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[IC] ~ Valkyria Chronicles - Changing of the Guard [Pt. 2 - Open] ~ Page 3

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Hidden 4 yrs ago Post by Landaus Five-One
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Landaus Five-One The Sadist Insaneous One

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December 30th – Trebin, a bar in the Village
Interacting with: Lucia @LetMeDoStuff
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Diana took a deep breath to relax her nerves since she needs to read her mother's letter before there's any action starting up. It didn't help, and she had no idea where she stopped on her mother's letter when she got it on her birthday a month ago. She wasn't into reading a letter at that point, but she opened up her mother's letter. ' Might as well get this over with so I can get on with my life afterward.' Diana thought to herself. She roughs it out to read the letter since she needs to. It looks like this letter only has a single page to read, which makes it easier to read it.

It had not been that much of a hassle to read it all this time, but she didn't read it and couldn't remember where she was. Diana sighs at why she was a bit annoyed at herself for not reading it all that time ago. It irritated Diana didn't want to see what Rebecca said about her on her birthday. She received her Diary for the war by her mother's thoughtfulness to her forgetfulness. ' Why am I such a scatterbrained idiot? I should have read it sooner than now...' Diana thought to herself. She facepalmed at her actions in not reading it when she should have.



Diana was floored by reading the letter thoroughly, and she had no idea about any of what was said in the last paragraph. She does know about the 500 years of being friends with the Darscens, though. However, Diana felt something click in her head in why Astra wished her dead and everything else that her sister has done. All of them point to Richard knowing exactly the full history of why the Vastergoth Family decided to leave the life of power. Her sister was corrupted by the thought of wealth and being happily married to Richard. ’ D-Damn it. I was too scared to deal with Astra back then to tell her she was making a terrible mistake. It feels like I fail as a sister to my sisters…' Diana thought to herself with a grimace on her face. Deep in her gut, Astra was corrupted by the prospect of the Donster's last name and what it entails. Astra was going to get married to Richard after the war.

Diana had a slight pang of guilt for everything that occurred. She is happy for her eldest sister is getting married to Dorothy van Ritter. It all made sense now why her mother sent her the Diary, missed in taking all those months ago during this year. All so Diana can write down her thoughts and make sure she keeps them steady in her mind. However, all that happened in Amone shattered that part of her, the innocence she held. Diana's much more similar to her mother when Diana left for EW1. It didn't take long for her to get her drink and drink it as much as possible since something interrupted her thoughts and plans for today.

Diana did put her letter back up in its envelope and put it in her pocket. One of the people listed by the list told her to get to the Supply Trench ASAP for orders by their captain. In terms, they will be on laying-duty by the person who found her to tell her about her orders. Therefore, Diana walked to the supply trench as quickly as possible to hear additional orders from Captain Middleton. It didn't help her body language wasn't much better, or her attitude changed slightly to better, but it didn't last long. Still, she'll deal with all the orders since she's a soldier. She also asked Lucia to come with her to the Supply Trench.



The Supply Trench, the Mission in question


Diana was at the supply trench waiting patiently for the others to arrive and Captain Middleton to give additional orders. She waves at the other members of the squad told to gather at the supply trench. ” Hey, how’s everyone doing? Laying-Duty..." Diana said a little aloud so the others can hear her. She did do the orders but didn't understand what Laying-Duty was by how she spoke with a confused tone in her voice. Her mind slightly only wondered because Diana tried her duties to the best of her abilities.

Diana has many things she has to do so she can live to reach her mother and sisters. She needs to make the war to finish it to the best of her abilities. All in all, Diana is a bit scared about why they will do duties now, but there was probably a reason why. In why everyone that was in the group was assigned to meet at the Supply Trench. She did help Lucia to come to the Supply Trench since it would be a good idea to be there with everyone. ' I hope Captain Grumpus isn't going to be rude to Jean...' Diana thought to herself. She was a bit worried about Jean's health being underneath Captain Middleton's harshness.

Diana had a worried look on her face looking at Jean when he arrived. All because she did tell the others where Jean was. Diana felt like it was a bit of a double-edged sword, but her annoyance at authority. All because it was to get everyone here on time than being a bit late. It's essential to be at the Supply Trench, but all she did was sigh slightly. Diana had problems and troubles in her life after Amone. Rebecca's letter made her think more about everything in her family.

It felt odd why her parents would hide any mention about the 1414EC Treaty between the two families that controlled Castleton. The dissolution of the Vastergoth's control over half of Castleton and between the two families never spills the other's blood. Diana felt deep in her bones; that is what Rebecca is hinting at in the letter. Richard didn't try to kill her and said something about not spilling her blood or something to that effect. He is terrifying, though, and she is afraid about what he'll do to her family if he becomes the head of his household.

Her inaction and fear might cause much more anxiety in Castleton. All of Castleton is changing while she's no longer there, and it's probably because of the Donster Family. ' I should have done something instead of nothing...' Diana thought to herself. She sighs slightly but looks up at everyone and tries to smile at everyone. " Slightly distracted with something else, sorry." Diana said. All this weariness of not getting much sleep wasn't helping anyway. She slightly yawned at the tiredness she felt, which was one reason she was distracted; the other was the letter she read.

@CFProxy, @FalloutJack, @Samakama.
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Hidden 4 yrs ago Post by AdmrlStalfos19
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AdmrlStalfos19 Undead. Not Updated

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Sure enough, Mehetabel was summoned for a mission, and would have to return to Trebin Village in order to prepare herself. She took one of the bar stools as a seat, ordered a pint of cool ale and, while she was waiting, proceeded to untie the hairbands that usually tied her hair in place, letting it down so she can put her helmet on. One of the guys that she was supposed to work with had an assortment of equipment laid out in front of him, and evidently had difficulties deciding what to bring. He asked for everyone's opinion.

"If you don't know what to bring, then you're obviously trying to bring way too much shit," Mehetabel answered in a matter-of-factly tone, "Me? I just plan on bringing this big fuck-off machine gun here."

Of course, she was referring to the Typhoon Mk. II that she held off to one side. Mehetabel was unaware of the portability issues that a more experienced Gunner would expect to have, especially when attempting to maneuver through the trenches, but she was none too concerned about that. What bothered her was a certain something about the mission briefing. Her foot once again began repeatedly tapping, this time on the edge of the bar stool, until she eventually decided that now would be the time to spit it out.

"I can't believe those assholes up top expect us to keep any number of those dirty Imps alive!" Mehetabel exclaimed, "Can't they just leave the interrogations to us if that's what they want so badly? It'd be so much easier if they'd just trust us to relay whatever info we got out of them. Not to mention the fun some of us here would have torturing the fucks..."

A part of her had to know that orders were orders and that one did not simply defy them out of thinking better. Still, that wouldn't stop Mehetabel from bitching about a select few. She shook her head in disgust.

"This is why you only let the smart ones do what they want," she muttered under her breath.
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Hidden 4 yrs ago Post by Hawthorne
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Hawthorne Mageknight

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December 30th - Rear Trench


After their shift, the three went their separate ways, heading to the rear line. With several hours of free time, Elliot considered returning to the private room he had rented and taking a shower, but he figured it could wait until after this supposed mission. Instead, he passed the time in his room, routinely disassembling, cleaning, maintaining, and reassembling his various firearms. Once that was done, he went through the motions of his usual handgun practice-- quickly drawing the gun from its holster, bringing the weapon up to eye level, and then adjusting the sights accordingly, before repeating the process several times.

Although he rarely ever needed to use his revolver, it was important that he got used to its weight and feel-- to rely on an unfamiliar weapon was a gamble in itself, and Elliot wasn't the kind to take chances.

Elliot was a little confused as to why they decided to bring a designated marksman to a close-quarters trench raid but didn't complain much. If High Command wanted a couple of prisoners, then it was up to the infantry to retrieve 'em. He only hoped it would be worth the effort.

...and inevitable injuries and casualties that would result from it, ambush or not.

Within the tavern, he could spot a few familiar faces. Men and women in his unit, assigned on the trench raid in question. Michael, the young man he had shared a meal with just a few hours ago, two Darcsens-- a sergeant and a private; a man and woman respectively, and a lance corporal-- an exceptionally tall woman, at that. Elliot glanced at the array of equipment on the table, and once everyone was done giving their advice, he offered a bit of his own, obvious as it might seem.

"You'll probably want to pack light." Elliot said simply, the advice open to all. "You'll need to move around quickly in the trenches-- and there's no point in dying with full pockets." His tone was matter-of-factly, with no hint of malice. He was seemingly unfazed by his more... violent companions.

Elliot went over his own equipment as he thought about it. He would have to leave the rifle behind. Though his marksmanship was exceptional, the Scoped SM-Longfield was ill-suited to a trench raid. Instead, he would be bringing the John-Wissel Revolver, which was standard issue for officers and marksmen.

For even closer encounters, he'd pack his knife and the garotte wire. Bringing the knife was obvious, and while doubted he'd be able to sneak up on someone and be able to throttle them with the garotte once the battle was in full swing, it was light, and good to have on hand regardless.

Lastly, he'd pack his flare gun and a few flares. Ideally, they'd be crossing No Man's Land under cover of darkness, but once the raid itself began, having some light on hand might turn the tide, if things went south. He doubted the raid would remain silent forever, after all.

As he inspected the last of his equipment, he turned to the rest of them. His expression was as calm and neutral as ever as he thought about the mission ahead. It was certainly dangerous, but all missions were. This was not an impossible task by any stretch of the imagination, and he knew they'd get it done.
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Hidden 3 yrs ago → 3 yrs ago Post by FalloutJack
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FalloutJack The Long Dark Nuka-Break of the Soul

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ISAAC BLACK


All good things must come to an end.

Things were doing alright. They had the game, they had a healthy bit of conversation, and they even had another taker in the form of a new Private. They hadn't been formally introduced, but one look said it all: She was a Darcsen who had the look of someone who didn't have time for your crap about why you hate Darcsens...or women, judging by the her question by way of introduction when she wanted to be dealt in. The thing is, yes, she had been there for a while, but it was in fact her quiet up until now that had let her be overlooked. Isaac looked over the offered matches and nodded at her.

"Fine by me. Anyone that smokes needs matches, so yeah, no problem."

...but it turns out he spoke too soon, because a Sergeant Talas soon came to their position and asked for Private Mehetabel and Sergeant Schafer, as per orders from Captain Middleton, that they had a mission to perform, so they had to prepare. This, in turn, had Isaac gathering up the cards as those two started off back into the trenches proper. Naturally, there were some protests, but the Lance-Corporal held up his hands to silence their woes for a second.

"Yes, I know, but if that was Middleton, then I know what comes next."

"Lance-Corporal Black?"

"And there it is. Present and accounted for."

In short order, another man had indeed appeared in the wake of the Sergeant to deliver him the message from Middleton to prepare for a misison. Curiously, it was different from what Talas had just told the other two. He also didn't like the fact that he was pretty sure he understood what it was the Grumpus wanted, even without additional explanation.

"Well, there you have it. We'll pick up another time."

Britta Hagen


She had only just put away Private Blanc's extremely valuable and highly-sentimental weapon away in the footlocker when someone came for him. A sergeant had come in and asked for him by name, looking somewhat irritated by the fact that the man had been hard to find. Of course, Marius had been sort of lost and without orders or direction, at this time, so one could hardly blame him. Smiling slightly, Britta nodded at the man and said "Well, I guess now you have your orders. I'm sure they'll be able to straighten out everything. Just the same, you take care of yourself, Private Blanc." before he left. Britta then turned to tidy up the Isaac Store locker for a moment, so everything was in order and the gun was on the bottom, when...

"Private Hagen?"

"Right here. How can I help you?"

"Orders from Captain Middleton, ma'am. You're to meet him and others at the Supply Trench for laying duty. More instructions to follow there."

She looked up after locking the container up. Laying duty? There was something familiar about that, but she couldn't place it at the moment.

"Is this in any relation to the Sergeant who just asked another man in my midst to head for the Assault Trenches for a mission?"

"I wouldn't know."

"Alright, thank you. I'll be on my way."

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

The two Gunners arrived at the Supply area not too long after Diana had arrived. Isaac nodded at her greeting.

"Doing alright. Five minutes ago, I was better, though."

"Winning hand?"

"Not-Losing hand. The take is so-so. I deposited it in the box and headed over here. You?"

"I was there when I got the order, but I had to get the rest of my gear ready, since I wasn't on patrol, like you."

Diana had mentioned she was distracted by her own thoughts, so she hadn't been paying attention.

"No problem. This, though...is as feared."

He gestured to the wound wire mesh that was sitting nearby.

"Oh, you know what we're doing?"

"I have a strong impression. You see, you set up things among your crops to deter birds and animals from eating them, you do the same for livestock, but a bit differently. You gotta keep chickens safe from foxes, and you...gotta keep the wolves we got away from them too, just in case they keep any ideas. Barbed wire helps, makes for decent fences, so I know a thing or two about setting it up."

The Lance was pretty sure about this. 'Laying Duty' - with setup and cover - implied that the stuff they used to foil people sneaking through No Man's Land needed to be deployed out there. In the time of their being at this trench, this very job had probably been undertaken several times, because of course what both they and the enemy did was crawl through No Man's Land, looking for a point of infiltration, cutting through those sharp wires in order to reach the other side. Thus, they would have to be replaced, and that meant going out there to work on the stuff, with someone making sure that all their asses didn't get shot. It was dangerous, it was tedious, and it was kind of necessary...which made it a definite Middleton kind of assignment.

That's assuming, of course, that Isaac was in the right. Part of him actually hoped that he was, because if it wasn't...it could be worse!
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Hidden 3 yrs ago Post by Conscripts
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Conscripts An Atom Trying to Understand Itself

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December 30th, Rear Trench

"Damn, looks like you all are well-prepared to make someone's ends as painful as they can be."

Michael said, trying to hide the distaste in his voice for such nonsense. He can probably put up with Victoria's somewhat aggressive hint of actually burning people alive, but not this Darcsen's lust for torturing. This was just beyond it for him, but then again, enjoying this wasn't a sign of a normal human being. Either she's just a complete psychopath or something contextual was missing here. But either way, bringing only a machine gun to a trench raid? First of all, it's a stealth mission. Second of all, it's heavy. Michael handled some of them before, he was no slouch when it comes to heavy-lifting, despite the looks. Third of all, if you ran out of your clip, you are just one lame duck sitting there to be shot or slashed. But oh well, she knew her purpose there. Let's just maybe hope that no one really crossed her path, one way or another.

But there are valid advices coming from all three, mostly to pack it light. That is indeed true. He would not certainly want his personal things be handed over to some Imperial troopers who probably would just toss them away once they fed him to the worms. At least maybe his side would have enough courtesy to send them back to his family. But it appeared that they were a lot lighter than he was.

"You people have pistols? Man, it must be so cool." Michael put away the hatchet, cleaned the carbine one last time before swinging it on his shoulders, then had his spade handle attached firmly onto the blade. "I'd just shove this down someone's throat instead." He said with a straight face as he span the spade around effortlessly a couple of times. If anyone met his gazes in response, he'd simply lift his eyebrows suggestively. He had no bayonets, no pistols, no fancy tools. He had a carbine but it was merely for ranged fights. Otherwise it's simply shovel. A hatchet would be better for killing, but the spade for knocking someone cold. And besides, he made it out of the Amone tunnel with this spade, so he sort of considered this his lucky charm.

"Looks like nobody's worried about it to begin with." Michael finally turned to Alex as he leaned himself on the table with the shovels still on him. "It's funny that they expect a sapper and a sniper to do this work for them instea of...you know, dedicated shocktroopers."

For him? He certainly had his worries and fear, but given the experience he had been through with Amone, he was confident enough to not show anything about it.

@Smike@Hawthorne@AdmrlStalfos19
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Hidden 3 yrs ago Post by Smike
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Smike

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They were all deciding to showboat then, comparing weapons and making promises of death and destruction. Woe be to any Imperial who they came across for the enemy would surely be boiled to death by all the hot air their little kill team was spewing. The psycho gunner was particularly obnoxious, her big gun apparently compensating for a lack of brains. Perhaps this mission was actually designed to weed out some of the dead weights, cull a few morons from the herd?

Victoria dumped the soap shavings she had collected into her flammable brew, the animal fat the perfect coagulant to make flames stick to whatever they touched. With a rag stuffed in to serve as a stopper her homemade firebomb was complete, ready to spread fear and pain through the trenches. The Stick Worshipper was making some stupid facial expression as if to impress upon everyone how badass he was for using a shovel as a weapon, a display that seemed adorably juvenile coming from someone so small. She didn't even bother to say anything, just flashed him an evil grin as she thudded the sharpened edge of her own shovel into the table.

"I like mine sharp, lets 'em bleed a little." Relying on sheer concussive force when you could make a perfectly functional axe was fairly stupid in her not-so humble opinion. It demonstrated a lack of resourcefulness that Victoria didn't respect. Why have one weapon when you have two? The blunt end for smacking skulls, the edges for everything else.



Alex kept smoking, taking his time enjoying of the few pleasures he was able to enjoy during the war. As long as the family kept sending him cigars he could keep on fighting for as long the Federation required him to. The methods and motivations of the top brass would forever be a mystery to him but it wasn't a sergeant's place to question orders unless they would put his troops in undue danger. Everyone here was competent enough to handle a little trench raid, there was no need to worry.

Well, no more need than usual. The odds were pretty good that some of them wouldn't be making it back alive but that was war. After watching his entire regiment melt into nothingness under the withering fire of entrenched machine guns Alex wasn't going to stress himself out over losing a man or two.

What did bother him was the attitude of the other Darscen. She had been there during Isaac's card game and he was vaguely aware of her name, Mehetabel if he remembered correctly. Her insubordination was bad enough on its own but the real issue was her bloodlust. "You will be doing no such thing Private."

His cigar was now pinched tightly between two fingers as he focused on the gunner, a coldness creeping into his voice that fit the nature of command. "You will treat every captured enemy with dignity and do no harm to them unless they attempt to escape. Do anything else and I will personally drag you off for court-martial. That goes for everyone else as well."

His gaze shifted from the object of ire to the sapper to the Occie and then finally to the second sniper, holding on each for just a moment before continuing on.

"It's a damn shame that I even have to say this. If I catching you looting, abusing captives or doing anything else that can be considered depraved punishment will swift.

With the lecture over Alex went back to smoking, smoothing down nonexistent creases in his uniform. He hated playing the hardass but sometimes it had to be done.

"Eh, it makes sense. You have a carbine and understand how to move in trenches and I suppose they needed to assign someone as lead officer so that's why I'm here." He deflected the engineer's pointed concern because to do anything else would be a dereliction of duty. Listen to the Captain's orders, understand the limitations of them and work around them as best as possible, that was his job.

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Hidden 3 yrs ago Post by Theyra
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Theyra

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Jakou Morvan

Dec. 30



So a raid is it. That is a change of pace. A grab of two of anyone they find and then run the hell back to the trench. Well, he is suited for close-quarters being a shock trooper and has a trench mace. Which will be handy in knocking anyone out that they can find. However, they will have to be stealthy about it because he does not want to get shot at on the way back. Or worse, they start a racket and alert everyone at the enemy trench. Jakou does not want to get caught out in the open and die like that. There is no glory in capturing people unless it happens to be an officer or maybe an NCO. That is just wishful thinking that they can get some kind of officer but, who knows. Maybe they will be in the wrong place at the right time.

Either way, the mission starts in two hours, so that gives him some time to prepare. But, before that, Jakou took the time to take out his journal and cataloged this. Like he does with every mission he goes on. It helps him kept track of things and if anything goes wrong. Then he has something left for his family.

After finishing his entry, Jakou headed to the meeting point and, once he arrived, noting that others had made it there before him. He chose to be quiet, choosing instead to quietly go over his gear. Making sure that he was not forgetting anything. Like his trusty trench mace, he is going to need that for this mission. His carbine will be useful sure over the others that have the standard rifle. Making sure it is loading on the off chance he somehow forgot. It took a couple of minutes to check over everything, and Jakou was content with his kit. He is a shock trooper. After all, so his gear is suited to close combat which will be useful in trying to capture some imperials.

When he was done, Jakou leaned up against a nearby wall and silently listened to what the others were saying. He did find it odd that a sniper would be assigned to this mission. Their own thing is long-range and not being in the thick of it. Not being on the frontline and, if anything. A sniper should be watching them make the trek to the imperial trench and back. Covering their backs if they can. Jakou mentally sighed and shook his head. It makes you think what command was thinking and if they were really thinking straight. Sure command has their reasons but, sometimes it is a stupid reason.

Though Jakou was slightly nervous about how bloodthirsty private Mehetabel was, or that is what he thinks her name was. Sure, he is ready and has killed imperials before but, not really relish in it. Granted, there can be glory in killing but, after what he has seen. Who fricking knows anymore. Maybe killing an officer or maybe clearing a trench by himself. Jakou let out a small chuckle at the thought. That would sure be something if he can somehow do that. Still, their mission is to capture, not to kill, and Jakou has to agree with the Sergeant. There is not really a thing he wanted to see, needless cruelty, even to an imperial.

So Jakou simply just waited with the others for this mission to start and to go over the trench. Going to see if they can actually capture someone without alerting the rest and, well, see how many of them will come back from this errand.
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Hidden 3 yrs ago → 3 yrs ago Post by Nimbus
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Nimbus Eudaimonia Seeker

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With a smart salute to the departing sergeant, Alexandre answered with a nod of his own and a wan smile with it. “Thank you, Private Britta, and may I extend the same wish. You have been most kind; if all here are like you, I am sure I… I will be welcome. Fare you well.”

‘Welcome’… It is enough for now, perhaps. Not too much.

He steeled himself, closing his eyes for that moment before memory could take hold and snatching a breath as he walked away, back down the tangled paths towards the assault trench. The alienness of it all still stuck out. Before had been all open space, the gentle sounds of nickering and heavy hooves thumping against the ground, lively chatter, so akin to… Before before. Now, as he descended, all was close, oppressive, grave. The men and women of the Valois trenches didn’t carry themselves like the… Like they might have – they huddled close together, murmuring and glancing up as he passed. The smile on his face was hard to maintain.

Well, he thought, considering Britta again, not all. But many. Alexandre sighed. Ignoble. Everything is so utterly ignoble. There is no spirit or hope, not in any of it.

He screwed his eyes shut. No. No, no. This is where you are, now. This is where you must fight. Such is your duty, and you must…

Without stimulus, his senses had returned to that day, to that moment – the near-taste of iron and offal in the air, the sight of –.

Alexandre stumbled, eyes snapping open again to note that he had, in fact, wandered directly into a soldier sitting on one side of the trench. Offering a murmured apology, he pressed on, shaking his head for a moment to clear it. Too much thought. I must remember my mistakes to learn from them, not to…

His mind settled on something. Letting go of his new carbine with one hand, he grasped his amulet, fingers running along the long-polished grooves of the spiral. The chant, practised day after day for years, came to him as naturally as breathing.

“Wake, O Valkyrur; I call thee now,
Strong of shield-wall, sun-ray wielders,
Harden to fear thine hersir in faith
Healed of doubt to do thine will.”


The rhythm of the words was, as ever, as calming and focussing as their meaning. Thus it was with a dedicated mind that Alexandre began the final approach to the assault trench where they would be meeting, the remaining time spent refamiliarising himself with the mechanisms of his Federation carbine, adjusting the height that his scabbard sat on his belt, testing the weight of Tue-Tyran against his arm, as he retraced the steps he had taken only a few dozen minutes beforehand. Prepared, he reached, then rounded the corner into the assault trench proper.

“Sir, Private Blanc, repor-”

No preparation, of course, could have readied him for that sight. Alexandre stood frozen, eyes wide, struck silent, first unable and then unwilling to comprehend the immediate familiarity of the man before him. It could not be. It simply could not be.

For all his desire to act in the present, the past did not seem to want to release its hold.

@Smike
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Hidden 3 yrs ago Post by Hawthorne
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Hawthorne Mageknight

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December 30th - Rear Trench



The marksman was as reserved as ever, even as the sergeant moved to admonish the other Darcsen for her remarks. When his superior's gaze turned upon Elliot himself, the boy merely nodded in acknowledgement. "Aye, sergeant." He said in a calm tone. Elliot wasn't the type to do any of that stuff anyway, but officers tended to appreciate a response over silence.

With warnings out of the way, Elliot watched on as Michael and the tall woman exchanged words. Talks of sidearms, shovels, and other melee weapons. The marksman's face was as impassive as ever, even as the sapper told a bad pun and waggled his eyebrows (though Elliot did resist the urge to shake his head in mock disapproval). As the Oceanic woman worked on her incendiary solution, the young man observed it from a respectable distance. Though he wasn't well-versed in chemistry, there was little doubt in his mind: that concoction was incendiary-- a firebomb.

...It'd certainly be effective in the battle to come. A surprise attack was hard to deal with, but when you throw fire into the mix (literally, in this case)... panic tends to spread rather quickly. The morality and ethics of incendiary weapons aside, its effectiveness could not be denied. The marksman took a mental note of its presence, accounted for its potential impact, and moved to observe other things.

In the meantime, Elliot turned to the other new arrivals: a redheaded man of average height-- a shocktrooper, judging by his loadout. The man in question simply opted to stay silent and ready himself for the battle ahead, which was something the marksman could approve of. The next man to step through the door was taller, with brown hair and a scraggly beard. He moved to report in, before suddenly stopping. Curious, Elliot looked at the man's expression, before following his eyes... to the sergeant smoking a cigar near the table.

It seemed that they had a history of some sort. What it was, Elliot was uncertain, but it was not like he had any business in the matter anyway. Still, he was more than satisfied to watch this unfold from the sidelines.

For now, anyway.
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Hidden 3 yrs ago → 3 yrs ago Post by 13org
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13org Stay fresh!

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December 30th, Rear trench



Emmerich only received the notice that he was assigned to the team that would go to a trench raid after a good deal of time. While Emmerich was already used to being treated quite badly due his nationality, the soldier who came to warn him did seem to have other reasons than just prejudice. The man was panting heavily, sweating and disheveled, apparently he did spend a good time searching for him. It was quite ironic, considering that only had happened because some of the big shots often gave him either fake or pointless orders just to waste his time. Dismissing the soldier's anger and frustration with a heavy sigh, he simply nodded and calmly began making his way to the rear trench where the others were going to be, according to the orders he received.

Emmerich arrived on the rear trench just to see most of the others who were going to join the mission already there. While it wasn't his fault that he was late, his late arrival and his distinct appearance would only made that fact even more obvious to those who were already present.

Without saying a word, Emmerich simply nodded to those who were there before him as he walked past them giving them a quick look, just enough so he could identify their role and what they would do on the raid before going a few meters away from the group in order to wait and make a final check of his equipment before they had to leave. No matter what they thought of him, a greeting, even if a brief and silent one, was the minimum he should give to the others that were going to risk their lives together with him in a mission. It would also help to maybe avoid a potential 'accidental discharge' in his direction in the middle of the combat.

As most of the others talked about their gear or even their hatred towards imperial soldiers, Emmerich silently checked his rifle and the ammunition. Unlike some who had customized equipment to a certain degree, some bringing animal companions or having personal sidearms, Emmerich's gear was simple. Being, for the most part, basically the standard shocktrooper gear and weapon, with the exception of his trench knife, an imperial model that had been with him since his time in the imperial army. The reason why he kept it with him wasn't emotional. Sure, that knife ended up having qutie a story and going through a lot of stuff with him but it was still a very good combat knife. Simple, sharp and resistant, the imperial model was designed with only one purpose in mind: combat. While it's shape made it easier for Emmerich to use it in emergency first aid, it wasn't useful for anything other than cutting and stabbing. Emmerich tried to keep his gear as light as possible, carrying as little as possible other than the bare essential for the mission. Being fast, silent, quick and most importantly, not getting tired easily, proved again and again to be essential to any raid. Bringing too much stuff would only drag someone down.

While Emmerich kept mostly to himself, he couldn't help but to notice that some of the soldiers were a bit... excited for the oncoming raid, openly displaying their hatred towards imperials and boasting about what to do with the prisoners, at least until the officer who was going to lead them, Sgt. Schäfer from what he was told, quickly reprimanded them. It was good to know that the officer that was going to lead them had a good head over his shoulder.

After the commotion ended, Emmerich raised his head, having finished the brief checkup of his equipment.

"Finding an NCO will be annoying... but not impossible. I am familiar with Imperial tactics and how they organize themselves." he mentioned in a direct and succint comment with a heavy imperial accent. While he didn't like to stand out, it would be better for all involved if they knew exactly where to go instead of having to search around.
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Hidden 3 yrs ago Post by AdmrlStalfos19
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AdmrlStalfos19 Undead. Not Updated

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"You will be doing no such thing Private. You will treat every captured enemy with dignity and do no harm to them unless they attempt to escape. Do anything else and I will personally drag you off for court-martial."

Those last three syllables alone had gotten Mehetabel's attention. She knew a court-martial threat when she heard one, and even though the sergeant may have meant it for everyone, the fact that he happened to use her as the first example was more than enough for her to take it personally. She'd thought he was chill enough back when she joined in on that card game, but now all of a sudden he proved to barely be any different from that last guy. Mehetabel swore this song and dance between herself and chain of command was gonna be the death of her...

"Oh, I'm sorry Sarge. Dignity? Like they gave me and the village I used to call home?" she paused for a moment, only to scoff at the sediment, "Get. The fuck. Real. There's no dignity in war; there's only agony, bloodshed and death, all three of which the Imps have given out in spades. And when the time comes, it'll be my turn. Y'know why? Because killing the enemy is the one job I have as a soldier! As well as reason I signed up in the fucking first place!"

Those looks she was given didn't go unnoticed by her either. Mehetabel knew what some of the others had to be thinking. Was she completely mad? Maybe she was. Perhaps the trauma she had to endure had pushed her over the edge, and put her in that state of mind that was the very definition of psychotic. But at least she was being honest about herself; more than what she could say about anyone else.

Every fiber of her physical being wanted her to storm out right then and there. But the tiniest amount of sanity she had left spoke to her, just as she picked her gun back up and took but a few steps towards the exit. She just couldn't end it like that. Not yet. Realizing that she owed some form of reassurance, Mehetabel found herself turning back to the sergeant.

"Look. I'm not gonna go out of my way to blatantly disregard the MO, if that's what you're so worried about," she told him, "Only a dumbass would do that. And if by some... whatever the antonym for miracle is I screw up anyway, then fine; do what you want to me after the fact. But in the meantime, I reserve the right to use my own judgment and play this by eye. Oh, and Sarge? With all due respect... tch..."

That came out wrong. She could feel it in her bones, and she didn't have the sincerity in her to pull that way off. Rolling her eyes, she shook it off and tried again.

"Who am I kidding? With what respect is due, you wouldn't know all that I've been through to get this far; not even if you have read my file. Nor could you know just how much further I'm willing to go to end this," at this point, Mehetabel broke direct eye contact with the sergeant, this time turning to face as many of the other soldiers as she could catch in her vision, "None of you could..."

It was at this time that Mehetabel recommenced with her early leave. She didn't care who thought what in regards to that exchange. She abandoned almost all care of what others thought of her within the first few days of service. The only thing she concerned herself with was what she would do next. Would she try to get a head start on the mission? Double back to base and revise her loadout? Try to squeeze in some target practice before her official deployment and use that to blow off some steam? She didn't know. All she knew right now was that she needed to get her head in the game if she was to last much longer and, if anything could provide that chance for her right now, it would be space.
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Hidden 3 yrs ago → 3 yrs ago Post by Jeep Wrangler
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Jeep Wrangler VROOOOOOOOOOOOOOM

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December 30th - Trebin --> Supply Trench Briefing

Interacting with: @FalloutJack



At the first crack of the hour, there was a knock at Jean's door. The heavy hand struck his opaque blockade with such force that it shuddered on its hinges, and he was awoken from a peaceful day's sleep. Before, he had sat outside in a rickety chair for all about five minutes, before boredom had overcame him and taken him to his room where he cherished a few hours' sleep. But the weighted first shunted his desire to sleep, and he dragged himself out of his duvet. He was dressed down, slightly, with a button or three undone from his main shirt. When he opened the door, he was met with another Darcsen, around the same age as him, spoiling little more than the standard issue gear and a private's insignia. The guy made quick work to readjust himself, despite the raggedness of Jean, and he cleared his throat. God, he was as clean as water, Jean thought, and the tasteful state of his attire meant one of two things: he was a kiss-arse or he was a new arrival.

"Corporal Robin?" He asked, and with a somewhat dreary lick of pedanticism, he rolled his hand and eyes to the more innocent lad.

"Robin-Charpentier...but yes, that's me."

"Message from Company HQ, by Captain Middleton." He began, with all the cheeriness of a skylark at morn. Jean felt his world get just that little bit heavier at the mere mentioning of his name. Every day, for as long as he would have lived on the frontline, the damn Captain had his fingers in every nook and cranny, and it followed him around constantly. At first, he assumed it had something to do with Lucia. Perhaps he'd been caught out taking her off to the village, and that he was ready to take out his next verbal lashing. The actuality, however, was quite different. "He wants to meet you and a selection of others from your platoon at the supply trench. Pronto, it says here."

From his hand, Jean drew the slip and scanned through the handwritten notes. It was his handwriting, alright, but it had an aspect of hurriedness to it. He looked to the little clock in the corner of his room and checked the time. On the dot, it was, and he had a little fraction of a moment to make his way all the way back to the supply trench. Missions were almost always at fifteen minute intervals, rarely ever at a time of actual convenience. He sighed. The paper barely gave any details, but it just mentioned that he'd been selected to join another daily task.

"That it? Anything else?" The other Darcsen shrugged. Between them, the formalities broke apart in an instant. He felt a little disheartened by seeing him there, acting as a runner, fresh off the production line of troops, but the lad seemed to make do of the exhausting work. Jean had spent such little time thinking of the Darcsen plight throughout his service, for he saw it as no different, if not a little better, than it was back home. With the war around them, there was little time to think about hating their fellow man - that didn't stop some people though, who'd made it more their source of entertainment.

Still, he saw little solidarity in the identity of the runner. They were on opposing sides of the spectrum. He looked, and behaved in the way that he talked, just like any other excited guy ready for war would. Jean was already past that point. He'd started to lose interest in what he was and felt more in line with who he'd become, and what came next for him.

"That's it, Corporal. I'd get a move on."

"Shut up..." He shut the door, and lugged his way back inside to dress himself. Whatever he had been called for, he was more or less ready to go off and die like it were any other Tuesday.


There was a light drizzle in the air, and the soggied bottoms of the trench brooded a concoction most vile. To add to the disgusting attitude that was the midday stink, Jean had arrived a little after he'd hoped for. There was already a gathering that had started to form in the supply trench and he'd done his best to slip in unnoticed. But as he arrived, there were a few pried eyes that had honed in on him. First, there were Lucia's, who'd done so simply out of reason to say hello, whilst also looking somewhat apologetic as she stood a metre away from the second pair of eyes. One Captain Middleton - with a piercing gaze that sank into Jean's skull. He was sick to look at, and he felt the dribble of the day worsen as he was soon nearby. The disgruntled attitude of the two had done wonders in keeping them cooperative with one another. And Jean knew why Middleton wasn't particularly fond of him - he'd made the wrong decision to promote the bastard to Corporal. Sure, he'd done his part here and there, and made some strides, but the stain of Carter's death was still on his legacy, and those like the Oceanics were quick to ensure he never forgot it.

He saw a good few faces; there were the regulars he'd recognised, that had stuck in his pack since the day he'd arrived at Hill 58, but there were also the new replacements. Some had some experience behind them before they'd arrived, whilst others were as fresh as daisies. Back then, he would've made the first impression as good as he could've. Perhaps even he'd have done the usual hopeless innocence, where he'd lose himself in the eyes of some pretty woman, or something. Then, however, he was just as inclined to do nothing but remain as lifeless as possible. They were probably going to die within the few days, or weeks, or months. And if it weren't them, it'd be him.

"Corporal."

"Captain."

"You're really pressing yourself for time, aren't you?" Middleton chastised him for his tardiness, but it was all the usual. There were a few Darcsens around, and unlike the first time they met Middleton kept his mouth shut of any demoralising statements. That being said, Jean never knew if they were serious or not, or if they were just part of some elaborate method to punch down the soldiers in order to build them up into killers. Knowing how he treated Lucia at times, he didn't cross out the possibility. "What's the excuse?"

"Sorry, Sir."

"Pardon?"

"At the village, Sir. Took a while for the runner to arrive."

"So it would seem." And right there, the conversation came to a close. Middleton took himself to the forefront of the party and he called for a gathering. The rain kicked up a little and he wiped his brow clean of a mud stain. Whilst it came through, he lit himself a cigarette and huffed in all he could. Jean had never seen him smoke, but it wasn't as if it were the most surprising aspect of the man. "Alright, we've got the usual today. Wire laying. Half of you will be taking the wire packs and will be laying them across the front, approximately thirty metres out from the frontine trench. There's a gap that was blasted out by artillery last night. You'll know it when you see it. Other half will do the usual security. Make sure no one sneaks up on you."

He looked around with an irritation. In the corner, there were only two packs of wire fencing in a coil, waiting to be hauled onto someone's back like a rucksack. It was less than he'd ordered, but it was still more than enough to layer up two lines of the wire, the minimal requirement for Federation standards. Jean saw him trudge over, flick the barbs and then return back, all in silence. The rain patted their coats and jackets to fill in for his absent voice, before his tongue drove the sound away with his booming command.

"Now keep yourselves on alert. Another section is being set out at a similar time. Just in case, make sure you have the ammunition needed to repel any sort of counter. Get that fence wiring down, but if all ends are hopeless, then get yourselves back pronto, and bring the wire with you."

The briefing went on for a little while longer. Jean, having caught up with it all and gotten the gist, made his way over to someone he'd spent a little bit of time departed from. One Isaac Black, the Lance Corporal who did his job better than he did. He was a tougher lad, no doubt, with that weird interconnectivity to mutts and whatnot. Jean didn't understand it himself but felt indifferent of it either way. He'd shown his compassion and camaraderie in the past before, and then he thought that the conversation before the big outing could've been a wise investment.

"Isaac." He nodded. "How've you been holding up? And - I guess - what's new on the street, right?"
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Hidden 3 yrs ago Post by CFProxy
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CFProxy Für Gott und Kaiser

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Senja Penttilä



There was peace. The sounds of many a soldier sleeping. The gentle touches of the hand of a man upon his fellow as he expressed a story. The smiles and tears alike that were accompanied by laughter and contemplation. A dance in the wind. A stroll in the halls. There was the sound of war, of course, but when you could hardly afford to go anywhere and you were so far away from the frontline it didn’t matter. In the moment you could only hope for the will of your fellow men to keep you safe while you recovered. You would hope that once you were on the frontline you could buy your friends time so they could enjoy their break as well.

Senja experiences pockets of peace and rest but it was hardly ever a long life lived without something to do. She was always wanted to be active. Living life as a hermit with no prospects or simply living for conversation wasn’t quite all there was to her. Fact of the matter is that she was equal parts a woman of faith and a soldier of faith. That was simply all there was to it. So long as she remained in her own hopes she would persist in trying to help others even if it meant she was in wars fought on the field or in a hospital. She cherished every moment she witnessed the gratitude of another. That was her reward for a job well done. Ensuring a life went on even just a little bit longer was all that mattered to her here...

Now it was time to be a soldier.



Senja had done her best not to pull attention to herself in the presence of the captain, though she respected his authority over her. There wasn’t much to be done about this situation and in the dribble of rain she felt as though the enemy would be upon them today. It was simply a cautious hunch, but it was one that she was very aware of. Still, such things would be taken care of in time. For now it was time for her to meet with friends that she hadn’t had a chance to really speak with in so long.

Though she wished to speak with the others, Diana needed her immediate attention. She approached the woman placing a gentle hand upon her arm and gave a sunny smile.

“Diana, it has been a long time. May god grace you with good health and rest on this day. How are you?”

@Landaus Five-One
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Hidden 3 yrs ago Post by FalloutJack
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FalloutJack The Long Dark Nuka-Break of the Soul

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In constant sorroooow!

Sorry, had to do it with that 'soggy bottom' mention. Their attires really did nothing for the rain. There was marginal protection against cold, shielding from the sun's heat, the wind was okay-ish, but the damp? No no no... The rain would drip down, and it would get absorbed into the clothing. Soon, it could absorb no more and it ran down your body, until finding a low-point to exit. By the time that's happened, though, you're feeling wet and cold down your back and in the seat of your pants, and the only way to rectify this apart from actually finding somewhere warm and dry to evaporate all the liquid was to stuff a towel into the now-soaked area so you have a layer of something comparatively dry in between you and it...and that didn't last forever.

Such is the folly of those without umbrellas. And in general, that was 100% of the army.

But enough about that. They were there to wait on the arrival of others before...ugh...Middleton got here. Captain Middleton sauntered in, and all conversation and fleeting amounts of joy in the world just evaporated. This was a man who destroyed good, just by existing. Others arrived, but the last was apparently Jean, and Captain Grumpus didn't like that. So, there was a brief to-do about that, while Isaac, Diana, Senja, Lucia, and Britta looked on. Nothing came of it, though. Frankly, nothing Middleton could do could really make things worse than already having to personally deal with him. He couldn't exactly shoot people without reason, and being late just wasn't gonna cut it.

But let's move on from the misery of Captain Middleton. Let us get down to the reason he called them here: The laying mission.



The Captain paced back and forth, talking to them like this was a familiar thing to them. What he failed to realize was the general confusion regarding the mission until it was actually stated. Isaac had guessed, and Britta had thought it sounded familiar, since they were both farmers. It was less obvious to others, especially since this would be their actual first. Chances are, Middleton had had others before him like this, and just assumed that everyone knew by now, even though that was untrue. Nevermind that, though. It was exactly what Isaac thought it was, from the context of the mesh. They were re-obstacle-ing No Man's Land. They needed to go out, find the mesh area that was blasted out by recent artillery, cover it up, and get back. It was immediately obvious who the protection and lookout half of this brigade was going to be. Gunners had to haul their own materials, and though it was less cumbersome of late, it was still a weight, one which you didn't want to add the rolls of mesh around them. In a way, that meant that Isaac and Britta lucked out, but...

I'm the one with the most experience with this, both the hauling AND the placement.

His background in actually dealing in barbed mesh - not military-grade, but civilian - meant that he could handle it quicker with less risk to his hands, say. Next logical choice to that was Britta. This was a concern mainly for Diana, as the Vastergoths were high society people. True, she had become a soldier like everyone else here, but that didn't mean her background had changed. And Lucia? Ho boy... Well, as long as they kept their eyes open and shot at any enemies incoming and- What?

There was another team going out, right now, on some sort of mission. Now, Isaac didn't consider himself an expert on war strategy or anything, and neither did Britta for that matter, but did everybody else think that maybe twice as many people out there trying to sneak across No Man's Land might draw twice as much attention? If Middleton did, he obviously didn't care! Oh, he made a good show of saying 'If you can't complete the mission, you just get yourselves back here.', but they knew this man. He wouldn't take complications from the increased activity as an excuse. He was still chasing glory for sending his squad on ridiculous missions, it seemed. Sheesh... He was glad that Rikes was back on messanger duty. Isaac caught a look from Britta now, her brow knitting for a moment before raising an eyebrow. She was going 'Are you thinking what I'M thinking?', and he nodded. They were almost guaranteed to have alot of attention, maybe even draw artillery fire from the back. That alone haunted Isaac for a moment.

Once Middleton left their presence, Jean stepped on over to him to catch up.

"I guess I'm alright. A dull roar of irritation broken up by aggravating moments of our Captain. You notice I volunteer for alot of patrol to avoid having him in my face. Britta makes alot of rounds."

"Being a helper by nature has its perks, if you want to keep ahead of someone you'd rather not be around, and it's a big trench."

"As for what's new, I've been keeping myself occupied with the Isaac Store. I don't have to focus on the big situation if I'm trying to make it better in small ways. If you need anything, Jean... Maybe something the Quartermaster won't okay?"

"Actually, I've got an even better idea. Why don't you partner with us, Jean? If you're not too busy."

"Hmmm. Yeah, why not? You've been with us from day one."

They both trusted him a great deal, AND they both knew that his life needed some more meaning to it. Why not add 'Helping those in need' to the pot? It couldn't hurt, right?
Hidden 3 yrs ago → 3 yrs ago Post by Conscripts
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Conscripts An Atom Trying to Understand Itself

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December 30th, Rear Trench

Damn, when he said that these people are well-prepared to end other's lives in the most miserable ways possible, he wasn't understating it by any bit. If there is one thing he could say about this group of individuals, or...literally almost everyone he knew at this point. To be fair, he was pretty serious about these topics too not very long ago. War is serious business, but it drained you out. Getting a laugh out of a serious situation like this is important to keep yourself together.

"You're gonna ruin the shovel, Ms. Vicky." Michael raised his eyebrows as his side-glance met Victoria's grin. "But then again," He shrugged. "you don't pickaxe choose your missions. I certainly don't want having to dig my own grave by being merciful, am I right?"

This time, he didn't even need to waggle his brows to elicit a reaction from all the guys and gals at the table. He was pretty certain it annoyed a lot of them, but that's fine. If he could get a laugh out of someone, that was for a good cause. If not, he'd be laughing from the humorless vexation.

Apparently, the Sergeant's (also pretty serious) warning towards the lot at the table had struck a huge nerve on the Darcsen girl at the table. She simply just stormed off with some pretty heavy-handed words thrown around about how people would never be able to understand her. Ooh boy. One of those types again? At least Lucia was pretty tame and benign, given what rumors he heard about what Middleton did to her. Well, if anything, Michael knew what he needed to do later, provided both of them survived the next mission.

"Well, it's hard to ignore now that she put it that way. I'll check up on her later if I can. Have a...you know...friendly conversation."

And by that, he meant it. Even if he couldn't, something he fully expect he wouldn't be able to, get to her to open up, he'd just be someone to hang out with. Surely, even a psychotic killing machine or even an asshat like Middleton would have a life outside of being a psychotic killing machine or an asshat. Like a hobby? A song they like? Their favorite drink even? There has got to be something in there for Michael to befriend them over. Well, he'd find out, maybe or maybe not. Although he did fear that she'd just throw him out for being too intrusive. It could totally happen given the impressions, but it's not something he could control for now.

Right now, in place of the Darcsen were two guests at the table. A redheaded shocktrooper and quite a scruffy individual. The other quite a tad bit taller than the other, but both are just as quiet as the other. But to any observant eyes, he seemed shocked by the Sergeant at the table; something about him that Michael wasn't sure. Nevertheless, it didn't stop the midget sapper to approach the two with the briskly confidence that didn't really match his looks.

"Welcome! You must be part of the raid, no? How are you doing today?" He walked towards them, sandwiched between two tall fellows, and kindly stood aside and let them have the seats. Noticing earlier the Gallian's response seeing the Sergeant, Michael glanced up at him, "You alright, mister?"

@AdmrlStalfos19@Hawthorne@Nimbus@Theyra@Smike
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Hidden 3 yrs ago → 3 yrs ago Post by Smike
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Smike

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The boss man's remarks had been directed at the other Darcsen, the way he addressed the room no doubt just a smokescreen to put up the veneer of impartiality. The only person at risk of trouble for the moment was the psychopath gunner. But still, Victoria couldn't help but feel just a bit singled out. No looting, no depravity, no generally acting the part of some battlefield ghoul picking over the dead. Those were the things Victoria was best at! Telling her not to be a scumbag was like telling a member of the officer class to not be a total jackass, or an artilleryman to not be a complete coward. It simply went against the natural order of her being.

Or was she just upset because she knew he was right? Maybe it was both, or neither. Victoria was just grateful that someone else had decided to run their mouth and thus drew attention away from her. Hell, the pompous lecture even distracted her from Michael's dogshit puns so the situation really wasn't that bad. At least until Mehetabel decided to explode into a rant of her own.

She stayed silent while the damaged young woman gave her sob story, the torched village and the whole war is hell thing that Victoria actually bought into herself but found rather petulant when expressed this way. Still, her storming out in a huff when they were supposed to be on a mission in a little while was probably not a good sign and Victoria would rather be in the presence of another nutjob than some high horse NCO. At least she could understand the fucked up thoughts in Mehet's head.

"I'll talk to her now."

The runt could play therapist after the mission if he felt like it, Victoria would get out ahead of the problem. Snatching the abandoned pint that had just been served the Oceanic strolled right out the door, whistling sharply to grab the gunner's attention.

"Torturing the enemy is one thing but leaving behind a perfectly good drink? Now that's a crime."


The conversation had shifted from troubling to annoying in the space of a few sentences. Most of the team either voiced their affirmations or just kept their mouths shut, either answer being totally acceptable to Alex under the circumstances. But the private with no regard for life and an appetite for violence wasn't content with simply being a brute. She attempted to defend herself as if she was in the right, a voice of reason speaking against the crushing ignorance of the machine. A display fit for a religious martyr of some sort perhaps, not what was essentially a child throwing a temper tantrum.

And she was right. Alex didn't know her story nor did he care. Whatever some Imperials had done to her and her family he would not let her vent her rage onto another bunch as if they were all interchangeable. The sergeant gripped his cigar tighter and held out a hand in front of Valkur's face, his massive dog having stepped forward with a growl at the sign of aggression towards the master. There was no need for any of that, not immediately anyway. Alex doubted she would see reason but hopefully she would at least reign herself in.

The outburst had taken his attention off everything else to the point that he didn't even notice the newcomer or hear his name and rank until a few moments after.

Alexandre?!

It couldn't be. The man he had ridden with at the beginning of the war had been a Lieutenant, a member of a noble house. Moreover, he was dead! Cut down by machine guns with most the regiment, a proponent of the old ways slaughtered by the new. But then who was this imposter wearing his face? The match was too perfect for it to simply be some lookalike. Maybe a bastard sibling, one from a secretive tryst? But then why was the man staring back with the same shocked expression? There was only one option, one too world-shattering to be true.

Michael was not dumbstruck like they were and thus made his way over, introducing himself before either of them could pick their jaws off the floor. Shaken from his stupor Alex stubbed his cigar out on the table and cleared his throat for attention. "I'm sure that Private Blanc is doing just fine. In fact he and I have some business to discuss. Daunte, if you'd please make sure that Furst, Roe and Morvan are squared away? I don't want to wait any longer than is necessary after the others get back."

They could go and do jumping jacks in the latrine for all he cared, he just needed to get back in control. A quick order to buy himself a moment, to fix his carefully composed demeanor after a violent shock. Private Blanc if you'd take a seat."

@Conscripts @AdmrlStalfos19 @Nimbus
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Hidden 3 yrs ago Post by AdmrlStalfos19
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AdmrlStalfos19 Undead. Not Updated

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'I just had to go from a control freak to a self-righteous piece of shit!' Mehetabel growled as this thought came across her mind, clutching her head in pain, 'Why can't I catch a break?! Just one time?! That's all I fucking want!'

Come to think of it, why was the sergeant the only person who Mehetabel even remotely recognized? Where was Jean? Diana? Lucia? Or even that other guy that was there at the card game; Isaac Black if she recalled his name correctly? Did they all have their own briefing for a completely separate mission to Mehetabel's and the sergeant's? Was it a difficult one? Did it make any sense to them? There were just so many questions Mehetabel had, but perhaps it'd be better to hold off until after her mission was completed. Assuming she survived it. And any of the four familiar faces survived theirs.

Mehetabel was about to move on, when a sudden sharp whistle caught her attention... and her fury alongside it. She did not want to deal with anyone right now. She was beyond not in the mood for it.

"WILL YOU JUST...??!!" Mehetabel balefully turned to face the one who dared speak to her but, the second she saw exactly what Victoria had in hand, her anger had somehow dissipated as quickly as it manifested, the contortion of her face melting away by the second as her glare softened into a mere gaze, "Oh crap; that is my drink. Er... thanks for that, I guess."

She slowly approached Victoria, took the glass from her hand and took a sip. Thankfully it never had much of a chance to warm up. However, while she appreciated her thoughtfulness to an extent, Mehetabel was weary of Victoria's intentions here. As such, it didn't take long for her face to show its leery, purely venomous self again.

"This better not be a ploy to butter me up and reel me back in there," she warned Victoria.

Quite frankly, Mehetabel was done with the place. She already got the gist of the MO. Get in. Snatch Imps. Retaliate if need be. Get out. If anyone managed to nab an NCP out of sheer luck, all the more power to them, and if they could do all this without the Imperials getting wise, all the more power to them. But everything else may as well have gone in through one of Mehetabel's ears and out the other, for all the good it did to her psyche. And the lower the risk of her getting an earful of overbearing sergeant, the better.
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Hidden 3 yrs ago Post by Hawthorne
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Hawthorne Mageknight

Member Seen 25 days ago



December 30th - Rear Trench



The marksman watched as another man entered the room. He was tall, had pale skin, and was quiet and disciplined. When he did speak, he did so with a thick Imperial accent-- he definitely seemed to have lived there for quite some time. Elliot pondered this; perhaps the man was a deserter or defector, or maybe he was a POW pressed into service in a desperate bid to bolster the ranks of the army. Both are uncommon situations, but it certainly would not be the first time either has happened.

Meanwhile, the Darcsen gunner stormed off in a huff, the threat of being court-martialed apparently too much to bear. She certainly didn't leave quietly, and though Elliot said nothing, he couldn't help but sigh. The woman was clearly volatile-- he'd have to be careful around her. From there, a number of things happened. The Oceanic woman, drink in hand, went after the Darcsen, and Michael, thinking to lighten the mood, let loose a one-two combo of terrible puns.

Elliot chose not to dignify the attempt at levity with a proper response.

The meeting room seems to have been particularly busy, though. The sergeant chose to focus his attention on the bearded man. There was no doubt about it now, these two had a history. The NCO in question essentially shooed the squadmates present away, and the marksman was more than happy to oblige him.

Without a word, Elliot gathered his things, secured his belongings, and made his way outside. The marksman didn't wait to see if he was followed, but he figured that if he waited out near the front of the tavern, they'd come over. It was far enough away to give the two men their privacy, and close enough that the other members of the raiding party could spot them. The marksman donned his ushanka, and tugged it close.

"So." He started, speaking to nobody in particular. "What kind of history do you think those two share?"

Elliot wasn't really one for gossip, but he figured it was a decent way of breaking the ice between the quieter members of his squad. Plus, he was genuinely interested in hearing their thoughts.
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Hidden 3 yrs ago Post by Theyra
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Theyra

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Jakou Morvan

Dec. 30 - Rear Trench


A pun that is something that he has not heard in a long time, he thought. Jakou smiled a bit when Michael made it. Normally he would be slightly annoyed a the sound of a pun but with how cruel and lifeless war can be. Anything that even resembles humor or having a sense of one was needed, like this one woman that Jakou knew from back in the 9th. Always liked making puns when she could or wanted to. Audrey was her name, and at first, yeah, the others were annoyed sure but, after some time in the muddy trenches and some fighting. It grew on them, and she turned out to be one of the survivors of the 9th like Jakou. He hopes she is still alive after surviving the loss of the 9th. Maybe he can meet her again, but that is thoughts for another time.

The Darcsen girl sure has some baggage with her to storm off like that. Saying how no one would ever understand be able to understand her. Which considering she was a Darcsen, he could understand but, Jakou feels it is more than that. Though that is something, he will not be able to press right now. She is busy being angry and with the mission starting soon. Time and circumstance are not on his side.

Still, with everything said and done, and with the remaining people, there being shooed away. Jakou was okay with and happily gathered his things and secured them, and then departed the room.

Once outside, Jakou did not know what to do with himself. Just back to bland old waiting, and he noticed that one of his teammates for the mission was at the tavern. With nothing to do and a chance to relax a bit before heading out to capture an imp. If they can capture an imp and get back in one piece.

So Jakou headed over, and as he passed Elliot, he heard Elliot ask a question. Jakou stopped in his tracks and assumed that Elliot was talking to him. So he turned to face Elliot and realizing who he was referring to. Jakou shrugged, "that is a good question, and I have no idea, unfortunately."

@Hawthorne



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Hidden 3 yrs ago → 3 yrs ago Post by Jeep Wrangler
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Jeep Wrangler VROOOOOOOOOOOOOOM

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December 30th - Trebin --> Supply Trench Briefing

Heading out with: @FalloutJack@CFProxy@Landaus Five-One@Samakama@TGM



In all honesty, there was something so bright about the way Isaac and Britta talked together; they were a tandem bicycle in motion, moving in continuous cycles between one another until they succeeded in telling a full load of questions, stories and anecdotes in response. They'd achieved that graceful status of a 'young married couple', and the unkept smoothness in their voices made for a somewhat relaxing conversation. Alas, Jean's temper was at its lowest, and even the finest confidence from some of the pair that said, in confidence: "Well let's just get on with it, alright," wasn't quite enough to quench his thirst for melancholy. Jean's revelling in dismay had done him little service that day. Nonetheless, their shine indeed did the job of the sunless sky, and with that he couldn't help but mutter an internal smile, even if he hadn't done so clearly. His huff and puff, with frosted condensation spewing from his lips like ash and plume from an earthly eruption, clouded the faint greyness of his eyes. The Darcsen was tired and hungry. It had become so typical of his place on the battlefield that what was and wasn't in his stomach was an immediate priority. He fumbled with that thought for a moment more; it was a healthy distraction.

Jean then clicked his tongue and looked around. He was given an open request: something from the store? Well, he thought about it long and hard. What could he have that he already didn't? A rifle in his hands, a shrapnel grenade on his rigging and a pack of cheap cigarettes for favours was all that he needed to have gotten by. But he had ever the more lacking that was dug up from desire. And they were nothing more than that: desires. That was why he paid little attention to that which kept him sane.

"If the store could get me one thing, it'd be a sweetheart and a date. Maybe someone like that lost beauty Reyna, or Kalisa. Or - ah, fuck it, first come first serve." He looked over at them and for the slightest second, perhaps due to his distorted view of what actually was, he felt as if he were flashed a concerned glare. Now he could've been entirely wrong for that matter. Britta and Isaac could have smiled the brightest of smiles, or laughed the giddiest of chuckles, but the man himself had seen them as frowns and otherwise glum glances either way. It was just the picture he had painted of the world. He quickly readjusted his tone. "I was - uh - just joking. I mean, I wouldn't complain, but the supply for you probably isn't too good."

Then came the second suggestion, and with his thumbs in his pockets he looked around. It was a kind offer - no, a generous showcase of friendly intent. But the man had to throw it off to the side. He wasn't built for the tools of trade, at least not yet. There was much for him to unlearn before he could, and killing was one of those. Besides...

"Partner? Ah, sorry mate. The only things I provide seems to be," he washed his hands in a flapping motion, mimicking the pen at work, "these poems, here and there. I couldn't get a bâtard to read it even if they wanted to. Brings down the mood, you see?"

Then, the silent nod. From across the supply trench came the wilful command of a tilting neck and brow. Captain Middleton gave him the cheek and brushed their conversation over with a stubborn, and most definitely stern, expression. Time was no longer an ally of the peaceful. They were to head over the top. That was just how things were. And Jean, in his hour, would maintain the heading of the wire party. The honour of those who'd lay would be one Lucia, Diana and Cienie, whilst the rest maintained security and assisted with trimming small sections for the wire to be thoroughly placed. Three layers, it was to be, and the rest would be filled in by mud and rain. Jean had a small amount of additional wiring on hand to frilly up the middle sections with additional clutter, all for the purpose of snaring an advancing platoon's sleeves for the residential gunners to make holes in.

Those who were due to make the raid were given the heads up as well. They were headed off to the dummy trenches for the quickest route in and out, but also to at least mimic the activity of said fool's hideout. The wire party were to make way to the frontline dugouts and to just simply walk over the top, with their bodies clung to the dirt the best they could in order to avoid the marksmen and gunners on station. And during the daylight, with but a thin fog to keep them in cover, it was all too annoying. But it had to be done. Something had to be done about the clearing in the wire gap, for any assault that dawned could have slipped through unopposed if so.

Jean raised a hand and led his group away. Lucia tagged along just barely behind him, with a coil of wire kitted onto her back like a school-bag. It sat on a wooden, splintered platform that had a panel in place for the wearer not to prick themselves. It didn't impede the mobility too much other than its weight of iron barbs waiting for deployment. A few other members, like Jean himself, held additional wooden pegs and short poles to stab into the ground if none were found out in no man's land. Then, with a callous thought, he reached the frontline trench and took a look at those around him. Diana was of most familiar. God, he could hardly believe that but a few months ago, she had appeared madly in love with him. Well, madly was an extension of a desire for importance, likely just interested. But he could barely tell then and there. Maybe she did. Maybe she had moved on to real men and women, like she had in the inn - the fateful day he tried to pull that trigger on his skull.

One Cienie: a name he barely knew. The guy wasn't from around there. Not a lick of Valois or Edinburgh in him, which he couldn't tell if he respected or not. By respect, of course, he meant for the decision to go there, not the place he came from. Maybe he never got to decide. For some it was easier to have the decision of duty made for them, but for most it was a case of cruelty at the highest order. And he felt as if he missed home, much like how he imagined the unfamiliar Private may have, but there was little left of a real home to return to. Then there was the Corporal Romijnsen. She looked more of a Corporal than he did, and he knew nothing of her. A woman from the same soil he'd stemmed from, but the age in her was barely noticeable. It was comical that the earth and fatigue made everyone look a hundred years older. He'd already scanned Britta and Isaac enough to know the lovers were living the life he wished he could have. It wasn't that much different from his current life, but there was a dependent co-prosperous human that might as well have been wedlocked. Lucia was there, too, with her hand on his sleeve. Had she been a normal and more approachable individual, he would've imagined her with the other sophisticated lads in the platoon. Lest that were true, her supposed actions at Amone had shown that she was more capable a killer than the majority of the men around her, even with the innocent aura about her. And then there was Senja.

Everyone must have loved Senja, he thought to himself, for they should've enjoyed the company of an angel. Every John, Jerry and Sarah was at her heels, lapping up the air she breathed and pleading for her holy healing magic to cast away their woes. Jean surely wanted and needed that, but he wasn't of her time, or perhaps he wasn't a victim enough to deserve it. He was just Jean. That was how it was. The comfort of some village girl hadn't really don't that for him, for they sometimes had their ways with a lot of dishevelled men. It wasn't their reason to stay in a war-torn home, but it was treated like it were a duty, one that Jean considered most unfair - though then again, he had seen that side of village life himself.

He looked around and made for the first steps. A watch in his pocket ticked by with as much pain and agony as he had. It was pained, and he too felt it in the mechanical chicka-chicks it made. In a desperate plea for something to amend what could be another day at the office or a day in which he perished, he looked behind him and eyed the group.

"We're on a small job. We get on doing what we do, and we'll do it well. Then, we'll be back before the Imperials can say Schwartzgrad." It was just a minute left to go. And with that lump in his throat forming once more, he looked at Diana, then to Senja, and flashed the most unconvincing of smiles he could. "You two good? Just keep on my heels, right?"
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