Once upon a time there was a poor farmer who worked hard all day and drank all night. His wife was a frail thing of beauty and took care of the farmer well. The farmer knew his wife�s great beauty was a thing that most men yearned for and as he drank more and the crops fell upon hard times he became more and more paranoid about his wife. Almost weekly after too much drinking and too much paranoia, the farmer would often interrogate, threaten and beat his beautiful wife until he passed out or she, on her knees, had begged him to stop.
After being married a year and a day, the framers wife conceived a son. The farmer was proud and so the beatings ceased for a time. The drinking did not. Weeks passed and the farmer�s drink-soaked mind stewed over the bond between his lovely wife and new son and rage grew inside him. When the rage and jealousy inside him grew too big for the drink to quench, the farmer began his beatings again.
One night as the mother was nursing her son,. The father struck at her with a mighty blow, spilling the child to the floor, rolling towards the fire. The child�s face sizzled and popped as his delicate skin made contact with hot ember s laying in front of the fire. The child screamed. The father looked and beholding the sight of his child�s burning, ash covered face he fled out the door, into the night, and away from the house.
The poor farmer�s wife collected her child and took him to the nearest healer; but being only a poor farmers wife could afford no more than the cleaning of her child�s wounds and a sloppy dressing and salve. The ashes were said to have helped to absorb some of the fire�s poison, but the boy would always be scarred.
Months passed and the farmer returned, begging the wife�s forgiveness. She had no choice but to let him return, for she was only his wife and the property belonged to him.
Over the years the boy grew strong and the farmers wife grew plain and old. Time was cruel to the farmer�s wife, robbing her of her beauty. Her heart was broken when her precious, perfect child was horribly scarred. It brought tears to her eyes to see him playing and smiling under the ugliness. The farmer saw his wife turn plain and his resentment towards his son and wife grew and fermented like the ale he stilled behind the woodpile. The beatings grew more often and more deadly.
When the boy was seven years, the father saw that he was a large boy for his age and growing still, he banished his son to live out of doors. To further torture the maturing child, he forced him to chop wood and keep the fire burning always. The fire would serve as a constant reminder to the child that he was different, he would never be normal, he was like the beasts living outside. He would not be given food of men and women, but forced to forage and drink from the milk cow.
The child grew and developed into a very large young man. He chopped wood constantly. During the day, his mother tried to nurture him and show affection when the farmer was not around, but affection was a difficult thing for the woman with a broken heart. At night he gazed through the window at the fire and dreamed of the great places within the flames. Palaces, castles, lands of fantasy and mystery. He felt the fire burn within him and grew to love chopping the trees that fueled such beauty. He often longed to be inside with the warmth and comfort, but his longings were often shorted but the cries and sobs of his mother and the pummeling of her flesh while the farmer drank.
One evening while the young man with the scarred face chopped wood, drunk with sweat and adrenaline, the firelight from the window was blocked by the image of the farmer. The beatings had started early that night (usually they wouldn�t start until nightfall). The fire-rage within the young man grew. He closed his eyes and saw the flames dancing before him. When he opened his eyes he was at the door. He closed his eyes again to see his lady-fire. When his eyes were open the door was in two. He closed his eyes to see the goddess flame. When his eyes were open the farmer�s throat was in his hands. He closed his eyes to see the dragon flame. When his eyes were open he saw the flames. They cheered and sang as they ate the flesh of the farmer. When they were contented the young man released the farmer and delivered the message the flames and sang to him.
�Run away and never return here again for the next day I lay my eyes on you will be your last.�
The farmer crawled through the door and into the night. The young man spun and sank to the floor.
When the young man woke he looked up to see his mother smiling at him. Her lips were crimson, her face was pale. He stood and saw the beautiful red gown she was wearing. The dizziness left him as he realized that the red was from her blood and his father�s knife lay on the floor beside her. Her neck was slit open and the years had drained with the blood from her face and left her beautiful once more.
The young man stood and gathered everything from the house that would catch a price. He packed the milk cow with every thing of value and set her in the field to eat while he finished his business. The young man brought in armful after armful of firewood and stacked it neatly around his mother, building a great monument to her. He took the drink from his father�s still and drenched the house and all the firewood. He lit the wood and returned to his milk cow to watch while his mother joined the paradise in the fire. Many days the fire burned and the young man and his milk-cow watched. The young man pulled turnips and potatoes and corn and packed as many as would fit on the cow and his back and as the last embers cooled and steam rose from the morning dew, the young man and the cow went to town.
The young man sold everything but the deed to his father�s farm, his axe, and enough food to last him several weeks. He got a few coin here and a few there, but the most coin came for the milk cow. He hated to see her go but he knew there were rough roads ahead.
Eventually the deed for the farm was traded for a shield and some armor. The boy grew into a man and hired himself out as a strong man, a bodyguard, a mercenary�s companion, wherever a youth of great strength was needed; but mostly he wandered.
Occasionally rage grew within the man when he saw a man with scars from a fire and remembered his vow to the farmer. But the man�s heart would sink as he realized the man he was snarling at was only his reflection staring back.
