Dark Age Year 871
Twenty Third day of the Third month
“I have information but no context. That was a phrase Tharos often repeated, especially when the task at hand required more cunning and wit than brute force. Jobs like the one in the village of Aurelia Silva demanded both. Initially, I struggled to grasp the depth of his words. Tharos had a knack for speaking in riddles, leaving his words shrouded in ambiguity and double meanings. He seemed to derive amusement from confusing others with his cryptic remarks, even the high-born of the Invicti. Their puzzled expressions were quite entertaining to watch from time to time. However, with time, I began to appreciate the wisdom behind his words. The job in Aurelia Silva exemplified this. What initially appeared as a straightforward job of protecting a village from a necromancer quickly grew into something more intricate as we delved deeper into the true nature of what was going on. It was akin to tugging at a loose thread on a blanket, only to unravel the entire thing. When we found out what was really going on, to say Tharos was pissed was an understatement. In fact, there are only a few times when I have ever seen him get this angry.”
—Excerpt From the memoirs of Cenric Dellcreek.
As Cenric looked around the now well-lit cellar, he recognised it as a mage’s study. It reminded him of Eilis’ cluttered study, but this one was more orderly and neat. A large wooden desk near the staircase was covered with glass bottles, vials, and interconnected glass tubes. Some of them were filled with brightly coloured liquids akin to a rainbow. In the centre of the room sat a substantially large black cauldron that was the size of a bathtub, taking the place of the usual wine bottles and beer kegs. The shelves were lined with ancient books and scrolls instead of alcohol.
Tharos would be thrilled to see this place.
Whenever they encountered bandits, freebooters, or mercenaries who didn’t want to play nice, after they had been killed, Tharos would often go through their things, not looking for extra coin or provisions. That was a part of it, but the main reason was he was looking for books or scrolls he could get his hands on. He was so eager for information that sometimes he would leave some people alive to question later, often to Rayner disappointment.
As Cenric explored the cellar, he quickly noticed how clean and dust-free everything looked. As he ran his fingers along one of the smaller desks, there was no dust. It seemed like everything was brand new or had at least been recently cleaned and dusted.
Wasn’t this place abandoned?
This farm sure looked abandoned and didn’t seem like anyone was living here. Cenric had seen enough farms to know the difference. From what he knew, the former owner had died a few months back, and Nico had taken ownership of it in the meantime. But what was odd about it was why this farm was left unattended or why the mage’s study was left undisturbed. The people in the frontier regions of Aira, regardless of race, were known for their superstitions, especially towards magic and mages. The Invicti people, in particular, harboured a deep distrust of magic, except for divine miracles from their gods. Cenric, however perhaps ignorantly, viewed magic simply as a tool, indifferent to its source.
Magic is magic, isn’t it?
Sure, if he was being honest with himself, his recent encounter with undead creatures hadn’t given him the most positive impression of magic. Given his recent past as a slave to a mage, he should hate them. He knows this in his heart of hearts that he should despise them. But he couldn’t. He acknowledged, maybe foolishly, that not all magic users were malevolent people with blacken hearts that pump cold, icy blood though there veins. But there lies the greater question why is this stuff still here, wouldn’t it be easy for Nico just get rid of this stuff and burn it, and what’s stopping him from doing so.
He then pondered the whereabouts of Faustina, considering that these are most likely her belongings. While he didn’t know much about mages or magic, he knew one thing for certain: no mage would leave their stuff behind unless they had to.
What happened to Faustina? Was she killed by the necromancer, driven off, or is she still near the village.
Cedric and Tharos had not seen or heard anything about Faustina during their stay in the village. Tharos, with his abilities, did not sense any presence of a mage in the village. The situation seemed increasingly confusing to Cedric, hinting that maybe, just maybe, there was more to it than he first thought. He realised he needed more information before taking any action. Determined to uncover the truth, he continued his search. Upon exploring the cellar and finding a partially open drawer in the desk, Cedric decided to investigate further. Inside, he discovered a collection of papers, most of which were illegible to him. Among them, he found a glass vial containing a silvery-blue liquid. Curious, he cautiously unscrewed the vial and took a quick sniff.
The pungent odour almost overwhelmed him, causing him to recoil and nearly drop the vial. He managed to steady himself and prevent any spillage, but the unsettling scent lingered in the air, stirring a sense of unease within him
“That’s foul,” he shouted aloud, wrinkling his nose at the putrid stench that filled the air. It reeked of raw sewage left to fester and bake under the scorching sun, even worse than the odour of the decaying corpses he had recently buried.
Taking a moment to recover from the assault on his senses, Cenric sat down on a nearby stool, eyeing the vial in his hand. “Maybe Tharos can identify this,” he thought, carefully placing the vial and papers into his satchel before heading upstairs.
Ascending the stairs and pushing open the door, Cenric was met with an unexpected sight. Stepping out of the cellar into what appeared to be the living room and kitchen area of the homestead, he was struck by how clean and tidy everything was. Despite this place being abandoned for at least the last few months, every surface gleamed without a speck of dust in sight, and there wasn’t a single piece of furniture or decoration out of place. Running his fingers over a piece of furniture, he marvelled at the immaculate condition of the house, a stark contrast to the messy house he grew up in back in the village of Dellcreek.
“Could Faustina have cast a spell to maintain this cleanliness?” Cenric muttered, considering the possibility of magic at work. The thought of magical intervention seemed plausible, given the inexplicable cleanliness of the deserted homestead. However, the mystery deepened as he wondered why the farm remained untended and locked up, raising more questions than answers.
“Nothing adds up,” Cenric thought, perplexed by the bombardment of questions he was starting to have while walking around this abandoned homestead.
As Cenric continued to survey the kitchen, he noticed an icebox in the corner, along with a few cupboards.
Ozias seemed to be doing well for himself, if he has an ice box.
Iceboxes were a luxury not commonly found in the frontier, more of a city-dweller’s convenience. They were typically wooden or metal boxes with shelves and drawers used to keep food and drinks cold, useful especially for preserving meat. Cenric was unfamiliar with their workings, suspecting some form of magic involved.
It might be worth checking inside, he thought. Perhaps there were provisions stored in the icebox. Upon opening it, he found a selection of fruits and vegetables, along with a jug of water. The freshness of the produce intrigued him. He picked up a firm, red apple, noting its sweet scent. Despite his hunger, the recent grim tasks had dampened his appetite.
“Gods, I am hungry,” he muttered, reluctantly returning the apple. The presence of fresh food suggested either someone still lived there or Faustina had enchanted the provisions to prevent spoilage. Hoping for the latter, Cenric hesitated to linger longer than needed to find out.
Checking through the cupboards, all he found was clean tableware or small sacks with grain or seeds. Reaching into one of the bags of grain and grabbing a handful of wheat, Cenric felt a sharp prick on his finger.
“Ow,” he exclaimed as he pulled his hand back, spilling grain on the floor along with scuttling earwigs. Biting his finger, he muttered, “Earwigs!”
After a quick glance around to ensure no one heard him, Cenric hastily picked up the grain, returning as much as possible to the sack and placing it back where he found it.
Maybe there isn’t anyone else here Cenric pondered, though he remained unsure. After exploring the kitchen, dining room, and other ground floor rooms, he found little evidence of life. The house seemed empty and abandoned.
I could leave now, but… Cenric hesitated, his eyes drifting to the staircase leading to the second floor.
Tharos trusts me, and I can’t disappoint him.
With a deep breath, Cenric climbed the stairs slowly. Exploring the second floor, he found little of interest in most rooms until he reached two adjacent rooms. One room, a small bedroom, appeared to be in the midst of being painted. In the center, there was a half-finished baby crib surrounded by a box of handcrafted toys.
Where they a couple and was there a child on the way? This thought deepened the sorrow of Ozias’ death and Faustina’s disappearance.
Cenric entered the room cautiously, kneeling in the centre to inspect the crib. He ran his fingers along the wooden frame, feeling the smooth, unfinished surface. The crib was skilfully made, evident of the care put into it. The handmade toys in the box echoed this sentiment.
A once happy family torn apart.
Even though he didn’t know them, he started to feel sad for the couple and their child. Being in this room reminded him of his own circumstances. He never knew his father, who died in battle a few months before his birth, and his mother passed away shortly after giving birth to him, leaving him in the care of the village elder and his family. While they cared for him like family, it couldn’t replace the love of his biological parents. It seemed like this child would have what Cenric could never have, but like him, they had it taken away before fully realizing its value. With these thoughts in mind, Cenric left the room and headed towards the larger bedroom.
This is my last shot. If i find nothing here, this investigation will be a bust.
He slowly opened the door and found a spacious room with a large bed that could accommodate three people. Along the sides were dressers and shelves, one of which had a massive mirror, brushes, and vials of perfume. The room had a faint, pleasant smell of berries, reminiscent of Cenric’s time picking berries in Dullcreek while watching Estrid hunt for new animals for her collection.
Like the other rooms he had explored, this one was immaculate. It didn’t appear untouched for years; in fact, it seemed as if no one had lived there recently, except for the belongings left behind.
Come to think of it, why is all their stuff still here?
In Dullcreek, if a person was murdered without any next of kin to inherit their belongings, the village would distribute their possessions among those interested. Disputes were resolved through trial by combat, leading to swift transfers of property and numerous blood prices or threats of exile.
While the Invicti may have different customs from the wilders, the prolonged process seemed unreasonable. In Dullcreek, such matters would have been resolved within a week at most. Reflecting on conversations overheard about Ozias, there was no mention of Faustina or the child. It appeared as though they were disregarded or possibly unknown to the villagers.
That would make sense; she was a mage, and the Invicti, for the most part, didn’t take kindly to mages, especially in these parts. However, even Cenric had to question that. According to what Tharos found, people in the local area knew she was a mage and at least lived in this area. Maybe she was one of the few mages the people would tolerate.
Cenric shook his head in frustration, “This is giving me a headache,” pushing those questions out of his mind. He started to search the room for clues, but didn’t find much of interest until he discovered two things: a locked chest hidden in a nearby closet under a small blanket. After further searching, he found the key hidden beneath some linen.
Let’s see what’s inside.
Upon opening the chest, he found a collection of intriguing items. Among them were various robes and garments in bright colours made of thin, transparent fabric, a small brown bag filled with dried and crushed plants that he couldn’t discern, and a few phallic-shaped objects roughly the size of large carrots or cucumbers, one of which was tied and connected to a leather belt. Pondering the purpose of these items, Cenric speculated, They must have been expecting a child; perhaps these are charms for a deity or tools for some magic ritual. With a shrug, he closed the chest, returning it and the key to their original places.
The second item he found was a thick stack of folded-up paper hidden in one of the drawers. Upon examining the writing on the back, he noticed it was dated a few years ago. Unfolding one of the papers, Cenric discovered a sketch of a pretty young woman with short, curly hair and a slim, petite body, giving her a delicate appearance. She appeared cute, in Cenric’s honest opinion. Beneath the sketch, it read “Faustina.” As he looked and slimed through some of the other sheets, he found similar sketches of the woman in different poses and outfits. Cenric tried to recall if he had seen this woman before in he village.
Perhaps Tharos can shed some light on this,
He mused as he carefully stowed the papers in his satchel. After a final scan of the room, he concluded that there was nothing else of significance present. With a sense of urgency, Cenric made his way downstairs, only to be startled by a noise emanating from the cellar. The sound of footsteps ascending the stairs prompted him to swiftly retreat and conceal himself behind a nearby wall. His heart raced, and beads of sweat formed on his brow as he silently urged himself to remain calm. As the cellar door creaked open and the clanking of heavy armour grew louder, Cenric held his breath, hoping to evade detection.
Please don’t let it be what I think it is.
Peeking cautiously from behind the wall at the top of the stairs, he saw a skeletal warrior emerging from the cellar. Unlike the ones he had faced the previous night, this one was distinct. Its armour was in better condition, less rusted, and it wielded a massive halberd in its bony hands. The skeletal warrior scanned the room with its glowing red sockets, giving Cenric pause. While he had managed to defeat similar foes before, he hesitated to confront this one alone, uncertain if there were more lurking nearby. He heard the warrior approaching the living room and kitchen, its rusted metal boots creating a loud thud with each step. If it was searching for him, it wouldn’t be long before it reached the upper floor and trapped him.
I have to make a move.
Scanning the room, Cenric spotted a wooden shutter behind him that seemed wide enough for him to pass through, unlike the shutters at the front door.
Perhaps I can use that.
He didn’t know if there were more undead outside waiting for him or if it was just the one, but he knew one thing: he needed to get out of there. Slowly creeping towards the shutter, he kept his ears focused on the noises downstairs. Opening the shutter gently, he peeked outside, but there was nothing there.
Maybe it’s just one, or maybe they’re out back, but he didn’t want to stick around to find out. Opening the shutter wider, Cedric climbed out onto the roof of the front porch, ensuring to close the shutter quickly behind him. Looking down, he estimated a few foot drop.
Climbing down and hanging on the edge, Cedric let go, dropping to the ground with a small thud. He felt a sharp pain in his legs.
“Ouch,” Cedric muttered as he regained his bearings. He quickly sprinted towards the nearest tree line, stealing a glance behind him before ducking into the cover of the trees. Peering out, he spotted more skeletal warriors emerging from behind the house, their eerie red eyes scanning the farm. Taking it as a cue to depart, Cedric crouched low and stealthily navigated through the bushes and trees, heading back towards the Aurelia Silva. Checking his satchel as he left the farm, he thought, I hope Tharos finds this useful, as the farm faded from sight.
