Panzer Commander Quest #15

To be honest, you couldn’t help but link your tank breaking down to you taking your driver along with you for the mission. Aside from the obvious oddball traits, Malachi was a skilled driver. In what little time you had spent with him, you already had a strong feeling of confidence in his abilities, as well as his ability to coordinate with you. During academy days, there had been more than a few times where you had been assigned novice drivers who would freeze up or misinterpret commands, but Malachi appeared to have experience from somewhere that almost let him predict exactly how you intended to move.

Your other crew members consisted of a gunner who seemed to trust more in luck than his own skills, a skirt chasing sarcastic radio operator turned loader, and a blind girl (who wasn’t really blind, so far as you could tell, but it’s complicated. You were also one of very few people who knew that she was blind.) with the ability to use strange supernatural powers that had been shoved into a much more mundane role as radio operator, and was also your fiancée. At the very least, one of your crewmen was a winner.

You decided to collect your mechanical casualty and its companions, and then call up 3rd company and get them to send your people back. A measly two vehicles would hardly be missed in this situation, after all; given how feebly the Dawnseekers had deemed to arm their unwitting conscripts, even a siege by half as many forces as were devoted would be impossible for the encircled troops to break out of easily. That, and you had a good feeling things would be over anyways. Without a ringleader, the traitorous elements of the lost battalion that had followed Lt. Col Weil would, you wagered, lose heart, and surrender themselves if they thought their leaders had flown the coop without them.

You procured a staff car and took yourself and Von Metzeler down to the maintenance pool. It wasn’t difficult, as the maintenance coordinator had said, to find your vehicle. It lacked the usual emblazoned battalion markings that would be on a properly integrated vehicle. You recognized your crew sitting some distance away from it on the dusty ground.

Krause appeared to have transferred his command, as he was not present. Stein, your gunner, and Hans, your RO turned loader, idly played VierSechs with the replacement driver, whom you were not familiar with. Maddalyn sat off by herself, staring vacantly at a quiet corner of the yard with her back turned to the rest of the crew.

>Call everybody to attention
>Intrude on the dice game first
>Attend to Maddalyn
>Other

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Past threads archive: http://pastebin.com/UagT0hnh

>>1155153
>Call everybody to attention

>>1155153
>Call everybody to attention

>>1155153
Attend maddalyn

“Hey, everybody,” you call to your group. You weren’t entirely sure what to call them. Normally you’d refer by the tank number, but none of your vehicles had numbers. Thankfully, there were few enough people around that your crew recognized you were addressing them.

“Commander!” Stein smiled, and stood up, “You’re back early. Did they just roll over and die once we started going in?”

“No, actually,” you hesitantly correct him, “there hasn’t been any battle. Nor do I hope there will be.” You explain your reasoning; namely concerning how the base of the Dawnseekers had been abandoned by most of the actual Imperialist insurgents, as well as what you had accomplished up to that point.

“So that’s where we are now,” you finish up neatly, “So in short, you didn’t miss anything.”

“Not everything, boss,” Hans says, pointing to your collar, “whose blood did you get splattered all over you? Pretty gory considering you said there’s no battle.”

“Blood!?” Maddalyn’s eyes widened, “What? Are you…”

“Well, yeah,” Hans went around to your flank where Maddalyn was standing, “Can’t you see…holy hell.” You start to twist around to see what he’s reacting to, but he puts a hand on your shoulder, “No, hold still. How the hell didn’t you see this, shorty?”

“I-I…” Maddalyn stammered, her hands clasping each other steadily, “I mean, I…”

“God damn,” you try to follow Hans with your eyes as he circles you and comments on the decoration of vital fluids that Signy had bled all over you, “Did you get stuck?”

“No,” you had left out the part about Signy getting butchered since it hadn’t been relevant to the big picture, but also because it wasn’t pleasant to recount, “Signy did. Some sick piece of shit cut up her face.”

“Not just her face,” Hans points out, “Unless you had her face in the middle of your back, and also on your shoulder at the same time.”

Signy had done quite the job of redecorating this jacket then. Good thing it was just a throwaway disguise piece.

“No, the guy really did a number on her,” you point out on your own body where she had been wounded, “Here, here, and she also got it in the eye.” You point as Maddalyn, “But it’s not serious now that we’re back here. She’s being tended to by medics, so she won’t die. And in any case, you can just fix her up like nothing happened, right?”

Your interim driver ceased to pretend he had any idea what was happening and sulked by the tank.

Maddalyn’s mood was no lighter. “But…” she said with an uncertainty you didn’t like, “That’s four, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” you say, “Is that a problem.”

“I only have three more of the stitching spells.” Maddalyn said hesitantly, “I can’t heal more than one wound, in the same place…”

“Her eye is on her face, isn’t it?” Stein said.

“It’s not that simple!” Maddalyn became frustrated, “Did her eye get cut out or was it just hurt?”

“Does it matter?” you wonder.

“Yes!” Maddalyn complained as if you had asked if grass was green, “I can’t make a new eye, I can only put it back together. If it was cut out and you didn’t have it, I couldn’t do anything.”

The thought of carrying an eye around in your pocket was so ridiculous it had a certain dark humor to it.

“You’re awfully upset about this,” you say to the pale girl, who had somehow become even whiter, “So what if you only have three, you can make more, can’t you?”

Maddalyn led you away from the others, pulling you by your jacket with between a finger and a thumb. Once she had deemed you a safe distance from your confused cohorts, she whispered to you. “I can…but it takes a long time. I had those spells for months. I never thought I’d need to use so many in such a short time.”

“How long does it take?”

“A whole day.”

“I don’t see how it’s a problem then, really.” You shrug in an exaggerated manner.

“What am I supposed to do if you get hurt badly?” Maddalyn snaps, standing on her toes so she could look you in the face from so close instead of talking to your collar “I mean, if anybody else gets hurt. What if it’s something that can’t just be ‘tended to by medics?’ I’m not trying to be cruel, but…”

> We don’t have to use all three. We’ll just treat the most serious ones.
>Settle down, it’s not as if we’ll be in danger after this. There’ll be plenty of time for you to make more.
>Don’t be ridiculous. Wounds now are much more important than ones that haven’t even happened yet, that might not even happen. There’s no need to show restraint here.
>Other

>>1155674
>Awwwwwwwww
>Settle down, it’s not as if we’ll be in danger after this. There’ll be plenty of time for you to make more.
>Now let's find Signy before the medics decide it's simpler to remove her eye altogether.
>I promise I won't subject myself to needless danger. I lived my whole life without a miracle cure so I have some experience in it.

“Settle down,” you tell Maddalyn, “it’s not as if we’ll be in danger after this. There’ll be plenty of time for you to make more…spells, or whatever. Now let’s find Signy before the medics decide it’s simpler to remove her eye altogether.”

Maddalyn took a step back, “They’d do that? Then what are we waiting for?”

“For you to get in the car outside,” you say, turning her with a hand and pushing her forward, “Von Metzeler!” you call to your subordinate officer, “Hold things here for me.”

Von Metzeler nodded to you and turned a stern eye towards your crew, who wave shortly before turning their attention back to simpler things.

Your crew here resume their gambling. For a moment you think you hear Hans questioning why he couldn’t bet a piece of lint.

“I promise I won’t subject myself to needless danger,” you continue lecturing Maddalyn as you drive the little square staff car back through the city, “I lived my whole life without a miracle cure, I have experience in not throwing myself to my death.”

“Says the man who decided to get the only job that demands that you throw yourself to your death.” Maddalyn said with the sort of tone usually accompanied by rolling eyes.

“You have surprisingly little confidence in the tank,” you turn onto a new street, “the engine broke down, not the armor. You’ll hurt its feelings if you criticize it when it’s done nothing wrong.”

“You stick your head out of the top!” Maddalyn rapped her knuckles on your crown, “I can’t see through glass, but you don’t have that excuse.”

“A tank is a vehicle, not a fortress,” you explain, “If you just hide in it then you end up like Valsten’s tanks did three years ago in 1929 where they got trashed by border patrolmen.”

The 1929 war with Valsten was the infamous conflict where Valsten’s invading army was delayed and sent into a retreat by local regional forces, the conflict only lasting a couple of weeks with Strossvald’s main army only arriving in force a mere two days before the peace accords, at which point Valsten had been in flight for two days past. Anti-tank gun teams taking advantage of terrain and the mobility of their light but sufficiently powerful 25mm anti-tank guns had stopped cold Valsten tank formations that far outnumbered them, as the inexperienced and unsupported tankers largely found themselves unable to locate where the snipers were firing from, being too timid and stuck in doctrine to leave the confines of their tank and look using their eyes instead of the limited periscopes Valsten designs used back then. To say they were defeated by border patrolmen wasn’t exactly true, but it wasn’t too far of an exaggeration.

“I don’t see how this is supposed to make me feel better,” Maddalyn said grumpily in response to your history lesson, “First you say trust in the armor now you say don’t.”

>Blow her off and say it’s complicated.
>Just trust me for God’s sake.
>The point was that I’m better than they were. I don’t have to be invincible if I’m just good.
>Other

>>1155891
>The point was that I’m better than they were. I don’t have to be invincible if I’m just good.

>>1155891
>Just trust me for God’s sake.
"I don't want me to die either."

>>1155891
>The point was that I’m better than they were. I don’t have to be invincible if I’m just good.
>I think I've proven myself to be inordinarily cautious in circumstances that don't require the risk of direct, immediate action. I truly appreciate and reciprocate the concern you have for me, but just a smidgen of faith in me might be deserved, Maddy.

“The point was that I’m better than they were.” You say with well-practiced confidence, “I don’t have to be invincible if I’m just good.”

“If self-confidence could deflect bullets…” Maddalyn muttered just loud enough for you to hear.

“I think I’ve proven myself to be cautious beyond what would be ordinary, in circumstances that don’t require the risk of direct action.” You raise a hand from the wheel and poke Maddalyn’s cheek. “I truly appreciate and reciprocate the concern you have for me,” you put your thumb forward and pinch her, “but just a smidgen of faith in me might be deserved, Maddy.”

Maddalyn tolerated the grip you had on her face for a few seconds before brushing away your hand. “I’m sorry,” she said with only a little bit of testiness, “You understand that what’s happened recently isn’t something I’m used to.”

“I’ve found the imperialist conspiracy to be a refreshing departure from the realms of madness and monsters and wizards.” You retort. “Thankfully said wizard is the only problem I have remaining at the moment, and his worst offenses are mere annoyances in the long run.”

“Poltergeist.” Maddalyn said with determination, “He antagonized you?”

“He showed up and told me to be patient with my wish,” you spit in a very ungentlemanly manner out the side of the vehicle, “Are all wizards presumptuous fruits?”

“Soulbinders,” Maddalyn corrected your terminology, “don’t let much of themselves get out beyond legends, but even in legends they’re well known for not showing up unless there’s something they want. And they’re incredibly persistent in and out of fairy tales.”

“Not enough to take me in a fight.” You say, “He was being an annoyance and I offered him the chance to settle things with fists. He declined.” You leave out the nature of his annoyance; you presume that any amorous attempts with another woman, even if they were being forced upon you against your will, wouldn’t be taken well by somebody you were supposed to be engaged to.

“Among the things I don’t want you to do,” Maddalyn said with new heat, “could you not try to pick a fight with Poltergeist? Even a novice soulbinder is horrifically powerful, and just looking at him I know he’s no novice.”

“Didn’t look like much to me.” You downplay the soulbinder's threat.

“I’ve seen traces of his golem trudging about,” she points to her eyes, “Trust me when I tell you not to deliberately try and piss him off. He can’t hurt you unless you try to hurt him; not that you attacking him would do much anyways, but they have a code they strictly follow. He can’t force you to do what he wants.”

You were more interested in why attacking him wouldn’t do much, and you say so.

“They pull themselves back together, like my seals can do, but without any of the ritual. They don’t even have to think about it. They also can’t be killed. Or, well, they just don’t stay dead.”

That was a development. “Horseshit.” You scoff.

“You could shoot Poltergeist full of holes with a machine gun and he’d just get back up and laugh at you.” Maddalyn sounded entirely serious, “Next time he’s being a pest, think of some way other than violence to get him away.”

---

By the time this merry conversation was coming to a close you were close to the field hospital; Malachi had, in his bizarre tongue, told you about where he intended to take Signy. You managed to puzzle out “down the hill” which turned out to be a close enough approximation.

You find Signy soon enough. There aren’t many people at the place, and the majority of the few patients suffered from mild indigestion and flu rather than battle wounds.

Signy grinned at you as wide as the numerous dressings on her face would allow as you came in with Maddalyn. Neither the medic nor Malachi had similar mirth, but you could at least pretend one of them did.

“Is she yours?” the medic, a middle aged man with gray streaks in his hair and moustache asked.

You respond in the affirmative.

“Her lacerations have been cleaned and bandaged, we’ll suture them once the surgeon arrives. We have to investigate her abdominal wound and see if there’s been any bowel evisceration. Wouldn’t want sepsis.”

“What about her eye?” you note the cloth patch tied over the subject wound.

“Don’t know. That’s beyond what I’m trained for.” He read a note on the clipboard he held, “Personally I would assume it was screwed, but when the doctor came by for a look he said to ‘not discount the possibility of repair.’ Ask me she’s gonna have to get used to the patch, though.”

>Ask what the worst wounds are so you can heal the worst ones
>You’re pretty sure of what needs to be done; have the medic give you some privacy
>Ask the medic if he wants to see a magic trick
>Other

>>1159279
>Ask what the worst wounds are so you can heal the worst ones

>>1159279
>>You’re pretty sure of what needs to be done; have the medic give you some privacy

>>1159400
>>1159404
Seconding both

“So what’s looking the worst on her?” You ask the medic.

“Besides the eye and the abdomen?” the medic thought for a moment and looked over Signy again, “That one by her shoulder isn’t so bad. Didn’t go deep enough to do that much damage. Should be like new after a couple of weeks and some sutures, so long as it doesn’t move around during healing. That face won’t heal cleanly no matter what, but a few scars won’t kill her.”

“Thank you,” you loom closer to him, “Could you give us some…privacy? We’d like to discuss something.”

The medic shrugged. “Sure, as long as you keep her from moving. Dimwit thought that just because she got some plasma she’s as good as new.”

You watch the man leave with his hands shoved in his pockets.

“So…” Signy tried to say, muffled by the amount of binding on her face, “Can we get this over with?”

“No,” Maddalyn said, pulling out three slips decorated with intricate spirals and patterns. They had subtle variations, but were mostly the same. “You have to pick three spots. I can’t heal everything at once.”

“My hands and my eye,” Signy said immediately.

Maddalyn glared at Signy with barely concealed confusion, “Didn’t you hear the medic? If one of the things isn’t your stomach you’ll get an infection and die.”

“Oh.” Signy said sheepishly, “Well, he didn’t say that it was a definite…”

“Richter, help me.” Maddalyn pleaded with you.

“Richter? Who’s…” Signy looked at you, “Oh.”

Maddalyn made a wheezing sound as if she had been punched in the gut.

Had you ever told Signy what your name was? You were sure she had to have heard it somewhere. Perhaps she was extraordinarily forgetful.

“Richter,” Maddalyn whispers to you, “I don’t know if I can treat brain damage.”

“Look,” Signy protested, “If I don’t have my hands and my eye, I can’t help you. I’ll just be a useless half blind sad sack with busted fingers and hamburger hands.”

“What about your face?” you ask.

“…scars look cool.” Signy said uncertainly, “Don’t you think?”

>No, they don’t. You’re going to get that hole in your gut and your eye and face fixed. A bit of bed rest won’t hurt you.
>If that’s the way you feel, that’s fine. But we can only do one hand, or else your guts’ll fall out when you’re “helping”
>You clearly aren’t in a proper state of mind for making this sort of decision. Maddy, fix…(list what wounds)
>Other

>>1161502
>We're healing the eye and the gut
>I'll let you choose between the face and one of the hands, but you're going to rest in the bed in any case.
>No trying to get up and help. I'm serious. I'll tie you to the bed if necessary.
>You've attacked a man who scared you shitless in hand-to-hand to increase the mission's chance of success. You've already done enough.

“We’re healing your eye and your gut,” you say with finality, “I’ll let you choose between the face and one of your hands, but you’re going to rest for a while in any case.”

“But-“ Signy began to object passionately, but you cut her off.

“This isn’t up for debate. No trying to get up and help. I’m serious.” You stand over her hoping to look unmalleable, “I’ll tie you to the bed if necessary.”

Signy tucked her arms into each other and blew a strand of hair out of her uninjured eye, looking dejected. “Hmph.”

You drag an adjacent metal cot closer and sit on it. “Don’t feel like you need to try harder,” you urge Signy, even though she is doing her best to make it look like she’s not paying any attention, “You’ve attacked a man who scared you shitless in hand-to-hand to increase the mission’s chance of success. You’ve already done enough.”

“Yeah, well,” Signy began to rile herself up for a fiery retort, but without warning, Maddalyn pinner her head to the pillow with an outstretched palm and ripped away her eyepatch.

“Hey, what the hell- Eep!” Signy squealed in a rather undignified fashion as Maddalyn drove her finger into the bloody socket. Signy’s hands grasped madly at Maddalyn’s forearms as they retreated.

You elect not to watch Signy’s eye pull itself back together. You were looking forward to dinner, after all. Signy let out another snarling vocalization as Maddalyn put a second spell binding finger into her stomach wound.

“W-warn me next time you do that…” Signy gasped at Maddalyn.

“You were stalling.” Maddalyn said with a smirk.

“…Ironing board!” Signy puffed.

“So, you want me to do the hand, then?”

Signy thought for but a moment. “I can’t do anything with just one hand. You’re putting me to bed like a child anyways. Face, I guess…”

Maddalyn had been preparing the third spell as Signy bitched. When Signy resigned to what she wanted repaired, Maddalyn caught the sorcerous white fog with two fingers instead of one, and drew them down Signy’s face along the two deep cuts after the dressings were peeled away.

Signy blinked a few times, and poked at her face. “Huh. I guess I’m nice and pretty again.”

Maddalyn edged closer to you and murmured, “Is she pretty, Richter?”

Maddalyn’s blindness, while somewhat remedied by sorcery, as she had told you, had definite limits, one being that the details of people’s faces were apparently rather obscured. However, even though you weren’t particularly acquainted with the finer aspects of the female psyche, you knew enough about it to know when a woman’s question was better off not being answered.

From there you entrusted Signy’s health to the able medical staff. Let them puzzle out how her wounds had vanished.

Malachi urged you on some babbling matter as he climbed into the back seat of the staff car.

“Yeah, yeah,” you say disinterestedly, “I’ll get right on it, I just need to make a call to get the rest of the gang back here.”

“What is it?” Maddalyn asked.

>I left a corpse back in the countryside and I need to take care of it. It’ll only be a minute.
>Don’t worry about it.
>Actually, you get to see for yourself.
>Other

Also

>Try to call the rest of your people to meet back at the maintenance area. This isn’t any of their business.
>Try and get your people to meet you halfway, just in case. You’ll have a merry funeral party.

>>1161555
>Don’t worry about it.
Let's not tell anyone that our driver can order us about

>Try to call the rest of your people to meet back at the maintenance area. This isn’t any of their business.

>>1161580
>>1161555

Oh, and
>Say thanks to Maddy for putting up with us and healing people left and right who we got injured.

“Don’t worry about it,” you brush off Maddalyn, “Boring errands.”

“Okay,” Maddalyn accepted while flashing the sort of glance that told you exactly how much she believed what you told her.

“By the way,” you stop to allow a column of armored cars to pass; PzA-19s, proper modern pieces instead of the ancient PzA-12 you’re used to running about with. “I’d like to thank you for putting up with us and healing people left and right who we got injured.”

“Putting up with you?” Maddalyn said in abject disbelief, “You weren’t the one who drafted a group of unrelated people into fixing your mistakes. If I didn’t ‘put up with you,’ that’d be a poor way of showing my thanks for your own help for me.” She leaned a shoulder against the door, “I still have far too many debts to repay before I can complain about how I’m treated.”

“Don’t be so morose,” you pass through the intersection as the last PzA-19 makes its exit, “Most people would just say ‘you’re welcome.’”

Maddalyn sighed softly, but didn’t reply.

Back at regimental headquarters, it only took some mild prodding and shoving over the radio with 3rd Company for them to relinquish your platoon. Beyond the politics of not wanting to be ordered around by somebody of lower rank without sufficient verbal concessions, the captain of 3rd company apparently felt the front was calm enough to let a mere tank and armored car go free. From what you could gather, the “enemy” organization had broken down, and clutches of people were arriving at the front without arms, willingly accepting detainment.

With that done, you dumped off Maddalyn back at maintenance along with your m/32 and set off to bury Luca. You didn’t feel any remorse for killing a psychopath, and told Malachi that.
He responded with a flurry of mountain gremlin speech that, as far as you could interpret, had something to do with how your spirit needed to be cleansed, or brought back into balance. Every time you stated what you thought Malachi had said back to him, he would correct something. At the end of it all you knew was that this situation would be easier if you didn’t question what you had to do.

Nobody had molested Luca’s corpse in your absence. Malachi found a spade and passed it to you wordlessly, indicating the spot you were to dig.

It was an arduous process, as Malachi insisted on particular dimensions for the grave, not that a shallow grave would be sanitary in any case. It was good that the soil of the Blumlands was rich and relatively soft, otherwise you feared you would have needed a pickaxe for how deep you went. When you had dug so deep that you couldn’t even see out of the hole anymore, Malachi looked down at you and offered a hand to lift you out. It had been almost half an hour, but you were finally done. You both heaved Luca’s body into the hole with little reverence, and dumped the dirt you had dug out back into the hole.

Drenched with sweat and covered in dirt, you settled down onto the ground, using the shovel to support yourself. Malachi regarded you with something you thought could be satisfaction.

“So that’s it then?” you breathe.

Malachi started to say something, but stopped, holding up a hand. With a new urgency, he lifted you to your feet.

“Pahnzah,” he said through his mask.

With a few more seconds of keen listening, you heard the telltale sound of a tank engine turning tracks over irregular terrain. From the sound of it, there was just one - probably an m/28, you ascertained from the size of the engine, being quite familiar with m/28s due to their constant presence at the academy - and it was coming from the direction of the Dawnseekers’ base.

>I’m not interested in seeing if we’re welcome. Let’s mosey.
>We’ll hide here until it’s gone. I don’t want to look like an easy target if whoever’s there is somebody who’s still feeling violent.
>Let’s see who it is. Can’t hurt to have first dibs to any new friends.
>Other

>>1161661
>We’ll hide here until it’s gone. I don’t want to look like an easy target if whoever’s there is somebody who’s still feeling violent.

>>1161661
Hide and see who it is

>>1161661
>>Let’s see who it is. Can’t hurt to have first dibs to any new friends.

Might be those guys we talked with. Remember that they wanted to use a tank to flee?

You direct Malachi into a nearby shack, where the spade had been found.

“Let’s wait and see who’s come to visit,” you tell your driver, “Hopefully they didn’t come for the food.”

You both hid in the dark tool house, and heard the tank get closer and closer, until it was apparent that it was right outside, where it came to a stop.

Then came the sound of clanking doors; the turret opening up, and somebody going out.

“Go look in that shack,” you heard an unfamiliar voice command, “see if anything…or anybody, is inside.”

You and Malachi drew your revolvers, just in case. Not as intimidating as automatics, but automatics had the undesirable trait of bouncing their casings around the turret when firing through pistol ports.

Through the doorway peered the head of Von Walen; recognizable less by his particular appearance than through his frustrated expression and bruised face.

“Well?” the unseen commander requested immediately.

“Shove your head up your ass and you’ll see the same thing I’m seeing.” Von Walen shouted back irritably, “I know you’re familiar with that sight, but not all of us have explored our own bowels as thoroughly. I need a fucking torch.”

“Be flippant one more time and I’ll tolerate having one less crewman.” The commanding voice said in response.

Von Walen turned back to say something else, and you heard a swift crack, followed by a cry. Von Walen appeared before you again, with an electric torch and a fresh new mark on his face.

He shined the light on you and Malachi, and stared at you, wide eyed.

“What do you see?”

“There’s a big pile of garbage, some sheets and nothing else.” Von Walen told the voice, lying baldly.

“Look under them- there could be somebody hiding.”

Von Walen crept in, obeying the command. “What the hell are you doing here?” he hissed once he was inside, “What the hell did you do?”

>I took Lt Col Weil for a vacation. You?
>Who’s the friendly man outside? Are you friends?
>No need for conversation. Pull him in and wait for another one.
>Other

>>1162053
>I took Lt Col Weil for a vacation. You?

“I took the Lieutenant Colonel for a vacation,” you say, suppressing a smirk, “You?”

“The base is shitting itself!” Von Walen said with an irritability you were half certain was his normal tone, “None of the Don Seekers or whatever are around, half of the captains just gave up and left, and the other half are going mad trying to keep the enlisted from walking off! I don’t know how we’re supposed to fight any militias in this state.”

Ah.

“Von Walen,” you beckon him closer, “I have to confess something I sort of knew the whole time. There is no militia for you to fight. There’s a regiment each of panzers and Panzergrenadier waiting to see what happens waiting in a circle around this place.”

Von Walen blinked at you, so filled with befuddlement his expression didn’t even change. “What?”

“Weil was going to sell you out,” you try to summarize as quickly as possible the situation, “And you were about to be crushed into dust by those troops I mentioned. They only stopped because I told them they were going to attack their own kind.”

These revelations shocked Walen into a tamed stupor. “Uh…” he let his mouth hang open, “That’s…good.” He closed his eyes tight and scratched the bridge of his nose with two fingers, before appearing to regain his focus as the unseen commander shouted at him.

“Hurry up, you useless junior lieutenant!” came the voice from outside.

“Fucking…” Walen groaned, “Right. So the charming man outside is Captain Fuckhead, real name I don’t care. He’s gone nuts and thinks we can break through the ‘enemy’ lines. Which from what you’re telling me…”

“…is a bad idea, yes.” You say coolly.

“Hello boys,” said Poltergeist.

“Hullo.” Said Walen. Von Walen then froze, stood bolt upright and whipped around, “Who the hell-“

Behind him stood the towering, robed form of Poltergeist, the Soulbinder. He let out a string of softly said crudisms and collapsed backwards.

“I didn’t want to interrupt your Grave for Two Deaths ceremony, you see,” Poltergeist threw up a pair of gloved hands. You could faintly see the sparkle of invisible thread twirled around his fingers. “I was satisfied with merely watching, but now it seems to be quite the popular avenue. Too bad it’s armed men flocking to you and not young women, hm, Richter?”

“Junior Lieutenant!” the captain shouted even more loudly.

“So, business,” Poltergeist clapped his hands together, “I will have to perform some minor breaches in etiquette to leave unseen by the guests outside. I offer you a favor. No strings attached.” Poltergeist pointed out the door, “I put him to sleep for some time. You get to do what you will with him, and I get to take my leave. A mutually beneficial agreement. Unless, that is, you have some other plan in mind.”

“What..?” Von Walen was utterly lost.

>I’ve been told not to accept any unsolicited offers from your sort. We’ll do fine without you.
>I’m always up for free deals, even from masked freaks. Work your magic.
>How about you sit here and watch me work? You’ll owe me instead.
>Other

>>1162328
>I’ve been told not to accept any unsolicited offers from your sort. We’ll do fine without you.

“I’ve been told not to accept any unsolicited offers from your sort,” you briskly refuse Poltergeist’s “favor,” “We’ll do fine without you.”

“If you insist.” Poltergeist says with a little shrug, before vanishing.

“Friend of yours?” Walen asked unsteadily.

“No,” you say, “So what are the chances of this captain calming down?”

“About the same as the chances of me waking up in my bed and realizing I’ve been having a bad dream for two nights straight,” Von Walen said, “So diddly dick shit.”

“So right to the front with you then?”

“Piss on that,” Von Walen scowled, “Not with what you told me. You don’t have any ideas, do you? I’ve got one, but it’s a bit shit.”

>How about you go missing inside this shack? The captain will have to investigate.
>Say you didn’t find anything and go; if he thinks there’s nobody around, we can try and break the tank or pry our way in with no harm to you.
>Was your idea to just walk out and shoot him full of holes? Because that’s my idea.
>Other

>>1162523
>>Was your idea to just walk out and shoot him full of holes? Because that’s my idea.

What's the rest of the crew like? Are they his friends from the base? If we can just shoot the commander without any further trouble we can have a brand new tank and crew to add to our "platoon."

>>1162523
>Was your idea to just walk out and shoot him full of holes? Because that’s my idea.

>>1162584

“Who else is in there with you?” you hurriedly question Von Walen.

“Other than Captain Fuckhead?” Walen replied, “Me, Von Neubaum and Von Igel. You’ve met them all.”

You remember Neubaum being the sort who would inevitably chafe under the leadership of a man driven mad by desperation, greed, or whatever. Much like Von Walen, except in a direction sarcastic rather than itching for an excuse to vent. Von Igel at least seemed smart enough to sit down and shut up.

“You don’t seem the sort he would have wanted.” You observe.

“Nope,” Von Walen said, “We were just the first in line.”

>Choices still open

Even though it seems like the choice is already through; I'll wait a little longer just in case.

>>1162736
If we can capture him. Do so.

How does he know about the encirclement, I thought they were expecting a frontal assault?

Why is he so desperate to break through when people are surrendering en masse?

What does he know and who is he really? He could be higher up in the conspiracy who, like Weil was suppose to make sure the base defenders actually stood their ground.

>>1162766
Hopefully “Captain Fuckhead, real name I Don’t Care” was a little more patient.

“How does he know about the encirclement?” you ask.

“What encirclement?” Von Walen asks back, blankly.

“I mean,” you try again, “He wants to break out, but why, when you say all the enlisted are walking off?”

“I dunno.” Von Walen said unhelpfully, “I thought you were the one with all the answers.”

You draw your hand across your face, “Seriously though. ‘Captain Fuckhead?’ Don’t you know his name?”

“Come on,” Von Walen looked hurt, “I barely knew my own company commander’s name, let alone all the rest. He was close to Weil, though, I know that. As soon as we found out he was gone, he said he had to ‘get into the city’ for some reason. Don’t know why he’s acting like such a mad cockbrain. He’s been acting like a fucking lunatic ever since we up and left.”

>votes still open, but if there's any more questions you get only one more. The Captain is reaching his limits.

>>1162845
Try to hold him at gunpoint, otherwise just shoot the fucker.

>>1162845
>>Say you didn’t find anything and go; if he thinks there’s nobody around, we can try and break the tank or pry our way in with no harm to you.

>>1162845

Shoot him

“Right then,” you put a hand on Walen’s shoulder; not hard, as he was shorter than you, “Here’s the plan. We point our guns at him, and if he doesn’t throw down his weapons immediately, we shoot him.”

“You’ll have to be damn quick,” Von Walen squints at you warily, “Else he’ll get back in the tank and try and shoot us to pieces. Unless you’re hiding an anti-tank rifle in your pants.”

“I am damn quick.” You spin your revolver with pomp. You were confident in saying you were somewhat of a deadeye, even if more of your experience was with longer arms.

You throw up a three, then a two, then a one to Malachi…then leap out from the shadow.

“Give up!” you keep your only warning quick and concise.

The captain does not take it. He immediately begins to pull the door shut…

>Aim for center mass (Easier shot) (DC50)
>Gack the hand trying to pull the door (Hard shot) (DC 80)
>Other

>Roll 1d100+30 for shooting skill

Rolled 51 + 30 (1d100 + 30)

>>1163409
Why did you morons vote to shoot? We could have baited him inside the shack.

>Gack the hand trying to pull the door (Hard shot) (DC 80)
>Shout for Von Neubaum to grab Cpt. Fuckhead and not let him use the tank's armaments

I'd like to take him alive. If he was close to Weil he could be a valuable prisoner.

Rolled + 30 (1d00 + 30)

>>1163409
Gack the hand

You feel only a slight unsteadiness as you raise your pistol and fire a pair of shots. The first splits the captain’s hand, snapping away one of his fingers, while the second splatters against the metal of the door.

Beating the DC by 1, nice.

The captain shrieks, and yanks his hand back after him, but the grip he has on the door is no longer enough to close it, and he slips away from the turret hatch, leaving it hanging open.

You prepare to shout for Von Neubaum, who you hoped was the second man in the turret, to keep the captain from using the weapons, but Malachi sprints by you with startling speed and climbs up the tank. The masked driver reaches deep into the turret and yanks out the captain by the collar before throwing him out. The unfortunate officer tumbles through the air before landing flat on his back, his pistol leaving his hand as he flew.

The captain did not move. For a moment you were afraid he was dead, but when you inspected him, you discovered he was twitching all over and gaping like a fish, eyes glazed in terror.
You then saw Von Neubaum’s long, downcast face appear from inside the turret, looking disapprovingly down at the scene. Apparently the situation was surprising enough he didn’t have a cutting comment prepared.

“I suppose I’m in charge then.” He said with strange gloom before swinging his legs out of the turret and sitting on the lip of the hatch.

Von Walen jogged up to the tank to begin raggedly spouting what you had told him of the situation they had escaped while you squatted down next to the captain.

“So, are you-“ you start to ask.

The captain rudely interrupts you. “The city!” he gasps, spraying spittle all over your face, “I have to go to the city, or I’ll be killed! I beg of you!”

>I prefer the woods. How about you answer a few questions for me?
>You won’t be killed, since you are my prisoner. I have some questions.
>Fine, we’ll go to the city. But when we get there I expect some answers.
>Other

>Interrogation starts

>>1163776
>"Who will kill you, and how would getting to the city prevent this?"

>>1163776
>Fine, we’ll go to the city. But since it'll take a while, talk.

>>1163776
This >>1163784

“Fine,” you tell the frothing man, “We’ll go to the city. But since it’ll take a while, you’d better talk on the way.”

“Th…thank you…” the Captain stammered.

---

It was fortunate that you knew that Sergeant Schaub of the Panzergrenadier was likely to be mulling about nearby. It only took a few minutes before you ran into a patrol by driving back and forth on the road outside the woods. From there, you made it explicitly clear that you would be returning with a tank with no identifying seal or company markings. These were, you came up with a fictional story, soldiers who escaped their captivity, and thus exempt from being detained.

The Panzergrenadier provided a pair of escorts to you, as you were still, after all, traveling ununiformed. It wouldn’t have done to be shot up by any over excitable pickets. Soon enough, you were traveling back down the road to Blumsburgh, with “your” new tank in tow. If you found two more, you’d finally have a proper platoon.

“So then,” you try to talk to the captured captain over the puffing and chugging of the m/28 behind you. “Your name.”

“Captain Sorreltz.” Sorreltz was a man built like a weed, with a round face better suited for a man twice his weight. The lack of a noble title was another telling feature.

“Yes, Sorreltz…” you denied him his rank, “Who were you so afraid of being killed by? Why would going into the city prevent this?”

“The army…” Sorreltz cowered, “The Von Blums would crush the Dawnseekers, except not really, so that the true Dawnseekers would go into hiding, safe from the eyes of the Archduke.” He breathed shallowly, cradling his bloody, yet tautly tied off, finger stump. “They were told that the Dawnseekers were mostly in that one place, even though they were not, really. Anybody unarmed outside that area would simply be another man, anybody in the city would be another citizen…even if they were not, not really.”

You mostly knew all of this already, how the Dawnseekers had plotted to use the captured soldiers as a decoy and pretend they had been destroyed in the planned attack. Yet with this man apparently being so close to Weil, perhaps there were things you didn’t know that could be coaxed out of him.

>Pick as many as you feel like, although certain questions might result in the subject becoming more guarded.

>There was an agent referred to as “the Baker” being referred to. Ask Sorreltz if he knows who this is.
>Demand to know if he was offered any rewards for his cooperation
>State that you already knew that, and bluff knowing more than you really do about other things.
>Other

>>1163846
>State that you already knew that, and bluff knowing more than you really do about other things.
>Ask some things we already know, like how they got the base. Punish him if he lies
>Ask where do the Dawnseekers hide the tanks
>Ask about the origins of the people who attacked the train
>Ask about the Dawnseekers leadership
>There was an agent referred to as “the Baker” being referred to. Ask Sorreltz if he knows who this is.
>Ask what he knows about an attempt on the Reich ambassador's life.

“I already knew that.” You say. Malachi had taken the wheel, allowing you to focus on Soreltz in the back.

“What?” Sorreltz gaped at you, “Knew what?”

“The Dawnseekers’ plan, as well as your part in it.” You glower at Sorreltz, “Weil sold out his troops to the Reich. So did you.”

“What?” Sorreltz wavered, unable to conceal surprise, “Er, no, no we didn’t…”

“Don’t lie to me, or you’ll be in deeper shit than you already are.” You threaten Sorreltz, summoning as much venom into your voice as you can, “I’m going to ask you some questions, and if I even think you’re lying, I know people who can send you to deeper, darker pits than you know exist.”

This would have been an easier threat to make if you had Von Metzeler’s knowledge of the blacker aspects of the courts and governance, but Sorretlz seemed to be timid enough to be easily bent. He nodded at you shakily.

“So how did you get that base?” you demand.

“The Dawnseekers’ base?” Sorreltz looks confused, “It was taken from another militia. Everybody knew that. I didn’t see how they took it, only how it looked after.”

As far as you knew, that was about as much as somebody like Sorreltz would likely know. Somebody who was plucked off the train probably didn’t know the details as to how the Dawnseekers took the base from the Shields of Liberty.

“Do you know where the Dawnseekers took the battalion equipment?” you press on. An entire battalion’s equipment was difficult to hide unless it was scattered over a wide area. Even though the base itself mostly only had a smattering of armor, there was also to consider the trucks, staff cars, tow wagons and recovery vehicles; the necessities of a battalion.

“Please, I don’t know,” Sorreltz insisted, “I only know that they took them away; maybe even far away, where nobody would be looking for them in particular.”

Either Sorreltz was hiding something or the collaborating officers were kept safely in the dark.

“How about the people who attacked your train, then?” you ask. “Where did they come from?”

“Erm, here, I suppose?” Sorreltz was undoubtedly uncertain, “Where else would they come from? The Dawnseekers are a local militia, they have regional accents, and they live in the land here, why would they come from elsewhere?”

From how Von Metzeler had described the attackers, that seemed incredibly unlikely. He had described them as fighting like professional soldiers, as had Signy; you hadn’t met any of these apparent soldiers, besides Luca the Cutter, but their existence was a certainty.

>Stop Sorreltz and say that he’s talking bullshit
>Ask if Sorreltz is absolutely certain; if he hasn’t seen even one person who was foreign, or was militarily inclined
>Let it pass and continue to the other questions
>Othr

>>1163948
>Stop Sorreltz and say that he’s talking bullshit
He should have been at the train, so we know he's either lying or is really inperceptive.

>>1163948
>Add that this was a test question

You hold up a finger, “No no, wait,” you say, “Didn’t I tell you not to lie to me?

“Ah?” Sorreltz sputtered, “I lied? N-no…”

“That was a test question,” you explain, “I’ve heard from other people who were on the train that the attackers were most definitely soldiers, not militia.”

“Hmm…” your officer captive looked away.

“Do you have an answer that I’d be happier with?”

“Maybe they were soldiers…” Sorreltz bit his cheek, “They didn’t speak, though, so who knows where they came from. They had others talking for them, and they sounded local.”

“Better,” you continue your initial line of thoughts as the car follows the panzergrenadiers’ motorcycle over a bridge, followed by the m/28, “So about those Dawnseekers. Who’s in charge of them?”

Sorreltz coughed. “You don’t know? The leader of the Dawnseekers is Edmund Molt. You didn’t have to ask me that, you could have heard it from near anyone, so I was told.”

You recall the Reich infiltrator posing as a Dawnseeker mentioning that Molt was “not really in charge of anything,” so this was hardly a satisfactory answer. You couldn’t prove that Sorreltz knew differently, however.

Perhaps it was time to go deeper. “Not the figurehead, Sorreltz,” you say lowly, “The big boss. I’ve heard of him being mentioned here and there. Who is ‘The Baker?’”

“…The Baker?” Sorreltz looked timid, “He was the man who sent the men who moved the equipment. I don’t know who he was beyond that. I didn’t think he was secretly the leader.”

“Weeah.” Malachi said as you pulled to a stop. You had arrived back at the maintenance compound, the Panzergrenadier throttling their motorcycle back the other direction.

“Take care of yourself, milord Lieutenant,” the man in the sidecar saluted before they both sped away.

>Any other questions you can think of for the prisoner

You hadn’t gotten much helpful out of Sorreltz in this trip. It was possible he was still hiding something, though; you had to decide what to do with him.

>Try and turn him into the Intelligence Office; though without a mountain of evidence like you showed up with before it might not be as simple as leaving him at the door.
>Turn him over to the Military Police; perhaps an offering would balance their opinion of you.
>This man is your prisoner, and nobody else’s – You’ll keep him somewhere of your choosing.
>Other

>>1164078
>Try and turn him into the Intelligence Office; though without a mountain of evidence like you showed up with before it might not be as simple as leaving him at the door.

I don't trust anyone, but the duke's men in this part of the country.

>>1164078
>Turn him over to the Military Police; perhaps an offering would balance their opinion of you.
And moreover, they won't think we're on to them.

>>1164078
>>Turn him over to the Military Police; perhaps an offering would balance their opinion of you.

You tell Von Walen and friends to wait at the gates; you can all come in at once after you’ve disposed of Captain Sorrelz.

It’s a short drive to the Military Police building, and an even shorter matter to drop off your captive.

“We picked him up around the siege line around the forest to the east.” You explain to the two officers who come to attend to you.

“And you had to drag him all the way here?” an officer said incredulously, but his partner did not complain, and instead took Sorrelz away.

“Make sure you say that Lieutenant Von Tracht brought him in!” you add, but nobody minded you after that.

---

By the time you returned and led your new “recruits” in with their tank, the rest of your people had returned from 3rd Company.

“Gentlemen,” you introduce your new members, “These are…er,”

“Junior Lieutenant.” Von Igel says, “All of us.”

Convenient. “Junior Lieutenants Von Walen, Von Neuman, and Von Igel.”

“A pleasure,” the officer you placed in charge of things in you and Von Metzeler’s absence, Krause, bowed deeply. You wondered if the introduction of yet more officers of nobility discomforted him in any way.

You went down the line of your motley crew. The crew you had left the train with, Von Metzeler, whom they had met, the confused yet still helpful replacement crews you barely knew, and the remnants of the Shields of Liberty; republican militiamen who, upon having some chance to observe them, appeared to have some military experience; they were certainly old enough to have served in the past, being mostly somewhere in their early 30s at a glance.

“And this is Maddalyn Von Blum,” you introduce them.

“…She’s dressed as an enlisted.” Von Walen points out bluntly. In a court setting, all of your new people would be scraping at Maddalyn’s feet; the daughter of a territorial lord held more sway in her little finger than petty nobility as they likely were held with their extended family.

Maddalyn shifted in place uncomfortably. “Yes.”

“Where’s the girl who was with you?” Von Walen asked, “wasn’t she with you?”

“She’s convalescing,” you say back, “she’ll be back around…shortly.”

“She got hurt?” Von Walen demanded.

“No, she’s clearly convalescing from hurt feelings,” Von Neubaum droned.

You saw Krause’s expression fall immediately from a courteous beam to the sort of face an exhausted schoolteacher would have at the end of a week with troublesome children.

“A-anyways,” Von Igel butted in, “Now that we’re here…now what?”

“I was going to get to that,” you say.

>We’re taking the rest of the day off. We’ve done quite enough today.
>Ask Von Metzeler if there’s anything else that can be done on the Intelligence Side of things
>We’re heading up to the manor and seeing if there’s anything Lord Von Blum wants of us.
>Other

>>1165164
We’re taking the rest of the day off. We’ve done quite enough today

>>1165164
>We’re taking the rest of the day off. We’ve done quite enough today.
>>Ask Von Metzeler if there’s anything else that can be done (tomorrow) on the Intelligence Side of things

“We’re taking the rest of the day off.” A muted cheer raises from among the enlisted, “We’ve done quite enough for today. Don’t just run off!” you scold the enlisted trying to creep off right away, “We aren’t doing any missions, but we still have to get our gear to a good place to keep it. We can’t just leave our junk with maintenance unless it’s being repaired. Pick up your crap and get ready to move.”

As everybody else makes ready, you beckon Von Metzeler closer, “So, tomorrow…can we do anything else on the Intelligence side of things? The Dawnseekers might’ve had their plans for today foiled, but they’re still out there, and we still don’t know so much.”

Von Metzeler furrowed his brow and rubbed at his head, “No. Not if we were wise. After today, the Dawnseekers had planned to melt away into the darkness, even if their plan failed, they will still have gone into hiding. The only thing we could do until the investigation commission from the Intelligence Office appears is to watch and wait.”

“So, no, then.” You rest your hands behind your neck, “I suppose we were operating far outside of our expertise in the first place.”

“The Dawnseekers were a military force before,” Von Metzeler placed his hands behind his back, “It is no longer the time for tanks and machine guns, however, and we…well, you…are poorly suited for wars of knives and whispers.”

“Hey, no problem.” You retort, “After all the nonsense I’ve gone through when I was expecting to patrol peaceful meadows and suffer the occasional parade, I’m up for a bit of paid holiday time.”

---

You ended up storing your equipment at a facility initially built for the battalion that was currently in the process of being besieged and slowly recaptured. The emptiness of the place was unsettling, but the amount of free space was nevertheless appreciated. Other minor duties took up a little time, such as affixing a Von Blum seal to your new tank, and obtaining uniforms for your ill-dressed new companions. Personnel assignments would have to wait until later; the personnel management and replacement company preferred to do its work in the morning. The m/32, your flagship tank, would be ready in the morning, you were assured.

By the time you were truly free the day was beginning to come to an end. The sun’s slow descent behind the Imperial Gate and its flanking mountain ranges bathed the city in orange light, with the high peaks casting long purple spines over the city and its surrounding lands. Soon enough, the valley would be completely out of the sun’s sight, and the Ilex River Valley would linger through a couple of hours of false night as the sky still glowed with twilight in spite of the land being dipped in deep shadows.

>The night is young. How are you thinking of spending your time?

Trying out a completely open ended option here. If nothing springs to mind, I’ll set up a usual list.

>>1165648
Look a the stars with Maddalyn.
Wait, she can't.

Go find either a properly-sized uniform for Maddalyn or a tailor who can fit the current one.
On the way ask her why she's content with being a glorified enlisted.

>>1165648
How about we gather the crew for some food and drink? Given that we've got people from all walks of live, a little bit of cohesion wouldn't be amiss.

>>1165648
>>1166361
We should also mention the voice. She mentioned possession.

>>1167263
What voice? Did I miss something?

>>1167268
The one that was screaming "help me" in our head or maybe I meant those we hear every time we are in the dark?

>>1167744
When was that?

>>1167787
During the drive after sealing the demiphantom.
And while moving through the tunnels of the rebel base.

>>1167987

I wouldn't worry about that.

It's probably nothing.

Going to do one then the other. There's time for it, after all.

“So,” you clap your hands together after all have assembled, having put away all the platoon’s junk, “I suppose some food would be appreciated by all of you?”

A rumble of agreement went up, particularly from your newest officers; who knew what the Dawnseekers had seen fit to feed them with in their time spent in that cave.

Food at this hour, it was understood by most, meant alcohol as well. Any man or woman of Strossvald thought the concept of a day without at least a pale ale to be unthinkable. The necessities of war blunted such sentiments among the enlisted and commissioned, but in times of peace there was no excuse to not have a drink.

With all the troops outside the city, the camp kitchen was significantly less burdened; of course, there were still troops to feed, but most of the fighting men and their support were busy maintaining a siege line, busily rounding up whatever drifted towards them and sending them on trucks to the city to be processed by military police. This meant that most of the work was being done by field kitchens out behind the line; most assuredly not of the quality there was the other night, but hot food of any sort never went unappreciated.

Normally, eating someplace else than the base was a luxury to troops; the closeness and convenience of the place to the barracks and usual working areas, combined with not needing to pay for the food there, made the usual choice for most of those in the army astoundingly easy.

Your case was rather special, however. Being the daughter of the territorial lord, there was no place in the entirety of the Blumlands that would refuse to open up a tab for Maddalyn; and by extension, the rest of you. Your options were only limited by your knowledge of the city. Said knowledge was admittedly quite limited.

>May as well hit up a pub and give them good business; you passed by a hole in the wall called the Holly Branch while driving around town, seemed like a fine enough place.
>Money is no object; there was an upscale place specializing in Valsten seafood and cuisine; just because there was probably a war brewing with them didn’t mean you couldn’t eat their food.
>You don’t know the city, so why not become acquainted with it the usual way enlisted do? Crawl around the city’s pubs until you can’t walk.
>Best to stick to routine; army issue roasted meat and potatoes and beer will do fine enough, even if they aren’t exciting.
>Look for something specific (Write in)

>>1168416

Ask Maddy about a good pub to go to. I bet she's well acquainted with the city's bar scene.

>>1168416
>May as well hit up a pub and give them good business; you passed by a hole in the wall called the Holly Branch while driving around town, seemed like a fine enough place.

>>1168431
You ask Maddalyn about the city's bar scene.

Your question is only answered by an incredulous glare.

"I couldn't tell you what streets have bars, let alone which ones to go to!"

>>1168416
>May as well hit up a pub and give them good business; you passed by a hole in the wall called the Holly Branch while driving around town, seemed like a fine enough place.

You’d seen a pub called “The Holly Branch” during one of your myriad trips about the town. It was the sort of pub that was common in a city; stuffed between two other commercial establishments, dark and quiet until night fell and all the factory workers got off work, who would promptly drop by for a tall, warm mug of dark, thick Strossvald stout so heavy with hops it was like drinking pumpernickel. The stout was called Iron Brew, both for its weight and its popularity among metalworkers.

The sort of places you had more familiarity with were the countryside ones like those outside of your family’s house, but the difference between a farmer’s and a laborer’s drink preference was invisible, unless you were a farmer or a factory laborer, where mistaking the difference would be met with special disapproval.

Your proposal met with no disapproval; at least none you could hear over the rejoicing of the enlisted. In situations like this, the nobility had little choice but to be taken along for the ride.

Considering the activity being planned, driving was out of the question. Not that a walk in the crisp autumn twilight was a thing that would be remembered with spite, anyways.

Maddalyn stayed a fair distance behind you and your crew, by herself. Her uniform hadn’t gotten any better fitting over the day; you made a note to see if it was possible to get it tailored overnight. Stein let himself slow down once to try and engage her, but when he returned with a shrug, you could tell she hadn’t been receptive.

“Dunno what’s up with her,” Stein lamented as he rejoined you, “Not like she hasn’t gotten used to our smell yet, right?”

“It’s because you’re such a tall bastard,” Hans sneered, “Every time you get close she’s scared you’ll step on her and flatten her.” He stuck out a foot and tripped up Stein, “Tim-berrrrrr!”

“Real funny,” Stein caught himself and punched Hans lightly on the arm, “At least I don’t batter people down with bad manners. At least Mal’s always got something nice to say. Isn’t that right?”

Malachi responded with a string of syllables you were certain had to be intentionally difficult to comprehend. Stein smiled at him eagerly, but was caught without a reply to make.

“You going to let your girlfriend walk all by herself, boss?” Hans changed the subject, “Or your daughter, or whatever she is.”

>In time. I’d rather be up here for now.
>Why choose? I’ll drag her back up.
>No, I’ll hang back. She’s better smelling than you lumps anyways.
>Other

>>1171897
Gimme a while. I'll go accompany her for a moment.

>>1171897
>No, I’ll hang back. She’s better smelling than you lumps anyways.

“Gimme a while,” you tell your crew, “I’ll go accompany her for a moment. She’s better smelling than you lumps anyways.” You cast that with a friendly smirk, your crews’ response but a few good natured chuckles.

You slow your pace until you are beside Maddalyn; she doesn’t seem to notice, looking down at the sidepath. You give her a little nudge when she fails to notice you.

“Ah.” She gasps, “Oh. Um, hi.”

“What are you doing back here?” You bend over so you’re more on her level, “Isn’t it scary to be alone when it’s dark out?”

“It’s dark out?” Maddalyn wondered.

“Sorry,” you say awkwardly, “The particulars of…you know…take a bit of getting used to.”

“It doesn’t actually get dark for me, no,” Maddalyn drifted off, “But, yes, it’s scary to be alone in the dark.”

You shared a few seconds of silence. “So how long was it before you got…the eyes, I mean.” You asked.

“Twelve years.”

“But you said the old man up in your house…the Hermit? That he turned up the day after you were born.”

“I didn’t know what his arts could do for a long time…” Maddalyn said with some reservation, “I overheard Father arguing with him a few times, telling him to keep such sorcery away from his children. I asked if he could make me able to see. He said he could, if I made a deal with him.”

“The deal being?” You prompt.

“Apprenticeship,” Maddalyn admitted. “You can’t be a real soulbinder without breaking your presence and making a golem, but you can play at being one. The Hermit was old, I suppose, and wanted to pass his knowledge down.”

Seemed uncharacteristically unselfish for a member of a group of people you’d been told were nothing if not greedy and manipulative. “What did Lord Von Blum think of that?” You ask.

Maddalyn didn’t say anything, then pretended she hadn’t heard you. “The spirits have been quite active recently. Normally, you’d be hard pressed to find any, but Soulbinders just attract them. Since there’s two here, they’re crawling out of every crack.”

“Not dangerous ones, hopefully,” you say warily.

Maddalyn shook her head, “No, just little ones. Little birds and floating flowers. You can’t see them, can you?”

“Nope.”

“They’re pretty,” she said softly, “It’s too bad they only appear when such strange people are around.”

“How about conversing with some normal people then?” you point ahead to your crew, “Not feeling social?”

“I…” Maddalyn looked at her boots again, “I can’t. I was so rude to them. If I were in their place, I wouldn’t have forgiven my words so quickly. I was tense, and afraid, but that isn’t an excuse.”

“I don’t think they have a problem with you.” You say bluntly. “You’ve shared a tank with them for long enough, haven’t you?”

“They act like that because they know you’re kind to me,” Maddalyn grew steadily more crestfallen, “They respect their commander, not a little girl playing army. Why would they do otherwise?”

>You’re overthinking things. I’m sure nobody minds anymore.
>Why don’t you come up with me and ask? Things won’t get better if you stalk behind them forever.
>I’ve heard copius amounts of liquor is the perfect cure for that sort of attitude.
>Other

>>1172903
>I’ve heard copius amounts of liquor is the perfect cure for that sort of attitude.

>>1172903
Why don't you come.up with me and ask?

>>1172903
>You’re overthinking things. I’m sure nobody minds anymore.

>>1172903
>You’re overthinking things. I’m sure nobody minds anymore.
>Why don’t you come up with me and ask? Things won’t get better if you stalk behind them forever.

“You’re overthinking things. I’m sure nobody minds anymore.’ You reassure Maddalyn.

She looks through you, wordlessly.

“Why don’t you come up with me and ask?” You try once more, “Things won’t get better if you stalk behind them forever, even if you’re right about what they think.”

“…I’m sorry.” Maddalyn says quietly, “I can’t. Not yet.”

It seemed there was no ground to be gained in this particular battle. “Suit yourself.”

You passed by an alleyway and Maddalyn froze.

“What are you doing here?” she accused the crevasse between bricks.

As far as you could see, there was nobody there. “Maddy,” you put a hand on her shoulder, “There’s nobody there.”

“What?” she exclaimed with genuine confusion, “But that’s…isn’t that Poltergeist standing there?”

You look more closely. “No,” you determine, “nothing but a few pieces of scrap.”

There were a few pieces of castoff detritus littering the alley. A few washers, screws, and a big heavy bolt you were sure you’d seen as a part on something somewhere before, even if you weren’t sure exactly where from.

“Are you sure these aren’t just garbage spirits?” you ask Maddalyn, still standing timidly away, “I could understand mistaking trash for Poltergeist.”

“…No…” Maddalyn said uncertainly, “…never mind. I must have been…seeing things.”

“Besides all the other things you see?” you ask as you return to her, “He can’t turn into air or something, right?”

“No.”

“That’s a relief then.”

“I thought it might have been his golem,” Maddalyn began to follow the rest of the crew again, from the same distance, “But if you couldn’t see anything…I must be imagining it.”

“Couldn’t he have a trash golem, or whatever?” you ask.

“Certainly not,” Maddalyn said firmly, “Soulbinders are more proud than that. Their golems are usually things that are valuable, at least to them. It’s said the more important your golem’s body is to you, the stronger the connection between you and it, thus the stronger you are.”

“That doesn’t sound very scientific,” you muse.

“It isn’t,” Maddalyn replied, “The whole thing isn’t. There’s books and research, sure, but even the books say that on one day what they say might be true, the next they might not be. It’s the way these things work, or something.”

“I’m really feeling the need for a drink right now.”

Maddalyn lets your verbal jab go. “About that, actually…I don’t really…drink. Wine, maybe, but only formally.”

>After all the crap that’s happened today? Yes you are.
>Why, afraid that they don’t serve minors?
>I won’t force it down your throat if that’s the way you feel.
>Other

>>1173781
>I won’t force it down your throat if that’s the way you feel.

>>1174477
Same

“I won’t force it down your throat if that’s the way you feel,” you tell what will probably be the night’s only teetotaler.

“Gee, thanks,” Maddalyn said harshly in response.

---

When you arrived at the Holly Branch, you discovered, much to your relief, that the interior was far larger than the outside would have indicated, as the tiny entrance merely led to stairs going doing to a larger underground establishment.

The process of squeezing around a dozen and a half people down the single line stairs was claustrophobic, but there was enough room for all the prospective patrons in the place itself. No natural light entered the space; yellow and orange electric lamps imbued the tavern with the color and warmth of a fireplace. The floor and ceiling paneling were dark, blackened wood planks, and the walls a contrasting white stucco that was worn away in places revealing the brick underneath. All of the furnishings were of a lighter wood than the room, less worn by age, save for the barkeep himself who was a thickly built, long white mustachioed gentleman whose face bore the lines of somebody as old as the hole he inhabited, the only unlined piece of his face being his enormous hooked nose, which had grown to take up near half his face and was hard edged like cut stone.

“Yer a tad early.” Was all he had to say about the mob that came in. “What’ll it be?”

Upon being met with a barrage of requests, the barkeep cleared his throat loud enough to echo off the walls. “One at a goddamn tem.” He said irritably, “An this meight not be a gold trim cocktell bar, but we got standards ere.” With that he turned his giant beak towards Maddalyn, “What will the leady hev? Nothing wit grapes innit I’m afred, woulda had it if I knew ye were planning on visiting.”

“Er…” Maddalyn said hesistantly, “…Apple Brandy?”

A few amused hoots stifled themselves.

“Putting me en the spot, miledy,” the Barkeep scratched behind his ears, “None of that either. Valsten’s decided to start bein’ salty bout that thing three years ‘go ‘gain. If ye know where I can git apples or apple brandy for cheap other than down south, tell me about it, cause they haven’t sint nothing in months.”

“Water, then.” Maddalyn resigned into disappointment.

“I thought you said you didn’t drink,” you said to her in a low voice.

“Apple brandy doesn’t count.”

“Like hell it doesn’t.” you retort. “Just because its liquid candy doesn’t mean it’s not alcohol.”

Nobody else required anything so esoteric. Most of the non-nobility got a mug of whatever shade of beer was their fancy, with a few being mocked for their taste for paler brews. The recaptured trio of officers ordered the sort of scouring solution bourbon that you only got if you wanted to wake up in the afternoon with a screaming headache; good for forgetting what happened for the past week, though.

It came time for your turn.

“So you then,” the colossal nose loomed over you, “Ol’ stout or do ye want yer brains melting out yer eyes?”

>Beer’s fine.
>There’s nothing important in my skull anyways. Clean me out.
>Surprise me.
>I’m not feeling festive. Give me the strongest water you have.
>Other

>>1180106
>Beer’s fine.

>>1180106
>Beer me.

You ask the old unicorn for the usual stuff.

“You goted.” The bartender pours you a black stout with a tall, frothy caramel head. “So who’s paying for alla this?”

“She is,” you point to Maddalyn, who doesn’t object to this notion.

“Figured,” the barkeep retrieved a glass that had been drained remarkably quickly, “After all, I’d expect Barney’s kids aren’t going ta foist the bill on their guests. Mathilda, isn’t it? Dressed a bit mer plain than I’ve heard is normal.”

“No,” Maddalyn corrected grumpily, “I’m not Mathilda. I’m Maddalyn.”

“Maddalyn?” the Barkeep scrunched his already wrinkled face into a pensive prune, “I hearda you, but weren’t ye…nevermind. None a my business.” He started to absentmindedly polish a glass, “You look jes like her, y’know.”

“What?” Maddalyn said with a tint of confusion, “No I don’t.”

“Whatever you say, miledy.” The barkeep had focused on a particularly resilient smudge.

Mathilda was Maddalyn’s younger sister. You had met her exactly once; while she looked practically identical to her older sister, she was six years younger. She was also what one would conservatively describe as a bitch.

“Von Tracht,” Von Metzeler came up behind you, “I do not mean to turn down a courtesy, but I have an appointment to attend to.”

Metzeler hadn’t been looking for your approval, it seemed, since as soon as he told you this he turned around and left. Granted, you were of equal rank, and his subordination to you had been a voluntary affair, but you expected to at least exchange words.

Krause approached you soon after. “Lieutenant,” he greeted you, “Could I keep you and the lady company? The others are growing…rougher, in their drinking.” He also held a glass of water; clearly not a man of intoxicated revelry.

Your group had broken up into several clutches of related peoples; the militiamen had already begun a song you vaguely recognized as being from Naukland; mostly because of its gratuitous use of Old Nauk on every other verse. The crews you were unfamiliar with had formed a group as well, trying to pound away as much as they could as their retellings of what had happened that day became more and more disjointed with each account having been stewed in ale. Meanwhile, Stein was excitedly telling Hans and Malachi some story, whether or not they were really listening.

>Sure, stay a while, Junior Lieutenant.
>Actually, entertain Maddy for a bit, I’m going to socialize with some other people (specify)
>It turns out I have an appointment to keep. You don’t mind being the baby sitter again, do you? (Follow Metzeler)
>Other

>>1180459
>Sure, stay a while, Junior Lieutenant.

I actually trust Metzeler, even with his name meaning butcher.

>>1180577
Seconded

“Sure, stay a while, Junior Lieutenant.” You accept Krause into your circle.

“My thanks, Lieutenant,” Krause seats himself. “If I may ask…what did you and Rondo…Von Metzeler, I mean, find at the base?”

Straight to it, then. This was a rather touchy subject; Krause, you had found out, was what was referred to in Strossvald as a Demimperi; an immigrant from the Grossreich of Czeiss, or their first or second descendants. The information you had found in the base of the Dawnseekers all but incriminated the Reich as the perpetrators behind the insurgents called the Dawnseekers, as well as conspiracies within Strossvald’s army itself, specifically concerning the officers of the battalion you had been forcibly separated from on your initial trip to this place.

Demimperi were special amongst immigrants, however, for the incredible risk they were viewed as to the integrity of the state. Immigrants from any other country were seen as benign, but Demimperi were the subject of several theoretical military measures, ranging from transfer to special contained neighborhoods to forced exile or extermination, due to their connection with the massive empire to the west. Any war with the Reich, or actions leading up to it, would likely result in harsher times for Demimperi. The recent conspiracy you discovered was of the sort where retaliatory action of some sort, against Grossreich nationals and their descendants, could be excused.

“I asked Lieutenant Von Metzeler about it,” Krause continued, “but he seemed…restrained. I would appreciate knowing as much as possible, if you would be so kind.”

>Sorry, Junior Lieutenant, but we confirmed that the Reich is behind all of this, and we’ve already sent the proof of such to the Archduke’s intelligence services.
>We found out the Reich was behind it, but I think we managed to stop it before anything too bad happened. Your family will be safe, I guarantee it.
>We didn’t find anything we understood there. A bunch of evidence somebody’s behind it sure, but nothing that pointed to anybody in particular.
>Other

>>1181192
The Reich was behind it. We've sent proof to the archdukes intelligence service.

No point dodging the question, something big is gonna happen with the Reich eventually, with all the activity going on around here.

>>1181700

Seconded

>>1181700
This. No point in lying.

“Junior Lieutenant Krause,” you say carefully, “We found evidence of the Reich’s involvement, in practically everything. We sent proof to the Archduke’s Intelligence Service; not only were the Dawnseekers an imperial front by now, but they were offering compensation to officers in order to try and buy them to their side.”

Krause stared into the wood of the bar. “Bartender, sir,” he waved to the barkeep, “Do you have any Messingplatz Bronze?”

“I do.” The old hawknose raised a square bottle of vivid orange bourbon.

“A glass of that, if you will.”

“You godet.”

The barkeep filled a tumbler nearly half way and set it down in front of Krause. Krause lifted it to his eyes, looking through the flame colored paint thinner.

“I suppose that’s that then.” Krause took a pull of the Bronze, making a strained face and coughing. “I can’t say I’m too surprised. If it turned out to be the work of Valsten or Delsau, or even Plisseau, it wouldn’t have mattered much to me, so it had to be the one that could ruin everything my ancestors worked so hard for.”

“Did I miss something?” Maddalyn asked.

“He’s Demimperi,” you explain, “Military procedure dictates that Demimperi are subject to forced relocation or possibly extermination in the event of war with the Reich.”

“Don’t be stupid.”

“Excuse me?” Krause looked up at Maddalyn, with a mixed expression of restrained anger and curious confusion.

“I said,” Maddalyn rested her elbow on the table and pointed an accusing finger, “Don’t be stupid. That’s political nonsense, you have to know. Do you know how many officials here they’d have to replace if they had to relocate all the Demimperi? How many families they’d uproot? The Imperial Gate would fall in a day. Half the soldiers under Father’s dominion are Demimperi. They wouldn’t ever seriously consider taking any ridiculous action such as exile or death, let alone make that a nationwide mandate.”

This theoretical of the Gate falling in a day was exactly why the Archduke kept a regiment of his own on the wall garrison along with the others, but you decide not to mention this.

“My family, the Von Blums, are Demimperi for goodness’ sakes.” Maddayn went on, “When Kaiser Alexander first took over these lands, he married off one of his cousins to the then Lord Von Blum. The same family that would later block off the Imperial Gate so that Siegfried Von Strossvald could unite the country as one and push out the Reich. Face it, you’re afraid of empty threats made for the sake of the ignorant." Maddalyn slapped her hand on the bartop, "You don’t have to feel torn between your family and your nation; it’ll all be okay.”

Krause didn’t look convinced, as he stared straight at Maddalyn and sipped at his glass. “Feh,” he finally said, “Perhaps.” He said this halfheartedly, not bothering to try and compose a retort. “I’m being a downer, aren’t I? It’d be better if we talked about something else.”

“Well,” you offer, “Since we foiled the plan to cause a major incident here, there’s a chance the Reich won’t try and follow up any time soon. On the other hand, I’ve heard Valsten is causing trouble.”

“Yes,” Krause waved a finger in a circle, “the Silver Lances were deployed south to face them. That should be where it ends, yes?”

“Only if they’re intimidated,” you say, “If things escalate much more, war’ll be impossible to avoid.”

“Hopefully that’ll happen while we’re safe up here.” Krause replied, “if your theory about what the Reich will do holds true.”

You were quiet for a few moments after that. Some other patrons unrelated to you began to arrive, promptly joining the enlisted in their antics.

Maddalyn hadn’t touched her water at all. It seemed to be more a formality than anything. The conversation you had shared had eased some tension, it seemed, but the air was still thick with uneasiness about you. You had a few ideas about how to remedy that, though.

>There’s only one person without a drink here. It’s time to get Maddalyn sauced.
>Reminiscing about the past is never a bad thing. Try and get Krause to reveal why he and Von Metzeler are close.
>Drag them both over to your crew; easing up is more effective the more people there are.
>Other

>>1183852
>Reminiscing about the past is never a bad thing. Try and get Krause to reveal why he and Von Metzeler are close.

Let's distract him from sad thoughts.

You decide to try a more pleasant subject. “When I first met Von Metzeler here, he was rather…hardheaded.” You say, “Yet he deferred to you, despite you being of lower rank. Why? Are you friends?”

“Of a sort,” Krause said, “Rondo isn’t very personable, to say the least. The nature of his family’s activities makes him assume that people think the worst of him. Not easy to make friends when you’re always challenging people in response to imagined slights.”

“Probably not,” you agree over your stout.

“But, yes, I consider him to be a friend, even if I’m not sure if he feels the same way. He’s simply not used to the concept.” Krause points a thumb into his chest, “We owe one another, you see. You’ve probably noticed by now that I’m not of nobility. Rather easy to notice when looking at my name.”

“You could have been, if you’re just looking at the name and not where you’re from,” Maddalyn butts in, “The second crowning had Vons being tossed around, given away and revoked to whoever.”

“In any case, that helps matters when it comes to Rondo, since he isn’t exactly of nobility himself, not that many know that.” Krause finishes his glass in one extended gulp, “I suppose you’ll want to hear of why we owe one another, then.”

---

It had been eight years ago, in the outskirts of the capital city, Strosstadt.

Frederick Krause, thirteen years old, was quite the juvenile delinquent. Both his father and mother worked long hours, so he was often alone for the day, sometimes even the night. With nothing to do but explore and be a nuisance, he often got himself into trouble.

Once, he found himself in an astounding, deadly amount of trouble.

He had found a whimpering, dirty boy his age squatting in an abandoned house that he liked to play in. When he asked the boy what he was doing there, he explained that he had run from home; his family were bad people, and he didn’t want to live with them and become a bad person himself. The problem was that they were as powerful as they were bad, and their enemies were the same. He didn’t know what to do, or where to go.

So the young Krause had met the firstborn of the Von Metzelers. He invited the disheveled noble boy back to his own house, where they talked to one another and ate pastries that Krause had stolen from the bakery a day earlier.

They had been followed, however.

When the Von Metzeler family’s hired help picked the lock and stormed in, Frederick and Rondo escaped out the window, and into the little patch of woods nearby.

They managed to avoid being caught for the day, but when night fell, another pack of thugs had found them. These ones, however, weren’t on the Von Metzeler’s payroll.

Kidnappers would have been simple to deal with. These men turned out to be assassins.

By now Frederick had been told of Rondo’s lineage, and taking up the imagined role of being his Lord’s knight, distracted the assassins long enough for the son of the Von Metzelers to escape.

---

Krause stopped his story for a moment to open his collar and point out a small scar. “They were only little pieces, thinking back, but that didn’t make it hurt less then.”

---

Doctor’s bills took a large chunk of the Krause family’s savings, but in a few days, the Krause family’s situation turned around. A large parcel of money, equivalent to five years wages for a factory worker, arrived from a strange man, for “services rendered to Rondo Von Metzeler.”

Rondo still snuck out of his estate sometimes to see Krause, but ever since then he always brought bodyguards, until they were of age to properly fight.

---

“The money wasn’t Metzeler’s way of payback,” Krause finished, “He had a bit more of a classical way of seeing things. I’d have considered the debt repaid, but that much money to him is nothing. To him, it’s still life for life.”

Krause seemed much more content having told that tale.

Soon after the first round of drinks were finished, the pub got its meals delivered fresh from the adjacent bakery. These were soon devoured by the ravenous tankers, who washed the whole mess down with yet another round of beers.

Time had come to where it was a wise idea to head back to the barracks, now officially the new ones adjacent to where you had placed your tanks.

>Go back to the barracks
>Take Maddalyn back to the manor
>Take Maddalyn some other place more secluded, like the bridge. The questions you have for her shouldn’t be public, anyways.
>Other

>>1184757
>Take Maddalyn some other place more secluded, like the bridge. The questions you have for her shouldn’t be public, anyways.

>>1184815
Seconded. Let the other officers be in charge of rounding up the men.

You entrust Krause with getting the troops back to your new barracks. He was the most capable at the moment; your freshly recaptured officers had more important things to care about, such as demolishing their ability to recall anything that happened that day.

You took Maddalyn aside, however.

“What is it?” she asked you as you pulled her away from the snaking line of tipsy troopers going down the line.

“Several reasons.” You say, “I have a few questions for you, that I might not want the others hearing.”

Maddalyn turned her head and looked at you sideways. “Are you drunk?”

“No.” Two beers over the course of a couple of hours wasn’t nearly enough to reduce you to baser behaviors. “I’d like to take you by the bridge. Your manor might have a few...ears.”

Maddalyn made no attempts to hide her suspicion, but she wordlessly stepped up beside you anyways.

For an evening in a city, it was remarkably quiet. Perhaps it was because of reduced traffic due to the siege to the east, or maybe it was simply a slow day, but there were not more than a few coated civilians making their way down the streets, with their hands in their pockets. The flood of workers had either already passed or had not begun.

You used the time on the way to the bridge, where you planned to ask about the strange voices you kept hearing, to ask Maddalyn about more mundane concerns.

“So why are you content with being a glorified enlisted?” you pull at her baggy sleeve to accentuate this, “It isn’t as if you couldn’t demand better. It’s menial work, considering your status.”

“…could I, though?” Maddalyn said pensively, “I can throw around my bloodline for a lot of things, yes, but when you get right down to it, when it’s life and death, I can’t tell the Judge to spare me because I’m my father’s daughter.” She waved a hand in front of her face, “I’m a blind runt. If I’m to try and help you, and your crew, I can’t pretend that I’m better than them, when it comes to what really matters in that metal box. Not when you put yourself on their same level.”

"If you're sure you want to be enlisted," you prod her loose collar, “Shouldn’t you at least get that fitted, then?” you refer to how the uniform Maddalyn procured was at least two sizes too large- even if in all likelihood it was the smallest she could find.

“…no, it’s appropriate, isn’t it?” Maddalyn smiled weakly, “I’m trying to wear clothes too big for me. I’m not going to pretend I’m a soldier, Richter. I’ve been with you two days. How long did your crew train to get where they are now?”

“A little more than a year,” you answer her.

“If I couldn’t…you know, stitch people back together,” Maddalyn tied her infex fingers around one another and looked down at them, “Would you still let me be in your tank? I know how to use the radio, but I can’t shoot the gun…I’ve never shot a gun in my life. And when you aren’t around, I can’t focus. I’m not a good crew member. I would understand if you wouldn’t.”

>You’ll get better with time. Believe it or not, we’re all still learning. It’s not your job to worry about crew cohesion anyways; it’s the commander’s.
>Frankly, your ability to negate any wounds we take makes you incredibly valuable. I wouldn’t have you in the tank, not because of any matter of skill, but because you shouldn’t be putting yourself at risk.
>Dodge the question
>Other

>>1185412
>Frankly, your ability to negate any wounds we take makes you incredibly valuable. I wouldn’t have you in the tank, not because of any matter of skill, but because you shouldn’t be putting yourself at risk.

>>1185486
Seconded

“Frankly,” you give Maddalyn the bare truth of the matter, “your ability to negate any wounds we take makes you incredibly valuable. I wouldn’t have you in the tank, not because of any matter of skill, but because you shouldn’t be putting yourself at risk.”

“…That sounds about right.” Maddalyn nodded to herself, “I appreciate you being honest with me.”

You reach the bridge. Fireflies dance near the river shore, the river Ilex itself bubbling gently beneath the old stone crossing. You take a short look around to make sure people aren’t too near.

“So is there something you want to show me here?” Maddalyn asked.

“Something I wanted to ask, actually,” you start.

“Well, go ahead, I guess,” Maddalyn sat down, “I don’t know why it had to be here. You don’t need to propose, you know, that’s all already been taken care of.”

“I’ve been hearing voices in my head.” You tell Maddalyn, “Strange voices. Sometimes it’s some strange, beastly voice crying for help, other times it’s whispering.” Maddalyn’s eyes widened and her mouth opened slightly as you said this, “You don’t happen to know what that is, do you?”

“Um,” she mouthed confused syllables, eyes darting side to side “You…you don’t look any different than usual. I…I have no idea.”

“So that means I’m just crazy instead of having a ghost in me.” You say sarcastically, “Great.”

“No, it…” Maddalyn searched for an explanation, “It sounds like something…but it’d be impossible…it would mean you’re split between places…”

STARVING.

“Oh, there it is,” you give the rasping voice in your head the least possible amount of concern, “Did you see anything then?”

Maddalyn edged closer to you. “Yeah…you…changed, for a second. Into…somebody else.”

“Do you know who?” you ask.

I HUNGER.

“Shut up for a second,” you scold the voice. “That wasn’t a question for you.”

“Richter, you’re-“ Maddalyn said with growing concern, just before the world stretched like taffy and went pale.

File: tcqscene34.png (198KB, 700x361px) Image search: [Google]

198KB, 700x361px

One moment you were standing at a bridge over the river Ilex with Maddalyn, the next you were…here.

“Here” was a misty hill, waves of deep, vivid fog washing over an invisible domed roof. Other than the hill, you could see no other land; what wasn’t covered in swirling rivers of clouds instead stretched into a bright infinity.

The only thing on the hill other than you is a hut, with a little dirt path leading to it. The hut before you looks ancient, petrified like an ancient tree. Over the door hangs a string of clay chimes, which ring softly as an unfelt breeze blows over the hill. The mists below you churn, and rise over the hill like a wave over the shore; all is obscured for a minute as the fog washes over you, and you can see nothing but dark silhouettes through it.

When the white blanket of clouds dissipates, you see a familiar, but not welcome, sight before you.

“Hm.” Poltergeist said, “I wasn’t expecting you now, of all times. A bit early, to be honest.” The soulbinder was dressed the same as you saw him any other time, but somehow, he sounded…younger.

“What’s going on?” you demand, “Where am I? How did I get here?”

“One at a time…hm, what was your name…” Poltergeist sat on the step and put his masked chin on a gloved hand, “Forgive me, it’s been a while…”

“Richter. Von Tracht.” You spit your name at the shade.

“Yes, that.” The hooded spectre said eagerly.

“It hasn’t been that long,” you add, “you bothered me only a few hours ago.”

“Only a few..?” Poltergeist began to say, scratching his head beneath his hood, “No matter. You were brought here because you are in danger.”

>Sounds like a trick. How about you just drop me back where I belong, instead of this fever dream.
>What sort of danger? I hope you plan to do something about it, since you want me to open that door.
>I ask the questions first. Tell me…(write in)
>Other

>>1186635
Elaborate. Madelyn Von Blum mentioned I looked like someone else before I was suddenly in front of you.

>>1186635

Well I agree that I seem to be in danger but I'm inclined to think you're the one who put me in that danger. You'd better have a damn good explanation for all this.

>>1186635
>Sounds like a trick. How about you just drop me back where I belong, instead of this fever dream.

“Well, I agree that I seem to be in danger,” you said as you look around at the bizarre scene you’re in, “but I’m inclined to think you’re the one who put me in that danger. You’d better have a damn good explanation for all this. Elsewise I’ll just assume it’s a trick.”

“A trick? I put you in danger?” Poltergeist asked quizzically, “I certainly don’t remember doing that, unless…no, I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You said I was brought here,” you point out.

“Ah. But I didn’t bring you here.” Poltergeist specifies. “I knew you would turn up here at some point, but I didn’t actually do anything.”

“Elaborate,” you challenge him, “Maddalyn Von Blum- do you remember her, or has it ‘been a while?’”

“No, I remember her.”

“She mentioned I ‘looked’ like someone else before I was suddenly in front of you.”

“In a manner of speaking,” Poltergeist looked up at the sky and weaved a few glowing threads with his fingers, “Of course, if you look in a mirror, you’d never be able to tell the difference. It has to do with your presence…you know what that is, yes?”

“Sort of.”

“Sort of will have to do.” Poltergeist closed his fist on the weave, and clouds that were descending upon you retreated again. “We simply do not have time to address everything you’ll want to ask, or might want to know.”

“I suppose I don’t have a choice in listening, do I.”

“You could shut your ears if you like, but that would be a bad idea.” Poltergeist warned you, “Now, this place is a gap between the earthly realm and a place called the Navel. How you got here isn’t important. What is important is what caused you to come here. The Gmshul Nushmeyt.”

“The what shall what meet?” You try to repeat the gibberish Poltergeist said. It sounded like something Malachi would say.

“The Demi Phantom, as it has been crudely dubbed,” Poltergeist flips open an old, dusty book, and selects one of many protruding marks. He flips the book towards you; an illustration of the horrible monstrosity made of darkness, with a glowing star where a head should be, is surrounded by notes on the page. Bizarrely, you notice that the notes are scripted in New Nauk.

“Its true name, in the ancient words of the mountains, is a more apt descriptor;” Poltergeist rambled on, “the Pool of Souls, a well of spirits. Driven by a need to predate other presences, it seeks to add to its own mass. Trouble is, that because they are created by ripping away a presence from a living thing that has a particularly strong one, likely a human, its nature is as a void. It will eat forever.”

“Sounds lovely. I can see why a creep like you wants it.” You scoff at the robed entity.

“I don’t want one,” Poltergeist brushes you off, “I couldn’t do anything with one, save do my best to destroy it, as difficult as that would be. Gmshul Nushmeyt are intelligent, as they were once people. Makes them particularly dangerous among spirits. They aren’t very talkative, but they do speak.”

The Demi Phantom had been the one talking in your head, then. But why?

“So that thing has been talking to me?” you wonder.

“Not many survive speaking with one face to face,” Poltergeist says, “You left a piece of your presence somewhere near it, and it has been steadily tainting you. It doesn’t speak the way most do; hard to do without a proper mouth and vocal cords. No, it speaks directly through your presence. Through the seal you put on its prison.”

“But it doesn’t just talk to me, does it.” You conclude ahead of Poltergeist.

“No.” Poltergeist closed the book shut, his tone growing very serious, “the presence of living creatures and that of fragmented spirits are not meant to interact. You have steadily become more like the Gmshul Nushmeyt; enough for it to try and drag you to it. No worries; it cannot, but it can try to pull you by pieces- which snaps you to this realm for a time before your presence returns to your physical body, tied to it as though a strained cable.”

>Let me guess; I fix this problem by releasing the thing from its prison.
>What am I supposed to do? It’s not as if I can…remove that seal, or whatever. It’ll eat everybody.
>Your tricks are growing ever more elaborate. I’ll pass on asking you what I’m supposed to do about this.
>Other

>>118777
>What am I supposed to do? It’s not as if I can…remove that seal, or whatever. It’ll eat everybody.

>>1187773
>Let me guess; I fix this problem by releasing the thing from its prison.
>Your tricks are growing ever more elaborate.

>>1187773

You may not remember, but less than a day ago from my perspective you did indeed seem to want the demi phantom, and seemed quite desperate to make a deal with me to release it. If you're about to tell me that the only way to solve my apparent problem is coincidentally by releasing it, I'm going to have a very hard time taking you seriously.