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“They’ve been gone nearly a week. Are you gonna report this, m’am? We’ll get really screwed if this gets found out before we tell the guys up top.”

“They will come back. Else they would have taken their people, and Von Tracht would not have revealed his position by calling for his dear little Von Blum. Whatever explanation they have will be interesting, at least.”

“You’re hoping they’ll just…come on back?”

“Knowing is hardly equivalent to hoping.”

“I think you’re full of hot air, Major. It’s impossible to know what you were thinking letting them go after he went poof for two days without us knowing where he went. We were thinking we’d keep eyes on him all the time after, then you said no and this happens. I’m half thinking of reporting it myself. We ain’t gonna take your fall.”

“Have I ever pushed another off a plane so that I would not touch the ground? Do you know all of Willen’s thoughts? Then you need not know mine. The only trouble will be if they created any more loose ends. The Judge knows how much a pain the last failure to clean up years ago became. Yet the person who perpetrated it, on purpose, still rose to the top. Interesting how that works, is it not?”

“…So what’ll we do when they come back?”

“Leave that to me.”
>>
You are Richter Von Tracht.



You knew what you were, but you didn’t think they were titles you could claim. How had you even gotten them? Could you earn them once more?...Well, yes. You could. Of course you could. Was a Von Tracht to lie down and die as soon as they struck the bottom of a canyon? Though from the bottom of it, admittedly, the walls were dauntingly high, especially compared to where you’d tumbled from.

Was this worth it? To be out from the control you were under, but also to have lost so much? You hadn’t thought about it, with how difficult it was enough to get your basic faculties in order again. At the very least, it was over- and your request had been fulfilled. Here to see you was your little shortcake, your sweet little Maddalyn- and no sooner had she wandered in than had you stumbled over and swept her up in your arms. She was so small, so slender, and such a comforting person to hold again. To never let go. As much as you might have wanted to squeeze her until she burst, you were ever so careful to be gentle with her.

Maddalyn gasped with surprise, but after a moment, slowly returned your embrace, reaching her arms up below your shoulders. She tightened her hold on you, and over several minutes, pressed her cheek into your chest, neither of you saying a word. You wanted to ask so many questions, to propose your marriage, to ask her if she liked her gifts…but all you wanted to think of ultimately was just the feeling of her against you.

“…I was expecting you do grab my butt, or pick me up, or press me against the wall…”Maddalyn eventually said quietly, “But…what’s happened to you? I’ve never seen you like this...”

“…I’ve…changed…” you choked out hoarsely, “Maybe…for the better…” Hopefully. You didn’t know how much you wanted to reveal, or if you should. Thus far everybody you had been around knew what it was, or what it was like. Now…

“Richter, what do you mean?...Are you…are you crying?”

You couldn’t help it. It was humiliating, unmanly, but you didn’t care, and you didn’t bother trying to stop the tears from flowing, or your face from wrenching itself into a twisted coil. Everything you’d lost, you being able to see Maddalyn again, the constant feeling of awful dread and uncertainty, it had lit up inside and was burning itself out, and you didn’t have the strength to hold it back anymore. Where was your strength? Where was your valor? Saying you could get it back was easy, but talk was talk..! It wasn’t just for you, but for your ancestors, your family, you comrades, for Maddalyn- if she was in danger once more, would you be able to go forth as you had before? Could you-
>>
“Richter…” Maddalyn said, her grip on you falling lightly away, “You don’t have to stand up. Come here, let’s sit on the bed.” She walked you over, and pulled your arm down to signal you to sit first- not something you needed any more suggestion to do. She leaned over once you’d sat, traced her fingers over your face, your mouth, and then pushed herself forward and kissed you softly on your lips, only a short but slow touch before she brushed her nose against yours and sat beside you.

“I came here afraid, Richter,” Maddalyn said, her arm threaded in yours as you stared at your knees. “I was told you might be like this…that you might have been like this for days, by a few people who were here, helping look after you. When I asked if you’d be like that for long, they didn’t say…And now that I’ve seen you like…this, I’m even more afraid. You’ve been so strong for me, so resolute, always coming to my rescue at my lowest, that…you’re my champion, my fortress. I came to think that no matter how weak I was, how pathetic, how much I made mistakes that I couldn’t amend, in spite of your…many flaws, that I could always depend on you to stand tall and firm. But now…”

You didn’t like what Maddalyn was saying. You wanted to insist you were still that person- atop all else, there was now this creeping suspicion- that…you refused to try and suspect early. You said nothing. That fear was not something you needed attacking your mind with the other terrors everywhere but in front of your eyes.

“…But you’ve always been there for me when I was at my weakest, and my most afraid. I’m a coward, Richter. When I’m frightened, I want to run away, unless that I might lose something because I ran, that might be even scarier…Seeing you like this makes me want to run, but…you asked for me, you came and hugged me, so even with whatever’s happened to you…I won’t flee. Not when I need to be here for you, like you were for me when I needed you most.” Maddalyn tugged your shoulder, and you slumped over into her lap with no resistance. “Maybe back then, when we first met, I didn’t think I needed you. I just needed somebody. I…hope it’s not that way for you right now, but…”
>>
Maddalyn took off her gloves- and on one of her fingers was that pretty engagement ring you sent her what felt like so long ago. It was a little loose, but she had shoved it far down…perhaps to ensure it stayed on. You watched it as she rested the hand on her thigh by your face, while she stroked your hair with her other. “…You mustn’t be feeling very much like talking.’ Maddalyn said to herself, “…That’s okay…I’ll just…” She paused. “It snowed on my birthday. Your present got there the day after. I…well, I appreciated it, but I like the ring the best. It made me so, so happy to get an engagement ring, even if…you don’t really need to get one, but…um.”

She paused again, twirling a lock of your hair around her finger. “…I don’t like winter. I don’t like it when it gets cold. A little chill is okay, but when the wind is hard, the air is so dry and cold it feels like your skin is coming off, and you can feel it sinking into your bones…sorry. I wasn’t just talking about the weather, you know. I can feel you shaking, and I can tell, you’re scared…and what’s helped me best when I’ve been scared is just…not being alone, and telling people about what frightens me most.” Maddalyn stopped for a moment. “…Sorry, I guess that probably isn’t helping…er, here.”

Afterwards was a few minutes of more quiet, Maddalyn at a loss for words, and you unable to summon yours. Then Maddalyn pushed you back up, and suddenly felt you up between your legs. “Er…” she hummed, and straddled you on your lap, and pressed herself into you- you sat up against the wall, as Maddalyn kissed your neck and ground against your crotch. “Come on,” she murmured after a few minutes of that; it felt odd that it didn’t distract you nearly as much as it normally would have. “…there. I think that’s good enough.” She pushed you back, and undid your trousers, “Just…lie back and let m-me…w-well…” Maddalyn was stuttering and hesitating, and her hands shook- you didn’t understand. She took the bedsheet and pulled it over your lap, and then reached under the cover.

-----
>>
“…Does it…does it feel good, Richter?” Maddalyn asked meekly, looking away as her hand moved back and forth, beneath the bedsheet. Even though she was trying not to look at you or what she was doing, you could see that a flushed scarlet hue had spread over the whole of her face. “I um…I don’t really…know, y-you know…”

It didn’t. Not really. Maddalyn was doing her best, you supposed, but as she said, she had no clue what she was doing, which combined with her nervousness made it feel like…it wasn’t something you could put properly into words for how awkward it was. That you were still standing at attention down there was a mix of appreciation for her efforts…and that this was happening at all. The only thing she had taken off was her gloves, so...

“It’s…fine.” you said, leaning back against the wall and trying not to start drumming a melody with your fingers. At least it wasn’t the hand with the ring on it.

“Is it supposed to take this long?” Maddalyn quickened the pace of her clumsy strokes. “I j-just...you know, you don’t have to try and make me feel better, I’m doing this for you, not m-me…”

>Tell Maddalyn she’s doing her best, and that’s all you really care about. It’s the thought that counts. This…will take a while. Or she’ll get tired eventually.
>Tell her to try something else. You’re pretty sure if you let this keep going she’ll rip something by accident overdoing it.
>Say that she should stop. You appreciated it, but now wasn’t the time for this-not if this was going to be what it was like at least. She didn’t have to do anything but talk to you.
>Other?
Past Threads are collected here: https://pastebin.com/UagT0hnh
Twitter for announcements and various horseshit is @scheissfunker
>>
>>3811971
>Say that she should stop. You appreciated it, but now wasn’t the time for this-not if this was going to be what it was like at least. She didn’t have to do anything but talk to you.
So this is the outcome of letter-based lechery
>>
>>3811971
>>Say that she should stop. You appreciated it, but now wasn’t the time for this-not if this was going to be what it was like at least. She didn’t have to do anything but talk to you.
>>
>>3811971
>Other?
Take charge Von Tracht.
You know what she likes and making her feel good will work to make you feek less useless. At least you'd be able to make her happy right?
>>
>>3812135
Voting for this option.
>>
>>3812135
The wording here sounds intentionally vague!
>>
>>3812165
>The wording here sounds intentionally vague
I want to muster all the mental strength we have and molest the shit out of Maddie.
She deserves a good tongue lashing for her devotion and we need to build confidence.
Pleasing our lady is the best way to do it currently.
>>
>>3811971
Neo-Richter has yet to loose his first wise crack since the operation. Let's at least try and get a smile out of the pair of them. Voting for this >>3812135
>>
>>3811971
>>Other?
Tell her to spit on it a little
>>
>>3811971
>>Say that she should stop. You appreciated it, but now wasn’t the time for this-not if this was going to be what it was like at least. She didn’t have to do anything but talk to you.
>>
we lost all our combat skills, but dose that include command skill? if so will we ever be able to fight again?
>>
>>3811971
>>3812135
Yeah, this seems like the best option. Don't just sit there and let her fumble, take a more active role in the heavy petting. Since words aren't coming to us, use your actions to help out and return the favor.
>>
>>3812447
We have lost all our skill we use for manipulating weapons of war is how I saw it, along with a good portion of our book learnin’. I think we can still do a good job tank commanding though given we didn’t lose our tank school practical education, just the more facts and knowledge stuff.
>>
>>3811982
>>3811985
>>3812364
I never asked for this.

>>3812135
>>3812140
>>3812261
>>3812513
"I want to muster all the mental strength we have and molest the shit out of Maddie."

>>3812274
Spit on me.

It's time to gather power then. Writing.

>>3812447
That depends on how you define "command skill." Let's say this is still a new experience for you. Whether or not you're able to fight again is up to how long you last when it turns out you need to.
>>
You sat back, and said nothing. Though within, you thought…am I really this useless? Do I want to be? Of course not. Maybe you weren’t certain of your ability, or the future, or even of what you could do anymore, but the least you could do was make Maddalyn happy. That wasn’t happening if you were going to be like this.

>Roll up to 3 sets of 1d100 to psych up. Best of, beat 70.
>>
Rolled 32 (1d100)

>>3812653
>>
Rolled 21 (1d100)

>>3812653
>>
Rolled 88 (1d100)

>>3812653
Oh Judge guide my dice!
>>
>>3812676
Ahh. I had my laughinggirls.jpg ready.
>>
>>3812676
Ayyyyy, just saved our marriage.
Bless up.
>>
You took Maddalyn by her shoulders and turned about to push on top of her, the bedsheet wrapping around your waist.

“Richter? Wha-mmmfff…” You pushed your fiancée down and locked lips with Maddalyn like you should have from the start, and tugged on her lower lip as you parted, and did your best to banish the terrors in the dark with thoughts of what you were going to do to her. Words were failing you- but New Nauk wouldn’t convey this well enough, anyways.

Did Maddalyn have to wear a dress this long, you thought as you tugged up on it, prompting an “Ah!” from Maddalyn as you coiled your hand up around her waist from below and inverted her skirt- her stay up stockings squeezed her pale thighs, but they weren’t what you were going for. Below her dress bunched up at the waist, Maddalyn’s pale blue panties were in sight, with cute black frills on their edges.

Those were in the way as well.

“W-wait,” Maddalyn gasped as you tucked your fingers under her underwear to pull them aside, “I…” She took a breath, “I’ll…I’ll tell you what to do…okay? T-trust me, I uh, know what you should do…”

You looked into her frightened, lovely blue eye, and nodded, before you lifted her by her waist and dove in between her legs. Even a blind girl could apparently figure out shaving, you thought as you slipped her pesky undergarments to the side.

-----

It took a few minutes to get on track- corrections from Maddalyn in position and pace of certain actions, but eventually the H-higher…s and N-not so rough!s reduced in frequency, and when you pulled up to see why Maddalyn wasn’t talking, she was biting her sleeve, her face deep red as she panted heavily.

“Hhh…” she breathed, then looked back at you, “D-don’t stop…”

A few minutes more and you felt Maddalyn quiver, and her thighs tightened their grip around your head. She convulsed and made a muffled squeak into her sleeve, then lay still for a moment before she pushed your head away, gasping, her breath heavy and quick.

“I-I…” Maddalyn panted, her face still beet red and sweating, “…Thank you…that was …wait, don’t kiss me! She caught your face before you connected, “You numbskull!” She turned her head away with a cute little angry pout, “…I guess…I should do yours now, don’t I…” She touched your manhood, as it pressed through the bedsheet and did its best to tear its way through the thin cloth.

>No, you’re not finished with her yet, and she’s in a good position right now. While you had naught else on the mind- quickly now!
>Why do that when it was time to consummate? Though maybe you should take her clothes off first…
>Let her get up, then. An eye for an eye.
>Enough embarrassments for today. Maybe you should let cooler heads prevail.
>Other?
>>
>>3812741
>>No, you’re not finished with her yet, and she’s in a good position right now. While you had naught else on the mind- quickly now!
>>
>>3812741
>Let her get up, then. An eye for an eye.
And this time help her out to make you feel good like she just did for you instead of doing nothing you numbskull.
>>
>>3812741
>Let her get up, then. An eye for an eye.
That's a mean pun.
>>
>>3812741
>Even a blind girl could apparently figure out shaving
Unfortunately. Muffgang for life!
I guess no one is perfect, not even our...what did he call her? Little Shortcake? Yeah, that's the good stuff. Don't you guys love this emotional intimacy?
Anyway.
>No, you’re not finished with her yet, and she’s in a good position right now. While you had naught else on the mind- quickly now!
Get her in the EAR!
>>
Does Maddy shave, or is it natural?! Richter IS an unreliable narrator right now.
>>
>>3812796
Finally.
Someone willing to ask the real questions.
Again though, all possible options are inferior to what could have been
Muffgang! Bushgang!
>>
>>3812893
Sorry this quest is smoothgang.
>>
>>3812900
More like smoothbraingang
>>
>>3812921
Well Richter is a smoothbrain now.
>>
>>3812741
>Let her get up, then. An eye for an eye
>>
>>3812741
>>Let her get up, then. An eye for an eye.
>>
>>3812747
>>3812773
Take her with her clothes still on like some sort of animal.

>>3812759
>>3812770
>>3813311
>>3813356
Back to the scheduled programming.
Writing.
>>
You thought about it- her panties were pushed aside, and your time down between your legs had admittedly led to thoughts about finally taking Maddalyn’s virginity right then and there- but she didn’t ask for that. You stood up…and inadvertently let the sheet fall off your waist as Maddalyn sat up.

“Well…” Maddalyn looked away as she was eye level with your groin and what was poking out of your trousers, like she hadn’t been the one to take it out there, “Sit down, then. And pick up that sheet.”

You would have liked to watch her do it, but you did as asked anyways. Once you sat down again, Maddalyn pulled the sheet back over you, then took firm hold of you again, contemplating, before she asked, “…You’ve touched yourself, haven’t you?...Help me with this, so I can…you know…”

“…Spit on your hand,” you advised. It was rather odd actually telling somebody this.

“How much?”

You shrugged, and Maddalyn spat enough saliva up to render her hand a dripping mess- well, you shouldn’t complain. Once she’d gotten her hand in the right place again, you held her wrist, and guided her- slow, intimate. She gazed into your eyes rather than looking away this time, and every time she lost her nerve you’d tell her softly to look at you again- because it helped.
>>
Steadily, you had her go faster-then faster, and when Maddalyn got the idea to lean up and kiss you, you proceeded to ruin the sheets with a catch in your breath and a grunt, and Maddalyn didn’t stop her movements until you put your hand on her arm firmly, a few seconds after everything was spent and the twitching stopped.

Maddalyn parted herself from you, and took her hand from under the sheet- on her fingers and palm was as much a mess as the one you’d made out of sight in the covers. “Euugh,” Maddalyn grimaced, as she wiped her hand off on the bedsheet. It was promptly balled up and tossed into the corner for whatever poor soul had to handle laundry, while you put your own piece back where it belonged. “So er…” Maddalyn was still flushed, as she sat next you, “What now? I don’t…really know what I’m supposed to…”

“…Pillowtalk?” you suggested. You couldn’t quite explain it, but Maddalyn’s handwork had helped you clear your head somewhat. Maybe it helped you focus on more what was in the now- you already felt that familiar fear trying to claw its way back, but you could keep it at bay for at least a little longer.

“Well, I mean,” Maddalyn wrung her hands, “It’s not like we had sex. Not really.” You were both quiet for a moment longer. “I have a lot of questions, but…I don’t think it’s the right time for a lot of them. Except…why did you call me here? I’m glad to see you, but, I don’t think you called me here…well, just for this…Are you going to go back to where you went?” You nodded. “…Are you taking me with you?”

>Of course. So long as you don’t mind our child being conceived in another country, of course.
>I’m sorry. But no. I just wanted to see you, and certainly didn’t want to go back without at least a glimpse of you. I promise to write whenever I can.
>No. But we can stay here as long as you like. I’ll have to go back eventually, but I won’t do so without everything in order.
>Other?
>>
>>3813507
>>Of course. So long as you don’t mind our child being conceived in another country, of course.
>>
>>3813507
>No. But we can stay here as long as you like. I’ll have to go back eventually, but I won’t do so without everything in order.
>>
>>3813507
>>No. But we can stay here as long as you like. I’ll have to go back eventually, but I won’t do so without everything in order.
>>
>>3813507
>Of course. So long as you don’t mind our child being conceived in another country, of course.
>>
>>3813507
>No. But we can stay here as long as you like. I’ll have to go back eventually, but I won’t do so without everything in order.
No need to get her kidnapped in yet another country.
>>
>>3813507
>>No. But we can stay here as long as you like. I’ll have to go back eventually, but I won’t do so without everything in order.
>>
>>3813651
Also now may be a good time to ask about supernatural shit while she's here.
>>
>>3813512
>>3813581
Come with me and you'll see a world of ghosts and terrorism.

>>3813516
>>3813539
>>3813622
>>3813651
No, but I'm on extended vacation. Sort of. Maybe. Not really.

Writing.
>>
You thought of the future, for a moment. About what you would be getting back into- about what you’d have to be dealing with- all without what you once had, and a cold snap traveled down your spine. You felt yourself slipping, from the glow of contentedness. “…No.” It was still no place for Maddalyn. No place for a frail little woman, and certainly not another place you wanted to risk her being abducted. “But…we can stay here as…as long as you like. I’ll…” you paused, “I’ll have to go back. Eventually. But…everything’ll be in order.”

“How long is as long as I like?” Maddalyn immediately asked.

“…” You didn’t have an answer on the spot.

“…Richter, I know you can’t stay here for long. I’d like to pull you away for…for at least as long as you’ve been kept from me, but…I know that’s not possible.” Maddalyn thought for a minute, and wrapped her arms around you, leaning close. “…A day. That’s all I can demand. A day and a night…then I can’t keep you any longer. I can’t keep you selfishly to myself, even if…it’s all I can think of to keep you safe. To ensure nobody…nothing takes you away.”

“What do you have to be afraid of?” Maddalyn pushing against you helped to keep the eyes off you…or so it felt like, with the paths of your mind flowing more free as she cuddled you, “There is exactly one woman whom I’d bury myself between the legs of…unless your reactions were an act…”

Maddalyn squeezed you, “No, they weren’t…unless my hand still feels sticky from an act on your part…I’m sorry. I’m talking about such gloomy things after…after you made me feel so good, so desired, in a way I’ve never felt in my life. It’s just that…one time in my life, everyone important to me, and who I was important to, there was naught but us, and I felt they were all mine…until they weren’t. So…” Maddalyn sighed, then looked back up. “…Was…was the door open that whole time?”

…Oh. So it was.

-----
>>
You and Maddalyn were having…post fooling around…morning tea? Downstairs. After making sure that your antics hadn’t roused anyone. Alas, Von Metzeler’s door was closed, and an ear to it told of him snoring. He had seemed a bit tired at breakfast- lucky you. Either that or he was maintaining a polite illusion. You still hadn’t left the house, but Maddalyn had asked for a day and a night, and when you were with Maddalyn…well, priorities lined up. When you thought about what you’d do going back to Ellowie, you got the same crawl in your skin as usual- and you hoped that would at least become…manageable.

The tea provided here was a different sort from across the sea- most likely imported from Sosaldt’s southern city states that made their wealth from unrestricted ports that brought in goods of all sorts. It was a deep, dark and soulful tea that you actually were provided honey with- not that Signy was here. Signy was well aware that Maddalyn didn’t like her…and perhaps, when Maddalyn found out about what had happened to you...she most certainly wouldn’t be happy about that. If she found out. You hadn’t told her that she had been kidnapped by Strossvald’s own intelligence office…Judge Above, to think about that without the feeling of your mind clouding. Yet, would she have to hear about this? Or about Signy’s part in it? How many secrets were you comfortable keeping from the woman you were to marry? Especially now that the ring you had given her sparkled dimly at you…

“…This place, Todesfelsen,” Maddalyn said, looking at her tea and stirring it about with a spoon. The window was unshaded and out the glass the city peered through, but Maddalyn couldn’t see through any windows. “The last time I was here, I had been taken here against my will. I was imprisoned here, had my eye cut out, watched you dying in my arms…there are so, so many horrid memories here, but…my guards were telling me that this place didn’t look like it had the character it once had. The Republic has taken over its identity.” Maddalyn took a long drink of her tea, now no longer steaming, “…Perhaps we could walk around. You can tell me about it…about what’s happened. What’s been happening to you…how whatever happened to you now….mm.”

“…Alright.” You thought that acceptable. “Will your guards be with us?”

“They will be an acceptable distance away.” Maddalyn said. “…They are trustworthy. They have worked at the manor and in the city for nearly a decade. Some would say it is not good to be more loyal to Von Blum than it is to the Archduke, but the Archduke himself understands he would act as we do were he in our place. It is common sense.”
>>
“There certainly won’t be any objection from me…” you couldn’t help but be relieved, for once, that your safety wasn’t something you had to keep a close eye on. “…We’ll go out and eat when it’s…eleven thirty, then?”

“What time is it?” Maddalyn asked.

“…Eleven thirty two,” you muttered as you actually checked your watch. “Guzzle that down, then. Let’s mosey.”

-----

“This place,” you pointed to Maddalyn as you were walking about the city- a heavy Mittelsosalian military presence still patrolled the streets, but you faintly recognized a few kerchiefs and armbands among them with the colors of the former Death Heads- some lingering attachment to their former identity though they wore the brown of the Republic. “When we rolled in here to take the fort, we were going up this way, and our allies had taken an armory…only for it to be a trap. The explosion was so massive, it knocked down everything within a few blocks. You didn’t see how it was before…but that’s why this place is a park now, I’d suppose…”

“You’re much better than when I first saw you,” Maddalyn said cheerily, “I’m glad of that.”

“You have the magic touch.”

“Richter!” Maddalyn hissed, “Don’t talk about that out here…”

“Magic?”

“Not that, you know what you were talking about…” Maddalyn sulked.

The humor of your wisecrack faded. ”…I’m still afraid. The same way as I was back there,” you admitted, “but…I can…do this for you. This is easy enough.”

“Mm…” Maddalyn gave the ground a solemn glance. “…I’ve been trying to exercise more, so that I’m not so weak. It’s been hard giving it time between…another project.”

“Another…project?”

“I’m…researching something.”

“Something.”

“Yes.” Maddalyn was awfully reluctant to talk about whatever it was. “…It’s just a thing I’m curious about, not really…not really anything important.” She paused, as you walked hand in hand, “The scent I’m wearing…I don’t know if you noticed it, but it’s one of the ones you sent me…”

“Is it?” you asked, and you sniffed over the top of your fiancée’s head, “…Some sort of cinnamon?” You should have noticed it earlier, but...you were distracted, and it was a bit of a subtle smell anyways.

“Yes, it’s the one I liked best. Whenever apples are in some sort of treat, they’re usually with cinnamon, so…it was the one I liked best.”

“Are you saying you’re hungry for some sweets?” you teased Maddalyn as you ruffled her hair, and pulled back on it to see how her ponytail was developing, even if you lacked a band for it.
>>
“Maybe.” The little redhead sniffed. Her skin had become pale again, but the winter cold still made her cheeks rosy, and little flakes of the sparsely falling snow were sticking in her hair and on her little coat and scarf, as her breaths each came out as a cloud of mist. “…Perhaps you wouldn’t see it as well, but even though this place has been made a park…I can see a night sky of little dots…little specks of presence, floating about, where many perished violently. At the very least, I suppose, this is now a place of peace.”

You and Maddalyn found a bench to sit on, by a lamp post whose construction was obviously new. In the mere two months or so it had been since you left Todesfelsen a smoking ruin, not all of it was rebuilt, of course- but so much had been hastily constructed shoddy shanties regardless, that had likely sprung right back up again, even though this place had been cleared of the rubble. In its place, though you would call it a part, it was truly more a drill ground with the majority of the people about. Even though there were lounging citizens and the like, most were uniformed Republic soldiers, being marched or run around, or taking breaks from the like.

It reminded you of days you’d forgotten. Some distant, untouchable memory that you felt more in your legs and arms than in your past. You felt that you should have known…but you didn’t. The drills the men were doing with their rifles…you should have known, but there was nothing. Where…

Maddalyn hugged you, and you felt calmer again. It would come back. Even if you had to learn it all over again. Maybe you’d have the fortune to relearn it all faster than it had taken in the first place.

Optimism was a pleasant drug. Yet you were reminded- there was much you had to ask Maddalyn, and much to tell her…and perhaps much to not tell her at all…

>Tell Maddalyn about your conditioning- and that it had been broken. Just that it was. No more. It was probably a good thing.
>Tell Maddalyn everything- how you were abducted, how your conditioning being broken and turned you to your current state, what it was, and who had done it…for better or worse.
>Maddalyn doesn’t need to know about this. It would only upset her, and you would get better. Hell, you felt better being around her, didn’t you? Clearly you weren’t permanently crippled.
>Other?

Also-

>Anything you want to ask Maddalyn or do with her before you ship back?
>>
>>3813799
>>Tell Maddalyn everything- how you were abducted, how your conditioning being broken and turned you to your current state, what it was, and who had done it…for better or worse.
>>
>>3813814
Also maybe ask her to consider staying here for a while after we go, perhaps with Lord Wossehn? Just in case the IO tries to do anything funny if she goes back.
>>
>>3813799
>Tell Maddalyn everything, except about our abduction
No point in having her dislike Signy even more.
>>
>>3813799
>Tell Maddalyn everything- how you were abducted, how your conditioning being broken and turned you to your current state, what it was, and who had done it…for better or worse.
>>
>>3813799
>>Tell Maddalyn everything- how you were abducted, how your conditioning being broken and turned you to your current state, what it was, and who had done it…for better or worse.
>>
>>3813799
>Tell Maddalyn everything- how you were abducted, how your conditioning being broken and turned you to your current state, what it was, and who had done it…for better or worse.
Try our best not to drop it on her like a ton of bricks.
>>
>>3813799
>Tell Maddalyn everything- how you were abducted, how your conditioning being broken and turned you to your current state, what it was, and who had done it…for better or worse.

We are in this mess because of Signy, she can stay the hell away forever.
>>
>>3813799
Forgot to add
>Anything you want to ask Maddalyn or do with her before you ship back?
Has Richter's presence changed at all?
Tell her about Yva and the weird wizard village she was in.
Any uses for ghost eating trees?

Maybe if we are so shit at combat now Richter can become a wizard.
Also it's okay if these get answered later, big update coming already I bet.
>>
>>3813799
>>Tell Maddalyn everything- how you were abducted, how your conditioning being broken and turned you to your current state, what it was, and who had done it…for better or worse.
>>
>>3813814
>>3813885
>>3814125
>>3814187
>>3814196
>>3814388
Complete tell all.

>>3813873
Perhaps some restraint.

>>3813819
Suggest an extended stay with local celebrities.

>>3814206
Questions about weird shit.

Don't want to do anything in particular though, huh. Not fulfilling any promises made by mail? No? Fair enough.

Writing.
>>
>>3815097
...

I think everyone missed the 2nd vote. I know I did.

I'd vote to "Fulfill the letter promise" if you know what I mean if there is still time for it.
>>
>>3815097
Normally I'd say yes but I'm not sure Richter is up to full combat potential as it were.
>>
>>3815225
>I'm not sure Richter is up to full combat potential as it were
He literally gave up his entire ability to fight.
>>
>>3815317
I meant more the fact that we had to roll to see if he could get a boner.
>>
You thought to tell Maddalyn…everything. Not yet, though. It would be the last thing.

“Ellowie…” you started off, “It’s a place with a lot of strange spirit…stuff.”

Maddalyn nodded. “Mm. Even before the wars brought no shortage of death to the place, it’s been like that.”

“Has my…” you looked around to see if any of the sparse guests besides soldiers training their physical fitness were around, or if the latter were coming close, “…Presence changed?”

“Yes.” Maddalyn said without having to look at you, “I mean, it’s not like…you’re unrecognizable, but back then, when I thought about what was different…I can tell you still have that thing chewing on you, and it’s been twisted around by something else, too. Probably just how spiritually active it is.”

That was to be expected- but you were expecting another sort of change, based on a suspicion you had about the nature of your conditioning that had been broken. “Spiritually active might be an understatement. There are so many that it’s sort of…normal. Like they’re just animals that look very strange. There’s these huge serpentine things that trail across the sky-“

“Heavens Pilgrims,” Maddalyn said, “They rise from the ground, and wander around until they grow large enough from ambient Presence and whatever tiny things they absorb to rise higher and higher, until they journey to the peaks to disappear.”

“Why?” you asked reflexively.

“Nobody knows. They just do.”

“…There’s also another Soulbinder, for some reason.”

“You had best not be antagonizing them.” Your hesitation betrayed you to Maddalyn, who sharply added, “I knew you couldn’t resist. Judge Above, if somebody could put a leash on when you chose to be a stubborn fool.”

“They have done no direct harm to me,” you said defensively, “I am merely trying to keep them from manipulating a subordinate of mine. She calls herself Yva-”

“She?”

“Yes. Why, is it unusual for a Soulbinder to be a woman?” you asked. You were sure you’d seen one before, even.

“No, not really, just…hm.” Maddalyn motioned for you to continue. “I remember the Hermit said they weren’t supposed to come down from the mountains.”

“She also calls herself by a name, rather than an alias,” you said, “Unless Poltergeist is that creature’s actual name. I don’t know why she’s here, but a bit after she showed up, a village popped up out of nowhere. Like it had been there a while, and just came back into being. Does that sound like anything you’ve heard of?”

Maddalyn squinted at you, and shook her head. “That doesn’t sound like anything, but if you’re asking me…I’m sorry. Anything that would be a hint is just a fairy tale, and not really helpful to you.”

“Can I hear it?”
>>
Maddalyn looked down. “Well, when I say fairy tales, they’re still things you shouldn’t spout off to everybody, alright? Especially not Soulbinders. You see, there’s stories about places that fall from time, into a place outside of existence called the Navel. It’s where Poltergeist says he’s sending you when you have those dreams, if you remember.”

“So some bellybutton lint fell out of this imaginary place and landed in Ellowie?” you asked.

“Yes. Like how you…sort of, leave and come back. Except this place would have been gone longer, of course…theoretically. All I have are what I’ve read, and so much of that is myth, metaphor, philosophy…”

“I suppose there’s not much I can do besides look the other way then?”

“That is always the better option with these things.” Maddalyn mumbled to herself.

“There are also these trees in Ellowie. They’re….they’re…” what were they again?”

“Kalamarz.” Maddalyn answered for you.

“I think. They’re black fir trees. I didn’t think you were much a botanist.”

“I’m not, but it’s used for a lot of things, even besides sorcery stuff. Ink made from its charcoal, its sap, are decent replacements for blood in scribing spells, but they don’t work for things that require a certain potency…like Stitches.”

“Is it hard to come by?” you asked, “I could send you some.”

Maddalyn shook her head. “No, no, it isn’t.” She put her hand on yours, “If you send me too many presents you’ll spoil me anyways.”

You weren’t sure how it was possible to spoil a young woman who was part of a family that ruled a territory richer and more powerful than some small countries, but you weren’t going to debate a joke, especially from somebody who told them as infrequently as Maddalyn.

Yet now it was almost time for the thing you truly needed to talk about.

“…Even after I leave here,” you told Maddalyn, “Would you like to stay here longer? Perhaps with Lord Wossehn, over in Wossehnalia? Somebody I could trust to keep a close eye on you, and probably safer than here in Todesfelsen…”

“Huh?” Maddalyn blinked at you, then looked over to a pair of her guards a few dozen paces away, in their deep blue Strossvald uniform greatcoats. “Why, it seems safe enough here, especially with my guards here. Do you think that Mittelsosalia has something against me? Why?”

“No, not in Mittelsosalia, but…from Strossvald.” You admitted. Why did it feel so hard to say such things before, but now, it flowed like water? The conditioning…what were its full effects? “About how you found me, why I’m here…you see, I was in Ellowie doing my normal duties, and Signy Vang…the Minister of the People of this nation, you may have heard.”

“I know of her.” Maddalyn said sharply, icily. Apparently a couple of months hadn’t helped her opinion mellow.
>>
“I decided to surprise her and meet her to catch up…” Maddalyn’s hand tightened on yours. “Dearest, relax. I know what you taste like, I’d hope there’s no doubts in your mind. Her and I are just friends.”

“Hrrrgghhmm.” Maddalyn growled, but didn’t demand further justifications. You have her a reassuring peck before you explained more. A goofy little aside for what was to become a very heavy subject. Maybe a distraction you needed.

“She noticed something. While we were apart, I suppose, she learned of, or was told, of something I’d heard of before but discounted, didn’t want to believe. That I was under some sort of influence, some sort of mind control, I guess, and had been for a while. I didn’t know exactly what it was…and Signy wasn’t telling me anything. She even had me kidnapped, but eventually…we came to an understanding, and I allowed her to have a specialist…treat my conditioning. By breaking it. When I came to…ever since, I’ve felt afraid of…everything. Being. My second in command Von Metzeler had the same treatment done to him, and he’s here too- I don’t know how it’s affected him, but for my part…it’s like I’ve been being watched from everywhere, like I can’t do anything, like I can hardly even move when it’s at its worst...but it’s gotten better. Being around you, I can even forget it’s there.”

Maddalyn noticed your voice growing weaker as you went on, and seemed to interpret from what you were talking about, in spite of the confusion on her face, that it was a good time to put her arms around you again. It helped.

“When I broke free of it, I’ve felt that…I’ve forgotten so much. Things I should know, things I should know how to do…if you asked me how I fought, how I did things like when I came to this city, I wouldn’t be able to tell you, and that frightens me most of all. In every battle, I’ve been able to feel no fear…and now I can’t feel anything but it…thinking about what’s to come makes me feel like ice is spreading from within. But even if I’ve lost that…it also means that my conditioning is gone. Conditioning put there, I’m sure, by the Intelligence Office…who also orchestrated your kidnapping, my deployment to rescue you, who I’m operating under, and who has people I answer to back in Ellowie…people who could use that conditioning to force me to do actions against my will. So…that’s the long and short of it. I felt that this was something you had to know everything I knew about…”

“…I…” Maddalyn’s face was contorted in confusion, “It sounds like you’re speaking nonsense, but…I suppose we’ve experienced plenty that felt like nonsense…”
>>
After your initial explanation, Maddalyn asked you a variety of small questions, for things to be specified, made observations before you could clear them yourself. In the end, she admitted she was still very confused, but that at the very least she understood a little…even if she didn’t like the implications.

“And you said that Signy woman did this?” Maddalyn asked, about your operation.

“She was the one who arranged it, yes…”

Maddalyn bit her lip, and looked away, pausing. “…If I were in her place I wouldn’t have done it. Especially if I knew it could hurt you like this, but…I was blind, Richter. Now because of this organization, I only have one eye, halfway back to where I once was. Because of them, you were hurt, you could have been killed. Because of them, you could have been enslaved to them…and the only person you belong to is me.” She put a hand on your cheek, “…So I’ll forgive her. Just this time.”

“Who?”

“That stupid northern slag. Because she did the right thing.” Maddalyn took her hand away. “…But we can’t do anything more. This has to be it. You can’t fight the Intelligence Office, you can just make peace with them. That’s what I think you should do. When you go back…just finish being useful, so they can leave us in peace.” Maddalyn was saying that hopefully, but you knew as well as she surely did, that the motivation to simply leave you in peace might have been lacking…but you could at least not be a threat, as Maddalyn implied. “…I know it probably feels wrong to just go back to the way things are…” Maddalyn said softly, “But I want you to be safe. I want this to not be our last day together. It’s just another thing you can’t control…not for now, at least. So…thank you for telling me, but…we’ll just do our best to keep safe. Alright?”

“…But you do see why I wanted you to stay here for a while, didn’t you?” you asked Maddalyn.

“It’ll be like with soulbinders and their nonsense,” Maddalyn said, “If I stay here, they’ll know that I know something is up. If I go right back and act as though everything is fine, then it at least won’t be obvious. You understand that, yes? That you didn’t tell me a single thing about this? That I’m very concerned about the odd changes that have happened…but that I know you’ll be alright?”

“If that is what you think is best.”

“It is.” Maddalyn stood, and tugged on your hand. “Come along, I’m hungry. I don’t know if you found any good places to eat here while you were shooting it up, but…”

“…Actually,” you recalled something, “…I do know a place.” Hopefully it hadn’t been blown apart, abandoned, or burned down.

-----
>>
The day passed more quickly than you would have liked, as you walked Maddalyn all around the city you’d taken, to its cafes, to the great fort where she was once held prisoner (though you were barred from actually entering the thing). When you passed by the soldiers drilling again, you caught some of their speech- and observed that it sounded awfully familiar. Ellowian accents. Could it be..?

When the sun set and the lamps came on, the snow began to stick to the ground without melting, and after a light supper you had taken Maddalyn back to the place you were staying. There was even a portion of dinner where you had invited Maddalyn’s guards closer- they spoke of how Blumland looked in the winter, how the Winterbloom bushes gave splashes of color to the landscape…though the industrial sections made the snow sooty in places. You were well acquainted with sooty snow from Strosstadt, whose great factories were the industrial heartlands of the Archduchy. You also heard from them that the violence from your first visit had vanished utterly- and had been forgotten near as entirely. Where once there were gunfights in the forests and streets, there was now a hastily resume serene peace, as though the people wished to forget it all the sooner by pretending it never happened at all. Such was not the attitude of Von Blum’s patron military units, of course, those who lingered as well as the Panzer units that had journeyed south and made was against Valsten.

Fellow graduates of the academy who had been sent to the Blumlands, but captured and held by the militant imperialist insurgents called the Dawnseekers, had finally been placed back into proper service after being held for a time. They replenished well the losses taken in the war against Valsten, while still having enough left over to build a new Panzer company with reserves. Apparently rumors of your deeds had spread back to them- and their accounts of your time in the academy caused some surprise that you’d really done such things.

At this point, you were surprised you had been capable, too…

Von Metzeler had been staring into a teacup when you returned with Maddalyn, and he nodded to you, and gave Maddalyn a wordless greeting in a wave and a subtle bow. He looked as drawn and haunted as when you were with him earlier…but now, you thought he was worse off than you. When Maddalyn left…would you return to that? Or, since Von Metzeler was weathering the withdrawal better, would you be worse..?
>>
Maddalyn’s suitcase had been left in this common room, before she’d gone upstairs this morning, so you took it with you as Maddalyn led you upstairs to your room, and closed the door behind her.

“…Thank you for taking me out today,” she said steadily, “I…had fun. It was nice being with you again, after so long…” She hesitated, “But now that we’re back here, and it’s late…I’ve gotten a few of your letters. But um…this first one…the one that said you’d, er, make me go blind by…you know.”

“…Oh. That.” You swallowed hard. “That was…”

“I think I…told you my feelings on that before,” Maddalyn rung her hands together, “but…well…I mean…it’s just…” Maddalyn sighed and closed her eyes, “It’s not that…you know. I’m just scared. If it’s what you want…I can’t deny you. Not with what you’ve done for me, not with what you’re going through…not if I say I love you and mean it. But…” Maddalyn wrapped her hands around herself, “…I…just need to know…”

>Was earlier not that? I’m sorry if I frightened you…though you didn’t seem very scared back then.
>Keep your hands off Maddalyn. If she was scared…then this wasn’t how you wanted it to happen.
>Take Maddalyn. When, if not now? If this would be your last night together for a while, then it had best be one to remember.
>Other?
>>
>>3815804
>>Keep your hands off Maddalyn. If she was scared…then this wasn’t how you wanted it to happen.
>>
>>3815804
>>Keep your hands off Maddalyn. If she was scared…then this wasn’t how you wanted it to happen.

This isn't how it should happen with Richter's mind unplugged in the middle of this barren shithole. She shouldn't give it out of obligation, too much of this is already obligation.

I'm also still pretty sure he can't get a boner.
>>
>>3815804
>Keep your hands off Maddalyn. If she was scared…then this wasn’t how you wanted it to happen.
>>
>>3815804
This, pretty much >>3815881. Maddy deserves a better time and a place for her first and we're not exactly "fully functional" right this moment.
>>
>>3815804
>>Keep your hands off Maddalyn. If she was scared…then this wasn’t how you wanted it to happen.

>>3815881
>>3816117
Richter has no problem getting a boner since it's a passive action.
Doing anything with that boner, like taking initiative in the bedroom, is something else entirely but like with anything will get easier the more we try.
Not that we should at the moment. That letter was half a joke and it seems we all agree we don't want to pressure Maddalyn into anything anyway.
>>
>>3815881
>Can't get it up
...Did you already forget about the handjob a few updates ago? That's some short term memory.

I agree with the first but though
>>
>>3816360
I'm pretty sure she used magic which is cheating.
We will need to independently verify with different source material.
>>
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>>3816595
>>
yfw the "Something" Maddy has been working on turns out to be Boner Magic
>>
I won't be back for a bit still despite waking up late but-

>>3815881
>>3815887
>>3815826
>>3816117
>>3816293
>>3816360
If she's not a virgin her healing spells don't work, that's how it works, right?

Writing...later.

Also yes Richter's physical body is functioning as can be expected else I don't think the cleaners would have to deal with a bedsheet full of spooge.
>>
You saw Maddalyn standing there, afraid and timid, and couldn’t even think of doing anything to her. It would have been wrong- it was the wrong place, the wrong time…and you were the wrong person right now. You would keep your hands off of her- at least, in concern to that.

“No, I…that letter was mostly a joke.” Was it? Well, now it was.

“How much of it was?”

Oh. “Just the part where I said I was going to take you like some sort of savage.”

Maddalyn loosened somewhat, and stood there, thinking. “…If you’re certain…”

“Of course I am.”

“Then…” Maddalyn turned around and went to her suitcase to open it, “I’m going to change into my pajamas. Could you…could you leave the room for a moment?”

“Why?” You hadn’t seen Maddalyn in the nude, but you had been up close and very intimate with the one part of her that you didn’t know whether she resembled her mother.
“Richter, leave!” Maddalyn thrust a finger to the door, and you fled rather than be an ass.

Upon going back out, you noticed in the common room that Maddalyn’s guards had come in. Such was their right, you supposed. It would be very difficult to maintain Maddalyn’s safety if they weren’t even allowed in the same building, after all, no matter what you were planning to do to their charge.

When Maddalyn let you back in, she was in familiar pink pajamas, had taken off her silver hairband, and took you by hand to the bed and sat you down again, sitting on your lap afterwards. “There’s something I’ve missed for a long time…” she muttered, pulling her hair behind her ears, “…You haven’t forgotten, have you..?”

Oh. That was meant to be a prompt. You closed your lips around the edge of Maddalyn’s ear as she settled herself into a steadier position atop you.

“I think,” Maddalyn whispered midway through her ear massage, “I’m learning to like your tongue a lot. So many better uses for it than making smart remarks.”

“Such filthy implications,” you said before you blew in her ear softly, then put that appendage she spoke so fondly of into the inside of her ear.

You didn’t stop until Maddalyn told you to- and when you checked your watch it turned out that she had kept you “working” for…half an hour? She defensively mumbled that time had just slipped by…and that you weren’t going anywhere anyways. Well, that was true enough, you supposed.

A few minutes later, the lights were off, you were down to your sleepwear, and Maddalyn was sharing your bed. It was only made to accommodate one person, but Maddalyn was a tiny little lady, and she didn’t take up much space.
>>
“You’ve gotten much better from me being around, I think…” Maddalyn said from beside you, “I understand why. I feel…the same way when I’m close to you. To have somebody there, whether or not they can do anything, to just…share in being.” Maddalyn pushed further up and against you and rested her head on yours. “Your other friend there…Von Metzeler, was it? He went through the same thing you did. I wonder if…if he has someone like you do me.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Isn’t that sad? To be alone, to lack the warmth of another, to freeze in your own fear?” Maddalyn asked, and neither of you said anything for a moment. “…Hold me…” she said as she nuzzled up even closer to you, putting her hands around your and pushing her head into your breast. You wrapped your arms around her as well, and wondered as you fell asleep together, if she would really be alright with only one night together…

-----

Maddalyn was, as ever, a heavy sleeper, and was still far from consciousness when you woke up and let her go to get dressed, even though she squirmed as you wriggled out of her grip. The spare clothes that were piled on a table in the corner were your uniform, cleaned and pressed, your jacket, folded, as well as a few spare items. Mostly dark hued plain clothes- you expected a Republic uniform…but then, maybe you were wrong in your assuming of what Signy’s assumptions were- in spite of her not being subtle at all that she wouldn’t mind you returning to her services. You slipped on the plain clothes, and the Reich pilot’s jacket, before going down.

Maddalyn’s guards had been taking sleeping shifts, and while one of them snoozed in the corner, they had…morning tea ready. How refreshing it was to be with civilized folk again. Not much in the way of words was shared, as Von Metzeler came down the stairs shortly after you, and you both listened to the other guards talk about their thoughts of the city. A mix of expectations fulfilled, and those not.

A knock at the door, which you rose to answer, but one of the guards raised his hand and went instead. It was a gentleman in the uniform of what had to be an officer variant, judging by the difference of his cap, it having a stiff brim and peak rather than it being floppy like the new standard cap, as well as the patch on his sleeve.

“This is where uh…” the officer, a scuzzy looking man with a tattoo crawling up his neck, barely covered by his tunic’s collar, took a slip of paper from his pocket, “…Richter Von Tracht is, right? I’m here to ask him a question on headin’ back, since, figure that’s what he wants to do…maybe.”
>>
You hadn’t told anybody you were planning to leave today- you were planning on doing that soon, actually, but if things were already arranged… “I’m here,” you stepped forth to the door. “Who are you?”

“Lieutenant Brecken,” the man said, before remembering an overly stiff salute, “Border Affairs and Management division, general offices. Can I come in? Got things that maybe ought to be kept off the street. Your folks can hear, ‘spose.”

“…Sure,” you left for the table. “…we have tea on.”

“…Nah, I’m fine.” Brecken came over to the table, but with the two guards, you, and Von Metzeler at it, all the places were taken around it. “Anyways. You wanted to start heading back today, yeah?”

“…Coincidentally, yes.”

“Yeah. Cyclops figured you’d want to ship out right away.”

“I thought that she would be the one bringing this message.”

“She’s busy or somethin’.” Brecken said dismissively, “Anyways, we can’t just fly a little plane over and drop you off anyways. Netilland’s got a stinkeye on us and that won’t do, ‘specially since Cyclops made a few colorful public statements about what they’re doin’ in Ellowie. Heard tell you had to pop up like you’re doin’ it on yous own anyways. There’s a couple ways, we got, actually.” He reached into his messenger bag and handed you a few papers. “One is, there’s a delivery going to special people in Ellowie. On the down low. Basically, along with a few essentials, they can smuggle you and your guy there too. It’s cause we can’t go right up to Netilland or the border anyways- Netilland’s made deals with the Lords of the North and the people on their borders to keep us out, see. Plus…well, we can’t move on ‘em ‘til it’s time. Anyways, you get smuggled…might have to deal with some bullshit on the way, but it builds character.”

“Not ideal.” You said, looking at the paper detailing the allotted smugglers and their wares, as well as equipment- well armed for smugglers, certainly, but such would be expected in the lands of the Northern Lords, you supposed, where Old Sosaldt still reigned rather than the Republic. “What’s the other option?”

“Well, see, we want somebody local to that area to…hold a contract, hire out some mercenaries. Not like we can hire them to go up there and count on it being stable, after all.”
>>
“Uh huh. What mercenaries?” you asked.

“The Iron Hogs.”

The Iron Hogs…actually, you remembered them quite well. “…I see.”

“We’ve already bought a raid team, actually. Two tanks, crews. We want to get them situated up where you are, if you think that’ll help. They’re already bought and paid for- just need somebody to hold the contract. Unless you’ve got any, I dunno, trust issues. After all, they’re still mercs. They weren’t interested in charity, or the cause of freedom or whatever. If you go with them, you still gotta head the same way- but people aren’t likely to start shit with the Hogs without good cause, I’ll tell you what.”

“And those are my options?” you asked.

“Well, if you want the Republic’s help, sure. I guess you could just…walk back on your own. Or fly back with those guys, but…Cyclops was thinkin’ you might not want to go back that way for…reasons.”

>You supposed some time on the road with smugglers wasn’t a bad way of returning- and you’d be able to tie yourself closer with the NLF...
>Go with the Iron Hogs detachment. If they were intimidating, you…certainly didn’t think you could handle any fights right now. Or even the threat of one.
>You’ll figure something else out. Frankly, you’re keeping your affairs your own for this. (What do?)
>Go back to Strossvald. Safest, easiest…even if there would be…a lot of explaining to do. Maybe too much.
>Other?

Also-

>Absolute last call for anything you want to do here or with Maddy before you leave
>>
>>3818921
I guess the most important fact is, do the Iron Hogs know who we are? Or just that we're working for Signy? If they know Richter then this is just a big fucking trap for the current Iron Hogs boss to tie up familial ends to Heller Von Tracht.

If they don't then
Go with the Iron Hogs detachment. If they were intimidating, you…certainly didn’t think you could handle any fights right now. Or even the threat of one.

If they do know then go with the smugglers. I am very against anything involving Richter and fighting, since he can't now.
Ever.
Which is great.
>>
>>3818950
Ah shit.
>Absolute last call for anything you want to do here or with Maddy before you leave
A firm ass grabbing and an address where she can send us letters.
Maybe check in with Von Metzeler to make sure he's okay doing this. It's alright if he wants to go back to Strossvald.
>>
>>3818921
>>Go with the Iron Hogs detachment. If they were intimidating, you…certainly didn’t think you could handle any fights right now. Or even the threat of one.
>>
>>3818921
>Go with the Iron Hogs detachment. If they were intimidating, you…certainly didn’t think you could handle any fights right now. Or even the threat of one.

>Absolute last call for anything you want to do here or with Maddy before you leave
attack
Ask Wife about what she's been researching in regards to magic and see if there is any way to help.
Talk to wife about how things are going back at home, with her family and such.
Touch the shit out of Wife's ass, if she can sit us down and have us deep clean her ear with out tongue we should have a grab ass session just as long at least.
Ask if we can have her favor, a gift from her should do wonders to increase moral in future struggles.
Come up with some form of communication that might be faster than just sending normal letters.
Kiss the fuck out of her one last time.
>>
>>3818921
>Go with the Iron Hogs detachment. If they were intimidating, you…certainly didn’t think you could handle any fights right now. Or even the threat of one.

Plus this >>3819294 anon's last call suggestions
>>
ukyg babvmjgtcy

>>3819107
>>3819294
>>3819314
Hog squeezing, and etc.

>>3818957
Check on 2ic.

>>3818950
>I guess the most important fact is, do the Iron Hogs know who we are? Or just that we're working for Signy?
I think you can be basically certain that they know who you are.

Writing.
>>
>>3819314
+1.
>>
The sheets making up the contract details were looked over- though it was only a brief summary of capabilities, with references to other documents being made clear. If the amount of references and notes was any indication the actual contract terms were a doozy- but it had already been paid for, so no negotiation to be had there. Two tanks…m/28 1931 modification…whatever that was. One fuel transport, one ammunition transport, one mobile field workshop for sustained operations, costs for food and supply procurement to be added to contract…in short, all needed for a pair of tanks to operate reasonably independently, or so was assured. The team commander was one Lt. Karol Illger, with his second being Junior Lieutenant Frances Eakova, as well as the names of the crews and logistics component members- with their rates all included- noncombat personnel were paid a fair bit less.

There was some concern that, as you recollected what you knew of the Iron Hogs, that their mysterious leader, supposedly your relative but near certainly not, might see you as a threat to his reign. If that was the case, this might be a trap- but maybe you were being overly cautious. It wasn’t like you’d been any threat to the status quo beyond Todesfelsen last you were here.

“I’ll take this contract, then.” You decided. If the Iron Hogs could potentially move through Sosaldt without being forced to battle…the thought of fighting made you nervous, to say nothing of what you thought might happen if you were forced to make battle, especially at a small scale like being with a band of smugglers…no, for now, at least, you had to be safe.

“Great, just uh, sign here,” the officer called Brecken said, “Read over it all, ‘course, but really all there is to it is that they answer to you, because you’re holding their contract as far as bossing them around while Wossehn pays them. If you want the whole contract, I’ve got a copy. There’s certain things they won’t do and all.”

“I’ll have that then,” you said, and were promptly handed what felt like an entire book. “…Er, thanks. When do I go then?”

“As soon as you want. They’re waiting for you, basically.”

“…Sure, alright. I just want to send my wife off, first.” Technically Maddalyn wasn’t your wife yet- but it made you feel good to call her that.

“They’re waiting on the north end. You can borrow my bicycle, just don’t take it with you. It’s not actually mine.”

“Sure. Thanks.” You said, “…That’s all, I suppose.”

“Have a good trip, Kommandant.”

The officer saluted and walked off, leaving his bicycle propped by the door. One of the Von Blum guards took it inside, apparently not trusting the city folk- a fair assumption to make in this land, even with the new administration.
>>
Von Metzeler hadn’t been as inquisitive as you remembered- the whole exchange, you found out as you went all the way back in, he had been staring at his tea, though when he noticed you looking at him, he blinked and leaned back in his chair. “I am alright.”

“Are you sure?” you asked, “If you want to go back to Strossvald, then I would understand.”

Von Metzeler paused, then his face crunched into an annoyed scowl. “You were worse off…but a night ago. Don’t you…patronize me…” There seemed to be more he wanted to explain, but he also seemed wary of saying it around the Von Blum guards- even though one could assume on a certain level that they were the Von Blum’s servants, and not that of the Archduchy, let alone the Intelligence Office.
“Alright. I see.” You accepted that as Von Metzeler declaring he would be coming back, “I’m going to wake up Maddalyn. I’ll be back.” …Was there room on that bicycle for two? You’d see.

You went upstairs, and to Maddalyn, whose hair was splayed all over her face, with the sheets curled up tight around her, in your absence stealing all of the covers to cocoon herself in. Adorable as that was, you couldn’t wake her up if she was wrapped in her protective shell. You undid all that, rolled her onto her front, then…well, you were going to aggravate her with this anyways, so…best to go for broke. You tugged her pajama pants down to the tops of her thighs, so that her bottom was bared, her panties looking to be riding up a bit.

…Ah. Sinking your hands into those soft, yet springy cheeks was like returning home after a long journey. Such bliss, such softness, such a complex butt that had a different luxurious quality corresponding to how softly or firmly you groped it…

“Mmrgh. Mm?”

There was something you thought about while parted from your fiancée, that you just now remembered to do now that you had the opportunity. You wound your hand back and gave Maddalyn’s rear a hard spank. Whap!

“Agchk!” Maddalyn choked as she turned herself about, “Wh-what!? What the…really?” Even though Maddalyn had turned herself around, you reached under her and continued feeling her up. “Hey! What’s wrong with you?”

“It would be wrong not to,” you said plainly.

“…” Maddalyn sighed, “I was thinking that you might not do that. I guess I’m relieved…but it’s also annoying! Stop!” Maddalyn shoved you away, before pulling her pants back up over her waist, a glowering smolder on her face mixing with the drowsiness still in her eyes. “Hmph!”
>>
Then you pushed Maddalyn down on the bed and kissed her roughly on the lips. As grumpy as she might have wanted to act…she relented after a few seconds and returned your kiss gently, then fiercely, hooking her arms around your neck and pulling herself into you. She was picked up afterwards, held tight, before you lay down with her on top of you…so you could molest her butt again. It was a fair trade for being drooled on, as Maddalyn’s spit began to slip down your lips and chin almost immediately when you reversed positions. It was also more than a fair trade considering last night’s ear cleaning.

As you brushed your fingers lightly over the peak of Maddalyn’s round bottom and rested your palm atop it, Maddalyn finally wrest herself from you, a line of saliva connecting you and a dreamy look on her face. “Okay…that’s enough,” she said lightly, “Or else we’ll never leave here…get your hand off my butt unless you’re dragging me north.”

“Your guards would object to that, I think.” You pointed down, “They and Von Metzeler are downstairs. We’ve got more hot water going if you want to go downstairs and get tea.”

Maddalyn nodded. “I would like some…but could you bring it up here? I’d like to…well, just be with you, right now.”

“Alright.” You went down and got teacups and saucers for them- they were plain, but considering where you were it might have been something to have them. You remembered Maddalyn had a sweet tooth- and accommodated appropriately before going back up. “So since you’re going home,” you asked as you passed Maddalyn her tea, still sitting on the bed in her pink pajamas. “How have things been going there? How’s the family?”

Maddalyn’s look went dark, then downcast, and she put her tea down on the desk by the bed and held her hands together in her lap. “They’ve been…the usual. My half siblings don’t have anything to do with me, like usual. They were raised by relatives, anyways…since my father’s last wife died so long ago. My younger sister is…hateful. She tried to seize the package with my birthday presents in it…and…well it wasn’t pleasant.”

“How awful of her,” you scowled. “Why does she dislike you so much, anyways?”

Maddalyn paused, then swallowed hard. “Er…well…see…I…she’s jealous that the Hermit chose me. I think. I don’t know.” She didn’t know? Maddalyn quickly moved away from that. “My father is my father as usual. So…I don’t mind leaving home for a little.”

“You have your experiments to get back to, at least,” you tried to not make it such a morose subject. “What have you been working on? You can say it up here, we’re alone now. Is there any way I can help?”
>>
“…” Maddalyn squeezed her hands together, and her mouth set. “…It’s, well…something…about…the effects of presence on bodies. I figure, since you keep running into Soulbinders, and ever since what happened to that Hilda woman, I should maybe find out more about what effects it has. And…I don’t think there’s anything you can do to help it, don’t worry about it. I have it all under control.”
She seemed so hesitant about it. Why? “Are you sure? Tell me more about it, maybe I can think of something.”

“I’d rather not talk about it.” Maddalyn said, quiet and oddly firm.

…Oh. “…I want to ask you for something as well,” you said, “Instead of leaving without a photo, or a silhouette, or anything at all- can I ask you for your favor?”

“A favor?”

Your favor.”

Maddalyn blinked at you. “…Oh. But that’s archaic, I thought they stopped doing that since…I don’t know, since knights in armor stopped running about having tournaments.”

“I always dreamed of being a knight in armor as a boy,” you reminisced openly.

“…Very well.” Maddalyn said, and put a finger on her chin and thought. She seemed to think…and grow sadder. “…You’re supposed to make them yourself, but…I don’t know how to knit, or…anything, really.” Maddalyn’s face fell, but then she seemed to get an idea, and moved to her suitcase to pull out the scarf she had worn when she first appeared. “This…was my mother’s. She gave it to me a very long time ago…” She held out the light blue scarf for you. “…It’s very important to me. I trust…that you’ll bring it back safely.”

“Won’t your neck get cold?” you asked, “I will take it, though. My thanks.”

“I’ll be fine. And I want to protect your neck from anybody doing this…” Maddalyn sat on your lap again, and kissed you long and deep on the sensitive part of your neck, by the edge of your jaw. “Hmhm!” she tittered a light giggle, “See, that’s your weak spot, isn’t it? It wouldn’t do for it to be out where somebody could get it.”

“I’ll…er, keep it well guarded, then.” You wrapped Maddalyn’s scarf around your neck and tightened it. “Is it really all right, though?”

“Yes.”

“Alright.” You paused. “…Ah. I haven’t been able to get any letters from you, but…I believe I have a place you can send them to where I can get them.” You might have even been kept so out of contact on purpose, but no longer. “If you send them to…where’s a pencil and paper.” You found one, and wrote down the address for the Kamienisty mail office- where mail for normal troops came anyways. “Here. If you have this sent there, or have a servant deliver it, I’ll be able to get it. Don’t wait too long, will you?”
>>
“Of course.” Maddalyn fell quiet again. “…I suppose…you’ll be leaving soon…I had my day and night, and I won’t demand any longer…”

“You can have a few minutes more to send me off.”

Maddalyn didn’t get dressed, but instead stood just outside the house as you led Von Metzeler outside and stood him by the bicycle, before lifting up Maddalyn in a hug, and kissing her on the lips one last time, bidding her farewell, and for her guards to keep a close watch on her. Maddalyn was trying not to cry, you knew, but you could see them welling up in her eyes as you put her down again.

“Next we meet,” you said to her, “I won’t be waiting long to see you in white.” Maddalyn nodded, and with a wave you got on your transportation, and bit Von Metzeler to board as well.

What a sight you and Von Metzeler must have been as you tried to share that bicycle, teetering on the cobblestone the whole way.
-----
It crept up on you like a shadow in night. The further you went, the further you got from Maddalyn…the less you trusted your ears. Your eyes. Your balance.
The bicycle careened into a little merchant wagon on the side of the road.

“Hey!” the merchant cried as his things flew all over the street, “Watch where you’re going, you pissant! Damn it all…”

Why? It was all uncertain again…you couldn’t even muster an apology before Von Metzeler helped you to your feet and you shuffled off again, merely walking the bicycle now. At least Von Metzeler was here, you said in your head, to try and steady yourself. He could be trusted. You could trust one another, even if the world was so frightening. How could you have thought to send him away? What would have even happened if you were on your own..?

The north end. All you had to do was walk north. Don’t mind the passersby. Don’t mind the soldiers. Even if they all had your eyes on you. Even if you were defenseless. Even…

You had pulled into your scarf to hide your face, but…it was inundated with the scent Maddalyn had been wearing. That gentle cinnamon smell took you back…and it was like she was by you. You could forget for a moment about the eyes upon you…the sounds you couldn’t hear but knew were there, the feeling of thinking you should know things, but not knowing. You found a little glowing candle in the oppressive, consuming darkness.

-----
>>
You knew the one of the people standing by the tanks and trucks. That…made them easier to approach, even if your posture was still hunched and guarded, and your eyes darted from place to place.

“Wow, look at that scarf, what a queer.” One of the mercenaries said loudly. You couldn’t raise an objection.

“…Hey, I know you,” the man you recognized kept his hands in his pockets and turned to you. “You’re the Kommandant, Richter Von Tracht. Hell’s nephew. Man, you’re back here?” The long haired man with a knife edged nose held out a hand, “Remember me? Lieutenant Illger? The Phoenix?”

“The cockroach, you mean!” a rude sounding feminine voice shouted from in front of the tanks.

“Whatever.”

You didn’t take Illger’s hand, and instead thrust out the paper you’d signed, wordlessly.

“Huh?” Illger took the paper. “Oh. Huh. Out of all the people, you’re the contract holder?” He turned back to the crews, “Hey, which one of you called the contract holder a queer just now? Nobody, huh?” Illger blew a dismissive psshh, and tucked the paper into his jacket. “Alright then. So. I suppose you already know the deal then?”

The deal? Oh. “…Yes. You’re…going north, and taking…taking us to Ellowie. Where we’ll…employ you…”

“What in the hell?” the female voice’s owner went around the tank, “Is he retarded or something?” She was a scruffy looking woman with deep, auburn hair that splayed out behind her head from under a bandanna with a lightning bolt pattern running along its edge, with splotches of pale discoloration on her neck and half of her face.

“No, he’s not!” Illger yelled back, “…Why are you talking like that? Didn’t get your coffee?”

>No. You didn’t. Of course. Could he spare some? You’d appreciate it.
>Admit that you’re messed up, even if you can’t explain the extent. You’ll have to request some patience.
>It’s none of his business. Get in one of the trucks- the less you had to deal with anybody the better.
>Maybe you could think of something to pull yourself together and communicate better…(How, and what to say?)
>Other?
>>
>>3821695
>Admit that you’re messed up, even if you can’t explain the extent. You’ll have to request some patience.
>>
>>3821695
>>Admit that you’re messed up, even if you can’t explain the extent. You’ll have to request some patience.
>>
>>3821695
COFFEE IS THE DEVILS SQUIRT JUICE AND WE SHALL NOT SUFFER IT.

>Admit that you’re messed up, even if you can’t explain the extent. You’ll have to request some patience.
Insinuate we're strung out on drugs, we've found a nice new expensive habit after all this winning we keep doing.
>>
>>3821695
>Admit that you’re messed up, even if you can’t explain the extent. You’ll have to request some patience.
Holy crap, Richter's got it bad. Was he like this before the brainwashing, or is it a rebound effect?
I think we need to try and sleep without Blackflower for a while. Maybe Poltergeist will magically help us.
Or maybe he'll just mock us.
>>
>>3821695
>>Maybe you could think of something to pull yourself together and communicate better…(How, and what to say?)
We might not remember how to fight, but we at least remember when we fought here, yeah? Even if we don't feel like the same person anymore, we can still remember how we spoke with Illger in the past, and what we were like when we were the Kommandant, marching across the plains with the Republic's armored forces at our back. All we have to do is rely on our memory and imitate the way we acted and spoke back then, even if it feels completely fake. Like imitating the persona of an action hero in a movie. We were living this role just a year ago, so even if it's now just a character we have to play, we already know all the lines.
>>
>>3821695
>>Admit that you’re messed up, even if you can’t explain the extent. You’ll have to request some patience.
Could say we have shell shock or something.
>>
>>3821695
>Admit that you’re messed up, even if you can’t explain the extent. You’ll have to request some patience.
We need to go back. I can't take seeing our boy like this!
>>
It is a morning.

>>3821698
>>3821772
>>3821790
>>3821794
>>3822081
Do I look okay to you?

>>3821792
Getting a sense of deja vu.

Writing.
>>
“I…err…” you looked to your flanks, trying to think… “I…I’m messed up. Please be patient, I…I’ve developed…a drug habit…to deal with some…things.”

“Great, the contract holder’s a strung out junkie retard,” one of the crews said, to a few half concerned guffaws.

Even Illger seemed concerned, now. “…Sure. Who’s the other guy with you?”

“I am…” Von Metzeler paused. “I am…Rondo Von Metzeler…”

“Oh good, they’re both retarded,” the auburn haired splotchy woman groaned. “Whatever, at least that one’s nice looking. Retarded boys can be cute too.”

“Go cherry hunting somewhere else, they already came here with a better bicycle than you, Eakova.” One of Illger’s crew said irritably.

That seemed like a rather nasty insult, but the subject merely made a rude hand gesture before shouting to Illger, “Just gonna say, I’m not takin’ orders from no sleeper weaning hisself off wakeleaf.”

“You’re taking orders from me, truck driver,” Illger was shooting names back now, losing patience. “More lip and I’ll make your ugly face symmetrical.”

“Fuck you, knife nosed cockroach.” Eakova snapped, but she laid off and went back to the front of her vehicle.

“Don’t mind her,” Illger told you, “People think I’m cursed-“

“You’re cursed.” One of the crew interjected.

“…So nobody goes on team raids with me except people wanting to move up. Eakova’s not normally a tank leader, see. So put up with her and I’ll try and keep people from messing with you. We all have our rough spots, right?”

“Eakova’s rough spot is between her legs.” The same mouthy crewman shot off.

“Shaddup.” Illger said back to them, “Anyhow, I’d offer a ride in my tank, but even these new turrets are pretty tight since the Nauklanders wanted to stuff a whole ‘nother person along with a gun bigger’n a peashooter, so you’ll have to keep in trucks, even if it’s a bit cramped. Actually, know what…Eakova!” the woman popped around the corner looking irritated. “You’re up front. I want to hash more out with the contract holder on the way.”

“Fuck off.” Besides that, Eakova didn’t actually reject the command, though.

You and Von Metzeler were packed off in a space in the back of the workshop truck; some passengers were expected, you guessed, from how a few boxes appeared to have been moved atop the backs of the tanks to make some tight space for you. Though if you were being honest…you’d have preferred to be in one of the tanks, instead.

-----
>>
“So,” Illger said loudly over the sound of engine, churning wheels, rattling equipment and grinding ground as the trucks went underway, him sitting with you and Von Metzeler in the back of the workshop truck. “Anya went back with you, didn’t she? How’s she been?”

“…Fine?”

“Can’t hear you, speak up!” Illger said, and you were able to croak out your previous answer just a bit louder. “Fine, I get it, not feeling up for talking much. I’ll talk instead. See, I got in the Hogs after Anya…well, after Hell adopted her, or whatever, by a couple years. I thought she was an annoying little shit, honestly. But Hell liked her, Schweinmann likes her, Vinny likes her, I just think it was a shit move to ditch like most of the people did, you know?. Like, shit. Those were tough times and they didn’t need to get any tougher for lack of personnel, and much as anybody might talk shit Anya was good at what she did even then. Even if she always had to be a pain in the ass for some reason. Always was real bad about that when Hell was close.”

Judge Above. Could you even spar with Anya anymore? You didn’t think you could. What would she even think? You remembered being driven to compete with her, to surpass her, you remembered so clearly that being bested by a small slim woman was a special kind of motivation to become better, but now..?

Illger at this point was just rambling whether or not you were listening. So you vanished deeper in your own head, looking out the back of the truck to Todesfelsen, disappearing in dust. Had you felt like you did…before the academy? Before the treatment? No, you were certain of that. Had you felt like this when you were in your finest hour here? Of course not…could you summon that Richter back from your memories, though? Even if you couldn’t repeat your actions…those memories were still there. You did do them. So…you could at least act based off that, couldn’t you..?

…No…no, it felt too wrong. You couldn’t act like you used to, not with that damnable feeling, that inescapable sensation of being watched, of not being cognizant of your surroundings, of a voice feeding you advice, observations before you even thought of them. You weren’t alone, at least. Von Metzeler sat across from you, Illger beside, and he was at least not mocking your new…impotence.

That cinnamon smell was nice, you thought, huddling in your scarf. Who was it who made fun of it? How dare they? You’d have given them a piece of your mind…if you could have…Hell, Anya would be buttoned up from now on anyways, wouldn’t she? The guilty pleasure of having eye candy with your morning beatings would no longer be present. Unless…
>>
“Hey. You stopped lookin’ so gloomy for a second. My story funny? ”Illger said to you,”...Yeah, I guess it is when you think about it, heh. Losing your fingers in a bet. Nothing bad’s happened to that hand since, you know.”

After a good two hours of driving, the convoy stopped at a small village- Illger prompted you to stretch your legs, even if you didn’t want to get out of the truck. “You’ll cut off circulation to your asscheeks. Get outta there and walk around.”

It took a few minutes, but, after seeing Von Metzeler do so of his own volition, you followed after…and took exploratory steps about the truck. The village was a dusty collection of old Imperial construction, with ruins of ill-kept frontier houses surrounding the actual lived in ones, though all were dusty and cracked old wood. You didn’t stray near- the mercenaries were security at the very least, in the looming darkness in the daylight. Though, you did overhear Illger talking with his second in command…

“Who cares if it’s longer northways? I’m not going in the East Funnel with a couple of retarded deadweights, and especially not with Illger the fucking Cockroach.”

“We’re supposed to get there within the week. Going north and around’ll near double how long it takes us to get there, counting the mess of having to get through Netillian customs, even if the northern lords don’t screw with us.”

“And they won’t screw with us if we try and go right into the border zone? You were in the job a couple weeks ago, the smuggling traffic going through there’s hot damn business, way more powder lying about than going north. There’s gonna be trouble. Better to be held up by paperwork and pissing about than getting shot at with a couple of ninnies who can’t take care of themselves.”

“There you go thinking like a truck driver and not a panzer commander.” Illger said scathingly.

“Fuck you. I know we’re transporting those two because they’re hot goods more’n because they have our paperwork, else the contract wouldn’t have specified their safety, and if they were as good as you say they were they wouldn’t be sitting in the back of a truck like pussies. You want me to lead, I’m going north, and I’m sure everybody agrees with me.”

…You were sure that you didn’t want to be coming back any later, but...could you stand being in a place where there might be a scuffle? Could you present a strong face? More important, could you convince these mercenaries that you were even up to the journey?

>It was useless. You were dead weight- don’t raise any objections. Go north.
>You were their contract holder- and they’d take the shorter way. (You’ll have to psych yourself up or think of some way to put on a brave face- that may or may not work)
>If they wouldn’t take you…you’d take yourself, even if they had to chase you all the way. It couldn’t be too hard to get to the “Eastern Funnel,” could it..?
>Other?
>>
>>3822551
>>If they wouldn’t take you…you’d take yourself, even if they had to chase you all the way. It couldn’t be too hard to get to the “Eastern Funnel,” could it..?
Pretending to be old Richter won't work. All we can do is try and force their hand.
>>
>>3822551
>>If they wouldn’t take you…you’d take yourself, even if they had to chase you all the way. It couldn’t be too hard to get to the “Eastern Funnel,” could it..?
>>
>>3822551
>>If they wouldn’t take you…you’d take yourself, even if they had to chase you all the way. It couldn’t be too hard to get to the “Eastern Funnel,” could it..?

"I thought you were Iron Hogs and instead of Nash's Nasty Nad Lads?"

We will likely be insulted, maybe even hit but the job says get there in a week and if they can't do it then what was the point in hiring them?

Also the only way Richter is going to be worth any damn is if he gets exposed to this shit again or gets re-indoctrinated. Honestly not the end of the world at this point assuming we don't just get shot by the IO.
>>
>>3822551
>If they wouldn’t take you…you’d take yourself, even if they had to chase you all the way. It couldn’t be too hard to get to the “Eastern Funnel,” could it..?

We are a tank commander, not a truck driver right?
>>
>>3822551
>If they wouldn’t take you…you’d take yourself, even if they had to chase you all the way. It couldn’t be too hard to get to the “Eastern Funnel,” could it..?
>>
>>3822551
>>If they wouldn’t take you…you’d take yourself, even if they had to chase you all the way. It couldn’t be too hard to get to the “Eastern Funnel,” could it..?
>>
>>3822555
>>3822633
>>3822655
>>3822656
>>3822666
>>3822925
Go on a journey to the east. This is probably not a wise idea but at least you're putting one foot in front of the other. Right?

Welp. Writing.
>>
Well…if they wouldn’t take you the fast way, maybe you’d take yourself- they’d come along, though they’d be chasing you the whole way. It couldn’t be too hard to get to the “Eastern Funnel,” could it? Though you would have to at least slip away on foot- they would have the speed advantage, so you’d need an edge somewhere- not like they’d know exactly where you were going, and if they stayed together, you’d likely see them before they saw you…right? It’d be best to drop a hint as to where you were going, but then, they might catch up too quickly and too early, so maybe it was best to keep them in the dark and figure it out more slowly?

You surprised yourself with how you could puzzle that much out, actually. Though when you thought about it…it was principles of hunting, was it not? Of traveling on the trail, of escaping detection- you recalled memories beyond that of fighting, and you found, finally, some familiarity. It was easy enough to think about evasion, but slipping away in the first place…

“Oi. One of the stutterers is peeping on us.”

Illger turned around. “Oh. Hey,” he said to you, “We had a bit of a change in plans is all. Taking the longer way around instead of the fast way.”

Nothing you didn’t already know, but you thought to make a jab. “I thought…thought you were…were…”

“Buh uh thud yuh wuh wuh wuh,” Eakova cut you off with an impersonation of your speaking difficulties, “Buh wuh wubbuh!”

“Shut up.” Illger said to his crimson haired subordinate, “Did you want something?”

“I…” you shifted gears. “I need to…use the restroom…”

Illger and Eakova both stared. “Then just go.” Illger slowly turned his head, “You don’t need my permission.”

“I need…toilet paper…” you said, “The latrine…doesn’t have any…”

“Oh. Uh. Hold on. Hey, Mongrel!” he kicked his tank, “Get out your TP!” It was retrieved, and handed to you. “Just holler if you get in trouble for some reason, alright.”

“Mm.”

“Don’t fall in!” Eakova shouted at your back as you shuffled off; alone. Alone…having Von Metzeler with you would have been ideal, but…you couldn’t actually do this without isolation.
Was this really the smart thing to do, you wondered as you walked off. Well, no, but…you had to do this. Not only to get going quicker, but…you had to try and conquer this terror. Somehow. Testing it…may be the best treatment, you thought. The plan was at least helped by how trusting Illger was- to be fair, you doubted he nor anybody else could fathom why in the world you’d just walk off.
>>
“Ex…excuse me…” you coughed at a townsperson, trying your best to get over the feeling that they were hiding a bullet with your name on it…somewhere. “Where is…what’s…what’s the closest place…like this…east?”

“The closest place like this east? Like a village?” the man squinted at you. “…I guess there’s Feuerstelle about three kilometers that way.”

“…Any others…”

“Others? Well…there’s Krabbe, east southeast, about four kilometers…Steuermannsgrab’s north east about six.”

“…Thanks…”

“Eh, no problem, stranger..? Just keep an eye out, this close to the edge of the Republic things’re still…you know, like they’ve been for a long time now.”

What did you have…the knife Anya insisted you keep, still among your things when you left, your father’s pocket watch (you knew how to use it as a makeshift daytime compass- a necessity), your blackflower, your wallet with Netillian marks in it, your identification papers, your clothes including the jacket on your back…and a canteen of water you’d been given. No food, though, beyond the rations you were provided as “breakfast.” You’d have to make do…but could you?

Well. The longer you were away, the longer you had let your comrades be. The longer they had to deal with whatever came by themselves. The longer that you had no idea what was happening in the place you’d left. Could you tolerate that? Could you truly suffer that longer, even if returning to it chilled you to your bones? No- no you couldn’t. Even if you had to keep insisting that to yourself with every other step to not run and hide…but then, what you were going to be doing was running and hiding anyways, right? Just…in a certain direction.

-----
>>
Rolled 2 (1d4)


1-Nothing
2-Orphans
3-Rapscallions
4-A friendly crab
[/spoiler
>>
You crept along the defilades and between shallow hills southeast, towards Krabbe- these lands felt familiar, at least, even if you didn’t remember walking across them so much. When you thought you put a good amount of distance between yourself and the town, you decided to find a place to take a short rest- and reorient your bearings. Though while you were looking up towards the sun and adjusting your pocket watch to find north again…

“Hey, you.” A scratchy young voice said.

You turned to look at its source. It was a scrawny, malnourished looking brown haired child, who couldn’t have been older than thirteen. She was dressed in a loose shawl with a hood and ratty clothes…and had a rusty piece of broken metal clutched in a messily bandaged hand. With her was another pair of similarly aged children, all surrounding you from a couple dozen paces away each- though they all had hoods, and were dirty enough that you couldn’t quite tell if they were boys or girls- just that one had a stick with nails in it and the other a battered piece of pipe that was as long as they were tall.

“Give us all your stuff,” the girl said, waving her sharp piece of metal at you, “Or…or we’ll make you give it up.”

>Whatever. What good was your wallet here, anyways? It was probably more money than they’d seen in their lives anyways.
>You couldn’t give up any of your stuff. You also didn’t want to make this a fight. You could barge through one of them, and they wouldn't be able to catch up to you.
>Prepare to use that knife of yours.
>Other?
>>
>>3823191
>You couldn’t give up any of your stuff. You also didn’t want to make this a fight. You could barge through one of them, and they wouldn't be able to catch up to you.

This'll be hilarious
>>
>>3823191
>You couldn’t give up any of your stuff. You also didn’t want to make this a fight. You could barge through one of them, and they wouldn't be able to catch up to you.
>>
>>3823191
>You couldn’t give up any of your stuff. You also didn’t want to make this a fight. You could barge through one of them, and they wouldn't be able to catch up to you.
Richter might be a mental midget, but he should still be able to dust some murderous orphans. What a way to get your land-legs back!
>>
>>3823191
>>You couldn’t give up any of your stuff. You also didn’t want to make this a fight. You could barge through one of them, and they wouldn't be able to catch up to you.
>>
>>3823227
>>3823231
>>3823232
>>3823248
Are you smarter than a fifth grader? Maybe not, but you're faster than a fifth grader.
Writing.
>>
No.

Which of these runts would hurt you the least if you ran into and past them, you thought, counting seconds passing before they’d lose patience. You didn’t want that knife in you, and you didn’t want any nails in you either…patience, fear, these were children, why were you afraid of children? No matter- you were going to run away anyways. Fear could push you faster…

The kid with the lead pipe seemed like he would hurt the least- you charged right for him- and he swung that thing right into your side.

A flash of pain, and a gasping grunt from your throat- had things always hurt like this? Yet you were already sprinting. These kids were so much shorter- likely hungry and tired, while you had been fighting fit physically on top of Anya pushing you to reach higher physical levels. You afforded a short thanks before the thudding of your heart in your ears made you think of nothing but running, running, running.

-----

A quick stop to reorient yourself, a peek over the hills to see any dust clouds from vehicles coming after you, and making damn certain to ensure no murderous adolescents were near while doing so, and your journey continued. Your side felt like it was going to split open- you opened your jacket and lifted your shirt to find an awful, long purple bruise in the shape of that pipe. Better that than having a knife stuck in you, you supposed, but damn did it hurt.

The pain was good, though. It was distracting. There wasn’t enough room in your head to focus on both the burning clench of the bruise as well as the shadows all around, above, below, inside…

A collection of buildings…that had to be Krabbe. What a strange name for a town. You’d been gone for a good while, now- you were probably being looked for. If you had enough time to stop, ask for directions, maybe procure some supplies…that’d be enough. Yet you were stopped at the perimeter of the town by a patrol.

“Who the hell’re you?” the two men demanded, plain in clothes. Their green jackets and roughly made emblems…that seemed to you like they were part of a gang, not a local militia. Great…

“I’m just…just passing through…” you choked out, “Heading…heading east…”

“East, huh,” the gangsters looked at each other, “Why?”

“Err...”

“Know what, we don’t care. Empty your pockets.”

“…But-“
>>
One of them cleared their throat and gestured at you with his weapon, a hunting shotgun with at least half the barrel chopped off. What choice did you have?

“Damn, aren’t you loaded,” one said, flipping through your wallet.

“And Blackflower?” the other said, shaking around your small bag of the twists. “Weasel, if I didn’t know better, I’d say we gotta drug pusher here. No mark of bein’ authorized here, though.”

“An’ no pushers deal in Arbor Claws territory without givin’ a tithe. So. Either we can help you arrange this deal and get you proper licensing, or…you can. give us a good share and we’ll forget we saw anythin’.”

“…I…but I’m-“

“Either that or we kick the shit out of you and leave you in a ditch for being a pain in the ass. If that’s what you want, no big deal.”

>A tithe? Fine…let them bring you to…whatever bastard was going to extort you.
>Doesn’t all that money seem appealing? Surely they can accept that you’re an old friend if they get all that. (Alternatively, all your drugs)
>Beat the shit out of you? Say that you’d like to see them try.
>Other?
>>
>>3823413
>Don't all those drugs seem appealing? Surely they can accept that you’re an old friend if they get all that.
>>
>>3823413
>>Don't all those drugs seem appealing? Surely they can accept that you’re an old friend if they get all that.
>>
>>3823413
>Don't all those drugs seem appealing? Surely they can accept that you’re an old friend if they get all that.
>Other?
Once in the town maybe find someone a little less eager to kick our ass and ask about the territory ahead. Especially the 'East Funnel'.
>>
Guys, I don't think this adventure is turning out so great. Maybe we should go back...
>>
>>3823413
>Don't all those drugs seem appealing? Surely they can accept that you’re an old friend if they get all that.
>>
I don't think I can take much more of this. Get better soon, Richter.
>>
>>3823423
>>3823439
>>3823456
>>3823506
Gee guys why are you here when you have all these free drugs.
All these free drugs having a certain usage that I am not responsible for whatsoever.

Writing.

>>3823507
You must find sources of strength and inspiration.
>>
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[Insert Linkin Park lyrics]
>>
“…Uh…” you pointed to the bag of blackflower, “You…you want that?”

The man holding it cocked an eyebrow. “How much of it?”

“…All…all of it…for…friends…right?”

The gangster smiled at you with a toothsome smirk. “Know what? Sure. All of a sudden I’m feeling awfully nice. Have a nice stay in Krabbe, my sleepwalking friend.” He sauntered off with his partner, not so quietly remarking, “What a fuckin’ garbage sack. Doesn’t know how much this goes for here…”

Well. You’d been hit with a pipe, and robbed. It could have been worse, but it all made you feel very hungry. At least you were being allowed in.

The namesake of the town became apparent when you ventured into its interior- in fenced off mounds there were crawling swarms of small living stones- not that you recalled them generally being good to eat, but they did eat practically anything. Along with those, plucks of free-ranging chickens wandered the town, strutting around the shoddy homes and buildings, pecking fruitlessly at the snow-dusted ground. A few temporary traders had set their stops up here, but it was clear that this was merely a stop on the trail. A collection of motorcycles decorated with green flags were watched over by four more gangsters just like the ones who shook you down, though unlike the others these ones thought you insignificant, innocent, or perhaps just not worth bothering.

One of the chickens’ former friends was your lunch; even though you had gorged yourself with Maddalyn the other day, you still felt ravenously hungry. A reassuring sign that your body at least was not feeling like growing weaker. It was a good thing you had the money you did- even if Netilland money was squinted at, given that East Valsten Union Marks were the usual standard, but the marks you had were taken anyways- though you were sure the prices were hiked on you for not being a local.
While you were picking apart the spicy sauce-slathered and charred chicken pieces, one of…what must have been the cookhouse’s staff came and sat across from you. She was a young, dirty blonde woman with messily thick-braided hair- you were extremely wary of prostitutes in Sosaldt, but…well, prostitutes around this country didn’t tend to dress or act subtly; it was a relief that this woman was just a worker, apparently bored and hitting you up for lack of other customers.

“’Lo there,” she said, with a noticeable if slight Ellowian accent, “What brings you here all by yourself? Or did you break off from your group?”

“…” No harm in being truthful. “Going…east. To Ellowie.”

“Ain’t no Ellowie anymore, friend.”
>>
You’d know plenty who’d disagree with that statement. “Going anyways.”

“Alright then. Though not that many honest people are heading into that place, y’know. Not to besmirch your trade, ‘f that’s what you do. What are you? Can’t be just a traveler.”

“Am so…visiting friends…”

“Don’t mean to be rude, but are you…you know, do you have…” the woman gestured to her head, “Some sorta…condition?”

“Not anymore.”

She gave you a quizzical look. “Well, okay.”

“The Eastern Funnel…” you asked, since you had a captive audience that didn’t want to steal from you or attack you, “Where is that…what is it?”

“You’re gonna go down it if you’re heading east to Ellowie, unless you clamber through the mountains.” The blonde brushed one of her braids over her shoulder, “Way back it was a place where being hemmed in by the mountains meant all sorts made a good living there, so long as they didn’t bother the Ellowians. All that’s changed real fast, I hear from people comin’ that way. The new border between Twaryi and Netilland’s smack in the middle of that, and they’ve got a gap where there’s not much in the way of the security there used to be. So smugglers’n all that just flow right on in and out.”

That explained certain aspects of the Border Gap that you had grown familiar with- though your group wasn’t right on the border, they certainly felt the effects of what that woman described.

“How…how far away is it..?” you asked, in between gnawing flesh off the bones of the bird you were finishing off.

“Gosh, I dunno. Still a ways off if you’re walkin’. If you don’t hitch a ride at least on a cart your legs’ll fall off.”

“Do you have…a map?” you asked hopefully.

“Nope. But Gusseizenholz is about a day south, and that’s right in the middle of Sosaldt, so that should tell you how far you’ve got. Don’t worry, it’s impossible to not get into the Funnel so long as you follow the way the mountains go.”

“I…see…”

“If you wanna head east quickly, best talk to one of the caravans. They’re never shy about travelin’ in groups, not that I hear that helps much, but the money comin’ out of the gap’s apparently enough to be worth it. Can either buy your way on, considerin’ how much you got in that wallet…or you can say you’re a mercenary, and they’ll pay you. Not that you look like much, no ‘fence. Or you stick with one of the merc groups hanging on them going east, they’ll take just about anybody, I hear. Just like Sosaldt does in general.”

“Thank you…” you unsteadily got up from the table, having paid before getting the food. “I’ll just…be off then…”

“Take care. If you want to get anything for the trail, come right back, you hear?”

-----
>>
A brief investigation (consisting of loitering by large groups and listening in, then awkwardly asking a passersby if they knew anything about them- or addressing whoever came by inquiring into your suspicious behavior) told you of your options. The caravan going directly to the very edge of the Border Gap was a couple of large, armored trucks absolutely stuffed with weapons and ammunition. They weren’t shy about what they were carrying- nor were they concerned with skeptical warnings you’d heard about being such a desirable target.

Another group was evidently a mob of bounty hunters. More than a few nasty characters had popped up near the Border Gap- and a few within it, as well. You itched at your throat, knowing that you yourself had a bounty on you- though it was relatively middling and was linked to your tanks more than your person. There were other groups, other caravans- but those were the two heading straight to where you were going.

…Though you looked back northwest, and searched the distance for any pursuers. You would have felt less isolated knowing that the tanks and trucks were chasing after you, and if you ever felt in danger, you could run right back, but…you saw naught. Had you given them too good a slip? Or had they decided to cut their losses and restrain Von Metzeler to go immediately north? Perhaps they split up?

The theory on them cutting you free as a lost cause had been a mistake to think of, though. The chills were within again- you trembled even when by an outdoor fire by the merchants and visitors. You had done this…partly maybe to prove yourself, but…were you being a fool? You had to depend on somebody anyways doing this, right? Now you were dependent on utter strangers…was this what you were doing, now? Or was it not for you at all, and for your friends? Having time to sit and ponder it all wasn’t helping.

>Sign on with the bounty hunters. You didn’t want to get into a fight…but you had to start getting into them at some point, right?
>Pay for a spot in the arms trade caravan. You needed to be going, and quickly- motorized transport would arrive in only a day or so, and you needed to be back and with your comrades that quickly or moreso.
>Head back. Or simply stay here, and wait to be found. You’d been lucky to get through this with just a bruise and your blackflower being taken. Could you risk anything more?
>Other?
>>
>>3823586
>Pay for a spot in the arms trade caravan. You needed to be going, and quickly- motorized transport would arrive in only a day or so, and you needed to be back and with your comrades that quickly or moreso.

Both are not great options, but thankfully Richter probably doesn’t know about sunk cost fallacy, so let’s keep going forward with the option that seems least likely to result in us having to roll below 20 on a weapons skill check to not die.
>>
>>3823586
>>Sign on with the bounty hunters. You didn’t want to get into a fight…but you had to start getting into them at some point, right?
>>
>>3823586
>>Sign on with the bounty hunters. You didn’t want to get into a fight…but you had to start getting into them at some point, right?
>>
>>3823510
We must find strength in HATE and ANGER.

>>3823586
>Pay for a spot in the arms trade caravan. You needed to be going, and quickly- motorized transport would arrive in only a day or so, and you needed to be back and with your comrades that quickly or moreso.
>>
>>3823586
>Pay for a spot in the arms trade caravan. You needed to be going, and quickly- motorized transport would arrive in only a day or so, and you needed to be back and with your comrades that quickly or moreso.
>Buy Richter that pet crab companion he's always wanted, for psychological support
>>
>>3823586
>Pay for a spot in the arms trade caravan. You needed to be going, and quickly- motorized transport would arrive in only a day or so, and you needed to be back and with your comrades that quickly or moreso.

Any fight at all and Richter is dead.

>Other?
What we really should have been doing this whole time leaving bread crumbs for the mercs to follow (if any are at all).

Maybe tell the nice lady that if she sees anymore Iron Hogs coming through that their lost chicken is heading east with the convoy.
>>
>>3824027
Also slap that nice new bruise we have, the next time we start feeling flighty replace it with a worse sensation.
>>
>>3824036
>'Venom' Painslut Von Tracht
Stop anon I'm not ready for this
>>
>>3823586
>>Pay for a spot in the arms trade caravan. You needed to be going, and quickly- motorized transport would arrive in only a day or so, and you needed to be back and with your comrades that quickly or moreso.
Do we have enough money to buy a cheap handgun or something? Not that we remember how to shoot it halfway straight, but it might come in handy the next time we get accosted by a band of violent children.
>>
>>3824047
If all that heals we could always take our belt and slap ourselves around. If it feels curiously good, don't worry that's just the Conditioning going away and revealing the real Richter inside.
>>
Just going to say that updates will be late today due to a game session.

>>3824047
>>3824139
...Well, it was a part of his schedule to get beaten every other morning...
>>
>>3824185
The only "morning beatings" he can handle now will be coming from Maddy's left wrist
>>
Bros...
I cant believe Tanq died on us
>>
>>3823586
>>Pay for a spot in the arms trade caravan. You needed to be going, and quickly- motorized transport would arrive in only a day or so, and you needed to be back and with your comrades that quickly or moreso.
>>
>>3823598
>>3823615
Cowboy life

>>3823654
>>3823597
>>3823669
>>3824129
>>3825464
Ride with the guns. Also get a crab. And a gun. If you can.
Also breadcrumbs.

Even though I'm calling this I'm not gonna be updating til later tonight. I think I've got to let things sit and age a bit in my head for this next one.
>>
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Alright, here, and writing. Finally.
>>3826579
Don't take off your jacket Richter it's winter. And there's snow on the ground so it's officially cold.
>>
Even if you had maybe been overcautious in preventing from being caught too early, it wasn’t too late to lay a trail to be followed with- though you’d think that if your description wasn’t enough as is, the Iron Hogs needed to teach their people to be more observant. Not many would be walking around in a leather pilot’s jacket with a light blue scarf. Regardless, you made several…stuttering and hesitant visits to locals telling about your “friends.” No, they weren’t loan sharks, no, you weren’t on drugs…though if those would drive away the chills then you honestly considered taking up a habit.

The general store, you hoped, would have a gun you could buy for cheap. Not anything but a last resort- you wouldn’t be able to use it anyways, you knew. Though what you didn’t expect was, after you spoke uneasily with the store owner, who was bald, clean shaven save for a thick mustache, about your need, having pointed shuddering at a derringer that saw better days last century, he made an inquisitive look at you, guessed your name far too well to have actually been a guess, then laid a wooden box on the desk.

“A weird person came by just last night. Said you’d be coming around and to give this to you. Paid good money to make sure, too, though the guy was spooky lookin’ enough that only an idiot would’ve stolen this.”

Huh? You stared dimly at the box. “What…what is it…?”

“A gun. You wanted one anyways, didn’t you?” the shopkeeper opened the box and waved his fingers towards the inside. “Not a bad one, if you ask me. He dropped a holster by, too. Good leather.”

You just blinked at the box.

“Well, take it, or I’ll buy it off you if you don’t want it.”

“No…er…mine.” You took the box and the holster and sling once it was put on the counter. “…Thanks…”

You went outside and gave the gun a closer look. It was one you recognized, but…couldn’t remember the name of it. You knew it was something Strossvald used- and you remembered Signy sticking one of these in your face. Holding it in hand didn’t call any memories, and its weight felt alien. The…the magazine went in the hole, but…there was something else, wasn’t there? No, you knew to pull the slide back to cock it, but for a moment there it felt like you were at a loss of what to do. That bode poorly. Hopefully you wouldn’t have to use this…oh…there was a letter in the box? A folded piece of paper, handwritten in ink.
>>
Richter,
I’m sorry that I’m not going to see you off, but I figured that since you called for your girlfriend, that you didn’t want me around. I don’t know if you’ll ever want to see me again, but getting that horrible thing off of you was worth it despite that, I think. I hope that you’ll get better quickly, or I’ll never forgive myself.

As much as I would have liked to keep you safe and sound for as long as you needed, you wanted to go back right away. Since you’re better now, though, if you want to go back, I have no right to stop you. At the very least, I think, you didn’t have anything to be afraid of when you thought you’d lose yourself.

I thought I wouldn’t be able to give any farewells, but a strange person who I don’t remember, but said that they knew me, came and told me he could get this to you. I don’t know if you’ll want it, but I’m sending you my gun, too. It’s one of the last things from my former life I took with me. I was never very good with it, but I don’t really need it anymore anyways. Be careful with it- it’s been modified to fire quickly. I thought it would be cool back when I got it, and asked our gunsmith to modify it. Maybe you’ll get more use out of it than I ever did.

Please stay safe.


…You folded the letter again and put it in your pocket.

Once the gun and holster were around your waist with a strap over your shoulder under your jacket, you thought to give yourself a healthy slap on your bruise. Pain was a distraction- and a distraction was what you felt like you were constantly needing. Thwap! “Agghh!” That hurt a lot more than you thought it would…but indeed, for those moments and the time after when the pain was fading, the pressure inside and out melted in favor of the dulling burn. Focusing on the hurting wasn’t really like being able to focus...but it was at least an escape.

Something else you also did was get a Living Stone from the big pen full of them. You didn’t know why- it made you feel better, maybe. It scuttled about in the small basket for a bit before falling dormant, the thing being about the size of a newborn kitten though far denser. They ate nearly anything- nearly as low maintenance as an actual pet rock. Maybe you could eat it in an emergency.

Then…actual progress. The chances of actually managing to be more than dead weight with the bounty hunters was just about zero, and you weren’t interested in becoming a human shield or a distraction or whatever purpose they had for the spare meat. No, you had money, and money talked- particularly, it was a convincing way of letting these arms dealers cart you along for their trip to the Border Gap. You hoped.

-----
>>
“Hey, guy,” the boss of the arms dealers said, having approached you from the two others with him, “Saw you bein’ all shy earlier. Now that you’ve worked up the nerve to come over, how about an introduction? You’re a curious character, at least.” The man was a young one, with a face fresher than most in Sosaldt, with light shaggy hair and wearing a white, wide brimmed frontiersman’s hat, as well as a denim black vest over a white long sleeved shirt. “I’m Morgen, an’ I’m an en-tre-pre-neur. Me and my associates here are in the business of buying big and sellin’ bigger…though, are you a trader yourself? Figure you might be, if you wanted to talk, is all.”

“…N-no. I’m…” you paused, “…I heard you were going…to Ellowie. Or close…I want to buy passage…” you opened your wallet, “I can pay…a lot…”

Morgen raised his eyebrows and looked in the wallet. “…Well, I wasn’t thinkin’ of bein a cabbie, but…well, don’ mind if I do…” He reached into your wallet and took out…all of the bills. “That’s a deal, ain’t it? Food and drink the whole way. With that much, you must know somebody there, huh? Unless you’d rather not?”

You gave Morgen a dejected half-lidded look.

“…Fine, jus’ for you,” he put a few (smaller) bills in. “Three marks off. That’s a sweet deal, isn’t it? Call it funds. That good? You get some re-im-burse-ment once we’re there and we sell our goods, yeah? And I’ll let you in on our get rich quick scheme on the way…unless?”

“…No…as long as I get there…” you sighed heavily- monetary loss should have been more distracting.

“Great. Then, I’ve told you my name,” he prodded you in the chest with a slim finger in a heavy glove, “What’s yours?”

“…Richter…” you saw no point in assuming an alias, especially when nobody was giving last names.

“Well, good to meet ye, Richter, these are mah associates, Brun, Yeshamov, and Gaetsi. Gaetsi’s off buyin’ some extra stuff, we’ll be off when he gets back.” He pointed to each, dressed similarly to him but differing wildly in body shape- respectively, they were fat and short, and the latter…positively runty, for a man. “We pooled our cash, and we’re gonna take this lode we’ve got in these two trucks all the way out. No taxes, no protection, just the pure profit o’ the free market. Exciting, ain’t it?”

“…”

“That’s fine, that’s fine,” Morgen still smiled broadly, “Not everybody sees the genius right away. Come over and get comfortable, Gaetsi likes to…” his beaming turned into a scowl, “…Get his pri-or-ih-ties mixed up, especially with the ladies.”
>>
“Hey, Morgen, this guy’s a sleepwalker,” Yeshamov said, with what sounded like a slight Twaryian lilt, his eyes heavy and sunken but with a broad mouth that looked to smile easily. “I got stuff that’ll pick him right up.” The diminutive man walked to the truck and searched through the cabin, before coming back with a fingernail sized tab of bright white-green stuff in a wax paper wrapper, that he had partially undone. “This look familiar, sleepwalker? It’s not great stuff, but it’s not poison and it’ll wake ye up again. Not like you have to worry about getting addicted right now anyways, huh? Heh heh. No need to thank me or pay me or whatever, call it a favor.”

>It could work…couldn’t it? Anything to stop the fear…the uncertainty. The paralysis of being.
>You’ll have to turn him down. You don’t like owing favors.
>Ask if he has something else…if you’re going to have drugs pushed on you.
>Other?
>>
>>3827212
Goodbye and good riddance Signy.

Is it Wakeleaf?
>Ask if he has something else…if you’re going to have drugs pushed on you.
Something worth 3 marks, no favors.
>Other?
On the road, dry practice with the pistol. Even just knowing which way to point is progress.
>>
>>3827209
Is Poltergeist looking out for us, or is this some other weird shit?

>>3827212
>You’ll have to turn him down. You don’t like owing favors.
We won't be better off by becoming a fucking addict.
>>
>>3827219
>Is it Wakeleaf?
Richter isn't sure from looking at it itself, but considering the lingo it's a safe assumption.
>>
>>3827212
>>Ask if he has something else…if you’re going to have drugs pushed on you.
More blackleaf?
>>
>>3827212
>Ask if he has something else…if you’re going to have drugs pushed on you.
>>
>>3827212
>You’ll have to turn him down. You don’t like owing favors.
Say no to drugs, kids.
>>
>>3827212
>>It could work…couldn’t it? Anything to stop the fear…the uncertainty. The paralysis of being.
It would be useful to at least know if our condition can be temporarily treated. Plus it's rude to say no when people offer you drugs.
>>
>>3827212
>>Ask if he has something else…if you’re going to have drugs pushed on you.
Get me that Meth
>>
>>3827212
>>You’ll have to turn him down. You don’t like owing favors.
Great, now we're retarded AND we owe Poltergeist money. Thanks Signy.
>>
I did nothing all day.

>>3827219
>>3827287
>>3827401
>>3827827
Ask if he has something else with varying specificity. Fallback on worth

>>3827808
Gib

>>3827864
>>3827233
>>3827498
No thank you.

Alright then. Writing.
>>
Nothing harder than alcohol had passed your lips- you were the wrong sex to be significantly affected by blackflower, after all. Yet…it wasn’t something you’d ever considered before, but…you were already sick of this feeling of feebleness. When you remembered what it was like to be merely without it, let alone finding strength within. It was awful enough that any escape was sweet relief- and that wrapped substance, oh so little of it, whispered a promise too sweet to simply reject, no matter how your principles objected. Those were drowned out by the silent cries beyond hearing, hidden in this darkness in broad daylight.

“…Do you….do you have something worth…” you slowly pulled out the rest of your money, “I don’t…don’t want to owe…”

“Huh?” Yeshamov frowned, “Don’t owe nothing. You ever get a gift?”

“…Is it…wakeleaf?” you weren’t certain, but you guessed.

“Yep. A little ringing clock for someone sleepwalkin’.”

“…Do you have…blackflower?” you asked. From what you remembered of wakeleaf…maybe you shouldn’t be trying it.

Yeshamov’s frown turned lower. “Now why would I have somethin’ like that? Why would you want somethin’ like that? You had plenty a’ money t’ buy a woman.”

“…Er…rituals…” you hadn’t considered that other purpose of that drug. “…P…Pervitin…?” you went down the list of the familiar.

“What?” Yeshamov’s expression turned even more confused, and he shook his head, waving a hand up and down. “No, no, you don’t need more’n one addition, no need to hide in, you’re bad at it like all sleepwalkers are. People take wakeleaf ‘cause it’s…well, not cheap, but it ain’t too bad. It only hurts you if you take too much at once, y’know? Hard to sleep on it, ‘course. You oughta know the habit’s hardly a bank breaker if you casually carry money like you do. I ain’t no scammer. Three marks, four o’ these, eight hits or so, depending on how hard you go. That’s fair, ain’t it?”

You weren’t sure what you wanted. Something else? Sure, but…what else was there? Anything else wasn’t an answer. “…I suppose…it’s fair…” you relented, and took the wax papered thing from the little fellow. Four for eight hits…just under half, then perhaps, you thought as you broke off the amount, coming off in chalky chunks like wafer candy. That crumbled, messy about half was stared at, then tipped into your mouth, where it dissolved on your tongue. There was a slightly sweet, peppermint flavor…then a dullness of taste, before a slow, spreading cold, like you had kept a piece of ice on your tongue. Was this normal?

“Attaboy,” Yeshamov’s smile finally returned. “Now you’ll be less useless if you need to do anything. Happy trails for sure. You’ll at least hold a conversation, eh?”
>>
You made an uncomfortable grunt, and the fat man named Brun cleared his throat. “Ah, don’t hold it on your tongue too long, or it’ll hit your head too hard. Take it from a man who needs a jolt every so often. Let it sit in the gut and it’ll be gentler and longer.”

The advice was taken, and you swallowed, hard, taking a swig from your canteen, freshly filled at the pump…hopefully a clean one. It looked clean enough… The chill faded, and you rubbed your head. “…Will it…is it…”

“Yeesh, let it stay in your mouth all the time and you lose your sense of patience, huh? Just wait a bit. Even Wakeleaf doesn’t kick you in the jaw like a donkey whose butt you jammed your hand in. Ah, there’s Gaetsi.” Brun waved a big, hairy hand to a man approaching whose wiry black hair, sallow eyes and speckled face had been freshly rinsed, though not shaved from the short hairs on his chin. He was thin as a stick, and held a canvas bag at his side with bottles in it.

“Uhhh,” the scrawny man coughed and spluttered, pointed, “Who’s that guy?”

“His name’s Richter. A traveler. We’re takin’ him with us.” Morgen said.

“That uh…that a good idea?” Gaetsi leered at you doubtfully.

“He paid his way, in good Netilland marks. You think we should leave him at the side of the road like bandits?” Morgen sounded hurt, “Now we might be engagin’ in some right crooked profiteering, but we ain’t stealin’, hear?”

“Then just give him it back…ah whatever.” Gaetsi extended a hand to you. “I’m Gaetsi. Pleased, sort of, to meet you.” You stared at his hand, then him, and slowly gripped it in yours. “Weird guy.” Gatesi muttered.

“What’d you get?” Yeshamov asked, sauntering over and peeking in the bag.

“Some brews from the waterin’ hole.” Gaetsi pulled the bag away defensively, “A few personal items. ‘s my money. Figured we oughta have some stuff to celebrate with, jus’ in case.”

“No celebrating on the road, though,” Morgen warned, “Now, Richter, you come along with me and Yesh. Our truck’s got good room in it. The longer we stay the more we’re burnin’ daylight for the road, so let’s get a’ movin!”

-----

Morgen was quite fond of talking to himself, you found out as you occupied the cramped, tiny back cabin of the truck as the convoy started off- seeming to have been designed for storage but converted to be able to (with significant contortion) be able to lie down in. A pair of iron cuffs were set into the wall of one side- when you asked about those Morgen said they were there when he bought the truck.

“Wasn’t too long ago, see. Got it from a real nasty character. Not gonna lie t’ you, probably put people there against their will. Dirty business, an’ not the dirty I like. Now, I came from the Southern Cities, so I know a thing or two ‘bout…”
>>
Morgen talked on, but you were feeling the Wakeleaf kicking in. It felt like…being steadily dipped in ice water, for how it made your senses tingle. Your eyes widened, your ears cleared…and as the high crept in, so too…did the fear fade. There was a sensation as though you could see, feel, taste more, and that level of perception was, admittedly…refreshing. Either that or the clouds forming in your head were blocking out what should have been there. It was curious, then uplifting, then joyous, as though you were in the cool breeze of a hilltop in a hot summer day.

“What’s so funny?” Morgen asked, as you started laughing to yourself.

“Oh, nothing.”

“Like night and day,” Yeshamov observed aloud, turning back to you with a vicious smirk, his eyes off what could only be loosely classified as a dirt road- though the shock absorbers on the truck were bad enough that you could have been on stones for all you knew. Not that you really minded that much anymore.

“So I’ve said a bit ‘bout myself,” Morgen said, in a massive understatement. “How ‘bout you, Richter? Feel like talkin’ more?”

“If I must.”

“Heh. So, you got a girlfriend?” the “entrepreneur” asked casually.

An easy question. “I have a fiancée, even.”

“Lucky dog.” Morgen was either inordinately impressed or quite a flatterer. “Hard to get hitched in Sosaldt til recently, y’know? Even in the Southern Cities. Money comes and goes too quick, but I tell ya, the money off this won’t be so easy to just throw away, an’ I’ll be…”

You let Morgen’s talk fade into the background, and looked out the windows to the frost-leafed plains, the scrappy trees familiar, if not for any battles, but for the days spent not even thinking about it. Every so often, Morgen would ask something to the whole vehicle- though usually Yeshamov answered something that you could vaguely agree or disagree with. Maybe you’d have been a bit more enthusiastic about listening to his story if the price of passage hadn’t been so exorbitant.

Eventually, you told the other people in the truck that you were going to take out your gun and mess about with it- so they wouldn’t be alarmed. Naturally, with no bullets in. This was acquiesced to- of a sort, because it just got Morgen talking about guns and his taste in them. Six-shooters, five-shooters, the fabled seven and eight shooters…you felt some nostalgia for your old sidearm, even if compared to Signy’s automatic it was an archaic weapon. That thing and you had shared some history…but then, hadn’t this “new” automatic, as well?
>>
Not that this was any more familiar in your hands than the other would have been. Every practice aim you made just felt wrong, like your muscles remembered differently than your head, but you couldn’t summon how they had moved differently. You looked down the sights and dry fired the trigger, yet you knew it was all off…oh, well. Practice would make perfect again. Wakeleaf was helping you be rather more positive. It also may have been making you even worse at messing about with your gun, as even though you felt you could see and hear better, it felt as though your reactions and how your body moved were slower than you wanted. It wasn’t enough for you to not swallow the other half of your first take when you felt the first half wearing off…and the terrors clawing back in. No, anything to keep them away, now- when it had felt like you’d broken off those chafing bindings before.

…Six hits left. What were you going to do when you ran out..?

-----
When the convoy stopped at the edge of the “Funnel,” as it was growing dark and Morgen declared that it was time to stop for the day rather than drive at night, you had gone through half of the supply you’d gotten, much to Yeshamov’s surprise; as well as Brun’s.

“Slow down, Judge above,” the fat man said with worry, “Ye can’t go day t’ day feelin’ high. Save it.”

“Hrrrmm.” You grunted a non-response. What did he know? You deserved a break from what you had to suffer through. It was like taking medicine for a cold, as far as you were concerned. When the other option was to just cower and stutter like an impotent wretch, you’d prefer being high, thank you. None of that was shared, though.

“We’ll sleep in tomorrow,” Morgen said as everybody was outside of the trucks, with a few toughs providing security in the merchant clutch you’d all parked by in this last town before the Funnel proper. “Keep us all well rested. It’s a risky run, but I know we can do it. We’re wild cards- who’s gonna stop us?”

“I’d rather we keep goin’ at night,” Gaetsi muttered, stuffing individual crackers into his mouth between sentences, and deliberately finishing them and swallowing before moving to the next. “No bandits’ll be looking to stop trucks in the dark. Mmff. Mrrff. Sure there’s eyes here, too, makin’ money off sayin’ what comes down the road. Protection rackets, too. Maybe make a few friends while we’re here.”
>>
“Rackets’ll cut into the profits,” Morgen scowled, “We ain’t doin’ this to make a tidy little and sustainable profit, we’re doin’ this to get rich in one. No makin’ friends, not this far. ‘Cause they’ll want a piece of the pie bigger’n any of the rest of us. Jus’ sleep tight.”

The Wakeleaf made that easier said than done- and combined with the ambient noise of the place, and the discomfort of finding the best place to cram yourself in the trucks, getting to sleep was as impossible as closing your eyes firmly shut for more than a few minutes, but in time, you received some assistance.

COME BACK.

Perhaps time apart made the heart grow fonder when you welcomed the call of an eldritch horror trapped under a mountain. Its eerie, booming voice of many people was a familiar sort of alien, now, considering what you’d seen these past few months. A sort of knowing of this brand of unknowing. You didn’t resist, not that you would have known how- and submitted to the call of the beyond.

-----

The swirling sky of fog above. Yet, a firm ground under your back. Thank goodness. Did the fear extend to this place?...No. It didn’t. Unless Wakeleaf somehow affected your presence, which you were stretched by to this unknown place, this was yet another place…where you could be free again.

“Well, well,” the familiar voice that sounded like it was being spoken through wooden wind chimes addressed you from out of your sight. “You aren’t supposed to be here. Have you gotten lost, little boy?” You sat up and turned about. There was Poltergeist; having ventured outside his hut in this strange land to come see you, apparently.

“For once I know exactly where I am.” Was your response. “How are you, in your…however often you’re here, vacation?”

“…Have we met? It is a mystery for a stranger to speak so familiarly.”

“Very funny.” It could only be mockery.

Poltergeist put his hands up and shook his hooded and masked visage side to side, and sighed lightly, put upon. “Ah, you’ll have to pardon me. Where we are, any meeting could be the first, or last, you see? Heh heh heh heh.”

“…I am Richter Von Tracht. You are Poltergeist.”

“Yes, I am. I am also ever so glad you reminded me, I almost forgot.”
>>
“…Hrrrmmph.” You grumbled, as you got to your feet, and gave your strange surroundings another look- the black, claylike ground, the streams flowing to and fro, spiraling about in a maelstrom somehow calm and cool as a frozen lake. “I was concerned for a moment, but you are toying with me yet again.”

“I will cease when you stop being so amusing to agitate,” Poltergeist lifted a finger and shoved it into your nose- he was a hulking form that towered over you, so this nearly shoved you off balance. “I’m afraid that how I’ve been is of no concern to you. How have you been, though? I’ve already spoken with myself at length about myself, you see, and I simply am dying for another subject of conversation.”

You set your mouth, and decided to share the…largest change. “I had some sort of mental conditioning. It’s gone now. I don’t know how, or why, but…it’s gone.”

“Oh? Oh?” Poltergeist leaned forward, into your face, and for a moment, you thought you could see beyond the broken lens of his mask. “Truly? Ahh, finally. You’ll have to pardon me for speaking as though I have been waiting for events to come as though I am omniscient, but some things are left hanging for far too long. Tell me, Richter, how does it feel to be a new man? Or perhaps, the old man before?”

>Everything is frightening, and I feel helpless. I want to go back to before. I don’t like this new man.
>I’ve been told I’m free now. I suppose I am, but I don’t quite know what I’m going to do with this freedom. Or if it’ll be a fair trade for what’s been lost, even if what I’ve gained is so much.
>I’m not a new man, or an older variant of me. It’s easier to see in a place without time, I suppose, that who I am now feels just the same as ever, when I have no distractions.
>Other?

Also-

>Anything you want to chatter about?
Though you know how this guy likes actually answering certain questions.
>>
>>3829507
>Everything is frightening, and I feel helpless. I’ve been told I’m free now. I suppose I am, but I don’t quite know what I’m going to do with this freedom. Or if it’ll be a fair trade for what’s been lost, even if what I’ve gained is supposedly so much.
>>
>>3829507
>Everything is frightening, and I feel helpless. I want to gain new strength on my own.
>>
>>3829507
>Also thank Poltergeist for the gun
>>
>>3829549
He got it to us?
>>
>>3829553
Who else?
>>
>>3829606
Some random spook?
>>
>>3829615
Who knew exactly which store we'll attend beforehand?
>>
>>3829617
I mean, if you really think it was him sure.
>>
>>3829507
>>Everything is frightening, and I feel helpless. I want to go back to before. I don’t like this new man.

>Anything you want to chatter about?
Talk about the ghost eating trees
Talk about the strange things in Ellowie
Ask him about mountain blood tongue
See if we could get our abilities back without the control
>>
>>3829507
This >>3829535 is good, as is >>3829627's other questions. Maddy mentioned our presence had been "twisted around by something else", see if he can tell us whether or not it's just the background radiation from Ellowie leaking into us or if we've been tampered with by something else without our noticing. Also ask him if he knows any good uses for a living stone while we're at it.

>>3829624
I say thank him anyway.
>>
>>3829507
>>3829535's write in and >>3829627's questions. Also ask if he knows Yva or whatever allegiances she may potentially have.
>>
>>3829507
>Everything is frightening, and I feel helpless. I’ve been told I’m free now. I suppose I am, but I don’t quite know what I’m going to do with this freedom. Or if it’ll be a fair trade for what’s been lost, even if what I’ve gained is supposedly so much.

>Anything you want to chatter about?
Talk about the ghost eating trees
Talk about the strange things in Ellowie
Ask him about mountain blood tongue
>>
>>3829507
>Everything is frightening, and I feel helpless. I want to go back to before. I don’t like this new man.

This was a mistake.
>Other?
We don't have a weapon to try out our combat abilities but see if we can remember any historical knowledge in this place.
I want to see if Richter's capacities are truly gone or if they are blocked/damaged.
Especially whether we were "imbued" with our knowledge or we learned it before and it was stolen from us.

Also ask about Mountain Blood Tongue and whether or not what happened to us had magical influences.
>>
>>3829507
>>Everything is frightening, and I feel helpless. I want to go back to before. I don’t like this new man.
>>
>>3829794
Supporting this.
>>
>>3829627
>>3829794
>>3829827
>>3829860
Maybe being a mess isn't that great.

>>3829535
>>3829547
>>3829644
>>3829759
>>3829790
But I suppose it could be worse.

>>3829549
Thanks for the gun

>>3829627
Trees, ghosts, and bloody tongue. Your timing with your fiancee could have been really off.
Yeah okay don't think of that brand of joke right before dinner.

>>3829644
Give me a soul exam, also I have a crab what do I do with it.

>>3829759
Do you know this woman.

>>3829794
Try and test your capabilities- how much of it was you in the first place? Or was it yours and stolen?
Mountain gibberish.

I will eat then write.
>>
“…Everything is frightening,” you admitted, “And I feel helpless.” You were tempted to follow that with, and I want to go back to before, but your tongue was stilled from quite saying that. It was a hand that beckoned, yes, but the hand belonged to a figure you knew you couldn’t trust. “I’ve been told that I’m free now. I suppose I am, after a fashion, but I don’t know what I’m going to do with this new freedom, or if it’ll be a fair trade for what I’ve lost, since I can’t see if what I’ve gained is proportional.”

Poltergeist chuckled a reedy, hollow laugh at your heartfelt confession. “Heh heh heh. Yes, being weaned is hardly the most pleasant for some, but is your hunger so much that you’re tempted to go directly back to the teat?”

“I don’t think so.” You decided, “I think that I want to gain new strength on my own.”

“Quite a declaration for one whose knees quaked before erring for the braggadocious.” Poltergeist demurred, “The outdoors are nice, but come to my “vacation home,” I have more accommodations there, after all.”
You followed Poltergeist heavy steps, but kept up your questioning. “You seem to have some idea of what’s happened to me. Tell me…can I regain what I’ve lost without what I shed? My skill, my knowledge, without the control over my mind?”

“I must appear an endless depository for knowledge on solutions to the world’s problems.” Poltergeist chose to mock you rather than answer, “I would question which you value more that your thirst is so great. So addicted to your strengths that such a short period without them and it gnaws so at your belly. Whether or not I know the full details of your conditions and ordeals, I would ask what exactly you thought you were sacrificing, if you thought you could get it all back so simple and easy.”

“I did not know what I would be sacrificing!” you protested.

“Heh heh. Then I should hope you do not blame anybody else that you are a fool.” The soulbinder looked back at you over his shoulder, like some sort of hulking owl monster. “Oh, do not look so put upon. This must hardly be the first time you’ve been called a bad name.”

“I do not think that I should be mocked for wanting it back,” you said sorely, “Especially when…I do not know how much of it was actually mine own talents, and how much was…just bestowed upon me, that wasn’t part of me at all!”
>>
“…Heh.” Poltergeist pushed his way through the door of odd, black material, and you followed. “Can you not figure that out on your own? When would your mind control or whatever you choose to call it have started? Surely you know. Logically, if you were as you used to be, before that, then its gifts would not have included what was lost.” Poltergeist led you to a familiar tea table. “Do you like it? It is a new acquisition. Relatively. Heh heh.” He settled down on one side. “I prepared in advance, of course,” he pointed to a teapot and wooden cups. Not ceramic? “Perhaps I shall break my own rules, as you look so pitiful. When you put together a puzzle, can you not determine the shape of a piece that goes in a place by what the gap looks like? Pull upon those threads, and though you may not suddenly find the piece, you will see far better how to create a replacement. As to the trouble of your fright, perhaps find motivations that lingered beyond, to rise above them?”

Somehow it didn’t feel like it should be so simple, but you noted something. “You have rules?” you asked, “You don’t seem to follow them very closely, else I would not have a gun with my body right now. Thank you for that, by the by.”

“Hm? What gun?” Poltergeist seemed to be playing coy at first, but he stopped to think, for a moment. “…Heh heh. So I did. Naughty me. Though perhaps you should be sending your thanks to another person.”

“…”

“Why not? Do you feel wronged by them?”

You dodged the question. “You can sense Presence. I saw my fiancée the other day.”

“And how did you feel around her?” Poltergeist asked. “Your recent feebleness and such.”

“Better. But, she said my presence had been twisted by something. I want to know more about that, since, at least, my Presence is what is actually here, is it not? I have been in Ellowie, and it has been quite haunted…”

Poltergeist leaned forward, making a show of inspecting what he could likely see at a glance. “Well, you’ve made a mess of my weave, for certain. An ember has been taking bites out of you, and…oh, my. Somebody who isn’t me was poking about, too. What a naughty woman.”

“How did you know they were a woman?” you asked, “I wanted to ask about them, actually. Her name is Yva. Have you heard of her? What are her allegiances?”

“I know it is a woman because women and men have differing presence, as one must incubate life and the birth of another soul…or so the philosophers say, but the differences are clear. Did you not know? As for whom I know…that would be best to ask when you are guaranteed to be in a time and place that my memory would be more fresh, would it not be?”

“Helpful as always,” you grumbled, “So you haven’t heard of them, then.”
>>
“Have you tried asking her about herself?" Poltergeist posited, "She should not be troubling you, in any case, no matter her allegiance, unless you are purposely inviting trouble to yourself. In which case, the Oblitares would come knocking in Ellowie.”

“She is making trouble by fraternizing with my comrade Von Metzeler,” you recalled gruffly.

“…Ah, so she chooses to show her face openly?” Poltergeist laughed, “Heh heh.” He pointed to you, “Are you jealous? Is she cute? A soulbinder is so much more potent, potentially, in their arts, than your little redhead, after all. Though if her identity is so open, she is not me, or dear old Gyalzhahar, at least.”

“Who?”

“A grumpy troglodyte who eats slop from the hands of whatever master he chooses,” Poltergeist said dismissively, “Of the west, of course, not that such is always redeeming. As for this Yva, if you truly feel threatened by her, then why not take advantage of this vulnerability? You could never hope to defeat a Soulbinder in a contest of strength, not if they have any intelligence as they should, and do not enter a conflict with uneven odds. Yet she has clearly left the way to her soft and vulnerable heart wide open. Why not nurture the bond she has with your man, if she is so inclined? That would be a much more feasible way of getting at her.”

“I would rather her not turn Von Metzeler into a thrall.”

“Ah, you know about that, hm? I should hope that is not her intention. That’s a no-no even among Oblitares, you see. For now. Heh heh. Imagine the damage one could do if a head of government was made a thrall…alas, that is not the case…for now.” Poltergeist said this like he was telling a child a scary bedtime story, though the implication did not amuse you.

“I would like some of that tea, if you may,” you said, watching the steam flow from the teapot gradually lessen. “…A sudden thought, do you happen to know any uses for Living Stones? I recently bought one…because…I don’t know. It was an impulse.”

“You can frighten women with them.”

“Hilarious.”

Poltergeist didn’t bother picking up the teapot, instead choosing to make it float by use of sparking, scarcely visible threads- presumably to show off, and arranged both of your cups and brewing situations. “I am, aren’t I?”

“If I were not the subject of every joke,” you grumbled, and inspected the tea you’d been given. Black as night- sugar cube at the bottom. “How on earth do you get sugar cubes here?”

“That is the thing that sticks out the most?” Poltergeist feigned shock.
>>
You sighed, and sagged your shoulders. “I wish to try something while I am here. I’m not intoxicated with Wakeleaf here, and the fear is not present here…quiz me on history. One of the things I have lost is a significant amount of that knowledge, but…it isn’t like with me forgetting how to fight. Instead of feeling wrong, I just don’t know, so it’s a different sort of feeling…”

“Very well.” Poltergeist acquiesced surprisingly easily. “When did the Emrean War begin?”

“Are we counting the conflict between the protectorate’s occupation army and the local government against militant revolutionary movements, or after they agreed to combine forces and form the Emrean nation to declare independence officially from the Reich?”

“And you are concerned with having forgot a significant amount.”

Everybody knows about that, though.”

Poltergeist stared for a moment. “Very well then. How about…the year of Strossvald’s independence from the Reich?”

You opened your mouth…then close it again. “…See, I should know that, should I not?”

“I will help.” Poltergeist straightened and put his hands on the table. “When was your family ennobled by the first Archduke?”

“The year of eighteen seventy two.” You rattled off easily.

“Subtract one.” Poltergeist waved his finger as you blinked in realization. “Heh. Heh. Do you see? Empty spaces with which a piece may be crafted, if you have lost it.”

“I suppose.” Though your question posed to yourself had been answered- it seemed that this “forgetting” was extended to your presence; though as Poltergeist had pointed out…to call what you lost truly “lost” may have been…a heartening overstatement, maybe. One could only hope, but he also said it wouldn’t be simple and easy…perhaps he merely meant that you wouldn’t have to relearn everything from scratch. Unless your ability to fight was different enough that you would have to do that. What choice, though, but to learn once more?

“You said you were in Ellowie?” Poltergeist played with his tea by setting his cup to steadily spin of its own volition…his, rather. “How has it been, then? To your liking?”

“Recently, a village appeared out of nowhere,” you said, taking a sip, carefully. “That was interesting. Maddalyn said that it got pulled back like my presence gets pulled here.”

“How mysterious. As fascinating as that topic is though, that is unfortunately, something I cannot even toy with you about being better off not knowing about. At least, quite yet.”
>>
Sincerity? From Poltergeist? “Fine. You can talk about the trees, at least, yes? The Kalamarz?”

“Interesting flora,” Poltergeist pointed to the ceiling, the walls, of his cabin. “Not far removed from this, you know. There are quite a few creatures and plants more sensitive to presence. Living Stones, for example. Blackflower plants. These traits aren’t of any consequence to most, of course, but in Ellowie, a naturally spiritual place? Yes, the Kalamarz feed well. You have been keeping a close eye on Emma, have you not?”

“I…lost track of her after I had my conditioning removed, but I’ve been doing my best.”

“Be a good fellow and find her again soon,” Poltergeist said in mock chastising, “your dear fiancée won’t be happy if you cannot even handle dead children.”

Were you fading yet? In case you were… “I have one last question.” You tried to be as serious as possible in spite of whom was across the table. “When I was under conditioning, apparently, I could be commanded by use of a language called the Tongue of Mountain’s Blood. You don’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

“Hmm. Go on and slurp down your tea.” Poltergeist rubbed his gloved hands together. “I don’t know a word of it, but I know of it, in that it’s one of the many secrets the lovely folk of the mountains like to keep to themselves. For you to be ordered around with it, it’d take people who know the language, and there certainly can’t be many of them around. I’d suppose it was chosen for that reason- because nobody knows it. Except some of the mountain folk who take up important duties with the Mountain Lords. The acolytes of some Soulbinders, for example. Alas, it should say something when I can genuinely say that I wish I knew more about it.”

“I was thinking,” you had steadily been putting this together since your mind had been freer, “Could my conditioning have had…sorcerous elements?”

Poltergeist paused, then laughed. “Heh. Heh heh. No. I would have been able to tell you that much. Not everything in this world is magic, you know, but-“

You fell away.





…Bugger.

-----
>>
Cold. Chilling cold. Dark, enemies all around…you were awake, and in…in the truck. Moving along. Morning.

“Rise and shine, Richter,” Morgen said brightly from up front, “You were late risin’, so we just set off after jammin’ you back there. Don’t got coffee or nothin’, but it’s fine. Nothin’ t’ do but drive anyhoo.”

It was awfully misty outside, but that didn’t help how tense you were. The Wakeleaf…the wakeleaf could help you, you thought as you scrambled to take out the baggie with the packaged doses in them…then stopped…Should you? You had the feeling you were going to be in danger, considering where you were, the lack of armed guards, that this was Sosaldt and you were heading towards the Border Zone…but could you learn to doubt this fear? Was it something that was false? Could you stand it either way?

>Take your Wakeleaf. It would last a while, and it’d help you wake up…of course.
>Don’t take any more drugs. What if this became a habit?
>Try something else to try and banish this feeling…hopefully, for more than a moment. (What?)
>Other?
>>
>>3830838
>>Try something else to try and banish this feeling…hopefully, for more than a moment. (What?)
Thinking about Maddalyn seems to be what Richter responds best to, so just daydream about being with her until we forget about The Fear. Save the wakeleaf for if we encounter some tangible danger we need to respond to.
>>
>>3830838
>Poltergeist said in mock chastising, “your dear fiancée won’t be happy if you cannot even handle dead children.”

The irony is rich here indeed. Future Poltergeist talking to us the whole time here? He did replace those cups...

Hold off on that good stuff. If we really need it in danger, we can take it.
>>Try something else to try and banish this feeling…hopefully, for more than a moment. (What?)

Focus on the gun, maybe we can't use it well but if we remember how the parts all work together it could help. Check ammo, see if it's clean, inspect the inner workings.
Also trying to work around remembering historical facts might help. Bounce off Richter's personal history or how the Von Trachts impacted things.
>>
>>3830838
>Try something else to try and banish this feeling…hopefully, for more than a moment.
Handling guns is said to instill confidence.
Btw our shooting skill was based on our hunting hobby, so it definitely wasn't a product of the brainwashing. Which means we should recover it.
>>
>>3830874
>>3830902
Supporting doing some target practice. Even learning from the very beginning it shouldn't take that long to regain a basic level of competency.
>>
>>3830838
>>3830874
This seems good
>>
>no Hummel fun this dream
There's always next time, I guess
>>3830838
>Try something else to try and banish this feeling…hopefully, for more than a moment.
Play with gat
>>
>>3830902
+1.
>>
My sleep schedule has become absolutely fucked.

>>3830867
Muh shorty

>>3830874
>>3830902
>>3830987
>>3831107
>>3832143
>>3832303
Why fondle females when you could molest a gun
No comment on whose gun it is, or maybe was.

Writing.
>>
You rolled the tempting drug between your fingers…it called…but you remembered Poltergeist’s words-about being weaned off of a metaphorical mother’s breast. Wouldn’t a drug habit, if it became that, be just another smothering caregiver turned overlord? No…you had to save it for when you really needed it. Doubtless that time would come…but now? No. You had paid your way for a reason.

Instead, you took out your gun…Signy’s gun, perhaps, since you hadn’t really spent enough time with it to proper call it yours, even if training had gone over the weapon itself. Not that you could remember much about it besides that to field strip it you’d need a tool. How to actually strip it was another matter entirely, that you only found fog when you grasped for the knowledge.

Even ignorance couldn’t keep you from examining the gun- and checking what you had to use for it. Two stout magazines that, you remembered, carried eight rounds each of 9.3 millimeter ammunition. While you didn’t trust yourself enough to keep one loaded in the gun, you pushed the ammunition out of one magazine and felt the spring mechanism push the next bullet into place. You pulled on the gun’s slide, felt it work, felt it lock…played with it to figure out how it worked again. It was like a puzzle, it was play…and it distracted perilously little from the feeling of being watched. It became harder to concentrate, but frustration was not a mercy granted to you.

Please, you thought as your hands tremble, Please, at least let me remember how to defend my life.

You had to shoot. To practice. To at least know where you were at, and make some effort to improve. With only sixteen shots, you wouldn’t get much practice, but it would at least be advancement from the nothing you felt. Maybe when you stopped at whatever settlement you were planning to- apparently, when you uncertainly asked, the one you were heading to was one that it was no secret that it was one of the few left not turned into a warzone for competitors, ruled by a gang, or abandoned and hidden in by bandits. It was also, apparently, a haven for Ellowian insurgents, whom these people you traveled with planned to sell their heavy loads of weaponry and ammunition to- at a premium, naturally. Did they have any more 9.3 you could buy, you wondered. You recalled that 9.3 millimeter was a cartridge that was mostly only used by Strossvald, so there might not be much chance of that…
>>
Looking outside wasn’t much comfort this morning, as you ravenously demolished a dark rye bread roll that was passed back to you as breakfast.

“Glad that Gaetsi’s up front for this,” Yeshamov scowled, “This damn fog. Hell to drive in, especially in this sort of territory. If we run into something we’ll be screwed.”

“Well, we certainly will be with that attitude,” Morgen leaned on the window, and made a dismissive gesture, before looking out the side himself. “Awfully dry, these parts. Not quite a desert, at least. Two sets of mountains drinkin’ up all the clouds…”

“Except these ones down low, apparently,” Yeshamov said. “The funny shit comin’ out the mountains. Say it’s haunted.”

“Tales of curses and ghosts will not help morale!” Morgen was particularly stressed by that theory for whatever reason.

“Yeah, yeah, nothin’ but cheer an’ high spirits in this neck o’ the woods…” Yeshamov grumbled.

They bickered with each other and seemed to forget you even existed, as you intermittently toyed with your weapon, and aimed it shakily at the other wall, trying to keep your arm steady, racking your brain on how you were a crack shot at all…

-----

The lingering pressure from your senses drove you to huddle to yourself and treat the back cabin as a hiding hole, but from how the vehicle turned and rattled it was sure that you were in uneven ground, and on a rocky road.

“Why’re they stoppin’…” Yeshamov grumbled as he hit the brakes slowly, “This ain’t good country to be stopping. Hey, Richter, Morgen. Come out. Don’t like being cooped up in a truck for…whatever the hell this’ll turn out to be.”

It was discomforting stepping out of the truck, but you did so- maybe the stale air was penetrating even your severe anxiety, despite knowing that a thousand more eyes could see you outside.

“What’s the hold up, Gaetsi?” Yeshamov began to storm towards the front truck, and Gaetsi came out.

“Somethin’s in the road, I’ll need help clearing it. Just you’ll be enough.”

“Don’t have time for this…” the short man said roughly, but he went along, leaving you and Morgen by yourselves behind the lead truck.

“Ominous weather, hm, Richter?” Morgen tried to make light conversation.

“…” you considered whether to respond or not, when…

“The hell? Hey!” Yeshamov’s voice called out, “Who’s th-“ Pang! Pang-Pang!
>>
No, no, no no no no, no, no! Your mind entered a blind panic as you heard gunfire- you fell to your knees, scrambled sideways, then forwards, and into a rocky ditch at the side of the road, huddling behind a trio of stacked boulders. Panic like you’d never felt before- you could hardly breathe, your breath was quick, but each one seemed to bring no air…You…you were fine…breathe…you were hidden. In cover. Safe, right?

“Richter? Where you gone?” Morgen called. Then… “…What’s goin’ on, Gaetsi? Who’re these people? Where’s Yesh and Brun?” Pang! “Ugh!”

“Sorry, Morgen. Splitting it three ways is better for me than splitting it four.” You heard Gaetsi say.

“You said there was another, didn’t ya?” a different voice asked, “Should we shoot him too?”

“Damn you…Gaetsi, you no-good rat…”

“You’ll bleed out slower if you save your strength, Morgen. Especially with how much energy you expend doing it.” Gaetsi said, voice thick with condescension. “The last man…he was some useless addict. He won’t be any trouble. Come on. Let’s get this gear moving.”

Damn. Damn, damn, damn! It was all you could do to keep yourself silent…

“Ughhh…” You heard Morgen cough and splutter, and groan. “Dirty…dirty snakes…”

You…you had your gun, that you had now put the magazine into, as if you could do anything with it. It was something, at least. You were out of sight- this trench kept along the road, it was foggy, and the land went up and down severely all around, with stones littered all about of varying sizes. You could slip away…escape…but…was that what…what the old you would do..?

>Rouse yourself. Stand up. Even one man could take on three if he got the first shot…and even a worthless shot could hit something from right next to them, if you crawled up to the edge…right?
>Run away. This isn’t the place for valor. It was all you could do to survive.
>Hide until the bandits leave with their prize. Even if Morgen had extorted you, you couldn’t just leave him there to die, could you? You had to do something…
>Other?
>>
>>3833740
>Hide until the bandits leave with their prize. Even if Morgen had extorted you, you couldn’t just leave him there to die, could you? You had to do something…

As much as it'd serve us right to see Richter just get shot and killed because of this whole misadventure back into Sosaldt, even he would realize trying to shoot them would be pointless.

>Other?
Move a little further away until they leave, no sense trusting what they are saying out loud.
>>
>>3833740
>Rouse yourself. Stand up. Even one man could take on three if he got the first shot…and even a worthless shot could hit something from right next to them, if you crawled up to the edge…right?
>>
>>3833740
>>Hide until the bandits leave with their prize. Even if Morgen had extorted you, you couldn’t just leave him there to die, could you? You had to do something…
>>
>>3833740
>Hide until the bandits leave with their prize. Even if Morgen had extorted you, you couldn’t just leave him there to die, could you? You had to do something…
>>
Richter will never get better if you keep voting not to try, anons.
>>
>>3834124
Now's the time to bow out, and not try.

>>3833740
->Hide until the bandits leave with their prize. Even if Morgen had extorted you, you couldn’t just leave him there to die, could you? You had to do something…
>>
>>3833878
>>3833995
>>3834116
>>3834341
Hide off in a ditch.

>>3833911
Make ready for battle.

Update coming...right now.
>>
A pause- a careful ear- though you felt like you heard inaudible encroaching whispers, far louder and definitely existent were the sounds of the brigands speaking, walking about. You kept your gun holstered and kept the little slung wickerwork case with your crab in it close to your side, and carefully crept further away, crouched low to the ground. Just in case they doubted their judgment, and came looking. Much as you would have loved to flee, you couldn’t turn tail and run away. You had to stay- and wait. Perhaps, when the highwaymen made off with their prize, you could help who was left. Morgen wasn’t dead yet- and as much as he had extorted you of a lot of money, you couldn’t just leave him there to die…

Yet as you hid in the stones and fog, and waited for the trucks to start up and drive into the distance, you couldn’t help but feel disgusted. Was this what you were, now? Yet it wasn’t nearly enough to put you to your feet and move into the open again. It was cold, but your shivering wasn’t from the weather, and the despair you found yourself sinking into was born of merely thinking, of what you could have done before. Isolated in lawless country, with naught but an injured man and what you had on your person- a canteen of water, no food- the more you thought about it, the more the temptation came for tears to brew in your eyes for the misery of it all- but you did rise again.

Morgen lay in the rocky dirt road, groaning and holding his breast, until you came close and he stilled his tongue to look over. “…Oh. Hullo there, Richter. Not…not the best luck we had, eh? Not only shot, but ran my leg over with the truck on their way out. Ha…ugghh. Can you help me sit up?” You said nothing, and bent down to push him up. “Ah. Thanks. Got a smoke?”

You shook your head.

Morgen sighed, and took off his hat to put it beside him. “Pity.”
>>
“You…You’ve been shot, and…and robbed…but you’re…not upset..?” you struggled to get out.

“Huh? Oh, I’m burnin’ up about it, no doubt, but, not much point in that right now, I figure.” Morgen kept a hand clenched on his wound, his breaths heavy. “I’d ask you t’ check on Yeshamov and see if you can find Brun, but…eh, I’d rather not see their bodies, y’know. Rather be uncertain ‘bout it, even though I already know. Not like we were closest of mates, but they put their trust in my scheme.”

“…I…we’re…” you tried to sputter out, but Morgen talked over you, after giving you a look up and down.

“Still here, so you weren’t with them. Must have good instincts. Should’a followed you, but, was too curious for my own good. Guess you’re thinkin’, what now? What master plan does ol’ Morgen got to get outta this pickle? Well…” Morgen forced a grin, “I don’t got one. You’re lookin’ pretty fit to keep trekkin’, and this road goes on further down the funnel, after all. Meanwhile, I’ve got a hole in my chest, and I can’t walk. Leave me somewhere that’s not too rough and I’ll probably die in a day or so. No sense in me slowin’ us both down so we both bite the dust.”

“…Shouldn’t…shouldn’t give up…so quickly…” you muttered. “…Town or…or village can’t be too…too far.”

“Nah, but we weren’t intendin’ on stoppin’ til we hit Spout Market right off the border,” Morgen said, “Say you carry me to a place and it’s full of unseemly folks. Not like you’re in any shape to fight, from how you stagger ‘bout, how you hold a gun. You’re best off on your lonesome, ‘less you got secrets hidin’ in your sleeve.”

>You had to admit, he was right. There was nothing for it but to move on by yourself. You couldn’t mind after the both of you in these wild lands…
>Neither of you had to go anywhere. If you stayed long enough, the Hogs would find you…wouldn’t they?
>Maybe you couldn’t fight…but leaving a man behind was cowardly. You didn’t lack for physical strength- you could bear this burden, at least.
>Other?
>>
>>3834583
>>You had to admit, he was right. There was nothing for it but to move on by yourself. You couldn’t mind after the both of you in these wild lands…
Ask him if he wants to be put out of his misery though.
>>
>>3834583
>Maybe you couldn’t fight…but leaving a man behind was cowardly. You didn’t lack for physical strength- you could bear this burden, at least.
Cowards, the lot of you. Richter will stay a snotpile forever if you have your way.
>>
>>3834583
>Maybe you couldn’t fight…but leaving a man behind was cowardly. You didn’t lack for physical strength- you could bear this burden, at least.
The old Richter wouldn't have left somebody to die like this. He'll be a burder but if we're lucky we can save his life and take our first big step back towards making back some of that valour we lost.
>>
>>3834583
>Maybe you couldn’t fight…but leaving a man behind was cowardly. You didn’t lack for physical strength- you could bear this burden, at least.
>>
>>3834583
>Maybe you couldn’t fight…but leaving a man behind was cowardly. You didn’t lack for physical strength- you could bear this burden, at least.

Find Yesh and Brun’s Bodies, maybe they had useful things on them. If their clothes aren’t soiled with blood and guts maybe we can use them to make the worlds worst makeshift litter to drag Morgen on.
>>
>>3834804
Seconding. Take any guns, money, or drugs from their bodies like a good scavenger. Also we should take a hit of wakeleaf when we approach the next village so we can handle the situation halfway competently and hopefully not get taken advantage of or killed.
>>
We should have asked Polt how to break a Wakeleaf addiction while we were at it.
>>
Bright and early as usual.
Bleh.

>>3834590
Do you want to die quicker

>>3834615
>>3834623
>>3834756
>>3834804
>>3835072
You can do this, can't you?

Writing.

>>3835230
I don't think you have to ask a wizard how to do that.
>>
This wasn’t something you had anticipated to be a survival situation- and while Morgen was right in that having to haul around a wounded man who couldn’t walk would reduce your chances of survival. Though, even with the fog suggesting that, just beyond it, your imagined fears had form…your name was Von Tracht, was it not? Even if you couldn’t fight…to leave a man behind was cowardice, and your father did not raise a coward. Your bloodline had ignoble mentions, but it was not a line of cravens- and it certainly would not become one because of you. This burden, you could bear.

“Let’s…” you coughed, but then chose to act rather than fruitlessly speak. You helped Morgen out of his jacket, which seemed to confuse him at first, but he didn’t object when you cut away strips of his shirt underneath to make dressings, if not particularly clean ones. You’d have tried to wash things, but you didn’t have enough water nor a sustainable source nearby.

“Right kindly of you,” Morgen said, “S’pose you’re gonna ignore my advice, then. Ow!” His punctuation came as you tightly wrapped strips of cloth over and around his bared torso to try and help clot up the wound. If it was in his lung like it sounded there’d be trouble, but you didn’t know how to treat that sort of wound, besides recalling that it was best to get to a proper doctor as soon as possible. Being shot there yourself, albeit by a bigger gun, you knew the experience was far from pleasant. Morgen was weathering it very well, considering.

“I’ll be…right back…” you said to Morgen after he at least had his gunshot wound bound up- it might have been too much to ask for in this barren country for a sturdy stick to make a splint for his leg with, though maybe a piece of scrap metal wouldn’t be too much to ask for, or perhaps if you found an abandoned settlement, you could find something there…perhaps even enough to make a simple litter to drag him with. Before you went on down that road, though, you had to find what you could…and pick as much as you could from the dead.
>>
Rolled 3 (1d5)

Yeshamov had been dumped off the side of the road ahead- and he was absolutely dead when you found him. One hole right in the center of his chest- he was probably dead from that alone, but his murderer hadn’t been taking any chances and put two in his head as well. His shoes had been taken, and when you went through his pockets, so had any money or arms he had been carrying. He was left with his water canteen, at least- a small mercy, though if he had any drugs on him, he was carrying them in places you didn’t want to look.

Poor Brun had been deposited on the opposite side of the road not much further up- a bullet in one ear and out the other. Probably killed without even realizing it. At least, having not been shot through the heart, his clothes were salvageable. However, besides that, he had been similarly looted of valuables. The only prize you had were semi-useable rag material made from only slightly dirty clothes; even if it didn’t make you feel good to leave a man in his underclothes, dead, by the side of the road. Not that you had a shovel to bury anybody in a reasonable amount of time- you’d have to devote that time to the living.

Morgen was still sitting in place, as was what he was limited to doing now, but he at least wasn’t surprised you came back. With some more dressing applied to his wounds and his jacket buttoned again, he seemed to be mostly stopped up- if absolutely still unhealthy. Maybe he’d last more than a day, and you could find some help; if only some would fortuitously arrive for you.
Attempts to have him limp along with his arm over you proved inefficient- every stagger, Morgen cried out or grunted in pain, and finally requested that you stop and take a break. You couldn’t- it had only been about five minutes. So you lifted him over your shoulders and bore him along that way- you certainly had had plenty of practice carrying people…Signy, in particular…and Morgen was only somewhat heavier, especially being able to carry him on your shoulders rather than on your back. With a swig of water and a hit of wakeleaf turning your tongue to ice, you went on, not on the road itself, but following close enough that you could use it as a guide, while maybe avoiding an experience like the last...


1-Nobody
2-Cute Orphans
3-Friendly Neighbors
4-Interesting Wildlife
5-Not something awful


I'll be back in a bit, going out to eat.
>>
As your journey went on, your senses and confidence charged, though your actions and feeling perhaps dulled (perhaps it would have been good to give some to Morgen, but…), your passenger on your shoulders decided to distract himself by telling stories.

“Not the first time this sort of thing has happened,” he murmured.

“Getting shot?” you asked.

“Nah, actually. This is new. Urrghhh. Sorry. I mean getting’ robbed blind.”

“I see.” You kept your eyes front.

“Maybe one can call me not so excellent at en-tre-pre-neurin’, considerin’, but this is only the second big deal I’ve tried. The little deals, they’re no trouble, they keep you goin’, but they got no rush, see? And for the big rush, you need the big risks.”

With Morgen’s mouth running a mile a minute, it was only his haggard breath and need to stop to catch his breath that told you that he indeed was seriously wounded. You wondered if speech was just a way he dealt with the pain. He had a way of reminding himself of other stories in the midst of others, and would interrupt the old, get mixed up, then head off on a new track altogether. It was a strange white noise to work under, for a good forty minutes.

…Shapes. Real ones.
>>
“Shh,” you hissed at Morgen, “People.” Your companion got the message, and you ducked down in the trench by the road and held still. This area was less rocky- you’d have to hope nobody would think to look for you- that your silhouette wasn’t seen, and that nobody had heard Morgen talking. Thankfully, being wounded had turned his volume down some.

…Maybe not enough, as you heard the light step of feet on the ground, crunching stones and brushing of dry, frosted grass. You held your breath, felt your heartbeat in your throat…they weren’t close yet, but they would be soon. What would you do? They weren’t saying anything…

“Hey, who’s out there?” your thought was corrected by a hoarse voice calling out, “Show yourselves! Share your wealth a little, else we’ll coax it outta you!”

You noted your surroundings. The trench next to the right side of the dirt road- low, scrubby brush off the right side of said defilade, a rise beyond that, then the fog obscured most of it. Over the left side of the path, more shallow hills, but going up there would probably put you in sight. Fleeing seemed to not be an option- not with Morgen’s weight upon you interfering with your ability to step lightly. A peek over the edge- three shapes, none of them particularly large, all seeming to be in heavy ponchos.

>Surrender. What more could be taken from you at this point?...after you bury a few things in the loose, dusty dirt. (Such as?)
>Lay an ambush. They knew you were about- but they didn’t know where. Unlike them, who had given away their position.
>Leave Morgen behind here and try to draw the bandits away from here.
>Work with Morgan to dispatch these bandits- he could linger there and smooth talk- while you either set up an ambush from close by or waited in case he got in trouble.
>Keep low, hide, and hope for the best.
>Other?
>>
>>3836376
>Work with Morgan to dispatch these bandits- he could linger there and smooth talk- while you either set up an ambush from close by or waited in case he got in trouble.

Leave Morgen with all our vaguely valuable supplies and take the gun to set up an ambush. Ideally Morgen will be able to talk something out, but if that fails this ambush puts us in our best spot. If we can nail a guy in our first salvo, maybe Morgen can pick up his weapon in the confusion and make it a 2v2. It’s not the plan that has the best chance for us surviving, but I think it’s the best one we have if we want Richter to start recovering.
>>
>>3836376
>>Keep low, hide, and hope for the best.
>>
>>3836376
>Lay an ambush. They knew you were about- but they didn’t know where. Unlike them, who had given away their position.
If we attack them while they're talking with Morgan they might shoot him.
>>
>>3836376
>>Lay an ambush. They knew you were about- but they didn’t know where. Unlike them, who had given away their position.
An officer of Strossvald knows no fear when on wakeleaf
>>
What map maker did you use to create your maps? Theyre really good!
>>
>>3836376
>>Lay an ambush. They knew you were about- but they didn’t know where. Unlike them, who had given away their position.
>>
>>3836376
>Lay an ambush. They knew you were about- but they didn’t know where. Unlike them, who had given away their position.
>>
It is morning.

>>3836470
Give up what you got and lay some bait.

>>3836513
>>3836521
>>3836583
>>3836654
Prepare a trap.

>>3836508
Hide.

I'm just going to combine the first and the ambush option, mostly because I'd imagine it's what people have in mind anyways even though perhaps I should have specified that laying an ambush didn't involve using Morgen as bait.

Writing.

>>3836581
The quality I would say varies a lot (not that the compliment is unappreciated), but I just draw them all out in photoshop, I don't use a particular map-making program for it.
>>
Thank goodness you could think…somewhat clearly.

“Listen,” you shifted Morgen off your shoulders and laid him in the trench- he grit his teeth and tried not to make a sound, “I’m going to give you my valuables. Once I leave, get their attention- I’ll be hiding nearby, and I’ll…take care of them. Do you have a gun?”

“They took my good one, but…” Morgen pulled a small grip from his belt line and smiled, whispering, “I’ve always got ol’ reliable here. Two shots…may as well not use ‘em on myself.”

“Alright,” you gave Morgen your things that seemed like they’d catch the eye of a looter. Which didn’t amount to much- your (empty) leather wallet, and…your father’s silver pocket watch. You’d get it right back. After all…you planned to win this, right? Being high on wakeleaf was bringing some much needed confidence.
With a nod to Morgen, you slunk away, to the brush nearby, being careful not to touch the prickly bushes more than necessary. You had plenty of practice- animals had acute hearing. Yet you could recall this but not your shooting…no time to, as Poltergeist said, “find the empty space’s shape,” not as though it could be so simple (as he also said) anyways. You’d just have to count on being so close that even an imbecile wouldn’t be able to miss…

“Hey!” Morgen called out, “I’m down here! I give up!”

A few relieved mutterings from the brigands, and you held your breath as they came near, then looked down the depression to see Morgen waving. You were far away enough that the fog was still your ally…you had to hope that they kept their attention on Morgen, though. Much closer and your only cover would be the sticks and dry grass.

“Sorry, but,” Morgen kept his salesman’s chutzpah up even as he was surrounded by cloaked bandits. “I’ve already been mugged today. Can’t say I’ve got much I was able to hide…” They seemed a bit slight, when you looked at their arms- one was either a very slender boy or a woman, but the others weren’t particularly larger anyways. Their intimidation came from the revolvers they carried.

“Shut the hell up.” One of the brigands, a man with a craggly, coughing voice commanded. “Cough up what you got.”
>>
“I got my watch here,” Morgen held up the silver watch, “Can I convince you to let me keep my boots? I got roughed up some, but you wouldn’t let a man starve, would you?”

“Can’t even sell him if he’s busted like this,” a light and airy voice from the feminine figure lamented, with a swift kick to Morgen’s broken leg prompting a cry from the wounded merchant. “Not even worth the bullet. Maybe just kick him to death for fun.”

“Maybe.” The third brigand agreed. “The hell he doin’ out here, anyways.”

“My trucks were stolen.” Morgen gasped, still clutching his leg lightly. You aimed down the sights of your handgun, and steadied yourself on the ground. Your aim still trembled…this instrument still felt completely unfamiliar, but you knew that so long as the barrel was steady, the bullet would fly straight. That was only logic. This shot was impossible to miss…

>Roll up to three d100, averaged for a surprise attack. DC 40 roll under.
>>
Rolled 13 (1d100)

>>3836920
>>
Rolled 64 (1d100)

>>3836920
>>
Rolled 4 (1d100)

>>3836920
>>
Rolled 55 (1d100)

>>3836920
>>
Rolled 43 (1d100)

>Roll Average 27- Success, by 1 degree beyond DC

You squeezed the trigger, then squeezed it again without thinking. Two sharp, cracking shots sounded one after the other, as you let your pistol fall back into the dirt- the recoil surprised you, but more surprising still, was seeing the bandit you shot stagger and fall forward. You…you hit them. You hit them!

“Shit!” one of the bandits cried as his gaze snapped over to your hidden position. The other looked too, and Morgen’s eyes flashed as he saw his chance…

>Morgen is rolling a DC50 shot roll under
>>
Morgen’s rushed draw and shot took the bandits off guard, as he lunged and pressed a derringer into one’s ribs, and fired. Suddenly, it was one on two…or perhaps still two, as the bandit Morgen had shot, while they were stumbling and swearing as they waved their gun frantically about, had not fallen yet.

All except that bandit were now aiming their shots…and your aim had to change now, for a wary target, that had now seen you…

>You couldn’t hit them. The first shot had been a lucky fluke. Roll away!
>You shot one- one of many. Shoot one more.
>Other?
>>
>>3836969
>>You shot one- one of many. Shoot one more.
>>
>>3836977
>You shot one- one of many. Shoot one more.
>>
Rolled 33, 11 = 44 (2d100)

You’d shot one so far- and they wouldn’t be the only one. You took shaky aim…and pulled the trigger.

Yet your gun was the last to fire.

>These two rolls are concurrently for the brigand and for Morgen, DC 60 and 50 respectively.
>You get to roll, DC 30, roll under. One roll. I’d say worst of three but really that means you hope for the best on your first anyways.
>>
Rolled 42 (1d100)

>>3837005
Satan guide my aim.
>>
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>>3837015
The Lord of Lies strikes again!
>>
Morgen pointed his derringer up at the brigand…and shot at exactly the same time as the bandit. His head cocked up and you saw him begin to fall over at the same time a flash appeared in your direction, there was a heavy impact to your face, and you blacked out.
>>
When you woke again, you were in a daze…and it seemed only a few seconds had passes, but there was a pain below and to the side of your eye…the bandits were all down. Morgen had furiously pounced on the one he had wounded and was beating them madly with his fists, while another softly moaned on the ground- the one you’d shot. Were you wounded? The high, the fear, the pain, they all mixed to make your head as misty as the weather around you. Absentmindedly, you stood up, and walked towards Morgen and the remaining bandit’s scuffle. There were two Morgens for a moment, and you stumbled as you slid down the edge of the depression, before calmly putting your pistol to the beaten person’s head and pulling the trigger.

“Gah!” Morgen cried in surprise, jumping back and shouting in pain as he landed on his leg. “Agghhh…Richter, you’re…oh, you’ve…you’re not…” he coughed, then brushed himself off, pushed his hair out of his face. “…” He looked to the dying remaining bandit on the ground- even with one side of your vision blurring, and you seeing twice, this last one was a woman, not the prettiest, but certainly young. Her face contorted with pain while her eyes were growing heavier.

Morgen dragged himself over, and slugged her in the face. “Kick you to death. Sell you for a penny. Fucking whore!” With ever annunciation, he punched her in the face, before stopping one last punch and sagging into the dirt, as the woman started blubbering and crying softly. “…Richter, can you…come over here and take care of this one…”

You didn’t, not at first. You touched a finger to the pain, and there was blood…something broken, smashed…your left eye didn’t feel like it was moving the way it should, and when you tried to look right, your vision kept twinning…

“S-save me,” the woman bandit whimpered, “I’ll do…do anything…”

That pissed off Morgen again. He wrapped a hand around her throat, rolled her over, and sat on top of her, putting all his weight into strangling her- she tried to tug at his arms, but she was evidently too weakened to resist.

All of these sensations blurring together left you with naught but a blank feeling…until your head began working again, finally cognizant that the fighting was over. You were still alive…you lived. You were hurt, but you won…somehow.

>Tell Morgen to stop. She had given up- it was your obligation to help, however you could, now. Killing those who surrendered was distasteful…
>Let him finish. These were human trash…and they wouldn’t have extended any mercy in your direction. This was no place for fair rules of war.
>You had already shot this person. No need to make Morgen waste his strength. Finish her yourself.
>Other?
>>
>>3837067
>You had already shot this person. No need to make Morgen waste his strength. Finish her yourself.
>>
>>3837067
>>You had already shot this person. No need to make Morgen waste his strength. Finish her yourself.
No need to be particularly cruel, but yeah fuck them considering what they would have done to us.
>>
>>3837067
>Other: just leave her here. 9.3mm bullets are rare.
>>
>>3837067
>You had already shot this person. No need to make Morgen waste his strength. Finish her yourself.
Sorry kid, this game was rigged from the start.
>>
>>3837067
>Other
Stop Morgen, and ask her where she came from. We don’t want to be wandering into the place that sent these guys out.
>>
>>3837067
>You had already shot this person. No need to make Morgen waste his strength. Finish her yourself.
>>3837079
We have 3 revolvers to choose from now
>>
>>3837069
>>3837072
>>3837080
Dust this bitch

>>3837079
>>3837091
But not with your gun.

>>3837090
Where did you come from.

Equal opportunity self defense. Writing.
>>
Rolled 4 (1d4)

You thought to walk over and shoot this last bandit instead of being needlessly cruel in their dispatching…but then you considered your ammunition situation. Coolly, you picked a revolver off the ground and stepped over next to the woman being strangled. When you pulled the trigger, her brains sprayed out the side of her head and stained the dirt next to her head a bright red. It was funny how little that made you feel.

Morgen didn’t jump this time. He didn’t even take his hands off her throat. The look on his face suggested he might not smile like he used to ever again…but both of you lived.

“…Coulda found more out about them…” Morgen said weakly.

“Not while you were choking her to death.”

Morgen sighed, and slid himself off. “…S’pose we oughta take what we can from here and git.” He looked at you again, “…I don’t know nothin’ bout doctorin’, but maybe wrap up your head. I don’t got a mirror but you ain’t lookin’ too good. Your eye’s lookin’ like it might fall out that fresh gap in the side of your head.”

…Ah. So that’s what it was…It hurt a lot less than you felt it should have. “It’s fine for now…” you said as blood dripped down your cheek and ran down your neck, “Maybe they have bandages…”

They didn’t, but their clothes could be cut into strips, at least. You took what they had- a few small knives, some boxes of dry hardtack and jerky, their water bottles (one had brandy in it- you and Morgen shared drinks of that right off.) Their pistols and the spare bullets stashed in their pockets were also taken.

While you were making bandages for yourself, you noticed Morgen pulling the trousers off the woman, which caught a dark gaze from yourself.

“Judge above, Richter, I ain’t plannin’ nothin’,” Morgen said, looking back to his work, “Some ladies’ underwear is too fine a cloth to get much of in poorer places. If we gotta barter, then we gotta have something t’ barter with. Yep, there we go.”

You looked away as Morgen went about his stripping of valuables. These bandits’ shoes didn’t seem worth taking- not that what you were already taking wasn’t starting to make your loads heavier enough. Thinking about it, a dead woman’s underwear was actually rather light and easy to pack. Rather dark, but…well, you had a hole in your head. Finally a wound that felt appropriate for the feeling inside and out.

You wrapped your head in strips of dusty cloth. Even more now, you hoped to find a somewhat sympathetic settlement. These bandits hadn’t been rich- they carried no money, but at least they had scraps of food. Their corpses were left in the trench as you retrieved your watch and carried Morgen once more. This time, he had no stories to tell.


1-Ghost Town
2-Ruddy Cheeked Children
3-Travelers
4-Nothing bad
>>
>>3837132
Christ, that feeling you get when nothing happening is the best possible outcome.
>>
>>3837132
Ghost Town sounded interesting
>>
We're getting that matching eyepatch one way or another, judge damn it
>>
>>3837144
Big iron.
>>
You kept going down the road- with nothing but the whistle of the wind and rustling brush to hear besides the scrape of your feet on the ground, and yours and Morgen’s heavy breaths. After a couple of hours, you finally felt tired enough that you needed a break. You and your companion sat down and shared your rations- and devoured a third of what you had, as well as the rest of the beer and one of the bottles of water. The Wakeleaf was wearing off, and you didn’t even think about it as you swallowed the rest of the already opened wrap. Your dealer was dead- but you were thinking in the short term. A small reward for managing to live this long.

Food, water, drink and drug gave you much needed energy, and you departed once more down alongside the road. A small mercy that no more strangers were encountered for the next few hours.

The fog began to clear with the sun, and down the path you spied the shapes of huts and shacks- and brightly decorated trucks next to them. A few you recognized as from being back at the encampment last night.

“Can we trust these other…merchants?” you asked Morgen, pointing ahead.

“Them?” Morgen asked, sounding tired in spite of not being the one doing all the walking, shifting himself to see better. “…Huh. Spoke to them last night, actually…were doin’ the same thing we were. Getting’ guns over east. Didn’t seem bad sorts…”

“Didn’t seem?” you demanded brusquely, not interested in getting into another fight.

“Can’t say you don’t want a chance at a helpin’ hand any less than me right now, do you?” Morgen asked with irritation in his voice, “What’re they gonna do, rob us? We don’t got nothin’ they want bad enough anyways. They didn’t seem the type, and that’s good ‘nough for me.”

“Was Gaetsi good enough too?” you asked.

“…Bah. Do what you want,” Morgen grumbled, “Not like I can walk over myself anyhow.”

>He was right. You needed help- and they were the best you could hope for, being people actually met at a merchant depot instead of innocent looking strangers.
>You couldn’t trust anybody in this country. No choice but to keep on going- even if you had to sleep under the stars.
>You weren’t interested in talking to those merchants- but that village might be accommodating. If merchants stopped at it, perhaps the inhabitants had some hospitality, after the merchants left…
>Other?
>>
>>3837162
>>He was right. You needed help- and they were the best you could hope for, being people actually met at a merchant depot instead of innocent looking strangers.
>>
>>3837162
>He was right. You needed help- and they were the best you could hope for, being people actually met at a merchant depot instead of innocent looking strangers.
>>
>>3837162
>You weren’t interested in talking to those merchants- but that village might be accommodating. If merchants stopped at it, perhaps the inhabitants had some hospitality, after the merchants left…
I think we're better off looking for a doctor in this village soon than we are trying to cop a ride from merchants with no cash. Even if we have to leave Morgen here under their care, he'll probably find another ride to Ellowie if he survives, if there are merchants passing through.
>>
>>3837162
>He was right. You needed help- and they were the best you could hope for, being people actually met at a merchant depot instead of innocent looking strangers.
we kind of are shot in the cheek innit
>>
>>3837162
>Other
See if it is possible to scout the village a bit. If the villagers look similar to the bandits we met earlier, don’t go in. A bit of a difficult proposition with our eye, but no sense stumbling into a village bearing the belongings of some of its previous inhabitants. Also no telling the same that happened to us happened to the other gun runners. Gaetsi had other people he worked with, no reason to believe that the other caravan didn’t get hit by another group.
>>
>>3837162
>>He was right. You needed help- and they were the best you could hope for, being people actually met at a merchant depot instead of innocent looking strangers.
>>
I had a sleep.

>>3837187
>>3837189
>>3837192
>>3837212
You're not exactly in any position to complain about the help out here.

>>3837198
See if these people look suspicious.

>>3837190
Don't talk to merchants.

Writing in a bit.
>>
Much as you’d have liked to forge on, you couldn’t deny that both Morgen and you needed help- and you were perilously short on supplies at that. Compared to most of what you’d find out here, people with some familiarity to them were far superior to any other strangers. Not that you weren’t going to have some caution about this.

“Wait here,” you told Morgen, as you set him down.

“Mmfff!” he grunted as you set him down roughly, “Geh. Not like I have a choice.”

“I’ll be back.” You had to be sure of a few things first- one, if those brigands you took out had been based out of here. They couldn’t have come too far with how little food and water they had- though they didn’t seem to be part of any gang at first glance, either. The other was to see if the trucks indeed still had their original owners. After all, the trucks formerly owned by Morgen and his compatriots had been appropriated. You had a decent feel for how the merchants tended to look- it was a simple matter of seeing if they resembled dusty thieves or not.

Not that you trusted your eyes like this to pick out details at a distance. The one next to your wound was covered by binding- the double vision was distracting otherwise. You really hoped that was temporary- you’d grown quite fond of having two eyes, and would prefer not to be the one person you’d met who actually needed an eyepatch.



It seemed like an innocent enough village, albeit one with quite a militia. They didn’t wear ponchos like the brigands from earlier, and included a few men with grey-brownish tunics and floppy pointed field caps, that felt like they should have been familiar dress from…somewhere. You felt like you should have known not that long ago. They were also better armed- it was far too soon on the trail to be the town of Spout Market like Morgen had said would be the final stop. You kept low, and really wished you had a pair of binoculars or a spyglass instead of having to get too close to the militiamen and their rifles.

You started getting an angle on the trucks- the people next to them looked colorful and sociable enough (matching their gaudy trucks) to be too loud in dress and mannerisms to be brigands conducting shady business, but when you closed a bit more, a pair of patrolmen spotted you, pointing in your direction. You fled as they came to investigate- better for you to be introduced as a traveler walking in, not a skulking spy at the edges of the village.
>>
“What’d you see?” Morgen asked as you came back.

“Nothing that’s making this bullet hole feel any better,” you sighed as you crouched down to pick up Morgen’s increasingly familiar weight, “We’re going there. It doesn’t look like the place is run by bandits, nor do the trucks seem like they’ve been hijacked. Unless grey tunics mean a particular gang. I don’t know.”

“Grey tunics?” Morgen repeated, “Nobody in the Funnel’s got uniforms, last I heard. They were more…laissez-faire.”

“I don’t know Emrean.”

“You don’t know ec-o-nom-ics, more like,” Morgen sniffed, “Hard to say these days, I know, but I hear once you could walk this whole way and not get hit by a single bandit at all.”

“Must have been back when the ruler of these territories was called Alexander,” you said sarcastically. “…Say, you don’t know what armies have grey tunics, do you?”

“Nah.” You felt Morgen shrug, “I ran off from Vynmark eight years ago. Could say I’m outta touch on mainland things.”

Not that much could have changed in eight years, you thought.

As you marched up the road, the same patrol as before passed by, noticed you, and waited on the road. When you got up to them, you noticed that they were clean cut, well groomed, seemingly such that was out of the ordinary. They kept their rifles lowered- you must have seemed like not much of a threat.

“Stop there,” one commanded. “Who’re you? You the guy that was sneaking around outside earlier?”

>Yes, you were. Could you be blamed for being careful? You’re wounded, so is the man on your back, and you’d appreciate some help, thank you very much.
>You’re Lieutenant Richter Von Tracht of the Archduke’s army, Kommandant of the Army of the Republic of Mittelsosalia, and you’ve had a long couple of days. If you could be allowed in.
>You don’t know anything about that. You’re just a simple traveler. Not there to demand anything. Maybe to trade a few things for food.
>Other?
>>
>>3837852
>>Yes, you were. Could you be blamed for being careful? You’re wounded, so is the man on your back, and you’d appreciate some help, thank you very much.
>>
>>3837852
>>Yes, you were. Could you be blamed for being careful? You’re wounded, so is the man on your back, and you’d appreciate some help, thank you very much.
>>
>>3837852
>>Yes, you were. Could you be blamed for being careful? You’re wounded, so is the man on your back, and you’d appreciate some help, thank you very much.

We wouldn't happen to remember the names of any of the traders with trucks would we?
>>
>>3837984
>>3837991
>>3838050
A bit snippy.
Also we know people.

Writing.
>>
“Yes. I was.” You said, stiff and irritable, “Can you blame me, considering where we are? I’ve been shot, this man’s been shot and his leg’s broken, we walked all this way and I’d appreciate some help for once today.”

The patrolmen weren’t amused. “Yeah?” the other one demanded, “And why would you be doin’ that? Awfully suspicious.”

Come on. “I…look…see…” you sighed, “Morgen, you said you recognized those trucks, right? Did you meet with any of the traders in those?”

“Huh? Oh, a few.”

“Tell these gentlemen about them so that they don’t have use shot, please.”

Morgen paused and gulped. “…Sure, fine’n. One of them’s this pretty lady who dresses all in frills. Right proper lady, not some prostitute. Can understand my interest, you see. Tanned skin, jet black hair, shows plenty’a neckline, Vitelian, I think…Name was Selena Arridaci.”

“Anybody else,” you prompted tiredly, but the first patrolman held up a hand to stop you.

“Any luck on her?” he asked.

“Naw. She was already engaged, if you get me. Though I had hoped to perhaps tempt her away…”

“Yeah, I know her.” The man said. His partner, as well as you, stared at him. “What? Can’t blame me for tryin’, can you?”

“Exactly.” Morgen agreed. “I am Morgen Wintgartner. I’m ab-so-lute-ly sure I’m remembered by ‘em.”

“Well,” the more prudish of the two patrolmen turned towards the village, “I’ll go and check. You two wait here. If they know that name I’ll come back with a litter.”

We’ll just casually die out here while we wait you thought sorely. You had no clue if Morgen’s bleeding had stopped, but he’d had trouble breathing the whole way. His long extolling just a minute ago had left him breathless. Your injury was less threatening to your life, but you really didn’t want an infection in your eye, either, if it could at least still see.

“So what’s your story, then?” the patrolman asked.

“Oh, what a tale that is-“

You chose to save Morgen some time. “We were delivering guns to Spout Market. We ran afoul of some bandits thanks to a traitor and they stole the trucks and the cargo, and killed two of the guys traveling with us. We’ve hiked the rest of the way.”

“Guns to Spout Market, huh,” the patrolman scratched his chin in contemplation, strapping his rifle over his shoulder. “…They weren’t pre-paid for, were they?”

“Naw!” Morgen still took some pride in his supposed business acumen, “I just knew they were in quite a bit of de-mand o’er there. Better profit if there’s competition over wares than if they can count on a sure deal, after all. Like an auction!”

“Shame, then.” The man said, “We’ve been buying up all the arms going this way, you know. If our offer’s been motivating enough. Usually is.”
>>
“You? Who’re you, to be buying up all the weapons trade going out something like the Funnel?” Morgen asked incredulously.

The patrolman shrugged. “The Republic’s got a generous wallet open, you know? And it’s going that direction anyways.”

The Republic. You kept your mouth shut, but Morgen sighed heavily. “So close to profit…”

The other patrolman soon came back with a stretcher, and laid it on the ground. An improvised one, from the looks of it, but one you were no less happy to see. “Go on and lay him down on it. It’s your lucky day. Though when I asked after a Morgen, those people said they remembered you more ‘cause you gambled near thirty Netillian marks away.”

“You gambled away all I paid you?” you choked in disbelief, “How?

“I am a good en-tre-pre-neur, but an awful unlucky gambler.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” you grumbled, before laying Morgen down on the stretcher. You were directed to take one end, while the other patrolman took the other, and you were led into the village.

-----

The first place you were taken was, surprisingly, a makeshift clinic. You’d have thought there wouldn’t be one here, but you supposed you were in luck. The person who came to the door of the roughly marked stone hut was a mousey young woman who wore a long, grey coat, large round glasses…and had said coat open to her sternum, just below where a thin, black and lacey camisole stopped. She wasn’t showing off much- you had no idea why she’d dress that way, and you doubted the medical ability of somebody who looked like she did, also considering how messy her light brown hair was, standing on ends and split.

“We got a couple of wounded, Trudy.” The lead patrolman explained.

“They got cash?” the woman demanded.

“…” the patrolman and the woman looked at you. “Do you?” She stared a bit longer, and licked her lips.

“We got robbed,” you said bluntly.

“This ain’t a goddamn charity.” Trudy said sorely, “You two oughta know that,” she said to the uniformed men, “I’m not gonna waste supplies on whatever waster walks in, ‘specially if he’s got a sleepwalker whacked out on Wakeleaf in tow.” She stared critically into your eyes. “Pay up or get outta my face. No matter how cute you are.”

>…You might be broke, but couldn’t you barter, as least for Morgen’s treatment? (Barter with what?)
>You’d come back with money. There were merchants- you could trade with them.
>Offer an alternative form of payment. Maybe she could ask something of you?
>Try and negotiate free treatment. (How?)
>Other?
>>
>>3838292
>Try and negotiate free treatment
We're Kommandant Richter von Tracht of the Republic, returning across the border after recovering from a bout of severe torture. At the very least, you could save the life of the man who got shot for me, yes?
>>
>>3838292
>>You’d come back with money. There were merchants- you could trade with them.
She might like payment up front but who says she can actually do anything to help? She's not exactly the spitting image of a professional surgeon here. If she wants her money she can get started on fixing up Morgen while we head over to the traders and make some money, then we'll come back and pay for the both of us once we've seen that she at least has some basic medical knowledge. She's not taking any risk since it's not like Morgen's in any position to run out on her.
>>
>>3838345
>>3838292
Actually, this is better. Switch.
>>
>>3838292
>…You might be broke, but couldn’t you barter, as least for Morgen’s treatment? (Barter with what?)
Morgen has got the light "clothing" looted from the muggers. She seems to like nice undergarments. If not then we can hock some of the guns we picked up.

>Offer an alternative form of payment. Maybe she could ask something of you?
Ominous but might as well hear her out if she doesn't want to barter.
>>
>>3838292
>You’d come back with money. There were merchants- you could trade with them.
Trade the guns to the gun traders, and at least try not to get ripped off when paying for treatment.

>>3838350
For the love of The Judge, if the underclothes are offered say they are our fiances favor or something, or at least our favored prostitute's, whatever keeps her far, far away from the truth.
>>
Today was tiring but will be back on proper schedule tomorrow.
"Proper." "Schedule."

>>3838345
>>3838349
I want to see your credentials. Meanwhile trade for money.

>>3838350
Allow me to gift you the underwear of a woman I shot in the head.
Nonmonetary payment too, I suppose. You have two kidneys for a reason.

>>3838377
Leave out the part about blowing the woman's brains out. Not even metaphorically.

Writing.
>>
Maybe this served for a doctor in Sosaldt, but you couldn’t help but be skeptical of the ability of a person with that level of grooming and dress code, as you cocked an eyebrow. “You’re not exactly the image of a professional surgeon. How about you start fixing my friend, and I’ll come back with what I get from trading away these guns for some of the traders’ money?”

“Nuh uh. Not that I care if you leave him with the bill, but I know he’s got jack all.”

“…Well then,” you didn’t like the sound of it, but in lieu of money… “Can I pay another way? Maybe ask me to do something.”

Trudy got a sly look on her face and reached her finger out and stroked your chin. “Oh, I can think of a few ways, pretty boy.” She didn’t like the look you gave her for that, though. “Feh. Predictable. Thirty two years old and suddenly it’s like you’re a prune. Swear. Anything gives me grey hairs it’s this sorta treatment.”

Well, Trudy didn’t look more than ten years older than you at all- but better for that to be unsaid. “I more meant…” you took the underclothing from your satchel, “I’ve heard that, well, these, are in some demand in places. Maybe you’d…”

Trudy squinted at the underwear. You neglected to tell her that they’d been stripped off a woman whom you killed. Entirely fairly- but it wasn’t something to tell, well, anybody. “You know we come in different sizes, right? What if I’m too scrawny for these?” Your idea had been that they were just worth, money, but she inspected them closer. “…Bleh. Who’d you rip these off of? Somebody was wearin’ this not so long ago.”

“My fiancée,” you said hurriedly.

“Uh huh. Sure. Who are they, this guy?” Trudy poked Morgen, “Whatever. Toss em in with the laundry and it’s a day without somethin’ that sucks from then on.” She leaned in to her hut and tossed the apparel in on something. “Alright. Drag him on in. Mike, go with him to the market and make sure he comes back with somethin’ worth it. Lay him down. Not that hard, jackasses!”

You took a look around the place as you let Morgen be. Shabby was a kind word for most of it, but you had to admit, the operating area was as neat and tidy as one could hope for, even with the junk piled up in the far corners. Some crates stacked up had the emblem of an eagle with wings spread wide and high, an arc of holly above its head. You didn’t remember the symbol- at least you knew it wasn’t Netillian, nor Strossvald, the Reich, nor Naukland. That didn’t leave many reasonable alternate possibilities. Atop a crate was a plaque with a commendation of some sort (or a formal reprimand or dismissal, not that you’d expect that to be displayed) and the same seal on it as the crates- though you didn’t get time to read it up close.
>>
Trudy threw off her coat, letting it fall to the ground, and put on other gloves, she mused to Morgen, “Say, think you can get through a thoracotomy with no anesthesia? The way things’re lookin’ this is gonna be a pretty cheap and simple job.”

You took that as a sign to leave quickly.

“Don’t get too flattered,” the patrolman said when you were out, “She’s hit on anything that doesn’t look like a train wreck that passes through here and comes close.”
You weren’t a train wreck at least. “Seems like she hasn’t found much success.”

“Nope. She’s not bad looking, right, but she wants commitment. Doesn’t mention ‘til she thinks she’s got a bite on her hook, ‘course. Lookin’ in the wrong goddamn place entirely for it, not that we’ve got much choice.”

“Hm.” …Man, you hoped this Wakeleaf didn’t fade off before you closed a deal. Trudy could look in your eyes and see you were under the influence- hopefully these merchants didn’t think they could rip you off by the same logic. Your thoughts weren’t dulled with wakeleaf at all- not any duller than they’d ever been, you supposed with a sigh to yourself.

-----

“Hrrrmmph,” a keen eyed trader made his vision keener still as he inspected the revolvers and their holsters and munitions with a magnifying glass. “Bah. I wouldn’t pay ten pfennings for one of these.”

“What do you mean?” you protested, “They’re fine.” Weren’t they?

“Fine, yes. If fine is what you call this,” the weapons buyer stabbed accusingly at one of the three guns, “A finish scratched as though it was tossed with gravel and glass. This, rust pitting on the cylinder. A trigger pull like yanking on a stone, loosely fitted grips…do you see what I am talking about, good sir?”

“Er.” Maybe once you would have, but you stared blankly at the guns. “They shoot. Isn’t that what’s important?”

The merchant shook his head and waved his hands back and forth in front of his face. “Pointless, trying to educate you.”

“I need money to buy medicine for my friend,” you said, “I just want to sell these honestly.”

“Hrrmph.” The Merchant rubbed his chin, scratched at growing stubble. “One mark fifty for all of the guns. Three marks fifty with the equipment and ammunition. Those leathers are decent enough. If I package them as deals I might sell them and make the most modest of profits someday.”
>>
“Five marks,” you contested with a cough.

“Did you not listen to a word I said?” the merchant spouted irritably, “You are not in a place to haggle for a better price. Three marks fifty, and not a pfenning higher. You won’t get a better price anywhere else I assure you, and when you come back for this deal rather than all the worse ones, I can mark down to match what I know they’d pay.”

You ended up taking that deal. In your current situation, taking that risk didn’t seem sensible.

-----

“I got three marks and fifty pfennings. Union marks.” You said, voice low with defeat as you reentered the clinic. “…What’ll that get.”

“…Sheesh.” Trudy grabbed the cash from your hand and counted it. “Psh. Fine. It’ll get your friend not-dead, and traction for that leg. Not nearly enough to consider me throwing you in the deal.”

“Appreciated,” you said with murky sarcasm and kicked the wall halfheartedly.

“Now piss off.” Trudy said, as she continued preparations that had somehow lasted this long, not that you knew anything about medicine. “I gotta focus, and you’re distracting. I need to be thinking about the patient, not better uses for this damn table.”

Whatever she meant by that, it was probably dirty, you thought with a scowl as you turned and pushed your way back outside again. Whatever. Just…bah. You kicked dust about, the scowl on your face pulling at the wound by your eye, making it ache even more. What were you going to do now…you were well and stuck, now. No money to hitch any more rides, not much in the way of food and water, and still with a barely wrapped up bloody hole in your head, however bad it would turn out to be. You could stay here, you supposed…wait for the Hogs to get you, eventually. Maybe you could beg the merchants to take you. Maybe you could insist you were important enough to demand favors. No matter what plan you took, you at least needed a place to start, now that Morgen wasn’t going to die.



Morgen wasn’t going to die. You saved him.





…It felt good.

A sparkle of valor has returned to your heart. The fear hounds you still, but a candle light flickers in the darkness.

>Stay around the village. At the very least, nobody here was trying to kill you. You could hold out until the Iron Hogs looked around here.
>The trail beckoned. You’d go down it- alone now. Staying here would accomplish nothing.
>You had to keep going, but Judge Above, not on foot. See if you can get on with the merchants somehow…(How?)
>Other?
>>
>>3840291
>Stay around the village. At the very least, nobody here was trying to kill you. You could hold out until the Iron Hogs looked around here.
But no longer than a day. If they don't arrive in this time they probably won't arrive ever.
>>
Going by ourselves was an idiotic decision. Why did you vote for it anons?
>>
>>3840291
>>Stay around the village. At the very least, nobody here was trying to kill you. You could hold out until the Iron Hogs looked around here.
>>
>>3840291
>>The trail beckoned. You’d go down it- alone now. Staying here would accomplish nothing.
>>
>>3840291
>>The trail beckoned. You’d go down it- alone now. Staying here would accomplish nothing.
>>
>>3840291
>The trail beckoned. You’d go down it- alone now. Staying here would accomplish nothing.
>Other?
Leave a note of some kind for the Iron Hogs that they are going the right way, what we've done and our current status.
>>
>>3840291
>Stay around the village. At the very least, nobody here was trying to kill you. You could hold out until the Iron Hogs looked around here.
One of our eyes is becoming unglued and we have dirty clothes bandaging it. At this rate we will just die on the road without some treatment. And we have no more Wakeleaf hits to keep us going.
>Other?
We can't leave till we get medical attention. Go find work with the merchants or guards. Or unbecoming tasks for Trudy if neither of those work.

>>3840320
Blame Signy for this entirely. What a mistake this has turned into.
>>
>>3840641
>Blaming fictional characters for the mistakes you made.

Could have just stayed with the Mercs. Instead you decided to go on Richter's Bizarre Adventure at his weakest.

>But we wouldn't be in this situation if Signy unbrainwash us.

Yet that was still a decision you made. Maybe not you personally Anon. I know how risk adverse you are and how much you love sucking Major cock, but it was a decision the playerbase made. Losing all your fighting skill was also a decision you all made.
>>
>>3840291
>Stay around the village. At the very least, nobody here was trying to kill you. You could hold out until the Iron Hogs looked around here.
Honestly, we need to look for work to get this hole in our head worked on. I'd like to press on, but this is a more major concern.

>>3840320
Richter needs hardship to recover before getting back to his post. A portion of his valour has already been regained- we just need more. Cowering in the tank, while safer, would ultimately help Richter little. I wasn't expecting quite this many assholes to be around, but that's on me I suppose.
>>
>>3840291
>Stay around the village. At the very least, nobody here was trying to kill you. You could hold out until the Iron Hogs looked around here.

I would be all for forging on, but this gunshot to our head really shouldn’t wait. If we stay a while we might be able to make a deal to get some medicine and clean bandages.
>>
>>3840291
>>Stay around the village. At the very least, nobody here was trying to kill you. You could hold out until the Iron Hogs looked around here.
Loiter around the merchant camp and try to pick up some odd jobs in the meantime for whatever spare cash we can scrounge up, there's gotta be something that needs to be done.

>>3840646
>Richter's Bizarre Adventure
I wish our adventure were fun enough to count as Bizarre, I think at this point it's just Richter's Pathetic Adventure instead. I was also wondering how the anons who voted to go off on our own thought this was going to turn out; sure I understand the appeal of working to be independent and recover our former strength, but realistically a single psychologically damaged defenseless man wandering off into a lawless border region is pretty much the definition of a bad idea. Oh well, I guess it makes sense that Richter wouldn't have been making the best decisions at the time.
>>
Apologies, it appears that sleeping in was not enough for today. At least /qst/ appears to be rolling over slow enough that somehow this is still on page 6.

>>3840330
>>3840394
>>3840416
If only I had a man talking at me very slowly through a radio about how everybody sucks while being attacked by hp sponges.

>>3840319
>>3840321
>>3840641
>>3840670
>>3840724
>>3840811
Stick around for a day- try to get something to do so you can pass the time, and maybe not have to hold your eye in with a band aid. Don't live here, though. In Old Hag Town.

Writing.
>>
You wandered over to the path out of town- gave it a long, hard look. Still dim and misty, dusty, and cold- and you’d be doing it alone. Tired, wounded, and with no idea how much further you needed to go until you were there. Terribly romantic as it sounded…it was one thing to see that story play out in a paperback or on the silver screen, but with the amount of aches and pains both inside and out you had, and how much crap you’d already stumbled in today, you weren’t quite ready to soldier on quite yet. A day here- you’d give the Iron Hogs that long to find you, else they might never come. Not in time for you to return to Netilland, at least. You couldn’t be away for much longer. It had already been a week, and you’d come to learn that a lot could change in that seemingly brief span of time.

…Maybe this whole ordeal felt stupid. It certainly was painful, irresponsible, and only pure luck had kept you from not being hurt more or losing more that was valuable, but at the same time, when your achievements of the past were distant, for as small as simply surviving this was, it was something that felt close and comfortable to call your own. Even if it was through the rainy window of wakeleaf high. You were getting distressingly used to not feeling the once overpowering fear, but unless you were going to take the drug for the rest of your life, which didn’t seem a smart prospect even with your late dealer’s assurances of its long term safety, you’d have to wean yourself at some point. Best to do it in a place that at least had a measure of security.

Though…you’d left half your food with Morgen, and as you crunched on some of the dry rations, you thought about going hungry…and determining not to do that. Maybe in the old days you’d hunt, but the game around here was probably limited to things you weren’t used to hunting at all…or had been used to. Not that you had a rifle, or could operate one. Operating with only luck in mind was a good way to finish the day with an empty belly. Surely there were odd jobs to do in exchange for even the most scant of pay, in order to keep yourself going- or have some sort of supplies for when your patience expired tomorrow. Your fading drug-induced confidence was spent asking around for said favors to do. The merchants didn’t want to think of things for you to do when you talked to them- not even out of pity, so you asked the only village inhabitants you had met thus far- the patrolmen, and by extension, Trudy.
idea if you go down that route.[/spoiler]
>>
The man outside said you’d have to wait for Trudy to finish before she’d listen to a single word, but he did offer to trade a couple of boxed single-meal ration for doing laundry and cleaning their weapons. The ration had the same eagle as usual with these people’s gear- you asked after it, and he seemed a little surprised that you didn’t know, but said that he didn’t know either, and that they got these in bulk from a trader. An obvious lie, but you wouldn’t pry. It wasn’t what you were concerned with at the moment.

“Might want to wash your own while you’re at it.” The patrolman pointed at your scarf, and you dumbly, slowly unwound the scarf to finally look at it. Your blood had run into and spattered on it. Onto Maddalyn’s scarf. Her mother’s scarf, that she trusted you with.

…Shit. It was expensive feeling material, too…could you treat it roughly? You really hoped this blood would come out.

-----

The armory of the village wasn’t particularly substantial- but you did need instruction in taking the rifles apart and putting them back together. Despite it feeling like you’d done that for the first time, it was surprisingly simple. Whoever designed the guns had people like you in mind, you supposed, with some untargeted gratitude. After the guns were cleaned and oiled, though, the wakeleaf finally faded, and on top of the return of that feeling, your limbs also felt heavy, and your head swam. Scarcely, though, you noticed- that the fear wasn’t quite as bad as it used to be. The whispers were there, but they were a quieter silence. The shadows didn’t loom so large. The world no longer felt so overwhelming, a cold comfort for a cold afternoon.

Not that you needed to have your full focus for doing laundry. You didn’t actually have much experience cleaning clothes- this might have been your third or fourth time doing it ever, but it was tedious work, not hard work. You could at least do it. In spite of…that feeling of loss and meekness.
“Hey.” You heard Trudy’s voice, but didn’t look at her. “Keeping yourself busy, I see.”

“…What do…what do you want…” you mumbled, splashing water about as you wrung clothes in a soapy water basin. You’d taken your own wear off to wash it- speaking to this woman while stripped to the waist wasn’t your idea of an ideal situation

“Had a real smart mouth a little while ago, now this. What’re you so scared of? I don’t bite.” Trudy took some odd brand of offense, “I came to tell you your friend’s sewn up. He’ll need a bit more time so part of his lung gets normal again, but he’ll be fine long term, so long as he doesn’t rip himself up doing somethin’…I dunno, somethin’ stupid I can’t think of why he’d do.” She walked around behind you, and you heard a thwump in the clothes pile. “You’re doin’ laundry, do mine too.”

“…Er…”
>>
“What? I don’t sit in my clothes for days. Shouldn’t be dirty. Too much.” Trudy said defensively. “Besides, we’re all together. You agreed to do mine too.”

“…” You weren’t going to argue the point. Not when you indeed were being “paid.”

“You’re pretty good looking for a waster,” Trudy said, and you flinched as she reached out and stroked her fingers across your chest.

“…Don’t do that,” you sputtered.

You don’t be so fussy.” Trudy countered.

“…I’ve…heard you do this to a lot of…people…” you edged away from the mousey woman.

“I’m thirty two years old. Can you blame me?”

You couldn’t really relate. Being married by a certain age hadn’t ever concerned you…nor had being married at all. You assumed it would happen at “some point” right up until it was decided for you.

“Anyways.” Trudy said, going back to your other side, “You’re looking for things to do. I’ve got something.”

“…I’m…engaged.”

“That’s not what I mean, idiot.” Trudy said testily, “You’re working for food already. This is an easy one. Come over in a couple hours and have dinner. Entertain me. Make me forget that I’m an old maid for a bit and I’ll take a look at your eye. No promises if I can fix it. Does that sound like a deal?”

>Like hell. Your eye will be fine. Somewhat. Not like you’d be very entertaining in your current state anyways.
>Suggest that maybe there’d be a more willing audience already in the clinic. You’d prefer to eat alone tonight. Even if that meant you might not get that opinion you needed on your head…
>…It was free food, wasn’t it? And a free medical appointment. One you sorely needed.
>Other?
Not that you're feeling very conversational but some subjects would be a good
>>
>>3841529
>>…It was free food, wasn’t it? And a free medical appointment. One you sorely needed.
>>
>>3841529
>>…It was free food, wasn’t it? And a free medical appointment. One you sorely needed.
Can't really turn this down but hopefully she'll find us entertaining enough as we are so we don't need to take more wakeleaf tonight. As for subjects she sounds like she would probably enjoy complaining about being an old spinster some more so just ask her about her personal life. Or maybe how she got into medicine.
>>
>>3841529
>>…It was free food, wasn’t it? And a free medical appointment. One you sorely needed.
Beggars, choosers, etc.
>>
>>3841529
>…It was free food, wasn’t it? And a free medical appointment. One you sorely needed.
Try to get her talking about herself. She probably just wants an ear to complain into.
If this doesn't work, summon up our knowledge of historical anecdotes. We didn't forget _everything_ as far as I understand.
If this also doesn't work, talk about our encounters with the supernatural - the parts that we can talk about, like Hungry Darkness, Kalamarz firs etc.
>>
>>3841529
>…It was free food, wasn’t it? And a free medical appointment. One you sorely needed.
Unless Trudy is just an outstandingly horrible person, I don’t think we have much to lose with this option. Ask her about her medical degree, and how she ended up wherever we are. Also ask what her taste in alcohol is, just in case we need negotiate with any other old ladies.
>>
>>3841691
>just in case we need negotiate with any other old ladies.
We have to avoid meeting that old lady at any cost. She will realize we were unbrainwashed immediately.
>>
>>3841529
>…It was free food, wasn’t it? And a free medical appointment. One you sorely needed.
Being a lustful fool is the one part of ourselves we didn't surrender to reverse our conditioning.
We should be able to hand this woman for a while. It might even be fun!
>>
It is morning.

>>3841546
>>3841547
>>3841580
>>3841651
>>3841691
>>3841858
All aboard the cake train I see.

I will write after I make and eat breakfast.
>>
>>3842052
It's truly is a shame Christmasequivalent Day has come and gone.
The situation would be quite fitting.
>>
Beggars couldn’t be choosers, you supposed. A free medical appointment, that you sorely needed, as well as free food? How bad could it be? “…Alright…”

“Not so standoffish with a bit of motivation, hm?” Trudy gave you a light punch in the side, “Come ‘round in a couple hours. You have a watch there, so no excuses for being late.” She crossed behind you again, and took a closer look at your pocket watch, kept out and away from the wash, not touching it. “Awfully nice for a waster. You didn’t want to pay with that? I’d have taken it.”

“…It’s my father’s…”

“Ah. Of course.” Trudy let you be. “Back to work with you then, maid.”

“…Could we…treat this early..?” you asked and pointed to your bandaged head, but Trudy had gone off. A no, then. At least it didn’t hurt so much anymore, though that might not have been a good thing- not that you dared take off your dressings for the wound.

-----

Wearing a damp shirt wasn’t the best idea in winter, you knew well enough, but under the fleece lined jacket of…some kind of pilot, it wasn’t so bad. Wait, no, the tag on the inside- Property of the Grossreich of Czeiss, Luftwaffe. Well, there you go. How nice of the Imperials to sign their work. In any case, it was able to guard you against the cold as well as ever. It took more than an hour to wash everything, wring it out and hang it all up to dry (for what dim sunlight there was), but when you were done, you had about fifteen minutes before you had said you would go to Trudy’s place.

…You probably needed a shave and a proper bath (throwing the water and soap suds over yourself while washing didn’t count), but one couldn’t be too picky. You needed a lot of things. Like to not sit idly. Doing that, you found out, was the quickest way for the doubts and fears to come rushing to the forefront. It didn’t hit you as hard as it used to, but it was still extremely unpleasant. Maybe Trudy wouldn’t mind if you were a touch early?

“Oh.” Trudy let you in regardless. “You weren’t supposed to be here for another fifteen minutes, but whatever. You’ll just have to wait a bit. The pot’s still simmering. Bullion, canned chicken. Carrots and parsnips. Rice.”

“…Canned chicken?” you asked, noting a small iron stove in the back. “…What sort of thing…are you cooking?”

“Me? Cook? Pfff.” Trudy made a dismissive sound, “Not if you want anything edible. No, I was cracking open a day ration box and following the directions. Broke out the salt and pepper. Maybe I’ll light a few candles. Really put my all into this.”

“…Oh…” A joke. Save for the food. Not that it sounded as poor as she put it; nor smelled it. Hot dog food would have satisfied you after today.

“Not disappointed, are you?”

“…No…food is…food.” you muttered to yourself.
>>
“Can your fiancée cook?” Trudy asked as she went back to the stove and lifted the lid of a steel pot, not quite steaming yet.

“…I don’t think so…” Maddalyn didn’t have any reason to learn how to, after all.

“Lucky broad. Men get all in a huff if you can’t cook, you know.”

It was certainly an odd thing, to suddenly have such a close view in to those who didn’t have somebody else cooking their food; the officer corps of Strossvald never did so, after all. To be fair, your mother didn’t cook much either. The house maid did- Mrs. Gneisenn was always happy to cook whenever, though you knew she grumbled sometimes when the other servant, her younger cousin, didn’t help with it. “…Depends on the man…”

“Guess it does. Where’d you run off from? The Archduchy, from how you sound. When you’re not having to dig your words out from under the ground, that is.”

“…Yes.”

“Never asked you your name.”

“…Richter.”

“No last name, huh? That’s fair. People don’t like them around here anyways, I’ve found.” Trudy scraped around in the pot with a wooden spoon, “If you’re wondering where your friend is, we got him laid up in another house. Can’t have him on the table in case somebody else needs it.”

“Mm.” You supposed you should try to start being entertaining… “…You’re a doctor..?”

“Sort of. I’m a military surgeon.”

She must have forgot a “was.” “…Why…?”

“Why am I a surgeon?” Trudy asked. You nodded. “Pops was a doctor, Mom was a nurse. Family barber…er, clinic, needed extra help after I came around. Went to school a while, paid for by telling the army I’d help out. Then Ellowie called and said it was time to pay dues and I got assigned a rank.”

“…Ah. I…see…” Ellowie, huh. Perhaps you should have guessed from the accent, considering how much time had been spent around their ilk recently.

“Imagine my shock that I’ve lived this long,” Trudy said with a hint of spite, “First boyfriend gets blown up by Twaryian guns. Second gets shot by Netillians after we’ve dated for four years. Gave up for a few years after that shit, then I get called up for an actual active section and I live through a short one only for the next war to kick us out of the country.” Trudy laughed to herself, banging the pot around with halfhearted stirs, “Hah. Ha…guess I’ve always been unlucky, if I think about it. Just a bit longer, by the way. Oh, and, they don’t pick the bones out when they can these, so watch out. No skin so don’t worry about feather ends.”

“…And how…how did you get here…?” you asked next, though you felt you already knew.
>>
“Eh.” Trudy considered something, “What the hell, everybody knows at this point anyways. There was a big thing to get out as much of the army as possible in Ellowie, once the generals saw both Netilland and Twaryi were going at it, and harder than ever, and the fronts got cut off. They delayed however they could to get as many people and stuff up the funnel here. I was late coming in- technically missed the main operation, but I got lucky for once in my life and snuck out here, found some guys watching the back. Been here since. We get reports still, sometimes. It wasn’t a popular move, you know. A lot of people were saying that an army shouldn’t run away from its country and ought to have a last stand, but Marshal Rummel said it was the only way. So.” She must have felt the food was done during that spiel, as she spooned in rice into a bowl and then put stew over top of it. “I’d kill for some bacon. I can’t even cook and I know bacon makes everything better. This stuff is tolerable, though.” She set a bowl in front of you, a spoon thrown in the wooden dish already. As much as you’d liked to have started eating it right there, mother always said to wait for everybody to be at the table, after all.

“…What sort of…alcohol do…do you like?” you managed to rattle out. Your thoughts had linked themselves to the Major, and her little game of guessing drinks. You didn’t know how old the Major was, but she couldn’t have been much older than Trudy- it was also an interesting question, you thought.

Trudy must have thought so too, as she paused, and turned back to you with a sly smile. “Oh? You looking to get me drunk, boy?” she sidled up and pushed on the top of your chair, tilting you backwards. “Careful there, if I get too much in me I won’t be able to hold myself back. All your cute little stuttering and muttering and looking so nervous, shivering and shaking…I’ll warm you up nice and slow.” She leaned in close, and licked her lips like she’d done before. She was right up close, your breath fogging her wide, round glasses, her piercing blue eyes glaring into yours, before she straightened back up and let you fall forward again. “If only you could see the look on your face. Hah.” She went back towards the stove. “Hot mulled wine, by the way.”

“…Just…just wine?”

“What? Of course not. It’s a couple wines, a bit of fortification like wodka for more kick, spices, sweet and tart things in the mix, it’s different depending where you go. Drinking it is like…like sitting next to a fire after walking in from a snow storm and trading stories over mugs of something hot. Each pot tells a different story, because everybody makes a different pot. I’ve never had a bad one.” Trudy came back to the table with her food, leaning on the table edge and sighing, “And it’s been far too long since I’ve had one at all.”

“…No wine, huh…” you half asked, half observed.
>>
“Nah. Always costs too much at this point to waste money on.” Trudy picked up her bowl and started shoveling food into her craw. “Hey, hurry up and eat your food,” she said, mouth slightly full, “If you aren’t done before me I’m obligated to give you a physical.”

You had no clue what sort of threat that was, but it motivated you nevertheless. The vegetables felt underdone and the canned chicken made the whole thing greasy, but somehow it tasted better than anything you had in a long time. Misery was a good spice, you supposed. In spite of her warning, Trudy actually slowed down again once you started eating, watching carefully.

“Alright, lie down on the table over there,” Trudy said immediately after you started scraping scraps off the inside of the bowl, shedding her coat. That camisole being her only top garment was tempting you to be flustered- not quite so much as with Anya, but…well. You laid down on your back, obedient.

“Let’s get this dressing off, first,” Trudy said, standing over you and rummaging around a box to withdraw steel scissors. “At least to make whatever’s under there clean. You said you got shot?”

“…Yes.”

Trudy cut away the bandages- they were stuck on with clotted blood, but she pulled it slowly off regardless- snaps of pain. “Calm down,” she berated you, “…Damn. A bit to the right and we wouldn’t be talking right now.” She looked down, then at the side, and then sighed. “Sheesh. Shattered zygomatic, at least. Look at my finger?” you did, despite your left eye being blurry. “Follow. Hm. This’ll hurt. Tell me if…”

“Yargh!” you exclaimed and grit your teeth together, hissing disapproval.

“…Could be worse. Not that that means this is good. Bad news up front. I can’t fix this. I don’t have the tools or the environment to do precision surgery to poke around your orbital bones, or to repair these sorts of muscles, not that that’s even something I ever did. I bet you’d be hard pressed to find somebody that does, for anything reasonably priced, at least. The best I can do is keep it from getting worse. Remove any fragments, clean it, get everything closed.”

“…Can’t…fix it?” you echoed.

“I’m not a magician. You’re lucky to be alive, really. There’s little if any damage to the eye itself, either, but the surrounding structures being compromised probably are messing with its ability to move properly. I’d guess. Again, not my field.”

“…Oh…”

“Don’t worry,” Trudy put a hand on your head, “You’re still pretty. Though,” she cracked her knuckles, “Let me get a glass of the hard stuff and a stick for you to chew on. I’m gonna have to go digging.”

-----
>>
Belting you down turned out to be entirely necessary, though the experience didn’t hurt nearly as much as being cut into with a scalpel and stuck with needles with little but a stiff drink could have. All a matter of perspective, you supposed, even if it was still quite unpleasant. At the end, however, you felt the immense relief of having things closed up and wrapped after a stinging application of disinfectant post- irrigating of the open wound, once Trudy had picked through it and gotten out what apparently had been several fragments, as well as a piece of the bullet that struck you, putting them all in a small dish as she went along with little clinks each time.

“Tried to make it so nothing was pushing inward or blocking the muscles, at least,” Trudy said as she applied bandaging. “Don’t take any of this off your eye unless you’re told to by a doctor, or if it’s been a couple weeks. No promises on if everything’s fixed, but I did my best. Get plenty of bed rest, and don’t do any stupid shit to yank out the stitches.”

“Urggh…” you burbled as you sat up. “…”

“A thank you is in order.” Trudy coughed.

“…Thank you…”

Trudy nodded with approval, then flung her gloves to a corner and went to put her long coat back on her shoulders. “Good boy. Now go get rest. Ask the lump outside to take you to the flophouse. It’s not the best, but it’s got bedrolls and blankets. It’d go against my oath to let you sleep out in the cold.”

“…Yeah…” You got up off the table, and went for the door, when Trudy cleared her throat.

“Hey.” She said shortly, picking up the dishes, “…Thanks for humoring me.”

“…Mm.” you made for the door again.

The patrolman waiting outside repeated what you already knew about going to a flophouse to rest- if you so choose, but obviously, you’d want to, after today. It was good to not have to think- to merely flop into bed, your senses dulled by alcohol, and collapse- not because the Demiphantom was pulling upon you, but because after getting shot for the second time in your life, you needed to metaphorically lay down and die as soon as you could.

-----
>>
You were woken with a sharp blow to the side.

“Hey!” a female voice snapped. A vaguely familiar one. “Wake up, shit head!” Wuh? Your grogginess was rewarded with a savage punch. “Get up!”

“Oogh,” you choked out, and opened your eyes to see…that woman with the splotchy face and the red auburn short hair, in an Iron Hogs black tunic with blue cuffs and collar. She looked furious. “…You don’t…hit nearly as hard…as Anya does…” you said like a smartass.

“What in the fuck were you thinking!?” the woman, whose name was…Eakova? Yelled at you. “What the fuck are you doing here? Why in the goddamn hell-fuck would you just take off in a completely different direction? Are you actually retarded? Had to split up the stupid team to find your stupid ass. Because of you, I had to drive all the way over here, halfway down the goddamn Funnel, playing Where in the hell is Richter Von Tracht? And you got yourself shot in the head on top of that! Cyclops’ll freak the fuck out if she hears of this. Fuck, this contract is fucked.” Eakova scowled, and jabbed you again. “Unless you’ve got an explanation that makes a lick of sense, we’re leaving. Now. I don’t care if you’re Kommandant or whatever. Had enough of your shit.”

>I don’t know what I was thinking. Sorry. I’ll come along.
>I had to get back to my people as fast as I could. It wasn’t an option for me to take the slow way. Please understand.
>Mrrgh. I’m used to being woken up by cuter women than you. Get out of my face, bacon face.
>Other?
Keep in mind that any actual response is going to be far less certain for lack of chemical high, in spite of how they appear here.
>>
>>3842292
>>I had to get back to my people as fast as I could. It wasn’t an option for me to take the slow way. Please understand.
>>
>>3842292
>Other
I had to rescue a crab, you wouldn't understand
>>
>>3842349
Second. She already thinks we're retarded so let's just Forrest Gump our way through this.
Go with her, though.
>>
>>3842292
>>I had to get back to my people as fast as I could. It wasn’t an option for me to take the slow way. Please understand.
>>
>>3842292
>I had to get back to my people as fast as I could. It wasn’t an option for me to take the slow way. Please understand.
The pain of getting shot in the face is nothing compared to the pain of not being with the boys
>>
>>3842470
this
>>
>>3842294
>>3842408
>>3842470
>>3842804
Let me get back to where there's tanks for God's sake.

>>3842349
>>3842381
>do you happen to know any uses for Living Stones?
>“You can frighten women with them.”

Writing.
>>
>>3842292
>Are you actually retarded?
>The voices in my head are.
>>
Your Living Stone needed to be checked up on, you thought with a start. You opened the little basket- it still sat docilely within, mouthparts nibbling at a chunk of dried vegetable you’d put in to feed it. Living stones, especially small ones like this, did tend to prefer hiding to moving save for when absolutely necessary- behavior of mountain ones notwithstanding. It was sort of like Emma in a way, you supposed.

“What the hell are you peeking at?” Eakova demanded, “Are you listening to me, shit head?”

“…My crab…” you thrust your hand in and grabbed the stone, which did its best impersonation of an inanimate rock it mimicked, albeit with stubby crustacean legs and a face with four beady black eyes, and thrust it towards Eakova.

Eieeeee!” For all her tough attitude, Eakova’s little girl scream was an inverse of what you’d seen until now, and she recoiled, backing to the edge of the wall like you were holding a grenade. “W-what the fuck are you doing with that? That’s disgusting! Put it back, throw it out, get it away!” If she backed away any further she’d be crawling up the wall.

“…Okay.” You shoved the creature back into its little boxy basket.

“Judge above, you’re a creep,” Eakova shuddered as she edged back again, as though you were covered in toxic sludge. “Why’d I have to come get you instead of looking after the handsome one? Fucking cockroach. I’ll break his stupid nose when we meet back up, I swear.”

“…I had to…had to get back to my men…going north…wasn’t fast enough…” you tried to explain to Eakova after your priorities had been rearranged.

“Yeah, going down the funnel and getting shot was a lot faster.” Eakova sneered, “Fuck off. Stutter something better out.”

“…Please understand…” was all you had the willingness or spontaneous energy to say.

“Just get the hell up and get in the goddamn truck,” Eakova snapped. Her willingness to be near you, let alone be physical had been drastically reduced. “Now! We can’t double back with how far we’ve gone, so we have to go into Ellowie down this way. The sooner, the better. Move it!”

Much as you’d liked to have bid farewell to the people you’d met, Eakova was unwilling to listen- you didn’t even try to suggest it when you saw her thumbing the pistol at her side. Indeed, only one truck had come with Eakova from the convoy- the field workshop, though Eakova’s tank had several barrels hooked to its flanks. Presumably the truck was also laden with extra fuel. A greater concern than being caught in a fight, you supposed, especially out here. If the bandits around these parts had the ability to attack a tank, you’d never have lasted as long as you did, so you allowed yourself to accept that, perhaps, this leg of your journey would be safer.

-----
>>
You didn’t bother watching out the back of the truck, and kept to yourself until the convoy stopped after about a half day of traveling- it felt like a completely different road, with how much better the shock absorption on the Iron Hogs’ truck was than Morgen’s. Only peering outside once everything had stopped, you noted a change in terrain- the wastes of Sosaldt were turning into Ellowian hills, ever so steadily, marked by a single inky black Kalamarz fir just outside the truck, a runty specimen clinging to existence in stony soil. You idly wondered how much it was nourished by spirits rather than the poor soil.

“Awright,” an Iron Hog mechanic came around the back, “Come out and stretch your legs, Kommandant. Don’t run off again. Got our eyes on you this time.”

You weren’t interested in running off again- your objective had been accomplished, though whether it was worth the price…you lightly touched the bandaging over your eye and cheek. I can’t fix this. …It was worth it. You needed to prove to yourself that you weren’t helpless alone, else how could you serve your men? Your country? At least, that was what you told yourself. The gap in your vision was not reassuring. Neither was the perceived gap in your awareness, your knowledge, your sense of being…another brick in the wall.

The reason for stopping became clear, as you looked ahead to the tank and spotted Eakova giving a town in the broad valley a look with binoculars. It was well hidden for a town, in a depression and surrounded by earthen ramparts, but from these heights and with the aid of Eakova having found it, it was simply too big to not notice once the eye was drawn to it. A few craters were actually spattered around the town- they looked fresh enough that it was clear that somebody disapproved of this place, but not enough to do more than harass it.

Anti-aircraft positions in the form of machine gun nests pointed upwards had been erected in squat towers at three points mimicking an inverse of the funnel shape, which showed that in spite of the lackadaisical nature of these recent air attacks (presumably- unless they assumed to shoot artillery shells out of the sky), they were taken seriously enough to be presumed an ongoing threat. It was too far away to see the people, so you had no idea of the nature of the place- other than it was bustling, and the edges of the town spilled out of the center sinkhole and snaked out like a many armed sea star.
>>
“Spout Market,” Eakova said as she put away her binoculars and noticed you watching. “Isle of Prophecy for smugglers, traders, and all who hang out around them. Last I went here it was in a trip to buy Ellowian gear for the company, and it wasn’t nearly this fuckin’ fat. Except this Isle of Prophecy didn’t come up out of the ocean off Caelus, and there’s way more hookers.” You doubted that Eakova had ever been to the place where the Creed of the Most High had been passed down, the Isle of the Mount of Mankind’s Most Holy Assumption, but it was a safe assumption.

“…Are we…going there..?” you asked meekly.

Are w-we goin’ there?” Eakova said in a mocking nasally voice, “Yes. We are. I hear you came out of there, and even here, there’s gotta be people from the Border Gap that we can get in touch with to make a perfectly legal crossing.”

>…Well then, she knew what she was doing, you hoped. The less you had to do, the better.
>You’d rather not, actually- you knew better people to get in touch with. The National Liberation Front, perhaps? Surely they had people here.
>Official recognition would be a delay. Demand to press forward-if anybody took issue, well, you were a ranking officer of Strossvald, with a position advising and training Netilland’s forces- and the Hogs were mercenaries you hired. Risky maybe, but certainly lacking in red tape.
>Other?
Of course, if you’re going down to town, looking for anything/anyone else is also a possibility.
>>
>>3843088
>>…Well then, she knew what she was doing, you hoped. The less you had to do, the better.
Let's sell the crab now that it's done its job.
>>
>>3843088
Need more information, from her or from visiting the town.
but ultimately
>…Well then, she knew what she was doing, you hoped. The less you had to do, the better.

It's not like Richter could even sputter the 3rd option in one cohesive sentence.

>Questions
This should have less bureaucracy instead of going through the long way right?
What's a perfectly legal crossing going to cost?
>tanq
Does her tank have anything to fend off aircraft?
>>
>>3843088
>…Well then, she knew what she was doing, you hoped. The less you had to do, the better.
Tough choice, Ewwkova probably isn’t going to bite on crossing with the resistance, and I also don’t want to risk ditching again to go talk to the people we don’t know our relationship with. Problem is anyone who has noted our absence will probably be alerted to us crossing the border officially, so there is a pretty good chance we will have to do some explaining to those parties, explaining I’m not sure how we will manage.
>>
>>3843088
>You’d rather not, actually- you knew better people to get in touch with. The National Liberation Front, perhaps? Surely they had people here.
>>
>>3843086
>>…Well then, she knew what she was doing, you hoped. The less you had to do, the better.
>>
>>3843142
I have other people I like better.

>>3843107
>>3843147
Lead the way, pig lady.
>>3843093
Nobody wants your crabs.
>>3843099
And reassurances.

>Does her tank have anything to fend off aircraft?
I have gone too long without tanks. Apply quote to entire quest. Suppose it's about time to fix that.
The answer is no, in short term, though. One must keep in mind that the sort of work they do doesn't involve getting strafed or bombed from the air often.

Anyways, writing, and other things.
>>
>8 hours later
I know I know.
Word of advice don't try and design things on the fly. While sleep deprived. Just posting to say I'm not dead yet.
>>
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Sorry, guys. Seems I'm not used to threads lasting so long- I seem to have some writer's block, which combined with some schedule changes, means I still don't have an update for you. I'll try and have one later tonight.

In the meantime I at least have this. m/28-31. And Jr. Lt. Frances Eakova. Because why not. As one might see, it is a familiar m/28- the 28-31 model, however, has a redesigned and expanded turret with an enlarged armament of a 3.7cm cannon. Richter tragically does not remember why. It's because in Naukland, this thing was chosen rather than the m/32, whose sole users beyond unofficial black market sourced independent operations are Strossvald and interior defense units of Naukland, only a single reduced battalion of which is partially equipped with m/32s. Meanwhile the m/28-31 sees use with Netilland and other Sosalian countries.
>>
Our little crab boy had better go to a good home
>>
>>3845741
So what made Strossvald go with the m/32 unlike everyone else?
>>
>>3845943
Well, the m/32 is quite new, while the m/28 is relatively refined, so there's the whole trust deal, especially with the 32's teething troubles, as well as it not being adopted by its own inventors for reasons of being too heavy for Naukland's mountain roads to its south (not that one should deploy tanks in mountains anyways but there you go) and it costing much more than the m/28 while, in the view of many, not having the benefits of the proportionate cost increase. Its appeals to Strossvald's army command were its heavier armor, as well as the capacity for its suspension to carry a greater load- designers like those in service of Von Blum had ideas for it early on.

Its engine troubles are, of course, well known- and while not the most insurmountable of problems, making a better fit is beyond the interests of most, while Strossvald's tactics ensure that it is never far from maintenance anyways- barring exceptional circumstances.

It's looking like no update today, anyways. Apologies, but hopefully this means I can just turn it out nice and early tomorrow.
>>
“…Lead…lead the way then…” you said slowly, “…But…first…”

“Yeah?” Eakova was making a hurry up motion with her hand while rolling her eyes.

“…This’ll still be…faster…right…? What’ll it…what’ll it cost..?”

“’Course it’ll be faster,” Eakova’s patience had suddenly returned. Either that or that breeze that just blew through went right down her jacket. “It’s not just getting into Netilland that’s a pain up north, it’s getting through all the Northern Lords too. They’re not retarded enough to start fights but damn if they won’t posture. The cost itself’s already been covered, too. You don’t have to worry about that. Though…I’d say we still have to wait most of the day so that we get in at night. Even the Border Gap apparently doesn’t like people just barging in during broad daylight. We also would need to give the patrols and sentries some time to get a little bonus to their salary.”

“…Another day…”

“It’d be another week if we were going north, but…” Eakova made a face in the direction of Spout Market, “…Fuck. I’m thinking of going back anyways. Getting here isn’t the hard part. Who knows who’s in power there, or who’s around the edges, or if there’ll be a raid, or…” She put her fingers under her headband and touched the center of her brow, and thought for a few minutes. “…Fuck it. Got this far without being messed with. Maybe we’ll get lucky. But,” she looked back to her tank and the truck, and shouted, “Hey! Keep everything outta sight! My crew and I’ll sneak on down there. Keep watch over our shit!...Probably don’t need the contract holder just to hop over either…” She flashed you a look, then pushed you roughly back towards the truck. “You stay outta sight too. If you’re actually important, then you’ll only draw attention. If anybody actually starts shit, you seem like you’ll be useless. So go and play with yourself until I get back. Got it?”

You wanted to be insulted, but you could only nod glumly in acceptance. You had no buoying high to support any ego, nor any bravado to force your way along. You could only trust these mercenaries to navigate this dangerous land in your place. It was at least easy for you- sit back, stay in place. Let others forge on ahead even if it meant you wouldn’t be seeing the path.
>>
So you sat, cold in soul if not in body. A howling wind began to blow through the valley, much to the complaint of the mercenaries you were with. Funny, really- you were connected to them to as much a degree as the Archduchy- though you knew little of whether they valued that. You remembered that after your infamous uncle’s death that his band had largely scattered to the winds, to be gradually pulled back together by what remained. Anya remembered Illger, as well as some others, but how many of who were around at the breaking still remained? How many were like your retinue, who refused to return to a company they no longer saw as a continuation of what they once held dear?

Would such a similar sentiment come someday to the Archduchy, you wondered idly. Had that been how your uncle had felt back when he journeyed to the place he was once the enemy of?

-----

Eakova said it would take all day, but the wait dragged on forever, especially without a means to entertain or educate yourself, beyond manuals in the field workshop that didn’t hold your interest. There was messy scrawling all over them, anyways. A few hours into your wait, you heard the drone of an airplane engine- something that, thinking about what it could be, chilled your blood and made you want to hide even within your hiding place- but the Iron Hogs outside made sarcastic comments that you overheard, that you eventually interpreted as the plane not being a threat. A reconnaissance flight, perhaps.

Another plane, a few hours later. A bigger one. The bomb you feared and expected, though, never came. It was as though it flew by just to torment you. Sitting idle was beginning to wear upon you, but not enough to make you want to leave the truck. For better or worse, you were safe within. There was only a limited amount of places where the shadows could stare from.
>>
Eakova came back before twilight, but it wasn’t good news, as you heard her explain to the people outside. The subject finally coaxed you to come out.

“Figured there might be some merchant prince or merc lord we’d have to be on the good side of,” Eakova scowled, not to you but as you were rounding the truck nevertheless, “When I think I’ve gotten far enough away the homeland reaches out to find me.”

“…Your homeland..?” you had a feeling, sure, but Eakova didn’t have a telltale accent.

“Yeah. Where did you think I was from with a name like mine?” Eakova demanded irritably.

“…You don’t talk…like it…” Most Twaryians apparently didn't speak New Nauk, at least not much. They had rejected Imperalist cultural mandate thoroughly, you remembered- or it might have been a result of a good portion of them being a subject state of Ellowie under the Reich rather than the Reich directly. You didn't remember.

Eakova frowned. “…Yeah. Well. Anyways. There’s a pack of Twaryians in there. Not of the army, obviously, though I wouldn’t be surprised if they were just them in disguise. I did some poking ‘round, and the fuckers’re new in town. ‘Cause our timing’s just that lucky.”

“So what,” one of her crew shrugged, “We can take ‘em.”

“Rather not take anybody on all by myself,” Eakova retorted.

“You’re sure you’re from the east?” the same crewman asked irritably, “You’re yellow enough to be from Zhantao.”

“Shut the hell up.” Eakova snapped. “I know why they’re here, too. Because the NLF is too. Just because we’re not technically arms they’re smuggling in doesn’t mean they might not find out and take exception to hired guns coming to Netilland this route. Ko…You.” Eakova refused to use your more prestigious title, “You came from here. It’s true that Netilland and Twaryi have skirmishes and fights along the border on the regular, isn’t it?”

“…Maybe not…on the regular-“

“Whatever. Still means that the information can be sold to an enemy who’ll use it quick. The time taken to get our permissions got and sent is the same amount of time it can be passed along to other people too.” Eakova touched her forehead through her bandanna again, and closed her eyes with a deep breath. “…Alright. See, we have to sign through what we’re going in with, but we can be less of a target if we leave the truck and tank here. Hide out, have some guys camp here, we just walk on. Then it doesn’t matter if our crossing gets sold by some slimy paper pusher to the sky screamers, we won’t be worth attacking.”
>>
“Imagine being a tanker and not taking your tank because you think there’ll be a fight,” the critical crewman said, “Oh wait. Trucker. That’s right.”

“Are you disobeying your commander?” Eakova’s voice raised and shook, “Shut up.”

One of the mechanics seemed to be more a peacemaker. “If the Twaryians are the problem, then why don’t we fix the problem? Is anybody going to get too offended at a disagreement solved with bullets?” The mechanic pulled a sixshooter from a holster and twirled it theatrically.

“Eakova’s slept with more people than she’s killed.” The usual suspect sneered, “…Hah. Maybe if we put a bag over her head they’ll be up for some of that.”

Shut the fuck up!” Eakova’s temper was turning her face red and causing her splotches to contrast even more. “…Fuck you anyways. It’s not your decision. ” She looked at you after taking a few breaths to calm down. “You’re the contract holder. You’re in charge. What do you think. Do something suicidal and stupid, get into an unnecessary shootout, or creep over, come back with friends, and get the stuff later?” She paused, and added quickly, “I didn’t mean it all the times I called you retarded, really. Right?...Right?”

>You’re in favor of not getting into any more fights. Support the redhead.
>Tankers, not truckers. Get in the metal box, splotchy.
>The mechanic had a good idea. Pull the weed out by the roots. A better fight than being ambushed by Twaryians expecting tanks, for sure.
>Other?
>>
>>3848541
>The mechanic had a good idea. Pull the weed out by the roots. A better fight than being ambushed by Twaryians expecting tanks, for sure.
>>
>>3848541
>>Tankers, not truckers. Get in the metal box, splotchy.
Its not possible to blow past theese guys? Noone in radio range on the Netillian side we could talk to get us through?
Claim bounty hunters kidnapped us and dosed us with some drugs?
>>
>>3845741
That's a nice looking tank. A pity she wants to fondo the Rondo instead.

>>3848541
>Tankers, not truckers. Get in the metal box, splotchy.
They are only really Iron Hogs with some actual iron to use.
>Other?
Define "pack" of Twaryians. What are they armed with? Are they the ones in charge of this place currently?

Can Eakova speak her native tongue?
If so could try and fake that the Hogs have been hired for Twaryian purposes inside Netilland instead.
Now this might cause Netillanders to come snooping around for us instead but I figure being a Coordinator would help there.
>>
>>3848672
>Its not possible to blow past these guys? No one in radio range on the Netillian side we could talk to get us through?
>Claim bounty hunters kidnapped us and dosed us with some drugs?

Those are certainly things you can try!
>>
>>3848541
>>The mechanic had a good idea. Pull the weed out by the roots. A better fight than being ambushed by Twaryians expecting tanks, for sure.
>>
“Before…before I…” You began to cough out, but Eakova interrupted you.

“Not much time for mumbling, you know.”

It was funny how irritation was trying to poke its head up from underneath it all. “I need to know…I want to ask…some things.”

So you began to run down your list, to better plot out what to do. If you were truly put under pressure, you weren’t sure if you could have processed what you needed to find out, but here in the mountains, surrounded by mercenaries and with the reassuring presence of armor…you could push the elements of a plan together. Tactical acumen was one of the things that felt lost to you- but you at least remembered that much of tactics was common sense anyways. Could something so abstract actually be thrown away? Common sense; common sense and dirty tricks.

“A pack?” Eakova replied to your request for specific numbers. “I didn’t exactly count them one by one. Any of you?”

“I’d say a dozen.” Said one crewman, “Just as a hunch.”

“Only six of them were together, but that doesn’t mean there’s necessarily more,” another crewman said in contention, “You don’t need many people if you’re just buying up gossip and putting coin in hands under the table for record keepers to make another copy and not even pretend to lose it. Not that we should be afraid of that anyways.”

“For once something comes out of your mouth that doesn’t piss me off,” Eakova muttered sorely, “The more people you have, the more you gotta feed, the more that might slip up, the harder they are to hide. Their accents weren’t too awful, but I know an easterner when they talk. If there were a ton of them about I wouldn’t have had to look for even a minute. I’d say there’s less before I’d say more.”

“…They weren’t…in charge…were they..?” you asked warily.

“Oh, hell no.” Eakova said, “To say anybody’s in charge is like saying anybody’s in charge of Sosaldt. There are big fish but nobody owns that pond, not really. In a way it would be better if somebody did…”

“…And are…are they armed?”

“What do you think?” Eakova demanded like you were an idiot.
>>
“Think he meant with what, LT.” a crewman said, “Just what’s normal. No doubt they keep submachineguns and the like wherever they’re based out of, but in town it’ll be whatever they keep in their coats. Walkin’ round armed like you’re Stormtroopers causes some commotion and all.”

Six to twelve, though. Armed with pistols, perhaps concealed larger weaponry. “…Can you…speak Twaryian..?” you asked Eakova next.

Eakova looked uncomfortable, like something unpleasant but distant had appeared in the edge of her eye. “…Not in a long time. I prefer not to. Probably.”

“…Was thinking…” you said, having to wind the gears in your head again as you laid out the idea, “…Instead of us going to Netilland…according to papers…maybe we….we’re employed with Twaryi…”

“…Then any Netillian goons here have the same problem with us,” Eakova said flatly.

“Yes…but…” you had thought of that, of course. Steadily. “…I am…I am a Coordinator of troops for Netilland’s armies…I can explain things…much easier…”

“Oh. So you can give us their radio frequencies?” Eakova brightened up.

“I…” your mouth hung open, then you shut it silently. A single paralyzing thought crossed your mid. Did you remember how a radio worked? …Yes. You did. Relief. Yet…your sector was not adjacent to the Funnel- it was further along in the gap, by about two sectors or so. You would have to risk broadcasting on an open channel for lack of a company network, if frequencies and codes hadn’t changed. They shouldn’t have, at least- Netilland, you recalled from your time with them, didn’t like changing codes or ciphering as often as Strossvald did. “Sort of…Certainly…when we’re in…my sector. That might…might be… a bit though…”

“Then we’re still signing through anyways.” Eakova decided for you. “It’s not yellow to be careful.”

>Vote still open- Information given for clarification purposes.
>>
>>3848541
>>You’re in favor of not getting into any more fights. Support the redhead.
For what it is worth, I don't like the idea of looking for a gunfight when we have shaky hands and one eye.
>>
>>3848541
>>Tankers, not truckers. Get in the metal box, splotchy.
As long as we're going through at night they won't be able to interdict us with aircraft, and I doubt those guys have any serious AT weapons on hand. Even if they try some sort of improved ambush we're with the Iron Hogs, they'll fight through it. It's what they're getting paid for after all.
>>
>>3849253
I'm still in favor of stay in the tin box. Maybe instead of having Eeek speak full Twaryian and changing our papers she can instead talk to them heavily accented just to confuse matters to any would be spy.
>>
>>3848541
>>Tankers, not truckers. Get in the metal box, splotchy.
>>
>>3848605
>>3848802
Go and get rid of the rats.

>>3848672
>>3848681
>>3849873
>>3849922
Excuse me but Iron Hogs not Little Piggies.

>>3849694
Opt out of getting shot again.

Writin'. Probably shouldn't take two days this time.
>>
“…If it is…up to me, then…” you knew Eakova wouldn’t like this, but you were in front of a whole group with different opinions on the matter, and if you indeed held power as contractor… “…Maybe…speak with an accent…when taking the thing, but…We take the tank…and no abnormal sutff. You’re a…you’re a tanker…Splotchy…”

Eakova looked almost bored by your jab. Then again, it seemed she was constantly called worse things anyways. “…Damn it. I tried.” Eakova shoved her hands in her jacket pockets and sulkily went back towards the tank without a word. “No sense trying to hide anything then. Hey, jackasses! In the tank! Stuttering Dunce here gets left behind if he’s not in the truck by the time we’re moving!”

The mercenary woman’s small vengeance was little of a threat and she probably knew that, but it got you scrambling nevertheless.


-----

The field workshop truck remained your abode during the trip to and the stay in Spout Market- From within, you watched as the light outside wet from day, to dusk, to dark, as lamplighters went about lighting glowing orange lamps for want of complete electrification, even with the town’s informed prosperity. Mercenaries went out and bought supplies and gasoline (from what you heard them loudly discussing both were much pricier than they would have liked), and for the most part, you were left alone, aside from a few curious mercenaries who dropped some general questions while you alternated between sitting around and standing just outside the truck, getting food whenever it was brought back- drinking a bottle of pale beer that was left by you. Ignoring the half empty pack of cigarettes that looked like it had been stepped on, similarly offered. It began to all blur together.

What happened to your eye? What were you doing in Netilland? How did Hell act when he was in Strossvald? Did you still have the little creampuff with you? Were you rich? Were you a virgin? Regardless of the question, however unusual, conversation didn’t endure beyond a few words with your slow rate of answering, your nervousness acting as a sort of repellent for long talks. Eventually, Eakova came around and loitered, staring at a beaten up little watch with a brass case and a cracked face. Its cover was marked with a symbol you didn’t recognize (a line with another line above it, a bulge in the center of the upper like a steep sided hill and sharp edges on the interior forming a triangle), and Caelussian characters printed around it. Twaryi, after all, spoke a derivative of the language of the Federation, rather than New Nauk. Some would say that the Caelussian Federation was little better than the Reich, but…
>>
“Hey.” Eakova snapped suddenly, “You have a watch, right? What time is it?”

You retrieved your silver pocketwatch and opened it, tilting it to get better light from the hanging, orange glow of the nearby gas lamp. “…Eight twenty…”

“…Busted piece of shit,” Eakova swore under her breath as she sharply shut the cover of her watch, too bent to close properly. “Corrected it right when we got here. Thing just slows right back down after I change it. Don’t even know why I bother. Forty minutes late. Guess that means we don’t have to wait as long as least.” Eakova noticed the pack of cigarettes still on the edge of the truck, and plucked one out for herself before striking a match on the metal rim, lighting her smoke with it hanging off her lip. “Fuckin’ dark as hell. And we gotta move in it. There’s only one things I like doin’ in the dark.” Uhhhh… “And it’s sleepin’.” Oh.

“…You lost track…of…forty minutes..?”

“I got drunk.” Eakova said with no hesitation, “Have to pass the time somehow.” She took a big drag of her cigarette and blew a smoke ring. “I heard you picked a fight with Nash of the Night Beasts.”

Where on earth had she heard that? “…Maybe…but..where..?”

“The place whose player piano used to work talks a lot. Gossip travels.” Another smoke ring. “Say you got your ass kicked.”

“…”

“No comment? Whatever. Did you really plow Cyclops?”

“No.” That damn rumor would never go away. The Judge Above would be the only witness at least to the closest time it might have happened…

“Bit too quick there. You’re, like, a duke or whatever, aren’t you?”

“…No…Von Tracht is a…knightly house, ennobled by-“

“I don’t actually care.” Eakova cut you off as the cigarette glowed red hot with a deep breath she sucked in, “There was just talk spreadin’ around of some noble from Strossvald who went trawling around whore houses, alleys, whoever was interested. Some fuckin’ weirdo was shelling out money for baby bumps. People called him the King of Bastards or whatever; some people say it was you.”

“…It…wasn’t…” You tried to nip this in the bud- an unlikely implication but one you didn't want a moment of.
>>
“Certainly don’t strike me as the type right now.” What a compliment that was. That you knew who the King of Bastards’s identity was no consolation either. “Eight thirty is when we were told to head out. By the way.”

Ten minutes, then. Maybe you could satisfy your curiosity. “…That symbol…” you choked at Eakova and gestured at her pocket. “…On the watch…”

She retrieved her watch and pointed at the cover, and you nodded. “You haven’t seen it before?” Eakova sounded genuinely confused. “The Balance? Justice?...Oh. I forgot that…never mind.”

“…I see…” The Balance wasn’t a concept of faith that was followed by…well, anybody, save for Caelus, and by extension Twaryi. Even the Cathedra that had been largely forced out of power and favor were a league apart from Twaryian reverence for the Arbiter of All. You gestured about the writings circling the edges. “…What are those..?”

“I’d rather not talk about that shit.” Eakova said right away. “Have your ass ready in ten. We’re not staying a moment longer than we need to.” Had your faculties of speech been quick and sharper you’d have objected, but the splotchy faced mercenary left before you could point out her watch ran slow.

-----

It was pitch black as you departed, with clouds in the sky only barely illuminated by stars and moon behind. It was some small mercy that the ground was white with frost and snow for the best contrast against the darkness for what light there was. The same contrast might have been a curse, but the Iron Hogs’ vehicles had been painted white themselves- presumably in preparation for a cold winter north. It had only begun snowing quite recently- their timing in changing color schemes was fortuitous.

To distract yourself from the very real possibility of being ambushed and being unable to do anything about it, you looked to the sky- to where below and between the clouds, the spirit serpents flew like long tails comets to the mountains you were departing from between. Sparkling lights hung in the air close to the ground in places, and a few times you thought you spied dimly glowing clusters of stones- one could have seen Ellowie both as a haunted plain of the restless and a fairy land of fey, simply depending on whether these lights were more ominous or beautiful.
If they could see them.
>>
In spite of the contrast from the snow, the convoy still moved slowly. The terrain was rocky and you were off-roading, so it was fair, but the longer you spend away from your familiar camp soon would be more moments you spent with the possibility of being attacked. Your uncertainty and timidity seemed to invite such fears into your heart- where they settled, multiplied, and could only be assuaged by an unrelated distraction. It wouldn’t be long now though before it would no longer be an option to hide away- and possibly not an option to smother yourself in the clouds of Wakeleaf. Could your subordinates follow somebody like you’d become? What would even happen? It was easy to talk a big game about overcoming it all and returning stronger than before in the future, but would the Border Gap allow the luxury of time needed for even a blessedly rapid recovery?

The gap in your vision caused strange feelings. It was both a trophy and a mauling- something one could take pride in, but also physical reassurance of just how fragile you suddenly were. As Trudy had said before- just a little deviance to the right, and you would have been dead. At least in a tank, you could withdraw to armor- but more importantly, you had a crew that you could depend on…but would they fight if they couldn’t depend on you? Could you truly ask them to fight under a commander who was in the condition you were in?

-----

The convoy came to a halt in a defilade, and you briefly wondered why before the approaching sound of snow crunching under boots told you it was probably something you had to deal with.

“Hey, wake up, leash holder,” You heard Eakova knock on the sheet sides of the field workshop truck as she came around, then leaned over on the back gate when she arrived, looking up to where you were seated. “There’s a checkpoint ahead. We need you for then so we can prove we’re employed mercenaries and not shit head bandits. Signing in back at Spout just means these guys are ready to meet us, not that we’re cleared. So let’s go do that, but also,” she jerked her thumb northward, “I fuckin’ hate the idea of goin’…however far we’re goin’, at night, let alone this sorta night. I want to get nice and north of the gap and bed down. That alright? Introduce ourselves, get goin’ the rest of the way when it’s nice and bright?”

>Fine, you’ll go for the sake of appearances. What’s the harm?
>You’d rather not. Call yourself paranoid, but you’d rather get further in and talk to as few people as possible, despite the risk involved with spooking your own “side.”
>Can’t she “pretend” to be the contract holder? Lend her your jacket.
>Other?
Also
>Push all the way tonight
>Find a place to stay the night further out and finish your journey tomorrow.
>Other?
>>
>>3851513
>Fine, you’ll go for the sake of appearances. What’s the harm?

>Find a place to stay the night further out and finish your journey tomorrow.
>>
>>3851513
>>Fine, you’ll go for the sake of appearances. What’s the harm?
>>3851513
>>Push all the way tonight
First she was afraid of getting into a fight, now she's afraid of moving under the cover of darkness? Sorry but she only gets to be afraid of one thing at a time. Especially since we're going through the proper way meaning everyone knows we're here; if anyone hears about it and takes issue with it stopping for the night just gives them more time to arrange a welcome party and come find us. It's much smarter to move until we find somewhere safe, or at least, further from the border.
>>
>>3851513
>Fine, you’ll go for the sake of appearances. What’s the harm?
>Push all the way tonight
I want to trust this (bacon) woman's intuition, but I think if there's a risk of a night ambush we might as well take it on while everybody's up and awake rather than risk getting caught static with half the convoy sleeping
>>
Judge above, I hope we're on good terms when Richter inevitably meets the Captain and he asks for his jacket back. Please don't turn our boys against eachother, tanq
>>
>>3851513
>>Fine, you’ll go for the sake of appearances. What’s the harm?
>Push all the way tonight
>>
>>3851513
>>Fine, you’ll go for the sake of appearances. What’s the harm?

>Push all the way tonight
>>
>>3851513
>Fine, you’ll go for the sake of appearances. What’s the harm?
Speak in monosyllables like we are bored or tired. I doubt they'd believe Richter as a C-c-c-c..oor....ddddd...nnnnator.

>Push all the way tonight
Wouldn't getting out of there as fast as possible be the best idea to avoid an ambush?
Unless she can come up with a better reason we should keep going.

>Other?
I'm slightly paranoid that we will be kidnapped.
>>
Today was tiring. No promises for getting the update up tonight, but tomorrow will definitely be the last day for the thread. Not used to qst being this speed, phew.

>>3851518
>>3851703
>>3851705
>>3851728
>>3852177
>>3852440
Show up in person like a proper official.

>>3851518
Camp out

>>3851703
>>3851705
>>3851728
>>3852177
>>3852440
I don't care if you're afraid of the dark, move it!

>>3852440
I'm sure there's nothing to worry about.

Writing.

>>3851721
Winnifred's not getting rid of the baby, why would she get rid of the jacket :^)
But I'm sure the more contentious point would be who he would show up with.
In any case both before and after conditioning removal Reinhold would probably stomp Richter anyways. It's hardly a fair contest.
>>
>>3852582
Meme about long update times, but if you need to slow it down chief, go for it. No point rushing it and feeling unhappy with how something turned out. Thats just not fun for everyone involved.
>>
>>3852582
Was Richter ever told where the sharky IO spook would be putting his magic m/32 once he was in Ellowie, or is it safe to assume it's chilling back in Von Blum's motor pool unmolested? Can he even remember details like that conversation at this point in time?
>>
>>3854235
Maddy took it back home before we went to Netiland
>>
>>3854244
Always count on midget. Thanks anon, I was drawing a big blank
>>
“…Alright…I’ll go…”

“Why you so put upon over it?” Eakova asked.

“…I’m…not...” …Oh, she was messing with you. Maybe it was best to do your best to keep things short and to the point. Then your difficulties could be construed as boredom, or being tired- much more dignified than whatever this was. “...Go…” Could be better.

Eakova took a couple of the mechanics with her, laden with weapons, as you all proceeded towards the checkpoint on food, electric torch in hand so that nobody would be surprised. A night patrol usually consisted of more people around here, but you couldn’t be too picky. The checkpoint itself appeared to not be on the highest of alerts, though whether that was because of actual safety or neglect and idiocy couldn’t be known, not in a sector that wasn’t yours. In the firelight you saw unfamiliar helmets on top of familiar uniforms- you could have sworn that you should have recognized them, but, you could only make links in your memory to the point that Netilland was undergoing a major army expansion and reform- were these new steeply sloped shell looking helmets a part of that? The unit you were minding weren’t of a high enough priority to have them yet, at least. Their gear was still Netilland’s dull dark green with black helmets- the snow here was thin, but it transformed the landscape enough that these men’s uniforms now were quite a color contrast, though certainly not so much in the dark of night. You wondered if your tanks would have been repainted or at least doused with lime wash.

Eakova, in spite of having escorts besides herself along with you, seemed very nervous from how she fidgeted and snapped her head around. The mechanics were far less wary, and walked confidently. Unlike you. You’d have thought harsher of Eakova second guessing every step of this journey (she only gets to be afraid of one thing at a time, you were tempted to sputter out) but the sensation of dread only rose in darkness- your brain and resolve wound themselves in knots and it was some small mercy that it had gotten a little better so it wasn’t paralyzing like it once was.

“Who’re you bunch?” A Netillian soldier leaning on an embankment asked as you walked up, “…Mercs? Who’re you with?” That he and his fellows weren’t taking up weapons spoke much of…something. Or they already knew well in advance you were coming. How polite.

You elbowed Eakova in mock authority. If she was Anya she’d have punched you in the ribs, but Eakova apparently had less bite than bark. “…Say.” You said. “…Late…”

Eakova was still wary of the dark, looking everywhere but the person she was talking to and thumbing her pistol at her hip. “We’re mercenaries, yeah. Hired by this guy, Kommandant…er, wait. Coordinator? Coordinator of Forces Lieutenant Richter Von Tracht. Oh, and uh, Nine-Seven-Seven-Four-Six-Six-One.”
>>
Rolled 1 (1d4)

The picket man blinked and withdrew a slip of paper from his coat pocket. “…Yeah, checks out. Though uh…” He looked back up at you and squinted, “Coordinator Von Tracht, huh? I remember your name in the news. Your uh…wife?”

“…No.”

“Well whatever she is. You went to the High Protector’s Langenachtfest party and saved his ass. Pretty neat. Don’t know what you were doing in a shit hole like Spout Market, but, whatever. UGZ-09’s sector, right?”

“…Yes.” You made a show of rubbing your eyes.

“Well, time for you to take the road north, then.” The soldier put away the slip of paper. “Hey, guys! Mercs who paid through are gonna come through.” A few grumbling acknowledgements from by the fire. “Careful tonight. This close to Spout Market the sky screamers like to wander a lot. Least it’s not like up by UGZ-09. Twaryians ain’t that interested in just shooting you and leaving you in a ditch even if they’ve got a thousand different ways of calling you a heretic or a sinner or whatever the hell.”

“..Hmm…” You shrugged slowly and turned around. “…Night…” Twaryian uniforms were black, weren’t they? What did their winter clothes look like again? Mostly you didn’t want to any confusion from your Retinue’s black uniform. Also the Iron Hogs’ black uniform, albeit with blue cuffs.

“Your wife, huh.” Eakova brought up as you were walking back, much to your chagrin.

“…Anya isn’t…sh-she’s not my…not my wife…”

“You owe me ten union marks, Theo.” One of the mechanics said to the other.

“Who’s this Anya person?” Eakova asked the Mechanics, “People talk like I oughta know her. Not like I haven’t been in long enough.”

“She was gone after you joined up. She was real attached to the old boss.”

“Well, whatever then. Who cares now.” Eakova muttered as she looked back ahead. In no time at all you were back on the road. It’d be nice if everything stayed this easy, you thought as the left of your vision remained dark.


1-2- Sneaky boys
3-Natives
4- How did they get that here?
>>
Before Eakova had left you, she had roughly advised that if there was trouble, that you needed to lie low and sit still. The mechanics up front said otherwise when you started moving as one of them talked at you through the cabin rear port. There was a case of guns in the back, they said, take your pick. Of course, when you looked, all of them felt as though you were looking at relics from a different age, for how foreign their weight and appearance and function were. Maybe with a submachinegun you could spray it about and seem like a threat, but otherwise, Signy’s pistol was now the sole weapon you had the most experience with, and it still felt off, as though you both knew how to manipulate it and didn’t at the same time.

After only around ten minutes of driving, though trouble reared its ugly head.

A horn blowing once quickly then longer a second didn’t mean much to you at first, but it apparently was a very recognizable signal to the mechanics driving the truck as the vehicle suddenly swerved and slammed you into the side of it.

Wohnk. Woooohnk.

“Foot panzerjager, Kommandant, get ready for a fight!” One of the mechanics said up front. The vehicle skidded and ground to a halt on a slight down slope. “Out! Out!”

Foot panzerjager? What were those again? Rifle fire began to ring out, very close…and you had no shield of Wakeleaf. Ahh….ahhh….No, no, no, you couldn’t, this wasn’t…You huddled down and scrambled on the floor. Please! Leave me be! Everything was so loud, every rifle shot felt like it was next to your head, a thousand assailants from every direction…a wax paper reassurance touched your hand. A tiny little distraction from the horror that was trying to drown you now.

>You needed that reassurance. Could you…could you snort Wakeleaf? Anything for it all to dull again…maybe you could even fight…
>You had to leave, get to ground, be anywhere but here…jump out and cower under the truck.
>You were told to stay put. Stay put you would. It was all you could do, your legs felt like jelly…
>Other?
>>
>>3854619
>>You were told to stay put. Stay put you would. It was all you could do, your legs felt like jelly…
Let the mercenaries do their jobs.
>>
>>3854619
>You needed that reassurance. Could you…could you snort Wakeleaf? Anything for it all to dull again…maybe you could even fight…

When given conflicting orders, get high.
>>
>>3854619
>>You were told to stay put. Stay put you would. It was all you could do, your legs felt like jelly…
But incase things go south
>You needed that reassurance. Could you…could you snort Wakeleaf? Anything for it all to dull again…maybe you could even fight…
>>
>>3854619
>>You were told to stay put. Stay put you would. It was all you could do, your legs felt like jelly…
Fight high with one eye or roll around in the dirt, lets hope that tank is good for something and stay put.
>>
>>3854619
>>You were told to stay put. Stay put you would. It was all you could do, your legs felt like jelly…
>>
Bleh. I'll have to figure out a new way of doing things with the board's turnover rate right now. One week, two weeks I was used to, but three weeks? Threads lasting a month just wears thin. Enough bitching though.

>>3854651
>>3854799
>>3854859
Happy place

>>3854675
Contingency in mind

>>3854671
dude leaf lmao

Writing now.
>>
Do what you were told, you echoed in your head as you huddled into a ball, Stay put. Logic made no attempt to take control. This wasn’t your responsibility anyways! There were mercenaries, let them fight where you couldn’t. Wouldn’t! How could you? Oh, Judge Above, deliver you from this condemnation…

“Pohzshk vantrigruzshkovizha, viezro!” a voice outside commanded.

“Prekroimehnyia!”

“Shit!” one of the mechanics taking cover under the other side cried out as a new fusillade opened on one side of the truck. The sound of withdrawing fire told you they were repositioning from the truck. The tank sounded like it was looping around, but for now…

Somebody vaulted inside the truck and immediately spotted you as they flashed an electric torch about. You couldn’t summon any resistance as they wrenched you off the floor and held you by the collar, shining their light in your face- you couldn’t see anything of your assailant beyond their squared helm and thick poncho in silhouette. “Tefontrak.” He said to you, before whipping you about towards the rear. “Uvarsaya!”

You were tossed out roughly, and all you could think was to start scrambling and fleeing, before a heavy hand caught you by the shoulder and began dragging you, but Eakova’s tank finally swung around and a crackling spray of fire shot right over your head. When you looked back, the man trying to drag you away had retreated with a few others behind the truck, and was pointing at you and shouting.

“Tankovvyozle,” he said loudly to the couple other Twaryians by the truck wheel, then to you, “Isauda, iliatevva uvyu!” He was shouting at you and waving his rifle, but you couldn’t understand a word he was saying.

Khrraaow! The cannon of the Iron Hogs tank barked, and the embankment at the edge of the road burst, showering the Twaryians with dirt.

“Etokoppo!” one of the others shouted.

“Myoblazeles,” a senior sounding one shouted back, after a spitting burst of submachinegun fire rattled around the truck at the three, “Dahnunakkoy, poydem!” With a single parting shot, he pointed under the truck, and one of the Twaryians pulled a pin on something…a grenade! They rolled it under…and it spouted smoke. Oh. Right.

…Then as they vanished, you heard another click, and you dove to the earth again as an actual explosion burst under the truck. A few burning fragments stuck into your back and legs, feeling like searing hot needles, and you frantically dug at the ground, only prevented from crying out from the constant hoarseness, the weakness in your throat. Get me out of here! Get me out of here! Even this pain was like a knife at your back-
>>
“Hey, Kommandant,” a mercenary came and wrenched you up by your arm, “Come on, time to go!” You paid little attention as somebody else did your navigation for you, practically throwing you up on Eakova’s tank alongside another passenger before leaping up after you, as you scrambled for a tighter hold on anything you could get your hands on. “Let’s go!”

“Fuck me,” Eakova rasped from the cupola, “Sneaky fuckers. Driver, get us outta here!” As the tank began to move, she looked back. “Any of you hurt?”

“Fuck,” one of the mechanics was squeezing his arm, “I got hit.”

“…I…I…I…” you tried to sputter, but you couldn’t get it out, “I…I’m…”

“He might have gotten hit with a bit when they threw that grenade under the worskshop,” one of the healthy mechanics said. With four of you on the back it was awfully crowded. “We gonna head back for it?”

“No,” Eakova declared, “They’ll come back. We need to get the hell out of here. Maybe later. We’ll stop at the first town.” With that, the tank rumbled over the Border Zone and away from the ambush site.

-----

“How’s he lookin’,” Eakova asked as you shivered under a street lamp of a decently populated colonial town you stopped at. A few people walked around at night and loitered curiously, as one of the crew looked you over.

“Could be worse. Doesn’t look like that was a fragmenting grenade. This stuff’s other junk from a blast. Stuck in rather than passing through.” A flash of pain as you felt forceps (you hoped) grab hold of a fragment.

“Arrgh!” you protested.

“Calm down, you pussy,” Eakova said harshly. “Could have caught a round through the middle of the arm like that other poor sap. Hope we gave as good as we got, Judge Above. One of those hunters nearly snagged me with a drag mine.”

“Were they after the Kommandant?” the Hog treating you asked as he dabbed at the wound with disinfectant. “They weren’t shooting him.”

“Either that or we’re the unluckiest fuckers out.” Eakova swore. “Fuck me. Illger’s gonna really get up my ass for losing the fucking field workshop. God fucking damn it. Spatzler already tells fucking everybody I fucked my way up, I don’t need my first fucking job going like this.”

“Spatzler’s a dick head. If it’s not about shooting the gun then ignore him.” The crewman chastised. “You didn’t lose the tank, that’s the thing to come away with.”
“What the fuck ever.” Eakova turned towards the tank. “Mount back up when you’re done.”

The night was cold, and the rear of the tank was hot, the heat of the engine making your arse feel seared while your head was icing up. At the very least, you’d be back soon, you thought through the haze of terror, relief, pain, and sudden exhaustion as the proverbial barn drew near. Though really…you’d just be getting out of the frying pan and into the fire, now…
>>
Alright, cutting things off here now. I'll be running again in a couple weeks, week and a half maybe. Suffice it to say a lot will have happened in your absence- it'd be too much to hope for that all remained quiet, of course. Though that'll require more setup than I've prepared for and more energy than I can write with at the moment.

Thanks for playing, everyone. Sorry for the delays.
>>
>>3855210
Thanks for the run bossman!
>>
>>3855210
Cheers tanq, get some rest in before the next one.
>>
>>3855210
Thanks for running tanq.



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