Pitch's Hellfire, a RotG Oneshot
"Please, just a breeze, a breath of fresh air. that is all we ask."
The cries went ignored, as a man clad in a black and gold uniform sat beside the prison door, reading a book. He grit his teeth, but other-wise showed no indication he even heard the fearling. This was quickly becoming the daily routine.
The man in question was no ordinary guard. A slender, sharp face was framed by soft black hair cropped short, and honey yellow eyes sparkled brightly above a long nose. Bearing the proud name of Kozmotis Pitchiner, the Golden General was the only man the Constellations trusted to guard the lead prison of the fearlings and nightmare men.
So there he sat, attempting to read, guarding the entrance. Every day was the same basic routine, the only difference being what the General would do to pass the time while there. Some days he would read. Some he would write in a log. Others he would train to keep his body in shape, should anything happen.
Nathalorial