Random...Inspiration

The light shone through the window illuminating the battle blade that rested anxiously against the wall. It longed to have a hand grasp it's hilt. It longed to feel the heat of battle against it's blade. And yet it sat there. Rusted with time and useless to it's owner.

It's owner was a knight now stooped with age and scarred from head to toe with his own battles. It had been years since he had carried his blade. Decades since he had felt the the rush of war. He now looked longingly in the blade's direction.

He took up his staff which was just as crooked and stooped as the old man. Leaning against his staff heavily, he limped outside and to his stable.

Exhausted from a long journey, the young man slept soundly on the bales of hay. This young man, barely out of boyhood, had the same fire in his eyes and blood in his heart as the old man once had. The old man took pity on him and allowed him to take his rest here. But the sun now shone and there was much to do.

The old man gently shook the younger man to his senses. He awoke with a start, his grey eyes blazing.

"Lorcan, the sky is red this morning." His eyes clouded over and he leaned on his staff. "A storm is brewing over the water. I can feel it."

Lorcan muttered something to himself.

"Don't say that, young man. I have a sword for you. The blade may be a bit rusty but it will serve you well as it served me so many times before. You will take this blade to Dubhlainn. He will forge you a blade as fierce as you are. A blade that will prove useful to you as you bring peace to this country."