“A warrior may die, but his soul will live on forever”

Tonight wasn’t any ordinary night, for most people at least.  The sky was clear, the stars were out, and the rays of the moon illuminated the dark sky.  The townsfolk can be heard laughing in the pubs, conversing over a pint of beer.  Tonight was a cheery night, the end of the week.  Most people had no cares in the world, until Monday at least.  Yet, one unfortunate individual felt that the gravity of this night was unparalleled.  Sylvia Rundar is preparing a dinner for two inside her house near the outskirts of Corneria.  Her long, black hair shines around her head as the moonlight passes through the window.  She was a middle-aged waitress, and to most males in the town, “ripe” for the picking.  Her gorgeous body and impeccable curves were envied by most women.  Sylvia was proud to be recognized by the people in her town, although this night, her happy feelings of pride became feelings of depression and sadness. She lights two candles which instantly illuminate the room with yellow and orange colors.  The moonlight shines against a sword leaning vertically against the wall.  This sword was elaborately decorated with jewels and ornaments for tonight.  She gives it a gentle glance, feeling its presence in the room.  She returns to the stove, making sure that the food is impeccable for tonight’s occasion.  Afterwards, she gently places the dinnerware onto the table, being meticulous so that everything is perfect for this day, a day that she will remember for eternity.  Today would mark her 1 year anniversary.  Exactly 1 year from the day that would change her life forever…  
Jack Strife, recently drafted to the Corneria militia, is walking down a narrow passageway to the training facility.  He is a young, intelligent man, clean-shaved and is looked up by the people around him.  Jack walks in the facility and looks around, noticing the place desolate.  Wondering where everyone has gone, he decides to go to the training area.  Little does he know… There is a surprise waiting for him.  He strides through the vesting area, already prepared for the training he is about to receive.  As he proceeds into the training area, he notices the four generals standing in the center of the room, waiting for his arrival.  They stand up and bow their heads, a sign of respect.  “Mr. Strife,” one of them begins, “This training session will determine if you are material to become a captain.”  The honor and prestige of being a captain was insurmountable.  The captain led his army on the front lines, wore the badge of the captain, and when returning from a victorious battle, the captain would be acclaimed for his courage and skill.  Jack was ambivalent when he heard the words “become a captain”.  He felt a surge of adrenaline pumping through his vanes.  He wanted to lash out with his sword and shout “I am capable of becoming a captain!” and yet, even with these feelings, he felt nervous and disconcerted that he might fail.  
One of the generals snapped his fingers, and a gate was lifted on the far wall.  Out walked a short-bearded figure, a man with a malevolent grin on his face.  Darkness poured through the room and Jack could feel it.  Strife knew this man; Captain Focks, the one who single-handedly killed fifty soldiers in a single battle, more than what most warriors were capable of in a lifetime.  Jack glanced back at him, for all he knew was that this warrior stood between him and the rank of a captain.  They proceeded to the equipment table, and chose the outfit that suited them best.  Jack’s was the common sword/shield combo with heavy plate armor.  The sword glistened with power, and shimmered, almost as if trying to communicate with Jack.  The shield, a round metal object with four incredibly sharp spikes, much like a throwing star.  As Jack walked into the arena he glanced at the equipment of his adversary.  His selection: A double-edged battle axe with heavy boots and ring mail, a very unique combination, yet the symbol of this cryptic warrior.  “3 minutes, the battle will commence… Prepare yourselves!” yelled the judge (one specifically hired to regulate one of these promotional battles).  As the following three minutes passed Jack thought of only two things… Life… Death.  This battle could make or break the rest of his life, and he wasn’t too fond of the latter.  A bell sounded, the battle had begun.
Jack prepared himself for the initial blow.   Focks charged and swung down on him with his barely wieldy axe, Jack dodged with impeccable agility.  Jack dashed back towards him but was knocked back by a thrustful kick of Focks heavily armored boot.  Strife staggered to his feet.  Thoughts of pride and honor clouded his head; all he could think about was winning.  He jumped in the air and came down with a slash but was deflected by the handle of Focks’ axe.  Focks was known for his skilled use of his axe.  It seemed unbelievable to most, but Focks was capable of swinging a heavy axe as fast as another could swing a light-weighted sword.  Focks laughed villainously as he stepped back, amassing energy for his next assault.  With a quick leap Focks was in the air, only a few feet away from the energy deprived Jack.  As a last resort, Jack leaped back through his shield in the air, to divert the aggressive fighting of Focks, and thrust his sword into Focks’ ring mail.  Jack was elated; he knew he scored a victory… Focks laughed to himself… Jack asked himself, “Since when was your own death so humorous?” Then he realized that the sturdy ring mail that Focks had cleverly chosen made him impervious to any sword attack.  Focks raised his axe over Jocks head with two hands, “It’s the end for you” he chuckled.  Jack looked up at Focks and smiled back, “Think again....”  The shield flew down and impaled Focks through the back of his neck.  With blood dripping down his jaw, Focks fell to the ground, choking on his own fluids.  Jack stood on his feet, he had been victorious, and he had become the captain of Corneria’s militia squad.
Jack went to a local pub to celebrate his victory.  Of course he was by himself, since no one knew of his achievement.  He walked in and saw the smiling faces of the people too drunk to realize they were even smiling.  A waitress walked up to him and showed him to his seat.  He sat down at the table and ordered his favorite, rum and coke, and iced his sore arms.  She left with a wink of her eye to the kitchen.  Jack never expected this night to occur, but he was sure glad it did, even through the pain he had to endure even after the battle.  Three minutes later the waitress returned with his drink, but instead of serving him and leaving, she decided to sit down and acquaint herself with this handsome looking man.   He was infatuated with her; he couldn’t possibly pick a flaw about her.  Her beautiful long, black hair, her great personality, the way she smiled, everything about her to him was perfection.  After only a short discussion she had to go.  Jack was upset since he only received two bits of information from her, her name and number, one of which was Sylvia Rundar.
Months passed… Jack and Sylvia became quite a couple.  You would never see one without the other.  They were always smiling as they held each others’ hand as they walked down the street, sharing happiness and love.  They would spend their nights, alone, enclosed in a secret room of theirs away from the stresses of life.  They would sooth each other’s pains, falling asleep with pleasant thoughts.  Jack was very content with his life now.  He had become captain of his squad, and fell in love with a beautiful, attractive, and charismatic girl.  He couldn’t think of anything that could possibly ruin this fortunate turn of fate… Until one night, he received a call… His squad is going into battle...
The day of the battle, Jack was anxious.  He wanted to get out there and prove to everyone that there was no one better than him.  The time for him to show his worth would come sooner than he thought.  He stood on the front line, cheering his people, raising the morale of his troops.  He turned around and glanced at his opposition.  This battle was for the town of Corneria, the town that was dear to him; he would never give it up without a fight.  Thrusting his sword in the air, he signaled his troops to attack.  Jack charged through the enemy lines killing his adversaries one by one.  His eagerness to kill would cost him dearly, though.  He advanced too far into the enemy lines; he was surrounded, and found no way out.  Jack fought off valiantly, his kill count reached well over 100, remarkable for any warrior to even think of achieving.   But then, he stopped… He left himself vulnerable to any attack, and one very quick soldier took advantage and impaled him with him with his sword.  Jack fell to his back and let out a large groan.  He realized his over-confidence led him to this tragic moment.  He regretted his actions, and he thought of his happiness with Sylvia.  Then, he whispered to himself, “I’m… I’m sorry Sylvia…”