Disclaimer: I do not own Vindictus or any of the characters.

Authors Note: So I think I will make a story out of this, tell me what you think and what you might want to see later on. Please enjoy.

When I was seven or eight, living in the small two bedroom cottage in the plains, my father was the only source of knowledge I had of the outside world. Every weekend, after I would help mom with the baking, practice my letters, and do my chores, I would finally watch my sister. Only a few months old, I would hold her in my small arms and gently carry her outside to the porch.

There, we would both wait in silence, give or take a few gurgles from her, for my father to return.

And on those days, each night after supper when my father was sitting in his chair and smoking a pipe, I would hesitantly go up to him, looking down at my battered socks, and ask him for a tale.

Normally, his eyes would softened from their hard glare and he would pat his knee invitingly. My mother would walk in with the little one, and would gently rock her to sleep to the sound of my fathers voice as he told the story of a brave warrior venturing the hillsides; as I sat on his knee and listened with rapt attention. That night it changed. It was when everything changed for me.

That night when I looked up from beneath my blond lashes, I saw him looking over me with scrutiny, and I suddenly felt very venerable and weak. We both stayed there in silence, and eventually he seemed to come to a decision. "I think yer old enough now son, that I can tell yah what's really happenin' out there." He seemed to straighten in his chair as if preparing himself, and put one leg over the other.

Getting the subtle message, I sat crisscrossed on the wooden floor as he spoke. He spoke of the sudden Fomors emergence years back, and wide spread panic across the country. He told me of the black barren land that lies just beyond our sweet retreat of temporary paradise, and the weakened, sickly people that live huddled together in small towns, shelters really, with high walls. There was no hero in his tales, and there seemed to be no hope as well. I wondered what the point was of living, and almost asked how people could go on, when he spoke of it.

Erinn. Our paradise.

Morrighan, the goddess of war and vengeance, would take us to the paradise. So long as we not give in, so long as we keep fighting and believing. And when we eliminate the Fomorians, we will be taken to Erinn.

Erinn. It sounded wonderful to my young ears. With two moons, Eweca and Ladeca, each shining with the brightness of the Gods, and the idea that there was no death or sickness, and dreams of lands that were rich with resources and food. I could imagine my family living there in peace, where my father would take strolls without worry, and my mother not glancing out the window in worry every time he leaves. Where my sister could grow up without the burden of never having enough food, and I could protect her and teach her all the things I know.

I then understood, how even in these darkest times, people fought, and people strived. Just the thought of this beautiful land, whether you were young or old, was enough to keep living each dreadful day into the next.

The Legend stayed in the forefront of my mind for months afterward.

One day, I was in the middle of my ninth year, taking a stroll through the meadows with my sister. She was learning to walk, and I feared for her falling on the hard floors of the house, and took her out on the grass to practice. It had been a hard time, for even if it was softer, the ground was uneven, and my sister too new. My frustrations had gotten the best of me, and I picked her up, no point in continuing if I was angry, and started the walk home. It was when we were nearly home I saw it.

Its back was to me, but I could see it was big, as big as my father, and it stood on two legs. Dirty matted brown fur covered its hunched over body, and it wore nothing but a loin cloth. It looked reminiscent of the wolves father brought home, except twice as fearful. As it stood on our porch, front door destroyed, and blood dripped from the spiked mace. It sniffed the air, then whirled around, and locked eyes with me. I stood stock still, and fearfully let my eyes frantically look around for my father. When I saw the bloody hand peaking out from the doorway, I let out a choked sob and clutched my sister tighter to my chest. My gaze returned to the monster.

We stayed looking at each other, one of us judging the other, whether for how fast or how tasty each other were, for what seemed like minutes, but was only seconds.

Then it lunged.

When Lann showed up in the nearest village dragging a mace half his size, blood spattered on his clothes, and manic look in his eyes, people stayed away. They no longer saw a victim, not even a young boy who had lost it all, but a wild thing that reminded them too much of the horrors they faced every night. And so when he collapsed on the cobblestone road, no one spared more than a glance at the unconscious boy.

When he woke up in the same position, he didn't linger in the town, or in the next. He kept walking along the dirt roads, and by the time he reached the third, he was dead on his feet. Between killing the Fomors and carrying the heavy mace with him, along with no water and only the uncooked flesh to eat, he was ready to give it up. Yet he couldn't stop, he felt a driving force pushing him forward, and he would listen to it. He knew he wasn't meant to settle down, he felt as if he had a task to do.

He walked along the uneven road of the town he currently was in, glancing about in a detached way. When he saw a brightly colored piece of parchment nailed to the city board. Curiosity piked, he stumbled towards it. He saw he was looking up at a recruitment poster for the Crimson Blades, and he felt that same force in him spurge with excitement. He caught the boat the next day, and after watching the town fade into the distance, he felt the driving force leave him. It was then he finally realized how tired he was. He glanced around, the boat was tiny, and everyone on it was older than him except for a girl with short blond hair. He caught her eye, and she nodded to him solemnly.

He grinned, and leaning back against a box, closed his eyes for the ride.

He was where he was supposed to be.