[ WP ] The end came with nuclear fire and war , giving way millennia later to a world of swords and sorcery . You are one of the few genetically engineered soldiers from the old wars who survived , living on in a strange world of magic .

I am a soldier. A Killing-machine; no more natural than a robot or a car or glyphostat resistant crops are. I was created to kill and kill I did. 
 
 Then came the end. When conventional arms failed the world turned to nuclear arms. No nation can be blamed; we all pressed the big bad button at the same time or caused the others to do so by our own pressing. 
 
 After the world had ended I did not want to fight any longer. I did not long for other survivors; I only longed for peace and tranquility. I survived the fallout and the nuclear winter in a secluded valley and in time I left to set up my farm somewhere in a great, flat steppe. I stayed on my farm for so long, a forest grew like a fence around my farmstead. Sometimes I would go to a village two days of super-human travel away to trade; but not more often than maybe once a decade or so. In time my small farm was surrounded by an ancient forest instead of the wide plains it had once been nestled in: an island of humanity in a sea of green. 
 
 My old name I have long forgotten; my old nation is not even a shadow of a memory for me. I have seen countless living things bloom and wither; I have witnessed more Ages die than I care to count. 
 
 I am ancient and wise and powerful; I am sorrowful and lonely and full of regrets; I am light-hearted and capering and friendly. 
 
 As this age enters its fall, its last moment of blazing glory, I was given new name to hail me with: 
 
 Call me Tom Bombadil 
 

