"The purity of snow always reminds me of the purity of a man's soul...." He looks at the…

"Thanks for the story, René!" (Conclude.)

"Bah!" His gaze wanders over the bay. "There were many such stories in those days. Many such men too. True Revacholians, men with backbone."

"Oh yes, René, yes..." The jolly man nods meekly. "Men were bigger, girls were prettier, and everyone was a fascha -- Lord, please bring those days back, if you can!"

"I'm not getting into this with you again." He mumbles through clenched teeth and turns to you. "Officer, was there anything else?"

You should try to come up with a heroic story of your own -- impress this old soldier.

"Why do you despise Drysant so much?"

"Because he was a god damn dandy!" he exclaims furiously. "Had no business leading men or even being on the battlefield. All he was, was related. That's it."

"Royal blood alone doesn't make army commanders. He was a stupid kid, only interested in horses, hair styles, and manloving." He spits. "And seven hundred and eighty two Royal Carabineers are dead because of his incompetence."

Whooa, manloving? Is that even a word?

It is not.

"This would never happen to Johnny Law-jaw." (Point to your jaw.) "My jaw is tight."

"Right, right..." -- he doesn't get sidetracked -- "so I grabbed the prick and started crawling. Kept going until the 59th Cavalry picked us up."

"I'd give up. Can't imagine living without my jaw." (Touch your jaw.)

"He didn't." A shadow of respect crosses his face. "I hoisted the prick on my back and started crawling. Kept going until the 59th Cavalry picked us up."

"That's no dink, that's a fighter!"

"So I grabbed the dink," he says, with a stern look, "and started crawling. Kept going until the 59th Cavalry picked us up."

"Must have been a bloodpath."

"Bastards..." (Slowly shake your head.)

"So what happened?"

"What a dandy!"

"That's what I was going to say, bravery."

"I'm sure. But I know this uniform's reputation: You were also wondering if I got these for raping women or killing babies."

"I don't know the reputation of... anything. Don't even recognize the war."

"Son, we should never forget our past. Lots of mistakes were made back then, but they were also lessons." His voice takes on a tutor-like quality.

"Forgetting those times means the mistakes were for nothing. That all those people died for nothing."

Whoaa... sounds like you're about to open the gates of conversation -- this man will literally talk your ear off, if you let him wander off to Memory Lane.

"Sounds like there's a story there, but I'd like to talk about something else right now."

"Didn't think you had the stomach for it." He nods grimly. "Kids don't these days. I'm used to that."

"So what did you get the medals for?"

"No, I really wasn't, I'm just asking."

"Honour is everything to me," he says with grim finality.

"So, did you?"

"Sounds controversial. Let's talk about something else."

"I didn't think you had the stomach for it." He nods grimly. "And I can usually tell."

"Not for raping women or...?"

"No -- we were the last ones to keep all the baby killers and rapists in check, and let me tell you, son..." His eyes find yours. "If there hadn't been Royal Carabineers, Revachol might not be standing at all."

"Not for killing babies or...?"

Look at the cross.

A crowned head in front of two crossed rifles. The medal hangs from a blue striped triangle.

It is the Croix de Bravoure -- Cross of Valour. The Cross was the highest battlefield decoration in the Suzerain's armed forces, awarded for exceptional bravery in the line of duty in service of King Frissel the First.

Still, all you see is an old soldier refusing to replace his uniform with a civilian attire.

"Anything else I can assist you with, officer?" he asks impatiently. "We still have a game to finish."

All you observe is a veteran refusing to let go of the past and his old uniform. This is not uncommon.

He catches your glance and nods. "This is the uniform of the Royal Carabineers in service of Frissel the First, Guillaume Le Lion, and the valiant King Filippe the Fifth before him."

"Don't you mean Frissel the Fun?"

"You do not speak his name, craven! Although he was a clown..." he adds. He turns back to you. "But he was our clown. Ours to ridicule -- and to mourn."

There's something you missed... You will get to it, don't worry.

"René... I need to go back in time. Can you help me?"

"René, you were telling me how you got the medals, I wanna hear the rest of the story."

"René, the medal story -- Drysant's horse stepped on your knee, then what happened?"

"Do May bells mean anything to you, René?" (Show him the flower.)

He glances at it and frowns. "I prefer the old name -- Insulindian Lily. Girls brought them to young cadets when they entered service. Wearing them on your cap was supposed to bring good luck."

"Hold on, is this a royalist military tradition?"

"It used to be," he says with a sigh. "But the communards were fond of them, too. Called them revolutionary flowers, bells of the Revolution..."

"Did they bring you good luck?"

"You know what..." He falls silent and the emerging smile withdraws. "No. They brought me misery, false hope, and disappointment. The revolutionaries sullied them."

You stirred up some bad memories there.

"But it wasn't the revolutionaries that sullied the idea for you, was it?" He looks at the old soldier almost gently. "She gave them to me too and your jealous little heart just couldn't accept it."

She? Must be the woman from that picture -- Jeanne-Marie -- again.

"Enough," he cuts in sharply. "I can go over these matters in detail with you, Gaston, but not while we have company. So officers...?"