It had started on a cold morning alot like this, in the City of Lomedor. Thick, grey clouds hung so low in the sky that it seemed as if the heavens themselves were falling. The wind was calm and the smell of morning rain filled. The streets were empty, but for the few shop owners opening their shops and a last mob of ruffians heading home from the local tavern. Everything seemed calm... Like the calm before the storm.
The heavy, misty air filled Will's nostrils as he moped to his father's forge. He despised his father's work and how it was forced upon him. He'd wanted to be a soldier since his days of sitting around the hearth with his mother and two sisters, listening to his father recount his own deeds as a soldier. He had admired his father then, thought of him as a war hero and a legend. Things had changed since then. Almost a year ago, his mother and his two sisters had died from fever. His father had always blamed Will for their death, said Will brought the fever from the slums of the city, where'd he often gone with a few silver cent crowns he'd stolen from his father to give to the poor and incontinent. Since then, his father had become a bitter drunk. He'd taken to beating Will nightly and forcing him to open the smithy each morning or beating him if not. It'd often be noon by the time his father would actually make it to the forge, sober. This morning would be no different from those. Will would kick on the forge at about 6 A.M. It'd be only an hour before noon that his father would finally make it.
At the forge, Will would often work in the back, shoeing horses and forging smaller, simpler trinkets while his father would work up front in the shop, often doing nothing but sleeping off his hangover. Occasionally, his father would come in the back and critique Will's work. If it was bad, he'd be beaten extra severely when it was time to close up and go home. On some of these occasions, when there was less work to be done, Will would practice sword play with his father's old war sword that was hung above the anvil, pretending he was the hero of some great battle. For most of the day, nothing was much different from this.
Evening was approaching and the grey clouds that had hung over Lomedor had been replaced by menacing black thunderheads. A storm was approaching and it was keeping people in their homes. Will knew this would be a perfect time to practice with his father's old sword. Will spared enough time to check if his father was asleep. He'd never been caught practicing, but he knew it would not bode well for him if he did. It was something he argued with his father about frequently. However, with all safe sound, he removed the sword from it's pegs on the wall. Today he imagined he was battling with Raku on a corpse strewn battlefield. It was a great battle. Raku would arch at Will's neck and he would parry and respond with a stab, Raku would block and respond with a thrust of his own. In Will's mind, the battle went on for what seemed like forever, but really only lasted for maybe 20 minutes. Eventually, when Will tired, he would imagine Raku casting him down with his godly might. The Lord of Darkness would then tower over him, ready to finish the job with a stab. When this happened, Will summoned his last ounce of strength to raise his sword in one last slice, aimmed for the abdomen of the Dark Lord. In his imagination, the hit struck and the Dark Lord perished. In reality, however, the edge of the sword found the edge of a rack containing different tongs and hooks and hammers. The power of the strike knocked over the rack and the tools hit the ground with a tremendous crash. The cacophony was enough to awaken Will's father in the front.
"What the **** are you doing, boy?!?!?! I'll break your teeth in for this one!"
Will scrambled to his feet, while the sword clattered to the ground. He bent over hurriedly to pick it back up and hopefully put it back on the wall, but it was to late.
"Oh, you wanna be a soldier, huh boy? You were soldier enough to kill my wife and my daughters, you think you're soldier enough to kill me?"
A massive right hand crashed into the side of Will's head, he fell to the ground. A hard crack to ribs rolled him over onto his back.
"Still think your a warrior. boy?!?!?!?"
His father kicked the sword towards him.
"C'mon boy! Kill me! Kill me like you did my family!"
His father moved closer, now towering over Will as the Lord of Darkness had in his day dream
Will's head throbbed and his ribs ached. He felt truly exhausted from the beating, from the taunting. He hated this man with everything he had, he hated the guilt he felt from the death of his mother and his sisters. Finally it all overcame, anger washed over him and consumed him as his fingers wrapped around the hilt of the sword. His body rose from the floor with the force of his swing as the fierce steel parted the air and then flesh. The blade struck his father where it had struck the imaginary Raku. Will's fate was set now. He would have to leave Lomedor. He would pursue his dreams, but first he would have to take care of this. Summoning what strength he had left, Will pushed himself off the ground and grabbed the hilt of the sword that was now his. With tears pouring from his eyes, he yanked the steel from his father's abdomen. He would leave the man there to die alone.
It had been nine years ago today since the death of Will's father. He reflected on it as he stood at the edge of the practice ring. As two men danced their deadly dance in the ring, Will hung his head in sorrow, mourning the death of his father and his family. He was ashamed of what had happened that day and the year before, but he was determined to honor their memory. Nine years ago he had begun his life as a soldier. Ever since then that was what he had been, and so he sat at the edge of the practice ring, awaiting a challenge, and gently, he drifted off to sleep.