Francis & The Pitfalls of Chilvary

(intro of a story an acquaintance of mine wrote but was too scared to post himself - roast it properly)

Prologue
Birds sang a cheery tune, some circling around in the skies with the optimism of an idealist.
The forest was thick enough to push its trees at the sunlit path wriggling through it from both of its sides. The path itself was undulating and rocky, not made for easy or fast passage, but rather for a slow and patient stroll.
Presently, a carriage struggled its way down this path speedily, rattling uncontrollably as it did. Its driver, who was melting with perspiration, whipped harder and harder, as though his very life depended on it.
Still, the horses couldn’t avoid the two arrows that hit them precisely in their ankles. They collapsed on their knees upon impact, and then tumbled down the side, dragging the carriage with them into the lush, tree-filled greenery.
Dust rose from the ground, tainting the otherwise still noon air with a brown mist and covering the scene of the accident. Both the driver and the horses were lying motionless. The only conscious soul was the man crawling out of the carriage.
Dirt rubbed against his colorful dress as he crawled across the soil. He took turns coughing and breathing heavily, a procedure caused by the dust which worked itself into his nostrils. The man thusly groped his way to the edge of the path.
Once there, he stood up, dusting himself off with gloved hands. He moved his shoulder in its socket uncomfortably, simultaneously turning to look at his surroundings. Seeing emptiness on both sides, he started to walk off.
Right then, an arrow whizzed right before his eyes, making him halt his steps. “It’s not a particularly smart decision to continue in the direction where you were ambushed. Don’t you agree, Baron Nicholas?” came a voice.
The owner of the voice came out of the trees as he said this. He was a young, raven-haired person, whose eyes glinted with worldly ambition. “No, it’s not smart at all,” he went on, as he slowly neared the baron.
Nicholas backed up anxiously, grimacing. As he did, another arrow flew behind him and cut off a lock of his hair. Two other men stepped out, one holding a sword and the other a bow and arrows.
The baron was sweating. “Please,” he said. “There is no reason to do anything rash.”
The raven-haired man got close to him and halted. “How funny. I was just about to say the same thing.”
Nicholas’s eyes darted from one man to the other. “If it’s money you want, most of my belongings are in the carriage…”
“Belongings?” The raven-haired man smiled. “Oh, but you’re worth a lot more as a hostage than your belongings are as commodities. Am I wrong?”
Nicholas backed up a little, hitting against the two men behind him. “Give up,” said the young man. “You have nowhere to run. Besides, it’ll just be a slight inconvenience, nothing fatal.” He paused for a second. “By the way, out of curiosity, why was it that your carriage was going so fast?”
Nicholas sighed in defeat. “That’s because I thought someone was following me.”
“Someone following you?” asked the other, scratching his chin. “I had a strange feeling also. Well, that explains it.” He threw his head back and called out, “Whoever you are, come out now.”
Birds fluttered up from trees at the loud noise, leaving the branches to rock up and down in their wake. There was a little brushing of leaves. Then, a man who was dressed in armor and whose mustache might as well have had a life of its own showed himself.
“Oh, but do come on,” he said mellifluously. “I wait all this while just to make an affective entrance and you spoil it so nonchalantly?” He shook his head. “’Tis a pity.”
The man with the arrows and bow got ready to fire, aiming at the man with the mustache.
The other pointed at him with one finger. “I see that you have observed my intent. I shall save the poor fellow from your evil clutches.” He jumped up slightly and landed back down, one foot placed on the other, and his hand pointing elegantly to the skies. “My name is Francis Fleur. Don’t forget it!” He paused for a second or two. “Though you may refer to me as master or as God.”
The man with the sword unsheathed his weapon, waving it in the air. “How about idiot? Will that do?”
Francis grimaced. “You needn’t be so mean.”
The man with the sword closed in on him, to which Francis smirked. “Still, at least I’ll get to have some fun.”
With that he charged forth. The other man swung his sword, but saw it stop midway through the air. Francis was holding back the hilt with a hand. He threw a punch at him, yet Francis stopped that with his other hand, encasing the fist in his fingers.
Then, he jumped up, landed on the man’s shoulders, and, putting the man’s head in between his own feet, turned around. A slight crunching sound emerged as the man’s neck turned past its breaking point and the life seeped out of him.
The corpse landed on the ground as did its murderer, though the first one did harshly while the latter on his two feet, without even lifting the slightest dust particle.
Francis bowed. “Thank you, thank you. Your applause is much appreciated.”
An arrow flew at him. He caught it with between his thumb and forefinger. He looked up with a questioning gaze, but was soon bombarded by more rushing at him.
His vision blocked by the flurry, the man with the bow ran towards the trees and ducked behind a bush, watching to see what had come of the whole thing. Once all had cleared, he saw that there was nothing left but wooden buds protruding from the ground.
“Huh?” he said, yet didn’t even have the opportunity to turn around as Francis, who was standing behind him, stabbed him in between his eyes with an arrow.
Francis clapped the blood off from his hands, approaching Nicholas, whom he saw was tied and gagged now. When he reached him, he removed the gag. “Whatever did they do to you, good sir?” he said delicately.
Nicholas’s features relaxed. “Thank goodness you arrived. They would have kidnapped me if you had no-”
Francis slapped him. “I asked what they did to you, not whether you’re pleased with my work. So do tell me, where is the last one of these bandits?”
“He went for the carriage,” said the baron, hurt. “He’s probably left by now, no doubt with all my possessions.”
“What a shame,” responded Francis, placing his palm on his forehead once more. “What a shame, what a shame, what a shame! I go through all this fuss for a non-existent reward? O cruel life, have you no limit?” He sighed. “Ah well, at least I can have the leftovers.” He looked at Nicholas, lifting one eyebrow.
“Leftovers?” repeated the other, gulping.
“Surely you didn’t think I wished to emancipate you just for the sake of it. The world is built upon the foundation of money, after all. And yes, leftovers, such as the gold watch you have in your back pocket or the silk clothes you are wearing.” He untied the baron. “Now then, undress, will you?”

Once Nicholas had handed over his remaining possessions, which the other tucked under one arm, Francis turned away.
“But why,” asked the baron, covering his naked body with his hands. “Why didn’t you just plunder the carriage?”
“Because it would have been quite wicked of me to cooperate with the plans of those villainous rascals.” Francis smiled. “I am a knight, after all.”
With that, he walked off.