There was a promise made years ago. A promise that the L'Manberg president made to a friend, his only friend, his subordinate. A promise that was put into writing in the official contract between two 'buddies.' A promise made by emotions and irrational thinking. A promise holding the friendship between the two together by only a thread. A promise that, one day, would be shattered from betrayal.

Tommyinnit was only a young soldier, then. A boy, only 15, torn away from his home in the country to aid the L'Manberg army when times came. He lived in bliss before then. He helped his parents with their business. He farmed the fields from which he came. He even had a dog, a brown Greyhound-Pitbull Mix, of which he named Theseus, after the Athens hero he'd hear about every day in childhood stories.

However, his parents, MotherInnit and FatherInnit, passed only weeks after his 15th birthday from stray bullets from the Other Side. "DreamSMP", they called the enemies. Tales written by the warriors of L'Manberg told of them being ruthless warriors. Born from the depths of hell, the trenches of oceans, even the void of the End. They were invincible to anything L'Manberg threw at them, even going as far as to "send Ender Dragons on our tails. Nobody could escape the wrath of one dragon, so escaping from at least 5 was anything but a walk in the park".

Ever since these attacks, the poor boy had been tossed into the cruel reality of war. Eating stale bread, sometimes over a year old. Drinking from the bloody creeks lining the already crimson battlefield. Sometimes even having to use the bloody bones of his comrades to fend off any invading soldiers. The stench of flesh-eating crows and maggots feeding on rotting skin was enough to make Tommy retch every time he passed the decaying corpses, his face growing paler and whiter over the few months of war.

It's not like he was spared from injury, either. With every brutality across the land came lesions the size of small branches. In came scabs from hunger-stricken baby roaches. In came bite incisions from the curious grey wolves that wandered too close to the territory and 'faced their destiny'. In came torn veins, shattered ribs, dislocated arms, anything that a young boy couldn't handle at the time. Nurses worked endlessly to provide him the best care, but it was all futile efforts; Tommy screamed for days on end, frequently breaking his vocal cords, and making his throat sore. Nothing could be done to keep him sane.

Then, He came. An older brunette. 17 years old. A 'visitor' to the country. It was said that he was way richer than any nobles that lived in L'Manberg. He came in some typical clothing: a wooly yellow sweater, deep blue jeans, and black shoes. Over his head (and his hair) was a crimson-red beanie, of which stray threads poked out from the cuff-like rim.

They remember vividly how they met. It was a tough night in the tavern. That damned tavern. Soldiers sat at their tables eating the sloppy meals laid out in front of them. Yelling all around. The clash and smashing of glasses. Splinters digging into the soles of the warrior's feet. Swords stabbing right through the already weakened wood walls and floors.

Tommy had only been eating his food in peace, watching his 'comrades' fight amongst themselves. Fear. Panic. Those were the only expressions in their faces, their bodies, their eyes. It was unbearable staring at them, the ones that lived. The ones that still had a family waiting for them. The ones that were lucky to have gotten out of getting injuries.

Days. Weeks. Months. How long had it been since the last fight? Scars littered Tommy's body, one running right above his left eye, rendering it almost useless if it hadn't been at where it sat. Bruises covered his knees from the ruthless hours of sitting in the muddy creeks. Lesions lined his forearm and wrists, all wrapped with very loose bandages. Each time, they would come undone only to reveal those deep cuts and scars. Occasionally, the boy would catch sight of the splinters. Deep brown splinters from the many trees that he had been leaned against after the gunshots. Those echoing firings. The screams of his fallen comrades. The cheers of the DreamSMP.

The doors of the tavern slammed open, leaving everyone in the eerie silence. The guards immediately walked toward Tommy.

"You. Tommyinnit of the L'Manberg army, correct? You're coming with us," The blond barely lifted his head as the two gruff guards, which usually stood outside the tavern to fend off invaders, gripped his arms roughly. Their fingers dug hard into his sensitive flesh, but the boy couldn't make a sound. He wouldn't. The pain was way tolerable compared to the sights he'd seen in the latest battle. The blood. The corpses. The feasts of the animals. He could hear his 'friends' chuckling and snickering, yet he could only listen to their jeering laughter with a sigh.

The cold, stinging air of outside was the first that hit Tommy's face. It washed the pain away from his injuries and, with it, the sense of danger and cautiousness. His icy blue eyes fluttered shut with the draft rushing over him, some of his dirty blond tufts dancing slightly. His dirty uniform, consisting of a black overcoat with a dark gray shirt and black pants, felt heavy while the guards carried his numb body away from the dim lantern lights.

Is this how I die? Executed by the king's guards?

Gravel pathways appeared in Tommyinnit's view. His boots kicked the small pebbles.

Slain by the dogs?

The stone brick stairs click-clacked under the blond's steel-toe boots.

Maybe I'll be banished to the Diamond Mines. That might be the best way to go out.

Red carpet ran underneath, brushed over by the leathery material.

Yeah! Dying in a deep, dark cave while suffering from injuries!

"Tommyinnit, M'Lord."

"Thank you. You are excused."

Tommy couldn't move, couldn't complain, as the grip of the guards loosened from his arms, dropping the boy onto the soft crimson rug underneath. His feet didn't even try to keep him up, letting the blond fall face-first into the floor. The guards, meanwhile, left and shut the heavy wooden doors.

"Urrgeehhh...my head..."

"Oi, mate. You're Tommyinnit, yeah?" Tommy winced as he forced his head to lift from the carpet, the sore purple spots on his neck striking his nerves with each little action he made to move his face towards the voice. Tears began pricking at the corners of his blue-stricken eyes, yet they didn't release themselves from the blond's black eyelashes.

Whoever was talking, however, didn't seem to be the king. The king had a long grey beard and delicate white hair. The figure standing at the throne seemed to have deep brown hair that ended just at his shoulders. The king also wore the velvety purple royal robes, while this person seemed to be wearing something...yellow? And something red on his head!

"Huh...? Wait, you're not the king, are...you?" Tommy winced at his dry throat. How long had it been since he drank any fresh water? He couldn't recall.

"I guess not. Y'know, you're not in the best shape, huh?" Tommy scowled at the newcomer. Of course, he wasn't in the best shape! Nobody would be if they had to hear everything in the battlefield. Crying of comrades. Rapid fire of firework-filled crossbows. The splattering of blood!

"N-No, Sir. I guess not- ""Well then! You're in luck! I just happen to have a bottle of water!" The blond went silent as the brunette interrupted him. Quite rudely, too, but Tommy couldn't give two shits about that right now. What he wanted was that water that the Brit mentioned quite clearly.

"Water? B-But how?! There's...no clean water around!" "I have my ways. Now, do you want the water, or should I resort to drinking it myself? Perhaps giving it to the animals just outside this nation?" Tommy was at a loss. If he took this water bottle from whoever was at the throne, he could possibly be called 'selfish' by his army friends. If he didn't, though, then he could die faster. What choice would be better? He didn't know. He cared too much for others to make decisions like these.

"Listen, mate. I'm Wilbur Soot, and I'm the new king. And, as the new king of L'Manberg, I recall you from the duties of a soldier and will place you among the ranks of royalty. From this day forward, until this nation is driven to ruin, you will go by the name of Tommyinnit..."

"Grand Acting Master of L'Manberg."