Chapter 1: New Spark

The clashing of swords and the cries of a battle called out, echoing through the trees. Sunlight refracting off the bloodied blades and beaten shields made the scene glow in an angelic way. The smell of blood was carried on a passing breeze that danced between the flailing swords and battering armor. A horrendous shriek chilled the air as the last troll collapsed to the soaked ground, lifeless as the stones beneath him.

One man stands alone among the corpses that littered the valley floor. Still on the edge he stood panting as he stood ready for another display of his skill, but all were slain and now lay about his feet. Letting out an exhausted sigh he lowered his gore-covered companions and stumbled to a nearby stream. Kneeling at the water's edge he dipped his swords into the hurried stream washing away all the memories of his bloodied past. Drying them off in his cloak then he sheathed them across his back.

Standing to his feet he swayed slightly from the lack of strength, then dropped to his knees. Dropping his hardened hands into the coolness of the water, he drank soundly. Splashing the water in his face and over his head, he washed away the filth. He tilted back his head allowing the water to drip off his face and hair to land on his shoulders as he looked to the heavens remembering all that he so longed to forget. He dowsed himself a few more times before settling at the base of a looming oak.

He propped up one arm on his raised knee and leaned his head against the tree's sturdy trunk taking in all of the forest in one relaxing breath. Wanting to fade away from this world he slipped into a deep sleep. The sounds of the wind playing amongst the trees was his lullaby. The memories that haunted his dreams hung over him as a dark cloudy feeling. His eyes darting, he could hear those screams of women and children, and he could feel the heat of the great fire upon his face.

He suddenly was jerked from his nightmare and he drew out a sword defensively. Eyes still closed, he held that position. Slowly opening his eyes to look over his blade he could see a tall figure draped in a dark cloak, hood pulled down low over his face. He stepped in closer toward him and stopped when he drew out his second sword.

In a booming voice he spoke kindly. "Are you the one they call Cole?"

Smiling down on the weary rogue, his grin filled with tiny white teeth. "Oh brave swords man, have you no home to call your own?"

Sparking painful memories, he lashed out at the stranger, "And who are you to speak to me with such a smug grin as the one you bare?"

Now glaring at him from under troubled brows, he flashed the light off the blades' edges as to intimidate the tall man. Taking a step back, he apologized. "Please forgive my rudeness."

He humbly bowed at the waist then raised his eyes. "I am Athros. I am but a messenger to Lord Dantè." Raising a hand he spoke, "There is no need to feel so threatened by one such as myself. I bare a message for you."

Cole lowered his sword and nodded for him to proceed. Smiling, Athros lowered his hood with long slender fingers. His skin was so soft and pale that I looked like he had been dead for days. His head was covered in little two-inch spikes that rolled down the sides and lengthened in the back to a short braid that stopped between his shoulder blades. His features were that of a gawky woman with those bright red eyes shining through white lashes. No wonder he kept his hood down, he thought to himself. He's an albino, and the sun is awfully bright this day. He sheathed one sword followed by the other.

"My message comes from Lord Dantè, who controls the lands beyond the horizon of the west." Cole nodded in acknowledgment.

"He sends words of urgency and requests an audience with you. He asked me to give you a gift if you would just speak with him." Looking down at the rested man before him, searching for an answer in his big brown eyes.

Cole just sat dwelling on what to do. He was on no real path nor was trying to accomplish anything at the time. So he stood slowly. Aching still he howled in silence and scrunched his face at the pain. Straightening up he offered his hand in acceptance.

"When shall we be off?" Cole asked in curiosity.

"In a moments time. I must still bestow a gift upon you from Lord Dantè."

Athros smiled as he fumbled around in a tiny pocket in his hip. It was just big enough for him to slide his hand in and nothing more. But to Cole's amazement Athros pulled out a large leather bound book with iron bindings that looked to be very heavy. Athros flipped open the cover after unlocking it. Thumbing through the pages of the great book, he paused on one page then looked down on Cole.

"Raise your sword of flame, raise it to the skies."

Cole obeyed and unsheathed Torch and held him over his head, smiling in knowing what is to come. He started chanting. He began to wave his left hand about in the air drawing invisible symbols and seals. With a loud slam of the book closing he shouted the final word and thrust his fist into the air. The clouds above them thickened blocking out the sun for a few moments while a bolt, not of lightning but of flame struck Torch.

Then Cole threw the tip at the ground from the sheer force of the blow, and from the tip a bright ball of flame grew before him. As it grew he could make out a faint shape moving around inside of it. When it was eye level to the 5'7" swordsman it stopped growing.