It was a young day in the Capitol City of Ayenee. The Sun barely peaked over the horizon, filling the sky with burning hues of oranges, and reds and yellows. Golden light from that fiery sky danced in the silver dew drops that graced the botany of the town. An array of smells mingled in the air, from the redolent aroma of fresh bread from a bakery to the putrid stench of a stable's muckyard. Sounds of both jubilation and industry assaulted the ears. The joyful laughter of children playing in the streets and the hardy chuckles of old pals sharing breakfast competed with the cries of hawkers selling their wares and the roar of a forge's furnace as the blacksmith fired it up for the first work of the day. It was a beautiful scene and one befitting of a man's first memory.
He had no recollection of his past before now, but he knew that he was and who he was, or at least what they called him, and that was William. He knew his craft too. He was a soldier. He could tell from the sword at his side, the buckler fastened to its sheath, he could tell from the calluses on the palms of his hands, calluses from years of handling a sword. In fact, knowledge did not escape him. He could speak vernacular quite well and could put names to any object around him. However, what he did not know was anything of his past or any past for that matter, except that he was a solider, a deduction made from the tools on his belt. He did not know these lands, but they seemed natural to him. He was not like a newborn with so much to learn, so unexperienced in existence. He knew what pain was and what would cause pain. He knew of how the world worked and how he could make his way on his own. He lacked the curiousity that plagues the young, yet untempered by wisdom, yet he was not wise and experienced. He had no past and knew of no possible one. He did not question it. This, for him, was his first moment of life, his first memory... He would need a job.
He had no recollection of his past before now, but he knew that he was and who he was, or at least what they called him, and that was William. He knew his craft too. He was a soldier. He could tell from the sword at his side, the buckler fastened to its sheath, he could tell from the calluses on the palms of his hands, calluses from years of handling a sword. In fact, knowledge did not escape him. He could speak vernacular quite well and could put names to any object around him. However, what he did not know was anything of his past or any past for that matter, except that he was a solider, a deduction made from the tools on his belt. He did not know these lands, but they seemed natural to him. He was not like a newborn with so much to learn, so unexperienced in existence. He knew what pain was and what would cause pain. He knew of how the world worked and how he could make his way on his own. He lacked the curiousity that plagues the young, yet untempered by wisdom, yet he was not wise and experienced. He had no past and knew of no possible one. He did not question it. This, for him, was his first moment of life, his first memory... He would need a job.