1 Hunter Report #1: Allen's Application

"Name?"

"Allen"

"Any last name?"

"Yes, Truman."

"How old are you?"

"15."

"Any complications with your health? Blindness, deafness, episodes of insanity?"

"No. Well, once when I was a child-"

"Gender?"

"I was telling you a story about mys-"

"Gender?"

"Male, but I was in the middle of a"

"Listen, Allen," a condescending voice boomed through the empty room that Allen and the interviewer sat in. The only furniture that the devilish voice bounced off of were the desk that laid between Allen and the interviewer. The interviewer was seated behind the desk, and towered over Allen as he sat in front of the desk on a low three-legged stool. Despite the fact that if you lined the interviewer up with Allen, Allen would have been a foot taller than him, Allen was forced to look up to the man interviewing him.

"Do you really believe that I would want to hear your origin story? I'm here to determine whether you are ready to become a Hunter or not. You aren't special kid. I've met guys like you, who think they're ready for the big game. To become the next Jeff the Hunter or Huntress Kaya. Yet they can't even kill a zebear. Can you kill a zebear Allen?"

"Yes," Allen said, his eyes never averting from the interviewer's. "Great. Date of birth?"

"December 6, 908"

"That's good. If you weren't turning 16 within 6 months we would have had to decline the application. New laws passed by our great princess."

"Whose the princess?"

"Occupation?"

"Slave."

"Who is your master?"

"Truman."

"Do you have a letter of employment from him?"

"No. I freed myself."

"Did a noble authorize your emancipation?"

"No."

The interviewer leaned back in his chair sighing, "Well, this concludes the confirmation stage of your application. Your first task as a Hunter in processing is to either pay the upfront 10,000 gold or prove your worth and bring back a zebear. Upon bringing the zebear back to the Hunter's Guild, granted that you are still alive throughout the processing of the hunt, you will be rewarded with a pass to show your hunter status and 5,000 gold. Do you understand?"

"Yes. I do understand," Allen rose from his seat, "thank you sir, I'll be back," he said staring down at the interviewer with his dark green and yellow heterochromia eyes.

"Sure you will."

Allen turned around, and walked out of the empty room, after exiting he was met with the eyes of wannabe hunters waiting in line to get their application processed. "Next," the interviewer yelled as the door opened.

The next hunter wannabe pushed Allen aside, "took you long enough," he mumbled but Allen paid no attention to him. In fact to Allen, he didn't notice the huge line that had formed since he was inside. He walked forward with a singular thought in his mind, "I should go kill that zebear." Despite him not noticing the line, his senses picked up on the smell of several zebear carcasses.

He didn't bother to count how many hunters had brought a zebear back. For he had known that those were not the zebear he was trying to hunt. This particular zebear proved to him just how ordinary he was.

As Allen left the Hunter's Guild, he immediately heard the preaching of a man, "The dragonborn will come and slay the last Dragon that threatens us humans. When it comes we will finally be free of Dragons. We will be the apex predators!" Allen grew cold, as he awkwardly walked past the preacher.

"Do you honestly think this dragonborn is ever going to be born," a bystander asks another bystander that stood next to them listening to the preacher.

"I doubt it."

"I don't!" a third bystander exclaimed, "I heard the Trumans managed to get their hands on one."

"Bullshit. They haven't been relevant for years. That's got to be some kind of silly rumor," the first bystander says.

Allen put his head down as he walked past the three bystanders, he pulled his long black hair to hide his eyes as well. Once he was past them, he raised his head up, and absorbed the city around him. It was his first time being inside the city. The city of Merlin, it holds one of many Hunter's Guild buildings. It also contains the castle of Merlin housed by King Merlin of the Merlin Kingdom.

The putrid smell of working peasants mixed with the delicious smell of freshly baked bread and burning cheese that was unfamiliar yet comforting to Allen. The smell of paint and tar coated it all, which snapped Allen out of his absorbing state. The streets were crowded, knights gathered around corners playing games, standing watch armed with swords and shields, all while dressed in lightweight armor.

The city was comfortably noisy, the neighing of horses, the playing of children and the arguing of customers, the screams from knights, and horrid screeches from the game that Hunters brought in. Allen was so distracted with the city that he began frolicking throughout it, "This must be what it means to be free," he smiled and closed his eyes as he felt his world turn.

Allen fell on top of someone, "What the fuck," a female's voice pierced Allen's ears. He opened his eyes, looking into the eyes of a hooded woman. She had glistening purple eyes with short hair that matched color wise. "Sorry," Allen said, "I didn't see you." He got up and reached his hand out to her. "Ma'am I didn't mean to bump into you."

"It's alright," she said grabbing his hand. He lifted her up as she asked, "where do you hail from?"

"The Truman Farm."

Her demeanor changed to that of a surprised cat and worried dog. "Are the rumors true?"

"Of what, ma'am?"

"The dragonborn of course. Was it truly born on the farm?"

Allen hesitated, "Yes, it is true. There was a dragonborn born on the farm."

The city around them, continued to move, bystanders walked around and past them. Knights continued to play, children ran around, and hunters didn't even notice. However between the two of them, time had froze. The purple haired woman attempted to dissect whether what Allen said was a lie or not, but there was not a single fiber of dishonesty emitting from him.

"I have to go," Allen said. "I'll see you later." He attempted to rush past her, but she grabs onto his arm.

"Oh, but what is your name?"

"It's Allen Z. Truman. What's yours," he asked as he wiggled her hand off of his arm.

"Lily Merlin."

"Lily, that's a cute name. Bye," he took off running, with a second thought racing against his other thought. "Why was my name the third thing she asked?"

Lily stood there, staring at the back of Allen, as she thought, "He doesn't recognize my name? Just who are you, Allen Truman?"

On the 6th day of the 12th month, 908 years after the first dragon was slain by a Hunter. Allen Z was born. His father was a failed knight, honorably discharged after showing up to work drunk or late for half a year straight. His drinking never stopped there, it in fact got worse. His mornings were filled with rum, his afternoons with cheese and meat, his nights his lust unleashed. Allen's mother was a witch in training. However through her incapability to properly master advanced spells, she grew depressed from her own parent's high expectations and the punishments they gave for her not meeting them. She ran away, and fell to prostitution.

One night, on a rainy March day, Allen's father hired the services of his mother. That night he was conceived was the last time his father and mother would meet for another 7 months. No one quite knows why his mother decided to keep the child. Was it the looks of the father? The familiarity they felt with each other in that hour of service? Was it laziness or love? Whatever the reason was, there was only one moment in Allen's entire life where his father cared about him.

7 months after conceiving Allen, his parents met again, with the news of a son coming, his father said, "Name him Allen." Why? "A prick named Allen owes me some money. I need a reminder." Deplorable.

His mother nearly killed the father to her child using magic. An incident occurring in a tavern known for fights frequently occurring. After nearly getting killed, Allen's father simply got up, with burns and wounds all over, and poured himself a drink in a shot glass. Only to chug down the bottle of rum declaring, "Name that bastard, Allen!"

When Allen was born, his mother could not stop crying as she stared at his face. Tears flowed down her eyes, as her three prostitute friends helped her give birth in an alleyway next to the same tavern Allen's father got drunk in. As one of her friends went inside the tavern to get his father, they found that he was passed out drunk with another woman next to him. His father would go on to only interact with Allen once.

That one interaction occurred two months after his birth, when his mother was hoping to get some kind of money out of the father of her son. "Why are his eyes like that? At least give me a normal baby."

A day later, Allen's parents sold him off to the Trumans, a family that owns one of the biggest farms in the Merlin Kingdom. A family that actively recruited children to be their workers, due to the aging of their previous workers. Allen's worth in gold, 282.

Rumors have it that when giving away Allen, his mother cried so much that her tears smeared the ink on the paper, erasing most of Allen's name. Only leaving the Z of his middle name.

Growing up, Allen was forced to forge his body in as peak physique it possibly can. Through rain, storm, heat, and cold he had to push his body to the limits just to make sure his master's farm was at peak performance. Even if it meant enduring the other slave children making fun of his eye color. He never talked back and he never cried.

At the age of 7, Allen witnessed the death of one of his fellow slaves. They were only 2 years older than him. Every member of the Truman farm mourned the lost of a friend, and leader. All except Allen, who stared blankly at the dead body for hours. His master, Sir Harry Truman, held a shovel that day, and asked Allen, "Can you move. I need to bury his body." Allen moved without hesitation, and awkwardly watched Sir Harry Truman dig a hole.

"Master?"

"What."

"Is this death?"

"Yes," he stopped digging, "if you can stand there and watch, help me dig this hole," he handed Allen the shovel, groaned and stretched his back out.

"Why are you digging the hole," Allen asked as he dug the hole.

"Are you an idiot? You have to bury bodies when they die. It's a simple sign of respect for the dead."

"And the dead don't come back."

"Yes, the dead don't come back."

"And everyone dies?"

"Yes," Harry began as he turned away from the dead body. "We all die one day," he stroke his white beard as he stared at the sun.

"I won't die."

"Why do you believe that Allen?"

"Because, I'm different from everyone else. I can work in any type of weather. I never get sick. I'm strong. I'm special. My eyes are different color for a reason."

"Listen, Allen," a condescending voice boomed through the empty hill that they stood on. The devilish voice only bouncing off of the tree that shaded them from the sun, the shovel, and the body. "You will die. You were born with those eyes, you are not born with anything special about you. Do you understand? Your eyes were not the cause of your physical abilities."

"But, I want to be special..."

"Then work harder."

From that day forward, Allen was the number 1 go to slave for work on the farm. He was forced to work twice as hard and then some. Even the slightest mistake led to him getting beaten, mocked, and abused. Yet through it all he did not shed a single tear. For he had only one thought in his mind, "This will make me special."

In May of 924 PD (Post first Dragon death), Allen was given his first request to be done outside of the farm. "Allen!"

"Yes sir!" Allen said as he rushed into Truman's office.

"I have a quest for you," Sir Harry Truman said.

"You haven't left this farm in 15 years and you haven't complained or cried. I trust you completely with this job. Am I lying about what I said about you?"

"No sir."

"Good," he clapped his hands, as a woman entered holding a child inside a cloth in her hands. She waved at Allen, smiling, before she broke it when she turned toward Harry. "Take a good look at that child Allen."

The woman handed over the child over to Allen, he looked down at the child. It was grotesque; red wings came out of her back; two horns protruded out of her forehead like a bud of a flower; red scales irregularly grew on her snowy pale skin. She slightly opened her eyes, revealing snake like crimson eyes. Her white hair barely grew past her eyes.

"What is this," Allen asked.

"A dragonborn," Harry replied, "I want you to deliver her to the city of Merlin, find the council of witches and turn her in. Tell them that you hail from The Truman Farm. They will automatically know everything."

"Master?"

"What."

"Is she important?"

"Yes. She holds a power inside her to kill the last dragon."

"And she's the only one who can kill the last dragon?"

"Well, no, but right now she's the best bet. Hunters nowadays have gotten quite soft."

"So, she's special?"

"She's special. Truly a one in a trillion chance birth."

"But, she's just a child. What if she doesn't want to-"

"Allen. Are you proving me to be a liar?"

"No sir. I'll go right away."

"Great the mistress next to you will provide you with materials for the journey there."

Allen walked out of the office with the baby in hand. "Remember Allen, do not fail me. You'll be failing humanity now," Harry said before the door closed.

"Mr. Allen. You will have to go through the woods to reach the city," the mistress told Allen as they walked out of the manor on the farm.

"Why is that?"

"Apparently Princess Lily's birthday is soon, so the major roads leading to the city are quite full. On top of that the rumor that the dragonborn being born has already made its rounds."

"But it's true, what's wrong with honesty?"

"Assassins. Warlocks. Strange creatures. Etcetera. They are all after a dragonborn. I can provide you with food, water and a map. It should last you the whole trip."

The materials lasted only 2 weeks before he had to start rationing out his own food to make sure the dragonborn got her required amount of food. The entire journey was perilous, unfamiliar with the land, Allen was frequently lost. Going in circles for a day, walking for days on end without rest. Even when he could get rest, the dragonborn would wake him up with her screeching cry that attracted the creatures of the forest.

Zebears, vicious plant creatures, Allen even got into a bout with a unicorn that pierced the side of his body, and a hole in his hand. He managed to get away, but he had to make sure the dragonborn was safe at all times. Even if it meant curling up like a turtle, and endured the slashing of a group of wild cats cutting deep into his skin to the point of blood rushing out.

It had already reached June, by the time Allen had run out of food and water. He barely survived feeding the dragonborn wild berries and fruit that he found. On the brink of starvation, and only half a day out from the city. Allen collapsed. His breathing heavy and rough. His legs shook and wobbled as he attempted to get back up. All the while, the baby laid asleep at a nearby tree.

"Y-You must think you're so special." Allen drooled, his eyes shot, his very core shook as he spoke towards the sleeping baby. "You can't even read. You can't even write." He gasped for air for each sentence he let out. He sounded as though he was choking on his own spit, his voice raspy and cracking. "I'm not special enough? I'm not fit enough to kill a dragon? All because I'm not some stupid fucking dragonborn." Allen took a step forward. "Fuck you! Humanity fails if I fail to protect you! What makes us so different?" He took another step forward. "We both eat, shit, and die all the same. Just because your skin is a little different. Just because you weren't born a slave. Just because your parents weren't a bunch of no good low life scum." He took another step forward, collapsing to the ground, as he continued to crawl over to the baby.

"I should throw my life away for you? I know my worth. I know my hard work. These last 15 years! The amount of death I've had to witness. The amount of pain I endured. I-" Allen got closer to the baby with each sentence. His face dirtied from the dirt and mud he dragged himself through. He had reached the baby. The dragonborn was perfectly clean, not a single scratch on her, she was well fed, and slept soundly through Allen's rant.

"Listen, dragonborn," a condescending voice boomed through the forest trees. The devilish sound bounced off of the dragonborn's ears, then the walls of the forest, the ground, then to creatures surrounding the area. Water droplets fell onto the sleeping dragonborn, it ran down her scaly skin, and onto her snowy pale skin. Tears streamed down Allen's face, yet on his face was a determined look.

"These last 15 years was not a waste. I've worked hard enough. I am special. No. I am a legend in the making. You? The only one capable of killing a dragon? I'll show you. I'll show the world. If I can protect the one that can kill dragons. Doesn't that mean I can kill a dragon too. Hell. I'm a human. I'm the apex predator. I'll become a hunter and eat whatever threatens humanity." Allen chuckled out a rough and dry laugh. "I'M AT THE TOP OF THE FOOD CHAIN. THE APEX HUNTER."

He continued to laugh, as the river of tears began to dirty the young dragonborn. The last thing the dragonborn would see in it's extremely short life; would be a devil, covered in mud, dirt, tears, blood, and muck.

On that day, Allen slept for the first time in weeks, and on a full stomach for the first time in years.