>>6078614>>6078694>>6078734>>6078765>>6078845>>6078888>>6078960>>6079402>Hanskrieger Mangruben"Hanskrieger Mangruben, madam." Some unfamiliar-ish words slip from your tongue, coupled with deja vu. That's your name, right? Is it even a real native name? "Pleased to meet you."
Kneeling forwards, left foot hiked up and in front. You extend your right hand, open-palmed. She reacts to the kind gesture, gently reaching for a handshake. Suddenly, you employ a most courteous sleight of hand. Your hand takes hers from underneath, so then elegantly you escort her hand to your lips, kissing just above the knuckle.
In that moment, you'd say something else, but you catch your words first. Silence is a weapon of the fuhrer, and here, you've thrown the ball in her court. Your eyes peer deeply into hers; her cheeks flushing slightly. Dearest lady from afar, what will you say?
She catches her blush, regaining composure. "Well-mannerd, aren't you?"
Although, to be honest, you were seriously about to shake her hand like a man.
You've released her hand, then you stand up, or at least you tried to. Carrying yourself on the carbine, you're essentially stumbling upwards, wincing at dull and cramping sensations. Some powerful headache takes place, and now you're powering through. Looking at yourself, you don't seem so injured or gashed, and you're still in that sweaty youth uniform, and though as dirty as it is, it was far more proper military attire compared to all the other working class in your volkssturm unit, with what a majority of men appearing in suits and hats and others in railway or firefighting attire. One defeatist, you've personally executed, though tragically, it was the only blood you've drawn in that battle.
"Hey. A few questions. Where am I? When am I? What am I? Why am I?"
"Right, right." She begins to explain. "Hero, you've been summond forth by call to destiny away from your home, nay for any particularly quality, trait, or merit of thine own. Heavenly Providence hast ordaind your name onto the book of legends, and of this chosen decree, our finest scholars have summoned you into this realm. Many a lamb, fruits, and silver were burnt and turnd to ash for your sake, so dear hero, please treat us well."
"And of why I've been summoned? And when?"
"Tis the fifth century and forty-fifth year of solace, but as for our tru year of the Lord, we hath no collection or record, but instead our utmost gratitude for the Lord's protection. For this sake, I must explain, all of the Lord's subjects you see here hath descent from refugees many a century ago, retreating from the cursed surface into this deep and arcane bunker."
"Bunker?" Cathedral, in a bunker?
