As the group of well-dressed and dashing individuals were escorted to the border of Maradon by the never-ending armada of Saldaean Veterans in shining steel and Maradon cloaks, the horses whimpered uncomfortably.
The Civil Watch had rode to these lands with the intention of removing the oppressors from their decadent nests and returning the power, to you, the people. When first arriving before the very gates of Maradon the only thing more striking than the silence was the numerous war scalps on spikes, the repetition of faces in the same grin, monsters and beasts, should have given the Civil Watch pause. They did not heed the warning. The Commanders, Barons, Knight Bannerets and Bachieliers, Bannermen, Cavarlymen, Squires, and Recruits were hard to find but of the Saldaean Veterans there were a plenty. Battling against the Saldaean Veterans resulted in many losses of attention and drove several men into mobs of Saldaean Veterans. The Civil Watch realized that it had all seemed to go wrong. They didn’t know what they had and now it was gone. They could not even engage in their battle against the vicious shadowspawn.
Ahead the line Sati rode, proud as ever, youthful and handsome. He was flanked by Grond, Morris, and, of course, Zorban Da'al the only recruit out of the commoners who still retained the surname of his forefathers. A line of men. All of them from lines of heritage that manifested and dripped to the ground as beads of sweat. They were men of the land and they were returning home, losers.
Rodger, Shinobi, and Choen rode next in line. More dejected than the rest of them. It seemed to wear heavily on their hearts that they would have come so far and fought so long, to discover that in the end it didn't even matter. They dejectedly canted their horses into an approved speed that brought a nod from the beaming Maradon Guards. The pride of having withstood the siege from such fierce foes was clearly a moment of honor. They had held back the poor fighters of justice with the wealth and economic advantages gained from the merchant guilds of Saldaean who barely even visited impoverished regions such as Tarabon.
The only thing clear to the Civil Watch was that they left a far more depressed place than they would return. Various missives had been sent and collected and from Kandor to Maradon the question was consistently posed to the citizens: "Do you feel privileged to live in an area like Saldaea?" Forty-nine percent of respondents answered "No" which was substantially different from the levels of national excitement in Tarabon where respondents on average answered with a "Yes" fifty-one percent of the time.
At the end of the line Akarus and Moric each held firm a horse's rope between them which they carried like a cradled babe, a joy-creature which brought intense and dichotomous reactions from the two soldiers. In his hand, Akarus' rope seemed a fiery brand which shot pillars of flame into his eye-sockets where his rage seethed. In contrast, Moric held the rope as one would hold their doom and salvation. He eyed the thing, the angelic frayed...not that it would harm him, but that it would take him to greener pastures where farm living could be the life for him.
The rope led a horse upon which a rider, Pial, rode backwards shouting profanities as if the bluing of his face was a continuous effort for orgasm--as if after the conclusion or perfect insult he might keel over in ecstasy. He was a frightened bird tweeting profanities loudly from a branch; his shrill caws unending.
Ahead, Grond looked back and said very dryly, "on second thought let's not go to Maradon, tis a silly place." Verily they all agreed and they clapped their hands in agreement and the sound rung like coconuts clashing cloppingly.
The Civil Watch had been defeated. Yet, they remained true to their motto. In unison they spoke aloud: "wherever there is injustice, you will find us. wherever there is suffering, we'll be there. wherever liberty is threatened, you will find the Civil Watch." As they rode, losers, away from the true and honorable victors--the Saldaean Cavalry--they dosie-doughed their horses in a performative fashion that evoked envy from even the most salty of Maradon Barons.
They rode south toward the Great Forest. It had taken months to find Saldaea and it would take many more to return to Tarabon, yet there was justice to be served. Hot. And they would serve it.
Because, as the Civil Watch had always known--even with just us there will be justice.