Few remember who first built the way station. Fewer still remember why it was built. Old darkness? An ancient enemy? Or simply a preparation for what may come? For many years it was manned full force but then came age and with age came loss. With loss came abandonment. All but the ghasts of time past. But still. . . . A call. . . .
Still seen amongst the old hallowed towers of the station there can be seen warriors manning still the station. Watching against evil, the only warning defense of the land. Warriors come answering some phantom call. They arrive at the tower and it is known that they are here to replenish the ranks. That they are here to take up the watch. No kings coffers pay but there is always food in their hall as if the spirits and souls of the hallowed dead furnish the station with that which it needs. Every day moves forward, every watch is posted, each sword is sharp and the pikes ever glisten.
The hallowed halls of the forgotten dead fill each night with souls of old crying war songs crying till morning the tales of glory lost and won.
Till final dregs of the night, they fade crying loudly for the kingdoms "tell them where we lay"
And after final night has left and morning watch is taken, flesh replaces ghasts and steel replaces bone. Here stand the watch here stand the watch eternal. . . .

Park meets Sunday's starting at 1200 tell 1500.
Please go to our Facebook page and IM me for any information you need to know.
https://www.facebook.com/groups/watchstation