So here is a little thing I did for my college class. It's not normally my style but my teacher wanted us to focus on writing tools we learned during the last week (repetition, ect.) So here it is.
The City of Auburn, the gate to the central kingdom, the last outpost, the imperial wall. All names used when speaking of the great city. A week's march south from Rocheste, it's mighty walls have stood tall and proud for ages; some even say that they stood in glory before even the winged goddess herself appeared. If ever there was a perfect city, Auburn would be considered second only the the great capital. Every street was perfectly measured to the exact inch, every building perfectly spaced and built for the city. Though it lacked the beauty of fountains and gardens, or the comfort of brothels and inns within it's walls; none who lived there would complain, as it's walls had been protecting them and mankind since before their great grandfathers', great grandfathers were born.
Manning it's walls and single-handedly protecting the whole kingdom south of it were the 'Wach Protektorat'. Considered by the kingdom to be the finest halberd men and crossbow men, man has produced. Poor families would willingly give their children to be trained in raised by the 'Wach' in hopes they would have a better life then what they could hope to give them. The Wach though only takes 'untainted' infants that show no flaws of form. Those that do are rejected and returned to their parents.
The infants are trained to be only soldiers as other distractions would hinder them for their sole purpose is to protect the city, nothing more, nothing less. They are raised to protect, and they will die protecting.
Sickness, age, wounds, there is no excuse; a Wach Protektorat is expected to fulfill their watch every day. Many have died from these reason while on watch, only to be found by their relief still standing, even in death. This and death protecting the city are the greatest honor they can achieve as each member who passes this way will have their name forever etched on the great 'Gold Wall of the Protektorat' along the inner lining of the city walls, their names to be forever remembered by those they protected and the generations that flourish due to their efforts.
Many foreign soldiers often boast that though the Wach may be the perfect soldiers they are the weakest army, this is due to their training. Each member is trained as a individual, their only contact with others is through the chain of command when receiving orders and when assisting citizens. Each is raised, alone. Each is trained, alone. Each fulfills their duty, alone. Each has his own room, each his own training area. Each their own position on the walls.
Though they have free will like any other person, and the viscount of the city says they are free to leave the Protektorat should they wish, this has never happened as each soldier is sociologically trained to only desire one thing, to protect the city. To stand on the wall, to have their name etched upon the gold, the few who have had enough will to form a opinion have stated: They find themselves hollow when they rest, they dream of duty, and they thirst for rain to fall upon their tongue while they drink, and wish for the taste of dust on the wind while they eat. Many note it is a void life to be a Wach, but they themselves find it void to live without their duties, even with all luxuries and happiness the outside world can provide.
Yanill is one of this Protektorat. He has only been of age to stand on the walls for a little over a year, but he stands at his post unblinking. He has received the honored position of 'North Gate House, Outer Post, Right Side'. He has stood at this post his whole time as of coming of age unblinking. He stood when it rained, unblinking. He stood when it snowed, unblinking. And he was standing at his post when the Fomors attack. Unblinking.
What happened only the few citizens who survived remember as Yanill only remembers death and blood. His steel silver breast plate stained by blood. His black Protektorat helm sticky from the liquid, it's metal plum partly broken off from a mighty blow it deflected. The honored shoulder cape of the Protektorat he received upon coming of age, it's fine red silk and the emblem of the viscount etched in gold upon it, was now dark crimson. A cut in the back of his dark blue leggings turned them to a near black violet as the wound continued to drip his own life essence into the fabric.
To his left the closest thing he could consider a companion in his watch lay dead, face down in the dirt run through by a Fomor blade. above the battlements of the was were covered in red from all those who stood upon them in the defense of the city, and from those that wished it harm. behind him the majority of the building of the once proud city lay burned in ruin. Blood ran through the streets; Fomor, citizen, soldiers, Wach, it was all the same before the red setting sun.
"Sir guard."
Yanill precisely turned on his heels to address the female voice that he guess was addressing him, as all the others were waiting for their names to be etched in gold.
Gazing upon her he noted her shoulder was bleeding and her long gold hair that rested around it was red. Without a word he raised his hand and pointed down the street.
"The hospital is down three blocks then two more to your left. It can be identified by the red snake wrapped around a sword shaped sign in front of it. Have a nice day."
Without another word he turned to his original facing, resuming his watch.
"Sir guard, the city is lost. Though the Fomors were defeated and repelled they will be back we must leave before they return."
Yanill stood forward, unblinking, as if she had never said anything.
She continued to plead with him to come with her and the few remaining survivors while they fled south. But he continued to look forward, unblinking.
When her word fell on deaf ears, she stood in front of him. Carefully she removed his helmet so she could ensure he had not died while on watch. His rust colored hair moved in the breeze while she gazed upon him. His blue eyes looked empty as he gazed toward the horizon. A shadow on his chin and cheeks from a long day at his post. But still he didn't address her while she begged to his face for him to come.
Finally she gave up with words and grabbed his hand and tried to force him away from his post. His only acknowledgement of her existence was his forceful removal of his hand from her grasp. Accepting defeat she presented him his helmet, saddened that he would choose to die defending a ruined city then protect the, the city's soul.
Once more he turned on his heels to address her. Without a word he took his helmet, gave the nameless girl a thankful nod, returned it to his head, once more hiding his face behind the glory it stood for, then returned to his watch.
Darkness came and still no relief came for his post, so watch he remained. Morning came and still no relief, so watch he remained. The sun finally peaked peaked over the wall behind him signaling noon, or close too. Still no relif came so watch he remained.
Shapes appeared on the horizon, but they were not relif. Instead they were the remnants of the Fomor host. A large pale skinned goblin stood atop a hill in the distance, a small ballista in hand, though to it, it was little more then a oversized crossbow to the giant being. Other Fomor soldiers formed up around it, as they gazed on the burning ruin, only a single human stood at the gate still tall and proud. From it's superior position the goblin raised his ballista to take aim at the lone human that stood defiant of their victory.
The mighty bolt flew true as it approached it's target. Only to be knocked aside by a perfectly placed swing of the human's halberd. The goblin reloaded it's weapon, eyeing the human who was now matching to the center of the gate's broken door and taking a combat stance in the center, unintentionally taunting the goblin siege master.
Another shot flew true, and as before another perfect swing met it. Frustrated by it's ineffective attacks, the goblin threw the it's weapon into a sling on it's back while drawing two hammers from it's waist. A angry bellow let out, and the other goblins let out their own roars before charging the lone defender.
The smaller grey skins reached him first, they struck true, only to be easily knocked aside and struck by the mighty human weapon. On goblin fell, a small wound piercing it's heart. Another from it's head being chopped open. Then another, another, another. Numbers did not help the goblin attacks as every attack was perfectly blocked, and every defense was in vain. Only the siege master seemed able to even make the human fighter move from his position. The goblin's circled him, preventing escape while the pales kin pressed it's attack, Yanill's perfect strikes seeming to have a minimal effect on the mighty foe.
Then bodies were torn apart in a flash of light. The siege master turned to the disturbance behind him, receiving a stab below the collar. The mighty foe backed off and stepped away from the two forces surrounding it. The Wach could see the cause of the flash. A man in heavy armor he didn't recognize, armed with two swords was dashing and cutting through the rear of the goblin's circle around the Protektorat. Like a tempest of steel and death he perfectly cut through the goblin ranks dashing to one foe to perfectly fell it before dashing to the next. Behind him a shield maiden who used the mighty steel wall to crush through the goblin ranks, her sword striking just as perfectly.
The siege master let out a roar of rage, while the ring of goblins collapsed on their foes.
What happened after none could recall as the battle was fierce, a blur. Just like every other battle, and this was no different. The two arrivals recalled only one thing distinctly from the battle.
With the majority of the goblins dead the swordsmen released a mass of power, dashing forward through the remains of their ranks leaving a trail of fire in his wake as he went. leaving only the pale skin to stand in defiance of the imminent defeat. It charged the shield maiden it's strikes proving worthless on her perfect defense. A mighty charge to it's gut knocked it back, landing on it's knees. The two closed ready to finish the great foe. Only pausing with a battle cry unknown to their ears was made. All three looked toward the source, only to see the Wach charging past them, his halberd ready to strike. The last goblin flinched, raising it's hands in a attempt to defend itself from the oncoming attack.
The mighty weapon struck true though, and the pale skin found itself lifted off the ground as the force of the human's charge pushed it up. It raised up in the air near effortlessly, higher and higher. Till it was directly above the human that had plagued its attack.
The human didn't have the strength to hold up his large foe, but knowing this slammed his weapon's pommel into the ground, faster then the goblin could fall. There was a mighty crack from the Fomor's rib cage as the goblin's own size and weight betrayed it and helped impale it upon the human's weapon.
The two strangers looked upon the Wach Protektorat as crimson liquid dripped down onto the human. With little effort he lowered his weapon tip causing the goblin to fall. After removing the head from the pale skin's torso he marched to his original post in front of the right side of the gate house without a word.
The two approached him and beckoned him to join them in a place they called "Colhen." But like with the women before, he continued to gaze forward, Unblinking. The shield madin persisted a little longer like the one before, but was finally stopped by the other, and without another word they left. They disappeared over the horizon then finally...
...he blinked.
According to the survivors they and only a single Wach Protektorat survived the battle, but he stayed behind to man his post. When the royal army arrived to help rebuild and garrison the city they found it completely abandoned. No Fomors, no Protektorat. The only evidence that anyone had been there before them since the battle were the pair of bloody footprints walking north along the road toward Rocheste, with a third following behind.