Click, click, click. Major Dawson's heavily-polished boots clicked rapidly against the Duke's marble floor. He was there to report excellant news to the Duke and he was practically running down the halls. At last, he approached the massive mahogany door to the Duke's throne room, "That's it, David," he said to himself while brushing his hands over the sleeves of his burgundy coat, "Straighten those medals, look in the mirror, and remove m' tri-corne...yes, brush it off...there! Dawson, you look good an' military!" After rapping on the huge door, he stepped back and awaited a squire to open it. A weak-looking young man peeked his head out, "Yes?"
"I am here to see the Duke of Jarith, my good chap!"
The Duke? Uhh...follow me."
"Right, my old bean." The Major clicked his heels and bowed. The servant opened the door and the two walked over to the Duke's throne. The Duke was a frightful sight; his hair was unkept and greasy, his eyes were bloodshot, and his clothes were wrinkled and stained.
"What is it!" growled the Duke, "First my army is defeated at Barrowstone, and I'm sure you bring more ill tidings."
"Uh, no, my Liege, I have good news! George of the Forestmen was leading a force of Black Falcon heavy infantry thru the woods last night, and my forces destroyed 'em, completely. We used...this weapon; the Dawson matchlock hand-cannon," he said enthusiastically while pulling out a technical-looking wood-and-metal device.
"What does it do?!" asked the Duke, now far more alert.
"Well, you take a match, light this little string, wait two seconds, cock back this little mechanism, and, just like a crossbow, pull the trigger..." he explained while aiming it at a suit of armour in the corner of the room.
"By the Gods!" screamed the Duke, "Put that away! Are you trying to blow us all up!" He took out a drenched hankerchief and wiped his forehead, "Did George fall?"
"Right in the torso! Saw 'im meself," he stated cheerily while tucking the weapon back in his jacket,"And so, my Lord, would you be interested in equiping your men with the Dawson Weapon Company's best guns?" he asked eagerly.
"Absolutely not, Major, that thing is dangerous, loud, and ugly; my men will continue using their pikes and swords. That is my final word!"
"Oh, fine, but you will be sorry when other armies are arming themselves with these, and your men find themselves defenseless!"
"That smacks of treason against the Ruratainian Crown! Get out of my castle, before you find yourself in the dungeon." the Duke demanded while pointing to the door.
"Very well, you old fool. If you don't want t' embrace the future, perhaps the Rebels will. Yes, that's it, discount price, and those Rebs will be bending over backwards t' get their hands on these!" thought Major Dawson, already making his way to his coach outside. After a few minutes of walking, he reached and boarded it, "Driver, take me t' Robin's camp; we're going to do some sellin'."
Trot, trot, trot, trot. The coach quickly drove off...
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