It is a time of great drought and famine. People starve, or people do what they must. And this person is part of a group of bandits raiding a small village. The mighty sword of Peleus glows stately orange as its wielder weaves trails sprinting into battle. He wears the armor of the great warrior Peleus' line also, receivers of gifts, Gods favored, Athena Kissed.

His shield is made from the forge-flames of the God Hephaestus. Greaves, breastplate, and shinguards are made from the shed scales of dragons. His helmet is whittled skull of a titan. His sandals have the wings of Icarus on their heels. They flutter and he runs with the speed of the Gods and can fly great distances with a single leap.

Great were the warriors of the family Peleus, though he is not one of that favored lineage, however.

The last of them was the mighty Achilles, who wielded this very same flaming sword. Whose father was bestowed it as a gift by the mother of the Gods herself. The son of a sea nymph and a king was felled easily in battle by an errant arrow and was buried. He and his kin ended their family's long reign fighting for someone else's dowry. His body lay undisturbed under that ancient battlefield for almost a Thousand years. Until our fateless brigand literally fell into the crypt and robbed it blind.

Upon entering the town he spots a target; an old man shielding a young child from the mayhem, he takes aim and leaps. The leap was more than he intended and he misses the duo and lances through the roof of a hut.

The flaming shield and sword of Hepaestra immediately kindles the hatch roof. Baking in the equatorial sun the flames spread quick to the walls and jump to other huts. The maurader doesn't feel the heat, but one of his fellow raiders does as a wall collapses directly on top of him crushing him to death and beginning the slow process of roasting his body to ashes.

Our would-be maurader escapes roasting but finds himself no better off, as outside the quickly destroyed hut, the entire village burns. Villagers run screaming toward whichever direction looks the safest and the marauders stand still disappointingly watching what they came to steal go up in smoke.