Hells.  I'm *with* these people.

I refrain from physically wincing at the conscript's undisciplined etiquette, satisfied that she'll drop out and go back to whatever latrine duty whence she came.

High risk mission requiring personal initiative and independent action is chair-jockey speak for completely unnecessary, poorly planned and completely deniable if you should be caught or killed.

Still.  Better than border sentry duty.  And maybe a chance to do something interesting since the chair-jockeys broke up Otto's gang.

"The level of risk depends upon your level of competence," he says, tone severe but not precisely unkind, and adds,  "And yes, you will be eligible for combat duty pay."

I snort.  Then let out a fake cough, trying to pretend that was all I'd done before.  "Uh, pardon me," I say, clearing my throat.  "That's... very generous, sir."  Four and a half more silver each month and the chance to die, sign me up.  I start edging back towards the door again.  "And thanks for the... opportunity, but I'm okay just finishing out my regular service.  Sorry if I wasted your time and all."

Imperceptibly I shift closer to the nearby wall so I can lean against it. Much as I hate admitting it, I'm stiff from the journey here and hope there's a decent bed waiting at the end of the day before we go haring off gods know where on the morrow.

I don't much like guessing at the general's unspoken thoughts. He looks grim. The others... who knows? The young sergeant is jumpy, nervous, the others hide their thoughts well, though the corporal looks like he feels a bit put upon.

I could wish I was back home, but needs must and I was lucky to get this mission, lucky to still have a few friends in the ranks with a bit of influence.

I put my hand, palm out, in front of the young one. "Reconsider." I say dryly. "The experience will look well on your record."

"I ain't re-upping once I'm out, ma'am," I reply.  "Got one more year left."

[Astra's a soldier, by the way, not a sergeant!]

[oops, saw 'sergeant' somewhere]

I don't move my hand. "Well, that's nice. Back home to the family then?" I offer a pleasant smile, with perhaps a tiny bit of menace in it. "Nevertheless, whatever the General wants done is probably important, and I'm sure an agile young thing such as yourself will be quite safe. And useful. "

I'd really prefer not to have her start a stampede. That could cause delays.

Eyes forward I listen to the Major's ... conversation ... with latrine duty.

Hells.  This is *not* a volunteer mission.  By the gods, Otto, what did I do to deserve this?

Like that, then, I guess.  You didn't have to fucking lie when you could just order me, morons.

I stop and look at the old woman woodenly.  "Yes, ma'am.  Your lordship," I add, eyes flicking to the General as well.

For no apparent reason, a book lifts off the shelf and glides slowly across the room.

The general clearly sees it, and clearly ignores it.  A small muscle jumps along his jaw.

[Arcana check to determine the arcane cause for the book moving without apparent motive: 1d20+13: 15+13 = 28]

My neutral-yet-pissed-off expression disappears in favour of wide eyes that follow the book.

[Arcana check to determine the arcane cause for the book moving without apparent motive: 1d20+13: 15+13 = 28]

[Good check.  You know there are rituals and whatnot that can move objects, but you don't see any disembodied hands or floating discs or anything of that sort, as you'd expect from one of those.  This being Karrnath, you rather suspect paranormal activity.]

It's common enough for chair-jockeys, especially that fat ones, to employ sorcery to make their easy lives easier.  So the invisibly guided book doesn't alarm me so much as pique my interest. 

This isn't wizard work, though.  But the General seems more embarrassed than concerned.

I stay mentally alert, watching the book.  I stay physically relaxed, but ready to grab latrine duty and use her as a shield to protect the General if things go south.

The general, face stony, plucks the book from the air and sets it on his desk behind him.  Those of you with sufficiently high perception may spot that the title is Suicide Missions Throughout the Ages.

[lol well Astra's illiterate, so this one's all for Palatinate]

The title of the book confirms my suspicion.  I allow myself an inward smile. 

Sweat, shit and grim resolve, right Otto?  Nothing left to do but the obvious.

"Sir!  Permission to speak, sir!"

Palatinate has poked at the phenomenon. So he has ability or tools to do so. Interesting. I need to find out what this crew is capable of doing. And why does the general look as if he really wished we hadn't seen the book, with its perhaps too apropos commentary title?

"Sir!  Permission to speak, sir!"

"Granted, Sergeant," he replies, looking like a man biting a lemon.

"Sir!  Thank you, sir!  Sergeant First Class Palitinate, Antigone, Special Forces, Otto's Scythes formally declaring acceptance of the mission as assigned, sir!  Requesting permission to requisition all gear and weapons as assigned on last tour of duty with Lieutenant Otto Constantine, sir!"

Go big or go home.

"Sir!  Thank you, sir!  Sergeant First Class Palitinate, Antigone, Special Forces, Otto's Scythes formerly declaring acceptance of the mission as assigned, sir!  Requesting permission to requisition all gear and weapons as assigned on last tour of duty with Lieutenant Otto Constantine, sir!"

Go big or go home.

ir'Dulinch nods approval at this.  "Noted, Sergeant Palitinate."  He adds, rather dryly, "I expect you have that list to hand?"

[Speech check, I think, chaos.]

[Speech check, I think, chaos.]

[You want a diplomacy or some such check?]

[Speech check, I think, chaos.]

[You want a diplomacy or some such check?]

[Up to you ]

[Up to you ]

Hells.  It worked.  Oh hells!  It worked.  This never works.

[It's all the same.  Bad.  *sigh*  Diplomacy.  1d20+3.  8+3 = 11]

"Sir!  I ... um ... in my other uniform, sir!"

Otto, why do you forsake me?

[It's all the same.  Bad.  *sigh*  Diplomacy.  1d20+3.  8+3 = 11]

"Sir!  I ... um ... in my other uniform, sir!"

Otto, why do you forsake me?

The general does not snort, not being the snorting type.  "Lt. Zecklin will see that your team is well-outfitted," he replies.