Dark Age Year 871
Twentieth day of the Third month
When he first arrived in the village of Golden Apple, Tharos only intended to stay for the night and then move on to reach the city of Sanctus, the former capital of the now-defunct Invictus Empire. The city itself and the surrounding regions were the main focal points of this civil war that Tharos had been hearing so much about lately. He wanted to see what was going on with his own eyes, and perhaps the city of Sanctus could provide answers to other questions he had about the current state of the world. However, what he didn’t expect was that this simple and quaint village would have an influence on him. While he wouldn’t consider himself a greedy person by any measure, being offered money, food, drink, and a place to sleep was very tempting. There was something oddly satisfying about this mercenary work, although he never partook in such things even in his day, for if he was going to be honest. He was busy with diplomatic missions for the empire, his studies, or philandering with women to ever have the chance or freedom to do such things. It had been a long time since he had enjoyed a proper meal, not just eating the scraps and rations he had looted from treasure hunters or cannibalistic nomads. To feel and taste fresh food and water for once was a sensation he never thought he would miss. But to have such a feeling after not experiencing it for so long made him appreciate it even more intensely. It was no longer just faint memories he would replay in his mind in an endless loop; it was something he could experience right then, right now.
The practical reasons for staying in the village, aside from monetary compensation and having a roof over his head, were that the villagers provided him with useful information about the surrounding areas. The time he spent with the people of Golden Apple also gave him more opportunities to learn the language of the Invictus and the Wilders. He quickly mastered the basics of these languages in just a few months. Compared to the other languages he knew, these tongues were rather simple, somewhat primitive, he would say. In fact, most, if not all, the people he encountered at this point were somewhat primitive to him, compared to what he was used to. However, “primitive” was an oversimplification of the wider issues. By all standards, most of the people of Golden Apple lived simple and happy lives, much like many of the people did in his day. It warmed his heart to know, on some level, that the concerns and ills that plagued his people also plagued these people as well. It was a connective tissue that Tharos needed, for it had been a long time since he had felt the warmth of human connection, a connection that at this point was almost alien to his ever-beating heart.
If he were to be precise about the reasons why he thought they were primitive to him, it wasn’t because of the civil war or people giving in to their worst impulses. What bothered him the most was the loss of knowledge and technology. These people were ignorant, not just about the wider world around them, but ignorant of what they had lost. What Tharos considered commonplace, these people had no clue about. Even the more enlightened minds, the ones he would often sift through as he read their tomes and scrolls, greedily consuming every fragment and scrap of knowledge he could find, didn’t have all the answers to questions that even a simple child knew in his time. The only silver lining was that not everything was truly lost, at least as far as technology went. For example, ice boxes and basic plumbing were still a thing, along with other modernities from his era. Of course, it was more common in the cities than in the frontier regions, according to what he had been told. But hearing this gave him some sense of joy that at least the infrastructure of what his people once built was still there.
“Perhaps it’s better to have the candle of knowledge and wisdom burning brightly in the darkest of rooms than to be snuffed out completely by the darkness of ignorance.”
As Tharos continued to ponder his thoughts, almost getting lost in them, he heard Rayner speak up, which snapped him out of diving deep into the recesses of his mind. He raised his head to look up at him.
“Tharos, I found a trail, and it’s fresh too,” Rayner stated, flashing a wide, toothy grin. His piercing blue eyes glinted with a hint of bestial bloodlust and rage, barely contained beneath the surface.
“How many?” Tharos could only sense the barest traces, but it wasn’t enough to tell him how many people there where, aside that there was a large number of them.
Rayner’s nose twitched as he breathed in the spring air around him, as if trying to catch a scent of his newest quarry on the winds. “About maybe ten to fifteen of them. Nothing we can’t take care of,” he said with a dismissive snort.
“How far.” he asked.
“About a mile out, I reckon.”
“That’s quite close to the village. Alright, let’s take care of them quickly and quietly. And this time, Rayner, don’t let any of them get away. We can’t afford any slip-ups while on the job.”
“I will have you know, milk drinker, that I am the definition of a professional. The skill of arms is my canvas, my axe is my brush, and the fallen foes beneath my feet are my master strokes,” Rayner bellowed aloud.
He gave a small smile at that. “Oh, I am not questioning your skill with arms, Rayner, but I am worried that your current condition might be affecting your performance, considering it’s soon reaching that time of the month already.”
Rayner stopped walking and turned his full body towards Tharos, looking him straight in the eyes. Tharos could feel his intense stare piercing through his skull and seeing Rayner face being flushed red with rage.
“How did you find out about that?” Tharos could sense the rage building up within Rayner, a rage that was not directed at him but more of an extension of the anger that Rayner felt every day and night, directed towards the world around him and any unfortunate soul that gained his ire.
“If you know what you’re looking for, it’s not hard to figure out what you truly are, Rayner. Plus, subtlety has never been your strong suit. But I am not one to judge, for I am not entirely normal myself, if there is such a thing as normal in a world like ours.”
Tharos could still feel the intensity of Rayner’s rage beating down upon him. Perhaps it was time for him to use that charm and wit he was well known for. “But don’t worry, Rayner, your secret is safe with us. Just make sure you take the necessary precautions on your end. We wouldn’t want you hurting yourself or going on an uncontrollable rampage.” he felt Rayner Rage die down just a bit.
“Does the whelp know as well?” Rayner asked, Clary wanting to steer the conversation in a different direction.
“No, but he has his suspicions. I suspect that he is keeping it to himself. He is quite a smart boy, smarter than he gives himself credit for.”
Rayner gave him a dismissive snort. “If only his brains were as sharp as his sword-arm.”
“It will come in time, Rayner, at the rate he is progressing. He will make a fine warrior or whatever he wishes to be.”
“I don’t understand, why you don’t let him join us in all the fun. When I was his age, I had already fought in several battles. By holding him back, you’re just dulling his instincts, and we both know what happens when you get soft on the battlefield.”
“I only wish to show him that there is more to life than the next battle, but I will concede the point that perhaps I have been a bit too gentle when it comes to his training, and perhaps it time to take off the kid gloves.” Tharos reflected. He knew that war and conflict were inherent to human nature, and there was nothing he or anyone else could do to stop it. However, he felt it would be cruel to deny Cenric the endless possibilities that life could still provide for him. Cenric was still young, unlike himself, a person who had lived far beyond his allotted time, now nothing more than a faint ember, a ghost of what he once was.
Tharos could feel the rage starting to subside in Rayner. “I am glad you are starting to see things my way. Perhaps you’re not the milk drinker I thought you were.”
“Oh, I am indeed the milk drinker you believe me to be. However, I am also the very same milk drinker who defeated you and chose to spare your life,” he declared with a tone that exuded both confidence and sarcasm.
Rayner snarled, then let out a hearty chuckle. “One day we will have a rematch, Tharos, and see which of us is the stronger in the skill of arms.”
“I will look forward to that day, Rayner.”
Although Rayner was initially rough around the edges, he and Tharos eventually reached an understanding. Despite lingering tension between them, observers still sensed it. However, Tharos recognized that Rayner had developed a fondness for him and Cenric, despite the somewhat insulting nicknames he used. These insults were tinged with a hint of affection, as much as Rayner could express. Following their exchange, the duo continued to pursue what they believed to be a group of bandits. However, upon closer inspection, they discovered that the supposed bandits were actually a small group of travellers. This group consisted mostly of women and children, accompanied by a few men armed with clubs and various other weapons. The travellers appeared dishevelled and weary from their journey.
“Where are you all heading and where did you come from?” Tharos inquired, addressing the old man who led the group of travellers. The travellers appeared somewhat apprehensive, and Tharos sensed a palpable air of tension and fear enveloping the group, a fear that seemed on the verge of overwhelming them. Most of this fear seemed to be directed more towards Rayner than Tharos. Rayner stood behind Tharos, resembling a guard dog by his master’s side, his towering and bulky frame overshadowing not only Tharos but also the group of travellers in front of him, his massive axe slung over his shoulder.
“Oh, we are heading west to another village a few miles from here. We are from a village about maybe…” the old man paused for a moment as if he was doing some maths in his head. “About roughly twenty to twenty-five miles east of Golden Apple, I reckon if my math is right.”
Tharos looked over the group in more detail. He couldn’t sense anything off about them, but still, travelling such a distance with women and children seemed odd to Tharos. “Something isn’t quite right,” he thought to himself.
“Is there a specific reason for such a long trip?” Tharos inquired.
“Yes, there have been strange occurrences in our local area, as well as in some of the other villages,” the man replied.
Tharos narrowed his eyes. The village elder hadn’t mentioned anything unusual happening east of Golden Apple. Most of the information he received was about events occurring westward.
“What kind of strange occurrences, if you don’t mind me asking?” Tharos questioned.
“Well, I don’t know all the details myself, but they are quite frightening,” the old man replied, pausing as if trying to gather his thoughts. This only piqued Tharos’s interest even more. “First, it started with sightings of strange creatures with bone and twisted flesh, then tales of people, animals, and even crops dying all of a sudden out of nowhere, and then… stories of.” The old man stopped speaking, and Tharos saw some tears start to well up in his eyes. “Stories of people who had died walking about.” The man continued, explaining how his village was starting to suffer the same fate that had befallen other villages in the area, and how the group travelling before them were the only survivors left from his village. This information was quite concerning if it was true. Tharos knew that when it came to these types of people who lived in some sort of backwater, they had a habit of letting superstition and fear dominate their thinking. They were often prone to exaggerating things and blowing them out of proportion. However, he didn’t think this was the case in this instance.
“Have you told anyone else about this?” Tharos asked, raising his eyebrow and turning his head slightly to the side inquisitively.
“Yes, we sent a few people to Golden Apple and some other villagers before we departed to spread the word. However, none of them returned back to us.”
“I see,” Tharos said, looking over the group one more time. “Alright, you are all free to go. I hope you all have a wonderful day.” Tharos then turned to Rayner, gesturing for him to follow. As they began to leave the group of travellers, the air of fear and tension that Tharos had sensed from them started to fade as they vanished into the distance. They continued their patrol.
Tharos turned to Rayner. “So, what are your thoughts?”
Rayner shook his head and let out a dismissive snort, his long crimson hair flowing as he did so. “If you ask me, it sounds like a bunch of old wives’ tales from a group of weaklings and cowards. I could smell the fear on them.” Tharos gave a small nod, as he couldn’t help but agree with Rayner’s blunt assessment to a point.
“However, what if it isn’t just that? What if what they’re saying is true, and it’s not just them scared of their own shadows, then what, Rayner?” Tharos asked, having a feeling he knew what the answer would be, but he asked just to be sure.
“Then… maybe it might prove to be a worthy fight. Unlike these weaklings we had to deal with for the past few weeks,” Rayner bellowed out, giving a wide and toothy smile as he did so, his pronounced canines becoming more apparent.
“Well, when we get back, we will have to warn Nico and the rest of the villagers about this news.”
Rayner rolled his eyes. “I wouldn’t bother with that if I were you.”
“Oh, why not?”
“Easy, you saw the panic in those people’s eyes. If the people of Golden Apple pick up sticks and leave, we are going to be out of a job.”
Tharos crossed his arms. “And here I thought you were getting bored.”
Rayner gave a throaty chuckle at that. “Not at all.”
“Well, we should at least inform Nico about what is going on. Having a necromancer on the loose is always trouble.”
Upon hearing the word “necromancer,” Tharos saw Rayner spit on the ground beside him. “More mages, and this time it’s bait for the crows.”
“Have you ever encountered a necromancer before, Rayner?” Tharos asked.
“Sadly, no, not that it matters. They will taste the bite of my axe and die all the same.”
“Really, I thought you would have had experiences with all sorts of mages. I remember when you told me, and I quote,” Tharos straightened himself up, cleared his throat, and did the worst impression he could of Rayner’s voice, “And don’t forget that killing mages is a speciality of mine. One that I will do with great pleasure.”
Rayner let out another throaty chuckle before responding, “So, are we going to sit around on our asses while you ponder your plan of attack until this necromancer shows up, or are we going to be proactive?”
“Being proactive, Rayner. We are going to investigate post haste. Tomorrow at the crack of dawn, we will head off to look into this. We will also bring Cenric along; it will be good training for him.”
“I am glad you’re starting to see things my way.”
“I wouldn’t say that. But if these stories are true, we are going to need all the help we can get.”
Although he didn’t know exactly what they were going to be walking into, if what the old man said was to be believed, Tharos suspected that this might be the work of a necromancer. The reported sightings of strange creatures, sudden deaths, and people coming back to life were all telltale signs of necromancy. He had read many books on the subject and had encountered the odd necromancer in his day. If this was indeed a necromancer, then the village of Golden Apple and its surrounding area were in serious trouble. While rushing into a situation without fully understanding it or having a plan in mind wasn’t Tharos’s preferred approach, the events in the city of Zarbar served as a stark reminder. There were times when immediate action was necessary, and leaving a necromancer unchecked could result in significant harm to hundreds, if not thousands, of people. After completing their patrol, both he and Rayner would return to the Golden Apple to prepare for their next move.
