The #watchbros wander north
We march north on dark nights and follow catacombs under the well built to protect us from whatever's beyond. The wildlings of Holder and Ness arrested the #watchbro progress in abrupt fashion just as the cooks had lit fire to dung and the long strips of wild buffalo flesh were about to sizzle to warm the cold bellies of the young warriors. Caught unawares, the #watchbros rallied brilliantly to defend the grizzled and war-warn Alexander the Late (for his infamous tardiness on the morning of the battle of the Seven Toes) and the back lines of the forces led by the fearsome Samuel "I'm quitting. I'm honestly quitting." Milenderos and Young Calvin of Knucklesheadius and T's and W's. As the battle raged on, Binyamin from the distant emirate of Astlandia grew his legend with fierce defense of the core. And in a return from the mines of Meridenmore sifting for iron ore amongst the heathens and outcasts rose the Pike and the Isaacsonsonsonson to lead the attack, as Isacsonsonsonsonson earned the only pure strike of the day. When we walk north, we're reminded that winter is coming, and we take firm grasp of our spoons in defense of the lands of the free. Though the #watchbros suffered defeat, we retreated to regroup and fight again on the marrow, and in fading from the dark north, we came upon the fabled Mountain Moose of yore, one of the last of the ancient era, a creature so grizzled from the wilds that her eyes glowed a brilliant red and wisteria and the Mountain Moose saw through us and we skirted the creature to save our souls. So exhilarated were we for our near escape, we allowed a bit of song for the long trek. It was Swaggy the Bard who serenaded us with his soothing words about life on the tough dirt paths of the grotto. Onward, he sang. We'll play in the sun when we can, but winter, good sir knights, winter is coming.
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