In the darkest hour of the darkest day in our lives, I Brennos of Belgium, my wife Teagan of the Venetii and our two children lay sleeping within our taigh, when out from the mists of the shore came a screaming horde of madmen with not but slaughter and hunger on their minds.

A very short lived battle insued against the savage attack from the sea, but with the men in the village few and half asleep we did not stand a chance against a clann of mauraders driven crazy for lack of food and by the ocean water in they're bellies.

Come the morning after the battle, laying broken and bloodied upon the scorched earth, I was awoken by the familiar touch of my wife, and as the tears fell from her eyes she told me how our 15 year old daughter, Rionach had been taken by the norse, but she knew not what had happened to our son, Faolan of 17 years.

As the clean up began by those few who had survived the carnage from the night before, the body of a young man was brought to us in our home and laid at our feet with great respect for us to look upon the slain as the body of our son.

In his cold blood soaked hand was a strip of cloth from Rionach's night dress. It was obvious Faolan had died trying to protect his sister from the evil that plagued the waters outside our homelands.

With nothing to stay for, we laid to rest the bodies of the dead, including Faolan, then we set out to find a new life in a new land far from here, where we could start again, and live out our lives in peace.