Dark Redemption (On Hold)

Chapter 1

A/N - I'll do my best to get the second chapter up please be patient /)~(\

I sigh and glance down at my hands. These rough worn hands. Looking at the most would assume that the callouses came from the hard labor of working the land, or from building a home for my family. In truth I don't remember what any of that is like. I know nothing of peace and comfort. People never assume that my rough scarred hands have wielded countless weapons.... taken countless lives. I absolutely despise these hands.

Becoming a soldier came easy. I was used to being in fights, used to hurting others. They recruited me because of my size and ability to fight. I had been fourteen when they took me in and made me a soldier. I was young but easily twice the size of the fully grown men. They expected to break me easily but growing up on the streets I learned how to survive everything that was thrown at me.

I shake my head to dispel such thoughts. Raking a hand through my hair I pause when my hand met three slender braids. To most they mean little, just a symbol of my rank, but to me they mean so much more. They represent who I am and what I've done. They remind me of what I've become. One of the braids, the first one I received, I remember it's story well. I had been 19 when I got it, my wife braided it for me. She interwove silver cuffs so it would catch the eyes of others.

My second braid was done by my commanding officer. He'd put beads made of jade to show wealth and had given me a golden cuff from one of his own braids for saving his life. Still, those first braids meant very little to me compared to the third. My daughter had braided the third for me. She put not silver, nor gold or jade. She used wooden prayer beads in it and told me that they would always bring me home safe.

I close my eyes and gently touch the wooden pieces. My heart aches as I remember my daughter's smile and fearless demeanor. She was the one thing I looked forward to whenever I had come home from battle. She was so much like her mother even though the two had never met. My wife had passed away when she gave birth. She had always behaved for the nurse maids but often fought with other children.

I was torn from the bittersweet memories when I felt the cold steel of a blade being held to my throat. Opening my eyes I look up to see a man in rugged clothing. The weapon at my throat is actually a wheat scythe. The man's hand is trembling which tells me he's never done this before. I glance at the boy hiding behind him who looked ready to cry. It was obvious the two were just scared and attempting to kill me before I killed them. It was a common occurrence in this world.

I reach up and grab the rather sharp tool by its blade and stand. The man quivers and trembles before me having not anticipated my reaction in the slightest. I toss the weapon to the side and snort at the man as he cowers. Kneeling before the boy I stare into his eyes and say, "Don't let anyone scare you. You control your own destiny." I do not wait for a reply and instead stand and make my way towards the town.

I glance around the market, one hand resting on the hilt of my blade the other on my money pouch. Thievery wasn't uncommon in an area such as this. My head flicks into the direction of a shrill cry. I follow it to see a young boy being beaten by a slave trader. Something about the scene makes my blood boil and my anger flare. I swiftly move forward and grip the stick before it can strike him any further. I growl lowly at the male and snap the stick in two. Glaring at the man I grip his throat and sneer. "If I see you hitting anyone again I will snap you like I did the twig." With that I drop the man and continue making my way through the market, unsure of why I intervened in the first place.

I finally find myself in an old rundown tavern, as expected the place reeks of alcohol and bile. I sit in the corner with my back to the wall so I can watch everything around me. Old habits die hard I suppose. I watch as a group of rather large men laugh at the bar, one spilling his drink as he tells a vivid story in a slurred voice. The bartender watches them warily as she prepares another drink. She must have felt my stare because she looks directly at me.

It has been precisely two hours and forty-three minutes. Yet another stubborn habit of mine. I have a pint of hard liquor in front of me as the group of men has only become louder and more violent. I remain in my seat until the bartender attempts to cut them off and gets hit. I stand and make my way over swiftly grabbing the man and tossing him outside along with his drunken friends. I may be a killer but I refuse to hurt women or children, it's the one line I will never cross.

Coming back inside the bartender touches my bicep with fragile dainty hands and cranes her neck to look up at me. "Thank you so much sir. Those men are always in here causing trouble. They've run off most of our business." She says in a hushed tone. I simply close my eyes and bend slightly before handing her a gold piece to pay for my drink. She attempts to give it back but I leave before she can.