Dale

Dale Stormblade awakes from a strange vision, determined to find a man he has not seen in over a decade.

A man stands, his back arched over, a small axe in his hands. His wrists are bound by heavy iron chains, chafing skin raw. His axe smacks into the trunk of a tree, again and again. 

He does not remember his real name. It has been too long since it was uttered by another human being. While there are other humans in the camp, they only call him by Amoz�"the name given when he was first taken captive. 

His body is bruised and scarred from countless beatings. Even after his years in slavery, he has not learned to obey his masters without hesitation or a witty retort�"leading to a crack of the whip against his skin, or worse. Yet while his body has been tortured to ruins, no amount of scars can hide the muscle underneath. Easily the strongest slave his captors own, they cannot afford to kill such a legendary asset. 

A black leather whip snaps across his bare back, causing fresh blood to spill down his skin. ‘Just because you’re the best,’ a rough-voiced creature snarls, ‘that doesn’t mean you can slack off! I’ve seen you cut down trees faster than that!’ 

‘Screw you,’ the slave says. The whip comes down again, slashing across his side. He flinches at its blow, but refuses to give in. ‘Someday I’ll escape, and when I do, I’ll kill you first.’ Of course, it is all talk. He has not truly thought of escape in years. Countless attempts have forced him to accept that there will be no escape. Over time, he has contented himself with simple rebellions and idle threats.

‘Work harder, or it’ll be the hotbox for you,’ the creature warns. It plods off with another crack of the whip, boots squelching in the mud. 

Dale knows this is no dream. It is more than the mundane nightmares he has had over the years. It feels both real and surreal at the same time. Amoz’s face is one that Dale Stormblade hasn’t seen in over a decade. A face with eyes that shine green like emeralds, partly covered by dark wavy hair, which reaches down to his neck. The scar across his cheek is new, and his hair has begun to grey at the roots, but he is mostly as Dale remembers him from that night years earlier. 

If you wish to free Amoz from the burden of slavery and torture, a voice speaks in Dale’s head. It is a voice that cuts deep into his mind. You must find me. Follow your feelings, and do not doubt the promptings you may feel along the way. To begin, find the entrance to the Underdoom that lies a few days South. I will be waiting. 

Dale jerked awake, drenched in sweat. 

He took three deep breaths before sitting up and hanging his legs over the side of the bed. Dale put his head in his hands. ‘For years,’ he said to himself, ‘I have thought you dead.’ He stood and wiped the sweat from his brow. ‘Is it possible that you are still alive, captive to some wretched fiends, gods know where?’ 

He tried to wrap his head around it all. Dale flinched as he thought back to the voice he had heard. It was dark and harsh, like how he imagined a demon would speak. It reminded him too much of the shadows of his past�"come back to haunt him. It frightened him to the core, and following what it said was the last thing he wanted to do. But he would do it regardless. 

Dale stood still and pulled himself together. He began to gather his things, almost systematically. He picked his black shirt, pants, and boots up off the floor and dressed. He put his ring belt on, attaching two scabbards to it. Metal rang as he slid two blades; a rapier and a shortsword, through the scabbards. He crossed over to the other side of the tiny bedchamber, and grabbed his backpack, flinging it over his shoulders. ‘Gotta remember to buy some bacon before I head out…’ he mused. Finally, Dale walked to the coat rack in the corner of the room and pulled off his dark, hooded cape. He flung the cape over his head, clasping it to his shoulders, and placed his fingerless gloves over his hands. In the darkness, Dale was a shadow. 

He stepped over to the door and pulled it open. He walked down the stairs with caution, careful not to make a sound. Dale stepped out into the living room and approached the door. 

‘Where are you going so early?’ 

Dale leapt off the ground. He took a step back, and stood straight as he realised who had spoken. He leaned against the wall, trying to seem casual, as he composed his nerves. ‘And what are you doing up so early?’ Dale asked in return. His eyes adjusted to the dim light of dawn, and he could now see his brother’s silhouette, sitting on a couch. 

‘I just got back from sentry duty. Night shift can be a real drag,’ Kitt explained. ‘Now where are you off to?’ 

‘I was just going to do a bit of exploring,’ Dale lied. ‘You know me, always longing for adventure. Can’t stay in the same place for too long.’ 

Kitt stood up, and strolled over to Dale. ‘That sounds nothing like you. The Dale Stormblade I know spends all his time lying, gambling, and stealing. It’s not adventure you want, so what is it? Gold, fame? You always spoke about being the most famous thief in Cinaeris, but of course, if you’re a famous thief, you can’t be a very good one.’ 

‘Kitt, just stop,’ Dale said. ‘I’ve been an adult for three years now. I don’t need you constantly questioning my life choices.’ Dale was simply continuing the legacy of their father; the world’s greatest thief. At twenty years old, Kitt still tried to control the path Dale’s life took. 

‘My job is to protect the law,’ Kitt said. ‘I can’t just turn a blind eye every time you go and break it!’ 

How many times had Dale heard this? At least a dozen, he thought. ‘Lucky for you, I wasn’t planning on breaking any laws today. I already told you, I’m just going to go exploring for a few days.’ 

Kitt sighed. ‘If you say so, but I’m warning you: this is-’

‘My last chance,’ Dale finished. He opened the door and stepped out into the cold air. 

‘Dale,’ Kitt said, placing his hand on Dale’s shoulder. ‘Just stay safe. Other than Sariah, you’re the only family I’ve got.’ 

Dale smiled. ‘Say bye to her for me. You’re lucky to have her, you know.’ 

‘Yeah, I know.’ Kitt stuck his hand out, waiting for Dale to shake it. Instead, Dale embraced his brother.

He turned away from Kitt, and began to walk to the centre of Darkstar. He whispered to himself as he got out of earshot. ‘I love you, Kitt, but sometime you gotta learn to stop controlling me.’ 

He snuck through several small streets, invisible in the slight blue light of dawn. As Dale entered the main street, he stood straight and headed for Ivan’s butchery.

A few people were up at this time, preparing their stores for the day. He knew a some folks by name, and gave them a friendly smile as he walked by, and the few that noticed him smiled back. Dale recognised others by sight; he remembered the faces of all the people he had stolen from, cheated against, or lied to, so that he could more easily weigh his chances of success for another attempt. 

The sun began to rise over the horizon as Dale entered the main street of Darkstar. The sky covered the world with a sheet of orange, giving the shops and few people along the street an otherworldly appearance. Dale removed his hood and took a look at the early morning sky. The moons; Kalo and Kako, sat in the East, while the blue sun rose in the West. 

Dale approached the butcher’s shop, giving Ivan a friendly wave. Here was one man that Dale would never steal from. He had tried, of course, but years earlier. When he and Kitt had first moved to Darkstar, Ivan the Butcher was one of the first men Dale had stolen from. The man had his back turned, focused on carving up a deer. A small bag of coins was tied to his belt�"an easy grab for an agile fourteen-year-old with a knife. Dale snuck through the open door of the butcher’s shop, and crouched behind a table covered in freshly cut meat. He reached up and grabbed a slice of ham, eating it while continuing his advance. Dale reached the man, who was still focused on his job, and pulled his small dagger out of its sheath. He lifted his blade to the purse, and gently placed his free hand under it. With a quick slash of the blade, the purse dropped into his hand. 

Just gotta make sure they’re busy, Dale thought, with a silent sigh of relief.

In a moment the butcher was looming over him, grabbing Dale’s wrist, forcing him to drop the purse. ‘Don’t be stupid, boy,’ the butcher growled. He shook his head in disappointment. ‘Any man who keeps his purse on his hip is either an idiot, or wants to lure in a thief. I’m a large bloke. Did you think me stupid because of my size and job, did you? No, I don’t think you did. Just a greedy little street rat… no, you’re too well dressed to be a street rat. Greedy little boy.’ The man released Dale’s wrist. ‘Next time try to steal from someone a little stupider that ol’ Ivan. I’ll look past the purse, and heck, even the slice of�"what was it?’ he sniffed the air, leaning down closer to Dale. ‘Ham, wasn’t it? 

The boy nodded, taking a step back. 

‘Well, I’ll look past it, on the condition that you come back sometime and actually buy something. Who knows, maybe I’ll even throw something in for free every now and then,’ Ivan had said.

Dale had smiled, given a quick nod and “thank you”, and fled the shop, baffled at what had happened. He was rarely caught, even in his early days of thievery, and when he was, people never reacted like that. 

Ah, the good old days. 

‘Do you remember the first time I came into your shop?’ Dale asked, as he walked through the door. 

Ivan gave a hearty laugh. ‘When you tried to cut my purse? How could I forget?’ His short hair was beginning to turn grey, but other than that, and a couple of extra pounds, the man hadn’t changed a bit in six years. 

‘Did you ever regret forgiving that young street rat?’ 

Ivan crossed the shop and grabbed a broom. ‘If you’re here, make yourself useful,’ he said, tossing the stick to Dale. ‘And no, I’ve never regretted it. You’ve helped me more times than I can count. Without you, I don’t even know if I’d still be around. Couldn’t have gotten through the high summer a couple years ago without that generous “donation” you put on my doorstep. I don’t know where you got that money, but I can’t imagine it was through honest dealing.’ 

Dale gave a roguish smile, sweeping a heap of dust and dirt out the door. ‘I keep telling you, it wasn’t me.’ He would keep pretending it wasn’t, even though Ivan knew it was. He’d done something nice for a man he respected. Dale didn’t need any glory from that.

‘Bah, it doesn’t matter.’ Ivan gave a dismissive wave. ‘As long as you didn’t take it from someone in greater need than I, then all is well in the world.’ 

Dale nodded. He propped the broom up against the wall. ‘I’m headed out of town for a few days. Any chance I could grab some bacon jerky from you?’ 

‘Ah.’ Ivan shook his head and chuckled. ‘Dale Stormblade, you just love your bacon, don’t you?’ 

‘Who doesn’t?’ 

The butcher nodded. ‘Aye, you make a good point. Well, give me a moment to grab some for you.’ 

Ivan went through the door to the back of the building, where he kept the meat that wasn’t out for display. A minute later, he returned with a large pouch, and handed it to Dale. 

‘How much?’ Dale asked. 

Ivan waved his words away, once again. ‘Take it. It’s on me.’ 

‘No, I insist. How much do you want?’ 

Ivan sighed. ‘No, boy, have it. You swept my floor; that’s payment enough.’ 

‘Suit yourself.’ Dale shrugged. ‘Have a good day, Ivan.’ He walked out the door, and dug his hand in his pocket for a coin. He found a silver piece, and flicked it back through the door as he left. Ivan picked up the coin, and Dale gave him a wink as he walked down the street, pulling his hood up. 

Author's Note

Hit me with your best shot. I dare you. Kind pity reviews will do nothing for me, so if you honestly like it, say so - and if not, say so anyway, but for the love of gods, say why.

PS, this is not the whole chapter.