Snippet #1958068

Charles sat in his command tent polishing his saber. He found that the task had an oddly calming effect, which Charles had been needing a lot of lately. This post was much preferable to his last, but there was too much downtime. Because he didn't usually patrol the roads himself all he did was listen to reports of his command's incompetence. The saber was already completely polished but Charles continued, mesmerized by his reflection in the blade. Presently there was a soft query from outside. "Enter," he called without even looking up. He knew it was his lieutenant come to give him the same tired report of how his men had failed to catch anyone. He couldn't really fault his lieutenant for his troubles, the man was diligent and followed orders well. Yet he had no drive. Charles entertained replacing him briefly, but no better candidate had presented themselves... yet.

"Pardon me sir," the lieutenant said entering the tent, "there is a messenger here for you and he says it is urgent."

"Right," Charles scoffed, standing and sheathing his saber. He tried not to get too excited, the messenger's idea of urgent probably just meant some stuck-up lord had told him it was urgent. Still, Charles welcomed any break in the monotony. He walked outside, following his lieutenant through the mud to where the messenger waited. The man appeared winded like he had been riding hard. Mayhap this would be interesting after all.

"S...Sir.... you must... come quickly," the man managed to gasp. Charles motioned for him to be quiet, and the man took a few moments to catch his breath. "Sir, there are rumors that the Ghosts of Brekin are afoot, and many esteemed lords and ladies are traveling right now due to the wedding." The man paused, expecting some comment or exclamation. When none was forthcoming he continued, "Duke Cyril has expressed the hope that you will take care of the matter personally." Charles suppressed the urge to roll his eyes, he had heard the same rumors but doubted the authenticity. The Ghosts of Brekin were nothing more than mere bandits, it would take serious guts to assault a noble and his entourage. No the true threat here was the most audacious of criminals: the Highwayman.

Charles snapped his finger at his lieutenant, "round up as many men as can be found, we ride at once." Charles dismissed the messenger, returned to his tent, and donned his ornamented breastplate. Strapping on his saber Charles couldn't resist a smile. It was unlikely that any bandits would actually be found, but Charles was itching for action and maybe some enemy could be found or invented. While it was doubtful that Cyril had actually asked for Charles personally the sentimental old sap would reward any services rendered handsomely. Add that to the standard reward from the Crown for each criminal detained and Charles could very well be a general soon. He strode briskly outside where his white charger Retribution was waiting, saddled and bridled. Charles confirmed that his pistol was in his saddle, and turned watching the commotion of his men in silence.

Presently two of his men on rear patrol brought forward a man for inspection. Charles sighed inwardly, his men seemed incapable of deciding trivial matters for themselves. The man in question presented his business, and Charles almost brushed him aside but for his mention of Brekin. Charles raised his eyebrows and inspected the man anew. Coincidence? "The pleasure is mine, Alwyn was it?" Charles' words were polite but his tone remained flat and hard. "I must inquire, what does a goodly man such as yourself want with a Brekin craftsmen?"