I have found that within human history the greatest stories can trace their beginnings to a question.

Whether we look at the Catherine empires rise to the east or the magicians revolution in Ballist to the north. Even if we look at the notorious demon Emperor's conquerings of the lands to the south. No matter which piece of history catches your eye it will have a question behind it.

Can it be done?

Can we go farther?

Can we get stronger?

Is this all there is?

i suppose i must have started to romanticize questions in my mind for i always constantly thought about which would be the first one i recieved if i started an adventure of my own

As i stood back as straight as can be, my wear and tear shoes firm together, my poor excuse for clothing draped over my body and the putrid smell of poverty emanating from my bones I received it

‘Years of life?’

The man managed to arrange his throat muscles in the most peculiar of ways for his voice seemed to drone on emanating the indifference laced in his voice.

‘Years of life”, the man repeated this time with irritation evident in his voice.

‘F-fourteen’, I stuttered.

The man gave me a glare that mirrored the doubt he felt for my answer. Then it switched to a searching gaze in which he looked to be studying me.

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By looking in his gaze i could see what he saw.

A scroungy boy that looked to not even reach his double digits. A boy that carried no muscle and so looked to be no help to the man's cause. Just as he was about to dismiss me his eyes caught on my clothes. Since the man first addressed me his eyes maintained indifference no matter which expression his face adopted but now as his eyes caught on my clothes the indifference melted away to be replaced with surprise.

Once again I could guess what the man saw, my clothes which would by now undoubtedly pass as drapes held a single silver cufflink. The cufflink in no way enhanced the drapes i wore on my back however i suppose the idea they had once been more than what they were must have subconsciously reflected onto me for with one last glance at me he waved me through.

The room only had two doors an entrance in which you walked in to register and an exit which marked by a stack of swords to its right walked out if you were accepted. So with a grateful nod and a spring in my step i walked out the exit.

Of course not before picking up a rusty short sword whose length did not reflect the sheer weight it possessed. However even with heavy arms i felt a sense of relief for i had just been accepted to the Tarndar military