The Warlock

“We’ve arrived too late.” the princess said with despair, “all is lost.”

The Warlock looked down at the carnage. The city lay in ruin, smoke billowed up from the burnt out shells of buildings and homes. Lines of soldiers wearing the dark steel armor of the black infinity marched along the streets scanning the rubble for any movement. Those that were found were dragged away screaming – once they were branded and taken to the mines, there would be no escape for them.

The Warlock adjusted his broad leather hat before removing his cloak and tossing it carelessly to the side. He then removed his gloves – one finger at a time – revealing grimy calloused hands underneath.

“There is only one thing we can do in a time like this.” he said, mostly to himself.

He fished around his coat pocket and pulled out a small metal tin. He carefully selected a pungent smelling herb from it and carefully broke it down. Licking his finger, he laid it in a line along a small square of paper and rolled it. He then pulled out a zippo, put the paper between his lips and puffed slightly before exhaling a fine stream of smoke.

“Uh…” said the princess, “is that a joint?”

The Warlock handed it to her. She took a hit and shrugged.

the end.

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