Spring, 1127 Haelyn's Count.
She kissed him, her auburn colored locks brushing his tanned face as she left. He could hear her musical voice and the happy gasps of their children as they headed out, but nothing mattered. For all he cared, the beautiful day in Islien was full of ash.
He steadily gazed at his father's body, lying on the bed. 3 days and nights he mourned. He saw the proud features of his family's lineage trace his face; a composure that had known happiness but also hardship in life.
"You gave everything for us father. You fought and scraped and provided for us. I hope that we - that I - didn't fail you."
His fingers traced the signet ring on his hand, an old, worn ring that had seen centuries of history, and most recently two generations of suffering.
"Our family fought against all odds. Not only did they save you, but they saved us. They saved my children and their children's children. They saved our heritage and gave us a home when we were cast out. We will never forget this sacrifice."
As the last tear he had streaked down his cheek, the knuckles on his hands turned white, shaking with the intensity he felt coursing through his body, threatening to burst with powers he knew ran within his blood. Close by, family relics and a sword wielded by his ancestors almost vibrated.
"My sons and daughters will know of our legacy, father. I promise you. I will make sure that they know everything. We will never forget where we came from, what we went through and who brought us to this."
"I SWEAR."
Botild Valmyrri, son of Moerel, son of Ruormad and Etiene.
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