Author's Notes:
The dark turning point in a simple wanderer's life as he endures a cruel experiment and dungeon. However the fruit of this hardship is an unusual boon of luck for Isaen Dusksire as he receives an unusual request from a mage and meets a fellow prisoner.
What may be in store for Isaen in the fantasy world of the Void? This is the first chapter in his adventure which could take him far and wide across beautiful kingdoms and seedy pits of the void.
All characters within are 18 or older.
This story contains themes of non-consent.
Thanks to my editor Neuroparenthetical!!!!
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Chapter 1: The Pit of the Voidhold
In the stale air of the undervault, the only light that reached the prisoners was the flicker of flame in a distant lantern. Within a small cavern, they were separated by cold steel bars. These cages held the refuse of living beings cast into the depths for transgressions both major and minor. There was little commotion, the sobbing or angry grunts of beasts and men stifled by the quick thwacks of the guardsmen's spearbutts. Cruel jabs and sick laughter permeated the thick air of this hole as a disheveled man conceded to huddling in the corner of his cell, watching the rest beg for relief from this pit.
Isaen Dusksire had not yet lowered himself to groveling. It had only been a few days since he'd been left amongst the filth. Instead, he gritted his teeth at the constant whining.
"Please sir! Please let me speak to the Castellan! This has been a mistake!" A reptilian, coated in brackish green scales, sat upon his knees with claws folded as he cried out to the guards far down the passageway. His groveling had been incessant for hours since he'd been brought to the cell next to Isaen.
"Quiet, you, or we'll throw you to the void!" the gravelly voice of a guard snapped back. Cruel laughter echoed against the rock as the guards returned to their game of dice. Prisoners who had spent time here knew the guards were not to be disturbed by the whimpering of petty scum cast into the dungeons of the Tamberan Voidhold.
"They took me finger... they took me finger." a haggard man in the cell next to Isaen whimpered as he held his palm, dried blood on a stub where once a finger had been. Isaen could hardly see the man's face in the dark, but it would be no surprise to him if he had spent a long time here.
Without any acknowledgement from his neighbor, Isaen examined a wound of his own: a jagged cut along his forearm, placed there by a cruel knife when he arrived. It had been unattended for days, and wasn't healing. Instead, an infection had set in. Red veins spread out like a web from the site of the wound.
Though it was a small cut, he wondered if it spelled the end of him. His stomach began to churn, and he felt lightheaded. He could not see far beyond the cells next to him, but by the sounds of agony, few were in better shape.
His cell held little, a bucket in the corner that stank of unwashed bowels and a mat made of knitted nets against the wall for him to sleep. The aura of this place gave off little hope of seeing the stars of the void once more. Isaen, in his thirties, had little to speak of other than a knack for doing anything and everything that brought him coin. An apt description of him would be "vagabond," spending most of his life sniffing out one job to the next. From petty thief, to hired thug, to ship's hand, he had run the whole gamut. From one job to the next, so long as there was coin Isaen obliged. A trail of lives were left behind him in the void, almost as if he was trying to bury something beneath them.
This was not his first time in a dungeon either, and he certainly had been locked up for worse transgressions. Unfortunately for Isaen, he couldn't even remember why he was here. His arrival was the last thing he could remember.
In a backwater hole such as Tamberan Voidhold, there were little more than a few guards with spears to keep the prisoners in line. A few wards prevented any magical crafts from aiding in escape, but otherwise, it was easy to tell how quaint this dungeon was beyond its cruel darkness. Isaen knew this fortress was not magnificent enough to afford such magics or mages to maintain anti-magic area spells, or other, genuinely-impressive magical security measures. In the holds far away from grand kingdoms and powerful mages, petty fiefs made do with what they had, the old way.
It was evident to the naked eye they were barely keeping the Voidhold from breaking apart through the use of binding magics and magical stones. The Void eventually reclaims all that dwells within it, and such an old fortress from the days of sprawling humanity surely was succumbing to the lack of tender care by capable magicians.
Towards the light, the jeering of guards silenced abruptly. A second set of guards appeared at the top of a ramp that rose from the pit. They looked over the cells for a moment, until they found the likes of Isaen.
"Shift change is not for another few hours." A guard stood from his chair amid the cells, slapping down the dice he had intended to roll.
The two newcomers silently descended into the pit. They did not speak until they came closer.
"We are here for a prisoner." His tone was flat; Isaen could see how sunken his eyes were as they neared.
"Oh is that right? What will it be today then?" The exchange felt highly irregular, The first set of guards were posturing. There was an odd tension between supposed comrades.
"Him." The guards' sunken eyes turned to Isaen as he pointed, both holding their hands on daggers around their belts.
"That'un?" He nodded in Isaen's direction. The guard's hand slipped to the key ring on his belt but made no move to unclip it. His empty hand instead outstretched with a gap-toothed smirk.
The two peculiar guards nodded to each other, producing a few gold coins without question and laying them in the palm of their expectant comrade.
A metallic clink of keys acknowledged the transaction; a trade had been made. Swiftly, one of the mysterious men made his way to the door of Isaen's cell.
"Mercy! Please!" A man on the opposite side of the dungeon began to cry out, his hands stretched out from the bars.
"Shuddup!" A guard slapped his arms with the shaft of his spear and spat at him. The key was soon fumbling at the door as the guard growled. In the dark, Isaen struggled to size up the man as he approached. As told by the faint flickers of lantern light, he was wearing simple garb like all the other guards, a red tunic and with a suit of chainmail, and match red cap atop his head. While the guards who resided in this pit carried a spear, this one had nothing but a knife on his belt.
"You get out here." His gnarled voice snapped as he grabbed Isaen's arm and hoisted him upwards. For a moment his sunken eyes inspected the cut, nodding as prisoner and guard exchanged glances. Isaen would have normally fought for his escape at this point, but his body felt weaker by the minute from the infection. Instead, the guard hoisted him up and dragged him from the cell with little resistance.
His feet dragged along the stone floor between his captors to the passage out of the pit. The strange pair bid a silent farewell to their fellow guards, who were biting at their gold coins with a coy smile. Something told Isaen this was a regular arrangement, but he wondered why - and, of course, where they were taking him.
They flanked him while taking the main ascending path. The pain in Isaen's arm grew as they carried him, one guard carelessly gripping him by the very wound on his arm. It was not until they stopped at a bend in the path that they dropped him. Isaen realized how dire his condition truly was when his legs collapsed underneath his suddenly-unsupported weight.
He barely had the strength to look up at the alleged guards, one of which he saw press a hand against the rock face of the tunnel with an eerie glow between his fingers. Before Isaen knew it, a large section of wall behind the guard disappeared, and the pair hoisted him to his feet once more. A grunt of pain was the only bit of satisfaction he was willing to give them. If he didn't already highly suspect this pair had nothing to do with the garrison of the Voidhold, then the mysterious path behind the wall would've been a big hint.
"This way you." One roughly tugged at his arm. Isaen snarled at him, flaring his nostrils as he meant to fight back against his grip, but he had no such strength.
Behind them, the rock face reappeared, leaving them in a much dimmer tunnel. It was another long walk down this path until they arrived at anything of note: a small cavern lit by a dim flame. The whole place gave Isaen a bad feeling, a sort of dark foreboding that even shady characters such as himself would avoid. There were vials, jars, and cauldrons filled with all manner of bile and oddities. Small wafts of smoke rose from some. Chains and shackles hung from the walls. Even cloaked in shadow as they were, Isaen could tell that some of them were encrusted with blood.
Most predominant was the large, dark table in the center of the room. Behind it sat an old man dressed in brown robes and a hood, his devious smirk his most striking feature. He was hunched over, and periodically coughing up bile. He appeared to Isaen as equal parts sickly and sinister.
"Good good... welcome," the old man said in between coughing fits. Isaen only grunted, trying to shake loose from the grip of the guards but instead tiring himself even more.
"Do not fret Mr. Dusksire... you have nothing to fear from us." The sickly old man grinned, flashing a set of yellow teeth.
A nod passed between the guards and the man. One of them pulled Isaen's arm forward abruptly, clearly showing off the infected cut.
"I see it is taking to you well." His wrinkly face leaned over to observe the crude cut and red, infected veins.
"You did this to me." Isaen huffed, struggling to keep his head upright. The pain was getting worse, and he felt weaker than ever.
"Oh yes... yes Isaen... I did." The satisfied expression and smacking of the old man's lips infuriated Isaen. "But it's not what you think it is. I've given you a rare gift."
The oozing and festering wound stung horribly as his arm was forced to stretch forward, Isaen's face twisted with pain.
"To the void with your gifts..." His words were laden with that same pain. He couldn't hide it anymore.
"Surely... I am remiss." The old man rose with the same satisfied smirk that he'd greeted Isaen with. The expression on the wrinkly, sagging face underneath the hood angered Isaen more and more.
