Martyr.

History is written by the victor. That's what they really mean when they say "to the victor goes the spoils". It's a funny thing, history. After all, the world is ever changing, but if there is one thing that remains constant, it is that the views and ideals by a select few individuals is what paves the way of the future. Sometimes those few can be radical, altering the course of history and earning a name for themselves. Unfortunately, more often than not, those few are usually turned into martyrs.

The definition of a martyr can vary, usually referring to those whom are killed for their faith or religious beliefs. But what if I told you, that faith is not bound by religion. Faith can refer to many things. Faith in oneself, faith in a person, a place, or a thing. Every time you sit in a chair, you have faith that that chair will not collapse beneath you. You believe that it's sturdy, rigid, inanimate, and even unyielding. Sometimes that faith is blind or ill placed. One usually discovers this when that chair is stolen out from under them or breaks beneath oneself. Faith in religion isn't much unlike the chair. Many believe in it, many have sat in it, built it, shaped it, worn it down or abused it. Carried it on their shoulders or in their hearts. Wars have been wrought based on it. Faith, an ideal, an opinion. Like minded individuals gather for their sermons, share their stories about how they were saved, or betrayed by what they believed in.

Several thousands of years ago, the chosen one had to rise up and thwart an entity called Myria, or, by her lesser known name, Tyr. Each time the chosen one was successful, causing her to eventually disappear into oblivion. Over the generations the brood had lost, given up, or had their power grow dormant. For better or worse, they were no different than all the other races. Although they aged significantly slower, tending to outlive their friends from different races, be they Worren, Fae, or Urkan. Over time their numbers grew, though often mistaken for just another Wyndian, as they possessed no fur or stripes, no scales or claws, no wings or dog like ears. They had faded into obscurity, watered down. In the end, Myria got what she wanted. There was a man once, whom had given up everything and was discarded, cast aside to be just another statute to watch history from the sidelines. He had been lied to; cheated of a fulfilling life, believing the Brood to have been evil entities and as a result, mascaraed them. Yet, hundreds of years later he was left concealed and forgotten after having given up his powers with the defeat of the god that had betrayed him and his people. That's the strange thing about burying things in the desert however, eventually someone always digs them up. The sands entombs things for a period of time until the winds decide that it's held onto its treasure long enough.

A strong man or woman can save a life, but those that are willing to make the sacrifices necessary can save countless lives, even if that means to give up their own. That is the real definition of a martyr. It just so happens, that some martyrs get a second chance.

A.N – I hope you enjoyed my abstract for something I've got in the works!

I've been gone from the game for quite a long time. Perhaps too long. I've decided to revisit some old stories I had previously written and recreate them entirely. As a result, I've deleted the old versions. When reviewing those stories I found that they were hard to follow, the characters were not very well fleshed out and there were many gaps in the stories I had created. Some of those were written well over ten years ago. A time where quality didn't matter AS much and hormones ran rampant. I was even guilty of having written some not so great reviews on stories that were great, but I didn't approve of the pairings. I was fairly childish with my approach as both a writer and as a reader. Only one 'story' survived my delete trigger finger. One that I find was one of my better pieces which was also written at a much later date in comparison to everything else.

I stopped writing after that piece as I had felt I had reached a plateau and was not capable of creating something greater than that. It was at a time where I had given up writing and put down my books. Life became 'too busy' or in other words, I had other priorities. Not all of them were legitimate excuses. To those of you who were my followers over the years, it is to you I write this message and apologize. I hope that my newest rendition serves its purpose and that you enjoy it. If you find yourself reviewing my work at any time, drop me a comment in the review section, tell me a little bit about yourself. You might just find yourself name dropped in the middle of a chapter as a way of thanking you for taking the time out of your day to acknowledge my work.