Post by Lawrence Brown on Nov 16, 2006 7:42:19 GMT
Having doffed the long white apron of his newfound profession, and donned simple black garb, Lawrence Brown made his way from the small shop he rented, to Aldorm's Town Guardhouse. Along the way he crossed paths with many fellow citizens, and in his mind each one was inspecting him too intently, as though his thoughts were visible just above his lank brown hair. Visible, but not legible, otherwise Aldorm would be washed free of its townspeople like the river Rothris scouring driftwood from its banks. Of course, each person passed by with naught but a nod or smile, leaving Lawrence relieved yet tight-knuckled. He eased his killing hands into his pockets, smiled in return, and attempted to stroll along nonchalantly.
The Guardhouse seemed a straightforward enough building upon entering--easily navigated--and soon Lawrence stood before the front counter, behind which sat a youthful guard, apparently consigned to act as receptionist. He looked Lawrence over once, quickly, as though wary a dangerous criminal might simply hand himself over to the Town Guards. Suddenly the barber's cold features tightened in a rueful grin.
A dangerous criminal is turning himself in, in a way. Though he sure as hell hopes they turn him back unmolested.
Lawrence explained who he was and gave a barebones account of why he was here, and the youth left for another room, apparently fetching a superior. Maybe these Guards are actually competent. Doubtful, that. It had taken Aldorm's finest more than a decade to respond to the Wildman's ravaging of the countryside. Only when the Foxbird had stepped the game up to levels of barbarism rarely seen by man or beast, had the Town Guard taken interest. A lot can change in two years, he pondered as he waited in the empty room, if they are an effective force now, however, let us hope that does not include putting faces from a two-year old battle to memory. Lawrence scratched his stubbled chin irritably, and settled down in a chair to wait.
The Guardhouse seemed a straightforward enough building upon entering--easily navigated--and soon Lawrence stood before the front counter, behind which sat a youthful guard, apparently consigned to act as receptionist. He looked Lawrence over once, quickly, as though wary a dangerous criminal might simply hand himself over to the Town Guards. Suddenly the barber's cold features tightened in a rueful grin.
A dangerous criminal is turning himself in, in a way. Though he sure as hell hopes they turn him back unmolested.
Lawrence explained who he was and gave a barebones account of why he was here, and the youth left for another room, apparently fetching a superior. Maybe these Guards are actually competent. Doubtful, that. It had taken Aldorm's finest more than a decade to respond to the Wildman's ravaging of the countryside. Only when the Foxbird had stepped the game up to levels of barbarism rarely seen by man or beast, had the Town Guard taken interest. A lot can change in two years, he pondered as he waited in the empty room, if they are an effective force now, however, let us hope that does not include putting faces from a two-year old battle to memory. Lawrence scratched his stubbled chin irritably, and settled down in a chair to wait.