Introduction:
The year is 1943 and the Mediterranean Theater of war is a highly contested fight. Italian forces are defending against an Allied invasion led by General Patton and other generals. The US 7th Army and two divisions from Canada make up the main bulk of Allied forces, but among the ranks are British India conscripts, Poles, British, French Freedom fighters, and more.
Much is known and documented about the Second World War, but little is known about a few key divisions of Allied and Italian soldiers fighting in Southern Italy. Of the nearly two million casualties in the Mediterranean Theater of war alone, a few thousand missing is acceptable, if not completely normal.
However, some of those troops were not missing in the technical sense, meaning there was no body to recover. But missing as gone without a trace. Dozens of squads with their cooks, medics, and supplies disappearing without a trace.
Here is the story of these men and women and the new world they suddenly found themselves inhabiting.
Hey all,
So the overall plan of this story is for these divisions to be transported to a world of fantasy, magic, etc. Your character can be either a local native of the country or (preferably to start) a soldier of either the Allied or Italian forces.
A few rules to keep things simple:
1. No Nazis: I chose the dates and the theater of war to specifically focus on Italian forces, not Nazis. Also it would be moderately uncomfortable to have someone try to be a committed Nazi via RP.
2: No God Moding: you will not know everything or be able to do everything. Don’t just magically counter other characters actions. Make it as realistic as possible.
3. Have fun! We’re here to play and enjoy each other’s writings. I and a partner who helped make this (Strange2) will guide the story a bit but mostly leave it up to you, the audience.
Character intros will be key, and I’ll try and find a way to pin/save all the current characters in the beginning so we know who’s who.
Name:
Faction(Allied/Axis/Native):
If Native, which kingdom?:
Brief Physical Description:
Gear(Weapons, satchel stuffers, etc.)
Consult the below map and country descriptions if you’d like to know a bit about the countries for making a native of this new world!
About this thread
Posts archived: 323 / 323 posts (100%) · the total is Torn's reply count + the opening post at the last fetch
Counted by TornLife from the archived posts.
- Archived posts
- 323
- Discussion span
- →
- Authority score
- 12 / 100
- Historical score
- 27 / 100
- Story score
- 62 / 100
- Engagement score
- 83 / 100
People posting, likes and official posts are not counted for this thread yet: on threads longer than one page they come from a periodic pass over the archive, which has not covered it.
Most-liked replies
- Hawkiedokie [2610928]
· 4 likes ·
Juliette couldn't take her eyes off the man with the chest wound. It was so familiar. Too familiar. A flash of Charles' dead body danged before her eyes. She shuddered and shook her head to clear her mind. She needed … - Wood [2175573]
· 4 likes ·
(I'm officially going to call this one off. It was a ton of fun and I loved world-building with you all but it was, narratively, a very tough story to handle. I want to respect character agency while also having … - strange2 [68827]
· 4 likes ·
Thanks for letting us know wood. I really appreciate the closure. I also completely understand how hard it is to get a thread going again once it has kind of fell off. You did a great job running it throughout …
[image: freefantasymaps.org]
Isceald- The men and women of Isceald are the most diverse collective across the Five Kingdoms. Originally three separate countries, the three united to fend off Londranis during the peak of its power, and after successfully doing so, opted to remain a united country. The country is ruled by the Council of Nine, three ambassadors selected from each of the three races that make up the country. The Dwarves of the Northern Peaks have long supplied the southern cities with the finest arms and armor possible, but at a high cost. While the southern coasts have been raided by Daggorites for years, the seafaring invaders never made it that far inland, making it one of the oldest and most wealthy of the three peoples. The Southern Coast f Isceald is largely peopled by humans, who have in recent years begun to establish trade relations with Daggorland and have begun to develop culture and cities of their own. The oldest of their cities were strongholds nestled against the mountains, refuges in times of war. Lastly, small clans of elves have peopled the forests of the northeast of Isceald. They remain the most aloof out of the three peoples, and in recent years have had to push back against the growing influx of foresters who have come into their forests from Londranis and the south of Isceald. The Council of Nine is full of different tradespeople and nobles vying for their people's interests, as well as their own, but the gravest concern that keeps them from splitting apart is the constant threat of a Londranii conquest.
Pa-Mai remains a secluded kingdom of the Five. For over 200 years the people of Pa-Mai have fortified themselves in their forests and have prospered. A small trading city to the north, Hui-Sho, is the only contact with the outside world that anyone has. Surprisingly, Londranis is the only country they trade with, selling items of wood, jade, and gems. Londranis learned long ago that it would be suicide to try and scale the mountains that so thoroughly surround the country, and two catastrophic naval attacks on the Imperial Capital of Lo-Hu have proved that the Londranii are better blessed by peaceful trade with this neighbor rather than conquest. No one can surely even say who the current ruler of Pa-Mai is, since no outsider has seen the Imperial Palace's inner walls and lived in centuries. The forest of Jai-Jan is thick and unruly, with many mysterious creatures in it. Surrounded by mountains and with the only pass through leading into the heart of the Jai-Jan forests, many outsiders steer clear of this place (considering starting everyone here to make it easy to follow, but I would consider alternatives.)
Kharul is the breadbasket of the five kingdoms. The rivers that readily flow through the Kingdom make its plains and hills a rich area for farming. Many traders start their businesses here, trading in food and wine before they finally specialize and begin to travel the entire continent. The country is ruled by Queen Savarah II. Unlike many of the other patriarchies across the five Kingdoms, Queen Savarah II has never been married and yet rules the kingdom with surety. Political advisors learned early that she wasn't a brood mare for future kings, but a powerful ruler in her own right. She established Odonledo, their new capital city. It sits astride the main waterway into the country and from that seat of power, Savarah has been training troops to better protect against Daggorite raids. Her cavalry is the strongest of the Five Kingdoms, and many come vying for her favor. For whoever might win Queen Savarah II wins steady supply lines, a strong cavalry, and a platform from which to invade almost any of the other kingdoms.
Lodranis is an old idea. Once, according to them, their grand and ancient empire spanned the entire mainland. While it is certain that the empire of Londranis is very old, and once did span far wider than it does today, it is unlikely that it actually ruled the entire mainland. Suggesting that in the presence of Imperial loyalists is a good way to find oneself castrated and blinded however.
The Londranii do have a habit of painting their vast lineages of emperors, viceroys, dukes, marquis, and the like across the interior walls of their equally ancient keeps, to remind them of their former glory and that the eyes of those resplendent ancestors are upon them. Some would say that the Londranii are stuck in this past and burdened by it, forever remembering their legions tearing across the face of the world. While this is true, it is important to remember that the Empire of Londranis is still here. Its neighbors have risen and fallen, but the Londranii persist. When the great orc warlords rise in the mountains, the Londranii are battered, but they persist. When endless raids of the Daggorites beggar and starve them, the Londranii persist. This is perhaps their greatest strength, the uncompromising belief that they once ruled, and will rule again, if they can just survive this next crisis.
That is the next fact of life in Londranis, the empire has seemed ready to collapse at any moment for hundreds upon hundreds of years. An emperor that rules for five years before being assassinated in court or killed on some half-brained military expedition is considered to have done quite well. Emperors are chosen by vote of the greatest nobility from the ranks of the greatest nobility. This system is exactly as corrupt and incestuous as it sounds. Powerful, ancient court wizards, barred from formally ruling, rule with whispers and spells, and drive the empire to madness with some new overly-ambitious scheme every decade or so. The dwarf-lords of the hills demand everything from gold to military action against their rivals. As their craft equips the army and builds its castles, their demand are often met, regardless of a high price in coin or blood.
And yes, Londranis persists. It seemingly will never truly fall as long as the dream of the old empire persists, and that dream is unlikely to be killed by anything short of divine act. That might even have a hard time of it. The current emperor, Maximilian XXV, have ruled for eight long months. He feels the daggers at his back, the spells at his throat, and so he sets his sites on Isceald. It is rightful land of the Londranii, as all land is. His hope is to unite his people, however briefly, with this conquest. Maybe this will secure his rule, or at least a legacy. He has an hourglass looming over him, so there is nothing to do but try.
Daggorland is in a period of transition, as an old way of life and a new way of life vie over which will take hold of the future. Life in Daggorland has always been ruled by the sea and by the Jarlthing, a council of the most powerful family heads on the island. Neither of these facts show any sign of changes, but the faces of both are. Daggorland is becoming subtle, a thing which merely a hundred years ago would have been laughable.
For times beyond reckoning, coastal and river-borne raiding was a way of life in Daggorland, with power lords, family heads, and communities putting together resources for raiding the frosty ports of Isceald, the rich harbors of Kharul, and even the far off ports of Londranis for gold, slaves, and exotic wares. There are still many in Daggorland who say a child has not reached adulthood until they have taken a war prize of at least 100 silver coins, often those sea faring and boat building skills are being put to new purpose, trade. The seas bounty of stockfish and whale oil, along with amber from the beaches, from ironwork from the forges, and furs from the forest are circulated in distant ports in exchange for vast sums of coin and fineries. While it cannot be avoided that this has brought many new things and much propersity of Daggorland, as well as a longer life expectancy, many find it unsavory. This divides the kingdom into two factions, the traditionalists headed by the Jarls and their clans, the the merchentmen headed by the hanse-masters, commanding their vast trade houses.
Of course, the old queen of Daggorland, Brunhild IV, still rules the isles. But can she take a side? From her lofty perch in the western keep of Seawatch she can survey the pickle she finds herself in. To spite the Jarls means the loss of her army, and to spite Hanse-Masters would be the loss of her treasury. Both are sorely needed, as the mainland powers do not and will not forget the lives and currency lost to the raiding, and more than once have set their sites on the isles. As if this was not enough, the goblins tribes of the mountains beat their war drums, and the bullywogs of the southern coasts ever seek weakness, and a way to reclaim the islands from the humans and elves who drove them from their swampy homes.
![[image: freefantasymaps.org]](https://freefantasymaps.org/wp-content/uploads/2007/03/fantasy-overland-7.JPG){kind=link}
Isceald- The men and women of Isceald are the most diverse collective across the Five Kingdoms. Originally three separate countries, the three united to fend off Londranis during the peak of its power, and after successfully doing so, opted to remain a united country. The country is ruled by the Council of Nine, three ambassadors selected from each of the three races that make up the country. The Dwarves of the Northern Peaks have long supplied the southern cities with the finest arms and armor possible, but at a high cost. While the southern coasts have been raided by Daggorites for years, the seafaring invaders never made it that far inland, making it one of the oldest and most wealthy of the three peoples. The Southern Coast f Isceald is largely peopled by humans, who have in recent years begun to establish trade relations with Daggorland and have begun to develop culture and cities of their own. The oldest of their cities were strongholds nestled against the mountains, refuges in times of war. Lastly, small clans of elves have peopled the forests of the northeast of Isceald. They remain the most aloof out of the three peoples, and in recent years have had to push back against the growing influx of foresters who have come into their forests from Londranis and the south of Isceald. The Council of Nine is full of different tradespeople and nobles vying for their people's interests, as well as their own, but the gravest concern that keeps them from splitting apart is the constant threat of a Londranii conquest.
Pa-Mai remains a secluded kingdom of the Five. For over 200 years the people of Pa-Mai have fortified themselves in their forests and have prospered. A small trading city to the north, Hui-Sho, is the only contact with the outside world that anyone has. Surprisingly, Londranis is the only country they trade with, selling items of wood, jade, and gems. Londranis learned long ago that it would be suicide to try and scale the mountains that so thoroughly surround the country, and two catastrophic naval attacks on the Imperial Capital of Lo-Hu have proved that the Londranii are better blessed by peaceful trade with this neighbor rather than conquest. No one can surely even say who the current ruler of Pa-Mai is, since no outsider has seen the Imperial Palace's inner walls and lived in centuries. The forest of Jai-Jan is thick and unruly, with many mysterious creatures in it. Surrounded by mountains and with the only pass through leading into the heart of the Jai-Jan forests, many outsiders steer clear of this place (considering starting everyone here to make it easy to follow, but I would consider alternatives.)
Kharul is the breadbasket of the five kingdoms. The rivers that readily flow through the Kingdom make its plains and hills a rich area for farming. Many traders start their businesses here, trading in food and wine before they finally specialize and begin to travel the entire continent. The country is ruled by Queen Savarah II. Unlike many of the other patriarchies across the five Kingdoms, Queen Savarah II has never been married and yet rules the kingdom with surety. Political advisors learned early that she wasn't a brood mare for future kings, but a powerful ruler in her own right. She established Odonledo, their new capital city. It sits astride the main waterway into the country and from that seat of power, Savarah has been training troops to better protect against Daggorite raids. Her cavalry is the strongest of the Five Kingdoms, and many come vying for her favor. For whoever might win Queen Savarah II wins steady supply lines, a strong cavalry, and a platform from which to invade almost any of the other kingdoms.
Lodranis is an old idea. Once, according to them, their grand and ancient empire spanned the entire mainland. While it is certain that the empire of Londranis is very old, and once did span far wider than it does today, it is unlikely that it actually ruled the entire mainland. Suggesting that in the presence of Imperial loyalists is a good way to find oneself castrated and blinded however.
The Londranii do have a habit of painting their vast lineages of emperors, viceroys, dukes, marquis, and the like across the interior walls of their equally ancient keeps, to remind them of their former glory and that the eyes of those resplendent ancestors are upon them. Some would say that the Londranii are stuck in this past and burdened by it, forever remembering their legions tearing across the face of the world. While this is true, it is important to remember that the Empire of Londranis is still here. Its neighbors have risen and fallen, but the Londranii persist. When the great orc warlords rise in the mountains, the Londranii are battered, but they persist. When endless raids of the Daggorites beggar and starve them, the Londranii persist. This is perhaps their greatest strength, the uncompromising belief that they once ruled, and will rule again, if they can just survive this next crisis.
That is the next fact of life in Londranis, the empire has seemed ready to collapse at any moment for hundreds upon hundreds of years. An emperor that rules for five years before being assassinated in court or killed on some half-brained military expedition is considered to have done quite well. Emperors are chosen by vote of the greatest nobility from the ranks of the greatest nobility. This system is exactly as corrupt and incestuous as it sounds. Powerful, ancient court wizards, barred from formally ruling, rule with whispers and spells, and drive the empire to madness with some new overly-ambitious scheme every decade or so. The dwarf-lords of the hills demand everything from gold to military action against their rivals. As their craft equips the army and builds its castles, their demand are often met, regardless of a high price in coin or blood.
And yes, Londranis persists. It seemingly will never truly fall as long as the dream of the old empire persists, and that dream is unlikely to be killed by anything short of divine act. That might even have a hard time of it. The current emperor, Maximilian XXV, have ruled for eight long months. He feels the daggers at his back, the spells at his throat, and so he sets his sites on Isceald. It is rightful land of the Londranii, as all land is. His hope is to unite his people, however briefly, with this conquest. Maybe this will secure his rule, or at least a legacy. He has an hourglass looming over him, so there is nothing to do but try.
Daggorland is in a period of transition, as an old way of life and a new way of life vie over which will take hold of the future. Life in Daggorland has always been ruled by the sea and by the Jarlthing, a council of the most powerful family heads on the island. Neither of these facts show any sign of changes, but the faces of both are. Daggorland is becoming subtle, a thing which merely a hundred years ago would have been laughable.
For times beyond reckoning, coastal and river-borne raiding was a way of life in Daggorland, with power lords, family heads, and communities putting together resources for raiding the frosty ports of Isceald, the rich harbors of Kharul, and even the far off ports of Londranis for gold, slaves, and exotic wares. There are still many in Daggorland who say a child has not reached adulthood until they have taken a war prize of at least 100 silver coins, often those sea faring and boat building skills are being put to new purpose, trade. The seas bounty of stockfish and whale oil, along with amber from the beaches, from ironwork from the forges, and furs from the forest are circulated in distant ports in exchange for vast sums of coin and fineries. While it cannot be avoided that this has brought many new things and much propersity of Daggorland, as well as a longer life expectancy, many find it unsavory. This divides the kingdom into two factions, the traditionalists headed by the Jarls and their clans, the the merchentmen headed by the hanse-masters, commanding their vast trade houses.
Of course, the old queen of Daggorland, Brunhild IV, still rules the isles. But can she take a side? From her lofty perch in the western keep of Seawatch she can survey the pickle she finds herself in. To spite the Jarls means the loss of her army, and to spite Hanse-Masters would be the loss of her treasury. Both are sorely needed, as the mainland powers do not and will not forget the lives and currency lost to the raiding, and more than once have set their sites on the isles. As if this was not enough, the goblins tribes of the mountains beat their war drums, and the bullywogs of the southern coasts ever seek weakness, and a way to reclaim the islands from the humans and elves who drove them from their swampy homes.
Reserved for Characters.
Name:Sergeant Pyter “Stella” Stellanascowich
Faction: Allied forces, Polish
Description: black cropped hair and a five o’clock shadow. Tall and clean cut, with Hazel eyes.
Weapons/Gear: Carries the standard issue M1 Garand and four spare clips. Also Carrie’s a M1911 he won in a bet with his senior officer. A rucksack with three days worth of rations and an emergency medical pouch as well. Personal affects include a small pocket knife with the Polish eagle and a picture of Pyter with other soldiers.
Name: First Lieutenant, Rose Williams, Army Nurse Corps (ANC)
Faction: Allied Forces, American
Description: Brown hair, blue eyes, 5'7'', medium build.
Weapons/Gear: ANC Uniform, Doctor's satchel with First Aid Kit (incl: scissors, bandages, salve, aspirin, etc.), Army Knife, Notepad, Writing Utensils, personal wallet, ID, some cosmetics.
Name: MJ
Faction: Native person
Description: Red, frizzy hair, bright emerald eyes, funny sassy personalty
Weapons/Gear: NA
Name: Strange
Faction: Axis, Italian soldat
Description: Young man, tanned and weathered with a ruddy mustache coming in.
Weapons/Gear: Pack, Carcano Carbine, Beretta, Bayonet
MJ
Red, frizzy hair
bright emerald eyes
funny sassy personalty
Red, frizzy hair
bright emerald eyes
funny sassy personalty
Can you just specify if she is a soldier or a person from the fantasy world? And if so, what country? But thanks!
Name:Sergeant Pyter “Stella” Stellanascowich
Faction: Allied forces, Polish
Description: black cropped hair and a five o’clock shadow. Tall and clean cut, with Hazel eyes.
Weapons/Gear: Carries the standard issue M1 Garand and four spare clips. Also Carrie’s a M1911 he won in a bet with his senior officer. A rucksack with three days worth of rations and an emergency medical pouch as well. Personal affects include a small pocket knife with the Polish eagle and a picture of Pyter with other soldiers.
Pyter dove for cover as a spray of rounds kicked up dirt right above him. Somewhere up the hill the Italians had a machine gun embankment. Pyter waited for a pause in the shooting before he threw one of his empty clips on to the ground, a harsh ping coming from it. One of the Italians tried to use this to their advantage, by rushing him, perceiving that he was out of ammo. Pyter raised up and put two rounds through the man, dropping him.
”Squad, move up!” Pyter called in Polish to his fellow soldiers. They waited for a lull before grouping up behind the three foot mound offering them shelter.
”Right, we need to advance quickly before-“ Pyter was cut off by the sounds of mortar rounds exploding about thirty feet to their left. Pyter heard the cries of a few men.
“Before the mortars target us. Davidson and Pulowski, push right, Friedman and Thane, take left. I’ll push the middle.”
The men nodded in agreement. The squad methodically pushed up the hill, buying Pyter time until he could push close enough to throw a grenade into the foxhole and blow the Italians out.
The squad stood on top of their small hill, looking around. It had been a tough battle in the forests up until this point, but every day they were a few miles closer to Rome. Suddenly, a strange feeling passed over Pyter. He didn’t even have time to comment before his men began to shout.
”What was that? Did you feel that? I was tingling all over!” They shouted as a group.
”Quiet! Quiet!” Pyter hissed, trying to look for more enemies. The forest was silent, all the noises of a previous fight were gone. “Where are the mortars? They just… stopped…” Pyter commented as he peeked over the foxhole. Even the landscape had changed slightly. The conifers and oaks had changed into… well… Pyter had never seen trees this tall. They rose for miles it seemed.
“Pulowski, get the radio running. Somethings going on…”
Faction: Allied forces, Polish
Description: black cropped hair and a five o’clock shadow. Tall and clean cut, with Hazel eyes.
Weapons/Gear: Carries the standard issue M1 Garand and four spare clips. Also Carrie’s a M1911 he won in a bet with his senior officer. A rucksack with three days worth of rations and an emergency medical pouch as well. Personal affects include a small pocket knife with the Polish eagle and a picture of Pyter with other soldiers.
Pyter dove for cover as a spray of rounds kicked up dirt right above him. Somewhere up the hill the Italians had a machine gun embankment. Pyter waited for a pause in the shooting before he threw one of his empty clips on to the ground, a harsh ping coming from it. One of the Italians tried to use this to their advantage, by rushing him, perceiving that he was out of ammo. Pyter raised up and put two rounds through the man, dropping him.
”Squad, move up!” Pyter called in Polish to his fellow soldiers. They waited for a lull before grouping up behind the three foot mound offering them shelter.
”Right, we need to advance quickly before-“ Pyter was cut off by the sounds of mortar rounds exploding about thirty feet to their left. Pyter heard the cries of a few men.
“Before the mortars target us. Davidson and Pulowski, push right, Friedman and Thane, take left. I’ll push the middle.”
The men nodded in agreement. The squad methodically pushed up the hill, buying Pyter time until he could push close enough to throw a grenade into the foxhole and blow the Italians out.
The squad stood on top of their small hill, looking around. It had been a tough battle in the forests up until this point, but every day they were a few miles closer to Rome. Suddenly, a strange feeling passed over Pyter. He didn’t even have time to comment before his men began to shout.
”What was that? Did you feel that? I was tingling all over!” They shouted as a group.
”Quiet! Quiet!” Pyter hissed, trying to look for more enemies. The forest was silent, all the noises of a previous fight were gone. “Where are the mortars? They just… stopped…” Pyter commented as he peeked over the foxhole. Even the landscape had changed slightly. The conifers and oaks had changed into… well… Pyter had never seen trees this tall. They rose for miles it seemed.
“Pulowski, get the radio running. Somethings going on…”
a person from the fantasy world
Name: First Lieutenant, Rosemary "Mary" Williams, Army Nurse Corps (ANC)
Faction: Allied Forces, American
Description: Brown hair, blue eyes, 5'7'', medium build.
Weapons/Gear: ANC Uniform, Doctor's satchel with First Aid Kit (incl: scissors, bandages, salve, aspirin, etc.), Army Knife, Notepad, Writing Utensils, personal wallet, ID, some cosmetics.
Mary hurried to the jeep that was waiting for her just outside of the temporary hospital.
"How many are injured at the site?" she inquired.
"About a half-dozen from what I could tell ma'am, but most of them fellas were able to make it to shelter. Several more are dead. We were ambushed."
"Well drive, then!" Mary ordered. Another van with support medics were to follow. But as they traveled down the road, a tremor rocked the vehicle, and sent them rambling down into a ravine. Mary held on to the roll bar as they flipped. "Oh dear, God!" she cried, before she blacked out.
Faction: Allied Forces, American
Description: Brown hair, blue eyes, 5'7'', medium build.
Weapons/Gear: ANC Uniform, Doctor's satchel with First Aid Kit (incl: scissors, bandages, salve, aspirin, etc.), Army Knife, Notepad, Writing Utensils, personal wallet, ID, some cosmetics.
Mary hurried to the jeep that was waiting for her just outside of the temporary hospital.
"How many are injured at the site?" she inquired.
"About a half-dozen from what I could tell ma'am, but most of them fellas were able to make it to shelter. Several more are dead. We were ambushed."
"Well drive, then!" Mary ordered. Another van with support medics were to follow. But as they traveled down the road, a tremor rocked the vehicle, and sent them rambling down into a ravine. Mary held on to the roll bar as they flipped. "Oh dear, God!" she cried, before she blacked out.
*Strange had always hated the heat. Born in the alps on the Swiss border, he'd been raised with the brisk breezes and meadows of his homeland. He was the son of a cattleman, spending all summer driving their little herd though the mountain passes to the summer meadows high up in the mountains, and spending all winter crouched in a dugout barn, bringing silage to the herd. When the war began, a good portion of boys in his village volunteered to be in the Aplini, the elite mountain troops of the royal army. Strange hated the idea of the war. He'd shot wolves to keep them from the herd, but to shoot a man? To drive steel or lead through him? Never.
This made it especially cruel when strange was called up in one of the first rounds of the draft. Draftees could not join the elite Alpini, so he found himself a common and expendable soldat. They'd shaved his mustache, put a rifle in his hands, and sent him to Libya. The first thing he'd noticed about the desert were the British fellows shooting at him. The second thing was how much it changed you. He went from being a brawny, pale lad to a wiry sun baked one in under a year. He doubted anyone would recognize him back home, though after the first six months when the Americans arrived, he rather doubted that anyone would ever get the chance to recognize him.
It was when it started to be apparent they were losing that he grew his mustache back. It grew back redder than he remembered it being. When he and his fellows were driven out of Africa at last, Strange had killed a man with the butt of his rifle in the fighting. When they landed in Sicily to begin preparing the defense, he was made a Corporale for this. They put a few lads under his command and told him that he should show them his spirit, as he spirit was that of a true Roman. That was in 1942. Now it was 1943, and they'd lost Sicily. The lines seemed the change every day now, here in the steep hills of Calabria. Most of the original fellows he'd been put in command of were dead, as were all of the officers his regiment had started with in Libya. Now some of their officers were Germans.
Strange laid prone atop a concave rock formation at the top of a hill, and watched the Americans advance towards him. You could tell it was Americans as they were constantly on their radios, and whenever they advanced their damned planes whizzed over head. He'd have to start shooting soon, though he he doubted it would make much difference. They'd spill blood all over this ridge, then leave it like they had done the last half dozen. He wore a shirt he'd taken from the pack of another caporale who had been unlucky during a mortar shower. He'd cut the sleeves off it at the bicep to get some air. He could tell the German officers hate it, but he was one of the older NCOs in the division, so they let it be. He wore a simple field cap, and had his pack slung under his belly to prop him up a little bit while he aimed. He'd taken a carcano cavalry carbine from a ruined supply dump, leaving his heavy long rifle behind. His beretta was tucked in his belt, and his bayonet hung limply in its scabbard.
He sighed, and drew up his sights on the chest of a scared looking American boy carrying a radio. He'd pulled the trigger many times, but for some reason this one felt different, it felt more weighty. Maybe it was because he could see the boy's terrified eyes, or maybe it was because some part of his brain knew what was coming. He pushed it aside, and squeezed. He heard the report of the rifle, felt the recoil, and then had the sensation of being thrown off a horse or bicycle. Maybe more like the bike, over the handlebars. He could see nothing for a moment. He assumed he'd been hit by a bomb and screamed. He landed with a crash on the mossy floor of a dense forest, and opened his eyes. *
This made it especially cruel when strange was called up in one of the first rounds of the draft. Draftees could not join the elite Alpini, so he found himself a common and expendable soldat. They'd shaved his mustache, put a rifle in his hands, and sent him to Libya. The first thing he'd noticed about the desert were the British fellows shooting at him. The second thing was how much it changed you. He went from being a brawny, pale lad to a wiry sun baked one in under a year. He doubted anyone would recognize him back home, though after the first six months when the Americans arrived, he rather doubted that anyone would ever get the chance to recognize him.
It was when it started to be apparent they were losing that he grew his mustache back. It grew back redder than he remembered it being. When he and his fellows were driven out of Africa at last, Strange had killed a man with the butt of his rifle in the fighting. When they landed in Sicily to begin preparing the defense, he was made a Corporale for this. They put a few lads under his command and told him that he should show them his spirit, as he spirit was that of a true Roman. That was in 1942. Now it was 1943, and they'd lost Sicily. The lines seemed the change every day now, here in the steep hills of Calabria. Most of the original fellows he'd been put in command of were dead, as were all of the officers his regiment had started with in Libya. Now some of their officers were Germans.
Strange laid prone atop a concave rock formation at the top of a hill, and watched the Americans advance towards him. You could tell it was Americans as they were constantly on their radios, and whenever they advanced their damned planes whizzed over head. He'd have to start shooting soon, though he he doubted it would make much difference. They'd spill blood all over this ridge, then leave it like they had done the last half dozen. He wore a shirt he'd taken from the pack of another caporale who had been unlucky during a mortar shower. He'd cut the sleeves off it at the bicep to get some air. He could tell the German officers hate it, but he was one of the older NCOs in the division, so they let it be. He wore a simple field cap, and had his pack slung under his belly to prop him up a little bit while he aimed. He'd taken a carcano cavalry carbine from a ruined supply dump, leaving his heavy long rifle behind. His beretta was tucked in his belt, and his bayonet hung limply in its scabbard.
He sighed, and drew up his sights on the chest of a scared looking American boy carrying a radio. He'd pulled the trigger many times, but for some reason this one felt different, it felt more weighty. Maybe it was because he could see the boy's terrified eyes, or maybe it was because some part of his brain knew what was coming. He pushed it aside, and squeezed. He heard the report of the rifle, felt the recoil, and then had the sensation of being thrown off a horse or bicycle. Maybe more like the bike, over the handlebars. He could see nothing for a moment. He assumed he'd been hit by a bomb and screamed. He landed with a crash on the mossy floor of a dense forest, and opened his eyes. *
Pyter rubbed his head as he looked about the forest around him. The sounds of war had been replaced with the quiet of the forest. No gunshots. Only a few faint cries of the wounded drifted to his ears. No mortars...nothing.
"Hey, Stella, you should see this!" Pulowski hissed, using the sergeant's nickname. Pyter grabbed his weapon and jogged back to the man, kneeling down next to the radio pack.
"I can't get HQ... in fact... I can't get anyone. Normally I'd hear some static, some frequency, mumbles in Italian, German, something... but this... just static." Pulowski commented. Stella frowned as the rest of the men came and gathered around.
"Alright, new plan then is to-" Pyter began before the sounds of crashing came from his right. He dropped to his knee and saw a car rolling down the embankment, coming to a stop only a hundred or so feet from the group. Pyter gestured for his men to follow. As they jogged, they noticed a few other Allied soldiers sitting up out of the leafy underbrush. Pyter indicated for Friedman and Thane to hang back with those men, making sure they were ok, while Pulowski and Davidson followed him. It looked like a medical wagon, the red cross bright red across the back.
"Get these doors open and get these people out of here! Another attack could come any minute. Davidson, cover Pulowski and me." Pyter said as he pulled out his knife and used it to pry open the back doors. He saw a handful or so people in the back, supplies everywhere. Pyter then went around to the front. Luckily, the car had landed on it's wheels and not the roof or sides. Pyter opened the shotgun seat and pulled out a woman with brown hair. He pulled her over to a rock outcropping. Pulowski was already dragging over another medic. It would be hard to determine how hurt they were, but this woman looked to just simply be unconscious.
"Hey, miss. Are you hurt? Can you hear me?" Pyter said, shaking the woman gently.
"Hey, Stella, you should see this!" Pulowski hissed, using the sergeant's nickname. Pyter grabbed his weapon and jogged back to the man, kneeling down next to the radio pack.
"I can't get HQ... in fact... I can't get anyone. Normally I'd hear some static, some frequency, mumbles in Italian, German, something... but this... just static." Pulowski commented. Stella frowned as the rest of the men came and gathered around.
"Alright, new plan then is to-" Pyter began before the sounds of crashing came from his right. He dropped to his knee and saw a car rolling down the embankment, coming to a stop only a hundred or so feet from the group. Pyter gestured for his men to follow. As they jogged, they noticed a few other Allied soldiers sitting up out of the leafy underbrush. Pyter indicated for Friedman and Thane to hang back with those men, making sure they were ok, while Pulowski and Davidson followed him. It looked like a medical wagon, the red cross bright red across the back.
"Get these doors open and get these people out of here! Another attack could come any minute. Davidson, cover Pulowski and me." Pyter said as he pulled out his knife and used it to pry open the back doors. He saw a handful or so people in the back, supplies everywhere. Pyter then went around to the front. Luckily, the car had landed on it's wheels and not the roof or sides. Pyter opened the shotgun seat and pulled out a woman with brown hair. He pulled her over to a rock outcropping. Pulowski was already dragging over another medic. It would be hard to determine how hurt they were, but this woman looked to just simply be unconscious.
"Hey, miss. Are you hurt? Can you hear me?" Pyter said, shaking the woman gently.
*For a moment, strange laid on his back, staring up at the dense canopy high above. He noted that it was multilayered, and that he couldn't not see what would be the top layer. He wasn't sure if it was because of the layering, or if it was because it was simply too high to see. He reflected that he had never seen anything like this, but felt rather detached from it all. He suspected he may be dead. He had never heard of heaven being described as a nature preserve, but it didn't seem like hell either. The lack of gunfire, explosions, engines, screaming.....no, it couldn't be hell.
Then, he felt a hand at his collar, wrenching him up.*
"Up you lazy dog, up!" *Was bellowed into his ear by a voice he recognized. He locked eyes with the man responsible, his regiment's newly assigned german liaison officer. A thin faced pale man with a deaths head on his collar. Strange got to his feet without taking his eyes off the man's eyes. *
"I don't think we're in Calabria anymore, Capiano" *Strange remarked as he brushed the moss off his arms and back.*
"Shut up caporale, we need to rally the rest of the regiment. Get looking!"
*Strange grimaced as he looked around the silent forest. He spotted a shred of khaki and went to investigate. He found an Italian, but not one that could help them anymore. Strange kneeled next to the corpse.*
"Poor Giuseppe, looks like one of the planes got him right before we got...sent? here." *Strange said shaking his head, and then pulling the ammo bandolier off his comrade. He closed his eyelids with his hand, gently, and then stood up. He put his hands to his lips after slinging the extra bandolier over his shoulder.*
"HEY FRIENDS, SHOW YOURSELVES! THE CAPITANO WANTS US TO CAPTURE THIS FOREST FOR HIS FUHRER!"
*The forest was silent, but for his echoes.*
Then, he felt a hand at his collar, wrenching him up.*
"Up you lazy dog, up!" *Was bellowed into his ear by a voice he recognized. He locked eyes with the man responsible, his regiment's newly assigned german liaison officer. A thin faced pale man with a deaths head on his collar. Strange got to his feet without taking his eyes off the man's eyes. *
"I don't think we're in Calabria anymore, Capiano" *Strange remarked as he brushed the moss off his arms and back.*
"Shut up caporale, we need to rally the rest of the regiment. Get looking!"
*Strange grimaced as he looked around the silent forest. He spotted a shred of khaki and went to investigate. He found an Italian, but not one that could help them anymore. Strange kneeled next to the corpse.*
"Poor Giuseppe, looks like one of the planes got him right before we got...sent? here." *Strange said shaking his head, and then pulling the ammo bandolier off his comrade. He closed his eyelids with his hand, gently, and then stood up. He put his hands to his lips after slinging the extra bandolier over his shoulder.*
"HEY FRIENDS, SHOW YOURSELVES! THE CAPITANO WANTS US TO CAPTURE THIS FOREST FOR HIS FUHRER!"
*The forest was silent, but for his echoes.*
Pyter heard a distant shout as he continued to try and rouse the female medic. Was that Italian? Pyter went back to help Pulowski with the rest of the medics. One was visibly dead. A scalpel had torn lose from a pack in the fall and sliced him clean across the throat, the wound bleeding out quickly and with ease. Pyter shut the man's eyes and laid a tarp over him. The others all appeared to be breathing. There were three. At least, three living.
By the time they had pulled the medics from the car, a dozen men were covering the area, all parts of various other squads. Thane walked over.
"These were all the ones who could move freely, and we have another four or five hobbling back with Davidson. Sergeant, where are we? This doesn't look like Calabria. Hell, I've never seen trees that tall anywhere." Thane explained, gesturing to the trees nearly blocking out the sun.
"For right now, dig in. You men, scavenge what can be saved from the van. You three, start digging foxholes around this valley. I don't want to be caught by surprise... by, well, anyone." Pyter said as he picked up his weapon. He took his helmet off and began to help one of the men dig.
Within 10 minutes, the van was cleared out, and another 5 after that and four decent foxholes created a rough ring around one of the larger trees. This tree was easily the as wide as two or even three men laying back to back, so it provided some decent cover.
By the time they had pulled the medics from the car, a dozen men were covering the area, all parts of various other squads. Thane walked over.
"These were all the ones who could move freely, and we have another four or five hobbling back with Davidson. Sergeant, where are we? This doesn't look like Calabria. Hell, I've never seen trees that tall anywhere." Thane explained, gesturing to the trees nearly blocking out the sun.
"For right now, dig in. You men, scavenge what can be saved from the van. You three, start digging foxholes around this valley. I don't want to be caught by surprise... by, well, anyone." Pyter said as he picked up his weapon. He took his helmet off and began to help one of the men dig.
Within 10 minutes, the van was cleared out, and another 5 after that and four decent foxholes created a rough ring around one of the larger trees. This tree was easily the as wide as two or even three men laying back to back, so it provided some decent cover.
*After 15 minutes of looking, occasional yelling, and general fumbling around, 4 more assorted Italians of low rank and in various amounts of disrepair were gathered. Strange recognized most of them, one of which had been in Libya with him, the others were newer. Their German officer demanded they line up and strange positioned himself next to the veteran, who he believed was named....maybe Luigi? He wasn't sure.
"Alright Soldats! Get your gear together, we will be moving out shortly." *The officer shouted down at them. His Italian was foul to listen to.*
"With utmost respect sir, where?" *Strange asked, feigning innocence*
"Caporale, you have no right to ask, and you will refrain from back talk! I will humor you this time, the answer is north. We will move until we exit this forest."
*Strange reflexively looked at his compass, the needle was spinning like a top. * "Utmost respect sir, I don't think that will work here."
*The officer looked cross, looked at his compass, and his face soured further. *
"Alright Soldats! Get your gear together, we will be moving out shortly." *The officer shouted down at them. His Italian was foul to listen to.*
"With utmost respect sir, where?" *Strange asked, feigning innocence*
"Caporale, you have no right to ask, and you will refrain from back talk! I will humor you this time, the answer is north. We will move until we exit this forest."
*Strange reflexively looked at his compass, the needle was spinning like a top. * "Utmost respect sir, I don't think that will work here."
*The officer looked cross, looked at his compass, and his face soured further. *
(hypothetically would an undead pirate work, mr wood?, or, more accurately, an undead viking, since i dont think cannons are a thing yet)
Mary felt like dead weight, her head throbbing. She heard some muffled voices nearby but couldn't make out what was being said. Where am I? What happened? Thoughts raced through her mind as her eyes slowly fluttered open, jolted by the brightness of day. Her leg felt wet. Am I wounded? Were we shot? As her vision came into focus, she saw an unfamiliar man standing over her, shaking her gently awake. She tried to respond but her words weren't forming just yet. She moved her fingers a bit and tried to blink. He acknowledged with a nod and then moved on to help the others.
What the hell happened? I don't recognize this ravine, and the lush greenery? Am I dreaming?
Her bag was on the ground nearby the damaged jeep. The driver lay slumped behind the wheel. She slowly rose, and felt the pain in her left leg worsen as blood stained her white stockings. Damn it. I have to get my bearings, and bandage this before i can help the others. And i must find out what is going on.
What the hell happened? I don't recognize this ravine, and the lush greenery? Am I dreaming?
Her bag was on the ground nearby the damaged jeep. The driver lay slumped behind the wheel. She slowly rose, and felt the pain in her left leg worsen as blood stained her white stockings. Damn it. I have to get my bearings, and bandage this before i can help the others. And i must find out what is going on.
Pyter had the men continue to fortify the area. One of the other soldiers who came to their makeshift position had a radio as well, but it didn’t work either. Pyter had the men continue to reinforce their position. The light that was streaming through the trees was getting dimmer. Night would be coming soon.
”Davidson, see if any of the medics are awake or breathing. We have some walking wounded who need help that I’m not qualified to give.” Pyter told his men. The man nodded and walked over to where the medics were laying. One had begun to wake.
”Ma’am? Are you alright? If so, we could really use your help. We’ve got some men with some pretty bad injuries.” Davidson asked the woman. He looked her over before noticing the blood on her leg.
”I can try and help you with that leg, since we would need to do that first, I reckon.”
”Davidson, see if any of the medics are awake or breathing. We have some walking wounded who need help that I’m not qualified to give.” Pyter told his men. The man nodded and walked over to where the medics were laying. One had begun to wake.
”Ma’am? Are you alright? If so, we could really use your help. We’ve got some men with some pretty bad injuries.” Davidson asked the woman. He looked her over before noticing the blood on her leg.
”I can try and help you with that leg, since we would need to do that first, I reckon.”
Names: Dr. W.D. Gaster
faction: Londranii
Description: Tall, pale, black hair with a white streak above right eye. Has heterochromia, eyes are red and purple. Wears black greatcoat, pants, and boots, with a white shirt. Is never not smiling.
Gear: Black cane, topped with a silver skull, used for spellcasting, as well as a leather carpetbag, which contains a number of leatherbound
journals and potions, as well as ingredients. Also carries a crossbow.
The doctor was hacking his way through the jungle, there on a mission from the Londranii crown, investigating sighting of strange peoples by Hoi-Sho traders. Even then, in the sweltering heat of that oppressive jungle, he had a wide, creepy smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, which were hard and cold, piercing orbs of ruby red and amethyst purple.
faction: Londranii
Description: Tall, pale, black hair with a white streak above right eye. Has heterochromia, eyes are red and purple. Wears black greatcoat, pants, and boots, with a white shirt. Is never not smiling.
Gear: Black cane, topped with a silver skull, used for spellcasting, as well as a leather carpetbag, which contains a number of leatherbound
journals and potions, as well as ingredients. Also carries a crossbow.
The doctor was hacking his way through the jungle, there on a mission from the Londranii crown, investigating sighting of strange peoples by Hoi-Sho traders. Even then, in the sweltering heat of that oppressive jungle, he had a wide, creepy smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, which were hard and cold, piercing orbs of ruby red and amethyst purple.
*The captain was not overly dissuaded by the knowledge that compasses were not reliable here, wherever here was. His was intent on finding the edge of the forest and getting them back into the fight. Strange suspected strongly that the "fight" was no longer going to be relevant to them in the slightest. While he didn't have the foggiest where they were, he just knew that they were not in Italy anymore. Though, he did not voice this as he had no explanations for any part of it.
They did not find the edge of the forest. What the did find, was yankees. They were scuttling around in the forest setting up defenses and dealing with wounded. *
"Take up positions behind trees, draw fields of fire." *The captain intoned with determination. Strange's jaw dropped. He couldn't imagine this. Sure they were at war, but surely the war was left behind now? How could they still fight while being strangers in this strange land? Besides, they were outnumbered by the yankees several times over. Seeming to sense the coming dissent, the officer reiterated his command with force, his submachine gun held at a low ready.
They didn't think, they simply did. They took cover behind the trees. The madness was palpable to strange as he watched the officer raise his submachine gun, yell out for them to fire, and squeeze off a burst at the yankees. *
They did not find the edge of the forest. What the did find, was yankees. They were scuttling around in the forest setting up defenses and dealing with wounded. *
"Take up positions behind trees, draw fields of fire." *The captain intoned with determination. Strange's jaw dropped. He couldn't imagine this. Sure they were at war, but surely the war was left behind now? How could they still fight while being strangers in this strange land? Besides, they were outnumbered by the yankees several times over. Seeming to sense the coming dissent, the officer reiterated his command with force, his submachine gun held at a low ready.
They didn't think, they simply did. They took cover behind the trees. The madness was palpable to strange as he watched the officer raise his submachine gun, yell out for them to fire, and squeeze off a burst at the yankees. *
Pyter ducked down as bullets pinged off the van and exploded off the bark of the nearby tree.
”We’re under fire! Get in the holes!” Pyter called as he dove behind the hero. Rifle fire cracked as some of the men already in the holes laid down cover while the others dove into the holes.
“Up on the ridge! Italians!” Called one of the men.
”Thane! Get the BARs to sweep up and around the hill and cut them down! I don’t want to lose any more men.” Pyter called. He leaned out from the behind the hero, shooting at a few of the silhouettes on the hill. He ducked back and waited. Then he popped out again, targeting one of the soldiers standing in the front, seeming to be their officer or the current leader.
”We’re under fire! Get in the holes!” Pyter called as he dove behind the hero. Rifle fire cracked as some of the men already in the holes laid down cover while the others dove into the holes.
“Up on the ridge! Italians!” Called one of the men.
”Thane! Get the BARs to sweep up and around the hill and cut them down! I don’t want to lose any more men.” Pyter called. He leaned out from the behind the hero, shooting at a few of the silhouettes on the hill. He ducked back and waited. Then he popped out again, targeting one of the soldiers standing in the front, seeming to be their officer or the current leader.
*Strange saw the Yankees scrambled and panic, and saw that they were attempting to defend an.... ambulance? He recognized the red cross now, and he made a decision. This was madness, the peak of stupidity, and he would end it. He raised his rifle, turned, and fired a single round through the head of the officer, he fell like a sack of rocks.
He'd never liked him anyways.
he then raised his rifle over his head in both hands, and stepped out from behind the tree. In what he knew of English he shouted:*
"DO NOT SHOOT, DO NOT SHOOT, HE IS DEAD. HE WAS MAD AND I STOPPED HIM! DO NOT SHOOT!"
He'd never liked him anyways.
he then raised his rifle over his head in both hands, and stepped out from behind the tree. In what he knew of English he shouted:*
"DO NOT SHOOT, DO NOT SHOOT, HE IS DEAD. HE WAS MAD AND I STOPPED HIM! DO NOT SHOOT!"