Movements (5/2, Early Morning, CLOSED)

[NPC Knight]

Sir Rowan Cynwer, Second Knight Captain of the Yeoman Harpers, opened his eyes as the light of a torch fell unto his face. He opened them only slowly, after he consciously realised he was awake, but thereafter sprang to his feet, swift as the Faeraldic Eagle that adorned the badge of his company. "Yes?" he asked, fully alert and with a hint of irritation. Though trained for it, he didn't like being woken up in this manner.

His squire, a young lad who was notable for his lowly origins, having been one of the Harpers' brightest young recruits (possibly a bastard son of some noble) and now groomed for command, cowered at his superior's grumpy demeanour. "The patrol has returned, sir," he said with a stammer at first, but quickly took a business-like tone.

"Well, why do they have to report in the middle of the bloody Gods-damned -," he began angrily, but then he saw the rain-drenched soldiers who entered, with their Sergeant at their head. His mood swung quickly from irritation into anxiety. "It's not a good thing when you return in the middle of the night..." he said, trying not to let his emotions show but instead taking a commanding tone. "Out with it, Sergeant. If it's important enough to wake me up for, then I want to hear it now."

"Sir," said the Sergeant, wearily saluting his superior, his green cloak dripping in the rain. He was a short, muscular man with thick and untidy hair and a dark brown beard in which the first grey hairs of middle age were already showing. His scruffyness was reinforced by the rain-soaked uniform he was wearing. Nevertheless, Harper Sergeant Colyn Small was an able tracker and an efficient, experienced officer. He had been a Harper from when he, as a common farmboy of twenty-one, had been recruited, and had thus served in the Guard longer than Sir Rowan, who had only been commissioned in the second year of High Lord Tysilio's reign. As an experienced man among fellow common folk, Colyn was popular within the ranks of yeomen that made up the Harpers.

"We happened upon 'em Cemric band, sir," he contined. "Well, their tracks. Herrold happened upon the bastards when they had a fire made. He could get away, but not before them Cemric dogs gave 'm a deep flesh wound. They then broke up and we split, following their tracks to and from the site, sir, and..."

"Yes?" asked Sir Rowan impatiently. He didn't like this one bit.

"They seem to be hangin' around the pass a lot."

Sir Rowan grasped the implication immediately and his anxiety gave way to anger. "Damn them all to hell," he growled. He hurried out, sending the patrol off to bed with a grim but well-meant "good work, lads".