Dark Age Year 871
Seventh day of the First month
The sun burned brightly in the sky, like a shining golden orb, its scorching rays hammering down on the vast desert wasteland below, with nary a cloud to shield or shelter those brave or foolish enough to endure its hardship. Your mouth becomes dry and parched as you are hit with an unquenchable thirst that you would do anything to satisfy, drinking anything you can get your hands on, or the hot sweets that would disorientate you, with your body becoming wet and sticky. Adding to this hostility was the strong winds that sounded like the howling of many wolves, blowing a breeze colder than ice. It was the type of cold that would freeze your flesh and chill your bones.
In the Deadlands, this weather was considered mild. The winter season brought on a slight easing of the hostile environment, at least during the daytime. However, at night, the harsh weather revealed itself with cold, biting winds that made the icy gusts of Northern Aria, with its snow-capped mountains and snowy plains, seem pleasant in comparison. If freezing to death in the middle of the frozen tundra could be considered a desirable death. In the lands of Aria, there are fates far worse than death in an icy tomb.
Braving these hostile conditions were two individuals, with the bright, burning sun in the cloudless sky beating down on them like blows from a blacksmith’s hammer on a forge, and the winds howling with great speed. The sand swirled around them like a whirlwind, so thick that they could barely see a few meters in front of them. Dressed in heavy traveling cloaks, gloves, and boots, with dark-rimmed goggles and face coverings to protect themselves from the harsh weather, Tharos and Cenric stood with their hair and traveling cloaks fluttering in the breeze.
It had been a few weeks since the destruction of the city of Zarbar and the beginning of Tharos and Cenric’s journey. As they travelled through the desert, enduring the heat and the settling of hot dust on their faces. Tharos couldn’t help but feel a sense of shock and awe as he gazed upon the barren wasteland before him, stretching out for what seemed like endless miles. The harshness of the landscape was not the only thing that struck him, but also the stark contrast it presented to his memories. In his time, the land had been hot and arid, yet teeming with life, with rivers flowing from the frozen north to the lush forests in the east and west, and down to the bountiful coastlands in the south. However, there was more to his astonishment. Before embarking on this journey, while Cenric was still recovering from his injuries, Tharos had made a shocking discovery.
In Eilis’ tent, there were several books, each covering a variety of subjects. Some of these books were written in languages that Tharos knew, but most importantly, some of these books had translations from other languages to some of the languages Tharos knew. While it would take him a while to master these new tongues, it would make communication much easier going forward. Communicating with his mind was still a rather taxing affair, and one that would be dangerous for both him and the recipient if he wasn’t careful.
However, that wasn’t the shocking part. What truly shocked Tharos was the information he discovered from Eilis’ maps. According to these maps, most of the landmass that made up Aria was missing. He couldn’t make sense of it, but the southern and southeastern parts of Aria were gone. When he asked Cenric about this, all he received were looks of confusion. However, this question made Cenric recall a story passed down by his village elders. A few millennia ago, a Great Catastrophe had struck the land of Aria. The details of this event were lost to time, but it was known as the Great Sundering.
This information from Cenric, along with the bits and pieces of information he gathered from Eilis’ books, painted a stark picture of the current state of affairs. It confirmed his suspicions that all was not well in the lands of Aria, emphasizing that the world he remembered, the one he sailed through in the sea of his memories, was no more. Paradoxically, while this information stirred his heart like a raging storm at sea, he couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of hunger. This hunger was not driven by greed or lust, but by a profound intellectual curiosity. Tharos realized there were many things he didn’t know about this current world, and that sense of mystery intrigued him. Even in his own time, there were still many ancient ruins containing lost technology and treasures that could make one as powerful and rich as a king. There were places holding great knowledge and invaluable wisdom from ages past, as well as lands and realms beyond human understanding waiting to be explored. But he couldn’t help but wonder what new discoveries awaited him in this brave new world.
As the two of them kept walking, braving the intense heat, freezing winds, and the sand that threatened to swallow them whole, Tharos felt a tap on his shoulder. When he turned around, he saw Cenric pulling on his shoulder, and as Tharos’s eyes met Cenric’s, Cenric tapped and gestured to his head. Tharos gave a slight nod in response and established the connection.
(“Yes, what is it, Cenric?”)
(“How much longer until we get out of the Deadlands, Tharos? I’m getting tired of trekking through all this heat and sand.”) Cenric spoke in a rather wilful tone of voice. Despite his reserved nature for a boy of his age, there was still a youthful stubbornness within him that persisted, regardless of what he had been through. Tharos couldn’t help but admire this to a certain extent.
(Well, that depends. But Cenric, let me answer your question with a question of my own. How long did it take for you to travel through the Deadlands to reach the city of Zarbar?)
Tharos observed Centric counting on his fingers while muttering to himself in his native tongue, the language of the wilders. It was the second most common language spoken in the lands of Aria, with the most common being the tongue of the Invictus, who once ruled over the lands of Aria. These were two languages that Tharos would need to learn if he was to survive in this current age. After a few more moments Cenric finished counting his fingers and muttering to himself.
(“About a month and a half, I think.”) Cenric said with a nod
(“yes, and for how long have we been traveling for Cenric?”) Tharos notices Cenric counting his fingers again, his thin fingers moving gracefully through the air as sand swirls around them.
(“About roughly three weeks.”)
(“My point exactly Cenric.”) Even though he couldn’t see Cenric’s face because it was covered, Tharos could sense a disappointed look starting to form on his face.
(“Enough of that. On a different subject, how are you holding up?”) The tone of his voice changed from a tone one of self-assuredness to a more supportive one.
(“yah, I am doing just fine Tharos.”) Even as he said that Cenric turned his head to the side for a split second to look away.
(“I see that’s good. So, who is this Estrid girl you keep muttering about in your sleep? Was she someone you were sweet on?”)
(“Hey, I thought you couldn’t understand me yet, that’s why we have to talk like this.”) Cenric tone now was one of slight embarrassment.
(“I now know enough to understand simple words and sentences, but not enough to hold a basic conversion. So, who is this Estred girl?”)
(“She was just a friend of mine from my old village of Dellcreek.”) While there was still a hint of apprehension in Cenric’s voice, unlike before when he talked about his past, there wasn’t the overwhelming feelings of sadness and loss that he could sense from Cenric.
(“I see, what was she like, Cenric?”) Tharos wanting to ease a little bit of the tension.
(“Well, what is there to say? She was kind of annoying at times with her comments about my eyes or the times she would try to touch or lean on me but…”)
(“But what Cenric?”)
(“Even though I found her annoying at times, I can’t help but miss her sometimes. Is it normal to feel this way?”)
(“It is perfectly normal to feel that way Cenric. Feeling loss is a part of life sadly.”) A statement that contained more truth than Tharos would want to admit or believe.
(“I guess you’re right. Why did you bring this up in the first place anyway?”
(“Well, it’s simple. Talking helps pass the time, and you’re no longer complaining about the heat, are you?”) Cenric gave a nod of agreement at that
(“Hey Tharos, I have a question for you. Did you have any friends back in Zarbar?”)
Tharos didn’t respond to Cenric’s question immediately. The sudden pause and ensuing silence would have been awkward if not for the howling winds around them as they navigated through the intensifying sandstorm that loomed threateningly, ready to engulf them if they halted. Tharos wasn’t silent because he found the question rude; it was a simple question. Nor was he ignoring Cenric because he had nothing to say; on the contrary, he had plenty to share.
It was more accurate to say that the few memories he still had of his friends, if he had any outside of Vartark, were fuzzy at best. He knew that he had them, and he recalled some vague details about them, but he couldn’t remember anything else. Nothing truly specific about them, aside from the fact that they existed. They were vague, almost shapeless shadows that would loom in the peripheral edges of his mind. The only one of these vague shadows that had any kind of form or shape was Vartark. Tharos could almost picture him in his mind: his slim and tall physique covered by a loose, form-fitting robe that was white with a dark gray trim, his long and flowing black hair with white streaks, his face rather angelic-looking, and adding to this was his silver-coloured eyes, and his voice which was like sweet ambrosia that would delight all who heard him speak.
As Tharos recalled the image of his friend Vartark, more memories began to surface and flow into him, like a cup being filled with fresh water. These were quick flashes, mere glimpses of much deeper memories, but within those fleeting moments, Tharos couldn’t help but feel a profound sense of sadness. Was this sadness due to Vartark’s absence, unable to accompany him on this new adventure, or was it sorrow for the tragic fate that befell him for remaining by Tharos’ side until the bitter end? After a few more moments of silence Tharos spoke up.
(“Yes, I had friends, quite a few friends back in Zarbar. Many of them I cannot remember or recall, as they are formless shadows that linger on the edges of my mind. However, there is one friend I can recall with some clarity. His name was Vartark.”)
(What was he like?) Cenric asked.
(“Well, he was a wise man full of many wiles. A real mischief-maker in his youth. He and I used to get into all kinds of trouble.”)
(“What kind of trouble?”)
(“At first, it was just playing stupid pranks on people. As we got older, it evolved into fully dedicating ourselves to studying the female form, like most young men of our age. We were just as inflamed with the passions of Venus as with Mars. However, in time, those passions faded until we were left with nothing but the passions of Mercury.”)
(“What do you mean by that?”) Cenric said as he looks upon Tharos in a confused manner
(“Never mind, I forgot you’re still a little bit too young for that. Perhaps when you’re a little older, I shall regale you with some of those tales.”)
(Sure, I guess?) Cenric said in an unsure tone.
Upon receiving that answer, Tharos couldn’t help but think that his young companion Cenric would probably have issues with women in the near future. Not because he was unattractive or lacked any of the basic qualities required to appeal to the fairer sex. If what he said about this Estred girl was true, then it was quite the opposite, in fact. While Cenric was still quite skinny and thin for a boy of his age due to his ill-treatment at the hands of Elias, his vibrant green eyes, golden blonde hair, and gentle-looking face gave him a rather charming and handsome appearance. Tharos felt that if he wasn’t careful, Cenric could grow up to be quite the lady killer. But luckily for him, Cenric seemed either uninterested or ignorant of the ways of women.
“This might be a blessing in disguise for now, considering the current state of Aria. It would be rather cruel of me to allow Cenric to experience the spring of youthful love, only to lose that love tragically, after everything else he has already lost so far,” Tharos thought to himself.
A few more hours passed with the sandstorm slowly subsiding around them. During that time, they entertained themselves with a simple game of I spy. Though it was a bit too childish and simple for Tharos’ taste, it served as a way to pass the time and keep Cenric distracted from the elements. However, that was until Cenric spotted something in the distance. Tharos directed his attention to where Cenric was pointing and saw several flocks of scavenger birds circling something in the sky. Gripped by curiosity, Tharos led the way with Cenric following closely behind to investigate. What awaited them as they crossed the dunes was a scene of carnage.
Before them were orcs, dead orcs, about fifteen in total. Tharos had no sympathy for orcs, as even in his day they were a twisted and violent race, whose only goal in life was to kill and plunder all that was good in the world. It seems that even in this day and age, they have not changed beyond this simple purpose. However, to see them in such a state, with their twisted and malformed bodies ripped apart, their brutish Armor and weapons crushed into metallic dust, and their black blood and guts spilled upon the sand, was a sight to behold. What kind of beast could slay such a large number of orcs with such ease and savage brutality, as the scene before him?
“They didn’t stand a chance, did they?” Tharos thought to himself.
He couldn’t help but be impressed by whoever or whatever did this. Even at the height of his power, Tharos could take on three to four orcs, maybe even five at once if the conditions were favourable. Orcs were formidable warriors; while they may lack intellect or cunning, they made up for it in their great size and physical prowess. However, the most dangerous individuals of the orc race were those rare few gifted with the talents of magic. These rare orcs combined their great size and physical prowess with great intellect and cunning, making them rather dangerous foes indeed. As Tharos approached to inspect the bodies, he sensed something unusual – faint traces of magic. Although subtle, Tharos could discern that it emanated from a source of great power. Despite his efforts, he couldn’t glean any further information from these faint remnants. Upon closer examination of the bodies, he observed that the injuries and wounds inflicted on the orcs were consistent with frostbite. The severity of the frostbite was such that certain parts of the orcs’ bodies were frozen solid.
Tharos couldn’t figure out who or what could have done this. It was a real mystery, to be sure. However, he couldn’t stay for long to ponder it, as within a few hours, the sun would start to set and even harsher conditions would present themselves. He would then leave the scene with Cenric in tow. Little did Tharos and Cenric know, they were not alone. Sitting upon an elevated rock formation, standing maybe a league away from them, was a very tall and muscular individual with striking blue eyes, long blood-red hair, and rather wolfish-looking facial features, holding a massive double-bladed axe. The figure gave a toothy grin as he noticed Tharos and Cenric walking off in the distance. Jumping down from the rock formation, this individual decided to follow.
