"I want them found immediately!"
"Witnesses say they all left on the caravan that departed from the town last night. We can't gather a force to chase them down without cutting men from the expeditionary force, my lord."
"Those fucking bastards!" The Duke grinds his teeth in frustration. If those men survive, it will only encourage more to desert in the future. Even if they win this war, it could have a detrimental effect on any fighting force he constructs in the future.
"I hope you understand why I brought this to your attention, my lord."
"Of course, good job Reynolds." The Baron's gambit to score some brownie points seems to have paid off. In contemplation, the Duke leans forward in his chair and folds his hands together. "How many troops would it take to capture the deserters?"
"I spoke with several of your officers, and we believe it would take at least fifty people, sir."
"Very well, gather fifty troops and assign a knight to hunt down those cowardly bastards," Duke Avaritan declares.
"Right away, sir." Baron Reynolds stands to leave after receiving his orders. While this will significantly deplete their remaining forces, he's learned not to question his superiors. All that can be done now is figure out how to complete the task assigned to him most effectively.
Baron Reynolds leaves the tent with a furrowed brow. The problem is that he'll be at fault if either mission fails. If they don't capture the deserters, then it'll be his fault for not sending enough soldiers, and god forbid they lose the war, he'll take the blame for thinning their forces. The Baron is deep in thought as he considers his options.
While it's shitty that I ended up in this situation, I'm glad the responsibility hasn't been left on anyone else's shoulders. This mission is of vital importance, and I don't think I can trust anyone else to complete it properly.
The Baron wanders around aimlessly as he considers his options. Without realizing it, he winds up at the market square.
I suppose I should deplete my options before coming to a decision.
"You want me to what?" Jezabel asks incredulously from the seat at her desk. As the most prominent feature of the town square, Reynolds starts his search at the Adventurer's Guild.
"I'd like to hire a few adventurer teams to hunt down some men that deserted last night."
"I don't know where you think you are, but this ain't the capital," Jezabel says as she crosses her arms. "We don't have gold-rank teams wandering around, looking for things to do. The only high-ranking team we have is Ironhead, and they're contracted out to teach the beginner's course. On top of that, we've already contracted three teams to help you fight the fairies."
"What about the new silver rank team you just anointed?"
"Oh yeah, let's send a bunch of ten-year-olds to capture the deserters. Great fucking idea. Are you an idiot?"
"I'm just working through all my options," the Baron calmly replies.
"Are we done then?"
"Yes, thank you for your time. Just know that your behavior may come back to bite you," Reynolds says with a threatening smile. Unfazed by his remarks, Jezabel fires back.
"My ass is right here; feel free to come take a bite whenever you want."
"How crude." The intruding noble leaves the room after that last remark. Jezabel is still fuming as Hugo walks up to convene with her.
"Are you sure that was the right way to handle that situation?" Her assistant asks. His smooth voice precedes his arrival, carrying with it a mischievous smile. The dim light does little to hide his sharp features.
"No, I was just pissed. Can you believe that guy? Asking for children to do his dirty work after we've already lent him three teams. I fucking hate nobles."
"Very well, sir. I'll inform the staff that you'll be indisposed if any other nobles ask for you."
"Please do. Thank you, Hugo."
"Of course." Like a spider pulling the strings from behind the scenes, her assistant disappears into the shadows. Jezabel stands up from her seat and moves to the window nearby. Her eyes are drawn to the mass of humanity clogging up the market square.
"I don't know if I should be happy or sad. None of these people will survive their venture into the forest; I've made sure of that. Many fathers will lose their sons, and many children will lose a parent. I'll just have to tell myself it's all for the best." Jezabel chuckles at her solemn mood. "Look at me feeling sorry for my enemy. I must be getting softer with age."
The deep blue hair of the Guild Master disappears from the window as she closes the curtain in front of her. Now all she can do is wait.
The light of the suns stream through the overcast sky as Reynolds exits the building. With the failure of his first option, the Baron moves to the capital building on the other side of the square. One of the few men he still respects is likely working inside.
"What sin have I committed to be cursed by your presence?"
"It's good to see you too, Baron Armstrong." Reynolds walks through the door of the tax office and sidesteps the insult being hurled his way.
"What do you want from me?" Armstrong glares across his desk at the unwanted guest.
"Can't we just chat? I haven't seen you in some time."
"If I had it my way, I'd never see you again."
"So cold, I just came to talk. There's no reason to be rude."
"Fine, what is it?"
"How are you doing?" Reynolds parleys the conversation into a casual greeting to lower Baron Armstrong's guard.
"Cut the crap. I'm busy so just spit it out."
"Alright, alright. I was hoping you could contact the Mercenary Guild and hire them to hunt down some deserters."
"I haven't dealt with them in years. My contact skipped town a long time ago."
"I'm sure you still have ways of contacting them," Reynolds presses for an answer.
"And then what? Those deserters will be long gone by the time the contract is filled out and a force is gathered. You're better off ignoring them or waiting until the war ends."
"Neither of those is a possible option, I'm afraid."