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3 mos ago
Current I can taste the rainbow! Wait no...it's just blood.
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2 yrs ago
Daylight Saving Times are a conspiracy to sell analgesics and coffee
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2 yrs ago
My milkshake brings all boys to the yard... good thing I planted mines.
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2 yrs ago
...Good lord, when was the las time I updated this?
4 yrs ago
BERSERK LIVES
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Bio

I run on GMT+1 Schedule.

And coffee.

Most Recent Posts

I did a thing. Shootable NPC, if @LetMeDoStuff is tempted.


Mila Wagner

Bodenn Province, The Empire: Bodenn Estate Woods, May 1st 1906 - Eve of Mila's Birthday


The earthen aroma enveloped Mila, as her boots made splashing sounds under the forest canopy. Tall fragant pines and cedars shoot up in the sky as the young child ventured farther in the woods. She liked it here, the peace of the forest. It was breathtaking experience, despite the mud. Here and there, the wind rustled. Mother's homeland had been for years just a second hand story. But now here she was, in an odd turn of events, her 10th birthday would take place in Bodenn, where mother had been born. She could now see firsthand it. And she liked every single part of it. She never understood how her parents had grown to hate it.

The happy child skipped a step as she followed the beaten trail deeper into the woods. Cousin Oskar was a few years olders than her, so he had been assigned as her caretaker. She had always wanted to see deer, and she threw a tantrum about it. In the end they relented, her blue eyes, rosy features and golden locks melted the people's hearts. Or so it seemed.

The tall lanky figure of a huntsman made her smile. It was Oskar, squatting on a forest clearing. He heard her approaching, and his equally gallant and fair features made a reassuring smile for his cousin to come. "I've found one, Mimi." He added, as she hurried up, her tiny hands lifting her skirt.

It wasn't what she was expecting. No big, funny antlers. This one was a hind, a female. Red blood, stinking to iron was pooling in the grass underneath her. Mimi wanted to run, but the hands of her sixteen year old cousin gripped firmly her shoulder. "You wanted to see one, so i caught one."

"b...but she's dead..." Mimi weakly protested.

"Well, Mimi... where do you think venison comes from? The venison you liked that much." Oskar was relentless. "Silly girl. You need to learn a few things." The man whose blue gaze Mimi once thought as cool... was icy. His eyes were boring into her skull. "I guess the apple doesn't fall far from the tree." The youth said, pulling the child towards himself.

"But there's more, Mimi." He said, pointing to a nearby patch. It was then when she was it. The fawn. It was cute and adorable, but it was petrified, its eyes sending a silent plea to the two humans. But Oskar didn't even flinch, as he unslung his rifle, and put it in Mimi's hands. She couldn't fight it, she wasn't strong enough.

"Mimi, this is the true face of nature. It's beautiful and breathtaking. But it's because Nature -is- ruthless. That cute fawn? Won't survive next winter. It's doomed without a mother. So... we will give it mercy." He added, his hands making Mimi's childlike hands go for the trigger.

"No!" She squeamed, but to no avail. The weapon did its job... and the little animal was no more.

"It's about time you learn that this world... is Kill or be Killed." The sixteen year old said, as she let the scared child let go of his grip. Mimi's eyes were blurry with tears as she fell on her knees to the ground. She could barely register what her cousin was muttering under his breath.

"It'd be so easy to make you disappear in a hunting accident, you little stain on my house's honour, but father asked me to be merciful.". Words that Mimi never had understood.

"I am filthy..." She said in a weak voice.



Garnian Salient: Front Line, August 25th - The Battle of Hill 58



She saw red. Kill. Or be Killed. This was all that was to it. They were fawns without a mother, thrown agains the scopes of a hunter. She had always known, but she had tried to be nice. This place was not beatiful. It was hellish... but it also showed the true nature of all things.

Kill or be Killed. She raged with the fear of seeing young lives dying in her presence. The ones she had grown attached to. While on her side, the others she hadn't become attached to were seeing the brunt of her attacks. She pressed, and moved with speed and ferocity. A single shot would mean death. She had to shoot faster. Everything went in a blur of vaguely define figures, although one event broke through the veil of her bloodlust.

A shot fired at her back made her tilt her head in her craze for a second, and recognize one of the federation uniforms, female shape and Darcsen complexion. She flashed a blood spattered smile at Kalisa. "Thank you, sis." She managed to piece together before continuing her assault with renewed ferocity. The imperials on her path were sluggish. They were trembling. And the shots fired at her back helped to cover more ground. She lost her ability to talk, only grunting now.

It was then when she run out of ammo, and forgot to fix the bayonet. But that wasn't an issue. The tip of the barrel was still hard, and there where enough soft body parts to aim at. Gritting her teeth, she drove the tip of the barrel through an imperial's throat, the messy sounds of cartillage crunching, and a man gasping for air only to be choked on his own blood were heard. His rifle didn't even manage to fire more than a couple of rounds, before Mila tore it from his hands.

She knew how to use them. She had seen her father and her uncles do it. She cocked and aimed with the weapon of the fallen, and restarted her carnage. The bodies and lives piled up, flashes of violence in her eyes.

And then she came to an halt. They had suceeded in the breach. Her legs failed to support her, as fire burned her lungs. All that anger was flushing out, and her own body seemed like a puppet with her strings cut. She collapsed into the dirty mud of the trench, alongside the other federation friendlies who were as tired as her. She saw the corporal crumpled up, tired, but she too was tired to move. Other people were looking at her. She wasn't sure if she had sustained wounds, or all the blood on her clothes came from imperial troopers.

It had been like a drunken haze, until her gaze saw what she was holding in her hand. A rifle with some brain matter still sticking to the butt, of imperial make. Realization broke her like a storm cracks a tree apart. She had murdered a lot of people, because they had touched her little sisters of battle.

She felt filthy. Tears flowed down her eyes as she stared at the gray sky above the trench. "Even the sky is filthy... like me. But I made it. I killed all of those...people" She said out loud, before giving to tears, between sniffles and hickups, which eerily resembled like a tired laugh.

Leaving the rp. Sorry.
May i be able to try a second time with Raven and the adventurer's guild i wonder...

Or maybe freelance Raven without a guild.
I will consider it.
i changed around the chronological order of your attacks for the purpose of making my post flow better.


Uh, it was a pot, like the kitchen instrument, not a potted plant.

Mila Wagner


Garnian Salient: Front Line, August 25th - he Battle of Hill 58



Filthy. Filthy. All filth that surrounded her. All filth that refused to go. She was surrounded by all of it. Wounds that oozed filth. Boots that flung filth. Souls that reeked filth. Minds full to the brim with filth. She tried and she tried and she couldn't scrub all of it off. For she was filth too.

Gone were the days where she could act. Where she still did a pretend game of big sister. They were so young in her opinion. Just like the siblings back at home. They needed a guiding figure. A soothing hand. Even if she herself wasn't sure of it, she did her best to be reassuring and smile. Everything was going to turn okay, she whispered to the souls that huddled against her, like baby chicks in a storm seeking comfort. Comfort that she provided. Comfort that she claimed was going to give all times.

But she had been wrong. The combat started. Left. Right. It was unlike any training exercise. She was overwhelmed. Like everyone else. She could barely react. And... people had fallen already. All for a bunch of mud. What was the point she was trying to make? Patriotism? Show that she wasn't a traitor. They all were humans and bled. There was no difference. And yet... for the sake of idealism, people younger than her were thrown on this hell.

The stray bullet had splattered all the contents of the head, the face disfigured in horror. But she had recognized the corpse of the fallen soldier on her way towards the gathering point. Sandra. Daughter of a baker. Wanted to make cupcakes. She was a bit of an spoiled little girl, but not a bad person. Too bad she would never heard how well Mila was going to do her gingerbread recipe from now on. No. Her brains were now filth on the ground. The same filth that stained her clothes.

Everything was filth. But what was the point of it. Was her destiny to become filth? It may have to be. But she remembered. Her family would be sad. All the little girls who huddled under her and looked up to her would be saddened. She felt her stomach convulse, as the lance corporal vomited his orders. Very much like her breakfast now. More filth upon filth.

Filth. She was filth. But she had to pretend. It was us versus them. Every soldier killed was an ally spared. She was such filth. And yet... she could not bear to not kill. She had to kill. For the small ones. For their hopes and dreams. Even if it meant hugging her siblings with blood-soaked hands, she would fight. She stood up, trembling. Her heart was thrumming in her ears, barely able to hear the Lance Corporal instructions. The orders came. She felt her chest exploding, a numbing fire spreading through all of her body.

And yet... she was fine. She was calm. Sharp. Focused. Her eyes narrowed, her stance assumed the positions that had been beaten into her by the drills. She spoke, in a voice that was perhaps too sweet and nuanced for the confident Mila, as if years had been taken out of her.

"I am going to murder every single one of them I find on my sights." She said in a singsong voice, hoisting her weapon, and charging. Rage that gave her wings, that numbed all sensations of pain and fear. More than machinegun fire, or dying by bullets, she feared to not be the big sister everyone looked up to. She advanced to a pace she had never thought she was capable off, her teeth gritted in a warped grin, a far shot from her usual smiling stance.

Lob grenades, he said. And she lobbed her, into the trenches. That would be enough to win time, but she had to breach. The Lance corporal was besides her now. She grunted, eyeing a corpse of an Imperial soldier she had seen in the battlefield. "Rise and shine, corporal. The only way out is through!" She smiled, full of dirt and malice, before setting off the imperial grenade at the corpse's belt and kicking it back into the trench.

It was satisfying how they never expected a booby trapped corpse of their own. They were filth, and so was she. And then she jumped, her eyes narrowed and her posture slouched, as she lashed at everything vaguely resembling an imperial trooper with unladen fury.

"IF YOU KILL THE PUPPIES, THE BITCH TEARS YOUR THROAT, IMPS!" She said, as she cackled, drunk on rage and blood.





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