Like many of his Darcsen brethren, Harald is calm and collected, possessed of patience born from a lifetime's persecution. He is likely to bite his tongue and walk away when provoked, but rest assured he will have his vengeance in the end, even if it is a petty one. When in the presence of someone who can see beyond his dark hair, Harald is relaxed and friendly, the very picture of a smiling bobby on the beat. He treats his subordinates like his own children and is prone to occasional fits of paternal rage if they are hurt or wronged. The Gallian Police Constabulary rarely admits Darcsen as constables, but in the southern town of Rinneheim there are exceptions. Years ago the town was home to a large ragnite refinery and its itinerant population of Darcsen workers; even once the refinery went bankrupt and the industrialists moved on, the workers stayed to settle. By the time of the Second Europan War, Rinneheim was home to hundreds of Darcsen in various professional capacities, making it both a cultural melting pot and a tempting target for regular slaving raids from across the border. In order to maintain its appearance as a national force, the GPC loosened its recruitment criteria and a young man named Harald became the first Darcsen constable in the region. Having lost his parents to disease and being bereft of siblings, Harald was raised on the street. His early years were nothing special; a mix of begging, stealing and odd jobs. During his compulsory military education he specialised in reconnaissance and demolitions, hoping to perhaps enter the Gallian Army upon graduation. Even his career with the GPC was uneventful, as Rinneheim was a peaceful city with little crime. However as the years rolled on and tensions rose across Europa, Imperial raids across the border escalated and the GPC soon found itself working as adhoc border guards. Failure by the government and the military to protect border towns such as Rinneheim led to growing unrest among the Darcsen minority, often the target of slave raids and sometimes outright ethnic cleansing. Finding himself caught between these two opposing forces, Harald became disillusioned with his role as a constable and began to drift away from his increasingly right-wing co-workers. As March 1935 rolled around, Harald was questioning his life and role in society, questioning whether his loyalty should be to his state or his people. The events of that day in early March soon gave him his answer. A lone figure strolled down Rinneheim's main street, his breath crystallising in the early morning air. AM beats were always his favourite; the air was crisp and fresh, the people too groggy to cause problems. He thought of it as a pleasant walk after a good morning coffee at the station. He rounded a corner, entering the area known among his fellow constables as Darktown, home to Rinneheim's vibrant Darcsen community. The change in atmosphere was sudden and drastic; Darktown was alive with the sounds of industry as a dozen blacksmiths plied their trade and apprentices ran to and fro across the street. The policeman smiled, nodding to the occasional worker as he rolled a cigarette. Just as he was sparking up, a melodic voice floated down from a second story window. 'Morning Harry! Still hung over?' The copper flashed one irate finger in reply as he walked on, not even deigning to look at the young woman. 'Oh really? Really, Harald? Same place, same time tonight or I'll rip your balls off!' The same old jokes, same old banter. Such was life in Darktown, where everyone knew one another, had grown up together; the same couldn't be said for the rest of the town. The up-town beat was Harald's least favourite, where the shop owners sneered as he passed, people crossed the street to avoid him... and worst off, the little old ladies never invited him in for a cup of tea. Philistines. As he strolled through the ghetto he passed the occasional empty building, barren and silent... The Imperial raids had grown worse recently, with entire families taken in the night. He shuddered to think what fate awaited those taken by the raiders, especially considering the... examples they sometimes left behind. Harald found himself subconsciously reaching for his old service revolver, conflicting feelings of outrage and responsibility weighing down on him. If things didn't change soon, if the government didn't take steps to protect its citizens... He glanced around morosely, reflecting on how fragile a place like Darktown was. If those raids ever became something more concrete... He stopped himself. Such pessimism had no place in the eyes of a on-duty constable. Squaring his shoulders and lighting up another cigarette, Harald set off toward the station to begin his next beat. I want to be Nancy Dufour's Onii-chan.

Name: Lilly Jatmoore Gender: Female Age: 20 (Don't you know never to ask a woman's age~?) Appearance: Rank: Private Class: Scout Weapons and Equipment: Gallian S-1, Ragnaid, Standard Scout Equipment. One B-Type M1 Grenade Personality: Kind, Friendly and Elegant, but painfully naive. While she may appear wise and insightful when discussing the topics she was educated on, her knowledge of the world in general is painfully lacking. Due to her pristine upbringing, she is also a massive neat freak and is unused to the sight of blood. She also has a strong sense of duty, and often bases her decisions on what she thinks she ought to do, rather than what she truly wants. Bio: Born into a wealthy family, Lilly is probably about as close to an aristocrat as you could get without actually being an aristocrat. Her father owned a string of arms factories, factories which had brought him immense wealth during EWI, as the constant demand for rifles meant he was never lacking for business. As such, Lilly never wanted for anything material during her childhood, with her father paying a significant amount of money on tutors, private sports coaches, etc, and her room was never lacking in books or toys to busy herself with. She was highly educated in economics and philosophy, as well as the art of running a business, and her sports coaches ensured that she was never out of shape by challenging her with tennis, running, swimming, and even archery. The unfortunate part of her strict upbringing, though, was that she rarely got a chance to get away from her family's estate. It was quite safe to say that she had no friends of her own age during her upbringing, and that the only people she really got close to were simply the servants of the house (her father maintained a rather distant relationship). When she turned 15, her father decided that it was time to teach her how to handle a rifle, particularly the ones they produced. The thought process went along the lines of "If you run a manufacturing business, it is your duty to at least know how to use your own products." Though the grease and filth that had to be dealt with when cleaning a rifle bothered her, Lilly actually found the workings of the rifle to be incredibly interesting, and developed an intense interest in the sport of marksmanship. Her father was pleased with this, and once she was older, began to take her hunting on occasion (though always within the safety of their enclosed estate). As her skill in hunting increased, she found the prospect of being groomed as the heir of her father's business to be increasingly distasteful. While she was out in the woods, she felt at ease, free of the stifling atmosphere of the mansion. She longed for adventure and to escape the stiff, formal structure of her day to day life, little did she know that day was soon to come... RP Sample: Lilly calmly sipped her tea and signed her name on the recruitment forms with an old fountain pen. Across the table, her butler and friend Hanz was frantically trying to talk her out of her decision, pacing back and fourth. "Lady Jatmoore, I beg of you, will you not reconsider? Your father will be furious when he finds out!" Lilly finished dotting an i before setting her pen down and shaking her head. "No, Hanz, my decision is final. I will be joining the militia, and I pray that you will not further your attempts to sway me." She took another sip of her tea, before going back to writing. In an uncharacteristic outburst, the smartly dressed man slammed his hand down on the table, clearly distressed by her stubbornness. "But m'lady, what could you possibly want with war?! You are the daughter of a wealthy merchant, and your father expects you to take over his business for him. What would we do if you were to d-die!?" Lilly paused her writing for a second time to wipe up some of the tea that had splashed out of the cup when the table was struck. She remained silent for a moment, before staring Hanz straight in the eye. "It is not about what I want, Hanz. War is a horrific evil brought about by power hungry men who see violence as the only means to get their way. I wish to have no part in it." "Then why-" "Why?" Lilly stood up and walked over to one of the windows of her study, before addressing the confused expression of her servant. "... Why indeed. Look, Hanz. From here you can see the countryside, the town of Eindon, the farmers toiling in there fields. Each one of them has a life they built for themselves, a home, a profession." She spun around to face him, a determined look in her eye. "A war will destroy their ways of life. The town could be razed, their fields trampled, their very lives could be taken by a stray bullet. In times like this, it is the duty of every citizen to defend their land in what ever way possible." Her expression softened when she saw the look of sadness on her friend's face, and she continued in a more gentle tone. "... You are my friend and my mentor, Hanz, and I do appreciate your concern for me, but it is every citizen's duty to defend their country, and I am no exception. Please, my mind is made up. I pray you do not try to press me further." As she went back to filling out the papers, Hanz sighed and bowed. "Very well, m'lady. I will not impede your decision." Leaving Lilly to continue writing in peace, he walked down the hallway, his heart heavy. Lilly was always like this, driven by a sense of duty and altruism, but she lacked wisdom in the way of the world. He hoped that she would do well in her endeavor, but could not help but feel like he had failed. She had been sheltered her whole life. How long would a girl like her last on the front lines? Maybe he should tell Master Jatmoore as a final effort to keep her safe. Other: Catherine O'hara is best girl!

Name: Aaron White Gender:Male Age: 23 Appearance: Rank: Lance Corporal Class: Shocktrooper Weapons and Equipment: Maj-X M1, Shocktrooper armor, A grenade, a watch. Personality: Aaron is the kind of guy you want at your back. Brave,Loyal, Smart, and strong. But he is also very impulsive, and very likely to run in shouting LEEEEERRRRROOOOOYYYY JEEEEEENNNNNNNKIIIIIINNNNNS! (or some such battle cry.) with guns blazing, and grabbing attention, and getting his allies killed. Bio: Born to a Noble Family in the Federation, Aaron always was raised with money, Until the day his father was murdered, and he was forced to run to Gallia. He moved to the South, and took a job as an iron miner. He became a Hard worker. One day, he was digging for a new mine, and found Ragnite. He was made rich again, but when the imperials came, He was conscripted, and volunteered to be a shocktrooper, and the rest is current. RP Sample: Aaron finished digging the hole. His hands were bloody and chapped, and Aaron almost had heat stroke. "Sir, you may want to check this out!" He shouted to his boss. "What is it?" His boss replied in his gruff voice. "I found something, and I don't know what it is!" Aaron replied cautiously "Finish digging and we'll see what it is!" His boss replied. Aaron nodded and grabbed his shovel. And that's when the rain started. "Crap." Aaron said. My favorite Team member of Squad 7 is Salinas. He's so awesome! He's my vanguard.

Name: Samantha "Sam/Sammy" Meyers Gender: Female Age: 18 Rank: Lance Corporal Class: Sniper Appearance: Standing about 5’7 (172.72 centimeters) with long Blonde hair tied into a single long braid reaching down to her lower back, Blue eyes, physically fit with a well-toned body. Always looked older then she was. Weapons and Equipment: GSR-1, Small ragnite pack. Personality: Personal able, kind, sweet, Easy to upset at times. Bio: Born into a family of two younger siblings and a single father in the poorer parts of the capital, Sam grew up looking after her two sisters. Her father a veteran of EW1 was a kind man who ran a grocery store in the capital. For a number of years the family got by well enough, always able to pay rent, put food on the table, and allowed Sam and her sisters a reasonable life. Sadly it was not meant to be, on Sam’s 14th birthday her father, a wounded veteran of the first war suddenly became very ill and was unable to keep the store open threatening to make the family homeless due to the inability to pay rent. In an effort to stabilize the family Sam worked doing many jobs, shop keeper, mechanic, waitress in restaurants and bars (by lying about her age). Finally Sam’s aunt and uncle offered the family a place to stay in southern Gallia. Having found a place to live and having found a part time job to help her aunt with expenses Sam finally started to enjoy herself. During her first week in the south Sam met tow boys named Paul and Sev the three became fast friends with Paul and Sam becoming best friends., Both Sev and Paul would always tease her about how short she was, and in response Sam would always get mad at them and threaten to never speak to them again. Sev and Paul always had a friendly rivalry as to who would win in a fight, For the most part it was Paul. Slowly Sev and Sam began a relationship, With both uncomfortable about being in relationship around Paul seeing as he was both of their best friends they both chose to hide it. On her Sam’s 17th birthday Sev Enlisted in the regulars leaving the two with the promise that once He got leave he would be back to visit. Due to the two being the only ones left Sam soon Developed feelings for Paul, Weather out of loneliness or of genuine affection was any ones guess. For a whole year she ignored it. When the war began Sam saw her best friend Paul enlist in the Militia right away, with both Sev and Paul gone Sam fell into a depression, with all the stories of what the Imperials did to prisoners, the Stories of battle and the fall of almost the entire north despair gripped her and her family. Making things worse Sam’s draft notice arrived. Currently she is in transport to the front as a new batch of replacements, RP Sample: You already know…

Name: Evan Carn Gender: Male Age: 41 Appearance: Rank: Private First Class Class: Vehicle Technician/Driver Weapons and Equipment: Viper-E-1 Pistol, Mechanics Tools/kit Personality: Honest, energetic and fairly boisterous, Evan is a very outgoing and passionate mechanic. He takes great pride in his work, and even greater satisfaction when he gets the chance to use something that he worked on. He is a bit rough around the edges, though, often mocking others viciously (though never with malicious intent) and swearing like a sailor when something goes wrong. The rigid structure of military life does not sit well with him either, and he rarely gets along well with superiors who take issue with his... less than strict adherence to military formality. Bio: A older mechanic in the capital of Randgriz, Evan lived a relatively straightforward life. Get up, drink some coffee, eat breakfast, open the shop, repair what ever vehicles people brought in, close shop, go to bed. Sounds boring, right? Not to Evan. Driving (and especially fixing) vehicles were his favorite things to do, and his skill at it quickly brought him more business than he could handle. When war broke out, he was almost immediately drafted into the militia's engineering corps due to his mechanical aptitude, but his lack of ability with any firearm larger than a pistol and dislike for the armour he would need to wear meant that he was eventually deemed unsuitable, and transferred to the armour corps. His older age may have played a part in this as well. Evan had taken a few armoured vehicle courses during the mandatory military training he underwent, so he quickly distinguished himself as one of the better mechanics and tank drivers in the corps. He wasn't the best, but he was considered to be in the upper half of his fellow corpsmen. His childhood was fairly unremarkable, being seemingly the definition of average. His one distinguishing factor would be that while he was still raised with the traditional prejudices against darcsens, he never treated them unfairly from a material point of view. If one of them needed assistance with something and asked him for help, he would help them just the same as anyone else. Evan would NOT, however, willingly collaborate with them on group projects in school, or let them near his own work. He didn't want them getting his stuff all oily and smelly after all. This personality trait remained with him through the rest of his life, earning him a good deal of business from the relatively small darcsen population of the capital. Since he was one of the few mechanics who wouldn't charge them double simply because of their race, he (unhappily) became one of the preferred businesses for darcsens to purchase mechanical supplies or commission repairs from. Evan doesn't really have strong feelings towards the war. To him, it is just another job (albeit a much more interesting and dangerous one), though the perk of defending his country while doing it does add to his motivation. RP Sample: You've seen posts already, you know the drill.

Name : Brenna Sykora

Gender : Female

Age : 21

Appearance : Brenna stands at about 5 feet 9 inches, with pale skin. Long, sleek black hair that is sometimes in a mess. Her eyes are a teal like color, but tend to look out of focus or looking off into space. Average body type.

Rank : PFC

Class : Shock trooper

Weapons and Equipment : MAGS M10, B Type M1 Grenade

Personality : A hermit by nature. she tends to lock herself away from social interactions, only socializing if unable to retreat from it or if she's with a friend. Even when socializing, she tends to keep her sentences short and to the point, which leads to her other personality point. She's blunt, sometimes harshly blunt, she doesn't want to beat around the bush or waste time, this could be seen as a good point in combat, but considered cold and heartless when she does actually socialize.

But Brenna is also an intellectual person, usually found reading, writing, or drawing. She may also Daydream, which normally consist of sitting in peaceful plains while listening to the natural sounds of the world.

Bio : Brenna was orphaned when she was only five years of age, for reasons unknown. She was taken up by a woman who raised her, and once Brenna was ten, the woman told her she was an orphan and that she took her in so she would be able to live out a normal life. She then spent most of her time reading and drawing, completed her schooling and moved back to the border town she was raised in and lived on it's outskirts, doing her best to keep social interaction to a minimum while still having access to a job and a source to buy daily needs such as food. But she always felt inadequate, why would her biological parents orphan her? So she vowed to find them so she could ask them that question.

Brenna avoided jobs that required social interaction on a daily basis, and took up a job as a baker for a bakery. And used the money she made to buy ingredients for cooking. She constantly tells herself that her cooking is sub par, even when some of the locals have said otherwise. She loved the peaceful way of life she had established for herself, and hoped to never lose it, but with the murmurs of war approaching she felt that it would be lost fairly soon. But she was prepared to defend it to the best of her abilities.

RP Sample : A normal day. A very beautiful one. Brenna looked up at the sky as she was returning home, few clouds in the sky. It was scenic, she hoped it would stay like this till she got home so she could sketch it. Her eyes returned to the pathway, a rod of bread in her vision, and the smell of ingredients filling her nose. Apparently the townsfolk loved her cooking, but she felt they were only saying that because she lived alone and felt some sympathy. "Sympathy" she spoke, trying to get a feel for the words on her lips. 'It's wasted to feel sympathy towards me, there's nothing to feel sympathetic towards. I'm not ill, I'm not made fun of, nor am I physically disabled....Oh well'

After a few more minutes of walking, she arrived at her house and turned around to look at the sky. A small smile crept on her face. The sky still looked the way it did. 'Thank you sky.' she thought to herself. Then turned to walk inside when she heard a light crunch beneath her foot. Stepping back, she saw flowers with a small note. 'What?' She quickly stepped over it and put the bag of groceries on a table before going back to the front door to pick up the flowers and the note. But decided she'd read the note once she had dinner cooking. But something prevented her from starting to cook dinner, and instead read the note. Which turned out to be a note from a secret admirer, but sadly, she'd never be able to write the person back because there was no return address. 'Probably an honest mistake when writing this...but...why would anyone want to be with me?' She thought to herself, then went on to cooking dinner and writing a return letter should she ever find this person. The next few nights were sleepless until she accepted the fact that the person might have evacuated the town with the impending war.

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Name : Celeste Stichler

Gender : Female

Age : 20

Appearance :

Rank : Corporal

Class : Lancer

Weapons and Equipment : Theimer M01, Gallian-A1

Personality : Celeste's psychological damage has caused her to act out of place at times, or give her personalities that don't seem to suit how she actually acts. She is normally a caring person, she does speak most of what's on her mind, but keeps nice about it, not wanting anyone to be damaged like she is, which leads her to be insecure about herself and constantly berates herself.

Bio : Celeste was on a smooth road for the early parts of her life until her father was murdered. She was seven when this happened, and her innocence was shattered. But problems didn't stop there, most of her life was surrounded by her mothers attempts to drown out her own sorrow, be it by drinking heavily, disappearing for days with no explanation why when she returned, and even attempted suicides. While this damaged Celeste on the psychological level, it also pushed her forward, with the determination to leave her mother forever, and live on her own with the hopes she'd slowly recover from all the damage. But she always felt unwanted by her mother after the event, which makes her insecure and rather hateful of herself.

It wasn't until she was halfway through her schooling that she found out why her father had been murdered. Which was the last time she was given bad news in her life up to this point. And, at the same time, she got some good news. Some of her aunts and uncles, and even a grandparent, finally sat her mother down in a sort of intervention kind of way, and finally got her mother some help. She was also allowed to stay with another grandparent until she felt capable of living on her own.

RP Sample : (More of less some added bio, you know I can make posts o 3o)

Celeste stretched. A hard day working at her grandmas house. The old woman couldn't do much heavy lifting herself anymore, but was apparently a heavy lifter before she got old, Celeste was even shown some pictures of her grandma a few years before her bones couldn't support the weight anymore. All of this was believable, her grandma was slumped over, walking with a cane, and pictures showed her carrying heavy objects on her back. But she still had the spirit of a younger woman, helping Celeste when she could, and even talking to Celeste as if they young teenage girls near a handsome boy. She was best friends with her though, Celeste had written in her diary a few times that her grandma was the best, best friend she could have ever asked for.

Marina Wulfstan FTW Name: Alexia Fairglaive "Alex Glaive" Gender: Female Age: 19 Appearance: Her hair is naturally blond, though she dyes it and so wears a hat to hide her roots. Rank: Private Class: Scout - Engineer Weapons and Equipment: Gallian-S Rifle Gallian X-type Grenade Gallian B-Type Grenade Imperial Goll Pistol Combat Knife Personality: Alex is very solemn in her demeanour, holding herself with pride and strength even in the harshest of situations. She is the same when talking with people as well, trying her best to talk to others with respect though cannot help but clearly show her distaste of orders she does not agree with. Often she enjoys getting a little dirty down in the engine of a car or making of explosives, though it is little more than a hobby. She often resorts to cunning and resourcefulness when in combat, preferring to use tactics that people would never have seen coming rather than simply charging the enemy. However she also has a weakness, for if the field was to be set aflame her fear of fire may get the better of her, crippling her reasoning. If seen in the heat of battle, one may see a smile cross her otherwise ladylike face, for the thrill of battle is something installed deep within her. Bio: Growing up in a military family was one of the toughest things that could happen to Alex, more so when her father was one of the high ranking officers. She was expected to be the best of the best, and for this purpose she was given personal training in the art of combat and the tactics that it involved. It was merciless for the child, however she felt the pride of her nation swell within her more and more as time went on, and at the age of which she could join the army she was placed in charge of her own squad and sent out against their enemies... However something went horribly wrong and Alex ended up walking into no mans land, walking towards the Gallian front line with only rags for clothes and in her hand a pistol that bore the her homelands crest; the empire. Since then she has had medical treatment and a debriefing. She hid behind the fact she was only a civilian, having stolen a pistol and made her way over in all the chaos... It was easy to fool them about that, after all who would question the story of a poor young girl in rags? No one knows why but Alex soon after joined the Gallian militia where she ended up where she is now, fighting against her kinsmen for a cause she truly thinks is right. RP Sample: The flames... Cinder... Smoke... "Alexia------Alexia! Pay attention. Captain Jovel came all the way from command to teach you the finer points of in field commanding." Alex jumped with a start at the sound of her father’s voice, her eyes refocusing from the window to him and the captain. She had almost forgotten that she was in a lesson! With a slight blush across her face she bowed her head down, thinking for a moment on what to say to the pair, after all she really did want the lesson to continue. "Sorry Farther, Sorry Captain Jovel I was just..." "Dreaming of the battle eh? Well it is understandable, it is all very exciting to say the least." "Ah, yes that is it!" Straightening up, Alex fixed her elegant dress a little and nodded in agreement. She could not really tell the pair that she was thinking about father’s armoured car and how she could tinker with it after all of today lessons were over. For now she would sit and listen as she always did, for this was one of the last lessons before she got to go out and help her country fight for what was rightfully theirs right? She was proud to be helping the Empire, more so that she was given such a placement. Her father truly trusted her, and she was going to do great things! --------- Flames... Cinder... Smoke... ------ Gripping the piece of burnt wood in her gloved hand, small tears fell from her face to sizzle against the hot embers. Her hand trembled as she tried to control herself. This was what she was meant to do right? Her orders were clear... but, why? Her whole body went still as three of her imperial troops came up. "Sargent. Are we done here?" "Yeah I wanna return to the barracks" "Eh she is just checking. Who knew what this building was. They should have got out a long time ago. Right sar-, sargent? Did you find one? Her hand clenched, shattering the piece of burnt wood sending embers into the air as Alex reached back and grabbed the pistol in her leg holster. As if by reflex she drew the gun as she turned towards the three of them, a blank far off stare in her eyes as she did so. Bang-Bang-Bang "AHHHHHH!" x3 All three of them dropped to the ground grabbing at their legs screaming, but just as emotionless as she had fired she turned around and started to walk through the remains of the building. She swayed from side to side removing pieces of her uniform as she went... Off to her knew and just life... Yeah, that's right.

Name: Liam "Pedal" Forrest
Gender: Male
Age: 23
Appearance: Tall and lanky with blonde hair and a standard Trooper's uniform. Pedal often wears his uniform unbuttoned due to the high heat of the tank.

Rank: Private

Class: Shocktrooper / Driver

Weapons and Equipment: Mags M1

Personality: Silent

Bio: Liam came to Gallia a refugee of the First Europan War, a child in his mother's arms. After the armistice was signed between the Empire and Federation, his family elected to stay within Gallia's borders rather than return to the Empire. While not technically a citizen of Gallia, Liam knows no other culture or language than his adopted home country.

Growing up, he showed a particularly good understanding of machinery and vehicles, paying his mother's rent as a delivery driver known for making hairpin turns at ludicrous speeds. After racking up an impressive number of tickets, Liam was arrested and had his sentence commuted on the condition he voluntarily enlist in the Gallian army's mechanical corps and the newly formed "Home Armor Brigade." Even performing menial labor on outdated vehicles showed off his natural talents handling machiner.

Nicknamed "Pedal" by Aaron Vikkers, he found himself serving inside the Gallian tank Thunder at the outbreak of the war.

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Name: Angella "Beast" Hiffen
Gender: Female
Age: A lady never tells! ("She's 21, Queen help us." "You're just jealous I can hold my liquor, unlike you!")
Appearance: Long, regal auburn hair she ties in a knot when mounted in the tank. Her Engineer jacket is stowed in the tank along with most of her equipment as she prefers to ride wearing a tank top to cope with the high engine temperatures and gasses from firing the tank's light cannon.

Rank: Private
Class: Engineer / Gunner

Weapons and Equipment: Imperial GO-II Pistol

Personality: Addict / Partier

Bio: Angella is an enigma to most of the Gallian personnel she serves alongside, never really talking about her past before enlisting in the militia. This of course leads to endless rumors among the rank and file of where the partying gunner of Thunder came from.

She is disgraced nobility from the northern coast, sent into exile for causing a scandal.

She is an ex-con, serving out a felony conviction in service to the state for murder.

She is an unwed mother whose daughter died in childbirth, fleeing her grief for duty to her homeland.

Angella likes to feed all of these rumors, enjoying being the center of attention as she feeds off the drama they cause. The life of a tank mechanic in the Home Armored Brigade was dreadfully boring to her, and turning base life into a soap opera was just the sort of entertainment she craved.

At the outbreak of the Second War, Thunder found itself defending a border crossing alone against a full platoon of Imperial tanks. Eyes and Pedal initiated a retreat, but not before Angella put a High-Explosive shell down the barrel of the lead enemy vehicle, disabling it and blocking the other tanks behind it. Eyes refused to believe the shot was anything more than a fluke, but he did take to calling Angella "Beast" after that skirmish, named after the Imperial tank she destroyed with her lucky shot.

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Name: Aaron "Eyes" Vikkers
Gender: Male
Age: 25
Appearance: Short and muscular with shockingly red hair and a standard scout's uniform. Eyes always carries a pair of old field binoculars around his neck used by his father in the First Europan War.

Rank: PFC
Class: Scout

Weapons and Equipment: Heavy civilian revolver, Gallian-S rifle (illegally modified)

Personality: Commanding / Domineering

Bio: "Eyes" was born in Gallia and enlisted in the army during a downturn in the economy caused by a Ragnite shortage 5 years ago. The steady paycheck and disciplined lifestyle proved to be perfect incentives to keep him going, and while he was never promoted beyond PFC, his superiors shifted Eyes from the Scout Corps into a tank regiment. Military budget cuts saw Eyes busted down into the militia, but he kept his position in the Gallian "Home Armored Brigade" first as a spotter, and just three months before the Second Europan War broke out, as the commander of the new Gallian Light Battle Tank Thunderous.

Pedal and Angella have observed Eyes writing letters in his off time which he promptly delivers to the mail office in town, but he never speaks of who he writes to or what about.

The tank Thunderous is a second home to Eyes outside the barracks, and he has customized the interior of the turret with poetry clippings from newspapers, scenic pictures of Europan cities, and most recently, a list of common phrases in High Imperial. The most recent addition noted by Pedal and Beast, however, is metal chain hanging from the periscope handles, from which hangs a golden ring.

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RP Sample: ::Thunder, be advised, you are now entering the exercise field. Conqueror is somewhere in the vicinity and awaiting engagement.::

Eyes reached for the radio com, only for Angella to reach behind her shoulder and seize the com first.

"Roger Cap-ee-tan! Tell Conqueror we're approaching from Route 7. We eagerly await Sergeant Gorrel's vehicle."

Angella snickered at the dead silence which greeted them, thinking the commandant too dumbfounded by her announcement of their position on an open channel to respond. Eyes knew, however, the commandant was forbidden from answering any com chatter except when demanding medical evacuation.

"What was that," Aaron asked tersely.

Angella didn't reply, whistling as she opened the cannon breach to load a paint round.

"What," Aaron asked again, this time kicking her seat back. "Was. That?"

Angella ignored the initial jab at her seat. When Aaron kicked harder, sending her bouncing forward almost into her viewport, she turned around.

"Just some fun," Angella said, shrugging. "It's already 5pm out, hot as hades inside this metal coffin, and Conqueror is a dedicated anti-Tank vehicle- we can't stand up to that firepower in this dingy thing. I don't want to sweat through this uniform any more than I have to."

"If you don't like sweating it out in this thing, you can run with the grunts." Aaron said, popping the hatch on the turret. The private stood on his seat, his head peaking out of the portal as he scanned the horizon for Conqueror. "And they don't have three inches of metal armor between themselves and the bullets. Pedal, get me up to 30, heading northeast toward that treeline. Angella, traverse turret ten degrees left."

Pedal gave no verbal affirmative, but the tank's engine revved to life and their cruising speed kicked up.

"You talk like there's gonna be a war," Angella scoffed, cranking the turret ten degrees to the left as ordered. "Puh-lease. You read the papers. Some blowhard politician somewhere is going to sell out some people on the border, and then all the armies will disband and go home. Happens once a year."

"Happens once a year," Pedal said. "Until it doesn't."

"What did-"

WHOOOOOSH!

The hill behind Thunderous exploded in a shower of orange dust- a paint can exploding across the hillside.

"Hells!" Aaron ducked back inside the tank, sealing the hatch behind him and raising the periscope. "Jerkoff nearly took my head! He's in the treeline! Pedal, there's a ravine 80 meters ahead. Get us in there. Angella, unload the turret! Put some smoke in front of us!"

"Aye!" Angella opened the breech, sliding the paint round out and loading one of their smoke shells, tucking her eye against the barrel sight- all in one smooth, practiced motion. A well oiled machine.

"I can see him! I got eyes on him! Traverse turret five degrees right!"

"Ready on one!"

"FIRE!"

The turret bucked, the compartment's temperature spiking as the empty shell was ejected back inside. Through the periscope, Aaron watched a cloud of grey smoke explode inside the treeline.

"That'll give us a second to breathe. Angella, load one of the blues. Pedal, we there-"

The tank sloped down suddenly, dropping on a 45-degree angle as Angella slid another round into the chamber. "Clear!" She yelled.

A rush of air slid through the forward viewing port as an orange explosion impacted across the slope behind them.

"He knows where we're going!"

"Course he Krakking knows! You broadcast our location to the whole crew four minutes ago! They could scope the battlefield ahead of us and plan our route. Pedal, circle us around to the west, prepare to go full speed on my mark. Angella, we loaded?"

"Ready on one!"

"Hold!" Eyes squinted through the smoke shrouded periscope. Trees, brush, smoke, but was that... "Gimme three degrees right!"

"Three, aye!"

"Fire!" The barrel kicked, launching a blue paint shell- a simulated high-explosive round- straight into the fog. Two blue hits or one orange hit would see the enemy tank eliminated. Eyes didn't wait to see if the round struck home. "Pedal, GO!"

"Breach clear!"

"Load up again! Pedal, more speed, their gun can move just as quick as us!"

Thunderous shook like her namesake, and for a second Eyes was sure they were going to flip.

"Was that a hit?" Angella asked, sliding the blue round home.

"Are you painted like a pumpkin?" Eyes asked, sliding the periscope to the right, tracking the treeline. "They hit the ground to our right. They're moving too. Angella, traverse right 10!"

"Right 10, Eyes!"

"Pedal, gimme full speed, 20 degrees to the right."

"Full and twenty."

"Angella, FIRE!"

"Firing!"

The smoke cloud split in two as their enemy, Conqueror, emerged from the treeline- straight into the path of the blue shell. The beastly tank was easily half again their own tonnage, a rolling platform with a massive cannon fixed in a forward firing position. A cannon that was training on them now...

"Hit! We got a hit!"

"Aw hells yes!" The clank of steel on steel and the temperature spiked. Angella slid another round home.

"Pedal! Duck and weave! Angella, gimme another blue."

The breech slid shut. "Last one, Eyes!"

"Traverse turret 10 degrees left, then-"

Eyes never finished the sentence. The Conqueror stopped in its tracks, only to slide backward as its massive canon opened fire, belching an orange shell directly into the path of their vehicle. Pedal gripped the steering gears, sliding on the right brake to jink out of the shell's path. Thunderous only made it so far, as a bullseye shot was turned into a glancing blow on their front armor, and a cloud of orange paint filling the gun compartment and covering Angella from face to hips.

The tank's com sprang to life. ::Thunderous, you are dead in the water by rules of engagement. Confirm?::

Eyes rubbed his face, the adrenaline in his body dropping his mood from a frenzied high to a gloomy and angered low. One look at Angella, furiously swiping paint from her eyes and hair did put a grin on his face though.

"Kill confirmed, Conqueror."

::Roger that. Returning to base. Your gunner have anything to say?::

Eyes wisely clutched the com with both hands.

"Not at this time, Conqueror. Good kill."

Name: Andrew Macdonald
Gender: Male
Age: 23
Appearance: A young man with brown/blonde hair and blue eyes, Andrew stands at 6.4 feet tall with wide shoulders and with a surprising amount of upper body strength despite his lean form.

Rank: Private First Class
Class: Lancer

Weapons and Equipment:
Lancaar M1
Ragnaid
Uniform
Blast Shield

Personality: Generally rather quiet, many people seem to assume that Andrew is dumb due to the fact that he tended to get low scores in school or that he tends to take on jobs that require physical labor. Anyone who has ever talked to him on a subject that he enjoys will quickly discover that he is actually rather intelligent, but he can't stand the education system.

While undergoing military training, the trainers discovered that Andrew was a rather empathic person to the point where it effected his ability to work with guns; Whenever the targets were humanoid in nature, Andrew wouldn't be able to shut off the part of his brain that said something along the lines that he was about to end the life of a human being. This hesitation and inaccuracy vanished whenever Andrew was training to be a lancer against a tank however; While he knew that tanks tended to have crews, since he couldn't see them he could focus on the armored machine of death that needed to be taken out.

Andrew is rare for the fact that he isn't racist. He honestly doesn't see the point in hating someone for how they were born since they didn't choose to be born that way; What he does hate however are the self entitled, arrogant, self serving assholes that seem to make up most of the noble class.

Bio: Andrew was born the youngest and only male child in the family with three elder sisters. Somewhat spoiled due to being the youngest in the family, Andrew had what is considered a wonderful childhood with a loving family and whenever he met anyone who didn't have such a thing he couldn't help but appreciated what he was so fortunate enough to have.

Andrew's school years had their share of good and bad teachers, but he never did seem to raise to high grade wise. Despite the best efforts of the more perspective of his teachers Andrew never really found himself invested in his school work and at times failed to see the point of some of the things they were trying to teach.

One of the major highlights of his school days was during a history class when the subject of the Darcsen and Valkyria war came up. The history teacher was a devote Yggdist and tried sell the idea of the Valkria's divine nature and how lucky the Darcsen's were that the Valkria were so pure of spirit to only punish them instead of wiping them out for the imperfect creatures that they were. Andrew openly argued against this, making the point that the so called 'facts' that his teacher was talking about was all written by the Valkria themselves and thus they were unreliable due to the nature of those who win wars writing history so that they would appear to be the good guys and those they fought against were monsters.

The argument that followed lasted for a while and Andrew was given detention for 'disrupting the classroom', but his classmates had watched as Andrew kept a cool head and made his arguments based on the facts of human physiology and other historical incidents in which history was rewritten where as their teachers arguments devolved into bullheaded religious zealotry that abandoned the need for facts. While it didn't sway everyone in the classroom, it did cause enough of them to question what they were being taught that Andrew considered it a win.

After school, Andrew tended to take on jobs that didn't require a higher education and tended to be more physical in nature until the call for solders rose up to defend their lands against the Empire. Andrew gladly signed up because he would rather get put into a proper squad rather then one made up completely of conscripts.

RP Sample:
Taking a moment to glance at a nearby clock and noticing that it was ten in the morning on a Thursday, Andrew tried to ponder where he would have been if he wasn't currently standing in a recruitment line for a war that his homeland hadn't wanted to be apart of with a grim resolve. He normally stopped by one of the village clothing shops in order to help them unpack and put out new stock on Thursday; Not the most challenging of jobs but time consuming and strangely fulfilling in its own way.

As time passed and the line grew shorter, Andrew took a deep breath as it was finally his turn to stand in front of the recruitment officer. "Name?"

"Andrew Macdonald."

Name: James Hunt
Gender: Male
Age: 24
Appearance:

Rank: Corporal
Class: Scout

Weapons and Equipment:
-Rifle: Gallian-3R
-Sidearm: Viper-E-9
-Grenades: B-Type M3x3
-Melee: Combat Knifex2

Personality: James very reliable person, who will, despite his smart assness, always have your back. He's also an optimist, preferring to see the best before he sees the worst.
Bio: Born to a butcher and waitress, James grew up learning how to chop up and find the best picks in meat when he wasn't at school or military training. His father was proud of his son, who excelled as a marksman in his training, was passing all his classes with at least a B+, and was taking to being a butcher so well. He also somehow managed to stay out of trouble despite his quips at teachers.

However, as it grew closer to his 18th birthday, James put some serious thought into joining the military instead of just becoming another militia bumpkin. He spoke for hours on end with his mom and dad on the matter, his mother in strong support and already envisioning her son in a uniform and his dad, while disappointed his son wouldn't immediately take over the family business at the Strongarm Butcher Shop, suggested he try to reach a rank of a Non-Commisioned Officer, such as Sergeant. The day of his 18th birthday, James enlisted and passed his advanced training with flying style, if not spotlessly. His record had at least four different times when he'd smarted off to his Drill Sergeant.

Having served for six years, he's never quite made it past Lance Corporal because of his mouth. Most recently, his smart mouth got him attached to the Gallian Militia. He made a joke about his unit's captain with the captain right behind him.

RP Sample: Lance Corporal James Hunt stood at his post guard the central communications area and, despite his best efforts, let loose a yawn, prompting PFC Hendricks, James's companion for the day to elbow him in the gut. "Come on, Corporal, I'm the one supposed to yawn after being at this all day. Wake up." Corporal James looked over at the PFC and yawned again, just to get on the PFC's nerves. Hendricks's response was to elbow the Corporal even harder. With a chuckle, James looks at the PFC again and slams his own elbow into Hendrick's gut, making the PFC double over.

"And miss all the uneventful stuff that goes on during communications guard detail? What ever would I do without you Hendricks?" Shaking his head scornfully, James leans back against the wall again and watches people come and go. Lieutenants, Majors, Colonel Majors, all these important people going in and out of the building and not one cared that the Lance Corporal and the PFC were bickering. "Besides, Captain Riserre only put us here because he's got a massive stick up his ass. Even Major Derald has issues with him." At this point, PFC Hendricks was giving the universal sign of stop as the Captain was right behind James. "Look at me, I'm Captain Riserre and I think I can rule my unit with an iron fist. Lance Corporal Hunt, you get all the boring assignments because I don't want you taking my job. And while you're at it, take Hendricks with you, he's too dull to make good company." James laughed and Hendricks facepalmed as Riserre cleared his throat, which had James standing at attention quickly.

"So you think I'm worried about you taking my job do you?" James quickly shook his head in the universal sign for negatory and the Captain laughed and walked away. James turned and slugged Hendricks in the arm.

"Thanks for the warning, jack ass." Hendricks shrugged and went back to watching people going in the communications center.

"I tried to tell you Captain Smart Ass." James grunted in a disapproving matter.

"No, you kept making a bunch of weird hand gestures, which isn't telling me anything."

Name: Fina
Gender: Female
Age: 17
Appearance: Fina is shorter than average in height, with a slim physique and just enough curves to look good when dressed up. She also keeps her dark blue Darcsen hair waist-length usually braided in a single braid. Her bangs usually obscure her dark blue eyes whenever she's looking down (which is frankly, a lot of the time). She usually keeps a handmade shawl with Darcsen patters over her uniform. Whenever she's off duty she prefers one-piece blue dresses with a long skirt, her Darcsen shawl and a sash that matches the patterns of the shawl.

Rank: Private
Class: Scout (although she can fill the Shocktrooper role in a pinch).
Weapons and Equipment:
Gallian S-1
Ragnaid
Viper-E-9
One B-Type M1 Grenade
A set of two Trench Spikes, for climbing and stabbing imps.

Personality: Fina can be likened to a kicked puppy or a deer fawn, a person with a rather skittish disposition that even struggles to make eye contact with acquaintances and apologizes compulsively. Fina is so used to discrimination as a Darcsen that she doesn't even try to fight back when treated poorly, instead making apologies and trying to make herself scarce. Beyond her crippling shyness and low self esteem, Fina does have a gentle, generous personality, and she is much more intelligent and perceptive than she lets on. She also remembers the people who make bonds with her, and the gentleness received... and woe betide who tries to harm her friends or loved ones in her presence. For every inch as apologetic and as shy fina is, she has another of steel-clad temper. Fina's hand does not tremble when it comes to fighting for her squad, and she will not relent no matter how long it takes or how difficult is the adversary. She also likes to be out of focus from the general socializing, and more than often people will fail to notice her presence, or she herself will inadvertendly sneak up on others. She is also fond of climbing and outdoor activities in general.

Bio: Fina was born to a Darcsen peddler and a flower seller, and as such she enjoyed a lot of freedom during her childhood. She however, learned all too soon to not start trouble, and always adopt a submissive and patient attitude, judging from her parents interactions with other people. Fina was bullied in school, but she didn't even try once to fight it back. Instead, she just tried to avoid her tormentors the best she could, and seek refuge outdoors. She eventually became so good at hiding and being scarce her bullies grew bored of her, and started to pick on other targets.

Fina did get good marks on school, although she preferred to spend time with her family and enjoying the peace of nature rather than any serious occupation. Her teachers did react somewhat as her stating she wanted to be a "housewife" or a "woods witch" as future career, though. As she grew up, Fina started to help both of her parents business as well as doing some babysitting for her two younger sisters. Unable to be a saleswoman due to crippling shyness, she nevertheless was rather helpful at handwork and child rearing.

And then, the Empire came to her town. Caught before they could evacuate, Fina could only watch as her parents and siblings all were separated and sent into concentration camps. It didn't matter how much she begged and apologized, they wouldn't let her family go. Or let her go with her family, as some of the soldiers had some plans to keep her as the garrison's pet servant. Fina apologized one last time, before growing silent. She then made herself scarce and unnoticed, and grabbed one of the rifles of the Imperials. Before they could react, she had already killed two of them. The remaining Imperials were felled by a timely intervention of the militia. Out of a feeling of gratitude, Fina actually signed up for the militia as well, with the hope of eventually finding her missing family.

RP Sample:

Fina kept her head lowered, her hands clasped together in front of her as some sort of apologetic bow. Her feet kept drawing circles on the ground and she was biting her lip, obviously struggling to try and get a grip of her temper and failing to do so. The street was crowded, far too crowded. She grasped tightly her basket, a fragant smell of narcissus hitting her nostrils.

"Um...flowers, does anybody...want?" She finally managed to piece together, in a rather nervous and low voice. She knew she wasn't cut for it, but she was still trying her hardest. She gritted her teeth. "FLO...wers for sale." She tried raising her voice, but she gave up halfway. She kept staring at the ground, shuffling beneath the crowd. But eventually she bumped into someone.

"Damned Darcsen filth! Watch your steps!"

An irate man's voice rang in her ears, as her basket was forcefully swatted from her arm, its contents scattering everywhere in the ground, only to be treaded upon.

"Aaah.." Fina let a small, weak wail upon seeing the flowers whom she had been entrusted being mercilessly ruined, as she struggled to get whatever was still intact back in the basket. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry..." She was quick to put an apology as she doubled her pace picking the flowers and putting them back into the basket.

A child's cry rang into her ears. Surprised, she raised her head and managed to find the source of grief. A couple of kids were playing with a ball, which had gotten stuck on a tree. Fina quickly raised to her feet and rushed to their side. Without thinking twice, she left her basket in the ground and grasped the rough bark of the tree. Even with her skirt on, she was a deft climber, and it took her almost no effort to reach the ball. Jumping off the tree deftly, she presented the ball to the astonished boy.

"Um...your ball." Fina said before breaking eye contact rather quickly. "I'm sorry..." She finally added, back into her meek persona, her cheeks suddenly reddened upon the realization of what she had done. Grabbing her basket, she ran away from the market, not waiting to find out the young kid's reaction.

Name: Kyo (his full name would be Kyo Kurogane but Darcsens aren't allowed to have surnames)
Gender: Male
Age: 21
Ethnicity: Darcsen/Japanese
Height: 5'6" (168 cm)
Weight: 84 kg
Rank: Private First Class
Role: Shocktrooper (quite irregular one at that)




Kyo was born in the Empire, in 1914. His father was a mercenary from the Far East and famous swordsman Kei Kurogane. He fought during EW1 with nothing but a mere sword, earning the nickname "Mad Steel". After surviving countless scenes of bloodshed within the trenches Kei's spirit grew weary and he asked his superiors to transfer him somewhere else. By that time the First European War was nearing its conclusion so Kei was sent to Wildhausen. That's where he met Leana, a Darcsen girl and daughter of a mere miner. They immediately fell in love. Since the Empire grew increasingly abusive with the Darcsens she and Kei decided to leave the country and seek refugee in the neighboring Gallia. By that time Leana was already pregnant and she chose to give birth to Kyo in Wildhausen. Due to unforeseen complications the already weak Leana died soon after Kyo was born. Grief-stricken but unrelenting Kei still chose to escape to Empire along with his son. He crossed the borders in secret and settled down in the small mountain village of Drachten, only 12 miles away from the large Gallian city Borger.

Years went by as father and son lived in relative seclusion. During a sunny day in 1918 Kei found his sword, Kusanagi missing. For a traditional warrior like him that sword meant his whole life, or at least used to. He began searching and soon he found the tiny yet only four years old Kyo playing with his sword. Kusanagi was long and heavy by even normal standards. It may even weighed more than the entire child. Yet Kyo could manage to hold the sword and clumsily flail it around. In that moment Kei realized his son's frightening potential. Carefully and just gradually but he began training Kyo, nurturing him to be his rightful successor. By the age he started school Kyo also began his swordsmanship training. His great strength required even greater control. Yet the accidents were unavoidable and his schoolmates were growing fearful of him. Eventually Kyo had to leave the school and his father hired a private tutor.

His father was steadily growing weak by an unknown illness. By the age of 13 Kyo had began working to earn some money to the house. His small but surprisingly robust build made him well-suited for physical work. In fact he could carry more than most grown adults. This further spread his reputation as "monster child". But Kyo didn't mind what the villagers thought. He and his father were in their own little world. In 1930 a group of Imperial soldiers unofficially broke through the border and the village of Darchten came under their raid. To defend his home Kei Kurogane threw himself into battle. His body felt weak and Kei haven't fought for over a decade. In spite of that Kei killed dozens of soldiers that day. That was the moment he met a mysterious figure with a katana. Meanwhile Kyo was sent away for his safety but he didn't listen. Kyo ran back to his house, grabbed his training sword and rushed to his father's aid. By the time he had arrived Kyo found his father in tattered clothes and kneeling before an enigmatic black figure. "How disappointing..." Before Kyo could do anything the man decapitated his father with a single strike and took Kusanagi. Filled with rage and despair Kyo lunged at the black man with all his might. Yet he found himself disarmed the next moment. "I see, you are the Kurogane's bastard." The man spoke to him in Gallian but with the same dialect as his father. "Soon the flames of war will spread across Europe for the second time. Keep honing your skills and if you're lucky... we meet again!" With that the man left and so did his soldiers. The village was saved!

The village was saved but far from unravished. People blamed Kei for the soldiers' attack and forced Kyo to leave. Orphaned at the age of 16, Kyo had nothing but himself to rely on. Wandering the country Kyo realized for the first time what his mixed heritage really meant. As a half-Darcsen people were looking down on Kyo, working him to the bone for minimal wages. Meanwhile his mixed origins meant Kyo could not truly associate with the Darcsen community, neither he knew much of their traditions from his Japanese father. As the Second European War drew near Gallia required soldiers more than any other time before. Kyo took up the opportunity to join the militia, first as sapper and construction worker but after a strange course of events Kyo got the special permission to become a Shocktrooper even though his marksmanship was sub-par. In the age of firearms Kyo was determined to follow his father's footsteps. Using his earnings he forged Kirugane, a huge Japanese sword. He became an eccentric and aloof figure within his squadron with rather mixed reputation. Kyo got transfered to the 4th Squad just recently.


Kyo is a loner who actively avoids the company of others. He rarely talks and generally only focuses on his objective. He's disillusioned with the world and long lost his trust in people. Yet surprisingly deep down Kyo is quite sentimental. For half a decade now Kyo kept diligently training with the sword. He wishes to take revenge on the man in black, live up to his late father's expectations but above all Kyo wishes to prove himself. His sword Kirugane became an essential element of his life, it's like a body part to him. Kyo never lets go of his sword and takes good care of it. Kyo distances himself from others in fear of hurting them or getting himself hurt. Yet he's a surprisingly passionate guy who will go to great lengths to save his comrades or protect the weak. Kyo is known to be at times self-governing and will ignore orders when it goes against his priorities.

RP Sample

*KNOCK*KNOCK*
"Come in!" Said captain Gaul van Hendriksöhn. Aged 42, he's a veteran who fought as a sergeant during the First European War. He left service on early retirement and was looking forward to a peaceful life. Unfortunately lack of qualified men forced him back to duty and now he commands the 11th Company of the 9th Militia Regiment.
"Come in!" The captain slightly raised his tone in anger. This time he was heard and the door opened to reveal a soldier with shortish frame.
"Private first class Kyo is reporting, Sir!" He told it loud and clear while standing in attention. The captain has the misfortune of knowing this soldier rather well. His bluish dark hair and patterned shawl clearly displayed his Darcsen ancestry.
"PFC Kyo, do you know why were you summoned?" Yet Kyo being Darcsen wasn't even related to the issue.
"No Sir!" Without even thinking Kyo declared this straight, making Gaul sigh audibly in response.
"Then allow me the endeavor to refresh your memory. According to reports on the 27th of March you appropriated 6 spoons, 9 knives and 13 forks for the total amount of 28 pieces of cutlery from the company mess hall. Is this statement right or wrong?"
"They were important war resources, Sir!" Kyo worded his excuse.
"Important war resources!? They are tools for your fellow soldiers to eat! According to field reports you brandished your stolen goods on a belt and used them for unclean purposes. Is this right or not? Answer me clearly soldier!"
"Yes, Sir. I ran out of bayonets last week."
"Remind me soldier, what purpose you use the bayonet for?"
"Sir, I need them to strike from distance! I find their balance adequate for throwing."
"Throwing? Which century we live in, soldier? PFC Kyo, which century do you live in?"
"It's the 20th century, Sir."
"Good. Then why don't you use your weapon? Your gun?"
"It's a matter of my honor, Sir. I wish to refrain from disclosing the details."
"PFC Kyo are you aware that mistreating your gun and stealing from the military can give you court martial?"
"I am now, Sir."
"...Alright, I give up. Under any other circumstances I would've thrown you into the brig, no questions asked. But your excessively thoughtless actions prevented an enemy ambush and saved the lives of your squad-mates. It was an unusual yet heroic deed."
"..." Kyo didn't respond to the captain's praise, neither moved a muscle. He kept staring at Gaul in attention.
"I can't have the hero of yesterday to be treated like a petty criminal, even if you deserve the punishment. So after hours of talks and considerations I asked the general to transfer you to the 12th company, effective in 8 days. You report to captain Tarquin H. Meulemann by 0500 tomorrow."
"!" Kyo's eyes opened wide in surprise. Being separated from his comrades, if anything this form of punishment was perhaps the worst. He spent months together with the 9th squad but those days are suddenly coming to an end.
"Dismissed!" Yet before he could raise his voice in protest the captain ordered Kyo to leave. Swallowing up his words Kyo turned around and closed his door behind him. He went back to the checkpoint and picked up his sword. He and Kirugane had lots of training to do.

Name: Regan Durandal
Gender: Female
Age: 22
Appearance:

Rank: Private
Class: Lancer

Weapons and Equipment: Lancaar-SH M01 and an old, far eastern sword

Personality: A peace-loving, flirtatious woman with a fierce sense of justice. She carries with her mannerisms from a foreign land, though her heart embraces the peaceful land of Gallia.
Bio: Regan emigrated from her home to Gallia some years ago, her family seeking to escape involvement in the war. Their home country was one that had decided to take a side in the war. Regan agreed with the move, but for her own reasons. Her father was originally a Gallian citizen, smoothing over their immigration into the country. It's where she obtained her mortar lance.

RP Sample: Fwoosh, fwoosh, fwoosh, fwoosh. A young woman stood in her yard, swinging a wooden sword overhead and shuffle-stepping forward and back as she did. She'd been at it for ten minutes now, and with a final step forward and swing, she took a deep breath while resting her sword against the ground, her hands laying over each other on the end of the hilt. "Huff... huff... whew." She takes a moment to gaze out over the grassy fields that surround her home now. The change of scenery was really pleasant, but at the same time, it was strange to be in a foreign land. Well... she supposed it wasn't foreign anymore. She was a citizen of Gallia now, this was her home. Though, the foreign martial clothing she wore would have most people fooled. Now that she's done with her morning practice, perhaps she should change and go into town? Bathing might be good, too, before she goes.

"Mama, I'm going to town!" The young lady calls as she slips her shoes on at the door and steps out of her home. They didn't live far, and the walk was very pleasant. She wondered who she'd find out and about today... though she should probably go with some purpose in mind, instead of just aimlessly wandering. She'd start by going to the bakery and purchasing herself something to eat, after her workout. From there... eeeeh... something would probably happen? She'd figure it out, but she had something to start with.

As the young lady walks, she gazes at the river along the road, admiring the clear waters and the fish within. Such a beautiful, peaceful place...

Name: Elise Louque
Gender: Female
Age: 26
Appearance:


Rank: Private
Class: Sniper

Weapons and Equipment: GSR-10, Ragnaid.

Personality: Outgoing, sly, disciplined and independent. Elise can be quite the talker when she's in a safe environment, and enjoys the company of others, especially the ladies. On the battlefield she's the complete opposite though, and can switch between social butterfly to silent sniper like nothing. It’s often difficult to know whether she’s actually in the battle or not due to how adept she has become at disappearing. It’s happened that she’s used it to her advantage if she wants to be alone too. When Elise first joined the military and underwent training she was somewhat rebellious, questioning orders or sometimes acting by her own judgement, but she prefers to see it as independence now.

Bio: Elise grew up in a small village in the east, where she lived out the first years of her life in peace. There wasn’t much that happened in the village. People went about their lives without much ambition or care for the world, and if Elise had been older she probably would have left it behind earlier. She never realized how terrible reality could be until she turned seven. Her mother was killed in an imperial darcsen hunt that ended up passing through their village, even though she wasn’t a darcsen herself. Elise’s mother tried to protect some of the darcsen’s in the village, and was killed for it. The change in her father was abrupt, and while the whole family mourned he openly began to blame the darcsen for his wife death. Elise was young and easily influenced by the words of her father whom she looked up too, so she began to think the same way.

Her teens began and went by without any similar incidents, thankfully, even if coming to terms with the fact that her sexuality was different from most other’s was a battle in itself. Once she turned twenty she moved to Randgriz, where she volunteered for the army and underwent
training. Her superior officers figured she would make an excellent sniper one day, due to her keen eyesight and discipline. The years spent living in Randgriz was much more enjoyable than it had been for here in her home village, but unfortunately that changed when the war broke out.

RP sample: “No, no, no… He’s already home!?” A feminine voice called out, giving her a rude awakening. It took a moment for Elise to realize where she was, and what the meaning of the words were. Once she did, she sat up in the bed as if shocked. It was still morning from what she could tell by looking out the window, the sun hadn’t climbed too far across the sky. She had been sleeping on a large, rather comfy bed placed in the middle of a small room that only had one window. The voice that had awakened her belonged to another woman, a cute blonde with freckles.

“You have to hide.” The woman whispered through clenched through teeth to Elise. She was about to reply, but heard approaching footsteps, so instead she gathered all of her clothing and slid under the bed just in time. The door opened and a man greeted his wife with a loving tone. Elise wasn’t sure what her best course of action was, but decided to get dressed and sneak out. She listened to the voices of the couple, while trying to get dressed underneath a bed without making a sound. Part of her was glad she had previous experience of the situation at hand. Part of her hated splinters.

It soon became clear that they weren’t going to be leaving the bedroom anytime soon, and Elise didn’t particularly enjoy the idea that she might be caught by the husband. It’d happened before, sure, but she’d never intentionally meant to cause that result. She started to slide herself out from under the bed, in the direction of the door. Luckily the woman caught onto what she was doing and pulled all of the man’s attention towards herself. Elise made it to the door, turned to wink at last night’s pleasure and exited the house.

Name : Skye

Gender : Female

Age : 28

Appearance : Mostly normal Darcsen appearance traits, with visible muscle and hair kept in a ponytail, but with a decent amount of curves and some bust. Has a missing upper left canine, and some chipped teeth around the missing tooth. Stands at a little over 6'2

Rank : Private

Class : Shocktrooper

Weapons and Equipment : Mags M10, 2x B Type M1

Personality : An actively social person, despite her Darcsen ethnicity, and is very outgoing. She tends to not let things get her down, but when they do, she doesn't let them keep her down for long. Skye will actively try to socialize with those that express Darcsen hate. She has a deep sense of community, and will do the best she can to keep groups of friends together and help them work out problems.

She isn't a normal Darcsen by personality standards, and does also find her self getting hot-headed at times.

Bio : Skye lived a normal life, or at least what was considered normal for a Darcsen. She went out of the house often, and talked to many people. Most people in the settlement she lived in liked her for her incredibly social behavior, and bravery to talk to anyone in general. She made friends with a lot of people.

Going through school and training wasn't too hard for her as she had quite a number of friends to talk to and help.

Though during school she did get into trouble, getting into a fight with someone who took their Darcsen hate past words. Skye was ignoring the girl as she kept making discriminatory remarks towards her, but it didn't take long for the girl to come over to Skye and physically hit her, then complaining about how her hand will smell. Skye retaliated with an equally powered hit. Things quickly escalated afterwards, leading to her losing a tooth, and chipping those around it. She'd get into more fights, but none would have the permanent aftermath as her first.

Once she was eligible, she signed up for the army, becoming a Shocktrooper and being given a unit. She wasn't all too surprised that not all the members of her unit were accepting of a Darcsen into the unit, though it seemed she wasn't the only Darcsen in the unit. There were at least two others. She stayed with that unit till she was moved to the militia due to apparent personnel shortages.

RP Sample : (Pre-enlistment) Hot. That was one way to describe the past week. The summer sun never helped when she helped her father with blacksmithing. Forge heat, heated metal, hammering away at the malleable metal. Hot.

"Skye, how you holding up with the heat?" Her father spoke loudly over the sounds of his hammer. "Need a break?" He joked. She smiled and shook her head "Heat didn't kill me yesterday, won't kill me today!" Skye yelled back, her father laughing hard "You'll make a good blacksmith yet!." Skye focused back on her canvas. This was to be a decorative sword, though Skye made them sharp regardless with a tag saying so. Right now it was just a ingot that was red hot on the edges and white hot in the center. She began to shape it, which took a couple of hours. Hours of hammering, cooling, reheating, with sharpening, hilt attachment, and detailing at the end. Skye did all this with a smile on her face, knowing that if the Army didn't accept her, she'd still have something to come back to.

---

Name: Zeal Ashart
Gender: Male
Age: 20ish
Appearance: Zeal stands at 5’6, and ardently believes that he’ll hit puberty and stop being a midget. He has a lanky build that, at a distance, makes him look taller than he is, and his legs are toned and muscular, from all the running and sprinting he does. Outside of that, there’s nothing else too special about him.

Oh, right. He always packs a seven-inch hand cannon with him, if you know what he means.

Rank: Private
Class: He once was a Scout, before he took a reorganization to the knee and became a Shocktrooper. More shock and less trooper though, because he runs like the wind, but doesn’t take bullet fire too well.

Weapons and Equipment


Personal Potentials


Personality: Zeal Ashart, despite what his name may imply, is not a devoted soldier with a penchant for using a flamethrower. Really, he’s just a cowardly little shit who was too stupid to become an Engineer and too prone to panic to become a Medic. On the battlefield, he has a ton of nervous ticks, from tapping the ground with his feet to chewing his lower lip until it bleeds to pinching singular hairs off his head. Zeal is constantly afraid of death and injury, with little to no self-esteem in his ability to fight or protect. There is no secretly badass side of him when he enters the battlefield. All he’ll do is try to follow orders as best as he can, while avoiding as much of the conflict as possible. Of course, even if he’s prone to running away or hiding behind cover, Zeal still has his manliness…which pretty much makes him refuse to shoot any female, even if they’re coming at him with a knife and the intent to castrate him.

Off the battlefield, however, Zeal is a fun guy to be around, one who makes the most out of his free, bloodless time. He’s on the perverted side of things, with his risqué jokes that aren’t even that funny, but he’s rather innocent as well, having lost all chances of a romantic life after getting moved to a different division. Always willing to help out with non-combat stuff, he’s a multi-talented midget-ikemen who would have been perfect if he wasn’t totally trash at live combat.

Bio: Being the only son of a middle-class family in Gallia had made Zeal a person who could fully appreciate how nice it was to have a peaceful, ordinary life. He was always a weak child, smaller than the rest and skinnier, but he was good at running, and thus, no one made fun of him. The fastest in the school, his first dream was to become an athlete and compete against the athletes of the Empire in the international Spartakaide.

Of course, he wasn’t THAT talented, and at the age of twelve, abandoned that dream for another one: to get a cute wife.

In order to maximize the amount of travelling he could do, and thus increase the amount of beauties he can encounter, Zeal became a mailman, travelling around the town and neighboring villages to deliver mail. He didn’t really make any connections that way, of course, but at least he knew that cute girls DID exist in the general vicinity. With that in mind, he worked hard at his job, stockpiled money, and was going to try to get lucky…when he got tossed in with the rest of the children his age to compulsory military education, in which his lack of education killed his chances of doing paperwork or other ‘easy’ tasks. Trained as a Scout, due to his legs, he was supposedly meant to be the skirmisher of the company, running up away from everyone else to land consecutive headshots on a singular target, before hoping that he doesn’t get spotted and killed on the spot.

Instead, however, Zeal just ran back and did what his job description was: to see where enemy troops were and report those movements to his superior. He even got a camera to do all the reporting for him, and scored relatively high marks in agility tests.

He didn’t really think that he would have to do anything with his training though, and after military education was done, went back to his skirt-chasing, mail-sending normal life.

Then the Empire attacked, and he was drafted, given a gun, and told to shoot down some god damn Imps. There went his peaceful, bloodless life! The only light in the tunnel came from the fact that there was a cute Darcsen sniper girl in the team, whom he befriended after taking a bullet in the arm for her…but even that romantic flag was torn apart when, due to the lack of Shocktroopers in the army and the surplus of Scouts, Zeal was sent back to camp, torn away from his friend that was a girl, and forced to don the heavy armor and submachine gun of a Shocktrooper.

His legs, luckily, were still useful, allowing him to get to cover much faster than others…but all that training in ‘facing death in the eye and spitting at it’ had simply made him extremely paranoid about open spaces.

It was as a veteran coward and a newbie Shocktrooper that he was soon tossed into the 12th Company as a much needed meatshield. A meatshield who excelled at dodging.

RP Sample: Just gotta believe, mang.