"Garin, dear. You wouldn't mind doing a small favor for me, would you?"
Nobody ever described favors as anything other than 'small'. Garin replied with a mishmashed and disappointed grumble.
"Well there's another band of brigands who need to be...dealt with".
Garin just stared at the portly mayor. The triple-chin grin was adorned with many sets of jeweled teeth. The smile on his face curved almost ear-to-ear. It creeped out the villagers but the disgruntled ex soldier was blind to such horrors. Garin's frowned stare turned into a scowl as he left from the wooden table. The metal *CLANK* of his boots seemed to shake Mayor Gustav to his sweaty summer core.
Garin's hand clutched the doorknob as the Mayor shouted, "They are at Banebridge".Garin strode to his patient horse. The greenish, moldy leather around his torso helped the steed to blend in with the trees, brush, and otherwise. The smell also helped against predator tracking, though the hot summer sun was a different enemy altogether.
In any case, the horse's trot turned into a gallop amongst dirt roads. Though farmers would wave "hello" to the passing knight, His focus was just on riding. The dark reddish-brown on his armor occasionally would flake off, revealing a dull, weathered grey metal underneath. Garin always had his bag full of a small arsenal, and some farmers took notice of his Arbalest... rather, the set of two arbalests that were tightly tied to the horse's saddle. They were easy to notice because of the bright colors on the twin bolt-firing machines.
"That's a bad omen", one woman poised to her husband as she weaved dry grass into a basket.
"What makes you say that?", replied her husband, tipping his straw hat upwards as he took a micro-break from hauling hay.
"He's never purchased something brand new or garish like that, never had the time."
"That's right. besides, those aren't even our kingdom's colors. We're red and green, those were blue and yellow"
"Do you think the war has gotten this close already? We'll have to move!"
Garin disappeared over the final hill past the vision of the local farmers.