Raoul de Châtillon did not consider himself a stupid man. No, not stupid. He was a man of action, that was all, not a man of words like all those that surrounded him back at home, who always planned and argued and debated and talked, talked, talked but never actually did anything. Pah. They could keep their smarts and their cunning. Raoul acted on his instincts, and he often acted without thought, but at least he acted. At least he got things done. In his experience, thinking too much tended to make his head spin and caused him to do the wrong thing anyway. Better to act on impulse.

But he was not stupid or simple, and few people dared to suggest he was, at least more than once. Having found that he could not best others in wits, Raoul decided to best them before they even had a chance to think instead. He was a big man, and muscular, and years of experience had made him a decent warrior – too slow and predictable to be truly great, but strong and aggressive.

But he was bored of home, of Châtillon, of all the thinkers who cowered before him but plotted behind his back, of being a glorfied landlord over some dirty peasants, of the whole silly, small town with its silly, small people and their silly, small problems. He felt a desperate need to get away from them, and do something, anything, and so, impulsively, he had set out for Paris. He had no doubt in his mind that this would cause problems, mainly for those back home but possibly for him, but it did not concern him now. Problems could be dealt with later.

What could be dealt with now was finding something to fight his boredom with. Surely someone in this blasted mess of a country had to have use for the kind of services he could provide. Raoul was not a man accustomed to following orders, but on the other hand he was good at doing as he was told, provided he respected the person doing the telling. The only man back home he had respected had been his father, but surely somewhere in this fine city there must be someone worthy.

Fine city indeed, he mused, as he rode through the city gate. Filth and violence and noise and blood. He smiled. It suited him just fine.