Yet now, there was an unexpected spot of hope. Alpha Two had commenced, and the once-puppet of the Netillians had found some iron in his spine and raised a revolt. On top of that, Netillian republicans had reemerged and declared the current regime illegitimate- and had, in concession towards the other foes of the Military Council, surrendered formerly Ellowian ports and opened their own. Finally, it was time to go home.

Yet Commander Kos had difficulty encouraging himself to hurry. With no home upon ground, he had made a new home on the seas…and found a welcoming place high above, in a place not even the Caelussians, with all of their might, could threaten. A denizen of such a place standing upon his ship’s deck with him now, to bid farewell, for he was another who had left the clutches of the Earth. One who represented a place that could only be spoken of as though it were legend, for even those who had been there could not explain it without appearing to be utterly mad anyways. A place only made reasonable through witnessing it with one’s own eyes.

“Yer sure ‘bout this?” the grey bearded air captain asked, chewing on a pipe, “T’ step foot in Hemelsberg is t’ take an oath not easily forgotten. Th’ heaven’s mount’ll take all, but it’s not one t’ share. She won’t take yeh back if y’ turn your back on ‘er but once, no matter who yeh come flyin’ about wit’. Same goes fer any of yeh boys goin’ back who’ve let their hearts float upward.”

“You and your people have given our fleet more than we can repay,” Kos said with a reverent bow of his head, “But Ellowie is our home, and if there is a real hope of taking back victory, we have to go back and help there. Anybody who wants to stay, I’m leaving with you.” For whatever unexplainable reason, the old captain wouldn’t even set foot on the island where most waited. Something to do with forsaking any land but that which was amongst the clouds, a vow near every Sky or Sea Pirate that Kos had met, had taken.

“To be of th’ Sky Folk is t’ be truly free, no matter how powerful the foe th’t wants t’ make you a slave. I’ve seen th’ signs, Kos,” the air captain paced, his long, thick coat drifting only slightly in the sea breeze, “There not be many free places left, an’ at th’ end of this storm brewin’, there might not be any left at all, save the Height of the Heavens. I won’t begrudge yeh yer home, but this isn’t a decision t’ take lightly.”

“I don’t make it lightly,” Kos said resolutely, “My only apprehension is that we won’t be able to repay you.”

“There’s no debt, Kos,” the old captain chuckled, “But a gift every now an’ then’d be ‘ppreciated, if ye fleet must go. We can’t follow- so best a’ luck.”

Admittedly, the Sky Pirates were much better in their own element out here. Kos couldn’t imagine their strange airships being threatening whatsoever back near the continent. Some of the airships he’d seen looked like they wouldn’t even fly were it not for the strangeness of the islands.

“We’ve made it this far,” Kos saluted, “Thank you all again.”

The sky captain and his friends left soon after, their airship rising from its mooring, slowly and steadily into the mist. The fog seemed to clear, but the floating craft was nowhere in sight. Kos pondered one final time- it wasn’t too late to change his own mind. To pursue that new life he’d found on the high mountain’s city. To live with Kristina up there, even if it meant leaving behind a fiancée he didn’t even know was still among the living. He could have a simple plot of land bursting with stone barley, or he might farm fish in the strange spherical floating lakes. There was a life amongst the Sky Folk- a whole new floating island had drawn close just during Kos’s time out here, after a sizable portion of Ellowian sailors had gone up, practically beckoning for explorers and pioneers, settlers.

Yet, that hope of getting back all he lost, was there to stay. Even if it meant leaving everything he had now behind…

“The task force reports that we’re ready to go under way,” Kos’s communications officer said, coming from behind him on the deck, “…Are you sure you want to go, sir?”

“I am,” Kos said, “We’re all ready. Send that back, and I’ll be up in the bridge shortly. It’s time to go home.”

-----

You are Lieutenant Richter Von Tracht, and despite the war between Netilland, Ellowie, and Mittelsosalia continuing, you had found yourself in a strange place of peace.

It had been a some days since you’d seen any combat, heard any gunshots, any artillery, or aircraft. The last intense battle had been completed, with Sundersschim encircled by your allies after the Netillian counterattack had been defeated by the combination of stubborn defense blunting their initial assault before reinforcements drove them from the field with a counterattack. The siege only lasted three days, with little direct combat between anybody, though plenty of artillery had been exchanged. Unexpectedly, a ceasefire was arranged, then the city surrendered itself to the Republic. Your pessimistic gunner had been anticipating a brutal urban assault, which never came to pass. Perhaps the Twice-Damned, who were the military arm of the city state, hadn’t the stomach for it, or maybe it had been the huge civilian population trapped in the city with the defenders, but either way, the expected battle never ended up happening. It had been two days since.

Vehrlors and Elder Von Rotehof met back up with you in the quiet, while the Silver Lances reorganized themselves, though they had already known of what happened to Stevan Von Rotehof before you could tell them. Little Von Rotehof’s tank was near-ruined, and he and his crew had been severely wounded, though not slain. The ram by a Netillian tank had thrown them about and given Stevan himself a bad head wound and concussion- when you visited him, he seemed to be out of any danger, but most certainly not fit for combat.

So, your platoon had been reduced to three tanks. Three crews.

Anya had been hurried to the best medical treatment you could find, of course, in the Silver Lances’ medical company. Similarly out of action for the foreseeable future, she nevertheless acted unphased by her terrible wounding after sleeping for four days straight after surgery. Her left arm was bound up in a solid cast, where it would be shielded against further harm while she healed- the doctor you spoke with predicted approximately four months for her bones to mend, considering the level of damage- her upper arm bone had been smashed into pieces by an aircraft’s machine gun bullet shooting right through it. She wasn’t in danger either, and her crew of Iron Hogs in disguise seemed trustworthy, but the bratty little girl that had stuck to her…had now stuck to you, hanging around your platoon like a pest, whose danger you couldn’t explain to any of them. Pact acted like an adolescent girl, but your imagination spun up plenty of evils that might lurk beneath her skin. Soulbinders couldn’t be trusted…except perhaps Poltergeist, though he was the strangest of any you knew.

News had been slow to come of what had happened to the rest of your unit, especially of Lieutenant Colonel Von Silbertau, who had sent you on your special mission north while he did his best to hold off the Netillians attacking southwards. It had been a blow to hear that he had perished in this duty- though for his efforts, the line had held long enough for the reinforcement wave to break the enemy apart shortly after you and Anya had made your own counterattack far to the north. You still couldn’t quite imagine it- you hadn’t been close, but you knew that he had gained trust in you. A trust you didn’t have even in yourself. Now your company was led by a major called Lasze Pfortner, who you knew naught about besides being Von Silbertau’s second in command, and thus now acting commander. Vehrlors was in a bitter mood at the time the news was received- he didn’t want to talk about Pfortner. You hoped it was because of your platoon commander’s generally dark mood these days, and wasn’t because Pfortner would turn out to be trouble.

There wasn’t much for you to do these days. Apparently, the Silver Lances’ commanders were reorganizing the unit- reserves had been called up, and until the unit was finished reinforcing and cleaning up, you would be staying right here in Sundersschirm. In the meantime, the Ellowians wouldn’t be stopping, even though the Republic troops had also wound down offensive maneuvers, favoring occupation and securing of the ground that had been taken. Rumor had it that your former Sosaldtian enemies would be committing their forces to aiding Mittelsosalia now, in return for favorable treatment in entering the fold of Mittelsosalia. You didn’t know how you felt about that, but as Elder Von Rotehof had said concerning it- the Silver Lances relied on themselves, anyways. Unlikely enemies and allies alike were but normalcy for this elite expeditionary force for hire.

The idleness had been broken up recently- this morning, command had announced that men were permitted to venture into Sundersschirm- to entertain themselves, presumably, as nothing more was being done at the moment anyways. There were conditions, of course- no mingling with prostitutes, as had been mandated earlier (Jorgen and Hausen had been dismayed, and appealed for convenient oversight on your part), and none were to travel into the city by themselves under any circumstances, and provocation of the locals was forbidden. It was a little surprising for such an allowance to be made so soon- Elder Von Rotehof said that otherwise people would have snuck off there anyways. Like Vehrlors had the other night. You hadn’t noticed that…

Would you want to go into the city, though? It was a huge, sprawling place, and there’d surely be most anything you might want to find from its reputation as a place of trade and congregation, factoring in as well its influence locally. Maybe Anya would appreciate going there- she hated being stuck in bed, and she displayed proudly that she was perfectly capable of walking around when you had visited- something Little Von Rotehof hadn’t managed so easily yet.

One welcome delivery of good news had come, at least. The mail had arrived for the unit, and for you there was a well-handled, pristine, lightly scented envelope sealed with blue wax- the insignia of Von Blum. You carefully unsealed it and reached inside…

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There was something besides a letter in there. You pulled it out- a photograph, black and white, but painted over in sections with proper coloration. It wasn’t the real thing- the true, precious darling, but it was a treasure nevertheless. Your spirits were lifted to a height that felt most unfamiliar these days as you carefully slipped it back into the envelope, thinking of some way to store in on your person without crumpling it, and retrieved the letter itself.

Richter,

I have not heard much of what has happened to you and your fellows- the news has been all of everything but your war. The affairs of Republics are unimportant news compared to the threats of Utopians and the plight of Almizea- though I have been too busy to search further.

There was probably a letter between this and the most recent one you sent- she didn’t speak at all of what her “business” might have been.

I can only hope that this message finds you well. I wish I had more to say, but all that I have been doing is complicated to put into writing. Hurry home- no matter what happens to you over there, I’d like you to not miss our marriage for a third time. My nights have been lonely and cold, and only you can make them warm again.

Yours forever,
Maddalyn Annelie Erdelia Von Blum

…Was it too much to hope for, that she’d tell you something about what she was doing? Or did she fear the message being intercepted? It was too brief a letter…

Maybe when the next one came. Hopefully soon. For now, though…you had an odd abundance of free time and nobody telling you what to do with it. Though maybe you ought to poke around and be sure of a few things first…

>It’s been a bit and a lot has happened since the last battle. Is there anything that you want to ask or make sure of before you break into your downtime?
>Other things?

Pastebin for past threads- https://pastebin.com/UagT0hnh
Twitter for announcements and shitposts is @scheissfunker

>>5011821
>It’s been a bit and a lot has happened since the last battle. Is there anything that you want to ask or make sure of before you break into your downtime?

>The affairs of Republics are unimportant news compared to the threats of Utopians and the plight of Almizea

Who's threatening who here? Otherwise let's hit the town.

Also sucks to see that von Silbertau bought it, he seemed like a decent CO.

>>5011821
>It’s been a bit and a lot has happened since the last battle. Is there anything that you want to ask or make sure of before you break into your downtime?
Some general news from home would be nice, something to jog the memory of whatever Maddy was talking about that was getting more play then the war Ritcher's in.
Try to ask around to see if there's been any news of what Signy's been up to.
I suppose we ought to take Anya out on the town and if we're going with her we ought to take Pact too, to keep false words outta people's mouths and to make sure the brat isn't up to something.
Finally, we ought to check in with command. Get the over under on what's coming next so we can prepare, even if it's just mentally.

Oh and if we haven't sent Maddalyn the image of ourselves and a nice letter to go with it, we ought to do that. Maybe another letter to mother dearest and Hilda too while we're at it?

>>5011821
Damn Maddy, you got more curves than I thought. Not that that would convince anybody Richter didn't earn his nickname for nothing.

>Is there anything that you want to ask?
When they say reinforce, how strong are the Lances in total now?
This might be for later but would the quartermaster be willing to take requests for gear?
Also please tell me there's a kill marking for a Netillian Dive Bomber somewhere.

Other than that, organize for some R&R in a occupied hostile city awaits!
I am dismayed that she looks so tired. Here's hoping a creating a magic zombie army out of lunatics doesn't backfire...

>>5011821
>It’s been a bit and a lot has happened since the last battle. Is there anything that you want to ask or make sure of before you break into your downtime?
It'll probably come up later but what are the chances of our platoon getting a replacement or are there way more people ahead in the number of holes they need to plug?

Also what happened to Pact's grandfather considering she's hounding Richter now? Is Pact even his granddaughter or did she cast some illusion on him or something

>>5011821
>>It’s been a bit and a lot has happened since the last battle. Is there anything that you want to ask or make sure of before you break into your downtime?
Hmm, a nice picture but a short letter. Probably best to write back to Maddy, report that we are ok. She has to take care of herself though, there might not be much time to rest during the nights following our return.
>Other things?
Get some smoke grenades? Though maybe that's a bad idea. The results haven't been too great whenever I voted to use them. Probably still better to have them with that experience gained though. Probably.
I don't know if there's any good place to do it in the Judge forsaken dustbin, but wasn't Maddy's scarf getting dirty a bit back? See if that can get taken care of.

>>5011821
>>5011874
>It’s been a bit and a lot has happened since the last battle. Is there anything that you want to ask or make sure of before you break into your downtime?
One more question, how are we paying for anything? Unless Sundersschim accepts IOU's signed by the Kommandant I don't think we are going to have many options.

>>5011821
Best fiance.

>It’s been a bit and a lot has happened since the last battle. Is there anything that you want to ask or make sure of before you break into your downtime?
Organized downtime for our crew and Anya. Keep them out of trouble.
Write back to Maddy. Send the portrait to her if we didn't still.
Get more smoke.

>>5011821
>>It’s been a bit and a lot has happened since the last battle. Is there anything that you want to ask or make sure of before you break into your downtime?
Check with the IO if that tank hunter ace is still operating on our front, or if they've been pulled back.
inb4 Anya already took them out from that aside she had

>>5011833
Also totally important question: what's Richter's full name?

>>5011904
IMO if the IO offers us to go after him specifically I think we should just decline the mission. With Pact around the Hellfire as last resort like some anons were suggesting is out of the question, Plus getting back safely is more important, especially when the Nets seem to be finally collapsing.

>>5011833
>>5011839
>>5011846
>>5011850
>>5011874
>>5011902
>>5011904
A variety of concerns!
Writing.

>>5011839
>Oh and if we haven't sent Maddalyn the image of ourselves and a nice letter to go with it, we ought to do that.
This was sent along with the last correspondence. Delays are expected, of course.

>>5011880
>One more question, how are we paying for anything? Unless Sundersschim accepts IOU's signed by the Kommandant I don't think we are going to have many options.
Currency Changing is widely practiced in Sosaldt, especially in its city states- the most generally used currency is the East Valsten Union Mark, which has a favorable exchange agreement with the Strossmark. The Republic of Mittelsosalia is likely to do something about this widespread use of differing currencies when it can, but for now, the money you have is as good as it is anywhere else in Sosaldt. Which is to say, unless you're planning on making particularly pricey purchases, you should be fine for normal things.

>>5011909
>what's Richter's full name?
Richter Helmuth Von Tracht, his middle name after his grandfather, a man mostly known for having to sell off much of his familial assets both his own and inherited from the other branch of the family (after its untimely end) in order bankruptcy. Most wouldn't think such a figure was worthy of being named after, Richter very much included, but Geroldt and Eda did appreciate the man for what meeker qualities he had.
No, you don't have two middle names. Maybe you can name your kid with a slew of faffy names when they pop out.

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The threat of Utopians was something that was news to you. Almizea, yes, that was important recent news to Strossvald, but Utopians? You felt the need to ask Vehrlors about it. He did have that arm band- perhaps he would know?

“Utopians?” He echoed your question, “Don’t know about anybody calling themselves that who’ve come up, but…you know the north western edge of the continent?”

“No,” you said flatly.

Vehrlors blinked and seemed to wonder where to start- he didn’t seem to have much enthusiasm for elaborating right now, though, but he did seem a little brighter than usual. What had he done last night? “To put it shortly, the northwest used to be under the influence of the Grossreich, like most of the continent east of Halmeggia. You know where that is, right?”

“Of course.”

“The Grossreich, in the last couple of years, has retaken several of its northern territories that broke away after the Emrean Liberation. If I had a map I could explain better, but the recent news is-“

“You know the recent news?” you asked, “I haven’t heard much from the unit.”

“…Ah, you can keep a secret,” Vehrlors held up a hand and went to his tank, and asked for something- and came back with a newspaper. A local journal perhaps- Happenings at Sunrise, though the date was about a week and a half old. It was titled. “I went into town and got this. It’s a publication that keeps very up to date. Look here.” He pointed to the headline, of course- Squabbling States Finally Set Aside Difference- United Pohjanask’s Birth.

“What the hell is Pohjanask?” you asked abruptly- you were sure you’d never heard of it.

“A union of the Pohjanask ethnicities under one flag,” Captain Vehrlors said, “What was once Weskatinbach, Holherezh, and Ohtiz. They call themselves a United Social Republic now. One country to defend against a resurgent Reich…but the Republic of Trelan has taken issue with their influences. As have the Reich, but I doubt the Archduchy minds another enemy against the Grossreich. Perhaps that’s what was being referred to as a Utopianist threat?”

“Maybe.” Barring something else even less relevant than a country across the entire continent from you. “Social Republic, though?”

“It’s…no, don’t worry about it,” Vehrlors shook his head, “They take after the gentler Vitelian utopians, let’s say. Else they’d never have had a peaceful union like they did. Well, mostly peaceful.”

Mostly Peaceful. How odd. “That journal doesn’t happen to have news concerning Almizea, does it?”

“No,” Vehrlors said, “but it’s been talked about around the officers. Suffice it to say, it’s war. Between Almizea and Plisseau, that is. Whether we’re involved isn’t certain yet. I’d rather not be pulled from here and sent up there right now. There’s…unfinished business.”

“But it’s not sure.”

“Yes. It’s part of why we have to wait more time for reinforcements,” Vehrlors took out a cigarette from the packet in his jacket pocket, “We’re supposed to be receiving several companies of armor when we can, to replace materiel losses and to rebuild our Reserve Battalion once those reserves are placed into the Lancers Regiment, and the Panzergrenadier and auxiliary companies are to receive reinforcements, as well. An entire battalion of Volunteers, equipped as infantry, are to be coming, but whether that’ll be waylaid by a need to send it north instead? It’s not certain.” The Silver Lances had been well depleted, though the manpower losses weren’t as serious as might be assumed from the numbers of tanks available- though plenty of manpower had been lost as well- enough that the Reserve Battalion you were a member of was being used to refill the primary combat units. When the siege had begun, the division was barely combat capable. The maintenance people both organic and hired on were working without rest even now to salvage what they could. “Normally this would wait until we’re back home, but,” Vehrlors puffed on the cigarette, “Considering how things have gone, command thinks we can’t afford to grind ourselves down any further. We’re heading into the enemy’s homelands. They’re not going to be fighting any less hard, even if they’ve got Republicans sprouting up in their rears…”

That had been news that had been eagerly shared- Netillian Republicans were indeed rising up back in Netilland’s home territories. Ellowie had been rendered more or less unoccupied- but the Ellowian Republic Army was marching into Netilland, not to their half-liberated home.

“We’re not set to get any replacements, are we?” you asked Vehrlors.

“No. Only platoons under half strength.” He gestured to you and Elder Von Rotehof with his cigarette. “We’re just above half, still. Maybe if we’re lucky that might change. I’ve heard tell that the Republicans are willing to loan some of their new mercenary allies to us. We’ll have to keep an eye on them, but they shouldn’t shoot us in the back, at least.” He sighed and tipped his cigarette into his mouth, “All you can ask for with some people. Paellans certainly left us all by ourselves up front enough.”

It was something you’d discussed before with some who were less sure in the unit- particularly when you went to logistics to try and get more smoke grenades. You were granted…a couple. Though, anything more than that was refused on the grounds of everything being a right mess. Though, the quartermasters had been kind enough to relate, once you were getting set to move again things would be in a less confusing and difficult state.
>x2 Smoke Candles obtained.

They were the plain smoke candles- a far cry from the Nebelinas that were Little Von Rotehof’s creation, which burst quickly and with a huge cloud of multicolored smoke that did well to immediately obscure you from danger- but this was better than nothing.

…A concussion might not have left Stevan in the best state to receive your end of the bargain for one of his precious grenade bundles, but you did have to see about getting Alina to him if you could find he. The man needed his spirits lifted, and you knew that Alina was…accommodating. Perhaps Anya would know where she was- you had intended to pick her up anyways to go into the city. She was practically all but asking, and the Iron Hogs with her were much more content to see her restricted to bed rest.

Word had spread around of you gunner having shot down a Netillian plane- Anya had heard of it- though Schafer didn’t want to take an abundance of credit for it. The idea of placing a kill mark on your tank like fighter planes often displayed was floated- Vehrlors told you to just do it if you wanted to. Schafer himself didn’t care one way or the other- he had been much happier, it seemed, to be reunited with his dog. Even if he grumbled that, as he predicted, the medical company people watching over the shepherd dog had overfed him with treats and quickly turned the canine’s body shape into something resembling an overstuffed barrel. That dog had indeed gotten fat.

Once again, you took the picture of Maddalyn out- she was smiling, unlike the picture you had gotten from Von Metzeler way back in Ellowie. She wore a dress that clung appealingly to her- though she admittedly was adjusting her posture in such a way that her qualities stuck out more. The way she bent her back and put out her chest, she actually had a hint of breasts, with the normal being practically a flat surface, save for a small amount of softness that was only apparent when she was pushed right up against you. Of course, her bottom needed no introduction. There was nothing to object to in this photograph…save for one thing. The tiredness in her eyes. It was a fatigue you’d seen when you had last returned home, and it hadn’t improved. Couldn’t she tell you what she was wearing herself ragged for? Much as you’d liked to have pored over the picture with adoration and lust, that concern for her health made searching the close-hugging dress for all the beauty she could muster…have a somewhat bitter tang.

You were reminded of her scarf- that had rarely left your neck here, but as of recent you’d been forced to turn it into the laundry. The last battle and the actions before that had rendered it shockingly filthy- almost hopelessly so, if it wasn’t for the reassurance of the cleaners. It made you wonder if you should stop wearing it and store it safely in the tank’s effects locker- there was no more perfume in it, only dust and sweat, and a hint of oil. Yet, there was still the memory of how it had been when it was first granted to you- and how long it had stayed wrapped around you. Even now, without you hobbling about and stuttering recovering from the removal of your conditioning, it was reassuring. Though nobody ever had anything good to say about it.

The recent events made you wonder, also, how Signy was doing- even if most still referred to her by a nomme de guerre rather than her true name. She was alive- you knew that much. Wounded in a battle she had taken to the field in, and recuperating- but how involved was she in the current happenings? Lord Wossehn had been responsible for negotiating the ceasefire and surrender of Sundersschirm, you’d heard- an unlikely sounding role for the pompous entrepreneur, and something you had more expected of Signy. Was it because he was suited for it, or was it because Signy was more seriously wounded than thought? Considering how Mittelsosalia was ballooning in size, with the occupied territory being quickly claimed for the Republic, it sounded as though she should have her hands full.

Perhaps if your letter to Hiedler had gone through, you could ask him. You were the Kommandant- important figures in the Republic surely would be eager to tell you whatever you wished to know.

…For better or worse, considering you were officially an agent of Strossvald’s Intelligence Office. They hadn’t sent any word of anything they wanted, or what they had planned- but you did know they would be helping you to hunt down and destroy the Netillian tank ace, the fearsome Crown-Taker Stalker, or whatever his strange title was. He hadn’t been present in the last battle, apparently, but why? Perhaps he had been, but not in his favored vehicle. The man was a mystery- and Vehrlors went into an ugly mood whenever he heard tell of what he might have thought was referring to the Netillian ace.

Perhaps, you considered, this enemy wasn’t yours to confront.

There was almost too much for you to consider- and you were thankful to have some time where you could cast it all away, even if you’d rather be spending that time with the little lady you had a photo of- with or without that dress on. The more you thought about it, the more you wondered if you’d even be able to hold yourself back. There was a torment in looking forward to the end of this war.

For now you could distract yourself some other ways at least. Sundersschirm was open to you and your crew- your friends, perhaps. Until command gave the order to collect yourselves and move out once again, you were free to do whatever you wished- a luxury granted to the Silver Lances, unbound, technically, to any authority save their own. Not like you had any intention of sullying yourself with prostitutes anyways, command restriction or no.

>Who would you like to take into the city with you? You’ll be here for some time- don’t feel like you have to do everything at once only once, with everybody.
And-
>What to do in the city? Sundersschirm is a large and diverse place, with just about anything that can be found, especially since some activities need not hide…such as fighting pits and gambling dens, as well as the more mundane coffee halls and bazaars.
Don't hesitate to ask for something a little out there. This is your down time, after all. The only limit to your free time, theoretically, is how much you have. Which, from command's predictions, is looking to be about five to six days.

>>5012081
>Who would you like to take into the city with you? You’ll be here for some time- don’t feel like you have to do everything at once only once, with everybody.
Three specific trips.
One with Anya and Pact for the reasons stated >>5011839.
Maybe take the two ladies to a nice place to eat, maybe a walk in any parks they have, Movies that aren't Netiland propaganda would be nice after the last trip to the cinema we've had. Mostly focus on Anya of course, but if the brat has anything to say, try not to be too rude. Just dismissive if she tries to get Richter to sell his soul for a candy bar or something.
Next would be a trip with the crew and maybe Anya again to one of them fightpit gambling dens and a night of drinking! Been a while since Richter has gotten smashed with the boys and we know those misadventures always end well!
Finally, maybe try to see if any of the Republican crew Richter was rolling with before are here. Not sure if they would be, but if Wolfman or Fram are here it would be nice to take our favorite Mosshead to see em, and if we don't find em, just spending some one on one time with everyone's favorite driver would be nice. Not sure what they'd want to do though, let them lead the way though, I'm sure he'd find something.

>>5012081
Supporting >>5012108

>>5012108
+1

>>5012108
This, also keep a ear out for news/rumours in general, maybe the Ellowians or Imperials know things happening both east and west that we don't.

>>5012379
Also if Lord Wossehn is still in town perhaps paying a visit is possible?

>>5012081
>>5012108
>>5012424
Oh yeah sure, why not

>>5012081
>>5012108
I think we might want to drag at least one crewmember along with us for the trip with Pact. Partly because I'm not sure if Anya counts for the rule of not going into the city alone, and partly to have at least one person who can throw a punch reliably, if need be. Otherwise getting smashed and looking for old friends sound good, as long as you aren't expecting great conversation out of Malachi.
I would like to get something for Vehrlors though, maybe a flask of something. He seems like somethings eating him, and I can guess at what. If he was acquainted with even a quarter of the people in the Reserve Battalion he has probably lost a lot of people he knew.

>>5012108
>>5012207
>>5012298
Take the blondes out for a movie. If you can find a place for it. Why wouldn't you, after all? Wouldn't this place claim to have any modernity whatsoever?
Then go to a fight pit and get smashed. With drink, hopefully not with fists.
Finally, look for Republic auxiliary misfits. If not, go green.
>we know those misadventures always end well!
Okay B-G.

>>5012379
>>5012424
Keep an ear out for funny news. See if you can't find the Fop of Finance.

>>5012491
Drag along somebody so you have five arms instead of three. Seven instead of five? Children probably can't punch very well.
See if you can find something for your platoon commander. Whatever that might be.

Writing!

The Kalderlands, the Archduchy’s eastern bastion, were blanketed in a thick yet loose snow that flaked away in sparkling trails with each whispering wind. Its borders had ever been places of conflict even in peacetime, but the small city of Schmiededorf was deep enough in the interior to be sleepy and quiet, away from where Netillian and Archduchy troops still kept a keen watch on one another, ready for a new development in the neighboring country’s failing fortunes to set them shooting one another.

The snow here was white and pure, not like the grey ice of the capital. Schmiededorf was a sprawling place, and the ample space gave no sense of claustrophobia like in a properly large metropolis. Yet there was no time for a vacation here- not for the Colonel.

He was short and elderly, but the only ravages time had inflicted upon the man so far had been the deep wrinkles on his face and the recession of his hair, which clung to his head in a defiant cloud the same hue as the winter all around. A distinctive if unassuming look that one might not assume belonged to a senior member of the enigmatic Strossvald Intelligence Office, but none save those near him in that organization would have thought such anyways, let alone known. As much as the simple surroundings suited his tastes, he had no time to linger. His step was quick and purposeful- as a car would have stood out compared to a brisk morning walk. Especially to a house with irregular residents, a pair in his sphere of command.

A long press on the electric door buzzer. Then another short one, and then a long push. Then, the colonel waited. After all, while he wasn’t on holiday, he was very much interrupting one.

The door was thrown open, and before the colonel stood an exceedingly tall woman, with long black hair normally straight as silk curtain but now tossed about, and hard green eyes ever sharp, now dulled from an irritable awakening, heavy with the remnants of blackflower intoxication. She had only bothered to dress halfway- a shirt clearly not her own thrown over her shoulders and unbuttoned, covering not much at all, a garter belt and underwear being its only other accompaniment. Yet she was completely unashamed…until she looked down at the short man and awareness seemed to return to her.

“Colonel,” she said quickly, and straightened her posture, “Come in. You were…not expected.”

“I did not expect to visit either.” The colonel stepped in, “Make yourself presentable, quickly. I would not be here if this was not of critical importance.”

The Major turned on her heel and went back up the stairs- the Colonel looked about the entryway, which opened into a cozy living room that had been utterly trashed, the detritus of celebration scattered all about. There had been much merry making here- and then that was moved to the bedrooms. Perhaps not immediately, given that some of the items besides bottles, glasses, and snack cake wrappers were clothing, and a brass incense burner on the tea table still smelled faintly of blackflower. Come to think of it, that shirt that the Major was making a minimal effort of wearing looked like her adjutant’s…not unexpected of the Major, but of that mousey staffer…well, it didn’t matter. It was only a small observation.

The Major returned, groomed as best as she was able to in only a couple of minutes, hair brushed straight and her face damp from a splash of a wash- a blouse and trousers with a neat belt covering her properly. Shoes were on her feet and a handbag was on her shoulder- she had made ready to go. “My apologies, sir,” she saluted the colonel, “What is the situation?”

“At ease, Major.” The colonel had cleared the sofa of litter while the Major had been gone. “Sit. This will come as a ruder surprise than you may anticipate.”

The Major frowned, but obeyed, and sat on the other end of the couch from the Colonel.

“When you departed Netilland and Ellowie, despite some objectives being incomplete, we believed that we had done more or less satisfactorily. The goal of extreme disruption of the Military Council’s authority had been achieved, and any misfortunes were well within acceptable parameters for an overall mission success. That was what we believed.“

“Yet?” the Major pressed.

“Yes, yet.” The Colonel took a breath, and his mouth was a rigid line, “Analysis of a set of documents one of your operatives secured revealed a correlation with material leaked by Republican resistance movements. This correlation, is to do with the state of the Military Council’s research and development of biological weapons.” The Colonel said this with tactful authority, but the Major knew there was a frustration beneath the declarative tone. “This program was significantly underestimated. There is a great risk that they have weapons thought to be in only an early and experimental state, in a form that is in truth not far from operational readiness- and commanders with the nerve to unleash such a thing rather than admit graceful defeat. Their Plan Twelve’s state of readiness, it turns out, is equivalent to the other potentials.”

“What!?” The Major stiffened like she’d been struck by lightning, but she composed herself, and after a pause, narrowed her eyes again. “It’s impossible that we didn’t know something about this, unless…” he frown twisted into a teeth grinding visage of a devil. “Willen. But why-”

“Let’s not jump to dangerous conclusions, Major,” the Colonel warned, “But, yes, information has been deliberately obstructed. Why, I cannot conclude upon now, but I need you to do what you can to reform your position in Netilland and organize some manner of raid, or at least an attempt to mitigate the usage of these biological weapons. Were it not for our possession of documents concerning but one of these biological weapons, we may not have made this connection, but we have some small luck in having discovered this before it became more of an ugly surprise.”

The Major ground her teeth together, threw her head back over the rear of the sofa, and growled a string of swears. “…Impossible. Even if we know now, we have no time to prepare nearly enough. Engineering the current situation meant dismantling what we could best use in this. There’s no point in trying to prevent this.”

“I am ordering you to try.”

The Major’s chin remained up- she closed her eyes, and relaxed her shoulders, letting her arms slump over the couch. “That’s about all that can be done at this state, if they’re so much further ahead with their projects than we thought.”

“We do have time,” the Colonel said levelly, “Not much, but we do. Despite their advanced state of development and potential readiness, and the lack of high command coordination, no communications have been observed concerning these biological weapons. Not internally nor in any statements to the popular revolts opening around the country.”

“They have not announced it yet? The most effective way to utilize such a weapon would be as part of an ultimatum, a threat, which means-“

“Yes. They are not ready to deploy yet. Our profiles of commanding officers do not indicate any are mad enough to utilize such a weapon solely for a vengeful sucker punch. They want to win, not to make an inevitable end agonizing. So if we hurry, we have a chance.”

“Understood,” the Major stood straight up, “I’ll head out to assemble what team I can muster as quickly as possible. We’ll be able to work with the Netillian Republicans, but our main force must be ours.”

“Volunteers only. Don’t be afraid to compromise, given the circumstances,” the Colonel said, also standing, “I’ll head back to the capital to try and construct a way for this to leak to the entire Intelligence Office. If we act too independently, there will be consequences for us. We have to pretend to act for the will of the organization, not ourselves. Remember that.”

“Of course. I will assemble my team and wait for your instructions to commence any operations.” The Major saluted, though she had her doubts on how much would truly be available to her. Already, she might have to rely on contingencies…

-----

It was time to go into the city- it somewhat felt like biting a bullet. Much of the reason why you even thought to embark into this fiercely independent place, so small in the world yet disproportionately huge to behold, and supposedly, in even regional Strossvald politics, was for the sake of others. Not that you couldn’t enjoy yourself, but when you thought of how to be entertained, it was mostly concerning others…

Save for Pact. Or Patrizia. Whichever was her true name. For your first venture, you’d be bringing her along solely as appeasement. She might have been a soulbinder, but she was a child, and that had grown more clear over time. Maybe her cleverer nature could be disarmed if you tried to entertain her girlish side, rather than trying to reason with the sorceress. Also coming along was Anya- the less time she spent cooped up, the better. You liked seeing her happier than not, and the worst place for her mood, you knew well, was being shut in a room unable to move, or do anything. Honestly, just taking Anya along was enough for you, but command advised having more of a presence than a pair- especially if said pair was you, who admittedly could not outfight a housecat, and Anya, who was down an arm (though she could still win a fight, you couldn’t help but feel sure of). Pact was a soulbinder, but despite that frightening power, you doubted that she would actually help you in a fight even if she was inclined to. Yet you could at least keep an eye on her if she was nearby.

…Where was her grandfather, anyways? Was he even her grandfather at all? A caretaker? You felt the need to ask.

“No, he’s not my real granddad, silly,” Pact giggled at the question. You had addressed her alone- she could drop the stray child act. “Don’t you know how we work? We don’t just do everything by ourselves. But he was all stuffy, all you can’t do this or you can’t go there. So I left him behind! Hee! We’ll see how long it takes for him to find me again.”

“I’ll take you straight back to him if he appears,” you scowled, “Good children shouldn’t play games with their guardians.”

Pact made a sad pout, with big shining eyes. “You’re no fuuuun.”

“Hey, what are you talking about over there?” Anya called over, and you looked over to see her approaching. Her arm was bend at a right angle in its cast, supported by a sling- the leather jacket you’d given her was on her shoulders and only worn with one sleeve, the other empty- the shirt she wore was a plain long sleeved sort. No stomach was bared, not even a hint of a navel, in a loss for the world. Anya claimed it was because it was cold- one of the Hogs keeping watch over her said it was because she gained weight (or, as he put it, “got chubby”) in the winter. This was vehemently denied by your retinue. “Are we going yet? Y’said we were going to see movies, right?”

“Movies?” Pact asked quizzically.

“Moving pictures. Y’know.”

“Oooh!” Pact clapped her hands, “We’re going to see a moving picture?”

Anya raised an eyebrow and glanced over at you. “…You’re taking the kid?”

“Shouldn’t I?” you asked back.

“I’ll be your daughter!” Pact exclaimed.

“You are not anybody’s god damned daughter, especially not mine,” Anya snapped, “Do I look old enough to be your mother?”

Pact smirked. “You said you were from this country, didn’t you? You know I could be your daughter.”

“Cousin,” you interrupted hastily, “You’re her cousin. You both have blonde hair and freckles. Nobody’ll question it.”

“Then what are youuuuu?” Pact trilled, “Her boyfriiiieend?”

“Be good,” you said, “Or you’re not coming along. She’s my cousin too. She’s my uncle’s adopted daughter. I already hear enough rumors about us. Don’t be saying that sort of stuff.”

Pact pouted again, but kept her mouth shut.

“Can’t believe you’re keeping this twirp around,” Anya muttered, “Whatever. Can’t leave her alone, I guess.”

“I was thinking of taking one of my crew, as well,” you said, “To be safe.”

“Isn’t one of them the guy that shot down a plane?” Anya asked, “Take him. I wanna get t’ know him.”

Schafer didn’t seem to want to go when you brought up the idea earlier. He preferred to be with his dog- and not around children, or women, besides presumably his wife. Maybe. Yet his dog, Sieg, was already well liked by both Anya and Pact. Perhaps because they both wanted to feed him yet more food, against his owner’s wishes.

>Bring along Schafer and Sieg. Even if he wasn’t enthusiastic about going to see any movies. Anya wanted to hang out with him, and you’d give her what she wanted.
>Take Jorgen. He was tough, no nonsense, and fun. Even if a bit unhinged. Maybe that’d be for the better?
>Take along Hausen. You could at least understand what he was saying, and he’d be willing to talk as much as desired- and unlike another radioman, maybe he’d keep his hands to himself.
>Take Malachi along. He was trustworthy, strong, though quiet recently, and Anya respected him the most.
>You’d be fine by yourselves. Your crew probably wanted to spend their time in ways besides watching over you and your retinue anyways.
>Other?

>>5012604
>Take Malachi along. He was trustworthy, strong, though quiet recently, and Anya respected him the most.

Additionally I'm curious if Pact will be able to drag out anything from him

>>5012604
>>Take Malachi along. He was trustworthy, strong, though quiet recently, and Anya respected him the most.
Malachi might know relatively more about this magic business than we do. Keeping him around might give us some insight if Pact starts doing something weird.
I would bring Schafer along but we can introduce Anya and him at a later time, where both might enjoy the setting more. I wonder if Anya likes dogs? Maybe we could get her to help Sieg walk off some of the pounds if she is going to be stuck recovering in the backlines.

>>5012604
>Take Malachi along. He was trustworthy, strong, though quiet recently, and Anya respected him the most.

>>5012604
>Take Malachi along. He was trustworthy, strong, though quiet recently, and Anya respected him the most.
Oh Judge that aside.

>>5012632
I support this and the notion that Anya might be a dog caretaker. It'd help keep her spirits up I hope.

>>5012610
>>5012632
>>5012641
>>5012666
>>5012711
Team Driver out in force.
Writing.

“Schafer’s not the social type,” you said to Anya, “I’m taking Malachi along. He understands New Nauk well enough to watch movies.” Even if he was somehow hopeless at actually speaking it.
That seemed to perk Anya up. “The driver? Yeah, he’s cool…pretty short, though. Wonder where he learned how to move a tank like he does…”

Where indeed. Kallec? Maybe. Though anything veterans of that conflict said about it indicated the Kalleans were relatively short on tanks, from how they fought. Even seemingly uncovering one small thing about Malachi did little to solve the mystery of his life until now.

Malachi came along readily enough- he wasn’t doing much when you found him- fiddling with his driver’s controls, seemingly listening for something only he could hear as he moved the sticks back and forth. No excuse from him, no protest- he simply left his work after straightening everything back out and followed you to Anya and Pact. Perhaps, the latter, the little girl, might be able to pull something from him?

She wasted no time doing so immediately. “Ooh? A Nief’yem? Where’d you get that?”

“The Army,” you said flatly. “This is Malachi. Treat him with respect.”

Pact didn’t seem to listen to you at all- the next thing she said was a string of stange babble, a query- was it mountain tongue? Malachi responded in the same string of foreign noise, and Pact grinned impishly, before rattling off another bunch of phrases.

“The hell are you talking about?” Anya said for you, “Both of you know how t’ talk, what’s with the gobbledygook?”

“None of your business,” Pact said, sticking out her tongue, “Blind, lady, he wants a favor from youuuu.” Malachi made a step back like he didn’t actually ask that, but he didn’t raise an objection.

Anya’s annoyed expression dissolved into nothing. “Huh?” She looked at Malachi, “What is it?”

“He needs somebody to do the Emck with.”

Anya blinked, and looked to either side of her. “What…’s that mean? That ain’t like…y’know, right?”

“No, it’s a ceremony, to pay respect to Yjens! The goddess of humanity. You burn some mountain flowers and let them be carried on Father Wind, to the Dead Goddess, so she knows she isn’t forgotten. You can’t do it alone. He wants you to do it with him, it means he liiiikes you.”

Malachi raised a gentle correction.

“Trusts you,” Pact said after a grumpy smolder.

“What d’I gotta do for it?” Anya asked.

“Nothing,” Pact smiled, “Just sit there with him. You can’t do the Emck alone. It comes off like you’re telling Yjens you’re special. Like you like her. And that’s not any good. It’s important.”

“Okay. If it’s that simple, and important,” Anya tilted her head to you, “Hey, I’ll get this done and we can head off, ‘kay?”

“Alright.”

Anya and Malachi didn’t go far before your driver sat down on the ground and dug about in a pouch on his waist while Anya slowly set herself down next to him. “I remember him talking about that. I would have helped him find somebody if he wanted, but he didn’t make it out like it was a huge deal.”

“Were you in something really dangerous?” Pact asked.

“Well, yes.”

“Yjens is the Goddess of all humans,” Pact said in a lecturing, mocking little voice, “If you remember her, she’ll grant you fortune. If you let her drift away, you’ll come to her side, her Presence draws us all. If you put it off, you’ll regret it.”

“Well, I’ve never done an Emck,” you pointed out.

“And you aren’t a Nief’yem.”

Well, you supposed that was correct.

It didn’t take very long. Malachi seemed to burn something in his hand, and the smoke drifted off and away. Anya sat respectfully still- you were sure that to her, all this talk of Yjens and Father Wind was just as puzzling as it was to you, and sounded an awful lot like something the Cathedra would condemn as Earth Heresy, but you remembered the mountainfolk who simply combined their old culture with the new and recognized the Judge. What was the harm?

“Aight,” Anya chirped as she came back with your crewman- he seemed little different, though a bit more relaxed, if you squinted. “Let’s go, I made sure Mal didn’t accidentally tell Yenny that he wants to dip his dick in her dead muff.”

“Anya, there’s a child-“

“Don’t care. Movies!”

-----
You felt no need to remove your cap before heading into the city- it might have been a reasonable precaution in case any took umbrage with your uniform, though from what you heard, an Ellowian tanker jacket would have been bad too- if anybody knew what it was. Ellowian tankers were quite rare on the southern front for want of any tanks, but Sundersschirm was scarred still by the aftermath of numerous air strikes. One warning that had gone out was that Ellowian pilots in particular were immensely unpopular. By comparison, the black jacketed Silver Lances and the brown clad Mittelsosalian soldiers were treated as unwelcome, but guests nevertheless. The Twice Damned in their maroon blouses and black trousers were scattered about here and there, but they regarded you (and some other passing troops- the city was only lightly occupied in most places) with little more than an annoyed glare.


Either appearances were deceiving or maybe command was overcompensating for caution.

You remembered that relations in Sosaldt had frequently changed with the season- true hatred was difficult to garner here, where one week mercenaries might fight together and the next be set against one another. Truthfully, the Silver Lances themselves were likely akin to the Twice Damned, in a way.

The Cinema building was a large structure- somebody had put some time and effort into the thing. It was larger than any you’d ever seen…though it most certainly was not larger than the Strosstadt Opera. It proudly advertised “six big screens,” and a schedule of shows. Some of which you actually recognized, but others that would require some explanation. No Netillian propaganda, at least.

One big screen was constantly showing films all called “Our Fights.” Asking around revealed that such was the collected recordings of a hobbyist in the Twice Damned- an aspiring film maker, who combined footage of real battles (and reenacted ones) with interviews and explanations of what was occurring. A sort of chronicle in motion- something many of the city’s home grown mercenaries would be proud of, as it showed the numerous places around the continent they’d been. The show coming up was “Our Fights: Vitelia- The Lion and the Dawn.” There was two instances of it- the first with a numeral of a one, the next with a two. Part three apparently being shot presently. Fascinating- there were still Twice-Damned abroad. Not surprising though, given the size of Sundersschirm.

The other films about to begin showing were a motley lot- Return to the Sky, something about a journey to a lost kingdom in the clouds. Amatory and Ambition- First Dream…there was already a movie? Red Dust Duelist-a story about a wastelands mercenary. A surprising one being shown repeatedly through the schedule too- Liberation Unto Order. That was one you faintly remembered- but the details were lost to you. As was the plot. You’d seen the movie before, but the memory of it had vanished along with many other things. You did recall that it was a movie about the Archduke’s revolt- a big budget commission from one of the present Archduke’s the late Crown Prince. Relatively recent in release too. A remake of a far more obsequious version that most preferred to forget. Was this cinema attempting to capitalize on what most would view as an unfortunate occupation, you wondered, and how much else of the city was doing the same?

…It would probably be reasonable to watch two films, you thought, before maybe having a bite or thinking of anything else. One restriction was that under no circumstances were you to remain in the city past twenty one hundred hours. The night life would evade you- unless you shirked the rules. Like your Captain apparently had.

>Choose two-
>Our Fights: Vitelia- The Lion and the Dawn
>Return to the Sky
>Amatory and Ambition
>Red Dust Duelist
>Liberation Unto Order
>Look for something else?

>>5012795
>Our Fights: Vitelia- The Lion and the Dawn
>Liberation Unto Order

>>5012795
>Return to the Sky
>Red Dust Duelist
I think that Our Fights would have too many disgruntled Twice Damned in attendance, and Liberation Unto Order sounds like boring propaganda.

>>5012795
>Amatory and Ambition
I want to see this.
>Liberation Unto Order
And remeber this

>>5012795
>Amatory and Ambition
Because we absolutely have to know. Should get a laugh out of Mal and Anya.
>Return to the Sky
Sounds like a fun time for the whole family.

>>5012795
>Our Fights: Vitelia- The Lion and the Dawn
This sounds like something all in attendance would enjoy (except the kid but who cares)
>Amatory and Ambition
You have to see a movie about yourself. Even if it's bad.

>>5012795
>Our Fights: Vitelia- The Lion and the Dawn
>Amatory and Ambition

While I am curious how the Archduke revolted, it's probably more fancy than fact.

>>5012795
>Our Fights: Vitelia- The Lion and the Dawn
>Amatory and Ambition
Mix of the educational and the peverse

>>5012845
>>5012858
>>5012884
Are you guys really bought to take two girls and Mal to see a propaganda piece in the shape of a history documentary...and softcore porn about yourself?
You gotta give them something they can enjoy.

>>5012795
>Amatory and Ambition
>Liberation Unto Order

>>5012803
>>5012822
>>5012827
>>5012839
>>5012845
>>5012858
>>5012884
>>5012907
Our Fights: Vitelia- The Lion and the Dawn- IIII
Return to the Sky- II
Amatory and Ambition- IIIIII
Red Dust Duelist- I
Liberation Unto Order- III

Alrighty then. You picked, so your taste in movies is up for review by blondes. Writing.

Not even 100 posts in and the Official Plumpness Ranking Scale is in disarray. I can't believe Sieg is almost fatter than Emma.

>>5013068
Really guys, we could have watched the smut fanfic on our own later without subjecting everyone else to that horror

As a heads up, I'll only be posting half the update for now. I'll finish the other half once I'm back from work. It shouldn't have taken this long, but I had a bit of a block.

“This one,” you pointed to the title for your party, “Amatory and Ambition.”

“Why?” Anya asked.

Malachi made a bemused snort and a string of babble. He didn’t even bother speaking New Nauk with Pact around.

“It’s about you?” Pact said altogether too loudly, eyes wide.

“Not so loud,” you hissed and clamped a hand over the soulbinder’s mouth- you had a moment to be surprised she let you do that before you felt your hand slapped back with a stinging sensation from something invisible. “I mean, it isn’t really. There’s a book somebody wrote, and this has the same title.” Not the same cover for the promotional poster though. Whomever made this hadn’t focused on the smuttier aspects. It gave you a reasonable assumption that taking a child to see it wouldn’t turn out to be a disaster.

Anya walked beside you and flicked you right in the ear. “You’re such a dick head. How about we watch a movie about me next?”

“But you were there, weren’t you?” you complained and rubbed the side of your head, “Don’t you want to see how it goes? Maybe it’ll be funny.”

“Hmph. Maybe.” Anya rolled her eyes, “If it sucks dick, I’m kicking your ass. At least there’s going to be a lot of fighting in it.”

…Madame Muse Passione hadn’t paid much mind to battle in what you’d skimmed through of her writing. You gave Malachi a look, a request for support. He stared blankly back through his tinted goggles- you had placed yourself up for judgment yourself, that silent look said. Maybe Anya could be bribed with concession food…

An immediate surprise when you entered the screen room to take your seats- a significant portion of the audience were women. Was this book really that popular? It had spread as far as Emre, but the amount of people put things more into perspective than seeing but one far-flung unknowing fan.

The room went dark, and the screen lit up with bright contrast of dark and pale greys from the projector behind you. The first scene…was different. A tank- or some reconstruction of one- and most certainly not the m/32, was perched over a path leading to what was unmistakably Todesfelsen. En Media Res? A man was atop the tank as well. The view moved upwards, closing towards his face…

A sharp elbow in your ribs. You knew you should have sat to Anya’s left side. “They picked a way more swarthy guy for this one, heh heh.”

Yes, this was only an establishing shot. Things returned to where they would be beginning in the book- though the actress selected to depict Signy had completely normal eyebrows, you noticed right away.

“I’ve seen Cyclops,” Anya whispered to you, “She doesn’t look like that either. Is this whole thing gonna just be bullshit?”

“Shush,” you muttered back.

Most of the film was what Anya began to desperately claim as total crap, which was to say, the entire first hour was the development of the fictional version of you and Signy’s bonds. There had only been one very brief fight thus far to establish the “Kommandant” as a capable brawler, a hint at his combat ability, and the remainder thus far had driven your Retinue into a smoldering sulk at how “fucking boring” it was.

Yet, Pact was utterly enraptured, from what you saw of how she was paying attention, seated between you and Malachi.

The party at Wossehnalia occurred, with a completely fanciful scene of “you” taking Cyclops about the ballroom in a dance (the film crew had, you noticed, been unable to actually get into Wossehn’s manor)- before venturing out to the gardens out front and, only then, kissing with a rise in music only barely drowning out Anya blowing a raspberry in response.

Then it went to the pair in bed and Malachi jumped to cover Pact’s eyes. It wasn’t too explicit, thankfully, not nearly as…in depth or lengthy as the books had, but the toning down meant that Anya cracked a joke at your expense concerning endurance.

“So is there any more fucking in the book?” Anya said in your ear again, “Or killing? I’m gonna go crazy if they do nothing but yammer on about feelings for however much longer there is of this.”

You said nothing. There was a lot more sex in the book, both before and after this point in this “dream.” As it turned out, there were two more explicit scenes, and Pact complained to Malachi about something when he kept shielding her from it. Then there was the Battle of Todesfelsen- though it was mostly seen from afar, and in montage- a whorl of confusion, tension, and anticipation. This story, as it turned out, was from Cyclops’s perspective. More often she received news rather than witnessing anything, much to Anya’s consternation.

Malachi had been respectfully silent, but you wondered if he was more amused by inaccuracies or annoyed.

After the end of the battle, the film had the cheek to have one more scene of Cyclops and the Kommandant making love, the fourth time in two and a half hours. It had been a long movie, and Anya wasn’t the only one feeling tired of just how much of a slog it had been now, but the ending was the same…until the last beat. This time, the Kommandant most definitely left Cyclops behind, to venture off to places unknown. This time, leaving her in the night- Cyclops woke in the morning, finding herself alone in bed, only to notice belatedly that the Kommandant’s absence continued. She dressed herself, searched for tokens of his stay- but as she finally walked out to gaze at the horizon, there was nothing to tell that he had even been a part of her life, save for sweet memories.

“That was fucking torture,” Anya muttered grumpily, an empty box of Drechderkuche bits tucked between her cast and her body, as you stood in a circle some distance away from the concessions stand, waiting to be called forwards for what you’d asked for. The food prices had skyrocketed, you’d heard many say grumpily, and hadn’t come back down. “I think I’m dead.” Keeping Anya complacent with food had made you keenly aware of the costs of even junk food- her mocking you for your "actions" in the film hadn't been enough for her to be content.

“It wasn’t that bad,” you bristled.

“I thought it was really good…” Pact said in a surprisingly hurt tone, “Why did you keep covering my eyes?” She asked Malachi, “I know what that is, I’m not some little kid.”

“You’re far too young to know,” Anya said before you could. Though Anya was one to talk- her mother had been a prostitute, and Anya never described her as being anything else. She’d have known even earlier than Pact.

“Am not!” Pact said back in a high, whining tone, “I have to know,” she said much more quietly, “It’s the creation of new life. Something I’ll have to know for myself in only…some time.”

Only? How short of a time could it be? You couldn’t imagine that she had no choice in the matter, but there was something disturbing about such a young girl speaking of such. A few years, maybe? That would place her around the time the youngest brides of the Archduchy were considered of barely acceptable, still controversial, age.

Be reasonable, part of you tried to be diplomatic, weren’t you even more curious of this at her age? Well, perhaps less so than most boys.

“What did you think of it, Mal?” you asked your crewman, “I thought there’d be more of you in it.”

“Huhhuh, lessnahtumush. Haeftem cockout.” Had there been more time in lewd circumstances than there had been battle? Surely not. Yet, Malachi shrugged. “Shousse haitu fussbrous. Seesheseedis?”

Maybe watching this movie with Signy would be funny- to everybody except the two of you. The possibility of visiting her seemed remote, let alone going to watch this movie. It was growing stupider the more you thought about it- Anya’s opinion and the needless length of it had soured you. Maybe if you’d read the whole book you’d feel like she did earlier.

Well. One more movie. The other one you selected was Our Fights: Vitelia- The Lion and the Dawn The first section was playing again by the time you got out of the first movie and bribed Anya with two cold bottles of cola, and another bucket of fried pastry dough.

Back from work, update to be completed soon.

Immediately the introduction was more to Anya’s tastes, more or less. A short explanation of what was happening in Vitelia when the Twice Damned were hired and called over- a trio of assassination attempts, only one successful, struck at the influential members of pre-civil war Vitelia’s government. The king, an elderly and feeble fellow, his only son the Crown Prince, and a man called Giovanno Leone referred to as the Autarch- a popular figure, and from what he looked like, a brute. In contrast to the gentler looking King and Prince, he was tall and broad, one of the biggest men you’d ever seen, with a huge jaw and bony head. The Crown Prince was the only one whom had been killed by anarchist assassins, Utopian terrorists. The attack on the King had failed, and the Autarch, who had been gradually securing more and more power in government which had made him a target by revolutionary activists, was stated to have beaten his assassins to death.

“Damn, that’s cool, look at his moves.” Anya commented as a reel of the huge man savaging a training dummy with his bare hands was shown, a series of jabs followed with a final powerful blow striking the head clean off of the figure. Was the story real? The man certainly looked like he could dismantle a normal sized person with little effort. When you asked Anya absently, she answered, “Sure he could. Hell could, and that guy might be bigger than Hell was.”

“Did he ever?”

“Take somebody apart with his bare hands? Not that I saw, but he could kick four people’s asses at once and make it look easy.”

Four on one, even for a strong person, was no easy feat. You wondered how many assassins this Autarch fought off simultaneously.

Giovanno Leone was described as very popular…with about a third of Vitelia. More than half of the country however turned out to be the Utopians or their allies who saw the Autarch as a dire threat, who rose up in revolt, and were making short work of the Autarch’s army and its attempts to subdue the rebellion. The Vitelian Army, compared to the humble irregulars of the “Army for the Salvation of Vitelia,” seemed powerful, but they were being made fools of. It turned out, this was because the Revolution had many a sympathizer in the Kingdom’s own forces- in rooting out this enemy support, the Autarch truly would become the ruler of the country, it turned out. A footnote that the narrator spoke of like it was as significant as the weather. Though you’d presume that the Autarch was going to get himself into power whether or not anybody rose to oppose him.

Yet, for his might, the Autarch lacked an army that would defeat the Rebels. So the Autarch had taken a drastic step- he hired out a core for a new army, which included the Twice-Damned, around early May of 1931.

It was then that the Twice Damned proudly showed themselves on screen, posing and marching as well as professional soldiers, and there was a cacophony of cheers raised in the audience, bounding off the walls and ceiling in a deafening display of self-celebration, drowning out anything the film’s audio track had to say. A few of the outcries were congratulatory- some members appearing on film, from the sound of it. These were a well-traveled bunch even for mercenaries.

There were other mercenary companies employed in the “Leonecompany,” or “Leonegarde-“ some strange mimicry of a king’s Life Guards. Giovanno Leone seemed to have an awfully huge ego for somebody who was common born, you had to think. You recognized the Blood Suns, but not the others. Not that it mattered- this was about the Twice Damned.

The Twice Damned prepared to fight just as the Revolutionaries approached the capital of Vitelia- Donum Dei. From what little you recalled of Old Vitelian, a pompous name indeed, and not even the home of the Cathedra. The Leonecompany and what remained of the Vitelian Royal Army crashed into the first wave of the Rebels’ assault upon the capital- and drove them from the field in a shocking turn of events for the Revolutionaries.

What was shown was a variety of well rested, energetic and very heavily armed Twice-Damned crashing tanks and guns into Revolutionaries utterly unprepared for significant resistance. Rarely were they committing to a defense. It was as though the Twice-Damned were running over recruits fresh from an inner city- and begged the question, how had the Vitelian army been losing to this rabble?

The answer followed soon, because the Revolutionaries were hardly dissuaded by only one failure. Though the wings of the advance hesitated, the enemy commanders must have roused their troops and gone forward once again- otherwise, the next step of the Twice-Damned suddenly being trapped and encircled in the Capital would have happened completely out of nowhere. The Autarch remained in the encircled city- or, as the narrator snidely claimed, so it was said. Yet there was no doubt that the Twice-Damned stubbornly defended the city, and recordings of both bitter defenses and daring counterattacks sweeping away unprepared enemies before fading back to their defensive line told a story of an admittedly determined enemy being bludgeoned over and over again. It had been constant action ever since the Twice-Damned actually got into combat- and Anya was as enraptured as Pact had been with the prior movie.

…Pact had fallen fast asleep, in the meantime.

The film ended on a shot of the season turning from fall to winter- aerial resupply had somehow managed to keep the Capital on its feet. Supposedly. In truth, the Twice-Damned were raiding quite a bit of their supplies from the Revolutionaries, though a significant amount did manage to come from the air- which, you noticed from short shots, seemed to include clearly non-Vitelian planes. As snow began to fall, The Twice-Damned were recorded with tired smiles- interviews where they sounded hopeful, even as they were surrounded. Even as supplies dwindled and every battle was harder fought.

What would happen, the narrator asked. Would the Twice-Damned prevail? Or would the Revolutionaries crush them under the weight of their numbers and the plundered wealth of a country? The answer, would come in the next film.

A cliffhanger for history that had already passed. How funny. Of course, Sudvitel and Vitelia still battled, so the answer to the fate of the encircled city was obvious.

Yet, Anya immediately said, “We’ve gotta stay for the next one!”

Well. You could, but you might risk staying a bit late…

>What Anya wanted was law. You’d stay here in the cinema as much as she wanted. Maybe she’d forget that you made her watch a movie she hated.
>Make a counteroffer. Wouldn’t she like to scout out some places to go to tomorrow? There were fight pits and such all around town…
>You hadn’t planned on it tonight, but…hell, why not? You had a designated driver, as it were, and he could take care of the kid. You’d rather get drunk than watch more Mercenary bragging, though.
>Other?

>>5013599
>Drag her out with the promise of a nice meal and city exploration like we've planned.
This trip isn't ALL about Anya even if getting her out and about was the focus.
With Mal and Pact with us, we ought to keep our options open instead of sticking to one place all night.
And again, let's not forget one of the reasons why we even brought Pact and Mal to start with. Gotta keep those rumors to a minimum, so no splitting up if Richter can help it.

>>5013599
>Make a counteroffer. Wouldn’t she like to scout out some places to go to tomorrow? There were fight pits and such all around town…

>>5013599
>Make a counteroffer. Wouldn’t she like to scout out some places to go to tomorrow? There were fight pits and such all around town…

>>5013599
>Make a counteroffer. Wouldn’t she like to scout out some places to go to tomorrow? There were fight pits and such all around town…
Typical netflix making blackwashing Richter baka

Fucking wordfilter

>>5013599
>>Make a counteroffer. Wouldn’t she like to scout out some places to go to tomorrow? There were fight pits and such all around town…

Also since I forgot about it, an update on whats happening to Kelwin. Hopefully whichever POW camp he's in is treating him alright enough.

>>5013599
>>Make a counteroffer. Wouldn’t she like to scout out some places to go to tomorrow? There were fight pits and such all around town…

>>5013607
>>5013612
>>5013626
>>5013628
>>5013664
>>5013676
Please get me out of this movie hall. I'll buy you even more food.
You're going to ruin her figure. I wouldn't have thought you'd be into that.
Also, when you can, see if you can follow up on Kelwin.
Writing.

“Don’t be greedy,” you said as you got up, “We need to look around the city. I’ve heard there’s plenty to do, but we’ll need to do proper recon.”

“Whatever. Hey, Mal,” Anya looked past you to Malachi, “You wanna stay here? Fairy boy can’t head off by himself if we stay.”

“Naeh.” Malachi said clearly, with no elaboration.

He sounded quite sure- which made Anya pause- she crossed her legs and leaned back. “Really? Huh. I figured this was more your style.”

“Naelehk plas.”

“What, here?”

“Vitela.”

“Oh.” Anya shrugged, “Alright, alright. Let’s get lost. Hey, runt!” She tapped Pact’s forehead, “Wakey wakey, we’re going. Get up before we leave you behind.”

“I’ll get you something nice to eat,” you said to Anya. She squinted at you in return, and glanced down at an empty concession box cradled in her arm.

“…You tryin’ to spoil me or somethin’?”

“No. I need my retinue to heal quickly.”

“Need her to not get her ass shot more like,” Anya held the paper carton in one hand, twirled it, and held it up to her face before getting a mischievous look on her face. With a light toss, she managed to arc it through the air…and land it upside down on a Twice-Damned’s head, shifting down over his head like a lampshade. “Heheheh,” Anya snickered, “Shit, he looks pissed, let’s run.”

-----

“I didn’t notice at first,” Anya pointed to your right hand as you were walking outside, Malachi carrying Pact on his back. You suspected she was pretending to be tired. “Did your fingers grow back?”

“Oh. No.” You took off your glove to show your mechanical fingers. “My fiancée sent me this. It’s been useful.”

Anya took hold of your hand and brought it up close to her eyes. “Damn, that’s fancy. I thought it’s just be…dunno, some pegs or something.” She clicked a mechanical finger back and forth, “It moves. What’s all this stuff down here?”

“It makes it clench when I clench my hand,” You demonstrated and gripped onto her hand. “Like that.”

“Cool,” Anya twitched a bit when you squeezed, “Ow. Those things are strong.”

“Sorry.”

“Keep it out, I want to mess with it some more.” You obliged your retinue as she toyed with the mechanisms on your hand. “You think you can punch people with it?”

“I don’t want to risk it.” It had been durable enough, but the mechanisms looked fine- delicate enough that you had no idea how you’d repair it if something happened to it.

Anya started snickering about something. “Hey, look, it’s the Steel Fuck Yourself.” She had closed the index finger and straightened the middle.

“Yes, yes,” you began to withdraw your hand but Anya yanked it back.

“Hey, hold on, did I say I was done?” she said, tucking your arm under hers like she was keeping away a toy. Except this toy was your hand. “You’re through when I say.”

Anya being a good deal shorter than you meant your journey while she had your hand captured consisted of a lurching hobble as you hunched over. You might have been tempted to lift her up as a prank, but she had put your arm under the one which she had a cast on. You’d been made helpless to resist.

“…You ever grab your arm or something with this?” Anya was twisting and testing your metal fingers, and they clicked in response. “Without the glove on.”

“I don’t like where this question is going.”

“Oh yeah?” Anya made a mocking smirk at you, “Fairy Boy, the Mechanical Wanker. Better watch yourself in the cold or you’ll rip something.”

“You’re about to feel what it likes to get pinched by these.”

“Mecha-Butt Grabber.”

There was no hope for you, and you muttered to yourself grouchily as Malachi strode up beside you and shrugged.

“My retinue is eating me alive."

“Sheeataemussh. Gaetfaet.”

“Hey, fuck off, I’m not getting fat,” Anya snapped defensively. She stopped toying with your hand to put her hand on her waist and squeeze her side, a frown crossing her face. “I can’t train like this, what am I supposed to do? Fuckin’…”

“Ah,” you interrupted, pointing with your other hand, “That looks promising.” It was a large, dark building, with small windows and a squat, square shape. It looked to be concrete painted over, with big chips cut out of it. A bunker once, maybe, but now, there was a sign above a set of doors installed for much more visitors- Das Schlachthaus. A ring of flashing lightbulbs encircled it, and an announcement beneath- Twin Tourney Tomorrow, Final Applications Tonight. Girl’s Bouts Tonight- Apply Now for Money!

“Holy shit,” Anya gasped, “A tournament..!” She let your hand go, but you felt her whole body shudder, only for her to glance at her arm in a cast. Disappointment flooded onto her face- it might have been the closest you’d ever seen her get to crying.

“There’ll always be more,” you tried to comfort your retinue, “Let’s see what this is all about.”

It turned out to not just be luck that guided you here- The Schlachthaus was the biggest, if not the most well respected, fight pit in Sundersschirm. The size of it and the general appeal meant businesses clustered all around and, if they could, rented space inside it. A cramped entryway gave way to a great dug out underground arena- it could have been quite a shelter in war time, and you had to be thankful a particularly large bomb didn’t collapse the place. With no daylight coming in from above, every light was artificial, and of all sorts, from yellowish plain lighting to colored spotlights and bright white floodlights. There was enough space for there to not be a press of bodies, especially since there wasn’t a huge event yet, but it was quite warm and humid in here. Far from being austere, the insides were lined with shining brass and colored tiles and mosaic- somebody had invested quite a bit of time and effort into turning this place from a shelter, or armory, or whatever it was, into a tourist trap.

One of the branches away from the entryway before the arenas seemed to be a clutch of several different aspects of the place. Bookkeepers for bets, tickets for attending fights, even messengers who might report the results of fights to betters who couldn’t get seats. One man called you over- a one armed fellow covered in little old cuts.

“Hey, you there, with the masks!” He called, “You here for the tourney?”

You looked at Malachi, and he looked back. You did make a distinctive pair, didn’t you? You found yourself wandering over. “We don’t know yet,” you said, “We’re just looking around.”

“Not too late to join the fights, y’know. Twin Tourney is for teams…though there can only be one winner even among two.” the man shrugged as he leaned on his one arm. He looked down at Anya. “Sorry, hon. I’d say you could get a pretty pfenning signing up for the Girl’s Bouts tonight, but it looks like you’ve already had the shit beaten outta you enough.

Anya grit her teeth and looked down, before glaring back up. She seemed to have her head set on something, down an arm or no, but she clammed up just before spouting off, and gestured for you to come over to the side.

“Hey,” she said quietly, “I want to do one. Just to get it out of my system. I’m gonna do it, you got it? Just a single bout. It’s against women, it won’t be any problem for me.”

>Unacceptable. If she wanted to spar, you’d gladly do it with her, but she could get hurt here.
>You couldn’t stop her. Agree to try and set it up. You were sure Anya could beat just about anybody her size anyways, even with one arm behind her back.
>Offer an alternative. She couldn’t fight tonight- she needed to be in top condition for the tournament tomorrow- right?
>Other?

>>5013978
>You couldn’t stop her. Agree to try and set it up. You were sure Anya could beat just about anybody her size anyways, even with one arm behind her back.
If she loses she may actually get humbled.

>>5013978
>Unacceptable. If she wanted to spar, you’d gladly do it with her, but she could get hurt here.

Literally retarded, who does she think would join a fight ring in the first place?

The only way to agree to this is to ask the Ringleader if the Girl Bouts are for real fighters or just a more complicated version of stripping. If it's for show then maybe it would work but I'd still ask her to spar with Mal briefly so she can compensate for her arm. Don't want her surprised in there.

I am saddened that Reinhold did not bring Linda von Falkenstein and his girlfriend on his mercenary adventure so we could finally get the showdown we've been waiting for.

>>5013978
>Unacceptable. If she wanted to spar, you’d gladly do it with her, but she could get hurt here.
If she can't even beat fairy boy, no way she's competing in the ring.

>You're going to ruin her figure. I wouldn't have thought you'd be into that.
Oh no, Richter is turning into an architect.

>>5013978
>Unacceptable. If she wanted to spar, you’d gladly do it with her, but she could get hurt here.

Don't give a fuck about this guy's ribbing, she has nothing to prove to anyone at this point as far as fighting is concerned.

>>5014061
Linda's around at least, just not with Reinhold

>>5013978
>Unacceptable. If she wanted to spar, you’d gladly do it with her, but she could get hurt here.
Richter knows personally that some women are simply built different and I'm not ready to see Anya get her skull crush by Major lite or some similar mad bitch when she can't properly fight back.

>>5013978
>>Unacceptable. If she wanted to spar, you’d gladly do it with her, but she could get hurt here.
I wouldn't underestimate the types of girls who sign up to fight in Sundersschirm, and neither should she.

>>5014007
A lesson can only be learned one way.

>>5014061
>>5014087
>>5014124
>>5014318
>>5014345
No, no, no. For a variety of reasons.

Writing.

>>5014061
>I am saddened that Reinhold did not bring Linda von Falkenstein and his girlfriend on his mercenary adventure so we could finally get the showdown we've been waiting for.
Eidan Wolf's residency in the Reich is one of asylum- she is wanted for suspicion of war crimes. Reinhold would have liked to take her with him, certainly. Though, as said, though not necessarily well known here- Linda and her father have ventured over as part of additional "temporary contributions."
But the Owl is ever on the mind, as warned.

>>5014389
Everyone knows Winnifred is best Luftpanzer girl anyway

“No,” you said after only an instant of disbelief, “Absolutely unacceptable. You can’t fight in this, do you even know what you might be up against?” Anya was short even for a woman- what if she was set against somebody like, say, the Major from the IO, in short, a woman twice her size? She’d be beaten to a pulp- and you wouldn’t have that. “Nobody reasonable would let you join a fight anyways. You’re smarter than this. I won’t allow you to do something so daft. What do you have to prove? To who?”

The argument you put forward, you thought, had no faults. Anya was wounded, and badly, and as your retinue, you had a responsibility for her health, for the sake of your honor as well as any friendship between you. Her sudden desire to get mixed up in a potentially harmful and certainly foolish fight seemed arbitrary, and uncharacteristically stupid. Yet, as you justified holding her back, Anya only became more and more angry. Her eyes were wide, her teeth ground against one another, and her breathing was shallow as you saw her begin to shake.

Suddenly she snatched out at your throat and yanked you down to her face by your collar. “WHAT DO YOU HAVE TO PROVE, ASSHOLE!?” She shouted in your face as loudly as she could.

A sudden silence in the area around you- there was a staring audience in all directions. Anya jerked you away, dragging you by your shirt away and around a corner, where she shoved you against a wall, tripping your feet so you fell flat on your face. As you turned around and put your back to the wall, sitting up, Anya bent over and stabbed a finger in your chest, furious as you’d ever seen her. For what?

“Do you know what you’re fighting? Do you know how fucked you’d be in a fight if you had to fend for yourself? Nobody has to take a good look at you, they just see the Kommandant, the Officer, but they don’t know what we both know. I thought I could leave you with people who could keep you safe. You’d be with a whole army. Then you roll up all by your fucking self? Are you going to keep doing that, while I can’t do shit to protect you? What the hell is wrong with you?”

Malachi came up behind Anya, spun her by her shoulder, and rocked his head back before cracking it against Anya’s, who cried out sharply as she was knocked to the ground too.

“Fuck was that for…” She glowered upwards.

“Noggetdauff.”

Now knocked on her own rear, Anya could only grit her teeth spitefully, before glaring back at you. “Can’t you see how this feels?”

“…Can’t you have faith in me?” you asked back, rubbing your head from where Anya had thrown you against the wall, “We’ve earned that much, haven’t we?”

“You made a promise,” Anya said tiredly, the fire in her eyes beginning to fade, “You keep flinging yourself into danger like you’ve been doing, no matter how good your crew is, no matter how good your tank is, you’re making me think you’re gonna break it. It’s not fair. You don’t want me to get hurt bad, but I can’t feel the same for you? Even fucked up as I am, don’t forget how fucked up you are.” Her breathing began to slow- thankfully, this side hall had some privacy. “I just want…another promise. No more diving face first into the burning shit. No more doing anything where you of all people are the last one standing. You’re fighting a real war. I’ve heard about what you’ve done. Probably not even all of it. So…c’mon. Give me a fuckin’ break.”

>You won’t make a promise you can’t keep. She should know herself. You can’t help yourself any more than she can. You can understand if she’s angry- but neither of you can tell the other to stop being who they are.
>Very well. You’ll try to be cautious. Even if participating in a war meant always being in peril, the least you could do for your loved ones was try and be content with how reckless you’d already been- even if it had been necessary.
>Other?

>>5014407

>Very well. You’ll try to be cautious. Even if participating in a war meant always being in peril, the least you could do for your loved ones was try and be content with how reckless you’d already been- even if it had been necessary.

>>5014407
>You won’t make a promise you can’t keep. She should know herself. You can’t help yourself any more than she can. You can understand if she’s angry- but neither of you can tell the other to stop being who they are.

>>5014407
>Other (You won’t make a promise you can’t keep, BUT you’ll try to be cautious. Even if participating in a war meant always being in peril, the least you could do for your loved ones was try and be content with how reckless you’d already been- even if it had been necessary.)
She's right.
For someone that has folks waiting for him back home, Richter does ask for the dirtier jobs almost every time he's prompted.
If it's do or die and the time comes where people are relying on him to pull some Kommandant type shit, then there's not much we can do but our best, but there's no reason for Richter to be so eager to submit himself to danger so willingly otherwise, especially after all he's done so far.

>>5014407
>>Very well. You’ll try to be cautious. Even if participating in a war meant always being in peril, the least you could do for your loved ones was try and be content with how reckless you’d already been- even if it had been necessary.
Ok. Time to start fulfilling our duty to our family and our friends who want us coming back alive. This war has been going on long enough for everyone to know the stakes. If some poor sod is out there getting themselves killed, Richter Von Tracht won't be there to pull their ass out of the fire.

>>5014407
>>You won’t make a promise you can’t keep. She should know herself. You can’t help yourself any more than she can. You can understand if she’s angry- but neither of you can tell the other to stop being who they are.

>>5014407
>Very well. You’ll try to be cautious. Even if participating in a war meant always being in peril, the least you could do for your loved ones was try and be content with how reckless you’d already been- even if it had been necessary.
Ya'll anons seem to think tanq won't let us die.
I'm not sure at all.
And I'm also have no doubt that tanq can have an interesting writeup for activity other than a life and death struggle, so any "keep things interesting" arguments are forbidden.

>>5014668
Tanq may be a benevolent diety, but the dice gods are fickle and spiteful. Tanq can only spare us for so long with magic armor and disabling hits from subpar ammunition. Now that the our armor is failing and our enemies attacks are more deadly, the dice gods are the ones we must appease. Some ancient lore on how to do so goes, "avoid unfair fights", and "a fair fight is one that you win".

>>5014407
>Other (You won’t make a promise you can’t keep, BUT you’ll try to be cautious. Even if participating in a war meant always being in peril, the least you could do for your loved ones was try and be content with how reckless you’d already been- even if it had been necessary.)

I'd like to think half of it isnt even Richter seeking it out. Although the medal chaser aspect of him will always be there.

>I’ve heard about what you’ve done. Probably not even all of it.
First: ask what she's heard, then:
I think it's time we let Anya in on some secrets. Not here, somewhere private and not all of them either. Understanding magic won't help her and it'd attract even more wizard bullshit.

But if she knows that we have...obligations to the IO it might help her understand why life is so interesting for Richter. And why he can't stop.

>>5014407
>>Very well. You’ll try to be cautious. Even if participating in a war meant always being in peril, the least you could do for your loved ones was try and be content with how reckless you’d already been- even if it had been necessary.
I think I mentioned this in a previous thread but I think Richter needs to start realizing that he can't go around playing hero all the time and that if he really values his life and has things he wants to go home to, he needs to start behaving like it and not like he's an invincible story protagonist. Anya's perspective here is just another side to that: she doesn't want us to die, and we certainly tell her we don't intend to, yet we don't put any particular effort into actually keeping ourself safe, which drives her to get herself hurt on our behalf. It's not fair to her, or to ourself. We need to do better.

>>5014761
Seconding the spilling IO beans part

>>5014409
>>5014538
>>5014668
>>5014762
It would behoove everybody to be less reckless. Especially if somebody who might be the most reckless person alive is saying so.

>>5014453
>>5014584
This is who you are. Do you really have a choice? Even the most reserved tactics will have risk. That is the nature of conflict.

>>5014506
>>5014761
You'll try your best. But you aren't almighty.

Sharing IO involvement as a step...is probably best to leave to its own vote. Once you have her in private.

Writing.

Relenting was simple, easy. Yet explaining it wasn’t- explaining why, even if you tried your best, it might not turn out that way. To break a promise might be demanded of you- and you didn’t want to give a word you might not be able to keep. Not to somebody who valued your word so.

Yet. You couldn’t try unless you at least agreed to. Given all she’d done for you, didn’t your retinue deserve this? Despite all the teasing she aimed in your direction, not once had you heard her bemoan her place as a confidant and comrade. One that, even though she cared little about the Archduchy, was nevertheless enshrined alongside your name, and would be there in your family’s history until all memories of anything at all crumbled to dust.

“Alright,” you said, defeat in your voice, Anya siting next to you, so you didn’t have to speak loud. “I don’t know if I can keep my word. There are things I can’t control. But I’ll do my absolute best. I vow to not blindly throw myself into danger with no merit. I won’t endanger my crew and my allies with reckless attempts at heroism. I’ll keep my view of the future clear.”
“Here,” Anya presented her hand, “Cross on it.”

You looked down at her hand- there was a line across the palm. A pale scar- one you had on your right hand as well, under the gloves. The Bloody Cross- yes, you’d inflicted yourselves with it while blackout drunk, but…it had only been done because you’d have done it anyways.

Her hand was grasped in yours, and you held on tightly as she did the same, wrapping her thumb about yours.

“Okay.” Anya breathed out, “Me too, then. If you’ll keep an eye out for yourself, let everybody around you relax some…I’ll do the same. Even if it might get boring. Nobody’ll have to worry about me. Not you, not my sister, not the Hogs.”

“Mm. It’s a promise, then.”

…You sat there still. It felt wrong to let go of Anya’s hand.

Malachi coughed.

“Uh,” you glanced around. “I just didn’t want to be the one to…never mind.” You released Anya’s hand and she drew it back, while Malachi extended his own hand to help you stand up again. “Let’s go get something to eat. I’ll pay. Anya,” you addressed your retinue as she stood up, “I might have…more to talk about. When we’re in private. Not out here.”

Anya frowned and tilted an eyebrow, but nodded slowly. “Yeah. Sure. After dinner. Your treat.”

From what you saw of local food prices, you feared you might empty your wallet doing so. That wouldn’t do, right before you were sure to lose money betting on fights. As you left the Schlacthaus, Anya’s fury had dissipated…but she kept glancing at you with discomforted tilts of her lip.

-----

Pact woke up at the mention of food, of course, her direct recommendation being towards the food stalls lining the streets- more than a few had fights breaking out because of disagreements over price, as traffic into the city was justifying the customers’ arguments that food prices shouldn’t be what they were during the (extremely brief) siege. You only saw one merchant back down, and cut his prices to…still rather lofty amounts.

Tradition led you to consider the places where clearly monied people were going, but Anya refused, citing that she’d need to be wearing one of her party dresses to go into any of those restaurants. Did she still have those? Not with her, and certainly not on her. Such a mention invited an on-the-spot interrogation from Pact- and a prideful series of boasts from Anya. No comment came from you on the matter- and Malachi hadn’t actually seen Anya in either her glittering gold Langenachtfest social dress or the black backless gown she’d donned for attending the other party.

Malachi leaned over and said something to you that sounded like a question- whether the black or gold one looked better. You said you’d get back to him on that one.

It turned out, though, that stuffing Anya with funnel cakes at the movies, and Malachi implying things about her waistline, had the effect of turning her significantly less ravenous than normal. All that was needed to sate her was a batter-fried apfelwurst- an otherwise normal sausage link save for hefty chunks of fruit in it, fried in a thin, crisp pastry then wrapped in a crepe. It reminded you of Strossvald street food- though somebody had gotten an Emrean into the design process. The same thing was gotten for all- and it would have been for an abominable price, if it wasn’t for Anya being a…rather talented haggler, and some misfortune on your part. When you opened your wallet, you had been stunned to see it empty- only for Anya to proffer what she claimed was “all she had” while spurring Pact to start making a scene appropriate for a hungry little girl. The merchant caved quickly.

Once you were some ways away, though, while you furiously looked for where your money might have slipped out of, Anya smirked at you and confessed that she had picked your pocket.

-----

Malachi and Pact had been left with your tank- while you escorted Anya back to her quarters, a room in an occupied village that had been rendered a ghost town, most of its occupants fleeing from the war. The rooms available for those who’d earned such a luxury had been ones that were tight, but could afford privacy. Something at a premium in any armed force.

Anya asked the Iron Hogs to step out- they gave you a look, then each other, then started to walk out, one punching you in the arm and giving a muttered encouragement as he did. What a rude implication, you thought with a scowl as the door closed.

“So,” Anya sat on the bed and leaned back, one arm behind her propping her up- her jacket that you’d given her some time ago was hung near the door. “First off, before you get into…whatever. Thanks for taking me out. I know I yelled at you, but…I had fun. It was nice.”

“Of course,” you said, nodding sharply. “Do you need help with your boots?”

“Nah. But.” Your retinue crossed one leg over the other and peered up at you with half lidded eyes, “What’s the thing you wanted to say in secret. It sounded important. Or…did y’change your mind?”

>?
Also, for when you go to sleep tonight-
>Sleep without aid. Welcome the strangeness that might be in a dreamland.
>Dream, but reject the phantom whispering in them. You’d rather meet with one you hadn’t seen in a while, not one you’d rather not see again.
>Take some blackflower, embrace a dark and dreamless sleep.

>>5015020
>?
Basically I have this spook boss that outranks my normal commanders who sometimes orders that I go on risky shit. But other when I absolutely have to I'll make sure I'll keep it to a minimum.

>Dream, but reject the phantom whispering in them. You’d rather meet with one you hadn’t seen in a while, not one you’d rather not see again.

>>5015020
If only we really were here for what is constantly insinuated about us.

>?
There's two ways to tell her. Either vague or outright. I don't want to lie to her but I also don't know if it's a good idea if she finds out that Heller Von Tracht had the same thing done to him and was likely killed by the IO.
That needs it's own deliberation.

I say we tell her that we've been forced to work for a shadowy organization that's been dictating our life since we joined the academy. That they were responsible for the adventure in Sosaldt, inflicted ((with Richters "consent")) the mental trauma we were dealing with and the whole assignment in Ellowie. And that we will be in danger as long as we work with them. There is a rough plan on trying to escape their clutches, but it is very rough. And that they are very, very dangerous. Even talking about this out loud is risky and she should not share this unless she wants to be inadvertently drawn into it. I really don't want to expose her to it more than we have to but she deserves to know what she signed up for.

>Dream, but reject the phantom whispering in them. You’d rather meet with one you hadn’t seen in a while, not one you’d rather not see again.
Better confront this thing rather than let it haunt us forever.

>>5015020
>>?
I would keep it vague, the less she knows the better. Some shadowy people have their hooks in Richter something fierce. It used to be worse, but Signy helped back in Ellowie and that's what had Richter so messed up. Hopefully they don't come knocking again, but that kind of luck might be all used up.
>Dream, but reject the phantom whispering in them. You’d rather meet with one you hadn’t seen in a while, not one you’d rather not see again.
We need an advantage, the Demiphantom better have someone good in there, Debon or something. No no name infantryman this time.

Home from work, would call the vote but I'll let it sit a little longer.
Also, just as a note, I'll adjust based on the elaboration given, but the "phantom you hadn't seen in a while" wouldn't be the Demiphantom. Relatively, you've just spoken with that thing.

>>5015466
I assumed it was talking about Poltergeist, is it not?

If we're spilling the beans on the IO, do you think we should maybe tell her a little bit about the magic bullshit following us? It's kind of a crazy thing to drop on someone but we could sort of prove that there is freaky shit about by showing her the monster in the chocolate tin.

It seems relevant now because Anya is probably going to stick near us for the foreseeable future (look how quickly we ended up together again) and pretty much everyone else in our crew is in the know (except Schafer and Hausen, but they might not even be sticking with us after this tour.) Not to mention, Pact seems intent to orbit her, and we've already touched on the danger that presents.

It's too much to explain really, but I feel like now is the time to at least mention the wacky magic stuff, since we have her undivided attention. Beats having to explain it in the field during some kind of supernatural encounter, if it comes to that.

Am I forgetting some particular reason why he can't/shouldn't tell her? Besides making us look like an insane person.

>>5015488
Anya has trouble with seeing Presence stuff iirc, when we were in Ellowie she couldn't see the magic stuff floating around and what not

>>5015490
Forgot about that. Still feels like there'd be some way to prove something. We have witness testimony as well. Although now that I think about it I can't remember if Jorgen has seen much supernatural stuff either.
I'll leave it up to any other anons who think this is important enough to attempt a nigh impossible explanation.

Otherwise, I agree with >>5015052

>>5015020
I'm on board for what >>5015052 and >>5015496 have suggested.
If we're having a private heart to heart, we might as well try and paint Anya the full picture of all the strings currently pulling at Richter, rather than just the IO half, even if we can't articulate all of the mystical parts on our own and we have to get her Jorgen's testimony later on.
She seemed receptive enough in helping Mal with his Emck to take it seriously. I don't think she'd just write Richter off a nut now, only hours after they renewed their blood pact.

I overslept a ton and I probably won't have time to finish an update before I have to go today- since I have to be at work earlier on sundays. I'll call things and update when I get back though.

>>5015484
>I assumed it was talking about Poltergeist, is it not?
Given a lack of other dream figures, this would be a safe assumption- but really, it's more refusing to speak to the thing directly approaching you rather than something that happens to reside in dreamland.

>>5015024
I have to do what Mommy says. My other mommy.

>>5015052
>>5015072
>>5015651
Keep everything in the shadows- as is their turf.

>>5015488
>>5015496
>>5015651
The inclusion of the more...mysterious. The more difficult to even begin with, even considering the natural superstition of most.

Writing.

>>5015052
>If only we really were here for what is constantly insinuated about us.
Can't believe you want to take your Retinue's boots off

“No, I’m ready to talk, it’s only that it’s rather hard to summarize without sounding…crazy.” It was insane in a way, wasn’t it?

Anya squinted at you. “You’re not about t’ tell me that you’ve challenged some other gunman to a duel to the death, are you? I think I might actually kill you if you did.”

“No, no, this is…” you hesitated, “Something I didn’t have a choice about. Something that goes back for years. I’ve only known a little about it until very recently, where I think…I’ve figured some things out. But it’s dangerous to even mention. I don’t want to heap unnecessary risk on you. It’s not dangerous to me right now, because I think I’m useful, but if they demand something of me, I might not have a choice. I might have to endanger myself to keep in their good graces, but I’ll do my best to minimize the threat to myself.”

“Who? Who’s they?”

Another hesitation, but you grit your teeth and spat it out. “The Archduchy Intelligence Office.”

Anya blinked at you, and furrowed her brow. “…The hell even is that?”

“Spies, basically,” you said. Anya must have known what an intelligence organization was, so you switched tack. “They handle secret and delicate affairs for Strossvald, from the shadows. I don’t know how strong or good they are, and I’m technically a part of them, now. Or maybe I was before in a way. They aren’t spoken of much in the Archduchy, other than that it’s a bad idea to have their attention on you. For whatever reason, they’ve been dictating my life since…the Academy, probably. I was under some sort of hypnosis, or influence, or…something. It’s gone now. Or better, because of Signy. Cyclops. It’s why I was so damaged coming back from Sosaldt, that one time when I left.”

“Wait, wait,” Anya held up a hand, “This is a lot of shit at once, y’know.” She kept her hand up and curled her lip as she thought. “How long ago is the Academy? Years, right?” You nodded. “So when did they do this…hypnosis shit? And how? What does it even do?”

“Near the beginning. It did...a few things. It didn't make me good at shooting, but it made me braver...I think. I don’t know how they did it, but I think….I asked them to do it. It’s hazy. I’m sure I didn’t know they were the IO at the time.”

“Okay.” Anya had more questions, you were sure, but she could tell there were more than you could answer. “So they’ve been directing your life. Everything? So when you went over and became the Kommandant and all that?”

“Not that directly. But they sent me on my way. They abducted my fiancée, and helped me get on my way. Then they launched that Court Martial at me when I returned to try and keep me under their thumb.”

“The hell do they even want?”

You had to think about that one. “I don’t really know.”

“What could they want with Sosaldt? More land? All that land’s gobbled up by the Republic now.”

…You weren’t the first Von Tracht to venture over. To construct a force. It’d occurred to you a few times, but with Anya sitting before you…the possibility that Heller Von Tracht was killed by the Intelligence Office for defying them was very real. Your father and his brother had been digging into something that was far over their heads. There was that letter that the pig man had you pass along. The story everybody passed about was that “Hell Gitt” choked to death on his dinner one night, something that was universally thought as utterly ridiculous, yet also unfortunately realistic for an unexpected death.

Not yet, though. You were already putting a lot on Anya. There wasn’t a need to stoke some flame of vengeance. It would mean hiding it from her, but…you’d tell her, for sure. Some time. When she’d had some chance to absorb this and more.

“Hey. You fallin’ asleep?”

“No,” you said quickly, “I just want you to understand that there’s many things I can’t tell you yet. It isn’t safe. Don’t share any of this. I don’t want you to be ensnared, too. They’ve expressed interest because you’re close to me. I’ve told them to back off, but I don’t know how long I can do that if they keep their eyes on you too much.”

“…Mmm.” Anya didn’t seem to like it, but she didn’t protest. “So what are you doin’ about it? Not nothin’, right?”

“I’m doing what I can, I think, but my plans to escape this are…rough. Very rough.” Practically nonexistent, to tell the truth, but there was a light at the end of the tunnel. Far from hopeless. “As my retinue, all of this is what you deserve to know. Maybe I should have told you long ago, but that wouldn’t have been wise with…where I was.”

“There’s a ton of shit that bugs me about…everything you said, but you don’t got no reason to bullshit me, right,” Anya leaned forward and rested her chin on a fist, “…Gonna have to take that slow. But,” she glanced back up at you, “Listen. If you think you’re in over your head, I don’t know anything about spy shit, or Intelligence Offices or whatever, but Schweinmann…he was always the shady guy. Always good at it. I think he can help you, if you ask.”

“I’ll keep it in mind,” you said, “There’s…more.”

“More?” Anya leaned forward and her eyes widened, like you couldn’t possibly top what you already said. “What more is there? That you’re secretly friends with the Kaiser? That you’ve come down from Hemelsberg?”

“From what?”

“Some bullshit fairy tale about a city in the sky,” Anya waved it off.

“No, but it might be about fairy tales…” You drew a chocolate tin from your pocket, that you’d retrieved in anticipation of speaking of this. “Tell me,” you opened it and looked inside- the Hungry Darkness within glowed gently with its clusters of blank white eyes, like pearls in the deep, stars in night, “If you see anything in here?”

Anya had never seen any of the spirits that were visible to others, the shades that many people passed off as commonplace in Ellowie. Superstition was not something given no respect- though some might debate if shades were ghosts or devils or merely tricks of the mind and light, nobody you’d ever met discounted that they existed at all. That a bough of dried flowers kept away the bad airs, even if a doctor was a truer foe of disease, that a prayer to the Judge kept the dark peaceful, that the dead might linger a touch after they had passed, delaying from journeying to their Judgment for a small time. Anya didn’t put much stock in the luck or appeals to the divine that you’d seen most practice. She denied that she was an atheist- but she was far from reverent or respectful.

It didn’t surprise you when she looked at what you had seen, and stared up at you quizzically. “It’s an empty can,” she said.

“What if I said it wasn’t empty,” you said, risking Anya making the easy presumption of thinking you’d gone utterly mad, “And that there is a spirit living inside it?”

Anya seemed to utterly deflate and looked at you with suddenly tired eyes. The reaction you’d expected. “I…Richter, what the absolute fuck are you talkin’ about.” She held her head and shook it, ruffling her hair up as she shut her eyes tight, “No, fuck, sorry, it’s just…fucking hell. Chocolate can spirits.”

“There’s something in my tank too. It protects me and my crew.” You thought that might make her more reassured. It…might have.

“Y’know, I’m just givin’ you the benefit of the doubt, that you haven’t gone absolutely butt fucking crazy,” Anya groaned desperately, “That you’re going somewhere with this.”

“I am. Not too deeply, it’s just a matter of…who else has strings stuck on me.” With soulbinders, that might have been rather literal- the threads of presence that they used to manipulate…whatever they did.
“Alright, alright, but not- not right now, ‘kay?” Anya thrust her hand forward and looked down over her shoulder, eyes closed, a tight frown making her lips a small pout, “Give me some time before you go into ghost stories. Maybe after we’ve already blown our brains out tomorrow drinking. Damn.”

That was a good exit for you, to be honest. “Very well. I just want you to know…everything you should.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Anya let herself tilt to the side and fall over on the bed, “Just give me a bit. Don’t gotta fuck my brain into fuckin’ sauerkraut pie.”

That particular crude analogy wasn’t to your taste, but you understood. “That’s all for now, then. I won’t, er…keep talking.”

“See y’tomorrow, Richter,” Anya said, making a motion with her hand. A motion for you not to overstay. "And...thanks."

-----

That night, you tried to get to sleep…without Blackflower. It was harder than you thought- sometimes, you could count on being pulled away, but now…you were waiting for it to happen, and it refused. Was it because your mind was occupied? With how you’d keep Anya informed, but also safe? How many other people did you need to inform of the IO? At least not as many people as about the more mystical things in your life. Thinking of how to explain all that was tiring enough.

Everything was quiet and dark, and the cold air nipped at your face until you accepted you’d have to retreat under your coarse blankets further. In that lightly itchy tangle, you finally found yourself…weightless. Drawn towards something, and you did not think to flee from it, or to rebuke it.

”You have returned…”

The voice of the many spoke- and before you, once again, appeared two doors.

”Our gifts are offered…do you seek them, this time..?

This had better be worth it, you thought as you compelled your feet to stand on nothing, without even thinking about how or why. Dealing with this creature was unpleasant, but you had to do it at some point. It wasn’t leaving you alone- and there might even be an advantage to gain…

“I want something specific,” you said to nothing at all, but to ears that would hear, “No mysterious, uncertain times or people. Show me what I want, if you want to make offerings.”

”Such offerings…Are not ones you may take…Not yet…” one set of deep voices said, and another continued, a lighter toned pack, ”You must grow closer…you must come closer to immersing your being into the Well of Souls…to grasp at harmony with the Great Etz Hekal…the closer you come…the better we may offer, your desire…

A pause.

”You do not have eternity…” There was no hurry to the Demiphantom’s booming, it was as gently worded as you believed such a being might be able to. Which was to say, no different from its normal speech now, ”There is no time here, but you are of a body…and such a body is bound to the endless marching forth…

>Go to the Door of the World’s Memories
>Go to the Door of Ghosts
>No, you’re not here for any doors. You want to speak to the entity. (About what?)
>Other?

>>5017022
>>Go to the Door of the World’s Memories
World Memories have to be easier on the soul than Ghost adventures right? Less chance of being overtaken by the Well of Souls, or maybe that's exactly wrong.

>>5017022
>Go to the Door of the World’s Memories

>>5017022
>>No, you’re not here for any doors. You want to speak to the entity. (About what?)
How to feed tank ghost friend?

>>5017022
>Go to the Door of Ghosts
Need to find Hell.
Need to find Hell and...I don't know, talk to him.

>>5017022
>No, you’re not here for any doors. You want to speak to the entity. (About what?)
I wish to be free of you. To give you to the one who would claim you. What do you know of Soulbinders and your own creation.

We really gotta ask Poltergeist about some things.

>>5017022
>>Go to the Door of the World’s Memories
mmm history

>>5017022
>Go to the Door of the World’s Memories
Maybe we can learn something about the IO from it

>>5017083
>>5017129
>>5017301
>>5017307
The door of time gone by- of the place you all share, and have shared.

>>5017222
Go to Hell. Wait, no-

>>5017212
>>5017262
So how are you feeling, being of many and no faces? Do you want to have a chat?

Update won't take too long- now that you have a direction, you need an impact zone, after all.

“So how do I get rid of you?” you asked absently as you moved towards a door, “Can I give you over to somebody? Do you even know what you are?”

”The time passing is only yours…”

Fine, fine. How majestic and magnanimous of a body and soul devouring creature this was. You looked to the door you’d gone through before- it was a wall of shimmering light and flashing shapes, but you knew what it was. Something told you- beyond here, lay another time and place, from the same world you inhabited. Where you’d end up, you weren’t sure, but as you stepped into it, and felt a strange tingling feeling wash over you from front to back, you tried to close your eyes, to not be distracted by the sudden sensation of an overwhelming amount of sounds and sights, tastes and smells, of feelings and thoughts, such that it was complete static over every little piece of your perception. You tried to focus on a place…and a time.

>Focus on a place, and the date to see it at. If you don’t know the exact date, that’s fine- just describe the event. You’ll do your best to approximate when it should be…if Richter knows it. After all, if you don’t know when and where something might have taken place, how do you expect to begin to identify it among the mass?

>>5017397
Well, we could do a bunch of stuff since all we need is a time and a place.
We could figure out any number of things about Maddy or the Von Blums in general, just don't know exactly what would be the most useful or pressing.
If anyone could remember when Hell died we could try and aim for when he was killed to figure out how it happened exactly.
We could pull some sly shit by looking into the recent past and find out what any number of people are doing by being incredibly vague about it. Like saying "I wanna see Maddalyn, a week ago in her castle in the Blumlands, doing her experiments", since again all we really need is a time and place.

>>5017397
Papa von Tracht when he took up the case of the Lord von Blum's son- what exactly did he discover about the Crown Prince's death?

>>5017411
+1

>>5017456
...which part of my post are you voting for?
I don't really have a solid idea on what to do, I just listed off a bunch of ideas.

>>5017411
I think we should try and lock in on Hell's death if possible. I've been combing through the old threads to see if we got any details on the circumstances of his death but I haven't found anything yet. I did find a couple of mentions of him dying about two years before we arrived in Sosaldt, so we have a good enough(?) time frame at least. Anyone else remember anything about that?

If we can't get a good enough handle on that, it might be interesting to peer back on when we were originally given the brainwashing, since we cannot remember what we were told or why we agreed to it, if we agreed to it. We do however know the basic where and when for when that would have taken place.

>>5017489
IIRC it was pretty mundane; he choked on a bone or something? Or I could be confusing it with someone else and talking out of my ass.
For brainwashing I think it'd be more interesting to see how the IO decided on Richter rather than the actual procedure

>>5017397
>>5017411
>>5017489
>>5017497
Ok yeah, trying to figure out how Richter got the conditioning in the first place seems like it would be a worth while idea.
Though, as it's been said before, we don't really know if the whole, "choked on his dinner", an excuse is just that or not. So I wouldn't neglect looking into that, if we ever do this again.

>>5017497
>how the IO decided on Richter
That could have happened anywhere and any time, though. Also correct me if I'm wrong but I thought the running idea was that it was offered and/or forced on everyone in our class? It can't just be Metzeler and us, right?

>>5017499
Nah from what we've seen from the Plisseau trio none of them are Tranced though IIRC von Walen was identified as a promising candidate

>>5017498
>Though, as it's been said before, we don't really know if the whole, "choked on his dinner", an excuse is just that or not.
It almost certainly is fake, I think. We know he gave info to Richter's father about the murder of the Crown Prince (also happened two years ago) and that the IO performed the coverup, though they may have not killed the prince. They would probably kill Heller if they found out he knew about the coverup though.
>>5017507
Yeah, I forgot that we read their dossiers at some point. It could very well be that we were targeted due to our relation to both Hell and our father, who are up in the IOs shit and exonerated their fall guy, respectively.

>>5017497
>For brainwashing I think it'd be more interesting to see how the IO decided on Richter rather than the actual procedure
Seconding

>>5017489
In addition to Hell's death it might be as good or even better to get a glimpse into his daily life as a mercenary leader. If he did have illicit connections we might be able to see him interacting with them or talking about them even if his death doesn't reveal much.

>>5017497
>>5017498
>>5017590
As a note, this is something you (Richter, obviously) has to be able to visualize in at least a rough time and place. If you want to guess at where and when, even in approximates, the IO decided anything, I'm gonna need that. Because Richter absolutely does not actually know when or where that might have taken place.

No, the Intelligence Office does not have a central headquarters anywhere. Not anywhere known outside of who needs to know, at least.

>>5017788
Also as an addendum, Richter does know where Hell likely died- even though he's never been to it, he does know where Gusseisenholz is, which is where the Iron Hogs were and are based.

>>5017469
All of them.

>>5017816
I don't think we can do more than one.
I'm going to say we go watch Hell die and see if we get anything from it.
I think he probably got poisoned, and if we can look around the area in the dream I have a sneaking suspicion we'll see a familiar face or something similar.

>>5017397
>Focus on a place, and the date to see it at. If you don’t know the exact date, that’s fine- just describe the event. You’ll do your best to approximate when it should be…if Richter knows it. After all, if you don’t know when and where something might have taken place, how do you expect to begin to identify it among the mass?
I would say investigate the killing of the Archdukes son that Richter's dad was involved with, specifically a bit before the time he was found dead wherever we was actually found.
If doesn't work out, I say investigate Hell's death.
I hope we are ready for whatever we find.

>>5017397
>>5017990
>I would say investigate the killing of the Archdukes son that Richter's dad was involved with, specifically a bit before the time he was found dead wherever we was actually found.

Uhhh.
So I'm actually having a pretty hard time parsing out what's being voted for, what's being proposed, and ultimately what a decision would be, so I'm setting this to a more define vote based on the proposals given.

So, with that- Time and Place:

>The Academy, the early days- the time when the Conditioning was done, and when it was first setting in. This would be in your memories, wouldn't it, but...it has been some time, and the memory is hazy...
>The last days of Heller Von Tracht, in his home in exile of Gusseisenholz, Sosaldt. Maybe you'd spy his death...and its truth, a bit more than two years ago.
>The Blumlands, the outskirts of Blumsburgh, about two and a half years past. The death of the Crown Prince Brandton Von Strossvald, the first of two suspect passings...framed upon the successor to House Von Blum.
>Other? (I'm pretty sure this won't be used but you never know)

>>5018096
>The Academy, the early days- the time when the Conditioning was done, and when it was first setting in. This would be in your memories, wouldn't it, but...it has been some time, and the memory is hazy...
All these things are important but I feel this one should be a good test run to get the kinks of the ability worked out.

>>5018096
>>The Blumlands, the outskirts of Blumsburgh, about two and a half years past. The death of the Crown Prince Brandton Von Strossvald, the first of two suspect passings...framed upon the successor to House Von Blum.

>>5018096
>The Blumlands, the outskirts of Blumsburgh, about two and a half years past. The death of the Crown Prince Brandton Von Strossvald, the first of two suspect passings...framed upon the successor to House Von Blum.

>>5018096
>>The last days of Heller Von Tracht, in his home in exile of Gusseisenholz, Sosaldt. Maybe you'd spy his death...and its truth, a bit more than two years ago.

>>5018096
>>The Blumlands, the outskirts of Blumsburgh, about two and a half years past. The death of the Crown Prince Brandton Von Strossvald, the first of two suspect passings...framed upon the successor to House Von Blum.

>>5018096
>The last days of Heller Von Tracht, in his home in exile of Gusseisenholz, Sosaldt. Maybe you'd spy his death...and its truth, a bit more than two years ago.

>>5018096
>The Blumlands, the outskirts of Blumsburgh, about two and a half years past. The death of the Crown Prince Brandton Von Strossvald, the first of two suspect passings...framed upon the successor to House Von Blum.

>>5018096
>>Other? (I'm pretty sure this won't be used but you never know)
Noone wants to find out what went down with Locke/Loch (its been awhile okay) when we turned them in all those years ago?
Or anything at all with him?

>>5018183
That would be another good choice, but we've haven't run into Loch lately apart from asides which is why people are more focused on other stuff

>>5018183
>>5018205
Add it to the list of things to do

Rolled 28, 21, 1 = 50 (3d30)

>>5018100
Back to school, as it were. But to learn something entirely not in the curriculum.

>>5018105
>>5018108
>>5018119
>>5018140
The court decided the case. The legal record is unquestioned. Yet off you go- there is something unanswered in those documents.

>>5018112
>>5018137
What happened to your uncle? Can you find out anything of his life? Of yours, by extension?

>>5018183
You handed that man in to the Intelligence Office. He and his men were captured. Yet now he is out and about- how?

Alright then. Here's how this is going to work. 15 and 16 count as right on the money. Anything before 15 is the number of days before, and after 16 is days after the event you presumably want to witness. I'm rolling three dice- and once they're rolled, you guys will pick one. I'll try and keep this short, in the interests of not having you all wait longer than I've made you already.

>>5018207
>Add it to the list of things to do
I am genuinely curious of the contents of this list. Because Maddalyn doesn't seem to be on it :^)

>>5018289
Well that 1 makes things simple I guess, compared to the alternatives

>>5018289
Going with the 1
Though with the other two rolls being so far off do we really need to vote for this?

>>5018289
There are four events but three rolls? At any rate you can only pick the 1.

>>5018293
>>5018296
One it is.

>>5018296
If you don't think anything after is something you'd be interested in, I suppose. Then again, after a murder, you only have a corpse.

Writing.

>>5018297
No, the event was decided. This is just zoning in on that particular one.
I guess I didn't technically state the vote winner but I figured it was apparent, I'd have said if I was going to decide it on rolling between votes.

The unknown melted all around, and you tried to see something within, to think of where, when you’d want to be. How and why this was happening wasn’t any concern- as far as you cared to reason, this was an illusion of the Demiphantom. Yet one with an unusual reality to it, just as before…Viska was no deception, surely. The Demiphantom was a deadly, destructive creature, the only time you’d ever seen it being as an uncaring devourer, but was that merely because you could not hear it speak as it had?

What do you wish to know, a suggestion echoed from inside your head.

…The Blumlands. Blumsburgh. The origin of the case that would decide a direction in your life you didn’t know if you could imagine going another way. Your fiancée was arranged to marry you for a favor- a favor concerning this extremely important event, even if you were not nearly as significant. The talk with Anya about the IO had you thinking- how else might they have been steering your life, even if inadvertently? Bastian Von Blum, heir to the title of territorial lord, was accused of the murder of the Crown Prince of the Archduchy, Brandton Von Strossvald. The date in your head was one you remembered- not information that might have fallen out, for how strongly your father was involved with it…you tried to shoot yourself into a bullseye, to see what had truly taken place, the very moment it happened, from the eyes of the only true witnesses to what had happened…whoever they were.

…

…

…

…Hmmm.

Were you daydreaming, for a moment? The smoking room was rather warm this time of year…

“Manfred,” the man across from you coughed. One your age, of similar disposition- one who liked to dabble in stations above where they were. A dissatisfaction with the present- for why would the Crown Prince want to merely dabble, when he would be Archduke when old Siegfried died? “You were saying about…the courts.”

Brandton was younger than you- but your firstborn son was only a year old, and his was four. The Archduke was hardly an old man, merely fifty four years old- rather young for a grandfather, perhaps, but his son was breeding young- with a lady older than him.

He was twenty nine to your thirty three, and you’d preferred your women younger unlike him, but had accepted that Rubina couldn’t be eighteen forever- and that your fussy father didn’t want one of his sons to be a heartbreaker and naught more. A tragedy for women the world over- and Rubina was always smug about having won you. Yet, even if you couldn’t be a playboy with women anymore, you had to cling tightly to youth somehow. This new friend Bastian had brought over might prove a fun association. They were planning a holiday in less than two weeks, but if your elder brother was to do some political mingling, then why spoil your own chance before he spirited the man to a holiday”? Mathilda would certainly jump at the chance…and she was kept well away. Father had brought up that you might be a bad influence. Poppycock. Even if the rumors about you still swirled, you had kept only to your spouse for a few years now. Would a thirteen year old girl take after you? Certainly not. There was…something else wrong with that young woman. With her and her sister. Should father not have protected her from being exploited as she was? He would have defended Maddalyn quite vigorously, not long ago…

“Anyways,” you reached to your side and picked out a peeled grape from a bowl of the fancies, its skin replaced with a sparkling coat of crystal sugar. Chilled, sweet, delicate. “I was thinking of my half-sister, the younger one. You might have heard unsavory things about her. Please understand, she is young, immature, she is not the one at fault.”

“Ah, hm,” the Crown Prince frowned. “I thought you would have mentioned something else?”

“What else would there be? We of the house of Von Blum prefer our courts to be more reserved than those of Strosstadt. Your father is quite the party animal.” You popped the grape into your mouth and split it into a burst of frigid juice with a single crunch, “I was concerned you might be used to another sort of entertainment. The Archduke’s proclivities, and all.”

“No, no,” the Crown Prince said too quickly. Perhaps he had to be dissuaded after all- but he was glancing around. Had he been caught? No, he’d been nervous since he stepped in…for some reason. “Bastian has said there have been rumors about me, however. The courts…I don’t think I’ll be seeing any. I’d prefer to stay away from any of that. The countryside calls to me, the wilderness…”

“Why ever is that the case?” you wrinkled your brow and traced your finger over the armrest of your chair, “The rural places always have to be swept for Imperial scouts and spies. It’s quite safe for most people, but that risk is something I would not think would be tolerated for you.”

“It wouldn’t be, but,” the Crown Prince looked over his shoulder, then back to you. “I haven’t been able to get any peace, lately. Anywhere there is people, I feel…eyes.”

“Eyes are upon the Crown Prince constantly, my good man,” you laughed, “Manfred receives much attention. The only reason I am notable, is because I made myself so in so many hearts. Manfred the Blue, what a silly romantic title.” But you didn’t regret earning it, for appearing so deeply troubled yet so complex and understanding. “It must be something abnormal then. Did you have an affair? Is that who might be stalking your shadows?”

“No. Well, yes,” the Crown Prince looked upwards, “A singular tryst is nothing to be ashamed of, considering how much flings itself before me. That is not the point. I fear it is my brother…”

“You took his woman? Daring.”

“No, no,” the Crown Prince grew exasperated- you needed to be more careful. “I tell you this in confidence, in your halls where none might be listening…none of them. Sometimes I am traveling about escorted, and I see one of them, and when I tell my guards to apprehend them, my guards are absent. I go out in disguise, and I still have noticed them. The Archduke, my father, tells me the Intelligence Office is investigating matters, but how can they not so readily deal with what I see constantly?” The Crown Prince’s breath was shortening, and he took a moment to calm himself. “It has to be from near me. I don’t know what I may have done to offend him, or if he has taken leave of his senses, but my brother…he must desire the throne.”

“You are safe here,” You waved your palms down, trying to soothe the man, “We have our own people whom can look into this matter, if you don’t have faith in your own. Simply ask Manfred.”

“…I wonder if I have placed your house under threat by coming here,” Brandton said lowly, before flashing a gaze back to you. “…Tell me, might this name sound familiar to you? Consolum de Sortium?”

“No,” you wrinkled your brow, “The Consuls of Lots? Do they think themselves Vitelian that they use their old language? Who are they?”

The Crown Prince shook his head. “I don’t know. Something suspect was taking place in…” His eyes darted to the side and his jaw set. “No, you don’t seem to know. Keep it that way. Never speak of it. Nobody I have asked has known…but…a confidante of my family, he heard my brother, he-”

“…Maybe you need a drink to calm your nerves,” you offered, and you leaned forward to him, and whispered as you stood, “If you believe being talkative to have landed you in this predicament, I suggest making yourself seem less inquisitive. Clearly people are listening thinking they may hear something.”

“May I have your trust?” Brandton blurted suddenly, “I have your brother’s, but I fear all of those whom I’ve known before…they are all suspicious to me, these days. Support me. I will pay you back, I-“

“Shh,” you shushed him. Clearly a spot of nerves. “I said to relax. Do you have…a habit?”

“No-“

“Then maybe you need one. Wait here.” Perhaps is was cocaine, maybe it was wakeleaf, or perhaps it was a fever. The doctor would know. You stepped out…

…and were suddenly in…where the hell were you? Red dust, it was dawn, not afternoon, it was…winter?

“Where am I!?” you shouted out. What was this voice? You looked around…blue. A blue armored vehicle, one you’d never seen before. “Attend to me, anybody!”

“Judge Above, Lieutenant,” a gruff voice said, “The hell’re y’ shoutin’ for? Scared th’ shit outta me.”

A stranger brusquely put his hand on your shoulder and spun you around. Who was this man, who did he think he was, speaking with that manner of address? You were…you were…

>Reassert yourself.

>>5018385
>Reassert yourself.
Lieutenant Richter von Tracht of the Silver Lances Reserve Battalion

>>5018385
>Reassert yourself.
Lieutenant Richter von Tracht of the Silver Lances Reserve Battalion. Fiance of Maddalyn Annelie Erdelia Von Blum. Last Heir to the legendary house Von Tract. Commander of Panzers.

You are Richter Von Tracht.

No.

You are Richter Von Tracht, Lieutenant, tank commander, only son and heir of the Von Tracht household-

No, no you weren’t, what insanity was this? You are Manfred, the Blue, who-

No. No.

In your pocket, a photo. A photo you took out. Maddalyn. Maddalyn Annelie Erdelia Von Blum. Half-sister.

No. Fiancée. Lover. Mother to be of your children, your-

No, no, no! What happened to her eye? Why is she dressed like that? She’d never wear anything like that. Who in the blazes was Richter?

Richter is you, you, you.

Impossible! You were only…where is…you touched your face. A mask. Under it. Rough, dry, numb. Your hands, your hands were not your own, this, all this…

The world was blurring, smearing together, swaying side to side as your legs lost feeling and bent. There was no will to stand, to see, to hear, as an alien cacophony assaulted you.

“I…guh…I am…” you felt sick…horrendously sick. “I am…not…” Your knees gave way, and your stomach inverted itself all over the ground before you couldn’t even hold yourself out of the disgusting puddle you’d made. Everything was blurry- your ears were ringing- and you…were not…

…

Splitting pain between your eyes woke you, unpleasantly. A young woman was staring right into your eyes…Pact, that was Pact. What was this thing in your mouth?

“You’re awake!” the girl’s deep frown slipped away as she grinned a toothy smile, “You must have eaten something that disagreed with you!”

Most certainly not, but when you strained to open your eyes wider and looked around, your entire crew was watching, from what you could see, relieved. Or at least nonplussed.

“Shurtstaefs maedecein waerked,” Jorgen said, sounding surprised, “Waeld thoughtaet’d dae naethen.”

“You were walking around shouting nonsense, Schafer said,” Hausen said gravely, “Do you need to see a doctor? I wasn’t out there with you, but if you hit your head-“

“No, I think,” you rubbed your head, pinched your brow- it burned, like a cold fire. “I must have been sleepwalking. And dreaming. I’m alright, I just…rrrgh.” You clenched the bridge of your nose so tight you thought you might crush it, but the stabbing and pins and needles inside your head refused to cease. “I need to be, hhck, left alone a moment…” You pushed yourself to your feet and hobbled sideways, leaning on the tank, and made your way around, gasping for air like you’d been drowning. What…what happened? You thought you…were you really-

”I don’t know what you did to get possessed in this part of the world,” What sounded like Pact’s singsong voice came from the same painful nail in your head that was already stuck in there, ”But don’t do it again.”

“Since when could you talk in my head…” you whispered as Pact walked up by you.

”I can’t. We’re talking with our presences. Like ghosts.” The girl gave you another wide smile, and you saw a flicker of something go from nearby you, back behind her- something that glowed like a passing car’s headlights in the dark, but like a flame... “Can I have my candy back? It was mine, If I wash it off, it won’t matter that it was in your mouth, right? I washed it before putting it in your mouth.”

How abhorrent a thought that was. Nothing further was required to make you spit out what felt like a ball-shaped hard candy, but when it was in your hand, it looked like…a dull, perfectly round stone, with a soft light glowing from within like a distant start in a night sky. Pact swiftly took it from your hand, and put it in her pocket.

“Was that…”

“Rock Candy! Not a shiny one. I’m not sharing those!”

…An Earth Pearl. The undeveloped form of a Radiant Pearl, if you recalled correctly. The pain in your brow melted down your face, into your jaw, then your lips, then it faded away entirely. An involuntary haggard sigh accompanied the loss and then reclamation of sensation.

“They were worried, y’know,” Pact said brightly, “Buuuut I know all the tricks to not get sick when it’s time for fun! They said you were gonna go drink and gamble. Adult drinks are so gross though. So I guess I’ll have to play with the doggie, huh?”

Better than trying to play with the tank, you thought. You looked up to the m/32. If Pact managed to get inside it…well, you’d instructed your crew to not even let her get close to crawling inside. A reasonable caution…though Anya had been utilizing her in some capacity as a crew member before. Still.

That dream. The vision. Coming back. Thinking about the brief period where you were…not yourself. It caused the headache to come back all over again. That hadn’t happened last time, but last time, you hadn’t been nearly as…attentive. As close. You’d merely been a passenger, viewing an Emrean man vaguely, not so specific a person, so tight a time…what might have happened if there wasn’t a soulbinder here? You doubted that you’d be lost forever, but something about Pact telling you not to do it again indicated that…it would have been incredibly unpleasant, at the bare minimum…

>…So there was no way you were doing that again. No way in hell. This was something you had no idea how to deal with. Going on with this would be breaking a vow, even if nobody would ever know, wouldn’t it be?
>…Yet you had to take advantage of this. You’d learned…something. Something you might not ever have found out otherwise. Who knew what other secrets were hidden?
>Other?

>>5018428
>…So there was no way you were doing that again. No way in hell. This was something you had no idea how to deal with. Going on with this would be breaking a vow, even if nobody would ever know, wouldn’t it be?
Yeah, it's not like we even found out anything too useful. Just smoke from a fire we already know is burning and a name.

>>5018428
>>…So there was no way you were doing that again. No way in hell. This was something you had no idea how to deal with. Going on with this would be breaking a vow, even if nobody would ever know, wouldn’t it be?

>>5018428
>…So there was no way you were doing that again. No way in hell. This was something you had no idea how to deal with. Going on with this would be breaking a vow, even if nobody would ever know, wouldn’t it be?
A man who dares to much, gets killed by a painfull thrust.

>>5018428
>>…So there was no way you were doing that again. No way in hell. This was something you had no idea how to deal with. Going on with this would be breaking a vow, even if nobody would ever know, wouldn’t it be?

>>5018428
>>…Yet you had to take advantage of this. You’d learned…something. Something you might not ever have found out otherwise. Who knew what other secrets were hidden?

>>5018428
>…So there was no way you were doing that again. No way in hell. This was something you had no idea how to deal with. Going on with this would be breaking a vow, even if nobody would ever know, wouldn’t it be?
lol imagine if we ended up getting possessed by Hell though

>>5018428
>>…So there was no way you were doing that again. No way in hell. This was something you had no idea how to deal with. Going on with this would be breaking a vow, even if nobody would ever know, wouldn’t it be?

>>5018428
>…So there was no way you were doing that again.
>Other
...without an earth pearl. Doing it unescorted and without some information about what the flying fuck is going in is verboten. But once we get the tools, this may be doable again.
But I do think that we should never trust the Demiphantom at it's word. It's probably been trying to groom us for re-absorbtion with every vision.

>>5018428
Supporting >>5018745

>>5018428
>>5018745
Sure, maybe when we get back and chaperones by Maddy

>>5018428
>>…So there was no way you were doing that again. No way in hell. This was something you had no idea how to deal with. Going on with this would be breaking a vow, even if nobody would ever know, wouldn’t it be?

>>5018434
>>5018443
>>5018445
>>5018453
>>5018460
>>5018741
>>5019008
One bad trip is enough for you. Well. A bad trip of this sort.

>>5018458
A smidgen of curiosity remains.

>>5018745
>>5018919
>>5018970
Maybe if you have somebody hold your hand next time.

Update comin'.

File: tcqscene189.png (2.12 MB, 1118x1200)

2.12 MB PNG

…With that in mind, there was absolutely no way you’d be doing that again. Not without a healthy amount of precautions taken, at least. Even then. What might be there that was worth the risk? You hadn’t actually found out much. However. You did find out something, if you thought about it further. What if Maddalyn’s brothers looked deeper into this afterwards? Would it be worth following up on? Considering your position and what had happened to even a Crown Prince of the Archduchy, whether it was part of some sinister plan or not…you had to keep your head down for now.

“Say,” you said to pact, “There wouldn’t be any chance I could have one of those rock candies, would there?”

“Oh, not mine!” Pact said slyly, “But you can find them easy. They aren’t all that rare, if you’re looking for them. You have a lot of money, don’t you? You can buy whatever you want!” Not even giving up something that may as well be a plain pebble. It could have been plain soulbinder insolence or just the smug immaturity of a little girl. “Didn’t you hear me? Just don’t do whatever you were doing and it’ll all be okay. But if you don’t…”

A black mass crawled out from under Pact’s eye- a creeping slime that spread out and reached around, white granules floating throughout.

”…I’m keeping an eye on you, Storyteller’s pet or no. You might be fun…”

Pact blinked and the creature crawling out of her eye vanished. “Huh? You’re looking at me funny. Is thee something on my face?”

You rolled your eyes. “I don’t have to tolerate annoying children. If you want to stay around, then behave yourself.”

Pact pouted in defiance, but didn’t say anything as you left her. Untouchable as soulbinders were…so long as you didn’t give them an excuse to act, you had figured out an important thing by now- even if you couldn’t act against them, they also couldn’t hurt you. This irritation was the best this little scamp could do as she…did whatever she was doing. Maybe if you were boring for long enough she’d leave you and everybody else around you alone and go back to her handlers.

Oh well. You’d have a good day away from her at least, as you went to a place only adults could go. One would think that would have been the battlefield, but no, not here, though even in Sundersschirm, children were barred from the fight pits and taverns (and obviously other establishments that would be obvious).

-----

As you rounded up your people and got them ready to go (a few of your crew were bringing acquaintances from the platoon), you managed to find somebody you’d been looking for, with Anya- her sister. Rather, you found her storming out of the room, but Alina brightened up when she found herself before you. There wasn’t much time to chatter, but you did arrange a meeting for later- with your fellow officer. She was flattered by the proposal to be drawn, but also agreed that it might be…best for Anya not to know.

“She doesn’t trust me around strange men,” she huffed, “She still treats me as if I were a child who doesn’t know better. Sometimes I wonder if she’s ever grown up.”

“She only wants to protect her sister,” you said in your retinue’s defense, “I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t consider this man trustworthy.”

“Oh, but what if I’m not trustworthy?” Alina said with a sly wink.

“Em. Hm.”

Alina laughed to herself as she let you be. “Don’t overthink it, I’ll meet this Stevan with you, if he helped you save Anya.”

Good, you thought as you went back to Anya’s room. Even if Von Rotehof the Younger was to be sent back home soon, that didn’t mean you couldn’t try and make good on your deal. Getting the Duchess as a model would be a far stretch, though you could still try, but Alina was the far, far more geographically appropriate model right now.

-----

The Schlacthaus was predictably crowded- noisy and loud, with swarms of people making their predictions, sharing rumors, and despite it only being afternoon, indulging heavily in whatever was publicly respectable to indulge in, with more than a few plying less respectable trades, in spite of the signs posted telling prostitutes to not try and draw clients waiting for the Elimination Rounds to end.

Said Elimination Rounds were to pare down the number of teams- and they were apparently brutal affairs, with eight people in each set, four teams, beating the tar out of one another in any place that had space allotted. The actual tournament fights would take place in the arena, but for the Elimination Rounds, anywhere was fair game so long as there were observers from the establishment.

You found this all out in the most direct way possible, as when you and your party were buying entry, there was one of these elimination rounds going on right in front of the clerks. Intervention from other parties was apparently not unheard of- but nobody who wasn’t a contender already chose to intervene while you watched.

“Come on, then,” you said, pulling on Anya’s arm, “There’s going to be plenty of fights today.”

“Hold on a fuckin’ second,” Anya shot back, resisting you as much as she could while the only members of your party lingering were Jorgen, a couple of crewmen from Elder Von Rotehof’s tank that Hausen had invited, and one of their dates, who you were assured wasn’t paid for and thus wasn’t in violation of any division mandates. “Look, that guy’s gonna kick the absolute shit out of those two. Let’s see how this ends.”

That guy was a beast of a man, but his partner had been ganged up on early in the fight and was sitting against a wall in a stupor, clearly unable to go on. The other two contenders were more beat up than the one- and they made the mistake of heading for the big man one at a time. With a swift haymaker, the first one was sent flying back into a pile of losers, while the second threw up his hands.

“Alright, alright, hold on,” he said, “Your second is down, so’s mine. How about we make a deal? We make a new team. That sound good?”

The big man looked to his own former teammate- a mistake, as the supposed dealmaker pulled out a blackjack and cracked the big man across the face with it. Not enough. The larger man simply looked disdainfully at the blackjack, then grabbed the smaller man by his face, lifted him into the air, and threw him through an innocent table where a couple of uniformed men were enjoying a coffee.

“Hey, hey, asshole!” One jumped up, a man with a dueling scar on his face, “What’s your problem?”

“Can it,” the big man said threateningly, “I win.”

“The hell you do! That cup was three goddamn marks, you’re gonna pay for that coffee, or I’m kicking your ass!”

“Hey, those guys are from Griffon Company,” Anya observed thoughtfully, before shouting a provocation, “Yeah, go kick his ass, or you’re pussies!”

Neither of you stayed for that fight- Anya was finally dragged away before she could start any more mischief.

“Speaking of pansies,” Anya sneered at you, “You better be getting hammered.”

“The bets for fights haven’t even opened yet,” you pointed out, “Even if I gamble I won’t do it drunk.”

“Wuss.”

>Alright. Fine. No drinking or gambling limits. You weren’t a wuss.
>You’d get smashed. If your wallet remained safely closed to bets.
>You already knew Anya would get drunk, and if both of you got drunk there’d be trouble. You were perceptive and lucky enough to gamble big though, weren’t you?
>Other?

>>5020030
>You already knew Anya would get drunk, and if both of you got drunk there’d be trouble. You were perceptive and lucky enough to gamble big though, weren’t you?
New day, new Richter. It's time to stop the habit of drinking until unconsciousness and pick up the dubiously more safe vice of gambling!
I wonder if Pact hasn't picked up on the tank spookiness because it's out of juice? Maybe something to keep in mind if we power it back up?

>>5020030
>You already knew Anya would get drunk, and if both of you got drunk there’d be trouble. You were perceptive and lucky enough to gamble big though, weren’t you?

>>5020030
>You’d get smashed. If your wallet remained safely closed to bets.

>>5020030
>You already knew Anya would get drunk, and if both of you got drunk there’d be trouble. You were perceptive and lucky enough to gamble big though, weren’t you?

We always get drunk, when's the next time there will be a gambling ring?
We get drunk AFTER we win big in celebration.

>>5020030
>>You’d get smashed. If your wallet remained safely closed to bets.
We're probably screwed anyway but might as well try to salvage what we can.

>>5020026
I like her design. That scarf is lit.

>>5020030
>You already knew Anya would get drunk, and if both of you got drunk there’d be trouble. You were perceptive and lucky enough to gamble big though, weren’t you?

>>5020030
>>You already knew Anya would get drunk, and if both of you got drunk there’d be trouble. You were perceptive and lucky enough to gamble big though, weren’t you?

>grabbed the smaller man by his face, lifted him into the air, and threw him through an innocent table
The real casualties of the bandit kingdom's wars have always been it's furniture.
>5020030
>You already knew Anya would get drunk, and if both of you got drunk there’d be trouble. You were perceptive and lucky enough to gamble big though, weren’t you?

>>5020030
>>5020389
This specifically

>>5020143
>>5020295
>>5020389
>>5020474
>>5020716
>>5020722
>>5021261
Anya's rear end will not be endangered. Only your pool of money and pay.
To be fair Anya is not innocent from harassing others and retaliation is only just.

>>5020326
>>5020409
At least you're escorted so you won't end up in a tree.

Writing.

“We always get drunk,” you said, anticipating yet another misadventure with you retinue that would result in ill-remembered mischief that you didn’t understand why either of you would do- well, some of it. No, you understood it, but- anyways, just getting smashed would only result in trouble. “There’ll always be liquor. When will the next big betting ring on fights be? We can win then, and after that we can drink.”

Anya rolled her eyes at you. “You’re gonna be gambling all reasonable though. What’s the fun if you aren’t throwing in enough for it t’ hurt? Fine, whatever. Throw in something interesting.”

The book keepers only dealt in money and, if documented and appraised for value, property. Here in the lounge there was a set of them, gussied up women in tight dresses and makeup who wore smiles big enough to tempt the easily manipulated into giving up money recklessly, but they were not open for negotiation on what could be bet or won. “I don’t think this establishment will allow betting something interesting. I’m not betting my tank.”

“No, don’t bet the tank,” Anya said quickly and in scathing opposition to the very idea, “Not to them, either. I meant me.”
>Make a bet. Non-monetary. Something “Interesting.” Or refuse. Your choice.

What were you even supposed to bet? “If I refuse?”

“Then I’ll come up with something for you.”

“I’m not going to accept a bet you come up with for me,” you said, “I have no obligation.”

“Boring.”

“I’m not boring-“ She was baiting you, but… “Anyways.”

“Y’ shoot each other a lot, don’t you,” Schafer said in a low, slightly condescending tone, “Retinues. You sure you showed the right picture earlier?” Anya made a clueless, puzzled frown- but you knew Schafer was referring to the picture of your fiancée, shown off before (and a few times during) this campaign. “They’re rollin’ off th’ teams in th’ intercom. Quit talkin’ over ‘em.”

Had the elimination rounds ended so fast? You hadn’t been here that long.

“Intercom?” Anya made a face, “I’m gonna go see ‘em with my eyes, how’re ya supposed to tell who’s really badass if you can’t even see ‘em?”

She was off before you could look twice. She’d probably be safe- grim looking security was posted practically everywhere, but the arena space would be filled to the brim, from the amount of people who agreed that it was best to see for themselves.

“Jorgen!” you called to your loader, “Go with Anya.”

The northman nodded and pushed his way to the crowd. Yaegir were famous not only for ferocity and bravery, but for tracking and hunting in their forest homes. He was the most reasonable choice for actually catching up with her. Even if she might be fine, you weren’t so irresponsible as to not prepare for the worst.

“Figured you’d follow her,” Schafer said blankly.

“I’ve let her be plenty,” you said, watching Jorgen vanish into the flow out of the lounge, “She can take care of herself.”

“What’s with you two, anyways?” Hausen asked, leaning over the table you all stood around. The ashtray in its center was already festooned with cigarette butts like an ashen onion plant had sprouted in it. “Heard of people bringing their retinue in, but I’ve never heard of them finding them somewhere else while they’re out.”

That only prompted a shrug from you. “I suppose we’re just drawn to the biggest bonfire we can find. Complete coincidence.”

“Was talking with Jorgen the other night,” Hausen said idly. Malachi was silent- the disparaging comments towards him had ceased, but neither of your new crewmen spoke with him besides what was necessary, and the same was done from your driver to them. “He told me some of the things you’ve gotten up to with her.”

“Oh, Judge Above,” you pressed your face into your hand in anticipation.

“So you aren’t sleeping with her.”

“No. That would be utterly inappropriate for a noble to do with their retinue.” Schafer snorted loudly, and Hausen suppressed a snicker himself. Well, yes, many did, but that didn’t make it less improper, especially when one was married or engaged. “I think of her more as…a relative. A cousin.”

“Ah, so you’re definitely sleeping with her.”

You gave Hausen a look that you tried to fill with as much venom as you could, but he only smiled at you while your gunner unabashedly cackled at that comment.
“Misconceptions aside,” you tried to brush it all off like so much dust, “She is the adopted daughter of my uncle, Heller Von Tracht. I’m his nephew, and my direct family the last of our house, and her guardian was a man I…respect deeply. There’s no illicit romance. Isn’t that right, Mal?”

Your driver looked up and cocked his head like he hadn’t been listening, but you took it as an implication of agreement.

“I won’t discuss it further,” you concluded, “Don’t make those sort of jokes around her. She doesn’t find it funny.”

Not that it would prevent them, you were sure, but your stance had to be made clear before the whole platoon got in on it.

The names and teams being announced had little significance to you- much had to be ascertained from the descriptions the master of ceremonies gave, and the fighters’ own descriptions of themselves. Four teams were of the Twice-Damned, of course. Only natural that they’d make up a goodly portion of the lot, and there were sixteen teams in the tournament. The biggest name was one who claimed the nom-de-guerre of “Sundown,” given that name supposedly because of his actions in Vitelia. The sun being referred to likely the symbol of Revolutionaries- the dawn.

The others were either professional brawlers or independent fighters who were working for somebody- though they were mostly only local, save for one called the “Zeelander,” who purported to be from the southern continent- though that had been closed away by the Maelstroms since…you didn’t recall. Sometime during the split between Valsten and East Valsten. Most seemed to be betting on him, as he boasted of winning several tournaments down in the Southern Cities.

Another notable contestant was an unpleasant reminder- Nash the Night Beast had somehow wandered up here…in service of the Republic? Now he was here to “show who was boss.” The MC highlighted a disapproving cry that you could hear from the lounge. He was not popular- but you knew he was strong, and so probably was his second.

The final contestant was…an oddity. Completely unexpected, this team had beaten out the final sets in eliminations only minutes ago, and had decided to enter the tournament…”for the hell of it.” The man’s accent was unmistakably Reich. One of Loch’s men? No, wait- this was that man whose coffee had been ruined outside, one of Griffon Company. He’d been indecisive on a name- but settled on “Wolf Tamer,” laughing to himself like he’d made a joke. Nobody seemed to know what to think of him. Out of everybody, the odds were the lowest- and thus, the price of his tickets- and the margin of bets.

Once the betting opened, you didn’t join the rush to the bookkeepers- not yet, and plenty of others were holding back too, some having furtive conversations with others who had run in, but not to make bets- to share information.

Anya and Jorgen returned, the former quick to share her opinion.

“The big guy who says he’s from the south ain’t gonna win,” she said, “The house don’t like an obvious winner. Something’s gonna be up. I’m going for the wild card.”

“The Reich people?” you presumed, “You have money for it?”

“Enough,” Anya said defensively, “Plus, the guy with the scar’s pretty hot. I want to see him win.”

“Shaeda staeck wet Wulf Fukker,” Jorgen lamented, referring to an earlier cruder name proposal with…odd implications.

“If we bet for the same person,” you said warily, “Who wins our…other bet.”

“Whoever wins more,” Anya said, “So you better bet big, huh? Or go playin’ plenty of card games, but if you ain’t gonna watch the fights, and you ain’t drinkin’, why’re you here?” She held a glass in her hand- a dark, fizzy cola, but it undoubtedly had a shot of rum or something else in it too. Your retinue was very fond of carbonated drinks- mixing it with booze was an easy way to tempt her.

Betting, though…you opened your wallet, and the envelope you’d prepared before coming here. In both was a sum of two hundred and fifty strossmarks in bills, readily accepted here. This was equivalent to about five months of a normal enlisted soldier’s salary in the Archduchy- and still a significant amount in your hands. Moreover, it was the near the entirety of what you had on your person, presently, though it wasn’t any of your savings back in the banks of home, of course. Anya had…one hundred, more or less. More than you expected, but you also noticed that her money was not as uniform as yours, accumulated from different sources. Part of you wondered if she was borrowing from anybody.

>Put up your bets- how much are you putting up?
Also, for who to bet on-
>Sundown- Odds- 4-1 Winnings
>Zeelander- Odds- 3-1 Winnings
>Nash the Night Beast- Odds- 5-1 Winnings
>Wolf Tamer- Odds- 8-1 Winnings
Note that there are additional bets at the semifinals and finals-and tickets don’t necessarily have to be turned in for winnings or losses at the end, instead of, say, selling them to other people.

>>5021505
>Wolf Tamer- Odds- 8-1 Winnings
Trust the Jaeger on this one.
>Put up your bets- how much are you putting up?
100. So it is fair against Anya.

>>5021505
>Wolf Tamer- Odds- 8-1 Winnings
I get the feeling he's partnered with that big guy we saw fighting at the entragannhnce.

>>5021505
>Make a bet. Non-monetary. Something “Interesting.” Or refuse. Your choice.
Signy's gun, Anya can put it to better use than Richter can anyway.
>Put up your bets- how much are you putting up?
>Wolf Tamer- Odds- 8-1 Winnings
100 on Wolf Fucker, we can always bet a bit more on him in the next round if he wins, or put something on someone else next round for less payout if he gets KO'd.

>>5021505
>Wolf Tamer- Odds- 8-1 Winnings
Reinhold was never bad at fighting.
it won't happen but I've always wondered if two MCs meet would anons get to play both of them for action and reaction.

100 is fine we can always bet more and/or put 5 marks on the next most likely to win so we'd still win the bet against Anya.

>Anya Bet
I can't think of anything better but:
Either another night of drinking Vier-Sechs
or
the loser must answer one question from the winner completely truthfully. No evasion or omission.

>>5021505
>Wolf Tamer- Odds- 8-1 Winnings
100 marks

Sounds like we're putting 100 on the wolf fucker. No complaints here.

>>5021751
>the loser must answer one question from the winner completely truthfully. No evasion or omission.
I'll support this. Though it'd be more interesting to lose this bet than to win it.
And you never bet against Reinhold

>>5021527
>>5021549
>>5021623
>>5021751
>>5021920
>>5021961
100 on Donut Stuffer, all around.

>>5021623
Bet your Sig. Hey, those are really expensive, you know.

>>5021751
>>5022063
Bet a question and answer, completely true, with no evasion or ommission.
Or a night of Drunken Sechs.
Jokes aside I'd wonder what you'd want to ask.

Writing.

Anya put one hundred on “Wolf Tamer,” so naturally, you did the same. There was the fact that that particular character inspired unusual confidence- something just felt right about an unexpected contender breaking into a tournament. It was also the safest bet- a complete match, so even if you lost, she would too, though Anya made a disappointed curl of her lip when you told her after the fact.

“What?” you asked defensively, “One hundred marks is a lot of money, and it isn’t fair if I just bet more than you have, is it?”

“I’d figure something out,” Anya said defiantly, “Hey, if it’s a tie, I win, you got that?”

“You can’t just make up rules on the spot.”

“Sure I can. Hey, guys,” Anya cleared her throat at your crew, “We have a bet going here, and whoever wins more money wins. If I get a tie with Richter, I win, right?”

…Tragically, your crew, as well as the other men, lost any comradery with you when it came to reducing your advantage in this game. How unfair democracy could be. You evened the odds by putting five Strossmarks on…no, you wouldn’t support the man who threw you through a piano. How wasn’t he dead yet? Sundown got your bet. An edge obtained, you returned to your people just in time for the introductions to the first bouts to begin.

“So,” Anya asked as you were leaving, “What’s the other bet?”

“The winner gets to ask the loser a question. Anything. The loser has to answer it completely and truthfully, no evasion, no omission.”

Anya looked baffled. “Really? That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“Your loader was saying you were going to bet on whether you get to drink shots out of my belly button or through the tank’s dust filters.”

“Well, my loader is a liar,” you said with a grumble.

“What do you even want to know that I wouldn’t tell the truth on?” Anya wondered out loud, “…You’ve shared plenty anyways.”

You shrugged. Honestly, you didn’t really know yet.

>This is probably good to think about beforehand.

Four fights were going on in all the available arenas as you arrived. There’d be four rounds, to halve the number of teams fighting, then another- then, there’d be the semifinals, and then of course the finals, which would be taking place in the big center fight pit, which would be empty until then. The center pit was made different with the addition of a collection of obstacles, most of which looked purposefully flimsy. Surely so they could be smashed through or apart on purpose without being actual effective improvised weaponry.

The floor level audience places were all filled up- the only place with actual seats, gradually ascending with each row. After a certain point, each viewing area had the same structure, but no seats- everybody had to stand. This wasn’t to the advantage of, say, your short statured retinue. Good thing you could get to the edge, where she could sit on the fence and dangle her legs over the edge. Else you might have had to pick her up and hold her aloft so she could see.

“KILL ‘IM!” Anya shouted out to the bout you were watching, with a big, manic grin on her face, “FUCKIN’ BREAK HIS STUPID LOOKIN’ FACE!” Though she was very loud next to you, the crowd as a whole was so noisy that it was doubtful anybody in the arenas heard more than chaotic yelling that was either encouraging or disparaging depending on which of the teams was better liked.

Wolf Tamer wasn’t in this initial set, being the very last team of number sixteen, so there was little investment in who won yet. Immediately, you saw something that would affect this tournament, as one fighter managed to get the upper hand and knock down his opponent with a hook before setting himself upon the now lone member of the other team. With matches taking place right after the other, if one got too beaten up, there was a real possibility that even fighters evenly matched otherwise would not have a fight against one another as they might normally. If one team only won by a hair, their very next match against a less skilled but also less tired and hurt team might be lost anyways, though a short period of rest was allowed, where the fighters could also try and patch themselves up.

Not that it paid to get overconfident, as was shown when in the next bout, one team member was quickly dispatched, and the opposing team thought to toy with the remaining fighter, only for the frustrated man to charge faster than expected and brutalize what should have been an easy victory with a burst of furious energy. Anya got so excited by the turnabout that she nearly slipped off the railing, and you had to keep an arm around her waist the rest of the time.

…She wasn’t really gaining that much weight, but you were wiser than to mention her being a little squishier.

The Zeelander happened to fight in the next block- the third of four preliminaries. His bragging hadn’t been for nothing- his second basically stood back and delayed while he took apart one opponent, then the other, before posing triumphantly. Golden-tanned, square jawed and tall, he looked like the picture of a champion, but you noticed that his hair was bleached, from the color of his eyebrows- was thar significant? Perhaps not, but Anya was insisting that he was showing off too much.

Funny that she could think to call anybody such, but when she went back through the fight with you while waiting for the final bought, you had to admit- compared to the other fights, he hadn’t been taking it seriously. Especially compared to who was coming up next- many of the fighters went bare chested or merely had vests, but the team of the Wolf Tamer and his partner were both wearing uniform- Republic uniforms, to be specific, though there were notable differences that made them seem slightly off. The cap that Wolf Tamer wore, for example.

The team opposite the Wolf Tamer wasn’t taking him and his partner seriously. A common sentiment locally, you’d heard here and there- whilst in your experience the Republic troops were plenty brave, they hadn’t garnered the most fearsome reputation among the enemy, considering what else they had to contend with. The Republic troops were seen as ordinary at best- at worst, feeble and having to be propped up by their foreign allies.

So when the other team’s leader tried to make a show for the crowd, by letting his guard down and striding forward with his arms open, as though to ask, who are these people? Wolf Tamer hopped inside his guard and, in the same movement, leaned into a punch that knocked the other man right into the padded floor on his back, only an instant between him being vertical and then horizontal. The second member of the now prone man’s team quickly assumed a guard, but it was two on one, and Wolf Tamer’s partner simply went around and grappled the loner long enough for Wolf Tamer to send him sprawling with a set of forceful jabs, before returning to the first man now picking himself off the ground, only to be grappled himself and hurled in a throw that put him flat on his back again. One of the small amount of rules- you couldn’t hold somebody for too long, or strangle. The crowds found it boring.

The fight afterwards was a joke. Neither opponent had enough initiative now, and they’d taken bad hits. They were knocked down repeatedly, and the only thing that could be said in their favor was that they were stubborn, as despite their efforts they couldn’t even touch the Reich soldiers. That they were so good at fighting felt…unusual. In your experience, normal enlisted troops did not learn close quarters combat techniques like they’d demonstrated, with leg sweeps, wrestling and boxing moves and other such uses of one’s body as a weapon- they merely learned the bayonet. Even officers tended to fence rather than do something as brutish as bare knuckle brawling, and as far as you remembered, this was the case in most any place…

“What’re you thinkin’ about?” Anya asked.

“They’re better at fighting than I’d think,” you said, “Especially since Griffon Company is all tanks, isn’t it?”

“They have a bunch of Republic support, but all the foreign guys are tankers, yeah.”

“Hm.”

-----

“This is a completely inappropriate use of our time,” Major Roth-Vogel’s direct subordinate, Captain Covacs said with a sigh, “Reinforcements are supposed to arrive today and neither commanding officer will be there to oversee them.”

“Loosen up, Captain,” Roth-Vogel said back, flexing his knuckles outward. “You’re a Dhegyar, aren’t you? You’re supposed to like getting your hands dirty. Besides, I didn’t mean to join in. I just thought I’d watch for a bit.”

“Now you’re going to be beaten into the ground by a score of angry prize fighters,” Covacs complained, “and more importantly, so am I. We ought to stop here and pull out.”

“Oh, I never pull out.” The Major said with a dirty smirk. Covacs rolled his eyes. The comment wasn’t really true, of course. Mostly. “Speaking of, what if some pretty lady’s put their bet on me? They’d be awfully disappointed.”

“Good.” Thank goodness Covacs didn’t pursue that particular phrase towards a negative end- but he wasn’t much a horndog. “What do you have to prove here? Who is even watching?”

The Major’s smile faded. Logically, nobody. Yet…there could be somebody. Somebody who’s role was to watch, to only see, and from what was claimed, not to meet, or be discovered at all. Somebody who haunted his dreams, stalked his idle thoughts. Even with Eidan curled up in his arms in bed, his mind would wander like it did now…

“Might be that Gold Vengeance is watching. With his daughter.” The excuse didn’t come immediately to mind- Linda had gone here the day before and got her ass kicked, and probably wouldn’t be here. The Major had hesitated too long with his answer, and the Captain kept staring with an annoyed frown and tilt to his brow. “Look, we won’t get the shit beaten out of us if we just win, right? Same as anything. You can dip out if you want, I’ll do fine myself.”

Captain Covacs shook his head and stood up. “That won’t happen. Abandoning my superior officer would look bad.”

-----

When Wolf Tamer’s next fight came around, everybody knew better than to underestimate him- though people were still too confused about him to give him much support louder than your retinue, who threatened to do unseemly and violent things to him if he “lost her money.” He absolutely wouldn’t be able to hear her, but your retinue had to vent her stress somehow. A second rum and cola had gone down into her, and the intoxication was showing.

You hadn’t chosen to drink, but a pretty attendant had come up when you had both retired to the lounge after the first bouts for your break. Drinks were complimentary for “high rollers,” but you declined. For now. If you rolled high enough, you and Anya would be plenty drunk afterwards.

Jorgen and Malachi weren’t actually in the audience- you had no idea exactly where they were, but Hausen said that they had gone to a secondary fight ring where all the losers of the elimination rounds were having a sore tournament for themselves. If only those poor saps knew what they were in for, you thought, wondering if the bookkeepers would allow betting for that event as well, or if it had even been so “unofficially” arranged. Your radioman and gunner had both put some money on Nash- they didn’t know that the two of you had history. They didn’t need to know.

“Have you seen the sort of fighting style they’re doing?” you asked Schafer as the two teams squared off, once again serving as Anya’s anchor.

“Haven’t paid attention,” he said, “I’ll keep an eye on ‘em ‘ere.” There weren’t that many dedicated hand to hand martial arts that were kept up in these days of modern war fought with guns and bombs, especially not in the Archduchy. When the subject had come up with your crew, they said that the Panzergrenadier and the Sturmpioneer, especially the latter, preferred techniques that were rumored to be used by Intelligence Office spies, favoring quick and deadly or disabling actions that relied on the element of surprise, incredible initiative, or distraction, with any precursor being to throw an opponent off balance enough to make them vulnerable to a single telling strike. Not something suitable for the fights going on here, where killing the opponent or maiming them was one of the few things forbidden. They didn’t learn from a school- the units taught each other, and as new members filtered in they were taught when there was time.

You wondered if Heller Von Tracht had been a practitioner of whatever this was called, or if he was simply a very good street fighter and brawler.

This fight between Wolf Tamer’s team and a couple of Twice Damned, both in their uniforms, began inauspiciously. They circled, measured each other up- waited for one to make the first move. The initiative was taken by the Reich men- the fight was on.

>Roll 3 sets of 2d10 for the fight. A 1 or a 2 results in a bad hit taken, a 3 or 4 a light hit. 5-9 mean no damage, and a 10 is a knockout on an opponent without damage, ending the fight right off. If either fighter takes too many hits, the equivalent of 5 damage, a bad hit being 2 and a light being 1, then they won’t be able to fight further and have a penalty to the next round…if they manage to pull through.

Rolled 3, 10 = 13 (2d10)

>>5022664

Rolled 4, 10 = 14 (2d10)

>>5022664

>This is probably good to think about beforehand.
Why did she really leave the hogs, what about hells supposed bastard makes he unwilling to stay/return wholly?

Rolled 1, 2 = 3 (2d10)

>>5022664

>>5022684
Ugh... those first two 10s will mean my roll dosnt even happen right?

>>5022685
Pretty much.
Writing.

>>5022664
>This is probably good to think about beforehand.
Well that's easy, we ask her if she wanted us to do belly shots off of her.

Rolled 4, 7, 6, 7, 3, 4 = 31 (6d10)

The fight went as one might expect- though the other team was more cautious, the Reich men closed in with incredible, swift ferocity. Wolf Tamer’s second seemed strangely motivated- while Wolf Tamer himself seemed to focus on interference and distraction, paying for it by taking a few punches, his second darted about and put one opponent, then the other, on the ground with powerful blows. This fight turned out even shorter than the first- the crowd was gaining respect for this new team.

You gave your gunner a look and he shook his head. “Too quick,” he said, “They need a more even match.”

Well, judging from how the others were going, they’d get one. The stars had risen through the chaff, with varying success…

>Rolling d10s for the other teams- with the same rules for light or bad hits. First pair is Sundown, then Nash, then Zeelander.

>>5022697
Bellybuttons are temporary, Richter must drink the forbidden filter juice to see what powers it grants himtva2r

Most of the winners took little appreciable punishment for their wins- it might sting or be sore, but you doubted that they were seriously hurt. Surprisingly, though, the favorite, both in odds and popularity, took more hits than expected. Many ticket holders were murmuring to one another- suspecting the second of letting the popular fighter take abuse he shouldn’t have…

Then came the next match- the Zeelander against Sundown. It seemed an even fight to you- as even as it could be, between a star and a local big shot. The tanned man was broader and taller, but had the hits the Zeelander taken been enough to even the scales? Sundown looked relatively unscathed, cool, and confident by comparison.

The Zeelander took on Sundown first, and opened with a flurry of jabs, barely avoided by his smaller opponent. He seemed so strong that, even if he wasn’t using all his strength, anything that landed would hurt. As the two were busy with each other, Sundown’s second was easily taken down by the Zeelander’s second. Betting, you heard, was going wild. Everybody was certain that, if he got to the finals, the Zeelander would easily dominate, in spite of the doubt cast by the last rounds. Now it was two on one- many were rushing to buy their last second bets from unofficial bookies, or buying off of people selling Zeelander bets, to close on what seemed an easy win.

Not so.

The Zeelander’s second paced lazily towards Sundown and his opponent, seemed to contemplate something as the crowd roared for him to get in there already. Get in he did- but on Sundown’s side. The Zeelander took a completely unpredicted kick right in his side.

The man recoiled, mouth agape, and looked furiously to his flank. A distraction Sundown took in stride as he wound up a huge kick right to the side of his enemy’s head. It wasn’t enough to put the big man down, but the traitor’s second blow was.

The crowd went absolutely insane- fights broke out behind you, and the arena was filled with protest. What the hell was that? What’s going on? Such were common outcries, but Anya hardly seemed surprised at all. It wasn’t against the rules, after all- only one person could win this tournament.

Yet an even greater surprise was when Sundown was offered a hand in cooperation, and he refused- with a similar wound up flying kick to the traitor’s face, which knocked him out instantly, a spray of sweat and blood from a broken nose blowing upwards as Sundown coolly put his hands in his pockets and turned his back in a show of defiance before helping his downed teammate up.

“A show,” Schafer said, his keen eyes fixed on the match ahead instead of the brew up behind, where thugs were beating down protesting losers who had clearly made the wrong bet. “But for who?”

“Sundown, right?” you asked.

“Not necessarily,” your gunner answered, “Don’ gotta fix everybody t’ fix a bet. Depends on how hurt th’ other guy with Sundown is. Can’t tell yet.”

Good thing you didn’t bet on the Zeelander. Though you did have money on Sundown- only a little. His odds were going up now- you could probably sell your bets…or increase their odds. The tournament’s official bookies only allowed bet changing at the finals, to withdraw or multiply, but there were other unofficial bookies willing to sell bets themselves…

…Ones you were pretty sure Anya snuck off to when you weren’t looking. Dangerous- and she was keeping her mouth shut about how much she was committing, but you had no doubts that she would throw in all she could…

>Make any off-house bets? The payout for winning is halved, and losing means paying, but they’re much more flexible about when to take or change bets…
>You can also try to sell off bets you have at the last minute, if you anticipate disaster.

So it came down to the latter semifinal- Wolf Tamer against Nash the Night Beast. Wolf Tamer was a relatively tall and strong looking man- a much better match to Nash than you had been, but that Northern Lord looked no less nasty than he had when you’d met him- and he wore the same pelt he had back then too. Nash looked confident- he was used to winning his own fights, and his second was a weedy fellow who had spent the other matches being evasive and running off being a distraction rather than putting up a fight. Wolf Tamer was still hurting from the hits he had taken earlier, too- from what you heard being passed about, the audience had their doubts if the surprise contestant would come out on top here.

…It would be found out soon.

>As before, Roll 3 sets of 2d10 for the fight. There are a few differences- now, a 1,2 OR 3 results in a bad hit taken, and a 5-9 mean no damage. A 10 is still an instant knockout.

Rolled 6, 5 = 11 (2d10)

>>5022757
>Make any off-house bets? The payout for winning is halved, and losing means paying, but they’re much more flexible about when to take or change bets…
I say stay for now, we can put some extra money on Sundown or Wolf Tamer later. One of them should make the finals. I don't like Nash so he doesn't get a bet on principle.

Rolled 3, 6 = 9 (2d10)

>>5022757
>Make any off-house bets? The payout for winning is halved, and losing means paying, but they’re much more flexible about when to take or change bets…
another 100 on Roth

Rolled 2, 6 = 8 (2d10)

>>5022757

Gonna head out to work now, but to have it taken care of now- this is gonna extend another round. So give me another set of those 3 2d10s, same rules as before. I'll call bet change or any votes like that once I come back- though they'll need to be supported. If you don't support it, I'll count it as a vote against.

Rolled 3, 9 = 12 (2d10)

>>5022862

>>5022862
Have fun at work chief, also set up a Ko-Fi or something already

Rolled 6, 4, 6 = 16 (3d10)

>>5022862

>>5022697
lol definitely this. Richter has been falling down in the bantz department lately

Rolled 2, 5 = 7 (2d10)

>>5022890
lol wrong kind of roll, what a retard. Can we just shave the 6 off and call it a ten?

Rolled 8, 3, 5 = 16 (3d10)

>>5022862

Rolled 9, 6 = 15 (2d10)

>>5022862
I think I got it right this time.

Well however this gets parsed out, its not a complete rout, but its not that great either. We could sell the bets on our guy, they are probably the most expensive they will be at this point, and put the extra money Sundown.

>>5022862
Just came to me but shouldn't Richter recognise Covacs from that time we went to the Spout Market?
Also Reinhold should have gone with Owl Tamer instead, missed opportunity