Snagglepuss89 — Roleplayer Guild

The camp became a scene of peace, as they stopped moving for the day.

It wasn't long before the sun finished it's descent over the horizon, blanketing the desert with the light of the stars above, and a bitter chill replaced the heat from earlier in the day. Finally, the caravan stopped completely, wagons pulled into circles where several groups gathered around warm campfires. The revelry from earlier had begun to smoulder as people went to work setting up tents and preparing the night's dinner. It was considered to be tempting fate to consume the meat of The Pack when outside the safety of Oasis, so bread served with a vegetable soup was the predominant choice of meal that night.

They could be heard, on still nights like this, however many miles away they were across the wastes. The Pack, greeting the night with their countless voices, a song that was barely audible but ever present in the distance. It could be considered beautiful, if not for it's association with death and destruction. For most residents of Oasis, it was unsettling. Few people, as it were, slept without noise at night to distract them. Which at the moment, for those gathered around him, was Hannibal Bartleby Hughes, wielding half a loaf of bread in one hand like a sword as he spoke:

"- and there we were, swords drawn! My fellow soldiers of the guard surrounding us, clearly unwilling to take sides. The bastard shouted at me; "One way or the other Hannibal, I'll cut you down here or see you hanged! What'll it be?!", the idiot clearly unaware of my dueling prowess! Before we could come to blows though, another man charged in- Richard Alansworth, good runner- clutching a piece of paper and pointing right at me!"

He paused, for dramatic affect, before pulling out a piece of paper from one of his inner pockets, worn with age and use, but still clearly displaying the Royal Seal stamped onto it.

"You- you should have seen the poor bastard's face when good old Richard explained I'd received a pardon from the Queen herself, again! One half boiling with rage, one half bewildered out of his mind. I just patted him on the shoulder as I walked away- he clearly wasn't capable of words in that particular moment. Ah, Commander Evans may have been a stupid man, but I still mourn his passing. At the very least, you couldn't call him corrupt."

Solemnly he took a drink from the wine bottle he had placed at his feet when the story began, before ripping a chunk off of the bread he was carrying and passing it to the next person in the circle. Even Hannibal had seemed to calm with nightfall, at least compared to his earlier self. The tale was a longer one, about his time serving in the guard, but aside from it's climax had been relatively free of preposterous boasts and fantastic exaggerations. No doubt, many would find that to be a blessing. With a bow, he he fell to the sand, cross legged, and began devouring the soup in front of him, having waited for everyone else to get their share first, hoping someone else would take the cue to speak.
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