Chapter 25 – Jean A1
Jean Kirstein has always lived a comfortable life. In the world of freezing winters, wild dragons and Hunter attacks, Jean has always lived in his cocoon of safety. But as the charcoal of his pencil left the paper of the enlistment form, that bubble of protection was set to shatter. This is the story of Jean Kirstein.
Jean Kirstein had never known his father. It didn't particularly bother him as he and his mother got on well enough without him, given the money left in the will after he had passed away. They lived rather comfortably in the interior of the city, a luxurious (By Viking terms) house by the southern bank of the Berkian River; it's soft currents becoming commonplace to young Jean's ears. His life began simply enough: working in his mother's shop, running small errands around the district, stacking inventory and taking orders from retired traders for furnishings in their grand homes. It wouldn't be until he reached his 11th birthday that the comfort and certainty that he had known all of his life would come falling down around him like fragile glass.
"Jean!" His mother softly shouted up the stairs "Could you come down here please? There's someone I'd like you to meet!"
Jean grumbled as he let the delicate stick of charcoal that he had been gripping for what seemed like hours from his hands onto the desk as he allowed himself one last glance upon his drawing before moving to tidy himself up for this visitor, whoever they were. His eyes traced the lines he had laboured on for hours on end, their contours and edges jutting and flowing to what would eventually make up the image that constantly harried him throughout his dreams; The Raven Haired Girl. He didn't consider himself artistic, nor hugely creative, but as the son of a wealthy merchant, he had to find some way to pass the time. It was always strange to him, how his eyes have never seen this girl, yet he was still able to draw her perfectly from memory; Fragmented images from countless dreamful nights gone by, coming together like an intricate puzzle to make up the portrait that sat lightly on his oaken desk.
Tearing his eyes away from his work, he lightly paced to the other side of his room, pulling the chain to let out a small burst of water to fill the stone basin by his window. He knew that it was a privilege to have such a thing, as he often saw the other children wading out in the chilling water of the fountains in the square outside his house, just to wash themselves. Running his soft palms through his chestnut hair one final time before bringing himself downstairs to meet this stranger.
The soles of his leather boots flitted softly against the timber of the steps as he made his way down, holding his back straight and his eyes up, making sure to look good and proper. That was the thing about working in the shop; It made him very comfortable being around adults in a formal setting. However, whilst it made it much easier for him to wrap grown businessmen around his finger, he had much more trouble when it came to interacting with people his age. He viewed himself as much more mature than any of the other little brats who his mother forced him to spend time with; time he could be working or tallying up the numbers in the shop. As a result, he tended to get angry when they just wouldn't shut up and listen to him. There had been more than a few occasions when he had to be dragged away from one of the kids by the closest grown up, his knuckles lightly scabbed. But as he ran his soft fingertips over the calloused knuckles, he quickly pushed aside the memory, focusing solely on the large frame of a man who sat at the table in their home.
As Jean drew closer, he cleared his throat and wet his lips so that his words didn't stumble as he spoke
"Hello Mister, how are you? I hope that my ma has be-"
His words trailed off as the hulking frame slowly shifted towards him, a dark grey beard gleaming in the oil light with rich ointments, a silver tooth glinting the same and a frosted over spectre like eye that seemed to bore into his very soul. He felt his throat dry up as the man slowly dipped his face closer to the ground, until his eye met the frightened quivering pupils of Jean's. Jean could feel himself shake with anxiety as the man loomed over him in height, the dull, hidden, but noticeable to the trained eye, sheen of a sheathed knife resting at his waist. His knees began to unnoticeably quiver as the dark iris of the man before him continued to bore into him. That's it, Jean, I have to get a way, some lame excuse will, just anything so that I ca-
Deep thundering laughter batted away the frightful thoughts from Jean's mind as the man threw his head back, chest heaving as he took in more air to sustain his chuckle until it gradually died down to a soft sigh as the man sat down.
"SORRY ABOUT THAT WEE MAN!" His voice beat through the air like a drum "IT'S JUST THAT YOUR MOTHER HERE TOLD ME THAT IT'D BE A LAUGH TO TRY AND GIVE YA A WEE SCARE! NAME'S FARIT AND IT'S NICE TO MEET YE!"