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This is Not a Place of Honour (Beware of Content!)
This place is not a place of honour. No highly esteemed deed is commemorated here. Real-life messy people and situations are valued here. In this wasteland you will find: in-character use of slurs, foul language, violence, horror, capitalism, poverty, marginalization, plenty of queer folks, politics, and reprehensible puns. Sexy content lurks beneath bright red alerts, not unlike this one. For a nonspecific warning of emotional turmoil, note the Pain Stars, where available. But you are hereby warned that I am here to make you feel things, and I will be trying to crush your soul at regular intervals. This place is best shunned and left uninhabited.
Soldier On! Arrivals and Departures
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Train Games (259|30)
“This is our hideout!” Maggie declared, with her hand on the sliding door. It had a single round window with a blue curtain drawn across it. “Three beds, and a private bath with a…” There was a muted thud, the door rattled, and a flash of purplish light was visible through the thick drape. Maggie…
It’s March of 1388.
Over a year ago, Erik Weitz left home to visit a nearby movie theatre and never arrived. He hasn’t been seen since.
Erik does not know any of the above, often including his name, but he’s not too worried about it. He’s keeping busy — very busy.
The police and authorities consider him dead, and of little importance, just another victim of the escalating anti-magical sentiment and political unrest in San Rosille. The young man was an innate magic-user, unregistered, with no place of employment. The Marselline police and authorities have more to be concerned about than one dumb “immie” who decided to take a walk after dark in a slum. To them, “Erik Weitz” has ceased to be a human being and become math, part of a statistic that will be used to justify a grab for more guns and anti-magic gear, to deal with the violent city that killed him.
Erik’s family, a group of social-outcasts and troublemakers who have squatted together in an abandoned building since the war, are not content to let him remain a number and an unsolved mystery. They know he’s alive. Hyacinth found a ten-year-old note from a dead man at the bottom of her sock drawer that says he is.
They’re not crazy. Well, no, they’re collectively a living textbook on abnormal psychology, but they’re not wrong. Erik is in Cyre. Cyre just happens to be a large city in a hostile foreign country, and they have no way of finding him.
He can’t do much to help them, not as he is. He has no idea how long he’s been gone, and thinks he’ll be home soon.
If he’s lucky (and he is — preternaturally lucky), he may not be wrong about that last bit.
Tin Soldier
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