"...and there was blood everywhere." Guardsman Thatch concluded grimly. The cloaked figure reclining in a chair grunted. Thatch regarded the other man with his sharp blue eyes. He never felt entirely comfortable around Cobalt, which was bizarre, considering Thatch was a seasoned veteran of the Effluent Guards, thirty-six years old with twenty hard years of service to the King. Whereas this kid had never even seen so much as a bar-fight, to Thatch's knowledge. He'd lived locked up in a monastery for his life, being taught who knows what, then thrust into the real world to serve in a special role Thatch had never even heard of. He had no experience of the real world, Thatch felt, all the stuff the priests had been putting into his head would get him nowhere, except perhaps killed.
Maybe it was Thatch's paternal instinct, unused since his sons had been sent up to Zormine. At any rate he felt strangely responsible for the kid, even if he wasn't all there, filled with the fancy notions of Diaballicism, clearly vain in his appearance with his sweeping grey cloak, expensive grey gloves. He thought himself a warrior-monk, fighting for the cause of Goerthe against the evil corrupting influence of magicians. He fancied he had an air of mystery about him, which Thatch saw through immediately. Being kept in the monasteries had done him no good. He ought to have been out fighting and playing with kids in the city, getting real life skills. Instead the poor lad was shy and bereft of people skills, and he covered this up by trying to appear mysterious and superior.
And he was nineteen! At his age, Thatch could wield a broadsword and best many a muscle-clad brawler. All he could do, to Thatch's knowledge, was pray, and perhaps display a little aptitude with bow and sword.
And so here they were, in a small, lantern lit room above a tavern, Thatch still in his guardsman uniform, Colbalt lazing in a chair, a book of meaningless scrawls (or so it appeared to the guardsman) lying open on a basic wooden table.
"There could be war, you know." Thatch tried, to get a reaction from the lad.
No response.
"Do you know what that would mean?"
After a pause, the youth replied.
"Yes, it would mean an end to the spread of evil in Latushin, a setting to rights of all the evildoers and finally the reabsorbtion of Boutland."
Thatch sighed inside his head, "A lot of innocent blood would be spilled."
"Granted, but it would be for the cause of Diaballicism, and innocent souls would be granted eternity in Heaven."
The guardsman gave up, he didn't know why he tried. The kid needed some experience of the real world.
"Well," Thatch said after another pause, "I'm on duty in quarter of an hour, goodnight Cobalt."
"Goodnight, Guardsman Thatch" Thatch paused imperceptibly at the door, then set off down the landing, stout boots causing floorboards to creak.
There was the sound of rain against the dark windows.
Cobalt turned his attention to the book beside him, and turned the page.
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
More by this author