Captivity (The Memoirs of Abel Mondragon Book 1) Read online

  This book is a work of fiction. Any similarity between the characters and situations within its pages and places or persons, living or dead, is unintentional and co-incidental.

  The Memoirs of Abel Mondragon: Volume 1 (Captivity)

  Copyright © 2018 Chase Erwin

  Acknowledgements

  This book would not have come to fruition without the kind words, support, and inspiration from several people.

  Firstly, the world of Dungeons and Dragons and tabletop gaming was until fairly recently a foreign concept to me, and it was on the insistence of my husband, Tyler McPherson, that I created Abel and joined in the first place. He is the reason this new world was unlocked for me, both figuratively, literally and creatively.

  The world in which Abel lives is chiefly the creation of our game’s dungeon master, Joey, and he is responsible for most of the places, names and faces Abel will encounter as his story continues. Bonus points to him and Chris, one of our guest players, because, good with wordplay as I am, it took me weeks to get the “Kane and Abel” allusion.

  Of course, any roleplaying game is a group effort, and each person in our adventuring party has played some role in sparking this particular creative effort. My eternal thanks to them all for welcoming me into their game and allowing me all this inspiration.

  The book’s cover was originally a commission by an extremely talented young artist who can be found on Twitter under the handle @Tartan_Kiwi. He is well known among the fandom of the web series Critical Role and is also a heavily talented voiceover artist and cosplayer. Please go support his efforts!

  Writing Abel’s fragmented thoughts was first a side-project necessary for our game, but it was at the suggestion of some other Twitter friends of mine that I compile these thoughts for a book project. They are known as the hosts of the ThreadRaiders podcast, and they go by the handles @CptSugarBear, @Shriekee and @Gryffoleon. You can learn more about their podcast online at www.threadraiderspodcast.com.

  Foreword by the Author

  Abel has only existed in my mind for a few short months at the time I write this. His is a story that starts in the middle of a tabletop roleplaying game, and is being told in fragments, wraparounds, and recovered memories as our game goes on.

  However, I have been told by several people that what he has already encountered, and the memories he has recovered, are compelling enough to share with you — and that is what I am doing with this first volume of Abel’s memoirs.

  Our game is a “homebrew,” which any hardcore RPG player knows means the usual parameters of Dungeons & Dragons, Pathfinder or similar games may not apply or may be bent to suit our story.

  The story is the most important part of the game I have joined into, and Abel’s part in that story is what I attempt to tell here. I should also mention at this point that this story is in no way endorsed or sponsored by the authors and studios responsible for D&D, Pathfinder or any other official game series.

  Abel is the product of a welcoming group of game players who wanted to see what kind of story I could help tell.

  I would also like you to know that Abel is a survivor, and he is reflective of myself in many ways, including trauma-induced mental illness.

  Depression is a serious mental illness, and my husband, who is also battling along with me, has often said that D&D has saved his life. It’s offered us ways to translate what we’ve been feeling into a story, and watching those stories resolve themselves offer a sort of catharsis.

  If you or someone you know is struggling with depression and/or other mental illnesses, know that it is okay to talk things out. If you would like to learn more about the condition and what the gaming community is doing to help those who are suffering, I would love for you to visit www.takethis.org.

  I close with the words of my own DM, Joey, who gifted me with a leather journal to jot down Abel’s thoughts in between sessions.

  Enclosed with the journal was a gift tag, which read: “Abel’s story is only beginning.”

  And so, let us begin.

  1. Before It All Changed

  My life has never been what you might call ideal. I was born to loving parents, but I only knew them for about eight years.

  After they died, it was just me and my brother Antareus, living on our parents’ homestead outside the capital city of Galek. We had many acres of farmland surrounding the house, but Antareus, even then at the age of 18, knew enough about agriculture and animals to run that farm single-handed.

  My specialty was making food from all that he harvested. My loving mother instilled in me a passion for a warm hearth, freshly baked breads and cooking sumptuous meals as soon as I was able to read.

  “Anyone who can read can cook,” she once told me, and I was a quick student. She would proudly tell her friends that I flew through all her cookbooks before I was five. Every time she made a cake or canned fruit for the winter months, I was there beside her.

  Later, when my mother was no longer there to guide me, I turned her kitchen into the most sacred room in our home. My laboratory, my testing area - I’d take all the recipes she had amassed and try to improve upon them, to make new dishes. And this was all before I turned 13 and became eligible to register with the guild.

  Once I’d put my name to paper on the forms with the Culinarian’s Guild, I was immediately put into classes at the local college. Antareus farmed his heart out making sure he had enough things to sell to afford my tuition. During the week I studied and studied. And on the weekends I baked and baked, delivering hundreds of rolls, cakes and breads to the tavern I was assigned as apprentice.

  In those days, magic was by and large a foreign concept to me, except for one piece of equipment — a bracelet my mother had designed herself and given to me just about a month before she died. It had brown leather braids that crossed over each other and wrapped around my wrist, clasping onto a disk edged with gold. The disk’s face looked dark with maybe a hint of blue, but when I focused and willed it to activate, the disk would glow with beautiful shades of blue, purple, red and pink.

  This bracelet would allow me to turn any countertop into a stove; any enclosed box into an oven. Flames I could create in these areas would cook food in seconds, but leave no scorch marks anywhere, no damage to property. I could work out of my beloved mother’s kitchen and put out more bread in an hour than a factory could produce in an entire day.

  I speak a lot about my mother when the subject comes up, but very little about my father. He wasn’t absent, it was just he had a better connection with Antareus than he had with me.

  That isn’t to say we didn’t get along. He always let me know he approved of my career choice and would support me whenever he could. The main issue is that he could rarely be there in person to show his support. But, we as a family understood that as a shipbuilder, he was often called away to build in repair boats of every size.

  “It’s an endless life on the sea,” he would tell us when he’d get home, his clothes often reeking of saltwater. “Endless possibilities, and endless boredom at times.”

  He always encouraged me with my schoolwork. “School is the key to so many locked doors,” he would say. “Make sure you’re standing behind the one that will unlock happiness.”

  School was such a breeze — it never felt like difficult work. Besides me, there was only one other person who seemed to really enjoy the art that cooking could be. I had always admired Ricken Col for many reasons. He was tall, had slightly messy blond hair, and had a charisma that always attracted a clamor of girls to his sides.

  As I got older, I realized I was attracted to Ricken, but for more than simply his looks. Th
ere was an intensity in his eyes whenever he was studying for exams and while he mixed ingredients in the kitchens. He produced the most amazing food, and on more than one occasion a witless instructor would accuse him of buying pre-made food because it looked so stunning.

  On the few occasions I’d pass by and see him in a room without a gaggle of groupies, he always seemed so… gentle. I remember one occasion he had been napping, laid out on a bench under a large tree. He had a half-eaten apple resting on a book of poetry, and they were both gently rising and falling under his breath. Oh, how envious my head was of that apple and that book…

  We never really had the opportunity to get to know each other in school — the work was so intense and the pressure to succeed so great. But we always shared a mutual respect for one another’s work; anytime he achieved top marks in exams or I won an award for creativity, we would nod to each other, smile, and applaud.

  There were so many missed opportunities to just talk with him. But then I’d get scared that I’d say too much, or say the wrong thing, and he’d reject me.

  As much as I wanted to explore my feelings towards Ricken, I was sure I was fawning over the wrong person. So, I repressed myself, and focused all my energy on schoolwork, cooking on the weekends, and spending any remaining free time I had making sure Antareus was well-fed and cared for when he came in from tending the farm.

  My goals were set once we got to graduation time - I would work as a sous chef at one of Galek’s dozen-or-so restaurants, build up a menu of my own, then either take over or start up a tavern of my own.

  I was all set to begin my professional journey.

  And then, a dreadful winter’s night changed the course of my life forever.

  2. The Abduction

  Antareus was just a day away from turning 30; I had only been 18 a few weeks. We were both born during the month of Deepfrost, but rather than have separate parties, I always liked celebrating our birthdays together. For one thing, it meant I could spend all day making a gigantic feast that would last us an entire weekend.

  1495 had been an unusually bountiful year for the farm; Antareus sold off a record number of cattle, and wheat was running at such a surplus we actually sold some off to both the village tavern and the culinary school where I had just graduated.

  That meant I could afford to splurge on this meal.

  The cake had already been made; it was a two-tiered affair with more chocolate than would be considered sensible in normal circumstances. There was a duck slowly roasting in the oven that would be ready in the morning, and various meats and vegetables were stewing and bubbling over the hearth fire.

  I had been drifting in and out of sleep in my room at the far back of the house. I had been going over the list of possible restaurants the Guild had recommended I seek employment with after the new year.

  Intending to go for a deeper slumber, I took off my special bracelet and put it in its lockbox my mother had presented to me over 10 years ago. Under the bed it went, ready to be pulled out again for use in the morning.

  A few moments after closing my eyes, they snapped open at the sound of broken glass at the other end of the house. That was followed by three thud sounds and more breaking.

  “What in the world?”

  I stumbled to my door. Without thinking further, I opened it wide.

  “Abel, no, get back!” Antareus hissed, but it was a futile warning.

  A pair of thick arms grappled me, slamming me to the floor. Stunned, I tried to wriggle free, but the weight above me was far too much. An elbow pinned my head down.

  “I’ve got the other one here,” shouted the man on top of me. Struggling to look ahead, I could see Antareus on his knees with his hands on top of his head, leaning against the door to his room. Holding him in place was another thick-framed man. The man had cherry-red cheeks that were mostly obscured by a thick beard.

  The intruders wore identical garments — grey cloaks, chainmail pinned across the openings of their hoods to mask everything but their eyes. They both had swords drawn and pressed threateningly to the sides of our heads.

  As they held us in position, another team of three similarly dressed men stormed our home, tearing it apart with spectacular speed. Framed pictures were yanked from walls and shattered on the floor; furniture was upended.

  “Where is it?” demanded the man pinning my older brother down.

  “You’re wasting your time,” I could hear Antareus mumble. “There’s nothing of use to you here.”

  “We’ll be the judge of that,” laughed the guard holding me. Peering to my right as much as I could due to his grip, I saw some embroidery on his sleeve — a bird of some sort, a raven.

  I was utterly confused. Antareus spoke to these men with familiarity, like he knew who these people were.

  One of the people ransacking the house turned to the kitchen, and as plates and pots clattered and broke mere feet away from where I laid, I struggled in reflex to stop them.

  “One more twitch from you and you’re dead, boyo,” said my captor in a thick brogue as he pressed his blade further against my skin. I bit my lower lip and willed myself to not panic further.

  Even as I watched the others destroy every ounce of food, Antareus’ cake included, all I could do was lay there in anger, pain and confusion.

  “Right,” said the guard as he yanked Antareus to his feet. “Outside with you. Bring the younger one, too.”

  “Aye,” said the other guard, gripping me by the back of my neck and pulling me up.

  As the others, who I assume were just minions, dampened the lights of our house, the guards prodded and poked us outside until we got to a horse-drawn wagon that looked like the type police would cart prisoners off in.

  “In with the both of you,” said Antareus’ guard, “and don’t try to scream or do anything stupid, or your heads will be on pikes by sunrise, got it?”

  We didn’t have a chance to reply; the door to the hold flew open and we were summarily tossed inside.

  The full Deepfrost moonlight shone through the one barred window in the wagon, and I could see Antareus’ face. He had a terrible gash across his left cheek. The blood was already coagulating and crusting down his neck.

  “What is going on?” I asked of him, shivering with the cold.

  He looked vacant, defeated. “I am so sorry,” was all he could stammer. “I never meant for this to happen. I am so sorry.”

  Before I could question him any further, the man who had grabbed me hopped into the wagon, shackled our arms and legs together, and put a thick black cloth hood over each of our heads. “Not another word from you ’til we get you in your cell,” he growled.

  There were about 40 minutes of struggling to keep our balance as we were bounced around by the rough terrain before the horses came to a slow stop and the wagon lurched to a halt.

  The hoods stayed on our heads as we were escorted out of the vehicle and into what I could sense was a thick, stone-walled structure. Voices echoed off the walls; hushed whispers as other people observed what was going on.

  “This the one?”

  “Aye.”

  “Who’s that with him?”

  “His little brother, far as we can tell.”

  “Interesting… That makes things much more fun.”

  “Prep the room for interrogation and let the professor know our guests have arrived.”

  “What about…?”

  “Leave him be for now. His turn will come, all in good time.”

  I was shoved forward, and I overcompensated with my legs, which were still connected to a length of chain. I toppled to the ground. Antareus must have thought I was being attacked when I let out a cry of pain, and I could hear the sounds of a brief struggle, followed by the sound of a punch landing, followed by a grunt from my brother.

  A few moments later the hood was yanked off of my head. I winced as my eyes struggled to adapt to the sudden influx of light. My captor towered over me, grinning. As I glanced over my surrou
ndings, I made many mental notes. There were indeed thick stone walls everywhere. No windows. No hope of attracting any outside attention.

  There were many people in this building. I could hear voices echoing down other corridors. Clattering noises, like metal against metal. Shouts. Cries… screams.

  I watched Antareus be chained to the wall opposite me, as I was connected to the chains just above my head.

  “Now, be good little children and have a nice rest,” said my captor as he attached a padlock to my chains and put the key inside a breast pocket. “It’s going to be quite a busy next few days for you.”

  With a chuckle, he and the other guards joined together at the doorway to our room before pulling the door shut. We could hear a series of four locks being engaged.

  “Antareus,” I demanded of him, “what in the hell is going on here? You must tell me!”

  He was so far gone, there was no way I could snap him out of it without running up to him and shaking him, which was currently impossible to do.

  All I could do was watch him shed the odd tear every now and then, bow his head and mumble what I could only assume was a prayer for mercy.

  I arched my head back and pressed it against the cold, vaguely wet stone. I stared up at the ceiling and tried to explain to myself what was going on.

  Maybe we’ve been wrongly accused of some crime? Someone did say something about an interrogation… but they would have identified themselves as investigators for the Crown or something like that.

  Antareus acted like he knew these people, and he tried to warn me from coming out of my room. He must have said something, done something wrong to earn these men’s fury, but what? What were they searching for?

  …What’s going to happen to us?

  Many hours passed before we saw anyone again. He and I drifted in and out of sleep. Each time I saw him wake up, I tried to question him again, pressing him to let me know what he knew. Every time, however, he would just mumble some form of apology to me.

  “Don’t keep saying you’re sorry,” I hissed at him at one point, “just tell me what kind of trouble you’re in!”