Jane Jago’s Daily Drabble – Two Hundred and Forty-Six

Sometimes your face does you no favours, Yurg was a case in point.

He was a gentle poetic soul who wrote bad verse, played the standing harp and sighed over pretty ladies. In an ideal world he would have attended a bardic college, but we don’t live in an ideal world. Instead of studying music and literature he found himself following in the footsteps of his father and grandfather and patrolling the dank corridors of the castle dungeons. 

He wore the uniform kilt and sandals and carried the bullwhip and keys. 

Yurg’s face dictated his fate, and he hated it…

©jj 2019

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