@Shiva Fair enough, sure as sure. Ansgar might complain, but he'll complain while following the orders. And while he might not refer her to as Captain or Ma'am, he'll probably default to Boss professionally, or the Lass informally.
Eisenhorn
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@Shiva Yeah, I wanted to toy with angry mechanic but actually have some room to develop and play with development. First impressions might be rocky, but I have high hopes for him. Curious what was the redeeming point of the WIP, if ya don't mind me asking?
Alright, he aint done yet, but here's the wip so far. Couldn't get him wrapped up before work.
Progress is being made, expect the CS either after I wake up or tomorrow.
Just saw the OOC, but I'm about to head into work. I'll get started on the mechanic after I get home tonight!
I'll put my interest in for the mechanic role, by the by!
I could use some Firefly style shenanignas, sure as sure, so I'm on board as well.
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.
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