The sun was shining down in one of those perfectly awful ways that makes one squint and raise one's hand and wish one was not in the sun at all but rather under a nice roof of a small pub alongside the road drinking a good ale having a perfectly wonderful time knowing one was not out in the perfectly awful sun. This was precisely what Sir Hector Grubley was doing. He was also having a good time laughing at all the poor souls who had to endure the hot, aggravating, Polish sun.
Hector flashed out his hand, and somehow managed to squeeze out, "Another one for this poor soul!"
The bartender flashed a wide, loving smile as he trotted over to get another drink for Hector, not because he actually liked Sir Hector but rather the large bill that he was racking up. The bartender didn't usually get business like this. He ran a small, simple pub alongside the road; he never had more than a few customers in at a time and was just barely supporting his wife and three children at home. The bartender was an interesting man who led an interesting, though simple, life. His name is Elliot, and he'd be a wonderful subject for someone to write a deep, entertaining, and all around awesome novel about. These, his name and his life, however, are entirely irrelevent as he will have almost no impact on this story whatsoever.
Sir Hector reached out his gleaming hand and snatched the mug from Elliot's outstretched arms and downed it. He could feel the burning liquid slide down his throat. He even imagined it entering his stomach and thought about rubbing it. That, however, would have looked quite odd, especially because his stomach was currently covered by Hector's plate steel armor. Remembering this made Hector only want to buy more drinks.
I will drink until I remember no more. Hector thought to himself, I will drink until I forget.
The reader may be wondering what it was Hector was trying to forget. If it had been mentioned, the reader would at this point be called a blundering idiot. The reader will not be called a blundering idiot, however, because the thing Hector was trying to forget has not been mentioned yet. It will be mentioned now, though.
Hector had just received a message directly from King Barbarossa that he had been relieved of his knightly duties. The message went on to mention why, but that will eventually become quite obvious, and so no effort will be made at this point to clarify that issue.
Now, if the reader still does not understand what Hector was trying to forget, he shall be deamed a blundering idiot.
It may also be of interest as to why Sir Hector Grubley still has his title in his name. That, however, will not be discussed at all and left to the discretion of the reader. Perhaps it will make a great debate in some English classroom someday.
And so, Sir Hector Grubley continued to order ale. He also continued to laugh at the peasants in the hot sun as this helped him forget his troubles. He also, by way of such obvious logic that it should not even need to be mentioned, continued to fall more and more into a drunkard state until finally it wouldn't have mattered whether he was out in the hot, aggravating sun or in the pub; he fainted.
Hector flashed out his hand, and somehow managed to squeeze out, "Another one for this poor soul!"
The bartender flashed a wide, loving smile as he trotted over to get another drink for Hector, not because he actually liked Sir Hector but rather the large bill that he was racking up. The bartender didn't usually get business like this. He ran a small, simple pub alongside the road; he never had more than a few customers in at a time and was just barely supporting his wife and three children at home. The bartender was an interesting man who led an interesting, though simple, life. His name is Elliot, and he'd be a wonderful subject for someone to write a deep, entertaining, and all around awesome novel about. These, his name and his life, however, are entirely irrelevent as he will have almost no impact on this story whatsoever.
Sir Hector reached out his gleaming hand and snatched the mug from Elliot's outstretched arms and downed it. He could feel the burning liquid slide down his throat. He even imagined it entering his stomach and thought about rubbing it. That, however, would have looked quite odd, especially because his stomach was currently covered by Hector's plate steel armor. Remembering this made Hector only want to buy more drinks.
I will drink until I remember no more. Hector thought to himself, I will drink until I forget.
The reader may be wondering what it was Hector was trying to forget. If it had been mentioned, the reader would at this point be called a blundering idiot. The reader will not be called a blundering idiot, however, because the thing Hector was trying to forget has not been mentioned yet. It will be mentioned now, though.
Hector had just received a message directly from King Barbarossa that he had been relieved of his knightly duties. The message went on to mention why, but that will eventually become quite obvious, and so no effort will be made at this point to clarify that issue.
Now, if the reader still does not understand what Hector was trying to forget, he shall be deamed a blundering idiot.
It may also be of interest as to why Sir Hector Grubley still has his title in his name. That, however, will not be discussed at all and left to the discretion of the reader. Perhaps it will make a great debate in some English classroom someday.
And so, Sir Hector Grubley continued to order ale. He also continued to laugh at the peasants in the hot sun as this helped him forget his troubles. He also, by way of such obvious logic that it should not even need to be mentioned, continued to fall more and more into a drunkard state until finally it wouldn't have mattered whether he was out in the hot, aggravating sun or in the pub; he fainted.
I love your writing style. 
