in days long forgotten, in lands beyond reach, winds of glory once blew for the greatest of worriors. in these troubled times life and death were as simple as day and nite. one always yielded to the other. life and death graced the earth and covered her warm heart with a grim blanket. wings of angels flew high over battlefields searching for thier next hero to take to heaven, and the talons of deamons scourged the battle worn homes greedily tasting the blood of the innocent.

on these mortal lands walked king and pauper alike. both fell to the same fate and the same cruel destiny. throughout these mortal lands wars raged over such trivial things as land and lovers. soldiers fought for king and country, mercinaries fought for money and glory. there were thoes who fought for life and thoes who fought for food. churches were safe heavens for the weak and dying, though they offered little salvation from death.

on the shores of what is now Brittian, a mighty war raged on for months, two armies fought for the lands and fought for thier countries. Roman armies marched from the south to battle the barbarians from the north. small communities and churches dotted the once rich countryside. the sea of rolling hills and lush forests now gave to the scorched earth and campfires of the invaders. living in a small church on the sea shore a woman of mystery studies the archaic arts of the druids.

her eyes shown brightly, gleeming green in the sunlight and glowing brighter then the stars in the nights sky. dove white skin covered her athletic frame and soft silk wrapped around her flesh. her deep red hair flowed from atop her head, curling and clinging to her suple sholders. there was an air about her that bore the scent of sophistication. her manor was subtle and quiet. her smile show nothing of her thoughts but always looked as if she had seen beuty in its purist form. the arcaic words and ancient tounge eased from her crimson lips, forming symbols and spells from the air.

as the morning dew ran from the leaves of the trees, and waves crashed on the shores, the small village nestled around the church witnessed the comming of death. a single Roman legioneer humble walked twards the old wooden doors of the sanctuary. his armor silver by nature was stained red from blood, his gerth bore heavy apon his spear and his breath groaned from his lungs. he continued on twards the haven. townsfolk started twards the wounded soldier, he looked around in fear. they approached with ill intent, seeing death in thier eyes he called to the church in his native tounge. silence was all he recieved.

bitting pain, tearing flesh, and the agony of deaths icy grip clutched his lifeforce. the townspeople tore at him with bitter hatred, pitchforks and spears, fingernails and taunts. as they tore at his flesh he screamed at the church, the priest only watched in terror.

white feel pounded the shore, fleeting feet as the younge woman ran to the aid of the Roman soldier. she screamed at the crowd, her hands swept as magic flew from her fingertips. quickly they dispersed. she looked at the soldier and drew him from the ground. he looked into her eyes and smiled. his blood stained lips curled as his eyes fixed apon the face of an angel. he only muttered one word to her ear, and only she would know what was said, beutifull.

she stared at him in quiet reflection, never before had her eyes ever bore witness to such attrocity, a mere soldier lay on ground less than 5 feet from  holly ground, begging for life and recieving no mercy or forgiveness for what he had done on the field of battle. enraged she stood and stared at his assailents. with rage in her heart and fire dancing in her fingertips she laid waste to the village ant the church. she vowed from that day forward she would never find sanctuary on holy ground, to her there was no holy groung, no church, and no sanctuary from her wrath.

several months had passed, her vow on that day didnot stop with the damnation of the church, she swore to the fallen soldiers soul that his remains will rest in his native soil, Rome. she traveled, searching for his home, days bleed into weeks and into months. in the depths of winter she had found a small farm. its once golden fields yielded to the white snowfall. she watched from afar, in the early morning she watched a small girl walk wrapped in heavy clothing fetching eggs from a small coupe. her eyes traced the lines on the girls face, they were the soldiers same lines.

she knew the whole story, his pain of lonelyness, missing the warmth of his wifes touch. the smile of his daughter was enough to melt the snow from the deepest of winter freezes. soldiers gave so much, lost so much, and fought for the wrong reasons she thought. as she watched the family, her heart grew a little colder. she quietly burried the cremated remains of the soldier on the corner of his property. in the night she walked away, her mind filled with the images of the soldier and his family, the images of all families and the sacrifices they make. noone should loose loved ones to war.

as she walked a small tear of blood formed and ran partially down her cheek, there it froze in the cold winter night. her hand rose to touch it and she paused. in her heart she knew she would wear this tear for all the fallen soldiers who left family behind. the blood tear stained her perfect white cheek forever.

several years passed before she returned to the farm. tehre she watched the once youthfull girl walk calmly on a summers morn to the chicken coupe to gather eggs. in the house she watched two young children set plates preparing for breakfast. as the mother returned to the house her ears heard words that brought back all the pains of her first tear.

"mommy when is daddy returning from the war?"

hellana turned and walked away, a single tear formed and traced an old "scar" of blood apon her cheek...........................................