Chronicles of Domaria - Book I – The Awakening

A light drizzle fell on the outskirts of the ancient city of Durunthir. The cool morning breeze spread rain droplets through the windows of the shanties, filling that gray day with a melancholic and unfavorable hue.

The citadel had been founded by dwarves centuries ago and had been crushed before the great pilgrimage. Nestled in the heart of a small mountain, it had been mercilessly invaded by kur’daks armies, a bloodthirsty tribe of orcs from the West, which left no survivors there. They completely looted the city, also living there for a while.

A bloody battle was unleashed unfolded by the vengeance of Tiris, King of Eldania at the time. After the Allied armies slaughtered the invaders, the mountain was retaken under the aegis of humans. However, unaccustomed to life in caves, they founded a town a few kilometers from the foot of the mountain and donated the land to the heroes who reconquered it. The district was baptized with the same name as the mountain, after the Alliance of peoples.

Over time, Durunthir became a source of riches for the Lords of the region. Ancient artifacts, minerals and precious stones were extracted in exchange for food, weapons and other benefits to the small town. Despite the wealth, corruption and inequality increased as a result of the greed of the Lords. The city was divided into two groups, one group belonging to the noble lineage of the bourgeoisie and the conquerors of the city and a poor one, almost miserable, formed by laborers, immigrants and foreigners.

Not far away, men walked in their rags in the mud of a small dirt road. They served in daily ritual of the mines of the region. Some kilometers walking in the cold drizzle, with cloth bags, backpacks and heavy equipment were worth the little salary to support their miserable families.

These convicts were thieves, bullies and other outlaws, obliged to provide services to the community in exchange for a very low reward. It was worse than a prison cell. You couldn’t properly feed.

Andarion was a beautiful name, which could be the name of someone who could have been born to a noble family. He was a young man with black hair, tired brown eyes, and thin beard. He was good-looking, except for the poor clothes. He wore a black hood, grubby shirt and pants and a long black shawl, that was his only protection against the cold and rain.

The young man was one of the criminals. They walked daily with a heavy cuff made of wood, ripped up by a large bolt that was firmly tightened by the foreman. Crestfallen, he was walking out in a forced march, looking at his own footprints in mud formed after the last night rain.

His mind drifted away for one second. He remembered that he had left the only piece of stale bread and some dried fruit to his younger half-sister, Andariel, while she was still sleeping. In an instant, he recalled what led up to that degrading and unpleasant work: his routine of thefts in the city.

- I steal to survive - he said, when he was arrested while trying to steal a priceless jewel of the house of Miklos, Lord of the city. - They steal from us all the time. I just did what I thought was fair.

A young man of few words is an accurate description of the Andarion’s behavior. He never met his father, and hiding under the bed, he witnessed the murder of his mother at the hands of a soldier, when he was a little boy. Before her death, he received a brooch that symbolized a great mystery.

Since then, the young man began to take care of his little half-sister. With few resources left by his mother, he got by for a few months, but then the winter came, together with scarcity and hunger. He tried some kind of work in taverns, farms and even in the houses of the Lords, but he was too young, and no one wanted a young skinny weak boy in their houses. The last option was stealing.

His first theft was a mix of emotions: hunger, anger and fear. He was too scared. The boy snuck out at night through the back door of a tavern and stole a loaf of bread and a boar leg. He could barely carry them. Unable to feel guilt or remorse, the young man only felt indifference and revenge. In the beginning, it was a fruit, loaves, some coins, but over time it became a profession, moved by talent. One thing was clear in his eyes: robbing was a lot better than working.

Andariel lived most of the time locked at home following the recommendation of his brother, who feared for her safety in the lower part of the old and dirty city. She went out only to have daily full-time classes at the abbey. In order to make ends meet, the rogue began to steal valuable things, more and more.

The promise to his sister that one day they would be out of town and live prosperously sparked the desire to steal a great treasure. It was risky, but it could be the big prize that would save them from suffering.

Suddenly, the young man woke up from the long reverie with a shake to his arms, caused by the subtlety of the foreman trying to remove the handcuffs. He didn’t even remember how and where in that rainy morning, he had walked up to the entrance to the mines. Fearing starvation again and, especially, fearing his sister’s well-being, Andarion muttered:

Today is the last day.

Work was exhausting, dangerous and unhealthy. There were few of the workmen who didn’t get sick, handicapped or even died in accidents during the excavations. Concern over security was minimal, since the lords and owners wanted to extract the maximum of resources in total insecurity.

- Finally done - he thought, after a strenuous work journey.

Dirty and sweaty, the young thief aligned himself in the dimly lit corridor leading outside to the daily ritual of handcuffing and man count. The procedure was required both at the entrance and exit of the mines, but usually it wasn’t carried out very accurately.

The foreman delivered the handcuffs to the prisoners and waited until all workers put them on. Sometimes he walked near while counting, pressing vigorously the dowels. Some other times, he didn’t. He was reckless, but no one so far had chosen running away and being lost in the vicinity of the mountain, exposed to the creatures of the night.

- One, two, three ...- continued the brute guy counting, closing the handcuffs. From there, he muttered the numbers and indicated with his fingers, pointing to the others lazily, without walking through the line.

Andarion positioned himself with malice in the dim light of the hallway and exclaimed aloud, realizing that the foreman was pointed to him, at the end of the line:

-Thirteen!

The rogue joined arms with handcuffs and lifted them, pretending to be arrested. Without any trace of patience, and eager to get home at that cold night, the brute guy even questioned the insolence of the rogue.

-March up, bastards! -the foreman shouted with the whip in hand, leading the line and turning to the exit.

Everyone walked slowly with their filthy clothes of clay and coal towards the main entrance, while Andarion quickly hid in an uneven part of the wall. Shrunk in the hall, in absolute silence, the rogue waited carefully the distancing of the group and remained there, aware of the noise of footsteps and of fading light from the lantern carried by the foreman.

-Time for action! - thought the youngster, excited, after outfoxing the fat man.

Despite the cold wind outside the mountain, the nights were always stuffy and damp inside the mines of Durunthir. Dirty with mud and dust, Andarion snuck out like a mouse by the dimly lit corridors. His hope was to find something valuable that could buy his freedom or at least some food for the week.

The rogue knew he couldn’t fail again. If he were accused of robbery, he could, at best, lose a hand, or an arm.

On second thought, maybe it’s better to die than being without hands - pondered the young rogue. - I need them for living.

At dawn the mines were quiet and the guards were mostly sleeping. There were many rooms with artifacts, shipments of minerals and small gems that could make it up, if he were smart enough to dig or catch something.

With a torch borrowed from one of the tunnels, the rogue walked aimlessly until encountered a door that gave access to a narrow corridor. It seemed recently excavated and had the width of a big man’s shoulder. He walked cautiously, raising the torch forward until he found a rustic wall of clay and large blocks of stone. Filled with curiosity, he lit it and identified a rudimentary rune of red ink, marked by the dwarf geologist who worked in the mines.

Basically, in the markup of the walls there were different prospecting runes that showed where to dig. While the mine was exploited, studies were made to identify veins, passages and possible artifacts behind the tunnels.

Although he doesn’t understand a word of the geologist’s language, this rune was different from the others and caught his attention. Was it signaling something special? The mystery has heightened the curiosity of the rogue, who picked up a rock a little bigger than his fist and hit a few times against the mysterious barrier.

- Knock, knock. - The noise was not muffled like in the other walls.

The wall of blocks and clay was hollow. Moving the ear close to it, the flame of the torch held by young flickered gently. The wind, soft as a breath, seemed to converge from a few cracks at the edges. Striking again, with the ear in the blocks, a muffled echo reverberated. Quickly, Andarion pulled his cold chisel and began rubbing the edges of the wall, removing hundreds of years of accumulated clay. A rift between a portal and a door made of sandstone blocks became increasingly visible.

After a couple of hours, with a lot of patience and avoiding making big noises, the young man stopped his work. In front of him, a very old portal seemed to protect something valuable.

- It looks like a secret passage! I need to figure out how to move it.

The rogue began to touch and examine the door, trying to find any sort of mechanism to open it or push it. Eagerly, he searched for any clues on how to cross that obstacle. After some time examining it, he envisioned using the hammer and chisel to cut a hole and crawl through the blocks.

-I can’t do that! I have to find a way to move the door quietly.

Andarion pressed the entire weight of his puny body through the shoulders, hoping to move the wall. One, two, three times. A small movement was perceived by him, observing the difference of level between the portal and the surface of the blocks. The barrier was stuck by centuries of accumulated dirt.

- It’s now or never! -the rogue thought, with aching bones.

On one last try, the young man managed to move into the obstacle. Gradually, the wall of blocks disappeared into one of the ends of the wall through a rudimentary system of pulleys and sheaves. A roar of heavy stones moving took over the tunnel and echoed throughout the mine.

Desperately, the rogue whispered:

- Damn! Someone may have heard that noise! I need to hide somewhere.

Andarion dropped the torch on the ground and jumped hurriedly through the rustic stone. In total darkness, the young man did not expect that he would slip into a steep ladder. His feet faltered in the dark, sliding through a few meters of stairs covered with dust and sand.

The fall was inevitable. At the end of the path, the rogue plunged in the dark and hit the ground, in the depths of the area.

- Ugh! - He moaned, taking his hands to the back. - At least the ground wasn’t so far away!

He stretched and slowly lifted, leaning on the floor, in a very clumsy way. Recovering from the fall, he unnecessarily rubbed off the dust of his filthy clothes, and had the stunning view of a pristine cave, similar to a hall. The place was lit by some fungi bioluminescence, fluids and small crystals attached to the walls, ceiling, corners and cracks of the wet place.

The rogue was amazed. He walked to a large gate between two towering statues. Most of them were covered with small lights, emitting a bluish glow. The young man could barely see, but his eyes grew accustomed to the soft lighting.

His curiosity caused him to approach even more. Immense, the statues looked like large armed sentries and could have the height of three men. His forearms were fixed to the top of the gates, made of tons of solid iron. Some ancient civilization certainly wanted to keep something safe inside. Andarion was eager to find out. Would it be a lifetime chance?

When examining the statues up close, the rogue realized that his arms were mobile and a large iron chain passed through them. The chain passed over the gate and was tied to a large pulley, which seemed to have the strength to pull it. A primitive iron lever, similar to those drawbridges which suspend castles, was there, inviting him to pull it out to see what happens.

Andarion tried to move it with all his strength, but not a centimeter of the device moved.

- Maybe centuries or millennia of rust could have welded the wheels. - He thought.

Brute force was not his specialty, but certainly cleverness was. He filled the hand with cold, slippery and brilliant slime and lubricated the mechanisms of internal lever. It was narrow, but for his arms and for his wits, it wasn’t exactly an obstacle.

- I hope I don’t find a spider inside of it – the rogue hesitated.

He took a piece of rope, used as general utility in the work of the mines and tied it to the lever, giving a few laps around his waist, simulating a sort of harness. The young man stretched and pulled with the full force of his body. As if he were a load animal pulling a heavy plow, Andarion managed to move the lever.

The pulley moved, gathering the chain and moving the arms of the statues. With great strength, the mechanisms of the sentries pulled the heavy doors, which started to drag on the ground. The creak of iron and the ratchet noise tore at the silence of the cave, while a mysterious light streamed into the darkness through the crack of the passage.

Suddenly, Andarion heard a bang. The weight of the massive doors was too much for the old chain. With the great tension, it snapped, whipping through the cave, forcing the rogue to throw himself to the ground quickly. He thought that the cave was collapsing, but it seemed to be his lucky day. Protected and safe, the young man looked again at the pulley, which revolved, rolling the rest of the heavy chain that lay on the floor.

- Phew, that was close! - he said, relieved.

Nothing mattered more now than what was beyond the gate. Even not ending his service, the strength of the chain was enough to open the passage. – I’ve been through tight places before - thought Andarion, squeezing between the six-finger thick iron gates, finely carved.

The splendor was unparalleled. The rogue was in a high hall, as far as the eye could see. From the top, a beam illuminated the thief with the light of the moon, almost full. Stones and crystals were sprouting from the walls and rock formations throughout the hall. In some places, the dripping water from stalactites formed puddles in the polished and antique marble floor. The pale lighting from the moon reflected all over the place, revealing large alabaster pilasters in ruins. The rogue’s attention was directed to the countless treasures covered by moss and fungi.

- Chalices, gems, metals! I’m rich! – He said, laughing out with himself.

The thief was stupefied with the finding. He looked anxiously around, trying to absorb the moment, hunting for objects of greater value.

His attention was instantly caught by a small altar in the center of the great cave. While he walked quickly toward it, the noise of his footsteps were accompanied only by the drops falling into pools. He stopped in front of the small pedestal and gazed into a box of ebony, studded with small rubies, emeralds and sapphires.

The small box has a hypnotic influence over the young rogue. He took it in his hand very carefully. At that time, Andarion heard whispers, indistinguishable, as if many voices haunted the place. He glanced quickly at the sides, but his fascination distracted him. The rogue didn’t notice a clink of a metal piercing him right behind. Something moved in the darkness.

The thief woke up from his momentary delirium with a great sound of something heavy and fast cutting the wind. Immediately, he closed his eyes and threw himself quickly to his side.

The small altar was hit and split into two on impact. The pieces flew through the air, when, still rolling around on the floor and hugging the box, he looked back and saw a great sentinel. Powered by a hidden force, it was identical to that one holding the gates.

Almost twice his size, an old and heavy armor floated, supported by a kind of spirit. About a foot off the ground, it was holding a large sword that weighs more than the rogue.

- Damn! What the hell is this? - He thought, imagining that he had run out of luck.

Andarion crawled and forced himself to run. Another blow cut the air and hit the ground, cracking the magnificent marble floor.

The rogue ran across the room, seeking a hiding place. The spectral sentinel, with the weight of maybe seven men, came out chasing him and hovering smoothly. As his heart beat fast, the young man snuck out in the darkness and hid behind a large pilaster, panting, but still nestling his treasure.

In the faint light of the almost full moon, he looked at the box. At that moment, time stood still. The silence was absolute. He only heard the strange whispers like before. - Open, open! - The voices begged.

He squeezed the delicate lock and the tiny trunk opened. Inside was a ring, black as the night, carved with ancient runes and dancing flames. He goggled and his desire burned as fire when he saw it. He took the ring, hypnotized, and dropped the jewel box.

The noise attracted the attention of the huge sentinel, who shot through the hall aiming at the rogue. Andarion, hypnotized, suspended the left hand and fitted the mysterious ring in his finger.

The guardian struck a devastating blow that ruined the major pilaster and made the ground shake. The violence of the impact collapsed a part of the ceiling of the cave, which was supported by the column.

The ground started to tremble with great intensity, not by the impact of the blow, but as the beginning of a major earthquake. Black and violet lights flew across the room, forming a vortex of lurid colors. The structures of the cave were shaken to the point of making the stalactites and large rocks collapse. A large cloud of dust formed in the lounge, at the same time that the ground was starting to collapse. In a moment, everything came down in the darkness of a big bottomless hole.

The giant sentinel and the treasures were swallowed up, along with what was left of the great columns. Huge rocks plummeted burying partially the salon’s entrance. The only thing left was the broken altar and a small inconsistent path that led to him. The great bottomless abyss surrounded them.

Silence. Again, absolutely nothing was heard. Nor the droplets of water that used to hit the floor, nor the steps and echoing noises. Andarion was gone. What could have saved the rogue, preventing him from falling into the endless darkness?