The Executioner: Shackles

The Art of War

Adam leaned against the tree trunk on which his back had been resting. He had seen about fourteen summers throughout his life time. In truth, he was hiding. He didn't want to practice anymore, he didn't care what they said about his family history, there wasn't any way they could be sure of it any way.

He let his leg swing from the branch he was perched on, trying to get more comfortable as he stroked his dirty, blonde hair. His hazy turquoise eyes just starred off into the distance, past the cliff's edge and the rolling hills covered with the green grasses of Sovland. He let out a sigh, trying, if possible, to grow ever more relaxed. It was only minutes later a roar was heard from the side.

The bald man called out again, clad in iron from the neck down. He called out again, calling Adam by name. Was there no time for rest around these parts? He had already practiced for an hour.

"Boy! Can you hear me?" The man grunted as he inched closer.

Adam sighed, "Yes Garret."

"Good to know you're not deaf, only negligent. We've been calling out from the temple in search of you for the past two hours." Garret replied. "You had us worried sick!"

"I can handle myself, Garret. Besides, can't you just ask your god to help you find me?" Adam mocked.

"You blaspheme boy! Watch your tongue, less you bring ruin to us all!"

"Don't be so naive." Adem replied, waiving dismissively.

"NAIVE!?" Garret uproared, " You blasphemed the War God! Do you think Sov would take kindle to your breathe alone? He expects warriors, not miscreants and blasphemers. You best recognize he likewise is thy god too!"

Adam gave out a sigh as he leaped out of the tree. There was no point continue this conversation. Garret would only ever see him as a rebel rouser. Besides that, Adam mostly was following along to give his mother's mind rest, she wasn't much a worrier, but she got upset if he was gone for too long.

Garret sighed, grabbing Adam by the neck. "You're mother will want to see you before we continue. After that, we're going back to the arena."

"Fine." Adam replied knocking Garret's hand off from his neck. "Just leave me be."

Garret walked behind the boy as they made their way back to the temple grounds. Marble stone was the material making up the majority of the structure. The steps were painted with a black iron paint, hand crafted by the finest artisans. The walls were a fine white, somewhat stained grey from age. The walls of Yer Temple had stood for centuries and were even legend to be the very spot where Sov came to his people.

Sov, the founder of Sovland, was a god, angel, or saint by some accounts, who had carved out a place in the world for his followers. The place was called Sovland, and to its north rested Gall, and beside Gall stood Vlastimir the Land of Kings.

Countless accounts of paladins and clerics coming to Yer were stored and recorded. They were all god touched, blessed with a portion of Sov's power to accomplish a specific task, Adam was thought to be more than that.

"Do you often get lost in thought?" Garret asked again.

"Hm, what?" Adam asked, shaking his head as he stirred.

"I was speaking to you boy. But you did not answer." The man stated, "Your eyes were fixed, what was it you were thinking about?"

"How much I'd like you to not ask that question." Adam replied narcissistically.

He was overwhelmed. People kept telling him he was god touched. That he would have great burdens to carry. He didn't want that. His mother was the worst of them all. Saying he was the actually offspring of Sov himself. It felt like a burden too great to bare. Everyone expected so much from him and he wanted to escape that.