The Halls of Forbearance were illuminated by flickering flames, set amid the halls to give a timeless and looming aspect. One could not look up to see the ceiling, as if you walked through time itself. The cries of lamentation and the heavy breaths of struggling squires in mock combat led to the ambience well enough. Orion didn't turn to look at any of them, only glancing when he thought he saw a familiar face. 

The stone corridors faded behind him as he entered the central chamber, wide in bearing and even dimmer save for the raised council seating, fully a dozen feet taller than Orion. He lifted his eyes to the Baron and his lower Baronets and upper Knights who sat in a semicircle, clad in resplendent robes and armor, depending on their rank and function. Even in the dark, Orion's cybernetic eye could make out every pock mark and crease on Clement Hawkwood's face, but he dared not say. His decision to be so armed had only further enraged the Baron, who saw him as a threat to his autonomy for various reasons Orion could not fathom. 

"Orion Pentecost." Clement spake, standing from his chair and raising his arms, the robes clad to him looking as vast wings. For all of his faults, he had a powerful voice, and Orion was merely his servant. "You have been summoned before this council to answer for your crimes at Paltrow this past sun season. Your favor by your late aunt can no longer keep you within the order. Fail us again and you will find yourself exiled, or worse." 

"Yes, my lord." Orion repled, kneeling before the nobility. The movement portrayed his bullet-proof shield and broadsword, along with the shotgun splayed along his back. A few murmurs began to sir, and Clement's next words had the briefest fit of anger. "Why do you come amongst us so armed? Do you seek to despoil this council even further, knave? Do you not even wish to hear of your sentencing, or are you too far gone that you care not!?" He didn't even wait for a response. "Answer, cur!" 

The Hawkwood Knight took to his feet, and though he was far below them, he seemed tall as he stood there along in the dark of the floor. "Apologies, my lord. I simply believed you would send me on another mission post-haste, and sought to be better prepared to serve you." 

"Never presume to know our intentions, fool!" Clement spat. "And your allying with the Pagans at Paltrow can be blamed for your next assignment." 

"I was tasked with the safeguarding of the city, my lord. The pagans wished the same. I only did as I was bid with the tools the Pancreator and yourself had left me." 

"I, nor our God did not permit you to shame this great house or faith!" He screeched, his forceful voice having lost all potency of decency and devolved into a dread anger. "You presume, Pentecost! Presumption of wills above your own is unbecoming of a Knight who serves. Do you not know the meaning of Knight from old Urth? It is one who serves, and you will go and serve me [i]faithfully[/i] once again, and for the last time if you do not curb your heathen instincts. Now, go forth and fetch yourself what supplies you need and find a Confessor. You above all need one. Go! Before I bound you here and now and redistribute your weapons and armor to one more worthy. A slave-boy perhaps, or a whore. No go!" 

He took the berating in stride, knowing his place despite the Baron's insistence he did not. His life had taken a turn for the strange every since he had arrived on Gwynneth. He knew he would die here, or worse, lose his rank. He knew now what trap Clement had lain for him. He had not told him of his assignment, and yet he dismissed him. Either way, he was in the wrong. Steeling himself, he asked. "And where do I go to serve you?" 

Less than an hour later, Orion stepped out of the hall, tattered cloak changed into a well tailored once of red and gold filigree. He was to arrive at Tolth on the morrow, but for now he needed to visit the Bishop. A Confessor was what he was lacking, and thought he didn't think he needed one, he would not disobey his lord. 
[@Penny]