The moons above shone a full silver light onto the packed sandstone street. A tense atmosphere filled the space, and murmurs floated in the night air. Tens of thousands were gathered, lined up like cattle. They were packed close together in neat rows, barely speaking.
Jorl—Zal’s lieutenant—sighed; “They're like scared animals.”
Along the rooftop with Jorl stood another soldier; it was a taller woman with a hook nose and luscious black hair. She stood eye to eye with Jorl, and her demeanor, as well as her decorated uniform, presented the woman with an undeniable hint of authority.
“Yes. They are as they were trained to be.” The woman stated—steepling her fingers as she surveyed the horde of poor outskirters.
“Uhm.” Jorl grunted before trailing off to a silent mutter as he walked past the officer. “Just as we were trained.”
The building the pair stood on was not too tall or unique; it was a simple sandstone home with a flat rooftop. It stood at the end of the long road and faced the crowd of near-silent outskirters with a concentrated gaze. It was as if the cookie-cutter building was a beacon for all the people—like moths to a flame.
“AHEM!”
Immediately, the low murmurs around the crowd silenced as Jorl walked to the rooftop's edge. Thousands of depraved eyes jumped up at him; there were more old than young, and the young looked just as worn and tired as the old. Sand and dirt were streaked across the skin of the outskirters; ‘It’s really this bad.’ Jorl gritted his teeth as he looked toward the people—his people.
Straightening his back and quenching the tremble in his knees, Jorl opened his mouth and began to speak, “I am here for one singular reason.” Jorl started. He tried to meet the eyes of as many outskirters as possible. He tried to read and absorb their emotions and feelings as they looked up at him. “There has been talk of something big, something… life-changing,” Jorl stated. “And I am here to deliver the news, the reason behind the event, and how it will affect you all.”
Tens of thousands stood still like stones as they listened to Jorl’s words. As soon as he mentioned that there were consequences relevant to them, the older outskirters slumped their shoulders and looked to the ground while the young ones perked up and listened with muted fervor.
“First, before I start with the event details, I hope you'll allow me to introduce myself.” Jorl said while pointing at himself, “I am a lieutenant for an outskirters enforcement unit.”
Silence…then whispers, an eruption of them. The previous averted, downcast eyes immediately shot up to glare at Jorl. Hostility was the only emotion present among them.
Outstretching his hands in a calming manner, Jorl cleared his throat. “I understand the fury—righteous fury—which you all feel, and I feel the same, " he said, looking intently at the outskirters.
Hostility changed to confusion in an instant. Eyes began to squint at him as the outskirters mulled over Jorl's words. Despite the emotionally turbulent speech, the outskirters remained silent and simply listened.
“The reason I feel your fury, the reason I understand it, is due to one thing.” Jorl said while holding up a finger, “I too am an outskirter.”
There were no words, shouts, or even any form of loud acknowledgment of Jorl’s words. Instead, the lieutenant was met with gaping mouths and speculative gazes. Could he be lying, they thought, but no, he couldn’t be lying; after all, no non-outskirter would brand themselves with the shame of the horrible birth-given title.
Jorl—aware but disinterested in the thoughts of the crowd—continued without faltering, “I disguised myself as a central citizen and joined the defense force. It was humiliating and gut-wrenching for me.” Jorl said, his lip trembling furiously as he glared at the outskirters, “It was horrible knowing what I was doing. Horrible that I was selling myself and my fists to the enemy.” Joel said, finally averting his gaze from the crowd and looking down at the windswept sandstone roof, “What I've had to do…Its…” Jorl bit his lip before taking a shaky breath. Collecting himself, Thorne sighed and looked back at the crowd, “Regardless of my own actions, I simply want you all to know that I present this piece of news not as a soldier of Kroll City but as an Outskirter. That’s all.” Jorl said with a jerky bow.
‘What's that.’ Jorl turned around as he heard the tapping sound of footsteps on the rooftop, “Please, good news,” He muttered as he clutched the approaching soldier in a quick hug, “What happened?” Jorl asked, face pale and sweat beginning to develop.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
The other man was completely unknown to Jorl, but he did know that he was on their side. The soldier looked up at Jorl with a grin. “They bloody did it!” he burst out.
“YES!” Jorl jumped up, pumping his fit. The bags under his eyes disappeared, and his face flushed with color. Jorl leaned back and grinned, and for the first time in weeks, his heart was free of terrible stress. “Tell the people, lad, tell them what happened!” He shouted while dragging the shorter soldier over to the edge, where he could see the people.
“Go on,” Jorl nudged, “Tell them.”
With bated breath, the outskirter looked up and watched as a junior soldier began to speak before them: “THE FARM HAS BEEN TAKEN! THE REVOLUTION HAS BEGUN!” he shouted at the top of his lungs.
Jorl joined in; “WE HAVE BEEN OPRRESED FAR TOO LONG! THIS IS OUR CHANCE TO BE FREE! RAHH!” He screamed—veins popping and with a full red face.
His proclamation, which was full of devotion and fervor, was…ignored. The outskirters did begin to whisper hesitantly, but only a few of them actually discussed Jorl and the other soldier's words.
“COME ON LADS!” Jorl screamed, “DO NOT SUBMIT TO THEIR WILL WHN THEY ARENT EVEN HERE! LOOK AT THE SMOKE!” Jorl said, motioning franticly at the plume of smoke that was slowly coiling in the distance, “THE…FARM…HAS…BEEN…BLOODY…TAKEN!” Jorl screamed, “WE HAVE AN OPPORTUNITY FOR FREEDOM!” Jorl motioned violently with his hands, pointing to the crowd, “SHOW SOME DAMN GRIT!”
Silence again. Jorl paced angrily around the rooftop as he watched the silent crowd. The old, the young, the men, and the woman were all shifting and looking down at the road as they heard Jorl’s words. Jorl sighed as a single tear escaped his eyes. The many moons illuminated his figure as he paced around the building. His grief and despair were present for everyone to see; he was the poor clown meant to entertain the poor slaves.
“rahh!”
Jorl stopped suddenly and cocked his head as he heard the noise! ‘Someone did it! Maybe there's hope!’ He stood still and watched with widened eyes as the magic of the outskirters began to take place.
The spark was lit, and dozens of people began to roar, “Rahhh!”
Then it was hundreds, as even the children began to join in the ceremonious war cry; “Rahh!”
Thousands, then tens of thousands, began to scream. In no time, all of the dirty, poor, and tired outskirters were screaming to the moon, and Jorl joined in; “RAAHHHHHHH!” Smiling Jorl surveyed the crowd as he chanted, ‘So, they still haven’t killed the chant.’
“RAHHHHHHHHH!”
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“Do not lie to me, young one.” A firm voice stated. The words came from an older man with blinding white curly hair and bright blue eyes. He sat in a plush yellow chair that was the exact same color as his shining yellow spectrum crystal.
“I’m not lying, sir, I swear.” The young man said. He stood hunched over in the doorway while heaving deep, heavy breaths. He was dressed in the typical white garb of a common soldier and was clearly not a cultivator. Through strenuous breaths, the man restated what he had said earlier; “The farm has been taken. I was there…and I…I.” The young man’s eyes shot close, and his face scrunched as he stopped speaking.
“It’s okay, young man. You did all you could.” A soothing feminine voice called out. The yellow cultivator turned to look at the person who had spoken. Around a dozen people—all cultivators—were sitting around a dark brown circular table. Everyone appeared middle-aged, and all of them were adorned with a unique spectrum crystal.
The woman who had spoken sat on the opposite end of the yellow cultivator. She stood out against the rest of the room due to her young visage; she looked no older than twenty! With flowing brown hair and mysterious pink eyes, the woman was a true beauty. She peered lovingly at the man, and her soothing tone seemed to calm the soldier. “Do you mind sharing what happened during the takeover of the farm, young man?” She asked with a small smile.
The man straightened his back with difficulty as he turned to the woman. Upon seeing her beauty, his eyes widened, and a slight tremble afflicted his legs; “O-of course, ma’am.” He said with a bow. “It was a quiet night, and me and the rest were patrolling like usual. Then, out of nowhere, we heard shouts from the farm ground.” He said with trembling lips, “The others and I looked down, and we saw a nonhuman carrying one of the blue practitioners!” He said with great emphasis, “And then…” The soldier looked down at the floor while pursing his lips, “And then…he appeared.” He stuttered out.
“WHO?” The yellow cultivator shouted while leaning forward in his seat, “Who appeared?”
The soldier—unable to look any of them in the eyes—opened and closed his mouth before finally speaking, “It was a dual practitioner; amber and red. He killed our practitioners before escaping down the wall.” He said with a hollow tone. The soldier’s eyes were dead and glazed as he peered at the black marble floor, “He was a…calamity.” He murmured, “Before escaping, he opened the gate. After that…” The man finally looked up to the panel of practitioners, “Choas and death.”
A cultivator with a brown crystal nodded, “So there were many reinforcements?” He probed with a stern but still friendly tone.
The soldier nodded in response.
Standing up, the pink spectrum beauty walked over to the soldier and patted his shoulder; “Thank you for your bravery young man, you will be apparently compensated for your mettle. You may go.” She said, motioning for him to leave.
The soldier nodded, before stumbling out of the room and closing the large double doors. The moonlight streamed in from the skyscraper’s windows as the pink cultivator took her seat once again. “So,” She said, looking around at the dozen or so other cultivators, “What do you all propose we do about this little problem.”
The yellow cultivator shot to his feet, “What do you think!” He snarled, “We bloody take it back with everything we have!” He shouted. Slowly turning, the old yellow spectrum cultivator peered into every cultivator’s eyes—searching for any sign of objection. “Rally all practitioners, soldiers, and able-bodied warriors we have! The assault begins in two days!”