The Importance of Proofreading (Patreon)

Inspired by a Reddit Writing Prompt.

The tavern was quiet and out-of-the-way, just how Nightshade and his band preferred it. They'd always known that there would be trouble when they started physically opposing some of the new Emperor's more oppressive practices, but they were starting to think they hadn't thought it all the way through.

When the Imperial proclamation had come through that everyone would be taxed exactly half their worldly goods, he'd thought it was a jest. But when he saw people dispossessed of their homes and livelihoods while the Emperor's baronial cronies (the ones who'd put him on the throne in the first place) feasted in their mansions with nary a single gold piece handed over to the taxman, fury had driven him to action.

The guards protecting the royal taxman had been taken by surprise. Rather than kill the man, Nightshade had decided to send a message. So they had taken exactly half of what he carried, including half of his clothing. One glove, one boot, the rest cut down the middle with a sharp knife. The tax money had also been taken, to redistribute to the farmers and peasants in the area.

They'd thought this would amuse the populace and irritate the Emperor. That part, they got right. Having ten thousand gold crowns put on their heads as a bounty for their capture or death (apparently the Emperor wasn't picky) was something they hadn't anticipated.

Which was why they were huddled over their drinks in the most obscure location they could be and still enjoy hot food for the night, when the door was kicked in.

Nightshade was first to his feet, his trusty rapier in his hand. All around him, his men drew their own weapons or aimed crossbows, whichever came to hand first. Through the open doorway hulked Branjen, oft called the Avalanche. A full arm-span and a half tall, his shoulders were broad enough that his steel armour brushed the doorframe on either side. In the silence, Nightshade heard more than one of his men swallow nervously. Never had Branjen been brought low by force of arms, at least not by any account Nightshade had ever heard. Legendary was his strength of arm, and few were the enemies of the Emperor who survived his wrath.

This, then, was the man they faced.

"Nightshade!" bellowed Branjen, causing dust to drift down from the rafters. "Stand forth! I would have words with thee!" Aware of two things, both of which puzzled him, Nightshade nonetheless kept his gaze firmly on the enormous herald of the Emperor's wrath. One, Branjen didn't 'talk' to his quarry. He slew them, effortlessly and efficiently. Two, the big man had yet to set gauntlet to sword. Even with his immense capability for violence, he wasn't that stupid.

Sheathing his rapier, Nightshade took a deep breath and stepped forward, perhaps the bravest (or most foolhardy) action of his life. It wasn't as though the weapon would help him against Branjen.

"Nightshade," boomed Branjen, "I am here to present you with the Order of the Emperor's Merit!" Reaching out, he slapped his metal-clad gauntlets into Nightshade's shoulders, driving the breath out of him. "Stand up tall when you're accepting the Merit, man! Stomach in! Chest out! Shoulders back!" With each order, his gauntlets slapped Nightshade again, leaving him feeling bruised and dizzy. "You should be proud of the honour!"

Reeling under the assault, Nightshade felt a broad ribbon settle around his neck. "Wear it with pride!" bellowed Branjen. "Or I will find you and I will END you!"

"Uhhh ... I will?" ventured Nightshade, peering down at the ornate medal now resting against his chest.

But Branjen wasn't done yet. "Do not move, you disgraceful curs!" Turning, he exited through the open doorway behind him. In the silence that remained behind, Nightshade's men stared at one another.

"What's happening?" whispered Trass, Nightshade's right-hand man, eyes wide.

"I don't know!" Nightshade hissed back.

"Should we flee?"

It was tempting. Nightshade's ears were still ringing from the buffeting he had received at Branjen's hands, and the man hadn't even been carrying a weapon. But before he could collect his scattered thoughts, the Avalanche bulked through the open doorway again. This time, his arms were full, but not with weapons.

"If you must be a filthy traitorous horde, then be a filthy traitorous horde that I can be proud to oppose!" he shouted. Moving through the room, he slapped down surcoat after surcoat with enough force to crack wood and spill drinks. Just from looking at them, Nightshade could tell that they were made from the finest silksteel, flexible as linen yet stronger than iron. These would give his men a tremendous advantage against regular Imperial troops.

Turning to Nightshade, Branjen thrust a rolled parchment into his hand. "I did not agree with this order, but where the Emperor commands, I obey!" One metal-clad finger thrust painfully into Nightshade's chest, adding to the night's collection of bruises. "Do not disappoint me!"

With that, he was gone, striding out through the open doorway.

Wonderingly, Nightshade unrolled the parchment.

TO BRANJEN KNOWN AS THE AVALANCHE. YOU ARE HEREBY ORDERED TO TRACK DOWN THE REBELS LED BY THE MAN NIGHTSHADE AND BRUTALLY DISTINGUISH THEM. 

BY ORDER, EMPEROR CLAVIS THE FIRST

Slowly, Nightshade sat down. The parchment slipped from his fingers as he began to laugh and laugh and laugh ...