A world of magic... A paradise right? No. A world of magic, where one could do basically anything is a world that is full of misfortune and chaos. People like to blame those they call "Demon's." Those "Demons" are not big red monstrosities with horns, red eyes, and pointed tails. They look like you and me. They could have blue eyes, blond hair, and skin white as snow. They could be goblins, with fangs meant to tear into flesh. They could be wolves, with fur so thick that they could sleep comfortably in freezing weather. A demon could even be a dragon, with its regal posture, wings that have varying sizes, and scales harder than diamond. Anybody who makes an enemy of this lands holy church, is labeled a Demon. And those who help the Holy church, are labeled hero's.
I am one of these so called "hero's." Or at least I was. People would constantly call me "The greatest Hero of our time" simply because I slaughtered monsters with efficiency, and without remorse. To me, monsters were simply offspring of Demons, and Demons were simply the incarnation of evil. That is the information that was always spoon-fed into my brain since birth. The Holy Church is in charge of the guild, a large group of people who fight monsters for rewards. By the time I reached the age of 16, the guild numbered in the hundreds of thousands. The people varied greatly. Beastfolk, hybrids between an ancient humanoid species and animals, who were often physically superior to humans in every way. Elf's, humanoids who were favored by spirits of the forest, who were vastly more in touch with nature than humans. Lizardfolk, a species of lizards that had evolved similarly alongside humans, making them an ancient ally. And of course, Humans. Humans were not particularly strong, fast, or intelligent as the other races. But one thing that humans had above all else, was their bottomless capacity for malice. You attacked one human, then the humans wipe your entire species from existence. If your lucky, you would have a quick death. But many enemies of Humans were not so.
The day i turned 16, i was able to register as a member of the guild.
"So if you would just put down your name, age, and prior experiences that would be lovely. Once you've finished please hand it back and ill do the required background checks." The Guild receptionist said. They wore a mask to prevent them being targeted by thugs, and their voices were altered to be unrecognizable.
I nodded, grabbing the paper and writing down "Aero." I had been trained in combat since i was 5 by my mother, a skilled swordswoman who was notoriously harsh on her students. I was not spared of this harshness when we trained, but every now and then i would see a side to her that would make one never guess that she was the same person. When she wasn't working or training young fighters, she was a kind and elegant woman. She didn't move without purpose as if she were the water flowing through a river. Also, her pointy ears due to her elven lineage was always helpful in gauging her mood. I adored my mother. On the other hand everything about her perplexed my father, who I did not adore so much. My father was a businessman, and renowned for being a genius in convincing people to get his way. The way he walked was crude. He had no elegance, he was like a shard of granite. He was the opposite of my Mom, but its as they say: "Opposites attract."
I then handed the receptionist back my paper, as they then said "Alright if you will please place your hand on the Runestone in front of you that would be great!" I did as they asked, and the runestone glowed a bright blue before then projecting floating words into the air. The receptionist then took my hand off the Runestone and said "Your guild ID will be brought to you shortly. Please have a seat in one of the benches over there." They pointed towards the corner of the building, which had wooden benches with about 4 people sitting in them.
I walked over, and as per usual, the people in the corner looked at me, and a woman commented "Such an unusual hair color." People often found my ash-gray hair to be otherworldly.
"Do you think he's cursed?" a bulky man next to the woman asked.
The woman shook her head, saying "You shouldn't say that. Those who are cursed rarely live to the age of 10."
