She was tall to everyone. Taller than her parents, taller than her siblings and her friends back home and the cunt whose kid she had and all the soldiers in the trenches. Yes Victoria White was fucking tall, a freak of nature not suited to trench warfare so could everyone stop bringing it up all the time? Slouching constantly was bad enough, being reminded of how she looked down on everyone was just unnecessary. It wasn't like she was harping on Cienie's apparent inability to speak the language shared by everyone in B Company.
"Victoria but yes, that's me." She had long ago accepted the fact that people were going to use the diminutive form of her name, making the correction more out for appearance's sake than any belief that the habit would change. "Yeah yeah I know, I'm almost done."
Medical tent of course, the one place she couldn't smoke. But it was too late to back out now. The Oceanic took one last puff of her cigarette before stubbing it out on her belt. If she couldn't finish it now she could at least tuck it behind an ear to relight later. She followed her musical companion and waited awkwardly behind him, regretting the decisions that led her to this point.
You could have just gone back to the trenches but nooooo...
Cienie stuck his head in to bother the nurses while Victoria did her best to not look totally disheveled, managing to at least straighten her cape before Senja started speaking. "Don't dump all your blessings on me, save 'em for someone less lucky." Her smile was cocksure so as to present an aura of supposed untouchability, the same wolfishly arrogant expression she had worn when dealing with rival gangs.
Now just as then her demeanor was composed entirely of bullshit save for the disregard for blessings. There was no room in Victoria's mind for religious dogma or superstitious symbolism. Senja's stick worshipping gimmick was a crux (ha) that was simply incomprehensible for someone as mired in worldly sin as Vicky. But that was. Senja was pleasant enough of a person that her heavenly obsession was more quirky and less disturbing.
A tip of the hat and a chipper "Thanks!" was exchanged for the chair as Victoria took her place among the captive (thanks to injury) audience. "You guys are in for a show let me tell you." Poor bastards. If she had enough to share Vicky probably would have passed around her flask as an apology for the upcoming clatter.
The Isaac Store was one of those things that was definitely not allowed but was simultaneously not worth bothering. Pretty much everyone knew about the little shop and Alex felt no need to break up the fledgling business. As long as Isaac wasn't dealing in narcotics or figuring out a scheme to run men out to see the local whores then no harm no foul. This poker game was just another part of the enlisted man's fight against boredom and as an enlisted man himself Alex was grateful for a break in monotony.
"Thanks Black."
To his knowledge he and the lance corporal had never met before but that didn't stop Alex from using his name nor did it dissuade him taking a seat at the table. Valkur settled his bulk down behind his master so that he could stare intently at the other canine, beady-eyed monster immediately distrustful but not doing anything to provoke the wolf-dog. "Yep. Valkur fell into my hands when his old owner couldn't handle him."
Shell-shock had ruined that medic's nerves until he was unable to cope with such a massive beast. A man laid low by his own dog, it had been embarrassing to witness.
"He's certainly less regal looking than your wolf but you can't go wrong with a dumb lump of muscle." A firm hand kept Valkur in check enough that he made a good load-bearer and that was all that Alex asked from the animal.
Appearance Alex is fighting a losing battle against the trenches to preserve his appearance. Understanding that he will never be able to achieve parade conditions while at the front he settles for simply doing the best that he can under the circumstances. Instead of keeping his buttons and belt buckle shining and thus making himself a target he just tries to keep them mostly free of rust. Similarly his boots and uniform can never truly be free of stains, just kept from losing all of their original color. The only thing he doesn't compromise in his bearing. He carries himself with his back straight and his face devoid of doubt or fear no matter his true feelings on the situation.
The one nonstandard addition to his dress is the shawl he wears wrapped around his shoulders, the Darcsen pattern visible for all to see along with the color of his hair.
Personality War is an adventure, the chance for a young man to experience fear and summon bravery not often seen in civilian life. To Alex the outbreak of this Europan conflict is the greatest opportunity he's been given. As a gentleman and a soldier his first priority is presenting himself properly, keeping cool and collected under fire so as to set a good example for his subordinates. As such he refuses to treat combat as anything other than exhilarating sport, taking in the exercise with a determined smile. The only downside to the war in his mind is that instead of serving as a cavalryman as intended he's been relegated to shooting at faraway targets that will never see him coming. This chivalrous (or perhaps simply foolhardy) outlook should not be mistaken for carelessness nor his disdain for sniping as an urge to shirk his duties. Alex is devoted to doing his part to win the war, seeing the Imperial's aggressions against Gallia as a slight that cannot go unanswered.
Alex sees his heritage as something to be proud of but not particularly relevant to his day to day life.. He's happy to talk about himself or Darcsen culture if asked and quick to defend it when slighted. Rank Sergeant
Role Marksman
Equipment M1912 Fielder, Marksmen Variant: The standard Fielder equipped with a x9 scope and the option to fit a suppressor. Turner-Cable Pistol:A gift from Alex's father. Model 1909 Saber: The sword Alex used during his days as a cavalryman. Made almost entirely obsolete by his role but kept around out of sentimentality and the occasional enemy trench raid. Fielder Bayonet: For cutting things that need to be cut. Valkur: A former mercy dog although it would be impossible to tell from his temperament. Used to carry ammo, run messages and shred Imperials that get to close to his master Alex choose the name out of a sardonic wish to harness the savagery that decimated his people. Dog Biscuits: Carried purely for Valkur's benefit. Cigars: For Alex's benefit.
Potentials Kim's Game: An excellent memory and an eye for detail makes Alex as good a scout as he is a spotter. A pastime of his is looking through his scope to try and figure out what those damned Imperials are doing over on their side of the battlefield.
Revenge of the Old Ways: A former cavalryman who blames the advancement of military science for the decline of his beloved service, Alex takes out his anger upon those who roles illustrate the changing times best. Enemy sappers, snipers and gunners tend to be put in his sights before the average rifleman.
Blue-Blooded: Fluent in the Imperial language as well as possessing a solid grounding in a number of studies and coming from a respectable family line, Alex sees himself as a gentleman before a soldier. He treats subordinates and superiors with respect and expects the same to be given to him, as befitting someone of his standing.
Proud Darcsen: There's very few Darcsens in Vinland, the vast majority of them gathered in a few enclaves on the east coast. This low visibility means that there's little in the way of de jure or de facto discrimination against them due to the fact that they're rarely in the public mind. Growing up privileged without experiencing what his Europan brethren go through means that Alex reacts badly to perceived slights against his heritage. Officers can get away with it as a matter of rank but the enlisted man cannot.
High Velocity: Being accurate is one thing, being quick is another. Alex is a mix of both, sighting targets and putting shots downrange in mere moments before moving onto the next with workmanlike efficiency. Biography The Schäfers had first fled the Empire then all of Europa in an attempt to escape the entrenched anti-Darcsen attitudes, finding a home in Vinland where the low amount of so-called "dark hairs" meant that there was little in the way of purges or organized discrimination. It was a place they could start fresh, build themselves up without fear of being torn down. The Schäfer clan spread out, going into business and making a place for themselves in Vinland's burgeoning society.
Three hundred or so years later the family was almost totally removed from its fearful origins, them and the other Darcsen enclaves seen more as curiosities than real threats. Alex was born into this separation from the past, the scion of a successful banking clan born in a nursery that looked out onto the family estate.
His childhood was similar to that of any blueblood: wanting for nothing but freedom. Despite there being no risk of his being attacked for his heritage Alex was still the son of a family fearful of kidnapping due to their wealth and status His free time between studies and exercise was spent walking around the family manor with a hunting dog or listening to the stories told by older relatives, activities that could be monitored by any number of chaperones and servants whose job it was to keep the boy out of trouble.The closest thing he had to an escape was when he was allowed to go out riding or hunting, the boy showing an aptitude for equestrianism and marksmanship that would remain with him throughout his life. But even those trips were supervised, the woodsmen the family kept on payroll always close by.
As was common for children of his class Alex was sent to boarding school, spending years twelve to seventeen continuing his education while coming home every summer. The months spent away only increased the distance between himself and his family, the Schäfers slowly being replaced by Darcsen culture as a whole as his support net. His patterned scarfs and strangely colored hair marked him out as a person of interest to his peers, classmates who had never met a Darcsen poking and prodding for information. In a school full of upper class inheritors and future politicians Alex had something that made him stand out from the bunch.
Graduating from boarding school at seventeen, Alex really only had two options available to him. HIs branch of the Schäfer family had all been officers, business leaders or both and the weight of generations worth of peer pressure was simply too much for him to bear. Over the course of his first year out he engaged in a whirlwind courtship with a woman named Eliza (organized more by their parents out of practical reasons than they had for love) and prepared himself for military life.
Now married and eighteen years old Alex joined Vinland’s cavalry, the old riding lessons being updated for use on the battlefield. The military gave Alex another identity to hold onto, the young soldier taking pride in his service. The tradition of cavalry stretched back into ancient history, a long and storied lineage that he immersed himself in. The sense of camaraderie and honor he experienced in his regiment was effectively another replacement for the companionship he lacked as a boy.
As he worked his way through the enlisted ranks Alex’s relationship with his family got stronger, his parents seeing his eagerness to serve as indicative of their good parenting. He might not have been destined for a career in finance or trade but he would at least honor his country. His marriage suffered, already somewhat strained and made worse by his absence. He and Eliza had originally felt some sort of affection for each other despite their union having been set up outside of their control but as they saw less and less of each other it devolved into a more or less cordial facade.
Their affairs were open secrets, each knowing about the other’s but not bothering to bring it up. In fact, Alex was rather pleased that Eliza found someone she could actually enjoy her time with because it made his decision to accept a drastic shift in career that much easier.
Given the opportunity to serve as an attache to Gallia’s 4th Lancers Regiment and an increase in rank to match Alex packed his bags and made his way over to Europa, seeing it as a chance to see new sights if nothing else. Upon arrival he learned that he had been transferred into the ‘Chevaliers d’Arlem’ to serve as their platoon sergeant by the request of the lieutenant himself.
Perhaps due in part to the similarity of their names Alex took a liking to the younger Alexandre. The officer asked him to share information about his culture with the men and he did so gladly, taking to the impromptu anthropological lectures just like he had back in school. His commanding officer might have been inexperienced but Alex remained steadfast, gladly riding out with the rest of the Chevaliers when the Imperial Alliance invaded.
He was optimistic about the first engagement even as they prepared for battle. The plan was solid, backed by training and sheer force of will. The thundering of hooves would drive the Imperials away from the river and shred their lines, an unstoppable stampede crushing all under foot.
But it was not to be. de Bihain’s beloved Chevaliers pushed past rifle fire and static defences with all the bravery of the knights of old, crashing through the Imperial lines as their numbers were thinned. Schäfer pushed his charger to its limits, taking control of the platoon when his commander broke away without hesitation and leading the troops by example until Alexandre returned. When Alexandre led them through the woods he did not waver, not until the machine guns tore the unit to shreds.
Centuries of pride and strategy, undone in moments. When the lieutenant was seemingly cut down it was left to Alex to rally the survivors, marshaling a retreat even as more of their number were shot to death. The few bloodied figures who came riding back from the battle were no longer Lancers, their unit dissolved and the men and women who had made it great scattered to the wind.
Alex reported for retraining and was made a sniper much to his chagrin, his knack for shooting meaning that he was given a scoped rifle and told to aim true. This new role was indicative of the honorlessness that characterized the modern battlefield, his role as the executioner of unsuspecting enemies anathema to his sense of ethics. But refusal or desertion was unthinkable. He committed himself to being the marksman he could be for the sake of Gallia and its murdered hero, a sort of thanks to Alexandre for giving him a place to belong. He stood with the little unicorn nation until the ravages of war required he be reassigned to the 15th Atlantic Rifles.
But Alexandre had survived somehow, appearing in Alex’s unit one day as if he were a ghost returned to haunt the living.
Affiliations John Schäfer - Father Grace Schäfer - Mother Eliza Schäfer-Wife Valkur - Dog, messenger, pack animal
Relationships
Alexandre Martial Alphonse de Bihainr Alex’s old commander and the one most responsible for the destruction of their shared unit. Alex held and still holds a great deal of respect for the younger man but their relationship has been made complicated by the nature of their last moments together.
In the days and weeks since Victoria first joined the 15th not much had changed. Oh sure the Federation had won the battle for the Amone, slugging it out with the Imps in the streets and blasting them from their hiding places with ragnite. Marathon had gotten himself killed but his death had been avenged, the sniper responsible for gunning him down now nothing more than a corpse buried under rubble. Hell, Vicky had even won herself a promotion thanks to her discovery of the Empire's defense plans. But lance corporal meant nothing more than slightly more responsibility and barely a few more pennies each month to pay for it. She was still stuck in a muddy trench freezing her tits off, praying that the next shelling didn't land too close.
New stripes, same shit.
The morning had seemed especially cold, icy bitterness making it hard to grip a pencil well enough to write let along draw. With no creative outlet Victoria had turned to the ones that were always available. The cigarette in her mouth was the fifth of the day, the beer on the bar counter the third. Some might have said it was too early for drinking but if that was the case how come the pub owners had been willing to sell to her?
Buying alcohol was a wasteful indulgence when she still had half a flask full of the stuff but it was a luxury she willing to shell out for. The stuff in her personal stash was the last of the brandy she had snatched from the inn in Amone and judging by the taste it was either contaminated by gas or cat piss. The beer she was drinking now was certainly poor quality but at least her stomach would remain more or less intact after breaking the stuff down.
She tore off another piece of the bread she had gotten with her drink, chewing and swallowing out of habit more than actual hunger. Old instincts demanded that she eat whenever there was an opportunity so she could have a store of energy to fall back on when starvation reared its head again, a bit of superstition she would never shake as long as she lived. Victoria was set to grind bits of hard bread between her teeth all day like a particularly violent cow when some complete jackass started banging planks of wood together outside.
Oh that's just fucking delightful.
Was there really not enough noise for these people with the daily bombings? Living right on the edge of a warzone didn't provide enough commotion? Apparently not because the village idiot had apparently decided today was the day for him to perform his "kappie" or whatever he had called it. While he began to babble about animals she did her best to keep cool, aware of the fact that she was the odd one out. The size of the crowd she could see through the window was big enough to mean that this little show was apparently socially acceptable.
Clearly there wasn't a chance of her finishing her breakfast in peace. Victoria slid off of her stool and tossed a few coins onto the counter as recompense before heading to the door, mud caked boots stomping down on the floor. She came out at the tailend of the show, blinking in the harsh light of high noon.
...Wait what? That didn't seem right. But honestly she wouldn't know. She was only really alert late at night or in the early morning, energized by the darkness that all rats thrived in. The waking hours blurred into one long headache. Whatever time it was signalled the end for the showman, the little runt taking his leave and stepping off. Now that she was actually looking at him she could see that he was no villager (jury was still out on the idiot part) but one of her fellow shocktroopers. Lazily done bob, Darcsen hair color, darker skin than any actual Europan, fuck what was his name?
Cienie, that was it.
Silently Victoria fell in step besides him, a rat moving in concert with one of her own. His destination didn't matter, whatever he ended up doing she could probably lend a hand with. As long as she was able to distract herself from her miserable mental state she'd tolerate it.
"Did you have a good show?"
Her careless draw saw the cigarette fall from her mouth and sputter out in the mud, smoked down to just the butt. Without missing a beat a new one was slipped from its crumpled packet and lit, replacing its fallen brother.
Alex was back home, sitting there half-dressed with a coffee cup in hand and the sun's glare in his face. His wife was off somewhere behind him, no doubt sitting in front of her mirror getting ready for the day. He could picture it without bothering to turn around. Eliza would still be dressed in her nightgown, dragging the ivory comb he had given her through her hair in order to wrangle her light curls into a neat chignon. Her snuffbox was probably open with arms reach, her tobacco habit much more aggressive than his. The silk afternoon dress would be hanging from the wardrobe door, ready for its owner to get in and head out.
"Do you have plans for the day?"
They didn't do very much together now, the pretense of courtship no longer needed ever since they got married. Husband and wife would eat meals together or catch the occasional play but most of their days were spent in pursuits independent of one other. Alex asked really only out of politeness, not actually bothered by what Eliza got up to.
"Maria and I were planning to take a trip into town, do some shopping."
Ah, a family day. Good for them. Alex wouldn't have known since he was an only child but it seemed convenient to have someone of a similar age who you could obligate into spending time with you. "Give her my love and tell her I'll be sending Arthur's gift along shortly."
"We were going to have lunch with William as well."
The sound of shifting fabric meant that she had turned to look at him. Alex craned his neck and found himself being analyzed, Eliza trying to figure out his reaction. All she got was a long sip of good coffee, the husband who should have been jealous simply uninterested. He knew that she had been sleeping with her childhood friend and by now she knew that he knew. This of course made him a cuckold but he felt no shame.
Why would he? Neither of them had loved the other in the first place and it wasn't like he was restricting himself to their bedroom either.
"Let me know if you go anywhere good."
Eliza nodded, moving the mess of her out of her face to begin the process of ordering it. She really was quite beautiful, with slender features and kind eyes that closed when she smiled. If they had met normally and gone through the process of getting to know one another it was conceivable that Alex would have genuinely made a move at some point. But they hadn't and here they were, assigned to one another by their respective parents and keeping up the façade out of loyalty to their families.
"I'll do that."
She turned back away to face the mirror, Alex taking his cue to return to staring into the sun gormlessly. "Are you looking forward to your reassignment?"
The question took him by surprise. He had mentioned the Gallian attaché gig offhandedly a few days ago, expecting Eliza to take as little notice as she usually did when he discussed work. "I think so. It'll take some getting used to I imagine but it can't be worse than boarding school was."
Reality came in the form of an explosion, a falling shell touching down touching down close enough that he could feel the explosion in his bones. Alex toppled out of the chair he had been napping on and barely managed to keep from smacking his face against the muddy wooden planks serving as walkways. A late morning reveille courtesy of the East Europan Imperial Alliance.
Sergeant Schäfer struggled back to his feet, the process made more difficult by the two hundred odd pounds of dog tugging at his pants pocket. Valkur had sat by his master obediently the whole time but Alex being undeniably awake meant that the mastiff's patience had worn thin.
"Yeah I know! Patience dear boy, patience."
A swat to the snout made Valkur back off, glaring hungrily as his owner fished out a biscuit and tossed it his way. One quick snatch of those bone breaking jaws and the treat was gone, devoured in a single bite. "Right. Back to it then." As of that moment there were no raids to cover or exposed positions to fire upon which meant that Schäfer's time was his own. He would spend it with Valkur in order to strengthen the bond between human and dog.
He whistled and Valkur followed behind without need of a leash, the pair moving quietly through the winding trenches that made up Plymouth Lane. Winter's bite did little to disturb Alex, warded off by his patterned shawl like a spirit chased away by a talisman. There was a straight shot from the support trenches to the dummy one and the sniper was taking it, curious as whether or not he'd be able to discern the Imperial's plans for the day by watching their movements through his scope.
It turned out that the enemy was having a lazy day. No trench raiding parties were coming to snip wire or shoot officers but there was a group of Federals about to start up a card game. "So, what are we playing?" According to regulations gambling was strictly forbidden so Alex should have been breaking the session up but he had never really cared for that rule to be quite honest. A few rounds of cards never hurt anyone, not more than a few rounds of drinks anyway.
Appearance Alex is fighting a losing battle against the trenches to preserve his appearance. Understanding that he will never be able to achieve parade conditions while at the front he settles for simply doing the best that he can under the circumstances. Instead of keeping his buttons and belt buckle shining and thus making himself a target he just tries to keep them mostly free of rust. Similarly his boots and uniform can never truly be free of stains, just kept from losing all of their original color. The only thing he doesn't compromise in his bearing. He carries himself with his back straight and his face devoid of doubt or fear no matter his true feelings on the situation.
The one nonstandard addition to his dress is the shawl he wears wrapped around his shoulders, the Darcsen pattern visible for all to see along with the color of his hair.
Personality War is an adventure, the chance for a young man to experience fear and summon bravery not often seen in civilian life. To Alex the outbreak of this Europan conflict is the greatest opportunity he's been given. As a gentleman and a soldier his first priority is presenting himself properly, keeping cool and collected under fire so as to set a good example for his subordinates. As such he refuses to treat combat as anything other than exhilarating sport, taking in the exercise with a determined smile. The only downside to the war in his mind is that instead of serving as a cavalryman as intended he's been relegated to shooting at faraway targets that will never see him coming. This chivalrous (or perhaps simply foolhardy) outlook should not be mistaken for carelessness nor his disdain for sniping as an urge to shirk his duties. Alex is devoted to doing his part to win the war, seeing the Imperial's aggressions against Gallia as a slight that cannot go unanswered.
Alex sees his heritage as something to be proud of but not particularly relevant to his day to day life.. He's happy to talk about himself or Darcsen culture if asked and quick to defend it when slighted. Rank Sergeant
Role Marksman
Equipment M1912 Fielder, Marksmen Variant: The standard Fielder equipped with a x9 scope and the option to fit a suppressor. Turner-Cable Pistol:A gift from Alex's father. Model 1909 Saber: The sword Alex used during his days as a cavalryman. Made almost entirely obsolete by his role but kept around out of sentimentality and the occasional enemy trench raid. Fielder Bayonet: For cutting things that need to be cut. Valkur: A former mercy dog although it would be impossible to tell from his temperament. Used to carry ammo, run messages and shred Imperials that get to close to his master Alex choose the name out of a sardonic wish to harness the savagery that decimated his people. Dog Biscuits: Carried purely for Valkur's benefit. Cigars: For Alex's benefit.
Potentials Kim's Game: An excellent memory and an eye for detail makes Alex as good a scout as he is a spotter. A pastime of his is looking through his scope to try and figure out what those damned Imperials are doing over on their side of the battlefield.
Revenge of the Old Ways: A former cavalryman who blames the advancement of military science for the decline of his beloved service, Alex takes out his anger upon those who roles illustrate the changing times best. Enemy sappers, snipers and gunners tend to be put in his sights before the average rifleman.
Blue-Blooded: Fluent in the Imperial language as well as possessing a solid grounding in a number of studies and coming from a respectable family line, Alex sees himself as a gentleman before a soldier. He treats subordinates and superiors with respect and expects the same to be given to him, as befitting someone of his standing.
Proud Darcsen: There's very few Darcsens in Vinland, the vast majority of them gathered in a few enclaves on the east coast. This low visibility means that there's little in the way of de jure or de facto discrimination against them due to the fact that they're rarely in the public mind. Growing up privileged without experiencing what his Europan brethren go through means that Alex reacts badly to perceived slights against his heritage. Officers can get away with it as a matter of rank but the enlisted man cannot.
High Velocity: Being accurate is one thing, being quick is another. Alex is a mix of both, sighting targets and putting shots downrange in mere moments before moving onto the next with workmanlike efficiency. Biography The Schäfers had first fled the Empire then all of Europa in an attempt to escape the entrenched anti-Darcsen attitudes, finding a home in Vinland where the low amount of so-called "dark hairs" meant that there was little in the way of purges or organized discrimination. It was a place they could start fresh, build themselves up without fear of being torn down. The Schäfer clan spread out, going into business and making a place for themselves in Vinland's burgeoning society.
Three hundred or so years later the family was almost totally removed from its fearful origins, them and the other Darcsen enclaves seen more as curiosities than real threats. Alex was born into this separation from the past, the scion of a successful banking clan born in a nursery that looked out onto the family estate.
His childhood was similar to that of any blueblood: wanting for nothing but freedom. Despite there being no risk of his being attacked for his heritage Alex was still the son of a family fearful of kidnapping due to their wealth and status His free time between studies and exercise was spent walking around the family manor with a hunting dog or listening to the stories told by older relatives, activities that could be monitored by any number of chaperones and servants whose job it was to keep the boy out of trouble.The closest thing he had to an escape was when he was allowed to go out riding or hunting, the boy showing an aptitude for equestrianism and marksmanship that would remain with him throughout his life. But even those trips were supervised, the woodsmen the family kept on payroll always close by.
As was common for children of his class Alex was sent to boarding school, spending years twelve to seventeen continuing his education while coming home every summer. The months spent away only increased the distance between himself and his family, the Schäfers slowly being replaced by Darcsen culture as a whole as his support net. His patterned scarfs and strangely colored hair marked him out as a person of interest to his peers, classmates who had never met a Darcsen poking and prodding for information. In a school full of upper class inheritors and future politicians Alex had something that made him stand out from the bunch.
Graduating from boarding school at seventeen, Alex really only had two options available to him. HIs branch of the Schäfer family had all been officers, business leaders or both and the weight of generations worth of peer pressure was simply too much for him to bear. Over the course of his first year out he engaged in a whirlwind courtship with a woman named Eliza (organized more by their parents out of practical reasons than they had for love) and prepared himself for military life.
Now married and eighteen years old Alex joined Vinland’s cavalry, the old riding lessons being updated for use on the battlefield. The military gave Alex another identity to hold onto, the young soldier taking pride in his service. The tradition of cavalry stretched back into ancient history, a long and storied lineage that he immersed himself in. The sense of camaraderie and honor he experienced in his regiment was effectively another replacement for the companionship he lacked as a boy.
As he worked his way through the enlisted ranks Alex’s relationship with his family got stronger, his parents seeing his eagerness to serve as indicative of their good parenting. He might not have been destined for a career in finance or trade but he would at least honor his country. His marriage suffered, already somewhat strained and made worse by his absence. He and Eliza had originally felt some sort of affection for each other despite their union having been set up outside of their control but as they saw less and less of each other it devolved into a more or less cordial facade.
Their affairs were open secrets, each knowing about the other’s but not bothering to bring it up. In fact, Alex was rather pleased that Eliza found someone she could actually enjoy her time with because it made his decision to accept a drastic shift in career that much easier.
Given the opportunity to serve as an attache to Gallia’s 4th Lancers Regiment and an increase in rank to match Alex packed his bags and made his way over to Europa, seeing it as a chance to see new sights if nothing else. Upon arrival he learned that he had been transferred into the ‘Chevaliers d’Arlem’ to serve as their platoon sergeant by the request of the lieutenant himself.
Perhaps due in part to the similarity of their names Alex took a liking to the younger Alexandre. The officer asked him to share information about his culture with the men and he did so gladly, taking to the impromptu anthropological lectures just like he had back in school. His commanding officer might have been inexperienced but Alex remained steadfast, gladly riding out with the rest of the Chevaliers when the Imperial Alliance invaded.
He was optimistic about the first engagement even as they prepared for battle. The plan was solid, backed by training and sheer force of will. The thundering of hooves would drive the Imperials away from the river and shred their lines, an unstoppable stampede crushing all under foot.
But it was not to be. de Bihain’s beloved Chevaliers pushed past rifle fire and static defences with all the bravery of the knights of old, crashing through the Imperial lines as their numbers were thinned. Schäfer pushed his charger to its limits, taking control of the platoon when his commander broke away without hesitation and leading the troops by example until Alexandre returned. When Alexandre led them through the woods he did not waver, not until the machine guns tore the unit to shreds.
Centuries of pride and strategy, undone in moments. When the lieutenant was seemingly cut down it was left to Alex to rally the survivors, marshaling a retreat even as more of their number were shot to death. The few bloodied figures who came riding back from the battle were no longer Lancers, their unit dissolved and the men and women who had made it great scattered to the wind.
Alex reported for retraining and was made a sniper much to his chagrin, his knack for shooting meaning that he was given a scoped rifle and told to aim true. This new role was indicative of the honorlessness that characterized the modern battlefield, his role as the executioner of unsuspecting enemies anathema to his sense of ethics. But refusal or desertion was unthinkable. He committed himself to being the marksman he could be for the sake of Gallia and its murdered hero, a sort of thanks to Alexandre for giving him a place to belong. He stood with the little unicorn nation until the ravages of war required he be reassigned to the 15th Atlantic Rifles.
But Alexandre had survived somehow, appearing in Alex’s unit one day as if he were a ghost returned to haunt the living.
Affiliations John Schäfer - Father Grace Schäfer - Mother Eliza Schäfer-Wife Valkur - Dog, messenger, pack animal
Relationships
Alexandre Martial Alphonse de Bihainr Alex’s old commander and the one most responsible for the destruction of their shared unit. Alex held and still holds a great deal of respect for the younger man but their relationship has been made complicated by the nature of their last moments together.
Appearance Alex is fighting a losing battle against the trenches to preserve his appearance. Understanding that he will never be able to achieve parade conditions while at the front he settles for simply doing the best that he can under the circumstances. Instead of keeping his buttons and belt buckle shining and thus making himself a target he just tries to keep them mostly free of rust. Similarly his boots and uniform can never truly be free of stains, just kept from losing all of their original color.
The only nonstandard addition to his dress is the shawl he wears wrapped around his shoulders, the Darcsen pattern visible for all to see along with the color of his hair.
Personality War is an adventure, the chance for a young man to experience fear and summon bravery not often seen in civilian life. To Alex the outbreak of this Europan conflict is the greatest opportunity he's been given. As a gentleman and a soldier his first priority is presenting himself properly, keeping cool and collected under fire so as to set a good example for his subordinates. As such he refuses to treat combat as anything other than exhilarating sport, taking in the exercise with a determined smile. The only downside to the war in his mind is that instead of serving as a cavalryman as intended he's been relegated to shooting at faraway targets that will never see him coming. This chivalrous (or perhaps simply foolhardy) outlook should not be mistaken for carelessness nor his disdain for sniping as an urge to shirk his duties. Alex is devoted to doing his part to win the war, seeing the Imperial's aggressions against Gallia as a slight that cannot go unanswered.
Alex sees his heritage as something to be proud of but not particularly relevant to his day to day life.. He's happy to talk about himself or Darcsen culture if asked and quick to defend it when slighted. Rank Sergeant
Role Marksman
Equipment M1912 Fielder, Marksmen Variant: The standard Fielder equipped with a x9 scope and the option to fit a suppressor. Turner-Cable Pistol:A gift from Alex's father. Model 1909 Saber: The sword Alex used during his days as a cavalryman. Made almost entirely obsolete by his role but kept around out of sentimentality and the occasional enemy trench raid. Fielder Bayonet: For cutting things that need to be cut. Valkur: A former mercy dog although it would be impossible to tell from his temperament. Used to carry ammo, run messages and shred Imperials that get to close to his master Alex choose the name out of a sardonic wish to harness the savagery that decimated his people. Dog Biscuits: Carried purely for Valkur's benefit. Cigars: For Alex's benefit.
Potentials Kim's Game: An excellent memory and an eye for detail makes Alex as good a scout as he is a spotter. A pastime of his is looking through his scope to try and figure out what those damned Imperials are doing over on their side of the battlefield.
Revenge of the Old Ways: A former cavalry man who blames the advancement of military science for the decline of his beloved service, Alex takes out his anger upon those who roles illustrate the changing times best. Enemy sappers, snipers and gunners tend to be put in his sights before the average rifleman.
Blue-Blooded: Fluent in the Imperial language as well as possessing a solid grounding in a number of studies and coming from a respectable family line, Alex sees himself as a gentleman before a soldier. He treats subordinates and superiors with respect and expects the same to be given to him, as befitting someone of his standing.
Proud Darcsen: There's very few Darcsens in Vinland, the vast majority of them gathered in a few enclaves on the east coast. This low visibility means that there's little in the way of de jure or de facto discrimination against them due to the fact that they're rarely in the public mind. Growing up privileged without experiencing what his Europan brethren go through means that Alex reacts badly to perceived slights against his heritage. Officers can get away with it as a matter of rank but the enlisted man cannot.
High Velocity: Being accurate is one thing, being quick is another. Alex is a mix of both, sighting targets and putting shots downrange in mere moments before moving onto the next with workmanlike efficiency. Biography The Schäfers had first fled the Empire then all of Europa in an attempt to escape the entrenched anti-Darcsen attitudes, finding a home in Vinland where the low amount of so-called "dark hairs" meant that there was little in the way of purges or organized discrimination. It was a place they could start fresh, build themselves up without fear of being torn down. The Schäfer clan spread out, going into business and making a place for themselves in Vinland's burgeoning society.
Three hundred or so years later the family was almost totally removed from its fearful origins, them and the other Darcsen enclaves seen more as curiosities than real threats. Alex was born into this separation from the past, the scion of a successful banking clan born in a nursery that looked out onto the family estate.
His childhood was similar to that of any blueblood: wanting for nothing but freedom. Despite there being no risk of his being attacked for his heritage Alex was still the son of a family fearful of kidnapping due to their wealth and status His free time between studies and exercise was spent walking around the family manor with a hunting dog or listening to the stories told by older relatives, activities that could be monitored by any number of chaperones and servants whose job it was to keep the boy out of trouble.The closest thing he had to an escape was when he was allowed to go out riding or hunting, the boy showing an aptitude for equestrianism and marksmanship that would remain with him throughout his life. But even those trips were supervised, the woodsmen the family kept on payroll always close by.
As was common for children of his class Alex was sent to boarding school, spending years twelve to seventeen continuing his education while coming home every summer. The months spent away only increased the distance between himself and his family, the Schäfers slowly being replaced by Darcsen culture as a whole as his support net. His patterned scarfs and strangely colored hair marked him out as a person of interest to his peers, classmates who had never met a Darcsen poking and prodding for information. In a school full of upper class inheritors and future politicians Alex had something that made him stand out from the bunch.
Graduating from boarding school at seventeen, Alex really only had two options available to him. HIs branch of the Schäfer family had all been officers, business leaders or both and the weight of generations worth of peer pressure was simply too much for him to bear. Over the course of his first year out he engaged in a whirlwind courtship with a woman named Eliza (organized more by their parents out of practical reasons than they had for love) and prepared himself for military life.
Now married and eighteen years old Alex joined Vinland’s cavalry, the old riding lessons being updated for use on the battlefield. The military gave Alex another identity to hold onto, the young soldier taking pride in his service. The tradition of cavalry stretched back into ancient history, a long and storied lineage that he immersed himself in. The sense of camaraderie and honor he experienced in his regiment was effectively another replacement for the companionship he lacked as a boy.
As he worked his way through the enlisted ranks Alex’s relationship with his family got stronger, his parents seeing his eagerness to serve as indicative of their good parenting. He might not have been destined for a career in finance or trade but he would at least honor his country. His marriage suffered, already somewhat strained and made worse by his absence. He and Eliza had originally felt some sort of affection for each other despite their union having been set up outside of their control but as they saw less and less of each other it devolved into a more or less cordial facade.
Their affairs were open secrets, each knowing about the other’s but not bothering to bring it up. In fact, Alex was rather pleased that Eliza found someone she could actually enjoy her time with because it made his decision to accept a drastic shift in career that much easier.
Given the opportunity to serve as an attache to Gallia’s 4th Lancers Regiment and an increase in rank to match Alex packed his bags and made his way over to Europa, seeing it as a chance to see new sights if nothing else. Upon arrival he learned that he had been transferred into the ‘Chevaliers d’Arlem’ to serve as their platoon sergeant by the request of the lieutenant himself.
Perhaps due in part to the similarity of their names Alex took a liking to the younger Alexandre. The officer asked him to share information about his culture with the men and he did so gladly, taking to the impromptu anthropological lectures just like he had back in school. His commanding officer might have been inexperienced but Alex remained steadfast, gladly riding out with the rest of the Chevaliers when the Imperial Alliance invaded.
He was optimistic about the first engagement even as they prepared for battle. The plan was solid, backed by training and sheer force of will. The thundering of hooves would drive the Imperials away from the river and shred their lines, an unstoppable stampede crushing all under foot.
But it was not to be. de Bihain’s beloved Chevaliers pushed past rifle fire and static defences with all the bravery of the knights of old, crashing through the Imperial lines as their numbers were thinned. Schäfer pushed his charger to its limits, taking control of the platoon when his commander broke away without hesitation and leading the troops by example until Alexandre returned. When Alexandre led them through the woods he did not waver, not until the machine guns tore the unit to shreds.
Centuries of pride and strategy, undone in moments. When the lieutenant was seemingly cut down it was left to Alex to rally the survivors, marshaling a retreat even as more of their number were shot to death. The few bloodied figures who came riding back from the battle were no longer Lancers, their unit dissolved and the men and women who had made it great scattered to the wind.
Alex reported for retraining and was made a sniper much to his chagrin, his knack for shooting meaning that he was given a scoped rifle and told to aim true. This new role was indicative of the honorlessness that characterized the modern battlefield, his role as the executioner of unsuspecting enemies anathema to his sense of ethics. But refusal or desertion was unthinkable. He committed himself to being the marksman he could be for the sake of Gallia and its murdered hero, a sort of thanks to Alexandre for giving him a place to belong. He stood with the little unicorn nation until the ravages of war required he be reassigned to the 15th Atlantic Rifles.
But Alexandre had survived somehow, appearing in Alex’s unit one day as if he were a ghost returned to haunt the living.
Affiliations John Schäfer - Father Grace Schäfer - Mother Eliza Schäfer-Wife Valkur - Dog, messenger, pack animal
Relationships
Alexandre Martial Alphonse de Bihainr Alex’s old commander and the one most responsible for the destruction of their shared unit. Alex held and still holds a great deal of respect for the younger man but their relationship has been made complicated by the nature of their last moments together.
___________________________________ Victoria White, 19, Jan 1 1895 ________________________________________________________________________________________ Prairie, Oceania, Atlantic Federation ___________________________________
▼ E X T R A I N F O R M A T I O N ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► DOB - 1/1/1895 ► Height -6'3" ► Weight -190 pounds ► Classification - Shocktrooper ► Rank - Lance Corporal ► Sexuality - Bisexual
-
D E T A I L E D A P P E A R A N C E
Victoria is much taller than most women and quite a few men, standing at a full 6'3" when upright. Her brown hair hangs down messily over her face and around her head, held somewhat in place by a rabbit felt slouch hat that had once belonged to a hero of Oceania. While she managed to escape the fate of her original squad at Amone she did walk away with shrapnel scars on her forearms. Another old injury traces its way over her right eye, a result of a bottle being shattered against her head during her days on the streets.
While no longer as thin as she had once been thanks to adequate (in amount if not taste) rations and physical training courtesy of the Oceanic Expeditionary Forces the affects of starvation have not quite worn away. She's rangier than she is bulky, her body lean with a bit of muscle built from conditioning.
Besides the standard issue blue uniform and webbing she wears a waterproof canvas cape and slouch hat as well as twin bandoleers across her torso. A heart locket hangs from a spare bootlace around her neck, inside is a picture of her daughter Elizabeth.
---P E R S O N A L I T Y
Victoria copes with bad situations by putting up a series of façades between herself and the problem. The first layer is that of the boisterous brawler, a former gang member and armed robber who joined the army in search of a paycheck that could be earned through violence. She drinks, she smokes, she gambles and carouses whenever there's an opportunity, reigning it only for the sake of a salary. While capable of presenting herself as orderly (if only because she needs to live up to the new lance corporal stripes on her sleeve she was and will likely always be a thug.
The second deeper layer is that of the Rat. A personification of the mindset she adopted to survive abject poverty and now brutal trench warfare, the Rat is a way to separate herself from her actions. She can slink away to let it run things, sitting out the violence to miserate about it later. The Rat can make snap decisions about what enemy to kill or which wounded comrade to leave behind to die in the fog of war, it takes action where Victoria might hesitate.
The true person hiding behind her masks is in all honesty somewhat subdued. She quietly seethes at the existence of the Federation, seeing it as a tyranny run by distant nations happy to sacrifice the citizens of other countries for its own goals and expresses her rage in the form of scathing cartoons she keeps hidden away. She clings to her Oceanic citizenship because its an alternative to the identity of violence she grew up with. Even then she fights not for her country but because she has a daughter to support with her meager paychecks.
---B I O G R A P H Y
Victoria was born into a family of poor ranchers on the outskirts of Prairie, Oceania. It was a cattle town originally and its people used to be able to make a decent living selling their livestock. But roughly ten years before her birth the fields had turned fallow and the land was caught in a drought. Once successful ranches soon struggled to feed their own children and more and more beggars began to fill the street. It wasn't very long until people actually began to die of starvation. That was the world Jack and Margret White brought their daughter into, and they regretted it.
She was an accident born ten years after her siblings, an unintended existence her parents were not prepared to contend with. With both her mother and father working near constantly either trying to scrape some manner of living out of the dust or performing odd jobs for a bit of extra cash she was largely cared for by her grandmother and three siblings, each ten years her senior. Her two brothers and one sister taught her how to mix a bit of sawdust into flour to stretch it, the best ways to break into abandoned farmsteads to strip away bits of copper to be sold to scrapyards. At night her grandmother made her learn the alphabet and basic math so "some crooked bastard doesn't cheat you."
It was a strange education but it was the one she needed to survive. By the time she was ten all of her siblings had left for the cities of Melville, Bridgeton and Devil’s Cairn in search of work, joining an exodus that had been steadily lowering the population of Prairie. By now the famine was mostly over but the damage was done. Prairie was dying, the people that remained only stayed because they had nowhere else to turn. Without her siblings to guide her Victoria fell in with one of the packs of jobless and ambition-less youths roaming the streets. They spent their days throwing bricks through windows and fighting over turf with makeshift clubs constructed of fence-posts and bottles.
Her career in crime started off small scale, pickpocketing and committing minor vandalism mostly. Scrawling defamatory slogans across the territory of rival gangs came after, followed by fights both unarmed and armed. By the time she was fourteen her family would have nothing to do with her so she began sleeping on the streets or on a grimy mattress in the shack of some fellow hoodlum. She started drinking and never stopped, getting blackout drunk at parties and late night meet ups. Sometimes she was flirty, other times violent. Once she earned herself a permanent scar when a member of another street gang smashed a bottle against her head. In a drunken rage Victoria stabbed the girl to death.
That was when she really started to spiral. Graduating from simple theft to armed robbery, Vicky made her living sticking up travelers on the road and knocking over filling stations. Most of what she earned went right back into cards or liquor, money disappearing as fast as it came in. By fifteen she had ended up in the arms of Charles, a handsome young man four years her senior.
He was a smooth talking con-artist that could make money appear as if from nowhere with any number of scam and they ran wild together both outside and in the bedroom. Eventually the inevitable happened: Victoria was pregnant at the age of sixteen. Charles assured her that it would be all right, he would make enough money for them to move deep into the Federation but it never happened. The money they gained was spent on alcohol for her and gambling for him. Three months into her pregnancy and he was gone, disappearing from her life.
With nowhere else to turn Victoria begged forgiveness from her family. They brought her back into the fold, not wanting to abandon their daughter (or at least not her child).. Grandma Liz helped her through it, having gotten pregnant herself when she was only twenty years old. Time passed by and after a difficult Elizabeth White was born, named for her great-grandmother. Victoria fell in love with her daughter immediately, but was trapped in the same situation as her own parents. How was she supposed to feed her baby?
Her siblings had left to search for work in the cities but that was no guaranteed thing. Ranching was out, she had seen the results of relying on the land. She had no skills except sewing, knitting and street-fighting. The first two could maybe earn her a bit of extra cash here and there but nowhere near enough for her needs. Luckily for her, war was brewing. She signed up the Oceania Expeditionary Force and Victoria the low-rent hood abandoned her tattered pants and shirt for the blue uniform and slouch hat of Private White. She entered boot camp and quickly became friends with the young men and women she would spend her service fighting alongside.
The first year of her service was relatively unremarkable until an encounter with an armored car during the siege of Amone wiped out her whole unit. The few survivors were hastily reassigned, Victoria finding herself in the 15th Atlantic Rifles where she survived a gas attack and took part in the final push to take Amone. It was during that push where she earned her lance corporal stripe, finding a copy of the Imperial defense plans and turning them over to her superiors. Bestowed with a modicum of responsibility and a miniscule increase in pay to match Victoria settled in for a long winter.
---P O T E N T I A L S
Waste Not, Want Not: A childhood spent scrounging instilled in Victoria a need to reuse as much as she can. This manifests itself in the form of knitting, sewing and scavenging. If something can be repaired or refurbished it will be. Socks get darned, pants get patched, empty bottles and a bit of lamp oil turned into makeshift explosives. She also has a habit of looting, checking the pockets of the dead for trinkets or curios.
Hidden Depths: Despite little formal schooling and a rough upbringing Vicky has more facets than one might expect. She's a cartoonist in her spare time, filling a journal and the margins of her letters home with doodles or caricatures. She does her best to stay abreast of the news and considers herself well-informed politically. What a shame that people tend to see no more than a violent alcoholic.
Oceanics Before Others: While the Imperials might have started the war in desperate search for more ragnite the Federation is little better, a conglomerate alliance dominated by the largest nations to the detriment of the smallest. In Vicky's eyes, the only way for Oceania to prosper is to cut itself loose from the lumbering beast that is the Federation. Her love for her country and its identity does not extend to the Federation or the major players within it. This disdain for various governments does not extend to the people under them. Mostly.
Rodent of Unusual Size: An affection for rats in her childhood progressed to seeing similarities between her and them to what is now a full blown alter ego. The Rat is what Victoria sees herself as when she's digging through pockets or caught in a brawl, a creature that claws and bites and thrashes to get the smallest of scraps. Part stress coping mechanism, part infantile need to pass off responsibility, all delusion.
---E Q U I P M E N T
- Model 1903 Interloper: The pistol Victoria used during her days as an armed robber, now getting a new lease on life as a sidearm in the trenches. - E-Tool: Sharpened so that it can serve as both an axe and a shovel the E-Tool is handy both for building fortifications and attack them - Longfield Carbine: Standard issue for shocktroopers. Shorter than the standard rifle with a faster firing rate and a bayonet attached for spearing things. - Shrapnel-Ragnite Bombs: Clear trenches and buildings with the pull of a pin. - Pack Rat's Backpack: A collection of her needles, thread, handsaw, trinkets, tobacco, alcohol, ammo and all the other bits and pieces she picks up. - Stormtrooper Armor:The standard stormtrooper armor with a bit of extra padding added by Victoria herself. - Slouch Hat: Once belonged to Thomas Carter, worn in place of a helmet and kept pinned up in the traditional style.
A F F I L I A T I O N S
- Jack White (Father) - Margaret White (Mother) - Liz Dawson (Grandmother) - Elizabeth White (Daughter) - John, Edward, and Mary White (Siblings, all 28) - Charles Blake (Worthless Bastard)
---R E L A T I O N S
-Jean-Robin Charpentiar: Either a coward or a fool, Jean is certainly not cut out for leadership. Victoria doesn't blame him for being unable to treat the now deceased Thomas Carter, she blames him for his failure to take action under fire. -Alexander-John Middleton: He's a bastard but so are most officers. What little interaction she's had with him confirmed that he's just like any other Federation bigwig: high off his own fumes and ready to throw people into the meatgrinder. -Diana: A drunken fling from Amone before the place was gassed to hell. She's cute, short, a lightweight and easily embarrassed, all things that Victoria is not. Perhaps that was the reason they were drawn together. In all honesty the specifics where pretty much forgotten during the chaos of the battle but they did have a nice talk about Elizabeth so there's that.
___________________________________ Victoria White, 19, Jan 1 1895 ________________________________________________________________________________________ Prairie, Oceania, Atlantic Federation ___________________________________
▼ E X T R A I N F O R M A T I O N ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► DOB - 1/1/1895 ► Height -6'3" ► Weight -190 pounds ► Classification - Shocktrooper ► Rank - Lance Corporal ► Sexuality - Bisexual
-
D E T A I L E D A P P E A R A N C E
Victoria is much taller than most women and quite a few men, standing at a full 6'3" when upright. Her brown hair hangs down messily over her face and around her head, held somewhat in place by a rabbit felt slouch hat that had once belonged to a hero of Oceania. While she managed to escape the fate of her original squad at Amone she did walk away with shrapnel scars on her forearms. Another old injury traces its way over her right eye, a result of a bottle being shattered against her head during her days on the streets.
While no longer as thin as she had once been thanks to adequate (in amount if not taste) rations and physical training courtesy of the Oceanic Expeditionary Forces the affects of starvation have not quite worn away. She's rangier than she is bulky, her body lean with a bit of muscle built from conditioning.
Besides the standard issue blue uniform and webbing she wears a waterproof canvas cape and slouch hat as well as twin bandoleers across her torso. A heart locket hangs from a spare bootlace around her neck, inside is a picture of her daughter Elizabeth.
---P E R S O N A L I T Y
Victoria copes with bad situations by putting up a series of façades between herself and the problem. The first layer is that of the boisterous brawler, a former gang member and armed robber who joined the army in search of a paycheck that could be earned through violence. She drinks, she smokes, she gambles and carouses whenever there's an opportunity, reigning it only for the sake of a salary. While capable of presenting herself as orderly (if only because she needs to live up to the new lance corporal stripes on her sleeve she was and will likely always be a thug.
The second deeper layer is that of the Rat. A personification of the mindset she adopted to survive abject poverty and now brutal trench warfare, the Rat is a way to separate herself from her actions. She can slink away to let it run things, sitting out the violence to miserate about it later. The Rat can make snap decisions about what enemy to kill or which wounded comrade to leave behind to die in the fog of war, it takes action where Victoria might hesitate.
The true person hiding behind her masks is in all honesty somewhat subdued. She quietly seethes at the existence of the Federation, seeing it as a tyranny run by distant nations happy to sacrifice the citizens of other countries for its own goals and expresses her rage in the form of scathing cartoons she keeps hidden away. She clings to her Oceanic citizenship because its an alternative to the identity of violence she grew up with. Even then she fights not for her country but because she has a daughter to support with her meager paychecks.
---B I O G R A P H Y
Victoria was born into a family of poor ranchers on the outskirts of Prairie, Oceania. It was a cattle town originally and its people used to be able to make a decent living selling their livestock. But roughly ten years before her birth the fields had turned fallow and the land was caught in a drought. Once successful ranches soon struggled to feed their own children and more and more beggars began to fill the street. It wasn't very long until people actually began to die of starvation. That was the world Jack and Margret White brought their daughter into, and they regretted it.
She was an accident born ten years after her siblings, an unintended existence her parents were not prepared to contend with. With both her mother and father working near constantly either trying to scrape some manner of living out of the dust or performing odd jobs for a bit of extra cash she was largely cared for by her grandmother and three siblings, each ten years her senior. Her two brothers and one sister taught her how to mix a bit of sawdust into flour to stretch it, the best ways to break into abandoned farmsteads to strip away bits of copper to be sold to scrapyards. At night her grandmother made her learn the alphabet and basic math so "some crooked bastard doesn't cheat you."
It was a strange education but it was the one she needed to survive. By the time she was ten all of her siblings had left for the cities of Melville, Bridgeton and Devil’s Cairn in search of work, joining an exodus that had been steadily lowering the population of Prairie. By now the famine was mostly over but the damage was done. Prairie was dying, the people that remained only stayed because they had nowhere else to turn. Without her siblings to guide her Victoria fell in with one of the packs of jobless and ambition-less youths roaming the streets. They spent their days throwing bricks through windows and fighting over turf with makeshift clubs constructed of fence-posts and bottles.
Her career in crime started off small scale, pickpocketing and committing minor vandalism mostly. Scrawling defamatory slogans across the territory of rival gangs came after, followed by fights both unarmed and armed. By the time she was fourteen her family would have nothing to do with her so she began sleeping on the streets or on a grimy mattress in the shack of some fellow hoodlum. She started drinking and never stopped, getting blackout drunk at parties and late night meet ups. Sometimes she was flirty, other times violent. Once she earned herself a permanent scar when a member of another street gang smashed a bottle against her head. In a drunken rage Victoria stabbed the girl to death.
That was when she really started to spiral. Graduating from simple theft to armed robbery, Vicky made her living sticking up travelers on the road and knocking over filling stations. Most of what she earned went right back into cards or liquor, money disappearing as fast as it came in. By fifteen she had ended up in the arms of Charles, a handsome young man four years her senior.
He was a smooth talking con-artist that could make money appear as if from nowhere with any number of scam and they ran wild together both outside and in the bedroom. Eventually the inevitable happened: Victoria was pregnant at the age of sixteen. Charles assured her that it would be all right, he would make enough money for them to move deep into the Federation but it never happened. The money they gained was spent on alcohol for her and gambling for him. Three months into her pregnancy and he was gone, disappearing from her life.
With nowhere else to turn Victoria begged forgiveness from her family. They brought her back into the fold, not wanting to abandon their daughter (or at least not her child).. Grandma Liz helped her through it, having gotten pregnant herself when she was only twenty years old. Time passed by and after a difficult Elizabeth White was born, named for her great-grandmother. Victoria fell in love with her daughter immediately, but was trapped in the same situation as her own parents. How was she supposed to feed her baby?
Her siblings had left to search for work in the cities but that was no guaranteed thing. Ranching was out, she had seen the results of relying on the land. She had no skills except sewing, knitting and street-fighting. The first two could maybe earn her a bit of extra cash here and there but nowhere near enough for her needs. Luckily for her, war was brewing. She signed up the Oceania Expeditionary Force and Victoria the low-rent hood abandoned her tattered pants and shirt for the blue uniform and slouch hat of Private White. She entered boot camp and quickly became friends with the young men and women she would spend her service fighting alongside.
The first year of her service was relatively unremarkable until an encounter with an armored car during the siege of Amone wiped out her whole unit. The few survivors were hastily reassigned, Victoria finding herself in the 15th Atlantic Rifles where she survived a gas attack and took part in the final push to take Amone. It was during that push where she earned her lance corporal stripe, finding a copy of the Imperial defense plans and turning them over to her superiors. Bestowed with a modicum of responsibility and a miniscule increase in pay to match Victoria settled in for a long winter.
---P O T E N T I A L S
Waste Not, Want Not: A childhood spent scrounging instilled in Victoria a need to reuse as much as she can. This manifests itself in the form of knitting, sewing and scavenging. If something can be repaired or refurbished it will be. Socks get darned, pants get patched, empty bottles and a bit of lamp oil turned into makeshift explosives. She also has a habit of looting, checking the pockets of the dead for trinkets or curios.
Hidden Depths: Despite little formal schooling and a rough upbringing Vicky has more facets than one might expect. She's a cartoonist in her spare time, filling a journal and the margins of her letters home with doodles or caricatures. She does her best to stay abreast of the news and considers herself well-informed politically. What a shame that people tend to see no more than a violent alcoholic.
Oceanics Before Others: While the Imperials might have started the war in desperate search for more ragnite the Federation is little better, a conglomerate alliance dominated by the largest nations to the detriment of the smallest. In Vicky's eyes, the only way for Oceania to prosper is to cut itself loose from the lumbering beast that is the Federation. Her love for her country and its identity does not extend to the Federation or the major players within it. This disdain for various governments does not extend to the people under them. Mostly.
Rodent of Unusual Size: An affection for rats in her childhood progressed to seeing similarities between her and them to what is now a full blown alter ego. The Rat is what Victoria sees herself as when she's digging through pockets or caught in a brawl, a creature that claws and bites and thrashes to get the smallest of scraps. Part stress coping mechanism, infantile need to pass off responsibility, all delusion.
---E Q U I P M E N T
- Model 1903 Interloper: The pistol Victoria used during her days as an armed robber, now getting a new lease on life as a sidearm in the trenches. - E-Tool: Sharpened so that it can serve as both an axe and a shovel the E-Tool is handy both for building fortifications and attack them - Longfield Carbine: Standard issue for shocktroopers. Shorter than the standard rifle with a faster firing rate and a bayonet attached for spearing things. - Shrapnel-Ragnite Bombs: Clear trenches and buildings with the pull of a pin. - Pack Rat's Backpack: A collection of her needles, thread, handsaw, trinkets, tobacco, alcohol, ammo and all the other bits and pieces she picks up. - Stormtrooper Armor:The standard stormtrooper armor with a bit of extra padding added by Victoria herself. - Slouch Hat: Once belonged to Thomas Carter, worn in place of a helmet and kept pinned up in the traditional style.
A F F I L I A T I O N S
- Jack White (Father) - Margaret White (Mother) - Liz Dawson (Grandmother) - Elizabeth White (Daughter) - John, Edward, and Mary White (Siblings, all 28) - Charles Blake (Worthless Bastard)
---R E L A T I O N S
-Jean-Robin Charpentiar: Either a coward or a fool, Jean is certainly not cut out for leadership. Victoria doesn't blame him for being unable to treat the now deceased Thomas Carter, she blames him for his failure to take action under fire. -Alexander-John Middleton: He's an bastard but so are most officers. What little interaction she's had with him confirmed that he's just like any other Federation bigwig: high off his own fumes and ready to throw people into the meatgrinder. -Diana: A drunken fling from Amone before the place was gassed to hell. She's cute, short, a lightweight and easily embarrassed, all things that Victoria is not. Perhaps that was the reason they were drawn together. In all honesty the specifics where pretty much forgotten during the chaos of the battle but they did have a nice talk about Elizabeth so there's that.
___________________________________ Victoria White, 19, Jan 1 1895 ________________________________________________________________________________________ Prairie, Oceania, Atlantic Federation ___________________________________
▼ E X T R A I N F O R M A T I O N ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► DOB - 1/1/1895 ► Height -6'3" ► Weight -190 pounds ► Classification - Shocktrooper ► Rank - Lance Corporal ► Sexuality - Bisexual
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D E T A I L E D A P P E A R A N C E
Victoria is much taller than most women and quite a few men, standing at a full 6'3" when upright. Her brown hair hangs down messily over her face and around her head, held somewhat in place by a rabbit felt slouch hat that had once belonged to a hero of Oceania. While she managed to escape the fate of her original squad at Amone she did walk away with shrapnel scars on her forearms. Another old injury traces its way over her right eye, a result of a bottle being shattered against her head during her days on the streets.
While no longer as thin as she had once been thanks to adequate (in amount if not taste) rations and physical training courtesy of the Oceanic Expeditionary Forces the affects of starvation have not quite worn away. She's rangier than she is bulky, her body lean with a bit of muscle built from conditioning.
Besides the standard issue blue uniform and webbing she wears a waterproof canvas cape and slouch hat as well as twin bandoleers across her torso. A heart locket hangs from a spare bootlace around her neck, inside is a picture of her daughter Elizabeth.
---P E R S O N A L I T Y
Victoria copes with bad situations by putting up a series of façades between herself and the problem. The first layer is that of the boisterous brawler, a former gang member and armed robber who joined the army in search of a paycheck that could be earned through violence. She drinks, she smokes, she gambles and carouses whenever there's an opportunity, reigning it only for the sake of a salary. While capable of presenting herself as orderly (if only because she needs to live up to the new [RANK HERE] stripes on her sleeve she was and will likely always be a thug.
The second deeper layer is that of the Rat. A personification of the mindset she adopted to survive abject poverty and now brutal trench warfare, the Rat is a way to separate herself from her actions. She can slink away to let it run things, sitting out the violence to miserate about it later. The Rat can make snap decisions about what enemy to kill or which wounded comrade to leave behind to die in the fog of war, it takes action where Victoria might hesitate.
The true person hiding behind her masks is in all honesty somewhat subdued. She quietly seethes at the existence of the Federation, seeing it as a tyranny run by distant nations happy to sacrifice the citizens of other countries for its own goals and expresses her rage in the form of scathing cartoons she keeps hidden away. She clings to her Oceanic citizenship because its an alternative to the identity of violence she grew up with. Even then she fights not for her country but because she has a daughter to support with her meager paychecks.
---B I O G R A P H Y
Victoria was born into a family of poor ranchers on the outskirts of Prairie, Oceania. It was a cattle town originally and its people used to be able to make a decent living selling their livestock. But roughly ten years before her birth the fields had turned fallow and the land was caught in a drought. Once successful ranches soon struggled to feed their own children and more and more beggars began to fill the street. It wasn't very long until people actually began to die of starvation. That was the world Jack and Margret White brought their daughter into, and they regretted it.
She was an accident born ten years after her siblings, an unintended existence her parents were not prepared to contend with. With both her mother and father working near constantly either trying to scrape some manner of living out of the dust or performing odd jobs for a bit of extra cash she was largely cared for by her grandmother and three siblings, each ten years her senior. Her two brothers and one sister taught her how to mix a bit of sawdust into flour to stretch it, the best ways to break into abandoned farmsteads to strip away bits of copper to be sold to scrapyards. At night her grandmother made her learn the alphabet and basic math so "some crooked bastard doesn't cheat you."
It was a strange education but it was the one she needed to survive. By the time she was ten all of her siblings had left for the cities of Melville, Bridgeton and Devil’s Cairn in search of work, joining an exodus that had been steadily lowering the population of Prairie. By now the famine was mostly over but the damage was done. Prairie was dying, the people that remained only stayed because they had nowhere else to turn. Without her siblings to guide her Victoria fell in with one of the packs of jobless and ambition-less youths roaming the streets. They spent their days throwing bricks through windows and fighting over turf with makeshift clubs constructed of fence-posts and bottles.
Her career in crime started off small scale, pickpocketing and committing minor vandalism mostly. Scrawling defamatory slogans across the territory of rival gangs came after, followed by fights both unarmed and armed. By the time she was fourteen her family would have nothing to do with her so she began sleeping on the streets or on a grimy mattress in the shack of some fellow hoodlum. She started drinking and never stopped, getting blackout drunk at parties and late night meet ups. Sometimes she was flirty, other times violent. Once she earned herself a permanent scar when a member of another street gang smashed a bottle against her head. In a drunken rage Victoria stabbed the girl to death.
That was when she really started to spiral. Graduating from simple theft to armed robbery, Vicky made her living sticking up travelers on the road and knocking over filling stations. Most of what she earned went right back into cards or liquor, money disappearing as fast as it came in. By fifteen she had ended up in the arms of Charles, a handsome young man four years her senior.
He was a smooth talking con-artist that could make money appear as if from nowhere with any number of scam and they ran wild together both outside and in the bedroom. Eventually the inevitable happened: Victoria was pregnant at the age of sixteen. Charles assured her that it would be all right, he would make enough money for them to move deep into the Federation but it never happened. The money they gained was spent on alcohol for her and gambling for him. Three months into her pregnancy and he was gone, disappearing from her life.
With nowhere else to turn Victoria begged forgiveness from her family. They brought her back into the fold, not wanting to abandon their daughter (or at least not her child).. Grandma Liz helped her through it, having gotten pregnant herself when she was only twenty years old. Time passed by and after a difficult Elizabeth White was born, named for her great-grandmother. Victoria fell in love with her daughter immediately, but was trapped in the same situation as her own parents. How was she supposed to feed her baby?
Her siblings had left to search for work in the cities but that was no guaranteed thing. Ranching was out, she had seen the results of relying on the land. She had no skills except sewing, knitting and street-fighting. The first two could maybe earn her a bit of extra cash here and there but nowhere near enough for her needs. Luckily for her, war was brewing. She signed up the Oceania Expeditionary Force and Victoria the low-rent hood abandoned her tattered pants and shirt for the blue uniform and slouch hat of Private White. She entered boot camp and quickly became friends with the young men and women she would spend her service fighting alongside.
The first year of her service was relatively unremarkable until an encounter with an armored car during the siege of Amone wiped out her whole unit. The few survivors were hastily reassigned, Victoria finding herself in the 15th Atlantic Rifles where she survived a gas attack and took part in the final push to take Amone. It was during that push where she earned her lance corporal stripe, finding a copy of the Imperial defense plans and turning them over to her superiors. Bestowed with a modicum of responsibility and a miniscule increase in pay to match Victoria settled in for a long winter.
---P O T E N T I A L S
Waste Not, Want Not: A childhood spent scrounging instilled in Victoria a need to reuse as much as she can. This manifests itself in the form of knitting, sewing and scavenging. If something can be repaired or refurbished it will be. Socks get darned, pants get patched, empty bottles and a bit of lamp oil turned into makeshift explosives. She also has a habit of looting, checking the pockets of the dead for trinkets or curios.
Hidden Depths: Despite little formal schooling and a rough upbringing Vicky has more facets than one might expect. She's a cartoonist in her spare time, filling a journal and the margins of her letters home with doodles or caricatures. She does her best to stay abreast of the news and considers herself well-informed politically. What a shame that people tend to see no more than a violent alcoholic.
Oceanics Before Others: While the Imperials might have started the war in desperate search for more ragnite the Federation is little better, a conglomerate alliance dominated by the largest nations to the detriment of the smallest. In Vicky's eyes, the only way for Oceania to prosper is to cut itself loose from the lumbering beast that is the Federation. Her love for her country and its identity does not extend to the Federation or the major players within it. This disdain for various governments does not extend to the people under them. Mostly.
Rodent of Unusual Size: An affection for rats in her childhood progressed to seeing similarities between her and them to what is now a full blown alter ego. The Rat is what Victoria sees herself as when she's digging through pockets or caught in a brawl, a creature that claws and bites and thrashes to get the smallest of scraps. Part stress coping mechanism, infantile need to pass off responsibility, all delusion.
---E Q U I P M E N T
- Model 1903 Interloper: The pistol Victoria used during her days as an armed robber, now getting a new lease on life as a sidearm in the trenches. - E-Tool: Sharpened so that it can serve as both an axe and a shovel the E-Tool is handy both for building fortifications and attack them - Longfield Carbine: Standard issue for shocktroopers. Shorter than the standard rifle with a faster firing rate and a bayonet attached for spearing things. - Shrapnel-Ragnite Bombs: Clear trenches and buildings with the pull of a pin. - Pack Rat's Backpack: A collection of her needles, thread, handsaw, trinkets, tobacco, alcohol, ammo and all the other bits and pieces she picks up. - Stormtrooper Armor:The standard stormtrooper armor with a bit of extra padding added by Victoria herself. - Slouch Hat: Once belonged to Thomas Carter, worn in place of a helmet and kept pinned up in the traditional style.
[color=4F97A3][/color]A F F I L I A T I O N S
- Jack White (Father) - Margaret White (Mother) - Liz Dawson (Grandmother) - Elizabeth White (Daughter) - John, Edward, and Mary White (Siblings, all 28) - Charles Blake (Worthless Bastard)
---R E L A T I O N S
-Jean-Robin Charpentiar: Either a coward or a fool, Jean is certainly not cut out for leadership. Victoria doesn't blame him for being unable to treat the now deceased Thomas Carter, she blames him for his failure to take action under fire. -Alexander-John Middleton: He's an bastard but so are most officers. What little interaction she's had with him confirmed that he's just like any other Federation bigwig: high off his own fumes and ready to throw people into the meatgrinder. -Diana: A drunken fling from Amone before the place was gassed to hell. She's cute, short, a lightweight and easily embarrassed, all things that Victoria is not. Perhaps that was the reason they were drawn together. In all honesty the specifics where pretty much forgotten during the chaos of the battle but they did have a nice talk about Elizabeth so there's that.
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