The White robed warrior stood on his horse overlooking the plain of Jiron. His quest had brought him to this point. Briefly a glimpse of his last lifetime flashed before his eyes. He saw himself standing overlooking the same plain with a thousand soldiers marching across it towards Hilaron. He smiled. This time He wouldn't fail. Hilaron would burn. He sat down in his saddle, and rode off, following the thin winding road across the vast plain to the City of Hilaron, just over the Horizon.

-----------

Inside the dark dungeon under The royal keep in the heart of Hilaron a purple robed sorcerer wound his hands in an intricate pattern through the air, summoning vibrant humming energies to his command. He pulled forth light currents of purple light, directing it into the ground. Soon, very, very soon, the City would be his. He smiled. This time, they would not mock him. This time, he would not be bound up and thrown off the east bridge into the river. this time, the City would be his. He would be King.

----------

The Indigo clad Hilrus V, king of Hilaron, made his way to bed. The City was safe. And he was exhausted from anther day of handling a thousand small crises, trials, and minor documents. He smiled as he went to bed. If only they knew, the people who praised him so highly, what he remembered of his last life. He had been a thief, stealing and killing for gold, and the food it bought. Until he had been taken in by a poor bell-ringer in the City temple. He had been fed and clothed, and eventually he grew to love the bell-ringer and the gods he praised. It had been on his death-bed that he had sworn, should he ever get the chance, that he would bring truly fair justice to this city, making it so that there would no longer be thieves. Little had he know he would be born again as the son of a King! He drifted off to sleep and dreams of the clang of bells.

---------

The Shadows flickered and danced along the high wall of the Church. They moved and played without sources, guided by the magic of the silver-clad magician standing off to the side. On the other side of the alley, children oohed and ahhhed at the unfolding drama of the shadow play. Just a little more and it would reach it's exciting finish. The magician smiled. out of the corner of his eye he caught the steeple of the City Temple, and a memory briefly flooded before his minds eye. He had been a poor bell-ringer, every day rigging out the bells every hour from dawn 'till dusk. He remembered looking down after ringing out the noon bells at the the people milling about in the square below. He remembered being fascinated with the magic of the priests. He had died a poor bell ringer. But this lifetime, he had gone into the priesthood, and had apprenticed in the the art of magic.
His attention returned to the drama he played out on the wall. One final flourish, and it was over in a flood of applause. He walked of into the night to his humble home after picking up his meager entertainers fee.