Order of Jirrah
The old sergeant went out each night around midnight and held a lonely vigil with his lamp and sword.
The rumors said that he started years ago after a squad had been scattered in battle, taking days to stumble back to the outpost in ones and twos. Most were injured. Some did not outlive the week.
Night after night, he had been the first friendly face they saw, a steady voice in minds still hearing the screams of battle.
Some did not return. But still he went outside the gate and waited, as devoted as a mother hen or a sailor's wife.
After enough time had passed, and the old sergeant showed no signs of ending his vigil, the real reason faded from memory.
It seemed that none left at the outpost remembered that the man's son was one of those who did not return.
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