2 Brawl

Roran approached the gates of City Arém. The city was quite a sight, tall buildings competed against each other in height and soldiers marching through the streets. As he walked forwards, the armored guards eyed the blue-eyed blond child carefully, and then spoke,

"Who are you, child? To enter our city, you will have to pay us a fee of 1 silver coin."

"Here it is," Roran said, as he handed the guards the money.

However, the guards saw his precious sword, and demanded, "We also need that sword, young man."

Roran looked at the guards' faces. He could see the greed in their eyes. Roran knew that he would have to fight them to pass. And so, he did. He stepped forwards, unsheathing the sword, and swung the lethal blade towards the first guard. The act caught the man unprepared, and he was struck. He fell to the ground, a bloody gash on his chest. His companions, however, came to his aid, as they surrounded Roran.

"You are surrounded, young man, and you cannot escape. If you want to live, give us the sword and all of your belongings."

Roran observed his surroundings. He saw nothing that might be of use. He looked at his blade, thinking if he can escape. However, he couldn't see a sliver of hope. Roran was desperate. His promise to Mithgurd was about to be broken.

None of them saw it coming. Light exploded around Roran, and the men fell back unconscious, eyes wide, with shocked expressions on their faces. Roran was also surprised. He never knew that he had this power. However, he knew that this would be a formidable weapon, if used properly. Shaken as he was, Roran started running into the city, after taking all the money that the guards have collected today. It was a fair amount, 8 silver coins. Roran hurried, as it wouldn't be long before the guards wake up and start to hunt him down inside the city.

Roran hurried inside a bar. There were thugs inside, scars riddled on their faces. They glanced at Roran. Then they laughed, and a small man jeered at Roran, "A lone child in the city of Arém, I wonder if he has some lunch money to spend?"

The group laughed, humiliating Roran. That encouraged the tiny man even more, as he followed up, "Maybe his parents are so poor they can't even afford to give it to him. They probably abandoned him just to have bread."

Roran, infuriated, retorted, "Look who's talking, a man as small as an ant, probably not even worth my spittle. And look at the rest of you, following this little man. Also, who is the poor one here?", Roran asked, as he took out some of his coins. Then instantly he regretted his words. Now the men would rob him. His words have humiliated them, and the money makes it just even more worthwhile.

The men responded as he thought. They charged towards him, screaming insults and curses. As the first man reached Roran, he sidestepped, rendering the man's grab useless. Roran landed a heavy punch as the man was recovering, and the man staggered, and fell. This exchange was extremely fast, but already hits cascaded upon Roran. Roran knew he could not beat the men. His only hope is for the burst of light to come again. Every second that passed was agonizing, but the light didn't come. Roran couldn't stand the searing pain anymore. He stopped struggling, and the men took all his money. As they left, a strange child entered the bar. He was short, around Roran's age, but dressed in a cloak, with the insides filled with daggers and other deadly weapons. The cloak was black, with a hood covering the child's face entirely, and it created a dark contrast against the brightly lit bar. He walked around the bar with natural ease, relaxed, but he gives off an aura of deadliness and coldness that makes people shudder, chills traveling down their spines. Roran scurried away from the boy. However, he didn't manage to escape the child's gaze. The child stared at him, gears turning in his mind. He turned his eyes away, but Roran's heart still thumped wildly against his chest. The child emanated a sense of dread, one that a person simply cannot overlook. Roran looked down to his table, unable to continue looking at the child. Just as he looked down, the child walked slowly up to Roran, and said warmly, just like how a friend would speak to another friend, "I see you haven't gotten anything. I will buy you a drink then, and we'll talk about how you came to be alone and yet still alive in this dump."

Roran shivered, and stuttered, "I…I…I would appreciate that." He couldn't identify any mal intent, but he still spoke precariously, afraid of angering the child.

"A pint of ale for our friend here, bartender.", said the child to the bartender, who was cowering behind the counter.

The bartender didn't move at all. The child repeated his request. The bartender still didn't nudge a single bit. The child's nostrils flared along with his temper, and this time he commanded with a loud and threatening voice, "I said, bring a pint of ale here!"

The man moved slowly, his frightened eyes always looking at the child.

"Fast!", the child ordered, and the bartender ran as fast as he can out of the bar. However, the child was faster. He picked out a knife from his cloak in one swift movement and threw it in front of the bartender, in less time than a blink. The knife sliced through the air right in front of the bartender's eyes and landed in a thud on the wall opposite of Roran. The bartender's face went dead pale, so much that his showing teeth seemed to blend in with his face. Roran watched this exchange, terrified. "What skill does the child have to draw and throw a weapon with such accuracy and speed? He is not an enemy to make.", he thought in his mind.

As Roran snapped out of his thoughts, he saw a pint of the finest ale in front of him. He looked around, only to see the child seated opposite him, staring amusingly at his face.

"What? Do I have something on my face? Stop staring at me!", Roran snapped, and then realizing that he was talking to the child. He squirmed uncomfortably on his seat, waiting for something dark to befall him.

The child laughed, and again, the voice that came from his chest was low and manly. Roran's face reddened, embarrassed. The child smiled, and took back his hood, revealing his face. It was a man, though extremely short. His shaggy beard was slightly grey, and he looked grim. He had sea green eyes, and his expression was of a seasoned warrior. He looked around twenty years old, but his composure and beard spoke against it. Roran stared in disbelief. "This is a man, and yet he is so short!", Roran exclaimed in his mind, "That is why!"

Then Roran spoke out loud, taking comfort in seeing a reasonable man instead of a boy, "Thank you, my friend. May I trouble you to ask of your name?"

"I am Jordis Cahils, slayer of the Laconian Drakon."

"I am Roran Avarenthis, son of Voremund Avaren-"

Roran's body shook violently. His vision blurred, and he realized that he was going to pass out. Just as Roran lost the last sliver of his consciousness, he heard a voice, loud and clear, majestic and stern, near, yet far away, "Come to me."