Provenance

[Thaumantica]

Prologue:
Fort Osveta
January 7th, 2009
Sarmatian Roulette​

"Sir, I am holding a report stating that there has been a suicide."

Disinterest reflected back at him in the window. Brigadir Huszar felt waning compassion for human life as a predator does when its hunger multiplies. There beyond his aging face moved at least two-hundred, perhaps one less now, air troopers in training; circled intensely by venom tongued Drill Sergeants wearing their trademark gray patrol cap (bill rimmed by steel).

"Alpha Company again I presume?" Huszar casually queried, distracted with the sight of his Drill Sergeants 'steel-pecking' in to trainees with their sturdy gray caps.

"This suicide was high-profile, Sir. I am holding a Memorandum from Sjadnbrdo...This one comes from the top." a junior officer replied.

Watching troopers performing the 'side-straddle hop', Brigadir Huszar was hypnotized by an organic machine working in perfect rythm. It was a self-correcting device, displayed perfectly while a blue uniformed trainee was scolded with terrible gray wrath when the machines rythm or motion was compromised by individual weakness of body or mind.

Hinges squeacked sharply from his flank, forcing Dionis Huszar to abandon his beloved hobby of observation to address whomever his latest visitor might be. The turn was swift, eased by his landmark policy of wearing Union Field Attire as opposed to Dress Uniforms like his predecessor had insisted on to his dying days. To the mans genuine surprise, within his historic office now stood the Trifecta: respective commanders of the Union Air Corps, Army, and Zaktrupa.

"All present parties careers in mind, this Office is bugged as you know. If strings need to be pulled - the Maresal himself will know where they respectively begin and end." Huszar reminded his ranking guests with an intended tone of dismay.

Brigadir Khomzka of the Air Corps snickered like a child while marching linear as if pulled in by a gravitational vortex towards the liquor cabinet, quite aware of its location from his tenure occupying the Training & Doctrine seat over a decade before.

"Worry not Dionis, worry not" recited Khomzka with glee "Pijan experienced his final heartbeat as our Sindikat Maresal". Whiskey was poured in to four tumblers, the fourth was gifted to the young Junior Officer, leaving Khomzka drinking directly from a freshly opened bottle.

Holstered along the ribcage, Brigadir Huszar lightly tapped his Revolver with an open hand "Did he swallow old glory? Sarmatian Roulette?" he asked.

Sollo of the Union Army stood silent with an uneasy facial expression, Pijan had been predecessor to Brigadir Sollo as Chief of the Union Army. Zaktrupa Chief, Brigadir Tazleki on the other hand paraded about with glee like Khomzka, who had distributed a spot of whiskey to every man present by this time.

"He has had you locked away here with Training & Doctrine, watching your every move with these traitorous rats and planted listening devices. For all of this: the Union Army is indebted to you." Sollo whispered, only just loud enough for his peers to decipher.

Tazleki stopped dead in his tracks "Damn right they are indebted, Pijan held his boot down on the best damn Air Trooper in the Union, by using Army spies might I add. All with your god damn approval Sollo!" Tazlek pointed directly at the Army Chief, "This man is indebted to the Corps, he owes you Dionis".

Brigadir Sollo sighed and nodded, "The Union Army owes you a vote, Maresal Huszar." Sollo informed with confident voice. "Dignified and respected by all Airmen" Khomzka added with the smell of whiskey deep in his breath. "Loyal to the Corps, loyal to your Country - no Air Trooper has shared your loyalty, or the honor you are about to receive." Tazleki boomed.

United in vigor the trio spoke all at once "Maresal Huszar, the Union is yours."

 

[Thaumantica]

November 22, 1970
Loyalty​

Elaborate carvings from innumerable lifelines of experience sat stagnant, drawn in with precise detail like ridges around a canyon, signs of past woes an joys chronicled flawlessly in his darkly illustrated face. The differing emotions that once stretched those lines were now so very rare an devoid like a snowy day in Sidra, Hajr; for Tanzbirg, a Senior Officer in the Zaktrupa. Tired eyes wondered about while he began his poignant lecture to the quite youthful Dionis Huszar. His demeanor indicated an underlying issue, specifically that Tanzbirg was certifiably insane. Evidence of this fact had been swept under the rug, because it was Brigadir Tanzbirg who commissioned an evaluator to examine his psyche. After processing the results, Tanzbirg promptly murdered both the evaluator and his secretary.

Sometimes even lunatics have a strict code of ethics, Brigadir Tanzbirg honored his core values like one would a deity. "Loyalty Huszar, define it!" the grizzled relic of a man demanded, spitting with no regard to the formerly dry face of Dionis.

"S-s-sir!" Huszar began with a stutter "Undying support to a cause, person, or organization!" blurting out with a rushed tempo.

Tanzbirg carefully stroked his issued Sindikat Revolver, as if it were the only device separating him from the other side - eternal hell. An affectionate smile bubbled to the surface of his graying face, "Correct Huszar, but more importantly you should know to what you are about to commit your loyalties to". Resting the meticulously cleaned Revolver back within its holster, Tanzbirg returned from his sincerely smitten envy towards the tool of death. Aligning eyesight with Huszar, the Brigadir laid in to his junior with the fundamentals of his creed - "The Corps, the Corps, the Corps. Without it you are one of them: the weaklings of our unarmed populace, or the halflings of our standard infantry. With the Air Corps you are enriched with a globe trotting messenger of doom, to wherever or whomever jeopardizes the will of our Corps.".

"In time your wishes will be that of the Corps" Tanzbirg interrupted himself with fits of coughing, which he duly cured by lighting and sucking from a hastily lit cigarette "and vice versa . .Yes, yes, yes."

"Fidelity to the Zaktrupa, your chosen derivative of the Air Corps tradition shall from time to time encompass tasks that many of our critics classify 'medieval' or 'barbaric'. Rest assured Huszar, the Corps is merely committed and capable of getting shit done no matter what the circumstance!" Tanzbirg shouted while cackling like a ghoul. Huszar was mildly shocked by the Officer and his graphic language, Dionis had not yet interacted with many Commissioned Officers since enlisting as an Air Trooper almost a year ago that day.

Clasping his hands firmly at the small of his back, Huszar began to suspect that this encounter would spur much more then the ramblings of an old retirement-dodging Officer. "Tracking sir!" Dionis proclaimed, this time with little to no stutter.

Smoke escaped Tanzbirg from both nostil and mouth, sinking in an out of his deep wrinkles with ease. His uniform appeared to be worn loose, presumably fitted before losing a generous heap of weight. Tanzbirg was now skipping meals with intent to focus on 'Soldier-Development', as exemplified with his sudden interest in Junior Enlisted Troopers like Dionis Huszar. Tanzbirg's own offspring had turned out to be either handicapped or dead, altering his treatment of Troopers to reflect the primal need to produce at minimum an ideological heir.

"Ethos in mind young Trooper, I need you to deliver a message to one of your fellow Junior Enlisteds" Tanzbirg whispered, now caressing his revolver with tenderness once more. "You are Combatives Certified, no?" his revolver felt smooth to the touch.

"Positive, certified and capable sir" Dionis replied, with a toothy grin and a fair degree of bloodlust accumulated from several months of itching for a fight.

While Huszar was already a combatives instructor, simulation and true performance of said skills were entirely different. One cannot mount adrenaline like he does in the heat of legitimate combat, nor unleash fury in to his opponent like he might someone who did not deserve a permanent scar or three. He fantasized quietly within the confines of his imagination, playing out ideal scenes of himself cracking skulls and breaking ribs.

For a few moments more Tanziberg focused attention elsewhere from his Revolver, now producing a manila folder containing "All the information you'll need" while slipping it in to Huszar's willing hands. "I am tracking that papers were filed for your commission to Officer, eh? Do this for the Corps, and it'll see to it that those memorandums are expedited." Locked in to a stiff salute, Huszar was dismissed informally by a labored flick of the wrist from the distracted Brigadir Tanzbirg.

Huszar swiftly departed, gliding with a glow of excitement he had not felt since graduating jump school. He held the manila folder tight against his hip, eager to search through its contents for details regarding this 'fellow' of his who needed a hefty message delivered. Drifting to the details of his mission, Huszar wondered if he would have to kill someone in a garrison situation. This thought lessened that beaming lust for violence for a few moments, Dionis was not sure if he could take a life here in peacetime Životinje. To murder a man, for the Corps, but still a man no less.