Lann was a happy and healthy boy, wild and energetic. His often spent his afternoons with the village boys, despite the fact they were older than him by a few years, running through the streets with branches in hand that they felled from hanging on the trees from the outskirts of town. They would march through the streets, protecting the adults from invisible Fomors. Often times, they were rewarded handsomely with apple juice from the old woman who lived by the orchards and occasionally, one of the boys' mother would invite them for cookies and sweets.
At the end of the day, the boys would return home with a full stomach, pleased with their hard work, although Lann wasn't quite through. Unlike the village boys who retired their branches, Lann would race home with his still in hand and retell his day's adventure to his father, the lone blacksmith of the village. His father would listen intently while working on one of the many weapons stored in his workshop and Lann was satisfied by his father's praise.
After the storytelling, Lann would watch his father pour his love and devotion into the weapons. His dedication was admirable to Lann, and whenever Lann was to handle one of his father's weapons, he'd handle them with the utmost care, not wanting to accidentally break one and also break his father's heart. Lann spent his early childhood like this, playing with the village boys, study what his schoolteacher gave him and his classmates, help his mother tidy up the house, watching his father work well into the night until his eyelids grew heavy.
His familiarity with weaponry benefited him, and by the time he was nine, he was unusually gifted with a sword, although his mastery of the shield was poor.
"Bah!" his father scoffed when his mother questioned their son's ability. "Let the boy do as he pleases. Every warrior is different, dear. He will find a style to his liking. This is how a warrior is distinguished; style. It's all about the style."
It was out of luck that Lann discovered his fondness for dual-wielding. His father jokingly asked whether or not a shield in his left hand was more comfortable than, say, another sword.
"By Goddess..." his father breathed when the ten year old Lann sliced through a scarecrow with relative ease. The two swords in his hands sliced through the cloth and straw in harmony; neither fought the other's path but rather, worked together. "You have natural talent at this, my boy."
His mother was also impressed by her son's newfound talent. "But isn't it a slight disadvantage," she said one day after Lann got caught off guard by his father's lunge, "to give up defense for more offense? Defense is important as well, is it not? What can he do to make up for it?"
And that was when Lann found himself training his speed in order to dodge attacks more efficiently.
Lann was able to slip away from an opponent's range and slip back before the opponent could pull back to attack again and deal a fury of blows. Of course, his opponent had always been his father whom he had sparred with for years so his blows never landed, but nevertheless his father's eyes shone proudly.
"Father," Lann said one day after sparring.
"Hm? What is it?"
"Am I ready to fight Fomors?"
His father's face darkened for a second but Lann didn't catch it. His father's face brightened again and he chuckled. "You're still young, son, but I promise you that if you keep up this training, you'll be able to defend the village."
Lann's eyes shone a little when he shyly asked, "Could I even join the Royal Army?"
His father grinned down at him. "You know what? Your probably could. You very well could. Is that your goal, Lann? To join the Royal Army?"
Lann considered this for a moment as the two walked back to the house where a hot dinner was waiting for them in the fragrant kitchen. It wasn't until they reached their street when Lann said, "I don't know, father. But I do know that I want to fight to protect people."
His father's hand ruffled Lann's brown messy hair warmly. "That's my boy," Lann heard him say.
Lann's mother was waiting for them at the gate. Lann ran up ahead and greeted his mother warmly. "Guess what, mother!" Lann exclaimed excitedly after he received a tight hug and a couple of pecks on the forehead.
"What is it, son?" she asked, smiling.
"I hit father today. At last, I finally got him!"
Lann didn't mention that he had stumbled on his footwork and performed an awkward lunge, which was difficult to read. It was chance that he managed to his his father square in the chest, but it was still a hit.
"Oh did you now? With your strength, you could have killed our old man!" Lann's mother exclaimed playfully, her eyes flickering up to meet her husbands'. They shared a secret smile while Lann peered behind his mother's figure.
"Is dinner ready yet?" he asked as the three entered the house.
"Of course, Lann. How does chicken soup sound?" his mother asked. "Ah, but you must go and wash yourself. You're covered with sweat and those kisses I gave you tasted salty, dear."
Lann rubbed his forehead gingerly. "Maybe you should start blowing them instead?"
"It just isn't the same, Lann," his mother sighed, ushering him upstairs. "Now go on, change into clean clothes."
It never occurred to Lann just how precious the moment was until he started his descent back downstairs. He never knew that those few minutes he spent with both of his parents were the last; if he had known, perhaps it would have been different.
He had one foot set on the second to top step of the stairs when a shattering noise halted him. A scream followed it and his heart leapt. "Mother?" he whispered.
The scream was cut short. A furious shout followed the brief silence and a thunderous crash echoed in the house. It came from the kitchen.
"Father?" Lann called, thundering down the stairs. "Mother? Father? What happened?"
"No!" his father's voice yelled from the kitchen. Lann stopped, paralyzed into place. "Hide! Don't come any closer!"
Was that directed to him? Lann didn't know, but he couldn't move. He didn't know what to do. A low, threatening growl came from the same direction as his father's voice and Lann's stomach dropped and fear overwhelmed him.
It was a Fomor.
A dull thump followed the growl and a gruesome squishing sound sent shudders down Lann's back. A body hit the floor, but Lann didn't know whose. Should he dare go find out?
Step by step, he quietly hopped down onto the ground and crept closer to the kitchen, peering inside. His mother's body, thrown over the split table, was slice open from the throat to the lower abdomen, crimson blood staining her torn clothes and flesh. His father's body was slumped against the wall, his head crushed with glass shards sticking out of his face.
Intense nausea took over Lann and he backed out of the kitchen to regurgitate in the hallway. His body shook and he felt himself go cold. His head spun and his insides seemed to pour out of him as he retched. What sorrow did he feel? It was indescribable; he had never felt such a pain before. His tears blinded him and he didn't know whether or not they were tears of agony from his parents' death or from the violent vomiting.
Lann stumbled back into the kitchen and fell to his knees, wiping his lips and chin with his tear-soaked sleeve. Slow, heavy footsteps brought his attention up and he found himself staring into the black eyes of the Fomor that killed his parents. It was a Gnoll; Lann had heard enough descriptions to recognize it. Its dark brown, matted fur, yellowed fangs dripping with saliva, and long, blackened claws screamed out to him, yes! I am a Gnoll! Its eyes gleamed as if saying that yes, I have killed your parents. What will you do about it? You are only a mere child.
Another unfamiliar feeling piqued in Lann. It didn't feel light. It was rather heavy and foreboding. It made him feel vengeful, bloodthirsty, and merciless. Rage built up on the inside and Lann, grabbing one of the glass shards surrounding his father's body, leapt up and blindly stabbed the monster.
Its attacks were slow, and Lann was able to sidestep many attacks and jump back in, screaming and lunging and kicking. Anything it took to harm the Fomor, Lann did it. At one point, he disarmed the Fomor and he found himself on top of the already lifeless Gnoll, puncturing its chest repeatedly. His screams transformed into choked sobs and his hands were bloodied with the Gnoll's blood and his own since he had cut his palm open with the glass shard long ago.
He didn't stop until one of the men from the village found him. "Lann, Lann!" the man called, rushing towards the boy. The man took the glass shard away from him and examined his hands. Then he examined the bodies of his parents with a grim face.
"Erik, George! Anyone! We have two more dead!" the man called behind his back.
Lann remembered there were several more village men bursting in through the door, taking a wild gander at the kitchen and gaping at Lann in shock. What happened next was blurry. The majority of the village was destroyed; some of his friends lived, others had died or went missing. Of the hundred people the town had once housed, only a mere thirty-two lived.
Lann had been treated and sent to live with the old woman by the orchards with the remainder of his friends. They had heard what had happened to him and were sympathetic to him. They tried hard to cheer him up but when nothing worked, they ceased their efforts and merely watched him in pity as Lann trudged around with a hopeless look in his eyes.
"Lann, dearie, you must eat. You haven't eaten yesterday or the day before," the old woman said to him at the table in the morning. The other boys and girls were chewing on their buttered bread, watching.
"I'm not hungry," Lann said dully.
"Nonsense," the old woman said gently, "you must be starving. Two day, Lann. You haven't touched your food in two days."
"I'm not hungry."
"Lann..."
"Sorry. I'm going for a walk."
Lann never returned.
On his walk, he noticed some of the surviving village men talk to a group of four mercenaries, all of whom Lann thought looked strong. He climbed into a tree and watched from above, waiting. He wasn't sure what he was waiting for, but he stayed there and waited for something to happen.
One of the mercenaries noticed him and nudged the others. The village men exchanged looks before noticing the boy.
"Oh, him. Yes, that's the one," one of the men said.
"He has the looks of one," a mercenary admitted.
Lann narrowed his eyes. They were talking about him. How strange.
"He's young though," another mercenary said slowly.
"But he has already killed a Gnoll," another village man said, "and with a shard of glass."
"But his emotions had taken him over," the third mercenary said casually. "Anyone can do anything when they have the mindset. If placed out there without a personal reason to fight, will he still be alive?"
"That boy has trained under his father ever since he was five," the second village man insisted. "Surely you can take him in. Train him a little more and you'll have yourselves a fine mercenary."
"He's still a child," the fourth and last mercenary said flatly. "If we take him in, how can we train him? We all have our jobs to do still and some of us don't have the free time to train the boy. And it's not like the Crimson Blades have a youth training group."
"Then make one."
"It's not that simple."
"Surely there must be at least one mercenary willing to train him," the first village man said, frustrated.
The four mercenaries exchanged looks. Their eyes flickered up to Lann, who watched them intently. Suddenly, the first one laughed and said, "Alright, fine. I'll take the boy to the captain and we'll see what we can do. We'll send word your way if he accepts him and we'll keep you updated on his progress. How's that?"
The village men were satisfied and Lann figured that the moment to come down was then. The mercenaries patted his back when he approached but he shrugged them off, giving them a cold look.
"Aye, he's got the killing intent," one of the mercenaries said.
"Is that good?" a village man asked nervously.
"Depends," one of the mercenaries said. "It depends on who he aims it to. What is your name, son?"
"Don't call me 'son'."
"Fine. What's your name, boy?"
"Lann."
"Alright then Lann, do you know how to use a sword?"
The village men laughed but they quieted down under the looks of the mercenary who spoke. "My apologies," a village man said, "but like I said, this boy has been trained since he was five. His father's a master blacksmith. It's natural for him to use a sword. Both of them, actually."
"Both of them?" The mercenaries seemed interested in that fact.
"He doesn't like shields, oddly enough. Never cold use them. Instead, he uses another sword. Dual-wielding, as his father calls it. He makes up his defense for his speed, ain't that right, Lann?"
Lann nodded.
The mercenaries cocked their heads at him, as if they saw him in a new light. "Oh, this is interesting indeed...I'll assume you heard our conversation. However, we can't make you do what you don't want to do. The question is, do you want to join the Crimson Blades?"
"What is it?"
"It's a mercenary located next to Rocheste. Not exactly on par with the Royal Army, but we occasionally have some exceptionally strong people. How about it? Would you like to grow up into the mercenary?"
Lann glanced back up at the village men, who watched him carefully. Then he returned his gaze to the mercenaries and said, "I don't have any other option. I can't stay here. I'm going."
The decision was final and Lann left with the mercenaries right then and there. He only said farewell to the village men who were present but they told him that they would pass on his good byes to the others.
The mercenaries led him to their horses that they tied up by a small creek a little walk away and he ended up riding with the first mercenary, who was a tall, strong man with a fair complexion and steady arms. Lann noticed there was some arrogance in the man but he seemed well-intened, even though certain words left his lips unfiltered, as told by the others of his party. He led the group, the others following behind, and the five sped their horses up to a gallop across the land until they reached Colhen in the evening.
It was tiny, barely deserving the name of a town. Lann was told that the town he came from was small, but he decided that Colhen was even smaller, if it was even possible.
"Don't be fooled, little boy," the mercenary who he was riding with said. "Colhen houses hundreds of mercs. Unbelievable, yeah, but most mercs go on missions that takes days so they end up camping somewhere while those not on duty stay here. Sometimes, mercs go to Rocheste and stay there and then come back here for work. Lucky bastards..."
The Mercenary Outpost was bustling with people coming in and out in groups or threes and fours. Many eyes fell upon Lann and Lann had a feeling that it had been a while since many of them had seen a child.
Or maybe not. Lann noticed a group of children sitting in the corner of the outpost. There were four of them, two boys and two girls. One of the boys was athletic and well-built and the other had an oversized helmet on so Lann couldn't make out his facial features. The two girls giggled together for no apparent reason; one had long blonde hair and the other had dark brown hair. They didn't seem to notice him yet.
"Oh? Who's this?" a man asked when the four mercs brought Lann up to the table.
"This is the boy the men from the village up in the northwest mentioned. They say that he's talented and that maybe we'd have use for him," the fourth mercenary explained.
"Is that so?"
The captain examined Lann for a moment. Lann felt the urge to glare up at him. He didn't like to be looked down on.
"He's young," the third mercenary said, "but he might have potential. Maybe we really should start training youths. Those who start training early might have a better chance of learning advanced techniques at our age."
The captain frowned. "No...no, we don't have time for that, nor do we have the material."
"What?" the second mercenary exclaimed.
"But captain!" the fourth protested.
"No buts," the captain barked. His white mustache twitched in annoyance and he glanced back down at Lann. "Maybe in a few more years, I'll let him in, but for now, we haven't the time. Send him away."
"Away to where?" the third mercenary asked, sounding troubled. "His hometown was destroyed, he's got no family, and we can't send him back to where we got him. We said we'd take him under our wing and it will ruin our honor to take him back before a full day has passed."
"Does it look like that's my problem?" the captain asked coldly.
The third mercenary grew silent. The captain harrumphed.
"Yeah, yeah, we'll take 'im away," the first mercenary grumbled. He took Lann's arm and jerked him away. Lann's eyes fell on the four children in the corner and they stared back at him. For some odd reason, he felt his face flush and his eyes adverted from their gaze and glared at the aged captain.
"That old bastard," the mercenary said when the five left the outpost. "What does he know? Damn."
The other three dispersed, muttering how they were going to the inn to rest. The one he rode with to Colhen remained. "Tell you what, Lann. Why don't you stay here? Sure you won't be a merc, but whenever I find the time to train you, I'll train you. Get yourself familiar to the system here so that way, when you do become a merc, you won't be such a rookie."
Lann nodded.
The mercenary smirked at him and patted his back. "Well then, welcome to Colhen. I never introduced myself properly, have I now? The name's Gallagher. No stupid nicknames, so don't even bother. Let me tell you something here, okay? If anyone messes with you, come to me. I'll make sure I'll bust their brains out, okay? And if that coward of a captain ever gives you any lip, tell me. The man's old. It's about time we find a new captain anyway."
Lann wasn't sure what to make of it, but he nodded for his sake. He certainly didn't want to anger Gallagher.
Gallagher beckoned for Lann to follow him to the inn located in the middle of Colhen. "Right then. Don't worry, boy. Uncle Gallagher will make you into a warrior. Just you watch. Five years from now, you're going to be the boy wonder with the two swords, eh? How's that? Of course, you can't beat me. But hey, that doesn't mean you can't beat anyone else. Hmm...maybe I can gamble a bit. Have you ever dueled? I bet that you can take one some people right now. I'd win money..."
Lann followed Gallagher closely from behind. Though the last few days were rough and his smile seemed to vanished, he could feel his lips twitch up in a tiny grin in response to Gallagher's rambling.
The two entered the warmth of the inn and Lann took in a big breath. It smelled fragrant from the food cooking inside. It smelled just like chicken soup.