“You do well to mind your business when matters don’t concern you.” Hagrieve
Chapter 16: The Wolf on Wall Street (Part II)
I was hunted not for the first time or the last. The naked Warrior unlike the seven brethren took his time making his way to me.
Tears streamed down my face as snot shot from my snout. The heat of hot ash burned my eyes as I scampered for a bush before the stone boundary that hadn't been burned to cinder.
Everywhere, they were lying everywhere.
The corpses of Wolfmen would not be buried but consumed by the orange flames that had caught the village in the mist.
On came a thought, birthed by the weak.
'Stop running, join kin." That's what they were. The dozens of bludgeoned and battered Kin somehow deemed unfit to be carted off.
They were of a Kin, but they were not my Kin. They were not, it was evident since birth. I couldn't call out to any of the deceased. They were not of my line, and if they were, would I mourn? I didn't think that I would.
The Warrior whistled a tune, my Huntsman was reminding me of his coming. But where could I run. I hadn't eaten my fill; my lungs had burned long before the ash and flame. The only way out was to run pass the stones.
'I should just die.' My fleeting will to live had faded and my sticks for legs would soon give out. I ached, running on all fours to take some of the burden off of my hind legs. If only I wasn't the family chew toy, maybe I wouldn't have grown with my tail wrapped around one of my legs.
I had fallen and I didn't want to get up.
The warrior covered in blood was at my back, I could smell it. I froze at the sound of singing sword about to slice me open.
My lungs didn't get me as far as I thought, 'pitiful.' Whimpering, I turned, hefting myself from the dirt as pleadingly as I could, crawling backwards to further my distance.
My eyes were on the warrior's leg armor; my ears were to the wind.
I wouldn't and couldn't scream or howl, if it was somehow possible, it would be for not, for help would never come. My life should have ended on this day. And in the following minute I'd be left a corpse, eyes open filled with fear.
'No, greet death, near.' I was a Wolf of the mist, starting today. This was how the Runt would meet glory, slain by a crazed Warrior, who had forgone his Fur.
'Life was never worth living.' Opening my eyes that had closed in fear, I calmed my aching, burning heart, and I tasted bile on my dry tongue. The taste of Sorsel berry bush would be the last thing I had tasted.
'This was what I've been waiting for right?' The warrior approached ridiculing me, twirling his blade. If only he knew, the favor he was doing the Runt. It wasn't the first time someone laughed at the sight of me, at least I was staring death in the eye.
A sword gleamed above his right hand. Pity is what the Warrior would pay me. He was still overjoyed to take my life. As the blade came down to take my head my eyes widened in terror.
The warrior too must have been unlucky. In mist and silence, he was picked apart from the neck by that the same color as the Sorsel berry thorn.
A [Merceer] had taken his head leaping from the treetops, feasting on his remains in broad tree light. Its antlers took no time piercing his thick neck, its bared teeth dug into its meal with a feral fervor.
Picking myself up with my malnourished arms I proceeded to run.
The [Merceer] must not have seen me as much of a meal. I was spared of its haunting halting squeal.
Running to the forefront of the village the Chief had been hanged on the tallest totem; his eyes, teeth, claws, and hide were missing. As to why the Warrior left him there to hang, I knew not why.
Once the protector of the village, now a corpse riddled with arrows. I was scared for my life after despair had washed over me. Before I had realized that it was the Chief hanging, I had wished that it was my Kin getting what he deserved.
Tears clouding as the heat from flaring reddish-orange flame brightened. I continued to run as falling branches and kindles were the only sounds to be heard in the forest of mist.
My heart raced as fear propelled me forward. And I would soon collapse from exhaustion. Out of breath, energy, and will. I had been pushed to my limit while danger was still afoot.
Collapsing into the mud and mist that was no longer visible under a fled flame. I gasped for the air that had fled my malnourished lungs. I was down for the count but at the least I had escaped.
==
To wake in chains is a terrifying experience. No room to move, no voice to howl, no will to live. I would like to skip this part of my life.
The time I spent learning of a weight, a weight, heavier than the gnawed silver chains.
Tis the decade of loss.
'The Runt was born the chew toy. I would never fight back or oppose my mother or brothers. It was natural, easirer, to fear the unknown.
What mattered most was that I was 'Alive,' and that was better than being dead. This was the Runt's mindset. I thought... I thought wrong, often did I the malnourished Runt think wrong.
Humans are Monsters.
Correction: Anyone can be a monster. All it requires is a position and power, a position in power, or lastly a position of power. There's a difference between the three the Runt would grow to learn.
The first man had taken my innocence, the second a kidney, no pity, would be given to the Runt bound by silver chain.
Dazed and confused more times than I can count. I would soon be sold to a woman. A woman looking for a nice toy. In turn this woman was given- The Runt.
She took my testicles and later... I would like to forget this part.
The pain, heavy is the burden.
What was left of the Runt? My mind was yet to break, probably because I had never put up a fight.
I don't think you can call what I did, putting up a fight. The woman got what was coming to her a month after taking it from me. She had bought someone of worth and Title, I was part of the two for one special she had taken. Someone who was in the wrong place at the wrong time, I never found out who she had crossed.
Bandits didn't care who they sold. To a bandit, gaining coin was the only thing of worth. It triumphed over sex and booze the Runt would one day learn. But before he can learn anything, the Runt has to leave the rusted cage.
An Elf breaks into the Woman's hideout. The Woman who rattles the Steel tonsils across rusting Prison cell gets what was coming to her.
The Elven Man hadn't offered her mercy. But he had given me his pity, a kindness. I was freed from the rusty prison cell that belonged to the fat sweaty sadistic human. The woman who had nothing better to do but take from me.
The Elves carried me back to the Forest of Mists pitying the Runt. It was there a light healer aided my broken body and made an attempt at tending my shattered mind, she tried healing what was left of me.
Some things can't be fixed.
I was Fead, washed, and clothed out of pity. More than what my Kin would ever do for me. I kept my eyes, head, and ear down for a year in the Elven village staying with the healer and helping her where I could.
Ilveen was her name. She was the first caring person I had ever met, a woman who expected nothing in return despite the Runt's questioning of her kindness.
I wasn't something to be cured, a wound to be closed, a disease to be eradicated.
Since my arrival in the Elven village, the sun had shined, the people had laughed. This wasn't the Kaltamori of Mist's I had known all my life. It didn't smell like it. The mist was nowhere to be found. And the stones were not there to keep the Elven in or out. The Trees were not carved into housing but grown and molded.
My days under Ilveen's care had gone from days to weeks, into months, on to a year, and I had finally become somewhat healthy. Fur sprouts from the skin until there is but a few round patches left, some patches larger than the others.
The Runt's body and mind were now at war.
I cowered when anyone lifted a hand towards me, I was still unable to look anyone in the eye. My voice could not be healed for it was a problem at birth and my head stayed down for another year to come.
Life goes on. The Runt of the Elven village became an assistant to Ilveen the healer.
It hadn't crossed my mind at the time that this would be a cause of envy.
Everyone in the village knew of me and pitied me, including myself. My mind had been ravaged. The Runt's body had been taken, and it would never return. Ilveen had made me feast on her cooking, meat, vegetables, and something that smelled of the sun itself.
My fur was trying to heal the patches that Wolfman and She wolf had left. And this is when I felt hatred for the first time, seeing my reflection. They were no real Mother and Father to me, not where it counts.
Five years of keeping my head down the lonely Wolf assistant to Ilveen. She had become the only woman to care for me. I was a growing thirteen-year-old wolf whose growth had been stunted. I had put off classing up for long enough.
The Elves were a cultured High Race back then. Ilveen was a giver and she had taught me much. Sign language, a way of communicating through hand movement along with the elven alphabet and numerals took me two years to learn. An Elven woman had helped me communicate and it was the greatest gift of all, but not the most helpful in the least. It was she who informed me about the system more than my parents ever could or would.
I’d be dead by now if the village hadn't burned to ash. It is to her I am eternally grateful to for trying to heal what cannot be mended.
Making a decision, I waited another year to choose a class. It was quite taboo for anyone to wait fourteen years for their first class, but I wasn't in a rush. I wanted to let go of the Title of Runt and cut ties with God Kalmotin who had forsaken me. Seven years from birth I had been denied the rights of the living. Another seven years to date and I would be reborn as my own Wolf hopefully being the Runt wouldn’t hold me back much.
I wonder when was it? When did I start hoping.
The Runt’s mind was ravaged by what was taken and he still hunched. Starting over wasn’t an option until now I had found a home that was ready to accept me, all I had to do was accept it in turn.
Life goes on. Head down thirteen years, my growing height was making my action of reason and loss an offensive act. High Elves were past prideful and vain, and they didn’t like being looked down on by anything other than a tree.
It was at this age that I came in contact with an Elven council leader and was misjudged for not acting appropriately, all I did was walk in his vicinity without paying anyone mind out of fear. Ilveen the healer had tried her best to speak for me when I could not, but it's hard to get a word through to a man of arrogance and pride.
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The Runt had felt the harsh sting of prejudice and was no longer welcome in the village of Elves. The experience was missed call that he'd taken note of.
He may have left the Kaltamori of Mists, but the mists reach far outstretched tree breach.
Ilveen had used one of her connections to relocate me to a snow elf village saying that "my fur and armor would help me go a long way in acclimating to the cold weather."
The Elves were kicking me out of the village and Ilveen was the messenger, it appears my burden had become too much for her to carry.
Disappointment had found me, once again. With my head bowed I was carried around by the wind alone. You start to notice the void after you're in better health, don't stare into it or it'll stare back.
Halfway to the village of Snow elves, our group entered human territory and things took a turn for the worse. Slavers had tried and failed to capture us, and the Elves decided to rest in a human town to lick their wounds. Ilveen had told me that "all humans weren't the same but I'd yet to see that for myself."
It was a time when Humans were taking Kin as slaves, and I didn't have anything to say about it other than growing discomfort. Elves on the other hand had their ideals. They took it upon themselves to spread the sun where it did not shine.
"The Goddess of Nature Praede seeks freedom and liberation for all!"
"The Gods will not stand for these attacks on the Kin!"
"Those Earthen shall roam free!" They could shout all they like. The Gods teaching always turnout to bare an edge.
Nonsense and brainwashing, 'Gods care not,' I would never speak my opinion. An opinion I took as fact. I was unable to share my opinion with anyone. Also, I wasn't brave enough to speak blasphemy. The third reason was that I had Elven escorts in their cloaks of heroism who didn't care to learn the sign language.
I grew cold in their presence. Or maybe it was [Death's Call] making it easier to part ways. Ilveen had warned me of the effects of some General skills saying that "I can't hope for the best without receiving some of the worse."
I couldn't recall "hoping" to begin with. I can barely recall the last time my back wasn't hunched over in fear. Fear of dying, no, fear of enslavement.
That same day I decided to stop by the adventurer's guild and register, so that I would be less likely of being enslaved. And that same night the young hot-headed Elves decided to free slaves. This ended in nothing but death, and sorrow, not a single slave rescued.
The Mute who kept his head lowered was learning. The problem now. I was a Beast Kin in human lands. The Adventure's Guild in this town was my only means of sanctuary. Thankfully I had taken the chance when it had first revealed itself, to join up. My eyes may lower, but my ears, good and bad, remain alert.
The Runt has become an Adventurer, and what a field it is to work in.
Loss is the life of an Adventurer. You lose your companions, you lose your coin, and lastly, you lose your limbs, organs, and in time your life.
"Take the easy jobs," that would be a good Idea if I wasn't a "Wretched Beast," as the Priests say.
Adventuring life calls to you once you’ve learned the ropes. If you're not on a team, you’ll always be bouncing around. Betrayal leaves one traveling from one place to another. That was my fate never to share a bed, never to share a heart, never to share a home. Luckily, I had a [Death's Call] to sense when death was near. I was quite lucky in some lines of work, such as Dungeon Delivery.
A bit of training from coming and going associates kept me alive and I survived to fourteen.
In a passing Guild Hall in front of the eyes of everyone willing is where I chose my first class. I trusted, no one to watch over me, that said, everyone held themselves accountable under the gaze of a GuildMaster.
I didn't know what to expect on my first class up. Ilveen had set me up with lessons on light healing that I couldn't turn down mainly because she wouldn't let me. I wasn't a warrior, nor a Healer, I was a survivor and my classes told me so.
No one would gouge that it was my First class up. That's what I thought... I paid a few meager coppers for some random guildmates to watch over my body while they enjoyed a drink. Not a word could be heard as I drifted off. "Acquiring a Class," as Ilveen put it.
It was a dream wrapped in reality. As soon as I decided to Class up, I lost consciousness.
A fog had clouded my mind, who was I kidding? It was the Mist. Though this shade of mist came as a trial, as I was robbed of sight.
A darkness had come in mist form seeping in through the cracks of the Adventurers Guild, I thought myself under attack. Feeling the mist wrap across my ankles the heaviness of Kalmotori remained, gripping my heart, taking root in my legs. And before I knew it, I was walking towards the smell of the Chief's blood.
The potent burning scent of blood, piss, ash, and tree root caused the edges of my snout to burn. The closer I got to the village's stone encirclement, the more my legs my heart trembled, causing my legs to wobble.
The burning scent wisping across the black mist served as a warning. I ignored that warning for I was on the out looking to get in. What waited for me in the darkness was far worse than what I knew to be in the burning village.
I walked toward the burning village, in the distance. The trees were drier the closer I got to the village totem. I was yet to even see the village from so far out, but I knew the Kaltamori when I smelled it.
The Orange light grew brighter and brighter as I reached tree break. And soon through the dark mist, I had found my way in front of the village totem. Stepping on the stone my leg twitched. This was a place I should never have called Home.
I knew in my chest that I had left something here. All those years ago. The Runt was still stuck in the doorway of my past. A past that contained nothing of importance.
Hot tears as if hanging on the air since that terrible day trickled down my face. They were a figment of my imagination, another conjuration of the System. That said what I felt was real.
I pitied the Runt. I was still the Runt deep down but now there was more; the future allowed me to change, to try and change. But him, the seven-year-old Runt conjured by the System was stuck here. There was no leaving this hellscape.
The hellscape flickers as the burning wooden totem of a Wolf's skull held up by tree flashes in front of my face creaking only to fall into ash. As those ashes find their way into my lungs I cough and gasp for air.
Blinking my eyes to somehow get rid of the burning ash. Suddenly, I am filled with a loss, some sort of disappointment cloud's my mind, as my eyes stare at the Runt placed in front of me who has emerged from the ashes. I am unable to hide my judgement, I feel the pity directed towards the Runt. Pity plagues my mind like the phantom pains of those parts severed, gone, forever. I would never heal from the loneliness that was my reality. How could I possibly think myself better than the Runt.
As one problem is solved another arises.
The Runt had vanished, and the Totem was back in front of my very eyes burning. The totem had come back from the ashes.
Walking past the village totem, I ignore my need to touch what I think is an illusion. The heat emitted from the totem spoke of a foreseen danger. I would end up burned by the orange flickers. I instead chose to keep searching for the Runt left here in Kaltomori.
Trees that had been hollowed out into homes welcomed me, on entry, I was met with ash. The Wooden doors had been unhatched and removed allowing a clear view of the Kaltomori's innards. I had wished to be someone else's Kin too many times to count.
Useless thoughts clouded my mind. What would life be like if I sat at the wooden round tables as a Wolfmen Warrior, a courageous Braver, The Chief?
'Useless' Indulging myself in a drink would be the Death of me. Neither would having one kidney help with drowning my feelings. I could never be the Chief drinking myself asleep once in honor of a battle to the death won.
'Be the death of me.' As my hands dug into the ground, I turned my head to look back at the totem up above making the village hidden in the mist a beacon.
'Someone, see me!' I should hide before they come.' I had broken the rules, I was going to die.
On turning my head there, I saw It. Hesitating I steeled myself and walked up to ‘The Runt’ who walked towards me mirroring my every movement, we both hobbled to each other. Malnourishment had weakened the bones that would be raddled by unsympathizing Kin. Seeing the image of my very soul, the very last ember of innocence. I knew then that 'Administrators had no right being here.' I could see that now.
We spoke at the same time and scenes of my misery started to play out in front of me, doom and death. I felt like I was dying on the inside, but I knew death wouldn't take me. As we walked towards each other we spoke in unison.
“Runt, we more, we survive." The Runt was unable to think in complete sentence nor could he speak. This village, what remains of it was keeping us here.
I wanted more than what Kaltamori had to offer. I can't be just the Runt of a Litter, not anymore.
"I am a survivor." The words came to me, they stuck to me, as the village dirt, my hands.
"I Forsake the God of the Wolf-Kin Kalmotin, in his name and strike out on my own he is no God of mine, nor can he ever be." Words of power had been spoken. Words found in me but never spoken.
I use "We" instead of I, to know that one's sense of self has been broken. I'll be picking up the pieces I left.
A scene of that wretched woman taking from me was shown on either side of us.
Both images are covered by black ash as if the Trial couldn't replicate the image.
Behind the ash, I see the cleaver she used to chop away a part of me raising one arm above the other as I'm strapped down by chains. But before her arm drop's I hear the ringing of the blades edge.
I remember the sound of a Warriors blade. The woman made of ash morphs into my interpretation of Kalmotin a four-armed wolf God of brawn and he does the task of ending my line for her. And he proceeds to chop away something most vital. It hurt this rejection, it made me feel worthless, a worthlessness implanted in me since birth. As if being the Runt of the litter wasn't punishment enough. I would bear it.
It's not that I could bear the burden, what did it matter if I could? I would have to live with it. The Runt would survive this Trial and the next.
Kalmotin seeks my death, and he uses a hag as a disguise.
'Pathetic,' I run out of words for that of my past.
“I name myself Clivent Bane, I will survive. For my own sake, I will strive in search of someone who will love me for the Runt that I am! Someone who will lighten the burden of being the Bane of my own existence. The Runt was born weaker than the litter, but he has potential. I have the potential to overcome any trials for I have felt the cold embrace of Death. And I choose to live. We will survive!"
Dropping to my knees in surrender I embraced the Runt, the person who I didn't want to pity.
I whisper ‘I love you’ into the child's ears no one had ever said those words to me. The Runt whispers no such words back. Instead, my specter lists out my Classes options.
I realized that the Runt wasn’t talking at all. I would always be mute and that was fine by me.
(BLUE) [Wolven Heretic] - The Wolven Heretic rebukes God of the Pack for everything he stands for. He realizes that God's Power is a lie and sees him for what he truly is: A wolf who ate and betrayed his brethren not to survive but out of Pride and Arrogance. The [Wolven Heretic] embraces being alone and finds his strength Through finding and sharpening his inner self.] +10 to strength +15 to vitality +5 to Dexterity +5 to Agility +5 to mana per level + 8 free stats per level (Warning!!!)
(RED) [Survivor of the Unfit] - Born the Runt of the Litter and has survived seven years to class up. He Thrives in hazardous environments growing stronger in body and mind.] +20 to Vitality +15 to Strength +5 to Agility +2 to Dexterity per level +2 to Mana per level +4 free stats per level (Warning!!!)
(PURPLE) [Wolf of Longing] - A Beast, the outcast. When Alone the Wolf finds inner strength through perseverance. A Wolf of Isolation may Devolve if burden becomes too much to carry, Bonus experience will be gained when traveling alone.] +25 to vitality +2 to Dexterity +25 to strength +10 to Agility per level +7 free stats per level (Warning!!!)
(MAROON) [Adventuring Devotee] - Has started a life of Adventuring, Not yet finding his crowd he never stops the hunt for wealth and Fortune. Even death's call won’t slow him in his hunt for the mysteries of the world that lie in wait.] +5 to Vitality +10 to Agility +5 to Dexterity +5 to Strength per level +5 free stats per level
(ORANGE) [Searcher of Life's Line] - Sterile, neglected, and unable to produce your line. You have dedicated your life to Staying alive and finding more to life. Adventuring, Exploring, and wondering, you long to feel. Deep in your heart, you search for life’s last line. A Class dedicated to keeping you alive to find that which will fill your void.] +2 to vitality per level +5 to strength per level +4 to Mana per level +5 to Intelligence Per level +2 to Magic power per level +1 free stat per level
It was unfound to be offered four classes of rarity. It was uncommon to not be offered a normal white class. It was most abnormal to have five starter classes all of the darkest shades, out of those five Classes all would be unseen by Ilveen.
A boon that I understood every word that didn't come out of the Runt's mouth. The classes went in one ear and out the other. Nothing stuck until I heard the description of [Searcher of Life's line].
It was the one for me, it was mine. A Class that made me feel ashamed, as a constant reminder of what had been taken from me, but it was also more. It was a promise to stay alive and find what was to live for. The Runt didn’t know how to live for himself he never would. I didn't want to die but I never had anything worth living for.
I was going to find my line. He would try.
The Runt had wondered for one hundred and fifty-nine years give or take. Adventuring had taken its toll, but I never felt old even though the years hadn’t been kind. He had become a wolf, and the wolf would never stop searching for his Line. Look up Runt we've got another day ahead of us.
-
"A day, better than the last perhaps worse than the one before."