Roscoe sat on his bed, absentmindedly running his whetstone down the length of his sword. It seemed like all he did lately. Well, that and all the training exercises. The last time he saw any real action was years ago, when a group of sparkly vampires had taken over the Kingdom. The First Knight had defeated the threat, and, along with the Jester, made everything right in the Kingdom again.
Nowadays, the only thing that happened in the Kingdom were bar fights, and the local constables handled those. The Queen and the Jester were beloved by the people, so there weren’t any internal issues of Kingdom security. No external threats had made themselves known either. Or, if there were, they never made it down to him.
Anything like that would go through the First Knight before anyone else. If he wanted the assignment, he’d take it. If not, he’d hand it off to the next knight in line, who would decide whether or not to take it. And so on.
With how boring things had been in the Kingdom lately, even the most mundane assignments were being grabbed up long before they could get to him. That left him nothing but time to train and sharpen his sword. He may not need the weapon now, but that would change someday. Someday, the Kingdom would need his sword and his skills as sharp as they could be.
He was Roscoe, and he was the Twelfth Knight of the Kingdom.