Basic Information
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Perhaps
For a son of a healer, Ezreal found reading more entertaining than actually operating on villagers. Sure, he would know when ask leaves from which plant cured rash, how to mix Valix ointment, or how to tell if a man show signs of the plague. But he would never really make an effort to to his knowledge to use. "Go ask for my father", he would reply, then vanish to work on matters he deemed more worthy of his time, as 10 years old do. His father was displeased, of course. Their family had been the best healers in Burrmouth for the last 4 generations, and Ezreal would damn well keep to the hard-earned reputation that the Reigns had always been known for! But the boy was young, he would eventually see sense and come around, the old healer would say with absolute certainty.
But of course Ezreal had other plans, and so was his mother. She couldn't see her son doing what her husband do all his life, caring for those none care about, saving those who were ever ungrateful, suffering from curses and threats when death claim those too far beyond the veil for him to wrestle back. Her boy would not have that fate! He would leave the town one day, go to a big city and become an aristocrat whom all would respect!
Ezreal, well, he was as a 10 years old boy would be. Uncaring of all but the things that interested him,which were mainly books, nature and the occasional staff lesson he got from an old retired guardsman that he never told his parents about. Not that he grew terribly clever from all the books he read, nor were he very good with the staff either, but they were at least more interesting than the 2 hours lesson in medicine he had to take from his father everyday. There were only so many times a person, be it a boy, a man or a god, could wrap, unwrap, clean and change the bandage on a fake arm. The more he learned the art of healing, the more he felt human were fragile creatures. There were more spots on a man's body than he could count that a mere cut could end that person's entire existence. It got terribly horrendous at times. But nature could calm him after such ordeals, its presence around him when he managed to get away was breathtakingly silent, sending him into lulls of peace he could stay where he was all day. His only passion, his only refuge.
Loving solitary did not mean that Ezreal detest being in the company of those his age. He liked spending time with them, liked how the adults' prejudices did not affect his friends, how they, when out of sight, could be whoever they wanted to be, knight, lord, baroness, gods. He would tell them tales then, old stories from the books his father had on the back of his shelves out of sight. His life was simple: lessons, friends, books, nature.
How he missed that time.
How he wished he could return, be young once more.
How he wished he would have become a healer instead.
