The twilight hues of the late autumn night rose, wafting about the keep in a colorful veal and haze. The old highoak trees in the courtyard seemed to sway and dance in the silken light of the diversely colored moons. The fluffy stratus clouds swelled and soared overhead in perpetual, graceful motions. The glistening stars in the blackness above added to the beauty of this night, as they always did. Off in the distance, betwixt the not so far off trees, could be heard the muted sounds of woodland creatures, both fair and foul as they stalked in the night.
High atop the guardhouse, in the lookout point, stood a lone figure. He was a slender young man of roughly average height with a medium build. He was dressed very formally in his purple dress uniform, signifying him as a proud member of Baron Tyren's guards. He held a long spear, pointed straight up into the air with its butt end resting easily on the stone floor.
He was a very nervous young man, exceptionally high strung and tense. As if he would snap at the first cross word spoken to him. But perhaps this was warranted. After all, it was the first chance he'd been given to act as the keep's lookout guard. So, quite naturally, he felt rather nervous and wanted to do the best job he possibly could.
His gaze whipped about from one side to the other so quickly that even if anyone was approaching the keep it would have been unlikely for him to have spotted them.
The young guard took a deep breath to calm his unnecessarily extreme nervousness. He removed his helmet and ran an arm over his slightly sweaty brow, revealing his unusually short-cropped hairstyle. Admittedly, the members of Tyren's guards were supposed to keep their hair neat and well-groomed, but this was taking it to a new level. His hair was cut so close in the back, it looked to have actually been shaved down to the scalp while the hair on the top of his head was cropped down to less than a fingers breadth in length. Over all, an unusual style for an unusual person.
There suddenly came the deep, guttural sound of a man clearing his throat from behind the young guard. Immediately the lad snapped to attention, his helmet tumbling to the floor with a loud clatter. The boy winced at the sound, embarrassed.
The Captain of the Guard, Lord Aeros, stepped next to the young guard. "At ease, soldier," he said with a casual, if slightly strained smile. The young man slipped into the customary at ease position and mentally prayed that he wouldn't be reprimanded for not paying attention at his post.
Aeros laughed. "Please, son," he said with a pointed glance. "There's no need to be so formal. I've been a friend of your father William for many years." He pulled a bottle out from behind his back and offered it to the young man. "Here, have a drink. It's chilly out tonight and this'll help keep you warm."
The young guard stared at his superior incredulously. "B-b-b-but Sir!" he stammered. "It's against regulations for a guard to be imbibing at his post. It says so in our Rules and Regulations! Section fourteen, paragraph three!"
Aeros glanced sideways at the guard before him. He took a brief pull from the bottle and winced at its potency. "You have trouble sleeping at nights or something Mikhall? Hell, I wrote those regulations and even I couldn't have told you that."
Mikhall shrugged his shoulders, still nervous but slowly loosening up. "I just enjoy reading sir."
Aeros passed him the bottle. "Wonderful. Have a drink. And don't start twitching out on me. I wrote the regulations and I can change them. Understood?"
Mikhall's head cocked swiftly upwards on a very odd angle. He twisted his arm about in a brief snapping motion to throw back his sleeve into a more comfortable position. "Twitch out, sir?" he asked in confusion, unconsciously flicking his wrist.
Aeros just shook his head slowly. "Never mind, lad." he said with a sigh. "Drink up."
Mikhall raised the bottle to his lips, his superior had all but ordered him to after all, and took a ridiculously long pull of the strong dwarven ale. It burned painfully all the way down his throat to rest uncomfortably in his almost empty stomach.
Aeros smiled. "There's a lad," he said as he cast a casual gaze over the side of the lookout and into the courtyard below.