A word from Simon
Hello there. I feel like I always begin my posts with 'It's been a while, sorry about the time in-between, I'll try to be more active.' But I think we all know how tired of a cliche that has become, especially if you've followed by blog.
I think I am my own worst enemy when it comes to writing. I have such a hard time getting into the head-space where I can focus and not become distracted by basically anything. My biggest weakness is my propensity to procrastinate, and with that comes the inability to focus.
My head is filled with so much noise... it's so loud and so oppressive that I have to give up and try again later, lest I frustrate myself to tears trying to write. If I try to fight through the noise I become agitated and angry, I become confrontational... it really sucks.
To be able to write I almost have to meditate. I have to sit in silence for hours and be mindful of my thoughts. Eventually the noise calms down and I am able to let the stream-of-consciousness flow. It's just so hard and it takes so long to get there.
Well, today I managed it.
Thank you for sticking with me and I hope you enjoy this little piece I managed to write.
Intro
This is part of the Single Prompt Option hosted by 
It's typical for only one or a few prompts to be chosen for the weekend #freewrite however given my inconsistency I thought I would challenge myself and include all 5.
The prompts are:
background
winery
storyteller
combat
spade
bird of paradise
I have done my best to include them all in a piece in a consistent and hopefully engaging manner.
I hope you enjoy.
The Bird of Paradise
The Master of Arms was agitated. He stood from his desk and revealed the enormity of his stature. A brutish warrior; a known killer, a man of a dozen campaigns who had watered the ground with the blood of his enemies in over a hundred battles. Here, on the outskirts of Kaldenhein, all but banished to the provinces was the Monster of Ramore. A legend brought low, tasked with leading the fledgling provincial cohort, destined to fade into obscurity.
The Monster began pacing back and forth mumbling something that the others couldn't understand. Before him were a collection of his subordinate officers; a rag tag collection of army rejects, who each looked on with a mixture of fear and terror. No one said a word. No one wanted to become a target for their commander's rising anger, which they had seen unleashed many times before. The entire cadre knew of the Monster's legendary fury. Many promising officers had lost their commission and almost their lives to it, and those who remained had learned from their unfortunate examples.
He stopped and turned to his assembled subordinates. A few jumped in fright while others remained steadfast. Their steely faces concealed the truth that they were cornered mice before a raging giant. The Monster eyed them all individually, his hands curling into fists.
"A single man." His voice was a murderous growl. Fear radiated from each man, filling the room with a pitiful miasma.
"A single man; a peasant, a rat! Bested an entire unit of Provincial Corhort. My Cohort!" The Monster held aloft a crumpled note then slammed his fist against the table.
"With a stick! Is this a joke? A jest at my expense? Is this Argothast's doing!" Saliva sprayed from his mouth as the rage took him.
"A spade, sir." A voice said.
"A spade!" He roared, hitting the table so hard it broke in half.
"My Cohort! Killed by a rat with a spade! A combat of ten against one!" The Master of Arms eyed the destroyed table then hesitated, allowing his subordinates time to speak.
"We received reports of a man stealing bottles from the Treston's Winery, sir." It was Lieutenant at Arms Horatio Goonberry, an officer not known for speaking out. the Master of Arms snorted and fixed the young man with a burning gaze.
"So a drunkard as well?" He spat on the floor.
"Do you tell me this to add insult to the shame you have brought me!" He squared off against Lt. Goonberry, who suddenly realized what he had done. His face went pale and he took a step back.
"N-no, sir. No I am merely explaining what the message had omitted, sir." Sweat beaded on the young man's forehead.
"Oh, a storyteller are you? How quaint. How touching!" the Master of Arms stepped over the destroyed table splintering the wood even more. He stood before the lieutenant like a tower; a broad barrel chested god observing a mortal who dared speak his name. Only he did not smite the officer. He curled his lip and regarded the 9 others who stood in stocked silence. Each man averted his gaze from Goonberry knowing what was coming.
That reaction caused a shift in the Master of Arms. A sudden realization came over him so strong that it displaced his rage if only for a moment. He looked down at Goonberry once again and saw that the young officer had urinated himself. That sight caused another shift within the old commander. Whereas he might have killed him, now he felt something else - pity, sympathy maybe. He knew not what it was.
"Do you have any background on this man, lieutenant?" The rage in the Monster's voice had ebbed. It wasn't clear whether he was tempering or if they were merely in the eye of the storm.
"S-sir." Horatio looked up at the Monster's aged battle hardened featured.
"If I.. if I know correctly, sir, and please forgive me for even suggesting this..." Horatio quivered where he stood. The smell of urine and terror wafted from him in a pathetic mixture of weakness.
"Spit it out, lieutenant." The Monster's growl returned. He narrowed his gaze on the sniveling little officer and felt his sympathy eroding with every passing second.
"If I know the tales, sir, which I do - I'd say it was the Bird of Paradise."
The Monster's face went white. His jaw dropped at the same time the letter fell from his hand. His eyes widened in an expression of genuine shock only a few men had ever seen. He stood there completely stunned. Moments passed before the Monster took a breath, and as he did he took a step back.
The entire room mirrored his expression but for different reasons. Nothing had ever shaken the Master of Arms, the Monster of legend. The idea that something could shake a man so implacable as this was a reality not many of them wanted to consider.
"No." The Master of Arms muttered.
"No I killed him. I killed him years ago." He looked down at one of his gigantic hands and imagined the blade he had held all those years ago.
"No the reports must be wrong. I gutted that wretch like a ..." He trailed off into a waking dream. Memories of years ago flooded as if the dam holding them at bay had ruptured.
"Sir?" Goonberry dared speak.
"Out! Everybody out! Double the patrols around Gastasheir. I want watchmen at every entrance to every townstead! Check the farms, check the forests!" The Master of Arms composed himself and issued the commands as though he were on a battlefield once again.
"S-sir we don't have the men--" The Monster interrupted him.
"Then get them! Round up as many men as you need, payment will not be a concern. Fetch me my scribe then get to work." His confidence returned as though the shock from moments before never happened. The officers hesitated like a stunned livestock.
"Go!" The monster stamped his foot and shook the entire room. Immediately his officers about-faced and left. Within moments he was left alone in his office. He looked down at the desk he had destroyed and thought to himself.
The Bird of Paradise could easily kill ten men with a spade. Easily. How in the three damnations had he escaped? Had he slain an imposter? A body double? The Monster suddenly felt out of breath. A panic attack began to seize him. He gasped then staggered backwards. It hadn't fully gripped him, he still had time. He needed his drink. He staggered toward a chest in the corner of the room and retrieved a large silver flask, then with the pop of the cork he downed several gulps of hard liquor.
His nerves began to calm under the saturation of alcohol. He let out a long weary breath.
"I do not have the strength anymore. Not to fight you, anyone else but you." He drank again from the flask.
"By the gods let the demon be dead. Let this be but a jest."
Thank you for reading. Simon.