Chapter 7 - The Road Back to Hell
It's been five long years since you were last in Krorid.
Last you saw it was during war, and now that you're heading back to it, it is war once again.
In your mind, Krorid exists only in a state of war.
You wonder what it's going to be like.
You wonder if they'll even remember you.
You also wonder where you're going to find some new clothes.
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You voice your clothing concerns aloud to Velinor, who shrugs. The two of you are inside of the command tent, searching through it and trying to determine what was stolen by the enemy.
"Ya know, friend, in all my all thirty-one years, I never even thought this would be a problem. I's been a soldier. A mercenary. A hunter. Never did any of my guys get their clothing stolen."
"Well…" You gesture to your nightclothes and reply dryly, "Clearly it happened."
He laughs. "I's ain't in denial of that, Marshal."
"Any ideas, then?" you say, checking over a stack of parchment. The information contained within details your current food situation, along with your drafted plans to gather more. Either Vedran, in his zealousness, missed these reports, or he didn't believe logistics were as important as troop numbers.
"My shit's too small for ya. Maybe that Janowitz guy'll have somethin'. You're a bit taller than him, though. Could be a bit small."
"Anything is better than my nightclothes, gov'nor," you reply.
He laughs again. "Damn true, friend."
A sudden call from outside interrupts your conversation. "Hey, Arthur Hornraven! There's someone outside you might wanna speak to."
Velinor turns his head toward the entrance and says, "Sounds like the queen."
"Should probably speak with 'er," you reply.
"Go ahead. I's can finish up here."
"Appreciate it," you say, stepping through the entrance of the tent.
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