Thread: The Rails [Clockwork & MissedStations]

The necromancer had spent most of the journey dozing in the freight car but then, an explosion and the train slowing slowing and then stopping entirely. For the first few moments he had been sure that he was dreaming... He often dreamt of war and gunfire, and often woke with a twitch of fear from events long past. Not this time, though. The train really was stopping. Like thousands of vagrants before him, he crossed the country over and over by sneaking on and by jumping trains. Being ticketless was a relatively frequent occurrence. As a veteran of the Great War, he usually got some sympathy. So many were left with no homes and no jobs to return to, that every so often the authorities pretended not to notice him. But he knew quite well that this time he would not be able to get away with it. For one, if he hadn't dreamt the explosion, the situation was serious, and they may do a proper search of the train. A proper search involved a mage looking for unlicensed magic users, and not only was Andrei unlicensed, he was also a necromancer. Ordinary people feared necromancers more than the Bolsheviks. Heck, even Bolsheviks shot necromancers. Having deserted at the late stages of the Great War, his magic had never been bureaucratically recorded, and hence he did not have the right papers. They were impossible to forge, written in blood and on paper made with spells. He had never wanted to serve any government that was his problem. He had left Russia because communist rule didn't suit him, but he didn't find that things were any better elsewhere. So he kept moving across Europe, from France to the Balkans, never admitting his name. He practised his magic for pennies, sometimes, or when alone in the places that had once been killing fields. He wished that he could let it go, but it was simply too hard. So to another mage he would always smell of death magic. It was time to leave. He picked up his kitbag and slung it across his back, over his tattered greatcoat. It was his most valuable possession it served to keep him warm for so many years. Not that the cold would kill him his powers would keep him alive but he didn't relish the experience. He knew that death didn't want him yet, but he preferred not to stray too far from the realm of the living. Lucky it was to be a necromancer only ones who knew the true horror of death, and not allowed to speak of it to anyone. Andrei had to put his back into opening the car door a sliver fuck, he was weak. He had not eaten in far too long. He was as skinny as the wolves that had harried his regiment on the eastern front. A tall man, black haired and grey eyed, he would have been impressive if he was not so starved, and if there wasn't days old stubble in his face. Once an officer, he was nothing now, in the same way that the clothes he wore were simply uniform stripped of all insignia and identifying features. It was hard to tell what army he had served with. He had left so few traces of himself in the world. He jumped from the train, landing on his knees awkwardly. Getting up, he stepped onto the grass verge and looked back at the train. No doubt people were still concentrating their surprise inwards. The damage to the engine, well, that was interesting, but not his problem. He stepped behind the trees to observe for now. He would probably stay near the rail road, and then try to jump on another train. To the next town was one hell of a long walk, he knew.