308 a.c in the small village of Cornuaille in northern Kintyr I remember when the troops marched through, regular men and mercenaries together. I remember the joy that went with them, as though they were off on a merry adventure. I remember the commander, young Coen Hood, so full of life and vigor. Excited he was. I remember when they made camp, they drank and told stories through the night. I remember hosting Coen in my own home, I talked strategy with the mercenary captain. I remember when they departed; the young women of the village throwing flowers in their path. A few days passed, and I waited for word. I remember their return. Beaten, battered and broken. I remember the smiles wiped clean. The joy crushed with defeat. I remember the beaten commander, good Coen Hood. So filled with disappointment and failure. I remember when they made camp, somber air of tension lingering. I remember hosting Coen once more, talking to him of what had happened. I remember their reinforcements arriving and they once more marched off. I remember the lack of flowers, the mysticism and allure of war now gone. It was then I decided to head to Regalia. The lives of young men should never be thrown away so carelessly. Young men were sacrificed. For what? Many will forget them, but I will not. (Credit to @canaaa for helping me:)