Strange Mechanisms
Aug 11, 2018 8:54:01 GMT -5
Post by Harlon Recklosh on Aug 11, 2018 8:54:01 GMT -5
A strange report was currently sitting on top of Harlon’s desk; though the sergeant didn’t often make it a point to go through all the paperwork generated by the security forces he was in charge of — he had underlings for a reason — he had asked them to flag anything that seemed particularly unusual. Of course, given their general incompetence (honestly, sometimes he worried about how the military had slipped in the twenty years since their roaring success against the mages) they tended to give him way too much information. Sadly, he’d yet to figure out the appropriate orders or instructions to get them to filter properly.
Still, he’d been doing this for a long time and it didn’t take much effort for him to sort the actually important documents from the ones he could just skim and return to those below him. There was an art to it, one that he’d be hard pressed to explain to anyone other than a fellow military officer. After looking at enough of these, though, it wasn’t hard to spot the salient details and identify key reports.
Like the one he was currently examining: strange noises in the palace gardens and complaints from those passing by was quite worrisome and quite outside the norm. However, this hadn’t been the first time Harlon had heard about these, it was just the first time he’d been graced with an official notice about them. Usually the royal guard handled matters up at the palace, but apparently they’d either been negligent or had a good reason to avoid the shop that was apparently the source of all the problems. In fact, the very notion that his forces would receive complaints about this spoke of desperation on the part of whoever filed it.
Sending one of his people was out of the question; the jurisdictional dynamics were complicated and there was too much risk of causing offense. If, however the Civilian Sergeant went for a brief stroll of the palace gardens and happened to stumble upon the shop in question, well, Harlon was a known quantity and his presence could be explained away easily enough. Besides, the blutsauger needed to stretch his legs; though he’d resigned himself to a desk job and was happy to serve the kingdom, it always was good to get out
So he’d gotten up, pistol holstered at his hip, informed his deputies that he’d be out for a while on assignment, and meandered his way over to the home of the royal family and their attendants. One of the perks of being the boss was that he was allowed to do basically whatever he wanted. Mostly, he toed the line, his respect of the crown and his soldiers driving him to be best commander he could. Every once in a while, however, he felt compelled to hit the streets himself. Sometimes he missed the simple days of regular patrols and not having to worry about shift changes and partnerships and all the politics that came with his position. Therefore, when an opportunity like this arose, he was quick to take advantage of it.
The palace was a bit of a trek, but he made it eventually. Bypassing the guards was easy enough; he was a known quantity and they waved him through once he’d proven his identity. Meandering through the gardens, whistling as he walked, Harlon enjoyed the chance to stretch his legs and was stretching the amount of time he spent on this task. Maybe it was irresponsible of him, but everything seemed relatively quiet these days, as if the criminals were holding their breath as they waited for the King to make moves. In fact, Harlon was also waiting for that; after the incident with the Princess, he’d been expecting his troops to be mobilized for the hunt, but so far no orders had been handed down, at least none that he was aware of. It was frustrating and baffling, but it wasn’t his place to make such judgments.
After looking up the address, Harlon had looked up the owner of the shop as well: Mathias Truslow was apparently the King’s mad inventor, which might explain any number of odd sounds and sights. Still, it was worth checking out; maybe the sergeant could convince the other man to make available some new prototypes for either personal use or for use in the general security forces. If not, it was always good to build a relationship with those in power, especially when they supplied one's arms and armor.
Approaching the shop, Harlon entered cautiously, not knowing what to expect. Still, he kept a friendly expression on his face and his tone was bright and cheerful. ”Master Truslow? It’s Sergeant Harlon Recklosh. I was wondering if you had a few minutes to chat.” Eying the various strange contraptions strewn here and there — they may as well have been magic for all Harlon knew about the technology at work here, not that magic would be tolerated, of course — the soldier just hoped nothing exploded while he was in here. There were a lot of strange scents that threatened to overwhelm his superior sense of smell, especially given that he’d fed recently. However, the nose plugs would hopefully not be necessary. Besides, Harlon was intrigued by what he was discovering here, though he stay far away from anything for fear of damaging it or himself. This was a whole new world and Harlon liked mysteries.
wc: 919
Still, he’d been doing this for a long time and it didn’t take much effort for him to sort the actually important documents from the ones he could just skim and return to those below him. There was an art to it, one that he’d be hard pressed to explain to anyone other than a fellow military officer. After looking at enough of these, though, it wasn’t hard to spot the salient details and identify key reports.
Like the one he was currently examining: strange noises in the palace gardens and complaints from those passing by was quite worrisome and quite outside the norm. However, this hadn’t been the first time Harlon had heard about these, it was just the first time he’d been graced with an official notice about them. Usually the royal guard handled matters up at the palace, but apparently they’d either been negligent or had a good reason to avoid the shop that was apparently the source of all the problems. In fact, the very notion that his forces would receive complaints about this spoke of desperation on the part of whoever filed it.
Sending one of his people was out of the question; the jurisdictional dynamics were complicated and there was too much risk of causing offense. If, however the Civilian Sergeant went for a brief stroll of the palace gardens and happened to stumble upon the shop in question, well, Harlon was a known quantity and his presence could be explained away easily enough. Besides, the blutsauger needed to stretch his legs; though he’d resigned himself to a desk job and was happy to serve the kingdom, it always was good to get out
So he’d gotten up, pistol holstered at his hip, informed his deputies that he’d be out for a while on assignment, and meandered his way over to the home of the royal family and their attendants. One of the perks of being the boss was that he was allowed to do basically whatever he wanted. Mostly, he toed the line, his respect of the crown and his soldiers driving him to be best commander he could. Every once in a while, however, he felt compelled to hit the streets himself. Sometimes he missed the simple days of regular patrols and not having to worry about shift changes and partnerships and all the politics that came with his position. Therefore, when an opportunity like this arose, he was quick to take advantage of it.
The palace was a bit of a trek, but he made it eventually. Bypassing the guards was easy enough; he was a known quantity and they waved him through once he’d proven his identity. Meandering through the gardens, whistling as he walked, Harlon enjoyed the chance to stretch his legs and was stretching the amount of time he spent on this task. Maybe it was irresponsible of him, but everything seemed relatively quiet these days, as if the criminals were holding their breath as they waited for the King to make moves. In fact, Harlon was also waiting for that; after the incident with the Princess, he’d been expecting his troops to be mobilized for the hunt, but so far no orders had been handed down, at least none that he was aware of. It was frustrating and baffling, but it wasn’t his place to make such judgments.
After looking up the address, Harlon had looked up the owner of the shop as well: Mathias Truslow was apparently the King’s mad inventor, which might explain any number of odd sounds and sights. Still, it was worth checking out; maybe the sergeant could convince the other man to make available some new prototypes for either personal use or for use in the general security forces. If not, it was always good to build a relationship with those in power, especially when they supplied one's arms and armor.
Approaching the shop, Harlon entered cautiously, not knowing what to expect. Still, he kept a friendly expression on his face and his tone was bright and cheerful. ”Master Truslow? It’s Sergeant Harlon Recklosh. I was wondering if you had a few minutes to chat.” Eying the various strange contraptions strewn here and there — they may as well have been magic for all Harlon knew about the technology at work here, not that magic would be tolerated, of course — the soldier just hoped nothing exploded while he was in here. There were a lot of strange scents that threatened to overwhelm his superior sense of smell, especially given that he’d fed recently. However, the nose plugs would hopefully not be necessary. Besides, Harlon was intrigued by what he was discovering here, though he stay far away from anything for fear of damaging it or himself. This was a whole new world and Harlon liked mysteries.
wc: 919
