The Dead Story: Chapter 1 (Patreon)

Many of you asked if I started with Otherlife, I didn't.

This story is where I started.

And this I share to you level 3's alone. It'll probably never be finished, but we all started somewhere.

Here's where I did. I hadn't found my own writing style yet, and was exploring.

Please excuse the terribleness. :)

  

Chapter 1

Ridley gave the room a glance as he sat down in the offered chair. There wasn’t anything that was worth mentioning outside of it being very utilitarian and had a desk, two chairs, and a bookcase. The man who sat across from him was best described as a clerk in his later years. A pair of glasses sat low on a pinched nose and made the man’s watery blue eyes appear enlarged.

“Name?” the weasel requested in a dry voice.

“Ridley.”

“…Your full name, fool.” 

“Ridley Norwood.”

With a sigh, the pen in his hand began scratching across the paper.

“Number of years served, here at Firth or otherwise?”

Now this was a problem for Ridley. He knew beyond a doubt he’d already been in this place for fifteen years. He was judged to be fourteen when he arrived though he had spent near two decades at the manor house before this. The issue with all this is he didn’t look older than thirty and certainly didn’t feel older than twenty in comparison to his five decades.

“I’m not really sure, it kinda just blends together.” Mumbled Ridley after a moment of theatrical reflection.

“I’d be surprised if you could count…” the clerk hissed under his breath. “Male…blue eyes…black hair.” Each little detail received a quick jot onto the paper as the man muttered to himself. “No markings, tattoo or otherwise….appears late twenties in age….unknown duration.”

Ridley sat quietly in the chair, his hands folded in his lap with his eyes glued to the sheet of paper, glad that no one had thought to document how long he’d already been here. He wasn’t really sure where this was all going, how it got here, or what the little man wanted, but he would be damned if he’d screw up now with a slip of the tongue.

With another sigh the bookkeeper put down the pen and pressed a palm to his forehead.

“I’m here to conduct an audit of resources currently assigned to this military installation……hm.” The bureaucrat paused to peer at Ridley. “I’m here to count everything.” The man deigned to break it down into a simpler way of understanding as if Ridley were an incompetent. To be fair, most slaves were seriously lacking in education. Especially ones who have been here since childhood. Ridley spent any and all free time he had devouring books from the camp study. 

“I have it on good authority that those you train end up having a better survival rate…” He paused at that and stared at Ridley until Ridley nodded at the man to continue. “To that end I’m drawing up papers to have you enlisted officially as a Sergeant and in charge of recruit weapons drill, training, and maintenance. It’s a new battalion being put together with nothing but new recruits. Terms are a standard two years of service at standard Sergeant pay. You’ll be transported to the new camp come Monday which is South near the Breaker Wall. You can go now.”

With a shooing motion as a dismissal Ridley stood and made his way out of the office he had been sent to. Shutting the door behind himself he stood there taking slow deep breaths trying to make sense of it. That little rodent, that blessed rat like man of a savior, had just freed him, given him a job, a pay voucher, a place to lay his head, and two years as the price tag. Best yet it was an area of the kingdom that received very little in the way of oversight which did little to quell his paranoia that had just kicked into overdrive. With the thought in mind that this could all be an elaborate set up, he found it was still a perfect opportunity for a man like himself. A man who needed time and resources to kill someone.

_______

The days passed swiftly and soon enough Ridley found himself sitting on the back of a supply wagon southward bound down the Kings highway. He was in the last wagon in a support column filled with supplies and a few other support staff that was apparently en route as well. Ridley scratched at his arm as he watched the ground roll by the side of the road. He had been given a recruits trunk and all the essentials a Sergeant was expected to have the morning of the departure. One simple broadsword, acceptable and serviceable as it were, a dagger, several duty uniforms, one dress uniform, two pairs of boots, a personal grooming kit, tent, bedroll, and maintenance supplies for said gear. The uniform itself made his skin prickle with every movement. The stiff clean cloth was definitely a change from his slave’s garb he had left in his cell.

“So I robbed’em and made my escape. Got caught the next day. Then there I was, sold off like a sack of potatoes. I don’t think I even got a silver. Now I’m told to “Go to the wall.” As if I had a choice in the matter.” The twitchy fellow across from Ridley had been talking incessantly even before Camp Firth had left their sight. The man’s words were sloppy and smashed together like ill-fitting pieces from a puzzle, much like his appearance which spoke to a slovenly and very ill-kempt background.

“I heard about you though. You’re that one from the pit. They have you come out and wave, do a fancy bit of your sword work on some kids and then off you go, back to your suite noble lord.” His co-passenger muttered after a look around to see if anyone was close enough to hear. “I wager when we get to where we’re going you’d like all that quiet. I’d be very willing to say naught to no one if you’d be able to help me with my pay.”

It wasn’t entirely unexpected to be sure. Ridley had no vague delusions that this man was being given the chance he was. He wasn’t even sure why he was being given it himself. His neurosis had been set to a high alert since the interview and he found himself questioning the whole thing. Forcing his thoughts back to the task at hand. He didn’t really have anything to hide and the man would eventually cost him nothing. The problem was more in the fact that it would color first impressions and the damage that it would cause. It could be undone of course but not without effort. It really wasn’t worth spending time on this ugly, dirty, stupid thief, and so he smiled instead.

“I’m sure we can work something out. To be frank I’m not even sure what or how much they plan on paying me. Did they happen to mention where they were sending you?” 

“Was told I’d be a replacement down where the Breaker Wall meets the mount. As to your pay I’d say one out of six is fair. You can just send it down the way with the mail, being a lordly Sergeant and all.”

“One in eight and not by mail. You can collect it during your liberty periods. Wouldn’t want it to get lost.” It wouldn’t do to just accept the first terms given to him, even if he had no intention of ever paying the man. 

The blackmailer smiled a filthy grin and leaned back into the side of the wagon, content to say nothing more after he’d already collected what he wanted.

Ridley found himself forced to hold back an ugly smile himself. Only a day in the uniform and he already planned to murder another soldier. Slaves, soldiers, people in general…scum of the world, all. What was one more death?

An hour later it seemed he might even get the opportunity to end this before it even began. The man hopped out the back with a muttered curse and made his way to the side of the rode with the clear intention of relieving himself. Ridley immediately hopped out after him and fell in line beside him.

“I was thinking perhaps we could also work out another arrangement.” Ridley drawled as he walked beside the man. 

“Oh? Didn’t figure you the type to hop into business all quick like.” The toad smirked as he slowed his pace and moved deeper into the woods than would be probably normal. The wagon creaked out of sight while the man worked his belt off. “What’d ya have in mind?”

“Well.” Ridley bent down and picked up a rock and hurled it into the trees as he spoke. “I figure, maybe I can do you one better. Say, I start getting items you might need but…maybe just can’t get or shouldn’t have. We split the proceeds 60/40 and you keep silent as well for free.”

The man laughed as he urinated and said nothing more, clearly considering it. Ridley reached down and picked up another rock and gauged its weight in his hand. The man nodded his head as he finished.

“That’d-” He cut off abruptly as Ridley smashed in his head with the rock. The front of his skull crunched and made a wet crackling noise. The man dropped as if the bones in his body were suddenly made of noodles. 

With a sigh Ridley smashed the rock into the man’s head again and then tossed the rock away into the woods. Ridley shook his head at what was left of the dead man’s face. “At least you didn’t get anything on my new uniform. I pity letting a Shadow run lose in the countryside but I’ll just have to live with that.” He rifled his pockets and took the coins but left everything else. Personal items were always hard to explain, coinage, not so much. He dragged the body over to a bush and shoved it under. After a few minutes hiding it from casual eyes, the drag marks, and anything out of the ordinary, he jogged to catch up to the wagon train but he didn’t stop at the last wagon but made his way to the wagon at the front and started up a discussion with the teamsters about his horses.

Ridley was patient and ordered his mind as the trip wore on during his time up front with the drivers. As for his missing friend, no one had even noticed he was missing until the evening meal. By then he had already entrenched himself in the mind of the teamsters as being a “Solid individual” and clearly had been talking to them all day. Mostly by virtue of admiring their horses, who he had to admit were actually quite lovely. Once they looked into the dead man’s records they found many reasons to believe he had already deserted and none for him being brutally murdered beside the road.

By the morning of the second day on the road Ridley had already assembled a training regimen fit for farmers who had too many mouths to feed, convicts, and people just seeking escape. Knowing that it was for the Wall made things quite a bit simpler to be sure. Simple line fighting, basic self-defense, and a large helping of common sense, would be the rule of the day. The only thing beyond the Wall was the Shadows and the Shadowlanders.

He also began fitting together plans for a very personal murder. The man who put him here to begin with, Ubel Lew. Well, indirectly here, sitting in this wagon. He meant for Ridley to be dead along with the information that was in his head. It was that night he took another man’s life for the first time and ended up being sold to the military, instead of floating face down in the river.

Lastly, he mostly just enjoyed himself. He wasn’t a prisoner, had plans in place, a direction, the sun was warm, the food was certainly better than he had been given back in the pits, and he had a man to kill. He even had a small amount of prestige already simply from being a Sergeant. All in all it was a fantastic start. Even with murdering a man before the first day ended.

A small part of his mind regretted the man he’d become at that last thought, but then the man he’d become violently stomped that regret till it was nothing. One only lives to have regrets, he reflected, the dead regret nothing.