Jeep Wrangler

~ Valkyria Chronicles - Changing of the Guard ~

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_{Garnian Salient: Rear Line, August 25th}

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In that moment, a swarm of soldiers suddenly gathered around him. Some were interested in his poetry, others just curious about why he was wasting his time with his pen to the paper. He didn't get a chance to fully respond to Isaac before another began to speak. Jonnie, once more, had answered the queries and responses he bespoke of, and made a few humorous jokes and anecdotes about the training days. It sent a few bad memories through Jean's head, making him remember his own NCOs and their abusive tendencies. Being branded a coward was bad enough as it was, a reputation which had unfortunately carried over to his training camp regardless, but having the body of a Darcsen worsened everything tenfold. They were not days he was fond of reminiscing of, nor was he happy with ever sharing those details. For the most part, the others around him had not yet brought up his Darcsen heritage, which made him feel slightly anxious about whether or not he was an acceptable candidate for their Lance Corporal. The boy's curling muscle and wink showed quite a lot of confidence, one that worried Jean a little bit.

"N-Now now, let's not get too ahead of ourselves in the confidence race, shall we?" Before he would continue, he turned over towards one of the newer investors towards the conversation. She was a very fair girl, of similar age but a much more questionable height, who bore the same gear as any other rifleman would have. Her blonde hair and honey-toned eyes shimmered through the darkness of the raining solstice. The hair she carried draped down fairly far, making him wonder if it would be a nuisance for the battlefield. Everyone here was yet to see the frontline and to take part in their opening mission, but Jean couldn't help but wonder how he and the others would do. Either way, Paloma, as she identified herself as, had the aura of a warming endeavour spreading beyond her own entity, something that felt ethereal and eternal. He gave her a beaming smile, one that he'd given to a select few beforehand. "I wouldn't call myself a poet as much as a failing one, but I definitely see the links to it towards music. It's very very lovely to meet you, Paloma. Oh...and you don't need to salute a Lance Corporal."

For once, his slightly playful side was shown as he winked satirically to further stress his point. These were all fresh soldiers, just like he was, so to crack down on misconduct was something he couldn't exactly do without a stride of hypocrisy. Thus, he tried to remain lenient on the matter and just give them a general reminder instead of a warning as such. He hoped she'd take it well and that it could help ease his own nervousness of her presence, but Jean was quick to be swarmed by yet another soldier. His name was Mikael, a marksman by all means. They were usually selected based on their shooting training and accuracy from within the camps back in Edinburgh, but whether or not those skills held up in real combat was a feature to be tested and trialled. There wasn't much to respond with, so Jean simply gave him a courteous nod and smile with glee.

Britta, the golden girl before the group, still spoke about her upbringing and misunderstanding of the poetry concept. By all means, this did not irritate Jean at all. Poetry was the only thing Jean had going for him, and intelligence was a battlefield trait he could not muster. He didn't want to alienate her with such trivial questions, but instead tried to reassure her that he wasn't anything special or was he ever going to be.

"You'll be as capable as everyone else, regardless of your or mine upbringings. Poems aren't going to help be at all in this war, it seems. What platoon would want some soppy degenerate of a Darcsen who likes writing to lead them into battle?" His attempt at cheering her up only seemed to distress himself more. His eyes shifted into a somewhat dull angle and were poisoned by the faintest memories of what life had brought him and his people. He didn't mean to go off on a slightly emotional tangent in praising her, but Jean's tendency to ridicule his own abilities was more than enough to rile up his feelings. And so, he tried to force the conversation back onto a happier path. "U-uhh...I'm happy to have you with me...us. All of us. Yes!"

Everyone had been chatting away for a while, more than he realised, when suddenly a booming tone broke their conversation. It was a familiar one, one that had been present only twenty or so minutes before. His undeniably strong prowess in the manner of speech he chose must have been satisfying for his own personal ego, but everyone else may have found it irritating by the sheer noise it created. Definitely an officer, alright...

"8th Platoon, gather your gear and webbings. Plans have changed. Advancement commences in 15 minutes, so haul-arse over to the frontline steps! Anyone who refuses to come is to be court-martialed, so let's get a move on!"

Time had passed, only five or so minutes, and now here they were. The once chattering noises of the platoon were strangely silent over the composition of pattering raindrops and precipitating clouds from above. A gloomy atmosphere engulfed the depths of the trenches whilst a strong stench suddenly erected onto the frontline. When Jean first arrived, leading his group behind Lieutenant Middleton closely, the smell was horrendous as a first impact. It smelt of rotting faecal manifestations, like the corpses of the thousands of undead warriors had all combined and collaborated into one horrific monstrosity. In comparison to the rear-lines and communication trenches, this frontline felt more and more unsanitary than the last. Grubby rows of men and women who'd been here for months and weeks beforehand were staring them down with dark looks, knowing that something awful was to come in less than 5 minutes.

It was quiet, far too quiet for Jean's liking. He'd heard news of the unrelenting orchestration of gunfire on most occasions, but the tides of war seemed to be all but still. Many were whispering amongst one another that the trek would be smooth-sailing. Some whispered that the boys back in Arty-town, a nickname given to the emplacements of heavy barrage cannons west of the trench, had knocked two bells out of the Imperials and sent them running from the hills. Jean had no idea how reliable these cannonades were, but he trusted their word enough to feel a little bit of confidence come back into his soul. To his left was Paloma, who stood shortly against him. Again, that warming aura she let out seemed to calm him like a fire in the wintry harshness. On his right, Isaac also stood, all in silence. Jean tried to start the first conversation, seeing that the pre-show speech wouldn't be given until Middleton had fully inspected his weaponry.

"Here we are." Jean nervously shuddered to himself, partly from the cold and partly from his temptation to lose all control of his breath. The wait was a hard bargain to deal with. He had no idea whether the topside of the trenches were to be glorious and full of royal pleasure like most stories went by at the home's broadcasting services or whether it were to be nothing more than a nightmare awaiting his attention. "We're fine. Should be fine. Right, Paloma? Fine...Fine fine. We're going to be absolutely fine. It's how we lose our combat virginity, anyway. Right?"

_{@Ambra@Symphoni@Sync@Rigmarole@FalloutJack}

~ Valkyria Chronicles - Changing of the Guard ~

Sounds interesting~ (>//v//<) Could I ask if I can join?

@YukiHana

You are more than welcomed to join! Here is our discord link

~ Valkyria Chronicles - Changing of the Guard ~

I'm really interested in the setting of everything, though I know like very little about about VC lol. Though if possible I'd like to give it a try. That is if there's still spaces available and if you'd have me.

@Sync

Don't worry. You won't need to know too much. If there's anything you should want to know, we're all ready to take you on. Besides, whether or not someone bowed out doesn't mean I won't have yah.

Here is the Discord link: This

~ Valkyria Chronicles - Changing of the Guard ~

WIP CS

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Name
Dominic James Silva

Gender
Male

Age
17 September 19th, 1898

Sexuality
heterosexual

Race
Born in Calif, United states of vinland

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Appearance
Dominic stands at six feet two inches and is in great physical shape. In his uniform the only real identifying marks he uses is a Charcoal grey scarf to cover his mouth on cold nights and a vinland flag, on his right shoulder sleeve.

Height
6 feet

Personality


Dominic is like man boys from his country. From a young age he was taught the difference between right and wrong along with what it meant to be a man. dominic was raised to refer to his elders as sir or ma’am, to take his cap off in doors, To women Dominic was brought up to be chivalrous and with children Dominic was raised to be gentle. The biggest trait Dominic has is his views on doing what is right. Weather its defending some who is being picked on or Enlisting to serve values he believes are worth dying for.
While Dominic enlisted to go fight for the federation, it wasn’t without moral dilemmas. Dominic is terrified of what could happen to him. Dominic knows full well that he could die, or lose a limb. Even if he survives the war, there was no guarantee Dominic would come home without being effected. even with all the worries he had, he views it as a necessary sacrifice.

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Rank
Private

Role
rifleman

Equipment
SM-Longfield Rifle, Standard issue bayonet, Federation uniform. Photos of friends and loved ones

Potentials
Hate filled: The rage of losing his best friend drives him to do sometimes cruel acts towards the enemy.
Sentimental: Dominic often looks at photos and letters from friends and family when things get rough, to help him keep going.
Born soldier: Dominic takes his job seriously, ensuring his gear and supply is up to the task.
Patriot: Dominic believes in the worth of their cause, he is willing to die.
Torchbearer: The stories and the sacrifice of his name sake has opfften guided him to do what he believes is right, regardless of what happens to him.

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Biography
Dominic was born outside the small seaside city of Calif, on the western coast of Vinland, Dominic’s father ran a small ranch, after his retirement from the military Diego was in need of a way to keep him busy and have some income the supplement his retirement income. Life was fairly simple, helping his father work and learning what it meant to be a hard working man. Growing up Dominic would beg his father to tell him stories from his time in the military. Dominic’s favorite stories were always the ones of his father and his buddy Dominic,his name sake and a man the young boy revered. The two always seemed to survive the everything during the various “military actions” his father saw. The one thing that was a constant was how his father carried a photo of his mother through it all, often pulling it out to show him the “battle scars” of being with him on deployment.
As a young boy Dominic would always be found playing army with his friend Jasmine sinclair and Benjamin Carmine. Life was so simple, The three would run various raids on make believe enemy camp’s being awarded medals that they made out of various bits of trash. The proudest award Dominic was awarded was the “medal of Braveness, for helping Ben raid the enemy camp for sweets.” If they were lucky, Dominic elder sister Alejandra would make appearances often helping lead glorious charges on her mounted cavalry winning the war for Vinland.
Life was simple for Dominic with school and his childish whimsy broken up by the Work dominic did with his father on their ranch.it wasn’t until dominic’s 15th year, during the first year of the war. The only thing on Dominic’s mind was enlisting. Sadly he had to wait till he was 17, per his father's orders, like his sister before him. Dominic remembered that night clearly with curiosity. During school days, Alejandra meet him after class and walk home with him and the two would talk about their respective days. That day she was nearly an hour late, arriving quiet and lost in thought. As they arrived home and headed up the front steps she stopped Dominic and said “Remember Dom I love you so much and no matter what happens just remember I love you” before giving him a big long hug and than enter their house. Later that night around the dinner table She gave the news. “I’ve enlisted in the Army.” The statement silenced the entire room. not even the crickets outside made noise. After a moment of silence Dominic’s mother simply said “No...and That's that” before standing up and leaving the room. After a moment of silence Diego stood and gently with a forced smile asked Dominic to take his sister and go up to their rooms. As dominic ascended the steps with his sister in toe, he expected a lot of yelling and screaming. But to his surprise there was nothing, After an hour or some Alejandra came up stairs with plates of their now cold dinner. Later that night Diego called his son into his study. “Dominic..my son… I know you want to enlist… I understand the call to serve...its what drove me to enlist so many years ago… but as parents Your mother and I can’t send two of our children off to war…” he said, barely able to keep his voice even. “I know that I won’t be able to keep you from enlisting at 17… but at least wait until you are 17.”
In a few weeks following the conversation Alejandra left for basic training, soon after Benjamin enlisted and shipped off for Basic. Dominic would write weekly letters to both of them , keeping them appraised of life back home. The letters were often filled with promises of him joining them soon and how things would be after the fighting.Now all alone Dominic worked around his father's ranch, keeping up with newspapers about the front, taking note of familiar names and making sure to try and say a prayer for as many as he could. it was during one of these weekly counts that Dominic found a name he had prayed he would never have to see in the paper this way. Near the top of the list that week was Benjamin Carmine. Later that same day The final Letter from Benjamin arrived.
This crushed him as attended his best friend funeral, meeting Private Thomas Alderman, The man who Benjamin spent his last few hours with before getting killed by an Imperial rifleman. a few weeks later on Dominic was called into his father's study by his mother. Diego called his son into his study once more. Diego sat with a box smack dab in the room when Dominic entered. Diego said one thing “remember the stories I told you of Uncle Dominic and I?” before pulling out a yellow and faded photo. On it two young men dressed in well ironed and pressed uniforms stood together smiling. One was clearly his father, barely older than Dominic was now. “That's him...That is the man you are named after… We were best friends growing up, we did everything together… He was killed during some fight in the south…” Diego said with a shaky voice. “I left my best friend lying in a pool of blood Dominic… its thanks to Him I survived and got married. He gave his life for me to live on…. I still see his face when I close my eyes… You have no idea how many times I wish I could have stayed with him and died lying there next to him…” For a half an hour Diego sat there recounting the last moments of his Best friend's life before asking “Are you prepared to die for those next to you? or have people you care about dying for you?”
The realities of war had crossed his mind many times, he knew that war wasn’t like those childrens games he used to play.He understood the very real reality that he could very well never come back, or if he did he would never be the same person. But he come to a decision. “Father I won’t lie to you...I am terrified that when I go over I won’t be coming back. That you and Mother will get a knock on the door one day with a folded flag, god forbid two...But you once told me… Courage is not the absence of fear...but acting in opposition to that fear… I will enlist because I know it’s right and that I can’t have others fight a war that I can fight myself.”
Three weeks later Dominic was off to Basic training with the MOS of Infantry. During Basic training Dominic learned a number of things while at basic. How to march,shoot,stab, and follow orders. After the 13 weeks of basic training and eight weeks of infantry training Dominic was sent to a reserve unit until Dominic was assigned to a Federation unit at the front. Having only just arrived two days before he was sent to front line reserve trenches.

Affiliations
Father: Diego alexio Silva (38) Former Army retired, soft spoken man who values honesty and “the traits of men”. Dominic has the highest respect for the man,
Mother: Isabella Maria Martinez-Silva (36) loving mother and gentle though often a terror if you went against her wishes
Sister: Alexa mariaSilva (16)younger sister and reservist rifleman in vinland military, Currently on garrison in Calif as part of the 123rd Reservist division. Dominic is proud of her.
Elder sister: Alejandra Isabella Silva (19) active duty sniper, Dominic’s favorite currently overseas with the 22nd Vinland infantry division, Marksman.
Brother: Jose Silva (1) just a baby not much to him, likes milk, poops a lot and is kind of pudgy.
Friend: Anthony Jenkins (17) Friend from Basic training. Currently waiting to be deployed.
Jasmine Sinclair(17): dating/ enlisted in the Vinland home guard.
Benjamin Carmine(17 at time of death): Best friend ,killed during an offensive with the 22nd infantry division during the second year of the war.

Relationships
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.

@caliban22

Content wise, it's good. There still are a bit of a few grammatical errors but I'm sure that can be fixed in due time.

~ Valkyria Chronicles - Changing of the Guard ~

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_{Garnian Salient: Rear Line, August 25th}

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For a moment, he was undisturbed with a tranquil sound of nothingness. At least that would have been what he'd have thought if it weren't for the distant bombardments from other frontlines, the shouts of medics and cavalrymen walking around for their rations and the chattering of the new platoon's soldiers. It was quite a nice feeling to have that orchestration behind his own numb mind. Luckily for him, the pitter-patter of the rain above him was no longer trickling against his steel helmet anymore as the loose cloth above him acted as a temporary shelter whilst he tended to his poetry. It was difficult to think about what to write in that moment, seeing as he'd been in this mud-pit for only a day or two longer than everyone else. It was nothing much to compare to considering the front seemed eerily silent. Soon enough, the bountiful splutters of puddles kicking up beneath people's boots kept him in a sort of distasteful discomfort that he loathed in that moment, but he continued sitting in his posture and writing away as if the world no longer existed. But obviously, that silence was short lived, and soon enough the man stood next to him only moments ago in the not-so-welcoming party approached him to strike up conversation.

It wasn't that Jean didn't love conversation, nor was he, in that moment, regretting the feeling of having an individual hopefully of the same mindset approach him and talk both professionally and informally to get his attention. It was a good feeling of camaraderie and satisfactory friendship amongst those he did not know. He explained why he was there, slightly dismissing his own rank which went alongside his reasoning for being within the Atlantic Army.

"Take pride in your rank, Isaac. I'm not one for formalities but it seems like it'll help for your reasoning for being here." Jean gave one of his signature friendly smiles that he used to show back in his home towards his family. Olivia was the one who first noted that his smile was quite innocent and blessing towards her worries, saying it could cure a thousand ill-minded fools if they were on a terminal path towards sickness. The man seemed to be rather rash-and-bone from the first imagery, his uniform not doing him major justice to his appearance, but nevertheless Jean was still able to withhold any negativity. "Well, I'm here on my own personal accord. You could say it is to help others, or to simply be around those who also came. I can't quite tell you...But I do know one thing. I am here the same reason everyone else is here...It's simply because we are here."

Before he could continue, another voice picked up from nearby as a second, a formal private, boy approached them with perky intensity. He was strangely polite in his wording and prepared to give his undying loyalty towards them. It actually forged quite a small chuckle in Jean's first response as he failed miserably in hiding it. He didn't want to come off as rude and imprudent but the laugh was more directed in friendly banter and kind realisations. The two who'd approached him so far were such a lovely bunch, at least from their first glances and words.

"Welcome, Private Katz. Don't need to be so formal. I'm sure Isaac here would be more than happy to lend you a hand in settling down. After all, we are all in the same boat, so we can try to ease ourselves up with a bit of laughter, joy and maybe a drink or two. Usually before a big show I heard they hand out some hot tea or rum. Maybe you could snag some early if you're quick enough." He laughed and went back to scribbling away in his service book, writing down more and more to the poetry about the happiness he was feeling in that moment. He'd completely forgotten the minor harassment Lieutenant Middleton had shown towards him, clearly for being a Darcsen, but these two seemed very find and capable of respecting him no matter who he was. It was a refreshing feeling that he'd not felt in a while.

In that moment, Jean took the time to look over what he'd just written down so far. It was still a massive work in progress and required much attention towards it still, which he would not have the time to conclude considering the apparent big show approaching in less than two hours. That made him slightly nervous on the inside, but the jovial and all-round happiness of the majority kept him well and truly satisfied with the moment in question. His mind was torn between whether or not it was a good piece of literature in its two singular stanzas so far, but that was not for him to decide:

Cold, goes the numbness of my gloved fingers.
The rain continues its downpour upon my clean steel pot.
Here by duty, here by pressure.
I sit still, on the frontline, around many with this muddy trench as their cot.
We wait for the Show to start.

Whistling has now ceased as the shells from above stop.
I presume that the Imps, those dastardly bunch, had given up on the hill before us.
We rest for an hour, letting time tick by at every interval.
The wind joins the artillery in a silent hush.
We wait for the Show to start.

Another voice suddenly broke free of the sudden quietness of his mind. A girl, who was barely older than he was, looked over him with a pale and dazzling gaze. Her ash-grey hair dangled forward as she leaned in, looking down at the paper he was writing upon. Her friendly and relaxed tone made him feel slightly at ease with the thoughts of the upcoming show, knowing that someone like her had the ability to calm nerves in the blink of a weary eye. At first he was reluctant to answer, feeling slightly nervous with being on the spot, but he continued anyway. Someone like her deserved an answer, especially with such a friendly introduction. Britta, as her name was, wasn't exactly intruding anything. He could write through the end of the world, it seemed, if he so wanted to, but this time he chose to put down the pencil, turning the book somewhat nervously towards her with a blemished smile of embarrassment.

"Oh...This? I was just doing some more poetry; it's kind of what I do. Helps me keep track of my mind and reminds me of what is important." With slight hesitation, he handed her the small book, giving her the option to flick through and see the three other complete poems on previous pages if she so wanted. None of them were the patriotic anthems of the rising hopes that many had written at the start of the war, and more of an account, and a narrative, of the experiences he'd had coming towards the frontline. After she took a hold of the book, he reached out a hand, offering her a handshake in a kind gesture with his signature smile once more. "It's very nice to meet you, Britta. You don't have to call me by my rank if you wish. I'll easily settle for Jean."

_{@FalloutJack@Rigmarole@Symphoni}

Hi I'm Jojo

I like roleplaying and playing with photoshop, see pfp for example. Hope we can be buds.

@Jojo

Is......Is that a...J-JoJo Reference?!?!?!?!

~ Valkyria Chronicles - Changing of the Guard ~

Hey hey,

Sorry for being so late.

Here's my character!

Britta Hagen

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"You can do it. I trust you."

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Name
Britta Hagen

Gender
Female

Age
Eighteen years
_{(born on November 5th, 1896EC)}

Sexuality
Heterosexual

Race
Westershelde, Atlantic Federation

Appearance
Britta stands at 5'6" and is slim and physically fit from the plenty of time outdoors she spent as a child growing up. She definitely isn't overly muscular of any sort, more or less leaning towards the athletic side of things than anything else. Her skin is fair and creamy with a hint of golden undertones from a healthy dose of being out in the sun. Her ash grey shaggy bob coupled with her azure eyes does however tend to give off a rather comely appearance that most would find attractive. Her hair is usually kept as neat and tidy as she can manage, but spending time outdoors and in combat on the front lines tends to hamper her efforts, so usually she just goes with whatever she can afford.

Stronger and fitter than most of her peers, she boasts quite a remarkable amount of stamina and strength, fully able to carry heavier equipment around in combat. Her sets of uniform differ from the clean ones that are recently washed, to the dirty mud-covered ones fresh from the front lines. The rank badge of a private is sewn onto the shoulder of her uniform, a gunner patch sewn just below to indicate her role in combat.

Personality
Britta has always been a highly energetic lively soul who can't hardly sit still in any given situation. As a child, she was often seen playing outdoors, running around in the open fields or swimming in the streams or rivers. She'd always been a wild and free-spirited girl who did whatever she wanted whenever she wanted. Her parents were the easygoing type and allowed her the freedom to do whatever she liked so long as she did not do anything dangerous or got herself into trouble with the law. It is needless to say that the girl knows how to have fun. She was brought up to be very open-minded and accepting of everyone, regardless of social standing, fame or rank.

In tense situations, she is known to be calm and level-headed, not being one prone to panicking or losing one's self in the situation. Despite her steadiness, Britta is not without her fears. She is afraid of losing her loved ones and dying. Honestly, the thought of war and frontline combat has never not terrify her, but she knows that there is no running away from it. She is afraid of getting shot, lying wounded and alone to die, with people ignoring her as she slowly bled to death alone. While she is not afraid of death, what she is terrified of is dying alone.

Nightmares have plagued her so after nights in the front, but she has told no one of it for she had thought this would be common. On the more positive note, Britta also has a strong camaraderie with her fellow comrades, always looking out for her squad mates to check if they are alright. Once gained her trust, she is known to be very loyal to the point of unbreaking.

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Rank
Private

Role
Gunner

Equipment
Standard gunner gear (HR14 & Combat knife)
_{(HR14 Machine Gun)}

Potentials

Fierce Determination: Britta has never been one to stop or quit something halfway, and that isn't going to stop now. Her grit and tenacity will plenty of good in seeing them through this. Sometimes all you need is a good ol' determined resolve to push you through.

Heart of a Lion: With plenty of courage to spare, whenever no one else is able to step up in fear of the task in hand, Britta has no problem volunteering for it. While she does still have her fears, she does not let it control her.

Thinks too much: There are times where Britta just thinks too much, and spends too much time in her head. She needs to spend more time of actually doing something, instead of just going over and over situations in her head worrying about the outcome needlessly. This isn't saying she needs to be more rash, but rather to stop being so overly cautious in everything without reason.

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Biography
Britta Hagen was born in the countryside of Westershelde, in 1869EC, to a lower class family. Her parents were Gunther and Sonja Hagen, and they were a farmer and a miller respectively. The entire family lived in the family's farm which included a windmill, and the Hagen family lived a simple and contented life. The rural life suited them fine, and the vast outdoors with its rolling green hills and the blue shining rivers were the children's playgrounds. They helped out in the family's farm and mill as soon as they were able old enough to. The family lived off the crops they grew, and whatever money they earned from selling the sacks of flour they sold to the city and whoever else needed them.

Exploration and creating her own fun was something that Britta and Hans had to do on their own, for the family wasn't that well off to afford them many fancy toys. That wasn't a problem for any of them. They had plenty of playing space, and they could do whatever their imaginations allowed them to, so long as it wasn't overly dangerous that is. As she grew older into her teenage years, Britta would go along with her mother with her cart full of flour-filled sacks that she would bring into the city to sell. It was there in the city that she would open her eyes to a whole new world as the country girl exposed herself to the bustling affairs of city life. She eventually made friends from the city, and it was there that she found that she had both a thirst and hunger for learning about things that hadn't bothered her before, like the world powers, military affairs, how the city worked, etc. Her parent were not educated enough to teach her, so she had to learn all she could from her city friends.

The country girl had dreams of visiting and exploring other countries, and wondering how different they would be from her city here in Westershelde. Unfortunately, the Great War happened, and that kinda put a huge dent in her plans. She was out in her usual errand in the city when she happened to come across a recruitment officer advertising good money for those that signed themselves up to fight in the front lines. Her family had gone through a really hard period, and money was scarce, and the money she got from this would be a great help for her family. Without informing her parents, Britta went ahead to sign up before going home pretending as though things were as usual.

The night before she had to leave, she wrote a letter to her parents and brother asking them to take care, and that she did what she thought was the best thing in their circumstances. As fate would will it, unknown to Britta, her younger brother had thought and done the exact same thing a few hours after she left, and so that left both the Hagen parents distraught and helpless as both their children went off to war.


Affiliations
- Gunther Hagen (Father -- Alive)
- Sonja Hagen (Mother -- Alive)
- Hans Hagen (Younger Brother -- Alive)

Relationships
_TBA

Character Theme

@Symphoni

Accepted. Love it!

~ Valkyria Chronicles - Changing of the Guard ~

Intro post is now up, boys and girls.

~ Valkyria Chronicles - Changing of the Guard ~

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Ever since that first day, Europa had always been a changed place in the world. All of the landmass had been engulfed with the furious uproar of technology, politics and expansive settlements. No one was cautious enough to see their flaws and mistakes and now, in this bleak summer's end, there was war. A war like no other, some would say, that was to end all conflicts known to mankind. From the fiery pits of each capitals, churning out weapon after weapon for the hands of rugged soldiers, a descent into chaos only continued to fuel itself every day. Not a single day would go by where man would claim another's life. The dawn of each day was someone's last, their final dusk spent being lowered into some shoddy grave their comrades had to build on the fly. Nearly three years had gone by since the first sign of gunfire had been sighted. The flash from its muzzle started the on-going engagement that now positioned itself on the front of every news paper, book and radio broadcast back home. Hundreds flocked through the streets to sign up, knowing to them that it was their duty to spring into action. When the Imperials first struck, taking the borders of Assen without much of a sweat, the response was of outrage. Many saw this as a violation of human rights, despite knowing that both sides were desperate on the Ragnite stored within. The first Crossing of the Maren River was a devastating realisation that this war needed to be fought differently to the previous ones.

It began with one trench, temporarily made to save a platoon from a charge. Then it became two, and after that about seven popped up. It was a matter of weeks before a system of lines, going further and further into Federation territory started to be made. In response to that, those of the Imperial Army followed suit and forged their own, forming the very first stalemate. It was a strong stalemate that would last for, so far, nearly three years. The first two years had already been bloody enough, but details of such experiences were spared for those back home, who were only seeing the war as a glorious atonement to their duty. The Federation's formation made many rush to the volunteering offices, and soon the boots were filled and the guns were armed. Many went off to the field, many of which would not come home.

Jean knew that war was something where men and women died. It was an obvious statement in itself, and to think otherwise would make them an ignorant fool. But Jean didn't know the full extent of how much war took its toll on the people. Throughout every fifteen flyers pressuring the masses into enlisting there were the odd stories of those who claimed to have returned from the frontlines, stating that it was a brutal mess of slaughter and genocidal orders. No one, of course, would believe them. Not even Jean, who was brandished as a coward by his own people for not enlisting, saw their truths and continued to imagine the war as some romanticised station where honour, love and friendship blossomed throughout. It was somewhat true about the latter, but the first was definitely an overstatement. He had no idea of how much different the frontline would be, until that day.

He remembered signing up for the Federation Army. Shipping off to Edinburgh was no honourable dissection from his usual homesteads as the eyes of many carried with him. At the same time he volunteered for the Army, under the pressures of the White Feather movement, Jean remembered seeing some of the boys and girls from his home city stare at him, and this time not just for being a Darcsen. Half of the time it hadn't gotten to him and would proceed to be an afterthought, but the constant waves carried over to training too. Some considered him weaker than the standard man, seeing him as easy pickings for challenging. Those who were unable to accept his camaraderie at the time tried to shun him down, which was occasionally responded to by the officers. All of the physical stress was quite a deal. From the beginning, they learnt how to hold a standard rifle before trainers began to divide them into specialised categories. Even for a 2-year war, Jean was rather impressed with the amount of reorganisation the military had gone through to see these changes. However, though it was probably for the best, Jean was placed simply within the riflemen of the army. There was no problem with being there, as it did show that he was serving his freedom and duty without the need of a specialised position, but the stories of those who were brave and valiant came from those with different ranks. Stories like Private Turner, a farmboy from Assen, who commanded a gunning sentry position managed to halt an entire platoon or two charging their way. He received a lovely medal of great courage but soon died weeks later. It was a sad truth that wasn't kept from the public, but how he was taken from his youthful life was always left scarce. The methods of violence were not to be explicitly revealed, though no one really questioned why. Even Jean was ignorant to the reasoning, and just kept his training up like a good soldier should have done.

Training was difficult. The camp was filled with men and women of all ages, from as low as 16 to as high as their late 50s. Some were wise in the old ways of combat whilst others were virgins to battle like Jean was himself. When he was placed within the Rifleman's division of the training camp, he spent a lot of time trying to learn from others, improving his social skills and understanding the importance of trust. They were put into long holes in the ground, dugouts and what-not, to try and simulate what they'd be going through. Bayonet training was frequent and the adjustment to firing a rifle was an unsteady journey. At first, Jean was a rusty shot like most, but soon picked up and became talented enough to surpass his own expectations. It felt somewhat refreshing to achieve in a field he'd never dared to go towards and hoped that his family would be proud. Many times did he hear stories like his own, about how older siblings had gone to fight and never returned. Jean remembered Olivia's deployment like it was the day before and would use it to encourage him to push further. Basic needs like cooking, washing without actual washing kits and basic hygiene were given out regularly, yet many disregarded them knowing someone on the frontline was assigned to do it for them, most likely.

And finally came the day, after two months of training. His group were to be graduated and allowed for combat duty, to where they were all assigned their randomised regiments. Falling under the 15th Atlantic Rifles, he didn't travel over with many, if not any, of those who he trained with. According to some at the camp, the randomised regimental system was put in place after the failures of a Pal's Platoon system, where friends would join friends. Villages were rumoured to have lost entire generations of men and women, and now this system was put in place to try and minimise the effects of the loss of life. But on that day, something special came through. A recommendation, before he would leave on the boat back to the mainland of Europa, showed to his officers that he was due a promotion. The reasons were quite unclear, but apparently some communication skills in the zone of training let him brighten up to the next rank before he even left the deployment zone. Lance Corporal, he would be. And what a honour it felt...

The train was rugged. Everything after the promotion was nothing more than a rugged seat of discomfort and nervousness. It was a large railed network designed to transport them directly to their stationed frontline, but the amount of days it took staggered and frustrated Jean's inner anxieties. The realisation that he was going to war once again hit him and reminded the lad that this could have been his final decision ever made freely, one that could cost him his life. He would shake his head occasionally and deny such self-accusations, stating that it was a war that needed to be fought to end the wars of all generations to come. Whoever would win, between the Imperials and the Federation, would dictate the future of Europa. With one superpower out, there would be no need to fight. Peace could initially become a reality for some, though many saw the Imperial victory as a sign of impoverishment, danger and oppression. Many saw it as a black-and-white principle. One was good, the other bad. Jean himself admitted to feeling such a way during training, but he had second thoughts in that moment. And that was when the time drifted to the present day...

It was August 25th. 5:32am, to be precise. The weather was shit. The temperature was abysmal, yet there was a strange excitement in the air. No one knew why. For the past few days he'd actually been within the trenches, the 15th Atlantic Rifles were arriving in waves, so it was only natural for the platoon introductions to be left until all had been due to arrive. Because of that, Jean spent a lot of his time trying to get some of the mud out of the undersides of his boots. If it weren't for the duckboards, the summer bog would have engulfed half a leg by that time. But the noise was rather soft. Only a distant plunder of artillery shells could be heard on that day, as the previous days had many hours of bombardment coming from their own side. It was a ruthless and quite terrifying cannonade being orchestrated, but if it destroyed the enemy they were due to see then what would be his complaint to make? He was a Lance Corporal. He shouldn't be questioning orders unless they were his own.

Being in the rear-line was a bit more comforting than the stories of the front trench, which was only a few hundred metres towards the hill. On this Garnian Salient, strange mixtures of happiness and sadness seemed to engulf the masses. He remembered sitting in his dugout, listening to the conversations of the veteran soldiers around him tut to themselves about the new arrivals coming off the train, citing them as unlucky bastards and wasted casualties. It was here that Jean wrote his first poem, before hiding it in his breast pocket and tucking it away. He barely uttered any words on the first few days in the nippy conditions of the Salient, whispering to himself that this was natural to feel nervous. On the train, everyone had been told about the Big Show coming up, and that everyone was going to get their part to play the lead role. But he was awoken only ten minutes before, still dressed in his uniform from the previous day. It felt weird being within the same clothes for a few days, but again, he couldn't complain. This seemed to be the hardest inconvenience so far, but Jean had nothing much to complain about other than small titbits. There was no suffering, as far as he was concerned. That morning the blaring alarm of a bugler had awoken him and formed up an array of soldiers, all of different ages, gender and size. Many looked unfamiliar and only a few were somewhat recognisable, but that didn't matter. Before them all stood a man with quite a sharp face, as well as a tone just as sharpened.

"Platoon, 'tion!" Just as the many parade nights in training dictated, this was the call to come to attention. All of the soldiers were stood in small ranks, making up an organised presentation. Amidst the front of them all stood the NCO list. Jean hadn't a clue who any of his NCOs or Officers were and was thrown under the horse's carriage when being made to stand before everyone, silently awaiting the inspection and beginning of introductions towards the troops all around him. Quickly, he snapped with his arms beside his side, holding the salute everyone was inclined to do. The sharp-faced figure walked over with a bulking stare, glaring at those presented before him. His voice was of a very...aristocratic tone. His stiff expression eyed down those before him, judging them with every second that passed him. "Stand at ease, 8th Platoon. Welcome to my frontier, green-horns. I don't like having a chit-chat so we'll make this short, sweet and simple. I am 1st Lieutenant Middleton, and you will address me by my rank or by sir. I will not tolerate otherwise. Secondly, I must inform you that we are short on time to spend in the rear line. Two hours to the big-show, not a second longer. That means we have about an hour and half in these rear lines to get your uniform and gear set up, or to chat away to some other soldiers, I don't care. As long as you are at the ready point on the front trench by the dot, we won't have many issues, will we? Now to my right is an assortment of NCOs. If you have any issues, ones that we actually give a shit about, talk to them."

His gruffled yet superior tone made for a strange first impression. Jean didn't know whether to be annoyed by the pretentious style of wording he used or glad to know this man was in the right mindset to move things along. But it came clear that the anxieties of the poor Atlantic Darcsen were to be tested when the NCOs were being introduced one by one to the Platoon, by the Lieutenant himself. Many of the names he skimmed over, at least in Jean's mind, and then the final two stuck out with some resentment in hist one:

"And here we have...Lance Corporal Black and Lance Corporal...Charpentier? You Darcsens and your weird names, I'll tell you..." Though the last part was heavily muttered, he still heard it but remained visually unfazed by the comment and snarky remark. He didn't care so much as within a second later, the Lieutenant began to separate the groups by dismissing them, allowing for the soldiers to go around on their free will. Many began to turn to those they already knew whilst the more friendlier bunch went to introduce themselves. Many seemed cheerful to finally be here, on the frontline, to make a difference, whilst a select few looked rather miserable. Despite this, Jean was never the man to make his first impressions off the bat, and so he went over to a crate by the side, taking out his standard-issue notepad and pencil, and began to scribble away. He wasn't sure if anyone was going to approach him, nor was his paying attention to the threat two hours away, one that would change his life forever.

~ Valkyria Chronicles - Changing of the Guard ~

@SymphoniSorry, got the updated link now!