Simon sat on a hill outside the bandit camp, musket in hand. His job, along with several of the men from the village, was to shoot any bandits who fled from the fight that Drogan and his men would be bringing to them. Simon figured he would be doing most of the work; he'd handled bandit hunts before, and the cowards always ran. All but one.
Years ago, Simon had dealt with a bandit hunt in a remote village, and most of the thieves had run away, being picked off by archers and musketeers. One man, though, had stayed to stand up against Simon's assaulting force. The man had been a rather talented fighter, wounding a few men before Simon intervened and shot him in the chest with a flintlock pistol. Sometimes, it could be that simple. No thought, no remorse, just even pressure on a trigger.
Now, here Simon was, in the middle of one more job. He had to admit, he did quite enjoy being back to the fight.
Soon, there was a clamor from the camp below as Drogan's force attacked. A few men escaped, and Simon or one of his men fired and took them down. Surprisingly, not as many bandits ran as Simon had expected.
When the skirmish was over and the eastern group of bandits was eliminated, Drogan approached Simon and asked him to meet him back in his tent. Gogant had supposedly called some sort of meeting.