Prologue
April 23, 167A.D.
A velvet feather, rich with golden weave, fell softly on the ground as the mighty eagle soared above. The air was crisp, the ground, damp from the morning dew. The honeysuckle, sweet with nectar, raised their heads to greet the newly risen sun. There was a slight rustle in the grass as the wind blew, following its path to the sea. In the east, there were mountains, as far as the eye could see. In the west, the sea, sparkling like blue opals in pale moonlight.
It had taken thousands of years for nature to shape and mold the paradise of Corsica. These thousands of years had been spent in preparation for the elite race of people that now inhabited the island. Over time, they had lost leader after leader, the nation growing weaker with each death, until one man took hold of the nation and made it one. He would be the turning point in the nation's downfall. With the blood thirsty Romans to the East, the Barbaric Nations to the North, and the Open Sea to the West, the Corsicans had little room for growth. So they stayed where they were, content with the land that for so many years had been called The Elysian Fields.
The only flaw in the vista of The Fields was a thin trace of smoke rising slowly from the East.