Fantasy Le Morte d'Diamant

[Blu]

The War that was Lost...

Plotline

Overview​

1900 A.D. - Britannia is engulfed in the flames of war once again. The immortal Sorcerer King Mordred seeks to snuff out the remaining embers of humanity. Without magic, people turned to technology to combat Mordred's forces. But try as they may, humanity still lingers on the brink of extinction.

A platoon of soldiers fleeing a desperate battlefield has a chance encounter at the site of an ancient lake. They soon find themselves in possession of weapons of immense magical powers seemingly named after members of King Arthur Pendragon's Knights of the Round. With these Arms, they may very well turned the tides of war and save humanity from certain destruction...

History
After the death of King Arthur Pendragon and his Knights of the Round at the hands of the sorcerer Mordred (Battle of Camlann, Circa 537 A.D.), the kingdom of Camelot soon perished. Few were lucky to escape alive. Those that did—along with those of the rural and hill tribes—now form the basis of humanity in the present day.

Mordred, having suffered critical injuries in his battle, retreated to the southern isles of Britannia and established his empire of sorcerer and sorceress-kind, where they ruled for centuries in relative isolation. This gave humanity time to recover and rebuild.

Peace did not last... In the Mid-1800's, Mordred's forces marched upon the Northern Isles and laid waste to all in sight, sparking the beginning of humanity's present war and, undoubtedly, its last. The forces of Mordred proved too much for humanity and, gradually, the human population began to dwindle more and more. With nearly no adult surviving past the age of 35, humanity began to use child soldiers beginning as early as 15 years of age to form the brunt of Britannia's forces.

Present day: the human population is only 30% of what it used to be just a century ago. Every day, Mordred claims more land for his empire and soon his reach will engulf the entirety of Britannia. You—a child soldier of Britannia's remaining forces—are thrust into a hopeless war. Will today be the day you die, you ponder to yourself. But perhaps fate has something else in store for you...?

Additional Details

Premise​

Le Morte d'Diamant is a fantasy/alternative history RP that is set in the early 1900's (World War I setting). It explores a Britannia ravaged by war and a populace on the brink of extinction. Magic is controlled by the forces of Mordred while humanity fights back with weaponry that can be found around that time (guns, artillery, tanks, biplanes, etc.).

You are a child soldier in Britannia's army. You have no parents and barely a childhood. You were raised in a military academy along with numerous other children for 15/16 years of your life and are now thrust into war to save the last of mankind from a seemingly unstoppable force. Throughout your life, you've barely met any adults as anyone past the age of 25 have taken permanent shelter in the last remaining cities of the empire.

All you've know in your life is your duty to fight for humanity; that and the certainty of death. Even love is a foreign concept to you. But either by chance or fate, you will soon come upon an incredible power that will ultimately decide the fate of humanity.

Arms
Arm—short for Armament—is the power that you will obtain in the RP. Weapons of immense magical power, each one is named after a member in King Arthur's Knights of the Round. They each take on a unique shape whether it be a sword, spear, halberd, bow, etc. With these weapons, there may yet be hope for Britannia.

Britannia's Last Hope​

Below is an overview of the kind of character you will be making for the RP:

Your character is a child soldier of Britannia of age 15 or older (maximum age is 17).

They have lived all of their life in a military academy, named after the city/province from which the academy is located. Your character's birthplace may be different from their academy. Their date-of-birth and place-of-birth is found on their military IDs.

They have no knowledge of their parents or circumstances of their birth. In fact, they don't even know the concept of birth/babies. Earliest memories are of their childhood in the academy.

Raised and trained solely for warfare, they possess little to no knowledge on concepts considered unnecessary by the academy such as love. However, friendship and camaraderie have been taught to them in order to develop effective teamwork in the field.

At the start of the RP, every player character is of the rank of Private.

The oldest humans they have ever met/interacted with are around the ages of 20-23 and they are typically the caretakers and instructors of the academies.

Rules

All final decisions in matters regarding the RP are decided by the GM.

Follow all the rules of RPN and use common sense/courtesy when RPing.

This RP uses anime face claims.

Post frequency should be at the least 1 post per week if possible. Length doesn't matter but try to strike a good balance and have enough for others to respond to.

If you are unable to post for an extended period of time, make sure to notify me somehow. Communication is key.

Use mentions when directly interacting with others or your post has content that relates to others.

This RP depicts graphic violence/gore. Sexual themes should be kept to PG-13 levels.​

...The War that Followed

 

[Blu]

Location: Loch Diane, Scotland | Date: July 1914

The Battle of Whinnyhill waged all morning. Beginning at dawn, starting at 0500 hours, the troops of Britannia met with the forces of Mordred in open combat within a clearing 768 acres across. A battalion of five-hundred soldiers and forty Mark IV tanks led the charge for the Britons in the vanguard. The middle and rear consisted of numerous companies and platoons tasked as support. The middle guard in particular boasted the bulk of the infantry machine gunners while snipers were placed in the rear primarily to assist the tank regiment.

The fighting had lasted well into midday but, in spite of their valiant efforts, the battle seems all but lost to the Britons. Although they possess fewer forces, Morded's army have one critical advantage: magic. The power of devils—or so they say. The truth is, this battle had already been decided from the outset. At around the 1040 hour mark, the order to retreat further north was given, allowing Mordred's army to advance forward.

A squad of about seventeen English soldiers found themselves separated from their company and were forced to flee in another direction. They later came upon a forested area near the abandoned village of Lochend. Deeper within, they found a clearing at the lake shore where they chose to take a brief respite. They were carrying wounded and none of them knew what to do next as panic gradually grew among the ranks. "Oh God, we're going to die out here! Slaughtered like swine!" One young man with a bandage wrapped around his freshly-wounded left eye shouted. "I-I can't die yet... I don't want to die..." Another young man missing both legs eked out as he loss consciousness from his injuries.

To the side, an older boy among the soldiers rubbed his hands and arms to warm himself. "Why is it so cold here? It's July for God's sake..." He complained to the group. It was unnaturally cold in the vicinity of this lake. "Damn it, we can't rendezvous with the others without coming across those Mordredian dogs. On top of that, we have wounded men on our hands. Well lads, any bright ideas?" He asked anyone listening.

By the foot of the lake sat a flaxen-haired soldier by the name of Caelen Everleigh who was staring at his shaking hands. He seemed to be in shock; there was dried blood caked on his cheek and his eyes were wide with terror. Frost escaped his lips as he exhaled. "What is this...? My hands are shaking, my legs feel numb, my mouth is dry. Everything's turning white..." As he sat there, he was reminded of the fear and guilt he felt in the battle prior.

A few hours earlier...

The symphony of war roared throughout the battlefield. Bullets whizzing through the air, tank shells exploding forward from the Hotchkisses, the bang of grenades, the loud bellows of firestorms weaving through the ranks. The sergeants shouting orders became indiscernible in all of the chaos. At least somewhat comforting is the fact that the screams of the dying had drowned out in it all. Oh how the children were whet with fear; especially the first-timers. In Britannia, warfare is what you cut your teeth on.

The sorcerers of Mordred's forces scorched the earth with great waves of flame, impeding the advancement of the tank regiment. The snipers' job was to take them out but they were protected by the magical barriers created by other sorcerers safeguarding them. The normal infantryman's duty is pelt those barriers with enough bullets and explosives to render them ineffective. A hard task to accomplish when you're also being fired upon by the enemy's own artillery. Then there were the Crawlers: tanks of Mordredian design and powered by magic. Instead of tracks, they utilized six mechanical legs to maneuver quickly throughout the battlefield hence the nickname given to them by the Britons. To many, they are fear incarnate.

Caelen took cover behind a broken wagon and some sandbags. In an almost comedic sense of misfortune, his gun had jammed upon its first firing. "Damn it, not now...!" He frantically attempted to disassemble a part of the rifle but his hands were shaking too much. Private Barton, a fellow academy student, came to his aid. "Caelen, what's the matter?!" He asked before taking aim and shooting down an enemy from afar. "My rifle's jammed! I can't seem to fix it!" Caelen explained. "Tch, that's why I carry two. Here!" Barton tossed Caelen his Pattern Enfield which he managed to catch. "Thank you."

"Thank me by killing these godless bastards! Move!" Barton ran off ahead. Filled with a bit of determination, Caelen steadied himself and attempted to move forward. However, he stopped as soon as he saw Barton being engulfed by a firestorm conjured up by a sorcerer. Barton's faint screaming filled his ears and his eyes widened with a mixture of disbelief and horror. He immediately collapsed to his knees. Another soldier runs to Caelen. "Hey! Get up!" He shouted as he placed his hands on Caelen's shoulders. Caelen turned to the voice and recognized its owner. "D-Donovan...?" He questioned as if the boy soldier wasn't truly there in front of him. "It's me, mate! We have to move, alright? We're not going to die here, you understand? We are not going to di-" A stray bullet burrowed itself into Donovan's neck and came out the other side, spurting blood onto Caelen's cheek. Gargling for breath, Donovon fell flat onto his face.

Caelen gasped—the best he could muster as no scream could escape his throat—and swiftly got back to his feet. He then started running in whatever direction he was facing. In his path, he glimpsed at the lifeless body of yet another fellow academy student crushed under a giant boulder. "Hey Caelen, guess what? I just beat your record. See? That means I'm the best marksman in our class now. Just you watch. I'll give those Mordredian dogs what-for!" The memory ran through his mind. Physically frail as he is, Caelen's mad dash came to a halt. As he tried to catch his breath, a Crawler abruptly appeared before him. Staring down the barrel of its mounted gun, the only though that came to mind is how he didn't want to die.

Servant Cosmos Pyosimros Trappy Pilgrim59 Table Zane

 

[Cosmos]

|| Evan Thortin - soldier, private||



Light-…. it was- light?….

To anyone else the girls would look mad, she was standing behind a barricade looking up to the sky wide eyed, hat barely peeking out over the top far too large for her head, but luckily uniform well fitted. Many tried to contact the girl, screaming or tugging but simply shrugged her off with a grunt and ran forward towards the frontlines muttering something about bloody blank headed idiot.

Even the shots of cannon fire didn't snap her from her trance, it was quite far into the battle when she seemingly came out, looking around at the injured retreated soldiers and bending down beginning to attend to their wounds as they let out screams she didn't seem to notice, instead wrapping bandages neatly, small baton fastened at side along with two large daggers.

One of the younger boys began to look at her terrified, "What are you doing here!? Run! Get back they've pushed further! Leave us!? W-We're not gonna make it c'mon, t-take th-the gun an- an run you idiot!" Shoving the pistol at her with some force, looking down she blinked before letting out a small giggle and blushing, "I-I can't use one of these, I was told not too" she said, gently handing it back to the frantic boy, shaking like mad and eyes darting around at the bullets being fired above and screams surrounding.

Another nearby with blood trickling from his mouth gave the boy a look, "Give it up man, she won't listen to ya…. she's-…. she's stupid….. l-like that…. can't hear what ya' say properly, she'll just smile like a- a f*ckin dope!…. S-she always…. smiles" he grit his teeth as he spluttered out a loud and crackling cough, looking at Evan softly as she turned around with an innocent head tilt, "Connor?" she asked as though he was saying something strange.

The panicked male shoved a foot firmly against the girls back causing her to stumble, "I said run already! JUST. LISTEN- please…. survive" he pleaded, eyes filling with tears as he held his head, her bandages soaking with blood from all his wounds and missing arm. Evan looked between the two, the boy who she'd named eyes closing with slow breaths, "Go Ev-…. F-Find the others, k?….Y-Ya gotta…. m-make em lunch or something…. k?" he forced a smile much to the distressed boys terror, the others shirt was covered in blood from his stomach and chest bullet wounds.

Slowly Evan put on a determined face and smiled, "K, but I'll see you at dinner, okay!~" she called out happily as she waved and ran off quickly down the trenches length. The boy lay his head back and chuckled weakly with a loud grunt, "Yeah-…. cya…. th-then… Ev……" his body slumping down with a soft smile on his chapped and bloodied lips.

Running through the maze of the field was almost on instinct, her ducks and dodges timed perfectly with cross fire and a serious expression, though breathing calm as though still just in training.

Turning the next corner however a small landslide had caused degree and rocks to tumble in, blocking all paths but back, with a small 'hupp!' noise she clambered up with one knee on the ledge, looking out into the field with curious eyes, before the whiz of a bullet zooming past her head made her let out a small eep and get back on her feet, ducking off towards the nearest barricade, two other female soldiers standing behind with muddied faces and heavy breaths, hands shaking on their guns hilts, she looked at them breifly with soft eyes before running off again, faster, harder.

Suddenly the loud sound of clanking wheels caught her attention a short distance away, turning her head a large legged vehicle plowed towards what appeared to be another female soldier, dashing over she slammed herself against her body pushing them out of the way and pinned flat to the ground on the uneven dirt of the battlefield, turning back as it drudged past leaning on her elbows she glared, "Watch it ya big brute! Ya could've hurt someone?!" she yelled before turning back and grabbing the supposed girl by the arm, tugging her upright and away with surprising strength, after all her upper body was where most of her training was focused, and this kid was pretty light.

"Ya can't just stand around! These guys don't pay attention to where they're going at all!? And i'm nearly out bandages!- what if ya got hurt, huuh?!" she lectured like an overbearing sibling, glaring with hands on shoulders as though there wasn't still a battle going on just outside the small tree line filled with screeches and gun fire, seeming genuinely cranky that he may have got hurt before letting out a long sigh and closing eyes before replacing such expression with a smirk.

"It's all good, just don't do it again, okay? We don't want anyone injured in training!" she continued innocently, giving a thumbs up with her innocently, almost sparkling eyes in sharp comparison to her dirt covered face and now scuffed up elbows from the scrape.
________

Mentioned/Interacting: Blu

​

 

[Pilgrim59]

Pvt. Grace Whitehall
Loch Diane, Scotland
July 1914

Interacted: Caelen ( Blu )
Mentioned: Max ( Trappy ), Gram ( Zane )
​

Re:Group
written with:
Zane Trappy
​

Pvt. Grace Whitehall​

The bellowing roars of the landships grew louder, as the young rifleman found herself amidst the chaos that shortly ensued. The officer’s whistle let off an audible shriek, undaunted by the loud machine guns and artilleries before them. Grasping tightly onto the trench’s ladder, Grace’s found one of her feet after another. The hardened sensation of the ladder was soon replaced with the black soil - of which had seemed to devour much of the fallen over the last few battles.

No stranger to the onslaught that was expected of her company, the young girl unslung her rifle and filed in behind one of the Mark IVs. Similar to the olden days of antiquities, war has yet to relinquish its crimson stain of blood and its obnoxious smell of the dead. Despite this, the dogged rifleman was keen on keeping herself forward. Before long, a reticent groan of a whistling, azure bolt found its way past her metal guardian’s hull, sparking a flame that would erupt into a concoction of smog and relentless shrapnel.

The land creeper laid dormant shortly after, its hull exposed, and its crews attempting to climb out, doused in flames. Grace eyed the scene in terror, as the crewmen finally succumbed to their flames, while stray Mordredian spells found their targets with ease. Even with their advancement in technologies, the forces of legends and myths would prove to be more than terrifying for the Britannians.

The first few tanks that fell would act as covers for the encroaching troops, as Grace and her platoon quickly leapfrogged from one destroyed landship to another - zigzagging their way across No Man’s Land, where colorful tracers exchanged their blows, albeit at the cost of her comrades in arms. Looking over to her right, was a young boy, no older than her by a year or two, whose distinct slouched hat announced his presence, as the two pressed their backs against the de-tracked landship. The boy, Maxwell, rifle clutched in his hands, took in a lungful of air, exhaled and righted his hat before calling out to her.

“We NEED to keep moving FORWARD!”

“How do you suppose we do that? Our land crawlers are being knocked out one by one! We have no cover!” Grace remarked, grasping tightly onto her rifle.

Maxwell’s eyes scanned the charging allies contingent around them, and stared off back to the area they’d advanced across. He stuttered, mouth agape. “I-I don’t know. I don’t know. But we can’t stay here. We got to keep moving-” He flinched at the whizzing sound of another volley of firebolts.

“FUCKING WITCHES, COME GET YOURS!” Maxwell yelled towards the Mordredians, but his legs did not move.

Pvt. Maxwell Bishop​

Beneath her shadowed helmet, Grace contemplated for a solid second, before veering her head over to catch sight of their objectives. Beyond the ashen trees and heaps of fallen soldiers, the girl quickly retreated back into cover, just as a bolt landed mere inches from her shoulder. Patting her uniform repeatedly, Grace was able to put out the deviating flame. She tipped her helmet slightly, with a relieved sigh.

“Oh shit. They heard me. Are you hurt?”

“I’m just right as rain. They’re starting their counterattack. By the time we get to the other side, we’d be dead-...” Grace remarked, as an audible whistle caught her ears from where they stood. Lines of battered infantry began to collapse, as panic spreads like wildfire. The sound of retreat, declared by something as simple as a triple whistle.

The sound of another retreat, as Grace found herself alone with her companion. Disarray befell the soldiers, where Grace have yet to even fire her rifle. All around them, friendly soldiers were cut down by the advancing Mordredian forces. While smaller in number, their conjuration of the dark arts abide by their dreadful deeds. The tanks that have made it into enemy lines were abandoned, as crewmen and infantrymen came their way in droves alike. Grace shook her head slightly, before eyeing her companion.

“This battle was over before it began.” Grace said softly, amidst the shouting and chaos. Raising her rifle forward, and setting the safety off, the girl let off a round at the enemy, before turning back into cover.

What had been the mid guard, laying down fire for the vanguards tanks to do work against the infernal crawlers, had now had the job of covering the retreat. Gram slammed another tin of ammo beside the maxim gun linking the belts for his gunner to keep the constant chugging going down range. They rested in a hastily dug trench barely tall enough to keep Gram fully covered. Peeking his head up from the edge he looked to see if there was much more of a retreat to cover, after all they too needed to make their way out of there. they looked nearly finished but the enemy was on their allies heels.

Pvt. Gram Winterbourne​

“This will be a close one boys” he yelled over the roar of the maxim. They probably couldn’t hear him it being more for his own morale than anything. Satisfied he began sinking back into the trench. Just before his eyes lost line of sight he saw one of the crawlers lining their position in is sights. Though they didn’t have nearly the firepower as their shells it was more than enough for a maxim. Falling into the trench he yelled.

“Down!”

He rose his arms to cover his face and neck from shrapnel as the shell slammed into their gun and consequently into the back of the trench sending metal fragments and earth hurling around. Brushing it off, Gram rose up from the floor of the trench.

“Looks like we made ‘em a bit mad, heh heh.” He chuckled as he rose up to face his allies. His smile was washed away. The gunner took the brunt of it. Only gram would know who he was really, he was unidentifiable. The other lay limp against the wall his helmet a bit smashed in. Gram pursed his lips a bit moving to kneel by the later soldier to see if he had managed to survive.

By the landship, Maxwell grunted. It was their first taste of battle - officially their rite of passage, and yet it tasted of bitter defeat. It didn’t feel good, not one bit. The boy’d fantasized about tearing apart the Mordredians and chase them to the sea with his comrades in arms, and he’d had none of it. The animals had won the day, Grace was right, no matter how he looked at it. The accursed fiends. The rifleman’s keen eyes spotted a machine gun position by a cracked, crooked tree. It looked hastily set up, probably to cover the infantry’s advance earlier. An idea sparked - a light amidst darkness. It was Maxwell’s first trial, and he by no means intended to go quietly into the night and make it a breeze for those witches and devils.

“Come. Let’s at least give the lads a chance to get out of here.” He said to the girl, before took off running towards the Maxim gun.

Grace eyed the man off for a few seconds, before turning her rifle once again towards the distant horizon. Her trigger finger squeezing tightly, then bolting - each shot loaded with grievous intents to kill. She had to cover her companion, Grace thought, letting her battle instincts taking hold of her. Her blue eyes beamed straight down the trident notch, as her hands went about pulling the trigger and her bolt with speed. Keeping her head calm, and her duty in sight, Grace quickly discharged her entire magazine without pause - eventually relinquishing her cover fire posture to reload at times.

The charred dirt crumbled and gave in the heat as Maxwell arrived at the site. He practically tumbled into the firing position, nearly onto the mangled corpse and his loader, a broad-looking lad. “Hey mate.” Maxwell greeted the man. “Let’s lay down some covering fire for our boys. You work this thing?” He gestured towards the gun.

Hand on his 1911, Gram turned to the new voice. He didn’t think the enemy would be on them so quick, and with a bit more thought they probably didn’t say mate either. He nodded to the guy. “I think He’s just unconscious. You a medic?” he moved back leaving the guy space to check him. Gram would get back to what he was good at, gunning.

“Erm…” Maxwell hopped into the nest, squinting at the man. He took out a towel and tried touching the body on the ground. The head was mushy, waay too mushy to be alive, though he’d heard of miracles from old tales. But really, he could’ve scooped up the gentleman’s head in his own helmet like a bowl of goulash, so Maxwell really doubted it. “I don’t know… but I think this is a bit beyond any medics around here to be honest with you. I’m not one in any case. But you work this thing, right? Let me help you.”

“Bounding!” upon her partner’s relocation towards the machine gun emplacement, Grace vacated her cover, sidelining out of his line of sight, with her rifle in tow. Eyeing the dormant figure by the gunner, Grace reached out her hand, pulling what’s left of the loader’s body by his webbing to the side.

“He’s a goner. There! Hundred yards out! Keep firing!” Grace remarked. Pointing the gunner to continue firing. Despite her non-conforming demeanor, there was a certain gloom that she felt. However, there was little time for sentiments when there were other lives at stake, the girl thought.

Gram frowned at the treatment of his trenchmates body, he understood and wouldn’t make a fuss. Such was war. He cleared his throat grabbing ahold of the gun. Grabbing the slide handle he had to put a boot on the wall to pull it back. It had jammed up pretty good but that should have cleared it up.

“Hundred yards, Without prejudice!” he bellowed squeezing the trigger. The gun would overheat under constant fire but given how long they had before they needed to retreat themselves he would not relent.

Where the man was reloading, Grace would put her rifle to good use - cycling through her ammunition to cover her machine gunner. As the indistinct shouts and chaos were put behind them, where the forest extended their greet, Grace patted her gunner’s shoulder, as well as her partner, prompting the trio to take leave.

“It’s our turn, let’s go.” Grace said to the gunner and the man with the slouched hat. “On it, bounding.” Maxwell replied. He quickly went through the deceased gunner’s body for his tag before joining the other two.

The three unlikely candidates made their exit, as the Mordredian mages encroached on their position. Arrays of fire bolts pursued them into the forest, where other skirmishes have yet to subside. Despite being on the battlefield for some time, Grace have yet to find a single moment where she would have to run for her life like now. Perhaps it was fate or some kind of divine destiny, that she was given capable partners. The young girl could only hope that her companions would make it out of this chaos alive.

As the gunshot and sporadic explosions became distant, Grace took a breather, as she turned over to her newfound friends.

“You two aren’t too bad. Butter Company, Whitehall. Grace Whitehall.” she said, extending her hand. The slouch hat man took it. “Maxwell, Bishop. I noticed you laying down fire back there. Might’ve saved my reckless arse, thanks.” He tipped his hat and sighed. “God, that was horrible.”

“Private Winterbourn, or Gram to most.” he said standing at salute minus the salute. “Thanks for the hands, it wasn’t looking so good. Owe ya one”

“I’d say we’re all even.” Grace remarked, as she casually loaded her rifle with two full clips of three-o-three.

While Grace could smile, she would not, having taken notice of her shortcomings of ammunition from their recent engagements. The rifleman was down to twenty rounds and pouch full of empty stripper clips. Given their current predicament, there was no saying when she was able to procure for herself tolerable supplies. They were, as fate would have it, a few miles from their fallback line, with those still alive clinging onto their lives within the confines of the wooded highlands. For how long can they be here, she wondered, before Mordred’s wicked found them? Reinforcements only prove futile, given what she saw on the front. Casting her gaze where an audible reticent flow of the nearby streams went, Grace signalled her comrades to pursue the watery path.

“I’d reckon the rest of our scattered force will be down this stream.” Grace said softly, shaking her empty canteen.

By themselves, Maxwell approached Gram, and handed the man his gunner’s identification. “Sorry about your mate back there. The least we can do for them is lay their names at rest, and give those devils the beating later.”

Gram reached out, taking the dog tags with one hand and laying another large one on Mawell's shoulder. “Thanks.” he said with a nod. “The guy was a selfish bastard, never letting others shoot. Today that saved my life…” he trailed off. Pocketing the dog tags he turned away.

“Lets get back to camp.”

The trio followed the stream’s flow, where the woods would eventually gave way to a clearing, with what’s left of Britannia’s battered and demoralized soldiers. It did not take long for Grace, Gram and Maxwell to be greeted with distant eyes and weary breaths. Eyeing her male counterparts, Grace did not speak. Instead, her stern, yet melancholic blue eyes were more than enough to dissuade her companions of anything better than the sight of a defeated army. Grace could not find it in her heart to offer her condolences for Gram's fallen friend. While she had seemed unfazed by deaths, and desensitized to the bloody conflict, the girl was still in her youthful mindset. Rather than displaying erratic emotions, Grace would keep to herself her grieves, like many before. Behind her progressive demeanor to be a round-the-clock fighter, Grace was vulnerable. If for a moment, she was to cast away her indifferent facade, the girl would surely fall into a dark place, like those around her. Pacing towards the nearest person she could find, the weary, yet impetuous Grace was keen on getting her comrades and herself a quick fix on what would come their way.

“Pardon me. Any idea who’s in charge, ‘round ‘ere?” Grace nonchalantly asked the green-eyed man, of whom were fixed on his seemingly trembling hands. Concealing her tiresome visage beneath her weathered helmet, Grace was hoping to distract the young man from his personal troubles, and perhaps to inquire upon their current situation, lest Mordredian hordes catch up to them. The latter, Grace knows for a fact, would be an inevitable probability.

 

[Servant]

Clover Hazelton

The mighty clamor of forty war machines chanting in unison were muffled to its occupants as the engines revved up, drowning out any and all noises from the clash that took place on the outside. Clover and three other pilots found themselves in charge of piloting a male Mark IV tank and, among eight other tanks, were instructed to spearhead an offensive attack against Mordred's forces, a task that shoved them into a near suicidal scenario. Their mission was simple: Push the shielded mages enough to draw their attention and that of the Crawlers, another wave of 20 tanks on the rear would then take advantage of them being distracted and counter attack.

Clang.

The sound of the commander knocking once against the metallic interior signaled the crew to get ready. Clover secured her leather helmet and adjusted her splatter mask making the already claustrophobic space feel much more oppressing. With what little time they had left Clover eyed her co-pilot and commander whom both sat to her left. The crew of eight had been training together for little over a month and yet she knew so little of them, even their name seemed to get lost in a sea of thoughts during those tense moments. The commander (A female a tad bit older than Clover) blankly stared into the outside and awaited the signal to move forward while her co-pilot (A male around the same age as Clover) gave a silent player, an appropriate action because they'd need a miracle to get out of this mess alive.

Clang. Clang.

The time had come. The Marks jerked forward and commenced their march against the enemy forces, leaving behind any semblance of cover and stepping directly into no man's land. What started off as a line formation quickly turned into a wedge to allow the side gunners a lot more freedom, with Clover's tank being positioned to the far left of the formation, though it mattered little as the moment they came into the enemy's sight the very pits of hell began raining onto the small group of tanks. Fireballs began assaulting them, and while the tank's armor were easily able to shrug them off the added heat only worsened the situation of the crew. The temperature situation got so bad that Clover witnessed her co-pilot rip off the splatter mask from his face and toss his helmet to the side. The slow speed of the Marks also made it a cakewalk for the mages to hit their spells right on target, and yet they pushed on. Once the fire had done its job the mages switched to their true source of damage: Boulders. Whith each of them that struck the Marks' outer hull slowly began caving in. One of the Marks was brought to a complete stop when a massive boulder landed right in front of its way. In-between attacks Clover was able to spot the figures of the mages slowly come into view, the six-pounder's effective range was so close...

(Here's the tank formation in case someone is curious, the red Mark is Clover's.)

Spoiler: Formation

[/ATTACH]

...And then she heard it. Even through the sound of the engine the faint noise of metallic steps approaching her Mark could be clearly heard. Clover turned to look at her commander who was frozen in fear as she stared through her window. The commander turned towards Clover and the co-pilot, opened her mouth to say something but was interrupted by the sheer force of artillery hitting her side of the Mark. Even through the chaos Clover understood what was going on, and as the engine began to die off due to the stress she could hear them getting closer. Crawlers, three of them to be exact. The pounder and the Lewis on the left were quick to take aim and fire though, despite the aid from some of the other Marks, the effort was wasted as the speed of the Crawlers made it near impossible to hit them with the cannons while bullets did little to its armor. A perfectly aimed shot from one of the Crawlers then proceeded to enter through the back of the Mark, leaving the pilots on the back as nothing but a fine red mist. Before the left gunner was even capable of loading another shell into the pounder another barrage of the Crawler's artillery shook the tank and what little was left of her crew causing Clover and her co-pilot to slam their heads against the walls around them due impact. The tank was dead. They were sitting ducks ready to be butchered.

Clover's whole world became blurry. When she tried to incorporate herself she simply ended up falling back onto her seat. Through the ringing of her ears she could hear the distant sound of a bloodbath now that the engine had ceased. Clover knew that if she were to pass out right on that moment she'd most definitely die, she needed to get out. One more time she incorporated herself and only then did she notice the bodies of her commander and co-pilot. The commander was killed the moment the first artillery shots hit the tank, leaving behind a bloody and horrific scene, while her co-pilot had died when his head directly struck the tank's hull leaving behind a deep gash. The fate of the rest of the crew was unknown to Clover, but nor did she care at that moment. With what little force she had left Clover struggled to get out of the tank and as she stepped into the outside her nostrils were assaulted by the smell of gunpowder and blood. She simply stood still, her mind completely blank, she realized this would be her end.

"ARE YOU DAFT!? GET MOVIN'!"

Before Clover could even react a hand suddenly yanked her back by the collar of her shirt and began dragging her across the battlefield. She recognized that voice though. "Al-fred?...Way to prove your marksmanship as a gunner you oh so much loved to bragged about, really gave those monsters a run for their money..." Clover said as she continued to get dragged, she was too shaken to put up any sort of resistance. Her vision became blurrier by the second and each passing moment every noise around her became more and more muffled. "Funny." Alfred said before shoving Clover into a nearby trench and taking cover himself. "Bloody hell what even are those things!? Even with the aid of the second charge the first one has almost been fully wiped by now...They are all dead Clover, but if we are to honor their memory we can't stop here. Can you still fight?" He asked before handing a Lee rifle over to Clover, who simply stared blankly at the weapon before she refocused on the male gunner. "Not really." And with those final words Clover passed out, the sight of Alfred and his voice calling out to her slowly fading to nothingness.

A few hours later...

Engulfed in a void a distant beam of light suddenly pierced through the darkness and seemed to draw Clover towards it. Each of the steps she took walking towards it felt so light...Almost as if she were walking on air. The light grew wider and wider and as she drew closer to it a voice seemingly began calling out to her and once it had completely blinded her it became clear what it was saying:
"Hey, you, you're finally awake. You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into that Mordredian trap."
"Are ya still with us mate? Aha, there we go. Easy now, that concussion was pretty fuckin' ugly."

Upon first opening her eyes Clover was greeted by an unrecognizable male watching over her, his expression showing relief at the sight of her awakening. Slowly Clover began sitting back up only to almost fall back onto her makeshift bed due to how lightheaded she felt. "Woah there, take it slow, we had to take some blood off ya to alleviate the pressure in your head. Ya should be fine from now on, just hang tight while I checkup on the rest." And with that the man left to attend to someone else, though with her composure regained Clover was finally able to study her surroundings. She found her back surrounded by an expansive forest while in front of her laid a massive lake, around her multiple of her fellow combatants paced around while some others appeared to be too wounded to even do that. She couldn't see Alfred. "Probably stayed back there...A cocky hero to the very end eh?" Letting out a quiet sigh Clover briefly remembered her days of training alongside him. While she remained indifferent to the rest of the crew Alfred always stood out to Clover, a guy who was way too full of himself but always managed to boost everyone's morale with only a few words. "Don't worry, when you inevitably crash I'll be there to pull you out of the wreckage, just get a drink after wards! Hahahaha!" Those were his last words before they boarded the tank. "I guess I'll have to repay you on another life you pretentious mop, sorry about that."

Once she was able to muster enough energy Clover left behind her "bed", though never once did she take off the covers. For some godforsaken reason the area was freezing cold, making the scorching heat of the Mark seem like a comfy place. The fact that she still wore her RTR light uniform didn't exactly help the situation either. Suspecting the culprit was the lake Clover retreated back to a nearby tree where she sat down. To her relief the cigarette box she kept inside one of her pockets was still there, though it felt much lighter because some bastard had probably taken some. Whatever, without wasting any more time Clover placed a cigarette between her lips, lit it up and began inhaling the smoke. From the spot on which she sat Clover was able to get a good view of the camp and its inhabitants. Many men and women with little to no morale or energy left in them. People who were dragged through the mud, witnessed countless deaths and were forced to escape with their tail between their tales. She knew for sure that only certain doom awaited them now. As she was briefly able to escape her thoughts Clover was able to spot three more soldiers arrive at the camp by the edge of the lake. 'Not like it matters anyways, not even a whole battalion could save us now." She finally thought before diverting her attention back to the cigarette.

(Again for those who are curious, this would be the light tank uniform Clover is wearing.)

Spoiler: Uniform

​

 

[Table]

• prologue: the angel

• 
  
  Location: Loch Dione, Scotland
  Date: July 1914
  ---​
  
  The battle was over before it had even begun. That much was clear enough for Vicky as he watched his comrade-in-arms fell one by one to the unstoppable force of Mordredian Army. The smell of blood was no stranger for him. Being a nurse himself means he has been used to staring death in the face on daily basis. However, his years of intense military training and studying nursery could not prepare him for the horror he faced at the battlefield.
  
  Dead bodies were trampled over, each having value no greater than the dirt it rested upon. Tanks, impregnable moving fortress they were supposed to be, easily rendered useless by the accursed magic of the Mordredian Army. To those who were unlucky enough to be unable to disembark from their tank, it became their tomb as their body were either crushed through sheer force of explosion or burned alive alongside their Mark.
  
  It was a scenery so brutal, Vicky almost wished he would faint as the entire thing passed through him.
  
  But all of that was in the past. The dead were to be mourned, but even Vicky knew that at time like this, prolonged weep won't do him, or anyone else for the matter, any good.
  
  So he did what he could do best to help other as someone who loves his nursery knowledge more than his combat capabilities.
  
  ---
  
  "OW!! IT HURTS, IT HURTS!! LORD HAVE MERCY!!"
  
  "Stay still. Otherwise, I won't be able to wrap the bandage completely."
  
  So Vicky, luckily being the least wounded among the very few survivor of the battle, decided to help the wounded soldiers. Unfortunately, they were practically in the middle of nowhere, with no hospital or even small village in sight and no chance to set up a tent, what with the possibility that the Mordredian Army could be chasing them.
  
  "Alright there, done!" Said Vicky as he finished wrapping the bandage for one of his patients, "you owe me big for this one, dude."
  
  "I'd be much more worried about surviving this goddamn war if I were you..."
  
  "Then be a tough boy and survive, okay?" Vicky lightly tapped the patient's shoulder with his fist before the white-haired girly boy sat by the much more rough looking patient.
  
  "Hey, Gabe, you think I can see my parents when this is all over?" Asked Vicky out of nowhere. His tone, though still sound as feminine as ever, sounded a bit shaky than his usual tone. Despite the wide smile plastered on his face, it was clear that the war took it toll even for Vicky.
  
  "Why does it even matter?" the patient, now identified as Gabe, responded with indifference, "for all I care, most of us were raised in military academy. I could give no damn about some strangers who aren't even here when I was just a toddler."
  
  "Of course it is..." said Vicky, obviously unsatisfied with the response given by his friend. Seeing that the conversation went nowhere, Vicky decided to avert his gaze toward the sky.
  

 

[Pyosimros]

POST-01

KIERA ACKERS

Within a trench she sat crouched in a fetal position, counting her last blessings. The roar of the battlefield was almost deafening, hails of bullets and scores of corpses littered what was once a calm meadow. Machines towered over her, large metal boxes clashed with even larger mechanized spider-like beasts. Kiera was small, insignificant. A small kog in a machine waiting to come loose alongside many others. Each second she felt a thump of a body crumpling onto the ground, and each second Kiera would wonder when she would meet the same fate. She was no different from the hundred or so men and women on the battlefield, whether they be corpses or living, breathing soldiers. She was simply one of many—disposable.

A small, frail girl with a lewis gun and romanticizations of war, Kiera gradually fell deeper and deeper into utter despair. Each shot of a bullet, each scream in pain made her hug her legs more and more tightly. Each dead body slamming onto the mud made more tears fall from her sullen cheeks. It was hopeless, utterly hopeless. Kiera could hear the hundreds of comrades around her fighting for their lives, yet in spite of this she felt alone—isolated in her own bubble, left to her own devices amidst the madness. More tears cascaded down her cheeks as she sank her head deeper in between her knees.

"The hell're you doing?!" Kiera felt a sharp kick to her side, to which she instantly recoiled away from, initially believing it to be a bullet. Now in a seated position, her eyes were exposed to the battlefield once more. The hastily made trenches, the corpses buried in the mud—Kiera saw it all once more, and she wished she could simply curl into a ball once again. Towering next to her was a boy, roughly her age firing desperately in the direction of the enemy. "Get ahold of yourself!" he ordered, not even bothering to look at her.

Another tear rolled down her cheek, both from the sharp pain that now stabbed into her side and from what was occuring around her. Though this time she quickly wiped it off her face with her dirt-covered hand. Kiera was being a liability, a nuisance to the entire regiment. A dead weight, waiting to be one of the many corpses that littered the battlefield. From deep and slow, her breaths grew short and sporadic—she needed to compose herself. Kiera shook her head rapidly, trying to eliminate these self-destructive thoughts, however it was ineffective. Amidst a warzone, it was almost impossible to retain a positive attitude.

Kiera began to think back to the academy, the lessons she was taught to prepare for war. They were so distant in her mind, yet so she desperately held onto them. One of these lessons were instructions to cope with the horrors of the battlefield. Kiera closed her eyes, and with a bated breath she tried to hearken back to them. The first instruction was to identify the source of the stress—one must know their enemy before facing it. However the source was everything: her own thoughts, those falling around her, and the looming threat of the Mordredians. The instruction was useless.

The second instruction was the adapt to the stress, to work around it. Though it was difficult to adapt to dying through taking just about any action. The third instruction was to seek others, recognize that you're not alone. Not alone...not alone. Kiera took another deep breath—she wasn't alone. She may be one of many, yet she shared the same hardships as those others. Her breaths grew longer, making slight peace with herself. She was a small part of this war, yet each individual on the battlefield contributed their small part to make a strong, unified whole. I can succeed, I can survive.

She was a small, insignificant cog in a larger machine, yet she would survive and thrive.

~~

There was a solemn tone in the air as they arrived to a clearing, far removed from any bloodshed. Their surroundings were calm, peaceful even. The sounds of screams and bullets ceased, and all that remained were heavy footsteps pressing against soft mud and grass. In front of them sat a lake, almost idyllic in its appearance and clarity—as if it came from the heavens. Kiera stumbled her way to the lake, stopping to stare at her reflection. She was almost unrecognizable to even herself. Mud plastered her face, the blood of others coated her clothes. Kiera felt the small semblance of tears forming on the edges of her eyes, yet she quickly wiped them away. Why was she forced into this life, and why was everything so terrible? They were questions she left unanswered.
----
Location - Clearing
Interactions - None

 

[Blu]

Caelen kept telling his legs to move. "Move! Move, damn you!" his mind repeatedly screamed. But the fear. What a potent paralytic it was; it turns the legs to jelly. They taught all manners of things at the military academies, but never how to die. Nor how little dignity there is to it. Fortunately, this was not Caelen's day to die. Next thing he knew, he was shoved onto the hard ground; a warm body shielding his own. The Crawler fired its artillery and, as a result, a huge cloud of dust is kicked into the air along with lumps of dirt and rock. The Crawler, believing it has successfully neutralized the target, rampaged onward. Caelen could hear his savior's voice shouting at the mechanical beast before she picked him up off of the dirt. The female soldier began to chastise him about his failure to move and asked him if he understood the consequences if he were to get hurt.

Caelen just stared at her bewildered. She behaved so indifferently to the war transpiring around her—no, it's as if the war didn't exist to her in this moment. She gave him a smirk and a thumbs up, telling him to not let what happened occurred again. The key point, however, is that she called this battle training. Does she really believe this to be mere training? Caelen gritted his teeth as his fists shook with anger. He grabbed her shoulders with enough force to push her back a few inches. "Training? Do you truly not recognize the sacrifice our comrades have made here?! The lives we've lost—is this a joke to you?!" But he would have to stay his wrath for now. The sound of the sergeants' whistles moved down the ranks, signalling a retreat.

Chaos swiftly ensued as swarms of war-weary and frightened soldiers broke rank and stormed the nearest designated exit points. Meanwhile, the Mordredians continued to rain hellfire and artillery among the masses. Several companies stayed behind to lay down cover fire for those fleeing; they usually consisted of seasoned soldiers, usually... When the Crawlers trampled through the sloppy formations, many units were cut off from the main army. Caelen was unlucky enough to be among them as well as his savior. He recognized a couple of faces in the chaos as well, namely Kiera Ackers and Victor Hood whom attended the same academy as him. Without saying anything else, he grabbed his savior's hand and pulled her along with him as he ran for safety.

~~~​

Caelen is distracted from his lamenting when a female soldier in a helmet interrupts him and asks if there was an authority figure in the area. Caelen was quiet at first as he briefly studies the figure before him. He is still out of it somewhat. Caelen stands up and faces his body toward her. "No one. No sergeants, no officers. Stragglers, each and every one." He answers, a tinge of melancholy in his voice. Pulling his red, floral kerchief over his mouth, Caelen begins coughing softly. "I should've listened. I was never made for this. Most of us aren't." He murmurs under his kerchief. "Apologies. I'm Private Everleigh. Caelen, if you wish. We're separated from the main army by roughly twelve miles of open field and, in between us and them, are the Mordredians. I'm afraid I'm not much help in this regard, but there is a discussion occurring over there," Caelen points to the small group of soldiers by some trees, "Perhaps you'll find someone of use. If you'll excuse me, I need to clear my thoughts."

Defeated, Caelen walks away. That girl seemed strong. He could see it in her eyes. What right does he have to waste her time—he, who could do nothing but watched his brethren die while he lived without making a single impact in the battle. He soon comes across his savior from before. Once again, she seems completely detached from the situation at hand. He wonders if it is a cruel joke she's playing at or is her confounding nature genuine? Feeling a bit of guilt, he approaches her. "Excuse me. Allow me to apologize about yelling at you earlier. I crossed the line there. You saved my life. Thank you, truly. I'm Private Caelen Everleigh." He holds out his hand. "Please, do me the honor of knowing the name of my savior."

As their conversation continued, a soldier by the lake suddenly spots something of interest. "Is that..." He takes out his binocular and stares out into the lake with it: a woman's hand peeking through the water. "H-Hey! There's a body in the lake!" He shouts to get everyone's attention. "A body?" Caelen wonders. He hustles over to the lake shore, joining the others. There are confused whispers among the soldiers. Caelen squeezes through and walks up from behind Kiera. The hand is a closed fist; skin, soft and pale, free of any blemishes or injuries. "She's dead, right?" A soldier asks. Then, surprisingly, the arm turns and faces the shore much to the shock of everyone. As the hand opens up, a blinding light is released from it, assaulting the vision of every soldier.

Caelen instinctively shelters his eyes from the light with his arm. Nearly twenty seconds pass before the light finally diminishes and as Caelen uncovers his eyes, he sees something incredible: he has been seemingly whisked away to a rich, vibrant forest clearing alive with a myriad of animal life the likes of which seem otherworldly such as deer with sapphire antlers. And, at the center of it all, a shallow spring. In that spring kneels a beautiful young woman whose bright eyes shone like diamonds; her hands are clasped in prayer. Caelen is not the only soldier here. Looking around, there are a number of familiar and strange faces around him, all clad in Britannian cloth. "Kiera? Evan? Victor? Grace, you too? And..." There are some soldiers present that he did not know.

What appears to be weapons materialize around the spring, stabbed into the ground. They seem... mystical in nature. The woman transfixes her alluring, longing gaze onto the soldiers and begins to speak in a voice that soothes the soul and emboldens the spirit. "After a long and forlorn age are we finally blessed with the Arms' chosen. Come closer and allow us to gaze upon thine noble visage." She requests. Are they to trust this woman? Although she appears pleasant enough, her mystifying aura speaks of one rooted in magic. A ploy of Mordredian forces, perhaps? Even so...

Caelen doesn't know about the others, but he works up the courage to step closer to the spring but stops several feet before the encirclement of weapons. "Ahh... We are most pleased to be in the presence of such splendid youths. We know little of the Britannia of now but her cries still echo through the earth and the trees and the sky and the waters. Mordred's malign influence still roots the land and as long as that is true then we are still beholden to our sacred duty." She extends one hand to the weapons. "We are called Nimue and we have awaited heirs such as yourselves to be revealed before this ancient lake." She explains. "Heirs? What do you mean?" Caelen inquires.

"The blood of Old Britannia... The Arms can sense it and they feverishly seek it. Mordred wishes to consume this world but the lingering embers of old still cast their radiance upon his shadow. We thought of you lost and yet here you stand: heirs. These Armaments contain unspeakable magical power—enough to upheave Mordred and his kind, root and stem. Please, for the sake of the world, we implore you to take up arms and vanquish Mordred lest he destroys us all."

It is certainly a lot to take in. Caelen look to the others. What exactly are they to make of all this?

Interactions | Evan ( Cosmos ), Grace ( Pilgrim59 )
Mentions | Kiera ( Pyosimros ), Vicky ( Table ), Clover ( Servant ), Maxwell ( Trappy ), Gram ( Zane )

 

[Cosmos]

Evan was caught off guard at the 'girls' sudden firm grasp and push, eyes widening a little as she looked at her with concerned eyes before the words coming out made it rapidly change to something more- blank…. As though no longer quite listening as she looked over at the bursting of cannons from the crawlers moving forwards, however- to even say she was looking at that would be a stretch, it was truly as though she'd lost sight completely, both of the immediate surroundings and quite literally where she was trying to view.

As the whistle cut through the gun fire and blasts of cannons the girl didn't even flinch, instead looking forwards as the other soldier tugged her along, feet keeping pace easily. It was clear she could've moved faster had she so chosen to, but instead really was acting completely on auto-pilot, facial expression still out of it, looking forward not towards their destination, but rather off at the horizon in some odd focused yet unsure stare.
_______

Looking around Evan gave a slow blink, "Trees?….. Oh right! I was with that cute girl a-and then we went into the forrest- but then…. wait when did everyone else get here?!" she let out in a slightly panicked and muddled fashion in a moderately loud squeak of a voice, looking around like a lost puppy arms briefly flailing outwards before coming back towards her chest tightly before letting out a sigh.

Quickly noting the injured members of the group she went over with a kindhearted smile and twisted around reaching into the nearly empty med-kit, managing to scrape together some burn salve and a couple more bandages she helped out a few of the worse for wear members who were either practically unconscious or timidly grateful with what energy they had left.

"Yeesh~…. training is rough today!~" she muttered herself standing up and wiping a few stray beads of sweat off her forehead with a small yet pleased smile. Still covered in dirt and gunpowder, not too mention her lightly bleeding scrapped elbows, but she didn't really mind, she'd gotten much worse before. And although embarrassing would hesitate to admit most of the serious ones were from her own clumsiness rather than actual fight injuries.

However the sudden approach of the girl from before made her smile widen from the thoughts, however before she could get a word of greeting in the other started to apologise, confused at first she furrowed brows and squinted a little before sudden blushing bright pink at the name, 'C-Caelen? A-As in a boy!?' she thought flustered with both shock and a little bit of nervous laughter, "I-I don't know what you're apologising or really, I mean, all I did waspish ya outta' the way of that big ol' meanie an then…. I think we went behind some trees an I might've lectured you too hard~ sorry!" she let out with an innocent and apologetic head rub, bowing forwards a little still ashamed of the assumption the other was female.

However upon asking her name she looked up with startled yet excited energy, "Evan! I'm Evan, but ya' can call me whatever really!~ I've heard just about everything! A-As long as ya' stay away from ah- 'Ay, idiot on the left stop daydreaming!'~ Not too fond of that one, ha" she let out with a giggle, genuine laughter and enjoyment in the conversation shown on her face, reaching out she grabbed his hand and gave it a thorough shake, smirking happily.

As some commotion off to the side began and Caelen left to investigate, she couldn't help but grow curious herself, debating staying with the others briefly before deciding in a childish manner a peek couldn't hurt, after all most of the hurt ones were sleeping or had someone with them already, and she'd been told off enough about fussing over them to know not too interfere tooooo much.

Coming over slowly at the further back of the group - luckily being somewhat tall was a good aid in this - she stared with curiosity at the strange hand, why on earth would someone be taking a swim here? It wasn't the kinda weather for it this time of year, in fact- was it just her or was this lake's breeze really chilly, maybe she should ask her newfound acquittance, she thought, going to call out for Caelen she raised an arm, before suddenly a bright flash of light blinded her sight.

Blinking profusely from the tight squeeze she'd given her eyes she looked around at the area before her, noting all the fluffy little animals and lush flowers, she couldn't help but beam with a smile rather than cower in fear at the strange change, in fact she acted as though it weren't all that unusual for her. Trying to go after a particularly cute little bunny she spotted she barely got a step in before voice caught her attention, turning around to see a group of others from the clearing also here, "Woow! You guys are here too!? That's great!-" she began to let out in a gleeful muse, once again rather childishly for the situation at hand, or rather should that be hopelessly oblivious? Either way, the ladies speech cut her off.

Listening to her words Evan stood quiet, watching with captivated attention, "She's so pretty~…." she let out under her breath at the adult females mystical appearance, the words were so beautiful and calming, she couldn't help but be drawn in and watch as though it were some great performance.

A long time ago some of the older kids put on one once at the academy, they snuck into the younger kids room at night and they all made up stories and then acted them out, it was so much fun! even if they got caught and in trouble afterwards…. But this wasn't just some story.

This was real! There was really this beautiful lady, and these weird weapons appearing in the ground!-

- wait, when did that happen!?

As the lady finished and Evan continued to focus on the arrangement of weapons before them a word seemed to stick in her head, if for nothing else than sounding a little odd, ""Nimuu? Nimnu, N- argh!? Why's her name so hard~…." she muttered out in slight defeat, flopping down a bit before slowly walking forwards towards the closest item to herself, a sort of staff like tool with an almost spear like component on top. Squatting down a little she lightly poked at one of the pointy edges, "So cool!~" she let out in a small squeak, smiling wide with closed eyes at the staff.

"Must be kind heavy though, huuh?" she continued, opening eyes and slowly grasping the handle picking it up and to her joy finding it surprisingly light, letting out a playful swing to the side with a small made up 'woosh' sound effect, quiet enough nobody else would hear her for the sake of getting embarrassed, before resting it in both hands and smiling at Caelen.

"Isn't this amazing! This ladies giving us free stuff I think!~" she continued out in an overly loud yell, she didn't really recognise any of them, but that didn't deter her from trying to make new friends, after all they seemed to be stuck here together one way or another.


_____________________

Mentioned/Interacting: Blu Pyosimros Servant Pilgrim59 Table (pretty much just everyone at the clearing haha)​

 

[Zane]

While Private Whitehall left their presence, Gram took stock of the situation. His amber eyes scanned across the placid, chilly lake. It was cold. Unreasonably so, unnatural even for it being mid-summer. He couldn’t imagine a lake could draw so much heat from the air. Across from that were those who had been routed from the retreat. It looked to be about a half dozen injured, despite what appeared to be a medic a couple of them would likely succumb to their wounds. The next handful were beyond distraught. Though not obviously injured the mental damage was just as grave. What was left was barely enough to call a fighting force. Though a few looked more strained than others he silently commended their ability to hold face in these moments.

The man beside him seemed reliable at least. Though he stood more than a head taller than Maxwell the soldier beside him was a far stroke from short. Subconsciously gram appreciated this. It was few he could see eye to eye with, but he didn’t loom over this one. With inventory taken Gram, voiced his deliberation of it.

“Tea.” The single word cryptically came out of him. He spoke with a great deal of certainty his eyes doing another once over the scene before him. Though he knew it would not cure what ailed any of the individuals here, he also knew the moments respite and something warm would help. Fortunately, one of the ammo canisters in his pack was not ammo. In fact, it was half filled with the tea bags that could be found in the mess hall of his academy. Plenty given the situation.

“Maxwell, lend me a hand getting a small fire started.” This was as close as Gram came to asking for something. The glance he gave to the guy showed he really did mean it as a request as he looked for input. “My pot is only capable of making a bit under two liters.” came out in a manner of fact way. Gram figured he would put together it would only be enough for about half the people per batch.

With that he knelt removing his pack. Digging though the contents he pulled the last remaining ammo box out dropping it onto the soft earth with a thud. It didn’t seem it would do him much good at this point. Beneath that was his pot, a soot stained weather-beaten collection of dents. Like an old friend Gram drew it out with a fond expression. Heading directly to the lake he knelt once more at the shore. Cupping his hands together he brought the water to his lips drinking quickly the water pouring out spilling down his chin and the front of his uniform. The water was fresher than most lakes. ‘Perhaps the icy temperature of it keeps it so’ Gram theorized while he dunked the pot in the lake careful not to dredge up sediment from the bottom.

Satisfied he moved to stand, hesitating as he noticed the state of the girl beside him. Whatever she had been though it looked rough. The little of her that wasn’t covered in mud was sanguine with blood. Though she didn’t appear injured it was hard to tell behind it all. She needed something, medical or otherwise he couldn’t tell, but Gram could not walk away without trying something.

“hey-“ his deep voice reached out to her only to be cut off by another.

"H-Hey! There's a body in the lake!" the girl… ‘guy?’ the one that Private Whitehall had gone to address shouted.

‘Of course there is’ he thought to himself his face twisting in bitter frustration and disgust as he recalled drinking the very same water moments prior. Pouring out the pot he stood to get a better view. Other arrived shortly all probably with the same question in mind. Did it mean the enemy was close? Before Gram had much time to contemplate it the arm rose up a flare of light too bright to look at erupted from it. Dropping the pot Gram swung his arm in front of his eyes to shield them. Struggling to try and open them though even shielding them it was far to bright.

After what felt to be the longest 20 seconds the light cased as quickly as it came. Dropping his arm ready to fight his hardened gaze was met with a utopian sight. It was beautiful beyond reason disarming his fighting spirit leaving him with only confusion. He was not the only one either. Seven others stood nearby. Both Maxwell and Pvt Whitehall were among the other five he had seen in the group by the lake.

That left the other person, the woman whose diamond eyes gleamed at them all expectantly. The furrow on his brow returned as weapons materialized before her. Pensive, gram looked around once more this time less dazed by the change in scenery. ‘A Trap?’ he wondered. If it was it was a spectacular waste of effort. He knew as well as any of the other, minus perhaps one though he did not know it yet, that they were anywhere within minutes, maybe hours of an untimely demise. If a single crawler wandered their way, there would be nothing the small squad could do. He doubted they would waste so much effort on a small group of privates.

As she beckoned them closer with a voice as alluring as her gaze was striking, Gram, with little hesitation stepped up to the small spring. He would hear her out. Her words were enigmatic, referring to the situation in ways that made no sense. He was left with a handful of questions. She referred to herself as we, and knew little of Britannia? Heirs and Nimue? Where Gram had hoped she would offer insight into why. He only found two questions for one answered.

"Heirs? What do you mean?" Thankfully it seemed he wasn’t the only one as the boy… ‘girl?’ interjected.

The next words possessed Gram. Believe what she had to say or not it answered what he cared about and more. the weapons before them were meant to be wielded by them and bore the power needed to Shift the balance of power that Britain was so desperately trying to keep from fully toppling over on them. It could have been the Devil in front of gram, with the offer of the power to defeat Mordred in front of him he could not refuse. It was his duty.

Without hesitation he stepped forward. Before him resting two gauntlets crossed over one and other resting upon a short stone plinth. Despite swords, daggers, and bladed staves being in front of him it was these that called to him. taking up the first one he was surprised by the weight of it. Heavy, the gauntlet and vambrace were in every way thick. A combination of black leather paired with bright steel chain and plates all shared one trait. They were far thicker than their earthly counterparts.

Starting with the left he pressed his hand into it, at first it seemed far to large even for Gram. As soon as his fingers reached into their respective homes, the whole thing cinched down even the solid plates adjusting in size to fit just right. Startled gram froze staring at his left arm. His suspension of disbelief had not prepared him for that. Slowly he flexed his fingers finding his dexterity unhindered by the massive gauntlet on it. It was as if it had been painstakingly crafted just for this. Beyond that even, like they were bonded to him moving as if they were his hands. Taking up the other he repeated the process. This time with more haste as his doubt for what the woman said was being replaced with growing anticipation.

As the second one sealed down on him the effect was immediate. Cyan sparks erupted from the gauntlet spiraling around his arms and into his body. Doubling over he hissed grinding his teeth from the overwhelming sensation. The sparks began to calm the light now seeming to travel within his body surges of cyan light traveling though his arms into his body lighting up his veins. His body slowly relaxed as the powerful sensation ebbed away. His amber eyes now flickered with a similar glow as that of the lady in the spring. At first, they fixated on his hands. His palms facing upward he just stared down into them.

Slowly his head rose glancing to the others his expression bewildered. The rare feeling for him proved difficult to deal with. His eyes flashed down to his hands again then his gaze snapped up to the diamond eyed woman. His eyes demanded answers, but he struggled to find the questions.

"wha- ho- … wh-" closing his mouth in frustration he huffed angrily unable to form proper words let alone anything resembling a question.




Interacted: Trappy Pyosimros
Mentioned (Everyone?) Blu Pilgrim59

 

[Servant]

Clover Hazelton

"H-Hey! There's a body in the lake!"

Well then, that's one way to break Clover out of her smoking induced trance. Had they been found? No, not likely, talking from recent experiences Mordredian forces aren't exactly the stealthy kind. So why in the name of the Queen and everything that's holy was a corpse just floating around and about? Hmph, mayhaps it was mere foreshadowing of the fate that was to come to all those present in that camp, or mayhaps one of the troopers didn't realize skinny dipping season had yet to come. Whichever was it Clover did not bother to dwell too much in those thoughts as she had far more important things to attend to. With one drag from her cigarette Clover simply began closing her eyes and as the smoke filled her lungs she only hoped that the gelid temperature would put an end to her miserable existence rather than having to become easy prey for Mordred's hounds to hunt down.

As her eyelids shut a beam of light managed to pierce through and assaulted her unsuspecting eyes, causing Clover to jerk back in surprise. The light persisted, even when she tried to look away Clover still remained blinded by it. How many seconds had passed like this? 10? 30? An hour? It didn't matter anymore, the light had finally began to diminish. Fearing another luminescent barrage Clover only dared open her eyes with the utmost caution, though once they were finally opened and she was able to study her surroundings all rational thoughts managed to escape her mind. There she was, standing among a group of fellow Britannian troopers surrounded by a luscious forest that buzzed with otherworldly life. Before them sat a clear spring that housed within its tame yet hollow waters a divine female figure cladded in white that stared at the group with her dazzling eyes. Upon witnessing such a sublime sight the only thing that escaped her lips was: "Oh. I am dead, aren't I?" she spoke to no one in particular apart from herself in her usual monotonic tone. It would seem her wished had come true, she only wished that Alfred was there with her.

Despite the woman's rousing speech and intricate explanation most of her words seem to fall upon deaf ears with Clover. To her this whole situation reeked with the scent of fiction and thus Clover was quick to dismiss it all as wishful thoughts from her moribund mind. An authentic facade, yet one Clover thought she could easily see through. Even the apparition of these so called "Arms" did not seem to faze her, not even the bombastic and extraordinary sight of two of the troopers (A peppy female and a formidable male) taking up their respective Arms managed to even cause a hint of emotion. The (fe?)male trooper that had interjected during the woman's speech seemed to stare at the group as if any of them held the answers to the bizarre events that were unfolding before them, though the only thing that Clover could offer was a shrug and a shook of her head.

With nothing else to lose Clover finally took a step forward, despite "knowing" this was all a measly figment of her imagination something about the Arm that stood before her was so...bewitching. Said Arm was a colossal battleaxe, almost matching her height, fashioned of a dark steel with a pulsating red jewel(?) that emitted a faint yet menacing light. "Let's get this over with." she spoke out loud as she reached for the weapon. The moment Clover's hand came into contact with the hilt an electric feeling suddenly coursed through her veins and reached every single corner of her body. Clover's eyes widened in utter shock and despite her mouth opening to let out a shriek of terror no sound ever emerged. She witnessed in horror as every inch of her visible skin turned grey before ever so slightly darkening. Her cold eyes were not exempted from this alteration as any signs from her irises and pupils were lost to a glow and color similar to that of her Arm's jewel. For the first time since she was a child Clover felt true terror, though that was swiftly washed away by something else: Rage. Despite it only lasting a few seconds Clover felt as something awakened within her, something primal. It was as if all that had happened up until that point, the comrades she had lost, the situation she was in and who she was fighting, suddenly all came crashing onto her. She wanted revenge. She wanted to stand upon a hill of Mordredian forces corpses. She wanted to see Mordred fall. Before she could go any further from the corner of her eye Clover caught the sight of a blonde woman dressed in red, though when she turned around only the remaining troopers stood there. With her anger finally dissipating all that Clover did was slowly turn towards Nimue, look her straight in her stunning eyes and whisper to her with a tone that showed she was in the border of breaking down to tears the only things she could think of saying. "Thank you."​