Pardon for the silence, boys. Job-related stuff has me a bit more busy than usual - Post is coming ASAP. You Japs better be making some delicious slice-of-life moments in that God damn Temple, though.
Angry Hungarian
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@Over Illusion@Yukitamas@MeteorD
Blue eyes tiredly regarded the specialist of the group from the moment he came into sight. Emmerich bobbed his head along as his companion surged forth from their new home and began his monologue. However, he remained similarly wordless for the remainder of the discussion - The officer couldn't help but consider Bauer a bit too gushy at times. Even now the man already left, not even sparing a single moment after waving around some expensive jewel and mentioning food. What the devil was a "Harriegilta" anyways?
"... Alright, Bauer, I'll be with you soon. And take your Pervitin, damn it, we'll never get this done otherwise!", he uttered effortlessly after the magus thundered away. In no time he was outside comfortable speaking range, much to the displeasure of Emmerich."If you want a break, I've stocked my beers in the cellar. Help yourself to the bottles, just be easy on the dunkelweiß - That one's a favourite." The friendly shout traveled down between the pews of the church in a bid to reach the escaping Bauer without being too much of an offense on his ears.
As the front door of the church shut behind the blonde german, the officer left outside alone once more exhaled a could of smoke. Blue eyes bore onto the night, suspiciously gazing into the starry void before a flickering gaze turned to the rifle hanging from his shoulder - Bayonet fixed and safety lock off, not that either would do anything to their expected attackers. Still, Emmerich could only mumble away a chuckle. "Front door. Rifle. Standing... Guard duty. I can't remember last time I had guard duty, heh." The pleasant little chortle wore off as soon as it came. The cigarette upon his smiling lips was soon to be completely burned away and so he decided to spend his last few seconds with something useful. After a mental link established to his colleague, his voice quietly rung out. Almost paternal in nature, the officer suppressed his genuineness with an air of mild professionalism.
"Bauer.", came his first word. A long pause ensued, Emmerich tried to figure out how to best confront his fellow. As forehead wrinkled and the last of his smoke finally extinguished, the lanky man chose to approach with honesty. They were both men of advanced age, after all. Sugarcoating things would be ever so unvölkisch. "Something bothers you, I can tell." The statement, firm in determination yet ripe with worry, was quickly off-set by the officer adding another line. "... Remember the nature of our mission. If you want to talk, I'm here for you - Tomorrow there may not be another chance for it."
Emmerich Lisztmayer-Anschütz von Sabern,
Chosen of the Holy Grail
At the Church on the Hill 𝔉𝔢𝔰𝔱𝔲𝔫𝔤 𝔎𝔦𝔯𝔠𝔥𝔢
The 27th of August, 1939
Chosen of the Holy Grail
At the Church on the Hill 𝔉𝔢𝔰𝔱𝔲𝔫𝔤 𝔎𝔦𝔯𝔠𝔥𝔢
The 27th of August, 1939
Blue eyes tiredly regarded the specialist of the group from the moment he came into sight. Emmerich bobbed his head along as his companion surged forth from their new home and began his monologue. However, he remained similarly wordless for the remainder of the discussion - The officer couldn't help but consider Bauer a bit too gushy at times. Even now the man already left, not even sparing a single moment after waving around some expensive jewel and mentioning food. What the devil was a "Harriegilta" anyways?
"... Alright, Bauer, I'll be with you soon. And take your Pervitin, damn it, we'll never get this done otherwise!", he uttered effortlessly after the magus thundered away. In no time he was outside comfortable speaking range, much to the displeasure of Emmerich."If you want a break, I've stocked my beers in the cellar. Help yourself to the bottles, just be easy on the dunkelweiß - That one's a favourite." The friendly shout traveled down between the pews of the church in a bid to reach the escaping Bauer without being too much of an offense on his ears.
As the front door of the church shut behind the blonde german, the officer left outside alone once more exhaled a could of smoke. Blue eyes bore onto the night, suspiciously gazing into the starry void before a flickering gaze turned to the rifle hanging from his shoulder - Bayonet fixed and safety lock off, not that either would do anything to their expected attackers. Still, Emmerich could only mumble away a chuckle. "Front door. Rifle. Standing... Guard duty. I can't remember last time I had guard duty, heh." The pleasant little chortle wore off as soon as it came. The cigarette upon his smiling lips was soon to be completely burned away and so he decided to spend his last few seconds with something useful. After a mental link established to his colleague, his voice quietly rung out. Almost paternal in nature, the officer suppressed his genuineness with an air of mild professionalism.
"Bauer.", came his first word. A long pause ensued, Emmerich tried to figure out how to best confront his fellow. As forehead wrinkled and the last of his smoke finally extinguished, the lanky man chose to approach with honesty. They were both men of advanced age, after all. Sugarcoating things would be ever so unvölkisch. "Something bothers you, I can tell." The statement, firm in determination yet ripe with worry, was quickly off-set by the officer adding another line. "... Remember the nature of our mission. If you want to talk, I'm here for you - Tomorrow there may not be another chance for it."
@Over Illusion@Yukitamas@MeteorD
The retreat from the crushing defeat went by without a hitch, even if the trek into the depths of the enemy's dressers and cellar brought some worrisome surprises to the attention of the German expedition - But that was hours ago. Those more inclined to academic work were already labouring away to crack the enigmatic loot's secrets. Whilst the arrival to the occupied church did not transpire joyously, Emmerich could not deny the building's comforts. A minute displeasure rose within him, the officer recalling his express orders to remain diplomatic towards the Overseer. Unfortunately, his unviable lifeform of a subordinate could not contain his throbbing urges to do pagan things and instead proceeded to set in motion a tidal wave of events by assessing control over this house of worship. The results were clear; An upset third party and the loss of Rider. With a frown and forehead wrinkled, however, the lanky officer chose to temper his anger with patience. Bauer Herstelle might have been an eclectic man with fondnesses that rose brows, but his potential was impressive. In just under a day, the Worshiper of Wotan turned an innocent church into a "Wirklich Deutsche Festung". Surely his fetishistic mannerism in regards to the swastika was troubling, but this was easy to bear once one considered the benefits he brought to the team.
And so the officer sat again, this time in the private quarters of a priest instead of a hotel room, hunched over a mess of neatly-stacked documents. The trusty black briefcase lied half open against the desk, nothing but the soothing scratching of a pen disturbed the peaceful silence of the room. Fortunately the recent battle left him unscathed, but the night was growing old and his mood was under the weather after witnessing Sigurd's passing. Still, a stray thought cracked Emmerich's stony visage with a paternal chuckle. The set of small papers before him bore that iconic bold text, the topmost line proudly titling the document: "𝕰𝖓𝖙𝖑𝖆𝖘𝖘𝖚𝖓𝖌𝖘𝖘𝖈𝖍𝖊𝖎𝖓" and, not so far to the left, "𝕬𝖗𝖇𝖊𝖎𝖙𝖘𝖑𝖆𝖌𝖊𝖗". The chuckle left a lingering smile in its wake and Emmerich could merely shake his head. "... It is almost as if I was writing permission slips. These Juden and Zigeuner are like children." Again he could not help a heartfelt chuckle, but at least he could hide his lips with the back of his right hand this time.
His garments were once again modest - Nothing but his grey shirt rolled up to the forearm, field gray pants with suspenders and those lovely jackboots. The couple buttons undone at the collar spoke volumes of the man's comfort, revealing nothing but an inkling of tight skin underneath the neck. Even once he finally stood up from the papers did he only haphazardly throw on a coat, his field blouse to be exact. White piping, bottle-green collars and shoulderpads decorated the uniform that would usually be the basis of his combat gear. Now it proved to be nothing more than mere protection from the starry night's cold. Emmerich didn't even bother to button up the front, instead he opted to immediately stroll outside. The day's events had to be pondered upon, he decided while making his way through the building. Despite the sloppy appearance that would not be tolerated by any personnel of the Schutzstaffel, the officer walked with a soldierly gait still and a spine as straight as a telephone post. Some things just do not change, no matter what happens in life - As it was evident by the rifle that he slung over his shoulder during his trot.
It took no more than a minute, but the lanky Emmerich managed to sneak outside to the front door of the ominous church. There, under the watchful gaze of the statue that stood before the building, the officer finally slid forth a pack of cigarettes from his coat sleeve. With a hand on his rifle's sling and another sticking the small roll of tobacco atop his lips, he somehow managed to light the thing - With a common match no less. After a drag and puff of white smoke, piercing eyes scanned the serene exterior of the repurposed house of worship. Surely a break could not hurt before taking the next task upon him?
Moments later, Emmerich has finally dragged himself to do what he had in mind. A sigh and a cloud of smoke escaped him before suddenly...
"POTZBLITZ, BAUER! DU VERDAMMTER SCHEIß FREIKÖRPERSCHWULE, WO BIST DU JEZTZ?", came the booming query. Despite the rude nature of the call, the tone held no hostility. Merely it was loud and thunderous, awakening the Church. "Make yourself useful and get your head out of those motion pictures - Scour the place with your magicks, I'll join you in a minute.", he announced as he shouted into the building before taking another drag of his cigarette. For just a moment more, he'd cherish the peaceful night and the stars above. Soon, he'd be buried again beneath his duties.
Emmerich Lisztmayer-Anschütz von Sabern,
Chosen of the Holy Grail
At the Church on the Hill 𝔉𝔢𝔰𝔱𝔲𝔫𝔤 𝔎𝔦𝔯𝔠𝔥𝔢
The 27th of August, 1939
Chosen of the Holy Grail
At the Church on the Hill 𝔉𝔢𝔰𝔱𝔲𝔫𝔤 𝔎𝔦𝔯𝔠𝔥𝔢
The 27th of August, 1939
The retreat from the crushing defeat went by without a hitch, even if the trek into the depths of the enemy's dressers and cellar brought some worrisome surprises to the attention of the German expedition - But that was hours ago. Those more inclined to academic work were already labouring away to crack the enigmatic loot's secrets. Whilst the arrival to the occupied church did not transpire joyously, Emmerich could not deny the building's comforts. A minute displeasure rose within him, the officer recalling his express orders to remain diplomatic towards the Overseer. Unfortunately, his unviable lifeform of a subordinate could not contain his throbbing urges to do pagan things and instead proceeded to set in motion a tidal wave of events by assessing control over this house of worship. The results were clear; An upset third party and the loss of Rider. With a frown and forehead wrinkled, however, the lanky officer chose to temper his anger with patience. Bauer Herstelle might have been an eclectic man with fondnesses that rose brows, but his potential was impressive. In just under a day, the Worshiper of Wotan turned an innocent church into a "Wirklich Deutsche Festung". Surely his fetishistic mannerism in regards to the swastika was troubling, but this was easy to bear once one considered the benefits he brought to the team.
And so the officer sat again, this time in the private quarters of a priest instead of a hotel room, hunched over a mess of neatly-stacked documents. The trusty black briefcase lied half open against the desk, nothing but the soothing scratching of a pen disturbed the peaceful silence of the room. Fortunately the recent battle left him unscathed, but the night was growing old and his mood was under the weather after witnessing Sigurd's passing. Still, a stray thought cracked Emmerich's stony visage with a paternal chuckle. The set of small papers before him bore that iconic bold text, the topmost line proudly titling the document: "𝕰𝖓𝖙𝖑𝖆𝖘𝖘𝖚𝖓𝖌𝖘𝖘𝖈𝖍𝖊𝖎𝖓" and, not so far to the left, "𝕬𝖗𝖇𝖊𝖎𝖙𝖘𝖑𝖆𝖌𝖊𝖗". The chuckle left a lingering smile in its wake and Emmerich could merely shake his head. "... It is almost as if I was writing permission slips. These Juden and Zigeuner are like children." Again he could not help a heartfelt chuckle, but at least he could hide his lips with the back of his right hand this time.
His garments were once again modest - Nothing but his grey shirt rolled up to the forearm, field gray pants with suspenders and those lovely jackboots. The couple buttons undone at the collar spoke volumes of the man's comfort, revealing nothing but an inkling of tight skin underneath the neck. Even once he finally stood up from the papers did he only haphazardly throw on a coat, his field blouse to be exact. White piping, bottle-green collars and shoulderpads decorated the uniform that would usually be the basis of his combat gear. Now it proved to be nothing more than mere protection from the starry night's cold. Emmerich didn't even bother to button up the front, instead he opted to immediately stroll outside. The day's events had to be pondered upon, he decided while making his way through the building. Despite the sloppy appearance that would not be tolerated by any personnel of the Schutzstaffel, the officer walked with a soldierly gait still and a spine as straight as a telephone post. Some things just do not change, no matter what happens in life - As it was evident by the rifle that he slung over his shoulder during his trot.
It took no more than a minute, but the lanky Emmerich managed to sneak outside to the front door of the ominous church. There, under the watchful gaze of the statue that stood before the building, the officer finally slid forth a pack of cigarettes from his coat sleeve. With a hand on his rifle's sling and another sticking the small roll of tobacco atop his lips, he somehow managed to light the thing - With a common match no less. After a drag and puff of white smoke, piercing eyes scanned the serene exterior of the repurposed house of worship. Surely a break could not hurt before taking the next task upon him?
Moments later, Emmerich has finally dragged himself to do what he had in mind. A sigh and a cloud of smoke escaped him before suddenly...
"POTZBLITZ, BAUER! DU VERDAMMTER SCHEIß FREIKÖRPERSCHWULE, WO BIST DU JEZTZ?", came the booming query. Despite the rude nature of the call, the tone held no hostility. Merely it was loud and thunderous, awakening the Church. "Make yourself useful and get your head out of those motion pictures - Scour the place with your magicks, I'll join you in a minute.", he announced as he shouted into the building before taking another drag of his cigarette. For just a moment more, he'd cherish the peaceful night and the stars above. Soon, he'd be buried again beneath his duties.
@Breo@Over Illusion
The mad rush of a released Command Seal brought a blindness of power over the officer's eyes. Such strength, such might he thought would be unstoppable. Arcane movements and amounts of prana never felt by an ordinary magus in their entire lifetime were now held at the order of a stalwart german commander. As his spirits rose, so did his rush to rejoin the battle by the side of his companion and cherished hero. Pupils dilated and hasty breathing, skipped exhalations and gasps of bravery: All telltale signs of an ecstatic Emmerich sinking away in his reawakened lust for glorious victory. With his body trained to reflexively execute the movements of a trained soldier, the lanky man's mind was left unoccupied to wander freely. Visions of an auspicious reconnection to the roots of mankind hurried his unbroken sprint onward - The fever-dream of every true fascistic individual was about to be made manifest before his very eyes. Men and women of old heroics, those whose exploits inspired an insurrection against this rising degeneracy of Europe, were now to fight beside the men and women of the present who choose to answer the call of their ancestors!
One more corner to turn - The noise of battle was intoxicating, the air carried a whiff of bloodshed that only made Emmerich's mind race on. The officer has seen it all, old memories came flooding back to his mind's eye. One by one he recalled the worst of mankind he observed and replaced the images with those of a cleaner, hopeful future.
The poisonous Communists who tore down the past - Erased.
The unhinged Marxists that raped women with laughter - Erased.
The eternal Jews that sold children into prostitution - Erased.
The crooked Hebrew that ruined lives with usury - Erased.
The perfidious Englishmen who held a facade of false nobility - Erased.
The detestable Frenchmen who took a people's livelihood - Erased.
Degeneracy - Erased.
The horrible humanity that sunk to hollow nihilism, pursued only base pleasures and sought nothing but minute entertainment - 𝕽𝖊𝖋𝖎𝖓𝖊𝖉.
In earnest, no national socialist wished for the unmaking of a people or their nation and neither did Emmerich wish for those either. What he longed for was merely a purge of righteousness against the values of an aimless society - To once more put onto the throne of humanity the values of culture, tradition and progress. This was the only true path to walk for any man that has lived the War to End All Wars. Civilization was to be rebuilt from the ashes that were left behind after the Apocalypse of Old Europe, lest it be consumed by the bestial nature of an unguided man. In the mind of the officer, Sigurd's mere existence was the embodiment of the success of this movement. Young Warriors of the Gun and Grenade, fighting beside and led by the Old Warriors of the Sword and Shield; All in pursuit of one ultimate truth to be achieved.
A cheer flooded the lanky officer. A grin creaked beneath the balaclava. Kit jingled as both hands clung to the Schmeisser. The sudden rise in uneasy silence did little to halt Emmerich's advance towards the battle against an impregnable foe. A worry scratched at the back of his mind for sure, yet he quickly strangled it into silence for nothing - No mere human - could ever come to match the might of Sigurd.
And yet, it happened. The unthinkable transpired.
There the wretched holy man stood with a heart in his grasp, accompanied by an accursed woman, both basked in the fragments of light that fluttered like a swarm of dayflies in the evening wind. His brain could register the odd formation of visual stimuli to be vaguely in the figure of-
"No, Rider! No - Sigurd! SIGURD!", came the helpless shriek. Suddenly it dawned on the german what truly happened. The sinister signs from earlier that he ignored soon gained meaning: The silence after just a single clash, the throbbing pain in his chest and the sudden disappearance of that imposing presence which could only be cast by a Servant. There was no denying it now, Rider was dead - Once again, that is.
The hearty rush to battle came to an immediate halt. The officer crumbled to his knees in a cascade of metallic noises, yet somehow he still managed to remain upright. It was second nature to him, truly. The force of the stop flung the helmet off his head and immediately a pair of bare hands snapped to take hold of his scalp. "SIGURD!" A shot rang through the night - The dropped Maschinenpistole 38 misfired upon impact against the pavement, sending a lone bullet into the sky and a single hot brass casing onto the ground. The clink of the spent cartridge was soon joined by the rattle and roll of the trusty clothed Stahlhelm. It, too, has hit the pavement. Fortunately it did not misfire.
Eyes shot wide in realization of Rider's death welled with tears that Emmerich quickly diffused. However, within the officer was a shattered world. A hope that was once extinguished by the Great War, sparked again by Rider's existence, was now stomped out again.
"Where are the heroics you promised me, my Rittl?"
There truly were no miracles in this world.
"... Where are they?"
And nothing can change that.
The whimpered questions were not answered. They could simply not be answered anymore, as the person whom they were addressed to no longer existed. There, on the street and in the final purple coat of the sky, Emmerich knelt in humiliation - Not only was a Germanic ideal removed from this word, it was done so with a singular blow lacking any effort delivered by what, on baseline standards, was an ordinary human being. The victor of the battle was not even tired, he did not even break a sweat. The Agent merely walked away from the engagement, holding idle chatter as if nothing happened - As if he shrugged off a piece of lint from his shoulder. In an offhanded manner the lanky german registered that something transpired in the Tohsaka Manor as well, but the despair that beset him bore priority for now.
Like always, Emmerich soon stood again - After all, to live is to struggle. A hollow message was broadcast to all members of his expedition, letting his followers know of the happenings in a solemn and tight-lipped manner.
Manhood is Struggle - He internalized this truth. To become master of one's life, one must become a master of both agony and joy. In these dogmas the officer found the willpower to fight on, yet as his ideal was crushed he has become a changed man. The hyena that survived in those inhuman ditches and fended off herds of rapacious slav after slav in a bid of persistence awoke once more. There was nothing to be gained from wallowing in this misery. Reality had to be accepted, it would not take any other answer than acceptance. Miracles do not exist, just like Sigurd did not exist anymore. He had to move on - Improvise. Adapt. Overcome. - He understood and embraced that. Duty came dripping onto his psychological wounds like a soothing salve.
It was time to continue on with the mission. Silently collecting his belongings and making sure no irreparable damage is done to them, Emmerich ventured forth in the ruins of the short and fatal encounter. A bare hand reached over to the satchel strapped onto his thigh, drawing a plain-looking metallic object of brick-like design. It resembled an oversized flask in all honesty - With a yellow plug and a handle on the topmost part, nothing really stood out on the object's surface aside the thick white text on its side: "3kgs"
In no time the determined officer was already at the doorstep of the Tohsaka Manor, on a knee in front of the main door. With a hand on the yellow plug and the strange metallic object propped up against the door frame, his grasp tightened. A part of him knew that what he was about to do is an outlet for his despair just as much as it is an execution of a plan, but he tried to ignore the former fact. It'd be very unprofessional to bask in such endeavors - And so, he merely cranked and pulled the yellow plug free of the metal object before running away from it posthaste.
Emmerich Lisztmayer-Anschütz von Sabern,
Master of Rider
Nearby the Tohsaka Manor
The 27th of August, 1939
Master of Rider
Nearby the Tohsaka Manor
The 27th of August, 1939
The mad rush of a released Command Seal brought a blindness of power over the officer's eyes. Such strength, such might he thought would be unstoppable. Arcane movements and amounts of prana never felt by an ordinary magus in their entire lifetime were now held at the order of a stalwart german commander. As his spirits rose, so did his rush to rejoin the battle by the side of his companion and cherished hero. Pupils dilated and hasty breathing, skipped exhalations and gasps of bravery: All telltale signs of an ecstatic Emmerich sinking away in his reawakened lust for glorious victory. With his body trained to reflexively execute the movements of a trained soldier, the lanky man's mind was left unoccupied to wander freely. Visions of an auspicious reconnection to the roots of mankind hurried his unbroken sprint onward - The fever-dream of every true fascistic individual was about to be made manifest before his very eyes. Men and women of old heroics, those whose exploits inspired an insurrection against this rising degeneracy of Europe, were now to fight beside the men and women of the present who choose to answer the call of their ancestors!
One more corner to turn - The noise of battle was intoxicating, the air carried a whiff of bloodshed that only made Emmerich's mind race on. The officer has seen it all, old memories came flooding back to his mind's eye. One by one he recalled the worst of mankind he observed and replaced the images with those of a cleaner, hopeful future.
The poisonous Communists who tore down the past - Erased.
The unhinged Marxists that raped women with laughter - Erased.
The eternal Jews that sold children into prostitution - Erased.
The crooked Hebrew that ruined lives with usury - Erased.
The perfidious Englishmen who held a facade of false nobility - Erased.
The detestable Frenchmen who took a people's livelihood - Erased.
Degeneracy - Erased.
The horrible humanity that sunk to hollow nihilism, pursued only base pleasures and sought nothing but minute entertainment - 𝕽𝖊𝖋𝖎𝖓𝖊𝖉.
In earnest, no national socialist wished for the unmaking of a people or their nation and neither did Emmerich wish for those either. What he longed for was merely a purge of righteousness against the values of an aimless society - To once more put onto the throne of humanity the values of culture, tradition and progress. This was the only true path to walk for any man that has lived the War to End All Wars. Civilization was to be rebuilt from the ashes that were left behind after the Apocalypse of Old Europe, lest it be consumed by the bestial nature of an unguided man. In the mind of the officer, Sigurd's mere existence was the embodiment of the success of this movement. Young Warriors of the Gun and Grenade, fighting beside and led by the Old Warriors of the Sword and Shield; All in pursuit of one ultimate truth to be achieved.
A cheer flooded the lanky officer. A grin creaked beneath the balaclava. Kit jingled as both hands clung to the Schmeisser. The sudden rise in uneasy silence did little to halt Emmerich's advance towards the battle against an impregnable foe. A worry scratched at the back of his mind for sure, yet he quickly strangled it into silence for nothing - No mere human - could ever come to match the might of Sigurd.
And yet, it happened. The unthinkable transpired.
There the wretched holy man stood with a heart in his grasp, accompanied by an accursed woman, both basked in the fragments of light that fluttered like a swarm of dayflies in the evening wind. His brain could register the odd formation of visual stimuli to be vaguely in the figure of-
"No, Rider! No - Sigurd! SIGURD!", came the helpless shriek. Suddenly it dawned on the german what truly happened. The sinister signs from earlier that he ignored soon gained meaning: The silence after just a single clash, the throbbing pain in his chest and the sudden disappearance of that imposing presence which could only be cast by a Servant. There was no denying it now, Rider was dead - Once again, that is.
The hearty rush to battle came to an immediate halt. The officer crumbled to his knees in a cascade of metallic noises, yet somehow he still managed to remain upright. It was second nature to him, truly. The force of the stop flung the helmet off his head and immediately a pair of bare hands snapped to take hold of his scalp. "SIGURD!" A shot rang through the night - The dropped Maschinenpistole 38 misfired upon impact against the pavement, sending a lone bullet into the sky and a single hot brass casing onto the ground. The clink of the spent cartridge was soon joined by the rattle and roll of the trusty clothed Stahlhelm. It, too, has hit the pavement. Fortunately it did not misfire.
Eyes shot wide in realization of Rider's death welled with tears that Emmerich quickly diffused. However, within the officer was a shattered world. A hope that was once extinguished by the Great War, sparked again by Rider's existence, was now stomped out again.
"Where are the heroics you promised me, my Rittl?"
There truly were no miracles in this world.
"... Where are they?"
And nothing can change that.
The whimpered questions were not answered. They could simply not be answered anymore, as the person whom they were addressed to no longer existed. There, on the street and in the final purple coat of the sky, Emmerich knelt in humiliation - Not only was a Germanic ideal removed from this word, it was done so with a singular blow lacking any effort delivered by what, on baseline standards, was an ordinary human being. The victor of the battle was not even tired, he did not even break a sweat. The Agent merely walked away from the engagement, holding idle chatter as if nothing happened - As if he shrugged off a piece of lint from his shoulder. In an offhanded manner the lanky german registered that something transpired in the Tohsaka Manor as well, but the despair that beset him bore priority for now.
Like always, Emmerich soon stood again - After all, to live is to struggle. A hollow message was broadcast to all members of his expedition, letting his followers know of the happenings in a solemn and tight-lipped manner.
"Rider is dead."
Manhood is Struggle - He internalized this truth. To become master of one's life, one must become a master of both agony and joy. In these dogmas the officer found the willpower to fight on, yet as his ideal was crushed he has become a changed man. The hyena that survived in those inhuman ditches and fended off herds of rapacious slav after slav in a bid of persistence awoke once more. There was nothing to be gained from wallowing in this misery. Reality had to be accepted, it would not take any other answer than acceptance. Miracles do not exist, just like Sigurd did not exist anymore. He had to move on - Improvise. Adapt. Overcome. - He understood and embraced that. Duty came dripping onto his psychological wounds like a soothing salve.
It was time to continue on with the mission. Silently collecting his belongings and making sure no irreparable damage is done to them, Emmerich ventured forth in the ruins of the short and fatal encounter. A bare hand reached over to the satchel strapped onto his thigh, drawing a plain-looking metallic object of brick-like design. It resembled an oversized flask in all honesty - With a yellow plug and a handle on the topmost part, nothing really stood out on the object's surface aside the thick white text on its side: "3kgs"
In no time the determined officer was already at the doorstep of the Tohsaka Manor, on a knee in front of the main door. With a hand on the yellow plug and the strange metallic object propped up against the door frame, his grasp tightened. A part of him knew that what he was about to do is an outlet for his despair just as much as it is an execution of a plan, but he tried to ignore the former fact. It'd be very unprofessional to bask in such endeavors - And so, he merely cranked and pulled the yellow plug free of the metal object before running away from it posthaste.
@Breo@Over Illusion
A radio-call later, Emmreich sat on the pavement - One leg extended while the other was pulled in, his back resting against the black vehicle. With submachine gun in lap, the german officer boiled in a resolute rage. Despite his earlier outburst on the radio, he was no longer frothing with anger. One could say he managed to put the lid back on it. Not a single grunt escaped Emmerich, but few things hurt the man as much as being hapless in a fight. Absolutely useless, the german gazed up at the darkening sky in a bid to avoid wallowing in his wounded honour. "So... Unvölkisch.", he mumbled the humourless curse. It seemed that this really was the greatest offence for the officer: To go against the greatest, truest national socialist ideal. No longer he could keep the fire burning nor fight for the glory of his ancestors. He was utterly helpless. Even as news came of their rescue by the hand of Saber, he could not garner joy from the knowledge that they might not die tonight. The noise of battle was the only thing that rang in his ears as memories of the Eastern Front slowly crept back into his mind. In a blunt, cold tone he notified his fighting Servant.
His own bones felt every hit Sigurd had taken for the Reich, breath fastened as combat intensified - And so, in the throes of despair and pain of dishonour, Emmerich sought for a sign. A miracle. Anything that could help them. The burn of his command seals grew to insufferable levels, if not only because of his shame. It was then when he finally twitched in pain. As Sigurd came in contact with that wretched hammer, Emmerich's heart skipped a beat. Like white hot iron being driven into his chest, the officer squirmed in pain. Yet in that pain he found absolution, for struggle is manhood. A hand snapped to beneath the left of his chest, where the command seal burned. Springing to his step, with his left grasping the submachine gun by the body, he broke into a reinvigorated rush towards the fight. No matter if death is his reward, victory is his banner. With teeth gritting and blue eyes flaming, the officer roared the order as he rushed.
"RIDER - KILL HIM! SKEWER HIM! ERASE HIM! MAKE HIM DIE! FOR THE GLORY OF THE FATHERLAND AND OUR GERMANIC RACE!"
Emmerich said the words and the command seal activated as if it was triggered not by the order but the officer's refined resolve. God damn it, he's going to die fighting or win, no matter the tenacity of this foe. Together with a legendary hero, side by side, he is going to prove just how true german superiority is. Panting like a hound on the chase, adrenalin flooded his system to remove the pain for the time being. With order given and the officer closing in on the fight to support his servant, Emmerich longed for an unlikely glory to be made his in the light of his command skill being blown on the first fight.
Emmerich Lisztmayer-Anschütz von Sabern,
Master of Rider
Nearby the Tohsaka Manor
The 27th of August, 1939
Master of Rider
Nearby the Tohsaka Manor
The 27th of August, 1939
A radio-call later, Emmreich sat on the pavement - One leg extended while the other was pulled in, his back resting against the black vehicle. With submachine gun in lap, the german officer boiled in a resolute rage. Despite his earlier outburst on the radio, he was no longer frothing with anger. One could say he managed to put the lid back on it. Not a single grunt escaped Emmerich, but few things hurt the man as much as being hapless in a fight. Absolutely useless, the german gazed up at the darkening sky in a bid to avoid wallowing in his wounded honour. "So... Unvölkisch.", he mumbled the humourless curse. It seemed that this really was the greatest offence for the officer: To go against the greatest, truest national socialist ideal. No longer he could keep the fire burning nor fight for the glory of his ancestors. He was utterly helpless. Even as news came of their rescue by the hand of Saber, he could not garner joy from the knowledge that they might not die tonight. The noise of battle was the only thing that rang in his ears as memories of the Eastern Front slowly crept back into his mind. In a blunt, cold tone he notified his fighting Servant.
"Rider. Saber is en route to support us. Hold fast."
His own bones felt every hit Sigurd had taken for the Reich, breath fastened as combat intensified - And so, in the throes of despair and pain of dishonour, Emmerich sought for a sign. A miracle. Anything that could help them. The burn of his command seals grew to insufferable levels, if not only because of his shame. It was then when he finally twitched in pain. As Sigurd came in contact with that wretched hammer, Emmerich's heart skipped a beat. Like white hot iron being driven into his chest, the officer squirmed in pain. Yet in that pain he found absolution, for struggle is manhood. A hand snapped to beneath the left of his chest, where the command seal burned. Springing to his step, with his left grasping the submachine gun by the body, he broke into a reinvigorated rush towards the fight. No matter if death is his reward, victory is his banner. With teeth gritting and blue eyes flaming, the officer roared the order as he rushed.
"RIDER - KILL HIM! SKEWER HIM! ERASE HIM! MAKE HIM DIE! FOR THE GLORY OF THE FATHERLAND AND OUR GERMANIC RACE!"
Emmerich said the words and the command seal activated as if it was triggered not by the order but the officer's refined resolve. God damn it, he's going to die fighting or win, no matter the tenacity of this foe. Together with a legendary hero, side by side, he is going to prove just how true german superiority is. Panting like a hound on the chase, adrenalin flooded his system to remove the pain for the time being. With order given and the officer closing in on the fight to support his servant, Emmerich longed for an unlikely glory to be made his in the light of his command skill being blown on the first fight.
@Breo@Over Illusion@Yukitamas
Although his demand for identification papers was due to the restlessness of the moment, Emmerich did not regret that his mind defaulted to that instead of something more embarrassing. The sole consolation for this awkwardness was that his conversational partner didn't seem the least amount refined at all. The officer could not bear responding to someone so blatant and shoddy in their speech - The only reaction that the lost tourist got from him was a nigh audible cringe. "Mein Gott... So unvölkisch...", he uttered as if this was the greatest sin he could imagine. Emmerich's repulsion did not last long, the officer regained his soldierly posture right after the introduction. "Guten Abend, Herr Anton. I apologize for my brashness, we've unfortunately met at a bad time. We're about to dispose of spirits nearb- ...?"
The politeness quickly sunk away as Antony revealed his true, murderous self. Brows furrowed underneath the helmet - Soon the officer found himself entangled between a zealot and a pagan. As Tony's presence oppressed his own and Rider kept on butting horns with the murderous uncle, Emmerich sunk in thought as to what he could make out of this situation. The hailstorm of boasts and taunts and groans sent the officer spiraling down a momentary madness as waves crashed above his head. It did not take long for him to finally snap after constantly taking mental notes about their enemy's identity. "Nnngh..."
The scream of annoyance shot through the street with such force that it pierced both the Agent's murderous presence and his Servant's aura of might. Exhaling through his nose like an enraged bull, the facemask hid a grimace of displeasure. "As a faithful Catholic, it pains me to cross swords with a brother. However, your mind is as blank of rationale right now as a barrel after being scraped of scum, that much is apparent - Your bloodlust is unfashionable, Herr Anton. I have no ill will towards you and ... I take responsibility for the happenings at the church on the hill. I have explicitly told my subordinate to cooperate with the Overseer, not to evict the nun. Unfortunately, his zealotry has led him to do as he did.", he explained in a collected manner. As his submachine gun lowered, one hand reached over for the trio of grenades that clung from his webbing. "You will find that I am also not suicidal. I commend your powers, but I have no intention to throw myself onto a drawn sword." The officer's weapon hung from his shoulder, allowing him to prime the potato masher that he held so frivolously. "If a divine fight against evil is your wish, I suggest you turn your attention towards the occupants of yonder manor, Herr Anton."
With that, the grenade swiftly hissed alive but refused to explode. Instead, thick white smoke rushed from its orifices rapidly as the officer held the device. "If you wish to still fight us then so be it - Rider, you may entertain him." Impenetrable smoke of concealment soon flooded the street as Emmerich made his departure, although for the inhumane creatures this may be nothing more than a setting of mood for the battle that is coming. "You are under strict orders to stay alive. You have no permission to die.", came the rigid order from the smoke.
A short rush and furious tinkering later, at a street a couple corners away, Emmerich was already on his knees by the trunk of his vehicle. With his helmet hooked onto the side of the car, the officer clutched the headset against his ear as he coolly recited the very recent events. Although the signs of stress remained quiet noticeable in his demeanor, the veteran magus contained his anger that was readily welling up inside his lanky body. To run away from a battle so shamefully - Yet with no alternative option, he had to. This was the only thing the officer found some soothing solace in, as his uneasiness already took hold of him. Emmerich longed to fight beside his legendary ally, not to cover in a hole out of fear for his life.
However, this anger would not be contained any longer. As soon as his contact to the flotilla was severed, annoyed groans and furious grunts escaped him. The angry engineer quickly tuned the field radio to the frequency of the one device stationed at Bauer Herstelle's new workshop. The moment his connection to the Church was established, flames lashed for from the officer's mouth.
Emmerich Lisztmayer-Anschütz von Sabern,
Master of Rider
Nearby the Tohsaka Manor
The 27th of August, 1939
Master of Rider
Nearby the Tohsaka Manor
The 27th of August, 1939
Although his demand for identification papers was due to the restlessness of the moment, Emmerich did not regret that his mind defaulted to that instead of something more embarrassing. The sole consolation for this awkwardness was that his conversational partner didn't seem the least amount refined at all. The officer could not bear responding to someone so blatant and shoddy in their speech - The only reaction that the lost tourist got from him was a nigh audible cringe. "Mein Gott... So unvölkisch...", he uttered as if this was the greatest sin he could imagine. Emmerich's repulsion did not last long, the officer regained his soldierly posture right after the introduction. "Guten Abend, Herr Anton. I apologize for my brashness, we've unfortunately met at a bad time. We're about to dispose of spirits nearb- ...?"
The politeness quickly sunk away as Antony revealed his true, murderous self. Brows furrowed underneath the helmet - Soon the officer found himself entangled between a zealot and a pagan. As Tony's presence oppressed his own and Rider kept on butting horns with the murderous uncle, Emmerich sunk in thought as to what he could make out of this situation. The hailstorm of boasts and taunts and groans sent the officer spiraling down a momentary madness as waves crashed above his head. It did not take long for him to finally snap after constantly taking mental notes about their enemy's identity. "Nnngh..."
"MIST! HALTE DEN MUND - Ihr beide!"
The scream of annoyance shot through the street with such force that it pierced both the Agent's murderous presence and his Servant's aura of might. Exhaling through his nose like an enraged bull, the facemask hid a grimace of displeasure. "As a faithful Catholic, it pains me to cross swords with a brother. However, your mind is as blank of rationale right now as a barrel after being scraped of scum, that much is apparent - Your bloodlust is unfashionable, Herr Anton. I have no ill will towards you and ... I take responsibility for the happenings at the church on the hill. I have explicitly told my subordinate to cooperate with the Overseer, not to evict the nun. Unfortunately, his zealotry has led him to do as he did.", he explained in a collected manner. As his submachine gun lowered, one hand reached over for the trio of grenades that clung from his webbing. "You will find that I am also not suicidal. I commend your powers, but I have no intention to throw myself onto a drawn sword." The officer's weapon hung from his shoulder, allowing him to prime the potato masher that he held so frivolously. "If a divine fight against evil is your wish, I suggest you turn your attention towards the occupants of yonder manor, Herr Anton."
With that, the grenade swiftly hissed alive but refused to explode. Instead, thick white smoke rushed from its orifices rapidly as the officer held the device. "If you wish to still fight us then so be it - Rider, you may entertain him." Impenetrable smoke of concealment soon flooded the street as Emmerich made his departure, although for the inhumane creatures this may be nothing more than a setting of mood for the battle that is coming. "You are under strict orders to stay alive. You have no permission to die.", came the rigid order from the smoke.
⁂
A short rush and furious tinkering later, at a street a couple corners away, Emmerich was already on his knees by the trunk of his vehicle. With his helmet hooked onto the side of the car, the officer clutched the headset against his ear as he coolly recited the very recent events. Although the signs of stress remained quiet noticeable in his demeanor, the veteran magus contained his anger that was readily welling up inside his lanky body. To run away from a battle so shamefully - Yet with no alternative option, he had to. This was the only thing the officer found some soothing solace in, as his uneasiness already took hold of him. Emmerich longed to fight beside his legendary ally, not to cover in a hole out of fear for his life.
"Batallion, hier Zugführer - Batallion, hier Zugführer. Feind gesichtet. Ich wiederhole: Feind gesichtet!
Wir brauchen sofort Verstärkung. Zugführer an Bataillon."
Wir brauchen sofort Verstärkung. Zugführer an Bataillon."
However, this anger would not be contained any longer. As soon as his contact to the flotilla was severed, annoyed groans and furious grunts escaped him. The angry engineer quickly tuned the field radio to the frequency of the one device stationed at Bauer Herstelle's new workshop. The moment his connection to the Church was established, flames lashed for from the officer's mouth.
"KIRCHE, KIRCHE - SCHLAGT ALARM! SCHLAGT ALARM!
BAUER, YOU MONUMENTAL MORON!
YOU SICCED THE BURIAL AGENCY ON US!
I REPEAT - NUMBER FOUR BURIAL AGENT ON SITE!
SEND THE SERVANTS, THE FAMILIARS, THE MASTERS!
TO HELL WITH IT, SEND EVERYTHING, EVEN THE ██████!
WE CAN'T HOLD ON MUCH LONGER,
SERVANT RIDER IS IN IMMEDIATE PERIL!
BAUER, COME IN! COME IN, DAMN YOU!
MOBILIZE TO THE TOHSAKA SECTOR - NOW!"
BAUER, YOU MONUMENTAL MORON!
YOU SICCED THE BURIAL AGENCY ON US!
I REPEAT - NUMBER FOUR BURIAL AGENT ON SITE!
SEND THE SERVANTS, THE FAMILIARS, THE MASTERS!
TO HELL WITH IT, SEND EVERYTHING, EVEN THE ██████!
WE CAN'T HOLD ON MUCH LONGER,
SERVANT RIDER IS IN IMMEDIATE PERIL!
BAUER, COME IN! COME IN, DAMN YOU!
MOBILIZE TO THE TOHSAKA SECTOR - NOW!"
You could say that this MEMES war, am I rite?
@Breo
To say that Emmerich eagerly anticipated this moment was an understatement. The officer had an itch since they set foot in the Orient to get closer to his opponents for purposes of observation. As the Sun set and the seaside city quietened down, the perfect tactical opportunity finally rose for reconnaissance. Hawkish blue eyes spied on the familiar manor through a binocular, fixated on windows and doors as they looked for a sign of life indoors. He took his sweet time with the approach, spending the better half of the evening with lurking closer and closer to his query whilst he expertly hid his presence - That is to say he spent the last hour sitting in a convenient shrubbery across the street.
The lanky officer dressed for the occasion - Only the usual constants of his garb remained the same, the black jackboots and the field grey pantaloons. A majority of his figure was obscured by a smock of odd green patterns, making it almost impossible to spot him in the cover of nature. The iconic helmet atop his head bore a helmet cover of similar design whilst his face was completely obscured by a black mask pulled up to the bridge of his nose. Only striking blue eyes were discernible from Emmerich's visage. What he wore beneath the smock remained a mystery, but bottle-green collars bearing blank black tabs peeked out from the garment's confines.
However, the man was no longer unburdened like earlier. Clad in a plethora of black straps and buckles, the standard issue german webbing attached a plethora of tools and provisions to his tall figure: Shovel, bayonet, pistol holster, munitions pouches, grenades and a bread bag - All fixed around the belt above his waist that sported the same buckle he'd be seen wearing before. His binoculars hung from his neck with a stripe of leather. The only rucksack on his body was the plain brown one hanging on his right side and strapped onto his thigh. The officer did not seem to mind the extra weight of his kit at all, or at least one could not notice his discomfort if he had any.
While one bare left hand clutched the binocular against his eyes, another held a weapon that hung from his shoulder via its leather strap. Made of fine metal and bakelite, the grey submachine gun was meticulously built. The milled body and the compact design may be immediately recognized as what the outside world would call a "Schmeisser". Disregard the fact that Hugo Schmeisser had little to do with its development, but Emmerich was not concerned with that now. As he let the binocular hang, both his hands reached for his gun. The squatting officer was wound up and ready to move on the Manor with the support of his most-definitely orderly and very sober Servant Rider, whom he hoped was loitering around the immediate vicinity. For a moment, as the crickets began their orchestra and the warmth of Autumn faded from the rise of the Moon, the lanky man thought of his amusing lunch with Rider and their appreciation of fine brews afterwards. Truly he was fortunate to have such a man as his ally in this conflict! A shake of his head quickly dismissed the fond memories as he prepared to move.
Unfortunately, a wrench flew into the battleplans. The officer already had half a leg on the outside of his shrubbery by the time his blue eyes snapped wide with realization. "... Donnerwetter." He was not alone. Not only a tumbling tourist wandered its way right into the middle of his operations but apparently this person was also a man of the Moonlit World. Almost tripping in the branches that he spent the past few hours entangled in, with a rustle he quickly withdrew. The arcane presence in the misplaced man was clear, but something else quickly became apparent - The burn of his command seals. Whatever was going on, he was in the right place but at the wrong time. The officer's heart beat rapidly as no doubt combat was about to erupt and there had to be a civilian that strolled right into the middle of it. A second's hesitation had to be made - Make collateral damage of the poor sod or risk his entry but ward the wandering person away to safety? Eyes flickered rapidly left and right, scanning the manor and the streets before suddenly he burst forth from the foliage. "... Gottverdammte scheiße, halt! HALT!"
Shrill orders split the silence of the streets as Emmerich came to stand before the tourist, holding an open palm towards him to gesture a stop before immediately harking again - Right hand still on the grip of his gun. "DU! SOFORT HIER RÜBER! Dies ist eine gefährlich stellung, du pimmelbirne!", he harked the demand and the warning before strolling quickly closer to the man. His posture did not suffer under his battledress, fortunately. However, as soon as he got close to the lost man he extended a hand instinctively. "Ihre Papiere, Bitte!", came the order. Emmerich himself was surprised that he'd do such a thing out of reflex, but it was already said and it'd be awkward as all hell to correct himself now. Not that the entire situation wasn't terribly dangerous and awkward already - Only now did he realize that the man was a fellow European. As he cleared his throat, he calmly repeated the order to the Mysterious Uncle.
Emmerich Lisztmayer-Anschütz von Sabern,
Master of Rider
Nearby the Tohsaka Manor
The 27th of August, 1939
Master of Rider
Nearby the Tohsaka Manor
The 27th of August, 1939
To say that Emmerich eagerly anticipated this moment was an understatement. The officer had an itch since they set foot in the Orient to get closer to his opponents for purposes of observation. As the Sun set and the seaside city quietened down, the perfect tactical opportunity finally rose for reconnaissance. Hawkish blue eyes spied on the familiar manor through a binocular, fixated on windows and doors as they looked for a sign of life indoors. He took his sweet time with the approach, spending the better half of the evening with lurking closer and closer to his query whilst he expertly hid his presence - That is to say he spent the last hour sitting in a convenient shrubbery across the street.
The lanky officer dressed for the occasion - Only the usual constants of his garb remained the same, the black jackboots and the field grey pantaloons. A majority of his figure was obscured by a smock of odd green patterns, making it almost impossible to spot him in the cover of nature. The iconic helmet atop his head bore a helmet cover of similar design whilst his face was completely obscured by a black mask pulled up to the bridge of his nose. Only striking blue eyes were discernible from Emmerich's visage. What he wore beneath the smock remained a mystery, but bottle-green collars bearing blank black tabs peeked out from the garment's confines.
However, the man was no longer unburdened like earlier. Clad in a plethora of black straps and buckles, the standard issue german webbing attached a plethora of tools and provisions to his tall figure: Shovel, bayonet, pistol holster, munitions pouches, grenades and a bread bag - All fixed around the belt above his waist that sported the same buckle he'd be seen wearing before. His binoculars hung from his neck with a stripe of leather. The only rucksack on his body was the plain brown one hanging on his right side and strapped onto his thigh. The officer did not seem to mind the extra weight of his kit at all, or at least one could not notice his discomfort if he had any.
While one bare left hand clutched the binocular against his eyes, another held a weapon that hung from his shoulder via its leather strap. Made of fine metal and bakelite, the grey submachine gun was meticulously built. The milled body and the compact design may be immediately recognized as what the outside world would call a "Schmeisser". Disregard the fact that Hugo Schmeisser had little to do with its development, but Emmerich was not concerned with that now. As he let the binocular hang, both his hands reached for his gun. The squatting officer was wound up and ready to move on the Manor with the support of his most-definitely orderly and very sober Servant Rider, whom he hoped was loitering around the immediate vicinity. For a moment, as the crickets began their orchestra and the warmth of Autumn faded from the rise of the Moon, the lanky man thought of his amusing lunch with Rider and their appreciation of fine brews afterwards. Truly he was fortunate to have such a man as his ally in this conflict! A shake of his head quickly dismissed the fond memories as he prepared to move.
Unfortunately, a wrench flew into the battleplans. The officer already had half a leg on the outside of his shrubbery by the time his blue eyes snapped wide with realization. "... Donnerwetter." He was not alone. Not only a tumbling tourist wandered its way right into the middle of his operations but apparently this person was also a man of the Moonlit World. Almost tripping in the branches that he spent the past few hours entangled in, with a rustle he quickly withdrew. The arcane presence in the misplaced man was clear, but something else quickly became apparent - The burn of his command seals. Whatever was going on, he was in the right place but at the wrong time. The officer's heart beat rapidly as no doubt combat was about to erupt and there had to be a civilian that strolled right into the middle of it. A second's hesitation had to be made - Make collateral damage of the poor sod or risk his entry but ward the wandering person away to safety? Eyes flickered rapidly left and right, scanning the manor and the streets before suddenly he burst forth from the foliage. "... Gottverdammte scheiße, halt! HALT!"
Shrill orders split the silence of the streets as Emmerich came to stand before the tourist, holding an open palm towards him to gesture a stop before immediately harking again - Right hand still on the grip of his gun. "DU! SOFORT HIER RÜBER! Dies ist eine gefährlich stellung, du pimmelbirne!", he harked the demand and the warning before strolling quickly closer to the man. His posture did not suffer under his battledress, fortunately. However, as soon as he got close to the lost man he extended a hand instinctively. "Ihre Papiere, Bitte!", came the order. Emmerich himself was surprised that he'd do such a thing out of reflex, but it was already said and it'd be awkward as all hell to correct himself now. Not that the entire situation wasn't terribly dangerous and awkward already - Only now did he realize that the man was a fellow European. As he cleared his throat, he calmly repeated the order to the Mysterious Uncle.
"Herr - Ihre Papiere, Bitte."
@Breo
No notice of the situation's abnormality came from the occupied german officer. Instead, he merely leant over the ever-troublesome sheet of paper that he scribbled onto whenever a whim seemingly took him. "My Rittl, what's one hundred divided by seventeen? ... Actually, nevermind. That'd be silly.", came his voice gently as if he was afraid of scaring the phonograph silent. So gentle and quiet it was that one could very easily miss it, the question barely above a tender whisper. As a groan escaped his lips, Emmerich choose to be tilted backwards with the charmingly-simple mahogany chair beneath him. No longer was he slouched over a dark desk - His blue eyes fixated on the cheap device that croaked to life with the vinyl within its grasp. A moment of silence and anticipation took place as one cheerful song came to an end only to be taken over by the sound of a choir, brasswind and accordion. The happy yet foreboding music quickly filled the room, sparking a coy joy in the lanky man's heart. His lips parted with a half-smile and a fake laugh made way from within.
"Ha, ha-ha-ha-ha~!"
He made no attempt to make it sound genuine. In fact, it was almost as if the voice was meant for singing, rather than actually expressing a spontaneous emotion. With a content sigh, he finally unwound - Thoughts wandered to the far west, into the heartland of modern civilization. To those beautiful years of prosperity after decades of inhumane shame and poverty. Reminiscing and homesickness took over Emmerich, his mind's eye basking in the sights of his homeland, his wonderful strawberry blonde wife and the five children with whom he was blessed. The frustrations from difficult obligations to the Fatherland were soon washed away as the german officer was no longer on a dangerous mission to the orient but in the warm grasp of a loving Erika. Memories of hardship and success blotted out the music - Oddly enough, the tune that the phonograph creaked seemed to repeat many times now. Every time the music stopped, the same piece came back on again with a different composition of instruments and alien languages occupying the choir's ranks. With his pen dropped by the mess of sheets, the lanky man swung on his chair's hind legs before his eyes lulled open again. "Oh!", he exclaimed as a familiar yet strange tone rose from the depths of the device. "You should be able to understand this one, Rider - It's the Nordic variant!"
Sure enough, the song repeated in every single one of the nordic languages over time but Emmerich didn't bother to look over his shoulder. He didn't need to turn his face to Rider to let the Servant know of his enthusiasm. Hearty men sung a tale of the past, of brave "Hirdmenn" that raided the heathen nations with strength and pride unparalleled to accompany their finesse with blade and longboat - Now the sons and daughters of these great warriors have been issued summons once again, sang the choir, to again fight and plunder for their people's glory as they don the fighter's garb of a new era! There was triumph to be had in this world of modernity, triumph like in the era of bygone heroics, and no great descendant of norsemen would ever leave their ancestral call unanswered to fight again.
It took Emmerich a moment to realize that Rider addressed him with a question."Ah, you see - I am in charge of a concentration camp at home.", he explained with pride as he leaned onto the back of the chair to turn at his Servant. "Conflict is on the horizon as the neighbouring countries grow jealous of our prosperity. Along with this, a series of... Unsavory events have left a doubt in German hearts about trust towards their fellow citizens. 'Der Ewige Jude' has left a great seed of misconduct and malevolence in our Fatherland. To prevent another civil war by them like a couple decades ago, we have chosen to contain them until the end of our current conflict due to their very dubious loyalties. Not all of them are evil, but unfortunately we lack the means to separate the genuine ones from the ones who sponsor miscegenation and child prostitution - So we round them up into these camps to keep them under check." The officer's right hand twisted about as he snatched his black pen only to knock it's blunt end against the sheets on the desk. "I can not abandon my duties even if I'm not home. I got a message not too long ago that High Command wishes to transfer one hundred new prisoners into my custody. Unfortunately I do not have the means to comfortably house them as my camp is at full capacity, so they'll have to be shipped elsewhere... Maybe they'll get lucky and be moved to Auschwitz.", he chuckled with delight. "The concentration camp over there is more like a resort than a prison, to be honest - They even got swimming pools! God, I'm envious of the staff over there. I've even been trying to arrange a football match between our sportsmen prisoners and their's, you know! I heard their Cell Block D kicks mean rubber, if you catch my drift."
However, with the noise of his throat cleared, the babbling german officer quickly ceased his story. "But that's a thing to worry about when I get home. For now, it's logistics and wars for us, my Rittl." Just as he was about to return to his calculations, Emmerich immediately turned about to face Rider again as he asked of drinks. "I'm afraid I got good news and bad news, my Rittl. As I have come to discover, Japanese brewing's top achievement is lukewarm rice-distillate. On the bright side, I thought of this before we left Germany - I've got a couple bottles of my family brewery's products stocked in the trunk of my ride, if you'd be so kind as to bring them upstairs for us. I've already ordered lunch to be prepared in the cookery downstairs, but I am afraid of what these orientals may consider food, so we might as well harden ourselves with some liquor before we are fed pickled fish eyes with rice stew."
For once, the officer's bright mood seemed to shine through his gloomy exterior. A true happiness gleamed from his blue eyes as his scarred face churned with a smile dedicated for honest pleasures.
Emmerich Lisztmayer-Anschütz von Sabern,
Master of Rider
Miyama Hotel
The 27th of August, 1939
Master of Rider
Miyama Hotel
The 27th of August, 1939
No notice of the situation's abnormality came from the occupied german officer. Instead, he merely leant over the ever-troublesome sheet of paper that he scribbled onto whenever a whim seemingly took him. "My Rittl, what's one hundred divided by seventeen? ... Actually, nevermind. That'd be silly.", came his voice gently as if he was afraid of scaring the phonograph silent. So gentle and quiet it was that one could very easily miss it, the question barely above a tender whisper. As a groan escaped his lips, Emmerich choose to be tilted backwards with the charmingly-simple mahogany chair beneath him. No longer was he slouched over a dark desk - His blue eyes fixated on the cheap device that croaked to life with the vinyl within its grasp. A moment of silence and anticipation took place as one cheerful song came to an end only to be taken over by the sound of a choir, brasswind and accordion. The happy yet foreboding music quickly filled the room, sparking a coy joy in the lanky man's heart. His lips parted with a half-smile and a fake laugh made way from within.
"Ha, ha-ha-ha-ha~!"
He made no attempt to make it sound genuine. In fact, it was almost as if the voice was meant for singing, rather than actually expressing a spontaneous emotion. With a content sigh, he finally unwound - Thoughts wandered to the far west, into the heartland of modern civilization. To those beautiful years of prosperity after decades of inhumane shame and poverty. Reminiscing and homesickness took over Emmerich, his mind's eye basking in the sights of his homeland, his wonderful strawberry blonde wife and the five children with whom he was blessed. The frustrations from difficult obligations to the Fatherland were soon washed away as the german officer was no longer on a dangerous mission to the orient but in the warm grasp of a loving Erika. Memories of hardship and success blotted out the music - Oddly enough, the tune that the phonograph creaked seemed to repeat many times now. Every time the music stopped, the same piece came back on again with a different composition of instruments and alien languages occupying the choir's ranks. With his pen dropped by the mess of sheets, the lanky man swung on his chair's hind legs before his eyes lulled open again. "Oh!", he exclaimed as a familiar yet strange tone rose from the depths of the device. "You should be able to understand this one, Rider - It's the Nordic variant!"
Sure enough, the song repeated in every single one of the nordic languages over time but Emmerich didn't bother to look over his shoulder. He didn't need to turn his face to Rider to let the Servant know of his enthusiasm. Hearty men sung a tale of the past, of brave "Hirdmenn" that raided the heathen nations with strength and pride unparalleled to accompany their finesse with blade and longboat - Now the sons and daughters of these great warriors have been issued summons once again, sang the choir, to again fight and plunder for their people's glory as they don the fighter's garb of a new era! There was triumph to be had in this world of modernity, triumph like in the era of bygone heroics, and no great descendant of norsemen would ever leave their ancestral call unanswered to fight again.
It took Emmerich a moment to realize that Rider addressed him with a question."Ah, you see - I am in charge of a concentration camp at home.", he explained with pride as he leaned onto the back of the chair to turn at his Servant. "Conflict is on the horizon as the neighbouring countries grow jealous of our prosperity. Along with this, a series of... Unsavory events have left a doubt in German hearts about trust towards their fellow citizens. 'Der Ewige Jude' has left a great seed of misconduct and malevolence in our Fatherland. To prevent another civil war by them like a couple decades ago, we have chosen to contain them until the end of our current conflict due to their very dubious loyalties. Not all of them are evil, but unfortunately we lack the means to separate the genuine ones from the ones who sponsor miscegenation and child prostitution - So we round them up into these camps to keep them under check." The officer's right hand twisted about as he snatched his black pen only to knock it's blunt end against the sheets on the desk. "I can not abandon my duties even if I'm not home. I got a message not too long ago that High Command wishes to transfer one hundred new prisoners into my custody. Unfortunately I do not have the means to comfortably house them as my camp is at full capacity, so they'll have to be shipped elsewhere... Maybe they'll get lucky and be moved to Auschwitz.", he chuckled with delight. "The concentration camp over there is more like a resort than a prison, to be honest - They even got swimming pools! God, I'm envious of the staff over there. I've even been trying to arrange a football match between our sportsmen prisoners and their's, you know! I heard their Cell Block D kicks mean rubber, if you catch my drift."
However, with the noise of his throat cleared, the babbling german officer quickly ceased his story. "But that's a thing to worry about when I get home. For now, it's logistics and wars for us, my Rittl." Just as he was about to return to his calculations, Emmerich immediately turned about to face Rider again as he asked of drinks. "I'm afraid I got good news and bad news, my Rittl. As I have come to discover, Japanese brewing's top achievement is lukewarm rice-distillate. On the bright side, I thought of this before we left Germany - I've got a couple bottles of my family brewery's products stocked in the trunk of my ride, if you'd be so kind as to bring them upstairs for us. I've already ordered lunch to be prepared in the cookery downstairs, but I am afraid of what these orientals may consider food, so we might as well harden ourselves with some liquor before we are fed pickled fish eyes with rice stew."
For once, the officer's bright mood seemed to shine through his gloomy exterior. A true happiness gleamed from his blue eyes as his scarred face churned with a smile dedicated for honest pleasures.
@Breo
It was not easy to book a room in a country ever so xenophobic, but Emmerich thought nothing of it. It'd be hypocritical to judge the Japanese for being wary of outsiders when his own people were currently rounding up folk of questionable loyalty. This was perfectly normal behaviour for a culture so savvy of its ethnic composition - As a successful nation should be. The lanky officer did not risk abusing the arcane to get his way with the racist clerks nor did he even take offense at being escorted out. His magics needn't be so selfishly squandered on meager things such as this. If anything, he thought, this was a fine chance to survey the city's unique landscape personally.
To this end, the german officer donned a dress fit for public appearance. No longer did he only go around in rolled-up shirts and suspenders - The jackboots, however, stuck around. Its hobnails made a particular demand of Emmerich's gait to prevent slipping on flat pavement, granting the man a rigid albeit quite graceful and soldierly walk. Tucked into the gallant black footwear were his grey, ironed pants that begged the question how a person on the move actually irons his trousers without seemingly any purpose-tools at his disposal. Whilst the lanky officer did not bring along his hat for this stroll, everything else was in order: Brown shirt, black tie and a black tunic with white piping on the shoulders and four pockets on the front. However, the patches all over the outfit were blank. Only one article of clothing gave away Emmerich's allegiance. Above his waist, a black belt wore a square buckle with a subtle falcon and swastika, sporting the iconic text that all Schutzstaffel troops swore by - "Meine Ehre heißt Treue."
It wasn't long until he finally managed to find refuge in a hotel room from the bustling of Western Fuyuki. A comfortable beige room with a pair of single beds, a bathroom, a workspace and a phonograph that soon creaked to life with the officer's favourite German tunes smuggled into the establishment by his suitcase. Soon with tunic hanged and boots off his feet, Emmerich was already busy with some manner of paperwork on his newfound desk, once again donning a more work-oriented appearance with rolled-up shirt sleeves. With pen in hand, he mumbled a series of numbers absentmindedly. "One hundred more... I can't fit one hundred more in there!", he grumbled as he penned his calculations and awaited his lunch.
Emmerich Lisztmayer-Anschütz von Sabern,
Master of Rider
Miyama
The 27th of August, 1939
Master of Rider
Miyama
The 27th of August, 1939
It was not easy to book a room in a country ever so xenophobic, but Emmerich thought nothing of it. It'd be hypocritical to judge the Japanese for being wary of outsiders when his own people were currently rounding up folk of questionable loyalty. This was perfectly normal behaviour for a culture so savvy of its ethnic composition - As a successful nation should be. The lanky officer did not risk abusing the arcane to get his way with the racist clerks nor did he even take offense at being escorted out. His magics needn't be so selfishly squandered on meager things such as this. If anything, he thought, this was a fine chance to survey the city's unique landscape personally.
To this end, the german officer donned a dress fit for public appearance. No longer did he only go around in rolled-up shirts and suspenders - The jackboots, however, stuck around. Its hobnails made a particular demand of Emmerich's gait to prevent slipping on flat pavement, granting the man a rigid albeit quite graceful and soldierly walk. Tucked into the gallant black footwear were his grey, ironed pants that begged the question how a person on the move actually irons his trousers without seemingly any purpose-tools at his disposal. Whilst the lanky officer did not bring along his hat for this stroll, everything else was in order: Brown shirt, black tie and a black tunic with white piping on the shoulders and four pockets on the front. However, the patches all over the outfit were blank. Only one article of clothing gave away Emmerich's allegiance. Above his waist, a black belt wore a square buckle with a subtle falcon and swastika, sporting the iconic text that all Schutzstaffel troops swore by - "Meine Ehre heißt Treue."
It wasn't long until he finally managed to find refuge in a hotel room from the bustling of Western Fuyuki. A comfortable beige room with a pair of single beds, a bathroom, a workspace and a phonograph that soon creaked to life with the officer's favourite German tunes smuggled into the establishment by his suitcase. Soon with tunic hanged and boots off his feet, Emmerich was already busy with some manner of paperwork on his newfound desk, once again donning a more work-oriented appearance with rolled-up shirt sleeves. With pen in hand, he mumbled a series of numbers absentmindedly. "One hundred more... I can't fit one hundred more in there!", he grumbled as he penned his calculations and awaited his lunch.
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