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.