Twilight slowly gave way to night as Alcard traversed the dense, secretive forest. The last remnants of sunlight cast long shadows between the towering trees. The evening air still carried traces of the rain from days past, mingling with the damp earth and the soft crunch of wet leaves beneath his horse's hooves. The narrow path he followed was increasingly overgrown, with roots breaking through the surface and wild undergrowth creeping like dark hands trying to hold him back.
Alcard guided his horse carefully, occasionally ducking under low-hanging branches that obstructed the way. His sharp eyes scanned every gap between the trees, alert to even the slightest movement. This forest was more than just a stretch of trees—it concealed unseen dangers, whether from wild beasts lurking in the shadows, bandits hungry for loot, or even mutated monsters prowling after nightfall. Yet, the presence of an Outcast like him was often enough to make bandits think twice before acting recklessly.
As night fully settled over the sky, the silhouette of a structure attached to The Wall finally emerged in the distance. An old outpost stood there, blending into the colossal defense line that had once been the first stronghold of humans, elves, and dwarves against the threats from the south. Now, it was inhabited only by the Outcasts, continuing a duty with no name, no recognition, and often, no hope.
The main gate of the outpost, long devoid of doors, was guarded by two Outcasts armed with nothing more than simple weapons. Their faces were hardened by years of exhaustion, but when their crimson eyes caught sight of Alcard's own glowing red gaze, the tension in their shoulders eased slightly. One of the guards, his voice hoarse from the cold and fatigue, was the first to speak.
"Back from a mission?" he asked curtly.
Alcard merely nodded, unwilling to waste words on unnecessary conversation. He stepped inside, leading his horse toward a small stable at the edge of the outpost, where a few other horses were resting, their breath visible in the cold night air.
Around a dwindling campfire in the center of the courtyard, several Outcasts sat in a circle. Their faces were weary, their soaked cloaks hanging from wooden branches to dry, while their worn weapons leaned against the rotting wooden walls. Some of them spoke in hushed voices, discussing the increasing frequency of monster attacks along The Wall. Others complained about dwindling supplies and the indifference of the lords of Middle Earth, who were too preoccupied with their political struggles to care.
Alcard approached the fire, letting its warmth seep into his cold body. Without a word, one of the Outcasts tossed a piece of hard bread his way. With swift reflexes, he caught it and took slow bites, washing it down with a few gulps from his leather water pouch, the liquid inside as cold and tasteless as ever. His eyes remained fixed on the flickering flames, as if searching for answers in the slow, dancing embers.
The surrounding buildings of the outpost looked worse than he remembered. Wooden walls were riddled with holes, rooftops sagged precariously, and the dwarven-built wooden lift attached to The Wall appeared more decrepit than ever, though still operational. He let out a long breath, realizing that this place had remained unchanged—still a neglected outpost barely holding its ground.
His thoughts drifted toward the report he needed to deliver to Oldman at the Central Headquarters. There were warnings to be given, dangers to be discussed. The threats outside were growing stronger, and though they had managed to endure thus far, Alcard knew a far greater storm was on the horizon.
Finishing his bread, he rose to his feet, fastening his belt and casting one last glance at The Wall, towering behind the outpost. Tonight, he would rest—but tomorrow, his journey would continue.
The Central Headquarters awaited, and with it, a heavier burden.
Located on the northern side of The Wall, the Central Headquarters was a vast fortress, rivaling the strongholds of the Lords of Middle Earth. Its grounds included key structures such as the command center, barracks for the Outcasts, supply storage, and watchtowers spread throughout its perimeter. The fortress was designed to withstand assaults from the south, making it a formidable stronghold despite its frequent resource shortages.
However, despite its size, the Central Headquarters was far from ideal. Many of its buildings lay abandoned, some having collapsed under the weight of time and relentless attacks from mutated creatures lurking beyond The Wall.
To the east and west, two additional outposts—the East Headquarters and West Headquarters—served as secondary defense points. Though slightly smaller than the Central Headquarters, they suffered from similar decay. Many structures had been left to rot, deemed too hazardous or unusable. The Outcasts were too preoccupied with mere survival to spare time or manpower for repairs. What little resources they had were allocated only to maintaining the most critical sections of the fortress, while the rest crumbled into neglect.
Despite these hardships, The Wall remained standing—a defiant symbol of resistance for those cast out from the outside world. Every crack in its structure and every ruined building bore witness to the long history of battles fought upon it. The Outcasts did not have the luxury to rebuild what had been lost.
They could only endure.
With whatever little they had, against whatever horror awaited in the darkness beyond.