13/11/2023
The Fields on the Road to Mountain Guard.
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In the shadowed halls of Mountain Guard, the echo of time's passage is as palpable as the fading inscriptions on its ancient walls. This fortress, once the bulwark of the highlands, now sags under the weight of countless years, its battlements weary from untold sieges and the relentless march of seasons. The discipline and moral rigor that were the bedrock of our order have grown thin, like the threadbare cloaks upon our shoulders.
As a cleric, I recall the stories whispered down through the generations, tales of stoic knights and austere rituals. These walls were a fortress not just in stone but in spirit. Now, the young acolytes jest in the cloisters, their laughter a discordant melody against the solemn chants of old. Morals, once as unyielding as the mountain itself, now shift like the mists that shroud our peaks. I pen this with a heavy heart, for I fear the erosion of our values may yet herald the crumbling of Mountain Guard itself, leaving naught but legends of its former glory to endure.
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