Jeep Wrangler

~ Squad 914: Final Effort ~ An Alternative WW2 scenario

I’ll certainly state my interest here comrades. Not often one gets the opportunity to serve the Glorious Motherland.

@Tsar Gatto

Oh my lordie lord.

~ Squad 914: Final Effort ~ An Alternative WW2 scenario

Count me in. This seems like a really dope concept to write in and I've already got a concept in mind for a loyalist Kuban Cossack character.

@Ibzan

Another to join my Russian boy!

I just can't resist, this sounds so cool, I have an idea brewing of maybe a disabled British veteran.

@PiePizzle

Interesting concept. Not too dissimilar to one of our characters from the OG rendition of this RP. Keep me updated on the ideas.

Personally, I would like to gather a larger group of course, so we'll give it more time and not rush into anything

~ Squad 914: Final Effort ~ An Alternative WW2 scenario

I will miss you, Ei Yu. One day I shall write you again. But for now, time to make something entirely different.

@Inkarnate

She will come into play another day, at another time.

~ Squad 914: Final Effort ~ An Alternative WW2 scenario

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The Second World War was supposed to end in the year 1945, when the Allied Powers set foot in the City of Berlin and ceased the aggression in Europe for what seemed like the last time. However, something changed along the timeline. The fall of many allied nations left the world weakened, stormed by the forces of the Third Reich and its Axis associates. A war of attrition was replaced with a war of annihilation. Foes began to fight for each centimetre of land, every building and room it housed and every living soul. There was no great weapon of mass destruction, only countless more bodies to be thrown at one another. Rivers flowed with both German and Russian blood. The Eastern Front stands alone. The Soviet Union is losing the fight, slowly but surely. Millions have died and millions more will follow as the turn of the decade nears. 1948. Eight long years had the Second World War gone on for. It's days were numbered, but the fighting had only grown stronger, larger and more ferocious than ever before.

Machines of war have only grown to be more deadly. Those who can expend the resources have created conventional tools of slaughter. Specialised armoured vehicles can now be seen with mechanical legs, scaling mountains and unreachable terrain. Aircraft is faster, deadlier in its pacing and aggression. Artillery is heavier, pounding more than the Great War could've ever imagined. Millions occupy factories and take arms for their homelands. Bullets are made in the hundreds of millions. Bodies stand ready, waiting for the next assault across every front of the Soviet fallback line. Now, the Wehrmacht stand within ninety miles of Moscow. Joseph Stalin has fled to the East of Russia knowing a second Stalingrad was only months away. Fighting is split between minute skirmishes to assaults of grand proportion. Lest in peace, there seems to be no clear victor in sight. The Soviet Union stands with brutality under its belt, ready to do whatever it takes to keep its asphyxiating nation alive. Partisans, standing armies, militias, exile divisions and foreign powers sink their reserves anywhere possible, be it Asia, North America or the ruthless catalyst of the war - Eastern Europe.

In the dawn of the Moscow offensive, the Kremlin is unable to dictate the outcome of the critical battle. With underground industries fuelling most of the Soviet war machine, drastic measures are set in place beforehand. In the wake of such panic, a new initiative is devised. Units cast from all across the Red Army and several contingent allies are prepared to relinquish a suicidal task - sow the seeds of war beyond the frontline to give the Red Army the chance it needs to push. Those brought into its ranks are unaware of its intent - of its true goal to die - and are given experimental weaponry to aid in their struggles. Enter 'Eksperimental'nyy Otryad', better known as
SQUAD 914.

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Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the reboot of Squad 914, the alternative World War 2 scenario that pits characters through a dire world of survival, brutality and condemnation. Here, we are going to take the role of the aforementioned Squad, made from conscripts, veterans of the front and recruits who are expendable enough for their suicidal mission. Transported into the heart of conquered Russian lands, as well as lands that have seen occupation since 1940, the tension of the prying German war machine, its allied fighters and the partisans once wronged by the Soviet's advances will shroud the squad in high stakes, high rewards. Their goal? Cause as much destruction as possible and bring as many Axis forces away from the frontline as possible. The success of their operation may or may not lead to death, dissent, desertion and abandonment, but for the unknowing its a goal worth fighting for.

In this world, the Rise of Fascism gave way for a victorious Axis powers, managing to ridicule the Eastern and Western world harshly. The Imperialism of the Japanese Empire has exploded in Southeastern Asia, whilst also opening another front against the North American allies. Here, Russia and Germany stand toe to toe in the field of battle. Cities are reduced to rubble. Fighting breaks out in streets, trenches, fields, forests, mountains, deserts and blizzards. Hideous weather hinders the advances of both as they hold onto one another with murderous intent. How far the nation will go to defend itself depends on not only the players actions but the forces around them. Brutality, atrocities unknown and clashes beyond human comprehension are just the beginning. Squad 914 will either give the Soviet Union the push it needs to free the Western World or it will come crashing down in a fireball of fury and anguish.

The roleplay itself will be split between an interchangeable plot which will see our characters traverse several locations of Western Russia, Poland, Romania, the Baltics and even potentially Germany itself. With an arsenal of crude, yet advanced, military gear grounded within a believable reality will heighten their skills, their destructive capability and their output on the war machines they so wish to dismantle. A squad that sees no boundaries by gender nor ability, its effectiveness is greatly doubted.

The characters who'll be taking the mantle may come from all walks of life, though a primarily Soviet register will make up the most of its ranks. Characters of other ethnicity, nationality and origin are available in lesser numbers, at the request to the GM. Though the gear each character gets is mostly down to the player, there may be restrictions set to overpowered or unreasonable equipment, as to make sure characters don't outshine one another entirely. From medical gear, specialised firearms, additional explosives and strange anti-armour materials, their arsenal may vary quite a lot, pulled together by the scraps of the Soviet Experimental Division preceding 914's creation.

I won't go into much more detail here in the interest check, and you are free to ask many questions about the roleplay, its possibilities and the character ideas you may have. I'm very excited to see if the concept hits it off well with players who are in for a dark, gritty and brutal tale of combat, character relationships and the diverse interactions that come with everything. Ideological strife, political extremism and bloody murder are just some of the major themes that may be seen throughout the roleplay. The characters themselves will be the focal point of the roleplay, hopefully, and the personalities, beliefs and actions they commit towards will shape the story's direction, outcome and legacy.

I thank you for reading the interest check/prototype of Squad 914 and I hope you've enjoyed the idea itself. For those interested, let yourself be known down below and we can begin work on the OOC once the player count grows to a suitable manner!

_{Big appreciation to @Inkarnate who helped rekindle my interest in running this Roleplay scenario!}

A dumping ground full of lacklustre characters

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Laurence Newman

	Laurence Newman 6'3" | 77kg | 20 Years Heterosexual Midhurst, Sussex - United Kingdom 3rd September, 1999 Anglo-Polish

Profile

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Appearance

Clean shaven, well-kept and presentably dressed, it's not uncommon for Laurence to be singled out as an uninspired, behaving student that sinks into the crowds. Aside from a near perfect posture, that's about where his usual appearance ends. Physically, he isn't built too well and, although semi-athletic, he's rather lean, scrawny to the distant eye. With dirty-blonde hair that raggedly drapes down the back of his skull and over his neck, his relaxing natural expression helps amplify his appearance of a loose composure. His eyes are rimmed with a misty blue iris.

Laurence tends to wear loose-fit clothes both in and out of University hours, most of which were purchased in either charity shops or from family members no longer wanting them. As such, much of his wardrobe is similar in all but colour and the occasional plaid pattern. On the colder and wetter days of London's climate, he's likely to be seen in heavy grey-drab and scarves, favouring them over coats and shorter jackets. However, upon transition to the World of Fog, his attires generally remain minimalist in colour and baggage, anchoring on ht ideals of practicality over stylistic looks.

Personality

First and foremost, Laurence is a young man fluent in the world of art. Showering himself in creative pieces throughout his childhood has brought out a strong desire to create, or to be creative in how he looks over daily obstacles. To those outside, he's well-versed in the medium of film and visualised storytelling, a level-headed and down-to-earth individual who doesn't fall victim to being pretentious. Aptly tempered on the surface, some could say he's pleasant to be around. In conversation about art is where his passion tends to show, with a clear mindset as to what he wants to do and a flexible sense of improvisation to combat obstructions along the way. Such personality traits venture into his tendency to host collaborations between courses, opening up his social circle just that little bit more. And that's where the problems begin. See, when you're everyone's acquaintance, you're no ones actual friend.

Laurence is well aware of his lack of friends and does struggle with the idea of long-term relationships. The concept itself is a desire, something he wants to pursue in the hopes of finding a figure to take pride alongside. Instead, he found himself alone, liked by all but loved by none. True, one couldn't guess of his loneliness from meeting him. A standout guy with a name for himself; it's almost as if he lived a perfectly comfortable one. But depravity has taking its toll throughout his childhood. When alone, he talks to himself as if a friend is there. Easily embarrassed and all around low on self-esteem. He could hold any conversation he wanted, there was just no one to have them with. And without the family he wished for, his purpose falls.

From house to house, foster parent to foster parent, Laurence struggles with a starved life lacking love. He began to lose interest in his own work, recently. In dire need to reconcile with what few blood-related family members that are still left, he continues to hide his all that he does by living a life in wordless frustration.

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Persona

Desdemona
“She loved me for the dangers I had passed, and I loved her that she did pity them.”

Loved, betrayed, murdered. Walking in beauty and with a perfect image, the sweet Venetian lass moved along a path of excellence alongside a lover she once gave her name to. When deceit and the cruel workings of the world took form, she suffered, losing her purpose and willingly allowing for her strangulation as to appease her ex-lover. In death, she sought a purpose of being loved. In legacy, she faded into tragedy.

Arcana
The Star

Skill
Aqua - Agility

Equipment
Martini-Henry Rifle
Quarterstaff

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Education
BA (Hons) Filmmaking - Thames' Edge University

Biography

How does one live a childhood without a parent to lead the way? The orphaned may look up to the owner of their orphanage, or the parents that adopt them in the coming years. There's always the chance that won't happen. Those who don't get to cherish the comforting realisation of continuing a legacy fall short of happy. Memories so familiar to others, learning to ride bikes, taking rides on cheap holidays...those are inconceivable to some. Laka Adamcevski was one of those children. A mistake. An accident. The product of someone's poor life decision. And within a month of his birth, an abandoned plastic bag left drifting in the gales of sorrow. A dysfunctional relationship left him bastardised. Off went the mother, and away she went into the mist. At first, things weren't all fog and darkness, the father took their son as he should have: lovingly and with care. Times change though. People change. Intents change. Judgement begins.

Careers were locked out of, even so as Laurence outgrew infancy. Mr Adamcevski could no longer pursue his life goal. He was anchored. His small business fell apart with his absence. Debt began to rise up. Unprepared to shift into complete paternity, he began to hate his son. Laka became a nuisance, a naive husk that treated life as an innocent playground. When he couldn't emotionally lash out, he turned to drinking. Neither can remember how far he truly went. All that was known was that shortly after, he couldn't handle his own burden anymore and signed Laka up for fostering by the age of five. His name was subsequently retrofitted into something more British by his father's decision. And so, the child Laurence Newman was eventually fostered into his first family.

Laurence didn't talk that much as a child. He'd primarily heard polish and adjusted to it, but muted himself out of fear for his father's depression. Moving to the other side of Midhurst, out of his small yet predominantly polish community, left him blindsided and isolated. He entered a public school and was immediately subjugated to special educational needs to accommodate for his lack of linguistic development. One such method of communication that was adopted early on was art. Association of images to words - a tool to teach and to tell. This was his first step into the future career he'd fall in love with.

At aged 7 he moved to his second foster parents after disputes and communication issues with the former. He joined a Polish family this time and stuck with them for 4 years. There, he continued his studies and honed in on his English whilst rekindling his halfhearted native tongue. It was at this age he dwelt more upon his childhood. The family he lived with already had children. They, much like several classmates, enjoyed bullying him. Between the childlike harassment and the struggles at school, he finally became far more fluent through the use of entertainment; specifically, he fell in love with film. Its combination of visuals, language and storytelling helped him develop his linguistic skills drastically. He recited scripts in his bedroom alone, looking up the meanings and actively partaking in online discussion forums. Albeit, in his early years much of his time was spent reading others than actually engaging in conversation. At age 13, he moved to his third foster home, getting a change due to the bullying getting to him.

The third family was the shortest lived. Eight months. Halfway through secondary school, Laurence fell out with his foster parents more, unwilling to accept them as some sort of replacement to his father's separation. A blend of puberty and genuine anger led to many household disputes. To cope with each argument's aftermath, he'd draw, watch online series and actively talk online about film. He started writing scripts as a way to help with his English GCSE understanding, only to fall in love with the practice just as he had for film. By the eight month of putting up with the worst household yet, he was finally moved to his last place of residence. At the age of 15, he fell into obscurity.

Laurence didn't love his last family. They were nice. They were hardworking and consistently busy. They knew their duty to look after Laurence in his late teens and gave him a space to be looked after. None of them really admired what he did nor did they look to see what he'd created. His amateur filmmaking he'd do for tiny online communities were ignored by those close to him, pushing them away further than ever before. It was also at this time, during his GCSEs, that Laurence tried to reconcile with his father. The two had seen each other on the very rare occasion, their chats being reduced to nothing but few word sentences and stares of sadness. Laurence would never believe his father when he said that he was sorry. He convinced himself the two didn't love one another, even if they did in their hearts. And with that, Laurence shoved himself down a pit of inadequacy. He felt inferior when he created things in his spare time. Appraisal from peers and teachers didn't feel like much. He breezed through sixth form in detest for his own creative output. Clouding his own hatred by showering others in idolisation solved nothing but to satisfy his generosity and desire to make others happy. He grew into a peer to go to for help, to learn from and to improve from. All the advice he gave helped the others develop not only as writers and filmmakers, but as people. He lacked the final component they received.

And so, he joined University. Moving to London, he separated from his foster family, though this time only for education. Still under their guardianship, they helped fund his time as a student through the wealth of their growing chemical engineering enterprise. He was given enough to help with maintenance as the student loan he received was minimal. The first year went by. He felt worse than before. He saw relationships blossom, a new form of love that permanently rivalled that of familial bonds. Laurence faded once again into obscurity. In his loss of purpose, he almost forgot of his origins. He forgot about why he loved making films, only continuing to do so for an inexplicable enjoyment. He needed something to give him meaning. And that something was the appreciation of someone he loved.

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Affiliations
Filip Adamcevski - Filip moves around the country, now that he's joined his new business and begun to fix his life's debts. Very little contact has been kept between the two and each time it occurs its met with painful melancholy.

Theme

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Halo: The Great Wars

Private First Class Dabrowski onboard the U.N.S.C. MSBS.

@Viper Commando

You might be a tad late.

Like 3 years late

~ Attack on Titan: The Western Siege ~ [OPEN]

---

The blonde girl had started out as a weight on what little honour the nomad had. Scraping by his energy just as he'd scrape by money was belittled, shot down like a disk of clay. And yet he'd carried himself through it, an eagerness to keep himself in the gist of things. The following day would see them trial themselves with basic training. More exercise, at least there was a high likelihood of it. Mateo hadn't told him anything about how training worked. In the field, there never was a mentor who could tell a soldier what was going to exactly happen. If that was the case, why would Mateo tell Grant? Even if he did, he wouldn't have been able to predict the blonde girl pushing him aside with her foot. It was a bit unclear if it was full torment or a simple act of jest, but Grant remained as calm as he could, sighing as he fell back onto the dusty floor. She definitely was prideful, he'd give her that. A girl with her head on her shoulders, full of enough self-confidence to carry her upright even if she'd had her limbs torn from their sockets. In their back and forth banter, Grant surprisingly found himself enjoying the topic of bigging one another up, though he couldn't say the same about being pushed back down.

And so, she belittled him again. Prove her wrong; the new task was set afoot. He'd ran for three straight hours on an empty stomach. No food, only the flask of water he'd brought with him. It felt all too familiar, and yet here he was on the ground, catching dust on his Cadet Jacket. With a shaky hand, he wrapped it around the fence pole and took a breath, sitting back up and drawing his knees towards his chest. It was impossible to hide the pain but it also wasn't unbearable. Not like he'd imagined, or like how he'd expect someone like Roger to suffer with. He rose up the pole, finally bringing himself back to an unstable rise. Two legs carried him, though only enough to keep him in the moment for perhaps another few minutes.

"And to whom do I owe the pleasure of proving it to, hmm?" Turning away, Grant let out a minor cough. A minute dust cloud had forged from his toppling, creating an unhealthy atmosphere that only piled on to his woes. Now that he was stood up, wearily, he let his smirk return to match her own. It'd have been simple to just go for the shove back, but here Grant enjoyed maintaining the banter with her.

“The girl who is going to be the top recruit in this whole sorry excuse of a camp. You're going to have to know who's shadow you're in, so I guess a name is appropriate. You can call me Adè.” Wow. Slick reply, one that immediately sold herself on the spot. Grant couldn't help but chuckle at her confidence. Here, he thought Gabriel's was a little too ambitious, but this was a different level. Not that he hated it, he found it amusing at worst. A character, definitely. Grant was confused by who she was. At least the confusion had a name now: Adè.

Grant finally released his grip of the pole and stood on his own weight. Even if he wanted to collapse again, he refused, knowing that if he did he'd probably remain there for a good while. Now, he was above her height physically, looking down upon her with an intrigued grin plastered all across his face. He didn't say anything at first, but once he'd adjusted and dusted down his jacket, he couldn't help but just smile to himself. It was a nice refresher from being put down by an elder with more brawn than a thousand Titans. Perhaps it was the moments like those that were rewarding, the ones that began to bright the end of the tunnel.

"Funny you should say that, I've just seen a large fella who said the exact same thing." In the heat of his moment, he patted her shoulder once and stumbled to the side, correcting his balance when needed. And so, he plastered a final grin once more. Giddy from her incessant teasing, he spoke softly, condescending her with the same comedic tone as she had done to him only seconds before. "Can you prove me wrong?"

"Is that a challenge?" She closed the gap between both of them, tilted her head to the right in the morbid curiosity that plagued the two. He withheld the temptation to give her a playful shove backwards, knowing that if he did he'd only be open to a much more aggressive retaliation. Instead, he took a second to share the presence of her quips, before staggering backwards slightly and beginning to move away from the rather hotheaded Adè, who's fiery personality kept him hooked for only a slight second longer. As he moved away, he gave her a little wave with his hand, dusting himself down a second time.

"I joined up to experience new things, Adè. Try not to dash those expectations." Grant moved away, limping a small three metres before he halted, turning his head over his shoulder to call to the blonde girl. Closing one eye, he subtly mocked her almost elitist confidence with cheek and giddiness to go with it. "It's Grant, just to keep us even. I'll be seeing you around."

Lumbering onward proved challenging, but he wasn't distraught anymore. The interaction had brought an unseen life to his conversation. Eventually, he made it into the dormitory and staggered all the way to his bed, to which he fell into with the upmost carelessness. A few nearby cadets bunking in adjacent beds looked at the tired, dried up nomad clamber into an almost instantaneous nap, left to only be woken up by anyone willing to give him the lunch call in the coming hour. He was knackered. He was empty for the time being. But he'd done it, he had completed someone else's punishment and was still alive. Endurance was a feat. Maybe there was more of a chance in the early weeks than he'd imagined. Providing he didn't let his guard down, he'd do fine. And right then, he essentially drifted into an unconscious slumber, unsure if he'd be able to wake himself up in time for the all-important meal of the day: Dinner.

_@Inkarnate

~ Attack on Titan: The Western Siege ~ [OPEN]

---

The third hour. It was finally there. It came quietly, suddenly and without any build up. They were jogging, their breaths wild with fatigue, asphyxiated by the roughness of their unruly journey. And in an instant, the whistle went off. Shouts from the treetops and branches high above them indicated that their time was up. They were free to go back to the dorms, as far as they were aware. At first, Grant didn't really know if they were telling the truth or trying to bait them out. When he saw Roger turn and stop, however, without receiving heavy backlash, he was granted the ease of the truth. They were to stop. They had somehow completed all three hours of their intense exercise. At first, Grant just kept walking, refusing to stop. If he'd stop moving, he wouldn't be able to get back up for a good twenty minutes or so. It was a small feature he learnt from his childhood nomadic expeditions. Stopping is vulnerability. Grant presumed that in the military sense, the logic was still just as applicable. He wouldn't stop, not until he got back to the dormitories. The last thing Grant wanted was to be flat cold on the ground for hours on end. Not only would it look weird to those unaware of what he'd just done, but it would also paint a bad light of him to the training instructors. They were the last people to piss off, at the end of the day.

In the ten minutes it took to head back, he separated himself from the rest of the joggers, turning and giving a nod back to Gabriel. Out of the entire group, he'd spoken mostly to the taller lad, though in short intervals and bursts. There wasn't much he could focus his mind on, at least throughout the march. Facing them all one last time for the day, as far as he knew, he gave them a thumbs up of encouragement, hoping that they weren't all tired out like he was.

"Good job, guys!" In that moment, he tried to take a step forward as a word of encouragement, unsure of it really was part of his persona. The greatest part about moving to a new place, one where no one truly knew who you were, was that you could reinvent yourself, mould your life to a way that suited yourself and the people around you. That was how people like Grant matured, grew and sometimes fit in. Unfortunately, he'd never done such a thing in practice. He was always Grant, a somewhat behind-the-scenes individual who never had seen the light of someone else's spotlight. I'll...see you guys around. Grant, by the way."

And with that, he stumbled ahead of the group, out toward the Training Ground centre, where most of the dormitories were laid out in rugged shacks. He hadn't laid down on the beds yet, but now more than ever he wished he could. A string of pain dragged itself through his veins. Lactic acids burnt his muscles, his legs in particular. Never before had he wanted to shout so much. It's consistent pacing was greater than walking, one that overshadowed his usual childhood expeditions. Grant quietly whispered praise to Mateo and his mother, knowing that without those nomadic experiences he'd never had gotten past the first hour. In his stagger, he could almost feel the sheets of the bedding against his skin, a phantom sensation whispering to him. It called him, by name too. A caress on the cheeks, the face and body, a silky touch left to the eye of the beholder. Though privileged cadets would've complained about its discomfort, those like Grant were happy to even have the bed secured. It was his. And he was going to mak-

Grant tumbled onto the ground, more or less on the centred edge of the dormitory's perimeter. A wooden pole, likely of old fencing, laid planted into the dusty ground. Where Grant had collapsed, the pole was beside him. He groaned, coughing and spitting out an additional dose of saliva onto the floor far away. His throat was tight, constrained by the efforts of another cadet's punishment. Was he mad? Perhaps. In that moment, however, he focused only on resting. With the last ounce of strength he had left to give, he moved closer to the pole and breathed heavily, resting his back against the wooden support. Now sat upright, he was left there to his own solitude, his own loneliness, once again to fall into the shadows of everyone else's stories, or so he felt. There was nothing for him. He'd spoken to Gabriel, but in his disembarkation he shut off the chance to continue the conversation. Perhaps another day, or the following hours, he could reinstate his mind. He thought about what they were talking about. Cute cadets, which was something he hadn't really looked into before. Perhaps it was something he could jokingly look toward, but expect very little out of. He was ultimately here for an upcoming war he wasn't aware of. In turn, he wanted to make comrades, friends for life that would stick by him in dire hours. But for now, he was alone on the ground, and still unaware about the lurking cadet nearby.

_{@LordVoldemort@KenjuGuy@MsMorningstar@Inkarnate}

RAINBOW SIX: Reckoning

Sorry chaps, I might have to drop out of this one. Other commitments are starting to rule my focus, and I don't want to end up being a super slow poster. Have a good one and good luck on the RP!

RAINBOW SIX: Reckoning

No problem, this whole current situation is all sorts of out of whack. I'm not expecting people to put some tbrpg high on a list of priorities at this point lol. People post when they can, totally fine with me.

@Caasicam

Sorry on my behalf, been really caught up in other projects, but still ultimately interested for the time being