The Sufferer's Chronicle - Book 1: The Soul Prison

by Derek Hampton

  The Sufferer's Chronicle

  Book 1: The Soul Prison

  For Leah and Zeny

  Both of you left this world far too soon. No words could ever describe my grief or loss of never being able to see you again. I’m not great at being sappy, so we’ll end it there. I love you and miss you both.

  Special Thanks to Evan “Brreezy” Smith, Lynham “Kurine” Mariner, and “Wuffy”

  Evan

  Without you, this literally wouldn’t be happening as soon as it did. You’ve been a constructive, positive, and rational voice, guiding me through this mess. You’ve always had my back and I hope I’ve shown the same favor in return. While I could go on forever about this, your name will never be forgotten when people ask who else was involved in this project. It simply wouldn’t have been complete without you.

  Lynham

  While I could laugh and say you’ve been almost TOO positive, your eternal positivity and support in this endeavor is beyond appreciated. Those endless nights at coffee shops throughout Tallahassee, sitting on the edge of my seat, waiting for your feedback are a feeling I hope to get in the future. We’ll see what happens next.

  “Wuffy”

  Where my thanks to you comes from is your astonishing ability to bring my characters to life. The way you were able to take a style you hadn’t worked with before and really make it your own, as a fellow creator, is something I must humbly bow down before. Thanks for being awesome and I hope to get many more works out of you!

  Prologue

  Atop a rampart crafted of brilliant stone, a figure hidden behind a brown cloak stood waiting. The setting sun could hardly be seen through the electrified clouds that shrouded the land in black. It was to storm.

  The darkened specter held a greatsword by the crossguards, a dry and wrinkled hand on each wing, pointed to the ground. They waited patiently, as the crack of thunder brought with it a deluge upon them. It did not matter. He would arrive despite the poor weather.

  A uniform march heralded his approach, echoing throughout the gardens below. The stakes were simply too high and he wasn't going to take any chances. The cloaked individual peered over the embrasures along the edge to see a small army parked at the foot of the bridge. He was nowhere to be found, surely making his way to them already.

  The rain picked up quickly and brought with it a violent gale. The cloak whipped freely in the wind, revealing a slender outline in leather armor. Concealing their face still, the hood remained upon their head. A ways down the bridge, he could be seen.

  A Knight, or at least he once was, made his way down the elevated bridge. Even in the rain, his steel armor glistened like stars on a clear night. He walked with a purpose, guarded by two forces clad in a black armor. They were not human. Nor Elven. Nor Dwarven. They were not of that world, not of Vinadorin.

  Approaching the figure, the two guards drew their weapons. They remained behind as the Knight stepped forward. His long dark hair had been flattened from the rain, odd that he brought no cloak or helmet. He couldn’t seem to form words, constantly trying to look under the spectre’s hood.

  “My mother. What do you know of my mother?” The Knight asked aloud, trying to speak over the rain.

  “What do you want to know?” the figure spat back.

  “Listen to me,” he said, his voice rising with anger, “This might be some kind of game to you, but for four long years, I have searched for my mother. I can give you the money you asked for, or I can drive nails into you until you speak. The choice is yours.”

  Bringing down the hood of the cloak revealed a graying woman. Her hair was tied into a neat bun at the back of her neck. A multitude of scars were painted across her soaked, pale face. A more notable one ran down the left side, from her forehead to her chin.

  “Predictable. You left the fate of Light Magic in the hands of my mother. Why, Aunt Moinette?”

  “You’re insane Galinaeus. I set this up to end it here. You betrayed The Order.”

  “Betrayed it?! I’ve brought it to it’s height!” cackled the Knight, opening his arms and showcasing the golden city around them. “The Order and its Paladins have acted as the main force of Vigilance. It was long overdue that we made it ours.”

  “And for that, you killed the those you once called brothers?”

  “They lacked my vision.”

  “Then your vision is twisted!” shouted Moinette, throwing her greatsword up and catching it by the grip.

  Galinaeus narrowed his eyes, throwing her an irate glare through the rain. She knew he had two choices. Her nephew could fight her or he could let her go, only to fight another day. Having been his mentor in a time long passed, she knew of his pride. With his child on the line, and the future of Light Magic as the world knew it, he would not give up.

  The Knight revealed a two-handed mace that was sheathed across his back. Both faces of the weapon were shaped of a violet crystal. A loud streak of lightning, followed by the rumbling thunder in its wake, gave the signal to strike. Both charged, meeting at the center of the bridge.

  Blade and hammer met, locked together after coming to blows. Moinette sliced upward, freeing her greatsword, before leaping back to create space between the two of them. By then, the Knight had stepped back, ordering his two guards to attack the woman.

  She swung her weapon in a large arc before her. The armored demon on the left was bisected at the waist, it’s torso falling to the ground in a mess of black blood, while the other was knocked away. Moving as quick as the lightning that danced across the abyssal skies, the elder Paladin thrust her blade into the demon.

  Watching the creature fall, Moinette snickered as she set her sights upon her nephew once more. He rolled his eyes and gave an angry huff. With a wave of his left hand, a pillar of brilliant light was called from the sky. He pushed his hand forward and the pillar gained traction, soon tearing down the ramparts.

  Seeing the large stream of energy approaching her, she defaulted to a defensive counter. Taking her sword in both hands, she slammed it into the stone bridge and closed her eyes. A shimmering yellow dome had been formed, conjured forth in an attempt to stop the racing spell.

  The beam soon died out as it passed over the barrier, having successfully held it off, but being destroyed in the process. Galinaeus was now charging her, choking his mace with both hands. He carried his weapon downwards as he neared, readying an uppercut. The angled greatsword was not enough to stop the tremendous force of the attack.

  Moinette was knocked into the air, but managed to land on her feet. Her nephew was already preparing for a wide, midsection swing. In his training, she had seen this. This was his favorite chain of attacks. Unfortunately for him, this would not suffice in killing her.

  She held her blade outward with an iron defense. The midsection chop was delivered, but was met only by her sword. Ripping her blade downward, she went right back in, attempting to lance him through the chest. He dodged her risky push, sending her sliding away from him.

  Getting back on her feet, she fired a bolt of white plasma at him. It hissed as it flew through the rain, evaporating any droplets of water it caught along the way. Galinaeus swung at the energy, casting it aside with it exploding along the stone bridge. He couldn’t help but turn his head to shield his eyes from the radiant eruption.

  Moinette used this as her opportunity to rush him. Bringing her sword from overhead, she slashed her nephew across the chest. His armor had been rent apart and he was bleeding heavily, forcing him down to one knee. He roared before bashing his armor with his left hand and rising.

  “What will you do?” asked the woman, growing exhausted f
rom the fight.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “If you win, what will you do? What hope do you have to try using the same demons that nearly claimed this world centuries prior? Who will follow you?”

  “They will fall to their knees before me.”

  “Who is they Galinaeus?! The Governors are gathering their armies right now. They will besiege this city until they find you and take your head for all that you’ve done. A handful of demons can’t stop that.”

  “I am the mightiest Paladin who ever-”

  “You’re the most delusional Paladin who ever lived.” she cut him off, “Enough.”

  A newfound rage burned in Galinaeus’ eyes. As Moinette fought further with him, she could see it. She had also vastly overestimated her own skills with age. Her nephew was undeniably powerful. More powerful than her now. More powerful than she had ever been at her height.

  She grew tired. The force of her blows was waning as the last of her stamina went with them. He parried each of her strikes with ease and she was too fatigued to even attempt any magic. While trying to make an attack from overhead, she mistakenly left herself open to his signature strike.

  Moinette had been struck across the upper body, mauling her and shredding apart her leather armor. Her chest had been caved in, sending her tumbling to the floor. She coughed up a great deal of blood as she lay dying. Her nephew stood over her after kicking away her sword, unimpressed.

  “You old bitch.”

  “T-t-they will… C-come f-for you…” she started feebly, hacking up more blood.

  “Who? The Governors, or what remains of The Order? Albert, Ulaag, and Thyllen’Daar will not stop me. Between Levathin and I, the continent of Cyrdoma will see a new age rise when I have my daughter back.”

  Barely clinging to life as she struggled for breath, the dying Paladin blew a wheezy laugh. Galinaeus pressed a foot down on her broken torso for the mocking gesture, causing her to give a raspy wail of agony. Neither one had much else to say.

  The slow rise and fall of Moinette’s chest eventually ceased as she died. The Knight sheathed his own weapon and took her blade into his hands. He had his own ideas of what he’d do with her sword. At the moment, however, he had bigger plans. She was right - the Governors of Nylevran were coming for him and he would have to make preparations.

  Chapter 1

  A hired sword would be the politically correct term for a mercenary. Though most mercenaries cared little for what you called them, so long as they got paid. Dedricus Hadiel was no exception.

  Working in the Buervan Highlands meant easy work for the young blade. The dry grassy lands were dangerous and rampant with petty thievery on the roads. People needed protection, protection they'd have to pay for. If you were any good with sorcery or sword, you could make a sustainable living in the country.

  Doing just that, he had established himself in the northern city of Boranath. Dedricus’ skill with a sword was matched by few, a talent he had honed in his youth. Perhaps this was offset by the lack of formally trained warriors in the Highlands, and the lack of competition pleased him.

  He now found himself sitting alone at the Blue Lark Inn, a bright building found near the center of town. He had just returned to the city after completing a job and sought refuge in his favorite restaurant. His green eyes darted over the menu that hung above the bar, constantly shifting from item to item. It was an awful habit of his to read the entire menu.

  Inspecting the place, his stare went from the front door to the bar. In the back of his mind he thought of any new job listings. Maybe there was something easy, like taking an old man to the next town over or “reminding” someone of an owed debt.

  A perky waitress soon came over to his table with a pencil and a small pad of paper at the ready. She greeted him and asked if he was ready to order. Speaking with a tone of resignation, he ordered the same thing he always got - Plains Chili with “Corn-Flour” Bread.

  The woman scribbled down his order and told him it would be out shortly before walking away towards another table. Dedricus pulled a leather sack off his belt, placing it on the table carelessly. Untying the knot that held it closed, he peaked inside to reveal a sum of gold circles. They were misshapen and bent, but they still carried value.

  In the Highlands, there was no official currency. Gold had universal weight and, thus, became the default for trade. The standard were inch-long wheels with no print upon them. Realistically, gold was gold and that was it.

  As the young man counted his coins, his stomach growled. The food couldn’t get there soon enough. After totalling fifty-seven pieces, he closed the sack and reattached it to his belt. Looking back up, a shadow had been cast over his table.

  A portly Half-Elf stood before Dedricus, his arms crossed. He had dark hair and small eyes. Elves were typically very tall and fair; Tre’Yvari was not a single one of those things. Even his ears were mostly rounded at their tips. Inviting himself to the table, he took a seat across from the young man. The two stared each other down, with Dedricus giving back a tense squint.

  “How did I know I’d find you here?” asked the Elf gleefully.

  “I’m a mercenary, not a thief. I should be easy enough to find. What’s up Ari?”

  “Oh-ho-ho. You think you’re funny, don’t you? I actually wanted to come and check on how your last contract went.”

  Dedricus shrugged at his friend, before insisting it was nothing out of the ordinary. The two had known one another for nearly three years, both arriving in the Highlands at the same time.They quickly became friends, finding work together as mercenaries.

  As of late, they had been growing apart. Due to the Half-Elf’s more benevolent nature, he began to stray from the materialistic life of a soldier for hire. Regardless, the two kept a loose friendship fueled only by their past similarities. Both were bitter, but roughed through it, as they had no one else to really turn to.

  With a serving platter full of food, the waitress swung by the table where they sat and placed Dedricus’ meal before him. She took notice of the Elf and asked if he wanted anything, for him to decline politely. The hungry young man looked down at the meal before taking his spoon in one hand and driving it into the soupy red mixture.

  “So, why are you here?” asked Dedricus, almost genially.

  “Ouch. I can’t just visit my friend? Besides, I already told you. I wanted to know how your last contract went.”

  “It went fine. Some archaeologist type wanted me to escort him to a Nienilef ruin.”

  “That’s it? Just there and back? You love to tell stories, so tell me a story!”

  “Thanks, but you know I don’t take requests.”

  “You’re a mercenary, and you don’t take requests? What kind of hired soldier are you?” Ari laughed, stealing a chunk of bread from the plate underneath his friend’s bowl of chili.

  “Fine, fine. I walked him out, about two days northeast of here, and we sat in the ruins for a day. It was hot and humid. On our way back, we got ambushed by a couple bandits. I killed them. We got back. Is that enough detail?”

  “And what did he find in the ruins?

  “A tablet or something. I don't know.”

  Rubbing his shaven chin, the Elf seemed lost in thought before bringing up the Nienilef. Where the conversation was leading finally hit Dedricus. To him, the Nienilef and their ruins meant nothing. Many others would disagree, Ari especially.

  In more recent months, he had been studying the ancient race and their ruins. After catching wind of a mysterious source of power they had once used, he set his sights on unlocking their secrets. This mild obsession also led to the deterioration of their friendship.

  “So that's what it's about? You just want to know what that guy found!”

  “Two birds one stone. I could check up on a good friend and find out more about the Relothra ruins.”

  Dedricus sighed, raising another spoonful of chili to his mouth. He had questioned it multiple times in the past, b
ut figured he'd bring it up once more. Where his friend’s burning desire to uncover the secrets of an extinct race had come from were a mystery to him.

  “Why are you so into this Nienilef thing?”

  “What is this? The hundredth time you're asking?”

  “Yeah. Well, go ahead and answer. My chili's getting cold.”

  “Actually, I'm not going to give you the pleasure. Now that I think about it, I might make a trip out to those ruins myself. Would you care to come?”

  Dedricus blew a huff of air from his mouth, declining without words. The Half-Elf was taken aback, but rolled his eyes and looked away. He extended the offer once more, for his friend to decline again. With that, he pushed his chair out and stood over the table.

  “Look, if you change your mind, you’re welcome to come. I don’t mean that in any kind of spiteful way either. It could be fun.”

  “Our ideas of fun are very different.”

  “Different is good. Well, I’ll leave you to your chili. See you around.”

  The young man saw Ari off with a dismissive nod. He hated where their friendship was heading. Shaking it off, he continued to peck at his chili. As the bottom of the bowl started to show, he went for his bread. Realizing some pieces of it had been torn off, he sighed.

  Chapter 2

  Finding work as a mercenary was easy, especially in a city like Boranath. Going to any bar in town would find you a job listing or even good gossip from a loose mouthed bartender. Joining a company was also an option, but one with less freedom.

  Dedricus preferred to find his own work, having made friends in many bars, inns, and taverns all around the city. He had given himself two days to rest and was now on the prowl for new work. Singing to himself, he walked the streets of the city. It was unusually busy on that day.