Virtue of Rage

Book 1: The Soul Prison

Derek Hampton

Cover by: Trey Finney and Kesaia Aiono

 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 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 from
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? The Pillars
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, but 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.
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 Morterrar.
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 lack 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 Graubenon’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
“Yaknow, 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.
Finally, there was Ravious. No one knew his family name or
where he came from, though his accent made people think he was from
some part of Delrin. His eternal devotion to a long forgotten death God
made him “unique” among the other warlords. Even stranger were his
followers. More cultist than soldiers, his Black Garde were terrifying
Spellwarriors whose power was feared greatly. The warlord accepted all
and baptized them into tools of his conquest at the south end of the
country.
Ravious himself was a brutal opponent that towered over all other
men. Stories of his immense strength and legendary weapon, a large axe
that was rumored to spew lava, were sung across the Buervan Highlands.
His loose alliance with Thogar kept a certain stability in the areas they
ruled over.
Dedricus counted off a total of five names, making a mental note
of each and the land they ruled. From what he could make out, each
warlord was quite powerful and were very much worth avoiding. In all
his years spent in the Highlands, the farthest he had ever gone was the
northern edge of Thogar’s land. Otherwise, all his time was spent near
Boranath.
“How do you know so much about all these guys?”
“Unlike you, I spent my three years out here learning! I've traveled
around a bit too.”
It started to make sense. In many ways, Duke Horas was like the
others. At the same time, he was vastly different. There were still
connections he could not make, as the mercenary placed a lot of trust in
their leader’s diplomatic approach to many things.
“If it wasn't the Duke in charge, say that Ravious guy, how do you
think life would be?” Dedricus asked, trying to get his friend to see a
different view.
“Of all the others, you picked him? Fine, I'll play along. From
what I've seen, Ravious is a religiously motivated man. In his campaign,
he doesn’t seek to convert anyone. Effectively, he fights for the ability to
praise any idol without persecution.”
“That's noble and all, I guess, but what's that gotta do with any of
the other warlords?”
“If you’re not looking to convert others, what’s the motive?”
Dedricus rubbed his chin, deep in thought, as he walked
alongside the Elf. He couldn't think of anything else. Perhaps the ruthless
giant had some kind of noble flare to him.
“It’s a front. A selfish desire masked by good intentions.”
 “What makes you say that?”
“Well, the Duke talks about trade a lot, right?”
Looking back on it, he did. Emphasis on the exchange of goods
and services was massive in Boranath and all throughout the land Horas
controlled. Even literacy was pushed greatly. Through minor taxes, the
warlord was able to gather a large sum of wealth. It was, indeed, a front.
What Ari was saying did carry an undeniable truth to it. Still, it
had provided a better living for everyone there. There were two sides to
it; as with anything. Dedricus didn't know the warlord personally and
could never know for sure.
“I guess you're right. The warlords are the same, more or less.
When it comes down to it, Aldrich or Horas?”
“Oh. Horas any day.”
“As I thought.”
“Shut up!” laughed Ari, rolling his eyes with jovial intent.
The sound of rushing water drove the pair off the road. Both were
tired from a long walk and sought a short break. They traveled through
brush and trees, before finally arriving at the source of the sound. Just off
the path was a loud, but narrow stream.
Dedricus rushed ahead, popping open his canteen as he charged.
He plunged the container into the cool water to refill it, before slapping
the cap back on. Ari set his pack down and hauled himself atop a large
rock nearby. The Half-Elf watched as his friend took large gulps of water
from the stream.
“At that rate, you're gonna choke!” he warned as the mercenary
continued pouring handfuls of water into his mouth.
He hit Ari with a petrifying stare and kept drinking. They weren’t
in any particular rush and the break was long needed, considering the air
was hot and sticky. Rather than badger his friend, the Elf took a seat
under a nearby tree and left him in a coughing fit.
 Chapter 5

The Ruins of Relothra were growing ever closer. As they neared

the foothills that lined the greater northern regions of the Buervan
Highlands, much of the heat and humidity was left behind.
This came as a great relief to Dedricus, who only held contempt
for such conditions. Otherwise, there was a mounting excitement within
him. His boredom had blossomed into curiosity. Though the endless rows
of trees helped stifle that.
He traveled to Relothra now, not as a mercenary, but as someone
mildly interested in learning of a culture lost to the ages. In his mind, it
would be better to allow Ari to think he didn’t hold a shred of interest.
Without giving it away, he'd have to put on a show of apathy.
A rising altitude only helped kill the talking. The only assurance
they had that the other was still alive was the back and forth panting.
Dedricus wasn’t much of a mountain man, always having lived in flatter
regions. The Elf, on the other hand, was just overweight.
Much to their relief, the land at the top of the hill seemed to flatten
out a bit. The trail just carried on through the hearty pine trees. They
blazed the path, hustling down it with a hint of newfound vigor. A strong
urge to urinate hit Dedricus like a sucker punch to the bladder. He
stopped in his tracks and held his lower gut.
“Ari, I really gotta go.”
 “So go here.” the Elf spat back in monotone.
“And what if someone sees? You know I’m sensitive about that
kind of thing!”
The Half-Elf rolled his eyes like the sun rising and setting. He
turned his head from side to side before pointing to a nearby clearing.
The path off the road seemed to have been cut out deliberately.
Dedricus didn’t care at all as he sprinted over to it. He let out a
huge sigh of relief as he undid the straps on his pants and let it all go. As
he was relieving himself, he stared deep into the forest. For just a moment
he swore he saw soldiers seated around a campfire much further down
the clearing.
Calling Ari over, after he finished, the two squinted together.
Confirming his suspicions, the Elf thought it’d be adventurous to
investigate. The mercenary was vehemently opposed, preferring to just
reacquire their pace and continue on towards Relothra. Before he could
say no, the rotund thrill-seeker was already deep within the brush.
The soldiers up ahead wore dull brownish-yellow tabards. The
hideous stripes of dirty cloth, marked by a black head with a serpentine
tongue, was the symbol of the Black Garde, Ravious’ men. As to why they
were camped out near the ruins was a mystery that spurred Ari on edge.
What they also found alarming was a young woman, blindfolded,
bound, and gagged, kneeling aside one of the five soldiers. She wore
tattered robes and her poofy brown hair was an absolute mess. Bruises
and cuts across her body made it seem as though she had either been
abused in captivity or went down with a fight. Maybe both.
The Elf pointed her out to Dedricus, who immediately shook his
head from side to side. To a degree, he understood. It would be a bad idea
to interfere with a warlords affairs. On the other hand, both had a decent
sense of justice. To leave her there was to leave her to die.
 “We have to save her!” whispered Ari with a stern tone.
“What? No. We both know that’s an awful idea. What if she tried
to steal from them? Even worse, what if she tried to kill them? We should
just move on.”
“She’s obviously hurt.”
“She’s obviously a criminal!”
By raising his voice, Dedricus seemed to raise the suspicions of the
men around the fire. They looked around, but continued with what they
were doing. Immediately, the Half-Elf began to form a plan. If they were
to succeed, they'd have to cut down on the number of opponents. This
would be no easy task.
While many warlords made use of mercenaries, Ravious did not.
As a matter of fact, he refused to. Many of his soldiers were fiercely loyal
to the end and trained to boot. Even in outnumbered situations, he still
gained victories due to their expertise and ferocity.
The two would have to scatter the Black Garde soldiers, then
make their move. Luring the men out, one by one, Ari could use his Earth
Magic to bind them in roots or stone. From there, they could move in and
free the girl.
Dedricus remained adamantly against the plot. It seemed crazy to
take on trained soldiers for a random person. Even then, the plot was
weak. Regardless of the Half-Elf Being an adept in his field of magic, the
two of them would be little match for their perspective enemies should
anything go wrong.
“This is crazy. We’re going to die over a stranger.”
“Then leave if you don’t want to help.”
“I’m not gonna leave you. I just don’t understand why we’re doing
this. You doing all this Nienilef crap made you soft.”
As much as the mercenary’s words stung, Ari had no time to give
them any weight. They’d still fight alongside one another, even if he
didn’t agree. The Elf knew that well and sought to take advantage of that
while he could.
Dedricus quickly thought of a simpler way to distract the soldiers.
If he or Ari simply approached them, the other could sneak in and free
the young woman. The in-and-out plan, put forward by the mercenary,
was received well by his friend.
Using the excuse that there was a bear attack, Ari would approach
and try to rouse the men. Dedricus would then use that distraction to cut
the girl free. Once she was done, the Elf would lose them in the woods.
They agreed to meet back up on the road further south.
The young man took off around the camp and got into position.
Now in place, he watched as Ari tore through the bushes and landed into
the camp. All five of the soldiers rose and drew their weapons, as the
portly Elf hopped to his feet in a feigned rush.
“Soldiers! Thank the Gods! M-my camp was attacked by a bear.
You have to help!”
“You look awful clean for a bear attack. Where were you camped
at?” one of the soldiers spoke up, stepping a little closer to Ari.
“Just a ways north. Please, you have to come!” he wailed as the
men held a suspicious air about him.
“Now, hold on. Ol’ Bryon ova there scouted the area. No one was
around.”
“We, uh… We just got here. Once everyone got settled, it attacked.
Please! My friends are dying!”
Though he did admire the Elf’s acting ability, Dedricus had little
time to work with. He snuck through the brush, using the volume of Ari’s
fake cries of terror to mask his entrance. With the lightest footfalls he
could produce, he snuck over to the girl.
 Silently, he unsheathed a knife that he kept at his belt and cut the
blindfold off her. He immediately covered her mouth with his free hand.
Though she was startled, he pressed a finger to his lips. In compliance,
she kept quiet.
“Are you callin’ me a liar?” Dedricus heard the soldier remark as
Ari’s charade started falling apart.
Flipping around, behind her, he cut at the thick bindings that held
her feet and wrists. The ropes at her wrists were sliced through with ease.
The ones tying her feet together were another story. Despite cutting like a
madman, it did little against them.
Tired of wasting time, Dedricus unsheathed his sword. He held it
high over his head, before bringing it down on the space between her
ankles. The weapon split the rope apart with ease but made a loud
snapping sound. All eyes were now on him.
“Thanks!” exclaimed the young woman, before dashing off into
the woods.
They now had the soldiers to contend with. There was no plan for
what to do if they got caught. It was fight and be killed or surrender and
be killed, with the very unlikely possibility of imprisonment if they
surrendered.
“One of ya, after the girl!”
Had it been two or three men, they could have taken them. Five
was simply too many. As one soldier shoved passed Dedricus, the
mercenary threw his blade down and raised both hands in the air. Ari
frowned sadly at him, receiving only a similar look and a shrug.
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