Board Thread:Roleplay/@comment-25808351-20191103030646/@comment-27666783-20191113070859

(@Hound, BTR180, Bar Area)

Bertram takes another swig from the stein, unable to drown out the voices of the others. Speaking in terms of preperation and planning, actionable intelligence. If Bertram were a more loyal man of the current Order, he'd report this to the Inquisition at once. Talk of the peoples under the Archaic, their homeland, how to fight against them. "They're good people." His mouth spoke aloud before his mind did, impulsive. He'd pause a moment, lips grimacing, a conviction reaching him. "The Northmen, even the Archaics, its easy to pass judgement on those considered fanatical and radical." The young Apprentice turns toward the one called Marcus, aptly recognizing him from the arena matches. "The people and their defenders, however imposing with their size, whatever they have been ordered to do, has been instilled on them since birth. They don't deserve their blood shed." Bertram swivels in his stool, reaching into his doublet and producing a golden cross on a necklace, he rubs the cross in his hand absentmindedly. "You don't know me, I am from the Order. Your business with Champion Beorthric is on your honor, and any man he commands or invites to stand before you I don't expect you to show mercy. That is fair. But those people, how they may same hateful and unweilding, they are good people." As if losing his train of thought, Bertram's eyes begin to avert toward the wall. He felt warm, his breath was uneasy.

He turns to stare at Praetor, who did not look quite in the mood for a re-ignition of Order talks at this very moment. Alas, Bertram continued to stare at him.