Prologue: The One Born Of Strife

The Main City, The Gates Of Isran, Province Of Isran, The Old World...

The onset of a tumultuous tempest had caught the numerous peoples of the province called Isran by surprise. High winds blew in every direction and many unsuspecting people found themselves ducking and dodging the fury of the winds as they continued to pick up at the beginning of the coming storm. Whispers of bad omens and ill feelings had filled the hearts and minds of the proud and mighty people of Isran as swirling clouds of deep grey choked out the light from the sun in the high noon hours of the day and the eerie chill brought by the sea and the combined winds made many a fire burn hotter for the need for warmth. The howling of the tempest had been intensified via the sharp crackling of white hot lightening that darted across the sky accompanied by deep and unseemly rumbling of thunder like the hunger of a great beast as it filled the ears of the weary people who had known that something had been on the horizon that would change their very lives forever.

The howling outside accompanied by the heavy downpour of a furious rain had been nothing in comparison to the howling that had come from the inner room of the midwives' compound where many a woman was doing their part to ensure the safe arrival and due birth of another member of the lion clan's child. Many a man stood guard and watched the skies taking in the signs of the eerie omen as much as any wise mind with keen sense had been capable of during the turbulent times of war and strife that long filled the days of the battle-hardened warriors of Isran.

The King of these often contested lands and the battle-weary people had been none other than Yavide of Isran son of a common shepherd elevated to heights unimaginable via the will of their known deity and the creator of all things, The Great Architect. Sometimes referred to as The Builder of Nations and Kings alike, The Great Architect was highly revered by the people of Isran and had been their guide and refuge during times of peace and strife before and after they inhabited the lands he'd set apart for them amid their many neighboring enemies.

King Yavide was a wise and noble king ruling over his people due to the divine will of The Great Architect who had made him and his immediate family wealthy with abundance and prosperous in all their ventures so long as they honored him and the commandments they agreed to, upon striking an accord via covenant with The Great Architect. In turn for their love and respect, Isran was named for the ancestor of King Yavide who had been worthy of being the father of a nation, Yacob was later renamed Isran after earning his new name and nation via a legendary wrestling match against The Azure Lion, a being rumored to have been a form of The Great Architect himself to test his will, might, and devotion.

King Yavide had been quite wise and very formidable in battle leading his people to many a victory against their enemies and for the defense of their lands time and time again cementing his status as an innovative and well-loved ruler. As the clouds churned in the sky above his throne room, the great king seemed troubled for a time as he had fallen out of favor with The Great Architect due to his mortal hubris and feared what would come of it in the wake of seemingly endless wars and the gathering of his enemies no doubt sharpening their blades to take advantage of his folly and achieve their revenge in the process.

With the kingdom constantly at war, and on the defense, there was hardly any peace in the province of Isran and the coming storm seemed to signify the growing tension and strife in the province as a result of it. King Yavide had not been a man that ignored why his enemies had wanted so badly to take from him, he'd been a man of considerable wealth and privilege. His appearance had been that of a man of might, arms bulging via ripped muscle, his flesh as dark as burned bronze, his eyes as dark as pooled wells, and his beard dangled before his deep violet-colored robed chest. His long black locks turning grey still dangled about his shoulders in tight knots and twists no man knew how to untangle giving him the very appearance of a man with a lion's mane. The golden trim and eye-catching design of his royal attire were enough to give any man or woman pause when one looked upon him. His swords were made with the finest silver and he carried a shield of gold with the head of a lion in the center.

His voice rumbled like that of low thunder when he spoke with authority and many an enemy found themselves trembling when in his very presence. King Yavide was a man worthy of note despite not starting out that way being the son of a farmer in a forgotten part of the lands and largely ignored until the day he was appointed ruler of the entire kingdom in place of the previous fallen king who had disgraced himself and the people with him by turning his back on The Great Architect and seeking the aid of unsavory demons that defiled him and all he owned before tragically driving him to his death.

King Yavide sat on his thrown as his ears perked listening to the sounds of thunder and lightning as it ripped across the ever-blackening sky stewing in the silence of The Great Architect who had not wished to converse with him nor his priests following his latest folly. The signs of stress and fear filed across his aged face and bags began to show beneath his fierce eyes as he began to feel every ounce of the regret he had accumulated when he'd been foolish enough to go against the wishes of The Great Architect for the sake of worldly pleasure.

The people of Isran had huddled in their homes fearing the fury of the storm and the strife that had been waiting in the trenches of tension that seemed to have been building up for quite some time. It seemed to have been compounded by the frenzy of whispers that even reached the ears of the weary king about the birth of a most unusual boy via the midwives' compound.

Upon being privy to the sudden commotion, King Yavide himself had left his throne room to see to the truth of the rumors and to look upon the strange boy with his own eyes, if nothing else it would surely take his mind off the already impending stresses that plagued him night and day when it came to managing his kingdom.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

The Midwives Compound, The Main City, The Gates Of Isran, Province Of Isran, The Old World...

Labored breaths and pain-filled screams escaped the mouth of a sweat-drenched woman of darkened bronze complexion with long dreadlocked black hair and robust features. She'd been a woman of lovely appeal, from head to toe she had shapely hips, large breasts, and large lips along with her nose that seemed to command attention as much as her fierce and determined attitude when out and about. She'd been the wife of a notable warrior who had spilled a good deal of blood for the Kingdom of Isran, but the good times had never lasted as he was given to drink and a foul temper.

His antics got to be such a disgrace that even The King cast him out as he wasn't even fit to serve in the army following his series of atrocious acts that lead to him being exiled from the lands and his name never mentioned even in passing as a result of it. The woman, his wife who had been made as comfortable as possible amid the bedding of hand-made quilts and numerous pillows, was a mess in terms of stature. The vile man who had once been her husband had impregnated her before his exile and thus left her alone to raise the child and care for herself in the wake of incurring his debts and issues.

He'd been of the warrior class, a man of military means and handsome when first they met. She'd been a single seamstress and young. His life was interesting as he'd traveled far and wide on military campaigns and fought in many victorious battles for Isran. Being young, impressionable, and always stuck in the main city, the young woman had been drawn to him. Though his name was forgotten, by the people and her especially her name, Aziza of The House Of Leon had not been.

Sweat continued to pour off Aziza as she followed the instruction of the midwives who had been beside her and at the base of her parted thighs urging her to push as the storm continued to rage just outside and more flashes of lightning ripped across the sky.

Exhausted and weary, Aziza finally gave a mighty push and brought forth a child into the world for the very first time. The midwives had declared it a boy although the looks on their faces despite the cries of the child had told her it was a boy unlike any other. Once she was handed the little bundle of thin flesh and wiggling, she noted he had her darkened bronze skin town unlike the lighter copper flesh of his now exiled father and he'd been smaller than most children upon the moment of his birth.

His eyes, which had not been the odd light brown of his father's nor the dark almost black color of her own, were white and seemingly had a thin membrane where pupils should have been. He cried, a weak cry in the wake of the rumbling of thunder outside and she held him close as tears fell from her own dark brown eyes as she sought the forgiveness of The Great Architect for the sin of choosing a vile man to be the father of her unborn child.

On that night, and following a well-timed prayer, Aziza had named the small frail boy with eerie white eyes, Soma. As it had been the will of The Great Architect that she had done so.

SEVERAL YEARS LATER....