Disclaimer: I don't own Legend of Dragoon nor do I claim to. I do, however, claim the characters and plot of this story which, as far as I'm concerned, is original.

Legacy of Dragoon

Chapter One: The Killing Fields

He had worked without rest in the field for over four hours, baking in the heat of the Serdian sun and feeling his skin try to tan darker than it already had from weeks of the same strain. He straightened up amongst the rows for a moment, feeling a light breeze play across his neck and face and sucking down the taste of the jerky gnashed between his teeth. He couldn't help but let a smile fall over his face like a light sheet drifting down from the clear sky. It was hard work, but he had grown to love it as a part of the rest of his life. After he had finished ploughing the row, he slung his hoe over one powerful shoulder and began walking back to the smoke house. Upon entering, he was greeted by a familiar face; Dario, the farmhand in charge of curing and smoking the various meats raised on the farm.

Dario looked up from tenderizing a raw steak for supper and with a smile called, "So, Nolan, how is the jerky this month? Not too dry I hope?"

Nolan looked back with a frown.

"The only thing wrong with it," he began, "is that it lasts so long. I chewed some for over an hour in the field and it still tasted fine. What kind of unnatural things have you been doing to this meat?"

He cracked up halfway through the punchline and Dario laughed with him. Nolan's father owned the farm and supported a dozen farmhands on the property, so they were his only friends.

"It will probably sell at market as quickly as it did last time, Dario. Just make a little extra for me, okay? I love the stuff."

"Oh, hey, take these!" Dario replied, handing Nolan six long strips of the dried, chewy meat, "at least I get recognition from you for breaking my back making the stuff, Nolan! It's almost not worth it seeing my work taken away to be re-sold by merchants and mindlessly chewed by drunk peasants! At least it sells out, so I know it's good, eh?"

Nolan was already walking towards the door; if he stayed any longer, Dario would talk his ear off until sundown, and Nolan had work to do. He stuffed the dried meat into his waist pouch and set off down the path, worn into dust by years of feet pounding the earth, towards the barn. He hauled open the large wooden door, tossed the hoe into a corner and set about climbing into the clustered loft where he hid his weapons. On a ledge created by the wall of the barn meeting the slanting roof, he had stashed three shafts from old tools which he had sharpened into solid, pointy spears. Among the refuse in the loft was a discarded scarecrow which he used for practice, despite frequently having to change the fabric keeping all of the straw in. There were already lengths of cord attached to each of the dummy's arms which ended in sacs of small rocks. By hurling the sacs over the nearby rafters and planting the scarecrow into the ground, Nolan could dangle the dummy at about ground level and practice on it with his spear without worry of knocking it over and having to start over.

He was enjoying the shade inside the otherwise baking barn and forcefully striking the dummy with an already splintering wooden shaft when he heard a feminine voice from behind him, "Is this what you're always sneaking in here to do?"

He quickly spun around and saw Rachelle standing in the entrance to the lofty barn. She had been like a mother to him for his entire life. However, and earlier than his father would have liked him to, Nolan discovered that she was, in fact, not his real mother. His father had still not disclosed to him the whereabouts of his biological mother. By the time he was fourteen Nolan had realized that his father wouldn't have kept such a thing from him without good cause to and accepted it as part of his life on the expansive ranch which he was bound to inherit. Rachelle was not a bad mother figure to have, either. Even now, silhouetted by the bright sunlight streaming into the barn, she was beautiful in a working dress with a stained apron covering the front of the brown felt.

"Yeah, and I'm getting pretty good," he replied, trying to regain a little ground by not letting on he had been startled.

Nolan then tried twirling the spear in his hand, but when he went around his back to pass it into his left hand, he struck himself on the back of the head with the blunt end of the spear. He bent down and covered the back of his head with both hands as she laughed at him.

"If Ryan saw you doing this, I don't even know what he would say. Why are you choosing to be violent like this, Nolan? You are just a boy working on a farm, you will never need to use – what is this? A spear?- against someone else," she said without a hint of chagrin in her voice. In fact, she spoke in the curious and genuinely caring manner of a mother speaking to her child.

"I... I just," Nolan sighed deeply, "you don't know that, mom. I may have to use this some day, and I want to be able to help Dad protect you and our farm. It's all that we have, mom, and I don't want to lose a bit of it." Of course he not only spoke of the farm but everyone on it, who were like a family to Nolan. He had no siblings and would otherwise be a very bored and overworked young man.

"Nolan, you're a very selfless young man, you know that? But don't let yourself get carried away, okay? Hurting people isn't what helps you or others, you got that?"

He looked down at the ground with a somber look on his face which hid the fact that he had completely disregarded what she had said. You may not think that way mom, he thought, but I know that other people don't have the same mentality as you. I may only be seventeen, but I know that some people in this world are just evil. They can't be helped.

"Okay, mom," he muttered, "you're not going to tell dad, right?"

"Of course not, Nolan. But please don't let me catch you in here when you're supposed to be working, alright?"

He nodded in agreement and once Rachelle was gone he delivered a final stab to the face of the scarecrow, completely obliterating it and sending straw flying out the back of the mask. He lifted the dummy on the spear and threw it over the rafter beams onto the hay-strewn floor.

"I've gotten too good to stop now, anyway," he muttered to himself.

Leaving the barn now with a pair of heavy shovels in hand, Nolan began the trek to the huge house situated in the center of the expansive ranch to propose finally digging the new well with his father. His sweat-dranched shirt stuck to his skin as the sun covered his body in a hot and heavy housing which seemed to increase the very force of gravity on his limbs. Sweat dripped off the end of his nose, his chin, it flowed into his eyes and down the small of his back into his shorts. It was this harsh heat which had not only caused Nolan to collapse from exhaustion on several occasions, vomiting from dehydration and heatstroke, but had allowed him to work himself into a solid, powerful young man. His shoulders were harder than the bone to which the very muscles clung, his stomach and back were like rippling boards of hardwood from years of bending and straightening in the fields, and his chest and arms could endure supporting great amounts of weight for extended periods of time, like support columns in a great fortress.

Halfway to the majestic-looking farmhouse Nolan peered out across the voluminous expanse of the fields from under the brim of his straw hat to see something that troubled him; dust rising about a kilometre away from him. Rarely had he seen visitors from outside the ranch, and usually those who did left his father in a sour mood for whatever reaaon – he usually paid no mind. However, the amount of dust rising told Nolan that this was not the single horse of a messenger, but a small contingent of entirely mounted folk whose number he put at about ten. Despite it only being a cloud of dust, faultless enough at a glance, he felt a menacing presence about the rising, lightly colored dirt slowly approaching from the east. Nonetheless, he continued to the house, passing by the mill in which the mill-workers, Sigmund and Tessa, ground wheat to make their own bread to sell in town for a tidy profit.

By the time Nolan had reached the house, he noticed that the mounts of whoever had arrived were grazing to the far side of the house and the mysterious travelers were nowhere to be seen. Becoming immediately suspicious, he placed the shovels on the ground and stalked around the side of the building closest to himself. He could hear his fathers' voice angrily arguing with another deeper, gruff voice he did not recognize. He approached a large window at about his shoulder level which swung ajar on loose hinges, curtains flowing outward into the hot afternoon daylight. Slowly, he peeked over the edge of the window to see his father's back and two others in the room who he immediately did not like the sight of. The first of the visitors stood to his father's left, leaning against the wall with an emotionless look on his face, picking his nails with a dagger and seeming entirely focused on it. His body seemed to be hewn out of mostly scar tissue which stood out in lumps and valleys all across his flesh.

The second visitor was speaking to Nolan's father and only seemed capable of frowning with his ugly, slightly less scarred face. He was bare-chested, flaunting an elaborate black tattoo spreading itself across his chest and arms. Nolan was startled to see a few sheets of armor over his baggy, black pants and a sword strapped to his waist. The stranger stepped forward with a smile and held his hand out, palm up, to nobody in particular, "come on, sir, we've got a lot more places to get to and oh-so-little time to get to them. Just give us the deed for your land and we'll let your family go. I don't know what I can do about the workers on the farm, but I'll see if we can work something out."

Nolan couldn't see his father's expression but could hear it in his voice, "What would the church want with my land, you vagabond? In the name of Soa or not, you will not get my land! Get out now, or I'll see to it you're forced out."

He heard his father's fist hit the table, a common display of anger for him, but Nolan feared it because his father seemed unable to perceive his attackers' weapon as well as the number of intruders that were actually on the farm. The scarred man was looking up from his nails impatiently.

"Look, uh, Ryan? Is that what your name is now? I'm perfectly fine with killing every human soul on this farm right now, but I'm willing to negotiate with you for the deed to this land in exchange for your life. The church needs this land, for whatever reason, and I was told to use any means neccessary to get it from you, mister," he looked at a sheet of parchment he had placed on the table, "Ryan Lambert."

The intruder looked up at Ryan from his sheet with eyes that seemed not only to hate now, but to recognize either Nolan's father or something about him which made Nolan very uncomfortable.

"I'm afraid I can't do that," said Ryan with a voice that was not only powerful but growling with rage now.

"This land is all that I have, and if the church wants it, the damned pope can come down here and get it his goddamn self! But I'm not handing my land over to a bunch of dusty mercenaries like yourselves who claim to be acting in the name of a priesthood! Do you have any idea how immoral and ridiculous you sound?"

Nolan felt very proud of his father for saying this but was still very fearful for him as there were at least twelve horses in front of the house when he had arrived and he didn't think his father knew. Something light was being dragged accross the floor near the wall where he was standing when the mercenary spoke again, "Don't think that you still intimidate me, Cross. Haha, remember we used to call you that? Cyrus Cross, the man of many names but just one mind."

Nolan's fear grew as he heard the dirty man laugh cruelly and continue, "And what a twisted mind that was! I remember we would do some crazy stuff in those days, Cross, but you were always the craziest. And here you are now, dirt farming in the middle of nowhere. Amazing how people change isn't it?"

Ryan drew in a deep breath and spoke in a much more solemn voice, "I was hoping there wasn't anyone left to remind me of that. But now that I think of it there was something about you I remebered, and it was that long, dirty ponytail of yours. Your Fungai, aren't you? That kid who always followed Haldor around. You were a little snot! Never up to any good, never making a use of yourself, now look at you! But I guess people with soiled beginnings meet soiled ends, don't they?"

He chuckled to himself, and Nolan noted with horror that his father sounded horribly defeated.

"Sure whatever you say, Cross. But then again, I'm going to be the one who ends up on top in all of this, aren't I? You won't be able to stop us, Cross, and we're going to have your land by the end of this day-"

"Fungai, I get the feeling that it wasn't chance but fate that led you here, of all people. But either way you will not be 'on top' at the end of this endeavour." Nolan heard another sigh and something dragging before his father said, "It seems I'm chained to everything I tried to leave behind, Fungai, and you are my anchor!"

Nolan heard a commotion from inside of the house and a series of loud thuds and groans before he ran for the old barn. Dad, what have you left behind? He thought, and what has it brought back to your family? He cut through several rows of acai and sugarcane before the barn was in sight. He could only think about what his father had been called by that mercenary and what it could possibly mean. Hadn't his father been a farmer his whole life, and his father before him? Probably all lies, thought Nolan, but if Dad hasn't bashed him up already, I'll show him why it pays to lie! He could now see the door to the barn, already open. Wait a minute, he thought, didn't I close that on the way-

He couldn't even finish his thought before he was knocked unconcscious by someone hiding just inside the entrance to the barn.

Nolan awoke on his back staring into the clear, blue sky. Did I pass out from exhaustion again, he thought to himself, before realizing that his hands were bound behind him and he could feel something crusty on the back of his neck. He slowly sat up and looked around; everyone on the farm was around him and bound in a similar manner, though most were on their knees. The ones that weren't lay motionless on the ground either unconscious or dead, but Nolan was too panicked to determine which. Broken glass was scattered along the ground by an impact to the window of the farmhouse. He saw Tessa leaning on Sigmund's shoulder, sobbing, while he whispered comforting words into her ear. Rachelle was looking to Nolan's right with an expression of both pain and disbelief on her face – she, too, had dried blood on the back of her neck. Then Nolan heard the voice of his father.

"Why would you do this? Kill everyone on this farm for no reason!? If it's me you're here for, Fungai, then why are you doing this to them!?"

He could hear Fungai's cruel cackling start halfway through his father's sentence, and when Nolan lay eyes upon the dark-skinned, dirty man there was no doubt in his mind that he had never hated anyone more.

"I told you, Cross, the Church of Soa told me to! I'll read it to you again-" he held up the rumpled piece of parchment to his face, "aqcuisition of this plot of land by any means neccessary issued to blah blah... and among these names I found you, 'Ryan Lambert!' Like you said, it must have been fate."

The tattooed mercenary rubbed the parchment in Ryan's face and let it flutter to the ground. Nolan saw the distinct green emblem depicting the divine tree stamped onto the paper and his heart sank. If the church was doing this, who else could there be to stop them? They were one of the most powerful organizations in Endiness itself and they were doing this? The reality of such an apparently impossible occurence hit Nolan so hard he could feel the pain of the impact on his mind, or maybe it was just his concussion.

"You'll burn for this, Fungai. Mark my words, you will BURN for this!!! The sovereignty will have no-"

He was silenced by the hilt of a weapon being dug into his back, causing him to yell and pitch forward. Before he could even hit the ground he was seized by Fungai and pulled upright by his hair. His face was drawn back and his teeth were bared in pain, but his eyes were looking straight at Nolan as the teenager screamed for his father. Fungai kneeled down beside Ryan, leaning in close to his face. He was also looking at Nolan.

"That's your boy, huh? Well, I'm glad that the last time you see him is like this. I'm also glad you'll die knowing you couldn't help him when he was being painfully killed."

Fungai reached out his hand and a dagger was placed into it. He brought his arm around Ryan's neck and whispered into his ear; "Any last words for him?"

Nolan's father stared straight at him, straight into him, seeing something he would never see; a strong, proud man that was once his son. He looked like he longed to see that, and his eyes filled with tears as he said, "Nolan, I-"

Before he could even finish, the blade of the dagger was slowly dragged across his throat by the inexorable Fungai. His last words were a blood-chilling gurgle that ceased as blood poured out of his mouth into the sandy earth upon which he collapsed, dead. Nolan began to scream before he was kicked hard in the stomach by a plated boot with a small spur on it. His head was then taken and smashed into the ground, grinding shards of broken glass into his face, neck and shoulder as well as crushing his straw hat, revealing his tied-up locks. He couldn't scream and only sobbed then, weeping uncontrollably into the the very earth which now soaked up his father's fresh blood. He couldn't hear the screaming of those around him, the cries of anguish, rage and -soon afterwards- pain. He could only hear the blood pumping through his ears from his aching heart.

Shortly after the other prisoners were beaten into silence, Fungai called to his men, "Guess we can 'Cross' that one off the list, eh boys?"

He then began laughing that terrible cackle of his again, and then that was all Nolan could hear. He thought about how much he would love to hear that man scream and die a bloody, painful death.

"Boss, that one wasn't very funny," said the scarred mercenary. Fungai punched him across the face.

"Shut up, you idiot! You have the sense of humor of a damn sand-worm, you know that? If you got a problem with my jokes, then join another fucking company. Okay, stupid? Just for that you, Grey, Marlefax and four others have to take the rest of these maggots over to the Ravine and get rid of 'em!"

"Where's the Ravine, boss, I didn't know we were near there."

"That's because, like I said, you're a complete idiot! It's to the south, now get a move on!"

Nolan was lifted off of the ground and prodded into following the rest of the captives south to the Ravine. It really was difficult to tell exactly where it was because right at the edge of the farmland there was a steep dropoff into a woodland which continued to decline for about three kilometers before leveling out at the bottom of said Ravine. The valley was really just a line on a map in comparison to the farms stretching for hectares across the sub-tropical land of Izezuza; formed by the unison of Tiberoa and Serdio at the True End of the Dragon Campaign. The ravine stretched from about sixty kilometers from the western fjords to halfway across the continent and was no longer flooded in the current season.

Upon reaching the edge of the property Nolan and the others were forced back onto their knees and the worst fifteen minutes of Nolan's life began. All of the captured farmhands, including Nolan, were brutally thrashed. He could only groan weakly as he was kicked several times in the stomach and punched in the face over and over again. He thought he was surely going to lose his mind when he was forced to watch Dario slowly cut down the face by a long dagger while he was screaming in pain. The atrocities seemed like they would never end when Nolan found himself upright again, staring down the floor of the forest ten feet below the edge of the Ravine.

"Hey, Grey, you ever see what those guys in Rouge do? It kinda looks like this-" said a high-pitched voice from behind Nolan before he was kicked hard in the back and sent flying over the drop and into the woods below. He hit the ground on his side and tumbled about fifty feet down through the peat and rocks before he could stop himself. He lay in the earth for all of ten seconds before he could even bring himself to look up. He could feel his sore face swollen terribly, and thought that if his ribs weren't broken then he was probably bleeding internally from the merciless beating he had just received. The tie in his hair had come undone and his long hair had fallen into his face, tangled with dirt and leaves. He weakly brought himself to a standing position and wobbled a bit before he was brought to perfect attention by the sound of a heavy, armor-clad body hitting the ground near the top of the ravine.

"-you two go with that piece of shit and kill that damned kid! If he gets away, Fungai will treat us like this bunch here."

Nolan knew that the farmhands –his family- were beyond his help and he would be killed if he tried to save them. With a pain comparable to what he felt watching his father die, Nolan turned around and began clumsily running down into the shady Ravine. He tired almost immediately due to a great pain he felt in his stomach with every heave of breath. Lowering himself to the ground, he began forcing his hands under his buttocks and eventually past his thighs. As he tried to get his feet over the rope, he began to hear the heavy footfalls of the advancing mercenaries – looking for him. To kill him. It only took him a few seconds more to slip his toes over the rope, freeing his hands for use at the front of his body, though still bound together. He stood up, heard shouting, and froze with fear. He could hear the screams of those being murdered at the top of the embankment, even hearing Rachelle's anguished voice pierce the air one last time. This caused him to break into a run further into the deep Ravine.

The forest was well-shaded for such a hot day, but still the air was hazy and green beneath the canopy. The inside of this ravine was like a tropical forest, with everything cast into a green-blue shade, the humidity forcing every smell and particle imaginable up and out of every crevice. The overgrowth was abuzz with life in the afternoon bake, thriving in the heat and stirring up the scents and sounds of virtually untouched forest. Through this mist and swelter Nolan trudged, beaten into a senseless, directionless, emotional wreck running for his life, his own blood running down his face. He heard someone not far behind him shouting.

"Down here! I can just see him down here!"

These words gave Nolan's legs power beyond his fatigue to sprint behind a madrone tree a little ways up the path. He dug his fingers into the soil and gripped a thin root, then pulled it up a litte. It came out in the direction of the path and Nolan held it there. Okay, he managed to think, this had better work. He listened for the heavy footfalls of his quarry to become as loud as he could bear before he pulled as hard as he could muster on the root. It ripped up out of the earth, the stringy wire flinging clumps of soil and humus in every direction and quickly snaring the legs of the sprinting assailant. The resultant force of his stopping flung Nolan to the ground and he had to bring his arms over his head to prevent from cracking his crown on a boulder he slid into. With a speed Nolan thought impossible due to his fatigue but real due to his adrenaline he stood up and fell upon the startled mercenary, beating his face with both bound fists. Once his enemy's face was bloodied and he was struggling more, Nolan desperately grabbed for a large rock nearby and began hitting the mans' face with that. He closed his eyes and released the rage -that built pressure inside of his skull and tore his mind to pieces- upon the mans' face until he felt a give, like cracking an egg.

Nolan stared down at the wheezing, unconscious being he had destroyed in his anger and dropped the stone onto the ground as his grip released in shock. He crawled away from the wretched mess and turned his back, slicing his binds on the spear his persuer had carried. He thought he would be sick should he look at the mutilated creature lying not five feet behind him as he panted and closed his eyes tight in disbelief of the last hour. The worst part, thought Nolan, is his breathing. He's still alive and he's breathing. He stumbled away, leaving his victim to die alone under the madrone tree. He could hear the other two coming and planned to show them the same thing, a slow death to show them what they have done with their worthless lives. He continued to propel evil thoughts through his mind as he climbed another tree and wiated patiently for the two prowlers of the woods, who were cautiously calling their friends' name as he watched them count each step as their last through his domain.

He leapt down from the tree and embedded his stolen spear into the armor of the muscular warrior known as Marlefax. The man stumbled clumsily forward and Nolan continued to push him until his weapon was split in two by the club of the second hireling; the one known as Grey. Nolan dodged a second swing from Grey before embedding the broken spear shaft into his eye socket and was then shoved into the tree by Marlefax. He punched at Nolan only to crack his fist on the hard tree, causing him to toss Nolan onto Grey in anger. Grey fell onto a boulder which drove the spear shaft out of the back of his skull, spraying blood onto Nolan's chest and Marlefax's back. The big man turned to give Nolan a kick but had a spearhead driven through the top of his foot before he could follow through. He bellowed to the canopy in rage and pain, sending small flocks of birds rushing for a quieter roosting place. Nolan saw the spur on the boot and felt the bleeding stab wound in his side.

"I remember you... kicking... sonofa...urgh," he groaned as he lifted Grey's club over his head, "we'll see who you kick now."

Nolan smashed the spike through the screaming merc's foot and into the ground, and as Marlefax bent to cry over the aching wound, Nolan swung the club upward into his gaping mouth, knocking out most of his teeth. Marlefax was sent flying backwards, only to have his tendons ripped and his heel crushed as he hit the ground and fell unconscious from shock soon after the spike finally ripped through his foot.

Nolan withdrew the bloody spearhead from the ground and looked at the bloody mess he had left in the middle of the woods. I need to get out of here before I collapse among these corpses, his dull mind managed to imprint into his consciousness before slowing even more from the aftershock of the adrenaline leaving his bloodstream. He could only stumble away, gripping his afflictive side in one hand and a weapon in the other, dirty, dripping blood from head to toe, drooling, panting and only able to think to himself:

Will not become a corpse. Cannot become a corpse. Must not... become... a corpse.

Okay. A little heavy, I know, but I'm trying to hook you in here! I pretty much have an idea of a plot for another thirty chapters or so, and if you have any ideas to contribute or want to tell me I've unknowingly stolen from someone (plagiarism is not my fuckin bag, kay?) feel free to say so and please leave a review, I like feedback! I hope I got the idea across that there was going to be some swearing and violence involved with this story, perhaps moreso than you've come to expect from the Legend of Dragoon universe. But that's the beauty of fanfiction, I can do what I want with it now! Endiness changed while you all waited 300 years for a sequel, so get over it.

If you care to notice I enjoy putting references to music in some characters' dialogue, not because I can't think of dialogue but because it's fun and I think of it as tribute to the music I like. If you don't know the references, don't read into it, and if you do, good for you! I intend to take those who care to join for a pretty wild ride.