Fantasy Arlandia's Fate

[Reinhardt]

Arlandia.​

In the entirety of this world we've come to know as Gaia, Arlandia is but one of many lands. But what makes it so different from the others? The answer is quite simple - an unbelievable unity that forged this land into one nation, despite it being a melting pot of all life and culture. For centuries, Arlandia has thrived under the rule of the Empire bearing the same name.

However, all good things come to an end.

The throne was passed onto the Garhelith nobles, and under their rule, Arlandia glory was slowly withered throughout their regime. Perhaps the power has driven their kin mad, or they were simply born this way. One thing is for sure - they've changed the way of life in this once prosperous land. Three painful centuries in and the nation is still under the reign of the Garhelian dynasty.

No longer able to bear the worsening tyranny, the citizens of Arlandia, more specifically those who have the resolve to act, decided to fight against this mad regime. It took them no time to form a resistance force, a rebellion that would eventually become the Garhelian dynasty's greatest threat - The Arlandian Liberation Front. In fact, they pose so much threat, that the Empire was forced to declare war against them - sparking the beginning of a lengthy, bloodstained civil war.

The Arlandian calendar dates to 703, and yet the war between the Empire and the Liberation Front continues to rage on.

The Empire, desperate to rid of the pestering rebellion, has been mass producing powerful artifacts called "Regalia", and handing them over to their troops. However, despite this advantage, the Liberation Front manages to hold on, and even obtain a fair share of "Regalia" from the Empire's defeated forces. With both sides armed with such powerful items, the time for the war's end is closing in.

The Liberation Front decides to blitz through this battle one last time, and attain freedom from Arlandia's undeserved tyranny.
The Empire opts to deploy their full force, and finish this foolish conflict.

 

[Reinhardt]

Chapter 1:
Onward to Fayshire!​

The final battle between the Empire and the Liberation Front draws nearer every passing day. Cities and towns are being fortified with the Empire's forces, with or without their compliance. The Liberation Front, unable to enter their allied cities without drawing attention, are forced to scatter their assets throughout Arlandia. Skirmishes between the two clashing forces occur here and there, but most end towards the advantage of the Liberation Front. Desperate for victory, the Empire begins to mobilize its elite, hunting down the various scattered troops one by one.

Dubbed the 112th troop, a force from the Liberation Front begins to move from their settlement hidden within the southern woods - their task, to reclaim lost territory and replenish supplies. While they may be small in number and strength, their size has been given them an advantage so far - allowing them to sneak through the Empire's patrols and go knee deep into enemy territory.

Led by Shanna Trovale, they head towards a small town named Fayshire.

Their destination, Fayshire, is a key point in retaking a valuable asset - the renowned city of Gavenfeld. Many obstacles await them, one of which, is a corrupt lord who seeks to claim the farmlands in Fayshire to himself. While he is of no importance to the Empire, he is still with his own military force - one which he uses to terrorize and tyrannically rule over the small town.

Tags: Aridis MiraAutumn Damafaud vinn Pilgrim59

 

[Pilgrim59]

Hans Weeber

Location: Vanguard Convoy, Forest Outskirts
Status: Active Duty
Interacted: Reinhardt
Mentioned: N/A

​

"ACHOOO!"

"Ya alright there, doc?"

"Aye, it's just the pollen. Thank you."

The voice echoed along the lull convoy, of which had disturbed some of those who were daydreaming between their steps. The young man unveiled his crimson cloak and recovered from his sneeze with his left index finger sliding back and forth above his tomato nose. He gave a few sniffles before brushing off the fallen leaves from his shoulders. His side-tied brown hair unfurled from his hood, while his round hazel eyes studied the distant horizon. The green lush of the forest masked the Liberation Front's presence, as they passed the crowd of trees, of which were saluting them with their branches tucked above the convoy's head. The friendly birds sang chorus of nature's anthem, while squads of rabbits chased the freedom fighters in curiosity. Accompanying their march were the woodpeckers that drummed their hearty footsteps. The cerulean banner of the Liberation Front cast itself in the breeze, while the intermittent zephyrs whispered a myriad of lies among the troops, whose occupied legs made short work of those tales.

Hans gave in to the rays of warmth, as he marched alongside the others, with his hand embracing his recent collection - a rustic bronze anklet. Even its description was befit of its current owner - a simple rustic of a simple background. Hans felt it in his hands, as well as its unusual ringing in his ears. Fascinated, yet disturbed by its immense surge of power through his body, the man quickly tucked it beneath his sleeves, before resuming his gaze upon the horizon. The quartermaster had called it by name - Gaegrimm, to which Hans would ponder upon for a while before settling on a decision that his finite knowledge fails to comprehend its namesake. Even so, Hans kept his head high, driving himself forward along the convoy.

There, in the vanguard, the young lad spotted an alluring visage that caught his heart skipping like a grasshopper in the rain. Her windswept twin-tails caught him drifting along the wind, while her green eyes refracted the placid stillness of which had calmed his eagerness. The young farmer had little to spare but his undivided attention, as her unfamiliar face seemed out of place in the column of war. He became inspired as he scrutinizes her from a distance, as well as his comrades in steel. Such young faces, aside from himself, were willing to give their heart and soul for the cause. Feeling the need to become familiar with his new company, the man worked up his confidence for words. The shy countryside medic tightened his satchel and backpack, as he concisely read over the note on his hand. With most of his fellow hospital acquaintances re-deployed elsewhere, Hans dwelled briefly in his confusion within the presence of unfamiliar faces, before propelling himself forward to strike up a conversation with the green-eyed lady.

"P-Pardon me, ma'am. Hans Weeber, fifty-ninth hospital corps. I am in the blues of the sky, my lady. I was supposed to report in to Commander ...uh... Trovale, have you any idea who that may be, ma'am?" Hans asked, with every step catching up with his earnest introduction.



Translation notes:
N/A

 

[Reinhardt]

Shanna TrovaleLocation: Forest Outskirts
Interactions: Pilgrim59

For the past few hours, as the 112th troop had been silently marching through the woods, Shanna's mind was wandering. She may not be acting as her usual self, but it was for a reason - it has been weeks since they've been dispatched, and yet she has not received any word from other troops of the Liberation Front, the ones that were assigned the same tasks as theirs, specifically.

Of course, that was very much odd. After all, they would usually have received a message or a report form one of their allied troops by now. Especially since they're already closing in onto their destination - Fayshire.

Unexpectedly, a cloaked man approached her - this man introduced himself as Hans Weeber. While his whole look wasn't familiar at all, Shanna somewhat recognized his name - only to recall that he was one of the few who were lately assigned to the 112th troop.

"I'm Shanna Trovale. Pleased to meet you, Hans.", she responded. "I am no commander, however. Merely a captain."

A short-lived smirk appeared on her face, mostly due to the fact that this man doesn't sound, nor look fit for the job. Or perhaps it was because of the rather obvious sincere tone of his voice - something which Shanna rarely found when interacting with other members of the Liberation Front.

"I've heard that you've been assigned a Regalia.", she said. "Tell me, how have you been handling it so far?"

 

[Pilgrim59]

Hans Weeber

Location: Vanguard, Forest Outskirts
Status: Active Duty
Interacted: Reinhardt
Mentioned: N/A

​

The medic acknowledges Shanna's introduction with a caring smile and simple nod. As the captain mentioned his exclusive gift from the recent passing of its legacy. Hans could barely recalled the details, but his memory had served him well to not mention the chaos that followed his introduction with Gaegrimm. The man enclosed his hand, and have yet to unveil its form to the captain out of shy habit. Although from a broader perspective, his reserved attitude would void himself from possible Imperial eyes. To the medic, it mattered little, as he had little words to begin with. Hans rubbed his cheek a little bit, before turning back towards Shanna with a somewhat awkward reply.

"I'd dare say that it is both a curse and a blessing, ma'am. Although I am far from pleased with that grass-tasting flavor in my mouth after using it."

He responded with a hesitant pause in between his words, leaving a brief pause in the conversation, before smiling at Shanna, bypassing his initial conflicted feeling about his Regalia.

"But worry not! I shall do my part when it comes to shove, captain. You can count on it! Right, I shall leave you to it and get myself acquainted with the quartermaster. Catch ya later, captain."

The medic parted ways with the vanguard, having saluted Shanna, and made it his way towards the rear to check on the quartermaster, whose occupation had left many unspoken concerns. A small unit his new home may be, but even still, Hans knew from experience that it was never enough with mouths to feed and steel to mend for any future skirmish. The red runner exchanged words with the quartermaster, while his hand fiddled with his satchel, of which were laden with herbs and flasks. A few chuckles followed, as Hans exchanged his medicine for some ounces of leather straps and flints. Taking the liberty of time for his own furlough, Hans began his small works, noting the surrounding floras, before snatching a few wild lavenders and rosemary that sprouted along the rugged trail. Its pleasant aroma would flood the man's apparel and gears, before being tucked away within his satchel. He muttered to himself with a grim look on his face, as he put on his red hood to accompany his thoughts.

"What should I have for lunch... Hmmm..."


Translation notes:
N/A

 

[MiraAutumn]

.

Location: In the woods near Fayshire
Appearance: Looks pretty normal, except for the fact that she's munching food rather hungrily.

Colette Shilula
~A Snow Harpy of the Liberation Front~

Spoiler: Appearance

​

.

One might think that Colette's feathers were simply a unique cloak of sorts; until she raised them like arms with ease. She was a relatively unique character in the troop, with an eye-catching hair colour and wide taloned feet. But the eyes that were on her did not bother her. She was too preoccupied looking at her necklace, gifted from the many members of her family. Her dainty fingers peeked out from beneath her wings, and fumbled with the small feathers on her necklace. She particularly carefully looked at her grandfather's and Trodez's feathers, whom she will never receive feathers from again. But it gave her a surge of determination, as she once again revived her fighting spirit. They were the reason she was here afterall.

Looking forward once more, she felt an urge to stretch her wings, which she had to restrain. It had been a while since she's flown in the air, but thinking of such things were a distraction. She had to stay focused, they were nearing their destination afterall. Flying was a terrible idea anyway, it would give away their position in an instant. With a soft sigh, she curled her wings around her body further, as it was the only way she could really move them.

As she realized that their peaceful walk was almost at it's end, she decided to quickly eat lunch before the start of the most serious part of their mission. However, out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a familiar figure, one she didn't expect to be in this troop.

"Hey Eachan." She smiled softly, pleased to see a familiar face in this sea of new people. "Do you want to have lunch together?" She asked a little awkwardly, wondering whether they were close enough for him to agree. Remembering how people tend to look at her in disgust when she eats, she slowed down a little to be located near the back of the troop. The less eyes, the less disgust, was what she was thinking. Opening her satchel quietly, she took out a few unusually big pieces of cooked meat, from a closed container of course. She offered it to Eachan if he had agreed, and began hungrily chowing down, somewhat trying to restrain herself to not disgust the others.

Tags: vinn

 

[vinn]

It was a beautiful day, a damn brilliant one with the sun gracing the rebels in their trek through the woods. The changing season carried a chill in the wind that scattered the leaves concealing their footsteps. Troop 112 was untraceable. But they could never be too sure or careful. Despite the ease of blue skies, an unspoken tension had risen due to their loss of communication with the other troops.

“What am I? A fucking mule? Carry your own shit.”

“Oh, come on! It’ll be easier for you too, aren’t you like, tired in that useless- hey, ow! Don’t throw your shield at me!”

Tears glossed the rebel’s dark eyes as he yawned into his leather glove and grumbled profanities against the bright of day. Kelpies were nocturnal creatures, and lived in cold, deep sea, away from the harsh rays of the sun. This man, Eachan, was no exception to his inherited behaviour, and found himself sleepily drifting to the lull of the forest breeze. Despite his grizzly fur jacket, his composure was ice cold. He carried little luggage, and had a younger fellow rebel (in)voluntarily carrying his shield.

"Hey Eachan." A familiar voice called. “Do you want to have lunch together?“

Eachan’s sleepy gaze met the eyes of the young harpy, as a slow smile formed on his lips. “Oh, if it isn’t dear Miss Cole. How are you adjusting?”

Receiving her polite offer, he nodded in thanks and began to chew hungrily. He raised a curious brow at the young lady’s restrain as he fiercely tore into the meat. “Haha, what? Not hungry?” Eachan’s gaze darkened as he crushed the bones between his teeth, a sound quite unnerving for his primal nature. “Don’t worry, I have extra portions that I’m willing to share with you.”

“Ma’am, please be cautious!” A voice called from the side. It belonged to a young lad hauling a steel shield. “He may have a pretty face, but he’s one nasty guy.”

“Would you like to carry my bag as well, John?” Eachan spat venomously, glaring at the boy as he ran off. However despite their remarks, their tones lacked resentment and were rather fond of one another. After all, the two were originally from the same troop. The troop that they had lost contact with.

Retrieving a flask from his bag, he passed it along to Colette after taking a sip. He had taken a liking to her honest character, but was rather vexed by her watchful gaze. It was understandable though. People were often wary of those who could pluck one into the sky and drop them to their impeding deaths.

 

[Damafaud]

Drevis Senade
Forest Outskirt; Walking
Interaction: -
Mention: Anyone around

Carrying a leather bag over his back, walking in the middle of the troop was Drevis. They had been walking for a while, and beads of sweat rolled down his cheek freely. He was not used to this. Unlike the other in the troops, he carried nothing that would be close to a weapon of any sort, discounting the silver dagger he carried on his waist. The dagger gave off an ornamental feeling. It was not intended to use as a weapon. He sighed inside his heart. He knew that supporting the resistance was the right move, but couldn't he do it from the comfort of a cushioned carriage?

Soon, the troop stopped for rest. Thank goodness. Drevis slumped at his feet, tired. He couldn't even bother to look for a clear ground to sit. Why couldn't liberation happen like a game of chess? No sweating, no walking, only moving pieces on board. His mind imagined the emperor, cozy on his throne while listening to report of the in and out of war. He groaned. Of course. War was only not pleasant if you weren't priviledged with power. And here, he wasn't part of those with priviledge.

Drevis took out a flask from his bag and started to drink. His parched throat felt a lot better after he had almost emptied the flask. He gave a one and over look of his bag. It held little apart from parchments and ink, and not to mention a lot of money. Suffice provision for him if he was to travel in town, but got him unprepared for a walk through the forest.

"Ah, I wish we will arrive soon," he said particularly to no one. He dearly missed bed already.

 

[Pilgrim59]

Hans Weeber

Location: Vanguard, Forest Outskirts
Status: Active Duty
Interacted: Damafaud
Mentioned: N/A

​

Interrupting the muttering man in his immaculate garments, the red runner's hand would extend towards the peculiar nobleman with a potato, while he munches on his own.

"Heresh shomthing forr looncchh, shur, ef yoo duonnd maind mah kompannies. Ere ya go" (Here's something for lunch, sir. If you don't mind my company. Here ya go.)

Hans's gibberish words, resulting from his gluttonous greeting with the potato and his growling stomach, would break the void of individuality. As he studied the nobleman's weary exchange for air and water, Hans concluded that his gentleman acquaintance here was not made for war. Even so, the nobleman's endurance was more than warranted in his dedication to the cause - something the farmboy would respect in the staggering odds of the mighty struggles for Arlandia's fate. The medic took a knee, while the rest of the company had taken refuge under the oaken shades. Minding his own work of the day, the man in red would grind the herbs that he had extracted prior with the hilt of his dagger, and prepared them via small vials and flasks. His hands quickly pressed through the flora's extracts and powdery pollen, while his amber eyes attentively tend to its distilled hues beneath the glass. Within the fleeting seconds of his handy work, the medic quickly stowed away all but one vial, of which he would offer to the nobleman.

"A quick sip would do you good, sir. Nothin' grand, just a couple of Yter extract for your stamina. Wouldn't want you fainting before we get there, right? Hans smiled earnestly, as he continues to devour the rest of his starchy fruit of assiduous labor (potato).



Translation notes:
1. Yter: Common wild flower used for revitalizing stamina. Usually grounded and distilled in water for oral consumption. Has a certain salty taste to it. In real-life counterpart, Yter extract would be the equivalent of Gatorade.