Marcus Kelly
Goldleaf 1, 1376
Drip, Drip, Drip…
The soft echoes of water pierced through my thoughts. I felt both awake and asleep at the same time. In my blurry consciousness, I felt as though I was holding a waterskin with holes. I tried to grasp the falling water, but couldn't catch it. As the last of the water trickled through my hands, I felt a great loss, but I couldn't remember what it was. In fact, I couldn't remember where I was, or who I was.
Realizing my forgetfulness, I shot awake and looked around. It was darker than a moonless night underground and underground seemed to be where I was. I sat in a large cave; dull light from glowing lichen highlighted bars blocking the only way out. It smelled of mildew, sweat, and a faint scent of iron.
But what stole my attention from the rest of the room were the two people arguing in front of me. A hulking figure standing at least a man and a half tall was arguing with someone no larger than half a man. I couldn't tell their race due to the darkness of the surrounding cave.
"Why in the Seven Hells would a beastie as big as yourself be placing your whole body in someone's face." The short, stout one exclaimed in a light southern accent, "At least give a courtesy greeting or shake them awake with an offer of some booze."
"That's what I was planning on doing." The tall shaggy man responded in a distinct raspy baritone voice while scratching his head.
Shortie and Biggie hadn't noticed me yet, so I continued to lie still, hoping to gather some information on where I was and why.
"You got some booze on ya?"
"No." A sigh echoed in the darkness, "I was going to wake you up and ask you if you know where we are."
"Nope." The shortie said almost proudly proclaimed, "But I know that you." Shortie pointed at him, "My good friend look like you need some cheering up. May I have the pleasure of knowing your name."
A long pause ensued, "I don't remember my name. Hell, I can't remember anything past waking up."
"Welp, me neither. It's like someone took a dull rusty spoon and scooped my memories away. None too pleasant either." Shortie exclaimed. I could relate to that; my head was killing me. A dull ache echoed in my bones.
"Well, morning, mister. You awake now?" Shortie was seemingly angled towards me. Could he see me in this darkness? How?
"Yeah, feeling right as rain," I replied in a chipper tone, almost instinctively. They both looked at each other and then back at me without saying anything.
"Do you remember anything?" The deep baritone of Biggie broke the silence.
"Yeah, you both don't?" Lies spilled from my lips as I raised myself to my feet. "Is this your first time?"
"You mean this has happened to you before?" Biggie questioned.
"No less than two times before." I stretched, assessing the situation. I was dressed in rags, a shackle of metal bound one of my feet keeping me close to the back wall. "Not to worry, I'm sure we'll come up with a way to get out of here quickly. I've figured it out in the past and I will figure out a way now."
"That's awfully nice of ya mister. What's your name?" Shortie questioned much to my displeasure. At his question, I tried to recall it, which was about as useful as a blind man being a tour guide.
"Name's… Sherrel." Gods that was such a bad name. "Have you all seen my pack of lockpicks? I seem to have misplaced them."
Shortie replied, "Nice to meet ya Sherrel." He dragged his chained ankle over to me and stuck out a well-worn hand, "Haven't seen no pack of lockpicks. Only me, you, Mr. Bear over there, and Mr. Wolf laying over there."
Biggie was an Urson? Noted. Make sure he isn't hungry then we will move on. There was another person as well? I couldn't see him due to the darkness.
"Mhm. And where might we be then Sherrel?" Biggie asked me in an inquisitive, but mocking voice. Like he knew I was lying.
"Foghorn Cave," I replied confidently. It didn't matter if it was correct or not; they had no memories similar to mine. As long as I was confident, they would believe me, and I could steer us in a direction best suited to me. "Some unlawful brigands brought us here to sell us off as slaves."
"Well," Shortie replied, "Not quite the answer I wanted to hear. But you said you've been in this situation before, Mr. Sherrel. How do you plan to get us out?"
I racked my brain trying to think of a way out, but I could barely see anything; the bars were mere shadows with dull light streaming through them. Even if I had lockpicks, even if I had light, I couldn't remember ever lockpicking anything. However, before I could dig myself a deeper hole Biggie shrunk down onto his haunches and whispered.
"Both of you quiet. I hear some movement up that way."
I followed his sage advice and went silent nearly immediately. I could faintly hear the movement of metal bumping metal approaching. From my best assumptions, it was probably armor. It didn't sound like many people, but I was in a cage wearing rags and had little to no chance against a hostile, fully armored individual.
"Hide," Shortie whispered as we all looked through the bars towards the cave passageway.
"Where?" Biggie asked incredulously.
"Behind you, lay down, shortie hide behind him," I whispered violently, the sound of armor was getting closer and the light from a torch began to illuminate the cave around me. I quickly laid down and acted asleep, keeping my eyes slightly open attempting to see who had captured us.
Biggie laid down and covered a large area with his furry body, and Shortie got up close and comfortable behind him. I could hear the footsteps now, it seemed to be coming from a single person. The light got closer and began to illuminate the cage. I could see that Biggie was a huge bear humanoid, an Urson; Shortie was a bald dwarf with a flame-red beard, and in the corner lay a very bloody wolf humanoid, a Luparic.
Outside the cage was almost a mirror image, another set of bars, and inside that side were women and children.
The person finally arrived in front of the cage, and I instantly knew any hope of escaping was impossible. The figure stood tall, wearing plate armor, almost a shining silver. Around the edges of the armor were lightly glowing runes humming with power. The figure's face was covered by an imposing helmet that gave away no features. On its hip sat a lantern and a sheathed sword; its back was adorned with a towering kite shield.
No matter how much we struggled, we would lose this battle. We were unarmed, in pain, and in a cage against a figure who gave off the aura of a dragon. What was a knight like this doing part of a Bandit Camp in the first place?
Before my thoughts could continue the Urson blasted off the ground and leaped at the figure. Unfortunately, he simply punched the bars, his large muscular arm unable to fit through the gaps. The bars shook with a loud clang and the area around the top and bottom of the bars shook heavily.
"Mother of all that's holy!" Biggie screamed, tightly holding his hand against his body, one of his fingers was at an angle, it looked dislocated.
A soft chuckle escaped the figure, it wasn't as deep as the Urson's voice, but a calming tone. "I like your spirit, Urson." He reached up and took off his helmet, revealing a middle-aged human man. He had well-kept chestnut hair with gray flecks speckled throughout, matched by a carefully groomed goatee.
"I am not here to harm you all. I am not one of the individuals who kidnapped you. I am aware you don't have memories, and hopefully, I can remedy that." The knight tapped the top left of his armor on a crest. "My name is Sir Ruther, a Templar of the Holy Empire, and I am here to rescue you."
Shortie popped up before I could reply, "Why thank you, Sir Ruther. By any chance, do you have the keys to get out of this cage?"
"I have something similar," Sir Ruther replied in a kind voice before unsheathing his sword. The blade glowed with a dull burning red, not unlike the embers of a fire. He slashed his sword through bars twice, creating a makeshift hole. I am so very happy that Biggie's plan did not work.
He walked over to a muttering and groaning Biggie, "Can I see your hand, please? I can heal it for you. However, it will be slightly painful."
"I can take a bit of pain," Biggie said as he reached out his hand toward Sir Ruther.
Sir Ruther gently held his hand, before jerking it, a loud popping noise echoed, followed by a hiss of pain from Biggie. "You weren't kidding," Biggie muttered. Sir Ruther began to walk around the wall, tracing it and cutting off our restraints as he passed by. His sword cut through the metal without pause, as if the metal was a figment of imagination rather than a dense iron chain.
"Sorry about that. Now if you all will please follow me I will take you out of here." As Sir Ruther spoke calmly he walked over to the passed-out Luparic he lifted him easily and began to walk out.
I had two options in front of me. Follow the mysterious glowing knight in silver armor who freed me, or the dark, damp cave. Choosing the correct option I began to follow behind Sir Ruther.
We began to take a stone path that was slanted slightly upwards. It curved in various places and had many junction points leading into dark tunnels, but Sir Ruther never once hesitated walking forward confidently. Almost too confidently. Was this a trick?
Shortie was rattling off question after question without even taking a breath, "So. Mr. Sir Ruther where ya from? Whatcha like to drink? Where are you taking us? Y'all got any whiskey?"
"Stormmarch Isles. A cold ale after a long day. To the surface. Unfortunately no, we do not have any liquor with us." Sir Ruther replied to one question after the next without batting an eye.
I interrupted upon seeing Shortie charging up his next barrage, "Sir Ruther could you tell who was imprisoning us?" And for the first time, I saw a darker look come over the man's face.
"They call themselves the Order of the New World." Sir Ruther's steps seemed a bit heavier as he spoke, "Meanwhile the rest of the civilized world calls them the Cult of the New World. They kidnap civilians of both the Holy Empire and the United Tribes. They kill them in ways that make dying by fire look peaceful."
"Why?" I asked speechlessly.
"We don't know." He responded firmly and I fell back in step a little.
Why did I of all people get kidnapped? Who even was I? Do I have a family? I can't remember anything to do with personal memories. But I can still remember general details. I can remember countries, races, and various speculations of general knowledge.
"I thought you knew where we were and who kidnapped us." Biggie broke through my thoughts with his deep voice. "Sherrel was it?"
Damn it. "No. I'm in a similar boat to you. Can't remember anything."
"That's what I thought." Biggie's had a soft chuckle beside me. "Kid, there's no point in lying if we are all in this together."
I continued to walk through the tunnels in silence after that as both me and Biggie silently watched Sir Ruther calmly respond to Shortie's relentless questions.
After a solid ten minutes of Shortie questioning everything about Sir Ruther's hobbies, foods, occupation, jobs, and dreams when the strong stench of iron hit my nose.
"We are almost there." Sir Ruther spoke in a tone that I could swear was relief, "When we get up you will have to see the Baron for some quick questioning then you all can get some grub and some warm clothes."
We passed around a corner and it opened up to a huge cavern that smelled of excrement, iron, sweat, and many other unpleasant sensations. On the ground lay around anywhere between fifty and seventy corpses of humanoids wearing dark cloaks.
I say humanoids because some were grotesque, with octopus tentacles replacing arms or eye functions. Some had red-tinted skin and were mutated by something. All shared a mark on their forehead, a singular carved eye. That wasn't all that the cavern held.
Ten knights stood near holes around the cavern wall. As we walked in, the knight guarding our hole delivered a swift salute before continuing to gaze the way we came. The middle of the cavern held a pond of blood. I couldn't tell if it was there before the knights had arrived. I'm no warrior, not that I could remember even if I was, but the ratio of dead cultists to knights was obscene. Even if Sir Ruther had bad intentions there was nothing that I could do about it.
A large outcropping stood above this lake where a man in dark, pitch-black robes stood. A large hat and a plague mask with pitch-black goggles. Every inch of the person was void black. My body screamed that this was bad news. Sir Ruther noticed our gaze before speaking.
"That's the Baron. Before we head out of the cave he has a few questions."
"We have to talk to that thing?" Biggie's voice echoed from behind me. And I could share his sentiment. Whatever was on that outcropping felt inhuman. It felt off. Dangerous.
Sir Ruther began to lead us up a path to the outcropping above. "If by 'thing' you mean Baron, then yes. It is procedure. Baron will ensure none of you are a hidden cultist. We have had past incidents we do not wish to repeat."
My eyes darted towards Shortie the dwarf who was marching in front of me. There was no way this wide-eyed chatterbox was a cultist. Then my eyes moved over to the shaggy, muscle-bound Urson next to me. He was quiet, I couldn't quite figure him out. Out of the three of us, if there was one it would be him.
As we approached the dark figure, his back was turned to us, but I could see two kneeling figures on the other side of him, in the same robes as the dead people in the room. A deep groaning noise was heard from them and as Baron turned to face us, I could see they were both missing their eyes. A recent addition it looked like, from the bright blood flowing down their cheeks..
As the Baron turned around I could see that it wasn't the tallest, if anything it was average height. But it had an air about them that was unnerving. Its head moved sharply as it looked at us one after the other. Like an animated sock puppet in a play.
As it faced me I could see myself reflected in its opaque black goggles. It felt as though their gaze pierced into my very soul.
A sharp voice that came off unnaturally as though a thousand bees were attempting to speak at once came through his mask,
"Do you have memories?"
"No." I also spat out the answer. I didn't wish to be by this thing a moment longer than I had to be. It sharply cocked its head while looking at me and a short silence ensued.
"Fact." It repeated to itself, almost as if confirming my answer.
"I also have no memories Mr. Baron," a chipper voice said from beside me. I had no idea why this man was so unaffected by this thing. Its head jutted over to look at Shortie beside me.
"Fact." Then the Baron swiveled and marched a few steps toward the Urson. He took a step back and gripped… was that a bloody battleaxe? Where did he get that from? Sir Ruther seemed unfazed by it.
"Do you have memories?"
"No." The Urson spat out. There was that brief respite of silence as the figure seemed to mull over that statement before spitting out,
"Fact."
Shortie chipperly stated, "So Mr. Baron are we good to go?"
Baron just swiveled his head almost fully around, before moving their body to match its head as it watched Shortie. But they didn't reply, merely staring with that inscrutable gaze.
"Not quite yet." Sir Ruther walked over the Luparic still over his shoulder. "We have a list of names of those who have been kidnapped. As I read them off it should hopefully trigger some recognition in you."
Baron reached inside its robe and withdrew a long, battered scroll that had some splattered dark splotches on the outside. I did not ask what they might be. It slowly began to read out of a list of various names from lots of cultures.
"Cedric Sunblade, Mira Watersong, Theron, Eldrina, Galfast Hamhead."
"Oh, now that would be my name right there." Shortie proclaimed, claiming the name Galfast Hamhead. The Baron looked up and stared at Galfast for a moment before letting out a sharp,
"Fact." Then Baron looked back down at its list once more. "Telly, Samantha, Lunar. Faelar Silversong, Bruce."
"Bruce sounds right."
Baron cocked its gaze at Bruce the bear, eyeing him up. "Fact." Then Baron continued reading out its list one after the other. But none of the names seemed to fit; they all seemed off.
"Marcus Kelly." The Baron spoke out then looked up. It was the last name on the list, it sounded somewhat familiar but so did several others on that list. But it still didn't feel right.
"That would be me." I let out a small, forced chuckle. I needed a name at least, might as well claim this one.
"Lie." The Baron spat out,
My heart stopped as the entire world grew slightly colder. Why in the seven hells is my name not on the list?
"But also Fact. Interesting."
What? How can a name be both true and false at the same time?
"Alright you four, let's get you some food and some nice clothes," Sir Ruther spoke out from behind me. He motioned for us to follow him up a winding steep path upwards. "After I drop you all off with Madam Georgina I have to go back and ensure we secured the area properly."
As we headed up the path following the knight, I took one more glance behind me at the cavern, glad to be free of this place. I didn't have many memories, but I didn't want them to be formed in this infernal place. However, instead of seeing the cavern, it was the Baron standing directly behind me looking closely at me, as if it was staring at my soul not me.
I spun on my heel and quickly followed Sir Ruther, not wishing to engage with Baron any longer. Nothing I could do now but follow Sir Ruther into an unknown fate.