I love that everyone thinks Krin is the bartender now xD @Dark Cloud
Hey, Raine can't QUITE be fully faulted on her case of misidentification. After all she WAS also trying to pay for the damages her improntou arrest of her wayward Guardsmen caused! :D
Finding her way to the bar (and kindly keeping clear of the other patrons for now), Raine waited until Krin was unoccupied before - shaking her head - she fished into a trouser pocket.
"I must apologise for my ... performance, earlier," the Commissar explained in crisp High Gothic, her head bobbing briefly to one side where the table still laid keeled-over and smashed. "I'll ensure that the Guardsmen responsible for their poor discipline are severely punished."
She placed a number of Aquilas - one of the thousands of variants of Imperial world currency out there - onto the counter with an onyx-coloured glove. "For the damages and any outstanding bills my men had not paid." She thought momentarily before, placing her cap on the table - the winged skull leering above the brim - she placed another coin across to the bar. "And for the stiffest stuff you have that won't put me on the floor in one go."
The door to this nameless tavern banged back on iron hinges; the newest arrival on the landing heedless of the pairs of eyes that swung her way as she calmly stepped through and swung the door shut again.
She cut a menacing figure among that eclectic crowd, being clad in a severe-cut red and black uniform overcoat. An iron cuirass topped by a two-headed eagle gleamed from her chest as the remaining rain water sluiced across and down onto the floor and her knee-length jackboots. There were few identifying marks on this woman to tell exactly who or what she was. But to those who were in the know, their hearts would have sunk as the the brunette's darkened eyes glowered from beneath her peaked cap.
She was Severina Raine - Commissar, 11th Antari Rifles of the God-Emperor's Imperial Guard. And she was here to ruin someone's day.
Her gaze swept across the various tables and booths that populated the ground level until she located who she was looking for. Placing a black glove on the pommel of her power sword, she calmly strode up to one of the tables and sternly cleared her throat to the three men who sat around it.
"Gentlemen," she curtly cut in, interrupting the trio's game of cards. "You're overdue back at barracks."
The Antari Guardsmen froze. One of the men dropped the cards he was holding out of shock, while another - wisely - immediately got out of his seat and left, leaving a credit behind where he had been. The third man, back facing to the Commissar, made no move.
Severina glowered, her burrow furrowed beneath her cap's brim. "Guardsman Verrak!" she reiterated. "You will return to barracks immediately."
Verrak turned in his seat. "Naht until ah finish ma game." the man slurred, his breath reeking of overindulgence in alcohol. "Giles, don't!" his compatriot warned, scraping his seat back in preparation to leave. "Ah, sha' down!" Verrak rumbled clumsily to the other.
Severina's patience broke.
A hand shot forth, grabbing Verrak by the lapels and heaving him out of his seat, sending the latter violently clattering onto the floor. Verrak - despite his state - struck back, shoving the Commissar out and away from him and cracked a fist forward. Years of Scholea training took over for Raine; she ducked the clumsy blow and hammered a fist into Verrak's chest. Verrak landed, back first onto the floor, his inebriation rapidly giving way to blinding rage as - with a shout - he shot to his feet and charged forward.
A fatal mistake. A second blow sent the man flying back into his table, sending both man and the booth's contents to the floor with a violent crash. Verrak's will to fight finally gave out; concussed and bruised, he could only stare stupified as the shadow of the Commissar cut into his vision again, swallowing the tavern's lighting in his sight whole.
"90 days confinement to barracks, penal duties and loss of month's pay, Guardsman Verrak. Consider yourself fortunate that you're not up on a charge of assaulting an Astra Militarum officer!" Severina growled. She shot a glare to the other Antari and gestured to the fallen Guardsman. "Get him back to barracks, Guardsman Eckhart, or you will be joining him!"
As the two men limped out of the tavern, Severina removed her brimmed cap and shook her scarred head sadly to herself. Realising that the brief exchange of blows had caused some damage to local property, she tucked the cap underneath one of her jacket's arms and strode up to the bar counter, intending to settle the matter.
"Your lasgun’s power cell is full; you haven’t fired a shot! Jonah Vir, I find you in dereliction of your duty to the 11th Antari Rifles, to the Bales Stars Crusade and to the God-Emperor. The sentence is summary execution; do you have anything to say in your defence?"
Age: Late-30s, Terran Standard (estimated)
Gender: Female
Occupation: Commissar, 11th Antari Rifles - Imperial Guard, Imperium of Man
Skills: Knowledge and capability in military command and discipline - in line with norms of the Imperium of Man’s Commissariat and Imperial Guard - adequate markswoman and a fierce duelist. Basic survival skills, but nothing extraordinary.
Personality: Outwardly, Severina is the picture of what a Commissar should be - no-nonsense, harsh yet fair, and an inspiration and intimidation for her fellow soldiery. Beneath that fascade, however, Severina is still a human woman; virtues, flaws and all. In particular, she does feel the weight of her responsibilities weighing on her; particular attention is paid to the names and faces of those that she has lost during the Crusade, or the faces of those she was forced to dispense the Emperor's Justice (ie: summary execution for cowardice) upon.
In short, if you are someone who is dutiful to your ideals and doesn't run when danger comes knocking, the Commissar will fight by your side. Try and hurt her, fall below her standards, or impose your beliefs on her or others she cares for and you won't even register the bolt round erupting from her sidearm 'Penance'.
Biography: A political officer charged with the maintenance and leadership of her assigned regiment, Severina has known nearly nothing outside the cold confines of her Progeniship on Antares and the grinding years she had spent involved in the wars that criss-crossed the Bale Stars area of conflict. One of two daughters to her mother - the latter serving as the last incumbent of the title of Lord-Militant in command of this Crusade - Severina stifles her fears of failure and letting herself and her regiment down behind an iron facade of discipline and duty.
As the conflict against a Ruinous Powers cult known as 'The Sighted' - which the reclamation is charged with destroying - has ground on, Severina has allowed herself few attachments with her ward-regiment. Further and further, however, the conflict had began to show signs that not all as is what it seems. Subversion by the enemies of Man - and the vices of mankind's own flaws - were constantly everywhere; even as far as the very top of the Crusade's leadership.
Whether Commissar Raine and the 11th Antari will survive to see the Crusade's conclusion, however, is yet to be seen ...
Likes: Nothing out of the ordinary. Just find any common ground as best one could and all will be well.
Dislikes: Over-indulgence in vice, laxity, unnecessary fighting and cowardice. The last is usually summarily answered with a bolt round through the offender's skull, if warranted by Raine.
Fears: Betraying her oaths of loyalty to the Imperium of Man.
Weaknesses: Has the same likelihood of and vulnerability to falling victim to disease, death and other slings and arrows of outrageous fortune that the universe can hurl at a human being.
Name: York, Cordelia Nicknames:Dame Elaine (Order/Public alias), 'Lioness of Westminster' (internal/propaganda nickname) Gender: Female Age: 20 Birthday: May 25th Height: 181cm Weight: 65kg (approx.) Nationality: British Personality: 'Lady Elaine' appears, at first glance, to be a fairly simple woman. In Cordela's role as acting Knight-Captain of the Order's Academy City Expedition, she is merciless (when called for), 'no-bull' and professional, ensuring that her Knights' assignments are diligently planned and commanded down to the letter, while also permitting her to change approaches on-the-fly. She gives more then enough leeway to her comrades to allow them to act on the battlefield as necessary, yet retains enough of an oversight to ensure that any strategy is on track and that any violation of the Knights' oaths and standards are - if necessary - summarily punished.
Personally, her facade as the 'Lioness of Westminster' belies a woman who is - for wont of better terms - both a fulfilment and (in part) a betrayal of that persona. Cordelia continually has to grapple with the differences of the teachings of the Church vs the reality all of Man lives in. She, thus, is sceptical - if not privately derisive - of those that become fanatical in their devotions and beliefs to the point where they believe that all others must die over the matter - be these fanatics the Archbishop of Canterbury or Alistair Crowley. Further, she is a voracious book-reader and can often be found in her spare time with a nose in a book, tome or treatise (fictional or non-fictional), usually curled up under her sleeping covers or with a 'cuppa' by her side.
Biography: Despite the nobility that her surname might otherwise imply (York), Cordelia retains no memory of her family or her childhood - whether her immediate family befell some catastrophe or otherwise couldn't raise her with them, she does not know. Instead, Cordelia was raised within an Anglican-run foster home for girls in the Midlands; her earliest memories of that place was the incredible warmth and kindness shown to her by one Sister Delacroix, the matron of the facility. Cordelia would undergo alternating routines of schooling, household chores and frequent down-times spent reading within the home's library, a lover of the myths and legends of the world. Through the Church, Cordelia would be both raised and educated, never knowing in her younger years the potential that lurked in her soul.
When she was 13, her home was visited by two armoured men, appearing as if they'd stepped out of one of the books she'd read. To both her and Delacroix's surprise, Cordelia would be selected for transfer to Caerleon (Wales), officially to 'continue her education'. It was this moment that she first heard the terms 'magic', 'magus' and of the Order of the Round Court of Caerleon, and how - as explained by the Knight who introduced himself as one 'Sir Lucan', Cordelia was a potential wielder of Magic - one who, though both unformed and unfamiliar she might be, could become an invaluable defender of Man and God.
At 18 - after five intense years of arduous training and indoctrination - Cordelia swore the Oaths of the Knight and, along with ten of her peers, was dubbed by the Order's Grand Master under the ancient eaves of Westminster Hall. Noted for her steadfast determination and her performance as a swordswoman, she would take on the vacant alias (and seat at 'court') of 'Lady Elaine'.
Such elation, however, would not last before Westminster would fall under attack, days later, by an unknown terrorist element. As the two-dozen attackers rampaged throughout the area and barricaded off Westminster Bridge, the Metropolitan Police would be forced to try and shift civilians out of the line of fire, as well as determine the group's motives. Elaine, however, would not wait and - granted reluctant permission from her superiors and the authorities - led a direct assault on the Bridge. The result was a one-sided massacre; outmatched by the sudden appearance of magic users and over-confident, the enemy was brutally cut down. Elaine saved their leader for last, forcing a confession out of the man as to the group's identifying name, before summarily putting him to the sword before a horrified BBC camera crew.
Two years after the incident, it appears that another lead in the now-cold-case has emerged; the Westminster attackers may or may not have received assistance from shadier parts of the so-called Academy City in Tokyo. The newly-accoladed 'Lioness of Westminster' has received orders to covertly travel - with another dozen of her kin - to the City and link up with the so-called '0th Parish'. From there, they are to covertly assist the Parish with their objectives in the City, while attempting to pick up where the police and Order were unable continue.
If there was one secular law of reality, though, that Elaine has come to learn as a Knight, it would have been Murphy's First Law: "If an operation can go wrong...." School: - Grade: - Skills: While her foremost fields are in swordsmanship and Christian theological and scriptural knowledge, Cordelia also possesses fair athletic skill and can pick up other fields with time and training (usually fields that might become important to her work and can be learned and used in a short time; fields which require long-term investment would, naturally, come more difficult to her). On the subject of any cooking, however, the general consensus is "don't ask - oh dear God, just don't!"
Faction(s): Necessarius (association), Order of the Round Court of Caerleon ('officer')
The Knightly Order of the Round Court of Caerleon (often rendered as simply 'the Order') is a sub-division of the wider Knights of England, who are tasked with ensuring that the objectives of the United Kingdom are carried out in relevant magical matters. Unlike their parent order, however, this sub-branch has a limited, direct influence with the Royal Family; they are often tasked with expeditionary operations and tasks outside of England's borders directly by the Crown, and (in turn) report directly to the monarch (rather then via the Church of England or even the House of Lords first). Furthermore, the Order has come to embrace multiple (non-ESP) aspects of the 'science' camp, vis a vie being a purely Magic-focused faction; the latter will be elaborated further.
In terms of its principles, the Order seems - in many respects - to be a throwback to far earlier times. Their loyalty to England is absolute, while the defence of the Anglican faith is drilled into them through training and indoctrination. However, held above their loyalty to the Church are the ideals of chivalric behavioral standards, honour, implacability in the face of the worst of foes, and ensuring that the innocent are protected at all costs. The latter values - in conjunction with their flouting of ultra-orthodoxy regarding the arbitrary split between 'magic' and 'science' (out of practical necessity and the idiomatic reasoning of 'Does our Lord care whether His Will is done by magical flare or artificially-charged lightning bolt?') - frequently finds the Order dancing knife-edges away from being deemed apostate by Anglican hardliners back in Westminster Abbey, and by puritans in the other major strands of Christianity.
Because they draw heavily from the Arthurian cycle for inspiration (Arthur famously being 'one of Britain's own') and in the formation and continuity of this minor Order, the Caerleon Order has a barely-contained rivalry with other groups that co-opt Arthurian legends and artifacts, such as the infamous 13 Knights of Rome. To the Order, such appropriation borders on outright sacrilege by 'the wayward materialistic Romans'. Should it come to it, clashes between the Order and such elements are anticipated to become violent.
While officially, the Order's leader is (nominally) the Crown of England, the reality of day-to-day operations and planning have meant that the Order retains a rank akin to a Knightly Order's Grand Master, who operates out of either Westminster Palace or the garrison of the Tower of London. Under alias, this Grand Master is named - depending on gender - as 'Lord Arthur' or 'Dame Guinevere'; real names are never used publicly and in official communiques from London.
However, recent developments in London have deprived the Caerleon Order of its senior leadership. Currently, the acting Knight-Commander (one 'Sir Calogrenant') has permitted the Academy City expedition to defer leadership to the head of Necessarius - on the provision that her orders and the Order's principles or objectives do not conflict.
Numbering just under a hundred strong, the Order typically draws its numbers from unorthodox Knights of England who, regardless, have conspicuously had displayed high moral standards, physical and magical ability, as well as promising recruits capable of projecting Magic or possess some form of knack in relevant (non-ESP) scientific fields. The Academy City expedition - numbering around a dozen - is forced to rely on watching for promising students among the faculty's number who show potential. Given their (as of yet) unofficial status, however, recruiting efforts have stalled in the face of the threat of Anti-Skill coming down hard on any interlopers within the lives of the City's charges.
Like the Knights of England, the Order predominantly operates in a close-combatant, magic use-heavy fighting doctrine; typically battering their foes with mace and warhammer, cutting with sword and axe, and scourging them with flail and spear. However, their preference for - and making use of - scientific advances within in arms, armour and technical areas of use permit the Order a degree of flexibility otherwise not found within their peers. Technical- and marksman-minded knights can bring both conventional and esoteric firepower to bear in support of their comrades, while specialists in medicine, armory maintenance and (rare) computational programming can allow the Order to overcome obstacles that cannot be 'brute-forced' (or would otherwise take too much time to do so).
When anticipated to be within heavy fighting or conditions that would require heavy layers of protection, the Order dons an enscorced set of plate armour. Worn over a fire-resistant set of padding, forged with modern meteorology and inscribed with wards to mitigate possibly Magical (not physical) damage, this otherwise relatively uncomfortable protection usually can mean the slightest difference between an injured but alive Knight ... or one being sent homeward in a coffin. Apart from a Knight's personal emblem (or heraldry, should it be granted to worthy individuals by London), there are no identifying marks or emblems on the armour to betray their allegiance.
As an alternative for those Knights or specialists who prefer a far lighter, mobile or (or for the rarely-openly vain) 'stylish' battle dress, an alternative uniform is provided. Lacking similar emblems as their more heavily-armoured kin, this throwback to the 19th century allows a Knight far more more mobility, vision and flexibility wherever they may go, at the cost of drastically-reduced protection. Armour protection is usually limited to a few enscorced armour pieces, such as gorgets, vambraces and greaves.
Mage Name:Custos_539"In place of His mortal children and for His redemption, I shall fight and die a thousand times."
Magical System: Arthurian Mythology
Description: A crystallisation of the founding principles of the Pendragon and the Round Court peerage's bloodlines, mixed with later ideals generated within early medieval times regarding soldierly and noble conduct, piety and devotion. When invoked, a practitioner seems to be granted divine favor or protection, as if blessed by God or some form of higher power. Its price, however, requires the practitioner to be held to the highest moral standards: never to fall into sin or vice and to always hold the Word of God as their highest authority. Any shred of unrepentant sin found in them at the moment of invocation will result in failure ... with potentially fatal consequences for the magus.
At first, when the circle of magic appeared in the sky and her flotilla's shells were swallowed up in the abyss, Fisher was puzzled. When her Master began to invoke her oddly-named attack, however, the Servant's heart stopped. Breaking into a run from her spot on the bow, she began to charge for Dreadnought's citadel, shouting at the top of her lungs, "NO, MASTER!! WAIT!!"
The crash of Carly's 'magical cannon' threw her off; the Strategist was forced to throw her arms across her face, stopping her eyes from being blinded as a massive blast of energy tore from just in front of her fleet and streaked towards the coastline. Eventually, the cacophony of light and heat died down, allowing Fisher to lower her arms.
She really wish she hadn't, as her eyes fell on a smog and fire-covered section of coastline. Realising that the entire harbor had been gutted, Fisher's characteristic anger flared. In a trice, she was at her Master's side, hauling Carly off the deck by the shoulders and shaking her violently.
"You BITCH-BORN WHORE!!" the Fleet Admiral railed, her face blueing to near-violet. "Just what business did you have to override MY orders to the fleet?! And not only that, while I opted for a carefully planned bombardment of the outer harbour area, you went overkill and very well may have destroyed both our reinforcements and the ONLY foothold we have on this benighted land!! Give me one good reason why I shouldn't-"
"Admiral, ma'am!" A shout came from the main deck. The Ensign calling up to his commander was waving his peaked cap wildly and gesturing to the smoke-filled seaside. "Look!"
Trembling with barely kept in-check anger, Fisher set Carly down and stalked towards the edge of the bridge snatching up her binoculars. Panning across towards where the remains of the harbor were still burning, she caught the pinprick, winking glare of-
... A signal lamp?!
Two hulls suddenly burst out from the smog and Strategist heaved a sigh of relief; it seemed that the last two destroyers (as well as several dozen smog-covered and clearly banged-up, yet alive Marines) had all made it out. What she did not expect, however, was the third shape that loomed in the blackness beyond, punctuated by a menacing series of blasts from its horn and the signal it now flashed to 'Dreadnought':
HMS DREADNOUGHT, HMS QUEEN ELIZABETH REPORTING FOR DUTY.
Fisher lowered her binoculars and looked back at Carly. "I owe you my most heartfelt apologies, Master," she added apologetically. "I won't doubt you again, but please run anything you need to do by me BEFORE you carry it out." She grinned wryly, beckoning to her. "Come now. We have a war to win and a world to save!"
A sentiment, then that it seemed the newest arrival - judging from the (late) telegram shoved into her hands by an out-of-breath rating, followed by Servant Tesla showing up out of the ether - shared. The Fleet Admiral appraised the situation that the Servant of Electricity explained, as well as the radio images that Tesla threw in as visual aids, before nodding sagely.
"Very well. Follow me to the chart-room in the citadel's lower deck; I want to hear and see everything you've just summarised in as much detail as possible." She nodded to Carly. "Mistress, it's best that you follow as well."
'It's safe to say, then,' she thought bitterly to herself as she cycled the bridge's hatch-wheel and responded to a Lieutenant's salute. 'That both the Grail and salvation for my homeland are now well and truly out of reach. Then again, if we all die here today and end up doing nothing to stop whatever evil's been unleashed here ... I suspect it would no longer matter anymore ...'
Admiral Fisher's small fleet had just consolidated their position and had begun to form up further off the coast when the sounds of gunfire echoed from the shoreline. The Servant snapped her eyes landward and brought up her binoculars; other watch officers, likewise, did the same, searching for any sign of the interlopers.
The flare and spatter of muzzle-flash caught her eyes and the Servant felt her lips twist up in revulsion. The mysterious trio had progressed far faster then she anticipated and were, even now, showing little signs of slowing down. Despite many of the Marines maintaining their firing lines in the buildings and thoroughfares - placing well-aimed Lee-Enfield rifle and Lewis and Vickers machine-gun fire on-target - the enemy showed little sign of being wounded. One Marine jumped from a sandbagged firing line his section was ensconced behind, bayonet fixed to his Mk. I SLR, and charged one of the creatures. Though the blade struck home, the creature didn't appear to have been wounded; the unfortunate Englishman was now on the receiving end of potentially being torn to pieces.
Strategist lowered her glasses and turned away from the engagement, her eyes momentarily downcast. She hated this; she knew that in war, she'd have to make calls that would result in men being sent to their deaths, but still, she hated having to make such a call. She took a moment to compose herself, then turned her mind back to the grisly task at hand.
"CTN Bacon!" Fisher called to her 2IC. "Signal to all ships: 'Engage at will'!"
As Strategist's order rang out across inter-ship Morse transmitters and via 'Dreadnought's signal lamps, the fleet - continuing to sail at reduced speed West along the coast - acted. The screening destroyers readied their two-apiece 4-inch and twin 12-pounder guns, while the Invincible adjusted its main guns' elevation. All of them would be shelling the outer Harbour area; at best, it was hoped that they could slow the oncoming Laeus' and allow the last of the ship-building by the docks' piers to be completed - not, however, without cost. The submarine E21 lurked at periscope depth beneath the darkened waters nearby, ready to surface and add its small compliment of surface firepower (or to evacuate anyone stranded on land) when called for.
Dreadnought, however, had trained its broadside elsewhere; acting on earlier intelligence, Fisher had deduced that the co-ordinates Tesla had supplied indicated that either the source of this infestation - or other survivors - had been gathered at those coordinates. As such, she ordered Dreadnought to drop a continuing salvo of 12-inch High Explosive shells away from that position - if pulled off, this will likely take the pressure off anyone fighting in the area.
'At least,' she reflected as she took her leave from the bridge, 'That is the theory.'
Arriving on the bow deck and perched by the jack's unadorned pole, the Admiral stood at ease and placed her gloved hands behind her back as her eyes fell on Fuyuki. She quietly surveyed the all-but-condemned city - briefly wondering to herself if this was how the gods of war felt and saw Man when the latter flailed at itself in their self-destructive throes - before she puffed up her chest.
"FOR KING, COUNTRY AND THE PEOPLE OF FUYUKI, COMMENCE FIRING!!"
Fisher remained unfazed at the thunder-claps and heat waves eminating meters behind her back, as for the second time in that hellish week in Fuyuki's history...
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