by Benjamin Baggett

Created on: May 18, 2010   Last Updated: May 07, 2011

Black clouds hung overhead letting down a soft drizzle of rain. The earth being in drought for seven years soaked it up drinking every drop. As the rain continued the earth began to have her fill leaving pockets of water gathering up in the roads ruts. Even though the rain began to soak everything, the farm house still blazed with the fury of fire.  In front of his home that he built with his own hands was now on his knees half beaten and cloths ripped from the body.

He wanted to plead with the soldiers draped in grim filled brass armor that carried the seal of the great empire to the south. This armor flowed from head to just below the knees covering every inch. Their faces were covered by a sealed helm and brass scale coifs that came out from under the helm and covered the shoulders. His two handed curved blade was leveled at the neck line of his beloved wife, one he created all of this for. As he stood up a heavy boot kicked him back down to the mud. There he continued to plead with the soldiers that had attacked his home.

One kicked him down from behind and bound his feet while another held his face in the mud to tie his hands.  All he could her was the sobs of his wife, he still struggled trying to force his way but could not. Then two of these men firmly grabbed his arms and drug him to a wagon just outside the wooden fence.  Then from a distance saw his wife’s face, a face of peace knowing that she was going to a better place.  The soldier raised his blade and sliced downward as hard as he could.

The Farmer kicked one soldier in the face and cried out to her thinking that he could call from this nightmare.  Then a chain mail fist nailed him in the face trying to break his will. Then as if his heart had stopped beating he became strangely weak once he saw the blood stream out of the front gate they both put up. Tears dripped from his eyes and mixed with the rain and mud that had stuck to his face. 

The soldiers threw him in the steal covered wagon with others they took. All carried the same look as he did, a look of pure shock not knowing what to do or how to react. Farmer leaned against the wagon wall as it bounced down the trail to a place unknown to them. Possibly to die in the field at a labor camp or in a gladiator fight. After a day of travel this group and wagon met up with others making their numbers more than two hundred.

By the third day the rains had stopped, but the cold winds still kept pushing north bringing

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