Seed of the Void Ch. 01

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.

The old man's shriveled hand reached out to Isaen's arm, producing a glow that filled the room for a split second, and then faded to reveal that the wound on Isaen's arm had been reduced to a rough scar. Isaen felt rejuvenated - enough to wrestle his arms free of the two guards and shove himself away. They, in response, reached for the hilts of their daggers, eager to meet flesh with blade.

"Now now gentlemen, let's be civil." The hooded man lifted his hands to broker peace as Isaen steadied himself. Even if he felt he could take the two guards, he may stand no chance against the mage.

"Magic?..." Isaen's voice cracked. For as tough of a man as he was, it was humbling to see such arts practiced. "Who are you?"

Through spatters of coughing, the old wizard sat with an amused look on his face. He had a wrinkled and haggard exterior, pointed nose with bumps and scars framing it. Certainly not the most appetizing of portraits.

"Heh heballghhh..." his laughing soured to a sickly cough once more.

"My name matters little," he said as he hoarsely cleared his throat. "but if you must have something, you may call me Circeo... a humble mage."

"Mage?!" Isaen took a step back, his eyes scanning the unassuming man before him with both awe and contempt. Mages were exceedingly rare, chosen by the void to be blessed with the power of magic. Only mages could outright use magic without the aid of an item, rune, or some other implement. Mages were also the only ones capable of making such implements, hence why they were usually held in high regard and standing - not buried in holes like this.

Cicero looked Isaen over in a lingering silence. Finally, a phlegmy cackle resounded from the man.

"Yes yes, whom do you think holds this... pile of rubble, together... in exchange for some... protection?" He looked left and right. The chamber around them was in no better shape than the hole they kept the prisoners in - merely better lit.

"Heh... Yes, this decrepit and shriveled form here in this pit is a mage... No potion or magic craft can stop the ravages of time, I am afraid, and so I have little of it for small talk." The old man eyed Isaen from under his hood as he motioned for him to take a seat. The guards pulled out a chair opposite the wizard out and pushed Isaen into it, hands still on his shoulders as they flanked him.

As dismissive as the old man was of his own status, Isaen knew just how rare magic users were. Only the smallest portion of beings exposed to the void developed such powers.

"I have brought you here to help me... with a little experiment..." his lips smacked with a sickenly moist sound, continually interrupting his words.

"Help you, a mage?" Isaen shook his shoulders, casting off the hands of the guards off of them. The old man motioned the guards to leave him be..

"Perhaps you mistake me for someone else."

"Heh no.... you look like no one... haasaaauuukkk... other than yourself." He spat into the corner of the room.

"You are here for a reason, and it's exactly you who I am looking for."

The mage pulled out from his robes a vial of blood; he shook it around some for Isaen to see. Isaen assumed the blood had been taken from him when he'd received his original wound upon arrival.

"Your blood is very.... interesting to me mister Dusksire..." the old man smiled.

"Don't think I am giving you any more of it." Isaen put his hands on the table in front of him, tapping the solid wood.

"... no matter if you are a mage or not, don't expect me to be your rat." He looked around the room, various organs in jars making him ponder what sort of purpose the mage wanted him to serve.

The old mage clicked his tongue and smiled. His prisoner's posturing amused him. It also told him that Isaen's emotions would be easy to manipulate.

The mage took a moment to clear his throat and catch his breath.

"You put much stock in yourself, I see." He eyed his prisoner while clicking his tongue some more. "But I suppose you do have one advantage. It is true that I do not wish to harm my specimen. Still, I hope you'll at least listen to my proposal."

The mage gave a gap-toothed smile, using the table to push himself back and hoist himself up to his feet. He motioned with his hand for Isaen to remain seated. He meandered across the room and set the vial of Isaen's blood down next to a series of jars, pots, and beakers.

"Not all the specimens I find here are quite as valuable. But your blood! Yes, your blood tells me things about you." His dry hands rubbed together like sandpaper making a most unpleasantly dry sound.

"Tell me... have you ever fathered a child?" He looked at Isaen down the length of his bumpy nose.

Isaen seemed off-put by the constant praise of his blood and the sudden line of questioning regarding offspring. The latter brought some painful memories to the surface, ones he had run away from for many years. A wince on his face gave him away as he thought of his late son and wife, once happy and safe back in their home in the stars far from here. Now they were but a repressed memory.

"What's it to you?" he snarled, his eyes looking to the ceiling.

Circeo noticed the aversion of his eyes, unfazed by it yet curious as he "hmm'ed" and fiddled with some vials under the light of a lantern.

"It's everything to me." He twirled a vial around in the air as he looked backward at Isaen. There was a pain in Isaen's eyes, and the old codger seemed pleased to confirm it.

"A man of your profession, or lack thereof, traveling from world to world, it's reasonable to assume you are visiting a street whore or two. It is, of course, just that... an assumption." His lips smacked once more, and he smiled at Isaen again. A twitch of Isaen's lip a tell of his true state of mind.

The wizard scratched his chin. "Yet your blood paints a picture for me - a picture that confirms you are indeed capable of such a deed." His tongue rolled off the last word with a click.

The mage walked to a door on the opposite side of the room. He rapped on it with the back of his hand briefly before returning to the table.

"For that is why I have brought you here... a quick test of your... masculine capabilities." He folded his thin hands behind his back.

Isaen's mood had soured, losing his interest in carrying on an idle conversation with the mage. He wanted him to get to the point. The old man had hit it on the nose, though; he'd certainly had a long series of whores recently, each time burying his cock in them to try and bury the pain.

One thing Isaen had not lost was his curiosity about what his purpose was here, the mysterious old man holding it all close to his chest.

The door Circeo had previously knocked on opened up, and a few more guards entered the room. Between them was a woman. She was a bit disheveled and weary-looking, with large bags under her eyes and a harrowed expression, but she was beautiful despite it all. Her long, brown hair was tied up in a ponytail, and she wore just two pieces of birch cloth to cover her womanly form. When she saw Circeo she became afraid, recoiling, but one of the guards pulled her by the chain attached to her shackles back towards the center of the room, slapping her ass hard enough to make her yelp. Isaen's eyes furrowed as he watched her getting dragged, wondering what strange fate had befallen her.

"Ah, good! Welcome, my dear Sherry." The old man cackled as he looked her up and down.

"There is someone here to see you once again sweet darling... Same as before?" He informed her in a rather scientific way.

Her expression, in turn, showed a distinct lack of appreciation for his scientific enthusiasm. Sherry only shook her head, looking at the ground as her breathing hastened.

"Sherry here is a guest of the voidhold, much like yourself, my good Dusksire. She has been helping me with my research for some time." The mage nodded to the guards. Both of the men grabbed hold of the cloth around her bosom and tore it away from her flesh, releasing her breasts to bounce around.

"Heh..heh..." the guards deviously laughed. One slapped her tit with an open hand, causing it to bounce left and right as they held her between.

"No....." she blurted, eyes clamped shut.

"What... what is the meaning of this?" Isaen attempted an indignant tone, yet his eyes drank her form. She was a beautiful lass, full of body, with wide hips, a narrow waist, and large tits. Though she was tired and disheveled from being locked up in this hole, she was certainly a fit woman.

"Dear Dusksire, don't fret. Sherry here is no less a whore than any you found in the corners of the void. Her purpose here, however, is much nobler." The mage's hand found Sherry's chin, grasping it tightly as she struggled. Then he traveled down to her chest, groping at her bosom. He exhibited a sick excitement for the act.

"You see Isaen... I need you to attempt to impregnate her... only then can I confirm what your blood is telling me." The wizard smiled, rubbing Sherry's cheek affectionately as she was brought to the opposite side of the table as Isaen. She looked down on her fellow captive opposite her, not saying a word, only staring at him with glistening despair in her eyes.