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To Soldier On
Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Alan was young, and an orphan, his parents were killed when the small northern border village they lived in was attacked. The neighboring barbarian kingdom had sent raid parties looking for grain at the start of every winter, as the northern region of the continent the barbarians lived in was not suitable for most crops, however the raid just months before Alan’s eighth birthday was different. Most of the forces sent to claim the grain did so peacefully and without much, if any, bloodshed, but the raid conducted on the village of Grendth was anything but peaceful. The leader of the raid on Alan’s village was different from others of his caste. Instead of simply using intimidation to take the grain from the villagers, he instructed his band of brutes to overtake the gates and their defenders to search the village for more grain that the villagers may have held back. Upon entering the village the barbarians wantonly destroyed and burned much of the village while 'searching' for more grain, any villagers who dared show any hint of resistance were murdered by the barbarians. The villagers and their civilian militia were decimated by the hardened brigands, whose arms, armor, and training vastly surpassed theirs. They left the village in a disastrous state; Houses burned, widows and widowers, orphaned children, and almost no grain left for the start of winter. Luckily most of the villagers in Grendth were wary enough to keep a hidden storage dug somewhere in their homes in case of such an event. However, due to most of the houses in the village being put to the torch by the barbarians, what the survivors of the raid had wouldn't last long.

In the following days the survivors from the assault came to the decision to abandon their home and make the three week trek, on foot and in carts, that it would take to reach the closest town of Warnen. The first two weeks of their travel were thankfully uneventful, filled with the grieving of those who had lost loved ones and neighbors whom they had known for years. Two weeks into the trip the snow started, it was a wet snow that muddied the ground and slowed the group. In the northern part of the continent once the first snow of the winter fell the snow would rarely stop. The week left in their route turned into a month as the wheels of the carts, the hooves of the horses, and feet of the travelers were sucked and fatigued by the mud. The remaining villagers of Grendth were used to the roads becoming mud due to the snow, yet most had only traveled the two or three days in the winter to nearby border villages and almost none had ever traveled to Warnen.

Many of the orphaned children, elderly left without support, and injured adults were slowly left behind as they collapsed in the snow, be it from injuries, weakness from lack of food, or simply giving up days from their salvation. Once the caravan reached the town of Warnen less than half the survivors of the raid had completed the slog without perishing, as many had been wounded, elderly or children who had survived simply by staying in the houses that were not burned down. As soon as the party arrived in Warnen Alan and the other few remaining orphans who didn’t have neighbors willing to take them were dumped at the lone orphanage in town and forgotten by the victims of the vicious raid on Grendth.

—------

Alan woke from his nightmare reliving the horror that had been engraved into his mind as a child. He was one of the youngest orphans in the orphanage when the party had arrived eight years ago, now as the winter before his sixteenth birthday approached he was one of the oldest. Memories of the events always were reinvigorated in the months approaching his birthday, the pain of the loss of his parents, neighbors and childhood friends felt as if it was only just beginning to fade, not that he would ever forget what those dirty barbarians had done to his village.

Rolling out of bed, Alan saw the sun just beginning to rise through the shutters that covered the window in the room that he shared with the other boys of the orphanage. The mistress of the orphanage demanded all the children fourteen and above to be up as the sun rose to prepare the orphanage for the day. Alan, being fifteen, had the displeasure of having the early morning routine for almost two years now. Alan wasn't close with any of the other children so most of his early mornings as he approached sixteen were spent cleaning and learning about the apprenticeships that would be available to him after his birthday. Sometimes he conversed with the two members of staff the orphanage had, as they were children who had previously been cared for by the orphanage and had taken care of Alan since he was dumped by the refugee party. Apparently their early morning work ethic had been enough to get them invited to stay and work by the main caretaker of the children, Mistress Gloria, who was, in Alan’s opinion, very hard to please.

The age of majority in the kingdom was sixteen, at the end of the winter and the start of the new year Alan would have to decide from the few shops and crafters who would take on an orphan with no experience. He was to train with them in their craft to become either a permanent employee or take his knowledge to a town or village in need. Not many people in Warnen looked favorably upon the orphans, as many became wanderers and contributed nothing to their society after turning sixteen.

His paltry options were blacksmithing with a young journeyman smith who had traveled from the nearest city and had only just arrived within the last few months to Warnen, blacksmithing seemed to be laborious and dirty work with what felt to Alan as little reward making it his second choice if his first didn't work out. His third choice was with the owner of the general store Mr.Haggens, who had offered him a job learning about the mercantile business as Alan liked to frequent his store and inspect many of his products, Mr.Haggens was nice to Alan and had allowed him into the store many times over the years, however Alan wasn't extremely interested in being a merchant but would do it if he had to. His final choice was tailoring with the old tailor woman who had been the tailor of Warnen for decades, the population knew her as harsh, specifically to orphan apprentices, if any mistakes were made she would use her cane to discipline the apprentice, many orphans had abandoned their work with her yet she still took more in. His first choice which held the position due to the events of his childhood was to join the militia and learn to fight, to protect, and patrol the town and surrounding areas. Alan’s confidence only slightly wavered about his decision to join the militia, he wanted to learn to fight, to be able to defend others, and to fight the local bandits and potentially move back to the border and fight the barbarians of the north but he was not sure if he could injure a person with a blade if a situation came to that point.

This morning’s tasks were to prepare breakfast with Glen, another of the orphans, for the other twenty five children housed in the orphanage, which would start with Alan going to the baker to purchase bread to be served with eggs Glen would harvest from the chickens owned by the orphanage. Then Alan and Glen would clean the kitchen and dining areas after breakfast and prepare for the children who would make lunch. Which meant another day of Alan being the last to eat and his food being cold. He was grateful to mistress Gloria for providing the care she did with the funding from the town however he hated being an orphan. The memories of living with his parents were so fond to him, their life in the village was a quaint existence but it had been much better than the orphanage. Alan began his morning by running to the baker, the morning air becoming more chilly as the first snows approached. With the small amount of coins entrusted to him to get bread for the day, Alan entered the bakery to buy the cheapest of bread for the orphans.

“Hello Mr. Humphry, how are you?” Alan inquired

“Good Alan. Three loaves as usual?”

“Of course Mr. Humphry, thank you.”

Twenty one copper later and Alan briskly exited the bakery and went on his way back to the orphanage when he heard shouting a street over and stopped. He recognized the sound as another scuffle between a few of the wanderers, those who no one wanted to employ or who didn't want to be employed, usually orphans, or disabled individuals who couldn't hold down a steady job. The fights were frequent and most townspeople knew to avoid interacting with the wanderers. The fights were usually about booze or food. Alan had witnessed many over the years in Warnen, usually on his trips to the baker as he had to pass an inn that always made too much food for dinner and threw it out as a consequence, he was never quite sure why they didn't just give the leftovers to those wanderers in need. Alan moved down the street separating the bakery and the inn as he was interested to learn what the wanderers were fighting over this time and wanted to see if the militia would break their fighting apart. Alan was quite large for fifteen standing around 194 centimeters and as he planned to join the militia he had been exercising. As a consequence he was more physically fit than most of the others around his age and size in the town so he wasn't afraid of a few wanderers who had no quarrel with him.

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Maybe this is my chance to see if I am truly fit to join the militia. If I can't separate this rabble, maybe I should just be a blacksmith.

As Alan approached the group he yelled.

“Hey, what is the meaning of this, stop the fighting!”

“Fuck off kid”

“Let us handle ourselves…”

“Who are you telling us what to do?”

Grumbles came from the group as a few of the wanderers continued to fight each other over what looked like scraps from the one of the Inn’s that resided inside Warnen. Alan lunged through the bystanding wanderers and pushed the fighters away from each other.

“Why are you fighting? There is plenty here for the three of you!” Alan observed

“Its mine it is, I found it first” the smallest of the bunch called out

“You still owe it to me from last time when I split with you, you cheat!” the largest of the three yelled

“I do not! I am not a cheat, just because you shared with me doesn't mean I have to with you!”

The third combatant stayed quiet while Alan spoke to the others

“Perhaps this one time you should split with him as he did with you, just to avoid this conflict?” Alan suggested

“Who are you to tell us what to do kid!” A wanderer from the crowd yelled

“Why don't we just take that bread you have there and split it between us, boy? Why should we have to split these scraps when we can just take it from you?” the small one threatened

“Yeah! Give us your bread!”

“Yeah!”

“Our bread now!” the crowd jeered around him

Maybe I shouldn't have barged into the middle of all these wanderers, I pray they don't actually try to take the bread. If I don't make it back to the orphanage with it Mistress Gloria will kill me.

“Hey now, this bread is for orphans, doesn't that mean anything to you?”

“No you little shit, give it to us.”

“Give us the bread!”

Alan, surrounded on all sides, attempted to slowly back out of the small gathering of wanderers. As he approached the smallest of the group he attempted to get by. His attempt to get by the small man was rebuked and he was shoved in the back hard enough for him to fall to his hands and knees. Then as he was attempting to stand the large man from the initial conflict connected a strong kick to Alan’s side, knocking the wind out of him and preventing him from standing. The rest of the wanderers tightened their group around him and then started battering him with kicks and punches further collapsing him to the ground. Laying on his stomach covering his head and attempting to curl into a ball through the barrage Alan succumbed to the most intense pain of his life. He looked down to his side and saw a blade, handle wrapped in dirty cloth, rusty blade stuck deep between his ribs. He experienced the throb of his heart pushing blood into the wound, heard the squelch of the blade being removed from his side, and went though it all over again as the armed wanderer used the rusty knife on his side forcing Alan to endure the pain of the blade four times. He cried out and began to rapidly lose his strength.

Oh gods it hurts, I'm going to be okay, it couldn't have been too bad. The blade wasn’t that large. Someone will find me. They will help me.

“Why’d you stab him!?”

“You fucking idiot!”

“Let's get out of here!”

The wanderers dispersed, running in all directions, the bread and conflict between each other promptly forgotten.

—------

Darkness.

Ephemeral.

Perpetual.

Encompassing.

Fleeting.

The darkness was timeless.

The consciousness wavered.

Where was it?

Who was it?

What was it?

When was it?

Time passed, how much time the consciousness did not know. The darkness was all it knew, millennia, seconds, it could have been both or neither, until it…

FELT.

The consciousness sensed it, something other than darkness. A brush of something, slight, yet comforting. The warmth, it knew this feeling, the touch of a mother, delicate. Again the touch’s caress, stronger, firm, grasping, pulling. Through the darkness the consciousness moved. How could it know of movement? It should know of no such thing for the darkness was all, but it knew. Slowly it moved, the focus of the consciousness was completely locked onto the touch. It felt as if the touch was becoming more real, more connected to whatever initiated the contact.

What was happening?

How was it happening?

Something other than darkness, it was not all consuming, for there was something. Coming closer to the something the consciousness had a revelation, it was Alan, not just a disembodied collective of thought. He was there, he could feel it, something powerful controlling his trajectory had awoken his memories, the fight, the blood, the pain.

What happened to my body?

Am I dead?

Oh god I’m dead

Those bastards killed me!

Hopefully I will see mother and father once again…

Alan’s consciousness felt a snap. Something had changed, the darkness receding. He could feel the presence of something tremendous, it spoke to him.

“Ahh, such a young one, sent to my domain, a warrior’s spirit I feel in you. What should we do? I sense you have not lost the memories of your previous life, how peculiar. Welcome. I am the Arbiter of Souls. I shall give you a choice, be born again in a world of my choosing with all of your memories intact, or have them erased and be reincarnated as a babe growing up blissfully ignorant.”

Why do I have to live again?? Why can I not move on to the afterlife with my parents? I do not wish to forget them. I will remember.

“Your choice has been made! Go on, young one.”

Answer my question Arbiter!

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