Dark Age Year 872
Twelfth day of the Forth month
On the southern coastline of Aria, there is a vast stretch spanning hundreds, if not thousands, of miles, known for all the wrong reasons. Bands of pirates from various races, creeds, and stripes frequently roam and patrol its shores, seeking easy prey to loot and plunder. In the waters, fearsome creatures lurk, such as fish several feet long that weigh almost a ton and things made of writhing masses of tentacles that often drag victims into the murky depths below. The fish people, a race of beings where the men have the top half of a fish and the bottom half of a man, while the women are the opposite with the top half of a woman and the bottom half of a fish, would often kidnap men and women alike to use as breeding stock, entertainment, and sometimes food, along with all other manners of creatures and monsters too numerous to count or mention.
However, amidst this treacherous coastline, there is a small section known as the White Coast, extending for about fifty to a hundred miles. It earns its name from the white cliff faces and marble-white sand that characterise this unique stretch of shoreline. The White Coast is known for being a peaceful place, a rarity in Aria. The White coast beyond its breaching lagoons of clear waters, so clear you can see several feet down to the bottom and all the fish, leading into small forests, and open grassy plains that run through several freshwater waters into the heartlands and even the far-off frontiers of Aria. Some of these waterways are the lifeblood of many settlements on the coast. If you’re lucky and the weather is good, you might be able to visit some of the small islands with coastal settlements filled with some of the most handsome men or beautiful women you can imagine, who are no strangers to worldly pressures.
However, despite its serene and tranquil landscape, this stretch of coastline holds a dark reputation. It is also known as the Coast of Bones, where many unfortunate souls who perish at sea end up washed upon its shores. Throughout Aria’s sordid history, this very coastline has been a battleground, from the dark days of the apocalyptic war to conflicts unknown and unrecorded in the history books. Who truly knows what lies buried beneath the cliff faces or under meters of white sand? Many of the coast’s victims meet their end on the white sands, staining them red with blood or becoming prey for wildlife. The few inhabitants that make this coastline their home often profit by scavenging anything of value from the washed-up bodies or the cargo that sometimes washes ashore. Some could even say that the White Coast has profited from both noble and senseless deaths since its creation from the dawn of time, before even recorded history, before the races of men took their first breaths, and will continue to do so until the end of time.
Engaged in this sombre and grim tradition were two warriors at this very moment. One of them was a fair-skinned boy, more like a young man at this point, coming into his own. He was tall and even in his tender years, he already towered over most men and would continue to do so once he reached full manhood, like many of his kind. He had a lean and robust body, resembling that of a seasoned warrior. However, in contrast, he possessed a soft, gentle countenance with his golden blonde hair and bright green eyes. This youth was dressed in a simple cloth shirt and pants of bland and earthy colours, armoured with a full set of breastplate armour that shone a faint bronze colour as the morning light hit it. He was armed with nothing but a wilder companion sword by his side and a small traveller’s cloak fluttering in the sea breeze. The smell of salt filled the air, the call of seagulls, and the cries of wildlife echoed in the distance, mingled with the clash of steel upon steel.
His opponent, however, was almost the polar opposite. While this man was also fair-skinned, he was much older and more experienced. Unlike the boy standing behind them, this man seemed to be in the prime of his life. He was taller and bulkier, with a wide body marked by numerous scars from past battles. Dressed modestly like his opponent, he wore scale mail armour, with his arms and legs heavily protected by leather and cotton wrappings. Carrying a massive Wilder raiding sword, slightly larger than most, although it was more like an oversized meat cleaver than a sword, he exuded a fierce demeanour with his long, almost blood-red hair fluttering in the sea breeze. His piercing blue eyes, like those of a predator, were focused and intense.
Cenric tried to quickly dodge out of the way of the sword aiming to cut him in half lengthwise. The speed of Rayner was faster than he could comprehend, aside from the glint of iron, that was about to hit him square in the torso. However, he didn’t have time to move aside, so he decided to stand his ground. Taking a few steps back, he swung his sword, catching the incoming sword mid-swing. The clash of the blades created a loud, echoing sound as they sparked and ground into each other. He felt himself being pushed back, his boots sinking deeper into the sand. Looking up, he saw Rayner staring down at him with his piercing blue eyes and a wolfish smile.
“Come on, you can do better than that, kid. Put your back into it,” he said fiercely as he exerted more force on his sword. Cenric felt his sword was about to break if he kept up this clash. His arms were straining under the pressure, and his blade was starting to bend. He knew he couldn’t hold on much longer, realising Rayner’s superior strength compared to his own, and he knew that Rayner was going easy on him. Rayner was only using one hand, while he was using two, gripping the handle tightly with one hand, while another supported the pommel. To his side, several feet away, sitting on a washed-up log next to Rayner’s great axe that was currently buried deep into the sand, now stained red by the bandit corpses that had been split in half widthways, was Tharos, observing the sparring, leaning in with his hands and fingers crossed together, unaffected by the numerous corpses that lay dead beside them. One of these corpses even had there own sword jabbed straight into their heart.
“Alright, Cenric, what can you do to get out of this situation? You have locked blades with someone who is far stronger than you and currently has numerous advantages over you. What will you do to escape?” Tharos asked him. Cenric focused and assessed his options. He could disengage from the clash of blades and reposition himself, or perhaps he could try to angle the blade for a thrust. These were the only options he could think of in these few moments.
“I can do this,” Cenric declared as Rayner’s sword pushed him back a few inches. With determination, Cenric angled his blade for a thrust before Rayner could react. With a swift twist, Cenric broke the blade lock and aimed for Rayner’s chest. However, Rayner quickly grabbed his wrist with his free hand, holding him in place for a brief moment, just a heartbeat or two, and then swiftly kicked Cenric squarely in the chest with his steel-capped boots. The clang of the breastplate he was wearing echoed as Cenric was sent back a few feet, falling to the ground with his hair and cloak now covered in sand. Tharos couldn’t help but smile at the sight, while Rayner shot Tharos a dirty look before extending a hand to help Cenric up to his feet.
“I wonder who taught him that,” Rayner said to himself as he shot a knowing look at Tharos.
“It is a real mystery,” Tharos said in reply, opening his arms and hands wide before turning his full attention to him. “That’s very good, you did very well. But you did have other options. For one, you could throw sand in his eyes. Besides that, what mistakes did Rayner make.” Cenric noticed Rayner giving Tharos a small glare in response. “I don’t make any mistakes. Milk drinker.”
“Really, you don’t make any mistakes?” Tharos countered in a mocking tone. “Remind me how many times you have lost to me, because as far as I recall, we are currently up five to zero.”
“It’s three to zero, last month doesn’t count.”
“Well, sadly for you, it counts for me,” Tharos responded before turning his attention to Cenric again.
“What mistake has Rayner made, and is it the same mistake you have also made? What is that mistake?” Tharos asked again. Cenric thought to himself, trying to recall all he had learned up to this point. Looking at Rayner and then himself, he realised the mistakes he had made. He had overextended himself and also didn’t account for Rayner using his free hand.
“I overextended myself and wasn’t paying full attention to my opponent,”
“Yes, that was the mistake. You overextended yourself, which threw you off balance and made it easy for a counter. Remember, a real opponent isn’t going to let you get away with mistakes that easily. Pay attention to your surroundings and your opponents, next time.”
Cenric nodded. “Understood.”
“Other than that,” Tharos continued, “At the rate you’re going, you may be half as good as me with a sword by year’s end.”
“Well, I won’t stop until I am just as good as you.”
“I look forward to that,” Tharos replied.
Rayner sneered at him “Kid, don’t give him any bright ideas; we’ll never hear the end of it.” Tharos chucked at that.
“Anyway, that will be enough for this morning’s training session,” he said, glancing at the bodies of the small group of bandits they had recently killed. “Now, let’s clean up this mess and collect our coin. I am sure our client will be happy that the people who hurt his son and daughter are no more.” Cenric nodded in agreement. He didn’t like leaving bodies out to rot, even if they were the scum of the earth like these people. However, giving them a proper burial felt like the right thing to do. While most of the time Tharos would just leave people to rot, ever since the events with the necromancer, every now and then he was willing to give his opponents a proper burial.
As they left the white coast and collected their payment from the nearby fishing village, they headed into the woodlands, following the freshwater stream on their journey to the capital city of Sanctus. Cenric couldn’t help but reflect on their current travels so far. They could have gotten there quicker, but on the way, they often took jobs that would take a few days, if not an entire week, to finish. This didn’t include the harsh winter that hit the region, forcing them to stay in local villages or towns for days, if not weeks at a time, while they waited for the weather to die down. Even though the weather never seemed to bother Tharos.
As they continued walking, Cenric found his train of thought interrupted by Tharos, who posed a question to both him and Rayner as they reached a fork in the road. “So, should we go left or right? According to this map, both of these routes will eventually lead to Sanctus,” Tharos remarked and turned to him, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “What was that saying again? All roads lead to Sanctus,” he said aloud.
“That sounds like something those Invicti piss ants would come up with,” Rayner remarked.
“I wouldn’t know,” he answered. He had heard that the roads of the Invicti spread for miles, but he wasn’t sure how true that was. “Before I met you both, the farthest I ever travelled was a few miles outside the village.” If he was being honest, Cenric wasn’t really in a rush to get to the city. In fact, the last time he had gone there, he was sold as a slave at the city slave markets. He was sold to a slave trader for what he thinks was about twenty-five to fifty silver talons, which was a good price for a southern wilder youth like him. Apparently, because he was young and handsome, he was going to possibly be sold at the markets for an even higher price, possibly a few to several gold talons.
He didn’t like the city with so many people milling about, and the sounds and smells were almost overwhelming compared to what he was used to at the time. He didn’t like the looks some of the nobles gave him. He remembered one couple who was thinking of buying him; the way they both looked at him scared him. He didn’t know what they where intending for him, but he could tell it was nothing good.
If he had his way, they would have avoided the city like the plague. However, he did agree to follow Tharos into that tent almost a year and a half ago, or was it two years ago? Cenric couldn’t remember and was finding it hard to keep track of everything that was happening. It all started to blur into one another, but the point was he agreed to follow him, and if he has to back out now just because he was a bit uncomfortable, he would not only dishonour himself but also be viewed and branded as a coward for going back on his word. How could he even begin to help others if he couldn’t help himself?
“So, which path do you think we should take, left or right?” Tharos asked them again. Before Cenric could say something, Rayner spoke up first.
“I don’t care which way we go, as long as we get to kill something along the way. Those bandits made me work up quite an appetite.”
“As interesting as ever,” Tharos said in reply. “What about you, Cenric? Which way do you think we should go?”
“We should go left,” he said, hoping they would end up somewhere more peaceful. He knew that was unlikely to happen, but it was worth trying nonetheless.
Tharos looked at him and then at Rayner. “Any objections?”
“None at all. It’s been a while since I’ve been to the Twin Cities. We could find some work there,” Rayner said as he tapped on the hilt of his sword.
“The twin cities. Didn’t we hear that there was a war going on there in that tavern a few days back?” Tharos asked Rayner.
“There’s always a war going on,” Rayner corrected Tharos before he continued. “I’ve been there a few times myself during my raider days. It’s a good place to make coin. Last time I was there, I got to smash in the skull of this short pint of a nobleman,” Rayner chuckled to himself as he recounted his adventures in his head. “His head went flying when I hit him with his own mace.” Rayner sied, still laughing to himself.
Tharos stroked his clean-shaven and a sharp chin. “I am liking the sound of this place more and more. It could be a good opportunity to get more coin and supplies. We are starting to run low.”
Cenric didn’t know much about the twin cities personally. All he knew was that the twin cities were a well-known hub for hired swords due to the feud and war between the two cities of Chalybs and Ferrum. Both cities were famous for their craftsmen, and the conflict between them had been ongoing even before the days of the Aria civil war. In fact, it might have been going on since the cities were first founded. For the residents of these cities, it was just business as usual.
However, he didn’t like the idea of walking into an active war zone. The smell of blood and corpses still made his stomach churn, and the feeling of warm blood splashing on his face or the sensation of piercing someone’s heart with his spear, or cutting and slicing through bone and muscle with an axe or a sword were sensations he still didn’t like and hoped he wouldn’t get used to. But they were running out of coin, and necessity would force them to take jobs or do things he didn’t want to do.
Even the small jobs they were taking were barely able to keep them afloat due to the harsh winter and Tharos’ love of certain comforts. Not that he could complain; it was nice to have proper food and a roof over their heads. Though he couldn’t understand why Tharos would sometimes spend their coin on what he would call worldly pleasures and the finer things in life.
Not that he really cared; enjoying fine food and drink while being entertained by pretty women wasn’t his thing. He might have enjoyed some of the songs, as they reminded him of home, but other than that, he didn’t care much. Sometimes Tharos and even Rayner would take these women up to their room and request to be left alone for a few, if not several hours, telling him he wasn’t old enough and often leaving him alone to train or study. Cenric had no idea what Tharos or Rayner were doing in their rooms with those women, and maybe he didn’t want to know. Regardless, if they wanted to be left alone, he would leave them alone and wouldn’t pry into their business, for he knew there were some things when it came to Tharos and Rayner that he dared not ask.
“So, are we all in agreement to head to the twin cities then?” Tharos asked them both.
“Aye,” Rayner shouted, pulling out his sword and raising it high above the ground.
“Sure,” he responded.
“Alright, to the Twin Cities we go,” Tharos said as he walked down the left fork in the road, with the others following behind him. After a few more hours of travelling down the cobblestone roads with no one in sight, the only signs of life were the sounds of birds, insects, and the occasional deer or small herd emerging from the treeline to drink from the rushing river running alongside the road. Cenric would often watch these animals as they went down to the river to drink. However, what caught Cenric’s attention was one of the stags that came to the river for a drink. Unlike most stags, its fur wasn’t dark or ordinary in colour; it was a shining white, with an almost golden hue. Cenric was almost starstruck; he had never seen a stag like this before. In fact, seeing such a rare animal was considered a sign of good fortune. Some even believed that such animals were messengers or watchers of the gods, at least according to the village elder and the people of his village. Cenric felt lucky to witness this rare moment and see one of these majestic creatures up close. As he watched, the stag lifted its head out of the crystal-clear water and looked at him for a moment before turning towards the water to drink once more.
“Oi, what are you looking at?” Cenric snapped to attention as Rayner addressed him and noticed that he was several paces behind Tharos and Rayner, who had now stopped and turned towards him.
“I saw a golden stag,” he said, pointing to where the stag had been taking a sip by the river. However, when all three of them turned their attention to the spot where the stag was, but there was nothing there.
“Well, I don’t see anything, kid. Must have been seeing things.”
“No, I wasn’t. I was right there,” he said, pointing to where the stag had once been. He could swear up and down that he saw a golden stag.
Rayner scowled at him and was about to say more before Tharos jumped in. “What is all this fuss about?” he said as he walked closer to both of them and looked in the direction where the stag was.
“He thinks I am seeing things, but I’m not. I saw a golden stag.”
“A golden stag,” Tharos repeated as he gazed in the direction where the stag had been. “I don’t sense anything, but if he said he saw something, I have no reason not to believe him. In fact,” Tharos paused and looked at Rayner. “It’s possible you scared it off with your shouting.”
“Bah,” Rayner countered with a snort. Before he or Tharos could say more, he noticed Tharos pausing and stopping mid-sentence as if in a trance. Rayner looked at him. “What, nothing to say?” Rayner said, waving his hand in front of Tharos. However, Tharos stood still like a statue, eyes open without even blinking.
Rayner then turned his head and looked at Tharos, with his extended thumb pointing towards him. “Great, he’s having another one of these episodes again.” It wasn’t uncommon for Tharos to experience a sudden freeze, as if encased in ice, for several minutes or sometimes an hour or two, although they were becoming less and less frequent. They didn’t know what caused it, although they suspected it had something to do with the powers Tharos possessed. They thought it was magic, but Tharos begged to differ. Not that they knew the difference between what he was able to do, magic, and something he called chi arts. At least that’s what it was called when translated from his native tongue into Aria trade language. Although he had never heard of chi arts and had no context for what it was. However, before they could make heads or tails of what was happening, Tharos snapped back to life and spoke in a stern voice.
“Both of you stay quiet,” Tharos snapped, speaking in a hushed tone. “I sense something. Rayner, did you?” Before he could respond, Rayner interjected, his nose starting to twitch as if he had caught a whiff of something wafting in the breeze. “I smell blood, and it’s fresh.”
“How far?” Tharos inquired urgently. Cenric felt a sense of unease creeping over him.
“About half a mile or more, I’d say.”
“We should proceed cautiously then,” Tharos advised them.
“Understood,” Cenric replied quietly.
As the three of them crept along the road slowly, after a few hundred feet, they came across something on the side of the road: a person. He was a young man, perhaps only a few years older than Cedric. He was wearing a fancy toga with a flower on it and carrying a dagger. He was bleeding heavily, and on his neck were two puncture marks. As they crouched down to take a closer look at him, the young man opened his eyes and looked at them as if he could see them and knew they were there, but couldn’t act on it.
“Tharos, we have to help him.” Tharos looked at him and shook his head. “I’m afraid it’s too late for him. He will die in about a minute or two.”
“So there is nothing we can do?” Cedric asked.
“The only thing we can do is stay by his side and bury him afterwards.”
“Understood.” Although he wished he could help more, at least this person wouldn’t die alone. If that was the best they could do for him in his final moments, then Cenric couldn’t really complain. As they stood there watching the young man take his last breath, he weakly raised his arm and pointed deeper into the forest.
“My lord was ambushed… I ran to get help,” he said weakly, his voice and breathing faint. But before he could say more, his voice turned into a faint whisper. The youth closed his eyes and breathed his last breath.
“His lord,” Cenric then turned to Tharos and Rayner. “It sounds like someone needs our help.” Rayner rolled his eyes. “I wouldn’t get involved with Invicti nobles if I were you, kid. A lot of them are tight-fisted and cruel bastards. Plus, even if his noble was alive, I doubt we’d get anything out of it.”
“Maybe this one is a nice one,” Cenric said, knowing that wasn’t going to be the case. He still remembered the looks some of those nobles gave him in the slave markets. But he wanted to believe it, that not all of them were bad. For him, helping someone was a reward in itself.
Cenric then saw Tharos look in the direction the servant pointed and said to both of them, “Regardless of a reward or not, I am going to investigate. You are all free to stay here or join me.”
“Why? He’s most likely dead by now. Unless you want to loot the body,” Rayner asked. “These nobles often carry a lot of coin on them.”
“Perhaps or perhaps not,” Tharos said, pointing in the same direction. “I can sense that there are people and creatures I am not familiar with in that direction,” he paused, “and also one of these creatures is magical in nature. However, curiously, the life force of some of these creatures is being snuffed out one by one, which means someone must still be alive. I don’t think you want them to have all the fun, do you, Rayner?”
Rayner gave a wide smile at that. “Well, I am sold,” Rayner said, following behind him. Cenric then took one last glance at the dead servant. “Don’t worry, we will try our best,” before following behind them. Little did Cenric know at the time, this encounter would be another one of those fateful moments, one of three that would change his life forever in ways he couldn’t describe or understand. If meeting Tharos was one, then this meeting would be another fateful encounter.
