Forgotten Conqueror

Prologue – Beginning’s End

‘Looks like… this is it…”

On a small hill, a lone, tired man knelt. As if praying for forgiveness, his knees together and his head down. Anyone would have thought him to be making a prayer to his gods or deity, if not for the scene around him.

Strewn about were dead bodies as far as the eyes can see. Like rich fertilizer generously applied, vast amounts of corpses laid in the morning sun. On closer inspection, even the hill he was kneeling on top of; was a small mountain of corpses.

The man was not kneeling because he was praying; he was kneeling because he was dying.
Up close, his face could be seen with cuts and bruises.
He was missing half his gauntlet on his left arm—all the way up to his elbow, and missing half his right hand—the pinky to the middle finger and most of the palm up to his wrist.
Where his tired left hand drooped, a small dagger had fallen and imbedded itself into one of the corpse elevating the hill.
His right hand held a brilliantly shining beam of light that was embedded into the ground. Brilliant as the sword was, and it did not radiate any light and would not illuminate anything.
The man had long fine silver hair that reflected the light of the sun, yet he donned an armor that was as dark as night. Not a single speck of light could be seen reflecting off the armor. A third of his dark breastplate had shattered, and his torn up clothes underneath were visible. Behind him, a ragged blood red cape—filled with holes, scratches, and tears—could be seen fluttering without wind.

The man was dying. Six weapons were stabbed into him.
Three swords: one in the back right between the scapula severing his spinal cord, two in his chest puncturing his lung and heart. The swords made a triangular formation.
Three spears: one in his left leg severing the hamstring, another in his right thigh, and one from the back severing his lower vertebrate.

While the man knelt there waiting for the last vestige of life to leave him, warmth, deep sadness, and sorrow could be seen in his cold dying eyes.

As the morning sun rose, and the first warm ray of the sun hit his face,

‘I am… sorry…’ were the last thoughts he had in his mind.
A single tear slowly emerged from his glazed eyes. Crawling down his cheek, it overcame the various cuts and scratches along the way to his prideful chin, and then finally fell away.

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