A Strange Apprentice (Soldier)

[Aran Kha'Serith]

Timestamp: 15th Brightening, Optia, Summer, Era XIV (PF)

Aran Rakaalsson Kha'Serith was somewhat of a different person after he and his much older cousin, Links, had been the quarry of the Huntsmen. They'd barely escaped with their lives, and probably wouldn't have made it had they not recieved help along the way. The only thing that was different about him was that he was somewhat braver than he use to be, and crying was no longer a part of his daily routine. He was still the same small, sickly little creature he'd always been though, with paste-white skin, sunken cheeks, and where his clothing hung loosely off of his thin body. Of course, he was slightly healthier, but that was only due to the warmer weather and getting better nourished.

His almost white hair shone in the sunlight as he wandered about, looking sadly at the charred remains around him. The fire had been a devastating event that had burned most of the city, and Aran had even heard rumors of strange creatures making their homes in the ruins...which is why he stayed out on the streets. The home he and his long dead mother had grown up in had also burned down, though the tree under which his poor mother was buried had not. The gods must've been protecting that spot, knowing how much it meant to the boy. He'd never known "The Rose of Archadoon" as his mother had been called (due to her beautiful looks and personality to match), but Aran always felt she was watching over him.

"I wonder how many lives were lost..." he said, walking onto another street and finding himself wandering by the citizens who were trying to rebuild. Aran saw an older man with a pile of bricks in his hands, and it looked as if he was tiring out. The boy ran to him and asked if he could help, but the only thing he got was an angry look and the words "Get away from me, you half-breed! I don't need a demon's help!" The man then turned to another, letting the other man relieve him of some of his load. Aran looked down at the ground as he wandered away, a solemn look on his innocent face. This wasn't anything new, and he figured there was no use trying to fit in. He was the child of two races, human and dracon, and would forever be caught inbetween the two.

The boy was in too much of a depression to notice where he was going, and before he knew it, he bumped into a passing man, causing the boy to stumble and fall to the ground. He lay on his back and pushed himself up into a sitting position, his legs sprawled out in front of him. "My apologies, Sir..." Aran said, brushing some loose strands of hair out of his face.

[Soldier]

The man that Aran had bumped into was a rather large Human wearing a kilt. His blond hair and beard were braided tightly, and he watched the young boy with glittering eyes. His companion, a large, red-haired man, was busy backhanding the rude older man from before. The blonde reached a hand down and scooped the young lad up onto his feet. “Colin, me lad! Check out what I bumped inta! I’m fer t’inkin’ ’tis a bunch o’ sticks in a shirt, sure an’ it is!”

The redhead walked over and looked the young boy over. “I’m thinking you’re not all Human, are you, lad?” There was a soft twinkle in his eyes as he studied the boy over. “One part Human, one part Dracon. Diantar, is my guess. Now, is there a reason you’re strolling into the ruins of Archadoon? There are dangerous things in there! You’re going to get hurt!” The Barbarians started walking off, almost dragging the young Dracon with them. “We’re gonna have to get you looked at… Obviously, you don’t look too good, living on the street…”

[Aran Kha'Serith]

Aran looked up at the man he'd bumped into, his face pale and colorless as he feared what was going to happen to him. Most people he bumped into beat him within an inch of his life and sent him running, and to his sorrow, nobody did anything to stop it. When his grandmother was still alive, she'd been the only thing that stood between him and those that would've killed him on the spot given the chance. Rinhild had truly loved her grandson, but still gave him his father's name to separate him from the rest of their clan. But she was dead, and Aran had to fend for himself.

Strange enough, the man and his companion seemed to be friendly, something the boy had not seen in the longest time. The larger and taller of the two, a golden-haired man wearing odd dress, pulled Aran to the ground. His accent was also foreign to him, but the boy could make out what he was saying; he remarked at how thin Aran was. A weak smile crossed Aran's face as he introduced himself. "I...It's a pleasure to meet you, Sir. My name's Aran."

The red-head, whose name was apparently Colin, then looked him over and point blank commented on the boy's blood and asked him what he was doing all alone on the streets. Before he could respond, they grabbed hold of his bony arm and took off with him. "W...where are you taking me?" he said, frightened. He'd just met these people, and his grandmother had always said to be careful of strangers. Wherever they were going, Aran would answer their questions when they got there.

[Soldier]

“Ah, never fear, lad, we’re not fer hurtin’ ye,” said the blond, scooping the lad into his arms to carry him so he wouldn’t trip trying to keep up. The pair passed through the streets until they got to a makeshift camp, set up for the workers and soldiers trying to relieve the city from the disaster. The blond set the boy down on a bench at a long table while Colin waved the camp cook over with food. A heaping plate was set in front of Aran, and a mug of cold water. The two Barbarians then went off, telling Aran to sit and wait until they returned, and not to wander off.

They returned as Aran was finishing his food, Colin waving off the curious folk trying to see the boy with wings. Sitting across from him, the two looked him over. “Alright, lad, where do you live, and why were you walking into the ruins? You could get hurt in there, just wandering about.”

[Aran Kha'Serith]

Aran wasn't sure whether he could trust the two men who were dragging him away to wherever. He didn't trust anyone really, for he feared they would betray him, just like they'd done to his family. The boy would've tried wriggling himself free of their grasp and running away had the blond man not picked him up. Aran wondered why these two men were being so kind. It was rare for him to meet someone who didn't right off judge him because of his dracon blood.

A confused look remained on his innocent face as they came to a makeshift camp, where the blond set the small boy on a bench. Because the half-dracon was so small and pale, it was probably like sitting down a porcelain doll. Aran's blue eyes watched as a cook was called over and placed a large plate in front of him, along with a cup of water. He hadn't seen this much food in quite some time; in truth, not since he was still with Kour. So hungry was Aran that he began to eat immediately, trying to get as much of it as he could into his stomach.

He was finishing the last bits and pieces when he noticed the two men returning...and the workers stopping to look at him. His face turned red with embarassment as he put the piece of food he was eating down and looked down at his feet, trying to avoid eye contact. When they asked him where he lived and why he was wandering about Archadoon all alone, he still kept to his gaze to the ground, speaking in a soft, but solemn voice. "I don't really have a home...I just get passed on from relative to relative. Mama and Papa are dead, and Grandma is too. So I've been living on the street since winter..."

[Soldier]

“Livin’ on th’ streets?!?” bellowed an incredulous Colin, his fist raining down on the table with a series of thumps. “This’ll never do, an’ to be sure! A young lad like you needs food, proper exercise and a roof over his head! Stephan!” A young Human wearing the blue and silver kilt ran up, stopping just beside the pair and crossing muscular arms over his chest. “Take th’ lad, see to it he’s clothed, armed and bedded down. I’ll be talkin’ to him later. An’ mind he’s left alone by certain… People, if ye get me meanin’!”

Stephan slapped a fist over his bare chest and held his hand out to Aran, leading the boy out of the camp and out the only remaining city gate. “Our compound isn’t in the city itself,” he told the young boy with a soft brogue. “It’s down the way here a few miles. But we’ll get you there.” The journey was uneventful, and Stephan led the young Dracon into the wooden gates of a stockade. Aran noticed armed Warriors going about their business in a hustling manner. Stephan led the young lad into a large wooden shed, the hot air coming out to slap Aran square in his boyish face. Inside were some large metal tubs, each one full of hot water.

“Remove your clothes and give them to me,” said Stephen with a sniff. “Then get into one of the tubs and bathe. I’ll return with clean clothes and some equipment for you.” He took the tatters offered by Aran and left, leaving the boy alone with the tubs of hot water and his own thoughts. Each tub had a bar of fire-ash soap and a pile of furs to dry with, and the warm water was crystal clear. The soap did wonders, sloughing off caked dirt and sweat, the water becoming quite dirty. After awhile, Aran had to move to another tub just to keep from getting dirty in his own bath water.

Finally, after moving several times, Aran was just finishing getting clean when Stephen returned with a bundle wrapped in his arms. Setting the bundle down, he opened it to reveal several items for Aran. First out was a kilt, made for a boy Aran’s age. It was so new; the cloth was still stiff from the blue dye. Second was a long sleeved shirt made of light blue cotton, and a vest of wolf skin. Both the shirt and the vest had been altered to allow the boy’s wings to fit through, and were quite comfortable. Also in the bundle were a black leather belt that fit around the kilt, and a small dagger in a black sheath buckled to the belt. The dagger was quite plain, but it was sturdy, and sized to fit a young boy Aran’s size. The other thing in the bundle was a wolf-skin cloak, the skull and head of the animal forming the hood. “Get dressed, lad. We’ll find you some sleeping robes for tonight. You’ll stay in Colin’s tent when he gets back in the morning.”

OOC: My apologies... I thought I had posted here already.

[Aran Kha'Serith]

Aran was surprised by Colin's reaction to the fact the boy had been sleeping in a gutter since winter. Most he'd ever met didn't truly care for his well-being, and even those cousins who'd taken him in didn't really seem sincere to the boy. To him, no one loved him, and for this, he bore a deep hatred for all those around him. But these people seemed to care! He only looked blankly at Colin as he called for another man like himself, one named "Stephan." The man beat a fist to his chest (obviously a sign like "Yes, sir!"), then grabbed the boy by the hand and led him away from the work site.

The few miles it took to get to the barbarians' camp was excruciating for Aran, and by the time they went to through the stockade, he felt as if he were going to collapse. "M...might I sit down for a bit? I feel faint..." he said groggily. These barbarians were obviously a war-like peoples, judging from all the warriors the boy noticed as he and Stephan approached a large shed. A blast of warm air hit Aran in the face, and when they stepped inside, he saw it was a bathing room. Stephan asked the half-dracon to undress and get in one of the tubs. "I could sure use a bath." he thought.

Aran stood behind the door as he undressed and peeked out from behind it, handing Stephan the cap he wore and the single tunic that served as his only clothing...along with his undergarments of course. When Stephan left, the boy walked slowly to one of the tubs and touched it with his finger. The water was quite hot, causing him to draw his finger back. He'd no choice but to get in, however, and so, he slowly descended into the tub, the water feeling quite nice against his skin. It also helped to relieve the aches and pains of the journey here. He took the soap and began to scrub hard, taking extra care of his scales. Scales were quite a pain to clean, considering all the dirt and grime that collected under them, and he also found it a chore to try to clean his wings and tail.

The water soon turned to a murky brown, and he had to change tubs so he could wash his hair. When he was done, he stepped out and quickly wrapped a fur around him. Despite the steam in the room, he still shivered with cold. Stephan then returned with a new set of clothes. Their style seemed peculiar to Aran, but he didn't say anything. "T...thank you!" he managed to splurt out, his eyes wide. As the barbarian left, the boy quickly changed into the new wardrobe and looked at himself in a tub with clear water. He didn't particularly care for the cloak, but the clothing was nicer than anything he'd ever had before; why, blue was even his favorite color.

Looking back up, Aran stepped out of the shed and stared with wonderment at his surroundings. Where in Telath was he?

[Soldier]

Standing right outside was Stephan, muscular arms crossed over his chest. When Aran came outside, he uncrossed his arms and reached down to take the young boy’s hand. “You look better,” he said simply, walking with the lad through the camp to a large tent. “The cloak is supposed to be ceremonial, but we couldn’t find a practical one for you. However, I did manage to find one for you. I left it on your sleeping furs. You’ll sleep in Colin’s tent.” He opened the flap into the tent and revealed the interior. A large pile of furs was in the center, surrounded by several personal items. Tucked into the corner was a comfortable pile of bearskins, and on top was a sturdy woolen cloak dyed green. “Sleep tonight, and in the morning, I am to begin training you in the way of the Fianna.”

[Aran Kha'Serith]

When Aran left the shed, he found Stephan standing there again. The man had simply been waiting for the small boy to finish. The barbarian told Aran he looked nicer than before, with which the half-dracon simply replied "Thanks." Afterwards, Stephan led Aran through the camp and to a makeshift tent. He explained that the wolf cloak the boy was wearing was a ceremonial garment, but it was the only one that they had available for him. As time passed, Aran didn't mind wearing such a thing, and to be honest, it was starting to "grow" on him.

The tent belonged to one of the barbarians the child had first met, that Colin fellow, and Aran was to sleep in his tent for the night. Aran didn't really feel comfortable sharing the same room with a man (particularly a man much older than himself), and not just that, but one he'd only just met. But the barbarians were showing the half-dracon hospitality he'd never been given before, and so, Aran thanked Stephan and followed him inside. Aran's sleeping place, it seemed, was a make-shift pile of furs in the center. Upon these furs was a nice green cloak, and to the corner, some bearskins.

As Aran looked at the place he was to sleep, Stephan said that the boy was to be trained in "the ways of the Fianna." Now, Aran had never heard of such a thing, and as such, he had many questions to ask. "Sir...if it's not rude of me to ask, what's the 'Fianna'?"

[Soldier]

Stephan blinked before turning to Aran. “What are th’ Fiannas, asks ye? Oh, an’ to be sure, the Fiannas are a people of Warriors, all! We like music, a good story and ale to pound your head! Th’ fun we have! But, to be sure, a city dweller would call us Barbarians. An’, I’m supposin’, we could be called Mercenaries. But don’ let that be troublin’ yer head, now… Off to sleep, that’s a good lad.” Stephan helped Aran get settled on the skins, pulling a thick bearskin up to his chin. His knife and cloak were tucked into a crevice under the skins, and then he stood and was gone. Too quickly, Aran found himself drifting off to sleep.

Aran was woken the next day by a familiar face. Stephan was standing beside his furs, holding what looked like a short spear in one hand. The other held a longer version of the weapon, and the Human was using that one to lean on. “On yer feet, lad, we’ve much to go over. Your lessons in the ways o’ weapons’re just about to begin, sure an’ they are. Get dressed and we shall go eat before your lessons begin, yes?” With that, the large Barbarian turned and headed outside, ducking under the tent flap.

[Aran Kha'Serith]

Aran nodded to Stephan's question. He'd never heard the term "Fianna" before in his entire life, and it sounded quite foreign to him. But then again, these men were foreign, so it wouldn't come as any surprise. He listened to the man explain the term. Basically, they weren't much different from Aran's own Vagaran people...well, in some ways. But besides that, these men were Barbarians? Though Aran didn't know much about them, he knew that they weren't citizens of the Empire; rather, aliens you might say. The half-dracon's grandmother had told him to be wary of such people, but Stephan and the others didn't seem bad at all. It made Aran wonder if Rinhild had been wrong about them as she'd been wrong about Dracons. But he didn't dwell on it as Stephan tucked him into the bearskins and left. The bearskins were quite comfortable, something Aran hadn't felt in quite some time. He soon drifted off into sleep, though because of his appearance, he looked as if he'd died.

The next morning, heavy footsteps woke Aran from his slumber. His blue eyes opened slowly as he saw Stephan staring at him from above. The boy sat up and rubbed his eyes, trying to get a good focus. The man was holding a spear in his hand, making Aran wonder if he was going to be killed. But apparently, he was wrong. Stephan explained that the half-dracon's training began today, and apparently, he'd have a very busy schedule. Aran pushed himself up and watched as Stephan then left, the shorter spear in his hand. "Lessons? Weapons?" the child thought, looked around in bewilderment. He then remembered that the barbarian had told him he would be training in "the ways of the Fianna." So Aran was training to become a warrior? He didn't know if he'd be any good at it. The boy's poor health caused him to be slow and physically weak, and he often had to sit for extended periods of time to regain what little strength he had.

The boy hurriedly changed into the kilt, shirt, vest, cloak, and boots from the night before, then went outside as well.

[Soldier]

Stephan was standing outside in the dark when Aran emerged. The spears were leaning in a rack that also held a pair of staves, a pair of swords and a pair of shortbows. Each pair consisted of one normal weapon and one designed for much smaller hands. “As a young Warrior, lad, ye’ll be learnin’ the knife first. Now, take yer blade an’ follow me.” The young Barbarian led Aran through the camp to an open area, covered in sawdust. There was no one else around, and the suns had yet to appear over the trees. “Stand with your feet shoulder width apart, one foot slightly ahead o’ th’ other. Lean slightly forward. Hold your dagger blade up and your other hand up next to but slightly less than shoulder width apart from it, palm out, as if you are going to push someone away. This is the Basic Stance.” Stephan demonstrated the correct position. “From here, we will practice the basic thrust. Throw your dagger hand forward, following through with your shoulder and shifting your weight forward. After contact is made, twist the dagger to open the wound. Then pull it back and get ready for a second thrust. Now… THRUST! TWIST! RECOVER! THRUST! TWIST! RECOVER!'” He called out the moves as he corrected Aran’s positioning and stance.

[Aran Kha'Serith]

(OOC: I apologize for the late reply. School and health problems are causing my posting to be slower.)

Aran hadn't realized how early he'd been woken up; the sun hadn't even come up yet. Was this how these barbarians always lived? He yawned and rubbed his eyes for a moment before noticing Stephan standing there. Not far off from him was a rack stocked with many different weapons. Stephan explained that the boy would be learning the ways of the "Fianna," and now, Aran guessed he meant that the half-dracon would be training to fight. Of course, he'd never seen himself as a warrior. His small, fragile body wasn't equipped for such things, and Aran knew that he'd probably be killed on the spot if he ever tried to battle. He'd always thought he'd end up as a scholar or a worker in the Church, but never this.

But the half-dracon did as he was told, unsheathing the small dagger on his belt and following Stephan through the camp. They arrived in a clearing, the ground covered in sawdust. It was empty save the two of them, bringing a sense of eerieness to the boy. Stephan then left the boy and stood away from Aran, commanding him to assume a particular stance. Aran scratched his head for a moment, but complied to the best of his ability. He spread his lanky legs out, then leant slightly out. After that, he held his dagger up and drew back his free hand, and indeed, Aran looked as if he was about to push some invisible force. This was apparently a "Basic Stance," and was something the child would need to practice.

Aran was then told he'd be learning the "Basic Thrust," in which he threw the hand holding the dagger forward and shifted his weight somewhat. This wasn't that hard, as the boy figured this was where a warrior thrust the dagger into another being. But when told to act as if he was twisting a wound open, Aran became sick to his stomach. He was an innocent child, and the very thought of blood made him feel ill. Stephan shouted commands at him, causing Aran to twist the dagger and redo the Basic Thrust repeated times. But he hated it all the same, and Aran felt he'd vomit after this was all over.

[Soldier]

Stephan walked around Aran, correcting his stance, grip, and thrusts as he went. After he was satisfied as to the young boy’s competence, he began the next drill. “Now we will learn the slash.” He took out his dagger and held it, blade up, the standard stance. “Thrust the blade forward, then down to one side. Don't go too far or you will not be able to recover in time. Turn the blade toward your opponent, and cut up as you bring the blade back to your starting position. The idea is to make two rapid cutting motions, one going down and one coming back up. Now practice.” Just as before, he walked around his student as he called out “SLASH! TURN! BACKSLASH! RECOVER! SLASH! TURN! BACKSLASH! RECOVER!”

[Aran Kha'Serith]

The first part of the training was over, bringing Aran with a sense of relief. He didn't entertain the thought of actually harming another person, and he still felt sick to his stomach. The child fought back the urge to vomit as Stephan began the next stage of the training. Apparently, he was now learning the actual slashing with the dagger, a thought he disliked even more.

Copying Stephan, Aran drew back his hand and assumed back the beginning stance, spreading his legs out and the like. He then listened to the directions given to him before starting again. He thrust his bony arm forward, then made a rounded motion with it as he brought it down. Then, he envisioned an imaginary foe in his mind. The child saw one of the people who'd caused him and his grandmother so much grief and pain, and this filled him with anger. While he usually didn't overreact to things like this, he couldn't contain himself.

He cut upwards and downwards as he then drew back, the look of hatred present in his dull eyes. He continued to do this over and over until told to stop.