Sometimes the simplest sights tell you where the guard finds its people: the tavern doorway, the temple porch, the blacksmith's bench. I used to sit by the inn and watch recruits walk in—some with a swagger, some nervous—drawn in by a posted notice or a soldier buying a round for hopefuls. Other times, a grieving family at a funeral would be approached; service and duty are often sold quietly at those moments.
There are also formal lanes: the barracks hosts trial days, the docks call scouts, and festivals are prime time to hand out leaflets. I like that both the loud, official routes and the hushed, personal ones exist; it feels human. Seeing a recruit stand in uniform for the first time never gets old to me.
These days I tend to notice the subtler channels the guard uses to fill its ranks. You’ll see heralds at festivals announcing enlistment bounties, and nobles quietly recommending trustworthy lads from their manors. Schools that teach riding or archery occasionally send their best students along with glowing words. There’s also the local militia system: when trouble brews, militia members who perform well are often folded into the official guard and given proper armor and pay.
I’ve also paid attention to mentorship routes. Old watch captains keep an eye on apprentices — bakers' sons who show patience, shepherds who can track and who knows their way around a horse, and innkeepers’ staff who know the town’s gossip by heart. Recruiters will test not just muscle but temperament; reading a room, calming a quarrel, and reporting details matter more than brawn alone. In many towns the guard’s reputation matters, so they prefer folk who won’t escalate problems. It’s practical, and I appreciate that: it keeps the streets safer and gives the community a real say in who protects them. I like imagining the town as a patchwork of small decisions that shape who stands on the walls by dusk.
My head often drifts to the logistics of recruitment: councils issue public notices and the guard posts formal advertisements by the town hall and the main gate, but the system is layered. On weekdays, clerks at municipal offices process volunteers and keep lists of interested tradespeople; on weekends, captains attend market fairs to recruit scouts and marshals. There's a pattern where education programs for young adults feed a steady pool of candidates, while wartime levies and temporary bounties swell the numbers quickly.
Historically, towns relied on the church and guilds to vet and recommend recruits—blacksmiths, boatmen, and innkeepers vouched for reliable hands. Modern small towns add incentives: housing, pension plans, or training subsidies that attract folks from trades and even former soldiers. Specialized units recruit differently: river patrols scour the docks, night watches pull from stablehands and late-shift workers, and detectives are usually promoted internally after proving themselves. I like thinking about how these systems balance civic duty with practical recruitment strategies; it shows you that keeping a town safe is as much social engineering as it is drilling with spears.
In smaller towns the guard often draws from the most immediate neighborhoods: dockhands, stable boys, and those who’ve been part of the night-watch or militia for years. I’ve seen recruiters stand at the market first thing in the morning, listening to who’s steady, who’s brave, and who’s tired of the back-breaking work. Those who catch a recruiter’s eye are usually asked to prove themselves — a run, some basic sword work, a simple test of judgment like resolving a staged dispute. Beyond that, there are practical pulls: posters nailed to the tavern door, a friendly noble’s recommendation, and the occasional amnesty deal that lets petty offenders swap a sentence for service.
Once accepted, the newcomer goes through a probationary phase shadowing a veteran guard, learning the town’s laws and routes, and getting sorted into shifts. The whole system feels like a blend of necessity and community curation — it’s not just filling gaps, it’s matching people to the guard’s particular needs. I’ve always liked how the process mixes chaos and order; it’s a messy but honest way to build a force that actually knows the streets it walks, and that makes me respect the guard a little more every time I pass their gate.
Strolling past the barracks used to be my favorite small ritual; there was always someone new awkwardly lugging a sword or swapping stories with a sergeant over stale bread. The town guard pulls recruits from all sorts of places — taverns where rough-and-ready types brag louder than their talent, market stalls where strong hands finish a day of hauling, and the training grounds where farm kids test their mettle for coin. I’ve seen a recruiter post notices by the noticeboard, then stand by the gate listening for anyone who answers the call of service.
Beyond the obvious spots, there are quieter sources: the temple that sends devout youths looking for discipline, the smithy where you can spot someone who knows a hammer and anvil like a sword, and the orphanage where older kids want a shot at steady pay and respect. Sometimes criminals are offered leniency if they sign up, and sometimes retired soldiers drift back in from the road after a missing pay period or a longing for purpose.
The process usually looks the same where I’ve lived: a short application, basic fitness and combat tests, a background check of sorts (neighbors talk), and then a probationary watch shift. They’ll tutor recruits in local laws, who to arrest and who to escort, and the oath at the guildhall or chapel that turns a ragged volunteer into someone who stands night watch. I like watching the transformation — there’s a stubborn pride that creeps into recruits’ posture after their first patrol, and that always gets me smiling.
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"You died four days ago. You were buried yesterday. That's fast healing, even for us," Clara explained.
"Us?"
Clara smiled. "You have risen from the dead and have healed all your wounds. You have no pulse. You do not breathe, and we've been giving you blood so that you can survive. And the last thing you can remember is a tingling in your neck before you died." She clasped her hands together. "I've read your personnel file, Shamira. I know you're not stupid, even if your former bosses thought you were. You can figure this --"
"Vampire? You're kidding, right? You have to --"
"Wanna go ahead and say 'But there's no such thing as vampires' so we can get that out of the way?"
"There's no such thing as vampires!"
With a troubled and broken past, Prince Chris has always felt apart from his family. He feels even more apart when he runs to his mate and finds out a whole other world. A world hidden even within the werewolf community that is so secret.
A slow burn romance with trauma and healing.
LGBT representation. BxB romance.
Disclaimer - The views of the characters do not represent my own, this is a work of fiction and fantasy.
Warning - Depictions of graphic, but tasteful sex. Trauma, discrimination, targeted violence and stubborn characters.
Mom cleared her throat and said, “I have an idea.”
I frowned. “What are you talking about, Mom?”
“I’m talking about I have an idea.” She stood up and leaned on her desk, saying, “We will hold the Queen’s Guard Tournament.”
“I still don’t understand, mom.”
“I propose a tournament with several tests, games, balls, bullfights, interviews, dates and parades. I suggest we go wild with different activities that guarantee the election of the new alpha kings.”
“Okay… I’ll take the bait. Who will participate?”
“Anyone who is an alpha or some equivalent to that. We put their names inside the sky crate so that destiny can choose the 20 lucky ones who will compete for the love of the future sovereign. The three winners will be crowned the alpha kings of the south, east and west. Obviously, the north is occupied by Alonso.”
“And what will happen to Sokaris? He’s mine too, mom!”
“I wouldn’t worry about him, Maddie. In my dreams, I saw him putting on a great show.”
“What will happen if my other fated mates show up?”
“Destiny will take care of it, Maddie. Your mates will be selected. But to win, we must give our enemies a mirage of hope that makes them believe they can govern.”
“And in the end, they will be exposed to everyone, without us having to intervene,” Mom nodded, with a triumphant smile.
I sighed. “If this is our best option, then let’s use the ball that is already being planned as the tournament’s opening event.”
Mom nodded. Dad slapped his hands together and said, “Well… we have a tournament to plan and a lot of announcements to make. Let’s get started!”
________________
Reverse harem / 4 fated mates / Magic / Royal Lycan Family / Vampires
When the world was young, the Lord of the Heavens chose ordinary human beings to guard the knowledge of the civilizations. Three beings were gifted with immense power to protect the Chamber only they know where it was hidden.
But an evil and malicious being was released from his prison and threatened to destroy the world. And a new set of Guardians have to be chosen.
Tivona, Aedre and Parisa were chosen as the new Guardians. Despite their differences, they learned to get along. But...as every person has a past, so is every one of them.
And their pasts may be their weakness or their strength to determine their role as Guardians and keeper of the Chamber of knowledge.
King Lucien as decided that he wasn't going to wait for his counsel of elders to look for another bride for him since the first one they choose cheated, he decided that he would marry one of his people be it a noble or a commoner, all he wanted was a queen to seat on the vacant throne so his counsel of elders will get off his back.
So he decided to hold a competition for all eligible maiden wanting to be the next Queen.
Rosy is a small town girl living with her mum, after going through the betrayal of her bestfriend and boyfriend she decided that she needed space and closure and she saw the competition as a perfect opportunity to go away for some time, so she decided to join the competition not to be Queen but to move away from her current place so she will hurt less and also to help her mum in paying up their debt with the allowance that will be sent to her mum while she was in the palace.
MANAGING MAGES:
Hawk had been tormenting me as long as I could remember.
I was a young mage and my power was still growing. But they thrust me under his watch in the service to our Warlord. And damn him for enjoying every moment he can torment me.
Every time I think my power strong enough to challenge him, he finds new ways to torture me.
He's told me that I'm his little prey and he'll be kinder when I succumb to him but I've vowed to never let the overbearing, insufferable cad put a hand on my bare skin.
It's a battle of wills and wits. He may be more clever but I'm certainly more stubborn!
But one thing I've learned about Hawk, never underestimate his conniving...I should've known better than to challenge him.
After all, he's made a name for himself by his skill in Managing Mages. But beyond him there is an even bigger problem. Warlord: The Commander of the Mage's Guild. A ruthless killer who leaves a dark mist in his wake.
Escaping the Mage's Guild would mean challenging Warlord himself. A dangerous endeavor.
WARLORD'S WARD
He came into our village like a shadow.
A Dark Mage with the most powerful magic in all the realm. King Detry merely calls him Warlord.
And he owns that title. Leaving wreckage in his wake.
But for me, he had other plans. His cutting blue eyes seeing straight through my disguise.
As his slave, his mere plaything, I'll learn the true darkness of magic without conscience.
Anything he wants of me, he takes. Anything he wants me to do. I am willed to do with the flick of his hand.
His power is an all consuming whirlwind. And I'm just the pretty butterfly caught in it.
Sunrise patrols have a special rhythm that taught me the whole structure of town guards without ever reading a manual.
At the top you'll usually have the captain or watch commander who sets policy, handles diplomatic trouble, and answers to the mayor or council. Right under them are lieutenants or watch captains who coordinate shifts, assign patrol beats, and run investigations when a crime crosses district lines. Sergeants are the backbone — they run squads, train new guards, and make sure discipline holds. Corporals or veteran guards lead small groups day-to-day, while the common guards or watchmen do the visible work: foot patrols, gate checks, crowd control, and basic arrests.
Beneath that tier are specialists and support roles I love to imagine: constables who serve summons, jailers who manage the lockup, quartermasters who care for weapons and armor, scribes who log incidents, and scouts or rangers who handle outskirts and recon. Duties also split by shift — night watch focuses on fires, thieves, and quiet investigative work; day shifts handle markets, escorts, and festival security. I once watched a captain calmly sort out a market brawl and then laugh with the baker afterward — that mix of stern duty and human warmth is what I really dig about guard life.