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First Kill
You look so handsome, his mother had said after pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. Her blue eyes had become moist with tears after seeing her son in his Farstrider uniform for the first time, and she had positively glowed with pride. You look just like your father!
The young ranger stood with his hands open and shock still, his features oddly slack. Blood smeared his palms and dripped from the splattered edge of his now sheathed sword with a horribly rhythmic noise. Splick, splick, was all that could be heard for a matter of moments, and as the troll shook in the final throes of death at his feet, time seemed to stretch on and on. All his romantic notions of what being a Farstrider was were shattered in a matter of seconds. It was not simply marching and patrolling and looking fearsome, it was … this.
Would his mother have kissed his forehead, now? Would she have shed tears of pride?
Lor'themar swallowed and covered his mouth with his forearm, just barely holding down the contents of his stomach. The troll had finally stopped moving, though the ranger's eyes were not open to witness it. With a number of deep and calculated breaths, he began to calm himself, the sound of his mother's voice now replaced with that of his own conscience fiercely debating with him. The trolls kill elves, too. The creature deserved it. Life is not fun and games! For the good of Quel'Thalas… blood must be spilt.
His blood ran cold. The Amani must have held the same level of contempt for the High Elves that Lor'themar and the rest of his generation had been taught to feel for the trolls. However, what he felt was not important, for it was his duty to protect the sovereign country. Protect it he would, no matter what. Always.
Stepping over the corpse of the forest troll, Lor'themar placed his hands upon his hips and regarded the two adolescent elves who had been tied back to back inside the troll's hut. They stared up at him with wide, fearful eyes, their faces speckled red with blood. One of them, with all the uncouthness of youth, simply said:
"You look like you're gonna puke, mister."
With one of the children slung over his shoulder and the other holding tightly onto his arm as she followed him, Lor'themar quickly found his way out of the village and was relieved to be rejoined with his fellow rangers. Within the wilderness they recovered, sharing scraps of food and tales of their victory. Lor'themar only watched and listened.
There would come a day he would find glory and good fun in his chasing down the enemies of his people, but the day he first cut a person down was far from being close to it.