The intelligence network the Germans had managed to put up was surprisingly effective and large. Perhaps it was because some people simply disliked their neighbors more than the occupying forces, or then it was because giving information to the Germans might save at least your own skin. Standartenführer Schmidt and his men had by now struck to one of their targets - it had been a small cellar with two entrances and four little windows. Their plan had been simple and horrifyingly effective. The men had readied themselves on the doors while Schmidt had thrown a smoke grenade through one of the windows to cause panic. The doors were soon kicked in and smg fire had silenced the room.
When the smoke cleared Schmidt and his men checked the cellar for survivors - that was a job the Standartenführer chose to do himself, but his men were close by and ready in case any of the possible survivors would be armed. He spoke very kindly and calmly to a young Frenchwoman who was shaking from head to toe. He assured her that she would not be harmed - for the moment at least he spoke truthfully, the dead cannot give information. He helped the woman up and - while still speaking french - gave a few orders to his men, who politely escorted the woman to a car that had been waiting outside.
Some time later the black clad, well armed group was heading towards their next destination - another hideout of the resistance. Schmidt shook his head slightly and wondered if this time would be as easy as the last one had been?
Marcus XVI Member
STATUS: Just because you can have 36 attacks per turn that threaten a crit on a roll of 14+ doesn't mean it's worth doing. 8 yrs ago
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- Old Guild Username: Marcus XVI
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- Marcus XVI 12 yrs ago
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Just because you can have 36 attacks per turn that threaten a crit on a roll of 14+ doesn't mean it's worth doing.
10 yrs ago
Purple, because aliens wear red hats.
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11 yrs ago
Isn't it weird how you can start a private conversation with yourself?
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France, such a beautiful country with such a beautiful language and an interesting history. Even after a quick loss and a swift and rather brutal takeover the land had lost none of it's beauty. Or that's how the man saw it. The man in question seemed at the moment like any other - he wore gray pants, black shoes and a white collared shirt. The scar on his temple and nasty burns on his cheek made him seem like a victim of some horrid actions, but that was not the case. Every day he'd sit in a quiet coffee shop, drinking his black coffee and being polite to the waitresses as well as the customers - to a certain degree at least. Even today he was there. He paid no heed to the soldiers on the streets as long as they paid no heed to him.
Still there was something about the man, something unnerving. Despite his politeness people were vary around him - even those who did not know him on a personal level. Perhaps the fact that he was a Standartenführer of the SS had something to do with that. Even without his black uniform and a pistol hanging from his belt Maximilien Schmidt was just somehow threatening. Occasionally soldiers would approach him, probably to make their reports or other such - sometimes uniformed officers would sit with him and share some gossip or discuss about plans - and he'd answer their questions and other such with a polite and downright warm tone, like there was not a worry in the world. After spending the better part of two hours Maximilien finally got up from his chair, paid for his drinks and left the coffee shop after bidding good day to the owner and playfully flirting with the waitresses.
Casually the man glanced at his pocket watch - it was just about time to get back to work. His unit kept their headquarters in a rather run down hotel that had seen it's better days. It was situated only a short walk away from the coffee shop and had a good view to the nearby streets. It did not take Maximilien long to reach his destination and get changed. When he stepped out from the building again he seemed like a different man all together. He wore his black uniform with pride - as did the dozen armed men who followed out with him. Standartenführer Schmidt smiled ever so faintly as he placed his hat on his head and adjusted the skull pin that adorned it.
Still there was something about the man, something unnerving. Despite his politeness people were vary around him - even those who did not know him on a personal level. Perhaps the fact that he was a Standartenführer of the SS had something to do with that. Even without his black uniform and a pistol hanging from his belt Maximilien Schmidt was just somehow threatening. Occasionally soldiers would approach him, probably to make their reports or other such - sometimes uniformed officers would sit with him and share some gossip or discuss about plans - and he'd answer their questions and other such with a polite and downright warm tone, like there was not a worry in the world. After spending the better part of two hours Maximilien finally got up from his chair, paid for his drinks and left the coffee shop after bidding good day to the owner and playfully flirting with the waitresses.
Casually the man glanced at his pocket watch - it was just about time to get back to work. His unit kept their headquarters in a rather run down hotel that had seen it's better days. It was situated only a short walk away from the coffee shop and had a good view to the nearby streets. It did not take Maximilien long to reach his destination and get changed. When he stepped out from the building again he seemed like a different man all together. He wore his black uniform with pride - as did the dozen armed men who followed out with him. Standartenführer Schmidt smiled ever so faintly as he placed his hat on his head and adjusted the skull pin that adorned it.
OwO I'm excited to get this started ^w^
I hope wk-sama posts soon.
Ramia rolled her eyes and lifted her hand to a quick and very proper salute as a little smile crept to her lips. "Apparently so." She shook her head slightly and dismounted gracefully - making sure that her cloak covered her properly. "Now, in all honesty I do not care what you think of me as a person, or how you think of my tactics and other such." Her right hand took a better hold of Faran's reins. "Taking in to consideration how finely this trip has started - and my obvious lack of authority, probably due to my gender - I'd suggest we combine our efforts. Your martial prowess with my wits - even if this whole trip will end badly I want to live through this." She coughed politely, switched the reins to her left hand and flashed a little smile while extending her right hand towards Kaylen. "Or to put it in simpler terms you watch my back and I'll make sure someone watches yours."
Name: Standartenführer Maximilien Schmidt
Age: 42
Gender: male
Description/Pic: Maximilien - or Max - stands slightly above 6 feet. His short blonde hair is noticeably graying from the temples and also his hairline is getting quite high. At first glance Max is a quite handsome fellow, if one does not account the small vertical scar on his left temple and the not quite healed burns under his left eye. His eyes are green.
Personality: Quite polite, occasionally ruthless and violent.
Place in Life: Soldier
Other: Carries around a Mauser C96 pistol.
Age: 42
Gender: male
Description/Pic: Maximilien - or Max - stands slightly above 6 feet. His short blonde hair is noticeably graying from the temples and also his hairline is getting quite high. At first glance Max is a quite handsome fellow, if one does not account the small vertical scar on his left temple and the not quite healed burns under his left eye. His eyes are green.
Personality: Quite polite, occasionally ruthless and violent.
Place in Life: Soldier
Other: Carries around a Mauser C96 pistol.
Ramia listened to the king's words with a barely calm expression decorating her face - below the thin disguise of calmness lay a very thick layer of barely contained anger. She shook her head and stormed off without another word while gripping Faran's reins tightly in her right hand. The dark haired woman walked back and forth for a good while to calm her nerves and occasionally paused to give a little kick to a rock or two that had for the time being earned her ire. After collecting her thoughts and finally managed to subdue her anger in to mild annoyance the Wolf of Kastagir glanced around - she had wandered to the very edges of their force and was now behind the baggage trains. She took a deep breath. "That damned idiot! Ordering someone to kill a man is one thing, but doing it yourself in that mans damned position is just..." Her left hand moved to the hilt of her falcata and with a swift swing of the curved blade a thin branch of a willow tree fell to the ground. "I didn't train for years to put up this kind of crap from a fool." Another swing was followed by another branch hitting the ground. Ramia admitted silently to herself that she was overreacting slightly - well quite much actually, but the partial irrationality of the kings actions were just agains everything she had learned during her studies.
The dark haired woman returned the falcata to her belt after cutting off a third branch. She took another deep breath, mounted her steed and shook her head slightly. "The beginning of this campaign hasn't been a good one, let's hope the rest of it is." She rode back to the main force and quickly sought out the Brass Boars. Locating that lot wasn't such a hard thing to do. Her eyes scanned the group and soon found the captain "Captain Hunter, I'd like a word if you have the time."
The dark haired woman returned the falcata to her belt after cutting off a third branch. She took another deep breath, mounted her steed and shook her head slightly. "The beginning of this campaign hasn't been a good one, let's hope the rest of it is." She rode back to the main force and quickly sought out the Brass Boars. Locating that lot wasn't such a hard thing to do. Her eyes scanned the group and soon found the captain "Captain Hunter, I'd like a word if you have the time."
Name: Gurthang One-Eye
Age: 42
Gender: male
Appearance: Gurthang is a rather... complex sight. He stands just under 8 feet and has very wide shoulders. His arms and legs are quite muscular, but he doesn't quite have the usual musculature of an orc. His back is noticeably straighter than most orcs and somehow despite his size the man seems oddly frail. His face is handsome to a degree that it could be called beautiful by some - if it weren't for the misshapen, obviously broken nose and rather unnerving pair of teeth that jut out from under his lower lip and extend a bit past his upper lip. His left eye is missing, replaced by a large pearl which occasionally pulses with magical energy. A nasty scar runs under the pearl from Gurthan's left temple to under his nose and all the way to the right side of his chin, making him look more than slightly intimidating. His right eye is yellow - like that of a wolf. Gurthang's long blonde hair is like a messy and unkempt mane that extends well past his shoulders.
For clothing Gurthang wears simple gray clothes - slightly baggy pants, a wide sleeved shirt and a very worn and tattered cape. A wide leather belt is wrapped around his waist to hold his falcata. The only part of his clothing that doesn't seem quite as worn are the pair of large leather boots that seem to always be in impeccable condition.
Race: half-elf, half orc
Why are they against Acantha?: Gurthang loathes everything 'perfect' with unnerving ferocity. His own existence is a sore reminder that there are so many imperfections in the world to fuel his anger and for the time being has decided to direct it towards Acantha due to his skewed logic that it is somehow a 'perfect' place to live since there are all kinds of magical beings there.
Weapon of Choice: Magical power from the Orb embedded in place of his left eye and an overtly large falcata sword with a wolf's head pommel.
Backstory: Gurthang had always been an outcast due to his half breed status, his childhood was marked with so many wrongdoings directed towards himself that it slowly began chipping away his sanity. Still he managed to keep himself from actually killing anyone for several years. Sometime after turning 16 Gurthang accidentally killed four of his closest friends after a sparring accident that caused him to lose his eye. After that he spent years in exile, searching for a purpose in life, never staying in one place for long. For a while Gurthang was a quite common sight in Acantha - though he always eyed everyone with suspicion and seemed to think the people did not trust him due to his appearance. The last time he had visited Acantha he had been different. A pearl had replaced his missing eye, it occasionally pulsed with magical energy and seemed to slowly drive him mad. In a nearly unstoppable fit of rage Gurthang slew several people before leaving, swearing revenge on the 'perfect' village that was Acantha and all the 'perfect people within it's boundaries.
Age: 42
Gender: male
Appearance: Gurthang is a rather... complex sight. He stands just under 8 feet and has very wide shoulders. His arms and legs are quite muscular, but he doesn't quite have the usual musculature of an orc. His back is noticeably straighter than most orcs and somehow despite his size the man seems oddly frail. His face is handsome to a degree that it could be called beautiful by some - if it weren't for the misshapen, obviously broken nose and rather unnerving pair of teeth that jut out from under his lower lip and extend a bit past his upper lip. His left eye is missing, replaced by a large pearl which occasionally pulses with magical energy. A nasty scar runs under the pearl from Gurthan's left temple to under his nose and all the way to the right side of his chin, making him look more than slightly intimidating. His right eye is yellow - like that of a wolf. Gurthang's long blonde hair is like a messy and unkempt mane that extends well past his shoulders.
For clothing Gurthang wears simple gray clothes - slightly baggy pants, a wide sleeved shirt and a very worn and tattered cape. A wide leather belt is wrapped around his waist to hold his falcata. The only part of his clothing that doesn't seem quite as worn are the pair of large leather boots that seem to always be in impeccable condition.
Race: half-elf, half orc
Why are they against Acantha?: Gurthang loathes everything 'perfect' with unnerving ferocity. His own existence is a sore reminder that there are so many imperfections in the world to fuel his anger and for the time being has decided to direct it towards Acantha due to his skewed logic that it is somehow a 'perfect' place to live since there are all kinds of magical beings there.
Weapon of Choice: Magical power from the Orb embedded in place of his left eye and an overtly large falcata sword with a wolf's head pommel.
Backstory: Gurthang had always been an outcast due to his half breed status, his childhood was marked with so many wrongdoings directed towards himself that it slowly began chipping away his sanity. Still he managed to keep himself from actually killing anyone for several years. Sometime after turning 16 Gurthang accidentally killed four of his closest friends after a sparring accident that caused him to lose his eye. After that he spent years in exile, searching for a purpose in life, never staying in one place for long. For a while Gurthang was a quite common sight in Acantha - though he always eyed everyone with suspicion and seemed to think the people did not trust him due to his appearance. The last time he had visited Acantha he had been different. A pearl had replaced his missing eye, it occasionally pulsed with magical energy and seemed to slowly drive him mad. In a nearly unstoppable fit of rage Gurthang slew several people before leaving, swearing revenge on the 'perfect' village that was Acantha and all the 'perfect people within it's boundaries.
Room for another soldier? ^w^
Tah dah! I have posted ^^/
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