@Iggy, accepted.
The radiant mediterranean sun is high above Ittobaal. Looking about, his primitive armor scrapes against his sweltering neck. This was his grandfather's suit of armor from when he had fought the Great Canaan War. The legend was that each soldier was guided by the hand of Anah, the goddess of Love and War, and led to victory against the ancient tribe the Hittites. Mot had swept down upon the field of battle to sweep up every fallen soldier, leaving those of Phoenician descent as commanded by the Supreme God El Baal. Those who were Phoenician had fought for land and had won it. They had created a place in which they're descendents could prosper for years to come. So, for those who had died throughout the glorious battle were brought up to the heavens and seated to watch over they're generations and the nation they had created.
Ittobaal was proud of his people and vowed to fight for his country when the time arose just as every good citizen of Phoenicia. This was a Code of Laws, of Civil Service, that each male offspring was to fight for his celebrated nation. Ittobaal did not know he was destined to lead his country to countless victories. He had never once sought his prophecy. His family had ties back to his great grandfather, one of the fallen in the Great Canaan War. He was marked just as the other descendents of the dead. But the day on which he was to learn his fate was far from now for he is just a boy. A mere 15 years old. Old enough to join the reserves, too young to join the army. His job was at home, helping his mother on the farm.