The art of the polesling

The sun's beam cut through the window of the Guard's Barracks in Far Madding. Dragging himself from sleep, Matthius reached back over to the open drawer of the stand table and pulled out the bullhide eyepatch he wore over his left eye. While it had been saved by the healer, he wore the patch to not only conceal his eye, but also the long scar that he had received from a frustrated Inquisitor. The other eye had been treated with a strange powder That changed his right eye back to normal blue with a normal pupil. He needed to reapply the powder once every Week but it was worth not worrying about being found. No one questioned the the eyepatch; many Shienarians lost their eye to the Blight, and the edges of the curling scar validated the story. Hopping down from his bunk, Matthius pulled the padded under layer of his armor over his head and up his legs before hastily eating the meal of bread and crumbly cheese left out for the guards. The armory doors were heavy and squealed loudly as he swung them open and strode in. The armor of the Far Madding Guard was in neatly assorted piles, breast plates in the middle, greaves and gauntlets side by side and pauldrons set in the middle. After tugging the burnished silver armor on, he stood in front of the weapon rack. Securing peace bonds to his belt, he scanned the walls and racks for the right weapon. He had studied the sword for his entire life, and at the time he fled Shienar he had been ready to take up the family Heron Mark blade and take his blade master test. Thoughts of his home, his family and what he left behind conjured tears behind the patch and his "fake" eye. Grabbing a familiar steel sword with a notch on the pommel and a fresh bullhide handle, he sheathed the blade at his belt and gripped a polesling. A foot shorter than he was with a thick bullhide noose at the top and a cord allowing the length of said noose to be adjusted at the bottom, the polesling was a powerful anti-crime weapon. Although, the streets of Far Madding were typically peaceful, there was a reason for that peace. Prying open the door to the city, he strode out, polesling in one hand and the other resting on the pommel of his sword. The familiar river of people greeted him. Full of people on their way to work, or home or just walking for the sake of it, and occasionally the "Normal" was broken by a flashy foreigner wearing bright colors and a peace bonded weapon at their side, probably illegally cut. Climbing up the ladder of a nearby guard post, he set the polesling in its holster, adjusted his eyepatch and looked out at the city. His city.

• Posts in this string:
  • The art of the polesling posted by Matthius al' Torshck, Town Guard on 02/07/2008 @ 06:05:22

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