Narrative Design
Prologue
Jostled out of bed, Perious pressed his knuckles into his eyes, forcing out the final remnants of the previous night’s sleep. It was rare that he was awoken by the sun’s first rays slanting into his room, but today it seemed his mother was intent on beating that infernal orb to the punch.
Dragged along in her wake, Perious peered about the tunnels that had mapped out the boundaries of his existence since his first moments. Wall sconces and the occasional candelabra flashed on either side as his mother marched doggedly towards the compound’s inner reaches, almost pointedly ignoring those she passed. Perious was often overlooked by the other members of the village, but rarely his mother. His unease was only starting to brush the surface, his chest ached with nervous anticipation - fear perhaps.
Attempting to calm his fraying nerves, Perious greeted those he passed as best he could, receiving at-most cordial nods and veiled glances in return. They seemed discomforted by his presence, uncertain as to how to acknowledge him despite having known him since his birth. Submitting to his anxiety momentarily, he risked, “Are we helping prepare breakfast today, mum?” He knew they were heading away from the dining area, but he couldn’t think of any other reason they might be in such a hurry at so early an hour.
His mother only glanced at him in return, flashing her teeth in a quick, fragile smile. She was often reserved, so this was not uncharacteristic of her. And yet, there was a hint of trepidation behind those caring, strained eyes.
In his short life underground, Perious had witnessed occasions placing some of the other community youths before those supposed leaders of their gathering. For what reason, Perious could do naught but guess, but he was certain he rarely saw those chosen following their departures. He also knew that he didn’t have the courage to ask where his friends had gone, or perhaps why they had been taken.
Stumbling into his mother, Perious was snapped out of his anxious ponderings. Looking on, he saw that his mother had halted before a pair of heavy, bronze-banded doors. Said doors, he knew, led to the community chapel. Gathering herself with one final glance back at Perious, his mother pushed through the heavy doors with a distant, fragile smile painted across her lips.
****
Perious felt rooted in place beneath the glares of the gathered council. The stoic faces of tribal elders peered down on him behind masks of carved stone, rendered in the likenesses of their chosen deity’s transient visage. Ikreth Cauntor, the community’s senior-most member, sat at the council’s center with a mask of fanged tentacles - Perious strained to hold back a smirk despite his fear. He was always curious why such an ugly visage was worthy of worship.
Cauntor studied the frightened pair for a time, and with a slight, almost unseen gesture, dismissed the two, allowing the guards to direct them down one of the chamber’s branching exits. Eager to be free of the man’s lifeless gaze, Perious rushed to keep up with his mother. He was unsure who the perspiration he felt between his hand belonged to, unsettling him more than anything else since this determined march began.
Perious had a moment of clarity incited by his rising terror, even if he couldn’t quite comprehend the full scope of such a revelation. He felt unaccountably small, smaller than he had ever felt in his meager existence. Living underground offered a certain sanctuary to a child’s developing mind. Cut off from the world above, the boundaries of the caverns in which many of his tribe had lived out their entire lives did not possess the infinite dimensions to cause a mind to question its own significance. The finitude provided shelter.
But here, now, Perious felt such dread as to utterly break him. To his surprise, tears carved paths down his cheeks before finding the floor, sweat chilled his limbs, panic gripped his throat. He could only follow obediently as his mother pulled him in her wake, sensing her dismay and allowing it to find roots in his fertile mind.
****
Emerging from the narrow corridor, Perious and his mother came upon a large domed chamber, one even grander than that which they had recently departed. Rising on a narrow dais in the center of the chamber was an altar, unadorned and simple, yet wrought from some unidentifiable material, seeming to writhe beneath the strange light of some hidden source.
Above the altar, only visible from the outer ring of the chamber, were two children not much older than Perious. One appeared to be asleep despite standing perfectly straight. The other seemed to be in such pain that every fiber of being was moments away from violent and sudden eruption - but the scene was utterly devoid of sound. Neither the sleeping child nor the tortured youth made any noise, as if frozen, or somehow separate - distinct - from this world.
From both came actinic flashes of light, constantly backlit by the writhing illumination he had noticed painting the altar. Perious had to look away, shielding his eyes. There was something wrong with those flashes of light, something sick. They seemed wrought with a sort of infection, a malaise in opposition to his realm.
As he turned away, he noticed the unconscious child beginning to descend - only now did Perious notice that the two children had been floating several meters above the ground, held aloft by unseen threads. Trails of ash drifted from the dead child - Perious now knew with certainty that the child was dead - as he fell from apparent grace.
With each passing moment, the child seemed to fade, as if the ash were some essential part of his being. Perious’s terror overcame his curiosity.
His mother began to pull her hand from his iron grip, addressing a robed figure Perious had only just noticed. Perious was reluctant to release her reassuring grasp, but he would not cause her any undue trouble, even now. She was his sole protector, the solitary reason his existence had managed to persist this long - the least he could give her was his trust.
“...but he’s not old enough! I don’t know what purpose he could serve at such an…” Her voice trailed off under the figure’s oppressive glare.
Perious had to fight to keep his limbs from shaking - from forcing him to turn and flee from this hell he had found himself in. He couldn’t abandon his mother to whatever fate awaited her here, much less outrun the guards if he even possessed the will. But he had, at long last, found a thread of resolve running through him. It came in the form of his love for his mother, and the love he saw carving furrows down her flushed cheeks. He gripped her hand all the harder, hoping to offer up to her the little bravery he could muster.
No such luck-
- Perious’ mother fell, struck down by some unseen blow. Perious turned, determined to launch himself upon his mother’s attacker despite his fear. Before he could, he was swept up and hurled toward the heart of the chamber, hitting home amidst the maelstrom at its core.
Caught, suspended meters above the ground, Perious felt only pain. There was such pain, pain like he never could have imagined, but was now consumed by. Yet... there was something else.
As he drew ever closer to the encroaching abyss, at last, he found the word for it - surrender.
Dialogue
Daegan sat down opposite Sturik, taking extra care when removing his hat and placing it on the table beside him. He took a moment to applaud himself on the purchase, dedicating more time than necessary to his reverie.
Sturik cleared his throat, eying him curiously. Well, what’s that about? “What?” Daegan asked, a bit more defensively than intended.
Sturik blinked, confused, then shook himself. “Nothing, Master Daegan. Nothing at all. That is quite a nice cap.”
Daegan beamed a smile before catching himself, noting Sturik’s smirk. “Sod it all, where’s the ale? I’d rather not be patronized sober.” He waved a serving girl over, requesting a carafe of ale and two tankards. Despite himself, he was enthralled by her ability to deftly weave through the overcrowded tavern - not that it was brimming with people, only that the long chairs and tables were set up so close to one another that Daegan’s backside rested on two benches at once.
Upon her return with the requested libations, Daegan took a deep draft from his mug before refilling it with the carafe. He spoke as he poured without glancing at the cup. “So, what is it that you find so important that it might eliminate any need for me to deal with the Alderman?” Finally glancing at his drink, he saw that he had overpoured, and so he gingerly raised the vessel to his lips and noisily slurped the froth and ale before it could spill too much.
Sturik gave him another puzzled glance, then took a sip of his own drink before patting his upper lip with his sleeve. He cleared his throat once again, he’s doing a lot of that, and said, “I’m not sure why you insist on ordering this swill given the renown of our vineyards…” He looked up, and, upon seeing Daegan’s expression, thought better of continuing that line of thinking. “Right. As you are well aware, for the last year, we have been engaged in near continuous skirmishes with the Van’Lethii to the south. While there have only been a handful of engagements you might call ‘committed’, the frequency of these border disputes is rapidly increasing, hinting that the southerners are probing our defenses, potentially preparing for some sort of mobilization. With that, we need troops and supplies delivered south.”
“Seems you’ve overlooked the simplest solution here. If you need troops and supplies, why bother talking to me? Can’t your boys guard their own weapons and food?” Daegan took another pull from his tankard, feeling himself grow annoyed at the steward’s coyness. The Left Hands were as experienced in caravan guarding as any mercenaries, probably moreso, but the gang would be reluctant to head toward open conflict. We traveled north to avoid getting involved in these pointless tiffs. Even if the Van’Lethii manage to mobilize their army under common cause and forge into Thassarnian territory, Sathis is too far from their lands for them to make any legitimate attempt for the seat of power. So, the ‘Sarnians will just flee to the hills and refuse committed engagements, opting instead to cut off supply and communication lines and watch the Van’lethii army cannibalize itself. No, Bliv’s only rule was that the company stayed out of wars, oxymoronic though that may be for a troop such as ours.
Completely unmindful of Dae’s growing irritation, Sturik was lucky that he decided now was the time to get to the point. “How very astute, Master Mercenary. The need for troops will be addressed by other, more… loyal mercenary companies coming from the east. Apart from them, we need to maintain our current presence at the border until reinforcements can arrive. While there will doubtlessly be volunteers from amongst the hunters and foresters, we cannot rely on a military or volunteer escort. So we turn to you, assuming that your contract with the Yarl will be concluded with the return of your captain.”
So, he’s aware of Bliv’s absence. Well, I suppose that was to be expected, although I owe Dunn a crest now. “Seems odd to refer to mercenaries as loyal… although I supposed loyalty pertains to all things, coin most of all. The captain should be with us again in a matter of days, but as to her succes or lack thereof, I cannot comment. At the very least, I’m sure that we can be released from the contract, given the apparently pressing nature of this new task.”
“Quite right, in fact I’ve already spoken with the Yarl and he has agreed,” Sturik paused and finally finished his first tankard of ale, “the bandits, if Captain Bliv has not taken care of them, may in fact attempt to seize control of the very caravan we wish you to guard. So, what do you think?”
“I think,” the belch that emerged from his chest surprised even him,”sorry, steward. Truly… I think that I will take this back to the company and we’ll mull it over. It’s dangerously close to direct involvement in your little tiff, and that’s not really how we operate. That being said, no decision will be made without the captain. I’d say I’ll let you know when that is, but I’m sure you’ll know well before I.”
To that, Sturik only smiled. “Stewardship of such a fine city does indeed require an attentive eye. But yes, you are quite right, we shall await the return of your venerated captain, I am just glad to have saved you a trip to the alderman.”
“And to have had the chance to buy me yet another pitcher, right, master steward?”