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Without another word, Weiland kept moving forward until approached by the church fellow from before, the Investigator who was returning from the rear of the wrecked train. He was not accompanied by the young woman who had been singing hymns while tending to the injured and dying, which meant either she had things under control better than when he originally departed, or there weren't enough survivors to warrant their additional help. He chose that the former was more accurate than the latter, even if he expected the latter to be closer to the truth. The bobbing of the lantern was met with a nod in return from the sellsword, even if his posture remained alert as he scanned the surrounding darkness, just watching for anything to come charging out of the dark. He'd also positioned himself between the woods and Lucienne, more out of habit than anything else, as it was more likely for danger to approach from that direction. The Investigators remarks on finding an acquaintance, and his own introductions, were met with a nod. His accent remained a constant, though clearly practiced in making himself clear in his dealings with nobility who had such things trained, or bred, out of them.

"Aye, and one of few who were willing to return this direction. Of even fewer who didn't groan and curse me for even suggesting such things. Well met all the same, Father, Weiland Yvain." What might seem odd was he did not introduce his current companion, though that was perhaps due to the shouting from behind them. In practice, nobility of Istvargraad had a saying that 'One is only as important as those who introduce them'. It was considered grave insult for some lowborn sellsword or guard to introduce a titled, suitably advanced noble, and Weiland had quite enough of hearing that to last him a lifetime. Instead he turned his attention to the masked individual, female given the voice, calling out from the wagon they had only just passed. Professional and to the point, this was something Weiland could gladly work with. His own voice was steady and matched the volume to overtake the damned music, amplifying the accent due to the forced volume. Of course the woman with the violin had to throw a fit and start playing, nobility and musicians seemed to go hand in hand in their temperaments some days.

"The wagons rear of yours are wrecked and overturned, with the wounded being tended to as best as possible. No sign of culprits or assailants yet. Otherwise nothing else to note." Weiland did not approach towards the woman, since that given the circumstances, that was likely asking for one to be shot. Considering she had only just poked her head out, or the wrecked cars aft of her would have been noticed, she was likely tending to those within before having poked her head out. Which meant, at best, she had either knife or pistol waiting in case those she was addressed would prove hostile. He'd rather not get shot after surviving a wrecked train, not without good reason at least, so he stood his ground instead, mostly to avoid potential trouble as best he could.

The constant, steady rattle of the train was, frankly, unsettling for Weiland. He never traveled by train, either marching or riding by wagon whenever en route between locations, both before and after his departure from his postings. The cramped, buzzing chatter and noise of the packed 3rd class coach was also something one might consider as unpleasant, but the former soldier took solace in the sound of human activity. The fellow passengers in his part of the coach were kindly enough folks. Two elders, a couple visiting their son in the city, and either did not care or did not feel concern at sharing space with a man who bore arms, yet no coat of arms or insignia identifying him anymore. He had held polite conversation with the older man and woman for a spell, though names were either not exchanged, or had promptly faded from memory, before the two had taken to slumber, clearly accustomed to travel by train. Weiland chose to stare at the passing trees, listening to the rattle of the carriage while an old soldier's marching tune played through his head.

With thoughts wandering and his train of thought scattered and displaced, the feeling of his gut instinct suddenly kicking in, screaming of danger brought him back from his half dozing state, adrenaline spiking. His mind registered it seconds later, the constant of the train on tracks had been broken, and before he had a chance to bark out a warning, or even a word towards the couple across from him, the impact slammed his head back against the wall, knocking him soundly and, blessedly, unconscious for the duration of the 3rd class carriage's derailment.

With the return to the waking world came a painful throbbing in Weiland's head, and he carefully opened only one eye. He was currently under a heavy weight, and as his eye adjusted to the light present, it was the old husband, devoid of even a slight movement indicating breath. Freeing his sword arm, he checked the man's neck and felt nothing, and with a grunt shoved the old man's body off him. Picking himself up, his hand felt along the back of his reddish hair, coming back bloody. The pain was fading to only encompass where the cut on the back of his head probably was, so he had to assume he'd gotten off light. The elderly woman was also present, though she was either still unconscious or dead as well. Kneeling by her side, he didn't even bother checking her throat as well, as her head had been whipped and left at an angle that would leave someone very much dead. Opening his other eye, he adjusted to the moonlight that was filtering into the ruined carriage, letting his senses adjust as well before moving forward with any sort of plans.

What caught Weiland's ear was a song, foreign to him but sounding of something worshipper's of the Light often chanted on about. Turning to follow its source was what looked like a younger woman, standing tall in her conviction and tending to those who were injured and could be helped. She was likely far better equipped to aiding the wounded and dying better than him, a soldier's prayer a far cry from someone who seemed at least versed in the ways of the Light. Gathering his meager belongings, sword strapped to his side and shield strapped to his arm, he cleared himself from the dead couple and addressed the young woman, seeing no sense in acting independently when they were, quite literally, stuck in this mess together. His voice carried an accent typical of his home city, though he tried to make himself clear all the same. "Keep doing what you can, better than I would manage, I'd wager. I'll see to getting outside and getting an idea of what's going on, find some extra hands to help."

Weiland's voice carried with it a calm and collected tone, a soldier's professionalism in the face of wanton suffering and death. Indeed, he turned his back on the acolyte once she'd had a chance to respond, if she so chose to, heading for the end of the car, the door slightly ajar, hanging from what now formed the roof of the carriage. Hauling himself upwards, he pushed the door clear enough to get through, dropping down with the connecting metal strut to his back, cautiously moving out from between two of the wrecked carriages, one hand resting on his sword, the other arm with his shield at a low ready, scanning the moonlit fields for any sign of their assailants. First thought was bandits, and a glance confirmed the further forward, and richer, cars were relatively unscathed. He could also see some people disembarking already, and started forward, spotting what looked like a man in the robes of a Light practitioner as well. Approaching, even Weiland could recognize the markings of an Investigator, the armor and overall attire being quite distinct, but in times like these, he was a welcome sight, and assumed the man carried the title of Father.

"Hail there, Father. I've news from the rear carriages, mostly ill as it may be. One of your own, a Light follower, is tending to the injured as best she can, but she'll need help. Getting those that weren't so lucky as to be walking under their own power will not be easy either, assuming those that aren't dead already can be helped." Weiland was not about to rely on the charity or concern of the richer front class, or those assigned to tending to their whims. So that meant relying on those who weren't heavily injured by the wreck, and those who were driven by faith to tend to their fellow man. Depending what the Investigator had to say would dictate his next actions accordingly, though his head and senses were scanning their surroundings, there was no way that the train just 'accidentally' derailed violently, leaving Light knows how many stranded, including that much wealth given the forward carriages.
Alright, this is a first draft of the fellow I've been putting together. Wanted to get him at least out for review, suggestions, and the like before passing out.

Well, I couldn't rightly pass this by without mentioning my interest. Good timing as well, since my schedule is stabilizing.
Lashiel Voss

Lash couldn't help but silently glare at the...thing singing about the lazy guards and swaying back and forth. One, the undead did not exist, not even to the degree as a story or horror tale, so that was certainly something worth noting. Two, her behavior indicated both a childlike mentality, and lack of situational awareness. Given her size, however, brute force could make for a good tool to distract from other activities. Of course, any further planning was disrupted by the sudden revolt by a handful of men of varying sizes, armed with weapons forged from spoons it looked like. She grinned under her mask, that was taking prison shanks to a whole new level, prison swords? They'd clearly been here longer, but as the fighting started and the masked fellow who had been signalling jumped onto the table, Lash grabbed the chain shackling her hands together with her left hand, metal gauntlet cinching tight around the links. This was gonna hurt, but hell, when didn't it?

As the toxic gas spewing bird masked thing went about its business, the sound of hissing machinery emitted from the gauntlet on her left arm, and a clenched jaw was apparent beneath the face mask. Whatever the device was doing, it was painful, but then a blue white flame started hissing from the gauntlet, heating the links of the chains to the point that a swift, hard pull was able to split them, the half slagged metal dripping. Quickly doing the same to her ankle shackles, now that the device was restarted, having not let any hints that the thing was anything other than grafted metal, she poked her head up to survey the situation. A normal human should have been light headed from blood loss at this point, but she was used to the cycle of blood usage, and a few days in a cell wasn't going to break that habit so quickly. The cloud was not going to stop all the guards, even if it seemed to have left one open to the mask wearing gas spewer's attack up close. Accurate, but she could deal with that later, she chose to keep low and stay out of sight as she closed in on the nearest guard to her that wasn't consumed in fumes, grabbing a bowl as she crouch ran towards the nearest guard free of the fumes.

Metal armor, looked metal enough at any rate, good enough for any sort of improvised weapon that wasn't well aimed. Hell, proper weapons would probably have trouble with it. A thought shifted the mechanisms in the gauntlet, and she went to grab the nearest guard's arm before discharging the capacitors in her fingers. It would be more than enough lethal current, and she was insulated against it as a precaution after nearly dying from some smart sod trying to grab her while getting shocked. As that discharged, she shattered the bowl and grabbed a handful of sharp, broken bits, lacerating her hand before she lobbed the bloody porcelain shards at the guards still in the cloud of toxic fumes. Gas like that, least back in Istvargrad, was all sorts of flammable, no one took torches down to the sewers for a reason, and as the shards left her hand, they combusted, though those flames were an orange/red in coloration. Her hand also burst into flames briefly, the lacerations being seared shut by the burning blood on the surface, though curiously her glove was not even remotely singed by the action.
Lashiel Voss

Lash kept her face mask on whenever she wasn't eating, which meant all the sodding time in the cell. Not something she was happy with, rotting away in some forsaken cell who knows where. The clanging was an irritating way to roust people as well, though from what stories she'd heard from escapees from the jails back home, things were not much worse in terms of housing. Little less room, poorer quality bedding, if one could even call it that, but that was about it really. She got to her feet in time for the cell to be opened, it saved the lot of them time and effort hauling her out of her cell. Made it appear she had accepted her apparent fate, despite the fact she should have been damned well dead. Little things like that, compliance and not struggling, would make it come across as an easy job. She was playing a long game, mentally speaking, get them used to things, fall into a rut, and then she would start looking for a way out of this shit hole of a prison. What was on the outside? No idea, given her 'fellow' prisoners.

Not much fellow about then, Lash had to admit, given there were things and beings that flat out did not exist back home. Not just in terms of style of attire, but outright abominations made manifest, though if they were here in chains, that meant they'd been taken too. Lot of information to process, not a lot of days to do it so far, and it wasn't like the food or environment was conducive to clever, intelligent thought. Part of the point, she mused, as the irons were clapped on her wrists and ankles. Crush their spirits and leave them in a position where it wouldn't recover, always was easier when the spirits were crushed. At least it was for cracking open crypts and tomb complexes, and they guarded things as well, though they were typically less likely to up and try and walk out. Her thoughts were interrupted, as they often were, by being marched to the food area, sat down in front of this sop they called food, and were expected to eat like usual. Something became readily apparent as she tugged down her face mask to eat, glancing briefly around her as usual.

The captors weren't paying close attention, near as she could tell without giving away her gaze as she was seated with her back to the guards today. They were already falling into that habit? Nowhere near as attentive as some of the beasts that had been rampaging Istvargrad. That was an opening, and while she ate, her vision scanned the other prisoners and surroundings, yellow eyes darting carefully, to take in the slightest signs of weakness or means out of this room. Perhaps she could get one of them when they came back to escort? No, too many and they'd be ready for it...

Ting Ting

The noise interrupted Lash's thoughts, and a glance found the one making it. Strange bird masked man, assuming he was a man at least, eating without removing the mask. It had been repeating, and its intent was not lost on Lash once she was made aware to it. Getting attention, sounding out who was paying attention, bird brain here had an idea probably. Smart not talking like someone else a bit down the table seemed to have been doing, no need to attract overt attention. Given their state of apparent mind so far, the guards that is, if this bird brain wanted to make a go for it, she could make that work. After the most recent set of taps, she followed it up with a quieter, though still noticeable, set of taps, heavier sounding due to her gauntlet, to get his attention long enough to wink in his direction. He had her attention, and she could make things up on the fly depending what the bird brain decided to do. She also had a spoon for the gruel, so she could get one of these guards through an eye socket in their helmets if need be. Either way, Lash was on board for the attempt.
I'll also be getting a post up in the next day or so at the latest. Just finished getting job stuff sorted out, starting on a new job soon.
I shall be submitting my interest as well, feel like things could get interesting.
Altena huffed again, though she seemed more amused than before, and Weiland patted her again before letting his arm drop back to his side. Once he was given and indicated to the fact that Yusef would show both of them where they would be going to be staying for the night. Altena moved with surprising grave behind of Weiland as the two started following after the Laguz. "By all means, lead the way. We will be right behind you." He wasn't going to simply leave the laguz without a response, considering he would likely be traveling with them for the forseeable future, there was no reason to be hostile or at least unpleasant towards the others present right now. He was asked about keeping Altena outside the camp whenever possible, and he frowned briefly despite the fair reasoning, though the question on his supplies brought his mind back.

"She's no friend of Daein, though the concerns are understandable all the same. We have our own camping supplies, in terms of tents and the like. We had to travel a fair ways to get out to here, so it would of been remiss of us to not have our own camping supplies." Weiland spoke honestly, glancing back at Altena who had been carrying the tent and other miscellaneous supplies before continuing to comment. "If it is preferred for Altena to remain outside the main camp, I will be camping by her as well. It will also save space in the main camp." Weiland continued strolling after the laguz who was leading the way, still speaking in mainly business for now. There would be time to finally relax after things were settled for the evening.
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