El Baúl de los Sueños

It all has been taken away, after all. All hope, all path, all memories have vanished as they always do under blood and fire. Steel reigns free, and I am again what I have always been: a dead man. All is lost, but if this is to be the final chapter of this story, I should start with the beginning.  They came at night. Keryth leading them, said they wanted to meet and talk. I welcomed the four of them with peace and hospitality, opening the door to the meeting room. But it was not to be. My disposure to talk with the northerners was met with brutality. Hildegard and Murdach hadn't come to talk, they had come to destroy and so they started detonating bombs in our workspace. I went down, alone, unarmed, unarmored, to see what could be done, and I was met with Hildegard's spear.

Shadows, here and everywhere, that is all that is left. A place like this, where life can be valued in gold and steel, where even those that shouldn't have to fight. Just like in the Old Hag, isn't it right? Wherever you may go, it's still a matter of who pays who for revenge, power, ambition or any other reason. And you don't care if we fight and die, do you Aquilonia? You don't care about my death here, but you don't care about the death of your merchants and generals, whores and knights, it doesn't matter. We're all just pigs headed to the slaughter, and here more than anywhere else, where we can die dozens of times.

Following the ancient tradition of the Centuria, the beacon has been lit to guide our way back home. Until the time when we may again walk the Halls of the Dead, it will burn day and night, remembering us that war is not all there is. Because that is our world once again. The powerful march to battle for freedom, richness, lands or other reasons. We're just the pawns in their boards, and we know it. But their gold will enter our pockets and, with it, we once again fight for ourselves. Not for their ideals or glory, but for our own wealth and wellbeing. And in this case, we may even get the chance to protect and aid those we appreciate. A good thing for a change.

I guess destiny has a strange path, or maybe the gods just toy with us in unexpected ways, dont they Old Hag? I was tied to the cross for more than a day and yet I was rescued and left alone to wander these new strange lands. All I've known is dead, or will be, and yet death eludes me... here more than anywhere else. So, again, it's time to stand on my feet. Ironically, both times I died, Cytheris was there to help me stand again. I may be a broken man, but I'm still a man thanks to her. She helped me build the Centuria originally thirty years ago and though she leads the messengers in these lands, she has still put me on my feet again.  But it was not only her doing, Ular and Salvia received me with open arms, and others like Maithcara followed. And so, now the Centuria stands again. The Hall of the Dead is open to business and our swords are again for rent. Mitra knows you tried to destroy us once more old hag, Aquilonia that gave all and took all away, but we stand a

Tarantia the Old, capitol of Aquilonia, center of the world. A city of marvel and wonder, blessed by the gods, ruled with power and intelligence... but also, a den o depravation, of corruption, of cold blooded murder and despair. That's the city I was born to, son to a whore and her pimp that never cared for me, fathered by the shadows in the streets and the shady deals in the corners. Educated by bludgeons and threats. 

The arrow flew from his bow, straight into the the side of the biggest of the Picts's heads. He knew Picts respected strength, and so the biggest would probably be their leader... and a lucky shot was all that was needed to start the battle. But as the rest of the Centuria led the charge, he knew it was too late for whoever the woman had been.

It was a North-West wind forest of Aquilonia. From somewhere far could be heard the voice of fast river. Millika took a flask and opened it expecting to feel a drop of fresh water on her tongue but... it was empty. - Fine, the river is not far. – Mumbled the woman and walked in the direction of the water sound. The way was long and not as easy as she though. First of all the forest here was very dark and lush with tall roots, lianas hanging from the trees and in some places very tall grass. The light barely reached through the leaves.

Maximo Vindictus watched the men assembling in formations before him. Up on high, the sun shone on the field that was soon to be covered with blood. Bellow him, his horse was uneasy, sensing the battle coming. A soft wind blew, bringing the smell of the abandoned campfires as they grew cold. His armor was shiny and clean, polished by his slaves, and as the Legion formed before him in the field, he seemed to reflect partially the sun above, like if he was somehow chosen by Mitra.

Come, sit with me by the fire, child. It is a cold winter night, but I have a story to warm us and keep us entertained until the time to retire comes. It is a tale of my younger days. A legend now already, whispered in circles around the known world with respect and fear. It is the legend of how we came to be who we are now. And it all started long, long ago.