“In my long life, I have been asked many questions. What was my first kill? Who was the greatest foe I have ever faced? And the question most relevant to this part of the tale: what has scared me the most, what monument has filled my heart with such dread (outside of women)? I would say the most terrifying experience I ever had, one that still haunts my dreams and nightmares to this day, is the city of Zarbar, the capital city of the ancient and long-lost Zarbarian Empire. Nothing at the time could prepare me for the absolute horrors that awaited me within the city’s walls. Eilis and the myriads of other fools who entered the city had no clue what they were dealing with or could even comprehend the amount of danger they brought upon themselves or to the world at large. If it wasn’t for the actions of Tharos, I don’t think I would be standing here alive, or anyone else for that matter.”
—Excerpt From the memoirs of Cenric Dellcreek, The Illuminator, First King of Aria. Transcribed and Written By the chronicler Eadig the Wise.
It was a cold and clear winter night, with a sharp wind blowing through the sand dunes. The bright Crescent moon and shining stars illuminated the sky. The atmosphere was quiet, almost eerily so, like the calm before a storm. For those paying close attention, this peaceful night was a deceptive prelude to the events that were about to unfold. The stage was set, the actors were ready, and all that was left was for them to play their roles in the grand production of life. However, unbeknownst to the mastermind behind the scenes, whose long-planned scheme was on the verge of success, to the actors seeking fame and fortune only to meet their demise, and to the audience eagerly awaiting the show to begin, there was a wildcard still in play.
The camp was alive and abuzz with activity, The sounds of music and merry making echoed throughout the camp like a rambunctious chorus. Drums booming, lungs and throats set ablaze with roaring laugher and song. The strong smell of alcohol, roasted meat and vegetables wafted through the air. Enticing and inflaming the appetites of all who wondered nearby. Sitting in the corner at the edge of the camp seemingly unaffected by the festive atmosphere, slowly nibbling on a piece of meat, with a small cup of water to wash it down, by a small fire was Cenric.
Despite the lively environment, an environment that even slaves like him were permitted to enjoy, in a rare gesture of kindness from Eilis or a strategic move to boost morale and prevent rebellion among his crew. Regardless of the motive, he couldn’t unwind. Gazing at the city walls and the structures in the distance, he felt a profound sense of unease and apprehension that he couldn’t dispel or understand. There was a certain quality about this city that deeply unsettled him, yet at the same time, he couldn’t help but appreciate its beauty.
Even in its rundown condition, it still exuded a majestic grandeur that he had never witnessed before. Not even the cities he had passed during his journey or the images he had seen in books at the village elder’s house could compare to the splendor of this city.
“I wonder what kind of people lived here, what happened to them, and how did they make such wonders?”
These were the questions that flooded Cenric’s mind, and he couldn’t help but be curious. He had never seen anything like this before, and a part of him felt excited to be here. However, the feelings of dread, unease, and his current situation put a damper on his positive emotions. Cenric was not here by his own free will, nor was he here as a heroic adventurer exploring the unknown for fame, glory, or riches. He was a lowly slave, considered property to be bartered and traded at the whim of his superiors. The only reason he was brought by Eilis in the first place was partly due to his Southern wilder background, as his people were known for their resilience, Vigor, and size compared to the other races of man. As a result, they were highly valued in the Aria slave trade as bodyguards and laborers.
However, the primary reason he was bought in the first place was because of his beautiful green eyes. This was a compliment he received frequently, to the point where it became annoying. In his hometown of Dellcreek, his friend Estrid used to always admire his eyes when they were younger. She would compare them to sparkling emerald gems and express a desire to pluck them out and wear them as jewelry. Fortunately, she stopped making such comments a few years ago, though she found other ways to irritate him, like trying to hold his hand during playtime or leaning against him while eating. Despite her annoying behavior, Cenric couldn’t help but miss her.
“I hope she, ok?”
As he pondered all that he had lost, Cenric felt a hand grip his shoulder. Startled, he turned to see Torag, his face slightly flushed and his breath smelling of mead. Torag appeared content, more so than Cenric had ever seen him.
“Hay, why the long face kid.“ He slurs out drunkenly.
“Yah I am fine.“ Cenric says while he mournfully stares into his cup of water.
As Torag begins to take a seat beside him, Cenric saw that his movements are sluggish and awkward.
“Look Cenric.” Torag says as he takes a deep breath to briefly clear his head from the mental haze caused by the mead.
“Learn to enjoy these small moments of happiness while they last. Because they won’t come often in a life like ours.”
“I know that I know that very well. But this place there just something off about it, it doesn’t feel….”
Torag interrupts him in the middle of his sentence.
“It’s just your nerves kid, don’t worry about it just re…”
Cenric turns around and notices Torag slump to the ground.
“zzzzzz”
Cenric sighs and picks up one of the loose cloaks from the ground, draping it over Torag.
“Looks like he drank too much.“
Among all the slaves owned by Elias, Torag was the one Cenric could consider a friend, or at least the closest thing to a friend in their circumstances. It was surprising to Cenric that he found the most camaraderie with Torag, a formidable figure known for his past deeds of destruction and conquest. Torag, who had once razed a town for disobedience, crushed an ogre’s head with his bare hands, and successfully laid siege to the capital of the former Invictus empire, now lay on the ground in a drunken stupor, a shadow of his former self. Cenric couldn’t reconcile the image of the fearsome Torag with the tired, aged man before him. Perhaps it was the weight of age or the crushing of his ambitions that had brought Torag to this state. While Cenric felt a sense of justice in Torag’s downfall, he also couldn’t help but feel a twinge of sadness for him. Despite not fully understanding Torag’s ambitions and actions, Cenric harbored a small amount of respect for the man. Torag’s words about finding slivers of happiness in their bleak existence resonated with Cenric, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that these moments of joy were fleeting and shallow, mere distractions from true happiness.
Cenric pondered to himself, questioning whether Torag’s current happiness would be short-lived. He knew that Torag would likely revert back to his usual state the next day – a despondent old man, a mere shadow of his former self. Torag seemed to navigate through life not by his own volition, but rather at the mercy of others. This existence was a fate that Torag found unbearable, yet Eilis seemed to revel in it. Eilis took pleasure in breaking down strong individuals, reducing them to mere shells of their former selves. It was evident that Rayner was Eilis’s latest target for this hobby of his.
“Is that how I will end up?”
Cenric shook his head at the thought, refusing to wallow in despair. He stared into the fire, stretching out his hands to warm his cold and numb fingers, chilled by the freezing winds blowing through the camp. However, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed movement at the edge of the camp. Turning his head slightly towards the movement, he briefly saw a hooded and cloaked figure walking around the camp before disappearing behind some tents. The low lighting prevented him from getting a clear look at the figure, but the unnatural way they moved gave them an unearthly quality that Cenric had never seen before on anyone from the expedition.
Cenric rubbed his eyes in disbelief, unsure if he was seeing things or if it was just a figment of his imagination. Despite his doubts, he knew he had seen someone and mustered up the courage to investigate. Slowly getting up, he walked quietly in the direction of the figure he had spotted. His heart raced and he could feel the adrenaline coursing through his veins. Peeking behind the tent, he caught a glimpse of a tattered cloak disappearing into another tent. With determination, Cenric crept towards the tent, his heart pounding in his chest. As he approached the tent door, he wasn’t seeking recognition from his captors or trying to prove his bravery. He was seeking vindication, to confirm that his gut feelings were real and not just a product of his imagination.
No, it was only this city that filled him with such dread. Cenric took a deep breath and cautiously peeked inside the tent. To his surprise, there was nothing inside. His heart stopped for a moment as he scanned the empty tent, listening intently for any noise. There was no one else in the tent besides him. He let out a sigh of relief.
“Perhaps it was just my imagination Afterall.”
Cenric would slowly return to the campfire and settle in for the night, comforted by the warmth and the sounds of revelry and Torag’s snores. As he drifted off to sleep, he felt a mix of relief that there was nothing to worry about and a tinge of disappointment that his earlier feelings had been unfounded. Closing his eyes, he began to doze off until he was abruptly awakened by loud shouts and screams echoing through the camp. Startled, Cenric snapped awake just in time to hear the words reverberating around him.
“Cuthfrith has been Murdered!”
Upon hearing these words, Cenric initially found it hard to believe. He, like many others, had assumed it was just an accident or a drunken brawl that had turned deadly. However, as time passed and more information came to light, it became increasingly clear to Cenric that the events of that night were shrouded in mystery. Cuthfrith’s death was not an isolated incident; several of Eilis’s personal soldiers and a few mercenaries had also been killed. Eilis was enraged by the attack on his camp and the loss of his men, but the rest of the camp was filled with a sense of unease that was unlike anything they had experienced before.
However, Cenric knew with absolute certainty now more than ever that it wasn’t just his imagination. He had seen someone, a presence that didn’t belong there that night. It seemed possible that this place was not as deserted as everyone had assumed, with its rundown facade possibly a facade to attract the reckless or avaricious to their demise. Yet, a new sensation was rising within him, indicating that this was merely the start of something. The question remained: the start of what?
