Chapter CLXXXIV – Those who humble themselves will be listening.

58th of Summer 5860
Yellowclover, State of Casamonu

“Hear ye, hear ye! Doctor Rabanowicz will be doing a public reading of her new work in the town square tonight. Attendance is free for all of the fine citizens of our Republic.”

The town crier went down the market, shouting with all his gusto to drown out the street cries from the vendors looking to sell their goods. It was quite the busy evening, with the army of the Republic having parked right outside Casamonu. Men in uniform were buzzing around the stalls, haggling to the best of their capabilities, looking to score goods from the last vestige of allied civilization before their upcoming arduous march to Ancoire.

In the town square, there was another group preparing to sell their goods, though their goods were less material like a snazzy buckle and more agitprop-shaped. Watanabe, and a few volunteers, were dragging in a wooden platform for Rabanowicz to stand on. Thankfully, it wasn’t hard to find one from the local vendor of convenient wooden platforms, also known as a temple that usually had such devices for their preachers to preach on. “Mister Watanabe, shouldn’t we get a seat for her as well?”

“Don’t worry about it, she can’t sit while she orates. Believe me, I’ve tried many times.”

The orator in question was by the side, orating to the heavens while getting herself and her voice ready. Not too loudly, as she didn’t want to tire her voice out before the event. “…and then he struck at the knave, felling him…” Still, even in her warm-up, she looked quite energetic much in contrary to her usual calm, reserved self. Her one hand was free to gesticulate, while the other was occupied by a pile of papers which constituted her new work. Despite the long script, she wasn’t looking down to reference it at all. Even if she forgot a minor part, it was just an opportunity to rewrite it on the fly.

Slowly the merchants of the market closed down their stalls for the day, not seeing much profit to be made under the cover of the night. A night that, as was standard for Gemeinplatz, to be mostly pitch black due to a lack of public lighting. Casamonu, and other urban areas in Gemeinplatz, had linkboys who did the work of holding torches for people in exchange for pay. Nowadays some members of the National Guard had taken up to patrolling the streets at night, torches and candles funded by the citizenry, much to the dismay of the linkboys.

A great crowd gathered near the stage which was still unlit. Watanabe was standing on the stage, next to Rabanowicz, cradling a head-sized box in his hands. He set the box on the tripod, only taking notice of the crowd now that his work was done. “Doctor, I didn’t know you had so many fans.”

“Monsieur, it is only natural. They got their first experience of reading with my work in the textbooks we distribute. That, and the high quality of my work, assures that they’d be left wanting for more.” Rabanowicz stated it not with pride or arrogance, but rather as a matter of fact like the sun rising in the morning.

“I hope we don’t disappoint the crowd.” Watanabe certainly felt quite the bit of pressure from the masses staring him down. He was thankful to not be the one who had to do the speaking. A deep breathe, a deep gulp, and a sip of water from his canteen. “I think it’s about time, doctor.”

“I do concur. Get on with the theatrics, monsieur.”

Watanabe opened the box that he had set up, taking out what looked to be a large candlestick that had a square-shaped glass housing at its tip instead of a candle. The rest of the box comprised of a screen with tall holes meant for sliding thin boards in and out of, just like a device for kamishibai, plus a pair of wooden clackers. He then took out another device out from his holster, a device just like a flintlock pistol minus the barrel. The errant otherworlder turned a valve at the bottom of the “candlestick”, opened the glass housing, and then pressed the trigger on his flintlock mechanism. A spark escaped from the mechanism, and all of a sudden, a fire appeared seemingly out of nowhere in the glass housing. Watanabe closed the housing and put the “candlestick” on the box.

Unlike a candle which’d fit in a candlestick of its size, the flame burning within the glass housing was quite bright. Not as bright as light magic from your local abolitionist catgirl wizard, but unlike abolitionist catgirl wizards, the gas light could be replicated at a faster pace than having to wait many years for a catgirl to grow up and realize her magical powers. It did its job of lighting up Rabanowicz and Watanabe, the product of their hard work playing around with bladders.

To the crowd it simply looked like magic, to which Rabanowicz quickly addressed. “Ladies and gentlemen, believe it or not, what you witness is not a work of magic. It is simply the combustible air extracted from coal that is burning up.” Considering the empty looks on the crowd’s faces, her explanation didn’t seem to achieve much. Still, they looked impressed enough, so Rabanowicz decided to move on.

Watanabe clacked the clackers, then slid out the first board (which was empty) from the box to reveal the title of today’s story: “The Golden Man: Captain Gemeinplatz”

“Hark! ‘tis a tale, of a masked hero who has the amazing capability to fly and the strength of a hundred men. You may think that such a tale is ridiculous, but dear listeners, you better believe in him if you wish to be entertained. Suspend thine disbelief, and listen to me tell of his story.”

With that, Watanabe slid out another board, of a drawing of the so-called Captain Gemeinplatz. A buff man in a suit of armor colored blue-white-green, except for his head which was masked rather than having a helmet. The errant otherworlder was certainly no artist, and his cartoonish style looked rather off to the locals, but he had a whole lot of idle time to practice in Gemeinplatz. The novelty of his style alone, combined with the fiery gesticulation and oration of Rabanowicz, was enough to keep the crowd engaged.

“For you see, Captain Gemeinplatz was a man from the moon up in the heavens, who fell down from there as a child and landed on our realm. Alas, a simple child knew not how to return home, and thus he wandered until he was taken in by a peasant family. He had no name, only being known as the Kid.”

Watanabe followed up with a suitable image of the Kid all peasented up with his family.

“The Kid, a child of the moon, had extraordinary powers that quickly came to his parents’ notice. He shepherded by carrying entire flocks on his back. He smithed by shaping the metal with his bare hands. He could throw a spear from Ancoire to the Light Sea. Without flapping his hands, he could fly faster than a bird, and he could see sharp as a hawk. His family advised him to keep his abilities secret, so that fiends may not look to abuse his Divine-given powers for evil.”

Next slide, image of the Kid zooming to a town.

“When he grew old, he set out for a town so that he may join the Adventurer’s Guild and do great deeds. Alas! He was denied for his complexion, as the people of the moon are cooked due to being so close to the sun, and he couldn’t show his true power lest he reveal his true identity. Being sheltered in his village for so long, the Kid knew not how unjust the realm was.”

Next slide, the Kid being attacked by adventurers.

“The other adventurers thought of him to be an agent of the ‘Republic’, and attacked him in an attempt to enslave him. Within seconds they were all on the ground, knocked out cold. The Kid knew that he belonged where they had accused him of belonging, and thus he made his way to Libertycave. He was scared of any harm coming to his family as it had been done to him by the angry adventurers. The Kid began wearing a mask to hide his true identity, so that thugs may not harass his family for his deeds, and he donned himself in the colors of the Republic. That is where our tale starts, the tale of the first great act of the Kid. For this act, he’d come to be known as Captain Gemeinplatz…”

A series of clacks from the clackers, and Rabanowicz got on with the main story which took about an hour to go through with accompanying images. It was quite the simple superhero story, of the titular captain trying to immediately head to the Emperor’s palace to give him a square kick in the face and end the war. Yet he’s stopped by the goons of an otherworlder with cheat skills, who plan on attacking a Republic city and slaughtering it in the name of the Empire. Thus, with many contrived twists and turns, the captain has to learn to prioritize the common peoples’ lives first and goes back to the city to save its denizens from the attack, uncovering a secret organization controlled by the otherworlder which means to do greater evil and is the true power behind the throne. Of course, it was explained in a much more appetizing fashion than a brief summary inside an even bigger story, which certainly made it much more appealing.

“…and, with that, Captain Gemeinplatz flew off, determined to stop the treacherous plans of the Infiltration Squadron. Back home he was known as an ordinary member of the National Guard. Little did his comrades-in-arms know that they worked with such a great force! Perhaps you have passed by Captain Gemeinplatz without noticing? Perhaps he is here with us in the audience? Alas, we will never know, but we can make sure to make his job easier by doing our part against the Empire. We may not individually have super-strength or flight, but with our powers combined, we too can achieve such great deeds in our Republic. The army will be accepting your support tomorrow before they head off. Contributions of coin, supplies, etcetera will be welcome. For now, however, that is all that I have of his tales. Such is the end.”

With that, Watanabe sounded the clackers one last time, followed by applause from the crowd. While the setup and story were nothing special for his modern tastes, it was quite like nothing the masses of Gemeinplatz had ever seen before. A superhero, a peasant hero, with mystical powers beyond their dreams beating up bad guys. What was not to love?

Tomorrow came, and the crowd had formed back, around the army camp this time. Food, blankets, coin, whatever the people had spare were donated. The army hadn’t been lacking, but it was also far from abundant in terms of supplies. Eating something other than hardtack and pemmican soup was certainly an agreeable proposition.

The army of the Republic set off, to a cheering crowd from the town whose residents not too long ago had seen them as fugitives and savages.