[b][u]The Grand Kingdom of Kron-Nesis

The Capital City of Tarantis

Encampment of the Grand Marshall

A Terminal-Heyitsjiwon Collab[/u][/b]

The retinue of Lord Wolff set up camp and began to wait for the orders to march. Until then... many of the men wouldn't give up the chance to explore the Southern Jewel while they had the chance. Among those men were Sir Archibald who wanted to visit some of the local escort establishments and meet some of the ladies of the capital. Admittedly, this was his first time in the grand city as most Attolians rarely have the opportunity to leave the archipelago. So, he seemed to be almost walking in circles as many of the buildings just looked the same to him. He wasn't completely lost since he could see the top of the royal palace in the distance, but he didn't really know where to go. He was just exploring for now.

"Hey there friend." Came a muffled voice from behind him. Looking around, he saw a member of the soldiery - obviously not a slave or an enscripted serf. They had an actual light-steel cuirass and greaves - they were not wearing any chain, and the cuirass had been polished to a spotless gleam worn over a relatively clean work-shirt. That and the absence of gauntlets and only a small dirk in his belt for a weapon indicated the man was just trying to look impressive for the peasantry without having to wear his entire ensemble. He has a plumped, rounded face with several scars and gouge-lines running through the tissue of the cheeks, and in his open mouth sat a deformed tongue with a missing chunk to it - explaining his muffled voice. He was fortunate not to have a lisp.

"I saw you coming in with House Wolff. If you're looking for the best places, I can show you around. If you can be a friend to me, yeah?" He gave Archibald a beaming smile, his deformed tongue momentarily hidden from view.

Sir Archibald was a bit taken back by the man. He seemed a bit out of place being so friendly. Given his appearance, and his lack respect to nobility... no wonder he had so many scars. He likely got hit around quite a bit for disrespecting his Lord. "If you saw me come in with House Wolff, then you should know that I am a Knight, and that you should be calling me 'Sire'. Now, vanish before I teach you a lesson for being so disrespectful to a noble. The mere sight of you offends me, Cur." Sir Archibald spat with disgust and he turned to continue to walk. He just wanted a place to get some decent wine and some company, not have some maimed... mercenary try to get on his good side.

"Well [i]sire[/i]," Came the man's muffled and now hurried voice. "You'll have to forgive me but I only saw you come in on horseback, you were not all in plate, I just sort of assumed you were an officer like me. And begging your pardon - sire - but given your state of dress and what how this city is practically encrusted with glitz, unless you have somebody to announce you I fear the same mistake is going to be made again...But I could show you a few establishments that cater to more [i]patrician[/i] men of class such as yourself, who would never make that sort of mistake."

Sir Archibald's brows furrowed slightly. The guy was a bit too friendly, but perhaps that was what people were like in the Southern Jewel. They do say that luxery and comfort make people soft. He sighed and said "Very well, then. Although as an officer, you should be more familiar with the heraldry that people bear. A mistake like that.... and well let's just say that I know a lot of nobles and knights who aren't too forgiving." He then reached out for a handshake and said "I am Sir Archibald of Attolia. What are you called, soldier? Where do you hail from?"

"The name is Nalon Tret, I came into the service of our Grand King from the Bloody Cape." He clasped Archibald's hand firmly - he was no longer smiling widely as he had been before, but his demeanor still was not unfriendly. "And I do beg your pardon sire; speaking truthfully I am a non-comissioned officer. I am not as familiar with the heraldry as others might be. My captain entrusts me with the responsibility of making rounds in whatever locale to ensure the company's revelry does not get out of hand. How would you like to start the evening off, sire?" 

"Bloody Cape you say? Can't say I'm too familiar with the region." Sir Archibald replied. "Anyways, I was just looking for a local watering hole so to speak. Don't let me keep you from your duty, Nalon. I don't know who your Captain may be, but I sure as hell know that some of the officers in the Grand Army are certainly no pushovers. Just... if you could point me towards the direction of a decent bar, I can figure out the rest myself."

"Well sire, you will want to avoid most of the places near here and too far into the city. Here in the outskirts most of the bars are for tourists; they just serve piss poured from a boot and call it ambrosia." Nalon leaned in conspiratorially as he confided in the knight. "You also want to avoid the inner-city bars. They do the same thing, but they charge you more for it, and they fine you if you get the seat dirty. Not really the sort of place for a knight who's been riding all day, sire. If you want my recommendation, there are two bars a ways from here - the Well of Nirn and the Buried Hilt. Both are owned by ex-veterans. The first is a drinking hole with a little bit of gaming, the second is for the discerning customer who might be interested in negotiable affection. I was about to head in to both myself to check on the men, I could guide you there, introduce you to the owners mebbe, get you the special rates."

Sir Archibald replied "Well, that does sound intriguing, but how far a ways are we talking about? I don't think it would be wise to stray too far from the camp when we're bound to start heading off to whatever bloody war we're supposed to fight."

"The Well of Nirn is just about three blocks to the Northeast, sire."Nalon supplied.

"Three blocks? What are we doing just standing around here when we could be drowning ourselves in God's nectar? Take the lead Nalon! First round's on me." Sir Archibald eagerly interjected.

Nalon led Sir Archibald to the Well of Nirn as promised, and introduced him to the owner, who was more than pleased to let Archibald have the special rates to then be generous with. There was much merriment that night, and the Knight found himself not only buying drinks but receiving drinks from others.

Many, many drinks. 

He did not recall the remainder of the night, save for an indistinct nightmare filled with fire, pain, and the soft words of rage whispering promises of oblivion into his ear.

He awoke with a start, his vision blurry and indistinct. There were voices nearby, and he couldn't feel anything. Not the worst sign, as he had woken up with worse hangovers. Slowly, he tried to get up and realized he could not move his arms. The voices nearby grew in volume, sounding startled. Faces swam into his field of vision, and he heard them speak to him. Their words reached him as though spoken through a thick wooden door.

"Archibald...ire...us?"

A swath of fabric briefly covered his face. It was damp with cool water as somebody wiped at his brow, and then they spoke again, their voices a little clearer.

"Sir Archibald, can you hear us?" They tried again. Their faces were now starting to swim into focus. One of his attendants was dressed all-in-white, one of the Field Camp's physics no doubt. The other appeared to be one of the Grand Marshall's Colonels, strangely enough. What could he be doing here?

"W-where in the bloody hell am I?" Sir Archibald moaned. He felt worse than ever before... almost like he got ran over by a bull or something. "I-I should cut down on the merriment... I'm certainly no longer as young as I once was." He moaned once more and then realized that the Colonel was still standing there. "How can I help you, Colonel?"

The two figures glanced at each other. "Sir Archibald, you are in he medical pavillion." The physician answered, cautiously. "It is very important that you try not to move, and to stay calm."

"Do you remember anything about last night, Knight?" The Colonel asked, his gaze seeming to run over Archibald's body. The dull, throbbing sensation of pain was starting to hammer its way back into Archibald's reality - and he realized, he was not wearing a shirt or tunic. He was bear-chested for some strange reason, but at the same time it felt like something was pressed down against his chest.

Sir Archibald looked down and noticed what looked like splints as his arms rested on top of him. "That was one heck of a night..." He muttered. "Last night? I was walking around, looking for a tavern or something when I bumped into a random NCO. What was his name....Talon? No.... no....AH, Nalon. The cheeky lad... took me to a bar named the Well of Nirn and he drank me under the table!" Sir Archibald tried to look around and see where Nalon was. "Where's the lad? He have a rough night like I did?"

The Colonel and the Physician shared another look.

"...That is presently what we are trying to determine." The Colonel answered briefly. "As hesitant as I am to say this, physician, perhaps we should move his arms so he can see?"

"That might set him off." The Physic muttered in reply. "He's doing remarkably well so far, thanks to all the poppy juice, but he really needs to rest..."

"Poppy juice? Is that what I drank last night? Knocked me onto my arse! That's some dangerous stuff" Sir Archibald interjected.

"Knight, I am afraid..." The Colonel began, then stopped with a frown as he considered. He tried again. "I am [i]concerned[/i] that this man you met, this Nalon you called him, might not have been who you thought he was. We're going to move your arms now so you can see what happened to your chest, but I want you to promise to remain [i]calm[/i]. There will be some pain. Understand?"

"Huh? Uhh, you may do so." Sir Archibald replied.

The Colonel nodded at the Physic, who gently began to sidle Archibald's splintered arms off to the sides of his bodies, without endeavoring to actually pick them up to move them. The pain was suddenly exquisite - Archibald felt as though there were untold burrowing insects deep inside the flesh of his arms, laying eggs of fire in the marrow of his bones, and nothing came of his spasmodic efforts to move any of part of either. But worse was the glimpse of what lay under them, as the first of the charred, blackened scarring was revealed by the wood and cloth of the first splint being moved, and then the second. Covering his chest was lettering, carved into his flesh with some implement and then roughly cauterized afterward, leaving his entire chest a patchwork of burnt scars and seared black flesh. He could not even make out the words from the orientation of his head, but the moment he saw those letters in full, the anguish bloomed from merely exquisite to become the new Demiurgic master of his new reality of torment.

As Archibald's pained screams pierced through the confines of the cloth pavillion while the Physic tried to calm him down and while the Colonel looked on gravely, passer-by and the guards at the tent's opening could not help but peer in and stare at what they saw emblazoned upon the body of the Knight with the shattered, maimed limbs. And so the message was known.

[center][color=black][h3][b]YOUR SINS WILL FIND YOU OUT[/b][/h3][/color][/center]

[hr][center][s]888888888888[/s][/center]

Lothar stood outside the entrance to a nice little bar with a slightly faded old sign that read, 'The Well of Nirn.' "So, this is the place, Sir Henry?" "Yes, my Lord. I went around the city, trying to retrace Sir Archibald's steps last night. This, I can assure you, is the place that he first went to with the fellow who called himself 'Nalon'". Lothar nodded. One of his other Knights, with a mailed fist, knocked loudly on the wooden door.

"We're open! It's early, but come on in!" A voice drifted from inside.

The Knight shoved the door open and drew his sword as he entered as did the other two Knights to secure the room while Lord Wolff followed in behind them calmly. The Knights looked around the bar but it seemed... like a normal bar. Nothing was out of place, but they still stood with their swords ready in case anything happened.

"Well. Not sure what this is all about mi'lord." The barkeep said in a graveled voice as he peered at all the assembled men. He was on the shorter side, but with a broad build. His hair was rapidly graying but still had traces of color to it. He wore an eyepatch over his right socket, and was missed the upper half of his index finger from his right hand - and there was a distinctive, wavery and waxen texture of burnt and healed skin on his cheek. Immediately behind him, mounted on the wall behind the bar, was a pike and shortsword of a Kron-Nesis infantryman.

As if to confirm his past, the barkeep gave Lothar a grim smile. "Y'think you brought enough men?" He laughed hoarsely.

"If I wanted to, there could be an entire cavalry squadron here as well, but no need to digress too far from the topic. Barkeep, one of my Knights came here last night with a fellow named 'Nalon.' I require you to tell me everything you know about this fellow who supposedly had scars all over his face, a part of his tongue missing, and claimed to be an NCO." Lothar bluntly replied.

"I imagine the Knight you're referring to was Sir Archibald? Eye, I remember those two comin' about. His fellow didna introduce himself as Nalon though. Called himself Tret, and Archibald didn't seem ta think that was of issue." The Barkeep crossed one arm across his body and used it to prop up the other as he idly traced the fingers - and one stump - of his right hand over his burn mark, in some kind of habitual stance as he thought.

"This fellow - Nalon or Tret or what have you - he came in, said he had been with sixth-division sectional infantry and that his lord was looking for some cheer. Persuaded me to give Archibald a rate. Wasn't a bad deal, that knight spent coin like it were garbage on rounds for the house. He 'twere well appreciated, let me tell you." He nodded slowly. "Didna see much of Tret after that. Think he may have just left. Last I saw the Knight, some soldier was helping him slog and stumble 'is way out of the bar onto the street. Could have been Tret, but might not 'o been. Didn't really pay it much mind at the time."

"Unfortunately Barkeep, you're going to have to think a bit harder. What else do you know of this 'Tret' or the Sixth Division?" Lothar inquired. "Ahh, and as incentive, I'll let you know why I ask all this. Sir Archibald was assaulted last night and maimed. The penalty for attacking a Knight DURING wartime, I can imagine, is rather steep. Thus, as the owner of this cozy establishment, you do have the duty of watching out for your patrons. It would be a shame to think that people might start thinking that this establishment is... lacking in consideration for its clients."

The barkeep gave him a toothy smile.

"Well, mi'lord, for one ting, the common law sayeth I do not owe spit to nobody the second the set one foot out on the other side of the threshold." He indicated the door behind Lothar. "And second, make all the threats of bad-mothin' you want. This is an old hole I made to give me old friends and other veterans some comfort, even if they wert the only ones to ever come again I'd be fine with that. I'll tell you what I can, mi'lord, but don't ye trying to pin whatever it is that happened on me. I'll sleep just fine either way."

"Unfortunate for you, common law tends to... not have as much standing during war, but like I said. You help me get to the bottom of this, then surely people will hear about your upstanding nature and concern for your clients. It's not every day that a Knight gets assaulted." Lothar replied.

"Fine, fine. Well, let me see..." The barkeep returned to his prior stance for a moment. "Well, sixth division were my own division at some point. Not sure if it's still what they do, but when I was a fightin' man we were up in the mountains, fighten them dwarves in skirmishes and such. Thinkin' on it now, seein' a man claiming to be from sixth division sectional infantry all the way out here is a twee bit strange. Not unheard of, what with leave and the like, and all the rumors of this new war risin' up. He certainly [i]looked[/i] the part 'o sectional infantry though, and I 'eard him speakin wit some of the others. Said his tongue was that way 'fore dwarven trap. Sent shrapnel right up through the underside of his jaw and through his tongue. He's lucky his voice is only what muffled a bit for it. Said his friends called him Nailtooth."

Lothar nodded and said "Well, that's certainly helpful. Say, Barkeep, I know it's probably been a while since you saw service, but do you still have friends in the Sixth?"

"...I might." The barkeep said slowly, taking a good look at Lothar with his one eye, tracing up and down his armor and settling on the hilt of his sword.

"Give me three names. I'll personally see to it that those three are transfered from the division before the war starts." Lothar said

"Transferred where, mi'lord? If you don't mind me asking."

"Anywhere else, but the Sixth. I plan to have the war potentially deal with my issue for me and see to it that the Sixth is the vanguard for this upcoming war. They will serve their Kingdom honorably and be decorated with all the posthumorous accolades they deserve for giving up everything on behalf of the Grand Kingdom. Course... I do have a need for three... guides and messengers for my men."

"Well mi'lord," The barkeep said after a brief moment of consideration. "I think we both be knowin' the true worth of your posthumous accolades. 'An rest assured, the soldiers in the Sixth know it too. Ye can take your threat and make good on it, those men and women swore 'n oath, same as I did, and they'll be your van. Don't need me savin' any of them." His one good eye narrowed.

"But be sure your sins will find you out."

Lothar shook his head "Another metalhead who buys the Grand Kingdom's lies. I genuinely thought that you would be smarter than that, but I guess not. Although, I do wonder... what sins have I committed?"

"Y'know, when I saw that sword, for a wee second I thought maybe you'd get it. But ye don't, do you?" The barkeep slammed on the surface of the tableide before him fiercely with what remained of his right hand. "You think we all don't know we're throwin' our lives away for naught? But an oath is an oath is an oath, in the eyes of the gods. Men like you may be pissant, scum-suckin' bottom feeders, but you got our mettle all the same. Unlike some, we dona fight for glory. The men and women of the sixth all get that."

"Funny, the same men and women who would maim and torture a random man just because of his title? I see what it is that you think of nobility, but do not pretend to sit upon a higher moral seat when you do not know the experiences of Sir Archibald and his trials and tribulations just like I do not under-estimate your experiences in the field. You bare your scars with pride, and yet I am disgusted by them because you believe that following an 'oath' is honorable and just in the eyes of the gods. Whatever gods that you believe in are not the ones I would want to follow if those same gods want you to suffer along with the thousands of others in the Sixth. I ask one more time as a favor to you and your few friends still in the Sixth. Do you have three names to provide me before they go off on this god-forsaken war for some god-forsaken piece of dirt?" Lothar rebuttled.

"I just told you honor don't come into it. It were never about honor. It were about [i]giving our word[/i], sometin a noble prick like you would never understand. I bear my scars because I have no choice other than to bear them, and damn you for sayin' otherwise. But if you be wantin' so fiercely for names, you'll have them." The barkeep glowered.

"Peiro Halbadain were a Sergeant in the sixth division some time ago. Not sure if that still be the case, but he's been doin' nothing but your bidding since 'e were born. Canam Argider and Feldis Agate are both scouts; if they still live they deserve better than to muck about in trenches and tunnels like rats waitin' to get crushed."

Lothar nodded and said "You just saved three lives. More than what the gods have done as of late. I will request that they serve me personally, and I have to confess something. I do not have such authority or power to order the Sixth to the very front... but this war... it will claim lives ruthlessly and without concern. If they serve as messengers instead of fighting in the trenches...  I hope that you will all be able to share a drink together once this war is over... at least the chances of that happening are a lot higher. That said, thank you for all the information, but I must do what I must to bring Sir Archibald some justice... he had been... eager to serve the Grand Kingdom despite my warnings." With that, Lothar nodded to his Knights as they sheathed their swords and began to walk out of the bar.

Lothar began to depart with some final words. "Perhaps, one day... all this madness will end, but until that day... I will continue to carry this sword. That is the only reason I carry it. But, I pray that you will never have to lift yours anymore."