Legend of Ransera

With gunfire thundering in his ears, Reiner raised his rifle and took aim at one of the creatures assailing his unit and, with eyes wide and teeth gritting, he fired. As black blood rained over them, he ducked his head so the corrosive blight of it would fall upon his helmet and uniform rather than bare skin. As bestial shrieks pierced the air and everything shook with the percussion of his comrades' weapons, Reiner lifted his eyes to the ominous, unnatural skies and wondered... Would this ever end? Would Zaichaer ever be graced with any semblance of peace, or was this as close to normalcy as the young soldier was ever like to see again?



The march from the so-called Northern Front was too tense to feel arduous, though it did feel long. How could they concern themselves with blisters and sore limbs, when even from afar they could see the heart of their homeland under siege. Could one call it a siege? No none knew what it was, but everyone knew who'd unleashed it: Kalzasi. The Mist-borne blight smacked of Kalzasern treachery. While Zaichaer obeyed the rule of law and would wage their war ethically soldier-to-soldier, it was the way of those corrupted by magic to cheat. They ought to have anticipated it better. People who elected to stain their souls with Cardinal Runes were already cheating at life- Taking short-cuts denied to the rest of humanity... To all other life that wasn't thus despoiled. It was only logical that they should war as they lived. It was logical, yes, but it wasn't natural.

The worst part of the journey South wasn't the trek itself, but rather the times they needed to set up camp or spend the night in one of the bases or fortresses along the route. The travel felt like a purposeful pilgrimage. At times they were utterly silent, at times they would sing patriotic songs, or relate anecdotes or hopes for what might be salvaged upon their return. Whatever the case, it was a progression toward the goal that haunted them worse when they paused for some modicum of rest. But who could sleep the night, with hearts so heavy with dread uncertainty? The best many could do was drink until they passed out, but Reiner preferred to remain alert... Or at least insofar as he could when sleep was so fleeting.

As they drew closer, the strangeness in the skies came clearer into view. Closer still, sound and smell would complement the tale their eyes were telling. It was as bad and worse than they'd feared. Many of the men remained hopeful that their loved ones had somehow managed to survive, but Reiner quickly resigned himself to the likelihood that his parents were dead. The young infantryman may not have felt as though he had much in common with his father. Their differences had been great enough that he'd dropped the man's surname in favor of his mother's maiden, but some of the lessons of Volker Strauß had gotten through to Reiner Dornkirk. And one of those lessons was that the poor were never the priority. Dwelling and working in the vicinity of the Grungeworks meant that the only way they'd survived was if the attack had miraculously spared that area, and they'd evacuated before the wealthier scions of Zaichaer found a way of using them to save their own. And there came a point on the journey, when Reiner was able to stand upon a promontory with a view of the cityscape that was broad enough to disabuse him of the notion that the Grungeworks had somehow been spared. Others still hoped, but Reiner was a reluctant pragmatist in this. He wouldn't disabuse his brothers in arms of the notion that their loved ones might yet live, but neither would he engage with them as they went on their flights of fancy about rescue or reunion. The Zaichaer they'd all known was dead. But Reiner Dornkirk would regard his fallen Fatherland as a martyr to a darker cause. As his hazel eyes scanned the smoking husk of Zaichaer, Reiner understood, perhaps for the first time, why people devoted themselves to gods. In that moment, he'd have pledged body and soul to some potent, ancient entity if it might visit this same destruction upon the enemies who'd dealt the fell blow.

Reiner was among the first of his division to attempt a breach into the city proper. His unit had always been at the vanguard of the vanguard. Perhaps it was because they were brave and capable, but probably it was because they were expendable. The Dornkirk name did Reiner no favors when it came to his placement in the ZDC, nor did he wish for it to. He'd taken the name because he was proud of it, not to gain advancement. It had yielded him a great deal more ridicule than any boon, personal or professional, as few believed his vehement assertions of blood ties to two high-level government ministers and the founder of the Windworks, but he wore it as proudly as his uniform all the same. When they'd set out to fight the war they intended to, he'd imagined returning as a hero and meeting them as the First Minister adorned his chest with some medal. Now that they were fighting the war that they'd gotten, he had no such illusions. They were as likely to be dead as anyone else- Even rich and influential as they were. Perhaps especially so. The Presidium had clearly been a target.

A few details were sent out to scout the city via different points of entry, but Reiner's took the most direct approach from North to South. In spite of themselves, they moved cautiously. They were still miles outside the city, when their stealthy approach was halted by a small mob. All humans in Zaichaeri dress, they were ostensible refugees.

"Oi!" Called Lieutenant Tisch, the detail's commanding officer, as he trotted down to greet them. They offered no answer, but looked sharply at him.

"Uh... Lieutenant?" Reiner's keen eye noticed something off in the eyes of the presume refugees, but his tentative utterance came too late. The mob of Mist Spawn rushed the lieutenant, promptly surrounding him and tearing at his clothing and flesh.

"Scheiße!" Reiner cried, unslinging the rifle from his back.

Tisch must have been able to unholster his side arm in the melee, because a few shots rang out and two of the creatures fell, but it was clearly too late for him. The remainder of the division could hear him call out a final order, as he was felled.

"Feuer frei!"

Reiner let out a guttural bellow through taut clenched teeth as he opened fire on the blob of bodies, and his comrades followed suit. The creatures that split off and attempted to rush them were priority targets, but ultimately all of them were picked off. With their leader down, Reiner was the senior most private amongst the other privates. He saw to the recovery of Tisch's body and ordered a retreat back to base camp, where he would inform his superiors of the situation in his debrief.

As frustrating as it was to be stuck outside the city, as their people suffered, the best they could do over the next week was recon. They would send scouting parties to assess threats, and then larger contingents to attempt to clear pathways into the city proper, but it was to no avail. Eventually the division was split into its component units, which were spread along the outskirts of the city. It seemed to work well at first, but the enemy within was born of chaos and their best laid plans of order and efficiency went astray as the Mist Spawn went on the offensive. Communication lines soon fell apart, and each unit became an island unto itself.

Reiner ended up at a former border boarding house called The Hotel Schiller. It wasn't far off from the Grungeworks, and it had been occupied by surviving civilians who welcomed the ZDC presence with open arms and fervent pleas. Their last direct orders were to occupy and clear this region and, lacking further updates, the commanding officer of the unit, one Major Gustav Trier, elected to remain and work to help the civilians and, hopefully, bring more to safety at the Schiller.



"Heads down!" Reiner didn't recognize the voice who'd called it out, but he obliged all the same and an unfamiliar sound pierced the sky- A lingering, crackling sound that set the mutated chaos birds to screeching. Soon their bodies began to thud all around him. He jolted as one tumbled onto his back and off. He glanced down, to find the Mist-spawned avians charred and smoking.

As Reiner and his comrades lifted their heads, they found the grinning face of Major Trier, who was holding a large weapon of some kind, that seemed to have expedited the work of dispatching the flock of creatures significantly.

"What the fuck is that thing and where do I get one?" Reiner's laugh was hearty, born as it was of relief.

"Found it in an overturned supply transport up the road. Crate said it was a Blitzerbuss. Check this out." The Major took a few steps away from the men, took aim at a derelict stage coach and fired what appeared to be concentrated lightning, turning the wood to cinders and splinters and tearing it in half.

"Helige Scheiße!" Reiner's eyes lit up.

"Thank your so-called cousins at the Windworks." Trier japed, eliciting chuckles from a few of the men. "Looks like one of their designs. Come on, boys. Let's get back to the Schiller before nightfall."

Reiner nodded, slung his rifle around to rest at his back and jogged after the major toward home base.

Lore: 6

Points: 8

Injuries/Ailments: PTSD forevar

Loot: None

Notes: Keep your head down, boy.