled air of the outer region, but luckily everyone else smelt like him.
"Muriel" a soft voice calls out from behind him.