The Stjepan Damir Affair
“Damir was a good man to have on the wall. I don’t know what happened. Don’t you have something better to do?”
-Sgt. Alojnz Fayne, The Wall, Sarcha
“He was seeing some woman on the sly. Wouldn’t talk about her, except to say the sex was great. Wouldn’t shut up about *that* if you got him started…”
-Pvt. Mathilde Zera, Commoner, Sarcha
“Nothing good – that’s what happened. I couldn’t imagine him leaving Sarcha. Can’t be long before he’s off into the Green.”
-Vjeran Seenech, Armoured Core, Sarcha.
“`It’s not what I want – it’s just how it is.’ That’s what he told me. I saw him before he left – he was a right mess. Drunk as hell, crazy look in his eyes. And angry. Really angry. It was kind of creepy – I’ve almost never seen him out of his armour or without his sword. It was like seeing him naked.”
-Balidor Elden, Rock Breaker, Sarcha.
“What do you want? Nope, not drunk enough for that. *You’re* not drunk enough, neither. Not so much in the mood to chat with strangers sober enough to remember anything I might say. Oh you’re buying? Fine. Keep ‘em coming. One for me, two for you – maybe you’ll hear your story. Maybe not.”
Narrative collected from Luther Damir:
What have *you* heard about Stjepan? I haven’t seen him days. He and his squad took out a small raid of something – owlbears and other animals I’d guess. Nothing big – just routine shit. Heard they all came back, went out that night, and everything else is rumours.
Yep, cousins, that’s right. Grew up together. Green plague took my father before I was much old enough to remember him. Stjepan’s dad took us in. When he fell on the wall, Stjepan stepped up to be man of the house – but we we’re more like brothers, most of the time.
Why he joined the Core? I don’t remember. He loves the city. It just seemed natural. His father fought on the wall – his mother too, for a while. Our grandfather, and his father. It’s what we do. Sarcha is in our blood. Neither of us could wait. We were always fighting. Testing ourselves. That sword he’s got has been in the family a long time.
Its bone. Don’t know what kind – something out of the Green. Keeps an edge pretty well. Black hilt, might be iron, I don’t know. I think Stjepan had the bronze added to match his armour. He looks right fierce when he’s standing up there on the wall.
Well he always has the bracers, if nothing else. I don’t know if they even come off. Black steel, edged in bronze. The rest of it sort of spreads out from there – sharp black and bronze segments overlapping. On the left it comes right up the side of his neck over his jaw. It’s thicker on that side too, enough that you can notice, anyway. On the right it just goes up to his neck – shows off the scar better.
Yeah, he got that before the armour – first day on the wall, and there’s an aerial attack. Archers and the like took care of most of it, but some few things slipped by and got in closer. Some big eagle – it gets bigger every time he tells the story, I reckon, but it was big enough, and with a taste for fresh meat – tried to take off his face. That was his first kill. Kept the talons, and when they were sewin’ him up he had them set them in.
Yeah, armour, right. Rest of it is petty much the same – plate, spiky. Black and bronze. The gauntlets are pretty sharp. I’ve seen him cut pretty deep with them in a pinch. Why do you want to know all this? There some reason you can’t just go and see for yourself?
What!
That’s bollocks. He wouldn’t. Not without saying anything. Look you little prick – Stjepan Damir wouldn’t just leave Sarcha like that. He wouldn’t. Now shut your hole before I shut it for you!
Narrative taken from Sgt. Alonjz Fayne, Armoure Core. The Wall, Sarcha.
What’s he like in a fight? Yeah…. Not much these days. Before though – that was a sight. He wasn’t the kind of Captain that you’d look up to because he was, uh, nice, or whatever. But he could fight, and he’d look after his own. Not hogging all the good fights the way you see some hotshots going off. We all want to do our part, you know? He got that. But he could slice through just about anything in no time, with that sword of his. And man – he could stand up to just about anything. Anytime it would get too crazy out here – and that’s often enough, we wouldn’t be talking if it weren’t such a quiet day. Hells, you wouldn’t be out here. Anyway, when it would go mad, you could just see this decision – this determination, on his face. Then it was just time to step back, take a moment to breathe.
He’d just pick a spot – somewhere he could get a clear swing, and then he’s be all “HEY, you sons of dust mites! Come get some!” Or whatever – it isn’t like they understand the words but they knew what he meant, eh. They’d be all over him. Or sometimes he’d just single out one, like one of their captains, if you can think of them that way. The Green ain’t organized like that, no really, but there’s big ones and little ones. It was like the longer he fought the tougher he was – must be a Core thing. But really. The little ones, they might as well have thrown themselves against The Wall. If it threw out something badass enough to get to him – it did happen, The Green is a hard thing…. Take those big tree motherfuckers. I seen him fight them before – he’d just go off.
Nah, I don’t know if I’d go that far. No one is invincible. But I saw him take some hits that would have wiped out a lesser man. More than one. And when he was in a fight like that, the enemy wouldn’t have a thought for anyone else. You could light their balls on fire and they wouldn’t notice no one else. Helluva thing to watch. It ain’t been the same around here with him gone, and the general… If it weren’t for his daughter, these would be bad times for Sarcha.
Look. I have a lot of respect for the Captain. I think we’re done here.
Narrative collected from Balidor Elden:
I tell ya - that woman. Not that Sarchans are much for courtship – a quick shag at the back of a pub is nothing to raise eyebrows. But this was more than the usual “I’ve had a long day on the wall and could use a little pick me up” kind of fling. There was chemistry there the whole place could sense.
I’m not sure who noticed who first. She was there alone when we came in, and we sat down at our usual table. Lian brang us our usual round. Sometime in there – bam – they notice each other. Damir almost did a double take when he saw her sitting off by herself at the bar. She looked at him in surprise, almost taken off guard. And I should say that he’s not a real looker – not much of a ladies man, Stjepan. She isn’t much to look at either. I mean, not ugly, as far as Sarchan girls go, but nothing special. She did that thing dames do, you know, that casual “I’m just here drinking” hair toss and recrossing of her legs. It was a bit stiff though – she was no practiced floozy. She’s military, I’d guess. There was a challenge in it, as much as invitation.
Anyway, no one was surprised when she goes off to the bathrooms at the back, gives him this look as she walks by this table. He barely finished his beer before he followed after. Of course we were all cheering him on – I’m sure they could hear us. We could sure here *them*! It certainly sounded like a fantastic shag. She came back out afterward, paid her tab, and left – she played it pretty cool, for all that she was walking a little funny. She flashed us a satisfied, haughty smile, and we thought that was that. Damir came back to us, and his head was still spinning. We razzed him about it for the rest of the night, but he was in good spirits, as you can imagine. It was helluva fun night for everyone.
The next night, though, another long day on the wall – it was a quiet week, so there wasn’t much to do. We’re heading back to the Mailed Fist, same as the night before, everyone was looking forward to a pint or three, maybe four, you know, long day. Someone, might have been Vadren was harassing him about this mystery woman. He just laughed and smiled. That’s when I knew something was up. We got to the place, and he was looking around. We went in and everyone got to the table just the same as any other dead night, but Lian pulls him aside to tell him something. He came back over, made his excuses after one drink, and we never saw him the rest of the night. This started a little over a month before this all went down. It wasn’t every night, but some weeks it was pretty close to it. More when there were lulls in fighting.
And that’s the part I don’t get. If it really was over a woman, well. Damir was in the Core. He was in the Core for Sarcha. He had all the pride and arrogance of a native son, and them some. His first thoughts were always for the city – always. When there was real planning to be done, or fighting, I never saw so much as a twinge of regret over any missed chances. I don’t know what was going on, I’m just sure it has something to do with her.
What? No. I have no idea who she was. None at all. Wish I did – I know some other people who might like to have a bit of a chat…
Narrative collected from Lian Riss, Barmaid, The Mailed Fist, Sarcha:
Yes, he was a regular here. We get a lot of folks off the wall coming in here all the time. You know how they break themselves up into divisions – I really don’t ken much ‘bout military affairs. Maybe I ought to, what with I being around them so much but really – I just know what kind of drinks they’ll want. I learn faces quick, and I can associate. His group are in here plenty – and they’re his group, I seen that much of the militr’y. I heard his name before too, not just working. Other folks listened to him – never seemed to have no problem clearing out their table.
An alright bunch, bit crude sometimes but not too rude, if you ken the difference. Difference between making’ a dirty joke and makin’ someone into one, yeah? They used to do this game where they’d all be sittin’ there drinking and then one would start with “Alright. Bees. Flying swarm. What do you do.” And it was like a test to think of who could answer fast and have good plans – or just crude one. Often just fell into cock jokes when they’d been at it long enough. Sometimes they’d ask me what *I* would do. ‘Course I just smile as say I trust the lusty lads up on the wall to keep the city safe for simple folk like me. They liked that. Or one time I told ‘em I’m sure they could just wave their dicks at the Green and it would run off pissing itself in fear – they liked that better – good tips.
Haven’t seen him in though, not for a while. Heard all kinds of things – he’s dead, or crazy. Got dragged off into the Green. Couple of folk swear they seen his sword lyin’ out in the char zone, buried halfway to the hilt like a big gravestone. Sounds creepy to me if it’s true. Some of ‘em say there’s even all vines round it now, though I think they’re just making stories to sound tough like. Lots of other tales – ran off with some woman, got sent on some secret mission. I don’t rightly know. I seen the others, but they been right tight lipped – been a few fights over it. Things ought to settle down soon – it’s sad but we loose good folk off the Wall. It ain’t usually like this, though. Maybe it was something else. ‘Course his disappearance isn’t the biggest news – who cares what happened to some West Wall captain when everyone’s sayin’ they found General Seric’s body – bits of it anyway. Heard there weren’t nothing but pieces the size of my fist – and I got a pretty small fist for these parts. They only knew it was him from some ring he had in his ear. *That*’s got people talkin’ let me tell you! Not enough left to stitch together. Someone sure didn’t like him much!
Woman? Oh. Hmm. I remember her, yeah. An odd one. Quiet – that ain’t so strange. Alone. Didn’t seem to want to talk to no one, neither, and no one seemed to know her. I mean, most folk stick to waterin’ holes near their stretch, right, so it’s odd too see someone drinkin’ outside their neighborhood. She’d been in a few times before that night they met though, just not at the same time. Kept right to herself. She seemed right caught off guard when he came in. They hooked up, like you say. Next night she comes in and gives me some money to ask him to met her some little place down the way, don’t remember the name now. Oh, yes. The Piston. Not a place with a great reputation, if you ask me. But I told him. Never saw her again after that.
No, never told me her name. Could tell you what she looked like though – I’m good with faces. She were a bit smaller maybe than some other Sarchans – still taller than me, mind! Hair in maybe five tight braids ‘gainst her head – not too long, maybe just above her shoulders. Sharper face than you see on a lot of Sarchans. Brown eyes, almost golden brown. Brown skin, like a nice dark tan, though I don’t reckon that’s what it was. Dressed simple but good you know? Good boots, nice cloak. Nice leather. Face full of metal, of course. Suited her well enough – you could tell it was a pro job. Don’t remember her being armed but she must have been. Well maybe that ain’t so helpful – I’d know her though, if I saw her again.
Narrative taken from Kelin Jessad, Night Shift, The Oiled Piston, Sarcha:
Hey buddy, you’re no Harlequin and this isn’t exactly a storytelling kind of place, you catch my drift? Don’t be wasting my time – I’m here for people who are *paying*. Heh, yeah, that’s more like it. Maybe I remember a pair like that. Hardly wait for a room, those two. Nice to see a couple that romance ain’t dead in Sarcha, ha! What about ‘em?
This isn’t exactly a name asking kind of establishment. Cash up front. Who paid? Whoever got here first, if they didn’t come together. Well, come *in* together anyway, heh. Loud pair.
Which night? No. I don’t remember. Busy that night.
I said no. Not even for that. Some trouble just ain’t worth the price. Yeah, I think you’d better be on your way.
Stjepan swore as he pushed his way through the car – everything here was built just a little small, and the swaying of the train wasn’t helping his balance any. Even drunk, he could smell a trap. Punk ass bastard. He should have shown him a thing or two about fighting…. Only there was hardly room to stand, let along swing the soulless piece of metal he was carrying as a sword these days. It just didn’t feel right in his hands. *He* didn’t feel right – and he was barely sober enough to realize it was best to stagger off elsewhere before he did or said something stupid.
“Fuckin’ grass-eating tree hugger…” Drinking to forget just didn’t work so well when people kept asking you questions about exactly the things you were trying to leave behind. He cursed again as he ran into the door frame. Not that he was going to be forgetting Tihana anytime soon. He was too angry. Too… something. Exposed? He didn’t know - he was tired of thinking about it. Even with the pints he’d put away earlier, he could feel a headache tightening its grip on his skull. It’d be nice to find a car where he didn’t feel like everyone was staring at him – then just pass out on a table, even.
The images were all rushing around in his head now, shaken loose from where he’d pushed them. Tihana meeting him at the piston, lying naked on the bed waiting for him, her lip bruised and bloody – she’d smiled to see him. Bruises and cuts were nothing new for her. The wall, she’d always said. They came from the wall. And fair enough. He’d told her she needed to take better care of herself, or get better medics. They were rarely that fresh. Scars flown proud tonight, she’d explained.
What a time they’d had then – hot enough to burn. Their bodies might well have been designed to fit together. The things they’d done didn’t bear thinking about without some privacy and a good ten minutes uninterrupted. And then – it was sort of a blur. Had she been waiting the whole time for her old man to show? Had he been waiting around to see who would show up to stick it in his daughter? Her father burst in from nowhere. He had a gun. Stjepan had barely even thought about what came next. Armour on, sword in hand, and fight. It should have been *harder*. Knowing what he did now, he still couldn’t fathom it. Lavro Seric. Fighting a man wasn’t like fighting The Green. The killing wasn’t the same.
When the rush faded, he’d realized he had been shot – another first. Tihana was already half dressed. He couldn’t read her expression, but if it hadn’t been for the shock he could have had her again right then, he was pretty sure. She’d been ready for everything – sit down – drink this, I’ll take care of it. The Piston had been so quiet - people knew to mind their own business in a place like that. Or maybe she’d just bought the place out, who knew?
He’d drunk whatever it was she’d given him. It was drugged. That had become apparent in short order, when his vision started blurring around the edges. His fingers went numb – he couldn’t hold his sword, and then he’d lost his balance. Tihana had been saying….something. She said all kinds of things, he couldn’t’ remember most. Then she’d climbed on top of him, her naked thighs straddling his armour, telling him how she was free now, and his tongue was too thick to tell her that she was a crazy bitch. That was about the end of it. She might have said she was sorry, but maybe not. If she had, it was the only time.
She’d meant to kill him. At least she’d been honest about it later. He’d woken up in a cell, and as soon as he was conscious she’d appeared. She carried herself differently around the guards, but she sent them away pretty fast. And she’d explained – to a point. This was her bid for freedom. She was prepared to make sacrifices – she’d changed her mind. That she was never quite clear on – why had she kept him alive? Sentiment? Maybe. He could have listened better, but he was too angry then. Not sure if he wanted to strangle her, of fuck her, or both. She’d come close enough to give him a chance, and he’d grabbed her.
But she was still Tihana. She didn’t fight, she just leaned into him even as he wrapped his hands around her throat, and kissed him, hard. She bit his lip, and when she pulled back, he’d let her go. She seemed surprised, almost confused. She was like that – always surprised at what she wanted. It seemed simpler to him at the time: they were great together physically – too bad she’d had to ruin in by being a crazy bitch.
She kept back after that, and wouldn’t quite look him in the eye. He’d killed her father – her father who was a general, a son of Sarcha’s chief defender. She’d tried to assure him this was a good thing, somehow. He, Stjepan, could live, but he had to leave – to give up Sarcha. “You will agree,” she’d said, “Or you won’t leave this room alive.”
She’d let him see the wall one last time, while everything in was still sinking in. There had been a lot of liquor. He was lucky the only one he’d run into that he knew at all was Balidor. The Tunnel Runner was a smart ass, but he knew when to keep his tongue in check. That was after the sword. He’d thought about throwing himself off the wall after it more than once. But no – that would be too easy. Too easy for Tihana too – no sense giving her an easy out. No, her father’s death was as much on her hands as his. And if he was going to go, well, it was still nearly a month until the next full moon.
And so here he was, on the train. No Sarcha. He’d given the city everything he had, and the city took it all and kept it. He felt out of touch with everything that was happening around him. Shaken, they called it. Lost his resolve, his spirit. Disconnected from himself. Those in the know, other Armoured Core, gave him worried looks. Or pity.
“Fuck’em” he muttered, passing through to the next car, just as packed with families heading out to the new outpost. “Fuck’em all!”
