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14 days ago
Current "Inspirational quote" - inspirational guy on internet.
15 days ago
We need to rebuild Hadrian's wall and make the picts pay for it!
1 mo ago
Yo what the fuck is even breathing?'s so weird
4 mos ago
Why are we still here..? Just to suffer?
4 mos ago
@Mara No you shouldn't have slept with the neighbour's dog.


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Welcome to the Metaverse

A strong shudder leapt the carriages around, tumbling them from side to side as if caused by the turbulence of a nearby aircraft. Down here in the tunnels, the deepened depths of London itself, the train soared by slowly and raced around the continuously unending rails. Even when the tracks themselves twisted and turned beyond normal comprehensible levels, the inside of the cabin remained firm and untouched. Barely a loop in the tracks themselves was capable of shifting even the cups of tea stirring upon the master's desk. Certainly out of place for what it was, the mahogany enrichment of his desk stuck out effortlessly. All around him sat the shadowed mists of passengers all with their heads facing towards the ground, as if asleep. Many were awaiting their reawakening and soon the time would allow for such to do so. Indeed, time was not a overly valuable concept, but those who prowled the metaverse with the intention of bloodlust, unjustified rulership and corrupt infliction were soon to be challenged. His own trick, his own gamble per se, was a necessary step into the generation of traversing travellers, ones who could bend the reality of the metaverse with the world around them at will. Some rumoured that perhaps it'd be a reformation of society, or a literal war between two raging parties that sought to gain the upper-hand, yet Igor himself was too entranced in the possibilities to know the truth for sure. Every thought and possibility left him chuckling, knowing that the stakes were either high or low depending on the outcome. He had no intention in leading them on a righteous path, that was for them to discover themselves of course. All he could do was watch over with interest and intrigue, commenting on their progress through finding purpose and psyching them up for what could be their final sacrifice.

From across the room, he noticed the attendant waltzing around with a care-free attitude, as if bored by the wait of the first arrivals. Igor couldn't but smile to himself at their movement, slinging back and forth amidst the carry-handles of the Underground Train carriage. Elegant in their formation, they seemed to be making great practice of their free time. However, Igor knew that their focus would have to be reevaluated sooner rather than later, knowing full well that the upcoming arrivals were to give them both a heap of work and scrutiny to commit towards. Taking a long sip from his blackened mug, a freshness of exhalation spewed from behind his gaping mouth before he broke the silent accompaniment of the train's murmur.

"Amari, if you may position yourself accordingly I would be most gratified." Snapping out of their wicked trance, the Attendant straightened their posture and neatly brushed their fingers between the filaments of their silvery hair, smiling as they did so. Without a word, Igor could tell they were excited to finally unveil their own true purpose as an attendant. This was, indeed, history within the making. An unforeseen pathway of either destruction, devastation or justice was to come, where the choices these individuals make were to shape their own future. Or something like that. "The time to place our bets, dear Amari, draws nigh. Compose yourself, and we'll be presentable for our new guests."

Amari nodded, watching over the lengthened carriage before them. Amongst the sea of shadowy silhouettes resting their heads downwards were the flickers of a few heartbeats. Amari wondered which would lift first, and what faces would form from beneath the misty figures' eyes. They'd always disliked the continuous grim-sky attitude of these shadowy figures, and yearned to see more colour brighten up the carriage as it was. Igor's message of it coming closer filled them with joy, intrigue and a sense of responsibility. Straightening themselves once more, Amari took to the right flank of Igor's out-of-place desk and folded their arms, preparing for the release of the first passengers.

An echoed roar of the alarm shot Laurence awake, rushing him out of the peaceful dream he'd been having beforehand. As his head lunged upwards, his forehead clipped the edge of his wall, forcing him to recoil once more in shock. If anything, he swore quietly to himself, cursing the amplified screech of the alarm clock and placing a heavy hand down upon it. As soon as the snooze button was hit, probably around the third attempt of trying to do so, Laurence sat up fully and stretched, rubbing his eyes gently and yawning without any real care for the time. If the alarm meant anything, he was on time and not exactly lacking behind on anything in general. It was a Tuesday after all, and the morning itself had less timetabled lessons than most days. If anything, it was a good day to rest, yet Laurence knew doing so for too long would spell out doom for his sleeping schedule. October wasn't too much of a busy period for the Year 13's lives, considering all that the applications for University and what-not came later at the end of the year and the start of the next. For now, he was at the least stressful part of the entire year, settling in once again to his humble student abode whilst wishing the days wouldn't be as slow. When rising out of his bed, Laurence made the daily tradition of checking his phone and walking to his mail box, hoping to find something written to him from a specific group of individuals. And yet, to his sadness and lack of surprise, all he saw was the empty message boxes of his previous family conversation groups. No letters had come through, other than the recent online order he'd made for a book he desperately wished to read.

Laurence unpacked it slowly, tearing away at the cardboard like some excited child on Christmas morning, surrounded by hundreds of familial cameras and faces waiting to see his reaction. Well, the last factor of such a simile was all but false now, wasn't it? With the thought crossing his mind that such a childhood would not be experienced ever again. Age was a weary opponent to life, continuously gnawing away and chewing away at his mind slowly. His body aged and grew as the minutes and days went by, now allowing him to become a semi-well presented young man. Even so, was he really a individual of his own accord? Still he tried to honestly reconnect and rely on the family that had so desperately tossed him aside yet he wanted to at least garner success under his own terms.

Oh well! Laurence didn't like to ponder on negativity too much, otherwise it would affect his willingness to keep studying and working here in Evergreen. He didn't have too many friends at the current time, but indeed made an effort to stay friendly with everyone he came across, even if he yearned for a true circle of camaraderie. Carefully, Laurence plucked the book out of the package and gazed upon it beautifully, seeing the illustrious formations of artwork laid upon its cover. A simplified maroon backdrop engraved with golden silky strings curling and twisting around one another. Together, in their intertwined dance, they spelt out the title: Beyond our Veil - A D.R. Isara novel. From a favourite author of his own, raised and drawn straight from Essex and arrived in London herself, Isara was definitely a figure that continued to inspire him throughout his youthful life. Opening the front cover, and looking at the foreword given by his idolised and acclaimed author, Laurence saw once again the infamous puzzle pieces that connected to her previous novels. It was her sort of quirk, one that made her famous as such. The foreword only stated: 'Spirits and Spooks watch you'. Laurence was at least enough of a fan to realise the reference was dating back to her debut novel, 'A View from the Reality Window', in which the supernatural world was used to heavily emphasise the reasons for people doing such bizarre things in life.

"Alluring me to a sequel, are you? Crafty genius just knows how to suck my pockets dry of change." Once again he yawned and packed the book straight into his bag, hoping to dress himself smartly under the school's attire. Once his blazer was neatly buttoned up, his teeth were clean and the bland taste of toast was propped gently between his teeth, he headed outside of the door and made his way to the courtyard of the student accommodation. Here was a hotspot for upper-education students of Evergreen and St. Paul's, making it a reliable meeting point for those who had upcoming plans. Laurence wasn't one of them, but didn't stray far from its comforting atmosphere. Every now and then someone would talk to him for a while, and other times he was left to his own devices to read and write to himself. But for now, all he did was take the morning air in, step outside and place his backside against the same table he always went to, as if by a natural instinct to do so. And from there, he opened the book slowly, unaware of the future cryptically written upon each paragraph.
For those who may not have seen it, the character applications now are closed and the decisions have come through.

- Ava
- Romani
- Philip
- Elizabeth
- Merja
- Alistair
- Alexander
- Joey

This will be our cast. I apologise to those who were not picked and wish you the best of luck. I will inform you if a position becomes available!
Just a note for all. Applications close on Monday - Tuesday after this notice. After then I will be selecting who gets to join the RP. Those still submitting them, I am sorry to rush you but try and get within the boundaries!

Schwartzgrad, September 26th - Diplomacy

Tensions were high elsewhere in Europa. From the war-torn fields of Assen to the distant streets of Schwartzgrad, only one subject ruled the prayers of many. Across a sea of Imperial fields, farms, cities and forests, millions were on the verge of death or were still riding amongst the steel beasts of the railroads to such demises. It was unsurprising, yet also fanatical, how so many continued to look so high unto their Imperial relic, their leader, their general-of-staff and beacon of hope through the darkest days. And yet despite such hope given to him, Emperor Reginrave was still pressured beneath the turning tides of the battle. Throughout every diplomatic meeting he'd attended the following week the same mentioning of a particular Asseni urban jungle was brought up time and time again. Its importance was undeniable. Morale was both high for the citizens and low for the fighters. Even with a crumbling frontline, the benevolent ruler held true to his intentions of seeking ultimate victory, where the lands of his fallen forefathers in the ages of stone and sword were to be reclaimed under the righteous rulership of the established autocracy.

True were the warriors of his hilt, standing close by to serve and to protect the very foundations of the Empire itself. Unlike before, however, that very day brought about a plan that would change the course of history for the future approaching. Lines had to be drawn as to where they stood in Europe, and with the Federation now approaching their borders slowly, yet indefinitely, drastic measures and counteractions were beautifully painted upon the great canvas of political balance. Reginrave stood at its centre. Around him was the circulation of Marshals, Viscounts, Lords, Dukes and Bishops beneath his very word, still holding the same hope high. As a change of agenda, they all smiled with a sort of promising gaze upon entrance. Once his first foot entered the grand hall, where many legends of the Empire had once before planned such vigorous campaigns, a synchronised click of perfectly polished shoes snapping against one another resonated hardheartedly throughout the confines of their study. A wave of the hand put them to ease, before the call and hail towards his rulership, his Empire and his word came into the light. Silent nods indicated towards all that a seat must be taken for the procedures to endure and go forth. Today was an important day. As every decision before, many lives rested on the final agreements they made in that room, around that very table. It would've been foolish to state that Reginrave was without the pressure of his people. Many saw to his own words to deliver gracious and prosperous outcomes. The war was a test, to him. Reginrave was a candidate for the Empire's great journey, where they could put his name amongst the many before him! Yet aside from such confidence, he felt the anxiety of the faces that looked to him being threatened. The Federation was a fiend, at least to him. For this war was not to be the ultimate decider.

"We are blessed by your presence, valiant Sovereign! In these trying times we seek to hear your final word of confirmation, as we may request?" In that room, tradition was lawful and encouraged. The manners of many well-spoken individuals made it clear that the war was taken as seriously as any other national crisis. Once saw as an easy win, the quickly established stalemates of 1910 and 1911EC challenged the rather dismissive nature of all previous political candidates that stood beside Reginrave. Since then, the reformation of his oligarchical cabinet allowed for a quick deliverance of maximum integrity, performance and organisation. "First on our agenda, our Sovereign, is the current happenings in the Assen-Occupation zone: specifically Amone."

"The Holyland of the Cruxian faith? Every time I hear it's name it brings great doubt upon my temples, reminding me of how desperate the times have become. Continue, if you may? Detail the events of its previous incursions and delight me of its knowledge." As his request concluded, he graciously lowered himself onto the grand throne presented before the entire conglomerate. The drapes of his almost heavenly attire folded over the armrests and onto the marble floor beneath the gathering, spreading its glory all across the silent foundations of his very ownership. Upon the request given, a feeble man with circular framed glasses took to his feet and walked over to an angled war-games board, mocking up the Assen frontline as a whole. Only a slither of Federation territory actually bled into the official and legal borders of the nation. In those small pockets, thousands of troops were likely engaged in silent exchanges of occasional rifle volleys or infatuated by the endless sieges of their enemy's wrath. Millions had already fallen, and more continued to do so each passing day. Some were worse than others, and others spoke of unfathomable deceit to human decency.

With a rather confident stride, he adjusted his top buttons to his loyal uniform and cleared his throat gently, before pointing a large ceremonial parade staff across the board to where a number of counters were. All across their cylindrical shapes laid numbers of regiments, army groups and more expressive details that the Emperor himself would've enjoyed eyeing upon.

"My Sovereign, may I present to you Assen's current situation? Here, across the great marker, is Amone, laid directly on the border that it shares with Francia. Around two weeks ago, if you might recall, the Federation unleashed its horrifying weapon and descended upon our brave men and women. Since then, no similar attacks have come through yet the Federation have managed to establish a fully functional frontline within the city, splitting it across. We have reasons to believe that they are preparing for a mass assault momentarily."

The Emperor leaned forward in his throne, scanning the board with his eyes. Beside it, a more focused map showing the approximate situation in Amone was held up, helping to detail the specifics of the city's current establishment. Even then, the hopes of him diminished slightly, flaking away at a moment's notice of Amone finally beginning its countdown. Since the Empire first struck the city earlier in the years, the Federation had made it publicly known that someday they would return to the Asseni city and reclaim the streets they'd lost. Its position was dire. In the past months, even before the second siege even began, several Field Marshals and Generals had approached him in private to discuss its importance, even going as far as to state that it was militarily and strategically not worth occupying. In reality, they were further from the truth than any other officer could be. Every inch of territory that had been claimed by the Empire in the first few years had been heavily reinforced, entrenched and fortified in preparation for a shift in the tides. Assen's borders specifically marked where the heaviest of defences laid. To the Emperor, everything beyond those City walls was a death trap for their adversary and would bleed them an ocean if they wished to make gains into the Empire's land. If it weren't for the tightly kept loyalty the nation held towards its autocratic ruler, the income of manpower would begin to prove troublesome.

A mind of ingeniousness, Reginrave spearheaded the extensive layered-defence programme as the year 1912EC came about. By then, the stalemate had been fully realised and the Federation were beginning to take advantage of it. Each mile taken by the Empire forced their opposition to become more desperate in its strategies. Developments of newfound war machines, artillery tactics and even utilising espionage against the Empire, hundreds of unheard of tactics had been employed against him.

"If I may, dear Emperor, I would like to make a suggestion as to how we apprehend this predicament." From behind, a familiar officer of high notoriety stepped forward, adjusting his moustache with a joyful twist and a pompous explosion of laughter. Controversial, even to the Emperor himself, this 'Old Guard' played with strategies as if the war itself were a game for them, a test of their own agility and memory. "I would like to request a personal arrival to Amone, where I could journey and orchestrate the cunning yet daring Operation: Fazit. I assure you, my lord, it will win us this entire scuffle at once!"

"How many more lives do you wish to waste, Dummkopf? The Empire cannot uphold a promise to its people of benevolence and prosperity if we just keep feeding them to the guns of the Atlantic Menace! Have you still not realised that the war is no longer fought with sticks and stones or are you yet to understand the importance of our dear warriors?" Without warning, an eruption of retorted anger suddenly shot towards the elder. Driven by a sudden compassion for the victory that needed to be achieved, the debate arose whilst the Emperor sit idly by, watching them bicker with a begrudging glare.

"If you want to win a war, you go and win that bloody war! Sitting and doing nothing doesn't mean squat for progress. We should strike whilst they prepare and then-"

"And what if we lose? Wasted manpower goes to no gains. We'll be as good as any defeated nation." Murderous spite shot between the two as a flurry of insults were exchanged. More officers began to join in on the skirmish and several political figures pretending to understand warfare began agreeing with the elderly officer with extreme pride. Others who were logical, understandable and atoned with the reality of the Great Europan War made their voices heard, until the sudden raise of a royal hand silenced them all. Like children, they instantaneously quietened down to their own father's gesture.

To their surprise, the Emperor suddenly started to chuckle to himself, laughing alone in the ambience of the hall's now apparent silence. Forwards, and back, he rocked and wiped his eyes gleefully at their expense, bringing strange layers of shame and belittlement towards those who began the armed debate beforehand. Eventually, he calmed himself down, taking a silent breath before recomposing his posture. With the wave of a hand he apologised kindly towards those around him, before snickering for a few more seconds. It wasn't a game by any means, but as the Emperor he couldn't help but amuse himself at the mishaps of his own people, seeing their own mischief as a strange reminder of the beacon that he held.

"I...apologise for my outburst, it was rather amusing to spectate though. I do not condone such division between our people, my good Lords, so remind yourselves of such camaraderie. Now I must begin by choosing a side of the debate, and to that I say we do not allow such an Operation to go forward." As his allegiance was made clear, the elder sat down and grumbled to himself, cursing the opportunity that had been lost over a promotion, rise in fame and eventual ascendance into the royalty's chamber-like family. Now with the silence settled the Emperor rose up from his seat, slowly walking towards the board that presented Amone. A few seconds passed as he intriguingly studied its symbols, confirming with the presenter that this was indeed the most accurate depiction of the frontlines to date. "I admire your courage in winning this war so swiftly but you forget we are challenged with an upcoming foe. The stupidity and insolence of Admiral Belgar's intuition has wrangled in a powerful threat to our war: the United States of Vinland. We must not forget that and need to take all following plans into account. Now, if I may have your attention, please hear my own plan: we stand on the defensive for the next few months. Desperate, it might sound, but we are prepared. We're only weeks away from completing Projekt Stahlsturm and we must not let the opportunity go to waste."

As graceful as his entrance was, Reginrave began to draw upon the map and highlight key areas he stocked from within his memory. A layered defence, imitating a wave-like intensity the closer it got to the Empire's borders, was yet to be proven in practice. This was the best time as ever. To him, Projekt Stahlsturm was the future of warfare to come. Not only would it shift this war, all future engagements the Empire would participate in would rather be driven by their expertise and military strength. Hundreds of steel beasts would roam down the road and eventually smash through the frontlines of the Federation. If they were unsuccessful, then a final arrangement would have to be made with the Federation, falling under yet another bigger operation the Emperor had planned.

Once his adjustments to the map were finished, Reginrave took to the front and politely took the parade staff from his presenter's hands, wiping it with a handkerchief to cleanse it from the sweat of a nervous officer. His composure and calmness suddenly began to spread across his staff, reminding them that he was the beacon, the beacon for the entire Empire. Whichever man or woman would follow in his footsteps, they too would take the flames of his torch and walk into the light.

"A week ago, I received a request from a certain Colonel Müller, who is currently the commanding officer behind Amone's defence as it is. He wanted reinforcements, and I proposed an offer for more than he bargained for. From here onward, Amone has been put under a Endergebnis protocol. A defence to the last available man. From now on, its priority is to buffer and slow down the entire Federation's progression. The longer we spend in Amone, as well as amongst the defences outside the city and further into Assen itself, the more time we have to deploy out newfound project before our enemy has a chance to deploy theirs. For us to make a successful push into Francia and to take their capital, we must whittle them down with a strong defence until the will of their people breaks, the flow of soldiers reduces and the resistance against us is squandered!" As his plans were becoming more understandable for his subordinates, a cheer of appreciation surrounded the table, bringing a wonderful smile to his face. He held much hope in the men of his army, not just the will of his plans. Everything laid in their resurgence, not some political decision making. For now, Vinland was soon to be upon them in the coming months. And when the inexperienced 'Doughboys' had set their sights upon the Imperial defences, the war would enter a new age of mechanisation. And if it failed, then the Emperor himself would take advantage of whatever peace he could get. "Like the Emperors, Empresses and Kaisers before me, they held a duty to victory and prosperity. Our national stability is at its all-time high and we must not let it crumble. Even in defeat, we will show resilience and begin the purification of Europa. From the Darcsens to the Federation fools who stand before them, this is our walk to the future. We must hold Amone, and Assen if it fails! Even if the war may not be ours, we will take the battle beyond peace and into the years to come. We will prevail in due time, my subjects. I do this for you, for my people and for my children who will take over once I am gone. I hope to rid the continent of such impurities before they succeed me, and I want to provide your children the same. Honour is our path, gentlemen. Let us make headway for the defences. Colonel Müller has been granted the prototype to Projekt Stahlsturm and contains the strongest of fighters at our disposal. His loyalty has already stated that he will hold Amone until his feet can no longer stand. Gracious our path will be, and onward you must go. Spread the word to Schwartzgrad of our new operation. Deliver hope to the people!"

The Siege of Amone, September 26th - A Change of Heart

On the cold banks of the Imperial rear lines, Wilhelm allowed the sparks of torment spread throughout the streets. All around him were the burning cries of those who still found themselves broken, disturbed by the very means of human withdrawal. Visions of their gurgling hearts spilt onto the streets haunted his head remained dominant, putting a harsh strain upon his wise eye. As he sat, silently, Wilhelm continued to slide each bullet into the chamber of his rifle. Every slight click was met with an exhalation of anger, stress and pure disgust at how the war had shaped in no ones favour. For a while, every time he loaded a bullet he'd just sit there, staring at the ground and watching droplets of water mixed with spilt blood drift by in the cracks of the road. Whenever he lifted his head, all that could be seen were the stretchers still recovering those who'd survived off of nothing for the past two weeks. Those still scavenging for clues and medical supplies in the midst of the chaos, as if the gas attack had happened only moments ago. Its lasting effect was devastating. No man or woman should have had to witness such an atrocity. The Imperials were unsure whether to feel jealous that the others were dead, or that they were lucky having to live with the memory implanted into their dreams. Hundreds had been choked, asphyxiated and drowned by the seas of gas. Truly, it was unforgivable. Many things in war were, even to the soldier at heart, but something particular stood out about it. It almost felt like torture, indirectly slowing ones death down to a crawl.

Another bullet was loaded into the chamber and a violent cough spouted from his lungs. Its taste was still bitter in Wilhelm's mouth, still burning and sizzling away at his taste buds. Whatever the chemical was, it had made its mark on the world forever. As long as the Empire would win, in his eyes, the use of such gas would need to be prohibited for the many years and generations ahead. A man of the people, he would call himself. Wilhelm didn't want that same suffering. However, even with his morality in check, a brooding anger still curdled from within. Seeing his comrades, his embodiment of success and education, sprawled across the puddles of Amone struck a nerve that wouldn't loosen. Every now and then, Imperial soldiers would wander past him, as if hesitant to talk to him, and then retreat back to where they previously were. Whereas previously he'd been talkative and as kind to his men as possible, everyone knew that this battle was not his place of comfort anymore. His mind ached, stretched and moulded into unfathomable shapes, plotting and practising his own words. Wilhelm knew what he wanted to do, but didn't think it was imaginable. Revenge was a horrific dish and even someone with such blood-lust as himself saw that. All he could do is follow the orders and hope they were for the benefit of the Empire, for the people back home who were driven by an achievable and prosperous future. The glory days of the first year were but a faint memory. Back then, people were expectant of at least some bloodshed and the mobility of freedom, pushing and taking land almost consistently, but the quick emplacement of stalemate after stalemate just allowed for the war to twist into the favour of death. Hundreds were killed each day, all across the frontier. New forms of warfare were developed and the marksman was now considered a violent tool of fear, psychologically spreading anxiety throughout all the enemies that would've faced them. Even if he was seen as a man of the people, to the enemy and the state he worked for he was a tool for butchering morale. And yet, he didn't mind at all.

"Still brooding, Harkvald?" Suddenly, without warning, the familiar voice snapped Wilhelm out of his trance and he moved to stand at attention, only for a hand to wave before him with dismissive appreciation. "Don't worry about it, Captain. I'm here making the rounds, as you should be too."

Despite his familiarity, it was a surprise to see the Colonel this far out into Amone. At the very least, he was known for sticking near the frontlines to get a near accurate advantage of strategy, constantly being updated about how the battle was going. However, he'd left the walls of Amone and moved deep into the failing Imperial territory, hoping to secure himself a better understanding of their situation. At his suggestion, Wilhelm cracked a faint smile, still begrudged by the temptation to charge back out and avenge the fallen brothers he'd grown with. But it was clear, even Colonel Müller could see the stress in his eyes.

"I know it's been hard, Harkvald. But unfortunately, the rest of the war cannot wait for us to recover. Especially in this cursed city..." He moved his hand towards his Yggdist religious insignia, laced around his neck by a thin chain. Planting a kiss upon its metallic shell, he returned it beneath his collar and turned back to Wilhelm, rubbing his eyes out of the sheer tiredness the Operation had brought him. "Cruxians tend to follow myths, but we knew that the Valkyrur were real."

"You don't need to tell me again, Sir." Luckily, Wilhelm was met with a smile and a chuckle, before the Colonel started to pull over one of the nearby crates and plant his backside onto it. Somehow he could hold his charm and his faith in the operation, though to what extent remained unknown. He was great at ensuring morale soared higher than the further artillery blast, breaching the clouds and loyally committing to not only the Emperor, but his soldiers as well. Hand in hand, they walked in faith, together. Wilhelm enjoyed him as an officer, more than any other. He was competent, willing and quite daring in previous campaigns against the Federation. Yet here he was, his hands tied behind his elderly back as the Emperor continued to remind him the significance of delaying the Federation advancement Eastwards. "What brings you nearby?"

Even as he spoke, a distinct vapidness to his tone was noticeable. The gas he'd previously taken into his throat had pained his chest, creeping up and battering his lungs. For a while now, he'd resisted the urge to talk and make demands, instead becoming more of a listening than a speaker. The pain behind it drove his anger against the Federations, even those who'd conversed regularly back at the Inn a few months ago. Even so, the Inn was likely nothing more now. Life was unstable here in Amone, now more than ever. The Colonel looked around, searching at the seas of stretcher-bearers and their patients being hauled into slow moving trucks. For a moment, he too begrudgingly gnarled his teeth towards the state of Amone, sighing heavily.

Previously, the First Battle of Amone had been the crown jewel of many Imperial victories across Europa. Not only did it signal to the rest of the continent that Assen was now under their occupation, it also solidified an iron fist across the wastelands that had been left behind. Imperial infrastructure and improvements to the towns behind had already been established as the frontline had continued to push West, but until 1913EC, things turned around in a brutish favour for their adversary. Starting with the colossal loss of life at the Battle of Cyprusia, now known no more than as a day of infamy for either sides of the war, bodies bled through every forest, street and field until it inevitably halted for a few months more. Garnia was the most recent breakthrough to turn the tides of the war, seemingly breaking the spirit of the entire Northern Army Group in an instant. Gallia was nearly reached and soon it would gain even more reinforcements. The naval blockade was to be of no use anymore once a land route had been secured into the smaller nation. It left many exposed to the horrors of defeat. And now, they were back where it all came into place. The Battle for Amone continued to rage on, every single day. Men were being sworn to unworthy tactics, and the introduction of gas only pressured most Imperial general staff to use their own radicalised tactics, viciously biting back at those who showed no mercy before.

"I suppose you heard the news, Captain?" The Colonel drew a large cigar from his breast pocket, lit it quietly and placed it into his mouth, inhaling as much as he could in one try. As he exhaled, Wilhelm felt his stress, but didn't understand why. Deep in the background, a murmur of engines and a strange roar of machinery could be heard making its way closer.

"I...can't say I have, Sir."

"Even now, the order remains the same. The Emperor demands that we stay in Amone for as long as physically possible. And as a man of his word, I've sworn to do the same." Taking another inhale of thick smoke, Wilhelm leaned forward and placed yet another bullet into his rifle's chamber. Rumours had spread around about Amone being abandoned and a mass regroup going outside the city walls, however it turned out that they were just as false as he'd imagined. Even then, he was surprised to see the Colonel as dedicated to Amone as possible.

"Do you think we can hold it, Sir?" Wilhelm inquired, taking out a lighter of his own and igniting a cigarette from within a rich packet tucked neatly away. A short pause ensued as the two puffed away, trying to relieve their stress in the process. Before long, Müller surrendered to the withdrawal of information and comfortably shifted his position. All while this was going on, the roaring of engines continued to grow closer by the seconds.

"It's no longer a case of holding Amone, Captain. We're now acting as a force to hold off the Federation advancement for as long as humanly possible. All across Amone's outskirts and beyond the reserve battalions have done a stunning job at entrenching our positions heavily. Even if we are to lose Amone, we will at least try to keep them from moving quickly." He placed the bud of his cigar against his sleeve, dabbing it out quite irresponsibly yet with an ironic smile upon his face. The Colonel had courage in a plan, even if Amone seemed like a hopeless objective. "We've been given as much support as we can. Yesterday they arrived in full force. Able bodies, though not as many as we need. Experimental weaponry fresh out of development, all the stuff we can use to dispose of the Federation's precious time. If we can steal it from their clutches, we do more for the Empire than we can ever imagine."

Behind him, the streets became lively as soldiers on their feet stumbled out of the way. From around the corner, rumbling and cracking the roads beneath it came a behemoth unlike anything Wilhelm had seen before. His eyes widened and his skin crawled upon first glance, seeing nothing but the revelation of metal mechanisms churning away. A crew operated its decks and vastness, continuously rummaging around as a constant need of operation was required. Wilhelm stood up, dropping the cigarette out from his mouth and gaping at its scientific and technological glory. Was it fear, surprise or a sense of admiration that had stumped his world? Even Wilhelm wasn't sure which emotion he felt himself. All around it were scatters of strangely dressed soldiers, some wielding strange backpacks that sloshed around with a liquid inside. Others donned masks of their own, sharing heat resistance and smoke protection altogether. It stumped him, halted his staggering words and left him bewildered. Was this another demonstration of modern warfare? How could such a behemoth go unnoticed for such a long time?

"The upcoming deployment of our brand new armoured divisions, Captain, will be coming on soon. General Staff told us that they no longer needed this prototype, but that it was in working order. Alongside them we have some Flammenwerfer's, as the staff call them. Experimental weaponry. I imagine its a reactionary attempt to combat the fear tactics the Federation used on us with that smog, but I'm unsure of whether or not they'll be effective." Colonel Müller stood up and walked to Wilhelm's side, watching the mechanical beast continue to travel across the street until it became shielded yet again by the standing buildings. Once it had left their sight, they took a moment to bask in its strange glory. Was it a good invention? Was it worthwhile? Either way, its arguable awe-inspiring size did strike a strange feeling within their minds, displacing their comfort under many different queries. "Speaking of which, I want you tonight to go set up shop in the Central Tower."

"Central, Sir?" His croaked groan was still flushed with surprise and confusion over the mechanical beast that roamed. If that was a scrapped prototype in favour of a supposedly more effective design, one that was promised to turn the very tides of the war for good, then he hoped the lords would have mercy on the souls of Europa, for war as everyone knew it was about to change in the coming months. "I'm up for it."

"Glad to know, Captain. I've got two other Marksmen positioned on the left and right wings of our territory, but I want you to take point and remain as our eyes above ground. We're expecting a few raiding parties across the board soon. The Federation have waited long enough to strike and its inevitable. Some Fed prisoners told us that at least." The Colonel held out his hand and smiled triumphantly. It wasn't due to the thought of victory, but the success that their plan was not to be in vain. No matter how hard they tried, even if they failed, the time they draw away from the Federation's advancement was spent finalising the upcoming armoured divisions that had been promised for years. This...this was their final stand in Amone, and if they had to retreat then so be it. "I'm going to wish you luck, and hope you make it out alive, good Sir. I'll be setting up with a garrison in the City when the time comes. Worst comes to the worst, I'll stay there until the bastards catch up to us. Goodbye, good Sir! We'll take these bastards to hell if we need to, and if they show us mercy then by God we'll bask in it."
I am most interested!

You can put forward an application, but only 8 people (Not including me and Fallout) will be chosen because of player limits

I'd be in too, if you're still taking!

I'd open the application for you, but do remember that the application height right now is about 16 individuals right now, with only about 8 getting selected at the end. I'll let you join though! A discord link is on the first page and the OOC is already up and ready!

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