Disclaimer: I do not own Vindictus or any of its characters.
A/N: Let me know of this flows nicely, authors can be a bit biased of their own work.
Dolores pushed opened the wooden door, and they walked into the dimly lit room. It was simple, square, with a small side room off to the side. The side room looked to have another door and a small bookcase in it. In contrast, the main room was cluttered. Bunk beds were jammed in spaces that weren't taken up by the numerous practice weapons and barrels piled around. There were no windows - of course, Lann thought glumly- , a round rusted chandelier hung from the ceiling, candles lit, along with a large fireplace against the wall opposite the door. The room looked to be empty of anybody.
The two of them walked further inside. Each step he took a fine layer of dirt wafted up into the air, and he his lips once again quirked downward in disgust. Filthy humans... He shook his head slightly, while he somewhat agreed with the voice invading his thoughts, now wasn't the time. He again looked around the room, and noticed the atmosphere.
There was an odd silence. Silence that makes you feel uncomfortable, the lack of sound and motion. It was a big change from the bustling town outside, and it made Lann shudder. Where was everyone? Weren't there supposed to be cadets? He took a look at Dolores from a glance, to see if she felt it too.
She was happily smiling to herself as she busied smoothing out already perfectly immaculate bed quilts.
He sighed. "Dolores, which bed is mine-"
"COME BACK HERE YOU RODENT!"
High pitch squeaks were heard, then a pounding of footsteps above them - Huh, guess there was a second story to this place, he thought - and a young girl ran in from the side room, a broom brandished as a make shift weapon, skirt flowing behind her. She seemed to ignore the two of them, and there were more squeaks and stomping as she ran around the room swiping at a mouse he couldn't see.
Dolores shook her head in exasperation. "Blawynn."
"Almost got you-" Bump. "Damn!"
"Blawynn!" she said sharply, pale blue eyes narrowed.
The girl, now known as Blawynn, stopped. She turned toward us and blinked, seemingly just noticing we were there. He could now see her features, they were a sharp contrast to the other girl. While Dolores was soft edges and bright toned, this girl had a dark beauty. Short hair was whipped up on the ends and dark toned skin, previously flushed, was cool. Paired along with her hands now gently held in front of her, and the solemn expression on her face, he would of never guessed her anything like the girl they saw just minutes earlier.
"Oh hello there, Dolores." She took a pair of glasses from her pocket and delicately placed them on her nose. She then looked at him, where he stood by a bunk bed, wide eyed.
"And who might you be?"
It might of been the rough day he had, that he was just extremely exhausted. Some days he claims he was low on water intake. Others, when he feels mischievous, he teases it was Blawynn's angry eyes making his soul go into shock. It doesn't matter really. As he met the expecting gaze of this girl, no, he corrected himself, young woman in front of him, looking down the bridge of her nose, he whimpered. Then he was just a boy of nine, and no one could blame him for his actions. Or what happened next. In face of the simple question directed at him-
-he fainted.
3 Years Later
Pfft. "No one could blame him for his actions". If that was ever a load of manure. If anything, they take the time to remind him of that embarrassing event every time they want something from him. They knew he had a reputation to hold up, and had no qualms about using that useful tibit of information. It was wound around his neck like a noose.
He continued going through his sword training, a worn wooden practice stick firmly gripped in his hand. It flowed through the air with grace, slashing invisible enemies and looking, to the average observer, lighter than air. He had been practicing for two years already, starting at age 10. He had gone through the pain staking "beginner" level within weeks, and had slowly moved up faster than thought possible. His fellow cadets had mixed emotions about that, some gaped in awe, usually the ones who were struggling with even the most basic moves. While others eyed him balefully and turned up their noses at his 'obvious harlot ways', those were usually the ugly ones.
The idiots. Humans.
Only one girl so far, besides Dolores and Blawynn, has not either worshiped him or shunned him. Her name was Fiona, he had found out, the same girl that he had seen on his boat ride to Colhen. Silent and watchful, she usually ignored him all together really. But he didn't mind, she did it to everyone. He could sit with her on the benches by the fountain and read all he wanted, and she never cared. He would comment on little passages from the book in mocking tones, sometimes in wonder. Asking rhetorical questions knowing she wouldn't answer. He liked to think she was grateful of his company, for she seemed lonely also. He told her this once, an off-hand comment.
She had merely snorted and gone back to reading her Intermediate Shields book.
When a cadet reaches Advanced Classes, they could choose their future primary weapons. Whether from sword and shield (The most popular), the bulky hammers, a strange magic (which Lann privately thought didn't count as a weapon at all, but then again what does he know?), and numerous others. Mostly everyone had chosen a class of weapons they wanted to specialize in by their age. The excitement of advancing making them forget their current level. Mostly everyone but Lann.
To be truthful, nothing interested him. Nothing ever felt... right. Even now, as he slid through his poses and strikes gracefully and skillfully, he felt lopsided and foolish. Amateur and silly. He spoke to Dolores about this, and she had laughed lightly at him.
"Oh Lann, you blew your way through all the Beginner things, now it's just getting tougher. I'm sure once you practice more it will be fine." And then had went out on a two day training mission, confident she had resolved the problem. Careless that of the double entredre that matched so well with the many rumors circulating around him.
Not that he minded.
He sighed, and rolled his shoulders. He was done for today, went through his thrusts and stances, defense poses and sneak attacks. Even so, it didn't feel like he accomplished anything worthwhile, the familiar chant of notright-notright-notright coursing through his head. He groaned. He didn't understand, he had tried so many different combination of weapons; long swords, short swords, axes, shields, hammers, daggers. Heck, he even tried meditating with Jarlath for Goddess's sake-
A sharp pain went through his mind, and he let out a grunt of pain as he fell to his knees. /How dare you use thy name in vain, boy!/ A voice reprimanded, stern and feminine in quality. Another flash of pain, and he curled into himself, hands cradling his skull. He mentally pleaded for it to stop.
Eventually it did, and he lay there panting and sweating from the mental assault. To anyone else, it must have seemed as if he just had a tiring training session. He continued to lie there for a while, too exhausted to think about just happened. Then he remembered something else. The voice!
Shooting up from his position, cringing when he felt a headache coming on, his brows furrowed in thought. He knew he hadn't imagined it. That soft, musical blessed voice. He shook his head and stood up. Walking out of the training courtyard he was in, he headed toward the Cathedral. He had a inkling of what it was, but figured Gilliam would know what to do better than he ever would.
Then again, if it actually was what he thought it was, then he didn't think anybody could do anything about it.
