Sarah Thomas
Stories
7
Chapters
3,706
Words
2.4 M
Comments
0
Reading
8 d, 8 h
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"That's not fair, Sir!" Bucket stood up, yelling indignantly. "The decision has been made." Tycon responded coolly. "Sit. Down." "But, Sir!?" Tycon sighed and rubbed his glabella. "Listen well, young man. The three of us are your superiors concerning Rank, Time-in-Service, Age, and above all, actual Combat Ability. If you have issue, you write a clear and concise FORMAL rebuttal." Wroe shrugged, "If you fail, you get punished." Dragan chimed in, "Yeah! Shut up, Bucket!" Tycon glared at the two.…-
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"Is this the best you can do?" « Make it so. » Tycon unstoppered a full waterskin and without hesitation, began pouring water on Barza's open wound. The water would wash out any large debris from the dirt and rocks in the air. Within moments, Tycon's Inspirational Surge had begun healing Barza's grievous injury, the blood scabbing over, then forming a barely visible scar. It was because of this that Tycon was so willing to attack without holding back. "He did pretty shite, Boss." Dragan…
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Barza stared at the destruction. The earth had been rent in two where he had stood only seconds prior. Dust and sand swirled in the air and a light rain of pebbles peppered Barza's face from the attack's aftermath. "Th-there's no way I can survive fighting Boss!" Shocked, Barza stood up, his swords at the ready. He glared at the voice's owner, Dragan, who was crouching atop a nearby boulder. Dragan grinned sheepishly, like a guilty thief finally caught, "Oh, come on, man. That was preeeetty…
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Three weeks prior, Tycon had ordered Barza Keith to shave. Without his lustrous and majestic facial hair, the cold winds penetrated his face all the more keenly. A merciless gale blew cuttingly against the rocky cliff face, not enough to threaten his life, but easily enough to make him question the wisdom of joining Invictus. He willed himself to move, to keep moving, to keep the blood flowing in his hands and fingers... When he was first introduced to the cliff, it seemed easy with its plentiful…
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A nearby bush had rustled without provocation. Movement! Bucket pointed his spear towards the bush. "I found you, Mister Wroe! Come out! It's break time!" A confused boar piglet emerged from the bush. Seeing the spear, it oinked out in panic. "(What have I done? I'm so sorry!)" Bucket lowered his weapon in apology. "I'm sorry, Mister Pig. I was looking for my friend, Mister--" SPLASH! Unfortunately for Bucket, a ball of water struck him on the side of the head and knocked him off balance. In…
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Tycon drew the sword from its sheath and held it up to the sun. It was a simple blade, unassuming-- no spikes or serrations or nonsensical blade widenings. A single S was carved in the metal near its hilt. And it felt a ponze heavier than a longsword should-- or least that's what Tycon felt. "Six… seven… Eh… Hey, Boss! What's after seven?!" Dragan yelled from a distance. Next to him, a shirtless Bucket was hanging from a tree branch four yalms up. A fall from that distance could seriously injure…
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The two trekked down into the dungeons, their way lit by a bedroom oil lamp. (It was for Korr's comfort. He could see, just fine.) The pair reached the entrance of the ritual room and balked at the disorder. It was littered with debris, shards of wood, scraps of metal, all from broken and shattered torture equipment. "This is horrible," Korr gripped Tycon's hand tighter... "A vengeful spirit lurks here." He averted his gaze so the woman wouldn't catch him rolling his eyes. The mess was from when…
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Tycon decided not to kick open the door. 'I'm not scared. I mean, why should I be?' He thought. The green-haired youth struggled to take each step forward, as if he were wading through physical dread. Slowly and carefully, Tycon opened the door to Seldin Korr's room and peeked inside. Dimly lit by the starlight spilling through a window, the young lady sat alone on the floor of her room amongst strewn clothes, blankets, and adventuring gear. The dark-haired woman had been crying-- and was still…
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It was Tycon's obligation. He needed to test the girl-- to understand where her strengths lied. Steeling his willpower, Tycon removed two thick ledgers from his bag and placed them onto the table. Tycon's golden eyes flashed a spark, meeting the ardent green-eyed gaze of the determined Sorina Capulet. The woman laughed coldly, seizing upon Tycon's show of weakness. Her voice dripped with arrogance, "What are these, little lordling?" "These, Miss Capulet… are Zindo Tavor's accounts from the past…
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When Tycon re-entered the room, Seldin Korr stood up rigidly, though a worried gaze drifted to the fallen and unconscious Guard Captain Varen. Sorina's concern was more apparent. "Is Uncle Varen going to be okay?" She asked. Tycon raised an eyebrow. So those two were related? He supposed that could make things easier... if that useless Captain Varen wouldn't so brazenly sleep on the job. ...But he did have brain damage... and Tycon felt slightly guilty about it. He decided not to punish the old…
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