Quoted By:
You've spent quite some time in the society of officers all over the Continent. You could pick out the reds of the Commonwealth infantry, the dark blues of their navy, the sky blues of their air wing; the green-greys of the Hanseatic League, the whites of the Royalist Vierre Guard and the green of their republican counterparts. You even know enough to discern cuirrasiers from hussars. Within a second, you could tell the gaudy garb of Domingo conquistadors from Vostok cossacks.
The uniforms you are seeing are none of those. The fabric is dark-grey and black. The mask itself is black. Puzzlingly, They are wearing steel helmets, like armoured warriors of old. There is even insignia on their uniforms. One has two golden eagles on his chest and epaulettes, whereas another one has a single triangle of some sort. There is certainly nothing resembling a crest anywhere. There are multiple small bags strewn over their chest and waist.
The most haunting aspect of their appearance, however, is the mask they are wearing. Its inset glass eyes lend an insect-like quality to their faces, dehumanizing, and alien. The mask's rubberized material is strapped tightly against the skin, distorting the natural lines of the face and reducing their identities to a pair of emotionless glass. The cylinder attached to their mouth hangs heavily, and a tube leads away to somewhere behind. Something tells you that this mask probably serves a functional purpose, even if it is to terrorize anybody who would gaze upon them.
With gloved hands they grip weapons wrought of dull black-iron. But these aren't muskets or rifles, even though they are sufficiently long - they have a peculiar design. Large cables attach to the back, where the butt would normally be, and leading to a large canister on their back. You can see valves and gauges on the weapon.
One of the gentlemen starts approaching the newcomers - you recognise him as Pietr, the man Alejandro said gifted him the rifle earlier on. He is trying to speak to them in Francine, but no sooner does he step within a yard of them than he receives a blow delivered with the bulk of the rifle. This sends him flying back and he lets out a curse word in his native language of Vostok. He is caught by the other gentlemen. The room falls more silent, if one ignores the subtle licking of the flames and the CLANGS of jackboots.
