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This is a work in progress, with the intial ideas begun in the summer prior to the start of NaNoWriMo 2003, and hopefully completed during the month of November, 2003 (at least completing the first draft!) [Oops, didn't happen!]
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A fire, said to be thousands of years old, glows a light that has been stoked by hundreds of fathers and grandfathers. Feeding the fire is necessity and the only wont for these men. They give their lives for the flame. Never can the fire diminish, its heat and soul part of a legend. It is half of a special recipe, one that can only be out done by the tenders' knowledge of metal and the hammer. In the fire goes wood from an ancient forest and herbs from the oldest garden, said to have sprouted once the blood of a master swordsman, heralded for his own skill with the axe, fell from a wound he suffered after a fantastic struggle with the largest tree known to man gouged him on its way down. And to this mix, is added ore from the most sacred pit, from the most ominous valley.
© Jim Cripps, 2003-2004 ± 1101