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Sensualist
Super-Earth
- Joined
- Sep 7, 2014
- Location
- New Zealand
Trystin watched them nail a batch of kobold ears to the keep's gate.
The guards joked with each other and spat on the shrivelled triangles of leather, hammering them into place in the old oak as a warning – there were nearly a hundred ears in one state of decay or another, attesting the the creatures' proliferation. The gates to Farrowend's keep stood closed for the night, the baron's green boar's head on green banners hanging limp on either side, and one of the guards eyed the mercenary suspiciously. “Step away, half-breed,” he grunted, scratching a boil beneath the rim of his leather cap. “His lordship's not takin' no more petitioners tonight.”
The keep was a squat turret within rugged stone walls, and the village surrounding it was half-timbered with thatched roofs, with a few wooden tiled ones for the more prosperous residents. The mud and pigshit streets were empty, even this soon after sunset – Farrowend's palisade walls were not enough to keep the roving kobolds at bay if they wished to scuttle in, so no-one wanted to be out from behind a sturdy barred door.
The guard grinned. “You want my advice, you'll get your pointy-eared arse to the Flagon & Slattern inn for the night, lest the little buggers come up on you unawares. If you want a body to keep your bed warm at night, ask for Elaine.” He offered a leering wink. “She may be half a witch, but she's red-haired from crown to snatch.” He smacked his lips hungrily, then he and the rest of the men trooped back towards their barracks, jostling and singing drunken slips of song.
The guards joked with each other and spat on the shrivelled triangles of leather, hammering them into place in the old oak as a warning – there were nearly a hundred ears in one state of decay or another, attesting the the creatures' proliferation. The gates to Farrowend's keep stood closed for the night, the baron's green boar's head on green banners hanging limp on either side, and one of the guards eyed the mercenary suspiciously. “Step away, half-breed,” he grunted, scratching a boil beneath the rim of his leather cap. “His lordship's not takin' no more petitioners tonight.”
The keep was a squat turret within rugged stone walls, and the village surrounding it was half-timbered with thatched roofs, with a few wooden tiled ones for the more prosperous residents. The mud and pigshit streets were empty, even this soon after sunset – Farrowend's palisade walls were not enough to keep the roving kobolds at bay if they wished to scuttle in, so no-one wanted to be out from behind a sturdy barred door.
The guard grinned. “You want my advice, you'll get your pointy-eared arse to the Flagon & Slattern inn for the night, lest the little buggers come up on you unawares. If you want a body to keep your bed warm at night, ask for Elaine.” He offered a leering wink. “She may be half a witch, but she's red-haired from crown to snatch.” He smacked his lips hungrily, then he and the rest of the men trooped back towards their barracks, jostling and singing drunken slips of song.