Legend of Ransera

60 Ash 121

Weissberg was not an old township. It was fairly young as far as towns in the Zaichaeri territory went. With only about three generations of settlers in place, they had managed to carve out a quiet life for themselves despite the weirdness that sometimes cropped up. People sometimes went missing. That wasn’t unheard of in settlements removed from the main city. The Northlands could be a dangerous place. Bandits sometimes preyed on travelers along the roads. Certainly the beasts that roamed the wilds could get to a person who wasn’t adequately prepared. The town garrison was competent enough. They kept the town safe enough during more concerning times. All-in-all, people paid little mind to the weirdness that sometimes happened.

Nevermind the fact that sometimes it felt like the birds were watching a bit too closely and a bit too quietly. It was of no concern that livestock sometimes had stillbirths. It was never often enough or in large enough numbers to be anything more than coincidence. Though, perhaps the bleeding red eyes were strange. Disease happened and the suspected animals were quarantined and burned. What did it matter that people told stories of strange happenings in their homes. Pictures that fell from the walls. Cabinets that opened on their own. It was all superstitious nonsense.

Besides, the Reconciliators never said anything.

Weissberg was not an old township…but to stare at the fog covered buildings was to think that the town had been steadily rotting away for decades. At least, those were the thoughts that passed through Private First Class Nikolai Tarrow’s head as he stared at the township ahead of him.

“They’re here.” He looked to one of his fellow soldiers. The few of them that were left. He swallowed. Pushing off of the stump he had been sitting on, Nikolai hailed those arriving with several waves of his hands. The gathered soldiers were a sorry lot. They looked tired. They looked spooked. They looked like they were barely holding on. They did not look like the kind of soldiers who were watching over a sleepy town whose biggest problems were foxes that snatched chickens in the middle of the night. They looked like weary veterans who had seen too much and said too little about it to release the pent up stress. Nikolai squeezed the shoulder of one of his fellow guards. He stepped forward to the first person who presented themselves to him.

“You’re from the city? They sent you to help?”

Early Morning..

Franky sat at the bar, eating his breakfast, sipping coffee as he and Weston updated the morning ledgers. Meriel was following Oaky, nitpicking him nonstop. The lad had was supposed to clean the bar area last night, but got drunk and passed out instead. So Meriel was making him clean every inch of it before open. Franky couldn't help but laugh, the poor lad brought the ire down on himself. And Meriel was the person Franky wanted on his case the least. She was relentless in her badgering if she got started. She'd be riding the poor kid all day.

There was a knock at the front door, and Franky and Weston looked at each other strangely. This had never happened before. Maybe it was a wife looking for her husband or something. That wasn't so unusual, but not typically this early. Franky got up, carrying his coffee to the door. He unlocked it and pulled it opened, seeing a familiar face. "Well good morning Derdan. You're a bit early today."

The little newspaper seller pushed his way in, his chest heaving, sucking in air. He set the bundle of papers on the table, "Dere's somet'in' goin' on in Weissberg." Franky saw Weston wake up and start paying closer attention. Franky spoke, shifting his eyes back to the young lad, "That village just outside of town? What about it?"

Speaking fast now, "I over heared some of the soldiers talkin' 'bout it. Something bad 'appened, but dey won't say wha'. Bu' dey reachin' out for 'elp. Not jus' from the military, but askin' civvies too." Franky saw Weston shift in his barstool, a dark look crossing his face. "Derdan, what aren't you saying?"

The kid looked around, "Look, I's been runnin' papers since I learned the value of a coppa. I keep my 'ead down and my eyes and ears open. E'ery time the guvment reaches out to the civvies, somet'in' big, somet'in' bad is 'appenin'. An' I know ya pay me good coin for real news."

Franky nodded, "Aye, alright lad, one sec."

Franky grabbed ten golds, handing them to the kid, who proceeded to bite each one of them to make sure they were real. "T'anks Franky!" And with a dash, was gone. Franky turned to Weston, raising an eyebrow. The man nodded to the back, and him and Franky made their way upstairs to Franky's office. Once they were seated and comfortable, and had privacy, "A lot of my men in my first command unit were from Weissberg. I really got to know those men, their families. And the lad's right, if the authorities are asking for help, they either are completely stumped or deem it as far beneath them."

Franky nodded, "Do you want to go? We can manage here just fine if you do."

Weston's eyes dropped, "Seeing my old face would just raise the heckles of people. I was too high of a rank when I got out, they'd think I was making a play for power in a smaller jurisdiction, or trying to get back in with a good deed. It would distract from whatever is going on."

Franky crossed his arms. It made sense to him. He could see the weight of the world on Weston's brow. The man tried to not show he cared about people, but clearly he cared too much. His men were all family, whether or not he was still in service or not. "I could go, see what's going on." It might be good for Franky to start doing some public help things these days. Increase his visibility and standing.

Weston looked surprise, "I couldn't ask that of you. You don't even know what you're walking into."

"You ain't asking," Franky was wearing his best, stern look.

Weston sighed, running his hand back through his hair, "I mean, I'd appreciate it. They are my people." Weston pulled out the necklace from within his shirt, handing it to Franky. "This is my officer's signet. Maybe if you use my name, discretely, with that as proof of our relationship, it could help you." Franky took the necklace, pocketing it safely. "Alright, I'll rent a wagon and head that way now. If the word is getting around, there should be quite a few people showing up."

Franky stood up, "I'll hold down the fort." Franky smiled, "I know you will, mate," clasping the man on the shoulder.

Hours later...

Franky and several others in the back of a wagon arrived at Weissberg. Franky had thought about bring some weapons, but with the number of soldiers there, and the proximity to Zaichaer, he couldn't imagine it would be so especially dangerous. Surely if it had been something so potentially deadly, the Zaichaeri military would've been dispatched to wipe it out. No allowances could be made, not this close to the city.

Franky climbed out of the cart, moving around to pay the driver, not just for his ride, but all who had joined him. One of the women who had come, a big, burly brute of an Orkhan woman, stepped forward as the soldiers approached. "Yeah, they sent us, though others should be coming, I would think." Franky took the time to look around. The buildings were old, falling apart. That alone was strange to Franky. Surely the proximity to the city brought enough prosperity to keep the town healthy. It would have back in the Imperium. It looked to be largely human population of those standing about waiting on them, so there certainly wouldn't be the same divide as with the Knob.

But these soldiers, they were far more worn down than the city. These were just like the soldiers Franky knew, as they marched together on the Zythuran capital in his final campaign. He had been one of them too. War weary and exhausted, the faith in the mission dwindling, that permanent cloud overhead that smothered any hint of hope. As the Ork woman spoke with Nikolai, Franky made his way over to one such group of soldiers.

He pulled out his smoke box, with its hand rolled cigarettes and matches inside, offering it to the group, "It's Goblin Weed if you like the pungent stuff." He took one himself, lighting it up, causing the purple puffs of smoke to start. It was just like traditional tobacco, just much, much stronger and flavorful of licorice and honey. "My pal, Weston, tells me that Weissberg grows some of that real sticky tobacco up here. He can't get enough of it. Always keeps one behind his ear, even if he's already smoking one." It was a bit of a call sign, to see if any of them knew Weston. Franky's partner in the business had given him some details of his time in the military, so if anyone here served with him, they should remember him by that description and name. Franky wasn't ready to say that Weston had sent him, but right now, he was just here to help his friend learn what was going on.

Dusk of the 60th of Ash, 121

Nathan rubbed his eyes and stare at the ceiling, he lifted his head and saw Gabrielle still fast asleep in the bed. He laid his head back down on the couch’s armrest and closed his eyes. The rumbling in his stomach reminds him of why he woke up in the first place. He stood up and stretched, then made his way to the bed grabbed the blanket from the floor, and cover her.

Nathan groggily made his way to the kitchen. He lit the stove and put the kettle on top of it. The cold morning air gives him chills. He carefully studied the jar located at the nearby shelves. Squinting his eyes to see better, he took a half-filled jar and opened it. The aroma of grind coffee filled the air. He brought his nose closer to it and took a deep breath. A smile formed on his face. He took a mug and put three spoons of those delicious powder. After putting the mug close to the stove he leans back at the kitchen counter opposite of the stove. He looked over and saw his half-burnt cigar, he grabbed it and lit it. At least the mist brought some peace and quiet. Nathan thought to himself.

He took a few puffs and leaned on the kitchen counter. After a few minutes, the kettle whistled signaling the water’s ready. He made his way to the stove and turn it off. He gently poured the boiling water into the glass. The chemistry that happened further enhance the aroma of the coffee and it filled the whole room. Nathan took a sip, Ah that hits the spot. Hope the night shift got some food, I’m hungry. He looked around and saw the cup cover that he was looking for. Nathan made his way toward the bed, he gently ruffled Gabrielle’s hair and kissed her forehead.

He grabbed his punching daggers on the couch and made his way back to the kitchen counter to grab his cigar and cup of coffee. He took one look at Gabrielle then sighed. He looked into the Slipspace and vaulted to the designated area inside the Hall of Reconciliation.

“Zach, got any food in the kitchen?” Nathan greeted one of his colleagues who’s guarding the room.

“Dammit, Cross! A little warning maybe next time.” Zach responded as he holstered the gun he was holding.

Nathan then rang the bell that was located nearby. “Like that?”

“Yeah, there’s a protocol you know. We don’t want some rando just blinking here.”

“Unless they got a death wish.”

“It’s still a hassle, disposing of the bodies. And by the High Sentinel, I don’t want to be mopping guts and skins with only three more hours left on my shift.”

“That’s the chompers job right?” Nathan gestures at the canine-looking infernals sleeping at the foot of their summoner.

Zach chuckled then sighed. “Have you ever seen one of em eat?”

“Maybe one of these days, if I got assigned here. IF. ” Nathan chuckled.

“Fuck you, Nathan. At least bring her with you sometimes, she’s a sight for sore eyes.” Zach lightly punched Nathan’s shoulder.

“As if I wanted to be your in-law.” Nathan mockingly replied as he made up the set of stairs leading out of the room.

“You off to Weissberg?” Zach shouted.

“What the fuck’s in Weissburg?” Nathan stopped and turn around. He took a sip from his cup.

“They put out a call for aid.”

“What’s there?”

“Nothing of interest I guess. If not, there’ll be boots on the ground. They got civis too.”

“Civis? Fuck.”

“I know right. But hey at least you got some meat shields.”

“They’re a dead weight.” Nathan pushed open the door.

“There are rumors too.”

Nathan was halfway out the door before he stopped. “Oh yeah? What rumors?”

“Strange occurrences, stillbirths, doors closing by themselves, paintings falling off the wall kind of stuff.” Zach shrugged

“Fuck you, Zach.”

“Several wagons are heading out there.”

A kitchen hand stopped in front of the door. Nathan grabbed Zach’s share of the food. “Zach, I’ll be taking you share.” Nathan took another sip. “I’m in a hurry, got a wagon to catch.” Nathan laughed mockingly.

“He..hey wait, I’ve used up my break time. Hey, give it back. Hey, fuck you Cross!” Zach shouted. Nathan left the room without even looking back at Zach.

An hour later he arrived at one of the meeting places.

“Shit.” He looked at the occupants of the wagon, most of them are civis, not just regular civis but non-humans. He looked around and saw a soldier nearby. “Hey, is there another wagon to Weissberg?”

“With the mist, it’s gonna take some time. What’s wrong? Ain’t they your kind?” The soldier gestured at the ring Nathan’s wearing. “Now is one of those times I regretted not making a contract with those chompers,” Nathan grumbled. “Hey, scoot over.” He told the person sitting near the entrance of the wagon. He plopped down and took out Zach’s food provision. As he was munching on the bread he saw the rathari in front of him staring at him. “The fuck you’re looking at?” the rath shook its head and looked the other direction. Nathan munched on the bread while his other hand fished out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and threw it into the rath’s lap. He whistled and did a gilded summon mentally. A small infernal pop out rubs its fingers and a small flame came out.

“What? I forgot my lighter.” He explained himself.

It was several hours later when the wagon arrived in Weissberg. Nathan stepped off the wagon, he saw the hobgoblin paying for the whole wagon. Some poor sod must’ve been a pouch of gold short. He thought to himself. He looked at the fog-covered building. Weissberg isn’t some old township, right? Zach also said there isn’t anything of worth here. If not the military would’ve salted the earth. Nathan thought to himself as he made his way to Nikolai. He stopped when he saw the Orkahn stepped forward and talked to the soldiers. At least this bunch of non-humans looked dependable. Great for being meat shields too. Huh, a Private? I thought there’d be someone of higher-ranked here. In his line of work, Nathan had made it a habit to know the different rankings of the military branches and to be able to distinguish between the ranked and the grunts from afar.

“Private, where’s your C.O? What happened? The residents inside their homes?” Nathan asked as he surveyed the group of soldiers. “I’m Nathan, a Reconciliator.”

Myles Frowned as he read the missive, the report in his hand didn't make sense. The township was neither of any financial note, or tactical significance. The troubles outlined with the request for reinforcements made Myles click his tongue with disapproval. Still he was not one to turn down a plea for help. It all reeked of magic, tho he had a low tolerance for such he considered any potential lead towards the Cult of Mending to be of utmost priority. Grabbing Jonah, Myles armed himself and made for the city gates and the wagons that patrolled outwards his face grim, jaw clenched as he mulled whatever it was he was getting himself into.

Whenever Myles scented magic on the wind now it felt as if his body was driven to seek it's source. The ailing well being of his countrymen by spell and plague weighed heavily on him and drove him to and increasingly drastic desire to do something to ease the curse the spellcasters of the cults worked against them. So steeped in his thoughts was Myles that when he and Jonah Arrived he was barely aware of those around him. His heavy metal armor made the wagon creak under his bulk.

Laying his head low Myles pondered what it was that the township had that made it a significant target to any powers that be. He tried to keep himself from allowing the most negative possibilities to stress him while he also trying to reasonably prepare from any worst case scenarios.

“The fuck you’re looking at?”

The abrupt shout shook Myles from his thoughts, a man across from him dressed in the garb of a reconciliation was shouting at the hooded figure next to him, judging by the passive response of the person next to him they were either young or timid. That, and it was for most, considered unwise to pick a fight with a reconciliator. Myles was not most however. Reaching into his napsack equally laden with sweets as is it was rations he pulled out a small pouch of the sweets he favored, caramel chews and placed them on the lap of the stranger. Muttering under his breath he whispered. “Don't mind them, the reconciliators have to sleep on beds of nails, so they tend to be cranky in the wee hours.”


When the wagon arrived Myles stepped from the wagon with a loud clank of armor. Surveying his surroundings he felt a shiver go down his spine. The village was, unnerving. Striding up to the private in command Myles saluted smartly. “Sergeant Myles Arnnette reporting to the distress call. How can I be of assistance” Scanning the scene Myles couldn't help but echo the concerns behind the reconciliators questions. He was more content to hope the man in charge was sleeping or wounded at worst but he doubted an optimistic outcome. The quiet that pervaded the scene made his hair stand on end and he looked at the wretched state of the village the was young even by his reckoning.

“Oi, thanks, mate.” A young man stepped up and accepted one of the cigarettes offered by Franky. He looked to be no older than perhaps his early twenties, if that. He had dark brown hair and looked to be on the leaner side. The rifle on his back was outfitted for that of a sniper. He blew into his hands to warm them for a moment before taking one of the smokes and lighting it up.

“Hector. Friends call me Hec.” One of the other soldiers piped up.

“Cause you’re a hellish bastard, Hec.” There was a collective chuckle before the others went back to their business. Hector gave the cigarette a puf, smiling around it before giving Franky a look as he mentioned Weston. The moment passed without comment.

“Aye, grow some good stuff. At least, do when the mists don’t roll through.” He nodded toward the town as though that somehow explained everything.

“Gather up!” The small group of soldiers turned their heads to see Nikolai raising an arm signaling them all to approach. The young man took another puff of the cigarette, lingering near Franky as the others got to their feet. As the group moved, he reached out, grabbing the Hobgoblin’s arm lightly while the rest of the soldiers moved forward.

“He alright? Saved me dad’s life, he did. Been years since I seen him.” The young soldier searched Franky’s face, genuine concern crossing his features. Removing his hand the young man pressed on. “Don’t know what they said ‘bout Weissberg but if Wes sent you…”

He had a momentary look of relief on his face before nodding.

“Can breathe a little easier.” He paused, looking as though there were more he wanted to say but glancing toward the group, he simply gave a nod and moved to join the rest of the assembled.

---

Private Nikolai finished introducing himself to the Orkhan woman and getting a stock of those who had arrived. When both Nathan and Myles presented themselves, he turned and gave them a proper, if a bit tired, salute. The dark circles under his eyes said enough to speak on whether the young man had been resting properly. His eyes drifted to the ring on Nathan’s hand before he answered both him and Myles.

“Sir. Sergeant.” He nodded to them both. “I-I do not know. That’s the problem. When the Dread Mists came, we followed what we’re always told. Shelter. Heed the advice of the spook--” He looked at Nathan and cleared his throat. “I mean, the advice of the Reconciliators. At first, nothing terrible happened. Saw a few chickens get their feathers turned pink. Worst thing that happened was Old Man Weinrich’s farts got a little more…worse.”

Some of the nearby soldiers wrinkled their noses, one of them even looked a bit haunted by the mention of this unmet elder’s flatulence.

“Three days ago, the town Reconciliator didn’t show up for morning report. Not unusual. Sometimes they go away for a day or two. Doing…” He glanced at Nathan again. “...whatever it is you do. Day after that, a couple of the folks didn’t answer their call-knocks. The garrison walks through the town, you see. We knock on the doors and get a report of everyone, see if people are still okay. Town’s not that big, usually only takes part of the morning to do. Well…first it was just two families. Thought they might have gone to the city, stay with relatives. But usually they get seen by the night watch or even check out with the Magistrate.”

Nikolai shook his head.

“Nothing. Couldn’t find them. Went into their homes, everything was still there. Like they were just getting ready for breakfast or even midday meal.” Nikolai took a deep breath. He looked around. Moving toward the group he raised an arm signaling to the rest that they should come closer.

“Gather up!” As the soldiers roused themselves into motion, he continued his report.

“Yesterday, still business as usual. The fog is still here. Gotta take precautions. I did the morning call-knocks. Three days ago, two families didn’t report in. Yesterday? One more didn’t report. This morning?” Nikolai shook his head. “Four more didn’t answer, the Lieutenant, Sergeant and our Corporal are among them.”

Nikolai raised his hands and blew into them in order to warm them. He looked between Nathan and Myles.

“Something ain’t right. There’s no signs of struggle. No signs of anyone being injured. They’re just gone.” Nikolai gestured to the group of soldiers. Total, there likely weren’t more than a dozen. All of them looked to be fairly junior.

“We’re all that’s left. Weissberg isn’t a big town. Small place, worst things that we have to deal with are sometimes the rogue bandit or maybe wildlife bothering the livestock.”

Franky saw the youth on the young man's face but the weight of the gun on his back. Young and skilled, and world weary already. As Hector introduced himself, the hobgoblin nodded, "I'm Franky."

As the gather up signal was announced, turning with the group when he felt a hand on his arm. He turned to see Hector there, dropping some of that soldier visage they all wore when around others. He gave the young man a small smile, just a bit to comfort him, "He's doing just fine, we're in business together in the city." The relief from the young lad was a good sign for Franky. It may just be one soldier, but that was one more that might be helpful. And it might not hurt to have a sniper watching one's back instead of hunting it.

Attention was now turned to Private Nikolai. He watched him go through the saluting motions toward the Reconciliators, one rude and one that frequented Franky's own tavern plenty often enough. Sergeant? The man didn't carry the air of an officer that would have the lives of others in his hands. But those magical types were a different breed. Always had been, always would be, and always brought more problems than they solved. It was interesting to hear the side effects of these Dread Mists, they were not a phenomena that Franky had any familiarity with. But they affected people, and creature, on a biological level it seemed.

A deep sigh from the man, who seemed to be reminded multiple times this season of that yellow gas that had disfigured him into this man older than his years. Just another dangerous gas, like so many others the world was discovering. As he continued listening, Franky's mind was turning. People were being vanished, at different times of day, if the detail about the meals meant anything. And it seemed they were being taken in groups as well. No evidence, no witnesses.

Curious.

More and more kept going missing, yet they still let people isolate themselves into their homes. Now that was interesting. One would expect to bring all of the civilians into one structure that could be secured and monitored. A barn, something, anything. This would've been an intentional choice, either by someone potentially involved in the disappearances or someone thoroughly incompetent at handling the situation. Franky assumed it to be the latter, but he wasn't ready to rule the other out.

Still, why hadn't they evacuated them out yet?

An eyebrow raised at the mention of a Lieutenant, Sergeant, and Corporal all being vanished as well. At a place like this, Sergeant was likely going to be the highest ranking officer. This felt... intentional. With Nikolai done, Franky turned from the group, whispering to Hector, "Find me when you're turned loose. Something is definitely not what it seems."

Franky moseyed away from the group, over to a nearby home with a fenced in yard, hearing the clucking from within it. He took the last drag from his cigarette, flicking it down at the ground and snuffing it beneath the toe of his boot. This flock of chickens looked to largely be white hens, pecking around the yard for insects. But two were pink. Franky squatted down next to the fence and began flipping over rocks, exposing the worms and pillbugs underneath to the world.

And it did not take long for the chickens to realize this. Several squeezed under the fence and began plucking at the bugs. Franky reached out toward one of the pink ones, slowly, gently petting it. It didn't perceive him as a threat and kept on eating. As Franky's hand stroked down its back, he grabbed a small bundle of the pink tail feathers and yanked them out, sending the chicken squawking off back to its yard.

Franky stood up, leaning back against the fence, sniffing at the pink feathers, holding them up close for scrutiny. He was looking for anything that might give away that this might be a substance applied to the chickens, rather than a biological adjustment. He certainly was no scientist, but he and friends in his youth had certainly painted chickens for fun, and in his time as soldier, there were times where chickens were on the battlefield, splattered with the pink mist of blood. He sought that smell of copper, one he was too familiar with, and looked to see if the color would rub off on his fingers.

He was not yet convinced this was magical or supernatural at all.

“Sergeant, good to have you here.” Nathan greeted Myles and nodded.

Crimson turned to her corporeal form and blended in with the crowd gathered. The Aidolon slowly pushed her way toward the front of the group to where Nathan and Sergeant Myles is standing.

“Damn it…” Nathan said to himself as he felt goosebumps. Out of his peripheral vision, he saw a doll drop to the ground. She couldn’t have picked a better timing huh? As if this place isn’t creepy enough.

He turned and look at the ‘rath’ from earlier. That’s just great, it’s one of those magic-sucking creatures perhaps? No wonder the Order made it a Reconciliator. Their handler must be nearby too. “Watcher” He greeted Thysbae before turning his glance back at Nikolai.

Nathan took out a piece of cigarette and lit it. It’s one of those addictions of his that helps clear his mind. Stay indoors, don’t go out unless necessary. Nathan repeated the words in his mind. Nathan slightly chuckled at the remarks of the chickens with pink feathers and the farts. Well, that’s something you don’t smell every day huh? He thought to himself. Nathan blew a cloud of smoke and continue listening to Nikolai’s report.

Huh? The Lieutenant, Corporal, Sergeant, and Reconciliator? Maybe that’s why HQ only got a few reports regarding the town. Turncoats? It would be the perfect moment for a perfect cover. But still, from what Nikolai said it was as if they just vanished into thin air. But with the stillbirths, doors closing by themselves, and paintings falling off the wall. A summoner perhaps? Or illusion arcana? But why Weissberg? He thought to himself as he blew another cloud of smoke.

Weissberg isn’t a strategic location or blessed with natural resources, in short, it’s a place of no interest. Unless it’s one of the Order’s rumored ‘black sites’? Nathan remembered the word that was written on the map at his father’s study. What’s even a black site? Maybe a place of no interest? Or a cover-up? The Order’s known to run smokes and mirrors operations at times. First, it was the town’s Reconciliators, then the Lieutenant, Corporal, and Sergeant. Are they working together? Or perhaps it’s one of those phenomena that’s only triggered and affected subjects that meet the criteria. He took a quick look at the soldiers gathered. They all look young. Maybe it only affects people of a certain age range and perhaps only affects people of the direct bloodline of the first settlers that settled here? He took another drag and continue listening to Nikolai’s report. Look at the bigger picture, that’s what Uncle Franz use to say. Perhaps we could find some kind of a pattern from the houses of the first missing family to the latest. Nathan grinned slightly It’s wise to check the Reconciliator base of operations, perhaps there’s some clue somewhere there.

“So all of you boys are from Weissberg?” Nathan blew another cloud of smoke. “By any chance are the missing residents those in their mid-40s and above, and children?” he took another drag. “You got a map of the town or a replica of the town somewhere? Preferably with the locations of the houses of the missing residents.” Nathan asked as he threw his half-burnt cigarette to the ground.

Myles watched and listened, his mouth drawing into a thin line as he listened to the desperate situation. His heart ached for those deemed missing, he cursed the fact that the fates hadn't sent him to these people earlier. There leadership was gone, the men were given to paranoia and superstition as there imaginations got the best of them.

So far what he'd learned, was that their reconciliation was the first to go missing, Furthermore he'd gone missing solo. The rest it seemed had gone missing as house holds. He didn't like that, he knew that many a reconciliator served the nation with a good heart but he did not trust them, magic twisted the souls of its practitioners more often than not. Still it would do him no good to voice that yet.

When the man motioned to the small team of rookie soldiers then informed him that they were all that were left... it took nearly all of his effort not to lash out at the man. He knew it wasn't the man informing him of the situation to blame, but it made him feel no better. He despaired at the worst potential fates that could have taken his countrymen. Still he took heart that neither struggle nor corpse had been seen. Taking a deep breath the would be knight and sergeant calmed himself and watched his fellow arrivals. The fellow they called Franky was keen enough to already be investigating the chickens, being no expert he hoped the man would volunteer any information he gleamed. As for the three reconciliators, in his eyes they were the wild cards of this venture, the eerie nature of the one calling himself Nathan made Myles weary, he liked the mans initiative in his questioning but thought that the specifics of his questions wouldn't be of any particular use. The villagers, and several soldiers were gone, Vanished. Or so people believed. He narrowed his thinking.

“What was the nature of magic wielded by the reconciliator employed here” If the first missing reconciliator was behind the disappearances that followed the nature of his power might be key to understanding the situation.

“Is there an underground to this city? Are there many basements, cicterns etc, to know about.” If there were, he wondered if they'd been searched. If the missing were still within the city, or beneath he'd rule those possibilities out first. He found it hard to believe so many could be moved so quietly, or be taken or ensorcelled by magic in the night with nary a scream.

Looking back over the rag tag group before him Myles came to a decision. Taking a deep breath he let his armored chest swell. He let a grin pull itself across his face showing his teeth and letting any signs of doubt fade from his countenance. Raising his shield he wrapped his armored knuckles against it three times with his armored fist.

“ALRIGHT! Listen here. My name is Sergeant Myles James Arnnett, Seeing as you are all that are left of Weissburg, and that you have been deprived of your leadership, I will be taking that role. From now on you will report to me. In return I will make it my work to return every lost man woman and child to you. If any would challenge this speak now!” Letting himself swell on his own bluster his smile waxed genuine as he tried to instill courage into the scared men before him. “If whatever this is, was strong enough to overtly murder, or otherwise do harm it would. So whatever we are dealing with is something organized, not some wild magic. Not some superstition given form, and whatever it is, is pitiable enough to think the cover of night can protect it from Zaichaeri light! In my life most every mysterious thing iv'e encountered has been eventually explained by the natural philosophies, Or the trickery of a mage. Neither of which can withstand the Might and Truth of Zaichaer! So I ask you brave survivors, stand with me, and hearten for we will take back what is yours.” A grin now plastered across his face held stiff by a fervor he'd whipped his own heart to beat to. Even if nobody else believed him he would carry through on his words and allow them to embolden himself, for if he did not believe, who would?