“In the ancient past of Aria, when the gods roamed the earth and magic flowed through the waters and winds, the races of men were divided into tribes and city-states vying for power. Among them, the city-state of Zarbar rose to prominence. The Zarbarians, a once advanced and ancient civilization, built a mighty empire that rivalled even the elven and dwarven empires. Their strength of arms, mastery of the arcane arts, and technological innovations set them apart as the pinnacle of humanity. However, one day they mysteriously disappeared, leaving their empire to crumble into dust. Many believed the Zarbarians to be mere myth, a legend. As was so total their banishment to the ash heap of history. but if my experiences with Tharos have shown me anything. It was that myths and legends where often true. The city of Zarbar was just the beginning of this lesson.”
—Excerpt From the memoirs of Cenric Dellcreek, The Illuminator, First King of Aria. Transcribed and Written By the chronicler Eadig the Wise.
A week went by without any more incidents. However, because of the mysterious deaths, security was increased to its highest level. The movement in and out of the camp was closely monitored and reported regularly. Eilis, with his expertise in magic and sorcery, placed numerous magical wards around the camp and even summoned one of his most powerful familiars.
It was a horrifying spectacle. Although it resembled a huge elk, the similarities with the gentle and noble animal ended there. It appeared as if it had emerged from a nightmare, composed of wispy black smoke. With antlers as long as great swords and sharp spikes covering its entire body like spear tips, its hooves resembled scythe blades rather than the typical cloven foot of such creatures.
However, what was truly terrifying about it was its glowing red eyes that shone like a small bonfire, and how it would watch you and stare directly into your eyes as if peering into your soul. It felt like being locked in the gaze of a predator, assessing you as its next prey. The amount of mana required to summon and control such a creature was immense. Even a skilled mage like Eilis couldn’t sustain such a drain on his mana reserves for long. Therefore, he would sacrifice many of his slaves to replenish his mana, using their blood and life essence to fuel his power. Fortunately for Cenric, he wouldn’t be one of those slaves offered up for sacrifice.
It seems that he was deemed too valuable as a slave to be used for mana draining, and Torag was probably being kept around because of Eilis’s personal interest. However, Cenric couldn’t rest easy knowing this. The city itself filled him with dread, and the screams of the other slaves being drained only added to his unease. He felt completely powerless to help them, and it weighed heavily on him. He was unable to assist those in need.
Apart from lowering his head, it was the only action he could take. The iron collar securely fastened around his neck ensured this. What set his enslavement apart from others in similar circumstances was the enchanted magic embedded in the collar. Even if he somehow eluded his captors, navigated the treacherous deadlands, and established a new existence, as long as the collar remained, Elis would track him down. No matter how swiftly or distantly he fled, Elis would inevitably locate him.
The expedition into the city proceeded with a higher level of caution than usual. Instead of sending labourers and slaves to gather or carry valuables, heavily armed mercenaries and soldiers were deployed to scout and patrol every building, street corner, and alleyway for potential threats. This meticulous search was conducted inch by inch and mile by mile. However, the enormity of the city made this task nearly impossible, as it was larger than any city they had encountered before. Even Sanctus, the former capital city of the Invictus empire and the largest city in the area, was dwarfed by Zarbar, estimated to be roughly eight times its size.
This posed a challenge for Eilis as he lacked the manpower and mana needed to maintain enough familiars for the task. As a result, the city exploration was divided into Districts.
The mercenaries and soldiers would systematically investigate each district one by one, ensuring it was safe before sending in labourers and slaves to transport valuable items. This process would be repeated for each district they explored. Cenric listened in on numerous conversations around the camp during that week and learned that they had not yet found anything of significant value in the districts they had searched. This was disappointing to those hoping to find treasures worth a king’s ransom within the city walls.
However, the discovery was both puzzling and alarming. They finally found out what had happened to the previous expeditions when they came across the remnants of their abandoned campsites and the bodies of the explorers. The corpses had been stripped clean and left to decay, with most of them reduced to bare bones. Their skeletons were now a stark white colour. Some of the bodies had been well-preserved, undergoing the process of mummification.
When the bodies were examined by Eilis’ personal doctor, Stigr, a middle-aged man of northern wilder background, it was evident that he was unlike many of his barbaric kin whose main trade was the skill of healing and medicine. Stigr, however, was a man of intellect and reason, who dedicated his mind to the art of healing and medicine. If he had possessed the ability to use magic, he would have excelled as a great Druid or Shaman.
Upon examining the bodies, Stigr was taken aback by the precise and clean nature of the wounds. The slash or stab marks indicated that a bladed weapon, likely a sword, had been used to inflict the injuries. In fact, the wounds were so clean and precise that they could only have been made by a master swordsman of the highest calibre. The only individuals who could match or come close to this level of skill were Elves or perhaps warriors from Kenshi. However, the doctor considered the idea that one of them was responsible for this to be rather unlikely. Elves were rare and often stayed in their floating cities or forest sanctuaries unless dire circumstances forced them to leave. The people of Kenshi were similar in that they were inward-focused and isolationist by nature, rarely venturing out of their archipelago. If one of them was indeed responsible, it raised more questions than answers. The Deadlands were already a harsh and inhospitable place by Aria standards, with dangers such as wildlife, Desert orc tribes, and snake men. Stigr then went on to examine the wounds of Cuthfrith and others who had died that night. The injuries appeared similar to those inflicted on Cuthfrith, but there was a subtle difference compared to the wounds sustained by members of previous expeditions. Stigr couldn’t quite pinpoint what exactly that difference was.
If the previous information did not raise concerns, the subsequent discovery certainly did. Despite the good condition of the abandoned city of Zarbar, a closer examination revealed that what initially appeared to be natural decay of the city’s infrastructure was evidence of a widespread battle. This was no minor skirmish, but a city-wide conflict so intense that its remnants could be seen in every corner of the city – in homes, buildings, rooftops, and streets. Strangely, no bodies or bone fragments, broken weapons or Armor, rusted metal pieces, mass graves, or funeral pyres were found. It was as if the battle had abruptly ended, with the combatants disappearing without a trace.
As the teams continued their investigation, they discovered something else that required Eilis’ immediate attention. They came across parts of a magic circle carved into the city itself. Eilis was unable to decipher the Arcane script, as the Zarbarian language was extraordinarily complex. The only other languages that rivalled its complexity were those of dragons and elves, both of which shared similarities with Zarbarian. Eilis speculated that the magic circle may have been used for a ritual, but the exact purpose remained a mystery. He retreated to his tent for the rest of the week to study the Arcane formula in hopes of unlocking its secrets.
Eventually, the time arrived for Cenric to be summoned into the city, a moment he had been dreading all week. He was escorted along with the other slaves, walking through the city’s winding roads and streets. Despite his circumstances, he could not help but admire the beauty of the city. The vibrant colours, the symmetry of the houses and buildings, and even the perfectly shaped cobblestones that paved the roads, all created a mesmerizing sight. The way the sand and light traces of snow delicately covered the structures added to the charm. Despite the city’s state of decay and neglect, it still held a certain allure, like a hidden gem obscured by the elements and scavengers. This city mirrored the land of Aria itself, where the ambitions of rulers and warlords marred the lands natural beauty.
However, despite the beauty of his surroundings, Cenric couldn’t overcome his sense of unease. Every step he took and every breath he took chilled his blood and froze his heart to the core. However, he still didn’t know what was causing these feelings as he continued walking. He noticed carvings etched on some of the walls, most of them depicting people engaged in various activities, with some showcasing people fighting in wars.
“I guess some things never change.” Cenric thought to himself
However, what really grabbed his attention was the following set carvings he saw next. These carvings showed massive floating ships descending from the sky above, spewing fire onto the land. There were also smaller three-legged ships, unloading faceless figures onto the land below. In contrast, there were depictions of dwarven, elven, and human warriors standing against these figures. Accompanying these warriors were massive, armoured figures with detailed patterns on their Armor and adorned with gems, shooting lightning from their fingertips at the floating and three-legged ships.
Cenric was unsure of what he was seeing. He had heard rumours about elves having floating cities powered by magic, or dwarfs and gnomes inventing airships. Although he had never seen such things himself, travellers passing through his village of Dellcreek often spoke of them. However, the carvings in front of him did not seem to depict these fantastical creations. The floating ships, the three-legged ships, and the armoured figures were unlike anything he had ever seen before.
As he hurried along with the other slaves towards their destination, Cenric noticed the symbols on the wall under the carvings. Although he couldn’t understand the symbols accompanying the carvings, he quicky realized something. that these carvings and symbols were telling some sort of story, a story about what was the question.
The carvings then depicted a burning city, a land engulfed in flames, a darkening sky, and fallen warriors scattered like blades of grass. Massive floating ships and smaller three-legged ships dominated the scene. However, there were several breaks in the wall where the carvings abruptly ended, leaving the story they were trying to convey a mystery.
Eventually, they were brought to their destination, the district they were to help pick clean like scavenging vultures. They would spend the next few hours carrying loose coins, jewellery, cutlery, and even pieces of furniture that were in good condition back to the camp. However, much like the conversations Cenric had heard about the camp, there seemed to be nothing of substantial value. While the items were just as pretty and masterfully crafted as the city itself, Cenric couldn’t help but feel disappointed. All this effort, all this travel, and all this suffering for this—just a bunch of random junk and trinkets. He couldn’t help but wonder what the true reason was they were here. He didn’t think Eilis was the type of person to go to all this effort for such meagre gains. There had to be something of value here, something so valuable that not only would he send many adventurers to an early grave to get it, but also come here personally to acquire it.
After several more hours, he, along with the other slaves, was sent back to camp. Cenric was carrying the latest sack of valuables over his shoulder. The sack shook, making jingling noises as he walked along the stone road. While walking, he felt someone’s hand on his shoulder. It was Torag.
What is it, Torag?” Cenric said, turning his head to face Torag.
“You seem more troubled than usual, Cenric. Is the city still giving you the jitters?” Torag said, his wrinkled face softening into a small smile as if to ease the person he was speaking to.
“If it was just that, Torag, it wouldn’t bother me as much.”
“Then what is bothering you?” Torag asked in a hushed whisper, making sure the few mercenaries and soldiers escorting them couldn’t hear.
“It’s just… all this effort for this,” Cenric said, gesturing to the sack he was holding.
“Cenric, it’s not our place to question our betters.“”
Before Torag could finish his sentence, a loud noise that sounded like a whistle interrupted him. Everyone froze to locate the source of the noise, and in an instant, one of the soldiers escorting them had his head severed, blood spurting from the stump where his neck once was, splattering onto the stone road. Cenric and the others stood in shock as a cloaked figure emerged on the scene. This figure was unlike any man they had ever seen, sleek and graceful, yet faceless and seemingly composed of liquid metal, with arms and legs shaped into sharp blades. As the figure approached, several mercenaries and soldiers attempted to engage it, only to be effortlessly cut down within seconds. The scene was horrifying, and in the chaos, one of the slaves shouted, “Run!” The group scattered, dropping their belongings as they fled. Cenric and Torag found themselves separated from the others, navigating the winding streets and alleyways in a panic. Their hearts raced as they realized they were not alone; multiple similar figures were pursuing them and the rest of the group, some giving chase while others headed towards the camp.
What do we do?” Cenric stated with quickened breath.
“Run and then hide,” Torag stated.
“We just need to outrun...” before Torag could finish his sentence.
Cenric noticed a massive hole that had just opened up in Torag’s chest as one of the creatures closed in. With a swift strike of its bladed arms, it bisected the old man in half, his upper torso falling to the ground and his lower torso dropping to the ground.
“Torag,” Cenric shouted, tears starting to drip from his green eyes.
He shook his head for a second, trying to hold back the tears. He had to run, he had to get out of here. He ran as fast as he could, ignoring the screams, shouts, and sounds of battle echoing out in the once dead and empty city. Cenric turned and ran down another alleyway, but quickly noticed a massive wall in front of him. It was a dead end. As he went to turn around to go back, a metal figure closed in on him, trapping him with his back against the wall.
“Am I going to die here?” he thought to himself, his face contorted in pure terror as he tried to steel himself for the impending death. His life began to flash before his eyes.
Before the figure could close in on him with their bladed arms from above, the mysterious and cloaked warrior entered the fray and stood between him and the metallic figure. With lightning-quick speed, the two figures clashed, the only things Cenric could see and hear in that moment were the sparks of their blades and the sound of metal on metal as they clashed. After several tense seconds, the mysterious figure, with speed faster than the eye could see, stabbed his blade right into the metallic figure’s chest, pulling it back with a glowing red orb stuck on the blade that flickered for a few seconds before turning gray. The metallic figure crashed to the ground. The mysterious figure then turned towards Cenric, pulling down the hood of the cloak to reveal his messy black hair. What Cenric saw before him was a handsome young man who was tall and lean, with a hawk-like face and amber-coloured eyes. His clothing, Armor, and weapons were a patchwork and mishmash of whatever seemed to be available to him. Cenric just stood there, staring at his mysterious saviour for what seemed like hours, until the tension was broken when Cenric heard a voice in his head.
“Do not be afraid, my name is Tharos. I am here to help,” said Tharos.
Cenric nodded slowly to acknowledge the voice in his head.
Little did they know, this was the beginning of a beautiful friendship.
