Fantasy Tales of Arlandia

[Reinhardt]

TALES OF​

Arlandia​

Do not post here unless your character sheet has been approved. Keep the OOC in its respective place, and follow the forum rules.

 

[Reinhardt]

CHAPTER 1:​

The Gamble​

Today is the 23rd day of the 5th month. The sun has risen, the sky is partly cloudy. Birds fly from one post to the other as they chirp and sing along with the wind's gentle breeze. The Empire's soldiers continue their patrols from last night, and the common folk head off to do their work as well. To pretty much any other Arlandian, it's just another ordinary day - they can expect slight changes to their daily routine, but nothing big enough to hold meaning.

However, to the members of the Arlandian Liberation Front, today is a very big day.

On one of the hidden settlements in the south, the five Commanders of the Front are having an assembly. With such important people gathered in one spot, security has gotten tighter - various missions have been postponed, the number of logistics operations being ran were drastically trimmed down, patrols were more strict and more frequent.

Numerous members of the Front who didn't even belong in this cell were forced to stay to avoid their location being discovered. With several adjustments here and there, the settlement was getting more and more fortified - much to the liking of the Commander in charge of this cell, often known for their seemingly unhealthy obsession for perfection.

Somewhere within this heavily guarded settlement, the five Commanders, along with a select few, were gathered in a single room. Among their many discussions and reports, there was one that stood out - as things were getting heated.

"You want to what, Commander Tedram?!", one of them rose from their seat, with a louder voice and a confused look.

"I want to-", an bearded old man said on his seat. His hands firmly set on the table as if he has settled his resolve for what he had said earlier.

"We heard what you said, Tedram Zina'an.", another seated person responded, raising their open palm to halt the old man from speaking further whilst they spoke. "What we want to know is why you want to do this."

The old man took a deep breath, and clasped his fingers together. "The Empire is growing tired of the war. They will soon launch a full-scaled assault against us, and we are not prepared for that. We need to find a solution, and I believe tha-"

"We know that already!", the standing one replied. "What in Ylfdir's name do you think we are gathered here for?!"

"Calm yourself, brother.", a Commander who had their arms crossed spoke. "We're here to find an answer to the incoming problem, not to fight among ourselves."

Such a talk continued until it became a heated argument, which was eventually put to a sudden halt by one of the five Commanders. After a somewhat lengthy moment of awkward silence, their assembly continued for two more hours - which would be ended with a notice for continuation in the next few days. After the talk, the room was vacated, with each member going on to the rooms prepared for them. Some would rest, others would continue their work.

Within the room prepared for Commander Tedram Zina'an, one would find the old man sitting on a chair, writing down on a parchment, aided by a well-lit lantern. He'd often take breaks to dip his quill in oil, or simply take a sip of the drink to his side. Numerous papers were arranged on top of his desk, each filled with his very own handwriting and sketches. Beside those were a neatly stacked set of papers, each containing information regarding a specific person - an assortment of dossiers.

A few meters behind the old man stood a beastfolk - an energetic, young lass who just can't seem to stand still. Every so often, the lass would find herself fiddling with the various objects in the room - be it a simple furniture, or just a random item stored within it.

"Nar'Lu.", the old man grumbled. "If you can't find something to do, why don't you take a rest. You're going to need it sooner than you expect."

The lass stopped. "Eh? But I've gotten plenty enough rest, old man. I'm packed with restless energy!"

Tedram stopped writing, and gazed upon the stack of dossiers. He remained silent for a few moments, before speaking once more.

"Well, then.", the old man grabbed the stack, and turned his seat to face the young lass. With a gentle smile on his face, he offered the stack to the girl. "Let's use that energy of yours for something good."

The beastfolk, then, gladly took the stack of papers.

 

[xAlter]

Corossa DeSangre Guerrero

Location: Camp??
Nearby: N/A
@Tags: None

Cor didn't really feel at home where he was. He didn't feel as if he had accepted his situation, nor that he had truly lived through anything that had happened in the past twenty something years of his life. It was a strange feeling, as if everything that had happened to him was nothing more than a dream that he had one night living in the streets again, scrounging for food, struggling to survive. If he did believe that everything that had happened to him was indeed a dream, he hoped he would wake up and be able to see the stars again. How they shone so brilliantly against the backdrop of the pitch black night sky. Now, all Cor saw was the ever consuming abyss of darkness that had become his new world.

Reaching up, Cor rubbed the edges of his eyes wearily, feeling the scarred skin underneath. It was rough and barely noticeable, but if you felt it, you would feel the difference. Reminders of a painful year and experiences he would rather do without claimed his mind again, occupying his thoughts. If the phantom pains running through his body were any indication, he wasn't living a dream. Taking the jacket at his side, Cor wrapped it around him, almost protectively as he breathed in the calming scent. He could almost picture her... her smile, her laugh, her praises...

Shaking from his reverie, Cor stood, walking away from where he sat on the outer fringes of the camp he had set up. He could tell night had fallen. The air was becoming crisper and cooler, the sounds of nocturnal life began to bloom, and the heat of the sun was fading. He'd make it back to the Front settlement he was being holed up at. Sheathing the knife stabbed into the log next to him, Cor kicked dirt over the ashes of the fire he had lit. Turning from the makeshift camp, Cor ran into the night, deftly avoiding any obstacles that would impede him without his sight. Each step was carefully made, avoiding underbrush and tangles that would cause him to fall. Soon the roaring of the moving wind took him away as he made his way back.

Upon his arrival, Cor began walking again, adjusting the knives which he kept hidden all over his being. Walking up the gates, he flashed his insignia at the guards he knew where there. The sounds of metal armor scrapping and rubbing against each other filling his ears. He could hear the intake of breath as one of the guards was about to speak. Cutting him off, Cor spoke. "Corossa DeSangre Guerrero, returning from assassination assignment." he said abruptly. The guards checked him over; he could tell they were questioning his claim. He could easily kill them where they stood. "Just let me in." he let out annoyed. "If I wanted to, I'd have already killed you." The guards backed off, and Cor walked through the gates. "Home sweet home..."

 

[Pilgrim59]

Sertek of Whitehall
Captain of Blackfoot Billmen
Camp, Undisclosed
dae mec xAlter​

Twenty-third of Fifth, an extraordinarily mundane day. Logistics seemed to stop, caravans packed, and one single order dispatched. Dim lit torches, scattered pavilions dressed in leaves and branches. Soldiers, volunteers, and collaborators, all gathered here at the behest of the Commander's routine meet. Some were grand battle plans, but for most, it would be in disagreement, Sertek thought. After all, for as long as he had served in the Liberation Front, there has not been one instance where everything went accordingly. Contingencies and improvisation tend to be the vessel that ferry men between utter defeat and some hope of survival. For the Black Soldier, he had cling unto the latter for quite some time. Despite what others perceive it to be, for Sertek it was the ultimate battle plan that is a staple necessity. Especially when the rebellion seems to somehow set ablaze the continent for more than a century. Longevity over mindless deaths for ideals. That is the Captain's reasoning for all these madness.

Here, in a certain undisclosed location where foreign and local cells gathered, Sertek thought it to be a hassle, but at the same time, intuitive to inquire the other fighting groups of their experiences. Firewatch, patrol frequencies, checkpoints, defenses, among other security measures were enacted. The Captain however, would send his men in group of tens to visit the other cells, trading equipment and information. For the Capital's court, there was the good old court mingling and occasional balls, for the Liberation Front this was as close as they could get for a party or social gathering of a great magnitude. No grand parades or lavish congregation, just reticent chatters on dirt paths and rowdy taverns. Such was the nature of every meeting that the Five Commanders held. The Liberation Front learnt to adapt, as the years fleet on by. Numbers dwindled, perhaps discretion would be the better part of valor. Speaking of numbers, Sertek had sought to find Meclade. His men came in with exchanged equipment and supplies, perhaps it was best for the professor to make sure everything is cataloged proper.

Ever since the past year or so, Meclade's presence has been of great help to Sertek. A night of inadvertent economics, and the next day, the professor was already at it. The idea was simple: barter, sell, invest. With every town they visited, they would buy a slighted commodity, then return to a previously higher priced location for a quick cash in. A cycle of supplies and demands. But eventually, spiking prices between two locales would raise suspicions, and potentially damaging the surrounding settlements and their trades. That's where investments came in.

Sooner or later, they needed reliable locales to purchase supplies and materials. A set budget would be made for sole purpose of these investments. Eventually, Sertek's troop became an organic entity that's fluent enough with the travelling salesmen problem. But even so, they were always on the move. Small revenues were enough to arm themselves and accommodate their living standards. And for Sertek, this gathering was not as bad as he had thought, despite his dislikes of politics. His men were fed, provided quarters instead of cold soil, and entertainment from the locals. For them, it fared better than having to spend an entire month in a forest. But even so, Sertek perceived it to be the calm before the storm. It always was and has been the tradition in his unit to be sent off on some mission shortly after a moment in paradise. The man could only hope this was a break in that tradition.

These were of great cause, but for the Black Soldier, he felt that it was not enough. His heart was already torn when his wife passed ten winters ago. Even now, he carries a certain melancholy that kept him company. Especially now, when the Liberation Front is most vulnerable to a coordinated assault. He often wondered if it was the right choice to tread the path that he chose? Was it all for a taste at revenge? Will this truly honor his wife? Will Sera be happy? These questions were always raised, but never answered. At least, not by him. Sertek already made up his mind when he left Sera.

His sins have already been paid in blood by his wife. A part of him had longed to cast aside a sword, had he not given into his intemperate youth. But even so, the die had cast, and it was too late to turn his back, not when lives are at stake. His men, his fellow comrades, and perhaps most of the liberated folks trusted him. Even in her last hours, Syrakusa only ever wanted Sertek to not be bereaved of his path. In him, she saw something more than just a carpenter. Sertek would not doubt it now, as he went far from that. A woman's intuition are far sharper than the most prized steel, he thought. His armored hand fell upon his chest. Before long, a certain figure at the gate stole him from his thoughts.

"Guerrero. Field assignments?" Sertek asked the white haired man, having scrutinized his attire and apparent annoyance carved upon his face. Sertek eyed the guards then back at Guerrero.

"Come. A pint and some chow, perhaps? What say you?" he continued.

 

[AiDEE-c0]

Jacaranda
...whispers where the tulips grow.
Interactions: Open, otherwise N/A.
​

ALF Settlement, south of country.
Early hours of the morning,
23rd day, 5th month.
​

A steady symphony of chirping birds and a melodical whirring of the morning breeze carried itself through every nook and cranny of a hidden outpost. This outpost, as fate would have it, abruptly became the center of a meeting. This meeting, between souls of sincere importance, endowed it with bustle and action not quite usual for settlements of its kind. What more, an indiscriminate anchor had hung itself from the necks of all present, as the event's consequence. These anchors were formed of reason, of course. It would be neglitent, or even suicidal to let anyone be traced back, reveal important secrets and-or both. Thus, even non-members of the Front had to stay. One such non-member, although a bearer of revolutionary sympathy and idea, scoured her surroundings with a passively intense gaze. There stood a hill, vibrantly green, to the side of the outpost. A hill, surrounded by heavy slabs of grey stone, tufts of grass and moss procedurally crawling up the base of each one, as no one was in a hurry to tend to them. Its northern face bore a decorated gateway, and a path wound away from it, its direction the promise of life that clearly elluded it. And on top of this mound, there grew a bed of tulips, their complexion ranging from indigo to black. Their colours made it almost impossible to note the shadow that presently hung over them, if at least its source was not quite as obvious. An evergreen tree, ancient and wise, stood firmly to the side of the hillock. Its branches, sturdy with age, leaned in all directions, but took a clear bias to deprive the hilltop of its sunshine. Yet, there was ironically a sunny side to their imagined malice. You see, they also served as a brilliant resting place for the current keeper of the graves.

Or, who would be the current keeper, if she didn't only arrive last evening, and actually had the tools and time necessary to commit to the task. Instead, Jacaranda simply released a yawn into the gravesite, stretching her arms as she held onto a particularly thick branch and the tree's trunk for support with her tail. The support that thing provided was quite extraordinary, however given its weight, one wrong contraction and-or badly timed narrative joke could easily send the beastfolk crack... and into the dirt. Which is why the absence of such unseemly japes comforts as a source of relief, and spares one from a damaged spine.

As the last of the yawn came and passed, Jac finally lowered herself next to the flowerbed, tail following suite as it gingerly took care of the motions as to bend down the branch without breaking it. What now? That was the question plaguing her mind. "Bloom," whatever that meant, was really the only cryptic directive she had recieved. Yes, after ten years of hibernation it was finally time to bloom, and plenty opportunities laid in wait just here, just now, yet... Therein sat the problem of direction. As apprentice and hibernative, at no point did calling the shots ever fall upon her shoulders. Work was always either given, or found itself by virtue of the dress. Just how was someone like her supposed to announce...
"Tsk, to hell with it," she muttered, one could almost say hissed, under her breath, as a lazy grin began to sprawl across her cheeks. Since when was doubt her style? Maintaining a decorum of calmness and intensity was just another part of the job.

So, two things suddenly appeared on the task list. One, check up on the graves and see if work finds itself again. Two, head into "town" to peruse supplies and pay a visit to the captains. Of course, as they are sacred, sacred duties come first... in spite of them being literal weeding.

 

[Silver Wolf]

Elinor von Saphir
(Ellen or Violet Raven)
Special/Intelligence Operative
Location: ALF Camp
Time: Morning
Interactions: Open
Mentioned/Nearby: Corossa ( xAlter ), Petran ( dae mec )
Day: 5/23
​

Normally, Elinor would rise with the sun, and today was no different. As the rays penetrated the window and disrupted her slumber, she began to slowly gauge her surroundings. She wasn't in bed, there was a stick sensation on her cheek, and she was upright bending over. A little bit of drool seeped through her mouth and she watched where it landed. A piece of parchment with ink scribbled all over to a now senseless glob of black on the dried animal skin. She jolted awake and looked at her desk. The parchment flipped up with her and slowly peeled off her cheek into her lap. Grabbing it before it fell she looked at it. The report was now a blob of ink stains with the only legible pieces being her signature on the bottom right and the ALF insignia at the top middle. Ellen sighed and placed the parchment on the desk. Her ink pot was opened and the feather pen sat on the right corner with a small black stain that had grown over night.

"Well, this is unfortunate, now I have to write it all over again..." Ellen mumbled to herself as her face took on an irritated expression. She turned her attention to the windowsill to see a rather large glass vase with water and cut plants with blooming flowers sitting in it. She needed to find or buy more soon. The vase only contained her favorites, and those she often kept for herself. Ellen wiped her cheek and frowned at her hand now smeared with black ink. She found a mirror and examined her face. The hideous creature with a cheek smeared black in ink, failing makeup dropping off like lizard skin, and eyes bagging and tired which showed she hasn't slept well in days. She felt like tossing the mirror, but she settled for slamming it softly on the desk of her small quarters. She marched over to her cabinet and pulled out a bottle of highly potent booze along with a rag.

After shuffling for other supplies she marched to the mirror and set it to a stable spot near the window. The liquid capable of starting fires and stung in her mouth was dipped onto the cloth and her face was cleaned in a few sweeps. She took another cloth to dry it all off, and that's when the real work began. She didn't need much makeup to begin with, but she really wanted to at least cover her signs of sleep deprivation. Carefully, Ellen applied a layer of purple eye liner and blue eye shadow to blend with and cover the bags and dark lines. She took a little of her lavender perfume and rubbed a line around her neck, wiped the backs of her ears, and around her shoulders and wrists in small doses. She put her makeup away and pulled out what she would wear for the day. Today, she had no plans to work as she had finally earned herself a break. She looked and found a nice simple blue dress which exposed only her shoulders and whose skirt only went just past her knees. After strapping her rapier and dagger to either side of her waist and brushing her hair she noticed the morning growing a little late. Finally, she pulled her hair back did some simple knots to keep it all behind her. She looked into the mirror again and stared at the beautiful maiden she was. She smiled to herself and turned to walk out the door. She would need more ink and parchment. She was going to get yelled at by her superior for turning in her report in the afternoon, but she didn't enjoy the massive load of work she had been given.

The biggest issue with holding all five commanders in one place is that if the enemy ever got suspicious or managed to acquire the damning information they would no doubt be over run. It had been days worth of missions copying documents, charming men, and finding ways to spy on any enemy positions to get the information. Night after night she was doing something, and it had finally caught up to her this morning. She imagined Corossa also had his hands full, and for once she didn't mind the idea of him taking over some of her work.

She knew her superior wasn't malicious, in fact he praised her quite often for being one of the best operatives they had. He was just stressed with the massive intelligence problem of having such a large meeting. After all, if they ever got discovered at this point, the empire would be able to end the war with one coordinated attack. All five commanders would be taken prisoner, likely executed, and the ALF would be no more. Well, that's what the emperor's toadies thought. Still, it would be stupid to say that the ALF wouldn't take a crippling blow if they were attacked now, and the best way to prevent that was to try sneaking under the empire's watch. That meant it was up to people like Ellen to cover their tracks to keep it that way. She only had a break now was due to her sleep deprivation almost compromising her mission. First things first, she needed some more writing supplies to write her report, so the Violet Raven's next mission was to search for Petran. No doubt he had plenty with what was going on. She didn't exactly know where to look though, so walking around the settlement until she eventually bumped into him was her best plan. She might make pit stops along the way too. After all, she did just wake up, and she needed some flowers. Hunger and hobbies were starting to call more than work.

 

[dae mec]

Petran huffed in his tiny broom closet of an office. (It was literally a broom closet; he had to remove all the cleaning supplies himself.) With how crowded this place was, he'd been lucky to get anything at all. That thought didn't keep his legs from getting cramped, though. He ran a hand through his mess of black hair and squinted at the papers on his desk. Petran gave off the aura of absent-minded carelessness with his hair and rumpled clothing, and people who visited his office for the first time expected to see an equally big mess. That wasn't the case, though. His papers were neatly organized, bound with twine, and written in careful, neat letters in even rows.

He groaned and stood up, his head almost touching the top of the ceiling. Usual logistical operations had slowed, but there was a whole new flood of work that came from managing the entire ALF being in one place at once. (Which meant... Edryn was probably here. Wonderful. Yeah, like he needed more problems in his life.) Petran twisted one way and then the other. He couldn't go for a ride for obvious reasons, but he could stretch his legs. And maybe get some food.

Petran edged out from behind his desk, gathered all his papers, and locked them in the tiny chest wedged between the table and wall. Petran did grab a loose sheet and a stick of charcoal, just in case he needed to take notes. Which he probably did: trouble always found him. Then, he extricated himself from the room and locked the door too. It was better to be safe than sorry, after all. It would be hell if the empire got a spy in at all, but he didn't want to make it easy for them to find important documents.

He walked briskly. The mess hall was just a few hallways down.

 

[xAlter]

Corossa DeSangre Guerrero

Location: Settlement
Nearby: N/A
@Tags: Silver Wolf Pilgrim59

Cor walked through the gates, the hustle and bustle of the settlement filling his ears. The commotion was... a welcome reprieve from the silence he had endured on his way back home. The sounds of people going about there business did nothing to deter Cor from his current target, his room. He was going to lay down and sleep for a whole day. He had deserved such rest, and anyone who said otherwise was wrong and could go get stabbed by a knife through the throat. His assignment wasn't all too difficult, just very far away. He had traveled a near two days there, to simply kill a corrupt politician who was gaining traction in ascending the Empire's rank. He had done what he needed to do. A quick and clean assassination; it was textbook. No one would know it was Cor, and that's what he liked.

Of course, hearing a specific set of footsteps Cor couldn't help but sigh. The captain of the Blackfoot had a very unique gait to him. His steps were measured and considered, weighty, but with purpose. The clinking of his armor that he seldom took off was also not lost to Cor's keen hearing. Stopping where he stood, Cor turned to the man. An offer for a drink and food? Cor would refuse. The offer of food did bring some memory to mind... oh. He had owed Elinor a meal for her help before the mission. "Sertek..." he said, pausing. "Just a simple mission. More tedious than hard. It wasn't worth the risk, but who am I to complain. I'm a tool to be used, not some mantelpiece to be polished and admired."

"As for the offer of drink, I'll have to decline." he responded easily. "Alcohol doesn't sit well with me, nor does it help. It muddles the mind, distorts our senses. I'd like to keep mine keen and ready. You never know what may happen. Food on the other hand..." Cor waved a hand in the air trying to think of what to say. "That I'll have to pass on too, unless you'd be willing to deal with my cooking." he said, keenly aware no one would deny an offer for his own work. "I promised Elinor a meal for some information she had given prior to my... mission." Cor began making his way to the meal hall, hoping the chefs there wouldn't mind the intrusion. He knew they were unnerved by him, the way they shuffled and muttered under their breath.

Pausing again in his tracks, Cor glanced over his shoulder. "By any chance, have you seen dearest Elinor? If she doesn't come to the mess hall, I believe I may have to give away her portion. And lest I forgot, someone nearly died the last time I did." Of course he was joking, no one would actually kill people for a chance to eat his cooking. It was just something he liked to joke about. He did wonder though, in another life, would he have been a chef?

 

[Reinhardt]

In Tedram Zina'an's room...

The beastfolk named Nar'Lu had finished sifting through the information within the dossiers handed to her. A look of confusion is evident upon her face, and her fur-covered tail being straightened out in a forty-five degree angle (45°) further supports this. Even her head is slightly tilted to the right.

"Hm...I don't know, old man.", she placed her right palm on her cheek, the other hand still holding a few papers from the stack. "They're nobodies. And they seem kinda strange - not that I'm one to talk, though."

"Do you think they're fit for it?"

A slight pause as she scratched the side of her head. "I guess?"

"Ah." The old man closed his eyes as he took a deep breath.

"There are better choices than them, if you ask me. But if it's them you really want, then there's no helping it. Just gotta go with the flow and hope it works out."

The old man chuckled. "Time to get to work then."

"Right-o!", the beastfolk gathered the papers, and left the room with a wave. "See you later!"

The old man sighed, then turned his seat to return to his writing.

Meanwhile, somewhere along the many hallways of the camp...

A seemingly average man, in the midst of the diverse swarm within camp, was running - headed towards one of the many grouped-up folks that were, due to unforeseen circumstances, stuck in there for the time being. Upon reaching his destination he put his steps to a halt, and spoke loudly as he tried to catch his breath from all the running he has done.

"Guerrero's back and he's going to be cooking, guys! Let's get to the mess hall before his stuff runs out!", he said as if such was an urgent matter.

But none of them, in fact, none of the people who were in the vicinity and heard it reacted. It seemed like the ramblings of a man who had no bearing in a sea of titans - without impact or recognition.

Still, he continued. "Come on guys! It's Guerrero's meals! He makes-"

A grizzled man stood and interfered his speech. "Who?"

"Guerrero! You know, the blind guy!"

"Don't know. Don't care to know."

"But-"

The grizzled man sent a rather intimidating glare to the other man, who then silently and hurriedly left - most likely heading to a different section of the camp. The grizzled man sat back down with a sigh as he shook his head. "This is why the Front's not getting anywhere. Too many people wasting their time on pointless things instead of doing what really needs to be done."

"You said it, Captain.", the man beside him nodded.

The Mess Hall...

Like many other sections of the camp, the mess hall is packed with people - most of which are not even using the location for its purpose. But, with the current situation, it can't be helped. A huge chunk of the people who were in here were working, either through sorting various equipment and supplies, tending to those wounded from previous missions, and more. Only a countable few were eating, and even then, most of them were using the rations that went unused during past missions - not even taking a freshly-made one. Some were simply hanging around, waiting for time to pass and for the Commanders' meeting to be over.

People who were passing through had difficulty maneuvering with various items scattered on the ground, as well as the tables and chairs whose arrangement were already in disarray. Some of the cooks who worked in the kitchen could be found grouped up in a bench as they idly talked among each other - mostly circling around a single topic.

"You know this blind dude is getting on my nerves."

"I get you, brother. He should set up somewhere else if he really wants to cook, the kitchen's routines get messed up whenever he comes."

"Should we tell the higher ups about him? It's been a big nuisance for quite a while now."

"I'm not so sure about that, brother. He's pretty dangerous, and if he finds out about us telling on him..."

"..."

"We just have to bear with it, huh."

"Seems like it."

 

[StaidFoal]

Althea Trynd
Infirmary Doctor
dae mec (Petran)
​

"GYAAAAHH!" The soldier writhed in the infirmary bed, having to be held down by the field doctors as Althea pressed the hot, metal poker against the stump of his recently amputated wrist. She always disliked inflicting pain onto others, even if it was for their own health. The man went out on a mission yesterday when he and his squad were ambushed. An arrow pierced his bottom of palm and dug straight into his wrist. The field doctors removed it, but it's wilted to a black and yellow color; gangrene. They ran out of anaesthetic a short while ago, so they had to get him drunk on wine. Though that numbed his senses, the pain still pierced through to him. Looking into his tearful eyes, she wondered if anyone was waiting for him to return, or if their heart ached at knowing that he fought in a war. There was also the possibility that nobody was waiting for him.

The soldier stared blankly up, his mouth agape and face pale. He lifted his stump over his eyes, grimacing at each grotesque detail. Someone then grabbed his wrist, carefully laying it down at his side. Thea smiled warmly at the soldier, spreading her wing as to block the stump from his sight. "I've treated other amputee soldiers, before," she said. The soldier kept looking away. "They're usually thinking the same thing: How can I fight a war with one hand?" He rolled his head over to face her. "Daggers don't work on the frontlines, and I doubt you know how to use a rapier, no?" Thea began to wrap bandages around his stump. "What are you fighting for?"

He stared at her for a few seconds before realizing that she was asked a question. "F-For freedom..." he said, quietly. "B-But I can't... I can't fight for that, now..."

"And why is that?" The soldier appeared dumbfounded, too distraught to think further. "You don't need to use a weapon to fight for what you want to see." She pointed at her assistants, one of their hands covered in cloth. "The doctors that helped me with your operation? They're all soldiers I've had to amputate in the past." Thea folded her wings, his stump now covered with clean, white bandages. The soldier sat up to look. "They're helping others live to fight for and see the freedom you long for."

The soldier's mouth sat agape, persuaded by Althea's words. "But... I don't even know how..."

"Come back tomorrow, and I'll teach you!" she said cheerily.

---​

As soon as Thea left the infirmary, she headed towards the mess hall, where she hoped would be Cor in kitchen. His meals were a true blessing for the Wandering Healer; somehow, he had the same touch on food as Mother had... However, she was in no rush; the infirmary was fairly close to the mess hall, anyways. She was leisurely enjoying the rare period of free time on her hands. With the five Commanders meeting here, various missions had been postponed. There'd be no injured to tend to next morning or tonight, and the soldiers from before are being treated to by the other doctors (it took them a lot to convince Thea to take a break).

But what would come after walking a little and then eating? Thea hadn't thought that far ahead, yet. Regular days would consist of her checking up on many wounded soldiers, eating in breaks in between, sleep, and repeat. She stopped in the middle of the hallway, moving her wings a little. It's been a while since she flew up just to feel the sunlight; she only flew to deliver something as fast as possible, or just to get from one place to another. If only there was another Kharsai... Flying together in the skies, only to ourselves... feeling the sunlight, hand-in-hand... "Ah... it won't be same by myself..."

Thea stretched her arms out upwards, and at the same time, her wings shook a little, then suddenly flicking outwards and back. She let off a small, high-pitched squeal as she felt one of her wings collide with someone. The bump sent a reverberation through her body, retracting the wings and making her face flush red. "Petran?" she realized, turning to the person she hit. "I'm sorry! I didn't realize you were there! I was just thinking about how it'd be nice if there was another Kharsai and then I stretched out and my wings just..." Thea took a breath. "My apologies. Were you heading to the mess hall, too?"

 

[dae mec]

Petran was walking maybe a little too briskly, his gaze fixed straight ahead as he ran over the to-do list in his mind, because he ran straight into... feathers? He spluttered for a second, trying to figure out what happened, before he traced the wing back to its source. A pretty but equally red-faced Kharsai called out his name before frantically apologizing.

He blinked and then smiled at her. "Don't worry about it, Althea. It happens to all of us," he said, keeping his tone light. "And I'm pretty sure it's my fault too. I should watch where I'm going." Petran started walking on the other side of her, discreetly rubbing his cheek where he'd been smacked before he answered her question. "Yeah, I needed a break, and I also needed to eat, so..." He shrugged. "Sometimes it feels like we can't afford a break, but what can we do?"

Taking to the skies was something he'd daydreamed about, and but being able to fly and not getting the chance to do it sounded worse. "It must be a little hard sometimes, being alone like that," Petran remarked idly.

The tension in his shoulders increased a little as they approached the mess hall. Yeah, food was there, but people were also taking inventory: there was a pretty big chance that someone would try to dump work on him. Being a low-to-mid level bureaucrat was the same, whether Imperial or ALF. But less atrocities were involved with the ALF, he thought grudgingly.

Petran noticed Elinor approach from the other direction, and he gave an awkward smile and raised a hand in greeting. It was a bit uncomfortable, since she was still too far away for him to talk to without raising his voice, but still close enough that they'd clearly notice each other.

( StaidFoal Silver Wolf )

 

[Silver Wolf]

Elinor von Saphir (Ellen)Current Location: ALF Camp (Morning)

Interactions: Petran ( dae mec ), Althea ( StaidFoal )

Mentioned/Nearby: N/A

Ellen noticed Petran waving she donned a delighted grin and waved back. Althea was there too with her wonderful fire-like feathers and hair. She jogged up eagerly in a way that betrayed her lack of sleep over the past several days. She could always summon energy to keep up her appearances, and she really enjoyed the sight of people she knew. "Ah, familiar faces. It's always a good day when I can see fair company. Anyway, good morning Micah, Thea," Ellen greeted the two cheerfully. She used their nicknames, she enjoyed using hers, especially in the Front. Elinor sounded a little to formal for her tastes. Sure, if she hardly knew someone she wouldn't mind them calling her Elinor. Also, chain of command was a reasonable place to be called by her proper name, but among those she had no authority over and vice versa, she preferred her own nickname so long as they were on a decent standing. To the jolly spy, it helped to stay cheerful and connected when she could, but she would hesitate to truly call anyone 'friend' due to the heavy weight. She didn't want to become dependent, and she didn't want anyone to be dependent on her. She enjoyed most company, but nobody could really be considered especially close. No, she hadn't made true friends, and truth be told, she was scared to.

Though, right now she had two people whose company she genuinely enjoyed. She didn't forget the reason she wandering around camp in the first place though. "I woke up on my desk, a report I had from my last mission ruined. My ink's dried up and the parchment ruined. Maybe I could ask for a spare ink pot and paper or parchment, Micah? It doesn't have to be now, but I hope to get the report in during the afternoon at best."

Ellen turned her head to the direction of the mess hall which was not very far now. No doubt, it was packed. She didn't need much to eat, just enough to last her until supper so she could turn her report in then get some much needed shut eye. She had been on missions night after night, and it was starting to become troublesome to stay up during the day. It would be nice, after many days of lonely missions to sit down and eat with some company. She imagined they were heading to the mess hall too, but she wanted to double check her suspicions.


"Ah, were you two headed for the mess hall? I was considering eating a little before finding more writing supplies. If you were, I think I'll accompany you. It would be lovely to sit down with some company." Ellen clapped her hands together as she made her request. Closing her eyes with a small pleading expression sitting on her face. It wasn't often she got to talk to someone over a meal.

 

[AiDEE-c0]

Jacaranda
...recitations where the tulips grow.
Interactions: Open, otherwise N/A.​

ALF Settlement, south of country.
Early hours of the morning,
23rd day, 5th month.​

Pluck... the maw of the mother break you down. While the body decays and the soul prepares for its journey, gravestones are prepared. Names, years, memories and stone are the only viable ingredients. Desecration of this rite, even by mere negligence, is nothing short of mockery of divine purpose.
Pluck... the furnace breathes the promise of life, a chance of chance begins. A spit in the face of design, where all the dreams breed equal prospect. It is not about the life that preceded it, but the life that must take place. An absolution, that marker's true symbollism.
Pluck... awaken from your dreary slumber, she will guide you to new flesh. What is not told cannot be forgiven, a missing slate wiped clean. Sins obscured their masters haunt, past their bed; decay. Perhaps weeds like these cause only the most minute of detriments, yet even such betrays the ideal.
Pluck... Weeding sure is annoying without a sickle. Perhaps half an hour into work and internal prayer, Jacaranda stopped to wipe her brow. The Sun, very lazily, slithered its way upon the horizon. It shone to illuminate in golden rays a set of tombstones, embedded in cushions of jade grass. The brilliant green of summer surrounded the display, interrupted only by the tulips and grey paths that wound into the distance. With dirt newly staining her forehead, the beastfolk paid her mind to the final touch-up. One blow after the other, the inscriptions, hailing long-forgotten soldiers and unconsidered dates, rid themselves of settled dust. The upwhirl of particles glistened in the sunshine, as if a fairy just flew by on butterfly wings. Of course, as fairies were obviously not real, such would be impossible, duh.

"Just like the apprenticeship. Ah, unexciting memories," the gravekeeper muttered as she stretched again, keeping one eye open to scan for any signs of life. Mornings were not a time to visit graves, sure, but what if? Then again, the chance that anybody actually bothers with these passed was already pretty slim as it were, so maybe part one had already finished. After completing a round of stretches, still absolutely oblivious or not interested enough about the dirt on her hands and smeared against her forehead, Jacaranda let her fingers slip into the satchel by her side. Briefly, she fiddled with parchment-enclosed dried meat, before stopping herself and shaking her head softly. Not going to do. These were packed by her cell's forcefully self-employed mother-above-law for times of need, gobbling them up now would certainly earn her ire from miles away. Instead, freeloading breakfast off of the Front seemed like the smarter thing to do. They owe it to the Tulip anyway.

Uncoiling herself from being her own seat in the grass, the absolutely not by any account cultist gave one last prayer as she turned. As it stood, the Tulip's doctrine remained the only thing in life that granted her some purpose or meaning. It illuminated a certain path, a path forward, a stable path. Life becomes much easier to decipher when you gain a point of reference, it turns out. Clear as a midsummer day, nothing clouds your judgement. When times comes to strike, you strike, no second guessing. Most Tulips hold that ideology close to heart... even if it manifests in the form of motherly tyranny.

A strong shake of the head, Jacaranda slinked upon the road with a sense of calm intent. A thicket of evergreen forestry loomed over her, for about two hundred meters. Eventually the scenery dissolved at the face of raised walls, tents and houses. The guards had no reason to recognize her personally, but her attire spoke plainly, together with the shovel on her back. Heck, at least one of them should know, and that'd be enough. This on mind, the Tulip slithered past the gate. First, her "human" body did, that is, followed by an awkward pause as the rest of her form made its way after. Ah yes, the beauty of having the length of several men constantly trail behind you in towns and cities. Or outposts, for that matter. Crowded outposts, such as this one of sudden, century of war-ending importance.

Attempting her best not to trip over half the vicinity, Jacaranda continued on. Her reptilian eyes again set to determined work, in spite of their limited peripheral vision. Donning an expression of neutral resolution, she picked up on the strongest smells of food around, and followed suite. As inconspicuous as one can get, that's for sure.

 

[StaidFoal]

Althea Trynd
dae mec (Petran) Silver Wolf (Ellen) AiDEE-c0 (Jac)
​

Thankfully, Petran was more on the forgiving side than many others in the ALF. "Yes... it's much more enjoyable to share the skies with someone else..." Thea stayed behind him as they walked to the mess hall, partly for not wanting to swat him again, and so she could groom the spot where her wing had struck. She was in the middle of gently brushing her yellow feathers when someone jogged over to them.

"Ah, good morning Ellen!" Thea knew the girl from having seen her more than a few times in the medical bay, placing and replacing Snapdragons and Proteas for each person. Though they've bumped into each other many times, Thea considered them to be mere acquaintances at most due to the lack of formal interaction. Still, a kind heart was all it took to earn Thea's trust. "Of course you can join us! I'd never miss a day of Guerrero's cooking!" Her wings fluttered a bit as she spoke. She rarely ever ate a meal with other people beside her, preferring the company of herbs and blood in the medical bay over a crowd where something would most likely hit her wing. It's only for today, she thought. It'll probably go just how I think it would.

Near the mess hall's entrance, Thea noticed the very inconspicuous beastperson, sniffing the air and following the scent of food. "Jacaranda... I presume?" Thea knew little of her, yet, much to her shame, Jac was one of the few people that could truly scare her if she tried. Thea blamed it on the instinct of a Kharsai meeting a beastperson. But, they were both helping the ALF, and so she was almost certain no harm would come out of speaking to her. "I'm guessing you were also drawn here by Cor's cooking?" she said while entering the mess hall. It was crowded more than usual, thanks to the meeting going on. What boggled her was how some people were enjoying a meal right beside someone else stitching up a gash on another's leg. Eating and healing were two things Thea always tried to keep separate, and these people were throwing off that balance! Thea huffed in disbelief. "Excuse me for a minute," she said, then hurrying her way over to the medics. As soon as the lightly injured were out of the way, enjoying food was a possible feat.

 

[dae mec]

At Ellen's request for ink, Petran is already patting his pockets for that stuffed piece of parchment. "Yeah, sure," he says. He looks around for something to write on, sticks the piece of charcoal in his mouth as he extricates the paper, and after some quiet flailing, slaps the parchment against the wall and scrawls, parchm & ink, Eln. This way, he wouldn't forget. Was it a little execessive? Maybe, but he'd rather be safe than sorry.

Petran nods along as Althea invites Ellen to lunch. "You can come back with me to my office after lunch," he offers. "For the papers, I mean." Petran raises an eyebrow at the mention of Guerrero. Oh, was he cooking today? (He had a bit of mixed feelings about that: on one hand, his food was delicious, on the other hand, Cor was a little bit terrifying.)

Speaking of terrifying, Jacaranda was there. Though she was less terrifying and more dazzling, in the "I really shouldn't stare at the sun because I'll get hurt" kind of way. So Petran tried not to stare, simply giving a smile and a nod.

Thea got sidetracked by the injuries on display (Petran winced and looked away), so he turned to Ellen and said, "I can look for a table. Or at least an empty space, since there isn't much room here."

"Oy, you do inventory, right?" A man Petran didn't know but looked vaguely familiar called to him.

Petran looked down at the paper and pencil in his hand. "Uh..."

"Could you add that we traded three boxes of rations for horse gear? We're the 14th company."

"I don't--I'm not even your--" Before Petran could finish his sentence, the man had walked away. Petran sighed, scrawled that down too, and shoved it into his pocket before anyone else could ask him to do work. He scanned the room for an empty space, his ex, and what food was there today.

Spoiler: Tags

StaidFoal (Thea) Silver Wolf (Ellen) AiDEE-c0 (Jac)

 

[xAlter]

Corossa DeSangre Guerrero

Location: Settlement
Nearby: N/A
@Tags: Silver Wolf Pilgrim59 dae mec StaidFoal AiDEE-c0

Cor sighed to himself once more as he approached the dining hall. He idly took out a knife and began flipping it, throwing the blade up and down with practiced ease. The knife made a slight hiss in the air, as the blade cut through it. Catching the blade in his hand again, Cor stiffened as he heard a commotion at the entrance to the dining hall. The crowd of voices was familiar, and almost made him feel at ease. The sound of scales sliding across the ground, feathers ruffling on wings, clothes shuffling, and footsteps filled his ears, letting him recognize the people. Letting his muscles relax, Cor continued forth, walking by the group outside. "If you're hungry, just find a table." he said nonchalantly as he entered the kitchen.

Entering the small cooking area, Cor turned to the other two chefs in there, and flashed an evil grin. "Now how about you guys leave? That way I can cook? Or I could throw you out? Dead or alive, your pick." The brothers took one glance at each other and bolted out. Laughing Cor, began his work. In a simple fashion, Cor began to gather the necessary ingredients, relying mostly on touch and smell to find the best ones. The selection of stuff to cook with was small and limited, a far cry from what Cor was used to. If anything, cooking at the Front was an even more challenging task than assassination missions. Snorting at the ridiculous thought Cor turned back to the task at hand.

Training his ears on the commotion outside the kitchen, Cor made a discontented noise at the fact that injuries and medical emergencies were being held inside the mess hall. Wasn't that what the medical tents and buildings were for? Getting wounds and other injuries fixed in here chanced the contamination of the food. It was necessary to keep a kitchen clean lest the whole settlement be poisoned! Shaking his head of the thoughts, Cor went back to cutting the vegetables with precision and grace. Cor felt relaxed here in the kitchen, something about not worrying about anything outside it. It was... peaceful.

Soon the room would fill with various other sounds, that of frying, boiling, and stirring. The room would also fill with the smell of other things, spices, and cooked meats. Wiping the sweat from his brow with a rag, Cor tasted his finished product, adjusted as needed, and once happy, finished cooking. The dish was a simple beef stroganoff, a dish he had the luxury of eating back when he was with Laia.

Suddenly, he wasn't hungry anymore. Leaving the finished dish where anyone could get a serving, Cor went to leave the mess hall, passing those he had cooked for. "Help yourselves." he intoned as he exited the building. His mood was soured, and he had somewhere to be.

 

[AiDEE-c0]

Jacaranda
..."sup," where the tulips grow.
Interactions: StaidFoal dae mec Silver Wolf xAlter
​

Slithering S-curves followed behind Jaracanda as she moved towards her goal, draped over with bone and ragged cloth. Through the crowds and throngs of folk running about everywhere they could, it wouldn't be hard to overhear the occasional yelp as tail impacted leg, albeit softly enough to only cause a tripping in case of perticular rush. This would stop abruptly, as with a partially annoyed expression, the beastfolk stopped outside of the entrance to the mess hall. For a bit, she surveyed its insides, almost instantly recognizing the incompatibility between the remaining space and her own form. Sigh. It's hard being a snake. It's hard and nobody understands. With a disappointed yawn, the Tulip turned around just in time to spot a small group approaching from behind. A songbird, a flower and a scholar, what were the odds?

Taking a brief moment to thoroughly scan the ensemble, the one she recognized the least addressed her by name. The... what was it? Duhhh, doctor? Somewhere? At some point? Sure, the doctor faced her and presented a question. Subconsciously pointing at her own mud-smeared face as she spoke, Jacaranda's words reverberated without the slightest tinge of dishonesty or irony.
"Hm, me? No. I'm just here to freeload," she expressed, with what someone less decent might refer to as a "shit-eating" grin. She knew exactly what she came here for, and she was going to get it now that company had arrived. Arrived and ran off, that was. Who knew if the response even registered before the songbird excused herself. Suffice to say, the stitched wounds did nothing to faze a grave-digging undertaker. The beastfolk shrugged, turning instead towards Petran who was presently being harassed by a soldier of whatever sort. Letting him finish his pestering, Jacaranda waited a short moment before putting on her best convincing smile. Unfortunately, given her disposition and features, convincing, as sincere as it was, rendered itself instead as "under threat of death."

"Petran. I'm sure you wouldn't mind grabbing something for me and bringing it back here? Not to be a bother, but we don't want folk dropping, do we?"
Ah, shoot. There it was again. That didn't come out quite right. "It is nice to be meeting you two again, by the way. How long has it been?" Perhaps some courtesy could swerve their minds off of that prior statement. Courtesy it was. These people seemed alright, yet forging bonds also seemed counter-productive to the entire death-worship thing, as well as a lifetime of disenfranchisement.

Interrupting her thought process came the self-proclaimed cook of the day himself, giving a short announcement to the group. Jac acknowledged such with a nod, before returning her attention back to the scribe. "Some meat will do it, long as it's not burned. Thank you." Did she care how the man responded to her request in the first place? No. Instead, she gave him a light pat on the back using her tail, before eyeing her muddy fingernails, trying to scrub some of the dirt off with her thumb.

 

[Silver Wolf]

Elinor von Saphir (Ellen)Current Location: ALF Camp Mess Hall (Morning)

Interactions: Petran ( dae mec ), Althea ( StaidFoal )

Mentioned/Nearby: Corossa ( xAlter ), Jacaranda ( AiDEE-c0 ), Sertek ( Pilgrim59 )


Entering the dining hall proved to be a rather chaotic event. Between Jacaranda approaching and giving ominous words to Petran and Althea running around to help the idiots treating their wounds where others ate, Ellen found her morning to be more hectic than she ever hoped it would be. Hopefully, it did not get any worse.

Though, her first attention was shifted to the soldier from the 14th company who demanded Petran perform some surprise logistics. How callous, if Ellen had been in his position she would deny or just not do it, people shouldn't expect others to be downright perfect even at things that were literally their job. Last night proved that to her superior and the morning had shown herself that. She crossed her arms and pouted a little as she said to Petran, "Honestly, no tact. What does he think people supplying him are? The Mess Hall is supposed to be a place to relax, to take even the shortest break from the misfortune of our situation. Not some hole where a string of messy loose ends gets solved."

Ellen sighed a little after getting that out of her system, but she was pulled back by Corossa explaining to find a table. Not so much as a hello, but Ellen had grown used to it. They had interacted mostly in a work environment, and she couldn't expect pleasantries to constantly be exchanged. Though, she had to admit some irritation when it was her day off and she could interact with people for once outside of all the curtness that was required even to a bare minimum.

Once Althea had finished making the food somewhat more bearable, Elinor called them over to a relatively free table closer to the kitchen area. There was just enough room to create their own little bubble, but only just enough. A gruff and uncouth looking man gave her an odd stare from his position a couple meters/few feet away and she gave him a rather fascinating smile one might see on someone who had unpleasant plans so to say "What is it?" in a way to unsettle him and make him turn away. He bought the bluff after a brief glance at her dagger and turned away, back to his own group.

Once everyone was seated, Ellen turned to her two companions and decided to start a conversation. "Gods above, this meeting has created more chaos than I wished for. Something good had better come out of this. It's been a nightmare these past days, trying to keep up with the enemy just to keep our big secret from leaking. I think I'll apply for a week of leave tomorrow, I feel like I've done a year's worth of work in the span of a couple months." After her own venting, she looked at them with a more inquisitive expression and body language, leaning forward to ask, "Though I'm curious, how have the two of you been? The past few weeks may have been hell for me, but enough about me, what about you two?"

Somewhere between the talking Corossa told them food was available. Once there was a break in the conversation, Elinor grabbed her plate and walked back with the swiftness and quietness that had become habit for her.

 

[Reinhardt]

Timeskip​

Time passes by and the situation seems to be the same - the five Commanders are still within the confines of the settlement, but they have not yet proceeded to the meeting room to continue their discussions. The cell is packed with members of the Front from various origins, still unable to leave the premises as dictated by the protocol during such an event. Many are getting impatient and restless. Some bear with the circumstances, and others aren't really that bothered by the sudden drastic changes in the routine.

It is now nearly an hour past noon. The sun's striking heat and vibrant shine graces the lands with warm winds - travelling through the Front's usual routes would prove to be difficult now under broad daylight, especially with the Empire's patrols getting more and more frequent as well as expansive. Activities from the Front have slowed down during such time.

In Tedram Zina'an's room...

Escorted by the cell's guards. Sent an parchment of instructions. Summoned via a special envoy. Whatever means it may have been, a few, hand-picked individuals have been gathered in a room designated for a Commander's use.

An imperial Turncoat seeking vengeance, who hopes to pave a future for his child.
An orphaned girl who now walks the same path as her parents once did.
A devout pagan rising from the shadows to walk the lands once more.
A living weapon looking for something to believe in, to find purpose.
A girl following her ideals by simply trying to do what she can.
And a clerk dragged into the complicity of war.

The room that was once dimly lit was now as clear as can be. Several empty shelves and cases fill various spots in the room. A bed on the far right corner, with a coffer resting beside it. Besides the occasional lanterns that brought light, the room was pretty much adorned by faded paint and remnants of decors. Facing the door, and the gathered individuals, was a desk carrying a stash of papers, and a moving chair - where an old man sat, his back turned from the group. Beside this old man is a seemingly spirited beastfolk, denoted by a furry tail sprouting from her back.

Once the door was shut close and silence began to fill the air, the old man stopped in his work. A quill placed back into its holder, and an ink case covered by a lid. With a soft grunt, he rose from his seat and turned to face the individuals gathered in the room.

This old man is no other than Tedram Zina'an, one of the Front's five Commanders. And beside him, is the beastfolk known as his "Wildcat".

Patting off the persistent stains and dust residue on his clothes, he made himself slightly more presentable than he usually is. And with a gentle bow, he addressed those gathered.

"Greetings.", he gazed unto them, brimming with confidence and an aura of respect. "I am Tedram Zina'an."

"As some of you may have noticed, the Empire's gotten more vigilant the past few months. More patrols. More soldiers. They are bolstering their undoubted military force for something big - an all out assault to swiftly end the war and clear all of us in one fell sweep.", the old man's look never changes as he utters these grim words. "And we have no other choice but to act. The Front must find a way to end the war before the Empire decides to unleash its full force upon us. And knowing our current state, it would take a miracle for that to occur."

A clenched fist. "I believe in the future of Arlandia. In the untapped potential that lies within its inhabitants. And especially, in the possibility that each of you could be the key to finding the answer to this endless war.", he proudly spoke of what runs within his mind. "That is why I have gathered you here."

"A special team.", the beastfolk intervened.

"Indeed. A specific party to pave the way for the future of Arlandia.", Tedram nodded. "However, this is but an offer. I will not force you to accept it, nor will I reject your refusal."

"You do get benefits if you join, though.", she nonchalantly added.

"Every task has its reward.", Tedram said as if it was an old proverb. "Though I would have wished to give you more time, such a luxury is something that I cannot afford."

"I would like you to give me an answer before I am asked to leave for the scheduled continuation of the assembly.", he firmly spoke.

"A few minutes from now, basically.", she commented.

Tag/s: Pilgrim59 Silver Wolf AiDEE-c0 xAlter StaidFoal dae mec

 

[Pilgrim59]

Sertek of Whitehall
Captain of Blackfoot Billmen
Undisclosed
Reinhardt​

Before long, Sertek found himself in a room alongside a multitude of personnel, some of whom he was well-acquainted with. Before them, was Tedram Zina'an, a name mostly heard, but never seen by most. Discretion was a way of life when it comes to be big figures here in the Liberation Front. Sertek was more or less concerned for what they were getting, or rather being dragged into. This was straight to their faces by a top brass themselves. Almost like a prep talk before being sent off into the fray, much like his time in the Imperial Army. The flags, the presented rationales might change, but the methods were almost identical. But Sertek digressed. The very least, he felt like he was making more of a difference here than with the Empire. Needless to say, the Liberation Front have yet to burn his home. He would not think twice about exacting vengence should that happen. But such was a precarious thought for another time. For now, the Black Soldier would lend an ear.

A team, the beastfolk remarked. Out of a handful, they had chosen a multitude of diverse skillsets. To Sertek, this seemed to be more than a simple night raid. There was something else that Zina'an have yet to say, but such confidential matters only elude denials. Sertek pondered for a breath, taking in sight the dossiers on the table. It probably took some time for them to brief a glance of their drafted "special team". While Sertek was better off serving with the regulars, if they deemed it necessary to conclude the war, then he would be the first to see it through. As long as his daughter is safe, the man would do anything. Sertek's feet firmly stemmed onto the ground, while his arms tucked behind him.

"And my troop? Who will oversee their well-being in my place?" Sertek voiced his concern, raising his brow slightly.

"I will relinquish my current commission and take upon this endeavor only in good conscience that my men will see a competent leader and on your word that someone will preside over my daughter's safety. With due respects, sir." he continued with a firm glare at the beastfolk and then Zina'an.

 

[Silver Wolf]

Elinor von Saphir (Ellen)Current Location: ALF Camp Undisclosed Location

Interactions: Wildcat & Tedram ( Reinhardt )

Mentioned/Nearby: Corossa ( xAlter ), Jacaranda ( AiDEE-c0 ), Sertek ( Pilgrim59 ), Petran ( dae mec ), Althea ( StaidFoal )



Something didn't sit right with Ellen as she let the offer sink in. They were holding back, and as someone who was a part of the intelligence operations it irked her. Alarm bells also began ringing as she remembered her father's lessons about deals. A bad deal will always leave the important information out. The more one knew about what they were getting into, the more advantage they had. The part of her that was frustrated most of all though, was the part of her that worked for the ALF. The part of her whose duty it was to gather as much information for the front as possible. Though the commander acted like they had a choice, Ellen's curiosity and sense of duty would win out in the end. Whether that would be the worst mistake or best choice of her life would remain to be seen.

Before Ellen spoke though, she laughed a little as Sertek began making demands. It would only be audible to those with good senses, but once he had made his demands she spoke. "Honestly, my entire being wants to scream at this offer. You want us to fight for you, but give us no information until we commit. You also claim benefits, but with no examples. Benefits also come as a sign of great risk. Everything of my better judgement from my father's teachings to my experience within the Liberation Front says this is a bad idea." Elinor closed her eyes and leaned back. Her frown and skepticism then morphed into a grin. Her tone also changed as she opened her eyes and finished, "But, I am curious. I want the war to end, and you speak to a woman without a life to lose. I don't care if the benefits are a one stage bump in clearance. If I'm going to die doing whatever this is, I might as well go out with some style. You can count me in to help, but I want answers. Maybe not now, but expect this to be the last time I give in with minimal information. If you have need of an operative, we only work at peak performance when we have all the details to be given. Skirting important matters in the future will only lead to disappointing results."

She had said her piece. She closed her eyes, not bothering to look around the room. She didn't care anyways, she had said what she wanted and that was all. The last piece she had given was only the truth. Her role in the front and her skillset was different from a mindless soldier filling a hole in the phalanx formations. She had to think and question, if she didn't she would be dead hundreds of times over by now. When all she had in the field was to rely on herself, she needed every scrap she could dig. And unlike the soldier forming a pike ridden shield wall, there was no way to immediately fill the gap if she was speared or captured. The enemy would realize the information was compromised, the ALF would never get what it needed, and the enemy could gain information if she had been captured. She had seen it before, a stupid superior neglecting to tell her the details of past agents lost, the security, whether it was a sweep or heist mission, and even failing to mention why the information was important. Every time she got all those details, her quota was well beyond what was necessary. The reason she even hinted at this is because she didn't implicitly expect a commander, someone in charge of managing ideally mindless pawns filling orders to a dot to understand that what their underlings she called her superiors gave was the result of hard work only possible through details far exceeding what was necessary for the job.

Of course, Ellen could be wrong and this particular commander did have a deep understanding of the moving cogs within the ALF. That's why as she waited for the others to respond, she sat back with her eyes closed. They could take her words however she liked, but her answer was still the same. She would help, regardless of risks, at least that part of her could say she would follow orders. That part wouldn't change no matter how far up the hierarchy, orders had to be followed. If that weren't true, she would have no way to explain the signs of insomnia that were showing.

 

[xAlter]

Corossa DeSangre Guerrero

Location: Settlement
Nearby: Like, Everyone
@Tags: Silver Wolf Pilgrim59 dae mec StaidFoal AiDEE-c0

Cor entered the room and immediately tensed from the tension he could feel, not see, but feel. For a commander of the resistance to ask, no demand for six relative nobodies in the grand scheme of the war to take upon a clandestine task was beyond him. Everything about the situation seemed odd. Cor held back a bated breath as he immediately made himself comfortable in the room by seating himself on the floor, completely ignorant to the reactions of those around him. He cared little for decorum and respect at this moment. Everything about this situation screamed at him to deny, to say no, and just get up and leave. But some part of him said to say, listen, and hear what this decrepit old man and his protege had to say.

Cor simply relaxed and felt the tension around the room. Everyone was wary. Sertek seemed more concerned with his men. How would they be managed? Lead? Fed? Those seemed to matter the most to the military man. Ellen was like Cor. The logistics of the team, the task, and the circumstances of this summoning. Both wanted answers, and the only conceivable path was forward to acceptance. But one like surprised him, Ellen having nothing to lose except her own life. Cor sympathized with that, not that he would ever say it out loud. Yes, nothing but their life to lose. What a sentiment to have.

Cor simply sat there and thought to himself, then burst out laughing. It was funny, really, as he clutched his stomach as laughter spilled from his being. He couldn't help it. Out of one fire and into the next. He was once more being subjected to the will of those above him without full information. The choice he made in the past was to kill the person who took him in. Calming himself with slowly ending laughter, Cor turned serious. Standing, he put his hands in his pockets, a sly smirk forming. "A good soldier follows order, but a good assassin makes a willing choice. Give me a target, commander."

 

[StaidFoal]

Althea Trynd
Silver Wolf (Ellen) Pilgrim59 (Sertek) dae mec (Petran) xAlter (Cor) AiDEE-c0 (Jac)
​

It was strange to Althea; strange how in one moment, one can be enjoying the luxury of free time in the cafeteria, and in the next, they'd stand before one of the five Commanders of the entire ALF. A fidgety sense of nervousness had sprung up in the Kharsai the moment she stepped into the office. She tucked her wings in as far as they could go, making them appear as if they were a coat of feathers draped over her back. Tedram had brought them here for a sole reason, and he and his right hand wasted no time in getting to the point. Sertek was all the more willing to accept a personal request of the Commander, only worrying about his men and whoever his replacement may be. But why would Tedram expect a solution for the war from a team of unrenowned individuals? She shook her head clear of the uncertain questions. Surely, the Commander put thought into this; she'd have to trust the old man's judgement. "If the offer..." Too quiet—thanks to the already tense aura in the room—for anyone to hear, as made evident when Ellen started speaking instead.

Thea could only envy Ellen's lack of hesitation to speak her mind to the Commander, and Cor's sudden laughter didn't ease her one bit. She bit her lip when they gave their answer, Ellen's skeptic words replaying in her mind. The lack of information was unsettling to Thea. But she didn't doubt for a second that Tedram would willingly put them in an uncompromising position—rather, she chose to believe that. She's heard the younger members of the Front call him 'Grandpa Ted,' and others have said mostly good things about him. The idealist that Thea is, she came to an answer.

She smiled her usual warm smile. "If the offer does not stand in the way of me aiding those in need, then I am more than willing to help. I as well am curious of the details that've led you to believe that we may hold the answer to the war."