The time is takes away the strength from every man. Even from such heroes like the strongest son. His deed will be remembered for ever, and his strength will live on the the legion of his children and in his successors.
Right in the center of the ever growing city of kharkush stands a tall monunment to remind every following generation on how he butchered those grey gibbering shadows. But in the shade of that monument stands an old man now. The strength of his youth is fleeing. His live was intensive and fast. He was fighting more battles that any other of his tribe. He lost a lot of friends in those battles. He gave pleasure and more women one could imagine. But everything takes his toll and time is a unforgiving friend.
Bones can crack, muscles can shrink but steel stays for ever.
The day will come where his body is not worthy host for the strength of his ax anymore. So it is time to pass it on, to find a new strongest son, someone who will carry on the legacy.
He orders his trusted to organize the traditional succession-deathmatch.
Young man, proven in their courage and strength are gathered on an open field close to kharkush. There is a huge crowd standing around the field, looking at the warriors preparing them selves. Every man who enters the circle got to leave his weapons and armor outside the circle. The last to enter is a stout red haired hunter, a son of the strongest son himself. His eyes are darting at the womenfolk whilst he drops his armor to the ground.
The old strongest son, standing right next to the circle, looks at the next generation, rises his famous ax into the air and shouts: Let the carnage begin!
Within second the young warrior start at each other, fists are flying, arms get broken, skulls get trashed innards and bloods gets spilled. The red haired hunter smashes dream after dream with his bare hands.
Finally there is just one other warrior left. A tall brute with long black hair. He hunter knows him, it`s just some month ago, that this weakling became a soldier. Worked in a mine before, when he remembered right. Shouldn't be much of a problem. But...
He sits on top of that pampered hunter, one hand pressing tightly onto the throat the other trashing the stupid face.
His black hair is still sticky from all that blood, but he stand tall and upright. Raising the ax of the son into the skies. A new strongest son is born. One things for sure, this night his tent will be far from empty...
But there is more that the women to this legacy. Heroic deed are also expected on other battlefields than the bed.
There are still grey gibbering shadows in the north. There is an unfinished business. A foe waiting to be crushed. So the new leader orders his loyals to assemble the troops underneath the great monument before he returns to his tent.
One month at sunrise the army is ready to march north. He holds a speech, encouraging the troops, promising glory, carnage and victory. They all follow...
..just the old man, once again standing in the shade of the monument, in the shadow of his own legacy drops one tear in memory of his on youth.
