Dark Age Year 871
Twenty First day of the Third month
It was a long journey from the village of Golden Apple when the three of them set out at dawn. The trip took longer than expected because there were no horses in the village strong enough to carry Rayner alone. His size required only the sturdiest warhorses; lesser horses would not be able to bear his weight. While the village had wagons, they needed multiple horses to pull one that could accommodate all three of them. Despite the extended travel time, it was still faster than walking. As they traversed the dirt roads, passing through arid forests, small streams, and open plains typical of the eastern frontiers, they noticed dark clouds forming in the distance.
Oh, what a fitting atmosphere. Tharos thought to himself as he stared up at the dark clouds overhead. It was as if the gods themselves were setting the tone for the current adventure.
This sight raised concerns, at least with Cenric, who would sometimes get a little jumpy at ominous signs like this. As they approached one of the settlements they had been told about, Tharos heard Cenric speak up.
“What are we going to run into this time?” asked Cenric, seated in the back of the wagon, adjusting his weapons and armour. He wore a simple chain shirt over a thin shirt and pants, leather greaves, and vambraces for added protection. His weapons included a spear, a small wooden shield, a one-handed axe, and a dagger as a backup weapon. While it’s not the best protection, it was all they had at their disposal. The quality of armaments had declined in recent years, and the availability of high-quality weapons was scarce. The breastplate armour, metal greaves, and vambraces that Tharos wore were not only difficult to find and maintain but also expensive. Tharos didn’t fully grasp the current economy, but a simple breastplate of average quality could cost around one hundred to one hundred and twenty gold coins, which he considered a steep price. It felt like daylight robbery. In his time, such a sum would have been enough to outfit multiple men with the best weapons and armour, and still have plenty left over for food for several months.
I shouldn’t be surprised that in this period of civil war and strife, the economy has also taken a hit as well.
Tharos thought to himself, adding it to the mental list of things he wished to look into once they reached the city of Sanctus. While pondering, he heard Cenric speak up again, this time a little louder, hoping that Tharos would hear him.
“Hey, Tharos, can you hear me? Are you having another one of your blank-out episodes?” Cenric sighed, stretching and waving his hand in front of him to catch his attention.
“Yes, I can hear you, Cenric. I was just lost in thought for a moment,” Tharos said, turning his head slightly towards Cenric and focusing on the path ahead. “So, what was your question?”
“I wanted to ask, what are we going to run into this time anyway?”
“Well, if we’re lucky, it will be nothing more than the old wives’ tales of frightened village folk.”
“More like if we’re unlucky,” Rayner added, flashing a wide, toothy smile. Ignoring Rayner’s jests, Cenric pressed on.
“And what if we’re not so lucky?” Cenric asked, his voice tinged with apprehension.
“If we’re not lucky, we might encounter villages plagued by disease. But don’t worry, I’ve prepared soap, clean water, thick clothes, and gloves to protect us. As long as we avoid touching anything, keep our hands clean, and minimise exposure to anything contaminated, we should be safe.” Tharos then continued on. “There’s also a chance that a necromancer is involved, which could mean encountering undead creatures like zombies, ghouls, or flesh golems.” As he finished speaking Tharos saw Cenric face turn quickly pale, while Rayner gave a wide and wolfish smile.
“So what if it is a necromancer.” Cenric asked. Tharos could sense the slowly growing fear that was starting to consume Cenric’s heart, even though Cenric was somewhat scared. Tharos could tell he was trying to resist that fear.
“We will take care of it.” Rayner stated confidently, glancing at Tharos for confirmation.
“If we come across a necromancer, Rayner and I will deal with it. Your role will be to watch our backs. Given the signs pointing to a necromancer’s involvement, we’ll need all the support we can get.”
“Got it.”
“Good, we’re about to reach the village. Cenric, stay close and watch the wagon while we investigate the rest of the village. If you notice anything suspicious, do not go alone. Make sure to inform us first.”
Cenric nodded, “Understood.”
As they arrived at the village and secured the horses and wagon at the entrance, all three of them were greeted by the sight of the abandoned village. It was about a quarter the size of Golden Apple, housing around one hundred to one hundred and fifty people. The trio stood at the village entrance, with Tharos extending his extraordinary senses. He closed his eyes, quieted his mind to eliminate distractions, and absorbed every detail of the village every unknown and imperceptible sight, smell, sound, taste, and touch of its former inhabitants. The voices of the villagers echoed in his mind, discussing trivial matters, serious issues, and joyful occasions. Various emotions surged through his skin like bolts of lightning, some of which he could even taste on the edge of his lips. Positive feelings like happiness, excitement, and unfulfilled desires mixed with recent negative emotions such as sadness, fear, and hints of anger. However, he couldn’t detect the presence of any living beings, except for perhaps small rodents and birds. Most importantly, he didn’t sense any traces of magical energy. There were no undead he could detect, nor could he sense any spells or rituals being used. As far as he could tell, this place was clean, at least in terms of magical activity. It appeared that there was nothing magical happening in this village.
Well, this is a good sign at least.
Perhaps his initial assessment was accurate, and these were just rural villagers exaggerating things. It wouldn’t be the first time he encountered such situations. However, Tharos was not one to take things lightly. He opened his eyes and turned to speak to his companions.
“I don’t detect any magic in this village, so we can eliminate the possibility of a necromancer, at least for now.”
“A shame.” Rayner sighed, showing his disappointment, while Cedric’s response seemed to differ.
“Well, that’s a relief,” Cenric said, a glimmer of hope returning to his face.
The prospect of confronting the undead appeared to create a rift among his companions. Rayner’s enthusiasm for battle was understandable, but considering what Cenric had confided in Tharos about his childhood friend, he would have expected him to be less affected by such matters.
This Estrid girl seems like a fascinating individual, a mix of cheerfulness and morbidity. I would be intrigued to meet her someday, assuming she is still alive.
Tharos then retrieved thick cloth and mittens from the wagon and instructed his companions to put them on. Once they complied, they covered their faces with the thick cloths and donned the gloves. While not the most ideal protection, it was the best they had and better than nothing given the circumstances. “Why are you making us wear this stuff? It looks ridiculous, and I can barely smell anything under this cloth,” Rayner complained, his voice slightly muffled by the cloth covering the lower half of his face.
Tharos let out an audible sigh before responding, “If we touch anything contaminated with the plague, we risk getting sick ourselves and spreading the sickness to others. This gear helps minimise exposure to contaminants. Have you heard of germ theory?”
“And what in all the frozen north is that.” Rayner asked, looking puzzled.
“What’s germ theory?” Cenric asked. Tharos, no longer surprised, noted how knowledge had declined.
It’s no surprise they don’t know. Another topic to add to Cenric’s growing list of things I need to teach him.
“Never mind, just be careful with what you touch or breathe in. After this investigation is done, clean yourself up and burn the rags, understood?” Both Cenric and Rayner nodded in agreement and exchanged a puzzled look, trying to decipher Tharos’ instructions.
Cenric stayed close to the wagon while he and Rayner started their investigation. Rayner focused on the village’s outer perimeter, while Tharos searched the scattered houses and buildings. The early signs of an epidemic were evident—hastily dug mass graves, neglected fields, and dead livestock left to rot, pus-filled and covered in flies. Upon closer inspection of the bodies, those that weren’t completely decayed and fully rotted showed red spots and decaying teeth.
This was a plague, all right.
However, as they continued exploring the settlement, they stumbled upon something unexpected. Tharos rummaged through the homes, discreetly pocketing any valuable items he could sell. While he knew it was opportunistic and amounted to theft, the likelihood of the villagers returning was slim, and most were deceased. It seemed more practical for him and his companions to benefit from the situation than for no one to benefit at all.
However, in one of the homes, he stumbled upon a diary that seemed to belong to a teenage girl. Flipping through it quickly, he found the usual musings of a girl her age: crushes on boys, complaints about parents, local gossip, and mostly trivial chatter. Yet, one entry stood out. Dated several months back, it mentioned an alchemist named Faustina in the village of Golden Apple, who had connections with this village and other settlements nearby. Tharos raised an eyebrow as he read the passage. He flipped through more pages in search of further mentions of Faustina, but the only reference he found was another entry dated a few months ago. The girl talked about how she hadn’t seen Faustina in a while and was hoping she was alright. If the contents of the diary were accurate, it suggested that Golden Apple had recently been home to a mage, an alchemist no less. However, Tharos doubted this claim. If there truly was a mage or someone with supernatural abilities in the village, he would have sensed their presence or at least detected some lingering traces. During his few weeks in Golden Apple, he had not observed any signs of a mage, nor had he heard any mention of one, let alone encountered this Faustina.
Why didn’t Nico mention this Either he didn’t know about it or he did know and that’s what the lie was about. But the question is, why would he lie to me in the first place?
Tharos had many questions swirling in his mind about the situation. The only conclusion he could draw was that Nico might have lied to shield the mage from judgmental community members, assuming Tharos shared their biases. Despite not being a typical human and travelling with Rayner, who was not entirely human either, but Nico doesn’t know that. Tharos pondered the complexities of the situation.
As much as I would like to ask him about this Faustina, I still don’t have the full picture yet. I think I will keep this information to myself for now until I have more to work with
In moments like this, Tharos recalled his friend Vartark’s favourite saying, “We possess information, but lack context.” Though Tharos harboured some doubts about Nico, he lacked sufficient information or context to act on them. To his knowledge, these doubts were minor and inconsequential, unlikely to jeopardise their good relationship with him and the village. After completing his inspection of the remaining houses, Rayner approached Tharos.
“Yes, what is it? Have you found something?” Rayner then gestures towards the well in the centre of the village.
“The water in the well smells strange, like there’s something off about it,” Rayner remarked. Upon closer inspection, Tharos detected faint traces of magic in the water. Peering into the well, he spotted a shimmering object beneath the surface, which turned out to be a glass veil.
“I sense magic in the water. I’ll investigate further. Get some rope ready to help me climb out,” Tharos instructed.
“Got it,” Rayner responded, preparing the rope. Tharos dove into the well, holding his breath as he searched for the glass veil. With Rayner’s help, he retrieved the veil and emerged from the well. As Tharos dried himself off, he noticed the foul smell of the water. “Good thing I packed soap,” he muttered.
“Anyway, Rayner, I think I’ve figured out what’s happening here,” Tharos said.
“Really? Please, go on,” Rayner replied eagerly.
“This is no ordinary plague; the villagers in this village were poisoned, probably by a magical toxin,” Tharos pointed out, showing Rayner the glass vial. “I believe the other villages mentioned may have experienced a similar fate.”
Rayner gave an angry snort. “Typical mages, what they can’t do with an honest exchange of arms, they resort to trickery like this.”
“Well, you will be happy to know that the plot thickens even more on my end. I found a diary, and this diary mentioned that there was an alchemist who lived in Golden Apple by the name of Faustina. However, when I talked to Nico last night, he told me that there was no one in the village involved with magic. So either he is not as astute as he thinks he is, or he is lying to me.”
Rayner rolled his eyes. “It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been lied to on a job.”
“I don’t want to jump to conclusions, but I have a feeling there’s more to this than meets the eye,” Tharos said, sensing that there was more to the situation than they were being told.
Rayner flashed a wide, toothy smile as he cracked his knuckles and adjusted his body. “Want me to talk to him when we get back? I can be quite persuasive.”
“No, I think we should keep this information to ourselves for now. At least until we have a clearer understanding of the situation.”
“You always have to complicate things, don’t you?” Rayner sighed, throwing up his hands in a playful gesture.
“Call it a product of my phlegmatic temperament. Anyway we found what we where looking for, lets pack and leave before our employer gets impatient.”
“Is that what you would call it?” Rayner said with a sneer. “Well, whatever you call it, it’s still milk-drinking for me.”
The two of them walked over to the wagon and saw Cenric sitting with a passive and bored expression. His face lit up slightly when they approached.
“Find anything?” Cenric asked.
The two of them told Cenric of what they had found so far, and also about there growing suspicion about Nico.
“Well, I haven’t heard or seen anything about this Faustina girl,” Cenric said, scratching his head. “However, I did overhear some of the villagers talking about a farmer named Ozias who was murdered a few months ago. No one knows why he was killed or who the culprit is.”
Tharos narrowed his eyes. “Did you hear anything else?”
“Yes, I heard that he owned a massive farm about a few miles north of the village, which he managed alone. When he died, the village elder took over the farm.”
“It may not be connected, but it’s worth investigating,” Tharos muttered to himself.
“Cenric, I need you to investigate his farm tomorrow, if you can,” Tharos instructed.
“Sure thing,” Cenric replied nonchalantly. “Most of the villagers don’t really pay attention to me, so I should be able to slip away without anyone noticing.”
“Great. Let’s all head back to the Golden Apple before the rain starts,” Tharos suggested, eyeing the darkening clouds above. After cleaning up and disposing of their protective gear, the trio would make their way back to the Golden Apple.
