Disclaimer: I will not follow the rules and boundries of Azeroth exactly in this story, This is purely to see what my story writing and role playing skills are and if I like doing so. Any comments are more then welcome and so are any suggestions on improvement in my writing style.
Name: Kyle Smith
Status: Single (No children or previous wifes), Abandoned
Powers/Abillites: None, yet...
Appearance: This will get updated along the way.
A soft thumb sped ahead of the stinging pain erupting in Kyle's stomach, abrubtly his eyes shot open with tears pouring down his cheeks as Dann stood towering above his sleeping bag, Another stone ready in his hand. "Get up maggot!" He scowled at Kyle before bringing his arm back for another swing. Quickly Kyle braced himself for the incoming rock, bringing his hands up to his face and closing his eyes underneath, waiting for the impact.
Though there was no pain as the sound of stone clattering across the floor indicated the lack of aim Dann provided, "Miss!" He scowled back at him. Then everything went blurry before his eyes as he could see the vague image of a boot before his eyes when he lost his consiousness. Apparently his aim wasn't so bad aftherall.
Kyle had grown up on the streets. The old lady who had found and raised him as one of her own, had died in the last winter cold. Now beeing able to take care of himself. He and three other 'dirts', thats what people called them, dirt. Managed to keep themselves alive during the winters, mugging and tricking travellers and even the occasional merchant. They sticked together purely because they couldn't fight off a full grown man alone once they got caught, not even to mention a city guard.
By now they had learned the city, every hole, every sewage pipe. Basicly everything big enough to fit an eleven year-old boy through. They were the ones who knew the city and what happend on, and off, the streets.
'Dirts' they were called, the name fit.
Ofcourse there were more Dirts on the streets of Pentel and they would run into them occasionally. Most of them shared their knowledge of the city, but never about their area. The dirts had devided the city into different areas, each group claiming a part. Ofcourse the strongest groups picked the wealthiest areas, the nobles houses or the market place. Each dirt knew exactly who had claimed what area and if another group of dirts took home in their area without permission. It ment war and only the strongest would survive. It was the only thing they had: their piece of the city.
Sam, Victor and Kyle were the only pieces of dirt without a pack, homeless. They banded together, desperate, and searched for a home. Soon they realized they had no where to go, not even the servants tier was available without a fight. Most packs held ten if not more dirts, and there was no way they could challenge that many.
They had no where to go, no where but The Rot.
Kyle had grown up in The Rot, the lowest place a man could sink, a place not even a servant would live. The streets are filled with unknown people, the strangest figures and races of such, thiefs and murderers, outcast and ladys of pleasure.
The huge city wall towers above most of the buildings in The Rot, blocking the sun for most parts of the day. Throwing a blanket of shadow across it's streets, making it even more grim.
For the couple hours the sun did manage to peek over the city walls and lit the streets, a dozen of open seweges pipes ended up in open resevois. The warm sun amplifing it's smell a tenfold.
Though the higher tiers of the city remained free from the smell, as the constant mountain breeze coming from Mt. Pentel carried it away from the city towards the open plains of Dargoth. The massive city was build in tiers, each one rising above the other on the mountain slope. The higher you lived, the more important you were.
The Rot was the bottom tier, and the palace beeing the highest.
Dann was taking their area, it ment war, and it wasn't looking good.
Life began early on the streets of Pentel as the warm summer sun rose slowly into the sky, banishing the night for the day. Merchants began setting up their stores and stands around the market place infront of the palace. The blue marble wall surrounding the palace made up the north side of the market square. A silver coated gate standing twenty feet tall in the center. Six statue's were guarding the marble wall, three on each side of the gate, each honoring one of the Soraia.
Kyle could spend hours looking at the statue's, the gate or the marble wall and the towers which rose behind it. He had read the golden plaques beneath the statue's a thousand times. In honor of Syla Durnhold, sixt member of the Soraia, guardian of the palace. He had only seen her once, she was the last of the Soraia, the last guardian of the palace. There had been six of them but she had been the only one who survived the War of the three Reigns. Others had fallen, given their lives for their king and queen.
He had admired them, though he had only seen one, from the stories he heard on the streets. The tales grew bigger and more heroic as they passed from mouth to mouth, Kyle knew that, but it didn't matter. They were the best swordsman, the most powerfull sorcerers king Tharian could find. So ofthen had he dreamt of his statue standing there, guarding the palace gates with his very own golden plaque shimmering in the morning sun.
Why was he dreaming? He knew his place, his status. His statue would never stand guard there.
Wake up.. he tried to shake the dream off him, wake up..
"Wake up!" a voice echoed through his head now, "Get up you piece of dirt!" the voice repeated with the slightest tone of annoyance woven into it. Kyle realised it was not he who told him to wake up, though he recognized the voice. "I think he's dead Dann" another voice whispered. He had woken up now but kept his eyes closed wisely, feigning dead proved usefull to him several times before. "Looks like the last dirt of the Rot has died then" and Kyle felt Dann's shoe bury itself deep into his stomach.
Unbearable pain rushed through his body, his stomach felt crushed, biting his lips and tongue to muffle his screams. As hard as he tried, the sound of his muffled scream could still be heard. "Apperantly this piece of dirt doesn't know how to die", Dann scowled noticing Kyles reaction, reaching for the rusted iron sword on his back. So this is it? Have I survived for eleven years for this?
Kyle opened his eyes now, covered in tears, scanning the area around him. He lay in the alley behind 'The Paddle', the most famous house of pleasure in the Rot. Well basicly the most famous in the whole city as only the Rot held such houses. Only drunkards, dirts and other shady people made their way through these alleys. "The Rot is ours.. Kyle" the last word he spit out towards the boy laying at feet.
Dann raised the sword high above his head, sliding into a clumsy battle stance, getting ready to strike down at Kyle. This can't be it... please Lysos spare me.. forgive me! Kyle prayed to the only god he heard of, Lysos. The god only the nobles would pray to, god of the rich and powerfull. Did I live for this? He questioned him, a thousand thoughts flashing to his mind as Dann brought his sword down.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you" ringed through the alley, Dann stopped his strike mid-way to see who had interupted them. Fury rose to his eyes as he saw a girl, probably in her mid twentys, standing a few paces away from them. A dark hood covering most of her fiery red hair and two slightly curved blades, each atleast a armslenght long, strapped to the back of her black silk tunic. 'And who might you be?" Dann questioned her with rising anger.
Kyle had opened his eyes afther hearing the femine voice. "Leave the boy alone" she replied, ignoring Dann's question, while slowly walking towards them. Dann mentioned to his followers, four other dirts standing in a row behind Dann watching the scene, "Kill her while I finish this".
The four dirts standing behind Dann now unsheathed their swords, each weilding a different though equally rusted blade, and began charging the girl now simply paces away.
"Damn you Lysos" Kyle heard her mumble as she drew the blades from her back, parrying one of the incoming bars of rust, and flung herself over the shoulder of the first dirt coming at her. Her blade finding it's way into the poor boy's spine and ripping upwards as she completed the swing over his shoulder, landing in a perfect battle stance. Outpacing, parrying and blocking every swing the three threw at her while remaining the elegance of her stance, it was a dance.
Within moments the remaining three found themselves disarmed and cut across the most lethal parts of the body, though none deep enough to actually inflict the damage. "This is my last warning, leave the boy alone" She said once more, her voice deadly calm. Dann had been watching the fight while sharpening his blade on a rock, "Worthless pieces of dirt, can't even kill a girl four to one?" He scowled at the retreating dirts. Dann's eyes locked into hers as he brought up his sword and flung himself towards her.
Fierce light started to radiate underneath the girls hood, flowing out as if to form a wall of light infront of her. He found himself in mid air as he crashed through the wall of light, causing it to stick to his skin. He stopped his charge in confusion, light radiated from every piece of skin exposed under his ripped clothes, lowering his sword and his eyes scanning his body. "Nice.." He grinned, pleased as he had expected much worse when he saw the magic erupt infront of him.
Dann brought his sword straight up this time, hoping to cut the girl from bottom to top, as he felt every bit of light sink into his body. Flowing through his nerve systems, burning each body cell as they passed by. His sword clatterd on the stones as burning pain flowed through his body, rising up to his head, the light muting any sound that came through.
Before the pain could reach his head it had burned his heart enough for life to leave it, causing his body to remain silent on the floor.
"Damnit Lysos!" She scowled, Who.. who is she? Kyle's hands were shaking, unable to decide which one he had to fear most. Lysos, the god who had just spared his life, and she was cursing it?
Afther picking up a cloak from one of the dirts to clean her blades, the girl walked towards Kyle. Still laying on the floor, he steadied his grip on the dagger and brought it upwards pointing at the girl.
Kyle's actions caused the girl to burst out in laughter, dropping her hood and revealing the rest of her face. -Do not fear her-, echoed through his mind, but his jaw had dropped wide open and his breath froze when he saw who stood infront of him. "Syla-" he ran out of breath before he could finish the sentence.
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