Loneliness was everywhere. Hopelessness and an air of foreboding had settled over the shores, casting their pall over land, sea and the stone arena where many warriors battled to see who was the greatest. A pale moon of early spring cast its wan light down upon the face of the grand deeps, giving each wind-driven wave top flecks of cold silver. Soughing breakers crashed endlessly upon the strand, weary from their journey from the corners of the earth. Above the tide line, icy gales forced dry sand against the dark rocks. Julius Abizaboah slowly walked along the beach, his two-handed sword, Dark Blessing, loosely held in his right hand, dragged along in the sands. He turned to the dark ocean, apparently unaffected by the freezing winds.


"Did I win?" Julius softly whispered, his words made bizarre by his broken lip, as a few of his cohorts dragged him from the center of the arena, a thick trail of blood following closely. He looked back and saw his opponent, Lionheart, also being taken from the arena. One of the men dragging him told him that the judges haven't decided yet, but a feeling in his gut told him that he had lost the match.

"Julius!" Someone else ran up to the small group, but Julius' vision was blurred and he couldn't tell who it was. "I saw Pherlammothion just now, exiting the arena!" Pherlammothion! Julius pushed the men who dragged him along the ground aside and stood on his own. The man who had killed his father, kidnapped his mother and sister and ruined the once proud name of Abizaboah was in the arena just now. Julius had been searching for Pherlammothion ever since that day, and now he had finally found him.


But by the time Julius' wounds were cured and his horse readied, Pherlammothion was long gone. The whole incident had only wakened bad memories. The memory of seeing the old farmhouse empty for the first time. The memory of seeing the crudely-made cross that marked a grave. The memory of devoting his entire life to finding one man. At the time, he thought that Pherlammothion had ruined his life. But now, standing on the cold beach, Julius realized that he had ruined his own life, by devoting it to revenge. But he knew that he would continue the desperate search, for his mother and sister.

Julius turned again and looked up at the arena. While trying to track down Pherlammothion, Julius had learned that he had won the second round. He wished that his opponent during the second round, Lionheart, had won the match and he could honorably leave the tournament. He needed time to think. He began to slowly walk towards the arena.

Julius had deep, brown eyes and a bronze mane. He was dressed in a simple, black shirt and pants, which was covered by a surcoat of small, steel links. He wore a long, black cloak and a long, red scarf. The decorated scabbard of Dark Blessing, which he still dragged along the ground, dangled from a leather belt. He also wore a pair of black, spiked gauntlets, which were covered in scars from the last match.

When he finally entered the arena, he saw that his opponent was already there and that the arena was full of eager spectators. He examined his opponent. He couldn't draw any reasonable conclusions from his opponent alone, but his weapons sparked Julius' interests. Before his opponent, who was apparently meditating, there were two guns. Julius had heard of guns before, metal staves that fire magic or something like that, but had never seen one before. Julius moved close to his opponent and bent down, carefully examing the two guns. He slowly moved a trembling hand towards the weapon, but looked up and saw Gage coldly staring at him.