Cyrus always lived a simple life as a farmer, and when his parents passed away he was left to run the farm on his own. His skin was left marred by the countless years toiling in the wheat fields. Today was the day of rest so his normally long black hair was tied up in a ponytail and he was dressed in a pair of slacks and a loose fitting shirt.

Today is always the day he goes into the city to sell his goods, and picks up the next weeks supply of food. " HEY Cyrus! when you going to sell the farm and come work for me. I'm sure the ladies wouldn't mind" The voice broke Cyrus' train of thought and was followed with a boisterous laugh and a smack square on the back. The farmer turned around and smiled. " Damn old man, when will you die and quit badgering me. Farming is in my blood, and I haven't found that right one." He let out a chuckle of his own and walked into the shade of the smithy as the other sat down on one of the benches. " Cyrus. If you are so picky, you'll die and the farm will be sold off anyway. So I think you could make great money off of it and come work for me, cause I won't live forever and this forge gets all the ladies to look at you." All he could do in response is shake his head and walk away. " I'll think about it, but I have to go."

He arrived back at his farm just around midnight and opened the gates to the house. With a defeated sigh he set his bag down on the porch and sat out by the stairs. " Why can't I just escape this place..." As soon as he finished he noticed a light form in the wheat fields and instantly set off to find out it's source, with a sickle in hand of course. It seemed unnatural.