"Yes, just put that case there with the others, please - gently!"
The two lads clumsily lower the last heavy crate and straighten their
aching backs, wiping the sweat off their foreheads. Chretien du Penmarch
hands each young man a glass and pours the ruby red wine from the single
open bottle.
"That's it - that's the best I have to show for three months at the
front. Rotten place. What a bloodbath we had at the last! Those poor new
recruits had barely gotten into their uniforms..." For a moment, he turns
away, stricken, but turns back to face the other men.
"Let's drink a toast to their memory, and to the futures of all those
recently arrived who walk under the gates of our fair city with little more
than their golden dreams." The three men raise their glasses (but do not
clink them as that is considered crass). "On that note," Chretien
continues, "I've heard of the arrival of a certain countryman who knows the
value of this wine. Fontaine, would you be so kind as to deliver this
bottle and this little letter to a certain Louis sur Dardtete?"
(OOC: CdP makes a gift of 200 crowns and a bottle of tomato wine to LsD.)
