As the warrior stepped over the stones of the crumbled buildings around him, the wind whispered over his countless battle scars. The screams of pain and anguish of his friends and families still echoed in his ears from the plague of the tyrant's armies that swept across his village like so many others . But he, a mere child, survived! After swearing to himself that day that he would end this menace in his lands, he has returned a decade later, a full fledged tool of death, to seek the retribution of a thousand innocent men, women and children who were burned alive in their homes while they slept. This day he has marked as the beginning. The gods themselves couldn't help this so called 'king' even if they wanted to. He will run the lands red with the blood of that tyrant before he lets himself accept death's warm embrace. The sun rises as he mounts the patrol guard's horse that he "borrowed" from it's dead owner. He sets off into the fields of amber grain towards the fortress on the horizon, the ground already soaking the blood of his first kill.