Dark Age Year 871
Twenty Third day of the Third month
After a night of heavy rain, chilling winds, and an undead horde descending upon the village like a swarm of locusts, the village of Aurelia Silva woke to a new dawn. However, the usual joy of a new day was absent. Out of the roughly eight to nine hundred villagers that called the village their home, about half of them were killed by the undead during the attack, leaving the rest either terrified, injured, or on the brink of death. It was a miracle that more weren’t lost. Cenric was surprised at his own survival. “How am I not dead yet?” he often thought to himself during that morning. It was a question he didn’t really have an answer to. In the span of three months, he had encountered and narrowly avoided death several times, when so many others didn’t. When he exited the village hall that night, he saw what was starting to become commonplace for him. The village was a gruesome scene, with corpses littering the streets and buildings drenched in blood. Death spared no one this night. Men, women, children, and the elderly were killed in equal measure. It was an utter and total massacre. There was no other word to describe it, a sight that left him pondering his own mortality and luck. Was he lucky to see tomorrow, or were the people who now lay still in eternal sleep the lucky ones?
The grim sight brought back memories of Zarbar, memories Cenric could do without. This massacre was even more devastating than what he had experienced before. In Zarbar, the people had a better chance to defend themselves or escape, as most of them were adventurers or skilled mercenaries. They had the open sky and desert wasteland to flee to before the monstrous creatures made of liquid metal or twisted flesh could overpower them. However, the villagers in this case were not fighters; they were farmers or craftsmen. While some tried to resist, their efforts were futile, and they had nowhere to seek refuge. Many were trapped in their homes and mercilessly slaughtered by the undead closing in on them and their families. What was once a safe haven, a place of happiness and peace, turned into their graves. Illuminated by the bright torches and faint moonlight, Cenric could see it all: their pale, angry, and horror-stricken faces, their eyes staring back at him with lifeless and fear-flushed gazes. Upon locking eyes with them, he would often jump back in fright until Cenric realised once again that they were not living people, nor were they empty shells devoid of life. They were reminders that he wasn’t strong enough. He couldn’t save his village of Dellcreek, he couldn’t save Torag or the other slaves in Zarbar. Hell, he barely managed to protect himself that night from the zombies that tried to eat him alive. If it weren’t for Tharos and Rayner, he would likely have ended up as zombie food.
Witnessing all this pain and suffering before him hurt him more deeply than he could have imagined. It gnawed at his heart, surpassing the scars from his enslavement and the wounds from battling the undead that now marked his youthful body. It was the ache of failure, the feeling of not measuring up, of still falling short. Maybe he had been too hard on himself, too impatient. Tharos would say so, and perhaps Tharos was right. Despite making significant progress in his training over the past two months, Cenric couldn’t shake the growing feeling of inadequacy. He wondered if Tharos was just trying to boost his confidence or if he truly believed in his improvement. Uncertainty clouded his mind, but one thing was clear: he despised the thought of being useless, of not being able to assist when needed. He refused to be dead weight.
Throughout the night, as he tried to rest after the undead horde fled back into the forests, he was plagued by feelings of fear and dread, haunted by visions of zombies and skeletal warriors. Morning brought no relief as a village meeting was called to discuss the impending danger. It was decided that most villagers would stay to defend their homes against the necromancer and his undead army, while a small few went to other settlements to spread the news. Tharos and Rayner left to track down the necromancer, while he was tasked with helping the villagers dispose of the dead bodies. For the next few hours, he helped dig several mass graves, most of which were about six feet deep, ten feet wide, and twenty feet in length, so they could put the bodies in to burn them. It was a grim but necessary task. The corpses of the undead often still contained faint traces of magical energy that gave them life, and if not disposed of properly, they could poison the land. The corpses of the villagers themselves were wrapped together in blankets and buried in layers of lime. Together with several of the villagers, he dug the large pits for the bodies, completing the task by late midday. The stench was overwhelming, one that Cenric didn’t think he would get used to, and one that took all his willpower to not throw up in his mouth. Above in the clear and sunny sky, small flocks of carrion birds were flying overhead, attracted by the scent of death, their caws and squawks echoing in the air, almost giving him a headache.
After finishing helping to dig out another hole, Nico called out to him, “That should be enough work for you, young man. Go take a break.” Cenric placed the shovel firmly in the ground and looked at him, saying, “Okay.” He jumped up and grabbed the edge of the hole, climbing and shimming his way to the top of the mass grave. As he dusted himself off, a thin layer of dirt brushed off him and flowed in the small, cool breeze. Nico said to him, “There are some refreshments in my home for you if you want them.” Cocking his head to the side, Cenric asked the village elder, “Are you sure?” Nico returned his question with a gentle and grandfatherly smile, “I insist. It is the least I can do to thank you for helping protect this village.”
Cenric quickly nodded and thanked Nico before hurrying to Nico’s house. He grabbed a cup and a few small handfuls of grapes for himself and made his way to the room where they were staying and sleeping. As he propped himself against the wall to rest, he noticed some nasty nicks and cuts from the previous night, and his head was still sore from when a zombie almost punched through his helmet. He picked up the helmet and examined the dent. Even though it was a cheap helmet, it had saved his life. Holding it, he still couldn’t remember how those zombies had caught him off guard. He remembered walking outside the northern gate just to take a quick look around, and then suddenly several pale figures had attacked him out of nowhere. “It was lucky I had these with me,” he muttered to himself as he looked at his broken spear and shield, although it was his trusty wilder raiding axe that did most of the work. His shield and spear did their part; he managed to pin a zombie to the ground and bash another into the ground with his shield. He was somewhat happy that maybe all the training was starting to pay off.
As he finished eating and drinking, he noticed a beam of light catching his eye. He moved to get out of the way and as he did so, his gaze was directed to the windows. Looking out the window, far into the distance through the dirt road leading out of the village to the tree line, he saw the rough outline of what looked like farmland and a tiny homestead. “That farm doesn’t look too far away,” he thought to himself as he popped another grape in his mouth. Originally, they were going to go there today, but the necromancer and their undead horde took priority, and Tharos didn’t want to waste time looking into things that were completely unrelated to the village’s current ills. It was then the idea hit him. He would go there and see for himself if there was anything there. He may not know exactly what to look for, but he didn’t want to stand around and do nothing, and checking out an abandoned farm sounded way more fun than just digging holes.
He quickly grabbed and put on his chain shirt, leather vambraces, greaves, and boots, strapping his axe and dagger to his belt. He thought it would be unwise to venture without his gear, especially given there might still be undead in the area, but it was a risk he was willing to take. A missing mage and a murdered farmer might be completely unrelated to what was happening in the village with the necromancer, but what if they were somehow connected? He couldn’t help but think about how much he could help by investigating. As he stood up and checked that his armour and weapons were fastened tightly, he quietly snuck out of Nico’s house, through the village, out of the north gate, and into the treeline, making his way to the farm. After about an hour of walking, he reached the outskirts of the farm without much delay.
Upon arriving at the farm, he was immediately struck by its size. It was larger than any farm he had seen before, maybe between ten to fifteen acres in size. In the middle of the farm, there were several pens for animals, a wooden shed, and a two-story house. From this distance, he could see that the house was painted white and made out of a mix of brick and stone, with a light red tile roof. He had never seen a farm this big before; even the farmlands in his village were only a few acres at most, and this house was much nicer than the houses in the village, comparable only to the village elder’s house.
Ozias must have been quite the farmer to manage this all by himself. Cenric thought to himself as he walked through one of the untilled fields. The ground felt soft beneath his feet, and dark brown water seeped from the mud, accompanied by a faint sloshing sound. Pausing to kneel down and scoop up a handful of dirt, he noticed the rich earthy smell and the abundance of worms in the soil. He gazed at the dirt in his hand, feeling its softness and the worms wriggling between his fingers before gently returning it to the ground. The place began to evoke memories of home, and with that, a wave of warmth washed over Cenric. In that moment, he wasn’t just a former slave striving to prove himself to his saviour or a novice adventurer embarking on a new journey. At his core, he remained the farm boy from a small village with a nondescript creek, and perhaps that simple identity was all he truly was.
So much has happened. If someone had told him that this would be his life, he would have thought they were crazy. It was only two, no maybe even three years ago, that everything changed. What started as a normal day turned into a day of hell, with people murdered and those who couldn’t escape captured in chains. It was the day his simple life as a farm boy ended, the day Dellcreek village burned, and the day his new life began. He was free now, but unsure of what to do with that freedom, other than following Tharos around. Perhaps he would never fully understand it. Maybe, just maybe, Tharos could help him figure it out.
As he walked through the untended fields, the homestead came into clearer view. He noticed that it had windows and was much larger than he had initially thought. The house seemed spacious enough to accommodate ten to fifteen people. It bore a resemblance to some of the farmsteads in Dellcreek but was less nice looking. His people tended to use wood, mud, and clay to build their homes, which were not built to last and were easily made as they where destroyed. Despite this, there was a certain charm to the place. It was the kind of place where one could envision starting a family, growing old, and waiting for the inevitable passage of time to claim them.
Starting a family. The thought lingered in his mind as he pictured Estrid, not as she was when he last saw her, but how he imagined she would look now if she were alive. He envisioned her sparkling reddish-brown eyes, rounded face alive with joy, long flowing chestnut brown hair with small braids. Her once skinny body and limbs becoming more lean and limber like that of a cat. She would be taller and perhaps more well-endowed in the chest area. Cenric felt a slight blush spread across his cheeks as his face turned a faint shade of red. He shook his head.
She’s a friend.
Despite finding certain aspects of Estrid charming, more so than any other girls in Dellcreek or elsewhere he had met, he ultimately saw her as a friend and loved her like a sister. If he was being honest with himself, he knew that was the extent of his feelings towards her. How could he not view her as anything else? They were practically brought up together and were raised as if they were brother and sister; all his earliest memories had her in them. In fact, he wishes he could see her again or at least know if she is alive or dead. I mean, he made it, maybe she made it out as well. She was always a skilled hunter and quick on her feet, even when they were younger. If anyone could have made it out, it would have been her. Perhaps like him, she is now travelling with a group of companions and going on adventures, or maybe she is starting life anew in a new village or town, finding someone to gift stuffed birds or rabbit teeth necklaces to. He couldn’t help but chuckle at the thought of the unfortunate person who might win her affections, knowing that her feelings would be reciprocated. Due to her passion for taxidermy and related hobbies, many people in Dellcreek gossiped about her being unsuitable for marriage. They questioned who would marry such a strange and morbid girl. These comments irritated him. Yes, she wasn’t what you would call your normal girl, but as far as Cenric viewed it, that was part of the charm. And that oddness was something to be admired.
After traversing several more acres of untilled fields, pastures, and fenced enclosures, Cenric found himself standing just outside the porch of the homestead. He looked around, keeping his ears alert for any noise, but there was nothing. The farm was empty, quiet, and still, with no sign of life anywhere. It was rather unnerving, even with undead creatures stalking about. The emptiness of the farm felt unnatural to him. As he approached the farm, the sounds of birds chirping and crickets became more distant. In fact, he couldn’t hear anything aside from the rustling of trees and grass in the wind and the droplets of water in puddles, buckets, and troughs around the farm. What kind of mess am I about to get into now? he thought to himself as he stepped onto the porch and reached his hand towards the door. As he twisted the knob, he noticed the door wasn’t opening. “Locked, figures,” he muttered. Cenric quickly glanced at his axe and the daggers tied to his belt. Well, there are glass windows I could use the axe to break down the door or one of the windows. However, that would make too much noise. Besides, those windows look to small for me to fit though. Perhaps there’s another way. Cenric circled the homestead and reached the back where he discovered a locked back door. However, he also noticed what appeared to be the entrance to a cellar, possibly connected to the homestead. Giving the cellar door a quick tug, he found it unlocked.
Before he opened the cellar, he turned around to see what, at first glance, looked like another pen. However, upon taking a closer look, he saw circular and flat stones placed in the ground with writings engraved on them. “Some sort of family graveyard,” he muttered as he walked closer towards it and noticed one of the tombstones was much nicer than any of the tombstones he had seen in the village. In fact, compared to the other tombstones in this graveyard, this one looked new. The tombstone was adorned with fresh chrysanthemums, which looked like they had been placed there recently. “I wonder who put those there,” he thought. As he approached the tombstone, he struggled to decipher the Invicti inscription, as he could only understand a bit of it. If it were written in Wilder or the trade language, he would have found it easier to read. The tombstone read, “Here lies Ozias….”
From what he had heard, Ozias had died about a couple of weeks before they showed up in the village. He wondered if they had arrived in the village earlier, maybe they could have prevented his death. Although it was not related to what was going on, Cenric wanted to prove to himself and Tharos that he wasn’t dead weight, that he could be valuable. He took a deep breath to steady his nerves, summoning all the foolhardy and youthful courage he could muster as he opened the cellar door. He closed it behind him and descended the wooden steps with an axe in hand. He wished he had brought a torch as darkness started to envelop him. Not knowing what he would find down there or in the home, he hoped to make his way upstairs. It was pitch black, and as he felt his way through, he grasped a metal lever, hearing a clicking noise. The torches on the walls and scattered candles in the cellar suddenly lit up, revealing what appeared to be a cellar filled with shelves of books and scrolls, with a massive cauldron in the centre of the room surrounded by more shelves and desks, some of them filled with glass vials of strange liquids. As he stood there, taking it all in, Cenric had a sinking feeling that he may have bitten off more than he could chew.
