Where does a story really start?

Does it start at a persons birth? At the first tradegy? At their first memory? Or does it start when every thing chages? Does it matter?

He really couldn't tell you about his birth as his mind holds no memories of such a time before the cupboard under the stairs with walrus like man- who's face would turn purple as he shouted and blamed Freak for anything and everything that went wrong in their lives- and a horse like woman- who hit him with frying pan or burned his fingers on the stove for the slightest of issues- that had a pig for a son.
The only thing he knew about the first tradegy was second hand knowledge he spent years doubting- never quite knowing if they had spoken the truth or had it just been another lie to futher break him?

His first memory...

It wasn't one of happiness.

It wasn't one of friends and family nor of love in care. In fact, it was the exact opposite. His first memory was the darkness of the cupboard- or better known as Freak's room- being pierced by a bright light as the door was flung open.

He had closed his eyes- as the light had blinded him- therefore he never saw the meaty hand that reached in to roughly grab his hair and drag him out by it. When he opened them, Walrus' purple face had greeted him as the other shouted- spit splattering everywhere- before the beating that had broken his arm and several over bones due to his 'freakiness' causing Pig to fall off a swing and scrape his knees. Freak didn't do it, but they didn't believe him. Back then, no one did.
As for when everything changed...It all changed when Freak died.

No, that's not quite right. Freak didn't die.

He was murdered.

It started out a normal enough day or as normal as it got in this house.

He cooked, he cleaned, he gardened and then he starved as he stood in a corner watching Horse and Pig devour his hard work- Like always, they ensured there wasn't even so much as a piece of crumb left behind- before leaving him to clean up the mess. Honestly, it was like cleaning a war zone. Pig had somehow managed to get scraps everywhere: from hanging off the ceiling fan like confetti to grinded into cracks on the floor.

After he had finished cleaning that disaster and prepping dinner, he had been banished back to the cupboard. For a while it was quiet as Horse took Pig somewhere for hours on end. Then Walrus returned home smelling as though he had drunken a whole bar dry- and maybe he had- with a fouler temper than normal and a single target in mind.

Freak didn't really understand much. He was rather simple- uneducated- back then but judging from Walrus shouting as he dragged out of his cupboard by a meaty fist in his hair: Walrus had been passed up for some type of promotion and was now going through a company audit that somehow was due to his 'freakiness'.

As Freak soon learned, excessive alcohol and a hairline tempter like Walrus' didn't mix well. Especially for him. He had endured beatings before but there was something different this time- something primal, something dangerous in those beady eyes- that told him if Walrus had his way; Freak would not be getting up again.

In a way, he didn't.

Freak had blacked out sometime in the beating- probably when Walrus had been trying to kick his internal organs out of him- though when he woke again it was inside what appeared to be a wet blanket of some sort that felt as though it was being dragged over one of the few brick roads that had yet to be paved over with asphalt.

He panicked.

It wasn't his smartest idea seeing the condition he was in- just breathing hurt and he was certain his right arm alongside several ribs was broken- for the moment he started kicking, black dots appeared in his vision as the feeling of being set on fire from the inside out consumed him. It hurt, everything hurt if he was honest, but he wanted- needed- to be out of that blanket before walrus attempted to suffocate him again. Had he not been panicking, he might have realized the other hands- that had joined his own in an attempt at prying at the covers- were too small to be Walrus' though as it was he didn't quite register the fact until the sunlight suddenly blinded him as the dark covered was untangled enough for his head to be freed from its confinement.

When the white spots faded from his vision the first thing Freak saw was a child- maybe a year or two older then himself- with pale skin, pitch black hair and soulless black eyes. For a moment, all the two did was stare at each other- his emerald eyes unable to pry theirselves from the older child even if he wanted to- both clearly surprised to see the other.

A thick silence filled the air between the two until the other child seemed to gain his bearings before small hands- too small to be walrus' now that he paid attention- once more attempted more of the wet blanket away from Freak. Freak, himself, didn't move a muscle as his eyes managed to glance past the other child and at the street surrounding them. There was something... off about this place.

In all honestly, it looked as though he had taken a step back in time and into one of Pig's history books that the other would throw in a corner and leave to collect dust while he played whatever new game system Horse and Walrus bought him. Maybe had he more time to think upon it, he might have figured out the truth sooner then later but as it was; Freak fount his ponderings cut short as a pair of fingers snapped in front of his face forcing his mind back down to Earth.

"Hallo, jemand da? "

Blinking in confusion, all he could do was stare at the other child- for while the language sounded familiar, Freak felt as though he had heard that language before though he himself could not understand what the other was saying, let alone actually respond to it- as the older child frowned upon realizing he could not understand him.

"Pouvez-vous me comprendre maintenant?"

Those soulless eyes narrowed slightly as they seemed to look him over before the older tried again, "Can you understand me now?"

Slowly, Freak nodded as he forced himself to speak up despite how sore and hoarse his throat felt, "Yes."

"I suppose that's a start. Do you have a name?"

"Freak."

It must be the wrong answer for the other child gives him a look as though he was attempting to look into his very soul for some sort of divine judgement. He must have passed it as the other nodded, mumbling to himself too softly for even Freak to overhear before speaking aloud, "Freak isn't a suitable name."

"Its all I have," He had answered honestly- If he had another name, he did not know it as they had never thought fit to call him anything else but 'Freak' and 'Boy'- causing a scowl to reappear on the others face as those black soulless eyes gleamed with ill intent.

"Not anymore, " The slightly taller boy had spoken as a pale hand darted out and gripped his boney wrist in a vice hold, "From this day forward, I christen you: Jager. And in doing so claim your life as mine."

For a moment, all the newly christened; Jager could do is blink at the other in open confused- he doesn't understand what just happened and to be honest, he's not sure he wants to know- though the older didn't seem to notice the doubt within the younger's emerald eyes as he kept speaking, "My name is Bermuda. Bermuda von Veckenschtein, when you address me it shall be as Lord Bermuda. So now that has been dealt with, how did you end up wrapped within a quilt floating down the river?"

When he had saw what he the bundle floating down the river, Bermuda honestly hadn't thought much about it.

It wasn't all that uncommon for passing ships to sometimes lose merchandise to the currents- it happened so often around this area that there was a Finder's Keeper's Rule to any and all packages one happened to stumble across-which would then carry it down the river and into the ocean. If anything, Bermuda had retrieved the bundle with the thoughts of dragging it home and seeing wither or not there was anything interesting inside.

Maybe, a childish part of him had whispered, there was something from the other land masses; a lost treasure from the unknown places of the world. A crown, a scepter, a pirate's lost treasure map, gold coin and jewels, foreign fruits and vegetables, fabrics of silk and velvet, maybe even books. Honestly, anything was possible as just last week Edeltraut had fount a chest floating in the river that held priceless gemstones which originated from some place to the far East.

Bermuda had been ready for anything and everything to be inside his newly discovered treasure or so he thought. He hadn't quite been ready for said bundle to kick him as he dragged it towards Veckenschtein Manor. For a moment, the dark eyed child of six summers had stilled as he stared at the now very alive bundle which seemed to be struggling with itself before his mind had kicked in and his hands joined in the attempt to pry the dark fabric whatever was inside.

Maybe it was a lion, a tiger, some exotic pet or animal that the traders were crating towards its new home. Maybe it was a panther? If so, Bermuda wanted it to be a cub so that he could raise it. He could feel the excitement building in his chest as he already imaged himself raising the deadly creature into what he considered a perfect complain only for it to freeze as he finally managed to pry the quilt off the creatures head.

That was no animal.

For a moment all Bermuda could do was stare at the pale child- that looked even younger then him- with raven black hair and the most exotic emerald eyes the older boy had ever seen. It took some effort to pry his eyes away from the youngers' as his mind registered the ugly purple-blue-black bruises on the younger's skin and the right arm hanging a little too limp for his liking. That alone all but suffocate the excitement the dark eyed child had been feeling as his mind drew up a nasty conclusion.

After all, how else does one interrupt a hurt child- probably two or three judging from his size- trapped inside a heavy blanket that was thrown into a river known for its fast currents and the dangerous- known to be fatal- drop where it entered the ocean?

The younger didn't move as he worked and the more Bermuda freed the younger, the more he doubted the other could as he noticed the dark stain upon the other's shirt. Bruising, broken arm, most likely broken ribs as well seeing how the younger's good arm stayed near them, busted lip, black eye, heavy breathing- though seeing how he wasn't coughing up blood, Bermuda doubted his lungs had been pierced- bloody clothes...

The boy was too pretty to be one of the streets- children with looks like that were noticed rather quickly upon the streets. None of them lasted longer then a year or two before they were taken and not always with the best of intentions.

He had far too many features only fount in a Noble's lineage so he was likely an Foreign Lord's Bastard Child with a Mistress. Had the Lord died and the wife finally done away with completion or had he grown tired of keeping his mistake around and attempted to wipe it from the world? There was only one real way to know though as Fate would have it, the child understood not a word of either German or French.

Still those features were defiantly European so Bermuda tried the next language he could think of: English.

"Can you understand me now?"

"Yes." Despite his hesitance the boy had understood him. Thank God. Had the other not understood that, Bermuda wouldn't have known what to do seeing as he only spoke those three languages.

Freak.

The child's name was Freak.

He wants to hit something but Bermuda keeps his temper despite knowing his eyes could give away his intentions. At this point, Bermuda has made up his mind: This Child is never going back home. He would not allow it.

"Not anymore," His hand darts out gripping the younger's too small wrist in a vice hold just in case the other doesn't take his next words well, "From this day forward, I christen you: Jager. And in doing so claim your life as mine."

He must have stunned the younger for all the other does it blink those unique eyes in open confusion so the elder of the two plows forward while he can, "My name is Bermuda. Bermuda von Veckenschtein, when you address me it shall be as Lord Bermuda. So now that has been dealt with, how did you end up wrapped within a quilt floating down the river?"

For a moment, there is a thick silence between the two before the newly named Jager speaks softly, "I don't know. I...I... I think my Uncle had something to do with it."

Okay then, new theory: Jager's Father is an Old Foreign Lord this time with no children but a brother. If Jager is the only child he stands to inherit everything, stripping it all from the brother's hold. Therefore the Brother attempted to get rid of the competition before it actually became competition.

Results: He's still not permitting Jager go home. One way or another, Jager would be coming with him, even if Bermuda had to drag the other kicking and screaming the whole way.

Thankfully he didn't have to drag Jager to Veckenschtein Manor. If anything the other had followed him in a daze, obviously unsure what he should do now that he was alone in a foreign land which he could not even speak the language of. Huh, maybe Jager was just staying with him because the younger child believed Bermuda was all he had at the moment...

Bermuda could work with that.

People disgusted him, Bermuda decided as he led the younger child- dressed only in those strange rags and his traveling cloak- though the crowded streets and towards Veckenschtein Manor.

It shouldn't have been so easy.

Though he probably shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth, Bermuda couldn't help it- After all, it really shouldn't have been so easy to guide Jager towards his home- especially when one considered the rumors surrounding Veckenschtein Manor and what went on inside its walls.

Sure, whispers had followed them down the street and one or two people had taken a step forwards as though to 'save' the emerald eyed child- though they had quickly taken several steps back once soulless black eyes glanced their way- only to change their minds.

It disgusted him how the people of his village could be so self-absorbed they wouldn't even step forward to 'save' a child- a toddler- from what they believed to be certain death. Someone- anyone- should have attempted to stand up for what was right and just; yet no one did.

No one even tried.

It was probably the easiest kidnapping in history, Bermuda decided as he pushed open the thick oaken door and half pulled-half guided Jager into Veckenschtein Manor.

Now.. How to explain this to his Father?

That was the first day they meet; a strange boy dressed in clothes of another time by the name of Bermuda von Veckenschtein and a lost Freak, who would become Jager despite the doubts that constantly attempted to cloud his mind.