Across the field silence reigned. No warcries pierced the air, no moans of wounded soldiers, no tears of wives and lovers soaked the ground, only the occasional shriek of carrion birds could be heard riding the still morning air. Corpses littered the ground their armor crushed and broken, their swords broken. Yet from this carnage a man rose up, his armor scratched and torn, the mail splintered into pieces, his sword not but a hilt in his fist, its blade locked in the faceplate of another warrior whose body lay twisted and broken some feet away, his shield lay at his feet torn apart by the steel-tipped raindrops of the foe. His helm bent and mauled he stood there a proud but broken man. Like golden Aphrodite she came to him, her golden hair gracefully dancing in the early morning breeze, her sapphire blue eyes piercing to his very soul. So the lady of the lake came to him and removed his broken helm, revealing dark hair and brown hate-filled eyes. She kissed him lightly on the lips and breathed new life into him. Then he was reborn his armor shone like gold, his sword unbroken, the blood and sweat cleaned from his face. And she said unto him go and complete the quest that I have given you.