The old soldier rose from his cot planting his feet on the grass below, the sound of the morning regimental brass band blaring their horns. All the smells around him came at once like a blast of nostalgia, bring back memories from the aroma of shoe polish the officers subordinates used to diligently shine the boots and saddles of those proud noble men.

“Too proud nowadays if you ask me, war has become a sport for these “chivalrous” men always leading from the back” the folk legend thought to himself.

As strong as the polish’s cleansing scent was nothing could overpowered the musk of men at work, day and night these common men and labourers maintain, guard and build whatever the army demands. They walk along the trampled muddy paths that weave through the seemingly endless amount of tents that varied in levels of disrepair.

The old soldier then forces momentary clarity in his mind that usually is racing with thoughts that conflict in his mind. Using this time to begin the burdensome task of dawning the attire he had been known as a legend in his youth for. The armour boar a contrasting mixture of black and shades of gold with a cloak of lions fur resembling a mane as it cascaded down his front. His helm was a blindingly bright and polished gold crafted to form a lion frozen in a snarling expression.

“What use am I in this fight?” His thoughts came barging back into the forefront of his mind.

“Before they came to my store barring a call to arms from Lord McKenna, I was just a common old man grey streaks running through black hair. Wrinkles forming around the corner of my eyes. Skin once darker shades from the sun are now beginning to pale.”

“A greying man who is no use to anyone,

why should I fight? “

“My glory days long past muscle and sinuses degraded and lost with age, and laziness.

Scared from past battles both won and lost.”

“Countless friends have come and gone and I have mourned for everyone of them, I have serve my time picked up this pathetic country’s bill over and over.” Rage beginning to swell within him.

“Yet, Though I complain about it I would gladly do it all again for my people. “

“Are they all my people? “ he suddenly thought.

“With my brothers and my community I feel at home, but outside that community I am more commonly looked down on and greeted with cold looks. “ Suddenly all of that nostalgia that filled him with warmth earlier was replaced with bitter spite.

“An animal in the eyes of some.” He continued with his back and forth.

“I have been on many quests, slain the greatest of foes, from dragons, dark fiends, the scourge, and any enemy of my people is an enemy of mine. I will always take up arms for the cause, but what even is the cause anymore?“ further down this stream thoughts he went still conflicted by his decision.

“The noble rally people for position only to perpetuate the woes of its lower class.”

“Shouldn’t I let this shithole burn to the ground and build from its ashes? Sounds good of course, but what would it truly accomplish?”

“The pain and suffering of thousands for what? “

“A gamble that, by the time the dust settles someone will figure out a solution to the oldest problems of this country that go as far back as this country’s creation.“

The old soldier finally goes to reaches out and part the entrance of his tent. He takes a moment for his eyes to adjust from the sudden glare of the sun just peaking over the hill tops in the distance. When he is finally able to make out shapes he was suddenly confronted with many surprised faces as they walked along on their daily routine, wide eyed and open mouths in awe of the giant golden warrior that emerged from the tent behind him.

“I do this for them.” The old warrior says to himself, with all the confidence he could muster.

His eyes now fully adjusted settle on the horizon, a thick cloud of smoke bellows from behind the rolling hills that surrounds this area. That smoke is the reason the king called his army out here and the prince called me. The now wreckage that was once a large trading hub, known as the town of Grens. The scourge have now laid waste to it after a valiant attempt by the Grens people to defend the town, but unfortunately they fell two nights ago.

“What scum of the earth” he thought.

Creatures of hate, who thrive on the despair of others. Pale white mixed with bright highlights of orange, a malformed humanoid creature. With a glutinous gullet, small eyes and swollen heads they were once a proud race that was sat at the peak of civilisation for centuries till they were corrupted by their own power and greed. Now their kind just roam in large pacts across the continent consuming, raping and pillaging.

“Even under these circumstances those so called nobles still wouldn’t of roused me from the comfortable life I had made for myself, but when a good friend, and man as great as Prince McKenna calls for aid I must answer. To protect the realm shoulder to shoulder with the last honourable man left in the nobility.” His thoughts settled thinking of it.

“To battle then.” He finally resigned.