I put this together as part of a 7th Sea competition; I wanted to get in on writing flavor text for the game. Alas, they did not decide to go with me. Alas, alack, their loss. I mean, I’m being arrogant here, perhaps — but I rather liked this. I think that you can figure out what’s going on, just by looking at what I wrote.
Anyway…
Gerard du Arrant sourly contemplated the scruffy, disheveled, and generally disreputable ruffian staring back at him in the hand mirror. All in all, he mused, this new look of his failed to satisfy. Oh, the beard could pass muster — when not even an officer in a Musketeer’s regiment can attend to his toilet, then no man in the regiment could be fairly called dirty. And the dirt and the bandages had their own charms; they reassured the viewer that Gerard had done his duty as a soldier, and never mind that this might come as a surprise to some, including of course Gerard himself.
The problem lay in the eyes. Those eyes disapproved of Gerard, and the braver he grew in battle the more they disapproved of what happened after the fighting ended. The Musketeer conceded that those eyes had a point. A soldier killed the enemy; very well, that happened. A soldier might find it necessary to kill foreign peasants; such things also happened, but a decent man would see to it that they happened as rarely as possible. But to kill your own peasants? Even at l’Empereur Alexandre’s express orders? By what right did Alexandre have to order that?
And, more to the point: by what right did l’Empereur have to expect Gerard du Arrant to play bandit by hanging farmers?
Background:
Two years ago, Gerard du Arrant would have cheerfully told you of his cowardice, sloth, veniality, and general uselessness. Cheerfully and good-naturedly; Gerard always prided himself on his ability to recognize his limitations. It came as quite the shock for Gerard to discover that he had been deluding himself for some time.
As the illegitimate son of a minor, but wealthy, Montaigne noble, a life to the manor born simply could not happen. While Gerard got along actually quite well with his half-brothers (and even his ‘Aunt Maman’), they were still the heirs, so either the priesthood or the army beckoned. Gerard naturally picked the army, and used his father’s money to buy a spot in a regiment that had not been in the field for decades.
So, naturally, the regiment went out in the next campaign. And there, shockingly, Gerard’s cowardice was the very first casualty. Sloth and uselessness died almost as swiftly. While the Musketeer does not have the learning to be an officer — or the inclination — he picked up the soldier’s trade with remarkable swiftness. His reputation has grown to the point that it would be reasonable for a Montaigne Hero with a military or noble background to have heard that Gerard has made a good name for himself.
As for venality: that is perhaps dying in Gerard, too. Having to fight peasants offends him. Not because he reveres the essential nobility of Man, or whatever it is that those chatterers in the salons say: but because Gerard does not like being a bandit in uniform who unthinkingly hangs unarmed women for hiding a sack of oats. But l’Empereur expects him to adopt that role, apparently.
L’Empereur presumes.