Chainmail rattled around his body as he made his rounds in the Duke's courtyard, though he was a mercenary the Duke's pay was more than enough to make him march. Hell, it was even enough for him to fight for. Maybe not die for but when you start a fight with another man you should always expect to die, even if he's unarmed. A man can kill another with just his fists so expecting to survive any fight is to play the overwhelming optimist's part, and as a man who's paid to kill all to frequently he's not that.

In a few moments he'd be beset upon by a warrior from a foreign land, in another few moments one of them would be dead. But right now he was musing about what he would do once he got home from this job. Perhaps he'd buy a piece of land, maybe settle down. Maybe he'd start traveling again, see the middle east for the first time. He'd heard legend of a beverage like tea down there, he'd even caught glimpses of it in the Duke's stocks. It was a drink called coffee, a bitter aromatic drink that could put pep into a man's step from one mug. 

Come to think of it, he might even  be interested in that foreign tobacco. He'd had his share of native smokes but they smoked it differently there. 

Maybe he was a bit too distracted. He shook his head and raised his shield to look around. He flipped up the window and let the lantern's glare spread across the courtyard, something seemed to catch his eye and his suspicion flared. "If you're out there, you've got one chance to flee before I'm forced to lay waste to you!" Not his best threat, but at least it wasn't totally empty.