Elderly

A broken shed, half torn. Barely able to even block wind. Standing among many other similar sheds, except those are all empty, the barren streets.

And in the only furniture within this house, a rocking chair, there sat an elderly man, with a child around the age of 10. They did not look alike, the child is adopted. The man, having lost his children, grandchildren, and all that is his family, simply found this child in this war torn world, and took him on.

"Vlain" The old man said.

"Yes Mr. Franz?"

"Do you still remember your name?"

"Yes sir, it is: 'Vlain Ferdinand', I recall it."

"Good, do not change it, it is yours, it is your family's last memoir. Remember it. It is the few things we can still hold on to in this world."

"What about you then sir?"

"My child died, to serve some unworthy tyrant. You know, child, before this war broke out, time wasn't great either. The tax collector was always on your face, the nobles, well they can do anything they desired. And that bastard king did nothing but to play around some women atop his throne. For months working in the fields.... and you can't even keep a week worth of food after."

"What happened then sir, when the war broke out."

"That was 15 years ago, you wasn't even born. The war first broke out at the western continent, then soon spread across the land. When I adopted you, we were 9 years into this. You were just 4 back then."

"Sir, why can't we do anything?"

"Because we are powerless child, we don't even know how to cast magic. The only rumor I have ever heard about was that to cast magic, a person must be determined, like a zealot of some sort, then they need to go through some kind of ritual."

...

Some silence. Then there came the sound of some horse shoe knocking on the ground.

"We have company." Stated the old man. Who leaps up, placing the child behind a table, and then simply stands there. A sword is hidden inside a drawer near him.

The sound became closer and closer. A man revealed himself. He is a mercenary. Wearing a tunic garment, with some dotted armour, a curved single-edged blade in one hand, and a small buckler on the other, riding on top of a brown horse.

He looked around, though the old man tried to hide upon his sighting, he still found Franz.

"Eh! Ye old hag over there! Come out! I see you."

The old man slowly fumbles out, with a slightly bent back, not from defense, but from age. "Yes sir, I am right here. Now please, I have nothing on me, good kind hearted man. Would you just pretend that you did not see me? I am too old to move out of this place."

"Ha!" The man rides slowly towards Franz. "E'en if ya wanted to go out there, let me tell ya, ya can't, tis a blood bath everywhere. F-ing hell."

"Yes good sir, you see, so would you just let me go please, since you can probably imagine how much meat is on me." ('meat' refers to money, possessions.)

"But meat is meat" The man is quite close now, and before even finishing, he suddenly bolts out his sword and slashes across the poor, old, mans throat.

"ee....a..Er...." The old man, falls down, holding over his wound, tries to mutter out something, but guttering, unable.