Aiden Saint James blister

Saint James, Francis, my brother in arms. I knew you as a youth, a fifteen-year-old still fresh from your Northumbrian countryside. I�ve watched you cry, watched you grow up, watched you harden yourself by fire and iron. For over ten years you have followed me over all the battlefields where the wise don�t wish to tread. You have killed, gutted, and pillaged but you always remained respectful towards the defeated. You were a freak, a noble idiot who refused to profit from the weak and the poor. A commoner with a noble heart, you were. A good lad, you know, the kind you�d like to introduce to your daughter... if she hasn�t already been killed, of course. A nameless damned one decided on your fate, Francis my boy. God did not come down to help you this time. You were the last bastard in my gang who had been fighting since the White Mountain. The last to remind me that, before this all went mad, I had a life. Your death has ripped a hole in my existence, ten years of struggle, ten years of nothing, just an aftertaste of dead flesh, a taste of nothingness.