CHAPTER 8: FLASHBACK TO THE OLD DAYS
“The Leader,” said the loud, monotonous voice of Private Mick as he stood atop Lumbridge Castle, “Requests all officers meet in his office right away.”
Bells tolled to convey the urgency of the meeting, and as such the officers of the Lumbridge Swordmasters were assembled in the usual places in the Leader’s office. The Leader himself was not yet present, his grand opal chair at the table’s head gleamed in the lamplight, and the silver edges twinkled like stars. To the chair’s left sat General Cook, her face was pale, her jaw was square. She had a short, cropped ginger hair and large, questioning hazel eyes. Attractive enough, she claimed to abstain from men, though everyone knew the Leader had a soft spot for her. To the chair’s right sat General Croce, who, unlike most his colleagues did not hail from Lumbridge, but from Nardah. His face was slender, his skin was fairly dark and he wore a small, black beard and short black hair, his eyes were the green, and glinted like little emeralds. Croce, the more important General, had with him Corporal Rois, a trustworthy and loyal man who acted as Croce’s right hand man. Opposite the leader’s chair, in what was called the “Visitor’s Seat”, sat Sergeant Man, the spy operative, wearing his customary hood and mask, perfectly still, watching the Generals twiddle their thumbs. His sinister presence was associated with news of a negative connotation, and always meant burden for the Generals, something neither of them wanted. The teak doors behind the chair opened, and the Leader walked in, looking haggard and fraught. His normally pale skin was a ghostly white; his shoulder length blonde hair was ruffled and unkempt. Dark rings under his eyes exaggerated his look of misery and fatigue. He opened his mouth to speak, his usually cheerful voice sounded raspy and metallic.
“I’m awfully stressed."
17-Apr-2010 18:05:12
- Last edited on
17-Apr-2010 18:08:16
by
Crocefisso
