Authors note: This is just a scene I began to write down a few days ago while listening to a play list my friend had made. I really don't have much of the story yet except I want it to span generations. I also just made up the names and I havn't checked them yet to see if they actually mean anything, so if they do, its not on purpose xD

Teloren, knelt there on the ground, the dry grass cupping his body. Blood dripped from a slash on his arm and a wound in his side. His sword was broken, the blade lay there, shattered before him in the grass, his hopes nearly shattered with it. But he clung still to the hilt, and with it, his hope, and the hope of all his people, those dwelling in the land, and those yet to come.

Something in him began to burn, a small flame, lept up. It came from an ember, long stored away in his heart.

“Yield!” a terrible voice shouted. “You can never win; do you not see the strength of my armies? My men are tens of thousands strong, and that is just the advance party.”

“I…” His breath was ragged, burdened.” 

Teloren felt the boot of his enemy catch him in the chest, sending him reeling backwards. His head hit a rock and his vision went blurry. 

But the flame in his heart had fuel now, it was slowly spreading to the rest of his soul, feeding off the memories, and loved ones he had cherished. Clarinces, Tobin and… The Old One.

He had first met the old one when he was a boy, romping through the woods near his home village. That was before… all of this. That was long before his eyes had begun to glow marking him as a shoshen.  

He blinked, the light shuttered for a brief moment, as his eyelids slid over his pupils. Shaking his head, he rose to his feet. Gripping the broken blade in one hand, he drew his knife with the other.