A Saxon lad (757-778 AD)

I hope no one ever reads this, but I need to write my experiences down so I can sort them all. Multiple lifetimes is A LOT of information to be crammed in your brain.

I was born in the year 757 AD, in a village near what is now London, England. It wasn't much of a city then though. My family were peasant landowners, who were barely clinging on to a small patch of land. We barely had the room to feed ourselves, even before the tax. The local Saxon warlord was looking for soldiers to send to the service of his king. When his forces reached my farm, my father told them about me. I was 16, it was the Spring of the year 774.

I was given a shield and a spear, and told to follow the orders of my superior officers. It was hard work, but I grew good at it. When the campaign season ended, we returned to our farms. I didn't have a farm to return to, because my family packed up and headed to the closest village. I was then made part of the small standing force for the local warlord. At the age of 21, I was made a sergeant. (My old mind forgets the Saxon term, and I could never read it anyways.) I was given much better equipment, and wore a helmet for the first time.

It was in a battle against a raiding force from Wessex that I first learned of my fate. We took the field after forcing them on favorable ground. As a sergeant, I was in the front. When we charged, I ran too fast, and was out in front of the formation. I hit the enemy lines, and was impaled with a spear. All I could see as I died was red. Only later did I find out that that was because of a massive gash on my forehead, but that is for later in the narrative.

When I awoke, I was nearly naked. My weapons and armor and much of my clothes were taken by my former comrades, and I was left only with my blood soaked tunic. I had blood on my face too, and even had blood from in my eyes running from out of my nostrils. I checked out the wound, and in place of a spear hole, I saw that my flesh was intact. I couldn't even find a scar. In a water puddle, I looked at my reflection. Besides caked-up blood, I saw no signs of my other injury. The only thing wrong with me was my mind. Why was I still alive? I remember feeling my veins empty of blood, and remember going unconcious. What happened in between, I wondered.

I will never know why God in his wisdom decided to spare me. Did he have a purpose for me, or was it a random act on his part? I will never know, and that question led me away from God. Whatever the case, I knew I had to pass myself off as someone else.

So I made my way to Wessex…

The Saxon meets Edward, serves Charlemagne and the Byzantines (778-10th century AD)

Edward: Wait, you're that Eternal from England I treated ! I was there around that time, I remember you! No wounds or naything, and you swore me to secrecy. Good times, good times.

The Saxon: I've forgotten much of my life. I guess it is possible, but who knows ? I didn't remain long in Wessex. It was the early 790s that I left England and joined Charlemagne's army. I fought in Italy against the Byzantine Empire, and defected to them after being killed by two arrows from Khazar mercenaries (I called them Turks at the time. I probably still would if not for the Ottomans, but I keep getting ahead of myself.) Although I was good at war, I grew tired. Every night when I slept for at least a year, I reenacted my deaths in my dreams. I guess the fear I felt had caught up to me. I lived multiple lives in the Roman Empire, and didn't return to war until the campaigns of Nikephoros Phokas.