His face bore the the signs of the many battle's fought. Each scar -- a grim reminder of his fatality.

Even as his end was drawing near, his thoughts went back to those days when blood coloured the rivers and hate flowed throught his veins. Age had eroded his senses and increasingly, he lived in the past. The memory of the present was too vague to support him.

His friends lost to time and now confined to his memories. He certainly hoped history would repeat itself.