The wrinkled hands moved from one parchment to the other, the deep blue eyes studying each one carefully. His long, braided gray mane flowing from his shoulders as a worn hand reached for his braided beard.
"By the bones of the father.." The old man whispered as he looked down at the scattered parchment, a worried look about his face. He picked up one of the wrinkled pieces, staring at for a moment.
His eyes quickly darting to the crinkled leather book that lay in front of him, covered up by the parchments. Picking it up and wiping the ash from its soft cover. Opening it and studying its worn pages for but a moment before speaking softly to himself.
"By the fathers above... This is far worse than I could imagine, if they acomplish this task, men should surely fail..." The man shook his head as his face wrinkled as he turned his gaze to the pack that sat neatly on the floor. Several broad headed javalins and a short sword lay behind his shield. He smiled and picked up the tankard filled with a foul brew, taking a large swig before muttering to himself.
"Surely not, surely this will not be the last stand of men and elf. Surely the Order will hear the horn of warn and its men and women will answer.. First to learn of them that side with the darkness. One last fight, before I go. One, good long fight before this world. My weary bones to long to venture to the halls of my fathers. Come now shadow of the King, test our steel and feel its burn!" The old man smiled, knowing what must be done.
He turned took his seat, taking up his quill and parchment he began to write. The battle started long ago, the war began now.
