Jeep Wrangler

Andromeda: Know no bounds - A Sci-Fi character narrative!

If anyone ends up viewing this and wants to show their interest, the OOC is now made!

roleplayerguild.com/topics/179418-and…

~ Andromeda - Know no bounds ~

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_{"To be the first to enter the cosmos, to engage, single-handed, in an unprecedented duel with nature—could one dream of anything more?"}

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'Mankind was never satisfied with what it had.' Those were the words that stood out to many. On the day the first shuttles went on sale, the world was forever changed. The revolutionary investment into Ethanoral technology led to the expansion of traversing the stars, unleashing the potential to forever jump from system to system. Life had begun being explored in all quadrants of the Milky Way's charted stars. For the next 63 years, humanity thrived outside of their Solar System, and forged colonies across a linked network of inhabited planetary civilisations. Millions who'd only dreamed of cosmological transportation had now been granted that very gift in their daily lives. It was commonplace to frequently converse between societies across the maps, and soon enough the discovery of cooperative species came into light; namely, the intelligent Rateia, the synthetic Utarah and the mystical Lorin. Another century of small wars, diplomatic engagements and eventual peace resulted in the creation of the United Galactic Coalition, or the U.G.C. And so, the Milky Way opened up to become a plain of existence thriving with life, activity and civilisation. Life was amongst the stars, no longer confined to its atmospheres. Barriers of nature were deconstructed. Lines were crossed between the boundaries of the possible and impossible. And through all of this, the stakes would only soar higher and higher, reaching their most ambitious objective in the eyes of humanity and its fellow species' of the U.G.C: Andromeda.

Breaching the boundaries of the milky way was never going to be fully explored, but as the aforementioned dictated, humanity was never truly satisfied with what it had. Forever, it yearned to know more about what it could have. Ethanoral technology was by far the strongest benefactor to the galaxy's awakening. With enough stockpiled, a one-way trip to Andromeda could be achieved. Being the nearest galaxy to their own, the endeavour was the only option that the U.G.C had to choose from. And so, following the ten years of preparation, the Atlas was forged from the depths of precursor technology, creating the finest hub world for outer-galactic traversal. The days began to tick down and the final volunteers prepared to start a new life beyond the starts they'd explored for generations before. Everyone knew the potential risks. No one was going to come home, not in a lifetime. Millions would find a new home, new worlds, new life and new mysteries across the uncharted emptiness of space beyond their own galaxy. Once the driver cores were prepped, and the destinations set, those aboard the Atlas were placed into cryogenic sleep, leaving the next 700 years to the whim of artificial intelligence. The years counted down, and the day finally came for rewawakening.

It's been about two years now, and the process of colonisation hasn't exactly gone smoothly. The Atlas has awoken, and the people are beginning to exit cryogenic stasis, yet no planets have been successfully encountered. Drifting alone in space, with supplies only down to the necessities brought, a plan needs to be set up. Under the orders of the Atlas' Chief Operations Executive, several qualified members of the slumbering passengers are awoken and recruited into the mission of a lifetime. And this, this is where you are, Traveller.

As the crew of the URV Monolith, lead your own destiny as you scout the stars, discover planets, uncover mysterious secrets of the universe and fend of deadly foes. Out here in Andromeda, everything is at risk. And with the Travellers moving to secure a bright and prosperous future for their people back on the Atlas, it only becomes a matter of time before the true nature, intentions and beliefs of the group will reveal themselves. This is Andromeda, and the Atlas wishes you luck, Traveller.

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Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to Andromeda: Know No Bounds, a science fiction expansive roleplay set around character interaction, choices and mystery. Inspired by the Mass Effect series, we'll see some similarities to said universe but everything else is entirely independent and detached from third party established settings. Here, I am hoping to create a fun and engaging long-term RP based around the characters of the URV Monolith, a reconnaissance vessel tasked with securing a better future for the United Galactic Coalition's expedition beyond the reaches of the Milky Way. To keep things brief to those making sure, this roleplay will be character focused, and will hopefully be primarily about their journeys throughout the stars together. Love may bloom, or no-strings attached flings. Rivalries and utter hatreds could form in the bleakness of a situation. Or even simpler, you might have a character who just hates an entire race. Who doesn't love xenophobes?

This roleplay, I will state now, will be open constantly. Whilst there will be a starting cast based upon who joined before the first IC post, applications are going to be open for anyone interested in joining throughout. I do not want to discourage people who may still be interested after the roleplay has begun, or when things are starting to enter full swing. As it progresses, I will try to accommodate for every person who wants to join, as well as throwing in scenarios that could introduce new characters all the time. And if that sounds complicated, you could end up just being the crewman on the ship who didn't speak much before. It's a experience I want to share with people, not lock away from others. Thus, Andromeda is here! Whilst I have already mentioned that this is a character 'focused' roleplay scenario, I do want to let you know that there are many planned plot lines that you can explore freely whenever we want. There may be consequences for the timing or only focusing on certain plots, but that's a small addition to the upcoming swing of things.

On the theme of characters, I do not have a limit on characters that you create. As long as you don't spam them out and give the ones you make at least a decent amount of attention in your writing, then by all means create them. Ideally, making one main character and having secondary characters follow on is the best option but if you want multiple main characters, then by all means go for it champ! Below this introduction here is an index of information worth looking into, including the races that are available for play, information about the UGC, smaller groups of interest and key components of the roleplay entirely. Whilst my rules aren't solidified or huge in numbers, I do want to preface that overly-absurd characters will likely not be acceptable. I'm not trying to limit creativity but as long as the character makes sense in the context of things then it should be good to go from there. Actions in the roleplay will have weight at certain critical points and potential consequences placed onto characters may come around in the future.

Now, for the stuff that people want to know! Index stuff will be listed first before I show the character sheet, and then from there all things should be good to go. Most of what you want to know can be easily answered either here in the OOC or on our Discord OOC for players who are confirmed to be in the roleplay. Usually I throw huge amounts of information into the first OOC post but it isn't too necessary now when all the questions can be answered. Either way, all I end up doing here is introducing you lovely people to the roleplay! Now for the index...

Index

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The United Galactic Coalition

The United Galactic Coalition was formed in the year 2205 when the Rateia peoples and Humankind pledged treaties of peace and cooperation with one another after the 'Satori System' conflict. The ceasing of conflicts weren't smooth by any means and the progression of relations had to be established before the U.G.C could be formally announced. In time, roughyl four years after the war had ended, the change in Rateia governing bodies allowed for an open discussion and cease of hostilities. The Coalition was forged originally as a defensive pact and trading union, hoping to simply improve the relations between both intergalactic races. Eventually, colonisation efforts bound the two parties together and began to open social reformation between them both. Now, the Rateia and Humanity are both integrated into one another's lives, though tensions between the two still remain high.

Following the year 2230, the first outside species to be discovered were the Lorin, a nomadic species with no settled homeland. The Lorin's integration came quickly and smoothly, however the newly discovered synthetic Utarah were uncovered, the final major species struggled to maintain high relations. Eventually, the U.G.C did find itself coming together as a united society. Whilst planetary issues were usually solved by administrators of each system, the overall political structure was forged through the United Galactic Coalition's central service system, now located on the Haven Megastructure, the centre of all that the U.G.C stand for. Within the U.G.C, the main four races are spread across nicely and are continuing to harden their trust in one another. Such trust would be necessary for the Andromeda Programme to go forth. Later in their development, independent species-specific weaponry, spacecraft and armour was green-lit, providing each and every race with the best efficiency they could muster.

Humans

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Humanity may not have been the most powerful of the four Coalition Races, however they hold one of the greatest seats of power through influence, culture and their balanced set of skills. Being the second most populated species of the Milky Way, as well as for the Coalition, humanity has thrived on its own two legs for centuries beforehand. When entering the age of interplanetary travel and colonisation in the year 2116, their rapid increase in technological and commitment to expansionism gave way for their vast rise to prominence, achieving intergalactic travel only two decades later. Humanity is commonly credited for being the adaptive species that has driven itself to technological advancement in a small amount of time in comparison to its comrades. Offering the best medical advancements, handheld coil-gun technology and even being the masterminds behind the Atlas' construction, humanity hasn't faltered against its foes. Its vigorous history has given humanity a strange affinity for setbacks, giving them the drive to pursue a better future. Whilst it's said that humans were incredible for their ideals, humanity has often been criticised as the most rationally diverse species in the Coalition, often having controversies in the past from independent thinkers, as well as a minority who continue to detest the Rateia.

Humanity overall has remained as a founding father of the Coalition, even with the Rateia's superiority it remains as respected as other races have yet to achieve. Whilst most Coalition gear and spacecraft was originally provided by the Rateia, clearance for independent arms deals have allowed for familiar ballistics to be implemented into their military strength. [DUE TO FAMILIARITY WITH HUMAN BIOLOGY, THIS DATA HAS BEEN EXPUNGED AS OF NOW].

Rateia

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Much can be said about the Rateia, but all thing's considered they are undeniably the most prominent species in the Milky Way. Being the largest civilisation to inhabit the home-galaxy, the Rateia offer millennium's worth of experience in planetary struggles. The Rateia were the first extraterrestrial species to be encountered by humanity and have since been both their greatest ally and their greatest adversary. Since contact had opened between the two, the Ratei have performed in four different wars against humanity, three of which were instigated and initiated by extremist Rateia personnel. Having previously been a splintered civilisation, unable to previously piece itself together as a species and instead by planetary communities, privatised armies and smuggling societies left them unable to amass together in one go. After the Satori System War, Humanity's conditions for forming the U.G.C were to help patch and reform the Rateia under one society in which they could prosper from. Whilst relations over the wars are still sour on occasion, many agree that humanity did allow the species to return to a single, functional intergalactic force.

The biology of the Rateia is different to humanity in several ways. Skin colour is far less varied and it's variation cannot be narrowed down to melanin as one may come to expect. Instead, the tone of the skin, arranging from crystal white to an oceanic blue, is based upon the time of a year in which they were born. Strangely enough, their homeworld Luthiana had almost a 1:1 annual solar rotation time, allowing Earth Years and Luthiana Years to measure up quite easily. On the topic of skin, Rateia skin is described as smooth and soft, like that of a lizard without scales. Because of this, the Rateian culture is well versed in tenderness and caring nature, hence the influx of Rateian doctors, nurses and therapists all over the Milky Way. Rateian individuals do not possess any body hair except on lashes and brows and have notoriously greater ears than their fellow comrades.

Reproduction is compatible between humans, however every Coalition species that has done so with Rateian individuals always provides the mother's home species. For example, a human female reproducing with a Rateian male would produce a human child, and a human male reproducing with a Rateian female would produce a Rateian child. Reasons once more aren't fully understood.

Utarah

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The Utarah are by far the most biologically enhanced species out of the Coalition's roster. Derived from an older, unknown civilisation, the Utarah are the oldest species to walk the Milky Way to date and are considered to be the first to achieve intergalactic travel many centuries before any other. Being known and versed in the arts of augmentation, the Utarah are a proud civilisation which enhances general living, medical practices and even specialist military units through upgrading the body. The culture of the Utarah is that the augmentations to their body are paramount, however they remain natural and unquestioned by most of its peers in the Coalition. Utarah individuals were credited as specialists for combat in extreme conditions, but are more than welcomed in many different fields of work throughout the world. Having only a slightly longer life-span than the average human, both are most comfortable living with one another according to social surveys, though how universal those results are vary. This may also be down to the fact that the Utarah look the most similar to humans.

Biologically, the Utarah are by far the most well equipped. Their immune systems are adjusted to most of the known Milky Way diseases and viruses, but that true capability is to be tested in Andromeda. As for 'what' exactly the Utarah are, they are biological beings integrated with cybernetic evolution. Utarah clothing is mostly "attachable" plating and components, as the race has integrated ports within its body and skin. Because of these ports, the Utarah are able to link up to their usual clothing/exterior plating, allowing their augmentations to thrive in any situation. Beneath all of the plating and metallic outer shells does lie a human-like body, with similar skin textures, almost identical exterior and reproductive organs, leading many to believe the Utarah are more closely related to humanity than one might've thought. Inside their body is a natural evolution of mechanical components. Upon birth, Utarah infants are injected with a unknown nanite formula, which in turn develops a unique enhancement. These can vary from a natural reflex augmentation to a natural metallic weapon condensed beneath their very skin. Overall, the Utarah remain the biggest mystery of the Coalition.

Lorin

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The Lorin; a nomadic species that knows no home, only the motion of running. Before the Coalition came into contact with the Lorin race, they were forever on the run from something they weren't entirely sure about. Never once did they settle a planet as a large group. Splintering organisations from within the Home Fleet did successfully make colonies but never could they thrive beyond eventual cities and puny towns. At first glance, their appearance and culture would suggest that they are years behind the development of intergalactic civilisation, however their true abilities are a testament against such claims. The Lorin were the masters of spacecraft. Even today whilst in the Coalition, Lorin designed craft is reserved for specialist missions or for highly advanced vessels. They worked alongside humanity in creating the Atlas and such expertise shows in its outcome. What's more, living beyond a home for as long as the species can imagine has brought about a wealth of knowledge about the Milky Way. Whilst every race at least utilised ancient precursor technology to enhance their galactic capabilities, the Lorin knew more about its origin from years of exploration. Lorin individuals are usually recommended as scientists, doctors, archivers and other theoretical jobs, yet it isn't uncommon to see a Lorin in the role of combat. The Lorin people also designed the URV-Monolith, so be thankful you aren't dead yet.

Biologically, they are the shortest species by average. That isn't to say that they are indeed short, as that remains more of a in-Coalition joke. The tallest adult Lorin stood only at 5'9 whilst almost every other maintains itself in the 5'4" region. The shortest recorded adult since its discovery was 4'10", however that itself is rather rare. Remember, those were only averages at the end of the day. Besides being the only other species with a more human-like hair growth, the Lorin are exceptionally easy to recognise due to their far redder skin. Upon their hands lies a more refined, sharpened claw-like finger, which can retract its sharp edge like that of a cat. Lorin's are also the only race to have less than 5 fingers per hand, averaging only at four. Distinctively, ceremonial bone-like mounts appear on either side of their temple. Young Lorinian infants appear as a paler colour before garnering their infamous crimson tone.

Technology

Technology is truly the most important set-piece for the Andromeda Project. Across all corners of the Milky Way, the four races and the precursor technology have all come together to forge the foundations of the Coalition. As pictured above, a lot of it is combined all the way into the grandest scheme devised so far in the Coalition: Haven. The megastructure that surrounds a gas giant houses the foundation of the governing body, as well as billions of living, breathing creatures and environments. Taking styles from all the four major cultures of the United Galactic Coalition, the it is the true hub for all of the Milky Way's civilisations. Whilst nothing has compared to it so far, that doesn't stop thousands of attempting to create incredible machinery, tools and vehicles for the galaxy to behold.

Military and Science

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The United Armed Forces (U.A.F.) are the backbone to maintaining good relations, fending off vast threats in the outer reaches of space and protecting the society it pledges allegiance to. Despite its variety of technology, the U.A.F. are extremely well put together, organised and disciplined to a point of professionalism, whilst still creating a somewhat energetic environment for those who don't see combat often. Spreading between branches like the Security, Army, Navy and Mechanisation fields, the U.A.F. are equipped to handle as many situations as possible. Equally, the U.A.F. does include its own Special Forces branch, named COVSPEC.

For weaponry, most are tailored to the species within their corpse. Infantrymen and firearms are mostly laid out with human-perfected coil guns, handheld weapons designed to fire ballistics at beyond-excellent rates. Similar to old weapons of humanity's history, their perfection came from tampering with Precursor energy to create stable, selective fire storms of bullets. For special occasions, however, weaponry like Rateia beam-rifles are considered heavier and more hard-hitting, filling the role of intense fire at a far higher production cost.

Vehicles are mostly constructed universally by all species. Walkers for multi-terrain heavy fire, to regular wheeled and tracked armoured vehicles are commonplace on the frontiers of space. Most specialised in-atmosphere craft is also capable of holding its out outside the atmosphere. And to top it off, spacecraft is heavily varied. Frigates, cruisers and destroyers are adaptable and extremely diverse in classification. After all, a multi-race star alliance cannot bank on one design.

As for the fields of Scientific Discovery, analysis tools, bio implants, augmentations to limbs and even universal voice translators are applicable for almost everyone, allowing communication, safe analysis and integral studying to take place almost seamlessly. Doctors utilise foam, laser-based tools and many previously unimaginable necessities to keep their patients alive and well. Tactical pads, scanners and much more are up for grabs for any prospective scientist, doctor, biologist or anyone looking to make a name for themselves in the world of science.

Precursor Technology and Space Travel

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Humanity stumbled upon precursor technology after it colonised Mars' moons. Beneath the surface of its core, driver engines and a seemingly limitless source of energy was produced from a machine that kickstarted the entire Human expansion. Not much is known about its origin, but a new element was discovered. Ethanora; the power element. Capable of boosting energy seemingly to an unparalleled level. It allowed FTL transportation between systems for all who discovered it, and acted only as a source of energy. Weaponizing attempts failed in the past with the Rateian interest, as containing the power was only manageable through ship cores. Eventually, cities were powered by Ethanora but their productions stations were uncompliant with motion, meaning only fixed areas all over the Galaxy acted as production ports. Luckily, there was plenty to go around, and even today more are being discovered. The downside to this is the Andromeda Project cannot rely on Ethanora stockpiles unless they set up a production facility of their own over there, in which research is ongoing.

In terms of starfleets though, ships are build to last. From smaller manned fighters to the great capital ships of the galaxy, there is nothing short of a variety to choose from. Cargo ships or civilian vessels litter the void of space and defensive platforms are constructed around planets to add exterior defence. Ballistics, beam weaponry and ion cannons are regularly used in space-to-space combat, making it ever the more aggressive than the skies or seas of any homeworld could have ever done. The most impressive of some ships are the Operations Vessels: ships that are designed for long-term distance from fleets, squadrons or planets for reconnaissance, warfare or scientific endeavours, which hold crews of comparably strong numbers, much like the Monolith.

The Andromeda Project

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Originally titled 'The Programme' in classified documents, the Andromeda Project is a step outside of the Milky Way, starting on November 27th, 2303. An approximately 700 year journey to the galaxy, all participants are required to be withheld in cryogenics, whilst a list of almost two hundred highly intelligent AIs will be in charge of maintaining systems during the journey. Some AIs are programmed to create others if systems of currently operating ones fail, allowing them to almost eternally sustain themselves. Most occupants will be travelling inside the Atlas, however several millions will be travelling in accompanying colony vessels, which hold their own light defences as well. Once arrived, the setup of the Atlas will begin and all Class 5 personnel will be awakened to begin preparations for the following colonists to awaken. As soon as things are operational, the Atlas must not be held as a permanent living space until alternative resources can be withstood. Atlas may be used for living but colonising worlds is the priority.

The Atlas

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The Atlas is the home of all of Andromeda's initiates. Acting as a Forward Operating Base, as well as the kickstarter of all life in the galaxy, the Atlas is akin to a smaller Haven. Build from the ground up, from Lorin and Human collaborators, the Atlas holds a ring of housing, storage and living space much like any other megastructure. Whilst it appears to be a simple ring, the Atlas can deploy itself and fill in its centre with large tower-like pathways, opening more space, dockyards, repair stations and more. However, to sustain it, the Andromeda Project need to utilise its Traveller Programme to seek out large energy depots, forge colonies and establish operating bases around other star systems before the energy of the base is drained. Draining the energy could lead to major casualties if not revived quickly enough. Thus, the Traveller Programme will function well enough to find a worthy candidate for spreading life. On another note, the Atlas has many recreational facilities in its cityscapes as well, including clubs of all sorts, training yards, sports centres and more. It's estimated that the Atlas can house around 17,500,000 occupants, which is noticeably less than the total 22,000,000 volunteers in the Andromeda Programme.

The URV Monolith

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The URV Monolith is one of the twelve ships in its class: United Reconnaissance Vessel - Andromeda Mark. III. Acting as a reconnaissance vehicle initially, it actually serves far more of a purpose than the name suggests. Highly manoeuvrable for its size, well equipped with small point defence systems against fighters and lighter spacecraft, and enhanced with four direct cannons on its wingspan, capable of shooting charged coil-rounds or even ion shells. Holding a crew of around 70-110, the Monolith will take action during the Traveller Programme's initiation. However, despite its initial crew being amongst the most skilled, they were killed during a cryogenics power malfunction during the journey to Andromeda, meaning the crew needed to be replaced. As the Atlas is set up, the High Command are desperate for skilled bodies, and so they wake up the unprepared and rather unbalanced team that is due to man its stations.

Fit with private cabins for certain crew members, joint bunks for lowest level personnel, several kitchens, on board meeting rooms, vidcom centres, more than several relay stations and capabilities of stealth detection, the Monolith is indeed a powerful ship for its class. Andromeda is lucky to have it, though maybe not the crew behind it now. As well as this, two Multi-Purpose Armed Cruisers, simplified to MAC's, for planetary surveillance, ground combat and all-terrain assistance. Armed with a 30mm Rail Gun, 2 autocannons and a multi-purpose scanner, it can hold its own on land particularly well.

I will admit, that took bloody way longer than it should have to write and my fingers hurt. But now, the Character sheet! Just a few reminders on the rules for characters: keep them within the realm of possibility and reason. There is an expectation for characters to make sense in the confines of the scenario. Yes, personalities are encouraged to be vastly different, if sometimes unprofessional and bashful, to add flavour to the roleplay. However, making someone overly powerful or overtly great/prodigal beyond the need of blending with our characters can discourage people to have a great dynamic. Again, powerful characters can be accepted if within the realm of reason, but we want to ensure we have a decent cast that dynamically bounce off one another in positive and negative ways. You are allowed several characters, do not worry. Feel free to edit and customise your Character Sheet to your heart's content, as long as the necessary information is there. If you wish to add extra categories, go for it!

Character Sheet

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An image of the character could go here. Ensure this is detailed as well in the appearance segment too.

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Name
Should be simple enough

Species
Which of those on the list is the character?

Age
I won't set an age limit because I trust that you will make characters within the realm of possibility. In later dates it may be applicable for younger children to be found in certain quests or situations.

Sexuality
Self-explanatory

Birth
What planet, city or place were they born on? Where they even born on a planet? We may never know until you write it down here. Have some creative freedom to make places of your own.

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Appearance
Description of how they look, physically as well as in their clothing. Perhaps choose on and off duty clothing as well for extra pizzazz! This could be armour for on-site exploration, formal attire for when on duty on the Monolith and casual clothing if you visit elsewhere. If a non-human race, you can add some extra details, markings and more to suit them. If you want to clear additional stuff do run it by me.

Height
Easy enough. Feet and inches, preferably.

Personality
What kind of person are they usually, both on duty and off duty?

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Role
What is their role aboard the Monolith? If you have trouble with this, ask me for suggestions or check if something is applicable. Security teams, soldiers, doctors, engineers, mechanics, specialists, navigators and so much more are on the table.

Equipment
Weaponry, gadgets related to their job, armour attachments, etc. If a character has augmentations then you can also list specific equipment that may be embedded into said augmentations.

Previous Branch
Branch before the Traveller Programme, as to what they were supposed to be assigned to before they became a member of the crew. This is likely to be related to your role anyway, but adds a little extra flavour and lore.

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Biography
The account who they were before the Andromeda Project, their past life, what they left behind, major events that may have shaped them and how they fell into the Andromeda Project, whether on purpose or by luck/accident. Characters will be awake during the RP's start so you don't need to go too far into the future besides them being woken up.

Affiliations
Who are they families, major friends or life-impacting individuals with prior to the war's beginning?

Relationships [Optional]
This is how they view other characters throughout the story. This will be updated as major changes in their involvement and view of one another is expanded. Most changes will be listed from experiences out of combat, but some can occur from within their combat positioning out in the field. They can become rivals, hating on one another, romantic couples or simply comrades in arms.

Character Theme
Not necessary, but can be used if wished. Just a tad fun.

I think it's a good place to wrap that all up! For those who may still be interested who haven't joined, there are positions available almost all the time. Just let us know here and you can be invited to the discord channel if you're accepted! For those who are in, I hope you are all as excited as I am in this scenario, and let's take this story out beyond the stars!

Andromeda: Know no bounds - A Sci-Fi character narrative!

@Ruler Inc@Smike@JamesycoFantastic! Can't wait to have you guys on-board!

This includes you as well, @Torack, but here is the invite to the server. I'll see you guys there as well!

Andromeda: Know no bounds - A Sci-Fi character narrative!

Been itchin for some sc-fi stuff lately, I'm down.
@LetMeDoStuff

@Jacky

Hello friend.

Andromeda: Know no bounds - A Sci-Fi character narrative!

I'm also interested in this!

@Torack

Interested!

@Letter Bee

Wonderful to hear so far! If more interest comes our way I'll set up a discord channel.

Andromeda: Know no bounds - A Sci-Fi character narrative!

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_{"To be the first to enter the cosmos, to engage, single-handed, in an unprecedented duel with nature—could one dream of anything more?"}

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'Mankind was never satisfied with what it had.' Those were the words that stood out to many. On the day the first shuttles went on sale, the world was forever changed. The revolutionary investment into Ethanoral technology led to the expansion of traversing the stars, unleashing the potential to forever jump from system to system. Life had begun being explored in all quadrants of the Milky Way's charted stars. For the next 63 years, humanity thrived outside of their Solar System, and forged colonies across a linked network of inhabited planetary civilisations. Millions who'd only dreamed of cosmological transportation had now been granted that very gift in their daily lives. It was commonplace to frequently converse between societies across the maps, and soon enough the discovery of cooperative species came into light. Another century of small wars, diplomatic engagements and eventual peace resulted in the creation of the United Galactic Coalition, or the U.G.C. And so, the Milky Way opened up to become a plain of existence thriving with life, activity and civilisation. Life was amongst the stars, no longer confined to its atmospheres. Barriers of nature were deconstructed. Lines were crossed between the boundaries of the possible and impossible. And through all of this, the stakes would only soar higher and higher, reaching their most ambitious objective in the eyes of humanity and its fellow species' of the U.G.C: Andromeda.

Breaching the boundaries of the milky way was never going to be fully explored, but as the aforementioned dictated, humanity was never truly satisfied with what it had. Forever, it yearned to know more about what it could have. Ethanoral technology was by far the strongest benefactor to the galaxy's awakening. With enough stockpiled, a one-way trip to Andromeda could be achieved. Being the nearest galaxy to their own, the endeavour was the only option that the U.G.C had to choose from. And so, following the ten years of preparation, the Atlas was forged from the depths of precursor technology, creating the finest hub world for outer-galactic traversal. The days began to tick down and the final volunteers prepared to start a new life beyond the starts they'd explored for generations before. Everyone knew the potential risks. No one was going to come home, not in a lifetime. Millions would find a new home, new worlds, new life and new mysteries across the uncharted emptiness of space beyond their own galaxy. Once the driver cores were prepped, and the destinations set, those aboard the Atlas were placed into cryogenic sleep, leaving the next 700 years to the whim of artificial intelligence. The years counted down, and the day finally came for rewawakening.

It's been about two years now, and the process of colonisation hasn't exactly gone smoothly. The Atlas has awoken, and the people are beginning to exit cryogenic stasis, yet no planets have been successfully encountered. Drifting alone in space, with supplies only down to the necessities brought, a plan needs to be set up. Under the orders of the Atlas' Chief Operations Executive, several qualified members of the slumbering passengers are awoken and recruited into the mission of a lifetime. And this, this is where you are, traveller.

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Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to Andromeda: Know no bounds! This is a science-fiction character focused roleplay scenario set within the depths of an unfamiliar galaxy, cut off entirely from the devices of that in which they came from. From the very start, I do want to emphasise that the focus on characters is going to be a large portion of this roleplaying experience, and that the events and open-ended plotline acts as more of a moving development to the scene, the universe we inhabit and the developments of our characters as well. Hopefully I haven't convoluted this idea from the get-go though. Regardless, the story I intent to create revolves, as mentioned, around a crew awoken from Cryogenic Stasis and employed onto a single exploration/operations craft to find leads, hope and locations for settlement, encountering foes and new lifeforms along the way. I do also want to highlight that this story is not about us being "the necessary heroes" or the obvious choice, as other starships are committing to the same mission equally. We, as the travellers, will join as a skeleton crew and grow our ranks through interactivity, blossoming friendships, potential rivalries, romance and the skills each character brings to the table. Whether they are the engineer of the ship, the general pilot, navigator, security detail, science team or even the local nurse hoping to tend to everyone's boo-boos, a vast cast of interesting individuals should help drive the RP in the right direction.

Now, I am sure some of you reading this will be quick to point out: "This sounds awfully familiar to Mass Effect Andromeda." First off, I am impressed you shared the same commitment as myself to play it. Secondly, there are many things in this roleplay that are similar to that of the Mass Effect Universe. General science-fiction "tropes" you might come to expect like alien races, humanoid creatures, artificial intelligence, precursor technology soaring everyone is essentially welcomed and expected. Setting this in a separate universe with our own laws, however, gives us free reign and control over how and where the story goes. When the OOC goes up, there will be more information on the races, three specifically, that can be chosen and some of the lore/technology that is available to us as characters.

As the tags dictate, I want this RP to share some themes of maturity, but welcoming light-heartedness throughout as it can be a staple method of character interactivity. The 18+ tags left above are more for listing those themes. Whilst the Roleplay won't shy away from potentially dark themes, scenarios and outcomes, they will not flood the roleplay (I hope) to the point where it becomes a hopeless tale. After all, we want this story to have some mystery to it! Foes that are encountered along the way will only add to the danger and stakes we as characters will face. I'm hoping to provide those interested with an equally fun, enjoyable and intriguing hub for character interactivity and conversation. Developing relationships and different lore-building is openly acceptable from everyone, and I hope to bring a new exploration-esc story for us to forge along the way. I'm thankful that you've read this far! More information about this can be discussed upon questioning and should be expanded upon in the OOC if we get this kickstarted.

Also, if the interest comes, I will create a discord channel in an established server for easier OOC conversations, as personal experience has shown that to be the most engaging for conversations about our story. Once again, thank you for reading this far, and I'm looking forward to seeing where this story may take us!

~ Valkyria Chronicles - Changing of the Guard ~

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_{The Siege of Amone, September 27th - Garment's Return}

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Jean spent the time brooding, thinking away at the unforgiving torment of their previous incursion. Brutalised by the reality that someone he'd grown to trust and like over the month was now subjected to death, he'd turned to the tent's crude bedding once more, sat upon its edge and staring blankly at pieces of paper he held in front of him. Upon it laid something he held, still to that day. Of course, it was shrivelled, falling apart mostly from the years of torturous aggression the paper had taken. Most of its words were smudged and its cursive font blistered into near disintegration. And yet whilst its pages were ruined, stashed away in Jean's personal logistics footlocker that he had been provided as an NCO, the first two words still remained as they were. Those first two opening words were enough to keep the letter as it was, giving it the life and meaning that it held in Jean's heart. A finger stroked the embroiled swirls of dried ink. In that instance, he absorbed the emotions that he'd once tried to suppress the day he arrived on the frontline: familial melancholy. Marked up and toiled with sadness, Jean wiped away the last tear from his eye that day, hoping to return to the land of emotionless turmoil. He'd witnessed someone close die. Jean had seen Thomas' leg separate from his body, before being emptied and drained of all blood from the wound. Singed into his mind like a blacksmith's implant, the visionary torture toyed with the deepest emotional distress Jean suffered from. He hated it all. Life was seemingly being stripped down to its bone. He'd heard brief news that his squadmates were still alive and had luckily been grazed by the excruciating blast of the shell's inferno. Even now, an hour or so after the shell had been dropped, the everlasting sounds of distant soldiers yelling medical orders or transporting the dead out of sight continued to ruin the midday's mood. Morale was beginning to topple once more. The devastation was unearthly. Hell had once again spread its overbearing wings over the land it strove to infect. Jean couldn't help but feel the immense emotion that spread throughout the Federation armed forces. Amone had become a confined, walled off battleground that yielded a form of combat unlike any other. Trenches were never dug and battles were fought on motion and positioning, not on who had the deepest hole dug. Once he thought of how the war had shifted in its tone upon entering Amone, Jean looked back down towards the piece of paper he held in his hands. Silently, he whispered the first two words once more.

Dear Jean. That's all he could read. Most of the letter was known off by heart, but everything else was almost entirely wiped, crumbled or washed away from the years of wear and tear. Behind it, the very last photo Jean knew of her remained held together by a rusty paperclip. Olivia's crumbling existence was forgotten by all except Jean. He held those two beginning words to heart, knowing that someday that could be the only documentation about her as a soldier, and as a sister. Instead, Jean closed the letter, staring only at the photo now. Her uniform was pristine, neatly pressed and up to the standards of past wars. Back then, the standards for the army themselves were about conduct rather than fighting ability. Helmets hadn't been introduced and even the trenches were yet to be established when that singular photo was taken. Who took it was beyond Jean's sense of knowledge, but he knew that either of them were likely dead in the waters of the Maren only the following year. Spluttered and cut by the bullets of her adversaries, she was gone. Jean was left without a family, nor the closest friend he ever had. And now? He'd felt like it was all coming back to him. Thomas' death only made him ever the more concerned about how Olivia was murdered and whether it was painful. She deserved the best and could have received the worst. In times like those, Jean became desensitised to the reality of the world around him. No more could he imagine these as but nightmares; instead he saw them as a reality he lived in.

Jean's paranoia grew as he put the photo away, leaving him in the empty tent alone once more. Even his thoughts wandered away, letting him stare at the floor with the need to relax. Jean's stress had grown exponentially. He felt for his squadmates, for Franz, Michael, Freya, Reyna and even Vicky to a very small extent. Today was a day someone was lost. Not everyone was close to him, in fact few were. He hoped that those who weren't lucky enough to know Thomas well were at least at ease with the situation. Shouts of rallied martyrdom came from a nearby Luke before disappearing into the distance, aggravating Jean more to the point where he stood up and paced back and forth all across the tent. For fifteen minutes, he looked back to his rifle and disassembled it, before cleaning a component or two and reassembling it. Tomorrow was going to be another day of excruciating pain, violence and death. Thousands were going to be pitted against one another in the streets of Amone until only the last man stood tall. Just like at Hill 58, the charge itself was not going to be sparred of the never-ending suffering.

And as he sat down, sighing once more, something took him off guard. A slow shift in the tent's opening flaps suddenly revealed an approaching figure. Jean's eyes didn't meet them at first, refusing to move out of the shameful presentation of what he'd become. The disturbed eyes and the thousand yard stare pointed straight into the ground made him ashamed of what he may have looked like, suspecting the new acquaintance was just another officer looking for able bodies to use. It was when the voice rang out that his expectations were subverted into a spiralling confusion of emotional intrigue.

His name? The female voice sounded so...familiar? Jean's eyes shifted in their sockets and rolled towards the angelic concern of a friend. And as his mind was previously left in the darkest corners of humanity's dismissal, Jean saw her. A walking beauty, stood with a concerned and hesitant interest in his unworthy position, reached out and held her hand hanging in the air. Motioning his gaze towards her, he spent a second to study everything about her, embracing the heavenly glow of her aura once more. Around her neck laid a far familiar scarf circumnavigated her throat. It was a face he'd been wanting to see for a long time, a very long time, and now she stood before him, reuniting with only a distraught Francian to greet her. As he stared, the pain in his eyes almost flushed out immediately as an oddly fractured smile began to plaster itself upon his face. He stood up slowly, hesitant and trembling at the knees.

"Kalisa?" Even after she spoke his name, all he could do at first was respond by confirming her own. Without a second to spare, he took the hand she'd held out and drew it closer to himself, embracing her with a sudden and unprecedented hug. The embrace was heart-warming. The feeling and sensation of a familiar beauty colliding with his broken body was truly an invigorating sensory overload. Softly having taken her hand to draw her near, he felt almost alive for once, having touched the skin of a figure who was not yet dying. He wasn't aware of the move he made at first, simply going by the instincts of her appearance, and more or less to prove she wasn't yet another hallucination. "O...oh...lord, Kalisa! Where have you been!?"

For once, he started to smile more, moving out of the hug but keeping his hands gently plastered onto her shoulders. Jean's face moved only a few feet away from her own gaze, revealing his blended emotional distress and outburst of happiness to see her once more. The Darcsens had been reunited. Around her neck circled the scarf that he had given to her a long time ago, still in the same position as before. Gently, he moved his fingers to the familial symbolism to the Robin-Charpentier Darcsen insignia, reuniting with the silky softness of its dainty texture. Jean's cheeks flushed as he realised she'd kept it the entire time, as if out of its comfort. Or perhaps...no, she couldn't have kept it for sentimental values.

"My...my scarf? You...still have it, Kalisa?" Jean wiped a forming tear from his eye, clearly overtaken with a rush of emotions. The balance of his distress for Thomas and appraisal of Kalisa was toying with his very head, forging a unforgiving flourish of happiness. Once again, he felt that strangely similar attraction that he'd felt those days before when they were still working alongside one another. "It's...I've missed this, and yet it brings the beauty out of yo-"

Jean's consciousness seemingly snapped back into reality as he quickly drew back onto his bed, moving away nervously and silencing himself with an embarrassed flush of pink in his cheeks. It had been far too long since Jean had complimented or really flirted with one of the three girl's that he'd found himself deeply affectionate towards. Quietly, he whispered a few apologies to himself, at least loud enough for her to hear, out of the sheer embarrassment of his overreaction.

"U-uhh...sorry, Kal', I mean...Kalisa! Sorry, it's...I'm just happy...extremely happy to see you're still alive...and well, I hope. You...look amazing...uhh...amazingly well, yes!" Jean sighed, tossing himself back onto the unfolded camping bed that he'd been assigned within the tent. Exasperated by the emotional temptation, he tried to compose himself once more. "I'm sorry, it's...been a really rough day. I went out on a Scouting Mission and...well Squad 1 lost Corporal Thomas...I'm...still a bit in shock, I won't lie."

_@SMS

~ Valkyria Chronicles - Changing of the Guard ~

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_{The Siege of Amone, September 27th - Woe for the Comrade}

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Luke and Victoria were ahead of their game, moving out towards the right flank for some sort of artillery piece. And after the shots were fired out, the tower began to crumble and fall. Jean's heart leapt in place, and his first regret sank in as he began to get up and crawl out of his confined piece of cover. Standing where Thomas had once stood, he turned his head towards the duo who'd succeeded in their task. They celebrated aloud and proudly announced their victory, seemingly laughing to one another. Was this how they viewed the skirmish they'd found themselves within? Jean stared with his eyes peeled open, deprived of all previous energy. The fatigue was getting to him, as a lack of sleep and stress of the battle had taken its toll. The crumbling sound of the church tower emphasised the true horror of this war, in which no religious or sacred house was free of its deathly jaws. Amongst the sounds of crumbling bricks and collapsing foundations, the appraisals of two Federation soldiers cheering became the only voice to sing out. They were...happy? Happy that they'd done something so death-defying yet fanatically infuriating. Jean raised a hand towards them, gesturing for them to make their way towards him again. After all, him and Inès were left with the now growing agony of their fallen comrade. Jean's hesitation in where he stood conflicted his mind. What was he supposed to do? He raised his voice again, trying to holler the pair back over to assist in their superior's well-being, but a dismissing retort spouted his way.

That...bastard! Luke dismissed and left Thomas' safekeeping in the inexperienced hands of their comrades. Sure, the more aggressive and capable Darcsen beside Jean was indeed a worthy soldier, but she was no medic, likely as much as Jean was himself. That training was exclusive, completely segregated, over to the medical casualty divisions of the Federation Army. It reduced training time and ensured that the specialist roles could have the best training around. And yet, here? A man with a missing leg screamed and began to writhe in their upcoming anguish. Jean turned, yelling back to the pair as they seemed to start heading a completely different direction.

"H-hey! Luke! Victoria! G-Get back here and help, leave the bloody guy..." And as all luck would have it, the Federation warriors had departed before they'd acknowledged his order. As they left, a sinking sensation bled into Jean's heart. He turned, scrambling towards Thomas to accompany his fellow Darcsen in the unyielding treatment of his ally. Even to the naked eye, Thomas' situation was bleak and utterly devastating. A few metres away from them laid the severed half of his leg. Separated from the knee below, its shins and toes looked almost fresh and alive. Jean's eyes were left in a state of shock, where even his hands refused to move. Locking his gaze upon a real fleshy remain of his friend tortured his mind and punished his will to continue. Even Inès, who'd composed herself more to the situation, frantically moved around to try and find ways to stop the bleeding. Where single gunshot wounds were at least sometimes preventable, this was an entirely different situation. Mustering the courage to even place his bare hands upon the fleshy membrane left behind was extreme enough as it was. Jean saw Inès acting, finding pieces of cloth blown off of his uniform and trying her hardest to unprofessionally seal the river flow of life force draining from his leg. Jean placed a hand down beside Thomas, taking a knee to his flank and lifting his chin up to meet his eyes. As expected, the gritted teeth and terribly restraint attempt at withstanding the agony was all that greeted them back. "T-Thomas! I need you to tell us...what to do? You know what to do right?"

The hesitant and fanatic pressure of Thomas' own life forced Jean's voice into a state of trembling doubt. Begging and yielding to his lack of knowledge didn't give anyone the confidence necessary to potentially pull through, but Thomas himself tried to grant the tide of a jovial tone. However it was drowned out by the deafening illumination of his fleeting breath. His hands fumbled across Thomas' webbing, his pocketed chest and removed the strangely unfamiliar hat he was wearing, unlike his usual and more famous icon.

"Fuck if I know...I'm just a bloody farmer." A painful cough spluttered out the words he delivered, shaming the potential courage Jean could muster from the already bleak situation. Even the undertones of humour within his words were washed away by the stench of blood, and by the trickle that slipped from behind his dust-covered lips. Another small application of pressure was placed upon his leg, resulting in Thomas audibly yelling out at its unforgiving sensation. Inès resisted the urge to withdraw her unsuccessful pressure, trying any logical thing she could to prevent further loss of life. Jean took Thomas' hand as they began to visibly shake. "Agh...How bad does it look...y'young fuck?"

"It's okay, right? Yeah, right! Thomas you're okay, just keep breathing, I think. We'll think of something, we'll get you up and running in no t-" Thomas quickly interjected, interrupting Jean's false assurance with a second hand sandwiching Jean's. His body twitched and his eyes grew cold. A colourless deprivation of colour starved his skin as it paled in comparison to its predecessor. Jean's eyes flushed into a flurry of panic as Thomas spoke weakly.

"Don't lie, cunt...I can see the world getting...a bit..." Gasping for a final breath of air, Thomas' grip began to weaken and his hands almost flushed out of Jean's own. In the fleeting second of his life, he let slip the final word of his very existence. "Dark..."

And as he fell back, unconscious, the pair of untrained medical staff sat in awe, staring at the ceaseless emptiness of the husk they crowded. His head fell aside in a slump and his hands lost their last efforts, slipping back onto the moistened pavement, dampened by his own pool of blood now left behind. Silence encompassed the world around him. What could've been the passing of shock had only revealed to be the mortem of another faceless casualty. Amone had claimed yet another life. Jean's face dropped into an unending hang, where it loosely fell to the floor. Jean's spirit faded. It...not only faded: it extinguished in the humidity of the Autumn showers. A distant cackle of machine gun fire, elsewhere in or out of Amone, fluttered as the only accompaniment to the unforeseen passing of a beloved warrior, at least in Jean's own eyes. A wave of thoughts and emotions quickly shot through his mind, sprawling around like a disease or virus let loose. How could someone he personally knew fall before his very eyes? Was this real? He was a war hero, not a common soldier, surely he should be surviving every possible encounter? He'd been through worse, why was this situation a sudden stop to all that luck he'd had?! What would Freya think? What would the Squad think..? What would...Jean do without an icon to look up to? Jean's eyes watered with the tears of his own sorrow. Suddenly, grief and deranged spouts of genuine sadness started to barricade off words of expression. All that he could do was let slip almost painfully familiar emotion. They felt...melancholic, as if they were the very same emotions he felt the day Olivia was pronounced K.I.A. How could he stay happy in that moment? Instead of previous breakdowns where his mind had gone into a frenzy of abnormal dejection, the depressing picture before his very eyes was simply enough to break his eyes. He slowly buried his face downwards into his hands, now stained with Thomas' drying blood. The rain pattered down atop of his helmet again and the minutes began to tick longer than they ever had before.

Time felt like an amoral concept now. No longer did it pace itself quickly to flush away the images of loss before the survivor's eyes. Instead, it drew itself into a string of unending and agonising seconds. Every forced passage of time became a testament to the war's true colours. Horror. Fear. Death and destruction. All of these ruled the lives of those who joined the frontline. Those who did not fear it instead embraced it, finding their place into inflicting as much damage as humanly possible, to the point where they themselves were no longer human. For a while, he thought of his growing resentment for everything that had happened: Jean's hesitation to act, the lack of medical knowledge supposedly shared by the group, and Luke's efforts to scrounge up another kill. Alongside that, Vicky joined him in a sadist's march, pursuing the goals of only treasures stained in a man's blood.

Eventually, their footsteps approached, closing in onto his position as they slowed down upon their sight. Jean stood up, not even letting his mind or body hesitate to grab his things. No eye contact was made. He didn't know if they'd seen Thomas' final resting spot yet or were still caught up in the excitement of their little child's adventure, but Jean made it clear that their words would not speak of such ignorance on everyone's behalf. A friend had been killed. An entire nation would likely mourn because they themselves were either focused on matters deemed unimportant to Thomas' life, or even through the fear and confusion of the rapid situation.

"We...fucked up...all of us." Jean quietly muttered to himself, slinging his rifle over his shoulders again and wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. A change in his tone was clearly damaged by the sights and sounds of this unworthy battle. He wanted to forget it. He wanted to go home. He wanted to leave everything behind and retreat from all forms of combat. And yet, there was nowhere to go from here. Everyone wanted to push forwards and left those who died behind. Jean had to supposedly leave the dead behind too, but not this time. "There's...nothing left for us here. Let's go back..."

Jean removed the now completely drenched cape from Thomas' corpse and began tying it around his severed limb, at least trying to catch the remainder of the pouring blood from seeping into his uniform. The last thing Jean wanted was the body and bloody of Thomas' vanquish to stain his clothing, let alone his mind, skin and dignity. Perhaps this was the last consequence for his unfortunate positioning as a Corporal. No one likely thought he deserved his leadership position, and this was but a testament to that query. Jean had fucked up. He hesitated. And even when there was nothing they could do, his reactions to the corpses of other dead soldiers left Thomas to lead the charge, leaving him open to the traps ahead. Jean could've been in that position instead. Jean could've been the one to die. And yet here he was, cheating that chance through incompetence and tragic luck. Once Thomas' mortal wound was now covered to a bare minimum, he nodded to Vicky halfheartedly to lift the body and struggled beneath the weight. It was a long walk home, but perhaps this was his punishment. It was only fair. No one here would blame themselves, would they? Blame the sniper, blame the man behind the gun. But in actuality, perhaps it was everyone's fault, and the war's, that took away a brilliant young man from them.

An hour of staggering back left the world to its darkest hour. The morning didn't get any brighter, nor did the day that came closer. After a while, they reached the very same barricade that they'd left that morning. This time with one less breathing soldier with them. As their silhouettes came into the picture, Jean simply raised a rifle by its receiver, holding it sideways to show that they were indeed Federation soldiers upon approach. When granted entrance, all that was left for them to do was stare at the unfortunate body of a familiar face. A bloody...very bloody face. Struck with a falteringly pale expression and the emptiness of any other casualty, wherever Vicky would take him was up to her. For Jean, he silently began to return to his tent. He made no eye contact with anyone, even those who'd stalked and paid virtue to the shell crater a street's distance away. Jean didn't even think about it, and for the first time in a few days, he tucked himself away inside the linen frame of his temporary home. All he could do was prepare for the next day and dwell upon the events that had subsided. More than Thomas had died today, but never before had someone Jean been close to extinguished before his own weakened gaze.

~ Valkyria Chronicles - Changing of the Guard ~

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_{The Siege of Amone, September 27th - The Showdown}

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Wilhelm was not the type of person to feel nothing when he pulled the trigger. Remorse sometimes was a factor that could overwhelm a man, but in this instance...all he could feel was the recoil from his rifle. Padded at the stock and planted firmly into his shoulder, dampening each shot he sparked out. The first was clear. It'd been hours since the rain continued to trickle down upon the barrel of his rifle and the optics of his firearm. The crack was masked by the singular explosion that was unleashed upon his foe, sprawling sound in every direction. And as his plan intended, the nearest victim to his first bullet was a rather foreign looking soldier; of course, its uniform was distinctive and rather feared amongst the Imperial Army in recent months. The Oceanic was caught in the blast radius of the explosive trap, where Wilhelm's bullet struck the case he'd set and threw flames and shrapnel into all different directions. Near endless streams of panic suddenly were inflicted on the surrounding squad mates. As Wilhelm wished, he refused to grant a smirk of satisfaction that his plan was so successful.

But next came the hard part. Wilhelm was a exemplary marksman, however he wasn't the best that the Empire had to offer of course. Famous, talented and extremely well versed in his art, he was indeed a force to be reckoned with, but something had taken a toll over his judgement. He was angry. Before Amone, the war was a dastardly exhibition of modernised warfare at its finest. Despite this, Wilhelm was used to it. He'd grown up through conventional warfare and settled his mental abode within its trivial battlegrounds. However, before now judgement was rarely clouded by frustration. He'd seen a new weapon that devastated even those who were not directly inflicted by its poisonous air. Gas; a lot of it was used in Amone already. Wilhelm saw people die. He himself even inhaled some of its almost corrosive substances and spluttered like the madness it entailed. With every bolt of the rifle's ejection system, Wilhelm muttered a name of those he'd seen die. The scouting party he'd accustomed himself towards the past few years were gone. Faceless heroes who were overshadowed by Wilhelm's notoriety were now lost into the endless streams of forgotten heroes of the Imperial Front. Now, it was his job to carry their names onward. Not just them, but all the woeful victims of the horrendous gas attack. This was his purpose. His family, his children...all of those at home would be able to remember those he saw fit through his memoirs. If he could just leave Amone, conclude his duty and subjugate his name throughout history. This wasn't for him, it was for them! Everyone counted on him to lead the Empire to victory, but he only sought to run the true heroes of the world into the history books.

In his rage, he fired a second, more unstable shot when he saw the first body start rushing to the side. It missed, though it successfully smashed one of the few free windows left standing in Amone. He cursed under his breath, slugging in another fresh round with the enemy's name on it. He took his time to scan the area, noticing that they were separating. Of course, the common tactic to overwhelm the sniper. He wasn't entirely sure how reckless these soldiers were, but he knew that one thing was almost certain about leaving a lasting edge on these warriors of hostility: take out the leadership.

He scanned his scope back over to the first victim, he laid writhing in pain over the loss of his leg. Brutal. Wilhelm despised the brutality of the war but it was how life was, and how it would remain until the end of time itself. Reality was often excruciating. And here, on the fields of battle, it was devastating towards even the aggressive predator. Cycling another round, he shot into the wall that he knew the squad's leading figure was hidden behind. Whilst most would see it as a wasted shot, it was within his interests to see how weak the cover was, hoping to penetrate it. And to his luck, the round went straight through the wall, creating the tiniest hole through its wooden and sand-based remain. A small smirk finally came upon his face as he completed his aggressive assessment, even seeing the NCO crouched behind it jumped and almost scurry backwards into a more concealed position. Keeping them away from the body was one thing, but letting them rush it was going to be his ideal prize. Every situation was to be taken as if it were his last, where his goal was to leave as much damage as humanly possible before the end of his encounter. So far, he'd just been lucky enough to win every other time.

Whilst his attention was focused on the Franican Corporal in the distance, a sudden blast shuddered his church tower and threw off his accuracy. He flipped, rambling to himself in a cold fashion at his ignorance. With a roll, he tried to adjust his position to get a better angle. Wilhelm became slightly aggravated and lost his focus, collected by the sudden change in the situation. The tower rumbled, and he noticed the field gun. Its wheels were decimated and yet they'd still found the angle to fire a round at the tower. The rush for a second shell was on, and Wilhelm lined up a shot. The bullet narrowly skewered the cape of the second Oceanic before another shot even more angrily missed the helmet of the male. Wilhelm was becoming desperate, and as he prepared to cycle the last round in the chamber another shot rang out, blasting against the tower. Inside, he felt the shuddering of its foundations, and began to scout his way backwards quickly. He turned, looking for the quickest exit before...

Suddenly, his body was lifted from the floor. Or rather...the tower was. The tilt of its sudden capsize threw Wilhelm at an angle, where he was tossed out of the broken church window and into a fall. His back slammed against the roof of the holy parish and he felt the surge of pain quickly encompass him. Rolling across the slated tiles left him exposed yet again, and the destructive collapse of debris shattered his composure. Finally, he rolled off the edge of the building, entering yet another free-fall as he let out a croaky shout of panic. Slamming against the cold, wet floor, the ground was shrouded in the endless sound of bricks crashing against the buildings. A sprain and a crack was head inside his body as he narrowly dodged the falling bricks, coughing and spluttering as he yelled out in an almost humane pain. His left arm was shattered, broken and twisted into a completely unnatural direction. And yet, the adrenaline kept him going. If they were going to break his advantage, then they would have to fight each other on equal terms. He drew his handgun, the very essence of Imperial engineering. Semi-automatic, and utilising a magazine based storage system, he held every fire-rate advantage in the book. And so, the Green Fox gritted his teeth, leaving his helmet on the ground behind. It was time for him to stalk the prey...

_{@Jacky @Smike @Yam I Am}

~ Valkyria Chronicles - Changing of the Guard ~

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_{The Siege of Amone, September 27th - Awakening}

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The chair beneath her withering body was close to collapsing, falling apart from its shoddy craftsmanship that had been blended by the aggression of the war surrounding it. Every time her body moved, the entire seat creaked and tilted in place. Had she not already been sat there for seven hours, she'd likely had escaped it out of sheer effort. However, whilst her legs were still firmly in place and her rear-end remained planted against its maleficent wooden structure, she did not dare to move away. From outside of her temporary holding cell, Middleton could be heard dealing with more military matters that refused to leave him alone. Lieutenant after lieutenant, captain after captain, major after major, even two colonels paid their visage. Lucia sometimes listened in, hoping to garner some sort of information out of the situation outside. She'd been training with her Captain ever since Jean's squad had reunited with the entire Federation liberation force here in Amone. Now, all she could wish for was either the sweet release from her confinement to find the ones she'd began to grow attached towards or the announcement of the upcoming battle. Middleton seemed highly impressed by certain stories Lucia told of, despite the disappointing circumstances. Her ferocity in combat had been unleashed only once upon two assaulting personnel. An act of defence, nonetheless, but one that spoke of the confident and quick-thinking nature of her tutor. Under the threat of someone's gunsight was the likely trigger for her survivor's instinct, but it wasn't enough to start warranting the perfect soldier that everyone envisioned. She was required to be able to go on the offensive, pursue the enemy into the bleak with the same ferocity as she'd shown before. There couldn't be any hesitation. She had to be prepared to pull the trigger again and again.

Lucia's expression was that of an empty husk. Recently, all of her effort was put into thinking. It was all that she could do: think. Finding what kept her alive was a difficult search. Previously, it had been the 21st Edinburgh Fusiliers that were her purpose. She gave them life on a frontline that only saw darkness. She played games with the younger guys, sang songs for the older men, nurtured the elder women and comforted the mutually aged girls. She was a beacon of hope, and yet now what was she? Back when Middleton hadn't snapped, blaming himself for every unforeseeable consequence of the 21st's final battle. Thousands dead, in the blink of an eye. And when that happened, the man she looked up to was destroyed alongside them. What remained now was Captain Middleton; a different breed of national hero who emphasised brutal tactics to get results. Whilst his morals were still there, he knew that the only way to victory was to keep advanced strategies updated and to break the spirits of the Imperial 'menace' that had taken everything from him. Lucia never understood what happened back then. Days after her fifteenth birthday, all the faces she saw and knew were split from their necks and shoulders. It was a...massacre.

---

"H-holy shit...keep the fire up on that left flank. Richards, resupply the emma'gee now!" Thousands screamed out in torment, barking orders as they were funnelled into the most brutal of traps. Once their mass charge had began, the Empire had assaulted the lines they'd charged from, encircling the entire regimental strike force in one fell-swoop. And now...they were trapped, in No Man's Land. Hundreds took shelters in old dugouts, artillery craters, bombed out shell holes, amongst the unburied corpses that littered the world, amidst fallen trees, cowering withing the debris of old trench lines and whatever the dead-man's homestretch offered. Lucia's head was buried under Middleton's arm, who moved slowly throughout the piles of panicking soldiers. The pressure was being ever-the-more pressed upon their feeble positions. What was originally four miles of encircled territory was now minimised to less than a kilometre. This was no longer a charge, or a simply push into the heart of the enemy's territory; they'd fallen into the blunders of the Imperial strategic geniuses, finalising themselves into the pockets of destruction. This was a last stand. Lucia's eyes burned as the sights of those she'd grown to love were splintered by their hopelessness. There must've been at least two companies worth of soldiers left, still grasping on to their little breathing room. "Richards! Richards, for fuck sake I said get that-"

"'E's caught a blighter, Sergeant! I'll g-grab Rogers to come and take the position!" Explosions rattled their helmets and every second was littered with the endless peppering of bullets, shrapnel and dust. Smoke scattered the battlefield and the mid-Autumn rain continued to brutalise the world around them. Lucia scrambled across the muddy floor, her small and frail composure being the only advantage she held against avoiding being shot.

Her scramble was exhausting all the energy out of her. Why was she out here in the first place? Middleton was not the man who'd ordered her to join the fight. In all honesty, he'd had no idea about it at all. It was when the first Imperial counter attack struck, swinging around and encompassing the entire regimental strike force into their exemplified pocket. It was here that Lucia's nerve finally struck, and she sought to act as a brave girl; her goal was to finally live up to the expectations of all her comrades. Hundreds of men and women were trapped in the now constricting battlefield, and someone had to let them know about the encirclement. Someone had to ensure everyone knew so a breakout could be attempted. Pushing further would just expend supplies and energy, ammunition and needless lives that were now scarce to begin with. Lucia had never set a foot on the battlefield, or ever outside the trenches of the frontline. This...this was her first doing, the first pursuit of courage which ended up disintegrating into naivety.

As the artillery struck, and the bombs fell from the Imperial sturmtruppen's pockets, she scaled the ladder as soon as someone screamed for a runner to take position and pass information onto the advancing forces ahead. Lucia did it. She volunteered herself without a second thought, never realising the consequences of her actions. Middleton was everything she had at that time. Alexander was her guardian, her soul reason to be alive. She stormed over the steps of her trench and rushed into the fray, running for what could've been an entire kilometre. The largest stretch of No Man's Land ever recorded, seemingly, had been cleared only to allow advancing space. She ran. The bullets could be heard behind her, spouting from the barrels of their guns. She dared not to look back. Her mind was set. And yet where did it land her? Into the fray of hell's own manifestation, that's where. And yet here she was. The message was passed on but little could be done. Lieutenant Middleton was forced to find a way out, but the only breakthrough attempt was squashed immediately. Now, it was a last stand. They'd said their prayers and loaded their guns. Shots rang out for an hour. A whole hour. When their guns ran dry, they skewered their enemy with bayonets, stealing their rifles after. And when those rifles ran dry, they took rocks, their fists, axes, shovels and whatever they could muster to break the advancing opposition. Lucia cowered, her eyes immediately being rinsed with blood as soon as she arrived. Why...why had she pursued them? She saw Alexander, revolver tightly clenched between his fingers, the wire around his wrist, putting shot after shot into every direction he could. He dove between foxholes, narrowly avoiding mortar shells and grenades being flung their way.

Bodies were churned into pieces. Pools of blood forged where those were struck and the defenders began to break in spirit. Some took to their weapons, hoping that in the Valkyrur's unyielding spirit that they were to be blessed in the afterlife. Others were sanctioned to torment, cowering in holes surrounded by their fighting brothers in arms. Some silently looked at photos of their families. Lucia had been there for an hour now. She'd seen at least two hundred dead bodies, or men and women in the process of dying. Now, she sat in her own foxhole and prayed, hearing the screams all around her. The sounds of Imperial gunfire was getting closer and closer each minute, constricting them like the viper of war.

"Fuckin' hell! Someone give me a round! Give me a stupid fucking bulle-" The regimental Sergeant's neck was split across the sides, shattered in a burst of blood and ache. His vocal chords were struck cold, and the body collapsed onto the floor. His pained face landed next to Lucia's feet, the emotionless eyes silently screaming out to her in their fleeting vision. Lucia shrieked in fear, pushing herself rearwards away from the familiar face. An arm clamped down onto her collar.

"Lucia, get into this dugout now!" Alexander flipped her over, their faces able to meet as he pointed to the now exposed remains of an old sentry dugout. Despite the order, Alexander was only replied with through static expressions and a constant shudder of fear.

For the first time since they met, Lucia sparked a sudden aggression within his voice. The battle cry of his voice was faint, angered by the anguish that surrounded the entire regiment he so dearly cared about. Alexander twisted and turned, pulling Lucia across the mud carefully as he kept his head low down. Both were essentially flat on their stomachs, dragging themselves across the very blood soaked mud they'd used as cover for the past hour. The dugout was close by, but its traversing distance felt like an eternity. Each burst of gunfire slowed them down and the flickering of soil shooting up into the air whenever a bullet came close forced Middleton to take his time.

"Sir, the enemy are right on our doorstep! We ain't got breathin' room now!" A nearby Corporal shouted, trying to land his last few shots onto the now closing-in sturmtruppen. Their uniforms were now becoming clear. Grenades were expended and now the final fight came down to unleashing their upmost aggression. For them, it was like shooting fish in a blood-soaked barrel, knowing very well that soon they were out of ammunition and down to only their body's strength.

"Hold your ground, we can find a way out of this!" To little to no avail, Alexander tried to keep the spirits of his declining forces up and high, despite knowing the hopelessness of his situation. His breath was heavy, fast and unresting.

"N-no way, this is it, chaps! I don't want to die like-" The interrupted pleas of the men and women were cut short. Finally, the descending vultures were upon them. Their numbers had declined below triple digits, and it was only a matter of time before it would finally end. The boots were heard coming closer. Lucia tried to contain her tears but let them flow out, letting her rifle hang by the sling behind her as Middleton tried to rush for the dugout. There, he was intercepted by the butt of a rifle, where he was tackled to the ground. A struggle quickly erupted between the two as the Imperial soldier kept him pinned, struggling to restrain the officer enough to put an end to him. Lucia watched in panic, fear enriching her very soul. Never before had she felt fear like this, even on the day she discovered her parents' demise. This was a bloodbath. She tried to reach for her rifle, instincts once again taking control of her, yet she could not find her strength to aim it up, point it towards the aggressor and to pull the trigger. Her mind could not muster the courage. She instead stared, seeing Alexander ruthlessly punched despite his intent to survive.

Alexander failed to draw his knife, before being pinned down. The Imperial soldier seemed to notice something peculiar about the man he was fighting, suddenly beginning to physically thrust his fist into his skull again. This was no meagre soldier to kill, but an officer of the ranks. In his grasp! The promotions and medals that could come from it! Instead, the Imperial soldier finished Alexander's consciousness off with one last slam of his fist, before quickly moving to drag him away. Lucia felt herself growing even more helpless and tried to pursue, only to feel the stock of another rifle bash against her own face...where everything went black.

---

Lucia sat in her crooked chair, her mind furiously questioning the past. Everything on that day went wrong. The friends she'd made were gone. Her inability to pull the trigger...all it did was result in Alexander, herself and four surviving soldiers to be captured by the Empire. Nearly two months of captivity. Lucia never liked to think about it. The shouting elderly men with canes and swords strapped to their belts; all of them were aggressively pressing them for information. Lucia couldn't utter any words out of fear and naivety, unsure of what information they wanted. Every question they asked was met with confusion and tears. It wasn't surprising that the Imperial captors eventually took pity on the clearly below-age girl, eventually separating her from the interrogation programmes set up on the other soldiers. Three were shot. Alexander, a familiar Private and Lucia were left to rot in the dugouts of Imperial trenches for seven weeks. Each day, Alexander became more and more broken. They'd walk him across No Man's Land, towards the soldiers that were slaughtered next to him, and make him stare at their bodies for hours on end. They would tell him that his information was vital, and that more like them would die if he did not spill information about upcoming assaults. Alexander stood strong and held his ground, at the cost of the last thing he held dear. His sanity.

After then, the escape eventually conducted by Alexander forced Lucia and the other Private into a frantic pursuit across the previously lost lands of the Asseni warzone. Two days of hiding, crawling and scavenging eventually took them back to the Federation, and all were changed. The Private was sent home with several medals and accommodations, whilst the Lieutenant and Lucia were both slugged into the trains and trucks of the Federation's war machine and debriefed. Within days, Middleton returned to the front, eventually being granted a new commanding position in another regiment. Lucia was never given the choice, for she was now Middleton's. Whatever they did to Middleton changed him. He never saw Lucia as a daughter anymore, or so he seemed to think. Every second they spent together was him building her up for something bigger, something that Lucia didn't know or understand. She was trained to shoot, trained to kill and trained to sacrifice her very dignity for the ones she would love. And yet, here she was. The first kills she'd made were for one she held close to her heart: Private Michael Daunte.

The nearby explosion barely shook her from her muse. Lucia paid no homage to the explosion nor to any of the soldiers now frantically running around asking questions. Alexander popped his head inside and ordered her to remain on the premises for a while longer whilst he investigated the extremely violence that had been unleashed upon their homebase. And all the while this happened, Lucia sat and thought to herself about what she really was.