𝐒𝐋𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐂𝐀

...One's Honour a Dime...

"...Excuse me, my lord? C-Can you repeat that ...please?"

"I believe you heard me sergeant, but I will be gracious and say it once more; we have gotten complaints from one too many of the peasants in our keep's villages that you are harrasing them..." A proud voice echoed across a lord's hall. "Their claims seem to be true too. You, sergeant, are known to be... proficient in your use of various weapons. Not once have you been sighted by various subjects of mine to be taking valuables or food for no item in return. Lady Teresa may have something to say about that..." The man sitting on his throne turned to a woman in a red dress, shooting her a knowing glance.

"Y-Yes your lordship... Sir Sergeant here has b-been demanding servings of bread and other baked goods for months now, under the threat, uhm, ...of... of f-force too! I didn't know what to do your lordship, this savage said he would hurt me and my family if I told anyone... that's when your most serene lordship's men arrived to investigate!" The woman said with a meek expression on her face, putting on a high voice and smile. 

"M-My lord, I beg of you, please let me ex-" The man tried to plead, rising slightly as his chainmail clattered with the movement. His tabard with an eagle imprinted onto it shined proudly in the hall of his lord as he rose, but it did naught in the end, but serve to anger his lord.

"Silence! I will not tolerate this kind of INSOLENCE from a - ptfu! - peasant! Who allowed you to rise, sergeant?!" The young man shouted in anger, the subject of his anger looking around with wide eyes, before kneeling down once more. The lord sighed, moving his arm to rub a fresh injury from a recent duel. His eyes remained nailed to the shilouette of the sergeant kneeling in the middle of his decorated hall. Red eagles hung from banners, armour stood in the corner, a picture of the old lord hanging above the masterpiece of a throne the lord was sitting on. Men with spears and shields standing guard by the entrance, court servants watching the old man bicker with his young employer. They'll be fine diplomats one day...

Could he not afford to live just a bit longer? 

He had not been burned at the stake for his heathenous transgressions, so maybe the bad deeds are coming back now with double the force?

The silence dragged on and on. Seconds flew by, minutes. So long the lord thought, that you would dare to question whenever he was actually thinking hard about a punishment, or just toying with the poor man. As for the man himself, he could in turn only stare at the rich red carpet in terror... Sweat beads forming on his face, he meekly glanced up at his lord, meeting his stern, hateful gaze, and swiftly turned his head back down.

"Deep breaths, young sergeant. This is a battlefield."

"And on the other end are the enemies, your lordship. Please go back to your bodyguards..."

"And miss a good fight with my only sergeant? As if! Let's show these heathens!"

"You have committed great evils against this land and against it's people, sergeant. [. . .] I cannot let this go." A voice hateful and mocking echoed out from his lord, or rather, his new lord, as the sergeant sank in the feeling of defeat. 

"From this day on, by the right and power granted to me by the grace of Deus, I exile you from this land. You have until tomorrow morning to leave the keep and never return." The man said sternly, his gaze hatefully nailed on the peasant.

"Get up, criminal. Leave your tabard and all arms here. I know of your sword, but I'm gonna ask you to leave it here as well..." A hint of doubt could be heard in the lord's voice.