You’re a boy.

You looked over to your mirror and inspected your body. Before you a young man appeared, some would argue too young. You wished you were a bit taller. A simple change such as that would garner you so much more respect, but you still had time to grow. Your face was young with no beard to speak of, but it wore a grim expression usually found in the face of an experienced soldier. Your eyes were rested, but it could not hide the weariness of your soul. Indeed this lonely life style was taking its toll on you, but it was the price to payto learn the abcient technique of Reverse Spirit Drain.

Your body was toned and muscular. Clearly you didn’t skip leg day. Not exactly ripped but your chest and back were strong and wide. A thousand years ago before The Black Storm for someone of your age you would have been regarded as ‘swole’. Often when you visted villages you noticed young women would glance at you often the younger ones giggling and gossiping. Older men were proud to see that a young man such as yourself was being brought up in their country. A few teased about how handsome you were which you often blushed at and humbly shrugged off. Despite the praise you were somewhat embarrassed by the scars Your looks to you were unimportant a byproduct of tenuous training.

Finally your armor. You didn’t wear much opting for rugged brown combat pants, Dark brown boots, and a breathable tunic. However your most prized possession was the magic chestplate you owned able to regenerate damaged parts of your apparel. You looked at it for a short while remembering the Shaula, the old woman of the orphanage you were at before you decided to runawat and train to become a hero so many years ago. She gave it to you realizing she couldn’t change your mind. She was sweet and you feltthe same old twinge of guilt pass through you, but that didn’t matter now. You were now known as The Young Wolf and you had a job to do. You dawned your armor and headed off to the new village of Kurri Kurri.