Sir Edward Brokridge
From Create Your Own Story
You awake just as the pale winter sun begins to summit the mountain ranges not far off in the distance. Brokridge castle is situated in the south of the realm. it's a harsh and unforgiving land, cradled between the mountain range that hides the freezing polar Ocean, and the swamp and marshlands to the north. The east is a corridor that leads to the land of Sorelmin. Where your father took his small army of peasants in a futile attempt to stop the advancing, highly trained army.
You rise from your bed, letting the bedsheets fall from your naked form. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror in the corner. Your body is muscular, tanned from hard work in the fields and hours of horse-riding through the mountain trails. Your mop of dark brown hair hangs over your chiseled face, and curious specked green eyes. Dark stubble has built around your chin and sideburns. It matches the thick patch of hair that sits in between your legs, hiding your member. You have been told that you are quite handsome. But maybe that's a bit of an overstatement, you think to yourself. You sure aren't ugly, however.
You cross the room, the bare stone cool to the soles of your feet as you throw open the doors to the balcony. You step out into the dull morning light, the biting wind from such a height immediately drawing the hairs on your skin to stand to attention. When your father left, he had made you acting head of the castle, and by default, the surrounding demesne. As such, you inherited the main bedroom at the very top of the ten floor castle. I am Sir Bokridge, and this is my land, you think to yourself, throwing your arms out with a wry smile as you take in the sight below you. Far below, the surrounding castle has already begun to spring to life. The sound of hammers working steel, dogs barking, small groups moving back and forth in various courtyards and the main gate. The small force of guards left behind slowly walking the ramparts. Tendrils of smoke from several campfires and the kitchens. Beyond the castle walls, you can see the gentle farmlands and distant ranches. Tentatively, you step back from the edge of the balcony. You wouldn't want any of your subjects to cast a glance to the sky and see their illustrious lord in all his natural imagery.
You head back inside, and dress. Simple white undergarments, a loose fitting, silken white shirt. Your time spent working the fields and the mills as your father made you when you were younger has never left you. You still dress as if to put in a hard day's labor. Leather leggings, a belt holding a scabbard and the sword you forged for yourself when you were twelve. A dark green jerkin over the top, laced at the bottom to hold it together. Well worn boots. You fix your hair one last time before leaving the room.
What would you like to do now?
