F
Finch
Guest
Original poster
Another beautiful day shown through the invisible layers of the super-dome surrounding Wonderfall. Another beautiful day spent on the streets, patrolling. Another beautiful day wasted. "Just what am I supposed to be on the lookout for??" The thought ran crisply through the head of the young soldier. These days always bored him, these streets always bored him. Just why was everything so damn boring?!
The "young soldier" under the microscope is one Sylvester Byrne, or as his lovely colleagues loved to call him "Syl the Small". Standing at 5'6, weighing a mere 140 lbs, and at the age of 22, it was a fitting title for the meager man-at-arms. Only a couple of years ago, was he awarded his spear and chain mail, Syl was one of the newest to join in the City Guard. To most, this was seen as a huge honor, but Syl knew better. The only thing he was enforcing was pickpocket laws out here, and his "criminals" rarely above the age of 8. He wore no helm and let his loose, shaggy black hair spill down his face like a polluted stream, matted with sweat and partially covering annoyed azure eyes. His spear was fashioned with dragon-whisker lace (typical of the King's Guard because his family was well respected ) with an ebony tip and golden shaft, matching the off gold and white chain mail that conformed to his slender body.
He marched forward through the bustling city streets with more than just a sense of monotony, nodding lazily to any passerby that happened to greet him. The enormous waterfall loomed miles in the distance in front of him, even at this distance seeming to take up a good portion of the sky. There was talk back at the post of some sort of rebel group threatening to overthrow the king and tear down the magical properties of Wonderfall, but he knew it for what it was; A falsehood, stories told by restless soldiers eager to put their years of practice to use. He supposed in a few years he'd be joining in on the misinformation campaigns himself, if not out of lack of total boredom.
A couple of notches down the road and he spied his favorite tavern, "The Drowned Wench", its run down oak doorway all but see through and inviting in its own dilapidated way. Syl stopped for a bit when he got closer, a smirk touching his slender lips, with a slight flick of his eyes back and forth to see if anyone was watching. He could probably blow off some steam for awhile without being noticed, maybe even weasel a discount out of Lemmy or one of his co-workers when he was in uniform. Anything to break this dull streak
"A drink or three is just what the doctor ordered"
He exclaimed under his breath, taking one last look around, and pushing open the heavy door in front of him
The "young soldier" under the microscope is one Sylvester Byrne, or as his lovely colleagues loved to call him "Syl the Small". Standing at 5'6, weighing a mere 140 lbs, and at the age of 22, it was a fitting title for the meager man-at-arms. Only a couple of years ago, was he awarded his spear and chain mail, Syl was one of the newest to join in the City Guard. To most, this was seen as a huge honor, but Syl knew better. The only thing he was enforcing was pickpocket laws out here, and his "criminals" rarely above the age of 8. He wore no helm and let his loose, shaggy black hair spill down his face like a polluted stream, matted with sweat and partially covering annoyed azure eyes. His spear was fashioned with dragon-whisker lace (typical of the King's Guard because his family was well respected ) with an ebony tip and golden shaft, matching the off gold and white chain mail that conformed to his slender body.
He marched forward through the bustling city streets with more than just a sense of monotony, nodding lazily to any passerby that happened to greet him. The enormous waterfall loomed miles in the distance in front of him, even at this distance seeming to take up a good portion of the sky. There was talk back at the post of some sort of rebel group threatening to overthrow the king and tear down the magical properties of Wonderfall, but he knew it for what it was; A falsehood, stories told by restless soldiers eager to put their years of practice to use. He supposed in a few years he'd be joining in on the misinformation campaigns himself, if not out of lack of total boredom.
A couple of notches down the road and he spied his favorite tavern, "The Drowned Wench", its run down oak doorway all but see through and inviting in its own dilapidated way. Syl stopped for a bit when he got closer, a smirk touching his slender lips, with a slight flick of his eyes back and forth to see if anyone was watching. He could probably blow off some steam for awhile without being noticed, maybe even weasel a discount out of Lemmy or one of his co-workers when he was in uniform. Anything to break this dull streak
"A drink or three is just what the doctor ordered"
He exclaimed under his breath, taking one last look around, and pushing open the heavy door in front of him