A Smiths Story

[efuincarnatereturns]

I was a coward once. Before the Orcs took Arslan, there was a small makeshift Smithy, on the outskirts of that city, a few miles from the walls. Not more then a shack really. Myself and cousin Arafin saw to it.  We made spears for shepherds, working tools mostly.  Simple life for simple folk. Then the hoards of the orc came. Refugees poured over the sands fleeing the carnage in Arslan. I too..ran.  Not Arafin though. My last sight of him, holding a spear, as a massive orc charged him. He stood defiant, defending our little shack. I wept, and I ran. I kept running all the way to Ephias well.  Cowering within the teeming masses pressed upon your gates. Shortly after,.. conscription was enacted. Snapped up in the dark of night, shield and a smiths hammer thrust in my hands. To War you will march, if you live..a new start. I had never killed anything before that day. Convicts, refugees, a few sellswords looking for a quick way to a Voice. We were marched out to doom. Four score or more trudged out onto those killing fields. Four yet remain.  Reborn in the blood and mud of War. Hatred in our hearts, vengeance in our eyes. The Veterans Vanguard. Forged in Battle. I think of my cousin Arafin now, in these small hours before the coming battle. I am no longer afraid. I am coming, my kinsmen. Even if it is too little, too late.