At the opposite end of the manor, away from the pantry
The guard, known as Yurn, sat at the edge of his cot, partially sinking into the padded bedding. Filled with the feathers of a bird, he never wanted to meet in person, for if he did, he would likely wring its neck from how uncomfortable and stiff they were, no matter how many times he slept on it.
A bang floated into the room.
His head turned towards the open door of the barracks, more out of pure curiosity than worry. All he could see was the stone wall of the hall.
Yurn: What is it now? (Muttering to himself.)
Frustrated from the lack of sleep, he rubbed his face and pinched his eyes against the bridge of his nose.
The all-too-familiar melody slowly began to take hold in his ears. He hated short bouts of sleep—not the sleep itself, but the groggy feeling he always had when he woke up. Ever since that incident all those years ago, his ears always rang like the dinner bells in the afternoon.
Something broke his concentration.
A voice slithered in between the ringing that was gradually fading away; it was coming from the hallway.
Rough voice in the hall: You heard it to?
- He Shot back
Yurn: Which one, the bang or the ringing? (disgruntled tone)
Rough voice: As for the bang, nothing to worry your pretty little head about, just a lover's quarrel. Though I don't think we will be having a warm meal on this fine, cold morning, every man for himself. (A light sound of laughter erupted.) As for the ringing, Mine never went away. Like the bells of the holier than thou nuts ringing in my head.
The once-soaked figure sitting on the edge of the bed waited for the voice to manifest itself. He was dry now, but the lingering feeling of the cold in the air soaked into the stone floor, flooding back memories of him being in the rain. A shiver ran up his spine from the cold and the actions he witnessed the night before.
Yurn: Stop skulking around the hall. Alvin... I know it's you.
The voice that was lurking in the hall finally took form. His head popped into the doorway first, and then his body followed soon after.
He saw the figure; he medium-built man, roughly 5 feet 8; it was the gruff-looking fellow he knew all too well, donned in the same silver armour as a guard of the manor.
It was more akin to Yurn's, altered somewhat so the straps allowed for wider movement of his right arm and legs.
A rough greying, unkept beard hanging off his chin contrasted with cold grey eyes that always looked at you like you were the only one in the room; they matched his fading hair colour of a dark brown to grey that he slicked back to hide the thinning atop his head.
He was old before his time; 39 was a good age for an ex-adventurer, the curse of the life of the foolhardy.
Yurn was still blessed with lush black hair and blue eyes. But the curse that his friend had—the foolhardy years—was slowly catching up with him; he just wished that the pain in his fingers would just go away; wishes that were never granted.
-furling and unfurling his hands into fists.
The profession of a guard to any lord, noble, or anything along those lines always allured the broken and the old.
The young always wanted the adventurer's tale. The glory, the fame, the sorrow, and the heartbreak—the last two are only something you can learn for yourself—the folly of youth, but alas, that is life.
It was a double-edged sword. Live a life of hardships and see the world; meet new people and lose them along the way. There were so many ups and downs to the adventuring way; gold was a given, not a certainty; life was a gift; and death was an unknown that would come at any time.
From a rock off the head, a blade in the back, or a face full of teeth if you went down the wrong path in a cave, there were too many ways to kick the bucket.
Or, live a life being walled in; protection and gold were a certainty, and you occasionally stuck your neck out under the orders of others.
Yurn and Alvin were the former, born and bred into the hardships of the world; now, they only wanted to see their children grow older. Now they are the latter; both of them yearned for the old life at times, but those were distant memories.
The greatest treasure they found was their friendship.
Alvin: It looks like that will be the only banging the butler will be getting today. Better luck next time. (smirking)
-Hyrne passed behind Alvin, giving no answer to his vulgar comment that was clearly directed at him.
The peeling sound of an apple followed by the crunch of a blunt blade, being sliced beyond the skin, drifted to Yurn's ears.
Yurn: Must you do that?
Alvin: Do what? The apple or the Butler Not in that way. (Dirty grin)
Sitting on the edge of the bed in a tired state, he wanted to answer yes to both, but only one would be enough; not wanting to play into the games of his old friend.
Yurn: The butler has a name, you know. It is "Hyrne." Also, never piss off a man who helps make your meals.
Alvin: He is no more dangerous than this apple.
He continued to cut into the fruit, this time cutting away a much larger piece. He placed it into his mouth and began to chew, making loud squashing noises—the sound of teeth grinding onto something soft.
Alvin let out a sharp "ouch," followed by his finger running around the upper portion of his gums, leading to the rear molar on the left side.
Yurn: It's not the apple you should be wary of... It's the small things, like the seeds. (smirking at Alvin) Never underestimate a man or an apple!
-Alvin burst into hysterical laughter.
Alvin: Very well. I was a bit harsh on him. I will apologise to him later. Lack of sleep and food makes me lose my marbles.
Yurn rolled his eyes.
Yurn: You lost those long ago. I think a few might be around here if you look hard enough. Please use his name when you do apologise.
Alvin put a finger to his mouth in a shushing fashion.
Alvin: Now now. I still have a few left, I think. You are asking too much of me.
-Yurn now with a scolding look.
Alvin: Okay… Hyrne, if looks could kill, you would nearly rival my wife.
Yurn shook his head, shaking away the hard feelings he had for Alvin and his witty remarks.
The clouds of levity fell upon the two men until the voice in the doorway said the words he didn't want to hear after a short bout of sleep.
Alvin: So… I hear a Cara is in the shadow of the manor.
He was referring to the forest to the east, where the sun peaked in the early morning and touched the tips of the trees, a huge shadow draped over the fields. It was dubbed the shadow of the manor by all the guards, huntsmen, and adventurers who ventured into it in spring, summer, and autumn; but never in the winter, only the guards of the manor braved that frozen hell.
- An eery presence fell between them, and Yurn went pale.
Alvin: I know how you feel. I have a few of the guards from last night in rotation; Carl, Robert, and Uill will be coming with us. They aren't at full strength; Eral is doing his hocus-pocus in his room to rustle up some potions. Hey, are you okay? (looking at the wide eyes of the man on the cot.)
Yurn: Wait? Eral is awake? (shocked.)
Alvin: The only one in the manor that truly is, bar Rubern, of course. Why?
Yurn got up and left the room, heading for the main hall. He tried to find Eral the night before, but he was out of it, Hyrne shooing him away on the Lord's orders. Now was his chance to keep his word.
Alvin: Shouted down the main hall. Meet me in the courtyard; we are assembling there in twenty minutes (He looked at his ever-dwindling apple.)
I peeked into the barracks and saw a pile of armour on the floor, still soaked.
Alvin: Tut tut. Well, you will owe me one later.
He picked up the pile and headed towards the mess hall in search of warmth and food.
Alvin: This better be rain, Yurn, if I find out it's not. (grinning.)
The ranting of the man faded down the corridor, aimed in the direction of the mess hall; in search of warmth for the armour and his stomach, sadly he would only find one.
On the cot where the man was once sitting was the half-eaten apple in his place.
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