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“The filth that has stained our land is condemned by the Lord above, and he has shown whom he favors! So stand resolute in these coming dark days, for the flesh cannot stand against the wrath of the divine! The Kaiser and his apes shall be driven back, the taste of victory turned to ashes in their mouth!”

“Ah, Herr General. How have you been?” A thin and ragged man sidled up next to the general during a particularly raucous applause. Beneath a dark and dusty overcoat shone the bronze badge of the Interior Intelligence Department. It shone nearly as brightly as the man’s tiny glasses in the yellow light of the lamp post.

“Well enough, Vice Commissioner,” the decorated man responded. He looked back out over the distant congregation sternly. “Is this your work?”

“Ah. No,” the Vice Commissioner looked to the side and adjusted his glasses, “Not entirely. I had my agents sow the information among them about the famine in the Grossreich, but the divine intervention is of the troops’ own invention.” He finished fiddling with his glasses and removed them, looking back up at the General with piercing blue eyes. “I fail to see what your concern is, however.”

“Resolute soldiers are a boon to an army, Vice Commissioner,” the General answered, “Zealots are not. A furious mob will be no more help than a fearful one in the days coming.”

“I disagree, General. In these uncertain days, even if their unity is behind hatred, they must rally behind a strong cause. The events of the past weeks have told us that the defense of their nation is not a worthy cause in the eyes of many of our countrymen.”

The general did not respond for a minute. The chaplain down in the penal camp finished a particularly foul condemnation of the Grossreich, and received a deluge of support from his audience.

“I hope for all of our sakes that you are wrong, Vice Commissioner.” He said, “Or else I fear what enemy they will find after the Reich.”

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Big ol’ Summary time

You are Lieutenant Richter Von Tracht, commander of a tank platoon under the armed forces of Strossvald. You were close to the border when the war against the Grossreich of Czeiss had started; to be truthful, you had only just arrived. However, in the confusion of the initial attack, you were able to scrounge together survivors and regain some control of the situation. You later learned that your formation, the 3rd Panzer regiment, as well as the local authorities, had agreed to turn against Strossvald and fight for the Grossreich. Dissatisfied with this turn of events, you led your platoon to the loyalist troops, a section that had been sent to assist the local forces but had become encircled as a result of the changes in loyalties.

Along the way, you met a noblewoman called Maddalyn, a daughter of the local nobility, the Von Blums. You agreed to escort her to the northern nation of Delschau in order to meet some contacts she had there. Infiltrating enemy territory, you managed to reach your destination, but were forced to turn back after meeting a famous Grossreich tanker, who had been sent there as an emissary. He warned you that Delschau would soon become a battleground, and advised you to leave as soon as possible. You did this, taking Maddalyn back with you before she could reach whoever she had planned to meet.

After stopping in the chaotic city of Blumsburgh to refuel and resupply, assisting local militia in retaking a military base that had been overrun by bandits in the wake of the Reich, you reunited with the 2nd Royal Guards division and participated in the Battle of Weissbrucke, a battle in which the 2nd Royal Guards division managed to capture or destroy a large concentration of Grossreich troops; the first victory for Strossvald in the war.

You had returned with their formation and were given a choice. Either you would join the 2nd Royal Guards division and continue to operate with them, or accept a promotion to lead a company in a penal division. You chose the former. You had immediately received your commission to the 2nd Royal Guards division; symbolized by a silver magnolia emblem to wear upon your breast. Such commissions required the personal approval of the Archduke; the generalmajor awarding you it must have had it prepared early. You were somewhat curious as to what he would have done had you taken the promotion instead.

You had been taking it somewhat easy these past couple of days. What time you hadn’t spent sleeping you had spent going to various briefings to ty and get a better idea of what had happened so far in the war. Maddalyn being who she was, tried to get you to come with her to be properly established in high society for whatever grand scheme she had for your career, but you had been to the courts in your youth and they weren’t the place for you.

You were, however, scheduled to meet your new platoon mechanic today. Your tanks had somehow carried on without emergency up until now, but they had given their last effort on the way back to the capital, where the 2nd Royal Guards division was reorganizing before setting out again to join the Siegfried Army in what was rumored to be a large scale counterattack. The entire division needed repairs and refitting, as well as replacements, hence the several day reprieve. Preparations were almost over now, though; you were set to thinking that you would never get a mechanic at all.

Maddalyn had pestered you once again this morning about acting the way one of your birth should be expected to, not that your noble line was anything but a name at this point. This time, you had a legitimate excuse to blow her off, though. She had insisted, however, on seeing the new mechanic too.

“You barely know your own crew, let alone your platoon.” She had said huffily, “I should at least know what they look like so I can remind you who they are.”

Maddalyn’s interaction with the local socialites and underground had at least kept her from killing herself trying to learn how to load efficiently. It had been bothersome to find her splayed out in the turret, exhausted and deeply sleeping due to relentless practice. She had the odd idea that if she worked hard enough it would circumvent months of actual military training. Her idea of being helpful, it seemed, was strictly rooted in the direct, as far as assisting you was concerned.

You checked your watch. Seven forty; in the aftermath of what had happened your crew had been sleeping in til nearly nine many days; a luxury granted to them by special exception. The mechanic would be there at about eight, however.

>”Alright, fine. Just let me get the crew up first.”

>”Let’s not waste any time then. We should get going.”

>”Alright, fine. Just let me get the crew up first.”

>>44267101
>”Alright, fine. Just let me get the crew up first.”

>>44267101
>”Let’s not waste any time then. We should get going.”

They deserve a rest.

>>get the crew up.

Time to get disciplined again, and they ahould hear what the mechanic has to say.

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Good God OP. Your writing is terrible.

>>44268294
Having such an empty life that you visit a boardgame thread on 4chan on a Saturday to troll quest threads

>>44268294
Appreciated, but I'd rather you specify why.
“Alright, fine,” you say, rising from your desk. Last night’s paperwork was still strewn about; various affirmations of things you reported, requested, or abstained from mentioning at all but were still sent back to you with love from the quartermasters. “Just let me get the crew up first.”

Being enlisted men, your crews’ quarters were apart from yours, if only by a short walk’s distance. Maddalyn took the initiative and ran over to the barracks before you had even exited your compound. This would normally be inadvisable, considering that Maddalyn was a small and slight woman, and of the sort of manner that would not do well in the company of a bunch of rowdy soldiers, but at this time your men would be the only ones in there and they were well acquainted with her presence.

A chorus of annoyed yelps begins as Maddalyn begins her wake up call. Before long, your crew stumbles out, half dressed with their jackets in hand, rubbing their eyes.

“It’s only half past seven, commander,” your radio operator, Hans, complains. He was a scrawny, angular man with a nasally voice and a penchant for bitching; supposedly a side effect from being well disciplined in indirect communications, as he liked to explain.

“Break’s over early,” you say, “the Reich won’t let you sleep in once we get moving. Now, we’re going to get acquainted with the mechanic that Battalion has been so kind as to finally provide. Wake up before we get there, at least, so we can learn how cruel we’ve been to our machine.”

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>>44268471

The only person who seems fully awake is your driver; a mystery man who you have only ever seen wearing kerchiefs and goggles and hats. The only thing you could discern him by was his disguised appearance and short stature; he was nearly as small as Maddalyn. Perhaps the only reason you thought he was awake was because he looked the same as you always had seen him.

A brisk walk is selected over public transportation; the delays are such that it would be faster to walk anyway. However, you are barely a quarter of the way when you hear a strange noise.

Something squeals beneath your Loader’s feet.

“Augh!” he suddenly looks down and falls backwards, “What the hell is this thing?! Ow, fucker!”

You look quickly down to his boot. Upon it is what appears to be an overgrown pit crab. Normally, they are only about the size of a hand and feed on small animals, lying concealed in a pit, upside down, and entrapping prey with their many clawed feet. This one is the size of a small dog, and has a death grip on your loader’s boot.

It is also chewing through the rubber and leather at an astonishing speed, its legs scrabbling over it and punching in where it can.

“Get this thing off of me!” your loader cries in despair. He reaches down for it but a sharp leg flashes and his hand comes away bloody. Your driver is fumbling around in his bag for something while Stein, your gunner, is swatting at the Pit Crab with his jacket, not having much effect.

>Get on the other end and try to pull it off

>Shoot it

>Kick it

>>44268496
>draw our gun, tell our loader to hold very still, and then just kick it and laugh.

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>>44268496
Shoot it, thing's dangerous.

>>44268496
>Kick it

>>44268496
This:
>>44268740
>>draw our gun, tell our loader to hold very still, and then just kick it and laugh.

“Hold still!” you shout, pulling your sidearm from its holster at your waist. You weren’t sure how resilient normal pit crabs were, let alone giant ones; they weren’t a sort of creature that lived here normally, but you were going to find out. Your loader looks up in fear as you click the safety to the side.

You weren’t going to shoot yet, naturally, but you did need the loader to try and hold still as you wound your foot up. You boot the pit crab like a Warball, expecting to see it soar down the street and scatter over the pavement. You were quite prepared for the comedic potential of such a terrifying event.

Instead, the force of the impact against its shell jerks your loader forward, and he shrieks as the crab’s attack on his limb becomes more ferocious. You swear and try to line up a shot, but your driver has already leapt forward. His thick gloves shielding him from a few of the creature’s defensive blows, he takes hold of the crab’s head and clenches down. The ugly crustacean squeals and releases your loader’s foot, the boot shredded but not leaking as much blood as you would expect from an attack like that.

The driver then draws a large knife and sinks it into the flesh between the thing’s head and plated body, twisting it until the crab stopped writhing.

“Are you alright?” you ask your loader.

“Yeah, it hurts but…I think all my toes are still there. Woah,” your loader pants, “thanks. What…what was that?”

“A Granite Valley Pit Crab,” you hear the first words you’ve ever heard from your driver. They are thick and heavily accented; he spoke like a man from the far north, in Naukland, where they still spoke Old Nauk instead of the Kaiser’s tongue. “Commander?” he addresses you, “We must speak. Away from here. Alone. As soon as possible. Is that acceptable?”

>it can come later, we need to go

>tell your crew to go along, you’ll be there soon

>>44269315
>tell your crew to go along, you’ll be there soon

>>44269315
>tell your crew to go along, you’ll be there soon

>>44269315
>>tell your crew to go along, you’ll be there soon

Sorry for the wait, this one's a bit long.
-
-
“Take…uh, him, to the doc.” You tell your crew, “The driver and I will be there soon.”

As your crew departs, you turn to your driver. “Alright, first things first. I can’t keep calling you ‘Driver’ if you’re going to start talking now. What is your name?”

“Malachi.”

“Malachi who?” you press.

“Only Malachi. Where I come from, we do not receive second names without merit.” He replies. Other than his heavy accent, he does not appear to have difficulty with your language. “I would prefer you continue to refer to me by my work.” He beckons you into an alley, and you follow.

As you step in, he removes his coverings. His appearance is of a man in his early thirties, his features only slightly weathered by the passage of time. His eyes are amber, and every part of his face is blocky and thick; even his eyebrows. The oddest thing was the hue of his hair; it was as green as a forest.

“Why is your hair dyed?” you find yourself blurting out. He stares at you, not responding. “…you can’t tell me that that’s real,” you try to laugh.

“It is not important.” He says, “Have you ever seen one of those creatures before?”

“A pit crab?” you say, “No. I’ve seen them in books, but I thought they were much smaller.”

“They are. Usually. That sort only comes from where I live, but they mostly lie dormant, deep underground. They can be coaxed up, however.”

“How?” you ask, as he pauses.

“You will not believe me, I think, but you must know nonetheless. There are tales where I come from, of powerful sorcerers-“

“Sorcerers?” you interrupt, “Malachi, please. You didn’t pull me aside to tell me a fairy tale, have you?”

Are we going full Valkyria Chronicles?

>>44269967
Yes.

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“Please listen.” He says irritably, “they are indeed mostly a folk tale, but strange things have been happening lately. Things that your people cannot notice, that they take for granted. These sorcerers have no common name, but they fracture their souls and seal them elsewhere. A soul is not a thing meant to be broken up, Richter. The knowledge of doing so is forbidden even among its practitioners. Or so the tales say. Sealing pieces of one’s soul gives them access to powers beyond most, however.”

You look through your driver. All of this sounded like bollocks. “What, are you going to tell me I’m a wizard?”

“No.” Malachi resumes, “Somebody we both know, however, is. Tell me, have you ever heard…that man, Bertram, have you ever heard him walking?”

Come to think of it, you haven’t. “No,” you admit, “he’s good. He’s incredibly quiet when he wants to be.”

“Among other things. I observed him closely, Richter. He does not walk. He floats. Not all the time, but when he thinks nobody is looking. He has also healed in a remarkable amount of time. He sustained serious wounds, yet he is now well enough to walk about. Did that not strike you as curious?”

It had not. You presumed that the wounds weren’t as serious as they looked, hence his rapid recovery.

“He is no different from either of us, physically. His healing is not from his body, but from his soul sorcery. The use of such eldritch powers wakes things deep within the earth, Richter.” He takes a short breath and stops for a minute. When you are about to ask something, he continues. “He is also not a soldier of Strossvald. I asked around, I looked at whatever records I could find. Bertram is not a member of the 2nd Royal Guards Division. He is down here for a reason that I cannot think of.”

“Then we can ask him about it.” You say simply.

“No!” he almost shouts, “No, that is not an option. Their art is not only forbidden, but forgotten. Even among my people, such things are only rumors on the wind. If he thought you were aware of what he was capable of, there is no telling what he could do to keep it secret.”

You sigh. “Fine. What do you want me to do then?”

“We are going out to battle soon again, yes? When the opportunity presents itself, we must kill him, then destroy the body. Soul binders do not stay dead if their body is intact. If we do not, there’s not telling what could wake up from him abusing his powers.”

>”That’s ridiculous. We cannot afford to kill such an effective soldier in this dire time even if what you said is true.”

>”We will see when the time comes. Until then, speak to nobody about this.”

>”Very well, but the crew must know of this as well. If they cannot know, you’re on your own.”

>”I refuse to pass judgment for deeds he has not done. I will confront him, and judge him only after I have heard his piece.”

>>44270137

>”I refuse to pass judgment for deeds he has not done. I will confront him, and judge him only after I have heard his piece.”

>>44270137
>>”I refuse to pass judgment for deeds he has not done. I will confront him, and judge him only after I have heard his piece.”

>>44270137
>”I refuse to pass judgment for deeds he has not done. I will confront him, and judge him only after I have heard his piece.”

“I’ll see for myself whether Bertram needs to be dealt with as you say.” You retort, “He’s done nothing but good things for us. Even if it’s supposed to be a secret, he won’t harm me.”

Malachi’s expression does not change. He merely begins reapplying his covers. Once he is finished, he looks back at you. “If that is what you think, I will not try to convince you further.”

“Wait,” you say as he begins to step out of the alley, “What about you? You aren’t still going to try and kill him, right?”

“I cannot defeat a soulbinder without help,” Malachi states flatly, “I am still a soldier of Strossvald, and I will continue to fight under you. Please keep in mind what I have told you, though. If you ever have a change of heart, then tell me.” He then turns and walks away, his hands in his pockets.

You reunite with all of your crew back at the medical office. Your loader’s injuries were dealt with using but a few plasters; the most serious casualty was his left boot. It only takes a few minutes to round up a replacement and head back towards your motor pool as planned.

You arrive to see one of the tanks already opened up. Concern grows as you see that it is your tank. A special prototype extracted from the bottom of the Von Blum mansion, even the company level mechanics were puzzled as to its exact workings; its engine was apparently laid out differently, among its other differences. Visually it was near identical to a typical Pz m/32 tank, but it had many subtle differences, not the least being its thicker armor and by extension stronger engine to carry the extra weight. In any case, it was one of a kind; certainly not the thing you’d want anybody you don’t trust mucking about with.

“Hey!” you shout, “Who’s in there?”

“Just a second!” you hear a female voice from around the other side of your tank. The clunking and jangling of a heavy tool hitting the center of a toolbox happens several times in succession, and then the stranger strides out into view.

She is a slim but toned woman, her pale blonde hair tied in a loose, short ponytail. The top half of her dark blue coveralls are wrapped around her waist, the taut grey sleeveless blouse beneath stained and pockmarked with various stains from oil and rust. Her features are sharp and vaguely familiar, and she smiles as she sees your group and waves.

“Hey, Stein!” she calls out, “Where’ve you been?”

“What?” Stein echoes, “Wait, what!? Elli, what are you doing here?”

The woman frowns and puts her hands on her hips. “Is there something wrong with me being your mechanic, dear brother? It’s not as if you’re working with a wrench anymore.”

Stein looked down and pursed his lips.

“Besides,” she adjusted her gloves, “I mostly worked on m/32s, and I apprenticed on Pz. Czs’s. As much as your reports stressed how strange the engine was, I can tell you right now that this thing’s engine is a bastard child between an m/32 and two Czs’s.”

“Er, yes.” You say, trying to cut her off before she says worse things about your tank, “Anyway. This is…uh,”

“Elizabeth Beck.”

“Yes.” You scratch the back of your head, “This is our new platoon mechanic. Listen to what she says and our tanks won’t misbehave.” Her eyes glimmer as you say this.

“Not that you will,” she croons, “Nobody ever listens to their mechanics. You just push your machines past the limit and complain when it does what it wasn’t designed to do.”

Your crew appears to be dreading something.

>”I’ll make sure the platoon listens.”

>”I’m sure you can handle it.”

>”If they don’t listen that’s on them.”

>>44271032
>>”I’m sure you can handle it.”
Better the machine than the men.

>>44271032
>”I’ll make sure the platoon listens.”

>>44271032
>”I’m sure you can handle it.”
>"Though feel free to make all the usual threats as long as operations aren't compromised."

“I’m sure you can handle it.” You reply. “Feel free to make the usual threats as long as it doesn’t get in the way of our operations.”

Elli frowns at you and jumps upwards to sit on your tank. “You lot are going to wear me out.”

“If you don’t like it, then go back to the shop.” Stein says back.

“Piss off, Stein.” Elli glances over. Her eyes lock on Maddalyn. “Who is that? Definitely not one of your boys, though she’s got the figure for it. This your weekend girlfriend, Stein?”

You can feel Maddalyn about to explode before you interrupt.

“She is Maddalyn Von Blum, she gave us the equipment you’re sitting on.”

She looks over Maddalyn again and then sighs. “So does she actually do anything? If not, I could use an assistant.”

“Certainly not.” Maddalyn objects near instantaneously.

Elli flashes a toothy grin at Maddalyn and chortles, “Why, princess? Too fancy to get your hands dirty? If you think you’re better than me you can piss off. Tank companies don’t need mascots.”

“That will be enough.” You say sternly. Elli’s grin disappears and she looks away. “Since we are all acquainted, I have business to attend to. All of you, leave our mechanic to her work. Otherwise, find something to do until noon. Dismissed.”

“Hey, Richter.” Hauptmann Otto greets you as you approach his office. He has a clutch of envelopes under his arm, and he hands you one. “Temporary overview,” he explains, “Sorry, I’m on the same sort of deal. We won’t know the exact plan til we’re in spitting distance of the Reich. Make sure you keep it to yourself anyway. We’re setting out to join up with the Crown Prince tonight, so pack your things.”

You accept it and bid him farewell. Otto had been recovering from his initial trauma well, and was growing into his new responsibilities. He had come to lean on you less over these past few days; something you weren’t sure whether to like or not. As soon as you walk into your office, you rip open the envelope and pull out the contents, tossing the torn casing to the floor. You are barely through the first introductory sentence before you realize Maddalyn is in the room.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, “Is there something you want?”

“What?” she seems distracted by something. “No, I’m just…hanging out.”

“In my office.”

“Yeah, can’t I do that?”

It was obvious that that wasn’t the actual reason but you weren’t going to explain the principles of staying out of an officer’s business to a person who thought they were above such things.

>”Are you actually jealous of the mechanic?”

>”I’m fine with it.”

>”Get out, I need to read this.”

>>44271648
>”I’m fine with it.”
"Just don't look over my shoulder while I read this."

>>44271648
>”I’m fine with it.”
>"But if you plan to vent or anything, wait until after I'm done reading this."

>>44271648
>>”I’m fine with it.”

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“I’m fine with it,” you say, turning back to the papers, “but if you plan to vent or anything, wait until I’m done with this. No looking over my shoulder, either.”

Maddalyn didn’t say anything in return, allowing you to look over the temporary briefing.

The paper didn’t touch on much that you didn’t know about already. The sparse nature of the Grossreich front lines, the participating armies, but not their constituent formations, the general area the offensive was going to take place in, and the fact that there was going to be a counteroffensive at all. The date seemed quite strict, however; judging from when the operation was supposed to begin, the fighting would start before the 2nd Royal Guards division even arrived, and they would take their place in the offensive next to the 1st Penal Division, between them and the 2nd. Judging from what you had heard of the Penal divisions, the disciplinary formations would smash against concentrations of the Reich while your division exploited weak points and struck their rear lines. You could tell from the terrain that the river was an important element in the coming battle; Siegfried Army’s concentrated forces would crush the Reich’s 5th scattered army and push their backs to the river, which was ill developed and had relatively few bridges. The destruction or severe bludgeoning of an army would allow Strossvald to gain the initiative, if not turn the tide of the war.

What puzzled you was the inclusion of the Plisseauan formation on the map. The Reich must have been incredibly confident to make war with so many nations at once, even if they were all much smaller than it.

>You had studied other Sosalian nations while in officer school could think more on Plisseau’s participation

>You had focused on the study of the Reich, and were more familiar with what they might do

>>44272120
>You had focused on the study of the Reich, and were more familiar with what they might do

>>44272120

>You had studied other Sosalian nations while in officer school could think more on Plisseau’s participation

>>44272120
>You had studied other Sosalian nations while in officer school could think more on Plisseau’s participation

>>44272120
>You had studied other Sosalian nations while in officer school could think more on Plisseau’s participation

I am so fucking late

Apologies for the wait, had a break for dinner.

I'll have the next bit out in about ten.

You had written a small thesis on the capabilities of Sosalian states other than Strossvald during your final terms in officer school, and remembered the fruits of your research well. While the Sosalian League supposedly promoted cooperation and unity between the nations of the southeast of the continent, the League’s nations still had plenty of disagreements and unofficial skirmishes and standoffs over rather petty matters. With the Grossreich at its flank, Strossvald was somewhat exempt from the usual politics of the region, but still had to deal with its neighbors in the past.

Plisseau’s armed forces were nothing special to speak of, individually. Their organization was bizarre, however; while Strossvald’s military formations were provided by the lords of the realm, the army was under the singular command of the Archduchy. Plisseau’s military structure was fragmented; each formation answered to a territorial representative. These territorial representatives bickered as much with each other as the Sosalian states as a whole; the summation of Plisseau’s military history had been making its neighbors angry and avoiding decisive battle whenever somebody became angry enough to settle the matter with force.

From what you hoped the Plisseauan formations were more a deterrent or distraction than a direct element in the offensive. Against a solid formation of the Reich, the troops of Plisseau would shatter. Dispersed as the Grossreich was, however, perhaps the northerners would be able to intimidate or lure the Reich away from the vital point of the counteroffensive. Either that, or hopefully a supreme commander would be assigned. It would be the first time that the young nation of Plisseau would have done so, but such a revolution would be necessary for their survival.

“Are you done yet?” Maddalyn calls, “I, er, want your opinion on something.”

“Opinion on what? Go ahead,, unless you’re about the complain about the mechanic.”

“Well actually,” she said unsteadily, “the thing the mechanic girl said. About needing an assistant. Do you think that would be…best? I’ve never touched a machine in my life, and I don’t feel like I could help back there. I’d…well, you know what I’d rather do. I’m not so sure anymore though.”

>Tell her to get over her bitch fight and work under your mechanic

>Tell her to continue as is

>Tell her that she should bring Bertram to discuss it

>Advise that she should stay in Strosstadt (bad idea to try)

>>44273325
>Tell her to continue as is
Do what you feel is best, if you think you'll be incompetent at mechanics keep things as they are. If you want to improve as a loader however mere practice is not enough, and at some point tires you without benefit, talk and learn from the other loaders.

>>44273325
>>Advise that she should stay in Strosstadt (bad idea to try)
"You are safe now. Why do you want to move back to the front?"

>>44273325
>Tell her to get over her bitch fight and work under your mechanic

Anything archived OP? I'm somewhat liking this, and would be a little sad if there wasn't somewhere I could read the whole story.

>>44274537
Now how did that name get there... that's not even one I use...

>>44273325
>Tell her to get over her bitch fight and work under your mechanic
"It'll also help build muscle for when I actually need you to load my tank

Gonna try and not let ties keep me down for as long next time.

>>44274537
Most are on suptg. Not all of them, but I mostly didn't upload threads I didn't like because they were too short.
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-
-
“Everybody around you would be incredibly relieved if you stopped trying to hurl yourself into combat.” You say dryly. “The grunt work’ll be better for you than giving the gun breech a workout every night. If you can’t get over your bad start with the mechanic, just treat it like another test.”

Her eyes half close, as if to say that wasn’t what she had wanted you to say, but she nods nonetheless.

“…I don’t think Elli’s opinion will improve the more you delay, Maddalyn.” You try to say gently. Maddalyn rises slowly and steps out of your office.

One crisis down. One left to take care of before the division heads out. You’re not sure where you’d be able to find Bertram; if he wasn’t a member of the 2nd Royal Guards and nobody tried to draft him into it, he’d be shoved into the penal division as a territorial from a traitorous region. Considering that you and your platoon were the only direct witness to his talent, this is entirely possible.

Alternatively, if he was actually some sort of magic man, why would he submit to an inquiry as he would have to in a clinic? He may be out and about the city, working towards whatever nefarious goal that Malachi suspected of him being up to. Men in uniforms got decent deals in the section of the city you and the division were residing in.

>Look in the penal camps

>Look in the city

>>44275759
>Look in the city
The camps are contained and we can check later. Someone like him doesn't get caught easily

>>44275759
>Look in the city

>>44275759
>Look in the city

You decided that Bertram would not be one to tolerate being put into a camp if he could help it. You look at your watch; there’s plenty of time before you meet with your platoon. You lock the door to your office and look up at the sky. The sun is completely drowned out by a thick layer of ashen stratus. Not the most pleasant weather for a walk, but perhaps appropriate weather for a detective talkie. Hopefully you wouldn’t step in a giant ambush predator that burrowed up from the depths of the earth or whatever.

How would a soul binder fight, you wondered. It had only taken a few minutes down the sidewalk for your train of thought to begin being derailed by possibilities that everything Malachi had said was true. You hadn’t bothered to ask him the questions that would help if Bertram was actually dangerous. The only thing you really knew was that he apparently couldn’t be killed in a normal fashion, and that he floated sometimes. Was he like a fantasy wizard that threw fireballs or lightning, or was he some sort of witch that put curses on you to kill you slowly or curse your family line until you kissed his descendant?

Such absurdities haunted your idle thoughts as you continued into the city. The city was decently crowded, no call for evacuation having been made as of yet. As convenient as it would have been to look at everybody’s feet and spot the flying man, you knew just enough about Bertram to know he wouldn’t make things that easy.

There was not much you honestly did know about Bertram. He was sneaky, suspicious, rather cocksure concerning own abilities to the point that he preferred to work completely alone. Where would he go, though?

Nobody drank during midday, you thought. A decent way to not be bothered. You popped your head in a few bars but found nothing of concern. You eventually decided that the best way to find Bertram would be to make it known that he was being sought. Despite his cold nature, he didn’t seem actively antisocial. You asked around for people who fit Bertram’s rather plain description. You at first thought it unfair to refer to him as shifty or by his other strange mannerisms, but there were terribly few ways to describe him in other ways.

An hour passed and you still had no luck. You were about to give up and head in the other direction when you noticed a dirty kerchief laying on the ground. There were people other than Bertram who wore black kerchiefs, but this one had blood from the day he was wounded. Why wouldn’t clean it, you thought briefly. Perhaps he had thrown it away because it was too dirty? All you could decipher for sure was that he had been here.

You did not have to think for long. A low voice came from behind you. “You wouldn’t mind giving that back, would you, Lieutenant?”

>”Are you a wizard?”

>”Sure. Where have you been these days?”

>”I’ve been looking for you. I have a few questions.”

>>44276508
>”Sure. Where have you been these days?”
"I've been meaning to talk to you."

>>44276508
>”Sure. Where have you been these days?”

“Sure,” you say, handing the grimy piece of black cloth to him. You couldn’t imagine him actually wearing it again in its current state. “Where have you been these days? I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

Bertram shrugs, stuffing the kerchief into his pocket. “You haven’t been about these past few days.” Strange that he knew that.

“I’ve been busy,” you hurriedly make up an excuse, “Anyway, I have a few questions...about…soul binding?”

Bertram looks at you blankly. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

>Press harder using evidence Malachi saw

>Try to coax it out of him slowly

>>44277406
Just be blunt and tell him that we have our suspicions, but don't care as long as he does not harm us or something. I'm really tired

>>44277406
>Try to coax it out of him slowly

>>44277695
This.

“Are you sure?” you try further, “You haven’t heard any stories, rumors, the like? People who can break up their souls and get magic powers?”

Bertram blinks twice at you. “You didn’t find me just to talk about fairy tales, did you?”

You stare into his eyes and repeat yourself. “I have a few questions about soul binders. Sorcerers, wizards, whatever you call yourselves. I don’t really care if you are one or not, I just want to make sure you aren’t as scary as I’ve heard you’re supposed to be. I hope you don’t mind me saying you’re scary enough as is, what with being some enigma that just appeared one day.”

Bertram’s lips curl for just a second, and he gestures to the side. “Off the street. In the alley. If you don’t really want to know, leave, because if you tell anybody-“

“I know,” you interrupt, “Forbidden forgotten fablooey. Trust me when I’m only talking this over with people who I know already know.”

You both go deep into the alley and around the corner, to the rear door of a closed building. Cobwebs line the door; it has not been used in some time.

“First of all, the secret handshake.” Bertram says quietly. “Hold out your hand.”

You do so dumbly. Bertram stares at your hand, and you suddenly feel a burning sensation, a flash of heat like touching an oven, but by a thousand tiny burning fingers touching and retracting. You stifle a cry of pain, recoiling, but when you look back you spot a strange translucent set of threads retreating from the back of your hand.

“You have been initiated.” Bertram says simply, “As long as you have that mark, all like I will see that you are a safe link. Don’t expect any to come, though. I know of very few, and have met none. It will, however, allow me to find you if need be.”

“How nice of you,” you creak, hand still stinging.

“You said you had questions,” Bertram prompts, “Do you want answers?”

>write in questions to a receptive magic man

>>44277974
"Why in the hell haven't you killed me yet? This seems like the kind of shit people wouldn't hesitate to off you about."

>>44277974
Ask him why he's in the military. He could make a killing with as a magician with actual magic powers.

>>44277974
Is there a magical dimension to the conflict? How can I help you? (Try to get him to volunteer information.) Should I worry about Grossreich wizards?

>>44277974
Is there any magical backings to this war, or it is solely a construct of the mundane man?

“Well,” you decide to get the most pressing of your concerns out of the way, “Why the hell haven’t you killed me yet? This seems like the sort of shit people wouldn’t hesitate to off you about.”

“Please, Lieutenant.” He answers coolly, “If I did not want you to know anything I would have continued to deny everything. As persistent as you are, you would have eventually given up. You are, however, the first to approach me with such accusations.”

“Oh.” You reply, relieved, “I had figured this would be a more touchy subject.”

“It is not knowledge you are meant to know, but I feel somewhat indebted to you for your actions.” Bertram affirmed, “We are scarce enough, however, that without our direct intervention we have done well in fading into legend.”

“Alright, sure, why is it forbidden, though?”

“That is something you are not yet to learn the exact nature of, if ever.” Bertram said lowly, “It is for a very good reason.”

“Alright then, next question. Why not exploit your powers? Seems like you could do a lot of good or bad with them.”

“Fascinating,” Bertram mused, “you guessed part of the reason why the art of Soulbinding is forbidden.”

“That doesn’t really answer my question.”

“I did not become a Soulbinder for personal gain, Lieutenant. I am a Silencer. My work is to rid the world of those who do use their forbidden might extravagantly, so that the catastrophe of the past will never occur again.”

You nervously scratch at the invisible itching in your hand. “Right. So I presume you’re out to, uh, ‘silence’ somebody. Somebody who isn’t me.”

“Knowledge of whispers on the wind is of no concern to the elders. I was sent down from the mountains to destroy a presence that has made no secret of hiding itself. If you were my target, you would have been dead the day we met.”

His last sentence sends shivers down your spine. “So how can I help then? Even though I’m guessing this isn’t a one sided deal for this information.”

“Correct,” he says, “Pick at the place I marked upon your hand, like you are plucking a string.” You do so, and the same translucent threads you saw before reappear and twinkle slightly. “That is a portion of your presence I have forcibly awoken and shaped into a sigil. When you reveal it as such, it is invisible to most, but bright as a blazing fire to any Soulbinder. With luck, my target will see it as well.”

Fantastic. You were bait. “So is the invasion some plot by your Soulbinders or whatever they are? Is the Kaiser your target? This guy isn’t secretly pulling the strings, is he?”

“Pulling the strings. How apt. No, this war is between men and countries, as far as I am aware. All who gain these powers are wanderers and drifters. No others are accepted by the old masters, and no others ever discover the old masters. There have been those who have tried, but they were found out quickly and destroyed.”

“One last thing,” you round off, “Are there any Reich soulbinders I should be concerned about?”

“I do not know if the offending binder is of the Reich, of Strossvald, or neither. His presence was merely detected in the area.”

“No, not him, or her, or whatever,” you stammer out, “I mean others.”

“There are no others that I know of. They would have to be quite deep in hiding for their presence to not have been felt. Use of our powers sends ripples of our presence into the world. To use our powers in ways that would matter reveals us to all others.”

“No others? Not even Silencers?”

“I am the only Silencer. As I said, Soulbinders are fading into legend. The art is forbidden and forgotten. If all is successful, I will be the last living soulbinder as time passes, until even I have dissolved into the dust of history.”

You weren’t sure whether that was good or bad. “Let’s hope you win, then.”

“I agree.” Bertram replied. “Remember. Speak this to nobody.”

As he creeps out of the space, you look at your watch. Eleven o’clock. An hour til formation, and that much closer to setting out to Messingplatz.

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Aaaand that’ll be the thread. If you come in late and have anything further, assume contact with Bertram is at will so you can feel free to ask anyway and get an answer at some point. Thank you all for being patient.

>>44278570
Tanks for the thread. I'm not sure how this magic angle is going to play out as we go, but it seems interesting enough.

There any reason WHY yhr magic is fading from the world, though? Surely it's not nearly as destructive as the wars going on currently, though caution is understandable.