THE WATCHMAN by AlessiaHV on DeviantArt (original) (raw)

"What ho! Who disturbs an old man lost in his thoughts?"

The cart approached up the winding path slower than usual, fog shrouding the land like a dull blanket, obscuring the dangers that lurked to the sides. "What to, old man!" the driver answered, reining in his oxen and gesturing at the large mountain of rusty swords and battered helms. "The war turns sour and the king has decreed all availiable arms to the frontlines to reinforce our already strained forces. Even the oldest, most dilapidated castoffs we can find."

"That bad, eh?" the old watchman stifled a yawn, bones creaking as he walked. "Any place for an extra set of hands to weild a sword?"

The driver smiled kindly. "Would you be willing to be reimpressed to fight for the cause?"

"Rather quiet up here on my lonely mountain," the old man chuckled. "Rather die with blood on my sword and mud on my boots than be consigned to pass silently in my sleep by the fire waiting for nothing."

"Then come," the driver said, patting the space by him and giving the old man a hand up. "What's one more for the fire? At the rate we're losing, they'll be here swarming all over your mountain before you know it. May as well go to meet them on the field of battle where you may yet take one or two with you before you meet your doom." And with that he snapped the reins and the wagon trundled into the fog, heavier one passenger more.