Creative Writing: Guard-Raugh's Prison

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The soldiers of the Eighth Battalion slept soundly on the uneventful night at Guard-Raugh’s Prison. Their beds, though hard as rocks, were more comfortable than the ground they slept on during the Forever War. Though they were thankful they had been relieved from the frontlines, they longed to return home to their worried wives and sick children, but tolerated the boredom they faced guarding the most secure prison in all of Asyra. The unlucky few walking the night shift fell asleep at their posts, only to be woken by the exhausted roundsman.
He sluggishly dragged himself down the winding halls and the outer walkways of the prison, anxiously awaiting daylight. When he was out of sight of the guards, he paused for a few relaxing breaths, then
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I can only hope it is a bad feeling.”
The guard looked down and scanned the grounds below. “I wish I could agree,” he muttered. Before the roundsman could ask, the guard stepped away from the walkway edge and said, “you should continue your rounds to the lower levels.”
The roundsman couldn’t shake the uncanny feeling. First the prisoner, now the guard. He intended to find out what was happening, but he dared not to risk it immediately. He would rather be listening to the animals than in the middle of an abnormal night.
He passed the sleeping soldiers, longing to finally collapse into his bed and sleep. A few shifted under their thin blankets, and a few were missing their blankets entirely. Most had fallen asleep fully clothed on their made beds. One or two lied restlessly, feeling uneasy about that night. They felt the same uncomfort the roundsman did even though they hadn’t seen the sky.
Without warning, the majority of the soldiers woke by the sound of clanging bells. They hastily put on their armor and grabbed their swords, then headed to retrieve their orders. The loud prison bells mixed with clanking armor as most of the Eighth Battalion climbed to the top levels. The atmosphere grew severely cold as the soldiers rose higher up the tower. They heaved uneven breaths, noticeable by the puffs of outward
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“Father,” the boy mumbled. The shouts of oncoming guards shook him back to his mission. “I’m going to get you out of here.”
The prisoner, unaware of the danger at hand, hugged the boy in a tight embrace. “Tarrin, I’ve missed you! You’ve grown so much.”
Tarrin pried his father’s arms off and gripped him tight on the shoulders. “Not now! We have to go!”
“Please Tarrin! I’m going insane!” he exclaimed. “Get me out of here.”
“Yes, father, that’s what I’m doing, but we have to go now or else we’ll never make it.” The boy grabbed his father’s wrist and pulled him out of the cell. “Please stay close. We need to get outside in order for this to work.”
Many of the guards and soldiers Tarrin had previously knocked unconscious painfully came to. This posed as an easy advantage for his escape with his father, perhaps too easy.
When Tarrin and his father reached the outside, a single Raugh guard stood fiercely, sword drawn. With a few silently mumbled words, the sword glowed a soft yellow. The high honor of a Raugh guard was no match for Tarrin’s knowledge of black magic, and whether or not the guard knew that, Tarrin still faced his greatest

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