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Description
There once was a time of great conflict where humans and elves and dragons all fought, though no one could remember why anymore. All that was left was the fighting. The blood soaked the earth, and cries filled the night like water in a cup. Somehow, in all the turmoil and pain, in all the chaos and death, there was life. From opposing sides came a love to inspire tales, though it ended in nothing more than claws and teeth and swords. So goes the story of old.
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I awoke to bright sunlight and a boot to the ribs. The rest of the unit was already up and about, but I had somehow missed the roll call. My squad must have been in a particularly bad mood if they'd waited this long today. My ribs smarted and my ears rang with the sounds of insults accompanied by a handful of orders. "Breakfast" was a meager affair of cold bread and last night's stew. It was eaten quickly and silently, then we moved out.
The marching was not as much patrolling the kingdom borders as it was mechanical movement over and over again. Nothing unexpected ever happened out here. It gave everyone too much time to think. How were our families back home? Were the dragons done yet, or had we hunted the last of them? Most of the others would be wondering when the elves would just give up and hand over their majiks. Me? I wondered what the weather would be like.
Fighting was nothing new to me. My earliest memories are of a smoking building. A charred hand clasping at the sky. A bloodied sword. As I grew up, the others despised me because of my parents. Who knew when I would turn my halfling mind against them? I certainly never dreamt of such traitorous actions, though that never stopped the others from taking out their issues on me. These thoughts and more ran through my head as the leagues passed by underfoot. The monotony was known to put men to sleep on their feet.
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There once was a time of great conflict, but love somehow found its way into the war. A young man and woman came together on the battlefield, fighting against a common and scaly foe. There, the two found companionship beyond that which their respective peoples thought possible in a world where the largest worries were to protect your own skin. But these two were much different. They ran away from the battles, the blood, the fights. They ran to a quiet and peaceful place to raise a child. And yet, even there, the war found them, and it did not find them kindly. So goes the story of old.
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What was that?! The whisper carried around me in a nonsensical echo. What was that? The mysterious sound drummed against my ears in a familiar pattern. The sky seemed to press in through the leaves overhead as I looked up. Pressure hit my head in waves as the sound grew louder. I prepared my weapons even before the commanding officer ordered it. A crossbow with its loaded bolt and a short sword loosened at my hip. Apparently, we had not managed to hunt them all. This one, though, would definitely join its fellows.
I ducked behind a tree for cover as the rest of the patrol scattered in a panic. Heat blasted the earth and burst in all directions, propelled by the enormous bellows of leather wings. A roar shattered the sky as my troop began to fire, some with trepidation, others fear. My aim remained steady, and my mind cold as ice. One bolt down. Load the next one. The next bolt shot. Duck back behind the tree and attempt to reload faster.
The ground trembled as the dragon landed. Trees snapped as the massive tail lashed behind it, and the wind from the enormous leather wings buffeted the trees and my squad hiding within them. In a sudden fit of motion, the dragon spun with a blast of flames. Screams sounded around me, and the fires began eating every living thing. Heat crawled by in waves that immediately set my skin to sweating. My short sword slid out of its sheath. This heat had ruined my crossbow, and the shimmer of it everywhere would throw off any attempt at an aim. I moved forward, toward the scaly beast that clawed at trees and tiny humans. Screams and cries of pain echoed around me as the flames spread at an ever-increasing rate. A harsh snap, and a tree began to fall somewhere very close.
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There once was a time of great conflict where even the strongest bonds of love could not survive. Even as love ran, the conflict devoured all, even a little cottage for three in a secluded valley. Fires ate at the timbers lovingly carved into a home, and strangers trampled the remains. The three who lived there were not spared. The traitor and the enemy were slain, but the halfling child was allowed life. Young though it was, the child became part of the service that had just created an orphan. So goes the story of old.
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Bright lights blinded me as I opened my eyes. Before I could try to sit up, a hand pushed me back down into something soft and warm. A bed, maybe, though a warm wetness oozed uncomfortably around my knees. Hurried conversation commenced in a hushed corner as the doctor explained what happened. Apparently that tree had fallen closer than anticipated. Most of the wood shards had been successfully removed while I was unconscious, but there was one in particular that would have done more harm in coming out than it would in staying in. This all felt rather familiar.
After some convincing, I was allowed outside to sit in the sun and relative quiet. Whispers followed me in an unusually large number, but I could have sworn there were even more hostile looks than normal. The small house must have been an impromptu medical base, since the rest of the villagers seemed to cast curious eyes at the people inside. Their gazes hardened or dashed away when they found me, though. Whatever had happened while I was unconscious had not helped these people trust the likes of me.
The sun was warm, and I tilted my face towards its light. My superiors should be here soon, so I might as well take advantage of this respite while it lasted. I sat on the ground, feeling a strange grate in my knee. When it was bent completely, a small bump pushed at the stitches painfully. I stretched out the leg and relaxed into the heat from the wall behind me.
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There once was a time of great conflict that devoured every soul. Young and old, male and female, innocent and guilty, warrior and family, human and elf, the conflict devoured them all. Some lost their souls in the blood, some in the punishment of early death. For some, though, the punishment was life. The life of a halfling was as much punishment as the death of its parents, for the life of this child was despised by both sides. It was forced to act like a warrior long before most others would have. Marching and killing and marching and living, the halfling child moved on. So goes the story of old.
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I awoke to a not so gentle prodding of my temple. When my eyes opened, they looked upon the visage of a young girl dressed in a homespun tunic of red and blue. Her short brown hair had a single braided lock that almost hid in her straight bob. She was a cute little thing. The rest of my squad had talked about having young girls or young neighbors back home and how they were all so innocent and charming.
“You snore,” the girl said earnestly before giggling and skipping away. I watched after her, confused, but decided it wasn't worth it to get up. Most of the adults around the healing house glared at me from behind raised hands, giving the familiar crossed fingers to ward against evil. Whatever the little girl had wanted, I laid back, unconcerned and wanting rest. My squad was normally noisy in the mornings, and this quiet was a welcomed respite from my normal routine.
“Aren’t you going to chase me?” a familiar young voice asked. I opened my eyes again and spotted a small brown bob quickly disappear behind the building’s corner. “The others said you would chase me,” she said again, sounding a bit disappointed. Innocent, maybe, but she was definitely charming in her own way. I let a smile tug against my lips before I replied.
“Now, why would I chase you, fair maiden?” I called out, resting my head once again against the wall. The answering reply was faint, and slightly grumpy. I laughed a small laugh and painfully got to my feet, using the side of the building as support to make my way toward the girl’s corner. My knee grated at being bent, and the stitches pulled and pulsed uncomfortably.
When I reached the corner, I leaned down, slowly poked my head around, and quietly said “Boo!” to the children gathered there. They all went squealing away, and I smiled broadly at their innocence. There was the girl with the bob and spun dress. Another girl wore her small braid and apron over a dusty grey tunic. The two boys wore similar trousers, though the apparently older one had lost his shirt at some point. Judging by the redness of his shoulders, the kid was used to it. I straightened and turned around, almost running into the chest of a very large and very angry villager.
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There once was a time of great conflict where only the strong survived. Strong in strength, the dragons commanded fear. Strong in majik, the elves demanded respect. Strong in arms, the humans dominated all. Strong in wit, the halfling avoided destruction. Strong in heart, the child asked for trust. The strong arms, majik, and strength thought nothing of the strong heart or the strong wit and discarded them to be trampled underfoot. The strong wit noticed this and thought to better itself by becoming more like the strong in arms, but none would take its plea, and so the strong heart was all that was left. So goes the story of old.
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My wrists hurt. My throat was parched. I swear, these stockades were built too low to kneel and too high to sit. It was probably on purpose, considering these things were supposed to be a punishment. Sadly, they had become regular friends of mine as of late, as had Alice. The sight of the brown bobbed girl made me smile. I waved from my pinned position, and she came skipping up in her favorite dress.
“I brought a key!” she said happily. She always brought random keys when I was here, which had been fairly often since the army no longer wanted me and I had nowhere to go. My squad wasn't worth the name anymore, and my poor commanding officers seemed to think I attracted the dragons with my majik. It was a silly notion, but I'm glad they left me here.
“Why don’t we go give it back?” I suggested, letting her try the key before lifting the stocks off. I’d served my time already, so there was really no need to wait for the magister. These old locks would open with an amateur lock-pick. They weren't even worth the practice.
We walked through the village holding hands. She said it was for me, since I still limped quite a bit, but I went along with it. The village adults would not hurt me while the girl was present anyway, so it kept pain away for a while. Houses turned from stone to sticks as the street went from cobble to dirt beneath our feet. The fields were out this way, and I began to wonder where Alice was taking me.
Today, the key belonged to Alice’s mother, a surprise I was not entirely prepared for. The furious female of the large farmhouse came barreling out of the house, almost instantly chastising her daughter for a myriad of things; stealing, shirking of duties, and outright disobedience were among the long list. Her skin shook loosely around her chins as she trembled in rage. The thin, oily hair hung in a messy bun that lost more shape as the scolding continued. I marveled at the words that flew from the woman’s mouth, and in my stunned state did not react in time.
With a sudden vengeance, the portly woman lashed out at her daughter. Alice did not cry out as the loud smack resounded, but the redness forming on her face gave testament to the strength behind the blow. As the angry woman raised her hand once more, I moved. I did not think, but simply stood staring in defiance at the suddenly flabbergasted woman. It was a familiar pose, and the memory of a sting spread across my own cheeks.
“I don’t know where she gets it,” I said quietly. How could such a wonderful child come from such a terrible woman? I turned and held out my hand. “Could you help me back?” I asked Alice. Her eyes darted from me to her mother before she quietly took my hand. The woman behind me attempted to once again start railing at the child, but I ignored her and the scared glance Alice sent over her shoulder. We walked for a time before I asked, “Is that where all those bruises come from?”
Alice didn't speak for a while. The dirt was just starting to transition to cobble again before she shook her head. “Sometimes Papa gets mad at Mama and me,” she said, “and sometimes I just fall.” I tightened my grip on the young girl’s hand. I couldn’t leave the child in such a household. It reminded me too much of after the fires. There had to be something I could do. I knew what kind of damage that kind of environment could make. I thought until the houses turned back to stone around us.
“I have an idea,” I said, dropping to my uninjured knee so we could be eye level. Alice had to stop, but she didn’t look entirely at me as I continued. “If I said I could find us a place without bruises or angry Papas, would you come with me?” I asked quietly. This one girl had been the first to show me kindness in a long time, and I wanted to do something in return. If there was anything I could do, I would do it.
Alice shifted on her feet, and I worried slightly. Would this innocent child come with me? I did not want to leave her, but I did not want to force her to go, either. If she refused now, maybe the best I could hope for would be time to convince her. Plant the idea, and water it until she really wanted to go. Finally, she said, “Don’t tell Mama.” When she looked me in the eyes, hers were filled with tears, so I quietly reached up and brushed them away. Her skin was warm and her tears hot, but I didn't care. If I protected this one creature, I would be happy.
“Alright,” I said, “I will take you to a place without bruises.” She smiled at me, and for a moment, I was flying. This would work! Alice would let me take her away from here and protect that innocence before the fighting could stain it. I beamed down at Alice, but as she looked over my shoulder, her face blanched. I never knew what hit me, though I assume it was something hard.
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There once was a time of great conflict, and it destroyed the dreams of many. The strong lost dreams of peace as they fought, and the weak lost dreams of grandeur as devastation rocked the world. Somehow, a small dream began to form. A dream of peace and safety, of a place where a halfling and a child could go without pain. The halfling vowed, and the strong of heart trusted. The strong in arms were threatened by this dream, and despite the great conflict the strong in arms moved. So goes the story of old.
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Pain. That single sensation blocked out all semblance of thought. Agony burned away all other feeling. Torment, all focused on one place. I think I cried out, but the only thing in the world was the pain. Why? Hands held me down as I tried to escape the pain. The pain sat there for an eternity before it moved away and I was allowed to pick up the pieces of myself that had been shattered. Suddenly, more pain, though not as intense as before. Why?
I was roughly thrown into a stone, cold room, and the sound of old metal creaked and clanged behind me. Rough voices called behind me, and curses about majik and kidnapping echoed around the dark cell until a heavy door thundered shut somewhere high above. The pain faded, though it remained present as ever. Why? I crawled to a pool of water fed by a leak and looked down. What I saw by the torchlight took my breath away.
Angry and red, a mark stood boldly in the center of my forehead. It was crude, but the symbol was there. It was the symbol of traitors and miscreants and possessors. The large and angry dot did not stand alone. Radiating from the mark were four pointed arms reaching for my brows and hairline. The imitation of the familiar ward made it more painful than the iron they had used to burn it there. The two combined marks puffed up as I watched, and I felt the swelling in my brow. Sluggishly, my mind registered what had happened, and I continued my examination in the dim light. Just below my eyes were knife slits, the blood coagulating as I stared, incredulous. Had the marks not been enough? Had I not been blindfolded, would they have gone for the eyes instead?
I crawled pitifully back from the light, wincing as my injured knee took my weight. What of Alice? Was she alright? I needed to get out, to fulfill my promise, to protect her from this blasted war. A thought occurred to me at that point. What would she do if she saw me like this? I no longer looked like the halfling she had befriended. I bore the mark every child was taught to run from. With my face bloodied and swelling, would Alice even recognize me? Could I stand it if she rejected me now? No. I couldn’t.
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There once was a time of great conflict where dreams were few and prejudices high. Every action was read twice and thrice over through muddy pools of popular beliefs. Elves were evil, conniving thieves to all but the elves. Dragons were power hungry war mongers to all but the dragons. Humans were ungrateful plotters to all but the humans. And what of the halfling? The halfling was judged to be both human and elf, though none of the glories of either. The elves rejected it outright, not even letting such a thing into their cities, but the humans were different. They tolerated the halfling and watched with suspicion every interaction. They used but did not trust the halfling. So goes the story of old.
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A time passed, marked only by the progressively longer intervals between one gruel and the next. My face had now mostly healed, though I no longer looked to the puddle for fear of the deadly scars left behind. When I noticed the puddle had thawed completely, I realized just how long Alice had waited. I stood, as if to leave, but one look at my thin legs and trembling hands stopped me. Again, I was reminded of how successfully I had taught myself to ignore my body's signals.
An elder hurried to my cell at some point, carrying a bright torch. He had been the first visitor since the adults had finished with their taunting, but even that had been before the puddle froze. He asked for my help in a desperate voice, to which I responded with silence. The light from his torch burned my eyes, and I turned away from it. He offered freedom, wealth, anything I desired. When I looked back, an old sword was in the man's hand, the bloodied hilt held toward my cell. I finally consented, and he dragged me out of my bars and into bright sunlight.
The scene was complete chaos. Men running everywhere, and others dashing for supplies. A familiar booming sound drummed my ears, but it had been too long. The mysterious sound held a familiar pattern I tried to place as I shifted my sword and weight. The sky seemed to press in against the stone houses around me as I looked up. Pressure hit my head in waves as the sound grew louder, and I finally remembered.
The resulting conflict was terrible. The dragon had only to land, and the battle was his. The uneducated farmhands were slaughtered mercilessly, becoming obstacles for me as I sliced with my borrowed sword at wing and tail. One strike to the shoulder struck to bone, and the sword stuck as the dragon pulled away with a bellow of rage. Fire flew from it, igniting rooftops in a deadly blaze. It began stampeding, and I limped quickly after it, terrified at the direction it had taken.
The dragon’s talons crashed through the roof of the shelter, crushing stone walls and bone alike. Children wailed in the sudden confusion, and those unable to fight scattered from beneath the beast. Alice was not among them. There was the other girl, and those two boys. Her mother's form lay collapsed under a beam she thought would protect her.
I limped under the dragon, searching for the brown bob and red tunic. Talons and tail danced furiously over me, creating more obstacles until I spotted her. Quickly, I tore Alice away from the sight of corpses, and together, we rolled to safety. Now, without a weapon and a terrified Alice cradled to my chest, the dragon turned.
There was no one left to fight it. Bodies lay around it, and though the sounds of children crying rose from houses nearby, no mothers comforted them, and no fathers stood in doorways to protect them. It was just me, Alice, and the dragon. The only thing I could do was stare death in the eye. The dragon lowered its head and looked at us before it rumbled, “Don’t you fear death?”
The question was unexpected. I could smell old meat between its teeth, as well as the rotten egg of sulfur on his breath. I moved a hand to cup Alice more firmly to me as the dragon's head drew near. “Great dragon, I have faced death my whole life. It no longer holds importance to me,” Alice trembled in my grasp as I spoke. I tightened my grip on her shoulders. This girl would make it, even if I didn't. “Spare this innocent! Her spirit has not been crushed by this accursed war!” I called out, protecting the child as much as I could. I had to do something for her.
A strange look came over the dragon. It was something like regret mixed with resignation. I saw his eyes grow dark as something was recalled. Once more, it spoke. “May this be my final act in this war,” it trumpeted to the sky, “To spare a life instead of take it.” From the ground, this baring of the throat was an immense measure of trust. Wings flared, and the tail lashed behind in one final throe of battle.
A sudden rush of wind created by wings, and the beast was gone. The dragon rose in tight spirals, then dashed off the way he had come. The sun slowly sank and flashed off of the retreating scales and a sword embedded in the shoulder. He flew with the weight of an entire village’s snuffed out souls, yet somehow his wings were light from the sparing of two. After a long silence for the realization to set in, I looked down to Alice in my arms and said quietly, “Ready to go on an adventure?”
The young girl reached up and gently traced the scars imprinted on my face, and I winced, having forgotten they were there. They had healed badly, and the skin over them was a deep red instead of the typical silvery white. I looked down at Alice and was surprised I didn't see fear or revulsion in her chocolate eyes. “Fierce protector,” she mumbled quietly, then stronger, “Let’s find the place with no bruises.”
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There once was a time of great conflict. No one cares to deny it. It was long and full of pain. It was shortly filled with times of love. It was harsh, and souls barely survived. It was a never-ending tide of dying dreams. But, amidst the chaos and the prejudice, the world moved on. Dragons were defeated and elves driven off the continent. Time moved on, and a halfling grew into a fierce protector, chasing a dream of peace and safety with the strongest heart determined to find the light in the dark. So goes the story of old.

Description
There once was a time of great conflict where humans and elves and dragons all fought, though no one could remember why anymore. All that was left was the fighting. The blood soaked the earth, and cries filled the night like water in a cup. Somehow, in all the turmoil and pain, in all the chaos and death, there was life. From opposing sides came a love to inspire tales, though it ended in nothing more than claws and teeth and swords. So goes the story of old.
❯᛫❮
I awoke to bright sunlight and a boot to the ribs. The rest of the unit was already up and about, but I had somehow missed the roll call. My squad must have been in a particularly bad mood if they'd waited this long today. My ribs smarted and my ears rang with the sounds of insults accompanied by a handful of orders. "Breakfast" was a meager affair of cold bread and last night's stew. It was eaten quickly and silently, then we moved out.
The marching was not as much patrolling the kingdom borders as it was mechanical movement over and over again. Nothing unexpected ever happened out here. It gave everyone too much time to think. How were our families back home? Were the dragons done yet, or had we hunted the last of them? Most of the others would be wondering when the elves would just give up and hand over their majiks. Me? I wondered what the weather would be like.
Fighting was nothing new to me. My earliest memories are of a smoking building. A charred hand clasping at the sky. A bloodied sword. As I grew up, the others despised me because of my parents. Who knew when I would turn my halfling mind against them? I certainly never dreamt of such traitorous actions, though that never stopped the others from taking out their issues on me. These thoughts and more ran through my head as the leagues passed by underfoot. The monotony was known to put men to sleep on their feet.
❯᛫❮
There once was a time of great conflict, but love somehow found its way into the war. A young man and woman came together on the battlefield, fighting against a common and scaly foe. There, the two found companionship beyond that which their respective peoples thought possible in a world where the largest worries were to protect your own skin. But these two were much different. They ran away from the battles, the blood, the fights. They ran to a quiet and peaceful place to raise a child. And yet, even there, the war found them, and it did not find them kindly. So goes the story of old.
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What was that?! The whisper carried around me in a nonsensical echo. What was that? The mysterious sound drummed against my ears in a familiar pattern. The sky seemed to press in through the leaves overhead as I looked up. Pressure hit my head in waves as the sound grew louder. I prepared my weapons even before the commanding officer ordered it. A crossbow with its loaded bolt and a short sword loosened at my hip. Apparently, we had not managed to hunt them all. This one, though, would definitely join its fellows.
I ducked behind a tree for cover as the rest of the patrol scattered in a panic. Heat blasted the earth and burst in all directions, propelled by the enormous bellows of leather wings. A roar shattered the sky as my troop began to fire, some with trepidation, others fear. My aim remained steady, and my mind cold as ice. One bolt down. Load the next one. The next bolt shot. Duck back behind the tree and attempt to reload faster.
The ground trembled as the dragon landed. Trees snapped as the massive tail lashed behind it, and the wind from the enormous leather wings buffeted the trees and my squad hiding within them. In a sudden fit of motion, the dragon spun with a blast of flames. Screams sounded around me, and the fires began eating every living thing. Heat crawled by in waves that immediately set my skin to sweating. My short sword slid out of its sheath. This heat had ruined my crossbow, and the shimmer of it everywhere would throw off any attempt at an aim. I moved forward, toward the scaly beast that clawed at trees and tiny humans. Screams and cries of pain echoed around me as the flames spread at an ever-increasing rate. A harsh snap, and a tree began to fall somewhere very close.
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There once was a time of great conflict where even the strongest bonds of love could not survive. Even as love ran, the conflict devoured all, even a little cottage for three in a secluded valley. Fires ate at the timbers lovingly carved into a home, and strangers trampled the remains. The three who lived there were not spared. The traitor and the enemy were slain, but the halfling child was allowed life. Young though it was, the child became part of the service that had just created an orphan. So goes the story of old.
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Bright lights blinded me as I opened my eyes. Before I could try to sit up, a hand pushed me back down into something soft and warm. A bed, maybe, though a warm wetness oozed uncomfortably around my knees. Hurried conversation commenced in a hushed corner as the doctor explained what happened. Apparently that tree had fallen closer than anticipated. Most of the wood shards had been successfully removed while I was unconscious, but there was one in particular that would have done more harm in coming out than it would in staying in. This all felt rather familiar.
After some convincing, I was allowed outside to sit in the sun and relative quiet. Whispers followed me in an unusually large number, but I could have sworn there were even more hostile looks than normal. The small house must have been an impromptu medical base, since the rest of the villagers seemed to cast curious eyes at the people inside. Their gazes hardened or dashed away when they found me, though. Whatever had happened while I was unconscious had not helped these people trust the likes of me.
The sun was warm, and I tilted my face towards its light. My superiors should be here soon, so I might as well take advantage of this respite while it lasted. I sat on the ground, feeling a strange grate in my knee. When it was bent completely, a small bump pushed at the stitches painfully. I stretched out the leg and relaxed into the heat from the wall behind me.
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There once was a time of great conflict that devoured every soul. Young and old, male and female, innocent and guilty, warrior and family, human and elf, the conflict devoured them all. Some lost their souls in the blood, some in the punishment of early death. For some, though, the punishment was life. The life of a halfling was as much punishment as the death of its parents, for the life of this child was despised by both sides. It was forced to act like a warrior long before most others would have. Marching and killing and marching and living, the halfling child moved on. So goes the story of old.
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I awoke to a not so gentle prodding of my temple. When my eyes opened, they looked upon the visage of a young girl dressed in a homespun tunic of red and blue. Her short brown hair had a single braided lock that almost hid in her straight bob. She was a cute little thing. The rest of my squad had talked about having young girls or young neighbors back home and how they were all so innocent and charming.
“You snore,” the girl said earnestly before giggling and skipping away. I watched after her, confused, but decided it wasn't worth it to get up. Most of the adults around the healing house glared at me from behind raised hands, giving the familiar crossed fingers to ward against evil. Whatever the little girl had wanted, I laid back, unconcerned and wanting rest. My squad was normally noisy in the mornings, and this quiet was a welcomed respite from my normal routine.
“Aren’t you going to chase me?” a familiar young voice asked. I opened my eyes again and spotted a small brown bob quickly disappear behind the building’s corner. “The others said you would chase me,” she said again, sounding a bit disappointed. Innocent, maybe, but she was definitely charming in her own way. I let a smile tug against my lips before I replied.
“Now, why would I chase you, fair maiden?” I called out, resting my head once again against the wall. The answering reply was faint, and slightly grumpy. I laughed a small laugh and painfully got to my feet, using the side of the building as support to make my way toward the girl’s corner. My knee grated at being bent, and the stitches pulled and pulsed uncomfortably.
When I reached the corner, I leaned down, slowly poked my head around, and quietly said “Boo!” to the children gathered there. They all went squealing away, and I smiled broadly at their innocence. There was the girl with the bob and spun dress. Another girl wore her small braid and apron over a dusty grey tunic. The two boys wore similar trousers, though the apparently older one had lost his shirt at some point. Judging by the redness of his shoulders, the kid was used to it. I straightened and turned around, almost running into the chest of a very large and very angry villager.
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There once was a time of great conflict where only the strong survived. Strong in strength, the dragons commanded fear. Strong in majik, the elves demanded respect. Strong in arms, the humans dominated all. Strong in wit, the halfling avoided destruction. Strong in heart, the child asked for trust. The strong arms, majik, and strength thought nothing of the strong heart or the strong wit and discarded them to be trampled underfoot. The strong wit noticed this and thought to better itself by becoming more like the strong in arms, but none would take its plea, and so the strong heart was all that was left. So goes the story of old.
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My wrists hurt. My throat was parched. I swear, these stockades were built too low to kneel and too high to sit. It was probably on purpose, considering these things were supposed to be a punishment. Sadly, they had become regular friends of mine as of late, as had Alice. The sight of the brown bobbed girl made me smile. I waved from my pinned position, and she came skipping up in her favorite dress.
“I brought a key!” she said happily. She always brought random keys when I was here, which had been fairly often since the army no longer wanted me and I had nowhere to go. My squad wasn't worth the name anymore, and my poor commanding officers seemed to think I attracted the dragons with my majik. It was a silly notion, but I'm glad they left me here.
“Why don’t we go give it back?” I suggested, letting her try the key before lifting the stocks off. I’d served my time already, so there was really no need to wait for the magister. These old locks would open with an amateur lock-pick. They weren't even worth the practice.
We walked through the village holding hands. She said it was for me, since I still limped quite a bit, but I went along with it. The village adults would not hurt me while the girl was present anyway, so it kept pain away for a while. Houses turned from stone to sticks as the street went from cobble to dirt beneath our feet. The fields were out this way, and I began to wonder where Alice was taking me.
Today, the key belonged to Alice’s mother, a surprise I was not entirely prepared for. The furious female of the large farmhouse came barreling out of the house, almost instantly chastising her daughter for a myriad of things; stealing, shirking of duties, and outright disobedience were among the long list. Her skin shook loosely around her chins as she trembled in rage. The thin, oily hair hung in a messy bun that lost more shape as the scolding continued. I marveled at the words that flew from the woman’s mouth, and in my stunned state did not react in time.
With a sudden vengeance, the portly woman lashed out at her daughter. Alice did not cry out as the loud smack resounded, but the redness forming on her face gave testament to the strength behind the blow. As the angry woman raised her hand once more, I moved. I did not think, but simply stood staring in defiance at the suddenly flabbergasted woman. It was a familiar pose, and the memory of a sting spread across my own cheeks.
“I don’t know where she gets it,” I said quietly. How could such a wonderful child come from such a terrible woman? I turned and held out my hand. “Could you help me back?” I asked Alice. Her eyes darted from me to her mother before she quietly took my hand. The woman behind me attempted to once again start railing at the child, but I ignored her and the scared glance Alice sent over her shoulder. We walked for a time before I asked, “Is that where all those bruises come from?”
Alice didn't speak for a while. The dirt was just starting to transition to cobble again before she shook her head. “Sometimes Papa gets mad at Mama and me,” she said, “and sometimes I just fall.” I tightened my grip on the young girl’s hand. I couldn’t leave the child in such a household. It reminded me too much of after the fires. There had to be something I could do. I knew what kind of damage that kind of environment could make. I thought until the houses turned back to stone around us.
“I have an idea,” I said, dropping to my uninjured knee so we could be eye level. Alice had to stop, but she didn’t look entirely at me as I continued. “If I said I could find us a place without bruises or angry Papas, would you come with me?” I asked quietly. This one girl had been the first to show me kindness in a long time, and I wanted to do something in return. If there was anything I could do, I would do it.
Alice shifted on her feet, and I worried slightly. Would this innocent child come with me? I did not want to leave her, but I did not want to force her to go, either. If she refused now, maybe the best I could hope for would be time to convince her. Plant the idea, and water it until she really wanted to go. Finally, she said, “Don’t tell Mama.” When she looked me in the eyes, hers were filled with tears, so I quietly reached up and brushed them away. Her skin was warm and her tears hot, but I didn't care. If I protected this one creature, I would be happy.
“Alright,” I said, “I will take you to a place without bruises.” She smiled at me, and for a moment, I was flying. This would work! Alice would let me take her away from here and protect that innocence before the fighting could stain it. I beamed down at Alice, but as she looked over my shoulder, her face blanched. I never knew what hit me, though I assume it was something hard.
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There once was a time of great conflict, and it destroyed the dreams of many. The strong lost dreams of peace as they fought, and the weak lost dreams of grandeur as devastation rocked the world. Somehow, a small dream began to form. A dream of peace and safety, of a place where a halfling and a child could go without pain. The halfling vowed, and the strong of heart trusted. The strong in arms were threatened by this dream, and despite the great conflict the strong in arms moved. So goes the story of old.
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Pain. That single sensation blocked out all semblance of thought. Agony burned away all other feeling. Torment, all focused on one place. I think I cried out, but the only thing in the world was the pain. Why? Hands held me down as I tried to escape the pain. The pain sat there for an eternity before it moved away and I was allowed to pick up the pieces of myself that had been shattered. Suddenly, more pain, though not as intense as before. Why?
I was roughly thrown into a stone, cold room, and the sound of old metal creaked and clanged behind me. Rough voices called behind me, and curses about majik and kidnapping echoed around the dark cell until a heavy door thundered shut somewhere high above. The pain faded, though it remained present as ever. Why? I crawled to a pool of water fed by a leak and looked down. What I saw by the torchlight took my breath away.
Angry and red, a mark stood boldly in the center of my forehead. It was crude, but the symbol was there. It was the symbol of traitors and miscreants and possessors. The large and angry dot did not stand alone. Radiating from the mark were four pointed arms reaching for my brows and hairline. The imitation of the familiar ward made it more painful than the iron they had used to burn it there. The two combined marks puffed up as I watched, and I felt the swelling in my brow. Sluggishly, my mind registered what had happened, and I continued my examination in the dim light. Just below my eyes were knife slits, the blood coagulating as I stared, incredulous. Had the marks not been enough? Had I not been blindfolded, would they have gone for the eyes instead?
I crawled pitifully back from the light, wincing as my injured knee took my weight. What of Alice? Was she alright? I needed to get out, to fulfill my promise, to protect her from this blasted war. A thought occurred to me at that point. What would she do if she saw me like this? I no longer looked like the halfling she had befriended. I bore the mark every child was taught to run from. With my face bloodied and swelling, would Alice even recognize me? Could I stand it if she rejected me now? No. I couldn’t.
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There once was a time of great conflict where dreams were few and prejudices high. Every action was read twice and thrice over through muddy pools of popular beliefs. Elves were evil, conniving thieves to all but the elves. Dragons were power hungry war mongers to all but the dragons. Humans were ungrateful plotters to all but the humans. And what of the halfling? The halfling was judged to be both human and elf, though none of the glories of either. The elves rejected it outright, not even letting such a thing into their cities, but the humans were different. They tolerated the halfling and watched with suspicion every interaction. They used but did not trust the halfling. So goes the story of old.
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A time passed, marked only by the progressively longer intervals between one gruel and the next. My face had now mostly healed, though I no longer looked to the puddle for fear of the deadly scars left behind. When I noticed the puddle had thawed completely, I realized just how long Alice had waited. I stood, as if to leave, but one look at my thin legs and trembling hands stopped me. Again, I was reminded of how successfully I had taught myself to ignore my body's signals.
An elder hurried to my cell at some point, carrying a bright torch. He had been the first visitor since the adults had finished with their taunting, but even that had been before the puddle froze. He asked for my help in a desperate voice, to which I responded with silence. The light from his torch burned my eyes, and I turned away from it. He offered freedom, wealth, anything I desired. When I looked back, an old sword was in the man's hand, the bloodied hilt held toward my cell. I finally consented, and he dragged me out of my bars and into bright sunlight.
The scene was complete chaos. Men running everywhere, and others dashing for supplies. A familiar booming sound drummed my ears, but it had been too long. The mysterious sound held a familiar pattern I tried to place as I shifted my sword and weight. The sky seemed to press in against the stone houses around me as I looked up. Pressure hit my head in waves as the sound grew louder, and I finally remembered.
The resulting conflict was terrible. The dragon had only to land, and the battle was his. The uneducated farmhands were slaughtered mercilessly, becoming obstacles for me as I sliced with my borrowed sword at wing and tail. One strike to the shoulder struck to bone, and the sword stuck as the dragon pulled away with a bellow of rage. Fire flew from it, igniting rooftops in a deadly blaze. It began stampeding, and I limped quickly after it, terrified at the direction it had taken.
The dragon’s talons crashed through the roof of the shelter, crushing stone walls and bone alike. Children wailed in the sudden confusion, and those unable to fight scattered from beneath the beast. Alice was not among them. There was the other girl, and those two boys. Her mother's form lay collapsed under a beam she thought would protect her.
I limped under the dragon, searching for the brown bob and red tunic. Talons and tail danced furiously over me, creating more obstacles until I spotted her. Quickly, I tore Alice away from the sight of corpses, and together, we rolled to safety. Now, without a weapon and a terrified Alice cradled to my chest, the dragon turned.
There was no one left to fight it. Bodies lay around it, and though the sounds of children crying rose from houses nearby, no mothers comforted them, and no fathers stood in doorways to protect them. It was just me, Alice, and the dragon. The only thing I could do was stare death in the eye. The dragon lowered its head and looked at us before it rumbled, “Don’t you fear death?”
The question was unexpected. I could smell old meat between its teeth, as well as the rotten egg of sulfur on his breath. I moved a hand to cup Alice more firmly to me as the dragon's head drew near. “Great dragon, I have faced death my whole life. It no longer holds importance to me,” Alice trembled in my grasp as I spoke. I tightened my grip on her shoulders. This girl would make it, even if I didn't. “Spare this innocent! Her spirit has not been crushed by this accursed war!” I called out, protecting the child as much as I could. I had to do something for her.
A strange look came over the dragon. It was something like regret mixed with resignation. I saw his eyes grow dark as something was recalled. Once more, it spoke. “May this be my final act in this war,” it trumpeted to the sky, “To spare a life instead of take it.” From the ground, this baring of the throat was an immense measure of trust. Wings flared, and the tail lashed behind in one final throe of battle.
A sudden rush of wind created by wings, and the beast was gone. The dragon rose in tight spirals, then dashed off the way he had come. The sun slowly sank and flashed off of the retreating scales and a sword embedded in the shoulder. He flew with the weight of an entire village’s snuffed out souls, yet somehow his wings were light from the sparing of two. After a long silence for the realization to set in, I looked down to Alice in my arms and said quietly, “Ready to go on an adventure?”
The young girl reached up and gently traced the scars imprinted on my face, and I winced, having forgotten they were there. They had healed badly, and the skin over them was a deep red instead of the typical silvery white. I looked down at Alice and was surprised I didn't see fear or revulsion in her chocolate eyes. “Fierce protector,” she mumbled quietly, then stronger, “Let’s find the place with no bruises.”
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There once was a time of great conflict. No one cares to deny it. It was long and full of pain. It was shortly filled with times of love. It was harsh, and souls barely survived. It was a never-ending tide of dying dreams. But, amidst the chaos and the prejudice, the world moved on. Dragons were defeated and elves driven off the continent. Time moved on, and a halfling grew into a fierce protector, chasing a dream of peace and safety with the strongest heart determined to find the light in the dark. So goes the story of old.