Only lord of the castle

And so it happens again. As much as modern technology promises to conquer distances and 'bring people together', I find myself terribly worn out and vitally exhausted as I once again concluded a journey to the south(east). I find that as we grow older, many things that we once thought are bearable, grows increasingly difficult to accomplish. The 'too old for this' argue net, some calls it.


And the story continues with our barbarian, a new man in a new land, as he continues his exile from home. With his new identity, the knight soon found himself in the company of a different sort of crowd, neither to and against his wishes. He now partakes in dinner parties and Saturday afternoon brunches. Gone were the days where he would walk miles to find the nearest watering hole to quench his thirst, now he's surrounded by lords too willing but to lend him their horses. Things were looking good, in fact, the barbarian was enjoying it so much that the memory of those barbaric times seems to belong to another person in another time.


Yet, as we always know, good times does not seem to last in stories, nor in life. Through the dinners, brunches and literary events, the knight found himself the lord of a far away castle, master of the wild lands of the far north. The first few months were happy, as the knight commander fed off the fat of the land. Yet, the easy life has taken a subtle toll on him. Gone was his spirit and his battle readiness. And in his haste of accepting this new role of command and the experiences he will have, he ignored his rusty battle arts, and his lack of a weapon after the events that led to his exile. And, as with every changing of hands of land, there are always those who would 'try their luck' so to speak. A group of bandits, a thousand man strong, soon gathered at the gates of the castle demanding gold, women and plunder.


News of the rebels soon reached the ears of the barbarian and he marched into battle, with whatever little troops he had. A thousand rebels isn't a big number, and his days as a knight has trained him to battle with numbers far beyond the current small patch of thugs gathered outside his door. Yet, a battle is a battle, and the knight called for his messengers to summon his bannermen. And it is then he realised, how far away his bannermen are from him. His mind turned to the lords of the nearby lands, who was willing, to commit here and there, 'a dozen of my finest horsemen' or '10 of my most trusted archers'. But none so as willing to march full scale to his castle like his bannermen of old.


And the knight wonders, when will he reunite with his friends again.


- Written this lonely day as the sole lord of the castle.


Till next time.