I woke in darkness as the wagon lurched beneath me, and I surfaced from sleep, disoriented. There was a dull ache in my body, as though I had been lying in the same position for hours. My wrists carried the cold weight of chains and the air tasted of dust and animal sweat.
My eyes adjusted slowly. There was very little light. Just a faint glow of a lantern hanging from the wagon’s frame, swinging with the motion, casting shadows that moved like living things across the close stone walls of what must have been a tunnel. The wagon creaked and groaned as the beasts pulled it forward and the sound echoed back the footfalls and the strain of the beasts.
I was not alone. There were five other bodies in there with me, some sleeping, some awake and staring at nothing in particular. There was a girl across from me, younger maybe, with a bruise shadowing her left shoulder. An older boy, or maybe a young man, was sitting very still with his chin level and his hands relaxed in his lap in a painfully calm manner. There were others but they still slept on the floor of the wagon where I had awoken.
The wagon lurched again, and I heard a widening of the sound, an opening up of space before us. The tunnel was ending.
Light began to seep in ahead, green, pink, and blue, growing brighter as the beasts continued forward.
I had been raised by the Sit’aire family since the day I was born, seventy-eight years ago. I had spent all of those years in near isolation, training and being conditioned for what I assumed was going to come next. I had been bred, like others, to be a draconic war sorcerer, or, as my trainers called me, an eziot. All I could guess was that I had been contracted out to a military faction and that is where they were taking me. Something like excitement stirred in the pit of my stomach. I had dreamed of war glory since before I could remember. It was said that the queen herself would honor great eziots for their prowess in combat.
The tunnel opened before me like a mouth opening wide for a yawn. Light flooded in, dim though it was. It came from glow crystals and mushrooms that scattered throughout the entirety of the Underdark. The light felt harsh after the darkness of the passage, and it took my eyes a moment to adjust. When at last I could see what I was looking at, I straightened sharply.
A great fortress sprawled across the cavern floor like something carved directly from the Underdark stone. Black fortress walls rose in stacked, deliberate rows. Towers nearly reached the ceiling of the Underdark, visible only because of the mushrooms that had decided to grow there. Banner-poles jutted out of the ground on either side of the gate. The silver spider on a deep blue background. The banner of the queen.
Guard towers marked the perimeter, and I could see soldiers stationed in them, watching as we arrived at the gate.
The smell of forge-smoke, sharp and acrid, reached my nose as the gate opened and we moved inside to a courtyard.
Soldiers moved in coordinated patterns across the yard, perhaps doing drills. On a daise at the far end of the courtyard where we were heading stood a tall woman in gleaming silver armor. Probably the commander of the fortress.
Smithies hammered somewhere in the distance, an endless, rhythmic sound. Supply yards were stacked with weapons and provisions.
The scorch marks on the fortress walls were old, layered, evidence of years of testing or battle or both.
One of the other slaves in the wagon, the older boy with the level chin, turned his head slightly and watched the fortress with a dull expression. “They call it Kethrall,” he said in a low voice to the girl and myself. “They say its goal is to hold the Karon Mountains from the betrayers.”
Over the wall of the fortress, I could see a great mountain range that reached upwards and locked with the ceiling of the Underdark. I had heard stories of this mountain range. It was said to be the only edge of the Underdark that could lead to freedom from this imprisonment my kind had been doomed to all of those years ago.
The wagon continued forward, deeper into the fortress yard and soldiers began to gather as we approached. Men and women in the colors of camp command, moving to intercept the wagon before it came to a full stop. One of them, a guard with a ledger in hand and a bored expression, stepped forward and spoke to whoever was driving.
I could not hear the words clearly over the creak of the wagon and the sound of the beasts, but the exchange was brief and efficient. The guard checked something on his ledger, nodded, and stepped back.
The wagon lurched to a halt and for a moment there was stillness. I realized just how much my body aches were coming from the rough ride.
Then the commanding she-drow spoke, sharp and authoritative, barking an order I could not quite make out.
The tailgate of the wagon began to lower. The older boy with the level chin stood without being told. Several others, now awake and equally as confused as me, followed.
I stood, chains chiming softly as I moved, and followed the older boy down from the wagon bed with the others.
My feet touched packed dirt. It was warmer than I expected, the ground holding the heat of the faelight lanterns, the forges, the press of bodies and movement. Around me, the other slaves were being herded into a rough line by guards who did not speak and only gestured with practiced efficiency. Point left, point right, organize the newly arrived into something approximating order.
The guard with the ledger began calling out names. Only some of the slaves got called. The others were waved toward one of the low black buildings, clearly being sorted into whatever housing existed for them. The girl with the bruise got called first, pointed toward the eastern barracks. The older boy next to me did not get called at all. He was simply waved through with a group of others, gone before I could fully register that he was leaving.
My turn came. The guard looked at his ledger, looked at me, and instead of calling a name or waving me toward a building, he simply pointed at another soldier. “Follow him.”
I stumbled over the chain dangling from my wrists and followed the soldier across the courtyard towards an open archway. I could see the commanding she-drow had come down from her daise and she stopped by the archway, watching our approach.
We came to a halt in front of her and she looked me over critically. “The Sit’Aire family, yes?” she questioned. “What do they call you?”
I nearly choked on my dry tongue before I could speak, unable to look away from the finger bones braided into her hair and realizing how dehydrated I was. How long had I been in that wagon? I spoke nervously. “They call me T’Ryndor eziot Sit’Aire,” I said, then added nervously, “Madame.” It was a general term of respect for a higher up, as I did not know for certain she was the commander and I could not afford to make a mistake.
She seemed pleased by my answer. “The Sit’Aire family really went through sixty-nine others before you were the first to survive? I expect great things from you and your handler. Do me justice in there.”
She walked off and the guard motioned me to continue following him.
The archway took us away from the main yard, through a narrower passage between two of the black barracks buildings. Faelight lanterns cast moving shadows as I walked, the chain at my wrists hanging heavy and cold. I could still hear the sounds of the fortress behind me but they were becoming distant, muffled.
The passage opened onto a smaller yard, walled off from the main compound. This space was different. Deliberate. The ground was packed dirt scorched black in places, and the walls bore old burn marks layered over older burn marks, evidence of repeated use, repeated violence, and repeated training. It reminded me of my own training ground back home.
The guard who escorted me stopped at the entrance to the yard and pointed inward, then turned and walked away without a word, leaving me alone in this space.
There were anchor rings set into the stone at intervals. Restraint posts. Many eziots had trained here, I could see.
I stepped slowly into the middle of the training arena and looked around. So this was it. The warfront at last. I was to find war glory afterall.
As I turned slowly to look around the arena, I felt eyes on me and turned sharply. At the far end of the arena, a he-drow had stepped from the shadows and was standing there, watching me in silence. His white hair nearly glowed with the light of the fae torches, glow crystals, and mushrooms but he was distant enough that I could not make out any facial features.
I swallowed dryly and stared back, neither one of us making a move.
Very cool backstory. Have fun in your game!