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Sword of Fortune: Double Wager, a Tactical Mecha Quest
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- Status
- Ongoing
- Watchers
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- Recent readers
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- Threadmarks
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Statistics (7 threadmarks, 4.3k words)
User Total Exhack 7
Opening Post
Exhack
We Won't Build The Plane!
- Location
- Montreal, Canada
The year is AC 2215,
The planet has been despoiled by the weapons unleashed in the Six Minute War,
The uncontrolled rise of the sea,
The rampant Janissary-machines of the Septen-Trianon Empire,
And the fracturing of the alliances that once held the continental Westernesse whole,
ONLY NUOVO AUSONIA SOLDIERS ON
The planet has been despoiled by the weapons unleashed in the Six Minute War,
The uncontrolled rise of the sea,
The rampant Janissary-machines of the Septen-Trianon Empire,
And the fracturing of the alliances that once held the continental Westernesse whole,
ONLY NUOVO AUSONIA SOLDIERS ON
Setting Information
Pilot Roster
Chargen 1-1: Sword of Fortune
Exhack
We Won't Build The Plane!
- Location
- Montreal, Canada
THE VERBANIA CAMPAIGN
APRIL 2215
Marshall Ettore Borodino bravely leads the Nuovo Ausonia Republican 1st Army to retake the lost territory along the Empire border. The Janissaries have dug in along the banks of the Verbania River and the surrounding valleys, but they are inflexible creatures easily defeated by superior Republic technology and the brilliant acumen of the 1st Army's leadership. Marshall Borodino has promised that by retaking the town of Gradis and destroying the Vizier-class Janissary there, the machine network will be disrupted and permit a breakthrough assault on their rear lines and factory centres, heralding a swift end to the war.
----
Your mercenary group, Sword of Fortune, has been given the honour of serving as the vanguard on the Verbania Front. Marshall Borodino is a reputable general who wrote the book on military strategy for Ausonia, with the 1st Army run entirely by his hand-picked officer corps. SOF are outsiders, composed of foreign deserters, criminals and refugees attempting to acquire (re)citizenship by completing contracts with the Ausonian Republic Forces. The conscripts and officers dislike mercenaries in practice, and Marshall Borodino has made his hatred of your kind clear: your lives are to be disposed of at the discretion of your immediate superiors, with no insubordination tolerated and no recourse.
Rejoice! Should you survive you will surely earn your citizenship.
Sword of Fortune are no ordinary irregular unit, and you are no mere commander. How long have you been doing this?
[ ] Old Timer (Age 26-30): You've outlived too many good people. Begin with exceptional skills but several debilitating injuries that may not be resolved until much later, if at all.
[ ] Survivor (Age 20-25): You're what people expect.
[ ] Young Wolf (16-20): Everyone better than you died. Heal from injuries and learn quickly, but Ausonian officers will disrespect you.
And why put up with all this? Ausonia is the only safe state left in Westernesse after the Janissaries were unleashed. Septen-Trianon has shattered into her component states and fallen into revolutionary anarchy, and disruptions to air and sea travel have cut off access to the rest of the continent. Much of the world is wasteland, ravaged by the old weapons of the Six Minute War or the damaged climate. There is nowhere else.
You should know. You came from somewhere, didn't you?
[ ] Ausonian Colonies: Before the Six-Minute War, the continental powers had claimed a huge network of colonies. Many were destroyed in counter-value bombardments or fell to famine when supply chains designed to maximize the metropole's profits collapsed. You are a foreigner with an established cachet in Republic society, subject to the sometimes-benign racism that implies.
[ ] Ausonian Half-Caste: The children of colonial viceroys, officials and occupation forces had a place as intermediaries between the occupiers and their subjects before the world broke, as did those born to migrants and Republic citizens. Had.
[ ] Ausonian Bordermarches: The Republic revoked the rights of many mixed-blood citizens from frontline territories like Ishtania, where the Verbania Campaign is taking place, in order to prevent the Home States from being overwhelmed by refugees.
[ ] Westernesse Refugees: Many surrounding states collapsed when the fronts of the Great War spilled through their borders, crushed by the march of the Janissaries. Sharing a land or sea border with Ausonia does not guarantee your human rights.
Finally, it should be said that the Republic's stance on self-identification and minority rights is unexceptional. Documentation requires specific language that may not accommodate all identities. What did you write in?
[ ] Male
[ ] Female
Your story is not exceptional among the members of SOF, even as a company commander. Neither are your ambitions: survive the war, gain citizenship and live in peace.
If the Janissaries can be defeated, surely... there's nothing else?
APRIL 2215
Marshall Ettore Borodino bravely leads the Nuovo Ausonia Republican 1st Army to retake the lost territory along the Empire border. The Janissaries have dug in along the banks of the Verbania River and the surrounding valleys, but they are inflexible creatures easily defeated by superior Republic technology and the brilliant acumen of the 1st Army's leadership. Marshall Borodino has promised that by retaking the town of Gradis and destroying the Vizier-class Janissary there, the machine network will be disrupted and permit a breakthrough assault on their rear lines and factory centres, heralding a swift end to the war.
----
Your mercenary group, Sword of Fortune, has been given the honour of serving as the vanguard on the Verbania Front. Marshall Borodino is a reputable general who wrote the book on military strategy for Ausonia, with the 1st Army run entirely by his hand-picked officer corps. SOF are outsiders, composed of foreign deserters, criminals and refugees attempting to acquire (re)citizenship by completing contracts with the Ausonian Republic Forces. The conscripts and officers dislike mercenaries in practice, and Marshall Borodino has made his hatred of your kind clear: your lives are to be disposed of at the discretion of your immediate superiors, with no insubordination tolerated and no recourse.
Rejoice! Should you survive you will surely earn your citizenship.
Sword of Fortune are no ordinary irregular unit, and you are no mere commander. How long have you been doing this?
[ ] Old Timer (Age 26-30): You've outlived too many good people. Begin with exceptional skills but several debilitating injuries that may not be resolved until much later, if at all.
[ ] Survivor (Age 20-25): You're what people expect.
[ ] Young Wolf (16-20): Everyone better than you died. Heal from injuries and learn quickly, but Ausonian officers will disrespect you.
And why put up with all this? Ausonia is the only safe state left in Westernesse after the Janissaries were unleashed. Septen-Trianon has shattered into her component states and fallen into revolutionary anarchy, and disruptions to air and sea travel have cut off access to the rest of the continent. Much of the world is wasteland, ravaged by the old weapons of the Six Minute War or the damaged climate. There is nowhere else.
You should know. You came from somewhere, didn't you?
[ ] Ausonian Colonies: Before the Six-Minute War, the continental powers had claimed a huge network of colonies. Many were destroyed in counter-value bombardments or fell to famine when supply chains designed to maximize the metropole's profits collapsed. You are a foreigner with an established cachet in Republic society, subject to the sometimes-benign racism that implies.
[ ] Ausonian Half-Caste: The children of colonial viceroys, officials and occupation forces had a place as intermediaries between the occupiers and their subjects before the world broke, as did those born to migrants and Republic citizens. Had.
[ ] Ausonian Bordermarches: The Republic revoked the rights of many mixed-blood citizens from frontline territories like Ishtania, where the Verbania Campaign is taking place, in order to prevent the Home States from being overwhelmed by refugees.
[ ] Westernesse Refugees: Many surrounding states collapsed when the fronts of the Great War spilled through their borders, crushed by the march of the Janissaries. Sharing a land or sea border with Ausonia does not guarantee your human rights.
Finally, it should be said that the Republic's stance on self-identification and minority rights is unexceptional. Documentation requires specific language that may not accommodate all identities. What did you write in?
[ ] Male
[ ] Female
Your story is not exceptional among the members of SOF, even as a company commander. Neither are your ambitions: survive the war, gain citizenship and live in peace.
If the Janissaries can be defeated, surely... there's nothing else?
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- Pronouns
- She/Her
[x] Female
[x] Survivor (Age 20-25): You're what people expect.
[x] Westernesse Refugees
[x] Survivor (Age 20-25): You're what people expect.
[x] Westernesse Refugees
- Pronouns
- he
[X] Old Timer (Age 26-30)
[X] Westernesse Refugees
[X] Female
[X] Westernesse Refugees
[X] Female
- Location
- Seattle Metropolitain Area
[X] Survivor (Age 20-25): You're what people expect.
[X] Ausonian Half-Caste
[X] Male
[X] Ausonian Half-Caste
[X] Male
- Location
- The Hague
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X] Young Wolf (16-20)
[X] Westernesse Refugees
[X] Westernesse Refugees
- Pronouns
- She/Her
[x] Female
[x] Young Wolf (16-20)
[x] Westernesse Refugees
Changing my vote. I'd prefer not to start off injured.
[x] Young Wolf (16-20)
[x] Westernesse Refugees
Changing my vote. I'd prefer not to start off injured.
[x] Young Wolf (16-20): Everyone better than you died. Heal from injuries and learn quickly, but Ausonian officers will disrespect you.
[x] Ausonian Colonies: Before the Six-Minute War, the continental powers had claimed a huge network of colonies. Many were destroyed in counter-value bombardments or fell to famine when supply chains designed to maximize the metropole's profits collapsed. You are a foreigner with an established cachet in Republic society, subject to the sometimes-benign racism that implies.
[x] Female
[x] Ausonian Colonies: Before the Six-Minute War, the continental powers had claimed a huge network of colonies. Many were destroyed in counter-value bombardments or fell to famine when supply chains designed to maximize the metropole's profits collapsed. You are a foreigner with an established cachet in Republic society, subject to the sometimes-benign racism that implies.
[x] Female
Chargen 1-2: In the Name
Exhack
We Won't Build The Plane!
- Location
- Montreal, Canada
[x] Female
[x] Westernesse Refugees
[X] Young Wolf (16-20): Everyone better than you died. Heal from injuries and learn quickly, but Ausonian officers will disrespect you.
The dirt road up the hill towards Borodino's command center. The Marshall has insisted on striking in spring, while the days are cold, short and mired by poor weather, advantaging an army still reliant on hydrocarbons and internal combustion engines. The conscripts have done their best to put down slats and sand to keep the clay from melting underfoot and stealing your boots with an unlucky step. The half-track Mammuts are not so lucky, and one of them has cut a new line of a ditch and painted an engineering team in reddish mud trying to extricate itself. You time your steps with the crew chief's orders of 'stop!' and 'go!', avoiding the spray to be half-presentable by the time you meet with the officers. The pavilion tent that serves as command center and officer mess to Ettore and his inner circle is remarkably plush. After crossing the small city of small green canvas tents in the FOB it's remarkable there are no others like it given the great efforts to which Ausonian equipment is standardized to the lowest common denominator.
The tent is decorated with the Republic tricolors and the emblem of the Marshall, visible from the air. You hesitate to step in, but remember the reconnaissance reports. The Janissaries are a few hundred kilometres out, holding around the upper valley and the source of the Verbania near Gradis. This is safe, for now.
The interior is a remarkable miasma of smoke, cologne and the various liquors only the aristocracy can afford to water the ground with. Wood boards and carpet have crushed the native grass and some effort has been taken to level the ground, so that your steps do not sink the floor deeper into itself. The old men of the army, dark haired, mustachioed and clad in their green greatcoats regard you impassively. You ignore them, scan around and turn heel when it's clear the Marshall is nowhere to be found.
A youngish aide, dressed in a crisp green coat and a red cravat both neat enoguh that you're sure he hasn't been out in the rain all day, steps out to block your exit. He has one hand on a clipboard and the other on a pen, tapping the edge of the board like a drum as though anxious. The patch on his coat is the same as yours, but adorned with an extra silver staff. "Capitano Rhea Silvia?"
"Yes." You nod and salute, finally obligated to by social circumstances. He returns it. "I don't see the Marshall in his tent."
"He's... in his quarters." The junior officer seems evasive. "I'm Primo Capitano Giulius Garibaldi. I'll be your handler during operations in the Verbania Watershed."
"I see."
"You're awfully young for the commander of a mercenary company." He doesn't seem that much older than you, two years, four at most. You reflexively furrow your brow, and he seems uncomfortable at the response. "Though I mean nothing by such a statement."
"Everyone better is dead and the ones who are older didn't want to be in charge."
He nods and removes his beret, apologetic. His glossy black hair is curly but neatly styled back with pommade and he has a thin pencil mustache on his upper lip, typical of younger Ausonian officers. "My condolences. Shall we have a seat and discuss matters before you return to your unit for final checks?"
You'd prefer not to, but his body language insists stronger than the unhappy eyes of the old soldiers around. You sit at the table nearest the door with a view of it, pull out your flask and take a sip of the morning's stale rice coffee mixed with a hand-crushed caffeine pill to keep focus. "Fine." You catch his gaze as you go to tuck it into your wool coat and shake the flask, frowning. "It's just coffee."
"Ah, of course. So I'm informed your unit maintains a practice of codenames for velomacchina pilots, rather than using ad-hoc operational names." Giulius flips a page on his clipboard and looks up at you, blue eyes almost black in the amber lights of the tent. "For convenience's sake, why don't you tell me yours now?"
[ ] Lupa, the she-wolf. LIVERY: Red/Black
[ ] Almacia, the sharpest sword. LIVERY: Grey, Notched
[ ] Maris, the immortal. LIVERY: White/Blue
[ ] Gladiolus, won't forget. LIVERY: Pink, Red Trim
[ ] Write-In, include a LIVERY: with Color/Color or Color, Effect
[x] Westernesse Refugees
[X] Young Wolf (16-20): Everyone better than you died. Heal from injuries and learn quickly, but Ausonian officers will disrespect you.
Article: RHEA SILVIA
SRE: Capitano
Age: 16
Nationality: Guyenne Federation
Visa: Foreign Mercenary License
The dirt road up the hill towards Borodino's command center. The Marshall has insisted on striking in spring, while the days are cold, short and mired by poor weather, advantaging an army still reliant on hydrocarbons and internal combustion engines. The conscripts have done their best to put down slats and sand to keep the clay from melting underfoot and stealing your boots with an unlucky step. The half-track Mammuts are not so lucky, and one of them has cut a new line of a ditch and painted an engineering team in reddish mud trying to extricate itself. You time your steps with the crew chief's orders of 'stop!' and 'go!', avoiding the spray to be half-presentable by the time you meet with the officers. The pavilion tent that serves as command center and officer mess to Ettore and his inner circle is remarkably plush. After crossing the small city of small green canvas tents in the FOB it's remarkable there are no others like it given the great efforts to which Ausonian equipment is standardized to the lowest common denominator.
The tent is decorated with the Republic tricolors and the emblem of the Marshall, visible from the air. You hesitate to step in, but remember the reconnaissance reports. The Janissaries are a few hundred kilometres out, holding around the upper valley and the source of the Verbania near Gradis. This is safe, for now.
The interior is a remarkable miasma of smoke, cologne and the various liquors only the aristocracy can afford to water the ground with. Wood boards and carpet have crushed the native grass and some effort has been taken to level the ground, so that your steps do not sink the floor deeper into itself. The old men of the army, dark haired, mustachioed and clad in their green greatcoats regard you impassively. You ignore them, scan around and turn heel when it's clear the Marshall is nowhere to be found.
A youngish aide, dressed in a crisp green coat and a red cravat both neat enoguh that you're sure he hasn't been out in the rain all day, steps out to block your exit. He has one hand on a clipboard and the other on a pen, tapping the edge of the board like a drum as though anxious. The patch on his coat is the same as yours, but adorned with an extra silver staff. "Capitano Rhea Silvia?"
"Yes." You nod and salute, finally obligated to by social circumstances. He returns it. "I don't see the Marshall in his tent."
"He's... in his quarters." The junior officer seems evasive. "I'm Primo Capitano Giulius Garibaldi. I'll be your handler during operations in the Verbania Watershed."
"I see."
"You're awfully young for the commander of a mercenary company." He doesn't seem that much older than you, two years, four at most. You reflexively furrow your brow, and he seems uncomfortable at the response. "Though I mean nothing by such a statement."
"Everyone better is dead and the ones who are older didn't want to be in charge."
He nods and removes his beret, apologetic. His glossy black hair is curly but neatly styled back with pommade and he has a thin pencil mustache on his upper lip, typical of younger Ausonian officers. "My condolences. Shall we have a seat and discuss matters before you return to your unit for final checks?"
You'd prefer not to, but his body language insists stronger than the unhappy eyes of the old soldiers around. You sit at the table nearest the door with a view of it, pull out your flask and take a sip of the morning's stale rice coffee mixed with a hand-crushed caffeine pill to keep focus. "Fine." You catch his gaze as you go to tuck it into your wool coat and shake the flask, frowning. "It's just coffee."
"Ah, of course. So I'm informed your unit maintains a practice of codenames for velomacchina pilots, rather than using ad-hoc operational names." Giulius flips a page on his clipboard and looks up at you, blue eyes almost black in the amber lights of the tent. "For convenience's sake, why don't you tell me yours now?"
[ ] Lupa, the she-wolf. LIVERY: Red/Black
[ ] Almacia, the sharpest sword. LIVERY: Grey, Notched
[ ] Maris, the immortal. LIVERY: White/Blue
[ ] Gladiolus, won't forget. LIVERY: Pink, Red Trim
[ ] Write-In, include a LIVERY: with Color/Color or Color, Effect
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- Location
- The Hague
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X] Almacia, the sharpest sword. LIVERY: Grey, Notched
are we not a sword of fortune? a treasure-sword, a fated blade?
are we not a sword of fortune? a treasure-sword, a fated blade?
- Location
- Seattle Metropolitain Area
[X] Maris, the immortal. LIVERY: White/Blue
I am 16 years old. I do not yet understand death. I have escaped it so far. I will escape it forever. I am immortal.
I am 16 years old. I do not yet understand death. I have escaped it so far. I will escape it forever. I am immortal.
LucidProp
Pocky Eating MafiaDoka
[X] Maris, the immortal. LIVERY: White/Blue
There's something deeply funny about being called the Immortal in a mercenary company with such a high casualty rate, that a 16 year old is serving as its leader.
Maybe Maris is a title passed down from one captain to the next? Hence, its immortality. So long as the company stands and there's war to be had, there will always be Maris.
There's something deeply funny about being called the Immortal in a mercenary company with such a high casualty rate, that a 16 year old is serving as its leader.
Maybe Maris is a title passed down from one captain to the next? Hence, its immortality. So long as the company stands and there's war to be had, there will always be Maris.
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Mechanical
Initiate Action: Buzz
- Location
- Somewhere Strange
[X] Maris, the immortal. LIVERY: White/Blue
NephyrisX
Luck is my dump stat. And the dice shows.
- Location
- Singapore
[X] Lupa, the she-wolf. LIVERY: Red/Black
Given that the leadership position is something that is quite possibly non-voluntary, and that the MC is effectively green, going with proud names like Almacia or Maris seems to run contrary to that.
Also, Lupa is easier on the tongue.
Given that the leadership position is something that is quite possibly non-voluntary, and that the MC is effectively green, going with proud names like Almacia or Maris seems to run contrary to that.
Also, Lupa is easier on the tongue.
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