Conversation · René Arnoux

"The purity of snow always reminds me of the purity of a man's soul...." He looks at the falling snow. "If he's got principles."

What is it about this old soldier that makes him stand so proud?

As René turns from you to his partner and back, the medals on his chest rattle and glare. He keeps his spine straight and his ribcage lifted, displaying them proudly.

How many medals are there?

Two. The larger one is shaped like a cross, while the smaller medal resembles the sun.

Look at the sun.

A small blue star inside an orange sun. It has the word Vaillance written below.

The Setting Sun was a decoration used to distinguish seasoned combat veterans in service of King Frissel the First during the Revolution.

"The medals." (Point to his chest.) "Did you get them for..."

"For bravery," he interjects.

It's a conflicted topic for the old veteran. There must have been a number of controversial episodes in his service days.

"For bravery?"

"For doing my duty in the heat of battle, for looking my mortality in the eye, when men like Gaston here hid in the bushes and shat themselves..."

"He saved some maudit princeling who foolishly strolled into the front line in his gown of velvet and gold."

"Listen, René, I might wanna hear that story later, but right now I have more important things to discuss."

"Fine," he snaps at you, obviously annoyed for the interruption. "What is it then?"

"Saved a princeling?"

"It was on the first months of the Revolution here in Revachol. Unrest was spreading like wildfire. Marauders had taken most of the Couron and were getting really ambitious."

"King Frissel thought he could end it all in one decisive strike." The old carabineer runs his fingers over the larger medal. "Sent his cousin, Drysant, to put an end to the unrest."

"Alas, the young Drysant was all piss and no vinegar, wearing a tunic of purple velvet and cockatoo feathers to battle." He spits. "Even his rifle was gold-plated. Shone from five klicks away. Can you imagine the asininity?"

You can. It's very asinine.

He really despises that Drysant fellow.

"Purple velvet tunic," the lieutenant says thoughtfully. "That isn't exactly camo."

"To keep the long and bloody story short, Drysant marched us against the partisans in Couron. And when I say 'marched', I mean made us walk into captured enemy territory single-file, like toy soldiers, while he rode in front on his giant red stallion."

"The rebels were smart. They let us come real close before opening fire. Suffice to say, it was carnage."

"Pretty damn clever indeed."

"I got shot in the left shoulder and went down. Just a flesh wound, but just as I turned over, the prince fell into the mud next to me. He was missing his lower jaw."

"Then his horse, driven mad by the noise and smell of gunpowder, stepped on my leg and shattered my knee." He pats his right thigh.

It's painful to even think about.

Hang on to the story -- veterans get sentimental after such retellings -- this might yield something useful.

"Shattered knee... interesting. Actually, can we pick it up later and do questions now?"

"Ugh..." The old man looks at you, obviously annoyed by the interruption. "Sure. Yes. Yes, you can ask your questions."

"Okay... then what did you do?"

"I grabbed my sidearm and shot the beast in the head. Then everything went black."

"Capitaine Arnoux -- le fléau des chevaux!"

The bane of horses.

"When I came to, it was all over," he continues, ignoring his companion. "It was just me and jawless Drysant, gurgling in the blood-soaked mud right next to me."

"The dink had taken numerous flesh wounds and lost a lot of blood, but despite missing his jaw he seemed hesitant to die. Tougher than he looked, that one."

"I've been through worse."

"I doubt it," he remarks dryly. "Anyway, I grabbed the prick and started crawling. Kept going until the 59th Cavalry picked us up."

"Through some miracle we both survived. And the jawless freak convinced Frissel to give me a medal for not leaving him to die in his own blood, piss, and shit."

"He was the commanding officer and I was on duty. Just doing my job. Shouldn't hand out medals for that..." He shakes his head. "Thirteen months later I received 'The Sun'. For distinguished service. It's not worth mentioning."

You sense he's downplaying it -- he did a lot more than his duty. More than anyone's duty. It's in his spine, in his billowing breast. An untarnished self worth.

Duty, medals, honour, chain of command -- I like this guy. He's not a pansy. I don't like pansies.

"Sounds like you're being modest, René."

The old carabineer stands quietly like a statue, his features motionless.

"What Monseigneur Modestie is not telling you is that he crawled over seven kilometres before the cavalrymen found him and Drysant. Two days later that was."

"And that even whilst crawling with a mangled half-dead prince on his back, he still managed to murder three rebels on his way."

Is that... pride in his voice? It's deep down, but -- maybe even unbeknownst to the man himself -- it's there.

"Quite impressive. It's men like René who made Revachol great once."

"Maybe, maybe, but also bear in mind, officer..." He points to the sun-shaped medal on René's chest. "They don't hand these out for anyone with a service record."

"Oh no, you have to get shot." He nods eagerly. "Repeatedly. And you need to get your hands bloody too. Really really bloody."

"Do not speak of what you know nothing about, poltroon!" He slams the heel of his boot in the ground. "Duty is something you will never understand."

"Hold on, you're just a little bit proud of René's heroics, aren't you?"

"Sorry, officer, but you're reading me all wrong." He chuckles. "I'm a man of peace and these kinds of bloody 'heroics' are only impressive to men like René himself. Certainly not to me."

He's lying.

"How did you find the story to be, officer?"

"I'm not impressed. All those heroics and where is he now? No, you gotta play to win. Look after you first."

"This doesn't seem like a good moment to express an opinion." (Lean closer.) "I don't wanna risk it."

"Bon dieu," he mumbles, slowly shaking his head. "You and Gaston must be related. His blood runs yellow too."