Scrap Metal (James/Clarie)
‘... So this is punishment for accidently almost burning down one of the watch towers, solitude?’ The half-breton continued to walk, his fur boots softly pattering on the cobblestone road. ‘I love it. At least it gives me a chance to be one with my thoughts.’ Bracing his forearm against the handle of his sword he pressed his lips together and began to whistle a tune belonging to a very familiar song. The age of Agression,
Before long, he took off his helmet. Revealing his face, clad with long hair and a sprouting beard that had a scar deep set into his left cheek, cutting down into the stubble that was growing. He looked young for a guard, but he did his job well, so why treat him any different?
His humming and whistling stopped as he saw movement in the distance, no more than 100 yards away. “What in...” James began to walk towards what he saw, not trying to be stealthy one bit, after all... what is the worst it could be?










