There were sounds, then there were none. The warrior bearing a Johannian armour of old and a Pertinaxi scarf stood before the bridge to the swamp.
He had come here multiple times before however this time he would stay for longer. The bridge had been destroyed by him a few saint’s days prior but he knew
that it would only be a temporary solution. And so the man who belonged to a previous era stood guard, so that he may face the grotesqueries of the swamp should they attempt to leave it.
Days passed, then weeks, then months. And yet he kept watch. His vision further falling into shades every time he gripped the hilt of his long-sword. He would stand guard ever
faithful that his long lost master would come to relieve him of his duties so that he may rest at long last. The memories of the Lorraine cross he held keeping him sane.