Bloody beginnings.

The archives hidden within the Founder city shed light on the Burrows formative years. Dark and rive with bloodshed. They painted a picture grim enough that Cedia’s attempt at the destruction of this history will come as no surprise to any who read them.

It all started roughly four hundred years ago. The Endless White had left the lands, and Cedia was merely a century into its own existence. A rich deposit of red-stone had been found in the basin that now holds the Burrows topside. And a quarry quickly established to provide the stone needed to build the mighty keep of Redgate, Cedia’s current capital. Vast amounts of slaves were brought in, and work continued on for many years. Slowly the basin was hollowed out more and more as Redgate’s demand for it’s stone never ceased increasing. That was until disaster struck.

Rumblings could be heard from the basin’s center, the deepest part of the quarry. Not soon after the ground caved in, leaving a gaping hole, forming what is now referred to as the Well. Most slaves that toiled in the center had managed to make a run for it, escaping with their very lives. Unfortunately for them, they were the first to die.

Monsters, creatures, and other abominations poured forth from this new opening in the earth, attracted by the smell of flesh and the screams of terror. These so called dwellers proceeded to wreak havoc on the slaves and their masters, killing many in the first few minutes of confusion and wounding even more.

As the dwellers were busy eating their new-found prey, the large amounts of remaining slaves rallied together before rushing towards Redgate, trying to force their way through the narrow canyon that connected the city with the quarry. It was at the basin’s entrance that betrayal struck.

A single Cedian palisade, no more than a collection of tied logs with a wooden gate, stopped the desperate mob of refugees. For the gate was locked, and the guards grimly silent. The commander in charge had considered both monster and slave a threat to Redgate’s security. Thus he ordered the slaves to stand and fight, promising them freedom if they managed to hold out until the city's garrison could be mustered.

Suffice to say, that promise never came through.

- Burrowing into Redgate’s underbelly. A comprehensive guide to the Burrows, by newly appointed archivist of Burrows scriptures, Jullianus Retan.

Fire crackled loudly within the stacked logs, casting dark shadows across darker walls.

It greedily fed on the yellow tabard thrown in its grasp. The symbol stitched into its fabric blackened as the strands of the anvil, shaped stitching popped loose one by one. Sly stepped away from the bonfire, revealing the Mark branded into her skin. Dark, straight lines that ran from her eyebrow to her cheek, forming some weird pattern only known to Founders. She kneeled.

The large, stone hall remained silent safe for the roaring flames, tendrils eagerly lashing out at the nearby sources of fuel. Four tabards, each stitched with two black stripes, each held by two dark hands. Sly stood up, making way for the bear of a man standing behind her. Hammer didn’t say a word as he stepped forward, Mark illuminated, as he added his own tabard to the flickering light. He also kneeled.

Sly took her place beside me, followed by Hammer, Pickle, Dagger, and Dirk. The silence that had gripped the hall remaining till the last pieces of Dirk’s tabard had given themselves fully to the pyre. My feet strode forward, slowly moving across the sooth covered floor. Rags fluttering as I turned around, heat behind me, faces in front. “Fellow Exiled!” my voice echoed through the hall. “Today is the day of corpses. Today is the day of funerals. But today is also the day of goodbyes. May you make due with what little time you have left.” I motioned the guards; Their hands started pulling the iron rings hanging from the doors, slowly dragging the stone slabs apart. “May you cry without reserve.”

People streamed through the opening, most of them carrying trays of food and drink—but not all. A small portion of them rushed towards the three people breaking away from our group. Their journey shortened as Sly, Pickle, and Hammer met their families halfway with tears in their eyes.

The Awakened began sitting in small huddled groups on the floor, drinking and eating from the trays placed in their circles. Meat and ale was quickly brought to our small band of three; Dirk’s face sporting a wistful look as he gazed at the crying group near the entrance. “Must be nice, having a family.”

Dagger squeezed his hand before resting her head on his shoulder. “Don’t worry, you still have me.”

And I’m left with Gob. Not that the demon was here; he was too busy swiping drinks from whatever group wasn’t paying attention to their trays. I took a sip from my mug. Better clear the mood. “I don’t know how Pickle does it, but even now he manages to look pissed off. I almost feel sorry for his mother.”

The twins chuckled before Dirk spoke up, “You should’ve seen him when you left the Burrows. He looked like he’d been forced to eat bronco shit.”

“With a pinch of rat piss,” Dagger added.

“Exactly.” Dirk’s eyes looked past me. “Don’t let that stubborn look fool you. He’s as happy as he can be right now. Mark be damned.”

Dagger began scratching the symbol on her cheek. The dark lines mirrored on Dirk’s face. They seemed the same, but subtly differed. A small twist here, a different angle there, nothing you could spot from a distance. I stared deep into my own mug, fiddling with the wooden container. “I’m-I’m sor-”

“Don’t apologize,” Dagger smiled. “We made a promise in that cellar, and we intend to stick to it, sarge… eh, I mean, captain.”

I leaned backwards, gazing at the shadows that flickered across the ceiling. “That’s right, I’m a captain now…” I took another sip, surprised by how much more flavorful the ale had become. Captain, huh?

I looked over the rim of my mug before wiping away some of the foam stuck on my lip. I couldn’t help but grin. “I better start acting like one, don’t I?”

“Indeed.” Dirk raised his tankard as I met his with mine. Dagger soon followed. “To your promotion!”

“To my promotion!” A few gulps later, I slammed down my mug, letting out a loud belch of satisfaction.

“Mind if we join you?” a voice asked. It was Maximilian holding hands with Isabelle. Well… holding is a strong word. It seemed more like gently grasping to me. Those horns really got in they way of everything, and today they seemed sharper and pointier than at the Academy.

“Sure, take a seat. Have some ale.” I handed him one from the tray. He politely declined it as he sat down; Isabelle meekly took it instead, cradling the thing to her chest. Maximilian stared into the bonfire, mulling over something.

“I’m sorry about my mother,” he finally said, twiddling his thumbs. “I was probably sent here after she realized she couldn’t protect me during this Culling.” His form slumped. “You and the others were nothing more than sacrifices made to get the Council’s approval for her plan.”

“Piss off,” I said. The man’s green eyes cast themselves downwards. “Can you read minds or something?

“No, but I know my mother, and sh-”

“Shut up then.” The man flinched. “Shut up, survive, and come back alive.” I forcefully jammed a mug into his hands. “I’m not letting you die till you’ve crawled your way back home. I have a lot of questions for that deceitful bitch, and I sure as hell ain’t going to let myself get stuck at her front gate.” I flicked his forehead. “You’re my ticket to her inner sanctum, so don’t even think about dying.”

A thin smile spread across his lips. “Thanks, friend.” He dipped into the ale, emerging with a foamy lip before wiping it away with the back of his hand. “Still, I can’t believe there’s an actual city below the ground.” He threw his arms wide. “And here we are, having a feast within it!”

“Enjoy it, it will be your last one for a long while,” I said as I tore into a juicy leg of chicken meat. The chatter around us was slowly growing over time. People began to dance, sing, and clap as alcohol worked its way into their blood. Some groups had gravitated towards a corner of the hall, attempting to best Gob in an informal drinking competition. They wouldn’t stand a chance. Not with the way he’s downing those cups.

“Mind if I touch them?” Dagger asked Isabelle. She nodded in response before Dagger’s hands were roaming the various pointy horns. Her fingers stopped at one of the more curved variants around Isabelle’s shoulders. A single index finger applied pressure to the tip, causing a red drop of blood to drip from it.

“I’m sorry!” Isabelle said. “It’s just that… my horns become sharper and longer when I’m nervous… or emotional… or irritated.” She lowered her head with each addition.

“So… always?” She shot me an angry look. “I’m just saying. You are a Wrath.”

Dagger had started sucking on her index finger, managing to voice a question while she was at it, “How do you sleep?” Isabelle seemed confused. “Don’t those horns get in the way?”

“They do,” she nodded. “But it works both ways. When I am calm and relaxed they retreat into my skin, leaving just small lumps.”

“At least your nervous,” I said; The people around us were anything but. They just laughed and roared, happy to be alive. That would change. Everything would change.

“Is being exiled that bad?” Maximilian asked.

“There’s a reason we’re holding this Mourning Feast.” I picked my teeth with a chicken bone. “In case you missed it, we’re holding a funeral for ourselves. Come morning we’ll be nothing but walking corpses.” I pointed the bone towards Sly, Hammer, and Pickle crying with their families. “And they’re making the most of it.”

“You think we’re all going to die?” Blood began draining from Maximilian’s face.

“Not think, know.” Maybe the light was playing tricks, but I could swear that Isabelle’s horns just grew another inch. “If it was the Underground we could have had a decent shot at survival. But the Long Dark? No way.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Did you see the area where we came in?” Maximilian nodded. “That’s the Underground. It’s the area of tunnels that follows the mountains to the Northwest.” I drew a rough sketch of the continent with the grease on my fingers, marking the Northwestern part of it with an X. “That’s Redgate and the Burrows below it.” An arrow pointed away from the X and towards the sea. “That way would be the Underground. Short, dangerous, but doable. A couple of weeks of travel and we would find ourselves out of the mountains and into the forests.” I tapped the left side of my face. “If we lose the Mark, that is.”

Another arrow was drawn into the opposite direction and into the middle of the continent. “T-t-that leads to the Forbidden Zone,” Maximilian stammered.

I circled the middle of the continent before pointing at it. “You mean No Man’s Land?” He nodded. “Name aside, these mountain ranges run all the way to that damned place. And whatever has been living there has had, Gods knows how many, centuries of time to pour into the tunnel entrances dotting the landscape.” My finger tapped the Southeast arrow. “That’s the Long Dark, our place of Exile.” I tapped the Northwest arrow once more. “And don’t even think about looping back to the Underground. None of the tunnels connect. The Founders made damn sure of that.”

I began wiping the grease from my hands. “Do you know what the real fucking problem is?” Both Maximilian and Isabelle shook their heads. “It’s this thing,” I said, finger tracing the Mark. “Once we leave this place we won’t be able to set a foot back inside. It just doesn’t allow it. The same goes for any smaller Founder settlements we have garrisoned further in.”

“Wait there’s more places like this?” Isabelle asked.

“Similar, yes, but a lot smaller,” I made four smaller X’s that were spaced out towards the Southeast. “They tie up most of our military strength, serving as a buffer against attacks from further in.” They both raised an eyebrow. “Not everything walking down here is a beast. There are some groups lurking around that can think and speak. Well… more like scream and shout.”

Maximilian studied my work of art, thinking deeply before pointing at the X closest to No Man’s Land. “So we’re relatively safe as long as we don’t go beyond this point?”

Dirk and Dagger began to laugh: I joined in for good measure. My hand swiped away a tear. “Sorry, sorry. Didn’t mean to… it’s just… your innocence is refreshing, that’s all.” My hand grabbed five pieces of chicken bone, lining them above each other. “The Long Dark is made up of multiple layers.” I tapped the uppermost bone. “This would be the layer we’re on. We call it the ground level. Everything above it is named topside.” Then I worked my way down, starting with the second highest bone. “Level one, level two, level three, level four.” I tapped the last bone one more time. “You got that?” I made Isabelle and Maximilian repeat the names out loud before continuing, “The general rule is: the deeper you go, the more dangerous it gets.”

“And fucked up,” Dirk added.

“And fucked up,” I said.

“And messed up,” Dagger added.

“And messed up,” I corrected myself.

“An-”

“You get the point,” I cut off Dirk. “Ground level is dangerous enough as it is, no need to make things worse.” I motioned Dagger. “Here’s the catch.” She started putting chicken bones that crossed one or multiple levels. “All the levels are connected with each other. Some tunnels lead from ground level straight to level four. Some jump to level three before another tunnel, further in, goes back to one. While others lead to sections of lower levels that are completely sealed off with no other tunnels leading further up or down. See the problem?”

“Attacks can come from any direction,” Isabelle said.

“But, wait.” Maximilian picked up a bone before placing it on top of the uppermost one. “Aren’t there tunnels leading to the surface?”

“Yes, and no.” I placed Maximilian’s bone several feet to the right. “The closest ones are a few weeks worth of travel away, and would leave us stranded in the freezing mountain ranges.” I sat back down. “More importantly, we can’t use them. The Mark doesn’t allow us to leave the Long Dark. The same thing that keeps us from entering occupied Founder settlements, keeps us from exiting these very tunnels.” Maximilian raised a finger. “I’m not joking, it’s true. You take a step outside with this Mark on you, and nothing will be left but a human puddle.”

“So, what?” Isabelle hissed. “We’re just to rot here for eternity? Is that what you’re saying?”

“If we don’t do anything, yes.” Her horns seemed to grow another inch. “Look, the Mark is a ball and chain. One that can be unlocked with a key.” My hand balled into a fist. “In order to get this key we need to perform things that help the Founders.” I raised a finger. “One, we kill anything deemed threatening by Founders. Which is basically almost everything. Something I’m not keen on doing since you lot don’t seem like the most battle-hardened of warriors. Basically high risk, next to no reward.” I raised another finger. “Two, we enter the abandoned Founder settlements on the lower levels, and retrieve lost relics or scriptures from their ruins. Very high risk, but probably our best option.” My last raised finger formed a triple. “Three, we travel down to level four. Gather as much of the purest crystal humanly possible before bolting back to ground level. Extremely high risk, but the pay-off will be great.”

“I don’t like those odds…” Maximilian seemed depressed.

“You better get used to them since that’s all we’re going to get.”

The man ruffled his silver hair. “But who holds the key to these Marks? Is it one of the Four Kings?”

“Both me and the Forgefather.” Now he looks really confused. “My Mark is the key. We do the deeds I just mentioned, and the lines will slowly disappear. Once it’s gone, you’re Marks will vanish without a trace.” I took a deep swig of frothy ale. “And if the worst comes to pass… don’t worry. My Mark will jump from person to person till we’re all dead and gone.”

“I need more ale,” Isabelle said as she downed her cup. Maximilian merely nodded before doing the same.

“You should count yourselves lucky.” I couldn’t help but chuckle at the stares they threw me. “We’re far from the first Exiles. Just imagine the terror and despair the first few felt when they didn’t know how to get rid of the Marks.” The mere thought of it send a cold shiver down my spine. I raised my mug high. “A toast to the unfortunate souls of past centuries! May their acquired knowledge serve our trial well!”

“Cheers!” Wooden tankards were loudly clinked together as people around us responded with their own little toasts of celebration. One guy was too drunk to hold onto his share, drenching the person on the opposite site of his circle. They both laughed at the absurdity of it. At least they’re happy drunks.

“You seem awfully unfazed about all of this,” Maximilian said after a few minutes.

“I’m just pretending to be.” I took another swig of ale, letting it drown the cold terror nestling in my stomach. “You have no clue as to how fucked we truly are.” I beckoned him to come closer. “Check my Mark, notice anything?”

“I don’t see anyt-. Wait… there’s a number. It says… ninety-four?”

“Ninety-fucking-four.” My mug struck the ground. “We need to clear ninety-fucking-four death sentences. The heaviest of punishments, and thus the most difficult to get rid off. Ninety-three held by Awakened, and one by myself.” I couldn’t help but let some anger slip into my voice. “Want to know something interesting? The biggest group of Exiles that survived, in the last four centuries, consisted of twenty people. All Marked with death sentences, all dead safe for four. And these were captains one and all. The best the Burrows had to offer.”

I took a deep breath to calm down. “That’s not all. The numbers won’t go down when someone dies. You could all drop dead tomorrow, and I’ll be left to labor away all ninety-four charges.” My body slumped onto the floor as the familiar sensation of fear worked its way through my body. “So no, I’m not unfazed. Just really really frightened.”

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Maximilian asked softly.

“And what? Spread fear through the group?” I rolled onto my side. “No. We keep this to ourselves. Fear kills a man as well as any blade. I know from experience… trust me.” I sat back up again. “No mention of this to the other Awakened. Not a peep. It will require a miracle to get us out of this one, and I don’t intend to waste what chances we have with consoling dispirited crybabies.”

And with miracles, I mean Gob. My own moon summoner was still busy in the corner of the hall. Several forms were slumped around him; empty tankards strewn about. He had dragged them together to form a makeshift throne, sitting firmly on the belly of some brown haired man. “Who dares challenge this God of liquor?” he shouted from his seat of power. Several drunkards, or madmen, met his challenge with cries of their own. A disorderly line quickly formed in front of the giggling demon as a crowd cheered the challengers on from a distance.

That’s right, Gob. Celebrate while you still can.

Tomorrow, we’ve got work to do.