Spring , 488
The sky was clear and blue, the sun warmed everything it touched. It was a beautiful day for sure. He sat upon the large rock that lived at the begining of the fields. His father was busy seeding the many rows of soil. Someday the seeds would become harvestable crops. Unknown to the family they would never see that day. His mother sat beside him drawing numbers and signs into the dirt teaching him of mathematics. This had always kept him interested, learning how the mechanics of the adults world worked. Everything seemed to be ran from numbers and letters. He knew his letters but numbers were different. You could make an infinite amount of them simply by rearranging their order. And because of this they were his favorite.
They continued the little lesson for another half hour before the man in the field returned he wiped his brow of beading sweat. The seed sacks were mostly empty "Looks like we have left over seed again. It seems we're starting to finally get ahead." His voice was slick and cool, he was a handsome man. Tall, straw colored hair, light blue eyes. Refined features. At some point he had been a squire and failed to become a knight. Afterwards he only Took his money and his bride to be and fled sylarus and became a farmer.
His mother had been some sort of teacher or master of numbers and letters. Imiker was never sure. She didn't talk much of her past. She had long chocolate hair, and grey eyes an unusual feature. She had gained some weight that gave her curves. She was considered beautiful by many men.
"Maybe someday we can get Imiker into a school, so he can lead a different life" she would say when ever their situation was brought up. This always put the man in a bad mood and he'd grumble about how they were doing just fine raising him. The day wore on and in the evening His father came in from the farm.Thhey picked up the wooden sticks and began to practice sword technique. Swing, Swing, Side step, parry, swing, block, and jab. His body movements were smooth now. The exercises had become boring. He'd done them so many times he could do every one of the 59 excersies his father show him in his sleep.
The night wore on and he was put to bed, his room was a small closet, with room for only a small bed. His feet touched the wall while his head could rest on the back board. He had a small shelf with a candle that had long ago melted past its worth. He layed in bed thinking of numbers and letters wishing he could practice more.
The sounds woke him, the rhythmic thumps and whines of horses and the voices of many men. A very loud bang, probably the door being kicked off its hinges, followed by the sound of steel clashing with steel. A sword fight maybe? He curled into a ball trying to hide. His door was ripped open and he was pulled from his bed. His mother lay next to his father blood trickling down her for head his father, lay in a pool of blood his eyes unfocused. There was another man too who stared distantly at the ceiling. These men were dead. His mother was scooped up and they were taken outside. Imiker was carried away his legs flailing his arms beating the man but it seemed to do nothing.
He never saw where his mother went. She was gone from his life.
Month One
It took several days to grasp what happend. He was in a camp of unfamiler men. He was kicked, beat and pushed around on a daily basis. His job was do do what they said and in a timely manor. But no matter how well he did they called him names and spit on him. The first two weeks were the hardest. Then the numbness set in and he became automated. Soon more children arrived. They would go out and come back sometimes with kids, other times women. It didn't matter the kids were kept seperatly. Living in small cages. One day they were all taken out and lined up. Their captors began to pair them off. With one standing order. Fight, winner gets fed.
He Was paired up with a small boy. The boy looked fragile. He wasn't sure of his age, but he kept shaking. When it was their turn Imiker immediately pushed him down and waited for him to get up and make the next move. But he didn't. He just layed there shaking with tears running from his eyes. A rock was pelted from the audience of men. ( about ten men )
It struck Imiker's head causing him to curl over, holding the small cut that had been issued to him. They laughed "Can't win if your both crying!" The next would belt out "Finish him! He's already on he ground!" They continued to insult him, but their voices faded to the background. He straighted himself out and advanced upon the boy. His body shaking with anger he kneeled on top of him and began bring his fists down. Rage filled his being, every fiber of body filled with the hate of these people, the weakness of the kid benethe him. At some point he had started yelling the blood from his head blurng his vision. A strong hand pushed him off, he threw his arms wildly trying to get back into the beating but was held down. The other childs face was unrecognizable. His chest barely moved, he probably wouldn't live to see another day. And in fact he wasn't seen again.
He got to eat that night. The next time it wasn't so easy. They grapled and he was thrown to the ground he couldn't stop the following beating and promptly lost. When he woke it was the morning. The next fight he won. And the one after that. He slowly began to see the patterns to fighting. how to deflect an attack. Or when to strike It was like using a sword but your hands were the weapons.
He didn't lose another fight for many days and soon his first grueling month had finished. His only purpose was to fight, they held matches for him and the other kids, weekly