He Who Serves

Chapter 1

I am he who serves, a man without a will,

To fight for one, till my body lays still,

With mine hands, I carry mine weight,

Follow without words– without hate,

With mine sabre, I offer mine life,

Ere to draw blood or protect should there be strife

For I am he who serves,

I am the Myrmidon.

–"Myrmidon's Creed" by an Unknown Author

...

Lebanan– the "city of flowers" or so they once called it. Long ago, this famous center of traders, merchants, travelers, and people alike was blessed with expansive fields of bulbs and flowers with colors unimaginable. It was said that no two flowers were alike and that their lifespans lasted decades upon decades –forever abloom and never waning. That was years ago. That was before the war.

It is common among men for there to be...conflict. It can be a simple thing such as an argument over prices...but other times...it can be bloody. That is exactly what happened. Like a raging storm, an anger so fierce swept across the inhabitants in the city. No one knows why or how. Some blame themselves, fearing that they indulged too much in the eyes of the Chaos god, Nidas and saw it as retribution. Most blamed each other yet could not find a feasible explanation as to why. But all agreed that it started with the nobles.

The nobles were the highest echelon of the social system and had the most influence over the city. This influence mainly bought through money and fear. Despite the peaceful appearance Lebanan displayed to the world of Ea, the underbelly of this wretched city was far from beautiful. The nights brought terror on the streets; so much so no lights were ever lit from the windows. They were having a secret war with each other. A war of influence; such a war can bring about great chaos.

After months of such covert fighting, it was only a matter of time for the true nature of the city to rear its ugly head. Suddenly, in the marketplace one day, a man suddenly dies. This man was a noble and all of the people of Lebanan saw his assailant. Another noble, wielding the smoking pistol that slew him. Instantly, the servants and mercenaries of the man drew their arms and carried out their ruthless vendetta. One-hundred-fifty people died that day – none of whom were of the murderer's blood, but of the unrelated buyers who decided to show up that horrid day.

From then on, the violence continued. Homes were destroyed, people murdered in grotesque manner, noble families extinguished, public executions, and its citizens driven away. The most devastating blow? The burning of the fields. The nobles owned portions of the flower fields for their own leisure and status before the conflict, but jealousy and hatred lead to some to covet other's fields. Some pursued steel...but one pursued fire in hopes of bringing peace. He felt sick of all the carnage that was destroying his home and deemed the flowers that were so prized by all of Ea as the root of the evil. He declared the flora a curse and as it was a curse, it must be purged from the world forever. Without second thought, he ordered his men to go out deep into the night and set fire to the fields.

When everyone awoke that night, there were no words to describe their despair. Futilely did they try to save the beautiful things only to go up in the flames themselves. The cries of the children of Lebanan were relentless that night. They say there was nothing more heart-wrenching to hear than the sound of wailing in the night. The following morning was quiet- deathly quiet. The once prized possession of the city was gone. Only smoke and ash remained. This marked the end of the fighting, but the effect was far from gone. Beauty was forever lost.