Dark Age Year 871
Fifteenth day of the First month
“During my travels with Tharos, I learned many things. However, it was in the Deadlands that I learned a crucial lesson that would shape my path. This lesson, which contributed to both my successes and failures, was the importance of independence. I discovered the value of relying on oneself and one’s own power when there is no one else to turn to. While collaboration can lead to great achievements, as evidenced by my adventures with Tharos, depending on others can also be a vulnerability. People may betray you or be unable to assist you in times of need. In such situations, one must learn to rely on oneself, stand on their own two feet, and confront any obstacles they encounter. This lesson became particularly relevant when I encountered the cult of the snake and found myself imprisoned by them.”
—Excerpt From the memoirs of Cenric Dellcreek.
Drip, drip, drip. That was all Cenric could hear at the edge of his mind. It was the only sound in this black void he found himself in. All around him was a sea of darkness, a sea in which he seemed to be floating. He could do nothing but float in this endless pool of darkness, with waves and currents gently lapping over his body. The darkness was not cold or terrifying; it was comforting. It felt like taking a rest in the shade on a clear, sunny day. It was so comforting that Cenric felt like he could just lay there, letting the current take him wherever it pleased, drifting in endless bliss. It was a sleep he didn’t want to wake from. To wake from this dreamless sleep was to confront the unfortunate circumstances he would find himself in. The moment Cenric opened his eyes, the truth would be laid out before him, and there would be no running or hiding from what was to come. And so he would float, his soul adrift in the clouds in the heavens above. However, a question began to slowly gnaw at his mind as he floated there. How had he ended up here, and why was he in this place? As Cenric focused on the black void surrounding him and attempted to retrace his steps, he recalled being attacked by what he assumed were a group of well-armored nomads. He remembered them charging at him, the sound and force resembling rolling thunder. He picked up a spear to defend himself, trying to prove his usefulness despite his fear and his heart pounding rapidly in his chest, to the point where he felt it might burst. The adrenaline rushed and coursed through his veins, pushing him to his limits and giving him the strength and power to fight off his attackers. Then, he remembered the ground shaking as a massive serpent rose from the ground, the rest of the riders fleeing, and then darkness. Was he dead? Was it in the confusion of the melee that he was struck down? It was possible, but to think that the journey that had just begun would end here so soon like this. If he was dead and this place was the afterlife, it was nothing like the stories he had been told as a child. Although many of these stories often contradicted themselves, he at least expected to see something there, something here. Such as the Valkyries who would descend from the heavens above and come for him, holding him gently on crescent wings, or Daemon who come to from the netherworld to torment him, and torture him for all time for his sins or evil deeds. But there was nothing like that, there was nothing here but the endless void and his thoughts. His thoughts now recounting a phrase that would echo in his mind.
“The beauty that was the stillness of death.”
It was a common phrase that he had often heard uttered from Estred’s lips as she went through her collection. He found it to be an interesting observation, albeit a rather morbid one.
However, if he wasn’t dead and this wasn’t the afterlife, then what is this place? As he started to overcome the haze and the mist that clouded his mind, the dark, endless void around him began to feel much less comforting. He felt a pounding sensation at the back of his head, and as he tried to move, he felt constrained, as if he was being tied down by something. When he attempted to struggle, he felt something hard and firm bump beside him. As he tried to roll over, he felt a small drop and then collided with something cold and hard, hearing a loud crash. As Cenric opened his eyes, he found himself crashed on the stone floor. Looking around, he noticed he was in a dimly lit room, unlike a prison cell or dungeon he might have expected. It was just a normal room, with furniture and everything. As he got his bearings and took in his surroundings, he noticed that his hands and legs were tied. He was lying on a nice bed, surrounded by a bookshelf, desk, and other assorted furniture. In some way, it reminded him of home. However, he couldn’t let nostalgia blind him. He needed to figure out what was going on. Before he could fully orient himself, he heard footsteps. At first, they were faint, but they grew louder and louder. As the footsteps approached, he realized it wasn’t just one person; it was the footsteps of several people, maybe three or four, he guessed. Finally, one of the footsteps stopped at the edge of the door.
Cenric focused all his attention on the door, his ears pricked and tuned for the slightest of noises. He could feel his heart beating and the chilling of his blood as there was nothing but silence on the other side of the door, but he knew this silence was deceptive. He knew there were people outside that door. As he kept focusing his attention, he started hearing voices from beyond the door. It was hard to hear what they were saying; their voices were muffled and soft. What little he could pick out, he wasn’t even sure they were speaking. All he heard were faint lisps and hisses, like that of snakes.
Soon, the door started to open, and several hooded and cloaked figures entered the room. They were clad in vibrant green robes with a black scale-like trim reminiscent of snakeskin. Adorned with ornate gold and silver bracelets and jewellery fashioned in the likeness of serpents, they were followed by a tall, heavily armoured man with shining scale armour and a massive, curved two-handed sword in the shape of a snake. Behind him was the last figure to enter the room, another hooded and cloaked figure. However, unlike the others, this figure was more well-dressed and held a long golden sceptre instead of the daggers that the others were holding.
Cenric couldn’t help but stare at them with awe, but also fear. The fear started to well up in his throat, but he tried to maintain his composure, not letting the fear show. If he were to die here, at least he would die with a brave face. After a few moments of silence, the figures began talking amongst themselves. As they conversed, Cenric noticed that some of them had bright yellow eyes, scales for skin, forked tongues, or teeth that resembled fangs. Cenric wondered if these were the snake people he had heard about in passing. If they were, then he knew that the situation he was in wasn’t good. After several more minutes of the figures talking amongst themselves, one of them, the well-dressed figure holding a long golden sceptre, stepped forward towards Cenric, standing over him. Cenric could now see the man’s face clearly, and it was almost nightmarish. The man had gleaming yellow eyes that shone with greed, sharp needle-like teeth reflecting malicious intent, and a small smile. The figure then drew a dagger from his belt and swiftly slashed it downward towards Cenric before he could react to shield himself. Cenric noticed that his binds were now cut. Staring up at the man in disbelief, however, this feeling of disbelief was countered by the ever-present unease and dread that surged through his heart, chilling his blood to the core. It was a simple fact that these people had kidnapped him and were now holding him prisoner for reasons and purposes he knew not.
After a few moments of tense silence, the well-dressed figure began to speak. He spoke in the language of the wilder, but Cenric could tell it wasn’t his native tongue.
“My apologies for your rough handling,”
the figure said. His voice was gentle and enticing, and Cenric felt his fear starting to dissipate. In its place, a sense of rapture washed over him, both comforting and unreal.
“My followers you see got a little … excited when it comes to the tasks our lord gives them, and I hope they didn’t cause much harm on your person.”
Cenric tried to open his mouth to speak, but he couldn’t find the words. All he wanted was to tell this person to release him, to let him go. He wanted to ask why he had been kidnapped and where this place was. However, all he could muster was this simple sentence: “No, they didn’t.”
Cenric couldn’t believe what he said, the words that rushed from his mouth. It was like his will wasn’t entirely his own, like he was being controlled by someone else’s spell.
“I see that as good, for you are a valued guest, and as your host, I would be disappointed if any harm were to befall you before the appointed time.” The well-dressed figure then snapped his fingers, and several more figures entered the room, carrying food and drink.
“These are for you, and I would recommend that you rest up as tomorrow night will be quite exhausting for you. If you need anything else in the meantime, feel free to ring this bell on the wall,” he gestured towards a bell. The well-dressed figure then turned to leave, with the rest of them following behind him, and the door closing, their footsteps becoming a dissident echo, leaving Cenric alone with nothing but a plate of food and a large jug of water.
As Cenric stared at the plate of food and jug of water beside it, he felt an overwhelming urge to partake. He could feel his legs trying to move his body towards it, but he knew in his heart he shouldn’t. He didn’t know what these people wanted him for, but he knew it wasn’t good. If he was to survive, he would either find a way out of this place and hope to find Tharos, or hold out long enough until Tharos showed up. Before he could reach out to it with his grasping hands, his body moving in a slow, creeping pace, Cenric, using what little willpower he could muster, quickly crashed his head into the stone floor. As he reeled his head back, his skull was throbbing, and he soon felt the haze that had come over him break. His mind was clear aside from the brand new throbbing sensation in the front of his skull. He looked around, taking in his surroundings, trying to find a way out. As he scanned the room, he noticed a ventilation shaft on the ceiling. It seemed large enough for him to fit through, but it was high up and protected by a rusted metal grate. He pondered how to reach it and what to use to break through.
Surveying the room further, he spotted a bookshelf that could help him reach the ceiling and the metal jug he had been given.
“This might work, but I have to be quiet to avoid drawing attention,” he thought to himself. Cenric cautiously approached the door, pressing his ear against it to listen for any sounds outside.
Hearing nothing, he peered under the door but saw no one standing guard. Taking a deep breath, Cenric poured out the contents of the jug on the stone floor, quickly noticing a strange odour emanating from it as he did so. Though it appeared to be water, the smell was off-putting, making him grateful he hadn’t consumed anything from it. Climbing up the bookshelf, he began to bash at the grate, being careful not to make too much noise. He worked methodically, taking short breaks in between to listen for approaching footsteps. After several minutes of effort, the metal bars started to bend and break, eventually falling to the floor below. Gripping the grate, he pulled himself through the opening, squeezing through the tight space into the ventilation shaft.
As he crawled through the vents, Cenric thought,
“That will show you, Rayner. I can take care of myself.” With determination, he continued his escape through the maze of ducts.
These vents were truly labyrinthine in scale, and the air was so stale that Cenric could barely breathe. It reminded him of when he was down in the palace archives in Zarbar with Tharos all those weeks ago. Those weeks were now starting to feel more like a distant memory, one he wished he could fully forget. The horrors of that fateful day still burned brightly in his mind, the same day he lost his village and was enslaved. Both memories burned so brightly that they were almost blinding. However, within those horrors, within that bonfire that flickered in his memories, there was a glimmer of hope. A hope for what? That was the burning question on his mind, a question that Cenric doubted would get answered, at least in his lifetime.
As Cenric continued to crawl through the vents, he passed several grates, giving them a quick glance as he did so. He quickly noticed that something was amiss. Initially, the hallways and rooms were quiet and empty, except for the occasional patrol of armoured guards or hooded cultists. However, after an hour or two of crawling through the vents, there was a noticeable change. Guards were now rushing through the hallways as if they were on high alert, and cloaked figures were running through the halls, arming themselves or providing weapons to their more heavily armoured counterparts.
“Did they just find out I have escaped? No, if they did know, they wouldn’t be arming themselves to the teeth like that. Unless….” As he paid more attention, he could hear some of them speak. Not a tongue that he could understand, but the tones of their voices and worried looks on some of their faces gave him a few ideas of what was going on. Either they were looking for him or there was something else that got their attention. Perhaps intruders. At that thought, Cenric decided to follow the same direction as the armoured guards. As he did, he started hearing things the sounds of battle echoing through the halls and even the vents. However, he couldn’t pinpoint exactly where these sounds were coming from. One thing he was certain of was that there were intruders, and he had a feeling of who they might be. As he got closer, he felt the familiar sensation of something entering his mind and heard a voice he recognized all too well.
“Cenric, where are you?” It was Tharos.
“Crawling through the vents. I was held captive in a room somewhere, but I managed to escape. Where are you?” Cenric sensed a faint pause.
“We are about two floors above you. Can you get to us from where you are?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
“Good, see you soon.”
Cenric felt the presence of Tharos disappear. Cenric made his way towards Tharos and Rayner by climbing through the vents at the top. He found another rusted grate and, with some effort, was able to force his way through. As he popped into the nearby hallway, Cenric found himself in the path of a group of armoured guards. The guards quickly rushed him, and Cenric bolted in the opposite direction, knowing that even with weapons, he couldn’t take on that many people at once. He made sure to head towards the sounds of fighting. Little did Cenric know that his escape attempt would be much more difficult than he had initially thought. However, it had proven one thing to him. that he could handle himself for the most part.
