Into the Stronghold - Prologue Pt.1

Hi there! Glad you found your way here and hope you would stay til the end. This is a piece of writing practice done to get back in the groove of writing again.

The story itself is originally from a Solo D&D campaign that I prepared to learn and get into TTRPG. There are some expositions before the actual story to provide contexts for the story and later events. You could skip it of course to the bold indicator to the Prologue itself.

I hope you would enjoy it.

Story Events

  Set in Terragona. The land of the Dormant Dragon. A military force, composed of outside recruits intermingled with legitimate military officers, is sent to set up proper structure and authority to mind the mayhem expanding from the land. In particular, after the plot of a Necromancer who aimed to resurrect and control the land as a ploy for power. A conflict thankfully halted by a party comprised of;

 Half-Elf Cleric, Dermot Clement 

- A vicar sent to understand the land’s strange influence on the people and investigate rumors of a cult practicing necromancy. A scholar and practitioner of the mainland doctrine as ideal practice in a lawless land.

Human Paladin, James Bethel

- A high ranking officer of the church. Tasked to protect the vicar in their investigation. Whilst set to stop the prevailing distribution of a drug native from the land. A follower of the mainland doctrine, the branch of his oath aligned with his mission to implement and enforce Mainland law.

Human Artificer, Jude Sicari 

- A ‘leader in the making’. Claiming to be the informant who was to meet with Dermot. Dreams to reinvent the current system of the land under nobler guise. Learning of the customs as a ship’s handyman. Taking particular pride in staying uneffected despite the frequent exposure to the land in his service as a tour guide.

Tiefling Rogue, Heloise Hawn 

- A native Terragonian with latent abilities associating him to a rise and dealings of an euphoric drug. His past is tied to efforts in studying mutations rooted from the Affliction of the Land, a phenomenon claiming responsibility for his existing biology and the land’s prevailing crime rates.

Golem Monk, Brayers Kuano

- The one who tipped off mainland authorities in the plot to resurrect the very land itself. Having chanced upon the operation. A soft clay statue given life by the land. Brayers’ aid to the group comes from a subconscious instinct to stay alive by keeping the dragon in its slumber.

-

 Taking place a decade or so after the events of the Necromancer’s plot. The military made their presence known to the land with the Gallipoli Stronghold - A large mobile fortress created in the interim between the fall of the World Tree and the Necromancer’s plot. After its rediscovery from decades of lost communication with the Mainland. A complete overhaul was made for the fortress to become the base of the military’s campaign. Soon began its trek to establish the mainland’s presence in Terragona.

 Intentionally built to adapt and withstand extreme conditions, so as to not be disturbed in its haul. Boasting steerable turrets installed in its exterior, an external field reaching miles from the main body to deter outside threats using volatile force. All in effort to create an impenetrable bunker in the event of a direct siege.

 Within the stronghold are multipurpose facilities for the military’s personal use.

 Primarily a dungeon on the bottom floor. Serving as housing for criminals and offenders of the established laws and authority. Funneled from the loading bay where troops descend upon the fortress' landfall. A large storage depot takes stock of seized contrabands; weapons, outlawed substances and the likes, and any belongings of the prisoners that might pose danger. Including their clothing. Barring undergarments - for modesty.

 Moving up are the equipment and storage rooms meant for personnel use. Forming a disorienting pattern to hide the main engine room. The repair and maintenance of which proved vital for the Stronghold’s functionality. From this floor until the bottom floor’s layout, are built around detachable, hollowed pillars meant as base foundations for military outposts when ejected from the structure.

 Up the floors are private quarters reserved for the military force and voluntary aid for their mission. Be it soldiers, mercenaries, researchers, arcane practitioners of the sorts. Hallways leading to cafeterias separating crew by rank and importance. A host of compartments and armories tailored to the onboard staff. All positioned around a large atrium, branching off to medical facilities, surveillance rooms, and training quarters; their access increasingly limited to specific personnel and custodians. 

 A handful of officers were afforded availability to every part of the structure and the main control center of the fortress. Its passage heavily guarded by armed patrols and security measures built in to prevent events of inside sabotage. Stricter still with access to the center and its complete functions divided between the current seven administration officers. Designed to the expectation of a potential civil conflict.

 Rumors arise in the ranks of the fortress housing hidden rooms and secret passageways tunneling the structure. Abandoned or sealed off during its reconstruction, further contributing to its confusing layout. The existence of the janitorial halls used to navigate the entire fortress proved a plausible basis to the theory.

-

 In the military’s campaign across Terragona. Exercising force to stamp out transgressions left rampant prior to the implementation of common rules and regulations. The capture of a feral disciple of the Necromancer allowed them footing to properly establish their presence. Gaining public favors from individual troops expending effort to the minor inconveniences of the citizens. All building to a significant boost of public support when they announced an official investigation into sightings of an infamous Terragonia drug trafficker among the common folk, said to be alive despite a documented record of their death.

 Against good press with the overall populace of the land, the military has difficulties gaining approval from the natives. Not helped by a string of sabotage and defamatory rumors connecting them to the resurgence of a dangerously euphoric drug. Implicating association to the same Terragonian they meant to investigate. 

 Pressingly, reports of  mistreatment, torture and possibly immoral experimentation of prisoners under their custody led to conspiratorial accounts circulating the military’s true intention. Stifling their attempts to reach out to the people.

 Disregarding the rumors. The actions taken by the military, supposedly simple establishment of law and order, is questioned through their violent shutdowns against offenders and criminals. An indiscriminate treatment applied to protestors speaking out on, what they believed to be, the Mainland Governments’ forceful encroachment of the land to replace its existing social structure. Amplified by leaked sources showing an unproportional arrest of Native Terragonians compared to Outsiders and immigrated Mainlanders. 

- - -

When divorced from the wider scope of the military’s controversial campaign. Their eventual downfall was a result of an unintended gathering of several unaffiliated parties. Many held no stakes with or against the military’s overall goal. Nor did they intend on the failure and subsequent dismantlement of the military’s efforts in pursuit of their personal agendas.

- - -

 Beginning in the lowest floor of the Stronghold where the unsorted arrests are kept. A prisoner echoes the unjust of their arrest in the cellars. Disturbing no guards, absent since the fortress began its move. Shaking and banging against the gate for attention, dragging out his consternation til it whittles to desperate cries and begs for acknowledgment. All in full exhibition of his cellmate. Watching with an initial amusement… soon soured to irritation at the erratic volume of its continued lengthiness.

 “Could ye snip yer trap a bit?” Picking at the man from the cold comfort of the cell. Starting a complaint of their own as the man continued on whining. Calling out,

 “No one ‘ere got arrested for why they are here fer anyway.”

 “Think you’ll change anyone’s mind for saying it?”

 Rather than heeding the advice. The man directs his protest towards his cellmate.

 “No! You should NOT be the one to say it!”

 A jilted scowl whips across a pointed finger. 

 “You got me in this mess in the first place!” 

 Rolling their eyes while picking at the long canal of their ear. Easing the vocal assault from the man. “~Oh, like I got ye here intentionally - You were collateral.” 

 “They’ll see it when they see ‘em.” 

 Peering in the dim hall. “Ye think hollering and crying your innocence is going to convince ‘em you are?”

 Keeping lax on the slab bed, spying the man pinching his lips in indignation. Shoulders railing up for a counter… Only to slack at full charge. A look at bruised toes on mossy rust, dejecting his stance back to the railing. His complaints resumed to a liltingly of bangs against the creaks and groans of the fort.

 Forming a perpetual rhythm. His cellmate began miming idle hands to a practiced routine. Stewing in the humdrum of their current disposition. Peeping at the hunched back. The jerked head of the man swinging between shoulders. Thumping to the motion on metal. Propped arms against the grate wordlessly dangling free outside their confines.

 “You aren’t from the lands ‘ere. Aren’t ya?”. Fixing up their posture, waiting as the steady rhyme of the fort’s motion loses the accompanying organic bangs.  

 “No… Was passing by…” 

 Muttered without his previous gusto. Sucking out a shrill whistle between teeth, contemplating the full weight of the situation. 

 “Wasn’t meant for it to be any longer than a few nights…”

 “Well.”

 “Then.”

 “Aren't you just lucky to get caught up ‘ere, aye?” Emphasized with a forward lean, resting chuckling cheeks on cupped palms. Anticipating the man, peeping a glare between a messy veil of hair and raised shoulder.

 “Neither are you. Hm?” 

 Retracting an arm from the grate. Keeping his back towards them. Shifting the weight of his body on one foot. 

 “From here, I mean.” Turning an upward cheek at them.

 In the mayhem of the latest touring parade, he didn’t exactly get a clear look at them. Then again. What reason was there? When the festivities and sightseeing of such a strange structure became little more than a herding. When artillery rained where fireworks was to set upon. When soldiers and civilians scrambled alike. Running about. Pushing anyone and everyone down on the ground and out of the way. It was the least of his worries when he got detained for being near the proximity of the whole incident.

 Somehow scathing by undisturbed, if a bit flustered. Standing amidst the dying stampede. While he can curse himself at the moment of shock preceding his arrest. 

 He is innocent. 

 He is sure of that. He can swear upon hells to have not driven a wooden stake in one of the guards upon arrest. And seeing the lackadaisical slant in response to the same predicament as him…

 “Oh ho! And how did you figure that out?” Scruffing the tip of his ear with a snort.

 …

 … 

 …

“...The dialect. For one,” Soothing his back up.

 “Not one I’ve heard from here…”

 “Hmmm~”

 Scratching his head, “...and. Your skin.”

 “What’d you take from that?” Daring with a cocked head.

 “It’s smooth.” Itched the nap of his neck.

 “Not a single blemish or bump all over you.”

 “My. A good look you’d took, aye?” Clasped hands nudging for more.

 “As if.” Scoffing. “If you were a native of the land, or someone just staying over.”

“Lest you took real caution staying on this land.” Rubbing the joint on his wrist, “not eating or drinking anything that isn’t ported from the mainland.”

 Sniping a side eye.

 “Doesn’t matter the race; patronage, affiliation, the sorts of that- You’d have caught a scale. A bump or two of cartilage at the very least.”

“You talkin’ bout ~the influence of the land~?” Tapping weaving fingers over crossed legs, “that affliction thing-y getting everyone all up a bunch.”

 “Yeah…” picking his skin, tugging at a tough flake on his forearm. “Would have been obvious if you WERE a native,” 

  Peeling off a callus from the seam. 

 “Even if you are an outsider… it should’ve started showing’ bout a fortnight or so ago.”

 “Quite the mingling you’d partook to learn all that.” rocking on stilting legs.

 “So why are YOU here?” Biting his words. “Something stupid? Or a serious matter? - That got snagged along the way. Getting BOTH of us arrested.” 

 “Nah. Wouldn’t say none of that.” Stretching a leg out with a look back at the question. 

 “Just came for the fun of it.”

 “Y’know?”

 Paying little mind when the man whipped his head around.

 “What fun?” 

 Sputtering. Barely keeping a gripped hand from swinging out behind him. 

 “Ye know.” Tensing out their back and shoulders matter-of-factly.

 “The jobs, and fame you can rack up ‘ere from doing said jobs. Plenty ‘o’ them, too.”

 “You’ve seen it - how things are going on ‘ere. Ye?”

 “Yes. I HAVE seen it.” A hand casting disbelief.

 “Good.” Hopping off the bed, making a full body stretch at the confusion it elicits.

  Basking in the light filled space between metal slabs. Filtered through a barred opening high up the wall. Hair and skin blurred in the glow.

 “What are you-”

 “What’s your name ‘ere?” Gleaming deep blue from the warm haze. 

 His body turned around completely. Biting still the skin of his lip. Knitted brows glaring at the person in front of him. Biding at the display of nonchalance in conflict and cohesion to the grace of a proud elf.

 “We’re stuck with the other now. Might as well get a name or suthin’.” Narrowing eyes lulling a sly smile.

 Staring through gritted teeth,

 … 

 … 

 “...Chris…to. Belle…” 

 Perked ears casting shadows. “My~” Hand clenched on a metal bar. His body kept still witnessing his name studied by an absent-minded sway.

 “Chris-to, Bell…” 

 “Mmmm…”

 “Cristo… “

 “Car-ris-to… Bell-Os.”

 “Chris-tol Bella. Ca-ris-tol, Bello.”

 “Cristo Bell-o…” Mangling the name in each subsequent ditto.

 “What are you going on for?” Staring on as the elf turned towards the light.

 “What’s it look like, Cristo Bello?” Slinging back a blond braid.

 “CRISTO. Cristo Belle.” An arm lingering back when his body stepped ahead.

  “At least say it right when you ask someone their name.”

 “Ye. Yeah.” Pandering with the back of their hand.

 “Like you would react any differently when it’s the other way round.” 

 Finally luring Cristo away from his post.

 “Oh.”

 “But I won’t have to.” 

 Leering a toothy grin, pausing just enough for a flabbergasted “pardon?”. 

 “Cause everyone will know my name.” 

 Pause.

 “Then, or now.”

 “Soon… Maybe -”

 “You know,” 

 Spoken pointingly at Cristo, “they’ll know… Least.”

 … They?

 “They’ll know when they hear it by then, and they’ll know better to say it right. The moment they caught a word of it.”

 Doting a hand along the warmth on their forearm. Waiting for the end of Cristo’s “how’s so?”

 From a coy smile, “cause by then, everyone will know who I am.”

 Staring on vague words stringing to a heightening rant.

  “My exploits, my success. The awe, the praise; the forte and feats denoted to only one - To me,” Motioning his body to one side under the spotlight. A reached hand raised to a foot plucked on rough steel. 

 “The Great Castello!”

…

…

…

 “Ah...ha…” A lackluster reaction to the declaration of The great Castello. Granting no recovery to the whiplash.

 “No bothers.”

  Moving on.

 “Things worked out quite ample ‘nough opportunity ‘ere.”

 Quite so.

“This ’ere will be the start of my name.” Pacing around the cell, “my fame, infamy… How ever it’ll start words for people to share.” 

 Tracing finger tips on cobblestone, losing the luster while muttering at grooves lining the walls with an unfound cheer. “... they won’t forget then.”

 No one should.

 “Whe…”

 “Wait.”

 “Wait!”

 “WAIT!”

  “What are you planning?” Following Castello as he leaped from one thick sheet of steel to the other.

  “You.”

  “Are you planning to break out of here?”

 “No duh. What does it look like?” Using the bed as leverage to latch onto the window bars, Castello spared a comment to indulge his only witness at the time.

 Tapping his knuckle at the ceiling of the cell, minding offhandedly a hushed “hm~ solid metal.”

 Marching towards him, “you can’t be serious?”

 “Better believe it, Chrissy boy.”  

 Measuring the width of the wall with an arm inching out the window. 

 “Ooo!” 

 A hand jolted back to Castello when it reached out the confines of the room.

 “It’s CRISTO!” Stepping back for his cellmate to skip down off the bed.

 “And you can’t do that.”

 “I am not letting it happen.”

 “Not while I’m here.”

 “Oh ho? And why’s that?” Pushing himself towards Cristo. 

 “You’re not going to do it while I’m here…”

 “You…”

 “You’ve already gotten me in this place.” 

 Dampering Castello with his reasons. 

 “I am not going to let you drag me down further with the stunt you think you are gonna pull. Not while I’m here.”

  “Stunt?” 

  A palm on the hip. A taunting hand casting shadows. Goading him to the backdrop of harsh light. 

  “You think this is a stunt?”

  “I don’t know!” Tossing his hands aside.

  “I don’t know what to make of anything you are or what you are doing.” Fed up. “I don’t want anything to do with what you’re going to do - Or YOU!”

  “And I am not letting you make things worse for me AGAIN. Just because I am in the same place as you.”

  “Well, like it or not, Prissy.” 

  Mocking to the cadence of Cristo’s tone.

  “We’re locked up in the same room.”

 “And like it or not, I am leaving one way or another right this moment.”

 “Cause like you, I’m not meant for this place.”

  A snapped finger driving Cristo back, “I’m not apologizing for the bad luck roping you here with me.” 

  Jeering from an upturned cheek,

 “You're already implicated just by being ‘ere.” 

 A flick at Cristo’s nose.

 “So either be the innocent boy ye claim to be. Stay where ya are, and stay quiet. Ye? Or, maybe,” 

  Scrunching up a corner of his lip, “maybe help out, it'll be worth my while ‘least.”

  Offering a pitying shrug.

“You are condemned either way. So do something, or suck it up.”

 “Worth my while ‘ere. Yea?” 

  Suck it up?

 “You want me to suck it up?” 

 Parroting back. Cristo’s glare persists. Kept still as it gave way for the groans and screech to flood in.

Since he boarded the fort. Castello took interest in the facilities he found himself able to pinpoint by sound and sight, and through assumption concluded of the two formers. Coming to familiarize the individual sounds that made up the structure’s movement. Keeping in mind as he went finding a way through the maze of a lower deck, stripped of his clothes, his belongings, and…  

 Having his name and face booked by armed men whose faces are blurred blank in memory. Walking down winding halls until he was shoved in a random cell. All while etching the sensation and motions felt to track his progress…

 Twitching his ears at each squeak and creak and distance shriek made loud by a defining clarity. Lapsing in the effort to note each sound; their position, source, their frequency, infrequency…

 It was just long of a pause to catch him off guard when Cristo turned tailed at the cell door. Pressing up on the metal bars. He began another yelling bout.

 “Hey!”

 “Hey!”

 “Warden!”

 “Guard- Guard!”

 “Someone here’s trying to break out of holding!”

 “Ye hear me?”

  “Anyone!”

  “Hey!”

  “AY-”

  Keeping himself bolted to the bar, firm in his resolve was Cristo as Castello tried to pull him away. Snapping his teeth at the pompous hand aiming to shut him up.

 “Ay! Did ye lose your mind?! What in hells!” 

 Locked in a struggle, Castello pulls Cristo by the hair. 

 Remaining unflinched in his effort to stay glued to the gate.

  “I.” 

 “AM.” 

 “NOT.”

 “LETTING YOU.” 

 “DRAG.” 

 “ME.”

 “DOWN!”

 “GUARD!!”

 “...Be damned-”

“Erh… Shut yer trap!” 

Managing to yield him back a second. In a flex. Castello reached for a prepped sheet on the bed. Balling the thin cloth with an aim at Cristo’s mouth. Who kept at his yelling while avoiding the elf’s darting attempts to gag him, balking a defiant, “Never!”

 “Stop it!”

 “Stop!” 

 “Stop! Yer! Whining!” Legs buckled on Cristo’s back. Leveraging a tight grip on his ponytail. Castello elects to loosen the cloth over his head. Resorting the cloth to wrap around his neck. 

 “Hey!” 

 Cristo reels back. Letting a yelp from Castello. Right when the cloth could snap itself around his neck. Cristo slammed his body down. Relieved of one nuisance, he focused on wringing off the worn sheet as he turned to face Castello.

 Ringing metal punctuates the end of the scuffle. A full forced kick rammed Cristo into the gate.

 “Augh…”

 Rising up. Castello spits aside,

 “Gonna quit yer whining, ye?” 

 His face stuck between the frame, groaning at the guttural pain pricking up his lower back. 

 “Thought so.” 

 Ready to declare victory, Castello placed a lifted heel on Cristo’s nape.

 “Hey…”

 “You aren’t killing him ‘ere…”

 “Are you?”

 A soft whistle crackles through the hall. The two drawn alert to the sight of coiled fingers. A hand slithering into view from the cell across, offering a timid wave. 

 “Hi… ‘ere…”

 “Eh-”

 “ What’s it to ye?” Settling his foot down, Castello wipes his bruised cheek.

 A word at a time between defeated coughs. 

 “Were…ha,  you… there… the whole… time?” 

 White slits peek out the dark. 

 “Didn’t think it was customary to acquaint someone from the other cell.”

 …

 “Though…”

 “Seems you ain’t supposed to mingle with your cellmate either.” 

 Unstucking his head from the grate. Castello paid no mind to the petty shove when Cristo heaved away from the gate. Watching a wide grin peering out from a horned figure. Torch lights casting dark specks over red skin.

 “What’s with that? Got something funny on your mind?” Perturbed at his oversight of the other inmate. Much less one from the cell across.

 “No… No.”

 “ I don’t.” 

 Speaking in spite of an ear to ear grimace.

 “Was curious... s’all…” 

 “Didn't want to pay much mind til you start yelling and battering up the other.”

 “Aren’t you smart?” Fixing up his hair,

 “Then why’d ye speak up just now?”

 Luring out a crusted face. Two pointed bony bumps slicked back to a set of slender horns, curving backwards to divert focus off of an unfavorable character. Affixed to unblinking beast-like eyes in sunken sockets; trailing a nearly  flat nose, perking up to guide away from an unmistakably arched smile. Ingenious of a human mouth stowed beneath their snake-like visage. A slight gape reveals a serrated maw.

  “...Well…” 

 Darting eyes searching for a reply.

  “... Was thinkin’... n’… planning… s’all. I-”

 “Gah!” Castello digs a turned thumb in his ear. Muffling the sharp sting of the stranger’s voice.

 “I… Ah, well…” 

 Blinking away from Castello’s glare. Brittle teeth chatter a chuckle unfit of the baleful grin. 

 “...heard you lot talkin’ bout escaping… break out of the place…” 

 “Ye?” 

 Leaning his head back. Castello peers at the face. Making out wild mane flowing over shoulders. And seeing clearly, the hapless schlub had their forearms tucked away in a metal case, a red tendril pokes out between their arms, on top of their exposure to the elements. 

 “Was thinkin’, well…”

 “Well?” Waiting with crossed arms and a cocked head.

 “Go on ‘en. Ears all round for ye.” Castello tosses a glance over his cellmate.

 “Ah! Yes…” 

 Cristo soothes the strain on his neck watching the poor sap struggle. 

  “...Ha, ah…”

 Wavering in the dark, the figure crooks their head up, narrow tipped ears flicker back. 

 “Was thinkin’...”

 “Was- was wanting to ask…”

 “If…” 

 “You lot wouldn’t mind a lending hand,”

 “eh…”

 “ … For your escape.”

 “Really?” 

 “What?”

Prologue Pt. 1 - End