[IRP] Vanguard Rising

[Alusq]

Nichol was well aware that his armour, even with all the wadded-up cloth he was wearing underneath, made him a fair bit louder than his cohorts. Up until this point, he'd put the utmost care into every little movement, including the nod he gave to Ambrose's man. Wouldn't want him to think he was the enemy, after all. He secured his helmet one more time: being the light helmet of a guardsman, not a rank-and-file soldier, it lacked a proper visor. It wouldn't matter, anyway, not in the dim flickering torchlight Nichol saw emanating from the barracks up ahead.

Nor did the noise matter, now that they had reached the fortress. Nichol intended to hide in plain sight. He looked to the corpses by the entryway, then to Ambrose. Pascal is the one who needs to die. Not the whole garrison. Hopefully his intent was understood. He heard a retching sound come from deeper within the barracks, and turned to stride down the corridors towards it.

"Identify yourself!" hissed a sentry of some sort.
Nichol began his response with a scoff, grateful he had a little alcohol in his system for this. "I am Corporal Hermann von Dahlschen, Imperial Guardsman," he hissed back at the young man in the stuffiest Thrian accent he could manage. It was a real corporal's name, but he doubted its original bearer was still alive. "I have been sent to perform an audit, beginning on the morrow. Where are your guest quarters?"
"An... an audit?" Relief suddenly washed over the sentry's face. "Oh, thank goodness— I mean..." Nichol felt a momentary pang of sympathy for the local garrison. There likely were real problems with the way this fortress was managed, but the problem he and his comrades sought to fix tonight was on a higher level. "We don't— we don't really get guests, sir," the sentry stammered.
"Lad." Nichol put a hand on the sentry's shoulder, as if he were speaking to a young child. "Surely our lord does not expect a guest of my stature to board in these barracks?"
"No, not— not at— certainly not— no, sir." The sentry squirmed. "Commanders'— the commanders' quarters— I'm— I'm sure there's a spare room you can... sir."

The sentry beckoned Nichol to follow him, and Nichol obliged. Although he was fully armoured, he suddenly felt naked without a spear, only a concealed dagger. He knew he had acted too quickly, already separating himself from the group like this, but he'd been itching to begin as soon as he'd seen the dead bodies. As soon as he was led to some quarters, he would be able to double back with the knowledge of how to get through at least part of the fortress complex unseen. The fewer people were in their way, the fewer dead Etrurians there would have to be. Besides, this was an opportunity to assess the night's watch firsthand. If it turned out Pascal's guards didn't put all their heart into guarding, the job would be a lot easier.