Panzer Commander Quest #7

>>815487
>Keep the loud one as a prisoner and let the rest go
>We'll leave interrogating him to professionals once we arrive

>>815487
Same vote from last thread.

Let them go, make em drop their weapons on a pile and run it over. We can't really keep or take prisoners in our understrengthed tanks. Where would we even keep him?

>>815553
>We can't really keep or take prisoners in our understrengthed tanks. Where would we even keep him?

You can improvise the materials to restrain people if needed. If you think it's too much of a risk for little gain that's fine too, just laying out the option.

>>815553
>Let them go, make em drop their weapons on a pile and run it over
this
also tell them to keep inside if they don't want to end up like those poor bastards at the edge of town
(we made it go away for a while, but they don't know that)

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You have little interest in these people as long as they aren’t trying to kill you, and you doubt there’s anything they know that could be helpful, beyond pontificating platitudes. You disarm them, despite complaints, and have the tank roll over their rifles. The wood of their stocks split open and the metal groans as it bends, just perceptible over the grumbling of the tank’s engine.

“Get out of here,” you wave them away, “and stay inside. There’s something real bad going around, and unless you want to end up a shadow you’d better not go outside.”

The young leader doesn’t seem to take you seriously but all the older volunteers consider your advice with more reverence than you expected as they scatter off in different directions. That having been settled, you look for who those men could have been fighting.

You recognize a pair of white horsehair tufted caps, much like your own, but stained with dust and on top of much more disheveled heads. Perhaps you had gotten very lucky for once, and found yourself some fellow tank commanders, willing to work together with you to deal with this extra helping of bizarre crap that began flying at you as soon as you stepped off the train.


“Von Tracht.” Von Metzeler addresses you curtly, keeping one hand on his sword as if to pose threateningly, “I hope you do not mind me saying that, given the option, I would have preferred to continue my day with those murderous ruffians.”

Naturally, the first person you encounter that is at least in the army like you are is the one person you pissed off just before leaving the academy. There is another officer with him, who you didn’t recognize. He looks at you uninterested, a burning cigarette held between his fingers, at least an indication that you hadn’t pissed him off recently, whoever he was.


>No, the displeasure is all mine. If I knew it was you, I would have joined the battle on their side. Now that that’s over, how did you get here?
>No thanks at all? Do you need some manners beaten into you again? Or will you stop wasting my time and get to why you’re out here being a pissant?
>Yes, sorry, but I find grudges to be a tasteless affair, especially right now. I have a vehicle that needs crewing and you need to not be left out to dry, I’m sure we can come to some sort of agreement.
>…who are you? Have we met? (Feign ignorance)
>Other

>>815936
>Not even a 'thank you'?
>>Yes, sorry, but I find grudges to be a tasteless affair, especially right now. I have a vehicle that needs crewing and you need to not be left out to dry, I’m sure we can come to some sort of agreement.

>>815936
>>Other
first thing first, give him a bandage/ medical aid
we can make banter after

>>Yes, sorry, but I find grudges to be a tasteless affair, especially right now. I have a vehicle that needs crewing and you need to not be left out to dry, I’m sure we can come to some sort of agreement.
More "we have more important shit right now than our grudge" than "I don't care about the grudge"
Are they armed with anything more than that sword? if not offer them each a pistol at least

“Not even a thank you?” you mock sounding hurt, “yes, sorry, but there are more important things than indulging in our little rivalry. I have a vehicle that needs crewing and you need to not be left out to dry, I’m sure we can come to some sort of agreement.”

“Serve? Under you?” Metzeler echoed sarcastically, “By whose authority?”

“By the authority of Barnabas Von Blum, Castellan of the Imperial Gate and Lord of the Blumlands.” Maddalyn had wriggled out of her place deep in the heart of the m/32 to be troublesome. “There is no higher authority in these lands. Submit to Von Tracht, or else I’ll report you.”

Metzeler blinked at her, nonplussed. “Why is there a young boy in your vehicle, Von Tracht?”

“Boy..!?” Maddalyn fumed.

“Rondo, please,” the other officer forced himself into the exchange, “Please excuse Von Metzeler, we have had a bit of a bad day. He does not sincerely mean to be so crass. We are at your service, as you have served us.”

Von Metzeler scoffs and looks to the side but does not object. You take a moment to comprehend that this is one of incredibly few nobles who haven’t been a pain in the ass from the onset. “…I’m sorry, I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“We have not. I am Frederick Krause, it is a pleasure to meet you, Von Tracht, was it?”

Either he neglected to mention his “Von” title or he didn’t have one; it was possible for him to be of the middle class, but it was rather rare for anybody but nobility or someone close to nobility to be an armored officer.

Your eyes linger on the wound on his arm, and he notices. “Oh, don’t worry about that. It’s just a scratch, I just haven’t had the time to change it, so it’s much uglier than it is.”

>Richter, if you like. Good to meet you too.
>Lieutenant Von Tracht, yes.
> You’re weird.

>You said you had a bad day? I’m sure yours wasn’t as bad as ours.
>How did you get here? A bit odd for two officers to be out here by themselves.
>Aren’t you armor officers? Where’s your tanks?
>Anything else

>>816738
>>Lieutenant Von Tracht, yes
>Aren’t you armor officers? Where’s your tanks?

>>816738
>Lieutenant Von Tracht, Good to meet you too
Mention our rank but be polite about it

>>816738
>>How did you get here? A bit odd for two officers to be out here by themselves.>Aren’t you armor officers? Where’s your tanks?
Ask them if they got ambushed by militia as well
Also ask them if they've been introduced to the shitstorm of magic and spirit monsters that is Blumsburg

“Lieutenant Von Tracht, yes,” you introduce yourself, “Good to meet you too.” You continue on. “You’re a bit lonely out here. No escorts, no crew, no tanks?”

“Well, yes.” Krause flicked his cigarette away, burned to a stump. “Our trip was rudely interrupted.”

“What a coincidence. My ride ran into the same sort of trouble.” You muse.

“Your train was attacked too?” Krause tried to contain his incredulity. “How brazen. Bandits from the same group we were fighting when you arrived blew the train off the rails, and most of us were too surprised to fight, and were taken prisoner. Metzeler wounded two of them and escaped with me, but we were unable to take any armor like you did. I’d afraid that whatever group this is has most likely taken everything they could off of the train.”

It was impossibly bold for any simple militia to dare attacking an armored transport train. Unlike your ordinary small train that you had been forcibly removed from, the train Von Metzeler and Krause came from was a steel behemoth, escorted by specially modified armored cars that rode the rails while the train itself bristled with weapons and was so far beyond the power of anything that called itself brigand or militia that one attacking an armored train convoy would be as insane and stupid as it would be ludicrously difficult, and you say as such.

“That hardly matters now, since they did it. It makes me suspect that these bandits are much more than they seem; they were much braver than any criminals would be, and much better fighters too.” Rondo Von Metzeler replied.

“You said they were part of the same group as the ones that knocked out an army train,” you point out, “They hardly seemed to be of the same caliber.”

“We overheard them on both occasions,” Krause explained, “The attackers at the train and those bunch of volunteers both referred to themselves as the Dawnseekers. They’re quite proud of the name. Clearly, since they don’t need much encouragement to say it. They could have a lot of new blood in their group which could explain the gap between their best and worst.”

The band’s leadership did happen to be younger and more driven than his charges. Could it be that the movement wasn’t as grass roots as it seemed?

“Also,” you shift the conversation, “have you seen anything…odd? Like walking shadows, giants make of…darkness? Anything like that?”

“No,” Krause said, a bit too lacking in disbelief for your comfort, “Why, are there ghosts with these bandits as well now?”

No, you quickly finish with hasty justifications for something that sounded so odd with no context. Maddalyn breathes a sigh of relief behind you.

With that, you prepare to leave. Von Metzeler and Krause head for the m/28 as instructed; they at least worked together, even if one was relegated to doing the talking for his more impulsive teammate. If you wanted, you could reshuffle crews. With two more people you have enough to fully crew both vehicles.

>Get all your original crew back into your tank; put the two train guards with your newest additions
>Keep the balance of non-trained crew intact and keep one in each tank, retrieving your gunner.
>Other arrangement

>>817083
>>Get all your original crew back into your tank; put the two train guards with your newest additions

>>817083
>Get all your original crew back into your tank; put the two train guards with your newest additions

Having the best trained crew who can work together in the best vehicle will make us more effective overall

>>817083
>Keep the balance of non-trained crew intact and keep one in each tank, retrieving your gunner.

Two officers can't operate an entire 5-crew tank, and the civilians are mostly useless except as lookouts

>>817083
>Get all your original crew back into your tank; put the two train guards with your newest additions

Better having one trained tank crew than two mediocre ones.

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You rearrange the crew assignments, retrieving all your crew and placing them in your tank back where they belong. The smaller m/28 you first arrived with is given the Von Metzeler, and you assign him with the two train guards.

“These men do not look like soldiers. Where did you find them?” He queries.

You explain that they are the security from your train.

Metzeler does not protest. “Come, then,” he calls to the guard who just disembarked from your vehicle. You couldn’t quite hear them talking with each other as they left to their assigned tank but you could swear you heard Metzeler asking his ad hoc crewman his name.


You leave soon after, and encounter no more fighting as you find the road and go on to the next town.


Before you is Luftnheiss, a modest town whose most interesting feature is its substantial old stone bridge over the river Mul. The construction is from long ago in antiquity, from the ancient days when the Nauk ruled the east. You had been lackadaisical in your study of history that didn’t pertain to war, so that was about the extent of what you knew concerning that.

The town itself is new, by comparison, a menagerie of black iron and brown brick, assembled in the time of the Reich when heavy industry first blessed the Blumlands. Some of the buildings are larger and more decorated, expansions from simpler forms funded by tolls and weary travelers. The town is thankfully inhabited by normal people going about as could be expected, as if the sporadic gunfire was utterly mundane.

In front of an inn helpfully labeled as such, there is an armored car. It’s a model common in Strossvald’s army, little more than a steel crate with a machine gun but adequate for a battle that would have taken place a decade ago; a cheap indigenous design simple called the P.m/1c but more affectionately known as the Em. It has had a sheet thrown over it in an attempt to disguise it, along with some items piled on the front to try and hide its silhouette, but enough of it is left bare for one as knowledgeable about your country’s gear as yourself to recognize it.

It is also parked blatantly illegally out front instead of in the back where the lot is.

>Enter the Inn and try to find its owners; maybe it’s hidden for a good reason
>Mess with it to try and get its owners to come out; no reason for actual soldiers to hide
>Ask some passersby about it
>Borrow it without asking

>>818711
>Enter the Inn and try to find its owners; maybe it’s hidden for a good reason

>>818711
>Enter the Inn and try to find its owners; maybe it’s hidden for a good reason

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You enter the inn, bringing only your crew. You leave Metzeler and everybody else outside; you can’t very well have a mob walking in; the presence of two tanks outside is already enough of a disturbance.

The lobby of the inn is merged with a dusty watering hole, sparsely populated and devoid of music. Among the guests, a group stands out; uniquely dirty, depressed, and smelling of cordite and blood. Smells you have heard of but not properly experienced the way these people have.

They ignore you as you creep closer, but one of them is alert, and notices you. Their loose clothing and plain appearance made it difficult to notice at first, but the alert one is a young woman.

She blinks at you, “I wasn’t expecting your sort.” She says with little expression, “Unless you’re here to kill us too.”

>I wasn’t thinking about it. Who would want to kill you?
>You don’t seem surprised to be found, whoever you are.
>Do you greet everybody you meet like that? I’m hurt.
>Other

>>819365
>I wasn’t thinking about it. Who would want to kill you?

>>819365
>I wasn’t thinking about it. Who would want to kill you?

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"I wasn't thinking about it," you try to say with a hint of humor, but only sounding sardonic, "Who would want to kill you?"

“Who would want to kill us?” One of the larger men grumbled, “Boss, can you ask these jokers to stop messing around and shoot us already?”

The limp man closest to you shrugs back and glances at your group. “Army? Kreutz, you knob head, why would the army want to kill us? You got me excited to finally die over nothing.”

“They could be imposters,” the lunk called Kreutz suggested, squinting and leaning forward, “Or maybe the Army wants us dead for some reason, ev’n tho we’ve been doing their work for ‘em.”

“None of the vehicles that wiped us out had crests,” the woman says, looking back out the window, “One with a crest, one without. Who knows which one these strangers fight for?”

“We didn’t get a crest yet,” Stein says, honestly but unhelpfully.

Before you know it she’s drawn a gun on you, and her men are reaching into their coats as well.

“Start talking, fancy pants.” She waves the barrel of her pistol at you. The side of her mouth is twitching, barely holding something back. “Tell me why I shouldn’t shoot you dead. If I don’t like your answer you’ll have wished you hadn’t played dumb.”

>We haven’t wiped out anybody since we got here. Get that out of my face.
>Wait, there’s been a misunderstanding. We don’t even know who you think we are.
>It would be a disservice to the ladies of the world.
>Write in

>>820945
>We haven’t wiped out anybody since we got here. Get that out of my face.
>It would be a disservice to the ladies of the world.

>>820945

Look, we don't know who you are or who you think we are, but we haven't had to kill anyone yet today and our friends outside in the tank would be pretty upset to hear that their commanding officer is being held at gunpoint. So why don't you put that thing away so we can have a nice and civil discussion about who wants to kill who and why.

>>820945
>We haven’t wiped out anybody since we got here. Get that out of my face.

Just tell her how fucked she is if she shoots us, since the guys in the tank won't like it too much

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“Shoot me and you’re dead.” You smirk at a person who’s got a gun pointed at your head, “We haven’t wiped out anybody since we got here, hell we haven’t even killed a single person. You would actually be the first, if you did something stupid, like pull that trigger. So, either we stop pointing guns at people we don’t know, or the fellows outside get really mad and blow you to smithereens. We can discuss who’s trying to kill who nice and civilly.”

“I don’t care if I die,” she declares fiercely, “You can’t take anything away that’s worse than what I’ve lost.” A straight cut across her neck seems to have reopened from her excitement.

“Tch…” she recoils a bit and her hand spasms, he whispers something hoarsely to her companions, “---are y---doing, run!”

They do not run, and instead choose to continue holding their own weapons at the ready. They don’t seem to notice what’s going on in front of you at all; it’s getting to the point where it might be concerning.

>Um, hey, that’s nice and all, but you aren’t looking so good. Do you need help?
>I’m not fond of watching women bleed to death in front of me, can we talk after resolving that?
>So are you going to shoot me before or after you bleed to death?
>Other (Write In)

>>821400

Just continue to stand there awkwardly. They won't shoot us if we don't do anything and something tells me we can last longer than she can.

>>821400
Er guys....aren't you going to help her out or something?

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You deem it best not to say anything at the moment. This stubborn girl would likely cease her threats any time now.

Right?

“…Hhh.” Her breathing becomes thinner, and drool collects at the edge of her lip as the flow of blood only seems to increase. “Why are you…just star…ing..at me…”

One of her allies flicks his eyes over, his brow furrowed in puzzlement.

“Keep your eyes on them!...hhgh.” Her loud bark is punctuated by a chopped sigh, thick with phlegm.

You’re not very knowledgeable about how much punishment the human body can take but you’re pretty sure that if you don’t do anything this girl is going to die, as she prevents her own friends from aiding her.

>This is ridiculous. Announce that she is bleeding to death.
>…or she’ll do something idiotic like say that you’re trying to trick them. Best try and resolve this at your own risk
>Let the whole thing be a surprise
>Other

>>822053

>This is ridiculous. Announce that she is bleeding to death.

>>822053
>>This is ridiculous. Announce that she is bleeding to death.

>>822053
"Seriously what is wrong with everyone in this bloody town?"

>>822547
>bloody

“For goodness sakes, you’re bleeding badly.” You scold as if she were a child. Her friends looked over in shock, and rose with a clatter of wooden seats, herself too weak to protest enough to convince them otherwise.

“You young fool,” one of her men said as he pressed a handkerchief to the wound, “You have too much of your father in you.”

“Have we postponed the whole shooting us to death thing?” It is hard to be properly sarcastic in such a situation, but you manage.

“Are you not of the Dawnseekers?”

“If I know who you're talking about, we’ve met, and I wasn’t fond of them.” You reply, “They are too fond of incredibly rude and destructive surprises for my liking. Also, their name is tastelessly pretentious.”

“Forgive us,” bubbled another, “as well as Ms. Vang, the past hours have been terrible.”

“Welcome to the Blumlands,” Hans muttered out of the side of his mouth. Malachi snickered in an odd, low tone.

“Our leader…former leader, Sigmund Vang, called us the Shields of Liberty. Our base was attacked by many war machines such as the one outside, with no marking of the Von Blums.” The more respectful militiaman looked gravely at his youthful superior, “His poor daughter admired him so. She doesn’t know the difference between sacrifice and waste yet.” He put his head in his hands and sighed, tilting back to you, “You wouldn’t mind sharing some medical things, would you? We had to leave rather quickly.”

“Only if you convince her not to shoot me when I come back.”


You had astonishingly terrible luck with women, you think to yourself as you toe down the steps. At least Maddalyn didn’t shove a gun in your face when you first met.

“This might sound stupid,” you stride up to the m/32 and peek inside where the redhead is hiding, “Did you happen to bring any magic medicine along with the magic shots?”

“Why? Is somebody hurt?” she sounded surprisingly earnest.

“You weren’t supposed to answer that,” you grumble, thinking you would be finished with spooky scary spirit nonsense for longer.

“No, I can help,” when you give her the hand motion for ‘explain further,’ she merely breathes “Later! Do you want my help or not?”

>It couldn’t hurt. It would be refreshing to see some application of this beyond horrible monsters.
>This is an awful idea, and you feel like you’re tempting fate by messing with this sort of thing. Look for something normal instead.
>Try and ward her off on her own by saying it isn’t that bad
>Other (Write In)

>>822612
>>It couldn’t hurt. It would be refreshing to see some application of this beyond horrible monsters.

Is she...sure she knows what she's doing?

>>822643
Seconded, as long as she knows what she's doing.

>>822612
>It couldn’t hurt. It would be refreshing to see some application of this beyond horrible monsters.

What do you know of the Shields of
Liberty?

1/2

“…Fine, as long as you know what you’re doing,” you sigh. “You do know, right?”

“I know what not to do…why aren’t you saying anything?”


At Maddalyn’s insistence, you clear everybody else out of the room. “This isn’t as secret as the other things, but it wouldn’t be good for too many people to see it. They’ll start talking about things they shouldn’t, and the wrong sort of people will hear it.”

“Are the wrong sort of people anybody we’re fighting right now?” you ask as Maddalyn ruffles through a handbag.

“No,” Maddalyn says, flipping through what seemed to be a deck of cards, each painted with intricate twisting ink patterns upon translucent ivory, “We’d know if they were here, and we wouldn’t like it. Just having them around would make…things, happen.”

“More demiphantoms?” you think about the possibility of those abominations being plentiful.

“Nothing that bad, but nothing good in any case.” She finds the card she was looking for, and bites down on the end of her thumb, “Mmf…they go around acting as exorcists, mediums, stuff like that. Then they get rid of the creatures they themselves make just by being there. It’s quite a racket, and they don’t like people butting in on their market.”

“If you don’t mind me saying, this seems a bit sinister.” You comment as she presses the blood of her thumb against the edge of the card, crimson running down the pathways of the patterns.

“If I was one of the wrong sort of people, I could just wave my hand and make this work. It looks a lot easier than it really is.” With a little squeeze upon its sides, she snaps the card in two, the two halves fading to dust with a pearl white puff of fog. “Who is this girl, anyways?” She points to the bloody heap on the ground.

“Her group said they were called the Shields of Liberty, and she’s the daughter of their former leader, somebody called Vang. Have you heard of them?”

“Yes,” Maddalyn said pensively while stirring the tiny cloud of fog with a finger, “They’re fighting the pro imperial factions, not that anybody asked them to. Father dislikes them, so he’d rather not owe them.”

“What’s to dislike about people fighting on your side?” The fog is strangely enchanting, as it glitters with the birth of thousands of pinpoints of starlight, “Besides when they point guns at you and bleed all over themselves.”

“They’re republicans,” Maddalyn says simply, putting her finger across the other woman’s throat and pushing into it. The girl gagged and squirmed, “That was the worst of it, calm down. Anyways, Sigmund Vang was an agitator long, long before things got bad here, before I was even born. He came from Naukland on a business deal, and brought his ideas of governance with him. Naukland is a democracy, and this place isn’t. He didn’t like that much.”

“So he fought against you?” You watch a bizarre scene unfold as the blood crawls back up the woman back into her body, as if being guided by an unfelt wind.

“No, he wasn’t a terrorist,” Maddalyn corrected, “He mostly spoke in public and made a nuisance of himself staying far longer than he was asked to. He made it his mission, I suppose. Did I get anything wrong, Signy?”

That was a repulsively northern name, you think as she paws around her throat in confusion. “How did you know my name? Wait, why is that the first question I ask?”

“Everybody knows who you are,” Maddalyn closes her bag and brushes the dust off the bottom of her dress, “No more questions.”

Signy looks at you sheepishly, “I guess I was wrong about you. I’m sorry.”

“You shouldn’t point guns at people unless you’re going to shoot them.” You say like a smartass, not quite ready to let that be brushed off so soon.

“You said you fought against the Dawnseekers, right?” Her tone shifts dramatically for the gladder, “Can we join you? Please? I don’t know how it works with the army, but I can help you kill Dawnseekers. I’ll kill them so good you won’t regret it.”

>Sure, join the merry band of heavily armed idiots. We’re all going to the same place anyway I assume.
>I’d rather not have republicans possibly undermining me. Sorry, but you should just pack up and head back north.
>That thirst for blood is a bit too creepy for my tastes, honey, you have to be more feminine than that
>Other (Write In)

>>823770
>Other (Write In)
(we have obligated this girl by healing her)
You can accompany us until we get where we're going. If you choose to you will follow our orders and don't shoot anybody we don't tell you to, like surrendering peasants

Where did you find that armored car by the way?

>>823770

Well we're not on a mission to kill Dawnseekers, we're just heading into the city. But you can escort us the rest of the way if you want. Also, you said the people you were fighting had tanks? That's alarming, are they usually so well equipped? And where were they last?

>>823770
They can tag along with us as far as the city. Doubt that they'll let in a bunch of republicans into the castle with us

Your answer was going to disappoint her, but you went on anyways. “We’re not on a mission to kill the Dawnseekers, at least not yet. We have to go into the city and find whoever’s in command of the local garrison. We’re in the army, we aren’t vigilantes. You can come with us until then though.”

Signy shrugged, “I think you’ll be on a mission to kill them soon enough. I’m patient enough to wait for that.”

You went outside and got everybody introduced to one another before the Shields of Liberty threw the shroud off of the armored car.

After its cover was off, it was easy to see why it was hidden. It had several anti-Imperial slogans painted across it in stark white letters. Its allegiance would be clear from the horizon.

“So where did you get this?” You ask Signy, who is beaming at the vehicle with far more appreciation than the thing is worth. “This is a standard model, not some improvised jalopy. I mean, it’s a standard model of an improvised jalopy but you get what I mean.”

“It was a gift from…” she stops herself. “Somebody. We never had to use it, not until the Dawnseekers showed up with a bunch of tanks.”

You were about to ask about that, actually, you mention.

Signy becomes crestfallen talking about it. “We don’t know where they got them, just that they didn’t have crests like the Von Blums have.” She pointed out the crest that was still on their “gift,” “They’re a lot harder to take off than they are to put on, so there’d be some sign they were on in the first place, but none of them were like that. Why doesn’t one of your tanks have a crest, anyways?”

You explain that vehicles are not usually given crests until they arrive at their destination.

Von Metzeler seems to have been listening to your conversation because he intrudes with a theory. “The transport train going into Blumsburgh was attacked about five to six hours ago by this Dawnseekers group, or at least some other group with close ties to them. They would have had time to steal a great number of equipment if their assault turned out to be successful, depending on when this other attack took place.”

“It was…a couple of hours, maybe? No, wat, what do you mean ‘a great number of equipment?’” Signy rasps out the last part with the haste of somebody who wanted to get the taste of the question out of their mouth.

Von Metzeler is much calmer about this than he should have been, because what he says makes your bowels churn. “A fresh battalion was to be transferred to the Blumlands for reinforcement of the border, with recent movements from the Grossreich. That train was carrying most of that battalion, as well as its equipment.”

A battalion’s worth of heavy equipment! You nearly collapse backwards. “How the hell did that happen!?” you creak.

“I told you, Von Tracht,” Metzeler said irritably, “There were many of them, they executed a well-planned attack, and they attacked while most of us were tired and unprepared and they were definitely very well trained. The only good thing is that they likely didn’t have the time to strip absolutely everything before they had to leave.”

“How big is a battalion?” Signy hurriedly asks. “Twenty tanks? Thirty?”

“Eighty. Four companies of twenty, not including service vehicles.”

"Oh....oh." Signy sat down, "That's a lot more than I thought there were." she says softly.

To say this was awful would be a vast understatement. With even half as many vehicles, with proper manpower, this revolutionary group would be able to stage an actual, military assault upon the city. Who knew if the city garrison even knew about it?

>We have to move for Blumsburgh immediately
>Where was the train attacked? It’s been a long time but maybe we can find survivors, maybe they’re still holding out, it’s a giant armored train after all.
>Other

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>>825090
>>We have to move for Blumsburgh immediately

>>825090
>We have to move for Blumsburgh immediately

>>825090
>We have to move for Blumsburgh immediately

>>825090
We have to move for Blumsburgh immediately.
Also ask about details of the garrison and other military assets in the city. Strength, reliability etc.

The way from Luftnheiss to Blumsburgh was simple and open, straight over every bridge, right into the heart of the city. The routes were well secured with checkpoints and watchmen.

Much to your chagrin.

Yes, you had papers. No, these were not papers from Regimental staff. Well, you hadn’t arrived as intended, so you didn’t have a chance to request the papers. No, you couldn’t wait for authorization, you had waited for authorization at the first bridge and they couldn’t reach their superiors at the moment. Why wasn’t passing through one bridge good enough for all of them? Oh yes, procedure. Carry on then good soldier. Yes you know that they are not your messengers, but it is important to relay a message. Yes, you had authority to tell them to do so, no, you did not have express permission from Regimental staff…

Eventually Maddalyn had gotten irritated enough to push Malachi out of the way and burst out of the driver’s hatch and threaten the enlisted men with baronial authority.

This procedure was repeated until you were in the city, passing over a vine covered old granite bridge into the clustered rows of imperial architecture.

Blumsburgh was a lovely city, a Czeissan gem from the time of the first Kaiser of the Grossreich. The northern city was away from all the heavy industry; the land was uncorrupted by any pollution, and the air smelled sweet despite the sight of smoldering smokestacks of factories to the south. There was nothing left of life before the Reich; the city was intricately planned, squared, and spacious; there were no tangles of rotten neighborhoods like in Strosstadt, the capital; the lords of the land had worked hard to create and maintain a city so flawless. Veritable orchards of fruit trees flanked the streets, spacious despite your tanks being quite a bit larger than the carriages originally planned for. Ruddy children would point at your tank, and gawk at you and Von Metzeler riding atop them. Metzeler seemed to enjoy this immensely. If only he could grant you some of the same enthusiasm, you think.

The Von Blum manor was situated atop a hill overlooking the city, surrounded by autumn blooms and fruit trees, one of many seasonal rings of foliage planted to ensure that the grounds were spectacular at all times of the year, even complete with evergreens and rare peak blossoms in stony soil that were one of the incredibly few plants that could be coaxed to bloom in winter, housed in cooling pots that hid them from sun and warmth to fool the hardy plants into flowering when no other plants did. No ugly fortifications disturbed its splendor; the Imperial Gate to the west and the forts far to the east had kept the city safe for quite some time, the old walls first installed after its founding never seeing use, a quaint attraction for the scholarly to study and the children to climb over.

The guards at the bronze gates of the manor are much more cooperative than the bridge garrisons you dealt with earlier. Maddalyn simply appears, and they bow, opening the gates with a reverent “Welcome home, my lady.”

You are guided to a lot to place your vehicles. You choose to leave your lower class companions behind, advising your militia acquaintances to remain in the vehicle and say nothing of their political opinions; Peace and Glory to Strossvald, Long live the Archduke and such.

The two regimental commands, one infantry one armor, made their homes here beneath the shadow of the Mansion of the Von Blums, but Maddalyn insisted that they not be the primary priority.

“We can skip all the bureaucracy if we go straight to my father. Besides, he’ll…want to see you, anyways.”

>It wasn’t your choice to go over the heads of the bureaucracy, if anything enduring bureaucracy was the life of a Lieutenant. You’ll be fine.
>That does sound quite preferable, actually. Perhaps inviting Von Metzeler and Krause along would help your relations as well.
>You have a subordinate in Von Metzeler, dour as he may be; you weren’t sure of Krause’s rank, but he could do as well. Have them do your crap work while you meet with the highest up of the region.

>>825611
That does sound quite preferable, actually. Perhaps inviting Von Metzeler and Krause along would help your relations as well.

>>825611
>You have a subordinate in Von Metzeler, dour as he may be; you weren’t sure of Krause’s rank, but he could do as well. Have them do your crap work while you meet with the highest up of the region

>>825611
>That does sound quite preferable, actually. Perhaps inviting Von Metzeler and Krause along would help your relations as well.

>>825611
>>You have a subordinate in Von Metzeler, dour as he may be; you weren’t sure of Krause’s rank, but he could do as well. Have them do your crap work while you meet with the highest up of the region.

They should go report our series of unfortunate events as soon as possible, as is their duty as officers, but if we're personally invited to a meeting with royalty, who are we to refuse?

>>825611

>You have a subordinate in Von Metzeler, dour as he may be; you weren’t sure of Krause’s rank, but he could do as well. Have them do your crap work while you meet with the highest up of the region.

Someone needs to tell them that the rebels acquired 100 baneblades 80 Tanks

“Von Metzeler, Krause,” you gather up your two fellow officers, “Find whoever’s in charge and inform them of what we have gone through.”

“I am not your errand boy, Von Tr-“ Metzeler started, but Krause punched his arm.

“Come, Rondo, it’s the right thing to do. It doesn’t matter who tells you to do it.” Krause assuaged his stubbornness. Metzeler frowned, but complied.

Maddalyn led you to the opulent doors of the manor. With a quick push of a decorative wall sculpture of flora, a tinny bell rang, and a team of elderly but strong looking attendants soon appeared. Without a word, they lead you inside and through the manor, to a high ceilinged dining room. Its trimmings are silver, the mosaic floor made of blue tiles of turquoise, lapis lazuli and polished white marble. A tall window admits light into the vast space, flanked by billowing curtains of gleaming silk. At the end of a rather short table is seated the Lord of the Blumlands.

The head of the Von Blum family, Barnabas Von Blum, is a grey haired man, with features so sharp one could shave off of them. Perhaps did, as his chin and upper lip were immaculately smooth. Remarkably few wrinkles creased his face aside from thin lines alongside his mouth, giving him a visage much younger than his age would suggest. He is dressed plainly for his position; in a grey and black suit, well fitted by unadorned. The four butlers flanking you bow deeply before filing to the walls, ready for their next command.

“Richter Von Tracht,” he purrs as he rises from his seat in the room, his voice deep and smooth with a well-practiced accent of culture, a slow but mighty river of quicksilver in vocal form. “I apologize for the brutality you were forced to endure. Alas, I must admit that I am glad you are as difficult to cow as you are, were you not, who knows what would have happened to my reckless daughter.” He drew out every syllable of the last two words, and Maddalyn looked down and held her hands behind her back.

“I was not troubled, my lord,” you are careful to observe proper manners; even if one tripped over every step and landed face first in human shit, one never criticized the lands of the lord upon first meeting them. Complaints could be saved for after introductions. “I await assignment to whatever unit you wish.”

“Yes,” the Lord of the Blumlands rumbled, “Your assignment. I am afraid it will be an unorthodox one, not that you are a stranger to such.” He looked at Maddalyn without turning his head. “Maddalyn. Did you accomplish the task you set out for?”

Maddalyn didn’t look up. “No, father. I didn’t.”

“I am fortunate to have never expected success from you, then.” Lord Barnabas dismisses the matter bluntly. Maddalyn shivers and swallows an objection. “This is your assignment, Lieutenant Von Tracht. My daughter has been incapable of managing her own affairs. You will take whoever accompanies you now, and aid her until her matters cease to be a thorn in my side. You may do whatever you wish with her otherwise, it is none of my concern.” He then speaks to Maddalyn again, “Introduce Von Tracht to the hermit, Maddalyn. Do not withhold anything further from him, especially not your…flawed vision.”

“Father!” Maddalyn gasped, a hint of fear audible.

“Withhold nothing, Maddalyn,” Lord Von Blum repeats more sternly, “He is only at your beck and call for resolving your follies. In all other matters you will obey him without question. Is that understood?”

“…yes, father.” Maddalyn said softly.

>Whatever you wish? What do you mean by that?
>My lord, are recent events not concerning? I would be of more use fighting against the seperatists, who now have so much power.
>As you wish, my lord. Am I dismissed?
>Other (Write in)

>>826257
>As you wish, my lord. By your leave?

>>826257
>As you wish, my lord. By your leave?

>>826249
>As you wish, my lord. By your leave?

“As you wish, my lord. By your leave?”

“You may go.” Lord Barnabas raised a hand, “If you have need of food or drink, merely ask it of a servant.”

“Thank you,” you fare him well as Maddalyn looks up at you, then tilts her head towards the grand staircase before stepping off.

“Quite a man,” you suggest to her.

“Quite.” She says with no emotion.

You can’t think of a way to continue. The ascent is only two floors but it feels like it takes hours. Maddalyn leads you to a dark, black wooden door at the end of the hall, at a corner. “These are my rooms,” she explains.


When Maddalyn opens the door, the first thing your senses inform you of is the smell of ancient dust, cured parchment spared from rot only through complete dessication. It does not take long to find the source of the scent; on one edge of the room there is an antique bookcase, as well as a hooded, elderly figure who appears even older than the furniture. He snoozes silently, a few time-worn loose pages scattered on the floor in front of him.

“That man is the Hermit,” Maddalyn answers before you ask, “He turned up the day I was born, and helped to take care of me. He’s well and truly senile now, and he’s been so for nearly a decade. He mostly just sleeps these days. He also taught me everything I know about…well, that stuff with the spirits and magic, as you call it.” She shuts the door behind her, and then without warning kicks it savagely.

“Why?! Why does father hate me so?” She sobs, “I didn’t ask to be born, I didn’t ask to be a cripple, a stain on the family!” She whirls upon you, tears welling, “Congratulations, Von Tracht, you’ve been tricked into marrying a blind girl. One with a curse, no less. A greedy parasite who thought the lives of others were worth less than the chance to see the sun. Oh, Von Tracht, if only the snare fate had prepared for you was as terrible as it had for me. Eyes that people have died for and I still can’t see the face of the man I’m to marry.”

>That didn’t really do anything but create more questions than answers, didn’t it (Write in)
>I know what your father said, but you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.

>>826615

Don't worry about us, we're used to being screwed over by life. But how can you be blind? You don't show a single sign of it- surely we would've noticed something. Hell, you read our marriage contract when we presented it, didn't you?

>>826615
Calm her down first, then gently ask her to explain everything.

>>826615
I'm sorry about your father's attitude. But now that's he tasked me to help you, just tell me what I need to do.

>>826657
Supporting

>>826657
Seconded. We also have experience with being looked down on because of our birth like all those people from the Academy.

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“Don’t worry, I’m used to being screwed over by life.” You’re surprised by what she’s said, but you feel you should try and reduce the damage Maddalyn’s laying on herself. “Worse things have happened to me than getting married to blind women just today. You don’t quite compare to a bunch of men with guns trying to kill me at least.”

“But, how can you be blind?" You lead right onto your question, "You didn’t show a single sign of it- surely we would have noticed something. Hell, you read our marriage contract when we presented it, didn’t you?”

“That’s because it’s handwritten,” Maddalyn says, “I can read normal lettering if it’s handwritten. It’s…here, it’ll be easier to explain this way.” She retrieves a pen from one of the desks, and starts to move it towards her eye. “…Please don’t be scared when I do this, it’s normal….er, normal, I mean, like this is supposed to happen.”

Before you can say anything about it she slides the tip of the pen into her eye. A thick drop of black creep flows out, sticking to her cheek before sliding back in, leaving no trace anything had even happened.

“I think I would have preferred the longer explanation.” You understate the matter.

“It’s fine, it doesn’t hurt much. Those things are how I ‘see,’ they react to Presence like a normal eye reacts to light, but they’re not very good eyes. I can’t see color, details on living things, and I can’t see through glass.” Maddalyn is surprisingly coherent for somebody who looks like they put out their eye with a writing utensil.

“Glass is transparent,” you point out.

“It’s a solid object, so I can’t see through it.”

“Right." You accept that this is how things work in scary ghost eye land. "So what is this Presence you’re talking about? It sounds like it’s important.”

“Alright,” Maddalyn exhaled with a shallow sigh, “I want you to imagine your soul. It’s like…like a little light. It’s like a fire, but it isn’t hot. Nobody knows where it comes from, it just…is. Everything living has one, from blades of grass to whales to toadstools. Normally, nothing can interact with it, and as far as I know nothing can, not directly. What you can do things with is…well, remember how I said a soul was like a fire, there’s this thing called the Presence, which is like the warm glow of a fire around the flame itself.”

“We each have our own presence, just like we have our own souls,” she continues, “You can use the energy of Presence for all sorts of things, so long as you know how to direct it. Every presence works differently, though; it isn’t as simple as taking a bunch of it and putting it somewhere and expecting it to do the same thing every time; that sort of thing is can be dangerous, but more often just pointless as it doesn’t do anything at all but disperse.”

“I still don’t think I understand it but I’ll figure it out eventually. You didn’t find all that out by yourself, did you?”

“Of course not.” She points at the old pages shoved into the shelf and scattered on the floor, “All of those are studies on the nature of this power, this Presence. None of them are really certain, they just all agree there’s something about it that’s unique to each person. They’re also really, really old. They’re from the Hermit’s collection, before he got so old he could hardly think.”

“How old?” you wonder out of curiosity.

“They’re copies of documents made before the ancient Nauk Empire,” she said. That would make their original source over two thousand years old. “These copies are only about a hundred years old. See their writing? The letters are scripted in Soulbinder blood…the ‘wrong sort of people’ I told you about earlier. I don’t know what it looks like to you, but to me the writing glows.”

To you the letters look horribly faded. Light brown marks are barely legible in some ancient language you’ve never seen before.

“When people interact with things, at least directly, they leave a little of themselves on it. As long as you write it by hand, I can read it.” Maddalyn makes a swishing motion in the air with the pen as she says this.

“You could have just said that instead of stabbing your eyeball, you know.” Knowing that there were little goo creatures in her eyes that performed some parody of sight didn’t explain much about the nature of her vision.

“It makes other things I have to explain easier,” Maddalyn sighs, “Come on, you’ve figured it out by now, right? You don’t have to pretend to still respect me. You have to know what I’ve done now. You’ve seen things like the little ones in my eyes before. You have to know why I know so much about that demon that torments these lands.”

>Did you…(Write In)
>I think I know but I don’t think it was your fault.
>I don’t think I have. Don’t you not really see anyways?

>>827309

"I think I have an idea, but I'd prefer you explain it yourself rather than leave my understanding of what horrible crimes you may or may not have committed to my questionable reasoning skills."

Also be a gentleman and wipe that streak of blood off her cheek with your handkerchief while she talks.

>>827339
Seconded. So basically the things in her eye allow her to see something like infrared vision except they react to this Presence?

>>827309
I think I have a vague idea but I'd rather you go into specifics so we can try to solve this problem. Also, you can call me Richter.

>>827339
>waifuing the unholy abomination

“I think I have an idea,” you pull a handkerchief from within your coat, “but I’d prefer you explain it. I don’t want to assume anything with how little I know.”

“It’s my fault there’s a demiphantom here.” She says this bitterly, biting her lip, “They’re the most dangerous mistake you can make my playing with the Presence, and I managed to make one. That’s some sort of accomplishment, isn’t…W-what are you doing?” she recoils as you daub around her cheek with the hand cloth.

“Getting that blood off your face. It doesn’t suit you.”

Her face flushes with color and she turns away, “Well, you don’t suit, er.” You’ve caught her off guard, though, and she can’t formulate an objection before all evidence that she shoved anything into her eye was gone. “You’ve run me off my train of thought, Von Tracht!” She complained.

“Call me Richter, please. The formality isn’t necessary anymore. As you were saying though, the demiphantom,” you prompt.

She thinks for a moment than gets back on track. “Most of the supernatural things that come up because somebody’s been disturbing fragments and sheddings of souls aren’t very harmful. Usually, you can’t even see them or do anything with them. The Shades, for example. They’re strange looking, but couldn’t hurt you even if they had the capacity to want to. A demiphantom is different, because they aren’t all made up of the same stuff.” She put a finger into your chest, “The difference is that instead of castoff, reflected bits of living things, a demiphantom is still a person on the inside. That’s never supposed to happen. It only has even a chance of happening if somebody tries to do something that they know they shouldn’t.”

“There aren’t many complete records in that pile over there,” she refers to the dusty shelves of thick, leathery pages. “Not of anything interesting or useful, and not in the one thing that interested me most. Duplication, transformation. One of the nameless scholars in those journals had a theory that because one could regenerate a body based on the memory of the soul, reading a reflection of the body that was in the past…”

“Is that how you healed Ms. Vald?” you ask, “you somehow found out what she was like before then, and returned her to it?”

“Yes,” Maddalyn confirmed, “It’s very limited though. Out of all those journals, almost a third of them theorize about trying to use some variation of it to live forever, but nothing worked. All of them but one declared it a futile effort.”

“And this one other had an answer you liked.”

“Yeah,” she admitted uncomfortably, “It wasn’t just because of that though. They had a whole different theory about how to go about it. I didn’t want immortality anyways, much greater people who actually knew well what they were dealing with tried that and failed completely. All I wanted was to…get somebody else’s eyes, ones that worked. I thought all I had to do was find out what real eyes looked like in a soul’s memory.”

“I thought you said everybody’s energy thing worked differently, so you couldn’t do that.”

“…there’s a way you can change somebody’s Presence, to make them more like you. Soulbinders do it just by being around people, they slowly turn people into copies of themselves, never all the way since the body and mind are reflected in the soul, or so these philosophers say, but they still do it. I thought that I could do something similar…but it didn’t work. I don’t know about what happens beyond that, only that the person burst apart, into…that thing.” She looks solemn and lifeless, “I didn’t even know who they were, I never thought it would hurt anybody, but its hurt more people than I want to think about.”

“That’s all in the past. How do we get rid of it?” You guide Maddalyn away from more self-flagellation, “From the sound of things, if we don’t handle it now we won’t get the chance before the city turns into a battlefield.”

“I don’t know,” she wraps her arms around herself and bites down on her lip again harder, drawing blood. You weren’t sure if you had a second clean handkerchief.

Not a very heartening answer.

>What if we just shot it with something bigger than last time?
>Do we have to kill it? What if we trapped it in something it couldn’t pass through, like a metal box?
>Can’t we just lure it out to a place nobody is? It doesn’t seem very smart.
>Other (Write in)

>>828474
>Do we have to kill it? What if we trapped it in something it couldn’t pass through, like a metal box?

>>828474

>What if we just shot it with something bigger than last time? Failing which, we can always try trapping it I guess.

>>828474
>Do we have to kill it? What if we trapped it in something it couldn’t pass through, like a metal box?

“So is shooting it with a bigger gun not an option?” You say, only partially in jest, “Besides, it’s not like we have to kill it, right? We could just trap it somewhere then hide it someplace nobody will find it. It can’t go through metal, you said, so we could just shove it in a box and forget about it.”

Maddalyn curls her lip. “I don’t want anybody to find it. It doesn’t die, you know, but I guess it’s the easiest option.” She glances to the side and murmurs, “It’ll hurt a lot either way…”

“Beg your pardon?”

“N-nothing.” Maddalyn’s eyes widened, “It’s nothing.”

“You don’t happen to have a big metal box hidden somewhere for this, do you?” You make sure to cover all the bases before even thinking about any plans, “The thing seems slightly too obese to actually climb into a tank with us.”

“There’s a place to the north, in a mountain,” Maddalyn says quickly, “it’s the facility where the Hellfire shells were made. When the Hermit first came here, he tempted Father with the possibilities of exploiting his knowledge as a weapon. It took a while, but he got results…shortly before age stole his mind. The place isn’t used anymore, but it’s built to keep anything that would go wrong in there, inside.”

You think you would have heard about some strange shell with supernatural destructive power in all your study of equipment, tactics, and military science, so it was safe to assume it never entered mass production. You comment on this.

“They were always expensive and time consuming to make, and now that the Hermit’s in the state he’s in it’s impossible to make any more.” She counts off fingers while thinking, “The ones in the big tank might be the about…half of the ones that were ever made.”

You can only imagine how much time and effort it took to make only one if only around six were even produced.

“There’s also the unfinished one,” Maddalyn added, seeming a lot less certain about it, “There was one that never got to the last part of production, the part I know something about. If we had to, I could…try and make a stronger one. The normal Hellfire shells aren’t as strong as they could be, since it was dangerous power to work with and the Hermit knew it. It would be a risk and…I’d really rather not do it, but it’s there. It could work.”

>Still more comfortable about just trapping it in a box. We’ll see if we can’t put it in the secret clubhouse.
>We’ve got five shots total, maybe six, if we go to the place and take everything in it, right? Why not skip the clever bits and just shoot it over and over again? We only shot it once last time.
>We’ll go with trying to make the shell stronger. Something tells me we’ll want the five normal shells. Normal being subjective.
>Other (Write in)

>>829710
>We’ll go with trying to make the shell stronger. Something tells me we’ll want the five normal shells. Normal being subjective

Better to have six rounds than five. Then if the rounds still don't kill the thing we can try to trap it and dump the box into a lake or something.

>>829710
Could we turn the last shell into some kind of super bomb?
We could lure it into this factory and set it off, then bury it for some poor sap a thousand years from now to find

>>829710
Still more comfortable about just trapping it in a box.

>>830712

We could, but it would be extremely painful.