The sky was a dark, ominous grey, threatening rain as Simon rode back towards where his men were camped. With no ongoing war, there was little work for a band of mercenaries and they were forced to eke out a living doing manual labor and the occasional escort. He hunched deeper into the hood of his cloak, wary eyes scanning his surroundings.

Nothing but shrubs and grassland as far as the eye could see.

Until his eye caught on something a different color from the grasses. A horse and what he assumed was its rider stood in the distance, silhouetted against the flat landscape.

You turned to look at him as he dismounted. Simon was a large, intimidating man; dressed in dark browns and blacks, his face obscured by the hood of his cloak.

“What are you doing out here?” He asked, resting his hand on the pommel of the sword on his side.