by Jack Winter

Created on: July 03, 2008

Chapter one: Home

Amon was a simple man, a veteran of the long skirmish dating some twenty years prior. He served through the skirmish to its entirety, thirteen years, being of low common birth he never made the officer rank, but he survived; that was more than he could say for his superiors and friends. Amon ran his hand over the old black boiled leather armor; his fingers slowly moved upon a tooled hawk symbol stretching across the breast, the armor rested on a stand with his horse hair Spartan bronze helmet at its pinnacle. He remembered having a sense of pride donning this armor; it was the symbol of excellence and the badge that told the world that he was elite. Amon's light blue eyes moved to the wall above and alighted upon a short broad double edged sword, the very same weapon he plunged into the heart of a man who killed his friend, it was housed in a stitched horse leather sheath. Amon's gaze followed the wall on the left to a large oak shield. He reached up and ran his calloused hands over the shields battered surface, "How many times did you save me my friend?" Amon asked it, the shield replied by the deep notches adorning its surface. His spear leaned against the wall; it stood strait and tall belying the ruin caused by its handling. The spear's iron wood shaft was worn smooth, the steel six inch point shined immaculate along its serrated edge. Simple in design yet perfect in balance. It stood as an edifice to a past wrought by war and suffering. "I cannot say how many foes fell to you, my brother" Amon said. Hearing his wife call, Amon broke through his reverie and smiled. He took a last look to his armor and said, "Thank you." It was because of their vigilance that he met his wife Lucile. They granted him peace and joy. She granted him a son. Then he heard Lucile scream, "No, no, no, no!" Amon bellowed, he grabbed the spear and ran to his wife.

Marcus was out tending to the livestock, he paused and pulled his weaved broad brimmed hat off of his angled top. As Marcus wiped the sweat from his brow, dread gripped his heart with a cold hand, there was something wrong. He turned and looked to the house and saw black tendrils of smoke rolling sky ward. Marcus broke for the house running pell mell dodging cattle and trees on his trek to the cottage. It took him several minutes before he could see the raging flame that once was his family's home. The heat burned with intensity and washed every thing in a feral light. He saw his father, he laid pierced

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