Jeep Wrangler

~ Acrobats of the Sky: A light-hearted 1940s pilot story ~

@ConscriptsDoth thou have any inquiries on the matter?

~ Acrobats of the Sky: A light-hearted 1940s pilot story ~

Your pedantic history lover. Ready for service

@Conscripts

How pedantic of you to arrive here on such short-notice!

~ Acrobats of the Sky: A light-hearted 1940s pilot story ~

@Conscripts For my lovely Co-GM

~ Acrobats of the Sky: A light-hearted 1940s pilot story ~

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The year is 1942. War between the Alliance and the Conglomerate has been raging for nearly four years now, and progress has been less than adequate for either side in recent months. Land battles have been drawn into stiff stalemates and cities have become the epicentres to major conflicts, dragging out the tide of war further than it should do. But in this era of technological wonder and progression, one place stands with the highest chances of turning the battlefields of the world: the heights of the heavens above! Pilots are considered to be some of the best each force has to offer, making up strike missions that ensure the ground forces take less brute force and losses of life. With the war reaching its climax, the demand for pilots is at its all-time high, where men and women are volunteering to dream the days of flying high at rapid speeds. And with the rapid expansion of the battle for the skies, new tactics and divisions were specially marked for their integral commitment to the war. Amongst those specialist divisions stood Squadron 54, also known as the 'Wings of Damascus'.

The 'Wings of Damascus', despite being relatively new to the scene of the war, was constructed to try and give rookie to intermediate pilots the experience and agility required to survive on the ever-changing aerial frontline. Outfitted with a vast array of aircraft specially tailored to their pilots, as well as an armament of weaponry to allow each and every plane to adjust to different missions, they are destined to reach the top status of Combat Aces by the end of the war. However, some rarely believe their incredible tales of camaraderie, friendship, love and rivalry amongst the skies. From the waves of frozen seas to the deserts of Africa, these pilots saw the world from a perspective only the common man could dream of. All partaking in dogfights, ground attack and reconnaissance missions, night raids and convoy assaults, these novices were deemed to be the best the Alliance would eventually have to offer, as long as they earned the respect that came with their title.

And within the ranks stands you, the pilots of Squadron 54. Beginning your journey as the novice or amateur pilots of the Alliance, they'll see the war from their own perspective as they chase the status of Ace and do whatever it takes to give a glorious victory for their side. With pilots of all walks of life from within the Alliance, and a humongous array of aircraft that are specially designed to suit each pilot's needs and talents, join Squadron 54's journey through progressive prestige, love, hate and victory from the eyes that are soon to be the heroes the Alliance needs. Now what are you waiting for? Chocks away, Chaps!

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Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the interest check of Acrobats of the Sky: A light-hearted 1940s piloting tale! I've been wanting to do a semi-unrealistic and cheery slice-of-life scenario about pilots of a fictional second world war for quite some time, as I feel that the seriousness of most of my RPs does need some brightening in this day of age. With my own particular interest in piloting and having been brought up loving them, I wanted to make an open RP for those who love, or don't love, the aircraft of the world and make characters who are lovable, exciting and challenging to all situations. Whilst I emphasise the importance of the aircraft, which I will discuss more in a bit, I really am focused on the characters we will be taking up. Novice to amateur pilots from the alliance will be our boots to fill, where a heavy focus on the relationships between each and every pilot of Squadron 54 will be tested and expanded upon whenever possible. Whether it be arcs and side-plots of romance, the conjuring of a rivalry or the simple appreciation of a comrade, I'm open to having many great pathways to ensure characters get the greatest and most interesting stories of their own.

Most of this RP will be focused on a rather cheerful rendition of this Great War, where the pilots will have a lot of chances for downtime and communicating on the fly (No pun intended) whilst soaring throughout the winds of Europe, Africa, Asia and more. With the Alliance having a vast array of nations under its belt, the cultural differences, appearances, tactics and views of war will be greatly impacted from the get-go, simply by the choice of their nationality as well. Alongside our main cast will be NPCs who also serve as important characters to form bonds, loving passions, hatreds towards and so forth. I aim to make this a lively (though not hectic in terms of posting) scenario that really captures that sort of brightening view on such a fascinating piece of technology. I must align what I mean by light-hearted, of course, as I am sure that's a rather vague way of putting it. There won't be constant happiness and smiles throughout it all, as it is war after all, but I want it to follow a similar style to that of Valkyria Chronicles, which balances the characters and their experiences of bonding within the occasional disaster of the frontlines. There will be victories, defeats and stalemates that will strain, test and relieve the characters of. Without it having a huge focus on realism, I'm willing to allow the awe-inspiring visuals of our flying and character relationships to bloom in their own manner, with a few restrictions of course that will be addressed when the OOC is made.

Aircraft, now that's the important part alongside characters. Planes are typically going to be 1940s era aircraft of the Alliance nations. These are real aircraft used by these nations, for example Britain, being a key member of the Alliance, would use Hurricanes, Typhoons and Spitfires, though they are not limited towards them. You may want to use heavy fights or light bombers with dogfighting capabilities, giving you an edge and sense of sand-boxing towards how you explore this strange and mystical world of aviation. Aircraft will obviously have some limits that are considered unfathomable, such as larger fighters being unable to pull off the most daredevil of stunts in combat, but there are some liberties and senses of freedom I want to give to the story. After all, with that sort of anime-esc style of how the story was thought of, there isn't exactly too much room for hardcore realism, as sometimes that can be an extreme turnoff for long-term RPs. More information about the aircraft can be asked for down below in the interest thread, of course, alongside the nations and information revolving around characters and plot. Suggestions for planes can also be shown below to those who are interested in creating characters, helping us to create a lively community. I will also be providing a Discord channel within my server to also provide a quicker and more accessible chat-platform for not only the RP, but general shenanigans online as well.

I really hope this takes off (these puns kind of write themselves at this point) and garners the interest of those who want a fun, different RP with mixed genres blended into it. With the diversity of characters through gender, sexuality, talents, skills, personalities and so forth, I believe we can make a really interesting scenario that will stick wonderfully within my mind! Thanks for reading, and let's see how far we can fly with this one!

~ Valkyria Chronicles - Changing of the Guard ~

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Private Farris

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_{"P-Please; all I want is to go home..."}

---

Name
Lucia Jane Farris

Gender
Female

Age
16 Years, 10 Months - November 30th, 1899EC

Sexuality
Heterosexual / Bisexual

Race
Asseni- Outskirts of Cologne City

---

Appearance
As a girl who barely passed conscription, even by her own standards, Lucia holds one of the most frail and fragile bodies out of the entire 15th Atlantic Rifles. Her petite stance is almost laughable by some officer's as she stands only at 5' 2" tall without much room to grow anymore. She's, obviously, an Assen citizen who grew up living with a lower-classed family, so nothing more than the innocence of her smooth skin and brightness of her hair stands out amongst the crowds of unique soldiers and individuals. Her eyes glimmer a unique silvery shine that resonate smoothly with her own hair and pale skin, making her feel more dull in her eyes. To match her personality, it is rare to see her take any stance of power or aggression, usually holding her timidness in the body language she portrays and postures she holds. Whilst she isn't strong by any means, Lucia does have enough strength as such to barely survive what the war is making her do.

Personality
Lucia was one of the freshest recruits to be found in the 15th Atlantic Rifles and definitely holds the shame and fear that one should have. Her mind is almost as scared as her own small body is, shivering at the thoughts of major interactions or having to commit to the many atrocities the war makes them act upon. A true golden girl at heart, she tries her hardest to keep others safe, including the Imperials she is put up against, but does shoot her rifle if her or other people's lives are in danger. It's the only reason the army still keep her amongst the ranks, knowing that she will kill if she had to, despite her morality screaming for her not to. Lucia is as sweet as they come, trying to maintain a weakened but passionate smile throughout all the troubles she could find herself within. Her speciality is to comfort those who need it, but when she is placed in positions of trust and vicious importance she can't help but break down into tears or stressful anxiety. One of the many who shouldn't be serving on the frontlines, she longs for nothing more than to take back her homeland and return to the shack she grew up in, maybe bringing a few friends with her in the process. This acts for her silent determination, shrouded by the fear she always holds.

---

Rank
Private

Role
Rifleman

---

Biography
As previously mentioned, she shared the same nationality as that of the ruthless Lieutenant Middleton, residing in Assen before the war broke out. Her life was spent shrouded in poverty and difficulty, but that in itself built a strange determination and ability to keep going through the hardships she had to face, even if it meant crying the entire way. Many nights of lacking food towards the days where the harvest was no better than the previous day's worth encompassed her life and forced her to try and fend for herself amongst the troubles of her families. She was as singer, as such, and spent many of her days and hours travelling to nearby towns and cities to sing in the streets for individuals. Her performance gave her a small reputation as the Angel of Assen, one that made her appearance almost blissful to imagine. The money she gained from her small endeavours actively pushed her to secure a stablility amongst her family and friends that resided alongside her in the small Asseni shack. Eventually, on her thirteenth birthday, she was given the gift of an education as she was sent off to a boarding school in Cologne City. It was here where the world took a turn for the worst, especially for the victimised Lucia.

1911EC came around, the day in which the guns suddenly spiked up. The borders of Assen were rushed by the hundreds of Imperial soldiers as soon as the declaration of war was announced. Thousands died in the first every encounter, especially during the First Crossing of the Maren River, and Lucia was forced to evacuate on her own means. Many caravans heading towards the inner parts of the Federation were set up, but none stopped by the poverty-ridden landscapes of her home. Refusing to back down, Lucia found her own minor confidence to run on her own two feet. It was a grave mistake, one that would further prove that she was not capable of fighting or surviving a war. The Imperial soldiers were faster and managed to get ahead of her. Whilst she was unaware of them slipping by her lengthened journey of several week's walking, her house was found in shambles with only the bodies of her family around. She spent those nights in tears, crying in her old abandoned home, until the Imperials found her.

An act that would forever resonate within her heart, the Imperial Sergeant who found her instantly handed her peacefully over to the Federation in what was known as the 'Trading of the Heart'. Whilst Lucia's name wasn't associated with the event, the sign of temporary peace was definitely a sign that there was still humanity within both sides, even early on in the war. Lucia was slightly aware of how many papers picked up on that symbol of happiness and trust before the guns started blaring again, but it was nothing more than a grim reminder of what she found before the trade-off. The mangled and bloody corpses of her own cold family were enough to tear her apart permanently, causing her to derail and spiral down into a state of decay and disposed happiness. She eventually was set to join the Asseni Refugee Caravan situated where she was traded off to, where she spent the next year or two following the pathway of misconduct and uncertainty. That was until the Federation Government located them one day, reminding them of the low manpower and recruiting every last soldier they could find. Unfortunately for Lucia, she was considered just the right quota for the frontlines, a place she would scream and cry about for the nightmarish year to come.

Affiliations
Mother - Avril Farris [Dead]
Father - Howard Farris [Dead]

Theme Song

~ Valkyria Chronicles - Changing of the Guard ~

New NPC above!

~ Valkyria Chronicles - Changing of the Guard ~

---

Private Farris

---

_{"P-Please; all I want is to go home..."}

---

Name
Lucia Jane Farris

Gender
Female

Age
16 Years, 10 Months - June 30th, 1899EC

Sexuality
Heterosexual / Bisexual

Race
Asseni- Outskirts of Cologne City

---

Appearance
As a girl who barely passed conscription, even by her own standards, Lucia holds one of the most frail and fragile bodies out of the entire 15th Atlantic Rifles. Her petite stance is almost laughable by some officer's as she stands only at 5' 2" tall without much room to grow anymore. She's, obviously, an Assen citizen who grew up living with a lower-classed family, so nothing more than the innocence of her smooth skin and brightness of her hair stands out amongst the crowds of unique soldiers and individuals. Her eyes glimmer a unique silvery shine that resonate smoothly with her own hair and pale skin, making her feel more dull in her eyes. To match her personality, it is rare to see her take any stance of power or aggression, usually holding her timidness in the body language she portrays and postures she holds. Whilst she isn't strong by any means, Lucia does have enough strength as such to barely survive what the war is making her do.

Personality
Lucia was one of the freshest recruits to be found in the 15th Atlantic Rifles and definitely holds the shame and fear that one should have. Her mind is almost as scared as her own small body is, shivering at the thoughts of major interactions or having to commit to the many atrocities the war makes them act upon. A true golden girl at heart, she tries her hardest to keep others safe, including the Imperials she is put up against, but does shoot her rifle if her or other people's lives are in danger. It's the only reason the army still keep her amongst the ranks, knowing that she will kill if she had to, despite her morality screaming for her not to. Lucia is as sweet as they come, trying to maintain a weakened but passionate smile throughout all the troubles she could find herself within. Her speciality is to comfort those who need it, but when she is placed in positions of trust and vicious importance she can't help but break down into tears or stressful anxiety. One of the many who shouldn't be serving on the frontlines, she longs for nothing more than to take back her homeland and return to the shack she grew up in, maybe bringing a few friends with her in the process. This acts for her silent determination, shrouded by the fear she always holds.

---

Rank
Private

Role
Rifleman

---

Biography
As previously mentioned, she shared the same nationality as that of the ruthless Lieutenant Middleton, residing in Assen before the war broke out. Her life was spent shrouded in poverty and difficulty, but that in itself built a strange determination and ability to keep going through the hardships she had to face, even if it meant crying the entire way. Many nights of lacking food towards the days where the harvest was no better than the previous day's worth encompassed her life and forced her to try and fend for herself amongst the troubles of her families. She was as singer, as such, and spent many of her days and hours travelling to nearby towns and cities to sing in the streets for individuals. Her performance gave her a small reputation as the Angel of Assen, one that made her appearance almost blissful to imagine. The money she gained from her small endeavours actively pushed her to secure a stablility amongst her family and friends that resided alongside her in the small Asseni shack. Eventually, on her thirteenth birthday, she was given the gift of an education as she was sent off to a boarding school in Cologne City. It was here where the world took a turn for the worst, especially for the victimised Lucia.

1911EC came around, the day in which the guns suddenly spiked up. The borders of Assen were rushed by the hundreds of Imperial soldiers as soon as the declaration of war was announced. Thousands died in the first every encounter, especially during the First Crossing of the Maren River, and Lucia was forced to evacuate on her own means. Many caravans heading towards the inner parts of the Federation were set up, but none stopped by the poverty-ridden landscapes of her home. Refusing to back down, Lucia found her own minor confidence to run on her own two feet. It was a grave mistake, one that would further prove that she was not capable of fighting or surviving a war. The Imperial soldiers were faster and managed to get ahead of her. Whilst she was unaware of them slipping by her lengthened journey of several week's walking, her house was found in shambles with only the bodies of her family around. She spent those nights in tears, crying in her old abandoned home, until the Imperials found her.

An act that would forever resonate within her heart, the Imperial Sergeant who found her instantly handed her peacefully over to the Federation in what was known as the 'Trading of the Heart'. Whilst Lucia's name wasn't associated with the event, the sign of temporary peace was definitely a sign that there was still humanity within both sides, even early on in the war. Lucia was slightly aware of how many papers picked up on that symbol of happiness and trust before the guns started blaring again, but it was nothing more than a grim reminder of what she found before the trade-off. The mangled and bloody corpses of her own cold family were enough to tear her apart permanently, causing her to derail and spiral down into a state of decay and disposed happiness. She eventually was set to join the Asseni Refugee Caravan situated where she was traded off to, where she spent the next year or two following the pathway of misconduct and uncertainty. That was until the Federation Government located them one day, reminding them of the low manpower and recruiting every last soldier they could find. Unfortunately for Lucia, she was considered just the right quota for the frontlines, a place she would scream and cry about for the nightmarish year to come.

Affiliations
Mother - Avril Farris [Dead]
Father - Howard Farris [Dead]

Theme Song

~ Valkyria Chronicles - Changing of the Guard ~

With my internet fixed again, my next character post comes up soon!

Oh hell yeah, spot just opened up! I think. Maybe. Anyways, I assume there's room for one more chucklehead? ^^

@Eric Horst

Did you want to continue your application to the thread?

@LetMeDoStuff :p Oh yeah, forgot about this for a bit. Uh, I'm gonna cancel, I'm caught up in a lot of other rps.

@Eric Horst

No worries. I wish you the best of luck!

~ Valkyria Chronicles - Changing of the Guard ~

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

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Once his feet began to move in full motion, the grogginess of the exterior world had started to take its largest effect. A twisted sinkhole or two could be seen breaking down the advances of some of the central ranks, ones in which left them vulnerable to a wall of steel and iron. The pits of mud were rather well concealed and seemed to offer little chance of survival. One group of three, who still seemed to be advancing together as a collective of friends and long-time allies, were unfortunate enough to fall into one of those deep muddy pits, where the soil sunk up to their knees and instantly halted their quickened advance. They looked panicked and scared as to the trap they'd fallen to, and within seconds their bodies were littered with the bullets of the Imperials, dropping their bodies down into the mud permanently. Jean tried his hardest to not let the sight get to him, but a strain in his head and the ringing within his ears suggested otherwise. Dirt was thrown into the air as small arm explosives were detonated from the top of the hill downwards. Either they were fragmentation bombs chucked from atop of the defensive positions or they were mines buried into the less soggy areas of the hill, however Jean couldn't care any less about their specific identity and instead focused on trying to avoid being caught within a blast radius.

The right seemed to have only a small relief of pressure on its side as the mainline machine guns were not as volatile towards that direction. Whilst the odd burst or two from the tip of a stationary HMG did bring down those who chose the path, it was mostly the singular bolts of rifles that were accurately putting down the soldiers who ran blindly up that way. It was hideous and awful to admit that the only tactic provided was to reach the hill's peak. 58 metres of soil, debris and gunfire was asking far too much without a solid strategy, though it seemed clear that there weren't many they could use.

Jean continued to run, keeping his head low and his right hand atop of his loosened helmet. Keeping up with the group who chose to follow him was quite a difficult task, and it was clear that most of them were relying on reaching the piece of broken debris located halfway up the hill. They were the scarce remains of what used to be a place of worship and community, a church of sorts, but had now been reduced to a few high piles of bricks and the odd half a pillar that remained standing. It was only a few metres before him and yet Jean could still feel a bullet or two slapping against the splattering mud only inches away from his legs and body. Coming so close to the face of death was terrifying on all accounts, and Jean knew that the relief of this cover would only be so temporary. And so, he dove towards the cover and compressed his body into a cowering stance as he hoped to have landed behind it safely, to which he had. Within the few seconds he had of arriving there, those he'd met before that had chosen to follow him and the waves of other fresh faces soon joined him, hoping to catch some relief and guidance as well. Jean looked up, turning around to see who'd joined him.

"W-Where's a Sergeant? Or anyone with Chevrons?" The mutter he made to himself was a valid question but only provided the darkest of answers. Everyone before him were in the same shoes as him, except without the unprivileged rank of Lance Corporal and instead that of a lowly Private. There was no senior NCO or officer in sight, and those who'd joined him from behind one of the few pieces of cover soon let him register that they all had the same mindset as he: to find a plan of action. Jean realised that he, being one of a few Lance Corporals, was in charge of assorting the sortie with whatever means he could come up with. A great deal of instantaneous pressure weighed itself down upon his gut and forced him to shudder on the inside.

"There 'e is, Lance...Face first in th'mud!" One random face clearly had heard his quizzing and intrigue and pointed towards the destination of the fallen target. It was barely recognisable, the corpse, as the contrast of blood agains this uniform was far too little. All that remained was the somewhat exaggerated additional pieces to his combat gear, including the ceremonial sabre that was strapped to his waist and the triple chevrons of the Sergeant's insignia. Jean looked upon him in horror and sorrow, noticing that even those who presented a strong attitude were deemed unworthy of survival. Jean looked from his men and women towards the body again, then slightly above the cover they all resided behind. The distance and details above of their enemy defences were far too blinded by the distance and exaggeration of the erupted battlefield, meaning he couldn't effectively function without the proper ordering equipment. It was a strange coincidence to see, but the Sergeant's fresh body seemed a likely candidate to holding those tools he deemed necessary. Jean gulped, and looked towards those with their eyes upon him.

"U-uhh...Hold here. Don't...Don't move unless you need to but don't stay here for too long. I...I don't know if they have artillery on our position, and they might do s-soon. Just...I'll be a second, if..." Jean didn't want to admit that his instinctive response to the situation was to put himself before those around him. There was something deep within him that kicked harshly at his heart and soul for what he was about to do, one that made him consider why he was putting so many before himself. And thus, he quickly ran forward into the wake of the open gunfire, towards the corpse of the Sergeant. Without hesitating, he quickly began to rummage around the body, feeling the wisp of bullets fly and crackle above his head narrowly. It was an almost idiotic move, but what else could he do to make a difference? Within a few seconds he had looted the poor body of its binoculars, before he started to drag it towards the cover everyone was behind. A few soldiers he'd been standing with were yelling at him, but were drowned out by the unrelenting tone of gunfire. And as he nearly got towards them, he suddenly felt it hit his head.

The pressure and sudden force threw him onto his side, beside the corpse. From an outsider's perspective, and judging by the sparks and furious noise it had made, anyone would have expected the bullet to have gone through his head and end him right there. Jean was stunned and bewildered, laying somewhat still for a few seconds as he collected what had just happened. He didn't blame anyone for thinking he'd just been killed, but as the bullet had struck his helmet at such an angle that he'd seen it rebound there was still life within him. After a minute of laying in the cold mud, collecting his place, he began to move once more and rekindle those who may have been worried about his demise. He finished the job, pulling the Sergeant's corpse into the cover and laying it down against the wall.

Jean's breath was uncontrollable, sporadic and truly amongst the messes of the battle. He could barely hold himself straight after the experiences of sight, sound and touch the battle had given him so far. All around them, more and more soldiers were still moving to scale the hill, and a vast majority of them were still being shot as they went. Jean was able to see a few on their way to the top, some getting very close to the objective but halting themselves at the close encounters of the machine guns. From there, he whipped out the binoculars he'd scavenged to gain a better insight of what they were heading up. Once more, he saw nothing more than a scarce landscape of mud and treachery towards Mother Nature, but now the advantageous mind of his own creativity began to sink in. Training within boot-camp taught him a few ways to utilise different forces, and the first few days he spent on the rear line allowed him to talk to other experienced soldiers for tactics. A basic, yet possibly effective, plan was constructed within his mind. Jean stared back at the others, his hands shaking violently from the shock of a bullet narrowly missing his head completely. The mark in where the bullet scraped by was still visible atop of his steel pot. In reality, Jean needed the soft touch or comforting of a fellow beauty to soothe his mind, but he simply sat there, trying to formulate a plan for their benefit, not his.

"I...I see potential pushing lines. Gunners, you can...you can suppress them from behind this cover, use the bipods and just keep their heads down. If you kill 'em, that's a bonus, but just try to relieve the stress off of us. Everyone else push forward. Once we are about to hit the top, there are several f-foxholes for us to jump in. Shocktroopers can throw bombs into the trenches to try and distract or clear out the front part, then we prepare for close quarters combat and clear out the trench at the top. U-Understood?" And despite his anxiety and panic, Jean began to take charge of the situation.

~ Valkyria Chronicles - Changing of the Guard ~

With my internet fixed again, my next character post comes up soon!

Oh hell yeah, spot just opened up! I think. Maybe. Anyways, I assume there's room for one more chucklehead? ^^

@Eric Horst

Did you want to continue your application to the thread?