[b]Sergeant Jan Helmski Krazowicz[/b] [Kathar - City Walls and Immediate Fields >>> Kathar - The Rusty Brewer] --- [center][img=http://i.imgur.com/HEP2gxV.png][/center] [b][url=http://www.roleplayerguild.com/topics/37195/posts/ooc?page=2#post-1114437]Jan[/url]’s breath steamed in the nighttime air[/b] as he, mounted on his trusty steed Zarogiem, crested over a grassy hill and beheld the great walls of Kathar, the capital city of the Empire and home to the palace wherein the Empress resided. At the sight of this, he stopped for a moment, and pulled up the visor of his sallet helm as he decided that he was in a safe place. The sweat from his battle with the assassins mere hours ago was all but gone, and deliberately had he slowed his pace for Count Saffeud, Corporal Askopov and the others to catch up, even stopping at times and at length, but no-one in his party rejoined him, no matter how long he waited. Thus, he found himself arriving at Kathar alone. “Come on, boy,” he spurred his steed forwards and descended from the hill. Lonesome, Zarogiem’s individual hoof-falls were loud and stark against the damp loam, and Jan could hear his chainmail mesh clattering against the plate as he bobbed along with his steed. As he drew closer to the walls, following the road, he began, little by little, to feel dwarfed by them. Their Brobdingnagian proportions utterly rendered him as tiny and insignificant before their mighty breadth. Hell, some of the bricks were even larger than him and his horse combined! Arrogant towers with pointed spires caught the silver light of the full moon and cast stark shadows which bathed Jan in a midnight black as he passed through them. The gates were closed, as was the norm during nighttime, but security was uncomfortably tighter than usual as he, upon reaching those gates, was subjected to an unnecessarily long questionnaire to prove his identity as a soldier under Count Saffeud’s service. When those grand double doors of iron and wood were inched apart for his entrance, Jan voiced his concerns at the nearest armsman: “Why is security so tight tonight?” The young city guard made a look of incredulity, scowling. “Why wouldn’t it be?”, he spat. “What do you mean?”, Jan replied, truly ignorant and making himself look rather dumb. “You don’t know?” “Don’t know what?” “The Empress is dead!” The words rolled off of the armsman’s tongue cleanly, surprising himself that he didn’t stutter as Jan absorbed this terrible news and helplessly hung his jaw agape for the briefest of moments as he tried to gather the words to say next. “The hell? Since when?” “‘Bout ten minutes ago. Assassins done her in, in her Palace -- at least, that’s what I’m hearin’.” Jan looked away and put an armored finger to his chin in thought, before whipping his head back to the gate guard. “Wait,” he smirked, “are you pulling my leg, armsman?” “Oh sod off. The hell would I be jokin’ about something like this? Damned curfew’s been put in place for all civilians. Gon’ be five minutes until the city guard’s gonna be rolling down the streets, plucking out every man out of armor for questioning. Good thing you’re wearing plate.” Jan sunk his head to muster up whatever feelings of grief he had for the death of his ruler. Yet, he could find none, for the palace, the dukes, the kings and the princes and their princess whores -- they were all so removed from his simple life of a soldier. So, he simply shook his head with a halfhearted, dismissive frown curling his lips. “Well, that’s a real damn shame. I think I liked the Empress.” “Yeah, she was a real beaut, that one.” “You've seen her before? I haven’t.” “Just could get a glimpse of her at noontime during the Parade. Let me tell you -- she looked like a real angel! Don’t know why anyone would want to cut up skin that white.” “She doesn’t have a son, does she? No heir?” The gate guard shrugged. “No heir as far as I know, but an announcement came that they were looking for a [i]‘true heir’[/i]. I don’t know why they deliberately said [i]‘true’[/i], and I’m no clever man, but frankly, this all sounds like that petty war between Lord Saffeud and Stoutheart. Noble greed, you know? Speaking of which, isn’t that the Schmertzen seal? You one of Saffeud’s men?” He pointed at the swords-and-lion symbol stenciled onto Jan’s right pauldron which he had managed to make out in the somewhat dim torchlight, with his chin. “That I am,” the sergeant confirmed. “Saw combat in that war, too.” “What’s it like?” “What’s what like?” “War,” said the armsman. “What’s it like?” “It’s good,” Jan immediately answered. “It’s exciting. There’s competition in the battlefield: it’s either you or the bastard before you who dies that day, and you feel this rush, you know? It’s a great feeling. The loot is great, lots of gold to be had on the bodies of the fallen. And to drink from the cup of glory when you and your lord are victorious is a sensation which I believe not even the finest whore in all of Sythus can rival.” The armsman smiled. “That sounds nice.” “How old are you, guardsman?” “Sixteen. Volunteered for the city guard. Haven’t seen combat myself, though. But I hope I will. Being a guard and wearing armor like this is nice and all, but admittedly, it’s pretty damn boring. The only people I get to spear are drunks who can’t fight back. I want real opponents, people who can give me a challenge.” Jan grinned at the young boy’s enthusiasm. By the Nine, the Land needed more boys like this one right before him! “If this whole thing does end up in a war for succession, then there will be plenty of blood to spill. Keep that spear close; sleep with it at your bedside. You will need it. Oh, and, by the way, before I forget -- where might I find The Rusty Brewer?” “Round the stables to the right and walk right up by the old church. Big sign over the door, you can’t miss it.” "Thank you. You have a good night now, gate guard." "You too, cavalryman." And with that, Jan entered the city proper, dismounting, and then parking Zarogiem at the gate stables, soothing the beast by brushing its snout. This being the entrance of the city, it was both a commercial and residential district of sorts, where market stalls, abandoned due to the time of day, sat by the sidewalk, and the first floors of many houses were stores all their own, proudly displaying businesses ranging from medicine to smithwork. Candlelight from the windows of surrounding buildings and from the streetlamps bathed glum stonework in orange. He paid no particular attention to the bell tolls that enacted the curfew just newly impressed into the city. Jan’s armored heels clattered on the road of brick and cobble as he searched for his destination, which he quickly discovered and made way towards. A group of guards walked down towards him from the pub, with whom he exchanged salutes and greetings with. “Evening, guardsmen.” “Evening to you, comrade. What’s your business here?” “I’m here on orders from Lord Saffeud. You will thus understand why I shan’t tell you anything more.” “Ah. Carry on then, sergeant. Have a good night.” “You as well, guardsman.” Jan found himself just before the front door of the pub. He paid no heed to the old man partaking of tobacco as his armored hand reached for its handle, but he felt his wrist grasped, and he whipped his head to the side to see that the old man had moved against him. [b]”Hold on fer a minute, boy,”[/b] Jan found his accent strange. [b]”Curfew’s been put in place. You can’t drink at this time, unfortunately.”[/b] The sergeant took a moment to think. “Are you the bartender?”, he asked. [b]”That I am.”[/b] “Then I am looking for a man named Lukas.” The old man shifted his pipe to the other end of his mouth. [b]”Go upstairs, first door to your left.”[/b] “Thank you, sir.” Yurik made a strange face in response. [b]”What’re you thankin’ me for? Hahaha! You’re too polite. Go on up there, laddy, you’re a bit late.”[/b] Jan, now paying little mind to him, entered the warm interior of the pub, fully decked in partial plate armor. It weighed down on him and heated him up, yet, he did not want to take it off, as he did not feel secure. He felt that he was about to involve himself in a mess perhaps as tangled as that hunt for the Erthanti cult, and had second thoughts on participating. But he squashed those, for he had sworn an oath and his sense of loyalty refused, scoffed at the thought of even disobeying an order, especially when he himself was hand-picked by his lord to accompany him in this quest. He thus decided with finality that would rather fall on his sword than be branded a dishonorable coward and shamed for life! And so, he lifted himself upstairs. He gripped the door handle firmly and pressed the door open, stepping inside the room and taking a glance around to discover a variety of personalities, most of them looking rather sinister in their own way. “Well,” he began, initially unsure of what to say. “I am Sergeant Jan Krazowicz of the Dradovkan 2nd. My lord has tasked for me to find a man named Lukas in his place.” He retrieved the Empress’ letter from a pocket he had sewn into the underside of his surcoat, and waved it about. “He may or may not be dead, but I assume he is, forgive my insolence. We were ambushed by assassins in Ullanski Forest. I humbly ask for the man named Lukas to enlighten me to the situation. I do not know the contents of this letter as I cannot read. I'll...,” he thought, "then immediately ride back to Schmertzen Castle and, in the event I don't happen upon him living, or not at all, inform Lord Saffeud's family of... whatever my lords and ladies before me are planning."