Yeah I saved this pic....*Y*E*A*R*S* ago indeed.
This was part of the first batch of martial uniform plates that got me interested in Our Host's work.

Perhaps there was about a formal dress inspection? By Wellington, maybe?

He clutched the musket closer to his chest as he drew on the pipe, lighting his face with a pale orange glow. His whiskers twitched as he smelt something on the wind. A sound. His bright green eyes flicked to a boulder, just to his left, not fifty feet away. He stuck the pipe in his mouth, gripping it with his teeth as he hefted the heavy weapon and aimed it at the spot. He sucked on his pipe and again, the orange glow lit up his already orange face. A second passed. A minute. He finally shook his head and chuckled. Graveyard shift can take its toll on the mind. He turned around to take up his post. He heard a "Twang". Like a string snapping. A brush of air and his pipe was gone. He looked at the wooden barricade that marked the camp and saw his pipe, split through and hanging on an arrow. He heard a step and, not a second later, a musket shot.