Yam I Am

Valkyria Chronicles: Echo Black

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__________________________________________ Maxi Höfler, 23 _______________________________________________________________ Atlantic Federation | Charlatogne, Valois Republic _______________________________________________________________ [+] ▼ E X T R A I N F O R M A T I O N ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► DOB - 02/21/1911 ► Height - 5'10" / 182cm ► Weight - 153 lbs / 69 kg ► Hair Color - Argent ► Eye Color - Stardust ► Classification - Scout ► Specialization - Infiltrator ► Rank - 1st Lieutenant ► Sexuality - Bisexual -

D E T A I L E D A P P E A R A N C E Maxi is in some ways a typical Imperial; Fair hair, fair toned skin, and otherwise possessing more alabaster features usually synonymous with the image of its denizens. Her silver-toned hair flows freely on most occasions, as Maxi found out early on that having a ponytail with long hair was an easy invitation for any manner of tug-based assaults on behalf of one of her brothers. When necessary, she'll take a few moments to tuck her locks into the back of her shirt, but otherwise, Maxi has accepted her vision suddenly becoming a bit more argent to be a fact of life. There's clearly enough care put into it to keep it from becoming overly knotty or tangled, and the apparent care clearly ends there. Equal parts gifted and developed with a spry body, her lithe frame and swift posture often gives the appearance that Maxi is ready to spring to life at any given moment, even if she's completely laying down. A typical expression depicts her with a smile that is a rather coy one, as if to make the onlooker question whether it's one of a jovial nature or one of unbridled mischief. Given her position, she's almost always found in some variation of the fatigues, but off-duty, her fashion tastes can be described as...all over the place. There aren't many articles that you could not find her wearing. One moment she could be in simple shirts and trousers, the next in elaborate dresses, the next in combined vestments, and so on until all possibilities of clothing have been exhausted.

---_{P E R S O N A L I T Y}

The first rule of growing up in a multi-sibling household: Nothing is fair, even when they say it's going to be fair. Especially if they say that it's going to be fair.

Maxi knew her entire life that she was going to get got. Not getting back at the getter meant getting whatever semblance of respect you had got thrown straight into the gutter, until you just got got again. The natural conclusion? She had to get them before they got her. And she got pretty good at getting. Yes. That means she's going to get you before you get her, too. After growing up with a deep admiration for all things physical, Maxi had a natural inclination toward any involvement which necessitated moving about...combined with her natural, insatiable curiosity, such a conjoinment culminated in a very vivid upbringing. At a very young age, Maxi had already prescribed to herself a doctrine of trickery; One such thing that has only solidified with age.

Although trickiness is almost tantamount to her core characteristics, Maxi is not entirely without recourse. During intense moments, Maxi's eyes widen and her grin deepens into the corners of her cheeks, pooling together her options as she connives her next plot. At the moments where she is in the greatest of peril, the typical attitude is one of silent machination, softly shutting out the world whilst the woman does her best work. A cornered animal is the most dangerous in the jungle, for Maxi does such poetic justice to the phrase.

If not up to some manner of antic or stratagem, she possesses a rather cool demeanor, preferring to make affirming - yet firmly controlled - motions of expression. Although many would describe Maxi to be a fairly expressive individual, still is it infrequent to see her display such that it is the height of any emotion, even in instances where such exuberance is expectation.

---_{B I O G R A P H Y}

Maxi was far too young to remember much of anything about living in the Imperial Alliance. She hazily remembers moving a lot, she knew she only had a slightly older brother then, and she got told very often that it'd all be over soon. From the many, many stories - most of which categorized under the, "We'll tell you when you get older" label - the story of the Höfler household wasn't one to be particularly envious of. Herr Höfler was a distinguished political thinker of Freisinnigen thought, dedicated toward a guided democratic transition into a parliamentary constitutional monarchy. Similarly, Fraü Geißler was an ardent activist for the rights of Darcsens and other indigents. To both, the reaction within their home country was one of increasing backlash, until the point of undesirable status. In the days leading up to the First Europan War, the fledgling couple was faced with one of two possibilities: Exile, or silence.

To be raised in a household so lively and with such plentiful siblingship - whether that be a blessing or a curse - Maxi's dynamic with only brothers to abide by would develop much of her foundational years. There were many a moment at which her birth nationality would subject her to some ridicule, yet, just as soon was it discovered Maxi had quite a disposal at her fingertips. From a young age, then, Maxi had to learn how to use everything she had to access. If there were, in one instance, a clique of bullies intent on making sure that she receive "her fair share", then too would hatching a plot even the odds. Whether that be by humiliation, assertion, or inconvenience, from her youth Maxi knew full well how to "get even." Besides, if any of that didn't work out, she always had Walther.

Truth be told, throughout her adolescent years, Maxi was never quite one for following in the family footsteps. Activism, on her mother's side, was one thing she hadn't a particular interest in, for many a year of seeing an unfruitful endeavor quickly turned her away in favor of a less "preachy" career path. To be lead along in her father's path on the road to political theory was one that she found herself a dilettante; One such path that became increasingly clear she was never going to truly adhere to. And while she had many a trick up her sleeve, an enterprise at the travelling circus was one whose emolument would be one to ensure that she'd be a fool. Late in her teenage years, a final elucidation came about, sparked by a discussion with both her parents; Perhaps the Officer Corps of the armed forces - to follow in the footsteps of the Foreign Legion as they did - would give her the guidance she needed.

There was a slight problem, however...

Maxi was described by her instructors as a very...odd student. There were many aspects of such a dictum which she excelled at (Maxi could awaken at the earliest hours of the morning with greater keenness than even her awakeners had), there were quite a few things which held her back from being a definitively good cadet. Though she displayed a skilled ability at the absorption of information, her scores were often held back by a lack of organization by which this could be condensed and reiterated. Similarly, while she was quite adept at coming to solutions, the unorthodox means by which she did so made her thought process seem quite errant when the time came to inevitably explain her logic. Paired with what was - to put it mildly - a very chaotic dorm room record, Maxi had been at the forefront of the minds of her instructors...for perhaps the wrong reasons.

At the time of her graduation arose the opportunity for Ranger Corps certifications, for such any and all cadets were encouraged to make their go at what was a new and exciting opportunity to lead the Federation's finest. With strenuous questions and very tight tolerances for acceptance, the probability of anyone getting acceptance was slim, to say the very least of what many thought of Maxi's chance. Yet, they all, too, forgot how much a schlenter Maxi was, for Maxi would be among the few who received a passing grade on their exam. They of course had their skepticism, their doubts, but at the end of it all, Maxi was rightfully entitled to her position in the Rangers. It has been there, at the 21st Armored Rangers Corps, where Maxi has pridefully taken her band, and there too, partaken in the traditions of such elites.

---_{P O T E N T I A L S}

Troublemaker: There's no denying that Maxi has a penchant for getting herself into tight spots. Sometimes, it's her getting overly confident. Sometimes, she makes the wrong calls. And other times, the girl just wants a challenge. No matter the cause, the simple truth is that no matter where Maxi winds up, she's walking arm-in-arm with trouble.
Carnie: From a young age, Maxi's favorite hobbies have included performing handstands on two fingers atop a glass bottle, folding her legs behind her head, and diving off balconies into swimming pools while doing a few backflips. As one might expect, Maxi is very deft, her evasive maneuvers excelling at throwing off the aim of others and reaching difficult spaces an elementary task. She's great at parties, too.
Thorough Trickster: Anyone who has been in the Ranger Corps for longer than 5 minutes will be more than glad to point out Maxi's famed reputation as a practical jokester. Her plans are meticulous, planned and set up over several months at a time, and set up in such a fashion that they're always sprung whenever need be. Maxi's aptitude for planning extends into making battle plans, often finding intrigue in improvisation that blossoms in the form of finding out how to ambush her foes in very...creative ways.

---_{E Q U I P M E N T}

- Lenfield M3
- F1 Grenades
- Ragnaid
- BD-3 Light Armor
- SPG-3 Grappling Device (Gizmo)
- Throwing Knives (Requisitioned)

---_{A F F I L I A T I O N S}

- Eckhard Höfler (Father)
- Kristin Geißler-Höfler (Mother)
- Walther Höfler (Older Brother)
- Dominik Höfler (Younger Brother)
- Leon Höfler (Younger Brother)
- Adrian Höfler (Youngest Brother)

---_{R E L A T I O N S}

Rosalia Blazek

Rosalia is a good confident of Maxi's as it stands, because, well, anyone who can give and take a good joke is good company in Maxi's book. She considers Rosalia to be as something of a buddy as it currently stands, often offering up a series of lighthearted exchanges when she can. Deep down, Maxi wonders if it's possible for Rosie to calm down...though she won't deny that having a bundle of energy around can be very entertaining at the right moments. Yet, sometimes, Maxi finds it to be just too much for her liking, and accordingly, "Can only take Rosie in small doses".

Yori

Maxi's relationship with Yori is an awkward one. His exceptionally distant attitude is one she finds difficult to open herself toward, for she had quickly observed he was not the type to be bringing up small talk to if one were to seek an amicable chat. Yet Maxi feels very little hostility toward him for any such reasons regarding his race or demeanor. She feels like Yori will open up one day, and like a tiger stalking the jungle floor, eagerly awaits her moment to pounce.

-

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-A Template by Load Wraith

Valkyria Chronicles: Echo Black

Europa's peace hung on a tightrope. Even the war-fatigued nations, burnt to exhaustion from the attrition of the First Europan War, could not manage anything beyond a bitter peace. In the East, the East Europan Imperial Alliance had once been a magnificent, sprawling Empire that spanned all Europa, and during its height, ushered in a golden age of peace and prestige. Its fracture, however, has not gone unforgiven, for the nascent powers in the West challenge their hegemony, pooling their strength while too bickering among themselves. An Empire is born and built upon families, by a nation, by religion, and such with the hearts of its mothers, the wisdom of its fathers, and the exuberance of its children does it prosper; Such that these upstart youths of states say they might know more than tradition is, from a certain perspective, an arrogant one.

Yet, what was to be said of the republics of the West? Have they no merit to grant unto men the inalienable rights held to all beings dear? Do those ideals that turned the air of change from a breeze into a gale have no merit, for if the notion of liberty, fraternity, and equality were such foreign concepts to the minds of kings, then by what use was it to be ruled as such? What merit were the machines of wonder if we were to be ruled by machine men? With machine minds? And machine hearts and machine souls? The people of Europa are not machines, not cattle nor fodder; They are men, with all the love of humanity within their hearts, and with the minds and hearts of all their spirit, the Federation has vowed since its inception that they will stand to see men prosper...and tyrants die.

With two ideologically opposing factions exercising so closely to one another, the tides of conflict were, in the minds of many, an inevitability. The solution, then, was clear: If not through the courtroom, their ancient disputes would need to be settled on the battlefield. From the fateful day where the fields of Europa first saw relief from the firestorms of war, the First Europan War was, to its denizens, called to an end. Yet, there was no official peace treaty, for such an insolent document would insist either the Federation or the Empire had done something unjust. Still, the good earth of Europa saw peace, but hidden deep in the minds of the people, they knew that this peace was sustained on borrowed time.

That time has come to a close.

In its time of peace, the preparations had been made, the plans drawn, the men trained. Among those valiant souls arose the need for the gifted and talented, for those willing and able to go beyond the constraints of the common soldier. Our technology had borne us the fineness to amplify the capabilities of the warfighter, and too came the necessity to adapt to it. Herein enter the Edinburgh Armored Ranger Corps. The Rangers have a notorious reputation for fortitude, bravery, and adaptability, but the result of such ardent training that might break many a soldier is one of most supine character. With the formation of such Corps comes the need for the acclimatization of new weapons, tactics, and technology; In the hands of the very best, the Ranger Corps will be on the cutting edge of warfare, engaging well with their comrades-in-arms as they bond valiantly together. Performing feats thought impossible, the bonds they share will, too, shape every Ranger and forge an engagement stronger than any weaponized steel or ragnite monstrosity.

And the Ranger Corps is in need of a few good men.

---

Gathered together by Chancellor Mark Newman and General Nicolette Ducasse a group of officials across the Federation placed their stakes in a special operations team that answered only to the collective that would be known as the Insider Council.

With a war so inevitable and its weapons archaic, the path for the future remained. Funding provided through merit, science devoted to the needs of its members, and a demand to prove that the General's experiment would pay off resulted in the birth of a delicate group strung together from the international armies of the Federation. The Empire would strike back and if the first war proved anything it proved that the Empire would devote time and effort to the strengths of works behind closed doors. The Federation would not sit back and idly ponder what beast would spawn while they twiddled their thumbs and called it keeping the peace. Nicolette was affected by the tragedy that was the first Europan War. She would not let this mistake repeat itself again. Echo Black, the militaristic experiment, would pull through.

Using members of the 21st Armored Rangers' Squad C as the core and pulls from across the Federation, Echo Black is formed. Elite, recruits, members of ambition. These men and women are hand selected as showing potential amongst their peers. If not by skill, then by exceptional heart.

By mission, by commission, by life and by death the Federation judges. By victory, by success, and by excess of its history does it rise and fall. An army that does it all. The cavalry that's coming, the shadows in the night, the first in or the last out, and the friend in the trench that will see it through to the end. The beginnings of legends and the ongoing of humble peace.

Though it took much negotiating and convincing, the general's experience and more importantly, influence in politics, allow them the space required to let the children of war grow. Though Newman proves to be a valuable ally from the west, his influence can only spread so far. It is up to the actions of Echo Black and the intelligence of Echo White's core members to ensure its future development and in turn the end of an undoubtedly long and bloody war.

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Welcome everybody to our titular Valkyria Chronicles RP, Echo Black. For everyone who has been patiently waiting for us, on behalf of both Proxy and myself, we would like to thank you for your understanding and cooperation whilst we organized this endeavor. Getting everything together was no easy feat, and conjoining all of our mangled notes into an exciting campaign was quite the intensive process. Without further ado, accept this as our formal introduction into the adventures of Echo Black!

Map of Europa

The Atlantic Federation

Member States of the Federation

_{▼ N A T I O N S}
^{▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔
► United Kingdom of Edinburgh
► United States of Vinland
► Republic of Valois
► Republic of Emden
► Republic of Assen
► Republic of Wesel
► Republic of Roselaire
► Republic of Arlon}

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Popular uprisings spurred on by the late 18th Century Industrial Revolution gave birth to a number of new democratic republics. The nascent Empire, formed to the east, represented a common threat, motivating a mutual defense agreement among these infant republics.

Though an elected Head Councillor acts as the Federation's chief executive, unanimous agreements are rare among the constituent republics, meaning it often takes months to enact measures. Though a series of secret alliances and gains won by extortion and blackmail put the Federation ahead of the Empire in terms of national power, they have yet to defeat them on the field of war.

- Excerpt from the Valkyria Chronicles 1 Artbook

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The Atlantic Federation is a multi-national alliance dedicated to mutual trade, commerce, and defense. Formed in equal parts out of necessity and shared similarities, the Atlantic Federation in 1934 stands as a powerful - but shaky - opposer to the hegemony of the East Europan Imperial Alliance. The Federation has certainly made long strides in the advancement of technology on their own, but due to conflicting development methods and an awkward communication system, the Federation has rarely been ahead of the technology race. While there are many fields at which the member states of the Federation have attributed such leaps and bounds, as it stands, the necessity of standardization between all members relegates them to the issue of their home country in question, and - perhaps surprisingly for the progressive politics of the faction - changes are slow to come.

In contrast to the conservative regime of the Empire, there exist no de jure discrimination against Darcsen minorities, although enforcement equality is another story. All members of the Federation exist as some manner of electoral democratic state, varying from constitutional parliamentary monarchies to representative democracies. Common assemblies, consisting of elected diplomats from each member state convene monthly to discuss the enactment of common law, although it is quite common for certain states to abstain from implementation of such laws, or for the discourse to enter deadlock entirely. The more radical parties of the Federation's many states call for a completely unified political body to reside over all members' territories, yet sovereignty is too precious a foundation upon which the Federation is built, and such pleas are dismissed as being antithetical to the organization.

The military doctrine of the Federation cannot be called upon to rely upon the superiority of its technology, for the its biggest threat has long been one step ahead of the Federal standard. Instead, the Federation has adopted an ideology of mass production, knowing full well that, in a war of attrition, the Empire cannot hope to withstand the full brunt of its nations combined. All of the equipment of the Atlantic Federation is made such that it be simple and repaired in the field, tens of thousands of miles away from its native factory. As such, there tends to be few models, only interrupting mass production for significant improvements in the base model of equipment.

East Europan Imperial Alliance

A conglomerate of nations united under the rule of the East Europan Emperor, commonly referred to as "The Empire."

The Industrial Revolution that occurred when ragnite was discovered as a useful energy source saw the nations of eastern Europa, pioneers in machine technology, rise to power. Already tightly bound by a network of marriages amongst their royalty, these nations now joined hands in a formal international alliance.

While not technically an autocracy, the emperor enjoys limitless authority within the alliance. The Empire retains customs and practices held over from medieval times, and its people are known to harbor conservative views including a strong hatred for the Darcsen race, who are often put into forced labor camps to provide labor and materials for the Empire.

The culture of the Imperial Alliance still has strong roots in medieval times. This influence can be seen in the armor that the soldiers wear, and in in the vows of fealty that each soldier makes to the king.

- Excerpt from the VC Wiki

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Under a vast conglomeration of kingdoms and vassal-states, the Empire once held steady control over all of Europa in centuries past. While commonly depicted as a monolithic, gigantic kingdom ready to assert hegemony over all its neighbors, the truth of the matter is that the Empire is a titanic construction of various ethnicities, languages, and cultures roughly united under the intermarriage of local barons or duchies. Each county of the Imperial Alliance enjoys its own distinct customs, all united under a common national banner.

Owing to a long custom of advancement among an academic elite, the scientist of the Empire enjoys a surplus of funding, even to the point of lacking moral oversight in their endeavors. Although in many cases such frivolousness in spending has resulted in many a worthless endeavor, equally has it resolved in a fruitful manner such that it earns the envy and scorn of the Atlantic Federation. If imitation is flattery, than such is it that the Federation acts as the Empire's greatest suitor. As such, the Imperial Army earns the envy of many a worldwide army in their technological feats, yet, their doctrine has been thoroughly conditioned to the idea of technological supremacy that they have often been critiqued of being dependent upon such. Without giving credence to either such side, it is worth mentioning that on many accounts the Empire has been the first to pioneer many a military concept, yet the notion of refinement or perfection of such ideas have - more often than not - fallen upon many its neighbors.

Character Sheet Template

Image:
Put an image here that you think best represents your character. Having trouble? Try checking Pinterest, DeviantArt, or Tumblr! Alternatively, ask one of the GMs or your fellow teammates if they have any spare pictures.

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Name:
Their name. It's typical for many Darcsens to lack a surname/family name, but exceptions exist.

Age:
Their age at the start of the journey. You have to be 16 to be enlisted in the military, so please make your characters older than that if they're supposed to legitimately be in the army.

Sexuality (Optional):
Your character's preference(s), for lack of better words.

Nationality:
Your character's national identity and/or country of origin. You can find a list of member states of the Federation in its corresponding tab. It's possible for your character to be a Gallian or Imperial migrant/volunteer as well.

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Appearance:
A few paragraphs describing your character's physical attributes, as well as any differences in their uniform that are worth mentioning. Do they pop their collars? Do they have a funny hat? Will their left eye never fully open?

Height:
Their physical height. Imperial or metric is up to personal preference.

Weight:
Their physical weight. Some people get dodgy about this one, but the top brass needs to know for the medical evaluations.

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Rank:
Your rank is largely determined by the experience you have in the army proper. As such, if you have just been first recruited into the 21st Rangers, your rank is to be Private or Private First Class (PFC). With the lengthening of service, it is possible to progress into Corporal or Sergeant, but past such (into Staff Sergeant) requires application on behalf of the applicant to be in such a leading position.

Class:
Their class from the list of Scout, Shocktrooper, Lancer, Engineer, Medic, Gunner, or Sniper.

Specialization:
Their subsequent class specialization. Each class has its own Specialization branch, of which you may pick one.

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Equipment:
How equipment works is as follows:

• You get a basic kit according to what core class you chose (Sniper, Scout, etc.), and in addition, you obtain a gizmo from your specialization. Check the corresponding Equipment tab to get a look at your standard equipment choices as well as your Specialization Gizmos.
• In addition, you get another item called a "Requisition Item" that is essentially a "Free Space". You can choose what piece of gear you would like to bring "from home" or otherwise acquire "through the grapevine". These could be anything from another weapon to charms to toolkits and more. I know you all want to bring tactical assault lions and Star Wars blasters, but please try to restrict it to something a special operative could reasonably acquire.

Potentials:
Potentials work as quirks or perks that your character has that sets them aside from the usual faceless grunts. They can range from minor to completely altering their person, but they're all unarguably linked to their character. More on potentials below:

Potential Examples:

Steady Hands: As a result of Patricia’s extensive history with needlework, she’s capable of fine manual dexterity, and assists with her ability to aim weapons and defuse firearms.

Interpreter: Long hours spent in all walks of life have made Felix apt at adapting to social circumstances. Naturally, he’s quick to pick up on different languages and the sensibilities of others based on their posture.

Fragile Mind: Andrew has always had the luxury of time at his back, making sure he has all the materials and space he needs to work to his fullest potential. Under pressure, Andrew becomes less confident while beady eyes glare over his shoulder, and as such, his abilities take a decline while others are watching.

What Potentials Cannot Do:

• Potentials cannot overrule the decisions of other players or the GMs.
• Potentials cannot be used to guarantee success irrespective of the situation the character may find themselves in.
• Potentials cannot grant them knowledge and/or abilities beyond that which are plausible given the setting.

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Biography:
"It all started...when I was born." An overview of the life that your character has lived up until their joining of the Ranger Corps. Try to think of important events, role models, what made them want to join, etc.

Personality:
What kind of person are they like? How do they usually act? What are their most discernible traits? What are their strengths and weaknesses? What are their goals and dreams? What keeps them "going"? Do they have anything that keeps them up at night? Are they a killjoy, or the life of the party? Do they have a penchant for interpretive dance? These are all just a few questions that can be answered in the Personality section.

Affiliations:
If this were a job resume, this would be their references. You can include family, mentors, role models, co-workers, etc.

Relationships:
If they have any pre-established relationships with any other cast member, you can list them here. Otherwise, this is usually filled out as the RP progresses.

Classes

Scout:

Rifleman
- Backbone of any army, an expert with rifles and armed with rifle grenades.
Gizmo: Type F-1 Grenade Launcher
Single-shot grenade launcher that fixes to the underside of a rifle.

Specialist
- The eyes and ears of the squad, Specialists act as markers and designators for the squad.
Gizmo: Target Marker
Radio-based designator that provides clear indication of marked targets to anyone listening in on allied radio comms.

Infiltrator
- An expert at stealth, the infiltrator uses camouflage to perform advanced reconnaissance.
Gizmo: SPG-3
Powerful wrist-mounted grappling gun that allows for the quick and near-silent transversal across any distance. Has a limited range and a strict weight-carry capacity, so be careful.

Shocktrooper:

Commando
- Interlopers and expert ambushers. Use satchel charges and other stealth equipment to get behind enemy lines.
Gizmo: L25 Charges
Satchel charges coupled with a remote detonator. Can be set for instantaneous or delayed detonation.

Raider
- Forefront, quick combatants with rifle-mounted flamethrowers.
Gizmo: FW Mk. I
Underbarrel-mounted flamethrower that can be fueled with either a changeable fuel cell or hooked up to a larger backpack supply.

Juggernaut
- Heavily armored adversaries that can shrug off most attacks.
Gizmo: DG-1 Micro-Shield
Detachable weapon blast shield that can resist shrapnel and small arms fire. Will fracture and wear with extended use, and heavily obstructs field of view.

Engineer:

Tech Specialist
- Innovators and experts that give their allies specialized equipment.
Gizmo: Mk. XV Calibration Tool
Multi Use calibration tool that allows for the simple augmentation of weaponry even on the fly, hastening repairs and adaptations.

Tank Technician
- Crewmen of armored vehicles that are as adept at handling them as they are maintaining and fixing them.
Gizmo: M-118 Multitool
Multi-function tool serving as a blowtorch, welder and solderer, and much more. Powered by a detachable Ragnite canister.

Demolitionist
- Explosive experts that specialize in all things mines, charges, and grenades.
Gizmo: Wiring Kit
Explosive rewiring kit that allows the defusal, resetting, and sabotage of almost all explosives.

Medic:

Apothecary
- Dedicated protectors of their squad, ensuring that their comrades can live to fight another day.
Gizmo: Lazarus Grenade
A deployable Ragnaid-based aerosol grenade that remedies the wounds of all caught in its cloud.

Pharmacist
- Eccentric doctors who use stims and combat drugs to great effect in assisting their allies.
Gizmo: Combat Stims
Injectable combat stimulants that amplify abilities in battle to increase speed, pain tolerance, reactivity, or recovery. Overuse has severe health consequences.

Corpsman
- A hardened medic capable of keeping even the most grievous of injuries from the jaws of death.
Gizmo: Acid Projector
Underbarrel-mounted acid projector which produces a noxious and corrosive acid that takes effect on contact.

Gunner:

GP Gunner
- General Purpose gunners who can fulfil a variety of tasks, from suppressive fire to forward assault.
Gizmo: L7 “Velvet Wire”
Electrically-charged wire which stuns and incapacitates foes who try to traverse it.

Light AT
- A stopgap between lancer and infantryman, they are armed with the right tools to put a halt to any charge, from armor to armsman.
Gizmo: SB-7 “Javelin”
A downsized lance capable of being carried in a back pouch, approximately the length of a submachine gun. Less powerful than a typical lance, but much easier to reload and carry.

Ammunition Specialist
- In charge with carrying enough ammo for any mission, they are issued with a wide variety of ammunition for any purpose.
Gizmo: P-18 “Ragnarok” Rounds
Volatile, Ragnite-tipped ammunition that is primed whilst the bullet is traversing the chamber. Detonates upon contact. Leaves a very visible trail when fired, and is very taxing on the weapon.

Lancer:

Grenadier
- Using newly-developed retracting mortars, Grenadiers are capable of extending fire support far beyond the typical reach of conventional grenades.
Gizmo: Incendiary Mortars
Experimental incendiary mortars which blanket fire over a large area.

Mortarman
- Mortarmen use specialized mortar lances to provide indirect fire as they tackle tanks and infantry alike.
Gizmo: RX Mortars
Concentrated anti-tank mortars with two-stage operation. An initial detonation ruptures the armor, while a secondary charge sends a blast into the crew inside. Has a very small blast radius, limiting its effectiveness against infantry.

Fire Brigadier
- The Federal equivalent to the Imperial kampfgruppe, Fire Brigadiers are able to respond to any threat quickly and immediately tackle armor advances.
Gizmo: Stabilizer Suit
Gyroscopic suit meant to evenly distribute the weight around the body, allowing for more flexible movement and reduced recoil.

Sniper:

Saboteur
- Cunning sharpshooters who use distraction tactics to lure out their adversaries.
Gizmo: Feedback Screecher
Deployable high-frequency incapacitation device that overwhelms adversaries with an ear-splitting screech to those who can hear it.

Jaeger
- True stealth snipers capable of waiting inordinate amounts of time to find the perfect opportunity to ambush their prey.
Gizmo: Tracker Dart
Dart with a single-shot gun that is virtually silent. Sends out a radio signal which can, with the right training, be used to interpret the location of the fired dart.

Marksman
- Guardian angels capable of shutting down any ranged threat who may threaten their squad.
Gizmo: Advanced Sighting Optic
Large, multi-zoom optic with electronic resolution amplification that can help discern even the most well-hidden targets. Very fragile and sensitive to water.

Equipment

Class Base Kits

Scout:

- Rifle
-- Pick between:
- Lenfield M3 (Well-balanced attributes across the board)
- Gallian S1 (More accurate but less powerful)
- Brown M3 (More powerful and higher rate of fire but less accurate)
- F1 Grenades
- Ragnaid
- BD-3 Light Armor

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Shocktrooper:

- Submachine Gun
-- Pick between:
- Robinson M91 (Versatile with good performance all around)
- Mags M3-X (Very controllable and accurate at the cost of punching power)
- Reising M9A1 (Higher rate of fire and ammo capacity but less accurate and less reliable)
- F1 Grenades
- Ragnaid
- ND-3 Combat Armor

---

Engineer:

- Rifle
-- Pick between:
- Lenfield M3 (Well-balanced attributes across the board)
- Gallian S1 (More accurate but less powerful)
- Brown M3 (More powerful and higher rate of fire but less accurate)
- F1 Grenades
- Repair Kit
- Ragnaid
- BD-3 Light Armor

---

Medic:

- Submachine Gun
-- Pick between:
- Robinson M91 (Versatile with good performance all around)
- Mags M3-X (Very controllable and accurate at the cost of punching power)
- Reising M9A1 (Higher rate of fire and ammo capacity but less accurate and less reliable)
- F1 Grenades
- Trauma Kit
- BD-3 Light Armor

---

Gunner:

- Machine Gun
-- Pick between:
- Squall-AD (Top-feeding machine gun with less capacity but much more accuracy)
- Hurricane-A (Belt-fed machine gun with high rate of fire but less accuracy)
- Muspell G5 (Versatile machine gun possessing fair handling)
- Bipod
- Ammunition Belt
- Ragnaid
- ND-3 Combat Armor

---

Lancer:

- Anti-Tank Lance
-- If your specialization is Fire Brigadier:
- M2EQ (An all-rounder without any outstanding characteristic)
- SB9 (Prioritized for user safety and accuracy, but less directly powerful)
- Hrist G1 (Contains a more powerful charge but is exceedingly heavy even for a lance)
-- If your specialization is Grenadier:
- Sanders M1 (Most well-balanced, with good performance)
- Hartman MS2 (Larger blast radius makes it better versus infantry and weaker against tanks)
- Elias MA2 (Concentrated charge makes it better versus tanks and weaker against infantry)
-- If your specialization is Mortarman:
- Rossweisse G1 (Very well-balanced and a very lightweight lance offering more maneuverability)
- Lancaar-SH (Refined for accuracy and range at the cost of individual punching power)
- Thrud G5 (Maximized for explosive power, but very unwieldy)
- VD-2 Blast Shield
- Ragnaid
- AD-3 Blast Suit

---

Sniper:

- Sniper Rifle
-- Pick between:
- LF Wasp No. 4 (No-frills, tried-and-true sniper rifle)
- GSR-10 (Highly accurate with the greatest range of all snipers, but less powerful)
- LF-ASR No. 1 (Experimental sniper rifle with burst fire capability. Accuracy expectedly takes a dive)
- Camo-Cloak
- Ragnaid
- BD-3 Light Armor

Gizmos

Scout-class Gizmos

Rifleman:
Type F-1 Grenade Launcher: Single-shot grenade launcher that fixes to the underside of a rifle.

Specialist:
Target Marker: Radio-based designator that provides clear indication of marked targets to anyone listening in on allied radio comms.

Infiltrator:
SPG-3 Grappling Device: Powerful wrist-mounted grappling gun that allows for the quick and near-silent transversal across any distance. Has a limited range and a strict weight-carry capacity, so be careful.

Shocktrooper-class Gizmos

Commando

L25 Charges: Satchel charges coupled with a remote detonator. Can be set for instantaneous or delayed detonation.

Raider

FW Mk. I:Underbarrel-mounted flamethrower that can be fueled with either a changeable fuel cell or hooked up to a larger backpack supply.

Juggernaut

DG-1 Micro-Shield: Detachable weapon blast shield that can resist shrapnel and small arms fire. Will fracture and wear with extended use, and heavily obstructs field of view.

Engineer-class Gizmos

Tech Specialist

Mk. XV Calibration Tool: Multi Use calibration tool that allows for the simple augmentation of weaponry even on the fly, hastening repairs and adaptations.

Tank Technician

M-118 Multitool: Multi-function tool serving as a blowtorch, welder and solderer, and much more. Powered by a detachable Ragnite canister.

Demolitionist

Wiring Kit: Explosive rewiring kit that allows the defusal, resetting, and sabotage of almost all explosives.

Medic-class Gizmos

Apothecary

Lazarus Grenade: A deployable Ragnaid-based aerosol grenade that remedies the wounds of all caught in its cloud.

Pharmacist

Combat Stims: Injectable combat stimulants that amplify abilities in battle to increase speed, pain tolerance, reactivity, or recovery. Overuse has severe health consequences.

Corpsman

Acid Projector:Underbarrel-mounted acid projector which produces a noxious and corrosive acid that takes effect on contact.

Gunner-class Gizmos

GP Gunner

L7 “Velvet Wire”: Electrically-charged wire which stuns and incapacitates foes who try to traverse it.

Light AT

SB-7 “Javelin”: A downsized lance capable of being carried in a back pouch, approximately the length of a submachine gun. Less powerful than a typical lance, but much easier to reload and carry.

Ammunition Specialist

P-18 “Ragnarok” Rounds: Volatile, Ragnite-tipped ammunition that is primed whilst the bullet is traversing the chamber. Detonates upon contact. Leaves a very visible trail when fired, and is very taxing on the weapon.

Lancer-class Gizmos

Grenadier

Incendiary Mortars: Experimental incendiary mortars which blanket fire over a large area.

Mortarman

RX Mortars: Concentrated anti-tank mortars with two-stage operation. An initial detonation ruptures the armor, while a secondary charge sends a blast into the crew inside. Has a very small blast radius, limiting its effectiveness against infantry.

Fire Brigadier

Stabilizer Suit: Gyroscopic suit meant to evenly distribute the weight around the body, allowing for more flexible movement and reduced recoil.

Sniper-class Gizmos

Saboteur

Feedback Screecher: Deployable high-frequency incapacitation device that overwhelms adversaries with an ear-splitting screech to those who can hear it.

Jaeger

Tracker Dart: Dart with a single-shot gun that is virtually silent. Sends out a radio signal which can, with the right training, be used to interpret the location of the fired dart.

Marksman

Advanced Sighting Optic: Large, multi-zoom optic with electronic resolution amplification that can help discern even the most well-hidden targets. Very fragile and sensitive to water.

Last but not least, anyone interested in joining this RP would do well to join the Discord server! The Discord is where you'll most reliably talk to the GMs as well as your fellow players, as the OOC is typically reserved for only the most important announcements.

Yam's Organic Character Farm and Distillery

---

__________________________________________ Maxi Höfler, 23 _______________________________________________________________ Atlantic Federation | Charlatogne, Valois Republic _______________________________________________________________ [+] ▼ E X T R A I N F O R M A T I O N ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► DOB - 02/21/1911 ► Height - 5'10" / 182cm ► Weight - 153 lbs / 69 kg ► Hair Color - Argent ► Eye Color - Stardust ► Classification - Scout ► Specialization - Infiltrator ► Rank - 1st Lieutenant ► Sexuality - Bisexual -

D E T A I L E D A P P E A R A N C E Maxi is in some ways a typical Imperial; Fair hair, fair toned skin, and otherwise possessing more alabaster features usually synonymous with the image of its denizens. Her silver-toned hair flows freely on most occasions, as Maxi found out early on that having a ponytail with long hair was an easy invitation for any manner of tug-based assaults on behalf of one of her brothers. When necessary, she'll take a few moments to tuck her locks into the back of her shirt, but otherwise, Maxi has accepted her vision suddenly becoming a bit more argent to be a fact of life. There's clearly enough care put into it to keep it from becoming overly knotty or tangled, and the apparent care clearly ends there. Equal parts gifted and developed with a spry body, her lithe frame and swift posture often gives the appearance that Maxi is ready to spring to life at any given moment, even if she's completely laying down. A typical expression depicts her with a smile that is a rather coy one, as if to make the onlooker question whether it's one of a jovial nature or one of unbridled mischief. Given her position, she's almost always found in some variation of the fatigues, but off-duty, her fashion tastes can be described as...all over the place. There aren't many articles that you could not find her wearing. One moment she could be in simple shirts and trousers, the next in elaborate dresses, the next in combined vestments, and so on until all possibilities of clothing have been exhausted.

---_{P E R S O N A L I T Y}

The first rule of growing up in a multi-sibling household: Nothing is fair, even when they say it's going to be fair. Especially if they say that it's going to be fair.

Maxi knew her entire life that she was going to get got. Not getting back at the getter meant getting whatever semblance of respect you had got thrown straight into the gutter, until you just got got again. The natural conclusion? She had to get them before they got her. And she got pretty good at getting. Yes. That means she's going to get you before you get her, too. After growing up with a deep admiration for all things physical, Maxi had a natural inclination toward any involvement which necessitated moving about...combined with her natural, insatiable curiosity, such a conjoinment culminated in a very vivid upbringing. At a very young age, Maxi had already prescribed to herself a doctrine of trickery; One such thing that has only solidified with age.

Although trickiness is almost tantamount to her core characteristics, Maxi is not entirely without recourse. During intense moments, Maxi's eyes widen and her grin deepens into the corners of her cheeks, pooling together her options as she connives her next plot. At the moments where she is in the greatest of peril, the typical attitude is one of silent machination, softly shutting out the world whilst the woman does her best work. A cornered animal is the most dangerous in the jungle, for Maxi does such poetic justice to the phrase.

If not up to some manner of antic or stratagem, she possesses a rather cool demeanor, preferring to make affirming - yet firmly controlled - motions of expression. Although many would describe Maxi to be a fairly expressive individual, still is it infrequent to see her display such that it is the height of any emotion, even in instances where such exuberance is expectation.

---_{B I O G R A P H Y}

Maxi was far too young to remember much of anything about living in the Imperial Alliance. She hazily remembers moving a lot, she knew she only had a slightly older brother then, and she got told very often that it'd all be over soon. From the many, many stories - most of which categorized under the, "We'll tell you when you get older" label - the story of the Höfler household wasn't one to be particularly envious of. Herr Höfler was a distinguished political thinker of Freisinnigen thought, dedicated toward a guided democratic transition into a parliamentary constitutional monarchy. Similarly, Fraü Geißler was an ardent activist for the rights of Darcsens and other indigents. To both, the reaction within their home country was one of increasing backlash, until the point of undesirable status. In the days leading up to the First Europan War, the fledgling couple was faced with one of two possibilities: Exile, or silence.

To be raised in a household so lively and with such plentiful siblingship - whether that be a blessing or a curse - Maxi's dynamic with only brothers to abide by would develop much of her foundational years. There were many a moment at which her birth nationality would subject her to some ridicule, yet, just as soon was it discovered Maxi had quite a disposal at her fingertips. From a young age, then, Maxi had to learn how to use everything she had to access. If there were, in one instance, a clique of bullies intent on making sure that she receive "her fair share", then too would hatching a plot even the odds. Whether that be by humiliation, assertion, or inconvenience, from her youth Maxi knew full well how to "get even." Besides, if any of that didn't work out, she always had Walther.

Truth be told, throughout her adolescent years, Maxi was never quite one for following in the family footsteps. Activism, on her mother's side, was one thing she hadn't a particular interest in, for many a year of seeing an unfruitful endeavor quickly turned her away in favor of a less "preachy" career path. To be lead along in her father's path on the road to political theory was one that she found herself a dilettante; One such path that became increasingly clear she was never going to truly adhere to. And while she had many a trick up her sleeve, an enterprise at the travelling circus was one whose emolument would be one to ensure that she'd be a fool. Late in her teenage years, a final elucidation came about, sparked by a discussion with both her parents; Perhaps the Officer Corps of the armed forces - to follow in the footsteps of the Foreign Legion as they did - would give her the guidance she needed.

There was a slight problem, however...

Maxi was described by her instructors as a very...odd student. There were many aspects of such a dictum which she excelled at (Maxi could awaken at the earliest hours of the morning with greater keenness than even her awakeners had), there were quite a few things which held her back from being a definitively good cadet. Though she displayed a skilled ability at the absorption of information, her scores were often held back by a lack of organization by which this could be condensed and reiterated. Similarly, while she was quite adept at coming to solutions, the unorthodox means by which she did so made her thought process seem quite errant when the time came to inevitably explain her logic. Paired with what was - to put it mildly - a very chaotic dorm room record, Maxi had been at the forefront of the minds of her instructors...for perhaps the wrong reasons.

At the time of her graduation arose the opportunity for Ranger Corps certifications, for such any and all cadets were encouraged to make their go at what was a new and exciting opportunity to lead the Federation's finest. With strenuous questions and very tight tolerances for acceptance, the probability of anyone getting acceptance was slim, to say the very least of what many thought of Maxi's chance. Yet, they all, too, forgot how much a schlenter Maxi was, for Maxi would be among the few who received a passing grade on their exam. They of course had their skepticism, their doubts, but at the end of it all, Maxi was rightfully entitled to her position in the Rangers. It has been there, at the 21st Armored Rangers Corps, where Maxi has pridefully taken her band, and there too, partaken in the traditions of such elites.

---_{P O T E N T I A L S}

Troublemaker: There's no denying that Maxi has a penchant for getting herself into tight spots. Sometimes, it's her getting overly confident. Sometimes, she makes the wrong calls. And other times, the girl just wants a challenge. No matter the cause, the simple truth is that no matter where Maxi winds up, she's walking arm-in-arm with trouble.
Carnie: From a young age, Maxi's favorite hobbies have included performing handstands on two fingers atop a glass bottle, folding her legs behind her head, and diving off balconies into swimming pools while doing a few backflips. As one might expect, Maxi is very deft, her evasive maneuvers excelling at throwing off the aim of others and reaching difficult spaces an elementary task. She's great at parties, too.
Thorough Trickster: Anyone who has been in the Ranger Corps for longer than 5 minutes will be more than glad to point out Maxi's famed reputation as a practical jokester. Her plans are meticulous, planned and set up over several months at a time, and set up in such a fashion that they're always sprung whenever need be. Maxi's aptitude for planning extends into making battle plans, often finding intrigue in improvisation that blossoms in the form of finding out how to ambush her foes in very...creative ways.

---_{E Q U I P M E N T}

- Lenfield M3
- F1 Grenades
- Ragnaid
- BD-3 Light Armor
- SPG-3 Grappling Device (Gizmo)
- Throwing Knives (Requisitioned)

---_{A F F I L I A T I O N S}

- Eckhard Höfler (Father)
- Kristin Geißler-Höfler (Mother)
- Walther Höfler (Older Brother)
- Dominik Höfler (Younger Brother)
- Leon Höfler (Younger Brother)
- Adrian Höfler (Youngest Brother)

---_{R E L A T I O N S}

None at the moment.

-

---

-A Template by Load Wraith

War Never Changes

Victorian Empire

Name:
Victorian Empire

Flag:

Territory and Geography:

The official jurisdiction of the Victorian Empire spans a fair chunk of Old World British Columbia; The bulk of its development focused around the Twin Cities of Vanover and Victoria. While the official legal range of the Empire spans from Dawson to Calgary, the government proclaims itself as the successor state to the Pre-war government, and asserts that it is the only legitimate government of all of Canada.

History:

As soon as the United States made their ultimatum for protection for the protection of the Trans-Alaskan Pipeline, Canada was nothing more but another one of the ruining world’s battlefields. As the Pacific shoreline was the most direct route from Seattle to Juneau, it was without question that British Columbia would be at the forefront of the Canadian-American War.

By 2068, the United States would already be well underway in the quasi-legal use of Canadian resources, much like they had with Mexico only a decade prior. The minds and hearts of Canada’s people, naturally, had their qualms over the sovereign right to their lands, and an already wary Chinese minority wouldn’t idle any longer. Local figureheads in Vancouver’s Chinatown doubled down on the already fierce anti-American rhetoric, lighting fires into the Chinese populace with their citation that the United States had become as Japan did when she invaded China in the 1930s; A belligerent, resource-starved empire, willing to commit mass murder if it meant their advancement.

Vancouver was, prior to the Great War, certainly among the most impressive of the Canadian metropolises, and of note to the occupying Americans, housed one of the largest populations of Chinese descendants aside from their own San Francisco. The bulk of them were from the Guangdong region of China - and accordingly, within the hands of British Hong Kong - yet, suspicions could not be undone with the Red Menace pushing so just miles above. Canada was set in motion to be annexed, and with that decree, any subterfuge, too, had to be removed. The last thing that needed to happen was more compromise in their security. Canada was, of course, left uninvited to this proclamation, and only a few hours after, the entire country was again engulfed in war.

A coalition consisting of members from the Canadian 39th Combat Engineers, 4th Royal Grenadiers, Chinese-Canadian partisans, and civilian militias formed the bulk of what was a meandering and awkward front line. For years, the resistance movement waged war on the occupying American forces, short of technology, mind, but never short of valor. 2068. 2069. 2070. All the way right up to 2076 with the announcement of the capitulation of the Canadian government. Even as the occupants had already pilfered far more than their fair share of Canada, the only thing they had left to take from them was their semblance of sovereignty. Yet, what the invaders had been, perhaps, too early to celebrate: None of Canada’s armed forces were ever given orders to stand down.

And they would continue their war, just as ordered. Right until the bitter end.

On the morning of October 23rd, 2077, the decade-long warfare between Canadian and American forces had come to a screeching conclusion. In the earliest hours of daylight, warning sirens blared across bases, radar towers would ignite with pings, and the worst possible nightmare of all good-minded people on Earth had become a bone-chilling reality. At that moment, they knew that 30 minutes would be all they had left for Canada to exist as they knew it, and the partisans with it. Yet, it was a strange bout of inspiration - or perhaps, desperation - that forced the late Captain Connor Evans to make a call that would seal the fate of their movement, and all they had with them. He gave the call, and looks were exchanged, a hazy silence even in the screech of the sirens pervaded the army so that it seemed as impregnable as their salvation itself:

Captain Evans gave the order to raid a Vault, commencing immediately. They would fight tooth and nail against those seeking shelter in what was a nearby Vault, for the Captain knew that his army was going to be victorious, or it was not going to be at all.

Half an hour passed. The army had made their headway into the Vault, a scrambling hodgepodge of civilians as desperate as the attackers to find refuge in the US Army-held Vault, and after a swift and intense firefight, a partisan sealed the Vault before it could be secured. As nuclear hellfire rained outside, within the Vault rained bullets and shells. Gruesome room-to-room fighting lasted for days, with who controlled what sector of the vault being unclear at many moments. Yet, after a week, on November 1st, 2077, the last of the US Army would be wiped out, leaving the vault in the firm hands of the Canadian Remnants.

As the years slowly passed whilst they waited for the All-Clear, an unsteady muse befell the partisans as the inevitable question of what was to come came closer into question with each passing year. They had won their war, and the Americans cleansed from their homes, but at what price? Could they truly call it their victory? Furthermore, who would they be when it was time to step out into the New World? Would they be farmers, or scavengers? An autocracy, or a republic? And a more pressing question...how would they make it until then?

The Vaults in Canada were...functional. They served their primary purpose of being resistant to the thunderous nuclear blasts, true, but beyond that, the Vault inhabited by the Canadians was, to say the barest, incomplete. For the basic essentials, the Vault had covered such things like a cistern and power generator, but the entertainment was entirely limited to educational holotapes, a few board games, and whatever the inhabitants had brought into the vault with them. Coupled with a very lengthy stay, and the new vault dwellers had many, many hours to foster in the development of the world. The children of the vault had little to amuse themselves with, save listening to the rise of empires such as France and Britain. And, of course, the question of their home country would inevitably come into being; An integral part of a globe-spanning Empire which was, perhaps, the paragon of human civilization at the time. What was surely a golden era in an age of discovery and wonder, and Canada, it seemed, was at the forefront of it all.

When the time had come to emerge from their vault, its inhabitants set out into the new world, witnessing it as a husk of its former self. A withered, battered landscape, torn from the greatest war to scorch the Earth. It was a hellscape born from American recklessness, they full well knew, and as they had spent the decades within the vault, they, too, knew they were going to need to change, just as the wasteland had changed. Perhaps it could one day be restored to the land they could proudly call home, but knew to reiterate the past was, too, to reiterate their mistakes. The children of New Canada knew that, much like their British ancestors, they would need to adapt and incorporate the unfamiliar into the familiar, in its wake, creating an inseparable commonwealth of vastly different ideologies and peoples.

In its formative years since leaving the Vault, the remnants of Canada's army fancied itself as protectors and guardians of the new peoples of Canada, offering assistance to the dwellers of Victoria and Vanover - once Vancouver - in exchange for lodging and service alike. The command structure of the army slowly blended together with an integrated citizenry, and eventually, the title of "Captain" would be proclaimed "King". Weathering constant prying attacks from bandits from Cascadia, the strengthening of people and force only grew stronger, until it was so proclaimed that the now-titled "Twin Cities" of Victoria and Vanover were home to among the most impressive force in the BC Wastes.

Slowly, the Twin Cities grew in size and strength, yet, the young Empire was not spared growth pains, for internal squabbles were more often than not only hushed by a much greater external threat, only to resume to the infighting that defined much of the 22nd century. Its holdings waxed and waned through much of the 2100s, eventually stabilizing come an extensive period of aggressive political, civil, and military reform. Under the power of what came to be known as The Kelly Reformation, the Twin Cities and its surroundings greatly developed from squabbling trade post and sin city to Havens of the BC Wastes. By the 2270s, Vanover and Victoria were perhaps the most impressive cities of the West Coast.

The new decade has brought with it the reign of Queen Eliza Victoria LII, and the Empire grows more confident towards their march into the 24th Century. Their recent streak of rapid growth has left them assured they might overcome any obstacle, no matter how grand their goals. And the nascent Queen's ambition to reunite Canada is a grand one, indeed...

Population:

324,826 (2285 Census)

Government/Domestic Politics:

A general rule of thumb in regard to what is permissible in the eyes of Imperial Law is to ask one’s self, “Is it specifically outlawed?” The Imperial government at large employs a laissez-faire approach to civil law, preferring to allow its citizens free reign insofar they do not upset the day-to-day affairs of the state. Prostitution, recreational drug use, public assembly, and press rights are all fully legal, and are a widespread feature of the Empire’s urban areas. Capital punishment - oddly enough for a nation which favors the adjective “Empire” to describe itself - is outlawed in favor of prison labor.

The Empire itself finds itself employed under a dual-power system, divided between the Commons and the Monarchy. The former operates via a Common Assembly, in which any citizen above the age of 15 is able to participate and wager their votes for administrative positions and current issues alike. Most Common Assemblies are centered around their respective city, thus forming a rather diffuse hierarchy. Debates in Assembly continue until 2/3rds majority consensus is reached...which often results in debates hotly raging for weeks on end until one party grows weary of all the arguing, and finally concedes to the wishes of their opposition. Detractors from democracy, be warned; Lying before Assembly is counted as High Treason, and offenders punished by 40 years’ hard labor.

From Common Assembly elections is formed the Commons proper, composed of mayors and governors of their respective Common Assemblies. Responsible for the administration of the various bureaus within the Empire, Commons assigns taxes and tariffs, reviews Assembly debate topics, and reviews laws.

The Monarchy is a different affair, largely composed of members of the Royal Court. Antagonistic to its name, the title of “King or Queen Victoria” is not a hereditary title, but one appointed as current head of the Royal Court. However, membership of the Royal Court has been largely hereditary, if there does exist the possibility for extraordinary Imperial citizens to gain entry into the Royal Court. Legally, entry for a new member into the Royal Court requires, “Outstanding acts of courage, loyalty, or ingenuity to the Victorian Throne and People.” Ownership of the title of King or Queen Victoria lasts until life or ineligibility to fulfil one’s position, whichever comes first. In the event of the monarch’s resignation, it is up to the Royal Court to come to an agreement as to who shall lead as the next monarch. Particularly unpopular monarchs within the Empire are allowed to be stripped of their title by decree of 2/3rds of the Commons and 1/3rd of the Royal Court...though, historically, this has only ever been achieved through the use of violence.

Notable People:

Queen Victoria:
The young Queen Victoria springs forth with confidence and steadfast determination to see her country prosper. Although she was but 14 when she was called upon the Victorian throne, the Good Queen is one never to take the words of her close advisors faintly, often consulting members of Commons or the Royal Court before making an Imperial Decree. She remains a popular focal point through the common people of the Empire - much like her predecessors before her - and is known for giving inspirational speeches throughout the radio waves. An avid supporter of Victorian primacy, Victoria has given unwavering support to development projects...as well as employed a hawkish rhetoric that might even make the likes of Caesar Lucius blush.

From her very birth, the Queen has witnessed the rapid growth of the Empire from its days as the Twin Cities to seeing hamlet after hamlet slowly swear fealty to the Throne, as too did she see men in rags grow rich under the wise reign of the late King Victoria. Coming into office, Queen Victoria has few reasons to suspect this growth will halt anytime soon, and has aptly pitched her prize: To pacify the countryside, unite the Canadian people under one singular banner, and usher in a new golden era as the rightful heirs to Canada herself.

These are lofty ambitions, indeed, but if the Good Queen is capable of putting her words into actions, Canadian historians will forever recall her as, “The Queen who restored order to Canada in her darkest hours” for centuries to come.

General Gerald Isaac Hemingway:
A longstanding member of both the Royal Court as well as the Royal Army, Hemingway served extensively as an officer in the Gendarmerie in Cascadia and along the Purcell Range. Well-mannered and rather keen, Hemingway is known for his stressed importance on intelligence in the armed forces. Although he is certainly experienced, Hemingway has grown rather stubborn in his advanced age, often being a staunch opponent of tasks where he deems the risk is too great. Currently, he has offered a much more gradual plan towards expansionism, proposing a strengthening of the Western Frontier toward Calgary before further Westward expansion into Saskatchewan.

Sir Ken Ford:
Sir Ford is the leading member of the Victorian Science Committee, and the one in charge of the oversight of all manner of Victorian governmental research projects. In addition, Sir Ken Ford has long been a proponent of the Oregon Clause, citing the "Wrongful strongarming of the Oregon Territory" away from Canada some centuries ago. Naturally, Sir Ken Ford strongly advocates for the southward expansion of the Empire into Seattle and Portland to acquire resources, living space, and security for the Victorian Empire. His supporters are few, but compensate in their enthusiasm and loquaciousness.

Admiral Markus Jackman:
Jackman is a keet, yet cautious man well into his fifties. In charge with the command of the Royal Navy, Jackman has long been critiqued for his lack of definite position, leading to many dismissing him as a "Yes-Man". While this is not without clause - as the man has expressed interest in both expansion plans - his lack of commitment perhaps stems from belief that there is equal merit to both propositions...or his disdain for both, yet having no alternative to sate the Queen or Commons.

Military:

Doctrine:

The Imperial Armed Forces near-exclusively employs a policy of maintaining a purely-professional military, choosing instead to have a well-trained force that is capable of handling a verisimilitude of threats it may encounter. Having ancestry that traces back to both guerilla forces as well as a professional Pre-War army, the structure and doctrine employed by the IAF strongly emphasizes tactical flexibility and strong military integrity.

A critical concept of Imperial warfare doctrine is what is known as the Rule of Three; Nearly everything in the IAF has some manner of tri-fold principle or structure, to which it refers to a number of essential components of Imperial strategy:

• Three-to-One Rule: With origins in Pre-war military schooling, the basic clause of the Three-to-One Rule is that, to guarantee victory, an attacker must have thrice the amount of troops as his opposition.
• C3: An abbreviation for “Command, Control, and Communications”, the basics of this clause emphasizes the importance of effective communication throughout all levels and branches of the armed forces in order to facilitate battle planning, combat reports, and intelligence.
• The Fifteen-Strong: Many traditional militaries opt to use squads of either 10 or 12, however, the Imperial Army has decreed the squad size be at 15. In addition to the slight increase in firepower each individual squad can offer, the ability to further subdivide a 15-Strong squad into three fireteams of 5 offers a distinct advantage over the usual “binary” composition of 10 or 12-strong squads. With this increase in available fireteams comes in to play an ability to effectively apply pressure on an opposing force from many more angles than is possible with two fireteams of 5.

The Imperial Armed Forces maintain strong traditions seemingly rooted in monarchic practice, such as every soldier making vows of fealty to the Queen upon induction and the use of battle standards. In times of war, it is expected practice for the Monarch to lead their troops into battle, as to serve as a rallying beacon for their troops to hold onto. Some Monarchs opt to go into battle with elegant Knightly Power Armor, or atop a Main Battle Tank, but some, such as the previous King Victoria, chose to go in naught but the plain fatigues issued to his men.

Royal Army:

8,500 Infantrymen

The common infantryman of the Royal Army is clad in combat armor and is likely issued the C1A3 Rifle, itself a long-standing derivative of the classic FN FAL battle rifle. Those in more specialized roles are issued either the C7 General-Purpose Machine Gun, the C2 Marksman’s Rifle, or the C3 Submachine Gun in 10mm Auto. In comparison to the average military force of the Wastes, the Royal Armyman is remarkably well-protected, if the average production quality of combat armor remains inferior to that of Pre-war manufacturing standards. The general-issue combat helmet is of a sturdy metal design, offering quite good protection against shrapnel and low-powered rounds, though soldiers often take to padding the insides with wool or cloth for their comfort. An additional ballistic mask is issued alongside their helmets, though its protectiveness comes at the expense of visibility, and is often not worn when soldiers are not in intense combat. Ammunition, grenades, and other pieces of the infantryman’s kit are held in bandoliers or belt pouches. As per the regime of a versatile fighting force, all infantrymen are trained in the use of bayonets, both attached and detached from their rifles, as a well-timed and well-supported bayonet charge will make quick work of ambushers and those who mistakenly believe the weakness of the Royal Army lay in close-quarters assault.

The Royal Infantry Corps is supported by artillery crews, employing quarter-pounder guns in the rear echelons of the military. As per tradition, the Royal Army is adjoined by a Morale Corps, where drummers beat to the marching pace, chansoners unite the infantry under cherubic battle hymns, and flag-bearers proudly proclaim the conquests of key objectives on the battlefield.

48 Main Battle Tanks

Stemming from the Pre-War Centurion tank, the Mk. 14 is the current iteration in service with the Royal Army. Reliable, versatile, and powerful, the scarcity and intensive production of the vehicle limits its use in common engagements. Used as a means to achieve a frontal breakthrough, MBTs are, much like their Pre-War ancestors, often used in tandem with infantry, air forces, and more mobile land forces in order to overwhelm the enemy at multiple angles.

1,500 Mechanized Infantry
Proliferating from the need of the military for rapid-moving infantry forces, the Mechanized Infantry operate either with the Boudicca-78/S or the Crerar M6 Scout Car. As the use of energy cells to power the vehicles in question stems from conscious recycling efforts, while the Mechanized Infantry may certainly be a quick and well-organized force, but are in danger of overextending themselves through too hasty a chase, or overextending their supply range. As such, more often than not, Mechanized Infantry work in-tandem to the standard infantry, where they serve as a breakthrough or flanking force to scatter enemy forces.

1,400 Alpinist Corps
The Imperial Alpinists consist of rangers and pathfinders used to operating in treacherous terrain. Through rigorous, specialized training, the Alpinist Corps are capable of operating without supply for weeks on end, and often serve as the “eyes and ears” in front of the main army. Specialized in sabotage, reconnaissance, deep battle, and search and rescue operations, each Alpinist carries with them the C5 Assault Rifle, utilizing the lightweight, high-velocity 5mm round. In addition, survival and mountain-climbing equipment is apart of their standard armament.

400 Airborne
A recent addition to the Royal Army, recent analyses of battle tactics have begged the question to utilize paratroopers. While the forces are still in the experimental phase of doctrinal development, early field exercises show great promise in the expertise of elite troops that can - in tandem with the other Imperial Armed Forces - wreak havoc behind enemy lines to cut off supply or retreat routes. Much like their Alpinist cousins, Airborne troops are issued the C5 Assault Rifle chambered in 5mm, allowing for a stunning amount of ammunition to be carried at such a light weight.

5,500 Gendarmerie

Acting as a mixture of military police force and scouting corps, the Royal Gendarmerie are the eyes and ears of the ground forces. Atop horses, the Gendarmerie guardsman is often more lightly-armed than the infantryman, but what they gain in return is mobility far surpassing many of the things that might gait the Wastes.

A few particularly daring souls among the Gendarmerie have made attempts to domesticate Yao Guai for use as more ferocious mounts, but their success has been...dubious, at best.

400 Knights

Clad in carefully-maintained power armor, Imperial Knights are the finest shock troopers the Imperial Armed Forces have to offer. As the manufacture - or more likely, scavenging - of new power armor suits is an excruciatingly sluggish process, nearly every single suit of power armor in service is unique. Few suits bear semblance to their originals, and have had plates, rivets, and exoskeletons repaired and replaced over the centuries these antediluvian suits have been in employ. Resulting from such processes, each suit of Imperial Power Armor is often heavily customized, adorned in an assortment of charms, insignia, and trophies.

The armaments of the Knights is no less impressive than their ancient armor, often using the only energy weapons to be found in the entirety of the Empire. Many Knights commonly utilize heavy weapons, such as miniguns, missile launchers, or machine guns.

Only the most hardened, cunning, or connected of soldiers are given the opportunity to become Knights, for the “opening” of a suit of power armor itself is an equally sporadic event. A majority of Imperial Knights are already veterans of a multitude of campaigns, the power armor only auxilarating their potent skill as they fearlessly smash apart enemy lines.

Royal Navy:

Composed of approximately 4,200 active seamen, the Royal Navy is largely tasked with escorting its merchant navy and fishing fleets against any prospective pirates in the area. Although of an impressive size for any force in the Pacific, the Navy also has yet to engage with a foe of equivalent - nevermind superior - size or skill, leaving its fleet rather inexperienced in large-scale naval conflicts. For its intended purposes, the Royal Navy does its job admirably, yet if it ever finds itself pitched against a professional navy, their flaws may yet be exposed.

While the Navy crews one Pre-War Cartier-Class Cruiser as well as two Liza-Class submarines, the overwhelming bulk of the Royal fleet composes of steam-powered ships, each typically armed with somewhere between four and six guns. The capacity to create Pre-War equivalent ships is beyond the reach of most Imperial shipyards, leaving the bulk of civilian merchant fleets either as steam or sail-powered vessels. The Royal Navy has also expressed interest in the use of landing craft, yet has not found widespread support for the utilization of such amphibious forces.

Royal Air Force:

Though the Imperial Armed Forces have known the importance of Air Superiority since the days prior to the War, the aspirations to create a proper Air Force have historically been stunted, to say the least. Although not without trying, the Royal Air Force has created from old plans and scrapped vehicles, created a modest aeronautic fighting force. A shortage of aluminum severely hampers the ability to create a massed air force as the Empire has longed for, yet what aircraft they are capable of fielding have proudly performed in the skies.

86 A2 Fighters are fielded in the Royal Air Force, either scavenged from Pre-war airfields or created from deconstruction and blueprinting. Employed with a doctrine of formation flying, the A2 Fighter is nimble and rather quick, capable of rapid strafing runs and interception alike, although its high speed limits the effectiveness of it in a fighter-bomber role.

22 C-46 Transport Planes are often kept on airfields in the event that emergency supply becomes necessary, though very recent innovations have begged the question of their use in airborne infantry units as a more viable alternative to the rare and significantly more complex CH-182.

Two airships are also in the possession of the Royal Air Force, largely being used for reconnaissance and strategic bombing, as few foes possess the necessary weapons to tackle such a threat. Due to the large size and cumbersome maintenance required of each airship, they are by far the least numerous and among the least-employed of the air fleet.

Prior to the Great War, the Canadian Royal Air Force had purchased a fleet of CH-182 VTOL Gunships from West Germany, yet the dissolution of the European Commonwealth and the American Annexation alike would halt the upgrade of the entire fleet. A dozen prized examples have been either found or restored to working condition for use in the Royal Air Force. Armed with a front and rear auxiliary autocannon, the CH-182, much like the Vertibird, has a small troop-carrying capacity as well as a tilt-wing assembly, although it has less powerful engines and has significantly less advanced armaments. The rarity and complexity of the CH-182 relegates its use to specialist operations, deemed too valuable to use in all but the most dire of engagements.

Royal Automation Army:

In recent times, there has garnished a growing interest in augmenting the primary forces of the Royal Army with combat robots. Though the general knowledge of robotics remains a highly specialized field only known to a rare few, experimentation on Old World models is a key mainstay of Army R&D. Manufacturing capabilities remain limited, due to the rarity of parts and vast technical knowledge to construct and program such war machines.

What machines the Empire has been able to retrofit, in the meantime, largely consists of Pre-War sentry bots, numbered in the approximate dozens.

Economy:

The dual economies found within the Victorian Empire are aptly divided between the original Twin Cities and the vast Victorian countryside, for the development and economic activity vastly varies from locale to locale.

Vanover was, prior to the war, quite easily the largest of the Western Canadian cities, housing perhaps several million souls. Although it once fell into a steady decline starting with American pressure toward Canada - to say nothing of the nuclear holocaust that ravaged all of Canada - a determined effort has seen the once decimated city grow into what is named, “The Gem of the Pacific. Though it might lack the technological prowess of San Francisco or the sheer mass of The Boneyard, what draws so many to it is, in many ways, a cultural and artisanal renaissance which has seen the city blossom into beauty. Vanover is a city of sin and virtue, where the frontier meets civilization. Although in decades prior, the city almost exclusively subsided on sex, liquor, and questionably-organized gambling, a series of reorganizations have shifted production towards the production of specialized industry, opting to exchange raw industrial output in favor of ellusive and high-quality manufacture.

Smaller factories and manufactorums dot the British Columbian coast, steadily giving way to the farms and ranches beyond. A thin stretch along the old Sunshine Coast Highway is defined by such industry, where each workshop and mill provides the industrial heart of the Empire, crafting textiles, cloth, metalworks, electronics, and glassworks. Small deposits of tungsten and iron inside the Cascades are mined, whereas the plentiful sands along the Strait of Georgia provide all the silicon-rich sands to create glasses, which in turn is often used in creating jars, glassware, optics, and windows. Due to the scarcity of high-conductivity metals, copper, silver, and gold are often prioritized for use in electronics rather than jewelry or instruments.

Vancouver Island houses the eponymous capital of the Empire: The city of Victoria herself. Victoria houses the Royal Palace wherein the residing Monarch dwells, in addition to being the city in which the majority of the Royal Court too live. After years - if not decades - of continuous construction efforts, the city has once again been re-imagined as a true, Victorian-styled metropolis, complete in its Neo-baroque styled architecture, sweeping (if mutant) gardens, and intricate masonry. The rest of the island is developed with a leisurely quaintness to it, sprinkled with fishing villages and small estates. The various distilleries and wineries of Vancouver fill the glasses of Vanover’s many taverns and bars; Tarberry Wine in particularly is highly sought-after.

Beyond the highly-developed Vancouver Island and Sunshine Coast, the lands to the west are substantially less impressive. Populated with tribal villages, farming towns, or trading posts, the overwhelming majority of the economy is sustained by animal husbandry and agriculture, with bighorners, sheep, and horses constituting the most common choices for animal husbandry, while shrimp, crickets, and redhares being substantially cheaper and easier to raise alternatives for those who seek more protein in their diets. Infrastructure in much of the Western Empire is only nominally superior to unclaimed wastes, with inhabitants still relying mostly on combustion and candle for light and heat. While the Empire has long planned to expand the infrastructure throughout the western fringes - namely improvements to the rail system - progress remains slow.

Although the laws of the Empire strictly prohibit slavery, due to what could be called a “flexible system”, a sizable portion of infrastructure construction is done with convict labor. The most common labor of prisoners involves paving roads with stone or gravel, with the more “docile” servants being allowed to work on locomotive or electrical infrastructure. Corrective courses in electronics, logistics, and foremanship are offered to prisoners with a record of good behavior.

Culture:

The fundamental establishment of the Empire was one born of fierce anti-American sentiment and strong commitment to the idea of Canadian sovereignty. Two centuries of nuclear hellfire were certain to wash away lesser commitments in the world, but instead, as the world came under the heat of a baking oven, the residual commitment to seeing Canada once again a reunited nation instead glazed upon the huddled partisans, as if to say the end of the world was merely a test of their resolve. After all, these valiant men and women had been willing to go to the ends of the Earth to see the Americans driven from their home. What was the End of the Earth to those of such resolve?

Much like their pre-established ancestors, the denizens of the Empire have long paraded themselves as the true successors of Canada. Nothing less than a complete rejection of American culture and hegemony have been established in those days long passed of the occupation, in its place has come something of an...ironic renaissance of the British Commonwealth.

Even from the most basic aspect of how the Victorian speaks, those from the coasts or the Twin Cities speak in a juxtaposed accent, a close yet murky ancestor of the famed English accent. It is a hodgepodge combination of the countless tongues of British Columbia prior to the war, combining the poise of the British, the lax nature of the Canadian, and the oddly-precise lisp of the Cantonese. Into every aspect of life does this faux-complexity bleed into Victorian culture, from their emulation of high society in their frock coats and bustiers, to even the commoner’s love for the written word. Poignancy and punctuation are virtues when a Victorian speaks, if sacrifices in politeness must be made to get their point across. There, among Victorians, exists a conundrum in “delightful dishonesty”, at which many will say is the best and only way to disappoint someone: It is to turn your story into one so absurd to the point where your superior cannot help but mire in the buffoonery on display.

In spite of the commonly-established decorum experienced throughout all urban Victoria, there is, too, plenty of diversity to be had, and from this oxymoron will arise in the face of mutations not quite a melting pot, and not quite a cultural mosaic. It is an anthropophagy of faces and minds, conjoining together in union to create an image that is uniquely Victorian. Ghouls have, to this end, etched out their niche in Victorian society, but do expect to hear quite the number of self-demeaning jokes in your time spent. Super Mutants are a rare sight, but one most Victorians share an odd curiosity toward. Spared of the horrors of The Master’s hellish rampage, those few Super Mutants to come this far north find themselves paraded about as amusing, if dull, strongmen. Though the vast majority are far too hampered to answer the common question of “Whereabouts did you come from?” with any reasonable precision, the Super Mutant is put into an irregular, yet interesting place in Victorian society. While their vast body systems dull the regular effects of chems and liquor, a good number of Super Mutants have found a place as entertainers, splitting logs and hurling tree trunks before crowds of cheering Victorians.

Religion:

Few who practice religion in the Empire possess a coherent ideology. More often than not, religion in the Empire consists of a hodgepodge of totemist, animist, shamanist, Christian, and ancestor-worshiping faiths into a syncretic theology. Practices are based more upon belief that they will provide some direct benefits to the practitioner rather than out of adherence to creed. Accordingly, charms and other similar tchotchkes are ubiquitous throughout the populus.

War Never Changes

Here's my (hopefully) complete CS. Here goes nothing!

Victorian Empire

Name:
Victorian Empire

Flag:

Territory and Geography:

The official jurisdiction of the Victorian Empire spans a fair chunk of Old World British Columbia; The bulk of its development focused around the Twin Cities of Vanover and Victoria. While the official legal range of the Empire spans from Dawson to Calgary, the government proclaims itself as the successor state to the Pre-war government, and asserts that it is the only legitimate government of all of Canada.

History:

As soon as the United States made their ultimatum for protection for the protection of the Trans-Alaskan Pipeline, Canada was nothing more but another one of the ruining world’s battlefields. As the Pacific shoreline was the most direct route from Seattle to Juneau, it was without question that British Columbia would be at the forefront of the Canadian-American War.

By 2068, the United States would already be well underway in the quasi-legal use of Canadian resources, much like they had with Mexico only a decade prior. The minds and hearts of Canada’s people, naturally, had their qualms over the sovereign right to their lands, and an already wary Chinese minority wouldn’t idle any longer. Local figureheads in Vancouver’s Chinatown doubled down on the already fierce anti-American rhetoric, lighting fires into the Chinese populace with their citation that the United States had become as Japan did when she invaded China in the 1930s; A belligerent, resource-starved empire, willing to commit mass murder if it meant their advancement.

Vancouver was, prior to the Great War, certainly among the most impressive of the Canadian metropolises, and of note to the occupying Americans, housed one of the largest populations of Chinese descendants aside from their own San Francisco. The bulk of them were from the Guangdong region of China - and accordingly, within the hands of British Hong Kong - yet, suspicions could not be undone with the Red Menace pushing so just miles above. Canada was set in motion to be annexed, and with that decree, any subterfuge, too, had to be removed. The last thing that needed to happen was more compromise in their security. Canada was, of course, left uninvited to this proclamation, and only a few hours after, the entire country was again engulfed in war.

A coalition consisting of members from the Canadian 39th Combat Engineers, 4th Royal Grenadiers, Chinese-Canadian partisans, and civilian militias formed the bulk of what was a meandering and awkward front line. For years, the resistance movement waged war on the occupying American forces, short of technology, mind, but never short of valor. 2068. 2069. 2070. All the way right up to 2076 with the announcement of the capitulation of the Canadian government. Even as the occupants had already pilfered far more than their fair share of Canada, the only thing they had left to take from them was their semblance of sovereignty. Yet, what the invaders had been, perhaps, too early to celebrate: None of Canada’s armed forces were ever given orders to stand down.

And they would continue their war, just as ordered. Right until the bitter end.

On the morning of October 23rd, 2077, the decade-long warfare between Canadian and American forces had come to a screeching conclusion. In the earliest hours of daylight, warning sirens blared across bases, radar towers would ignite with pings, and the worst possible nightmare of all good-minded people on Earth had become a bone-chilling reality. At that moment, they knew that 30 minutes would be all they had left for Canada to exist as they knew it, and the partisans with it. Yet, it was a strange bout of inspiration - or perhaps, desperation - that forced the late Captain Connor Evans to make a call that would seal the fate of their movement, and all they had with them. He gave the call, and looks were exchanged, a hazy silence even in the screech of the sirens pervaded the army so that it seemed as impregnable as their salvation itself:

Captain Evans gave the order to raid a Vault, commencing immediately. They would fight tooth and nail against those seeking shelter in what was a nearby Vault, for the Captain knew that his army was going to be victorious, or it was not going to be at all.

Half an hour passed. The army had made their headway into the Vault, a scrambling hodgepodge of civilians as desperate as the attackers to find refuge in the US Army-held Vault, and after a swift and intense firefight, a partisan sealed the Vault before it could be secured. As nuclear hellfire rained outside, within the Vault rained bullets and shells. Gruesome room-to-room fighting lasted for days, with who controlled what sector of the vault being unclear at many moments. Yet, after a week, on November 1st, 2077, the last of the US Army would be wiped out, leaving the vault in the firm hands of the Canadian Remnants.

As the years slowly passed whilst they waited for the All-Clear, an unsteady muse befell the partisans as the inevitable question of what was to come came closer into question with each passing year. They had won their war, and the Americans cleansed from their homes, but at what price? Could they truly call it their victory? Furthermore, who would they be when it was time to step out into the New World? Would they be farmers, or scavengers? An autocracy, or a republic? And a more pressing question...how would they make it until then?

The Vaults in Canada were...functional. They served their primary purpose of being resistant to the thunderous nuclear blasts, true, but beyond that, the Vault inhabited by the Canadians was, to say the barest, incomplete. For the basic essentials, the Vault had covered such things like a cistern and power generator, but the entertainment was entirely limited to educational holotapes, a few board games, and whatever the inhabitants had brought into the vault with them. Coupled with a very lengthy stay, and the new vault dwellers had many, many hours to foster in the development of the world. The children of the vault had little to amuse themselves with, save listening to the rise of empires such as France and Britain. And, of course, the question of their home country would inevitably come into being; An integral part of a globe-spanning Empire which was, perhaps, the paragon of human civilization at the time. What was surely a golden era in an age of discovery and wonder, and Canada, it seemed, was at the forefront of it all.

When the time had come to emerge from their vault, its inhabitants set out into the new world, witnessing it as a husk of its former self. A withered, battered landscape, torn from the greatest war to scorch the Earth. It was a hellscape born from American recklessness, they full well knew, and as they had spent the decades within the vault, they, too, knew they were going to need to change, just as the wasteland had changed. Perhaps it could one day be restored to the land they could proudly call home, but knew to reiterate the past was, too, to reiterate their mistakes. The children of New Canada knew that, much like their British ancestors, they would need to adapt and incorporate the unfamiliar into the familiar, in its wake, creating an inseparable commonwealth of vastly different ideologies and peoples.

In its formative years since leaving the Vault, the remnants of Canada's army fancied itself as protectors and guardians of the new peoples of Canada, offering assistance to the dwellers of Victoria and Vanover - once Vancouver - in exchange for lodging and service alike. The command structure of the army slowly blended together with an integrated citizenry, and eventually, the title of "Captain" would be proclaimed "King". Weathering constant prying attacks from bandits from Cascadia, the strengthening of people and force only grew stronger, until it was so proclaimed that the now-titled "Twin Cities" of Victoria and Vanover were home to among the most impressive force in the BC Wastes.

Slowly, the Twin Cities grew in size and strength, yet, the young Empire was not spared growth pains, for internal squabbles were more often than not only hushed by a much greater external threat, only to resume to the infighting that defined much of the 22nd century. Its holdings waxed and waned through much of the 2100s, eventually stabilizing come an extensive period of aggressive political, civil, and military reform. Under the power of what came to be known as The Kelly Reformation, the Twin Cities and its surroundings greatly developed from squabbling trade post and sin city to Havens of the BC Wastes. By the 2270s, Vanover and Victoria were perhaps the most impressive cities of the West Coast.

The new decade has brought with it the reign of Queen Eliza Victoria LII, and the Empire grows more confident towards their march into the 24th Century. Their recent streak of rapid growth has left them assured they might overcome any obstacle, no matter how grand their goals. And the nascent Queen's ambition to reunite Canada is a grand one, indeed...

Population:

324,826 (2285 Census)

Government/Domestic Politics:

A general rule of thumb in regard to what is permissible in the eyes of Imperial Law is to ask one’s self, “Is it specifically outlawed?” The Imperial government at large employs a laissez-faire approach to civil law, preferring to allow its citizens free reign insofar they do not upset the day-to-day affairs of the state. Prostitution, recreational drug use, public assembly, and press rights are all fully legal, and are a widespread feature of the Empire’s urban areas. Capital punishment - oddly enough for a nation which favors the adjective “Empire” to describe itself - is outlawed in favor of prison labor.

The Empire itself finds itself employed under a dual-power system, divided between the Commons and the Monarchy. The former operates via a Common Assembly, in which any citizen above the age of 15 is able to participate and wager their votes for administrative positions and current issues alike. Most Common Assemblies are centered around their respective city, thus forming a rather diffuse hierarchy. Debates in Assembly continue until 2/3rds majority consensus is reached...which often results in debates hotly raging for weeks on end until one party grows weary of all the arguing, and finally concedes to the wishes of their opposition. Detractors from democracy, be warned; Lying before Assembly is counted as High Treason, and offenders punished by 40 years’ hard labor.

From Common Assembly elections is formed the Commons proper, composed of mayors and governors of their respective Common Assemblies. Responsible for the administration of the various bureaus within the Empire, Commons assigns taxes and tariffs, reviews Assembly debate topics, and reviews laws.

The Monarchy is a different affair, largely composed of members of the Royal Court. Antagonistic to its name, the title of “King or Queen Victoria” is not a hereditary title, but one appointed as current head of the Royal Court. However, membership of the Royal Court has been largely hereditary, if there does exist the possibility for extraordinary Imperial citizens to gain entry into the Royal Court. Legally, entry for a new member into the Royal Court requires, “Outstanding acts of courage, loyalty, or ingenuity to the Victorian Throne and People.” Ownership of the title of King or Queen Victoria lasts until life or ineligibility to fulfil one’s position, whichever comes first. In the event of the monarch’s resignation, it is up to the Royal Court to come to an agreement as to who shall lead as the next monarch. Particularly unpopular monarchs within the Empire are allowed to be stripped of their title by decree of 2/3rds of the Commons and 1/3rd of the Royal Court...though, historically, this has only ever been achieved through the use of violence.

Notable People:

Queen Victoria:
The young Queen Victoria springs forth with confidence and steadfast determination to see her country prosper. Although she was but 14 when she was called upon the Victorian throne, the Good Queen is one never to take the words of her close advisors faintly, often consulting members of Commons or the Royal Court before making an Imperial Decree. She remains a popular focal point through the common people of the Empire - much like her predecessors before her - and is known for giving inspirational speeches throughout the radio waves. An avid supporter of Victorian primacy, Victoria has given unwavering support to development projects...as well as employed a hawkish rhetoric that might even make the likes of Caesar Lucius blush.

From her very birth, the Queen has witnessed the rapid growth of the Empire from its days as the Twin Cities to seeing hamlet after hamlet slowly swear fealty to the Throne, as too did she see men in rags grow rich under the wise reign of the late King Victoria. Coming into office, Queen Victoria has few reasons to suspect this growth will halt anytime soon, and has aptly pitched her prize: To pacify the countryside, unite the Canadian people under one singular banner, and usher in a new golden era as the rightful heirs to Canada herself.

These are lofty ambitions, indeed, but if the Good Queen is capable of putting her words into actions, Canadian historians will forever recall her as, “The Queen who restored order to Canada in her darkest hours” for centuries to come.

General Gerald Isaac Hemingway:
A longstanding member of both the Royal Court as well as the Royal Army, Hemingway served extensively as an officer in the Gendarmerie in Cascadia and along the Purcell Range. Well-mannered and rather keen, Hemingway is known for his stressed importance on intelligence in the armed forces. Although he is certainly experienced, Hemingway has grown rather stubborn in his advanced age, often being a staunch opponent of tasks where he deems the risk is too great. Currently, he has offered a much more gradual plan towards expansionism, proposing a strengthening of the Western Frontier toward Calgary before further Westward expansion into Saskatchewan.

Sir Ken Ford:
Sir Ford is the leading member of the Victorian Science Committee, and the one in charge of the oversight of all manner of Victorian governmental research projects. In addition, Sir Ken Ford has long been a proponent of the Oregon Clause, citing the "Wrongful strongarming of the Oregon Territory" away from Canada some centuries ago. Naturally, Sir Ken Ford strongly advocates for the southward expansion of the Empire into Seattle and Portland to acquire resources, living space, and security for the Victorian Empire. His supporters are few, but compensate in their enthusiasm and loquaciousness.

Admiral Markus Jackman:
Jackman is a keet, yet cautious man well into his fifties. In charge with the command of the Royal Navy, Jackman has long been critiqued for his lack of definite position, leading to many dismissing him as a "Yes-Man". While this is not without clause - as the man has expressed interest in both expansion plans - his lack of commitment perhaps stems from belief that there is equal merit to both propositions...or his disdain for both, yet having no alternative to sate the Queen or Commons.

Military:

Doctrine:

The Imperial Armed Forces near-exclusively employs a policy of maintaining a purely-professional military, choosing instead to have a well-trained force that is capable of handling a verisimilitude of threats it may encounter. Having ancestry that traces back to both guerilla forces as well as a professional Pre-War army, the structure and doctrine employed by the IAF strongly emphasizes tactical flexibility and strong military integrity.

A critical concept of Imperial warfare doctrine is what is known as the Rule of Three; Nearly everything in the IAF has some manner of tri-fold principle or structure, to which it refers to a number of essential components of Imperial strategy:

• Three-to-One Rule: With origins in Pre-war military schooling, the basic clause of the Three-to-One Rule is that, to guarantee victory, an attacker must have thrice the amount of troops as his opposition.
• C3: An abbreviation for “Command, Control, and Communications”, the basics of this clause emphasizes the importance of effective communication throughout all levels and branches of the armed forces in order to facilitate battle planning, combat reports, and intelligence.
• The Fifteen-Strong: Many traditional militaries opt to use squads of either 10 or 12, however, the Imperial Army has decreed the squad size be at 15. In addition to the slight increase in firepower each individual squad can offer, the ability to further subdivide a 15-Strong squad into three fireteams of 5 offers a distinct advantage over the usual “binary” composition of 10 or 12-strong squads. With this increase in available fireteams comes in to play an ability to effectively apply pressure on an opposing force from many more angles than is possible with two fireteams of 5.

The Imperial Armed Forces maintain strong traditions seemingly rooted in monarchic practice, such as every soldier making vows of fealty to the Queen upon induction and the use of battle standards. In times of war, it is expected practice for the Monarch to lead their troops into battle, as to serve as a rallying beacon for their troops to hold onto. Some Monarchs opt to go into battle with elegant Knightly Power Armor, or atop a Main Battle Tank, but some, such as the previous King Victoria, chose to go in naught but the plain fatigues issued to his men.

Royal Army:

8,500 Infantrymen

The common infantryman of the Royal Army is clad in combat armor and is likely issued the C1A3 Rifle, itself a long-standing derivative of the classic FN FAL battle rifle. Those in more specialized roles are issued either the C7 General-Purpose Machine Gun, the C2 Marksman’s Rifle, or the C3 Submachine Gun in 10mm Auto. In comparison to the average military force of the Wastes, the Royal Armyman is remarkably well-protected, if the average production quality of combat armor remains inferior to that of Pre-war manufacturing standards. The general-issue combat helmet is of a sturdy metal design, offering quite good protection against shrapnel and low-powered rounds, though soldiers often take to padding the insides with wool or cloth for their comfort. An additional ballistic mask is issued alongside their helmets, though its protectiveness comes at the expense of visibility, and is often not worn when soldiers are not in intense combat. Ammunition, grenades, and other pieces of the infantryman’s kit are held in bandoliers or belt pouches. As per the regime of a versatile fighting force, all infantrymen are trained in the use of bayonets, both attached and detached from their rifles, as a well-timed and well-supported bayonet charge will make quick work of ambushers and those who mistakenly believe the weakness of the Royal Army lay in close-quarters assault.

The Royal Infantry Corps is supported by artillery crews, employing quarter-pounder guns in the rear echelons of the military. As per tradition, the Royal Army is adjoined by a Morale Corps, where drummers beat to the marching pace, chansoners unite the infantry under cherubic battle hymns, and flag-bearers proudly proclaim the conquests of key objectives on the battlefield.

48 Main Battle Tanks

Stemming from the Pre-War Centurion tank, the Mk. 14 is the current iteration in service with the Royal Army. Reliable, versatile, and powerful, the scarcity and intensive production of the vehicle limits its use in common engagements. Used as a means to achieve a frontal breakthrough, MBTs are, much like their Pre-War ancestors, often used in tandem with infantry, air forces, and more mobile land forces in order to overwhelm the enemy at multiple angles.

1,500 Mechanized Infantry
Proliferating from the need of the military for rapid-moving infantry forces, the Mechanized Infantry operate either with the Boudicca-78/S or the Crerar M6 Scout Car. As the use of energy cells to power the vehicles in question stems from conscious recycling efforts, while the Mechanized Infantry may certainly be a quick and well-organized force, but are in danger of overextending themselves through too hasty a chase, or overextending their supply range. As such, more often than not, Mechanized Infantry work in-tandem to the standard infantry, where they serve as a breakthrough or flanking force to scatter enemy forces.

1,400 Alpinist Corps
The Imperial Alpinists consist of rangers and pathfinders used to operating in treacherous terrain. Through rigorous, specialized training, the Alpinist Corps are capable of operating without supply for weeks on end, and often serve as the “eyes and ears” in front of the main army. Specialized in sabotage, reconnaissance, deep battle, and search and rescue operations, each Alpinist carries with them the C5 Assault Rifle, utilizing the lightweight, high-velocity 5mm round. In addition, survival and mountain-climbing equipment is apart of their standard armament.

400 Airborne
A recent addition to the Royal Army, recent analyses of battle tactics have begged the question to utilize paratroopers. While the forces are still in the experimental phase of doctrinal development, early field exercises show great promise in the expertise of elite troops that can - in tandem with the other Imperial Armed Forces - wreak havoc behind enemy lines to cut off supply or retreat routes. Much like their Alpinist cousins, Airborne troops are issued the C5 Assault Rifle chambered in 5mm, allowing for a stunning amount of ammunition to be carried at such a light weight.

5,500 Gendarmerie

Acting as a mixture of military police force and scouting corps, the Royal Gendarmerie are the eyes and ears of the ground forces. Atop horses, the Gendarmerie guardsman is often more lightly-armed than the infantryman, but what they gain in return is mobility far surpassing many of the things that might gait the Wastes.

A few particularly daring souls among the Gendarmerie have made attempts to domesticate Yao Guai for use as more ferocious mounts, but their success has been...dubious, at best.

400 Knights

Clad in carefully-maintained power armor, Imperial Knights are the finest shock troopers the Imperial Armed Forces have to offer. As the manufacture - or more likely, scavenging - of new power armor suits is an excruciatingly sluggish process, nearly every single suit of power armor in service is unique. Few suits bear semblance to their originals, and have had plates, rivets, and exoskeletons repaired and replaced over the centuries these antediluvian suits have been in employ. Resulting from such processes, each suit of Imperial Power Armor is often heavily customized, adorned in an assortment of charms, insignia, and trophies.

The armaments of the Knights is no less impressive than their ancient armor, often using the only energy weapons to be found in the entirety of the Empire. Many Knights commonly utilize heavy weapons, such as miniguns, missile launchers, or machine guns.

Only the most hardened, cunning, or connected of soldiers are given the opportunity to become Knights, for the “opening” of a suit of power armor itself is an equally sporadic event. A majority of Imperial Knights are already veterans of a multitude of campaigns, the power armor only auxilarating their potent skill as they fearlessly smash apart enemy lines.

Royal Navy:

Composed of approximately 4,200 active seamen, the Royal Navy is largely tasked with escorting its merchant navy and fishing fleets against any prospective pirates in the area. Although of an impressive size for any force in the Pacific, the Navy also has yet to engage with a foe of equivalent - nevermind superior - size or skill, leaving its fleet rather inexperienced in large-scale naval conflicts. For its intended purposes, the Royal Navy does its job admirably, yet if it ever finds itself pitched against a professional navy, their flaws may yet be exposed.

While the Navy crews one Pre-War Cartier-Class Cruiser as well as two Liza-Class submarines, the overwhelming bulk of the Royal fleet composes of steam-powered ships, each typically armed with somewhere between four and six guns. The capacity to create Pre-War equivalent ships is beyond the reach of most Imperial shipyards, leaving the bulk of civilian merchant fleets either as steam or sail-powered vessels. The Royal Navy has also expressed interest in the use of landing craft, yet has not found widespread support for the utilization of such amphibious forces.

Royal Air Force:

Though the Imperial Armed Forces have known the importance of Air Superiority since the days prior to the War, the aspirations to create a proper Air Force have historically been stunted, to say the least. Although not without trying, the Royal Air Force has created from old plans and scrapped vehicles, created a modest aeronautic fighting force. A shortage of aluminum severely hampers the ability to create a massed air force as the Empire has longed for, yet what aircraft they are capable of fielding have proudly performed in the skies.

86 A2 Fighters are fielded in the Royal Air Force, either scavenged from Pre-war airfields or created from deconstruction and blueprinting. Employed with a doctrine of formation flying, the A2 Fighter is nimble and rather quick, capable of rapid strafing runs and interception alike, although its high speed limits the effectiveness of it in a fighter-bomber role.

22 C-46 Transport Planes are often kept on airfields in the event that emergency supply becomes necessary, though very recent innovations have begged the question of their use in airborne infantry units as a more viable alternative to the rare and significantly more complex CH-182.

Two airships are also in the possession of the Royal Air Force, largely being used for reconnaissance and strategic bombing, as few foes possess the necessary weapons to tackle such a threat. Due to the large size and cumbersome maintenance required of each airship, they are by far the least numerous and among the least-employed of the air fleet.

Prior to the Great War, the Canadian Royal Air Force had purchased a fleet of CH-182 VTOL Gunships from West Germany, yet the dissolution of the European Commonwealth and the American Annexation alike would halt the upgrade of the entire fleet. A dozen prized examples have been either found or restored to working condition for use in the Royal Air Force. Armed with a front and rear auxiliary autocannon, the CH-182, much like the Vertibird, has a small troop-carrying capacity as well as a tilt-wing assembly, although it has less powerful engines and has significantly less advanced armaments. The rarity and complexity of the CH-182 relegates its use to specialist operations, deemed too valuable to use in all but the most dire of engagements.

Royal Automation Army:

In recent times, there has garnished a growing interest in augmenting the primary forces of the Royal Army with combat robots. Though the general knowledge of robotics remains a highly specialized field only known to a rare few, experimentation on Old World models is a key mainstay of Army R&D. Manufacturing capabilities remain limited, due to the rarity of parts and vast technical knowledge to construct and program such war machines.

What machines the Empire has been able to retrofit, in the meantime, largely consists of Pre-War sentry bots, numbered in the approximate dozens.

Economy:

The dual economies found within the Victorian Empire are aptly divided between the original Twin Cities and the vast Victorian countryside, for the development and economic activity vastly varies from locale to locale.

Vanover was, prior to the war, quite easily the largest of the Western Canadian cities, housing perhaps several million souls. Although it once fell into a steady decline starting with American pressure toward Canada - to say nothing of the nuclear holocaust that ravaged all of Canada - a determined effort has seen the once decimated city grow into what is named, “The Gem of the Pacific. Though it might lack the technological prowess of San Francisco or the sheer mass of The Boneyard, what draws so many to it is, in many ways, a cultural and artisanal renaissance which has seen the city blossom into beauty. Vanover is a city of sin and virtue, where the frontier meets civilization. Although in decades prior, the city almost exclusively subsided on sex, liquor, and questionably-organized gambling, a series of reorganizations have shifted production towards the production of specialized industry, opting to exchange raw industrial output in favor of ellusive and high-quality manufacture.

Smaller factories and manufactorums dot the British Columbian coast, steadily giving way to the farms and ranches beyond. A thin stretch along the old Sunshine Coast Highway is defined by such industry, where each workshop and mill provides the industrial heart of the Empire, crafting textiles, cloth, metalworks, electronics, and glassworks. Small deposits of tungsten and iron inside the Cascades are mined, whereas the plentiful sands along the Strait of Georgia provide all the silicon-rich sands to create glasses, which in turn is often used in creating jars, glassware, optics, and windows. Due to the scarcity of high-conductivity metals, copper, silver, and gold are often prioritized for use in electronics rather than jewelry or instruments.

Vancouver Island houses the eponymous capital of the Empire: The city of Victoria herself. Victoria houses the Royal Palace wherein the residing Monarch dwells, in addition to being the city in which the majority of the Royal Court too live. After years - if not decades - of continuous construction efforts, the city has once again been re-imagined as a true, Victorian-styled metropolis, complete in its Neo-baroque styled architecture, sweeping (if mutant) gardens, and intricate masonry. The rest of the island is developed with a leisurely quaintness to it, sprinkled with fishing villages and small estates. The various distilleries and wineries of Vancouver fill the glasses of Vanover’s many taverns and bars; Tarberry Wine in particularly is highly sought-after.

Beyond the highly-developed Vancouver Island and Sunshine Coast, the lands to the west are substantially less impressive. Populated with tribal villages, farming towns, or trading posts, the overwhelming majority of the economy is sustained by animal husbandry and agriculture, with bighorners, sheep, and horses constituting the most common choices for animal husbandry, while shrimp, crickets, and redhares being substantially cheaper and easier to raise alternatives for those who seek more protein in their diets. Infrastructure in much of the Western Empire is only nominally superior to unclaimed wastes, with inhabitants still relying mostly on combustion and candle for light and heat. While the Empire has long planned to expand the infrastructure throughout the western fringes - namely improvements to the rail system - progress remains slow.

Although the laws of the Empire strictly prohibit slavery, due to what could be called a “flexible system”, a sizable portion of infrastructure construction is done with convict labor. The most common labor of prisoners involves paving roads with stone or gravel, with the more “docile” servants being allowed to work on locomotive or electrical infrastructure. Corrective courses in electronics, logistics, and foremanship are offered to prisoners with a record of good behavior.

Culture:

The fundamental establishment of the Empire was one born of fierce anti-American sentiment and strong commitment to the idea of Canadian sovereignty. Two centuries of nuclear hellfire were certain to wash away lesser commitments in the world, but instead, as the world came under the heat of a baking oven, the residual commitment to seeing Canada once again a reunited nation instead glazed upon the huddled partisans, as if to say the end of the world was merely a test of their resolve. After all, these valiant men and women had been willing to go to the ends of the Earth to see the Americans driven from their home. What was the End of the Earth to those of such resolve?

Much like their pre-established ancestors, the denizens of the Empire have long paraded themselves as the true successors of Canada. Nothing less than a complete rejection of American culture and hegemony have been established in those days long passed of the occupation, in its place has come something of an...ironic renaissance of the British Commonwealth.

Even from the most basic aspect of how the Victorian speaks, those from the coasts or the Twin Cities speak in a juxtaposed accent, a close yet murky ancestor of the famed English accent. It is a hodgepodge combination of the countless tongues of British Columbia prior to the war, combining the poise of the British, the lax nature of the Canadian, and the oddly-precise lisp of the Cantonese. Into every aspect of life does this faux-complexity bleed into Victorian culture, from their emulation of high society in their frock coats and bustiers, to even the commoner’s love for the written word. Poignancy and punctuation are virtues when a Victorian speaks, if sacrifices in politeness must be made to get their point across. There, among Victorians, exists a conundrum in “delightful dishonesty”, at which many will say is the best and only way to disappoint someone: It is to turn your story into one so absurd to the point where your superior cannot help but mire in the buffoonery on display.

In spite of the commonly-established decorum experienced throughout all urban Victoria, there is, too, plenty of diversity to be had, and from this oxymoron will arise in the face of mutations not quite a melting pot, and not quite a cultural mosaic. It is an anthropophagy of faces and minds, conjoining together in union to create an image that is uniquely Victorian. Ghouls have, to this end, etched out their niche in Victorian society, but do expect to hear quite the number of self-demeaning jokes in your time spent. Super Mutants are a rare sight, but one most Victorians share an odd curiosity toward. Spared of the horrors of The Master’s hellish rampage, those few Super Mutants to come this far north find themselves paraded about as amusing, if dull, strongmen. Though the vast majority are far too hampered to answer the common question of “Whereabouts did you come from?” with any reasonable precision, the Super Mutant is put into an irregular, yet interesting place in Victorian society. While their vast body systems dull the regular effects of chems and liquor, a good number of Super Mutants have found a place as entertainers, splitting logs and hurling tree trunks before crowds of cheering Victorians.

Religion:

Few who practice religion in the Empire possess a coherent ideology. More often than not, religion in the Empire consists of a hodgepodge of totemist, animist, shamanist, Christian, and ancestor-worshiping faiths into a syncretic theology. Practices are based more upon belief that they will provide some direct benefits to the practitioner rather than out of adherence to creed. Accordingly, charms and other similar tchotchkes are ubiquitous throughout the populus.

~ Valkyria Chronicles - Changing of the Guard ~

A steady drizzle did not wash away the stains of defeat, now soaking itself into Inès with every marching step. The soldier grew more soggy, yet still the sheer residue left by the late Marathon ingrained itself into every fiber of her clothing, the rain only weighing her down further than any arduous slouch she might gait. It reeked, the saltine, acrid noxiousness of Thomas' blood and sinew now etched into her very skin, from head to toe, permeated thoroughly in some profuse ichor, only growing more bitter with every sinking step. Inès' mood turned all the more sour, the pitter-patter of rain upon her helmet-less head in the early morning reminiscent of her earliest days in practice. Of awakening early and dedicating one's self to the art of savate, only to find ones canvas thoroughly hideous, and carry naught but the feeling that this ugliness might be one's best effort. She lost track of time. All the memories, all the anguish, every last defeat in her formative years culminated perfectly, in one final opera in which her only choice was, as always, the Darcsen Mantra: Move Forwards, Everlasting.

It resonated too perfectly. The syncretic combination of toil and study, embroiled in a pedagogy of hardship, all coalesced into the sobering reminder that, in spite of one's knowledge, there are always more lessons to be learned.

And the best-learned lessons...are those learned the hard way.

When the familiar sight of those sandbags came to, Inès stood with some manner of strength; Not born of triumph or victory, no, but one born of necessity. No doubt, there would be an endless procession of queries and quarrels to come of why the only war hero of that posse...returned lifeless atop a comrade's back. Barely into his twenties, and already considered a veteran...Inès knew the feeling too well. Ghostly well, she dared to think, that inkling of being knowing that, for all she had experienced and taught herself months and years prior, that so instantaneous a decision, so quick a thought could so forcefully change the flow of life. With such a conclusion resoundingly reached, in a single blank stare, Inès wondered when might that time come again.

Oh, fear not. Inès possessed the certainty of knowing another misfortune would soon come upon her; It is a rare breed of Darcsen who goes through life without peril, and a more exotic ilk to trespass through its many corridors without reprise. Reprisal, yet, was an antagonistic virtue to the Darcsen people, for to wallow in its harrowing passage so long, so inescapable that it envelops itself as a pure staple of life, this alone seemed to touch the very foundations of their humanity. Such horrid acts would never be reciprocated, no matter the intensity of attacks weathered in times past, for like all things on earth, the Darcsen knows there comes a time when all things must wither away, and such antipathies - if we dare to say we have a choice on the grander events of this hallow Earth - should rightfully be the first to pass.

Thomas' death was...unfortunate.

A...certain type of Darcsen might have said.

Yet as Inès or any other denizen of the Northern Pisque of Francia might remind one, it is foolish to insist the Darcsens are a unified people. They might share common heritage - if that, on many an account - but to insist they all follow common law or ethic is, as no doubt many a traveler has learned, naught but stereotype. The Darcsens of Ostend were a fortuitous ilk, possessive of an uncommon resolve many would find irregular of a Darcsen elsewhere. And if such stereotypes were to be exclusively applied, Inès shone as the paragon of such lustrous generalizations. As it were...Inès found herself rather blank at the sight, so...accompanied with the sensation that was the loss of a loved one, if Inès felt so strongly to brave that usage. After all, much of him longed for her such that Thomas found it better to attach parts of him upon her. If only until she found a proper bath.

For moments, she made her slight way back to her tent, if she found herself uncaring as to whether Thomas - at his worst - clung to her for a bit longer. In all honesty, Inès found herself appreciating the company. Such trust placed upon her, such virtue was it for her to receive such parting gifts. Each step came, and as each puddle soaked more through her boots did she slowly feel him soak into her, as if she still bore her in her arms. Her face remained blank, yet with no visible exaggeration came a mental smile, for Inès - in a sense - felt a most peculiar honor; To accept Thomas at his worst, as his most fearful, at his weakest...Inès gazed down blankly...and smiled, for in the realization of such burdens, Inès knew the true meaning of "love".

And so it would be...until that familiar voice rung out.

That distinct Highlander voice...

That crude voice...

...the one who wished to become Thomas, without knowing Thomas.

And so when he spoke, so violently, so fervently, with such recourse and without such remorse, Inès looked down upon her crimson-soaked chest and felt a heaviness bear upon her, as if with every remark came a certain resolve, like parts of her grew from the experience alone. Such a dilettante demeanor towards heroism, that one, claimant of some testament of vengeance as if it were his destiny. For what Inès knew, he would make his destiny, his mark upon history...even doing so if it meant his name would be one, perhaps, not as fondly remembered. He had a goal and a creed, to not wish to fade away into some manner of void, unthanked and forgotten.

The upholding of a code is a most righteous thing, indeed. But even stronger is it to challenge it.

"You disrespectful son of a bitch!"

An ire pervaded the air so thick, the grounds about them became mist, so powerful was her choleric demeanor, it seemed to fry the puddles beneath their feet. A bloodstained Darcsen gave forth her Hell March to the unsuspecting Luke Godfrey, so proud of his demagoguery.

"And just what do you think you have accomplished?" Her stern pedagogy shut out even the rings of gunfire about her.

"You, of all of us, have no reason to say he didn't die in vain! You were the one to run away! When Thomas laid there begging for help, begging for his life, he looked to me in my eyes and called out for someone to help! And you looked at a man, crying in pain, and what did you do?"

The crowd slowly peeked around the tent cover, like the curious conscript peeking over a trench's top, for every veteran of the organization knew better than to possibly draw the fire of the woman producing such a Hellstorm.

"You looked him dead in the eye, and you said, "He'd be fine.""

"You say you wanted to draw away the fire so we would be safe, but you also seem to think that my eyes don't work! You didn't want to leave to protect us! When you ran off to charge after the Fox, you didn't do it with any sense of urgency! You fucked around, you talked him down, you taunted him, you cut his damned ears off, and you plucked your trophies off of his body!"

"So what did you do? While even Jean cowered and stood hopeless? You didn't care about Thomas, or Jean, or me, or any of us. The only thing you cared about was your own ego, and playing Mister Bigshot while you though helping Thomas - one of our own - to me: You were too good for it, so you went glory-chasing and left the dirty work to the Darkies."

"You had no orders. You had nothing but your own instincts."

"And you cannot even do "nothing" right."

"And you can say that Jean is a cowardly Darcsen, but i'll take him over you any day." she added, squaring up even more firmly to Luke in front of her. "And you're right. He is spineless. He is cowardly. He doesn't know how to do his own job. And I would still take him over you. Jean doesn't pretend he's brave. He doesn't act like he wants glory or like he wants to be respected."

Her voice maintained its steadfast austerity, yet lowered in volume. In comparison, she hushed like a disappointed mother as Inès slowly paced toward the man.

"And when we talked on your birthday, I really thought a bit about you. I just thought you were another dumb guy, wanting to look out for the people close to him. A guy with more guts than brains, but that's alright, because you still have heart."

"But now, I know why you want it. Why you went off to war, and left your family, and why you act the way you do."

At a hair's length away, Inès halted her march. She glared Luke down, like she might lunge at his neck at any moment and snap it with one quick wrasp.

"It's because you're afraid."

Fire Emblem: Sword and Sail

As he looked up, Kazik drew forth an expression of clear surprise at which his new and oldfound associates dispatched their assailants. Whilst his pistol did click as he chambered the second barrel, before him had fallen nearly a dozen foes only by the skillful hands of the crew. Just has one of the pair had pointed one of their sidearms, it seemed, in any variety of violent action did they just as soon meet their fateful demise. In the mist of a heavy, howling sleet, both Kazik and Charlotte heaving in relief that those who remained among that damned crew had, at least, the talent to keep themselves alive.

From each shot of a musket, the clouds of smoke so famous to their use vaporized into the stormy winds, the omnipresent push of each passing gale enveloping the crash scene into a hazy cloud. What was created was the constant, acrid waft of gunpowder rising against the nose as each round of wind blew, almost like tiny shards of glass jabbed themselves into the nostrils with every inhale. Charlotte, with little to protect herself, rose her elbow to her face as she looked about from her hunched-over position of cover.

Both of them exchanged looks in clear surprise; They agreed even through a thick haze of hail and ice that they had done well in selecting a capable crew, if this random rabble could do so much as so readily assail an entourage of pirates to retreat, surely, any remnant could only pose so much resistance. Just as soon, they were forced to avert their eyes, both ceding to an oppressive gale.

Still, Charlotte continued a short march to her right amidst the chaos, sure to keep her posture low while a continuous roar of wind and fire rained around. As the wind blew stronger, the howl alone blew in such tumultuous roar that it threatened their very perceptions, eyes, ears, and all, until all that consumed them was a never ending blur on the cusp of detection. Her head dived down as another gale pressed over, digging her face well into the corner of her arm while the brunette woman desperately sought some relief.

“Bloody tempest…” One could tell the woman screamed aloud from exhaustion, but the omnipresent screech of the storm hushed her all too well.

Kazik fared little better in the face of the winter storm. Somewhere in the blur could he be heard, fighting, a clanging of steel against flesh and iron parading itself amidst the omnipresent screech which pervaded the Cotsch coast. He darted about hectically, searching in some attempt for assisting his friends against the already mostly-fallen group which had assailed them just moments prior, yet as he drew sword or pistol to find one foe, only heard their silencing, and each hush via cloud of gun smoke only loosened his grip upon his instruments, almost a bit...disheartened at the display.

That relieving looseness provided that little extra comfort - for what could be provided amidst so fortuitous a tempest - as the young captain did shout over the coming storm in effort to regroup that band.

“To the centre!” he shouted, waving his sword as he tried to draw attention, “Push them back up to the-!”

He turned. Just a glance was what it took to interrupt him, not even paying mind to how he inhaled snow and ice with his agape expression. That little unfocused blur, of rich blue and white color, that was just enough to make him stop.

"Rrraaggh!”

Kazik was well off his feet, feeling himself being driven downwards and wrapped around like a fishhook dragging him deep into the snow below. He twitched and turned, struggling to free himself, yet the assailant confined him too well, maintaining his hold as Kazik desperately struggled to free himself! A pounding sensation came just moments later, like some spike bludgeoning into Kazik’s head while the pair did burrow themselves into knee-deep snow. A wave of hardness came across his entire body, thrashing him and cracking him with a pained grunt.

In a tangle of arms, the captain struggled away from his captor’s confines, finally setting loose his arms as he made his best defense. Great weight sat atop him, the murderous eyes of a pirate hunter atop him adorned with an acrimonious snarl. Kazik rose his hands before him, posing to parry whatever came down upon him.

The hunter’s arm raised. The opposite dove in. Kazik attempted to breathe, and found his breath being seized. Like some flailing sea creature, the myrmidon floundered for air, both hands gripping the ironclad vice of the assailant atop him. Jolting and seizing, Kazik’s wrestling drove the arm left and right, yet his choker atop him remained steady, like he tried to instead wrest a pole driving well into his throat. Through every wrest of his jolting body, the choke hold would not cede without a struggle, and for every struggle came another whiplash of air, freezing into mist as Kazik grunted. It grew numb, and harsh...like every choking gasp of air left him one bit closer to conceding for the final time...

Another push! Another jab! Another snap!

And with one final throw, a sonorous smack! broke through even the howl of the storm above. His assailant recoiled back and up, retracting his hold to immediately lift a pained cry, holding his nose and eye however he might support them. Kazik gave him no respite; Seizing the initiative, then with his own two hands did he just as well return the favor only moments old, springing forth with all his weight as the myrmidon crashed atop his assailant! Now, it was his own hands placed in firm chokehold of his foe, seizing whatever composure remained from his reversed adversary.

The pirate hunter made few attempts to strike back, ceasing after the first unsuccessful smack to Kazik's head, which he minded perhaps as much as if the storm had passed; He even seemed to grin as he felt the blow, without a flinch wordlessly daring him to do his worst. That invitation registered henceforth as his cue to take on a defensive position, shielding his eyes through splayed hands. He'd screech atop his lungs, crying for his comrade's assistance as he desperately struggled. His cries were cut short, a heavy thud pounding his throat, sputtering out a violent hack to complement. As the myrmidon established his dominance, firmly pinning the stunned hunter to the ground by his neck, his spare hand spiked down, drawing forth his blade as he nearly cut his opponent along the lengthy draw. His arm was seized, his foe jamming his reach with his one good hand, a wild desperation in his blood-soaked eye! He grunted, drawing forth breath and slammed his elbow upon the side of the hunter's head, a great, sickening crack! signifying the hunter's repeated disablement!

Forth, Kazik reached, and pressed his inner fingers against the side of his blade...

...and with a swift, heavy shink!...eviscerated the wind from his adversary's neck.

---

“The flags! Fall back! Fall back!”

From atop the overhang just above, what remained of the over-watching force waved backwards into the forest behind, signalling the group’s retreat whilst they made a mad dash for cover. The men at hand made odd glares back at Enzo, acknowledging the Fioretzan with their bewildered, consternated expressions, and finally once last slight wave as the men bolted back into the treeline even suggested for a mere moment for him to follow. Such, inevitably, invited him to be lost in the confusion of his supposed adversaries, of course, but it could give a great way to gain an upper hand, if Enzo could find a good moment to launch an ambush...

The most apt posse had done more than their fair share of fighting off their enemy, their works on clear display as the hunters made their retreat; A dozen well dead, the weeping blood seeping into the ground as if they were the Springtime melting the snow. Not even a steady onslaught of winter could dare cover the scene, instead only robbing the bodies of whatever warmth they still carried, as even from their dead bodies, the steady rivers of blood from which they ran crystallized in the wind, freezing into a thick, pungent, frozen sheet. Scarcely four remained, all making their full retreat at whatever pace a full sprint could afford in what was soon becoming knee-deep snow.

Kazik made his voiciperal grunt halt the storm, so great was his exertion, rising on his own two feet as he wiped off the contents of his dead foe off him. Even the body-heat warmth of the blood nearly burned onto his skin, so cold were the prevalent winds, and before such a prize would leave a more lasting impression did Kazik wipe it with his thick sleeve. Charlotte marched to his aid, still shuddering as every howl whipped aside what cloth bolts she had on. She smirked at him, nudging toward the cliff's overhang.

"They've been malkied enough tae run, Kazie!" She happily reported, stretching her arms out in celebration. Kazik, yet, still marched on, a fierce-set determination awash over him.

"...K-Kazie, mate, where ye' oaf te'?" Her smile dropped as she began picking up pace to walk at Kazik's march. He drew his sword once again, straight-faced as if he carried some manner of indignancy.

“Loose ends are a luxury we cannot afford, Charlotte. Not now.”

“Ach, Kazie! Look at ‘em! They cannae get far in this weather!” she refuted, pointing toward a group of limping figures, slowly disappearing into the haze of the storm.

“If they make a retreat now,” Kazik responded, “they know where they’re headed. Their hideout must be nearby!”

Charlotte raised her hand to object, and with a biting roar from the tempest, soon found herself objecting to the buffeting winds that tormented them.

"Oi, ye' daftie, och awa' an' dinnae talk pish!" She yelled back at him. She seized his arm quickly, almost forcing him to cede his push onwards, and with the turn of his head, Kazik continued to go forth, almost dragging the woman along with him.

"They're weak, Charlotte! We can finish it! And when we're done, we can take what they have for ourselves!"

"Ach, Kazie! Look at us, we cannae go'on an' go take a damn pirate hunter's cove when we're oot here half-starved to death!" Charlotte dug her heels into the snow, Kazik grunting as he tried moving further.

"We need the supplies, Charlotte! We have nothing, and only the Gods know how long this damnable storm is going to last!"

It was clear that the longer these two argued, the chance either of their plans would succeed plummeted by the second. Even so, as if to remind them of the structure at which they so thoroughly promised aboard their ship, intervention would help well enough to move affairs along. Of course, insofar that none believed that direct action would help make up their minds...

~ Valkyria Chronicles - Changing of the Guard ~

Well, well, well...

What did we have here?

There was rubble and wreckage all to be found across the tattered remains of Amone, a most fitting locale for their final pittance in a simple task that had, as what seemed almost inevitable, taken a turn for the worst. At the resound of artillery fire over the patter of the gentle rain both above, what downpoured did little to alleviate the chaos that lie below. And throughout that conundrum, Inès did commit herself most thoroughly to that man, shaken and battered, as she did bear witness to the pitiful scene about her.

Those few among the fireteam of scouts paid as much mind to discipline and organization as they may have the day's precipitation. One of these fools did scrape together a plan on the basis that firing drills and running exercises constituted as an apt tactician, and just as soon found himself joined by another more foolhardy to insist his justification was not hasty enough, and flung herself into the fray just as well. Just as well, another fool had clamored about, waving his hands as he darted back and forth looking for some manner of inspiration from which to obtain orders, when the fact of the matter was that they were there all along; Report back, and bring everyone back to base. Yet, as it would seem, even so simple of ordinances could be needlessly...obtuse, when the time came to put order into action. No, for the time being, as Inès performed the most necessary of tasks, she too was carrying the burden of a squad dead-set on refusing to coordinate with one another, whilst a pained Marathon was left to her very best care.

She heaved for one moment, lugging up the taller man into her fold, and dashed wildly into what sparse cover there could be. Another heave signaled her release of the man, himself holding upon her for dear life as if the Darcsen were the man's own mother. She felt him quiver. Shiver, as if he was cold. He shook and tremored with every waking, hurried breath at irregular intervals, as if a thousand frissons came over him like the man, standing so proudly and strongly not seconds ago, quaked like an invalid. Inès set his back against a wall, well feeling him shudder with every fleeting moment. Time was of the essence. Think, Inès, think!

Reaching down to what remained of his half-limb, her fingers pressed further and further along each and every vein she could feel, yet as she applied more pressure, felt the coursing vessels almost deflating with every press. Over her thighs and legs, herself, she felt it. Warm. Clumping. Like it stuck to ever fiber of her and imprisoned her with dread, like it suffocated her limbs as rapidly as it poured out like it were a boiling oven of molasses and sap. Even in the lukewarm summer shower, it seemed to burn. Sear, almost. Leave a scar deep and unique into her as Inès felt the Oceaner's blood weep whilst he cried in pain, and impress into her clothes the life it so gleefully imparted from Thomas' own. And the more pressure she did apply, even through the hemorrhage, the profuseness, the carnal sickening that she so calmly overcame...Thomas shed tears.

His voice was a soft thing, at the edge of hearing, but to his caretaker, it was most thoroughly pronounced. Thomas, the great, invincible Pride of Oceania, wept in pain, his mouth agape and crying for air. With each moment came another sorrow, another gasp, but in that strength to cry his breath drew weaker and weaker, more irregular, hurried and as if he were drowning to his own tears. His entire body shivered more the greater he tried to draw for air, until all he did was make constant vibrations, like his heart itself marched steadily until his death.

Inès looked over him. Full well...she was giving what she could to spare the man, yet had neither the tools nor the expertise to grant him redemption from this horrid mistake. Desperately, she would find new veins to press, only to find them soon deflating to a constant offset of blood upon her, and the sobbing mess before her growing into agony so deep, the strength to scream was robbed from him.

Yet...if she could not save him...Inès could...

...the woman looked down at her side, meeting gaze with the closed flap of her satchel. Max had given her a few things to trade away, of course...or use them in case of emergency...but she could never...

Her hand met with the top of the bag. The bleeding lessened. There were shouts and gunfire, and the roars of such detonations grew further with each moment, until it deafened itself to her action.

Another case she undid, well in the bottom of that bag. Then a bronze hook she undid, to which the strapped, constrained elements unfurled themselves in the dark. The bronze shone through, four rows neatly distorting their glisten as the rain assailed them. Down her bag, she reached, almost hesitating with how slow she grasped her tools, yet as she felt the cold, cold cylinders come around her fingertips, the retrieval came with ease.

Thomas' eyes paralyzed in fear, shaking as he deathly stared into the rain above even as the irritant of drops into his very eyes muted to his sensation. He responded to Inès' brushing not, uncaring that she had cleaned him up or tilted his head. Nonplussed that he now faced the Darcsen head-first. Apathetic to how she unbuttoned his shirt and jacket, coursing her hands until she found a familiar, urgent sensation.

A sharp pain came about him. He felt his chest tighten, pierce open like his body was almost being sundered apart by some manner of explosion, so intense was that initial sensation. Then...it...came over him...it was...

...it was...

...like...

...heaven...

...

...

..
.
.
.
..

Thomas fluttered his eyes into bliss, some sensation of peace overcoming him, like some surge came awash over him as what came of the harsh reality set in, not to be gone, but to be accepted. That these, were, in fact, his final moments. That what was here were the circumstances, no matter how unpleasant or brutal they may be, and yet...Thomas felt his missing leg itching. Tickling. He'd ceased shivering, a sudden, cooling calmness washing over any shock throughout him. And he'd certainly feel nothing as he numbly felt the cold bronze withdraw from his chest, not even the apparent drop of his body like his own bones were being plucked from his skin did register as anything more than a light pat.

Thoughts coursed over him in some...blurred fashion. Unfocused. Unready, like...like they came by all too quickly for them to count. And amidst what remained of the pleasure of life slowly sapping from him...Thomas smiled.

He remembered so much...

...so much...and so little...

...
..
.

.

..

...
..
.
.
.

"...girl...?"

His mouth hung in awe to the angel before him.

"...Thomas?" The seraph called back.

Thomas crookedly smiled, for deep down, no matter what any of his logical senses might have said, that there was no literal angel before him. Yet...for too long, Thomas beckoned for any manner of cherub...this day...he knew, somehow, some way, would come, for on that fateful day, there would need for there to be an angel to guide him along that final expedition.

Inès was not the angel he had hoped. Yet she held him like only an angel could...and looked upon him with two cherubic eyes.

Two...soft...

...heretic...

...stern...

...austere...

...weary...

...melancholic...

...beautiful, beautiful eyes.

And he smiled.

"...I need another..." He wished.

And awash came over the man, in a blissful blur, another willful hole did he feel inscribe into his bare, bleeding chest, and deluged in numbness did he feel whilst the second pillar struck him where he lay. And so, his wish was granted.

He felt his body deflate with his simple exhale, like the air which gave him life slowly defusing into the world around him as the life which he so righteously stole was reclaimed by the earth, as she so righteously retook what was owed her for so long. In the few moments of peace to follow, Thomas hushed, slowly taking back in small amounts of air, as if not to anger the earth around him whilst nothing else mattered. It was an awash, serene peace in which he came to with his own body dissipating. And he did so all with the willing company of one.

The one he never asked for.

The one he never wished for.

Yet...the one who was there for him. In the last moments that he needed someone the most.

And yet...Thomas laughed. Weakly chuckled, each chortle coughing up streams of tears to run across his face, his pain, whilst Inès above only held as she still tried to save him. He laughed. Laughed at her futility. Laughed in knowing full well that help could only be made when those wanted to be helped.

And laughed...painfully. With sorrow and remorse...in knowing he had failed her.

"...it's alright, lass..." Thomas hushed. He chuckled, looking back once more into those two azure gems...

"I'm...bloody...fuckin'...heheheh..."

His laughter came painfully, even the numbness never failing to mute the tears he swallowed. To the end, he'd be that beacon he hoped to inspire in every one of his friends, comrades, family-to-be. Friends he'd never met, or friends he'd neglected. Friends who could have been, and friends who never were. And he still regretted every last moment of it.

"I-i'm...why...why did I..."

Inès squinted, slowly shaking her head in some manner of pained confusion.

"...bloody fuckin' Riley...oh...Riley...why did I let you go on the charge..."

"...How-...Howard, mate...why'd you go on the trench raid with me..."

"Wess...bloody Wess...why did you say to go without you..."

"...Prim, Prim, gal...I-I...fuckin'...why-why...why didn't I just say I loved you...why didn't I tell you...before..."

He felt the nothingness loom over him. His angel clenched him harder, he felt, Inès listening politely to the corpse below her speak those parting verses. They were...pained. No matter the morphine she injected him with, no matter how numb his body lay as he murmured and stared distantly into his closing eyelids, he felt that pain stronger than ever before. A guilty, conscious pain, of one that no medicine nor science could hope to bandage, whilst the wisest of the animals proclaimed their miracles might help their fellow creatures through such struggles. Thomas knew it all to be lies...and had lied to himself for too long.


"And fuckin' Val. Sweet, innocent, Val...i'm such a fuckin' cunt..."

"...why did I leave you behind...why'd I leave you without a brother..."

"...why'd I leave you without a son..."

He welled up. In those final, sad-set eyes, in the alienation of rain and debris about him, Thomas recalled the dusty scenery that was his home. It's people. His people. His friends, his family...his beloved who he would never see, not for some time, he earnestly believed, looking to the sky as his mind reached to where he felt himself longing.

But...of course...Thomas wept one last chorus. A requiem to who remained. Unfortunately remained, so it would seem.


"Frey'..."

It came out as a crying grunt, pained, like that bronze needle stabbed right through his lungs, and for any semblance of memory, he would have to fight just to say. Numbness overruled his corporeal sensation, guilting him into calmness.


"Frey', you bloody idiot..."

Thomas weakly looked to his angel above, something he, out of frankness, didn't deserve. Pallidly...he chuckled.

Freya was a fool for rejecting the seraph above him.

Freya needed an angel more than he did.

And Freya's cherub had, to her, long departed to heaven, and for whatever beacon Freya might be, the travelers to her were only led astray.

But Thomas laughed once more in sorrow. For no matter how much a fool Freya was, he looked well inside of him on his deathbed muse, and resoundingly, he knew he was the sorrier. He'd abandoned living for the people he loved, and told himself he'd die, carrying with him the things he wished he'd told them earlier. And now, in the final moments he had accepted too long ago...Thomas couldn't tell Inès that the woman she loved needed someone the most...and would never accept them.

Thomas...was not Freya. If he had accepted his own demise so long ago under such different circumstances, integrity to himself proved far more grave than any manner of worthless muse. Slouched in some haze...he felt the aching returning...a swell over him as he struggled again. His time was now. His time had passed.

Slugging his head up to Inès eyes once more, the weak man did gaze, and for one final time, tried to crack a smile.


"...hey...Inès?"

She quirked up, softly residing over what was left of the legend in her arms. Tried as she had, Inès' attempts to still save him bore no fruit. He'd turn colorless, cold, bleeding over her in slouched, neurotic smile.

"Yes?" Inès responded.

"...one...more." he begged.

The final needle impaled him. He felt the gate to heaven open before him.

He had let go...he hadn't told everything. No...that man would die with many regrets set before him, sobbing still that he had not the strength to confess them all, even to a stranger. Even the secrets she'd need the most. Even to the people who needed him most. Yet, for all too long, this, Thomas felt, was a befitting end for a man like him:

A propped-up hero on paper-thin premise, hollow and ready to be discarded as soon as he'd gotten wet.

And so...Jean called back.

"T-Thomas! I need you to tell us...what to do? You know what to do, right?"

Thomas smiled.

"...fuck if I know...i'm just a bloody farmer."

There were some words, some cries as he had just cried, and Thomas found it all adrift in a void. Hollow. And pointless.

"I can see the world...get a bit..."

"Dark."

This was it.

He wouldn't meet Him standing tall.

And that was alright.

He wouldn't make love to anyone.

And that was alright.

He wouldn't have a real job. A house of his own.

And that was alright.

He died a disposable hero, in a faraway land fighting for money, instead of protecting the people he claimed to care about.

He died knowing his only friend from home could only bear more pain to the one who loved her, and did nothing to stop it.

That was unacceptable.

Fire Emblem: Sword and Sail

"From the port side bow! Royal Navy!"

The stern's bell resounded through the tumult, and so persisted its ringing in spite of its operator scrambling across the deck. Each rock of the ship swayed it side to side, almost as if flipping her cargo side to side like they were morsels in a frying pan. Yet as each thick raindrop pelted upon their flesh it did almost instantly turn to ice, as howling wind and the cannon fires alike continued their assault. Though the storm's constant, shrieking whine that, almost in synchronization with each freezing raindrop driving a frigid stake through one's ears, an unyielding roar of cannon fire dominated as the prime deafener.

"Main deck! All hands!" Kazik roared out, competing with a constant bark and howl of a storm with quite some rivalry, "Port side mains, get them ready!"

The Czaszkan barked orders quickly, yet performed the same orders in more rapid pace while he pushed and shoved aside some scrambling crewmen whilst he pumped the sponger in and out of cannon after cannon. Tumbling and diving from arm to arm, Kazik soon had sponged each and every one of the 12-pounder guns, and soon began to take up with vivid, ireful eyes as he commanded their continued opening amidst their constant watery assail.

"She wouldnae chase us in this weather!" Charlotte cried out, her left forearm giving their grandest performance to ensure her clear sight, "We need tae veer off!"

"I'm not doin' it!" The helmsman protested, anger and weariness crying straight through the rains, "The storm's too strong! We need to keep fighting through the blizzard, it can't go on forever! It's gonna die down soon!"

"It's bloody April!"

Whilst she continued in her plight to remain upright and well of sight, Charlotte staggered down from the bridge, each step of a plank coated with a solid icy gloss that threatened to remove her balance with the slightest misstep, to which the tempestuous breeze did always ask for her hand in that dance, the likes of which would certainly spell her imminent - yet thoroughly slow and agonizing - demise. The icy ocean waters of the Chotinay Sea spelled the ends of the hardiest of men, for the waters ran so chilling that in mere minutes, entire men would be frozen to their cores inside; their blood ceasing to flow as their veins turned to a crystalline solid, then inevitably shattering with even the slightest twinge. Yet for just that brief moment, Charlotte's expression turned overboard, and any onlooker knew whilst weathering that storm that she wondered if such a fate was better than to be killed by pirate hunters.

"All hands, ready!" All six of them - Kazik among that count - held forth their triggers the same way they clinged to the heavy masses of iron while the ship rocked and swayed. Their target raised and lowered, too, whilst the ship undulated, like some crooked pendulum with a deafening whine. Kazik, determined and pressed, did keep himself raised whilst those sad and jaded eyes locked upon his prey with gaze to rival a harrier.

"FIRE!"

The sonorous resound of the 12-pounder array bayed back with the ship, sending its carriers struggling to keep their footing. Whilst that roar too combined with the bellowing of the winds, an ear-splintering cry shattered the balance of the crew, the payload of their fire barely audible whilst the shot whistled through the storm. Kazik made his best attempt to rise again, his hand covering his left ear whilst his elbow did its finest to shield his eyes from the sleet's ceaseless pelting. A faint, dull glimmer splintered off the raindrops as they collided with their cannonballs, and for a second's fraction, a faint hope had arisen.

Thunderous rolls arose from the silver-masted ship in the crew's sights, and through the incessant argent assail, their foe's midsection howled forth in torrid display. Great, long shards of molten material flew above, even the ignited splinters of what was their rear deck stroked across the storming seas as Hell itself unfurled its artisanship. A thick volley of smoke soon followed, fueled by a raging inferno below, and for that moment, what remained of the crew did unravel a triumphant rejoice.

"We've hit their ammunition hold!" The man announced with so great of joy that the storm itself proved no obstacle to his sanguinity, "She'll be crashing into landfall! She-!"

Yet what Kazik was met with was the floundering of his Captain-in-arms embroiled in unyielding shouting between her and the helmsman. Charlotte's voice did not yet exceed that of the wind's assault, for when Kazik followed the ireful gestures of Charlotte, he turned to face, with his own face turning so pallid and fearful, a much larger threat, just before the bow.

"What are you doing?!? WE'RE HEADED STRAIGHT FOR LAND YE BLOODY EEJIT!"

"It's an iceberg! We need to hit it straight on!"

"You bampot! YOU'LL KILL US ALL!" Charlotte threw her whole self to the helm, wrestling what little she could from their would-be killer to veer the ship left, yet her efforts did little to direct her to safety. Her journey was a collision course; Her fate in fortune's hands.

Kazik stood atop a cannonade, bellowing out as best he could with a throat-splitting screech:

"BRACE FOR IMPACT!"

Tremors ripped through the ship, a splintering shatter screeching through whilst the recoil of their impact threw those unfortunate souls upon the ship rearwards. There were some verisimilitude of cries, roars, and pleads for either help or mercy, yet the combined efforts of the icy waters below and that rocky coast well devoured what the shattering ship did feed to them. Some debased, ravenous gourmet took slowly what the impact alone did not, for what remained of that fateful privateer's crew clinged aboard some thirds of a ship whilst it made some rapturous journey toward the coast. No longer was it possible to stand upon the deck of this half-ship, for so overtaken was it by manner of undulation and quake that the vibration alone drove splinters into the flesh, where the tempest above, so graciously in turn, dug its freezing rains into the skin of the disparaged.

And for what better end to such suffering than the final capsize? That remnant of a ship, shattered in pieces innumerable, did finally rest upon the frigid shores of Cochise, giving one final bellow as it gave its survivors one final throw.

---

...

......

......

...

..

Weak grunts came before their awakening. The duo slowly rose from their snow-heaped ruin, rising to the storm whilst the rain slowly turned to snow. Such minor mercy seemed much appreciated, for how Charlotte did have her expression changed from anger to annoyance, yet such pittance to the Czaszkan captain made to appeal to how his consternation rose with his posture. A foot before himself, then a slow run, he gave chase - in clear injury whilst he huffed with every move - to what once was of their supply.

"That...we need our supplies." he heaved, stumbling forth towards a steadily impaling wreckage. His teeth gritted whilst he did witness all his efforts be slowly consumed by a heap of jagged stone and storming tidal waves ripping coin and provision alike to oblivion.

---

Key items, interactable objects, and other articles of import are outlined in bright orange. Whilst not everything not outlined in orange cannot have some manner of utility, those in the color are of particular interest.

Create your own key objects using the hex code e99e5b.

---

"Kazik...!" Charlotte cried out, reaching forth toward the determined man. Those fingers clenched around his ice-laden shoulder, a heavy shrug insistent upon Kazik's continued march.

"Kazik!" she ordered once more, at last halting the man in his trek, "Kazik, mate...it's gone."

Moments passed whilst he stared down the wreckage, who remained slowly peering into the pair's view. Charlotte did trot forth through the calf-deep snow, Kazik slowly following behind whilst he cursed beneath his breath:

"Had this tempest not caused enough quagmire already," he swore, "It's robbed me of the pleasure of killing Ambrose myself."

---

Persons of interest are colored bright green. They typically are those with key plot elements tied to them, and will usually dispense quests, information, services, or other useful tidbits.

Create persons of interest with the hex code 5ba259.

---

Kazik lambasted their now-deceased helmsman with a disappointed sigh, firstly that he had brought such ruination to them, and secondly that he had not had - to Kazik's clear displeasure - the capability to survive whilst Kazik enacted just revenge for his idiocy. Yet such affairs, the Czaszkan knew, were no longer for contention, for the moving of other figures meant they were still not yet among the sole survivors of their trepidation. His performer companion, holding her hood tighter about her head whilst she waved back to the ship, called out whilst Kazik inspected his surroundings.

"Aye! Hello?! Can any of you hear me?!" she "introduced", insofar that a disaster on the likes of this could constitute any manner of proper meeting. Charlotte had been acquainted with much of the crew before - and while she prided herself on remembering the names of the many she had met - did make haste in some attempt to the surviving crew.

"I...ah..." Charlotte drew breaths as she tried to stay warm, yet the posturing of her comments made it clear she, too, was equally consternated by their threatening scenario. At odds with her usual silver-tongued demeanor, Charlotte didn't quite know what to say.

"It's good seeing ye all." she nodded, looking over the collecting cast, "I ken we're off to a grand start...but, we can come up with something, I know."

Kazik turned back, shouting forth at the assembly, "Yes! Ahead!", he pointed, tilting his frame back whilst he pointed north.

At the edge of sight, along the blinding coast obfuscated by the arctic tempest, a yellow beaming pulsated periodically. For a second did it wax into full then wane into nothing, returning at regular intervals. Charlotte lowered her head, heavily sighing in relief from the view.

"Oh, thank Gods...it's a lighthouse..."

---

Places and locations are highlighted in blue. They are typically nearby, though they may also be illuminated when done in reference to a location of particular note.

Reference such places with the hex code 5ea3b9.

---

"There must be someone keeping it on." Kazik insisted, waving forth the group, "Come! If that is true, then we-"

The unmistakable bellow of gunfire erupted from the north, just above a ridge which overlooked the craggy coast below. Though behind them lay the faint outlines of several coves, their assailants had the definitive upper ground, only mercifully graced by the intermittent gales which provided concealment through turbulent snowfall. Along the lower shoreline were many of the same creeks and jagged rocks, enormous shards of obsidian spiking out from the volcanic geology. To the bare - and the incautious - the volcanic glass would certainly slit the unwary open with grievous injury. Yet the sole pass down from the ridge - while gentle and shielded from the gale force winds, presented danger all their own; A few score of men - clad in bright blue and white - heaved a mighty battle cry whilst they charged down the pass. Pirate hunters. Royal Navy.

BANG!

BANG!

More gunfire echoed. Kazik's pistol smoked from the fire, his two barrels expended whilst one several meters before him fell, clutching his wound.

His right hand clutched his blade, crouching behind some stone, and roared back at the survivors:

"Pirate hunters!"

They would have to be fighting their way to safety. Charlotte, too, prepared herself, drawing forth her flintlock while she looked about for some manner of vantage point.

Welcome to Cascadia.

~ Valkyria Chronicles - Changing of the Guard ~

"DINNERTIME!"

"Oh...merci mon dieu..." Inès sighed, relieved to hear the call of dinner as an end to her hours-long utility as a pillow for Franz's comfort. Indeed, it was sweet, for Inès ultimately knew that Franz would have done the same for her, had their positions been switched and she came to his aid, but neither could she reject the reality that such immobility - and inactivity - drove her well past tolerance and well into boredom-induced insanity.

"Franz," the Shocktrooper called to her companion, nudging him awake, whilst also extending a generous - yet gentle - assistance toward the man getting on his feet that would clearly suggest she wished to stand. Somehow, Inès had wondered, given the past few weeks, if awakening others was to be a habit, that she may very well become the company bugler.

"Dinner's ready. Let's go eat." she urges on, exiting from the tent with a steady look back, as if she made certain Franz would follow.

Dining standards for the military were generally mediocre, generously speaking, and those served in the field lesser than such a meager title. More often than not, the food itself on offer did nothing to alleviate such judgements, the disgusting slop in a can they foisted upon soldiers as food often making matters worse for the troops at hand. What was supposed to be some manner of potato and meat stew instead blackened and soiled inside a cold, grease-laden broth. For ingredients that were largely salted for preservation, Inès gave the packagers credit; even one who had only modest ingredients herself could not make a largely fiberous meal taste acidic. Maconochie, it was called, and was famously lambasted as, "An inferior grade of garbage."

A meal taken and prepared for the crew was, appropriately, a gift that Inès graciously appreciated, even if the scent coming from the table would have indicated they were otherwise eating char-burned scrapings from a meat pan. Though her face would never show it, whatever manner of concoction was preferable to whatever waste logistics and supply would foist upon them otherwise. At the long table, Inès took her seat at the side of Franz, across from Freya, and well in good company.

...well in good company of their one and only Corporal hoisting about a loaf of buttered bread as if he had found some holy relic itself, to everyone's amusement, Inès' note. Inès appreciated the change of pacing, sure, being the first truly cooked full meal she'd had in weeks now, yet Jean was...clearly a bit too excitable about it.

Thoroughly nonplussed, Inès' nonamused features remained rather blank while eyes and ears turned to the Darcsen Corporal.

"Uh...Jean? Ça va?"

Inès mentally noted that she likely already had an answer to such an inquiry. At minimum, it was polite to ask, if Inès' lack of formality in her query betrayed her true thoughts behind that expression. An unamused sigh flowed throughout her body, the rather unimpressed woman retiring once more to her seating. She would look about for a fleeting moment, taking view of the general demeanor of the company at hand whilst she did serve herself. Manners, it would seem, would have to wait, yet Inès knew that much was only formality she seldom had time to acknowledge. And as she folded her legs, prompt to dine, Luke's rising mood she did notice. She would pause before she dug in upon the first wishes of Luke escaping his mouth, almost freezing her utensil as she passed eyes over the scene. That would soon turn to cautious listening, never fully looking over the two as expression soon turned to fumble, then to apology, then to faux pas once again. Even whilst the poor fool threw out his racial retorts as some uncultured troglodyte, Inès did look upon the display and give a smile.