[b][url=http://www.roleplayerguild.com/topics/37195/posts/ooc?page=2#post-1114437]Sergeant Jan Helmski Krazowicz[/url][/b]
[b]Kathar - The Rusty Brewer[/b]
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Jan, genuinely surprised that people how many miles away from his hometown actually knew his name, intently listened to Lukas, but halfway through, he was getting restless just by standing still. Thus, he walked to the side to grab a wooden chair by the back that he could place his rump upon, a tall one, but it creaked and the joints wobbled in his gauntleted grip. Letting it go, he reached for another chair, but he was not confident that its short legs could support the weight of an armored man. He was about to look for yet another seat when he realized that he was being rather discourteous by pacing around like this while an old man was trying his best to get his lengthy point across. And so, he clasped his hands together in front of his waist and resigned himself standing to a speech whose length yet remained undetermined.

He spoke of the coming end of the world, the old man, and Jan’s brow furrowed in incredulity. What’s more was that he had based it on a part of the Story of Creation, which made it somewhat more ridiculous. Yet, Jan’s conscience reasoned, he was here, in place of his lord, summoned by the Empress herself posthumously with a letter written by her own hand, along with other people whom she trusted. Considering the wildness of his circumstances, perhaps the end of the world was coming. He did not particularly like the fact that in the event that it did, he would be at the center of it. Jan pursed his lips and licked them wet; he wasn’t very sure how to feel about this ominous prophecy and quest.

But when Lukas had started warning the party of what they were about to face, Jan noticed that he was still holding the Empress’ letter, its seal unbroken. He opened it with curiosity and beheld woefully squiggly symbols of blue he knew very well he could not make heads or tails of, but looked at them anyway for a few seconds, eyes glancing about the paper without purpose. In the current context, he was quite sure that his count, Saffeud, did not mind him opening a letter that wasn’t meant for his eyes. 

Then, the old man had finally finished. “[b]Which do you choose?[/b]”, he asked -- to fulfill the Empress’ last wishes, or to leave like a coward? The latter option, for Jan, was, of course, unacceptable, unavailable, unthinkable. Yet, his position was rather complicated. As Jan spoke, he had a habit of pausing at times, looking to the side, and then thinking, perhaps, of what to say next:

“About that, milord Lukas,” he said, tapping the edge of the late Empress’ letter against the palm of his other hand, not noticing his impoliteness. “The letter, I believe, is meant for my direct lord and master, Count Saffeud of Schmertzen Castle. Plus, I am sworn directly under him. Be assured, my lords and ladies, I am more than willing to spill blood for Her Majesty, the Empress -- praise be her name, Immortals bless her soul -- but I am afraid I’m not allowed to decide that for myself. We can…” he stopped and thought for a moment, “... wait for him -- if I am so bold as to suggest -- see if the count had escaped the ambush at Ullanski. I assume this is all classified information, thus, if he is dead, then… I can join you out of my own volition.”

Jan, at that time, did not know that he was the sole survivor of his party of 21. Kasloz Saffeud had been slain, along with nineteen others.