The sound of demons was perhaps unexpected but it certainly wasn't unwelcome. If the devils were already seeking to throw themselves in the path of God's executioners then she would not begrudge the chance to die violently. As hellish shrieks howled out in the night Ekaterine answered with one of her own, a fury filled roar that made her sound more beast than woman. This was not the time for love nor mercy, she would embody only the virtue of hateful justice.
"Now is the time for action my brothers! Now is the time to unleash the Lord's wrath! Drive them into the ground so that their rotten entrails maybe swallowed by the earth!" The zeal in her soul and fire in her belly was evident for all to see, the usually serene look she wore replaced by a feral grin. This was what she was good at! This was her calling! This was righteous.
As the driver shot one rider and Alistair grappled with another Ekaterine pumped her shotgun and kicked the passenger door open to deal with the creatures attempting to ram them off the road. The first blast split one of their heads into foul chunks, splattering the road with its lifeforce as it flopped over like a bag of wet cement. The second hit the other "centaur" square in the chest, the holy load burning a hole through its blackened heart and out through its back.
A good first effort but the fight was not over yet. The crunch of metal above meant that one of the creatures had made its way up top while the crack of bone warned her that the driver was in danger. As any compassionate soul would do she prioritized the human over the car, racking her 12 gauge and firing behind the headrest. The spray of blessed buckshot tore off the demon's arm at the elbow before ripping into cursed tendons and muscle. Whatever twisted organs it had in the "human" part of its torso had been reduced to smoking shreds, the pounding of its hooves become erratic as it bled to death standing up.
"Back to Lucifer! Dabrundit tkvens dats’q’evlil sameposhi!"
The slip into her mother tongue was a natural part of the hate Ekaterine felt flowing through her, the higher level functions needed for speaking English temporarily superseded by the duty to slaughter. They hadn't even made it to their destination and already she had three kills to her name? Such a productive hunt made her spirit sing with mad joy.
The request for a firearm shook her out of total mindlessness however, the Mother dropping her shotgun to pull something out of her bag. "Here Father, eight rounds. Make them count and please be careful with it. It holds a special value to me."
She held extended the Makarov butt first, trusting Alistair to do what was needed with it.
NAME: Stavrophore Ekaterine ______________ AGE: 45 ______________ DATE OF BIRTH: January 10, 1925 ______________ FAITH: Eastern Orthodox ______________ NATIONALITY: Soviet, from the Georgian SSR ______________
PERSONALITY ______________ A veteran of the war against the Nazis as well as the one against devils Ekaterine is well-versed in battling sin. Her days in the Red Army instilled a total lack of fear that bordered on irrational recklessness that was later tempered by her time fighting demons across the Soviet Union and United States. In her mind there is neither room for hesitation nor impatience, she takes in the situation and makes the call before sticking through it until the end. The Lord's work is a calling of the utmost importance and any time wasted on overreactions or inactions is an affront to His name.
Her devotion to Heaven is what keeps Ekaterine going after a life of loss and betrayal. Made bitter by the early loss of her parents and the harsh treatment she received from her aunt and uncle the senseless violence she witnessed in the Great Patriotic War nearly broke her, left a wandering wreck who quiet literally stumbled into monastery life. Even now after being forced to flee to the U.S during the anti-religious purges of the 60s Mother Ekaterine's faith is what keeps her from spiraling into a dark place. She sees her work hunting the Serpent's minions as her way of giving back to the Lord for saving her life.
Just as she takes pride (in a sense anyway) in her duties mentoring the younger sisters or feeding the poor so to does she feel good during the hunt. While a lust for the blood of man would certainly be cause for troubled self-reflection she sees no fault in enjoying herself when driving the demons out of the kingdoms of man. Prone to making promises of great violence against her enemy in Russian, Georgian and English Ekaterine does her best to make good on each and every one of them.
Height ______________ 6’3”
EQUIPMENT ______________ -Ithaca 37: Five shells of twelve gauge absolution, a venerable weapon that serves a blessed purpose. Mother Ekaterine's trench gun and attached bayonet were custom made and consecrated for the purpose of demon hunting. -Stechkin APS:A personal weapon smuggled over during her flight from the USSR. Most people would be unable to handle the recoil from this blessed machine pistol without its optional stock but Ekaterine's strength of belief (as well as well strength of body) gives her the discipline required to wield it. -Holy Oils: A bit of the Oil of Catechumens used in baptisms, some soap and good old gasoline mixed together in glass bottles to be lit and thrown. The result is a blessed blaze that sticks to demons and melts them where they stand. When asked about the propriety of such a weapon the Stavrophore holds that if the Father above took issue then he would surely show her a better way. -SN-46 "Steel Bib":When Satan told the Lord Christ to throw himself from the top of the temple Christ rebuked him by saying "Again it is written, 'You shall not put the Lord, your God to the test.'" Likewise Ekaterine relies on not just faith but solid steel worn under her cassock to guard her body from the enemy. Soviet machine work was combined with Christian blessings to forge armor that can withstand bullets, blades and blood magic. Up to a point anyway. -Duty Bag:A veshmeshok filled with everything a demon hunter on the go might need. A copy of the Scripture, icons of Christ and the Virgin Mary, a change of clothes, money, and snacks as well as spare ammo, oils, salts, consecrated iron filings and a Makarov pistol that once belonged to her abbess back in the Soviet Union.
CAPACITY ______________
Already a trained soldier before entering the Church's demon hunters Eketerine is a skilled gunslinger, fitting considering that she works in the land of the gangster and cowboy. She excels at meeting the enemy in close quarters and blasting them back to Hell with her shotgun and pistol or simply spilling their infernal guts with a twist of her bayonet. Her work as a farmhand set the ground for building a great physical strength that, while hidden by nun's outfit, enables her to sprint with her gear and crush the skulls of the damned beneath her boots.
Her spiritual strength on the other hand is what keeps her going. No matter how bad things get, no matter how much misery and sin she has to wallow through, she just keeps going. After going through the killing fields of the Eurasian steppes without God's light, how can she allow herself to break against the mere denizens of Hell with Him guiding her aim?
NAME: Stavrophore Ekaterine ______________ AGE: 45 ______________ DATE OF BIRTH: January 10, 1925 ______________ FAITH: Eastern Orthodox ______________ NATIONALITY: Soviet, from the Georgian SSR ______________
PERSONALITY ______________ A veteran of the war against the Nazis as well as the one against devils Ekaterine is well-versed in battling sin. Her days in the Red Army instilled a total lack of fear that bordered on irrational recklessness that was later tempered by her time fighting demons across the Soviet Union and United States. In her mind there is neither room for hesitation nor impatience, she takes in the situation and makes the call before sticking through it until the end. The Lord's work is a calling of the utmost importance and any time wasted on overreactions or inactions is an affront to His name.
Her devotion to Heaven is what keeps Ekaterine going after a life of loss and betrayal. Made bitter by the early loss of her parents and the harsh treatment she received from her aunt and uncle the senseless violence she witnessed in the Great Patriotic War nearly broke her, left a wandering wreck who quiet literally stumbled into monastery life. Even now after being forced to flee to the U.S during the anti-religious purges of the 60s Mother Ekaterine's faith is what keeps her from spiraling into a dark place. She sees her work hunting the Serpent's minions as her way of giving back to the Lord for saving her life.
Just as she takes pride (in a sense anyway) in her duties mentoring the younger sisters or feeding the poor so to does she feel good during the hunt. While a lust for the blood of man would certainly be cause for troubled self-reflection she sees no fault in enjoying herself when driving the demons out of the kingdoms of man. Prone to making promises of great violence against her enemy in Russian, Georgian and English Ekaterine does her best to make good on each and every one of them.
EQUIPMENT ______________ -Ithaca 37: Five shells of twelve gauge absolution, an venerable weapon that serves a blessed purpose. Mother Ekaterine's trench gun and attached bayonet were custom made and consecrated for the purpose of demon hunting. -Stechkin APS:A personal weapons smuggled over during her flight from the USSR. Most people would be unable to handle the recoil from this blessed machine pistol without its optional stock but Ekaterine's strength of belief (as well as well strength of body) gives her the discipline required to wield it. -Holy Oils: A bit of the Oil of Catechumens used in baptisms, some soap and good old gasoline mixed together in glass bottles to be lit and thrown. The result is a blessed blaze that sticks to demons and melts them where they stand. When asked about the propriety of such a weapon the Stavrophore holds that if the Father above took issue then he would surely show her a better way. -SN-46 "Steel Bib":When Satan told the Lord Christ to throw himself from the top of the temple Christ rebuked him by saying "Again it is written, 'You shall not put the Lord, your God to the test.'" Likewise Ekaterine relies on not just faith but solid steel worn under her cassock to guard her body from the enemy. Soviet machine work was combined with Christian blessings to forge armor that can withstand bullets, blades and blood magic. Up to a point anyway. -Duty Bag:A veshmeshok filled with everything a demon hunter on the go might need. A copy of the Scripture, icons of Christ and the Virgin Mary, a change of clothes, money, and snacks as well as spare ammo, oils, salts, consecrated iron filings and a Makarov pistol that once belonged to her abbess back in the Soviet Union.
CAPACITY ______________
Already a trained soldier before entering the Church's demon hunters Eketerine is a skilled gunslinger, fitting considering that she works in the land of the gangster and cowboy. She excels at meeting the enemy in close quarters and blasting them back to Hell with her shotgun and pistol or simply spilling their infernal guts with a twist of her bayonet. Her work as a farmhand set the ground for building a great physical strength that, while hidden by nun's outfit, enables her to sprint with her gear and crush the skulls of the damned beneath her boots.
Her spiritual strength on the other hand is what keeps her going. No matter how bad things get, no matter how much misery and sin she has to wallow through, she just keeps going. After going through the killing fields of the Eurasian steppes without God's light, how can she allow herself to break against the mere denizens of Hell with Him guiding her aim?
NAME: Stavrophore Ekaterine ______________ AGE: 45 ______________ DATE OF BIRTH: January 10, 1925 ______________ FAITH: Eastern Orthodox ______________ NATIONALITY: Soviet, from the Georgian SSR ______________
PERSONALITY ______________ A veteran of the war against the Nazis as well as the one against devils Ekaterine is well-versed in battling sin. Her days in the Red Army instilled a total lack of fear that bordered on irrational recklessness that was later tempered by her time fighting demons across the Soviet Union and United States. In her mind there is neither room for hesitation nor impatience, she takes in the situation and makes the call before sticking through it until the end. The Lord's work is a calling of the utmost importance and any time wasted on overreactions or inactions is an affront to His name.
Her devotion to Heaven is what keeps Ekaterine going after a life of loss and betrayal. Made bitter by the early loss of her parents and the harsh treatment she received from her aunt and uncle the senseless violence she witnessed in the Great Patriotic War nearly broke her, left a wandering wreck who quiet literally stumbled into monastery life. Even now after being forced to flee to the U.S during the anti-religious purges of the 60s Mother Ekaterine's faith is what keeps her from spiraling into a dark place. She sees her work hunting the Serpent's minions as her way of giving back to the Lord for saving her life.
Just as she takes pride (in a sense anyway) in her duties mentoring the younger sisters or feeding the poor so to does she feel good during the hunt. While a lust for the blood of man would certainly be cause for troubled self-reflection she sees no fault in enjoying herself when driving the demons out of the kingdoms of man. Prone to making promises of great violence against her enemy in Russian, Georgian and English Ekaterine does her best to make good on each and every one of them.
EQUIPMENT ______________ -Ithaca 37: Five shells of twelve gauge absolution, an venerable weapon that serves a blessed purpose. Mother Ekaterine's trench gun and attached bayonet were custom made and consecrated for the purpose of demon hunting. -Stechkin APS:A personal weapons smuggled over during her flight from the USSR. Most people would be unable to handle the recoil from this blessed machine pistol without its optional stock but Ekaterine's strength of belief (as well as well strength of body) gives her the discipline required to wield it. -Holy Oils: A bit of the Oil of Catechumens used in baptisms, some soap and good old gasoline mixed together in glass bottles to be lit and thrown. The result is a blessed blaze that sticks to demons and melts them where they stand. When asked about the propriety of such a weapon the Stavrophore holds that if the Father above took issue then he would surely show her a better way. -SN-46 "Steel Bib":When Satan told the Lord Christ to throw himself from the top of the temple Christ rebuked him by saying "Again it is written, 'You shall not put the Lord, your God to the test.'" Likewise Ekaterine relies on not just faith but solid steel worn under her cassock to guard her body from the enemy. Soviet machine work was combined with Christian blessings to forge armor that can withstand bullets, blades and blood magic. Up to a point anyway. -Duty Bag:A veshmeshok filled with everything a demon hunter on the go might need. A copy of the Scripture, icons of Christ and the Virgin Mary, a change of clothes, money, and snacks as well as spare ammo, oils, salts, consecrated iron filings and a Makarov pistol that once belonged to her abbess back in the Soviet Union.
CAPACITY ______________
Already a trained soldier before entering the Church's demon hunters Eketerine is a skilled gunslinger, fitting considering that she works in the land of the gangster and cowboy. She excels at meeting the enemy in close quarters and blasting them back to Hell with her shotgun and pistol or simply spilling their infernal guts with a twist of her bayonet. Her work as a farmhand set the ground for building a great physical strength that, while hidden by nun's outfit, enables her to sprint with her gear and crush the skulls of the damned beneath her boots.
Her spiritual strength on the other hand is what keeps her going. No matter how bad things get, no matter how much misery and sin she has to wallow through, she just keeps going. After going through the killing fields of the Eurasian steppes without God's light, how can she allow herself to break against the mere denizens of Hell with Him guiding her aim?
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.
Fish of Oblivion
Finetales
Not a Sayan
Inertia
Fetzen
FourtyTwo
PrinceAlexus
Neziul
Scrawl Banditta
