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

by Derek Hampton

  The large walled city of Boranath was situated on the border of where the northern forests ended and the barren plains began, built upon a large Nienilef ruin. Rather than destroy the decaying structures, the settlers there created alongside them. Buildings were a lovely mix of tall ceilinged stone and colored pine wood. It was as if an undecided architect simply placed two styles wherever he felt.

  Then the power struggle arose and the city became more a base of operations than a dwelling. Many of the Nienilef buildings had fallen to disrepair, people resorted to modifications to keep them in use. The brilliantly paved streets their former denizens created had become little more than mud and muck, leaving only crushed powder of the stones that once lined them.

  For many cities to the south, this wasn't the case. Most Humans, the primary race flocking to seek conquest in the Buervan Highlands, found it easier to destroy and build from scratch. The lack of reverence towards the past was something that garnered much frustration from the Elves, who often went out of their way to preserve history.

  Being part Elven, it made a bit of sense that Ari had built an obsession with the Nienilef culture. It was never something that had occurred to Dedricus. He thought of it more as a hobby, for the Elf, that had grown into a very odd addiction.

  The young blade paced down the muddy road, taking in the liveliness all around him. Merchant stalls and stores of every type were full of customers taking care of their daily errands. Boranath was one of the few cities in the Highlands that put a large emphasis on trade. People in the city were actually able to enjoy a decent lifestyle because of the wide availability of goods.

  Dedricus was now headed to a bar on the far south side of town. Barrett was a confidante of his who would often get him decent leads on jobs. Checking with him was always where he started when going on a hunt for work. It was an unspoken pact between the two, in which both took a cut of the reward.

  Before long, he arrived at The Flagon. A hair away from the gates, it was a small building nestled between two others. No porch humored the ugly thing, leaving it like a wall of mismatched clay bricks. Only a single slab of stone acted as a stair up to the door.

  Pushing open the door, a bell rung to alert Dedricus’ entry. On the inside, the bar was actually a rather nice place. The walls were painted an off-white color and decorated with a multitude of dark paintings and hunting trophies. Other than a grizzled man standing behind the bar, the place was empty.

  “Hey Dedricus.” Barrett greeted him plainly.

  “No one’s here to get wasted yet?” replied the mercenary, taking a look around the empty bar.

  “It’s like, uh… What? Midday? Why the hell would anyone be getting drunk this early?”

  “Don’t pretend like you have the most reputable patrons in all of the Buervan Highlands.”

  The bartender puckered his lips to the side and nodded, agreeing with the statement. Dedricus strolled over and took a seat at the bar, making it a point to compliment him on the interior of the locale. He thanked the blade, resuming his own work.

  The young man pulled out his coin purse and placed eight coins on the counter. Barrett looked from side to side before snatching them away. He shoved them deep in his pockets and went back about his business.

  “I can only guess you’re back for some jobs?”

  “Yeah, you got anything for me?”

  “Well, I got some bad news for ya... I actually don't!”

  “My best contact… Has no work for me?” questioned Dedricus with a joking hysteria to his voice.

  Barrett admitted to giving away some lesser jobs to a couple of new faces. He figured the blade before him would want something with more sustenance. It was a fair assumption. He often took lucrative jobs to push himself and make some extra gold in the process.

  Rather than just leave, Dedricus figured he'd sit around a while. He honestly had nothing better to do just yet. Slacking off, potentially losing work, was a dangerous game, though one he mentally discarded. He mindlessly ordered a cup of Tenebris tea to pass the time.

  “So, how's business?” the mercenary asked as Barrett took to brewing.

  “Usually pretty good. It's crap now, but it'll pick up later. Can't really beat cheap and decent drinks just ‘cause it's on the bad side of town.”

  “Fair enough. You got a good thing going here man.”

  Thanking him for the compliment, the bartender went about fixing his drink. Tenebris was a popular drink all over Cyrdoma. The Elves had been drinking it for as long as they could even remember. While recipes varied, it was most commonly made with bright green herbs, cinnamon, honey, and lemon. After being filtered, the tea had a dark color and a strong, sweet taste.

  Dedricus smiled down at the billowing mug before him. He revealed his coin purse and pulled out a handful of golden tokens. His informant made a gesture of decline, telling him to put it away. It was an act of kindness between associates.

  “Thanks. You know, you’ve got the best Tenebris in town.”

  “Stop trying to butter me up. You’re just lucky I felt bad. We both know I usually’ve got stuff for you to do.”

  “No, it’s not like that. It’s really good... Look, I got a weird question for you. Can I?”

  “Shoot.”

  “Ari. You seen him around, like, at all?”

  Sucking air through his teeth, Barrett passed his gaze to something else. He was well aware of the state their friendship was in. At one point in time, The Flagon was their designated hang-out with Barrett acting as informant for both of them. With relations strained, he was reluctant to speak, but figured the time had finally come.

  “Look, I’ll be honest with you Dedricus. Ari’s always hanging out here. You were the one that went off to do your own thing when he started getting out of the business.”

  Dedricus let out a defeated huff of air. Taking a long sip of his tea, he looked back on it all. After Ari began delving into the ancient world of the Nienilef, the young blade had gone deep into his work. He refused to believe it had all fallen on him.

  “No. No way. It was on Ari. He gave up what we had going! We were making a ton of money and he gave it up!”

  “And what would you do with that money? Buy a few drinks? Start a business? Purchase some land that would be sundered by the next warlord coming through?”

  “That… That’s aside from the point. He was my friend and he let me down!”

  “We were all friends. You let us down.” Barrett spoke with grief.

  Enough had been said. Dedricus stood up and walked out of The Flagon. His tea had been left on the bar, mostly untouched, as he left to find work. It wasn’t his fault that things were falling apart. Nothing was ever his fault.

  Chapter 3

  Small battles were common between the various warlords throughout the Buervan Highlands. More often than not, both parties would leave to lick their wounds. Occasionally, a right and good conflict would arise, taking one of the two fighting parties with it. While out on his last job, Dedricus had not heard of the declaration of battle between Horas Graubenon and Aldrich Moreterrar.

  Living in Boranath, Dedricus was a natural proponent of the resident warlord. Horas was a decent man from Yvoria, who initially worked as a mercenary. Driving his way through the various ranks, he now found himself leading a small government.

  His values made him a more favorable warlord in public opinion. Sometimes people even forgot he was like many of the others in the country, fighting for its total control. Battles were sore reminders of this.

  Aldrich Morterrar was a Dwarf who led a band of his own soldiers and saw to the central regions of the Highlands. The dry and unforgiving land suited his attitude well. His victories were often feared, as he took great pleasure in sending a message. Whether that was to the soldiers that served or unruly civilians clinging to their warlords, it mattered little to him.

  In his wake, it wasn't uncommon to find whole armies slaughtered to the last man and left nailed to trees. This l
ack of value for life caused friction between the two warlords. By attacking caravans destined for Boranath, Horas had enough and declared open war upon the Dwarf.

  It was due to this impending fight that provided no work for the young mercenary. In a city fueled by trade, the influx of travelers often meant a large number of jobs for hired swords. Before conflicts, people stayed off the roads and held out in whatever city they were in as the approaching conflict could happen wherever the two armies met.

  It had been several days since Dedricus returned to the city and he would now have to wait until the conflict was over to find anything good. His apartment was dark and quiet as the early evening set in. To top it off, the loneliness was how he preferred it.

  The place was a humble dwelling, bland and small. It consisted all of a bedroom, a kitchen, and a living room. No trinkets or pictures decorated the empty gray walls. It described him perfectly, outside of his work.

  In his kitchen, he prepared himself a bland dinner. All that was on the menu was an apple, eggs, and some stale bread. Laziness had set in and he forgot to go shopping that day. He didn't necessarily mind though. Simple meals were the heartiest.

  Before setting everything on his plate, there was a knock on the door. He growled and cursed as he set his dish down and darted across his living room. Through a tiny peephole in the wooden door he saw a rotund Half-Elf waiting.

  “What?” he asked with a tone, greeting Ari harshly.

  “Is that how you greet everyone, or just me?” the Elf questioned flatly.

  He allowed himself in, scurrying past Dedricus, who stood in the doorway. The hungry mercenary turned to find him already sitting at his dining table. He shut the door and took back to the kitchen.

  “Why do you always catch me when I'm eating?” he asked his friend, who replied with a quick shrug.

  “Your eating habits are predictable.”

  “Hilarious. What's up?”

  Without saying a word, Ari pulled out a map and unfolded it across the table. It was a very intricate depiction of the Buervan Highlands. Several spots were marked with symbols unknown to Dedricus. The Half-Elf pointed to one spot southwest of Boranath.

  “This is where I think the battle is going to go down at,” he stated, before sliding his finger to a marker northeast of there, “This is where the Relothra ruins are.”

  “So you won’t be anywhere near the warlords when you head out.”

  The blade came to the table with his dinner and set it down over a frayed corner of the map. In a frustrated manner, Ari yanked the portion of the map from under the plate. He tapped on the spot that marked the ruins.

  “I spoke to Andrew Folgrysce. He and I worked together to straighten out the information in the tablet.”

  “Who?”

  “The archaeologist you escorted to the ruins? Are you serious? Ugh…” the Half-Elf groaned, unleashing a heavy sigh on his friend.

  “I rarely bother with names. All that matters is the job got done.”

  “Whatever. Working together, we had found a phrase relating to nature. I may have finally found my big break.”

  Dedricus cocked his head back and ran his fingers through his short chocolate-colored hair, giving the Elf a skeptical look. Information on the Nienilef was rare to begin with. Where his friend had been obtaining these answers kept him guessing. The odd culture of the missing race gave little detail of their mystery with no credible sources.

  “So, whatd’ya think you found? How do you even know what you found could be right?” he asked as he took a bite of the mushy apple.

  “Frankly, I don’t know if it’s right. It’s most likely wrong-”

  “Get on with it. What’d you find?”

  “I was getting to that… They may have a clue towards that power source I’ve spoken of so many times. A Core Tree.”

  Core Tree. The mercenary had heard the term thrown but hardly knew a thing of it. The Core Tree was what Ari constantly brought up early on, being the initial spark for his interest in Nienilef culture. From there, he plunged into what remained of their world.

  Little factual evidence could be found on the trees and most of the records on their existence were faded legends, which only fueled the Half-Elf to seek them out further. While the trees were a long shot, potentially being a massive waste of time, they were the aspect that interested him the most. Proving their existence would immediately push him to notoriety as a source of knowledge on the race.

  “And?”

  “And nothing. I said it back at the Blue Lark. I’m leaving tomorrow and want to offer you to join me one last time.”

  “Why do you want me to go so badly?”

  Ari cleared his throat before stating that he would like an eye witness to verify any of his findings. Having someone there would solidify his claims. It was harmless enough, but it still upset Dedricus. In the end, his friend was just using him.

  “You’ve got your Dark Magic. I’ve got my Earth Magic. Two friends on the road! Any bandit who crosses us is a dead man. It’ll be a grand old time!”

  “That actually sounds awful.”

  “Please. Consider it a favor if nothing else.”

  Biting off a hunk of the plain bread, the mercenary thought to himself. Despite their grievances they were still friends. They were safe from the impending battle as well. On top of that, the lack of work would leave him alone and bored.

  “Alright, alright. I'll go. You owe me though!” Dedricus spoke with a mouthful of food.

  A faint smile extended along the Elf’s dull face. He was always awful at expressing strong emotion and this case was no different.

  “Tomorrow, a little after midday, is when we're leaving. I'll be needing a few things, but just bring your usual stuff.” said Ari, running over a checklist in his head.

  “Fine.”

  “I suppose I'll leave you to your meal then.”

  “That’d be awesome.” replied the mercenary, taking a bite of his food.

  Chapter 4

  Dedricus and Ari had set out in the early afternoon. They ate lunch at the Blue Lark before hitting the road with their stomachs full. The sun was still in the sky, but hid behind friendly, white clouds.

  The forested area they walked through was rich with a sticky humidity. It hadn’t rained, but the various rivers and lakes found before the mountains to the north gave way for a muggy environment. The young mercenary hated it, feeling drenched just by existing.

  As opposed to his friend, Ari was very much used to the heavy moisture in the air. The Elven homelands of San’Aormet were mostly tropical forests. Having grown up there, he faced the humidity with few complaints.

  Shortly before they had left, Horas Graubennon’s army marched off to war. Dedricus always imagined what fighting in a battle must be like. The chaos and the carnage excited him. At the same time, it drove an unimaginable fear in him.

  Unfortunately for the Boranath military, they were facing a major threat. Aldrich Morterrar was a Dwarven warlord and a devout follower of Avanna, the Goddess of Justice. His fanatical conquest left people facing his own interpretation of the Goddess’ will. Above all else, he was a skilled commander and fighter.

  Thoughts of their battles outcome plagued Dedricus as he dragged his feet behind Ari. The Elf seemed to be too preoccupied with his own findings to realize that what was going on to the south affected them both. If Horas lost, and Aldrich won, it was likely that the Dwarf would make an attempt on their home city.

  Such a practice was common in the Buervan Highlands. When a warlord defeated another, whether to death or into submission, they would lay waste to the fallen’s land. After everything was razed, the victorious warlord would absorb the land and build anew.

  Duke Horas was no different, in that regard. He had fought in a number of battles himself, winning and losing along the way. Any triumphs of his meant Boranath’s expansion. Dedricus felt this was a positive thing for the political turmoil that the country faced

  “Yak
now, I’ve never asked you about your thoughts on the war.”

  “The war? Meh, it’s silly. All these warlords are about the same.”

  “You, uh… You don’t think Duke Horas is any different? When you compare him to warlords like Aldrich or-”

  “They’re all military leaders looking to amass more land until they have everything. Then what? How will they make as actual political leaders? All they know how to do is fight. The answer is pretty simple.” said Ari, interrupting the hopeful view of his friend.

  He had never thought of it like that. While the Duke of Boranath encouraged commerce and diplomacy, he still wallowed in the muck that the other warlords wrestled in. Nothing really made him any better.

  The Half-Elf also questioned what Dedricus knew of the other warlords. Admittedly, he knew almost nothing of them. Bias and hype behind Horas had kept him blissfully unaware of the other warlords.

  “You’re right. I don’t know much about the others.”

  “You know of Aldrich, though I’m sure you’re aware there are many others.”

  “Care to fill me in?”

  Ari began with a warlord named Thogar Bransson. Who ruled along the eastern edge of the Buervan Highlands. He brought much shame to his aristocratic family, native to the far northern country of Delrin, by seeking glory in the Buervan Highlands. His forces started with just a handful of men, growing vastly as they gained traction.

  Many were simply drawn to the wealth he brought with him from the snowy lands in the north. Tales of the Air Magic user brought fear to his enemies and inspired his allies. Despite this, Thogar was at least known to be merciful at times. It all really depended on his mood.

  Aurelon Saresyl was a Half-Elf warlord who carved his path to victory. Having slayed his former superior, he took command of the army for himself. From there, he pressed a brutal campaign based from the western areas of the Buervan Highlands.

  Though he was far from the most powerful warlord, he was very much a duelist to be feared. Few survived one-on-one fights against him. He was called “The Tempest” due to the way his blades howled in the wind, thick with blood.