“He was a foul creature when we found him, before we found him he was an abomination. Now his soul dances with Asmodeus. I doubt any good will come of this.” -Calaer Darkmane
Tho Outcasts as they are known now were brought together during the Black February Murders. The Murders were a grizzly affair that had been plaguing Shadowshore for near on a month. The poorest youths were being targeted. And the crime scenes were being cleaned up by the town watch with little to pacify the common people anyones son could be next and there was great upheaval in Sasserine.
It just so happened that on the night of the twentieth murder was the night that The Outcasts were born. It had been the culmination of many days of searching that Kassoth and his young friend Aleshia found the renowned arena fighter Calaer. Aleshia had been obssessed with finding him for a reason known only to herself. Kassoth thought of the girl as his responsibility and naturally he would be want to let her go looking for a surly arena fighter by herself.
They sat down at his table, he had been alone. A dagger the size of a shortsword came down and sunk into the table. ” Dont want any trouble. Those days are behind me, and I dont need to prove to you or anybody that I am as good as I was… You best be going.” He said in a raspy even rusty voice, so unlike the musical and lilting voices of his elven kin.
Kassoth and Aleshia went on to explain that it was more a matter of fate than fanaticism that had brought them to the tavern that night A vision that the girl had had of him Calaer the famed arena fighter blood streaming from his eyes and boys near on eleven or even younger, dead and mutilated. It had been a sign. They were meant to find him and somehow they would be connected to the gruesome murders.
Then the Barroom fight.
Then they find out whos committing the murders. A man named Barsimmon Vraimont. He was a money changer in the only bank in the cudgel district. His headquarters were a funhouse of horror. Dog cages where he would keep the boys till he was ready for them. Then once his appetite was at its peak he would force himself on them. Salivating, grinding, grunting, laughing, and laughing. When he was through he would pound on them until their faces were broken orange rinds oozing sticky juice, he liked when they thrashed about. Then he would tie their hands and feet and go to work. He had acquired butchers knives through a gambling debt owed to him. With precision he would carve out the beating heart and the rest of the living organs, he would preserve them in alcohol. The bodies he would pin open, right upon the floor or bed, pulling the skin and muscle fibers taught. The gonads he would remove and eat, raw. The penis he would remove and burn as an offering to XinsertevilgodhereX all of the body was left at the scene, so that everyone could see XinsertevilgodhereX’s glory.
They track and kill Vraimont. But there are arcane and mystical energies dissipating from his body and some of the items on his person. He is dead but there are greater forces at work.
In Sasserine of course they are lauded as heros, and are used by the mayor (or whatever) to show the ineptitude of the village watch for political reasons. They then realize that they work pretty well together and hang up a shingle in town as PI’s for hire.