Waking up with a pounding headache, Bertrand finds himself under his bedroll, in his drunken stupor having used it as a blanket. Gritting his teeth from the headache and the pain in his back, he stumbles to his feet.

A foolish mistake, as it intensified the headache and the act of raising up aggregates the bruises dotted all over his back. With a groan, he collapses back down. Kneeling on his bedroll like how a knight would have kneeled to receive a sword, he regretted everything.

Already streams of pale light were creeping their way into the tent from the open flaps. Dawn had arrived and with it, his interrogation would soon follow.

Seer why did he have to drink so much. It was a crass and foolish mistake but it was one he had already committed, so pulling himself together he once again raises to his feet, more slowly this time though.

And slowly hobbles his way out of the tent, His plan was simple, go to the campfire and grab a bowl of soup that was leftover from the night watch they always made too much so there should hopefully be a spare bowl.

After that, he would head over to the toiletry area of their camp, then to the medical wagons. Then it was back to his tent to wake up the others in case they were still asleep.

Looking around the tent just before leaving he spots Césaire slumped over a few bags and clutches what looks to be half a dozen bottles to his chest, how the man could even function was utterly beyond him. High functioning alcoholic didn't even come close to describing the man.

Francois however was absent, likely the reason why the tent flaps were open too. Hopefully he hadn't caused a scene, Bertrand idly mused, before stepping out and into the warmish outdoors and glancing up.

There were no clouds in the sky, which meant today was differentially going to be quite painful. Obviously, he would prefer scouting in the summer to scouting in the winter but he would also prefer it if they could have some actual protection from the sun. Yesterday was an outlier, normally it would beat down on them until they were sapped of every once of energy they had.

Letting out a miserable sigh, Bertrand looked down at the ground, ignoring the agony in his head as he forced himself to focus, tripping and getting grass stains and dirt all over him would be an awful way to start the day.

A good start would be to have some soup, the thought of that hot brew urging him forth. Passing by the blue tents of his comrades, as he got closer and closer to his goal.

Finally reaching the large cooking pot, which was almost large enough to be called a cauldron he sat down at one of the logs. Some enterprising fellow must have scavenged it from a tree and brought it over here to use as a makeshift bench.

Spotting a discarded bowl he leaned over, wincing at the pain from his back as he grabbed it. Then he brought it over to the pot and used the ladle to give himself a generous serving of the lukewarm stew.

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Why had they made stew this time he wondered, perhaps they got sick of soup. He certainly was, as he tore into the stew with gusto. They must have added some sort of fowl in here as he definitely tasted poultry.

How in the Seer had they caught a bird though? Did they throw rocks at it or something, or maybe they snuck up on it well it was sleeping.

In any case their effort had netted him quite a nice meal. He even went as far as licking the bowl when he was done, a bit gross considering someone else had already eaten out of it but he had done worse in boot camp.

Then setting aside the bowl, he sauntered off to go to the loo. He arrived there rather quickly, owing to his urgent need to relieve himself, it was probably what actually woke him up but almost like he was Francois, the first thing on his mind had been having a good meal.

After relieving himself, he headed off to the medical wagon to grab a few of the Fargoths they had in stock, it wasn't exactly an all curing herb but it certainly did wonders for hangovers, and would probably go a long way toward healing his sore back.

Walking up to the medical guard, he gave them a slight nod, one which they returned, before he started knocking on the door of the wagon. Almost as though he had been expected, the door springs open and doctor Eudes stands there, staring at him chillingly after just one knock.

Eudes was a fantastic doctor but by the Seer he was horrifying, Bertrand had no doubts that when war did erupt between the Conglomerate and the Coalition, that he would ignore the laws about how POW have to be treated and would get to work experimenting on them.

He looked more like a butcher eyeing up a cut of meat than a doctor whenever he was inspecting a patient. Even now his analytical gaze made goosebumps break out across Bertrands back.

“Can I help you?”Eudes says with such a warm voice Bertrand could almost forget the monster he really was.

“Just here for some Fargoth Eudes.” Bertrand says, forcing out an uneasy smile.

“Sure, sure. Anything else you want?” Eudes replies, digging around in his trenchcoat and pulling out a clump of them.

A little taken aback at this turn of events Bertrand couldn't even think of anything to say, just going.”ahhh” and then shaking his head, before reaching out his hand, which Eudes dropped the plants into.

Stumbling around Bertrand hurried off, feeling the man’s eyes boring into his back as he made his getaway.

Perhaps it was a bit rude but Bertrand just couldn't be around the guy, they just felt off. Even now staggering back to his tent he felt completely drained.

Getting back to his tent he felt quite strange, something was off, standing there it took him a few seconds to figure out what. The tent flaps were open, maybe he wouldn't have to wake up Césaire after all.

Slipping back in through the open flaps he spotted Césaire still asleep, Monetary shocked he moved to pull out his bayonet, which was still in its sheath even after his night of heavy drinking.

He paused though, when he notices it was just Francois, the poor guy was sitting down looking rather distraught as he took big gulps from a half empty bottle of brandy.

Not quite sure how to go about comforting them, Bertrand just stood there awkwardly for a few moments before going over to them and patting them on the shoulder. Césaire had said something about how it was comforting and the duo did it to him a fair amount after the battle.

“Thanks.” Francois mumbled out after a few more awkward seconds, before battering aside his hand. “It’s all gone to shit Bertrand.

Finding his voice Bertrand quietly asks. “What happened.” as Francois turns his head to look him dead in the eyes.