His Name Was Myron
His name was Myron, which meant fragrant, and that explained a lot.
Like why every one called him Blossom, though he sure as hell didn’t smell like one. To be honest he was ugly, lazy, and stupid. He had bad hygiene, bad manners, worse luck and if one were to believe rumor, a dick only slightly smaller than his thumb. Not to mention his fear of small furry animals.
He gave half the company food poisoning, set two officer tents on fire, lost the warlord’s son’s favorite horse and was on permanent latrine duty. He lost an ear to a barmaid and three toes to sudden frostbite. Fell off a cliff, nearly drown in shallow pond and is being stalked by a vindictive Amazon (no relation to the barmaid).
He had very little skill at fighting. He had in fact been forbidden to carry anything sharper than a club into battle. He had been drummed out of six different companies and tied up and left several times by his fellow warriors, but he had only ever deserted once.
So yeah his name meant fragrant and that explained a lot, but there is only explanation for his continued existence.
Devine retribution.
-END-
Writen for Scribe's 'First Line' challenge.
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