Incident Eliph at Kianid [Original Weird War Fantasy/Horror Quest]

[Havocfett]

You sit before a grave and weep.

No-one may judge you for it.

Kianid has hosted military burials and military units since the war began, white-gray slabs stretch into the woods in every direction and thousands of them mark the graves of soldiers. Mourning is constant, has been constant since Kianid became a military base two years ago and the man you weep for was well loved. By you if no-one else. And so who may dare to judge you for this? For weeping so for one man, of all the ones who have died, who you have seen die, who you have comforted in their dying moments and pulled to hospitals and written to their parents and lied to as they bled out in the dirt or the mud or the comforting embrace of a hospital bed. For losing your composure, finally, after so long being the rock for your men that the war demands you be.

For you have lost someone special today and for this you weep. For he defined you as much as you did him and you are lesser for his passing. And damn those who dare judge you for it.

There are soft footsteps. A runner, you don't recognize him but after Krasnodar you do not expect to recognize any of your platoon's runners. He comes to a stop behind you, giving you a quiet Salaam and waiting at attention.

Polite of him.

You finish your prayers, reminding yourself of your ever present reality. "Inna lillahi wa inna ilaihi rajioon". To Allah we belong, to him we will return. The tears are harder to suppress, but the boy gives you time. You wipe them away and force your voice to still, and as you stand you touch the grave-stone one last time. Reminding yourself of a life lost.

Who was he. To you, and to your platoon.

[ ] Your most senior Cavus, Faysal. You knew him since you were children, you grew up together. He drove your wife to the hospital when she was in labor and you were in Istanbul. You named your son after him. He has been one of your closest friends for as long as you could remember and ending up in the same platoon in the army was one of the happiest coincidences of your service. And then his mask failed when Russians deployed gas at Krasnodar and you had to fight for him to receive a burial in Ottoman territory instead of an unmarked grave outside of some Russian hamlet and there was nothing you could do. (Your seniormost NCO is dead and your surviving sergeants are fractious and relatively inexperienced)

[ ] Your artilleryman, Mahmoud. You met in the vicious house-to-house fighting of Sicily and had been fast friends since. You poached him from his monster of an Evvel, taking him as your own Mortarman after the previous one died. You spoke to each other of poetry and theology and loving wives, and no matter how grim you were, how horrific the battlefield smiles followed him. Even into the teeth of hell, even into the jaws of machine-guns. And it wasn't even the enemy that killed him, but a stupid disease. A wasting fever he got on your way back to Kianid. It killed him over weeks, and you watched all the while. Prayed that God almighty would heal him, would take this affliction away and watched helpless as he received the best medical attention on the isle and died miserable and in pain despite it. (Your platoon mortarman is dead. You have no unit mortar and do not start with a known artillery specialist)

[ ] Your Yuzbasi, Fuat Sakir. He was not a good man by Ottoman standards, being an uncouth and irreligious drunk, but he was a nice man and a caring officer. He went out of his way to become friends with all of his lieutenants, and you were no exception. He listened to you and ensured that you were well informed and well supplied. You became friends mocking politicians and elections and news from home while on leave, and while you ribbed each other it was always gentle. And an artillery shell annihilated him. His grave is empty, for they could not tell what of the cooked meat was him, and what was other men, and you watched as his body was shovelled into a pit on the front. (Your commanding officer is dead, as are many of the divisions signalmen. Your ability to receive orders and intel from above, sketchy at the best of times, is completely fucked.)

[ ] Your signal sergeant, Basil. You picked him up while on leave in Greece, a conscript to replace losses from the Italian front. He was a genius and a polymath and very possibly the best soldier you have ever met, you promoted him as quickly as you could and he was eager to rise above the casual bigotry towards a christian Greek rife in the lower ranks. But more than that you thought of him as a son, scarcely six years older than your own boy. You taught him and nurtured him and were there when he took the Shahada, told him that there would always be a place for him after the war was over. You imagined him as a sibling to your own children. And then a sniper's bullet shattered his shin in the night. He spent weeks in the hospital and the wound became infected. He survived almost to Kianid, but was transferred to the island's clean and well-stocked facilities too late. His last words were for you. (Your signalman is dead. You have no way to send long range communications without a stationary radio or telephone.)

 

[Havocfett]

Mechanics:

So! You're an officer. This means that you're not just acting on your own, but will be directing the actions of a full platoon of men, and likely directing others (Civilian and military) in a crisis. At the most basic, you're gonna be telling people what to do and where to go and have to trust that they'll do that, as well as deciding who (If anyone) you're sticking with. Leveraging skills, dealing with personalities, etc.

However, you command a platoon of forty men and as you might have noticed you don't know all of their names and in some cases you don't know much about them. This is purposeful and will be a running thing! Lots of people have hidden skills, or simply facets to them that you're unaware of, that may be of use (Or a massive liability) in a crisis. Learning more about your various subordinates will help with that, and your Cavus naturally know a good bit about each of the men in their squads.

For example, you've just learned that Muhammad is wildly in love with Hawa' Kemal, and if for whatever reason you are protecting Hawa' Kemal during a crisis you would do well to keep that in mind.

In addition, you have a lot of people between you and danger in a crisis! Generally speaking, as long as you have people around physical harm and death will come to them instead of you. It is, however, basically world war one so don't expect meat shields to last too long if things go truly south.

Platoon Status:

2nd Platoon, 3rd Company, First Battalion of"Napoleon Pasha's First Artillery Division". Assigned to the Fourth Corps of the Ottoman Empire.

Direct Superior: N/A
Commanding Officer: Yousuf Oziri
Strength: 32/43 Soldiers Active, 0/43 Soldiers in Lockup, 6/43 Injured, 5/43 Dead, 28 civilians, 3 allied troops, 1 Russian soldier attached.

Command Squad:
You: Mulazim-i Evvel Yousuf Oziri

Bilal: Mortar, Heavy Weaponry specialist. A moroccan mercenary who joined the company. Supposedly he was a walker-jockey for the Scots at some point, but he doesn't speak much of it. He's rather old for an infantryman, it's going to catch up to him eventually.

Drazen: Runner, 17. Hasn't seen battle yet, complete idiot who keeps aggravating other soldiers. You don't plan to get attached.

Bogoris: Runner, probably 14. Good boy, quiet, polite, he'll do alright if he doesn't die.

2x Runners, young boys. Like the rest of your runners they are replacements that you've been waiting on for some time. You haven't gotten to know them yet.

First Squad: Veterans
Most have served since the war started in 1912, and were in the house-to-house fighting in Sicily in the winter of 14. You trust them, their judgement, and their skill, but many are also suffering badly from the war. Nightmares are rampant.

Cavus: Faysal. Veteran, hero, and your best friend. He is vital to the platoon's success

3x Nefers. Riflemen and grenadiers.

Yaqub: A man in first squad. [INJURED: Dislocated shoulder.]

Mehmet 'Al-Rumi': A law student who dropped out to join the army in 11. He's served under you since the beginning, he's a good soldier but in truth you value him for his other skills more. He speaks Italian, Russian, French, and Farsi in addition to Turkish and Arabic and knows a lot about the law, which has served you well.

Arslan: You imagined him an unassuming soldier until the fields of Italy. When the italians deployed things forged from the carnage, slaughtering whoever they caught, pulling walkers and tanks apart with grotesque limbs. Those were grim days, but Arslan showed a passion and puissance for killing monstrosities that you never saw hinted at when he fought people, even non-human people. He keeps trophies from those days and you do not begrudge him it. He is also a deeply religious man, which can cause issues with more irreverent soldiers.

Bahadir Onat: Bahadir Onat is the first squad's Onbasi and the company's heavy machinegunner. He is a terrifying man, even outside of the metal cage of a machine gun nest. He is also a native of Kianid, and knowledgeable of its people and terrain. Hamza is the only man in the company who is not scared of him, but they are lovers and this is to be expected.

Hamza: You don't ask many questions about where Hamza gets the things he gets and everyone is better for it. He has acquired body armor, tea, medicine, drugs, uncensored newspapers, and more from the depths of a hellish front, which makes him more valuable than ten good gunmen. He is annoyingly eager to please and simpering, but you can forgive such traits when he is so incredibly useful. He even has a suit of haitian body armor that he wears into battle, which is dented enough that you are certain it has saved his life ten times over. The only man who seems to truly like Hamza is Bahadir Onat, and the two men have been lovers for at least a year that you know of. [RECOVERING: Bruised Rib, can still fight]

Second Squad: Regulars
Second squad lost half its number at Krasnodar and has not yet been replenished, including men you knew well. The survivors are hard-bitten but brittle, you do not yet know which among them will break and which will learn to bend.

Cavus: Osman. A lackluster Cavus but a solid soldier. He was popular with the company and endlessly energetic until Krasnodar, the fighting seems to have broken something in him. He wakes up screaming, some nights, and seems cursed by a dark malaise when awake.

3x Nefers: Rilfemen with rifle grenades.

Turgut: A skilled marksman and, with Osman afflicted, de-facto Cavus of the second squad. He is detail-minded and cold but a constant insubordination problem.

Third Squad: New meat
Third Squad was destroyed at Krasnodar, the three survivors so badly wounded they would never fight again. As such you have recently received a fresh squad of man and none have yet distinguished themselves to you. Though you already take a disliking to their cavus.

Cavus: Kayraldi Atun: You do not think much of this man, with his westernized ideas and scorn for the enemy that is only matched by his scorn for the bazouks and the traumatized. Oh, he is bright, and possessed of much reason, and an excellent shot at the range but you do not trust him and you do not trust how he treats his fellow man.

3x Nefers: Riflemen and marksmen.

Altan: Third squad's onbasi. A short, thin man with the cheer, voice, and personal space of a man rather larger than he is. [INJURED: Shot through the thigh, cannot walk unassisted]

Zaki: A pleasant chess prodigy with a judgemental father. His dad's politics seem to have been openly racist, you are unsure about his own opinions but he seems rather blase about things that don't involve chess.

Osman: Was out whoring all night before exercises he knew about. An idiot with little self control. [RECOVERING: From a twisted ankle, shouldn't be put to manual labor.]

Nazir: had one cheek sliced open while skirmishing in the woods. [RECOVERING: Injured cheek, can still fight.]

Fourth Squad: Bazouks
You are a unit of the Nizam i-Jedid, and so are not meant to have non-turkish or non-muslim troops in your midst. But you need warm bodies more than you need turkish bodies, and so you've started to take others. Christians, arabs, europeans, a jew. Many regard them as bashi-bazouks, undisciplined madmen, but yours are good soldiers. Reliable, battle-tested, and far easier to get replacements for then your other men.

Cavus: Elazar: The only jewish man in the regiment, and also your signals officer. He's a volunteer, which is very odd, but he is also solid at negotiating the hellish politics of commanding a squad of Bazouks. He has some djinn blood, not much, but he is more skilled than many actual djinn and so is an invaluable scout.

5x Nefers. Riflemen and marksmen.

Stanko: He has been inexplicably given a flamethrower by regimental command and this terrifies you. You know nothing else about him, save that he is a christian, and he had seen combat in the now-destroyed Second Battalion.

Ali Ahmed: An Arab and a student of theology before he was conscripted. He is a mediocre soldier but a source of spiritual relief to the men. He leads prayers for the Battalion on occasion. He is a Hafiz and while war is not good to men like him it is good to have them, for everyone else's sake if not their own. He is trusted with the platoon's light machine gun, though you fear that the stupid thing will get him killed one day.

Muhammad Abdulhamid Mustafa: An idiot boy who proposed to the Mayor's daughter for some damnfool reason. You didn't know who he was before this and wished that you still didn't. [INJURED: Whipped.]

 

[Havocfett]

Reserved for future information.

 

[Shebe Zuu]

[X] Your Yuzbasi, Fuat Sakir. He was not a good man by Ottoman standards, being an uncouth and irreligious drunk, but he was a nice man and a caring officer. He went out of his way to become friends with all of his lieutenants, and you were no exception. He listened to you and ensured that you were well informed and well supplied. You became friends mocking politicians and elections and news from home while on leave, and while you ribbed each other it was always gentle. And an artillery shell annihilated him. His grave is empty, for they could not tell what of the cooked meat was him, and what was other men, and you watched as his body was shovelled into a pit on the front. (Your commanding officer is dead, as are many of the divisions signalmen. Your ability to receive orders and intel from above, sketchy at the best of times, is completely fucked.)

 

[Vocalend]

[X] Your signal sergeant, Basil. You picked him up while on leave in Greece, a conscript to replace losses from the Italian front. He was a genius and a polymath and very possibly the best soldier you have ever met, you promoted him as quickly as you could and he was eager to rise above the casual bigotry towards a christian Greek rife in the lower ranks. But more than that you thought of him as a son, scarcely three years older than your own boy. You taught him and nurtured him and were there when he took the Shahada, told him that there would always be a place for him after the war was over. You imagined him as a sibling to your own children. And then a sniper's bullet shattered his shin in the night. He spent weeks in the hospital and the wound became infected. He survived almost to Kianid, but was transferred to the island's clean and well-stocked facilities too late. His last words were for you. (Your signalman is dead. You have no way to send long range communications without a stationary radio or telephone.)

We can survive without comms. Bad cohesion, intel, or fire support are far more likely to ruin a platoon's chance of survival.

 

[Nevill]

[x] Your Yuzbasi, Fuat Sakir

 

[open_sketch]

[X] Your Yuzbasi, Fuat Sakir. He was not a good man by Ottoman standards, being an uncouth and irreligious drunk, but he was a nice man and a caring officer. He went out of his way to become friends with all of his lieutenants, and you were no exception. He listened to you and ensured that you were well informed and well supplied. You became friends mocking politicians and elections and news from home while on leave, and while you ribbed each other it was always gentle. And an artillery shell annihilated him. His grave is empty, for they could not tell what of the cooked meat was him, and what was other men, and you watched as his body was shovelled into a pit on the front. (Your commanding officer is dead, as are many of the divisions signalmen. Your ability to receive orders and intel from above, sketchy at the best of times, is completely fucked.)

this sounds most interesting to me, being stuck without a leader. but they are all good. goddamnit havoc steppin' up the game on everyone

 

[TenfoldShields]

[X] Your Yuzbasi, Fuat Sakir. He was not a good man by Ottoman standards, being an uncouth and irreligious drunk, but he was a nice man and a caring officer. He went out of his way to become friends with all of his lieutenants, and you were no exception. He listened to you and ensured that you were well informed and well supplied. You became friends mocking politicians and elections and news from home while on leave, and while you ribbed each other it was always gentle. And an artillery shell annihilated him. His grave is empty, for they could not tell what of the cooked meat was him, and what was other men, and you watched as his body was shovelled into a pit on the front. (Your commanding officer is dead, as are many of the divisions signalmen. Your ability to receive orders and intel from above, sketchy at the best of times, is completely fucked.)

I sort of like the dynamic this creates, our division is relatively (relatively) intact and more or less whole with most of it's principle actors in place. But we're only able to get scraps and rumors and contradicting orders from above, which means that we have to rely more on our own recon units and scouts and occasionally get cryptic, like, horrifying pieces of intel that don't immediately make sense from our distant CO's. It's a solid atmosphere for horror and that it leaves us more vulnerable to being blindsided by weird shit but more able (potentially) to handle it in the moment is a feature, not a bug imo.

Also it's just a good thematic start to the quest. "Your superior and close ally is gone, you are unanchored and in the storm now".

 

[Mina]

[X] Your Yuzbasi, Fuat Sakir. He was not a good man by Ottoman standards, being an uncouth and irreligious drunk, but he was a nice man and a caring officer. He went out of his way to become friends with all of his lieutenants, and you were no exception. He listened to you and ensured that you were well informed and well supplied. You became friends mocking politicians and elections and news from home while on leave, and while you ribbed each other it was always gentle. And an artillery shell annihilated him. His grave is empty, for they could not tell what of the cooked meat was him, and what was other men, and you watched as his body was shovelled into a pit on the front. (Your commanding officer is dead, as are many of the divisions signalmen. Your ability to receive orders and intel from above, sketchy at the best of times, is completely fucked.)

 

[GretelOstrich]

[X] Your Yuzbasi, Fuat Sakir.

 

[SirLagginton]

[X] Your Yuzbasi, Fuat Sakir. He was not a good man by Ottoman standards, being an uncouth and irreligious drunk, but he was a nice man and a caring officer. He went out of his way to become friends with all of his lieutenants, and you were no exception. He listened to you and ensured that you were well informed and well supplied. You became friends mocking politicians and elections and news from home while on leave, and while you ribbed each other it was always gentle. And an artillery shell annihilated him. His grave is empty, for they could not tell what of the cooked meat was him, and what was other men, and you watched as his body was shovelled into a pit on the front. (Your commanding officer is dead, as are many of the divisions signalmen. Your ability to receive orders and intel from above, sketchy at the best of times, is completely fucked.)

 

[LupineVolt]

[X] Your artilleryman, Mahmoud. You met in the vicious house-to-house fighting of Sicily and had been fast friends since. You poached him from his monster of an Evvel, taking him as your own Mortarman after the previous one died. You spoke to each other of poetry and theology and loving wives, and no matter how grim you were, how horrific the battlefield smiles followed him. Even into the teeth of hell, even into the jaws of machine-guns. And it wasn't even the enemy that killed him, but a stupid disease. A wasting fever he got on your way back to Kianid. It killed him over weeks, and you watched all the while. Prayed that God almighty would heal him, would take this affliction away and watched helpless as he received the best medical attention on the isle and died miserable and in pain despite it. (Your platoon mortarman is dead. You have no unit mortar and do not start with a known artillery specialist)

I am choosing this partially because I believe it would be simpler to replace the mortar man, but also because I do like the feelings that come with a man who dies at war but not of enemy action. There is no face to put on his death. No vengeance to take.

 

[NathanMedium]

[X] Your signal sergeant, Basil. You picked him up while on leave in Greece, a conscript to replace losses from the Italian front. He was a genius and a polymath and very possibly the best soldier you have ever met, you promoted him as quickly as you could and he was eager to rise above the casual bigotry towards a christian Greek rife in the lower ranks. But more than that you thought of him as a son, scarcely three years older than your own boy. You taught him and nurtured him and were there when he took the Shahada, told him that there would always be a place for him after the war was over. You imagined him as a sibling to your own children. And then a sniper's bullet shattered his shin in the night. He spent weeks in the hospital and the wound became infected. He survived almost to Kianid, but was transferred to the island's clean and well-stocked facilities too late. His last words were for you. (Your signalman is dead. You have no way to send long range communications without a stationary radio or telephone.)

 

[Sarpedon]

[X] Your artilleryman, Mahmoud. You met in the vicious house-to-house fighting of Sicily and had been fast friends since. You poached him from his monster of an Evvel, taking him as your own Mortarman after the previous one died. You spoke to each other of poetry and theology and loving wives, and no matter how grim you were, how horrific the battlefield smiles followed him. Even into the teeth of hell, even into the jaws of machine-guns. And it wasn't even the enemy that killed him, but a stupid disease. A wasting fever he got on your way back to Kianid. It killed him over weeks, and you watched all the while. Prayed that God almighty would heal him, would take this affliction away and watched helpless as he received the best medical attention on the isle and died miserable and in pain despite it. (Your platoon mortarman is dead. You have no unit mortar and do not start with a known artillery specialist)

 

[veekie]

[X] Your Yuzbasi, Fuat Sakir. He was not a good man by Ottoman standards, being an uncouth and irreligious drunk, but he was a nice man and a caring officer. He went out of his way to become friends with all of his lieutenants, and you were no exception. He listened to you and ensured that you were well informed and well supplied. You became friends mocking politicians and elections and news from home while on leave, and while you ribbed each other it was always gentle. And an artillery shell annihilated him. His grave is empty, for they could not tell what of the cooked meat was him, and what was other men, and you watched as his body was shovelled into a pit on the front. (Your commanding officer is dead, as are many of the divisions signalmen. Your ability to receive orders and intel from above, sketchy at the best of times, is completely fucked.)

 

[Scia]

[X] Your signal sergeant, Basil. You picked him up while on leave in Greece, a conscript to replace losses from the Italian front. He was a genius and a polymath and very possibly the best soldier you have ever met, you promoted him as quickly as you could and he was eager to rise above the casual bigotry towards a christian Greek rife in the lower ranks. But more than that you thought of him as a son, scarcely three years older than your own boy. You taught him and nurtured him and were there when he took the Shahada, told him that there would always be a place for him after the war was over. You imagined him as a sibling to your own children. And then a sniper's bullet shattered his shin in the night. He spent weeks in the hospital and the wound became infected. He survived almost to Kianid, but was transferred to the island's clean and well-stocked facilities too late. His last words were for you. (Your signalman is dead. You have no way to send long range communications without a stationary radio or telephone.)

Mostly chosen for the emotional impact that this lose would have on our poor protagonist.

 

[Havocfett]

Your hand drifts lightly across the gravestone as you remember a life lost. A happy life, and a joyous life, but a sinful life. Fuat Sakir, Yuzbasi of the Ottoman Army. 1878-1915. "May God forgive you your sins," you whisper, "And may you be afforded Firdous."

Then you turn to the waiting runner. "Salaam, and thank you for waiting," you say, voice miraculously still. The boy is young, you suspect he lied about his age to join the army, for he cannot be older than fourteen. "You have a message for me?"

"The Sehremini wants to see you, sir. He is waiting at headquarters," says the boy. The Sehremini of the city Kianid (and de facto administrator of the island) is Ali Kemal, an excitable man but one used to dealing with the local garrison, so you doubt that whatever he needs to see you about is minor. A pang of guilt twists your gut for spending so long mourning during a possible emergency, but you quash it. You deserve to mourn.

Instead you ask, "Did he say anything else?"

The boy shrugs, a gangly gesture made with too-long limbs. "He didn't say much, sir, but he seemed angry," he replies, "There was a policeman with him."

You mull it over, and pray that one of your men hasn't done something unspeakable. "What is your name, boy?" you ask.

"Bogoris, sir," he replies.

You fish into your greatcoat, retrieving a sealed letter to your wife and a handful of Lira. "Nefer Bogoris, this is not a command," you say, "But I would like this letter sent today and the Sehremini may demand much of my time. If you deliver it you may keep the Lira and there is good coffee in it for you."

There's an eager nod, Bogoris practically snatches the letter and the cash before he walks off, and you're on your way.

Kianid is a nice city. Founded before anyone thought there'd be more than one settlement on the island, and stubborn and large enough to ignore the griping of lesser towns about how confusing it makes directions. Even with the garrison it is almost serene, with clean air and pleasant people and abundant greenery. A far cry from the industrial hellscapes of Ankara, Odessa, or Paris. Autumn leaves dust the ground and everywhere uniformed men mingle, drinking coffee and smoking and taking a break from the war.

Headquarters is no exception, it is a tall, friendly manor house in some old Bulgarian style. You do not know who owned it before the war, but it was the military's the first time you came to Kianid and it has been the military's since.

It is far busier than the rest of town, runners wait in the courtyard, attendants and officers and locals hustle across the grounds. Telephone lines and radio antennae emerge from windows or hang precariously from the roof, and hushed conversations over coffee and maps waft through the halls.

But you're not here for coffee, conversation and maps. You're here because the mayor is pissed and wants you to handle it. And so you steel yourself, take a cup of tea from a local woman as she passes, and step inside.

It's pointless bullshit and you don't know why you convinced yourself that it wouldn't be. That the rest of the world, nevermind this feckless idiot of a mayor, would care to make this incident anything besides yet another absurdity. That your men, or the company's men, would manage longer than a two days without getting themselves into horrible trouble. That the reason for being pulled from your loss would be anything but absolute dung.

Ali Kemal has a black eye and is yelling about having some poor Nefer shot and his daughter's honor. His daughter looks very distressed and is yelling about marriage and love and equality between the species. The policeman guarding one of your soldiers, a Nefer named Muhammad Abdulhamid Mustafa, looks as if he desperately wishes he wasn't here. Muhammad looks stupidly defiant, considering that he is a ghul with a politician calling for him to be shot.

The story, as near as you can understand it, is this:

Last time you were in Kianid, Muhammad fell in love with Hawa' Kemal and Hawa' Kemal fell in love with Muhammad. When you went to Russia they wrote each other letters and poetry at length. And during all of this, the idiot boy proposed to her and the idiot girl accepted without telling her father. Ali got wind of it upon their return and stormed into their wedding ceremony, startling the Imam, the witnesses, and the couple, and began shouting at the pair. Which is understandable, as his daughter was in the process of marrying a broke Arab infantryman who would likely be dead in six months.

Except while Muhammad was shocked and terrified Hawa' began to yell at her father. Which caused him to accuse Muhammad of all sorts of monstrosity in anger. Which in turn caused Muhammad to punch him.

Which brought you here. Ali wants Muhammad shot. Hawa' wants the wedding to resume. Muhammad has defiantly stated that he will accept your judgement but his love is eternal regardless-which would have been rather more effective an appeal on any other day. The policeman (Yehyeh, you gather) wants you to handle the situation. You dearly want to have everyone involved whipped for wasting your time and interrupting your mourning.

But you cannot. So you take a long sip of tea and make a decision.

What are you doing about Muhammad?

[ ] Comply with the Sehremini's demands, have him shot. It's a travesty and a waste of life but he can make your life difficult if he wants to and can make it far easier as well. And, well, the boy did punch the mayor in the face.
[ ] Have the absolute bazouk whipped. Report it as a breach of discipline. He'll be back in line with a few scars to show for it, it's kinder than what the Mayor wants done.
[ ] Have him thrown in lockup until you muster out. It won't be too hard on the boy and the mayor will know you punished him for his, uh, marriage while command will know you punished him for punching one of the throne's mayors in the face. It'll be milder than Ali would prefer but you some don't care.

What are you doing about the marriage?

[ ] Idiots in love are idiots in love. There is no law against marrying djinn or faerie or the odd things of the north. There is even no law against marrying an arab. And there is no law against being an idiot and marrying a doomed man, for if there was you would not be married. Ali Kemal will be furious.
[ ] Idiots in love are idiots in love. Yes, this isn't illegal but it is incredibly stupid and Ali Kemal will give them no end of shit about it. Talk to them both about this, and ban Muhammad from doing this thing. Which you don't, strictly speaking, have the legal authority to do but you do have the legal authority to form a firing squad until you get a new captain so you imagine that they'll at least outwardly comply. Ali Kemal will be pleased though god knows the boy will resent you for it.
[ ] Idiots in love are deeply poetic but it is not a happy sort of poetry. Explain to them why what they did was stupid, explain to Ali Kemal that you're not dealing with his here, and tell them that if they want to get married they will wait until you next return from the front. Inshallah, they will recognize this as a short lived burst of passion and it will die. And if they don't, you have no place getting in the way of god's will. Compromise, after all, is the art of finding a solution where no one is happy.

With the Yuzbasi and his staff dead, who do you seek out after resolving this absurdity?
This is a vote to keep one of the people from the previous vote in your platoon as a maintained and close relationship. The others will still be characters but will not have a particularly close relationship with you, or else will be elsewhere in the Quest, not part of your Platoon.

[ ] Your most senior Cavus, Faysal. You knew him since you were children, you grew up together. He drove your wife to the hospital when she was in labor and you were in Istanbul. You named your son after him. He is one of your closest friends for as long as you could remember and ending up in the same platoon in the army was one of the happiest coincidences of your service.

[ ] Your artilleryman, Mahmoud. You met in the vicious house-to-house fighting of Sicily and had been fast friends since. You poached him from his monster of an Evvel, taking him as your own Mortarman after the previous one died. You speak to each other of poetry and theology and loving wives. No matter how grim you are, how horrific the battlefield is, smiles follow him. Even into the teeth of hell, even into the jaws of machine-guns.

[ ] Your signal Cavus, Basil. You picked him up while on leave in Greece, a conscript to replace losses from the Italian front. He is a genius and a polymath and very possibly the best soldier you have ever met, you promoted him as quickly as you could and he was eager to rise above the casual bigotry towards a Greek rife in the lower ranks. But more than that you think of him as a son, scarcely three years older than your own boy. You taught him and nurtured him and were there when he took the Shahada, told him that there would always be a place for him after the war was over. You imagine him as a sibling to your own children, and god willing you may adopt the boy if the fighting ever ends.

 

[Vocalend]

Am a bit torn on what to pick, but I guess:
[X] Have the absolute bazouk whipped. Report it as a breach of discipline. He'll be back in line with a few scars to show for it, it's kinder than what the Mayor wants done.
[X] Idiots in love are deeply poetic but it is not a happy sort of poetry. Explain to them why what they did was stupid, explain to Ali Kemal that you're not dealing with his shit here, and tell them that if they want to get married they will wait until you next return from the front. Inshallah, they will recognize this as a short lived burst of passion and it will die. And if they don't, well, you have no place getting in the way of god's will. Compromise, after all, is the art of finding a solution where no one is happy.

Tying the two options together is basically trying to be compromising. Pragmatically speaking, killing a soldier needlessly not on the frontline is a waste of live and gunpowder. Bluntly speaking, if they want to be in a romance in the middle of a war, then at least elucidate why it ends in tragedy more often than not.

[X] Your signal Cavus, Basil. You picked him up while on leave in Greece, a conscript to replace losses from the Italian front. He is a genius and a polymath and very possibly the best soldier you have ever met, you promoted him as quickly as you could and he was eager to rise above the casual bigotry towards a Greek rife in the lower ranks. But more than that you think of him as a son, scarcely three years older than your own boy. You taught him and nurtured him and were there when he took the Shahada, told him that there would always be a place for him after the war was over. You imagine him as a sibling to your own children, and god willing you may adopt the boy if the fighting ever ends.

He is a genius, he is the signalman, and whatever the titular "Incident Eliph" might be, having someone who is a Renaissance Man in our platoon would be a very welcome addition. Though I will admit that Mahmoud the Artillerist's vote option giving what appears to be morale boost is appealing in its own way.

 

[Shebe Zuu]

[X] Have the absolute bazouk whipped. Report it as a breach of discipline. He'll be back in line with a few scars to show for it, it's kinder than what the Mayor wants done.
[X] Idiots in love are deeply poetic but it is not a happy sort of poetry. Explain to them why what they did was stupid, explain to Ali Kemal that you're not dealing with his shit here, and tell them that if they want to get married they will wait until you next return from the front. Inshallah, they will recognize this as a short lived burst of passion and it will die. And if they don't, well, you have no place getting in the way of god's will. Compromise, after all, is the art of finding a solution where no one is happy.
[X] Your signal Cavus, Basil. You picked him up while on leave in Greece, a conscript to replace losses from the Italian front. He is a genius and a polymath and very possibly the best soldier you have ever met, you promoted him as quickly as you could and he was eager to rise above the casual bigotry towards a Greek rife in the lower ranks. But more than that you think of him as a son, scarcely three years older than your own boy. You taught him and nurtured him and were there when he took the Shahada, told him that there would always be a place for him after the war was over. You imagine him as a sibling to your own children, and god willing you may adopt the boy if the fighting ever ends.

Sure, sounds reasonable.

 

[TenfoldShields]

[X] Have the absolute bazouk whipped. Report it as a breach of discipline. He'll be back in line with a few scars to show for it, it's kinder than what the Mayor wants done.
[X] Idiots in love are deeply poetic but it is not a happy sort of poetry. Explain to them why what they did was stupid, explain to Ali Kemal that you're not dealing with his shit here, and tell them that if they want to get married they will wait until you next return from the front. Inshallah, they will recognize this as a short lived burst of passion and it will die. And if they don't, well, you have no place getting in the way of god's will. Compromise, after all, is the art of finding a solution where no one is happy.

Yeah, I'm pretty down with this. Having the kid shot isn't too far out of line for the norms of the time but, uh, it's worth noting that the norms of the time could be kinda awful bbbuuuut also ultimately our host can make our lives living hell if he has the inclination. Drawing some blood will at least satisfy the father's vicious, spiteful streak, and even if it'll be hard on the guy he'll at least be walking and back with the troops soon enough. And it's better than being literally lynched 'cause, I mean, the dude's some kind of magical minority who just struck a local politician and as awful, again, as the norms are that's very much something that the Mayor could do with a bit of time and motivation. This has the potential to be waaaayyyyy uglier than it already is.

Kicking the can down the road is a solid enough solution I think. It gives time for tempers to cool off, for space to form, and hey if he survives then go for it. We can deal with it then and it's sensible enough on the face of it that it'll be hard for the Mayor to do much but grumble. It's the level headed, considered thing that leaves everyone equally unhappy but, ideally, nobody angry enough to try to buck the decision and, hey, they can still write letters and shit.

[X] Your artilleryman, Mahmoud. You met in the vicious house-to-house fighting of Sicily and had been fast friends since. You poached him from his monster of an Evvel, taking him as your own Mortarman after the previous one died. You speak to each other of poetry and theology and loving wives. No matter how grim you are, how horrific the battlefield is, smiles follow him. Even into the teeth of hell, even into the jaws of machine-guns.

I like big guns and I cannot lie.

Also the dude sounds like a massive morale boost and honestly that's worth its weight in gold on the front lines, you can have all the men and materiel you need (you can't but you hypothetically could) and if they don't have the will you're still kinda fucked. Plus having a competent unit of mortarmen who can bring down the fire is suuuuper valuable, especially when it seems like this is a semi-fantasy kinda setting and knowing @Havocfett we're probably going to be like

God idk. Maybe Rephaim redux or some shit, fascist necromorph roman genocidaries or whatever.

Look what I'm trying to say is that having a fuckload of firepower and a buff to SAN checks is never a bad idea with fett's stuff.

 

[Mina]

[X] Have the absolute bazouk whipped. Report it as a breach of discipline. He'll be back in line with a few scars to show for it, it's kinder than what the Mayor wants done.
[X] Idiots in love are deeply poetic but it is not a happy sort of poetry. Explain to them why what they did was stupid, explain to Ali Kemal that you're not dealing with his shit here, and tell them that if they want to get married they will wait until you next return from the front. Inshallah, they will recognize this as a short lived burst of passion and it will die. And if they don't, well, you have no place getting in the way of god's will. Compromise, after all, is the art of finding a solution where no one is happy.
[X] Your most senior Cavus, Faysal. You knew him since you were children, you grew up together. He drove your wife to the hospital when she was in labor and you were in Istanbul. You named your son after him. He is one of your closest friends for as long as you could remember and ending up in the same platoon in the army was one of the happiest coincidences of your service.

Friendship is goddamn magic, especially in the trenches.

 

[TenfoldShields]

ffffuckfinewafflinglikeagoddamneggo

[X] Have the absolute bazouk whipped. Report it as a breach of discipline. He'll be back in line with a few scars to show for it, it's kinder than what the Mayor wants done.
[X] Idiots in love are deeply poetic but it is not a happy sort of poetry. Explain to them why what they did was stupid, explain to Ali Kemal that you're not dealing with his shit here, and tell them that if they want to get married they will wait until you next return from the front. Inshallah, they will recognize this as a short lived burst of passion and it will die. And if they don't, well, you have no place getting in the way of god's will. Compromise, after all, is the art of finding a solution where no one is happy.

[X] Your most senior Cavus, Faysal. You knew him since you were children, you grew up together. He drove your wife to the hospital when she was in labor and you were in Istanbul. You named your son after him. He is one of your closest friends for as long as you could remember and ending up in the same platoon in the army was one of the happiest coincidences of your service.

I'll cop to part of my dislike for the polymath option isn't necessarily the option itself if that makes sense? I mean it's a solid character concept and I have no doubt @Havocfett would handle him well, but on the other hand he is kinda the most...idk, the most classically SV choice? An omnicapable nerd who we can throw at Weird Stuff. Ultimately while I do like the mortarman option Faysal is a really really close second and on thinking it over, does edge him out in some ways.

Practically speaking: a competent 2IC who can keep up our spirits while acting as a solid check on us, a second pair of eyes we trust to tell us what's up and to do what we say, is pretty goddamn valuable. And that kind of close personal friendship is great fodder for development and emotional moments, especially when the horror kicks in. Both of war in general and whatever weird shit is coming in particular.

 

[LupineVolt]

[X] Have the absolute bazouk whipped. Report it as a breach of discipline. He'll be back in line with a few scars to show for it, it's kinder than what the Mayor wants done.
[X] Idiots in love are deeply poetic but it is not a happy sort of poetry. Explain to them why what they did was stupid, explain to Ali Kemal that you're not dealing with his shit here, and tell them that if they want to get married they will wait until you next return from the front. Inshallah, they will recognize this as a short lived burst of passion and it will die. And if they don't, well, you have no place getting in the way of god's will. Compromise, after all, is the art of finding a solution where no one is happy.

[X] Your most senior Cavus, Faysal. You knew him since you were children, you grew up together. He drove your wife to the hospital when she was in labor and you were in Istanbul. You named your son after him. He is one of your closest friends for as long as you could remember and ending up in the same platoon in the army was one of the happiest coincidences of your service.

 

[Deadly Snark]

God idk. Maybe Rephaim redux or some shit, fascist necromorph roman genocidaries or whatever.

Look what I'm trying to say is that having a fuckload of firepower and a buff to SAN checks is never a bad idea with fett's stuff.

Click to shrink...

And we dont have enough fire. Fuck

[X] Have the absolute bazouk whipped. Report it as a breach of discipline. He'll be back in line with a few scars to show for it, it's kinder than what the Mayor wants done.

But yes, absolutely whip the idiot. Jesus Christ boy.

[X] Idiots in love are deeply poetic but it is not a happy sort of poetry. Explain to them why what they did was stupid, explain to Ali Kemal that you're not dealing with his shit here, and tell them that if they want to get married they will wait until you next return from the front. Inshallah, they will recognize this as a short lived burst of passion and it will die. And if they don't, well, you have no place getting in the way of god's will. Compromise, after all, is the art of finding a solution where no one is happy.

[X] Your most senior Cavus, Faysal. You knew him since you were children, you grew up together. He drove your wife to the hospital when she was in labor and you were in Istanbul. You named your son after him. He is one of your closest friends for as long as you could remember and ending up in the same platoon in the army was one of the happiest coincidences of your service.

A bit of Nepotism here, but we absolutely need our Second in Command to be someone we absolutely trusts.

 

[Sarpedon]

[X] Your most senior Cavus, Faysal. You knew him since you were children, you grew up together. He drove your wife to the hospital when she was in labor and you were in Istanbul. You named your son after him. He is one of your closest friends for as long as you could remember and ending up in the same platoon in the army was one of the happiest coincidences of your service.

[X] Idiots in love are idiots in love. There is no law against marrying djinn or faerie or the odd things of the north. There is even no law against marrying an arab. And there is no law against being an idiot and marrying a doomed man, for if there was you would not be married. Ali Kemal will be furious.

[X] Have him thrown in lockup until you muster out. It won't be too hard on the boy and the mayor will know you punished him for his, uh, marriage while command will know you punished him for punching one of the throne's mayors in the face. It'll be milder than Ali would prefer but you some don't care.

Get fucked you racist son of a dog.

Posting in reverse order because LOL PHONE