May 25, 2019, 03:02:29 PM

Show Posts

This section allows you to view all posts made by this member. Note that you can only see posts made in areas you currently have access to.


If you have Login Problems Use the Login in Top Menu Bar

If you have a problem registering here, Leave a msg at our FB Page >> Here.

Plz Don't use Hotmail to Register. You might not receive Activation mail. Use Other free mail provider like Gmail or Yahoo.

Topics - Fortis Scriptor

Pages: [1] 2
Alright so a little context before I post up the first part of the prologue. I've had this idea for an alternate reality of North America for about a decade if not longer. This is just me actually getting down and solidifying that idea.

Feedback is always appreciated so feel free to leave comments, questions, criticisms etc. in replies to the thread.

As always I hope you enjoy the read and I hope you have a good rest of your day.  :thumbsup:

Prologue Part 1: Welcome to the Divided States of America
No one exactly knows what happened in Washington DC on January 24th 1995. What we do know is this. Early on the morning of the 24th, elements from an organized group within the United States Army executed their attempt at a violent coup. The three main targets of the operation were the US Capitol Building where the State of the Union was being held, the White House, and the Pentagon. Among the most famous members of the coup were the four hundred members of the 75th Ranger Regiment who were the main compliment on the assaults of the White House and US Capitol Building.

For three hours the eyes of every American with access to a television screen were solely fixed on Washington DC as reporters from every major news network in the country broadcasted live firefights between the traitorous Army Rangers and security personnel at the Capitol and White House.

Then, just like that, everything went dark. Little did most of the country know that three nuclear missiles had landed smack dab on Washington DC. From what historians can guess, the conspirators' plan was not going their way and so they employed their backup plan. That plan of course being to use the nuclear football assigned to the recently assassinated designated survivor to flatten the national capital and wipe out the entire US central government.

The days following the destruction of the capital were harsh. The world was shocked by the brutal fall of the blue head of Earth’s superpowers. If any nation had been expected to evaporate in nuclear fire from a violent coup it was the Soviet Union, but they had already passed into history with a relatively peaceful change of power.

Fortunately for the broken US States, the other NATO powers and the UN were quick to respond to the crisis providing aid alongside the disheartened American forces in the affected States. None more so than the United Kingdom and members of the old Commonwealth.

In those early months there were talks of re-building the US government and keeping the nation together, but the slow grind of bureaucracy had been slow enough with Washington holding everything together, and without it, the chances of a fully united nation in a short time disappeared.

With little place else to turn the American people looked to their state governments. Governments which found themselves in an ocean of problems with the rescue ship blown to pieces and their life preservers stuck full of holes. But the American people and their leaders, scattered as they were, persevered. States that were close together united under new banners. Among the first were the Pacific States Commonwealth, The Lone Star Republic, the New England Confederacy, the Great Lakes Alliance, and last to unite but certainly not least was the New Confederate States of America.


Six years after the fall of Washington, the former United States were in the full swing of recovery. The American economy was beginning to tie itself back together by alliances between the successor states, and their soldiers were even starting to take part in UN peacekeeping operations again.

But it was then that the world was struck with another tragedy which would change the course of history. On September 11th 2001, the British isles suffered a major terrorist attack by radical islamists led by Osama Bin Laden. 2 commercial airliners and one cargo plane were hijacked for the attacks. Buckingham Palace was struck by the hijacked cargo plane that was loaded with explosives. The two commercial airliners hit the Ministry of Defence Headquarters in Winchester, and Big Ben in London respectively. All three attacks were successful inflicting thousands of casualties including the Queen of England along with two of the Princes, Charles, and William.

Following the devastating 9/11 attacks, the British Prime Minister, backed by the young, newly crowned King Henry IX gave a speech to the British people assuring them that the United Kingdom would stay strong in this time of grief, and more importantly, he announced his declaration of war on Terror. Truth be told, the war had been on for two weeks already, with British Special Forces notably the Royal Marines spearheading operations into Afghanistan, Somalia, Yemen, and most controversial of all Pakistan.

One today might wonder the relevance of the start of the Fourth Anglo-Afghan War to the Former United States and the start of the Wars of American Re-unification, but one glance at the political and military situation at the time can shed some much needed light.

While on the surface, the period of peace and resurging prosperity of 1998 to 2001 may seem just as it says on the tin, the reality of the time was quite different. The two emerging powers in the Former US, the Great Lakes Alliance (GLA), and New Confederate States of America (NCSA), respectively were both quite keen to be the ones to reclaim the legacy of the United States of America. However, neither group were politically very fond of each other. The GLA had imposed Socialistic and at times near communistic methods to help their people recover, and with the Cold War in full deeply ingrained living memory, it left a sour taste in the mouths of people in the NCSA. Not to mention the uncomfortable trend in the GLA leadership for a sense of superiority to be a citizen of the ‘Founding Five’ states of the GLA over citizens of the newly incorporated states from the midwest. On the other hand, the GLA were more than a little wary of the large proportion of the Former US Military now reformed and refitted in the NCSA Defence Forces The same military which had launched the coup that shattered the nation in the first place. Add the GLA’s loss in the bid for the absorption of the Lone Star Republic on top of that and the truth of the matter becomes obvious. The only thing stopping the GLA and NCSA from ripping each other apart like wild dogs high on copious amounts of meth was the UN peacekeeping forces headed up by and majorly garrisoned by the Royal Army. And with their complete withdrawal from the American Continent coming to a close in May of 2002, there was little the woefully undermanned Canadian and Irish UN peacekeepers could do to stop the long prolonged storm from striking the continent like Thor's Hammer.

Alright, I couldn't fit the exact wording of my question for you guys in the subject but here it is.

If you were in the zombie apocalypse, and you could have one Heroic Spirit be your companion, who would it be?

I was inspired to write a little zombie apocalypse story recently and I was recently rewatching Fate Stay Night UBW and I thought up, what if I had the protagonist of my zombie story ended up with a Heroic Spirit for a companion. Initially I was just thinking Saber, but I'm not entirely sure. So I decided to write up this topic.

So any fellow Fate fans feel free to put your two cents in.  :thumbsup:

General Manga writer discussions / Fun Deus Ex Machinas
« on: March 29, 2018, 10:42:14 AM »
So, I was watching Lord of the Rings for the 'insert number somewhere in the thousands at this point,' and I got to the end of Return of the King and the bit where Frodo and Sam are waiting to get gobbled up by the lava. But then, out from the smoke in a ray of heavenly light, the eagles show up to extract those two Vietnam style. Tolkien's Eagles are quite the meme as far as Deus Ex Machina goes, I'm sure most of you have seen at some point one with a caption along the lines of "Eagles, Because even Tolkien writes himself into a corner sometimes." This got me to thinking about Deus Ex Machina, it's quite an interesting trope, one that these days, writers are taught to avoid, but I think we can all agree that when used right, like the Rohirrim showing up at both Helms Deep, and Minas Tirith to save the day it really pays off and gets the reader or viewer pumped up. (Funny enough, Minas Tirith had a double Deus Ex Machina, when the first Deus Ex Machina ended up in the same corner as the poor bastards they'd come to save.)

So what I'm opening this discussion up for is this. What is your stance on Deus Ex Machina in your own writing, and what are some of your favourite examples of the trope in media you've seen, read, played, or perhaps created yourself?

FanFics / Boys und Gewehr: A Girls und Panzer Fanfiction
« on: February 04, 2018, 01:27:54 AM »
To give a bit of context before I get to the summary and the prologue of this little story I started about a year ago and just recently picked back up for fun. This is an alternate universe of GuP where VR technology allows for a brutal brother sport to Senshadou called Raifurisento which simulates infantry combat one to one to exist. This sport is for obvious reasons far less popular than the sport with cute high school girls going head to head in WW2 tanks and thus far has been limited as a boys only sport. But with business men being business men, an idea of a combined arms sport has circulated leading to the events of Girls und Panzer Der Film which in this universe becomes the first public showcase of this new combined arms version of the game with the University team already having both a Raifurisento team along with the Senshadou team we see in the movie. The Highschool girls from Ooarai and friends however are at first without an infantry component, until enter stage right our heroes, the 150 boys of Vimy Ridge High School's Raifurisento team who volunteer for the task for the same reason Ooarai agreed to the match, to save their school. The story will mostly follow the same beats as the movie with the addition of rather brutal infantry combat taken from the primary perspective of the Vimy Ridge boys where ever on the field they end up.

Now without further rambling, I give you the prologue, as always I appreciate your thoughts and comments so don't be afraid to leave them in a reply down below.

Prologue: A year in review

One year ago….

“Break break! Maple two actual this is Maple two four we are under heavy enemy fire we have three KIA’s and the rest of us are wounded we need reinforcements immediately or else this position is as good as taken!” A panicked voice crackled on the radio.

There was a long moment of static.

“Calm down Maple two four just hold on for five minutes reinforcements are inbound.” Came the reply in a calm monotone voice.

“Oh thank god, I thought we were done fo--.” Maple two four’s radio cut out, the ground rumbled and smoke plumed into the air in the distance.

“Maple two actual, this is Toque one, splash, confirm effectiveness.”

“Roger that Toque one, rounds effective thanks for the assistance.”   

Connor MacMillan Team Captain of Vimy Ridge Boys High School’s Raifurisento team sat perched atop a high branch on a fir tree a pair of binoculars hanging from his neck and a radio receiver in his hand.

“Was that really necessary Captain?” asked first year member Damon Mathias who was uncomfortably seated next to the Captain on the branch with the radio on his back.

“Acceptable casualties Damon, we don’t have the reserves to reinforce hopeless positions. You always have to think of the ratios, I did the math and I came to the conclusion that taking a few friendly casualties in an artillery barrage that killed a confirmed twenty five of theirs was the best course of action and I do believe it was.” The Captain’s voice remained monotone making him sound more like a robot than a person.

“That’s pretty cold Cap,”

“That is the point….” Connor replied, “Hmm, it appears that the ruskies are hitting two two now.”

Down on the ground Maple two two braced for the attack. Troopers scurried around the ground diving into their foxholes and the platoon slit trench.

“Here they come lads!” one of the fourth years called out.

“Bren gunners remember your trigger control, these bastards are counting on having more men than we have bullets so make em count.” Another hollered.

The Vimy troopers sat quietly in their dirt cover on the floor of the towering fir tree forest waiting for the Horde from Molokraznyy Boys High.

Their arrival was no surprise as a loud reverberating “URRAAHH!” through the mist shortly followed by the appearance of Krasnyy conscripts for which the school was famous.

The ground around Maple two two’s positions kicked up in little puffs of flying dirt and grass as the Krasnyy conscripts fired wildly in their general direction.

“Jesus there’s gotta be fifty of them at least.” a first year cursed.

“Open fire! Focus the hall monitors first! If we take down their commissars they’ll run like rabbits!” one of the fourth year NCO’s barked.

 The Vimy boys returned fire scoring successful kills on many Hall Monitors in the front ranks causing the conscripts to falter and break.

“That was surprisingly easy…” said a first year.

“Shut your mouth first year, I swear if you jinx this…”

Suddenly Katyusha rockets came screeching in before exploding churning up the ground and splintering trees into millions of pieces of shrapnel.

“Oh god! I’m hit, dear god it hurts! Help!” a student screamed.

It was one of the first years, a rocket had landed less than ten meters from his foxhole and he had been sent flying out of it in about three pieces. He lay crying in the dirt missing his left arm and leg blood gushing out everywhere…

ten months ago…

The student body of Vimy Ridge High sat in full attendance in the school auditorium. Looking attentively at the stage where the school headmaster and the student council president stood. With a long sigh the headmaster inched forward to the podium where he remained silent for what seemed like an hour. At last he spoke. “After a long period of review, we have found third year student Connor MacMillan, innocent of the charges brought against him… and as such no further actions needs to be taken. Unfortunately the family of the student who was killed in the tragic incident which occurred two months ago think us liable for the death of their son and have sought legal action against us.”


Once again the student body was gathered in the auditorium, but the air was far less tense, and far more somber. The headmaster stepped forward to the microphone on the stage, “Thank you for taking the time out of your day, this shouldn’t take long…” He paused and brought up a packet of paper flipping past the first page. “As most of you know, for the past year the school has been fighting a lawsuit against the parents of a student who tragically died one year ago in an incident during a Raifurisento match. I can now say that we have won the lawsuit…”
There was a cheer throughout the auditorium, but it was quickly shuttered as the headmaster raised his hand. “However. It was won at a very high cost… Too high according to the school board. And as such… I regret to announce, it has been decided that our school will be shut down at the end of the year.”

The students looked around, and within five minutes seemed to go through all five stages of grief. Soon it seemed that the student body was on the verge of a riot as they called for answers about what could be done. Standing out in the yelling crowd, the one hundred members of the Raifurisento team stood in utter silence heads held low. At their center the team captain seemed closer to a shadow than the imposing stoic commander he had once been. All of the crowd's cries were met with nothing but silence from a tearful student council and a trembling headmaster.

Manga Art Gallery / A Writer's expedition into Krita (Fortis' 'art')
« on: October 12, 2017, 09:10:14 AM »
So because I'm a huge world builder, and I have rather clear images in my mind of what things in my world look like, I've decided to expand my skillset by learning how to draw, not only that but doing it with a mouse (What balls of steel that is taking on my hand's part) Krita is a pretty cool free drawing program I found for this purpose, it's a bit like the classic SAI Paint which if I recall is a hugely popular program to pirate for artists of the manga and anime groups.

So playing around with it I'm trying to learn how to draw people, or for now really F'd up figures that somewhat resemble people. Baby steps are good steps in the right direction. I'll be honest though this doodle came out surprisingly good, I thought it looked far worse while drawing it. (Though the arms look really really bad)

Any advice, tips, tricks, and other hacks to help me improve would be much appreciated.

My thought for this was a US marine on an island in the Pacific like Guadalcanal calling in artillery while under attack. But mostly I was just trying to do a pose other than standing rigid  :D

Hello, Fortis here coming back to the forum for one of the original purposes I joined in the first place, some feedback and help.

Lately I have found myself jumping from story to story, not making much progress and worst of all stopping mid-scene in most which irritates the absolute hell out of me. So I'm looking to you my fellow writers and raiders just to hear your general thoughts on the issue, as well as your thoughts on which of these started stories I put the most effort and love into. I know that sounds odd but the truth is in my mind I love all of my stories a lot, and I want to tell them, it's just a matter of doing it. I realise that I really, REALLY need to settle on one maybe two stories and get cracking on them, and perhaps hearing some outside opinions will help me pry open my productive side for some of these tales.

So without further delay, here they are, a number of stories I have begun in recent times and just not gotten much done in.

The first of these is an attempt at a story idea that's been in my head for about 6 months, I only managed to make a first run at it last month, and I didn't get far. It takes place within my universe, Mithra, and follows a story taking place during the Eclenian Civil War, while being told to a reporter through the eyes of a veteran.

In the Twilight of the Eclenian Empire’s defense of the Heartlands, the Imperial Eclenian Military Institute, Orphirian Academy was designated by General Titus Greene as a fallback, and resupply point in the event of a frontline breakthrough.

 In the late summer of 1886, that event, thought so improbable, became a reality when the largest Merchant Offensive of the war caused the Loyalist Western Front to buckle and collapse. This would mark the beginning of a time of chaos throughout the Eclenian Heartlands as Merchant forces and their mercenary allies raped and pillaged their way through the countryside on their vicious campaign against the Nobility of Eclenia, and any who served it. During the time of Republican oppression, a few pockets of resistance managed to hold their own against the odds, among them was Orphirian Academy.

So many great heroes, and yet almost none are spoken of. It has been 30 years since the war came to an end and yet, it is still a shameful thing to speak of. My parents' generation have done nothing but snuff out talk of Eclenia’s so-called greatest moment of weakness, and Eclenia’s heroes have suffered for it. My generation was brought up thinking that the army is a bunch of drunks and cowards who let our country fall into chaos. I think now is the time for things to change. So against the advice of all of my colleagues I begin my quest to dig up the truth about the heroes of Eclenia who shed their blood for what they believed in.

 Is this suicidal for my career? With the state of Journalism as it stands now, probably, but damn it, I will not stand to see the memory of good men and women tarnished any further, and I certainly will not let what they did be used as a weapon to discriminate against those heroes who still walk among us.

So, what better place to start than with one of the few groups who aren’t seen in a shameful light? The Cadets of Orphirian Academy who held off the Merchant hordes from their ancient stronghold, defending the weak and innocent who their adversaries sought to torture and kill.

You’d be surprised how hard it was for me to track one of these guys down, but by Uriel, I’ve found one of them! 

Former Cadet Decanus, Kalmren Griffinsher, he was the personal adjutant to the Cadet Centurion Major, Jossua Palypsi, the leader of the Cadets during the siege of Orphirian Academy.

Today Kalmren is a beat cop here in Fenrock.

And that's about where I stopped with this one.

Next up is the story which I started for the 2.0 Novel marathon, this one I feel really bad about actually, I started it, it was going pretty good and then mid-scene new story idea and I dropped this like a hand grenade and every time I've come back to it since I just haven't been able to get more than a sentence or two further if that much.


Prologue: An old enemy for a new age.

Vatican City, the Apostolic Palace.

Rays of white light shown through the high windows over the gilded walls of the Apostolic Palace. The sound of heavy footsteps of Marcel Sartre, Grandmaster of the Legio Sanctus De Trinitate echoed down the otherwise silent hall.

The Grandmaster’s face was contorted with rage, his hands were grasped into tight fists, and crushed under one of them was a piece of paper. Marcel had been ordered back to Rome by the Pope himself, an order which even he could not refuse. He was dressed in the full plate armour and surcoat of old, something which he had not worn in years, and had hoped to never wear again, but presentation was a must with this new Pope.

“This better be damn important,” Marcel cursed internally.

As he reached the door to the Pope’s office, Marcel was met by two Swiss Guards, each dressed in their ornate armour as well, neither of them looked very comfortable. They bowed at his approach,

“His Excellency has been awaiting your arrival Grandmaster Sartre,” one of the guards spoke.

Marcel’s expression softened when he heard the guard speak his native language, even with a swiss accent it was a good change of pace. Marcel was not a fan of Latin, or Italian, and he had heard nothing but for three days waiting for the Pope to see him, something which had irritated him even more.

“Thank you,” he replied.

The guard opened the small door leading to the Pope’s office, and let Marcel through.

The office had changed a lot since Marcel’s last visit, the last Pope had been well known for his modesty, the walls of his office had been drab and the furniture bland, though the walls had been lined with bookshelves. The same could not be said for his successor who had replaced the previous aesthetic, with something more akin to the office of a french noble during the days before the Revolution. The bookshelves lining the walls had been done away with and been replaced by rare paintings, a few of which Marcel recognised as still being considered missing in Russia. The furniture was equally ornate, with the Pope himself seated in what Marcel would call nothing less than a throne.

“Arrogant prick,” Marcel thought a smile cracking on his face, “Your Excellency, I have come, as you requested,” he said in Latin, taking a long deep bow.

“Rise my son,” the Pope motioned his hand.

Marcel stood and placed a hand on one of the two guest chairs in front of the Pope’s desk.

“Your Excellency, might I be so bold as to ask why you have summoned me?”

Marcel saw a smile break on the Pope’s face, and he could see that, his excellency was trying to hide it.

“Please, let us speak French, I need some practice in it,” The Pope said in passable, but heavily accented French.

“If it is your wish your excellency,” Marcel said switching back to his native tongue, he was pleasantly surprised that the Polish, Pope Julius IV spoke any French at all, though he had a thick accent which butchered it.

“Thank you. To answer your question, I have called you here today for something that is of the utmost importance,” The Vicar’s expression had changed to a grave look, “It is a matter which I have been told, would be best dealt with by you and your order.” Julius opened a drawer in his desk and removed a large envelope. He held it closely for a moment before offering it to Sartre.

Marcel took the envelope and noticed the missionary’s seal which had marked it. Upon opening the envelope Marcel retrieved what he discovered to be a number of photographs from somewhere in central africa if he had to make a guess. Villages burned to cinders, gore covering the foreground, bodies mutilated and half eaten, and in the background of the last photo, a large blurry figure with bright red eyes could be seen.

The Pope looked surprised when Marcel did not even flinch.

“So, it appears that this is a demon of some sort, if I had to make a guess it is one which has been slumbering for quite some time.” Marcel said with some disappointment showing in his tone.

“How can you tell?”

“It has devoured everything in its wake by the looks of these; most of the time Lucifer’s beasts are tailored to feast upon a specific variety of tastes. However, when one has been sleeping for a few centuries or more, their hunger overwhelms them.”

Julius locked his fingers in deep thought, “You do not seem very concerned, is this not rare?”

Marcel could tell that the Vicar was holding something out on him, he kept his guard up.

“It is not a daily occurrence, but in places as filled with strife as central Africa, it is not a surprise, nor should it be hard to deal with for my order…”

There was a moment of silence between them.

“I must wonder though Excellency, is there more that you are not showing me? By all accounts something as trivial as a few slaughtered villages in the third world caused by a demon should have never reached your hands before mine.”

The Pope stopped hiding his smile now, “Very perceptive

Next we have the story idea which made me drop the previous story. Yeah... This one I hit a writer's block brick wall with mid-scene once again.


Declan Guaire’s first day as a free man, started the same as his last full day as a soldier. He woke up in a cold sweat, drank an oversized shot of 40 year old Mithran Whisky, polished his boots, and laid back down on his bed. He then quietly hummed the tune of a song he couldn’t quite remember the name of, staring at the metal grated ceiling until his alarm went off.

He had pressed his uniform and polished every button. He had shaved off his five o’clock shadow and dressed the burns on his hands. All in all, he looked like a prim and proper Marine Corps NCO. He had too many scars to look like an Officer, much to the dismay of any who laid eyes on the old ‘Mustang’. Declan Guaire was a Captain, but not for much longer. As anyone who knew him were well aware, he had only bothered to pretty himself up for the sake of his retirement papers. After that, it was anyone’s guess to the fate of the dress uniform.

“How does it feel to be a free man?” Colonel Lealan joked, stamping the papers with his confirmation code.

“It feels damn good, but it’ll feel even better once I leave this dump of an outpost.” Declan replied with a smile, taking the small packet from his old CO.

Lealan laughed, “Be nice now Declan, I still call this so-called dump, home.”

“I’m too old for such courtesy, Colonel.”

Colonel Lealan shook his head, “So what’s next for you, Declan?”

“First, a move to Earth, then, hell who knows. Maybe I’ll open a bar, though I’d probably drink it dry before I sell a single beer.” Declan laughed.

“Well I wish you luck, Declan… Now get your ass off my base, you mangy sea dog.”

“Colonel, you have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for you to give me that order.” Declan said with a smile.

He saluted Colonel Lealan for the last time, turned on his heel and walked out of the Colonel’s office onto the parade ground.

Declan walked with a slacker-like swagger, his dress coat flipped over his shoulder, and a cigarette hanging out of his mouth.

As he walked across the parade ground towards the gate, Declan heard the distinct sound of a Mamluk walking behind him.

“Hey, Captain Guaire! Could I talk to you for a moment,” came a deep male robotic voice from over a speaker.

Declan turned and before him was the daunting figure of a Mamluk. A hulking three meters tall and two meters across metal death machine, a twenty eight millimeter GAU taking up its right arm, and a shield on its left, a configuration known as the Defender.

“Hey, Rock,” Declan said with a casual wave.

“You’re not appearing on my scanners as military personnel, I congratulate on your successful retirement.” Rock said with a chipper friendliness.

“Thank you, Rock,” Declan replied, “So, what did you want to talk to me about?”

“Did you see the news today?”

Declan scratched the back of his head, “Yeah…”

“So you’ve heard about the new Samurai Class?”

Declan nodded, “I did, they’re phasing you guys out, just like me.”

So there's three stories which I've started and just hit solid brick walls on. There are a couple more but I think you guys get the idea. Any thoughts, feedback, advice, etc. would be much appreciated. Thank you for taking the time to read this post, I hope you all have a wonderful day.

Develop Your Story / Starch and Iron
« on: September 24, 2017, 11:54:39 PM »
So, just to say hey I'm slightly alive, I present to you a short story which I threw together recently. It is the result of one of my few moments of relieved writers block, as I've been suffering from a rather nasty case of it of late.

I will eventually get to actually posting some of the story for the writing workshop, but to be frank I haven't had much luck getting it down on paper. This is partially due to some other ideas (Like the one I'm about to post) butting into my mental space and those of you fellow writers know where that rabbit hole goes.

Anyways, I now present to you, Starch and Iron.


“Blessed be the Starch, my rock, who trains my arms for battle, and my hands for war. It is my love, my fortress: It is my stronghold, my saviour, my shield, my place of refuge… it need not forgive me for the sins I am about to commit, for I will endure eternal damnation if it serves the Holy Starch. Deus Starch!”

The Knight rose from his knees and made the sign of the starch, he was now prepared for the coming bloodshed.

Looking upon the encampment the Knight saw his comrades, his fellow Crusaders readying themselves for the final battle.

The servants of His Starchiness Pope Cru*censored*us, gilded in full array of holy iron cleansed themselves of the dirt and dust of the campaign.

Some stood in reverence as they heard the Priest give his sermon in a humble temple assembled from cloth and wood.

Yet more of the Warriors of Starch gathered around small fires eating their humble rations, for many it would be their last meal.

As the sun rose over the horizon, the Crusaders gathered into their lines of battle.

At the center stood the spearmen, with great kite shields bearing the Holy Potato. To the flanks were the men at arms, swords and heater shields in hand. Just behind them stood the archers with longbows of Starchy yew. At the rear in a thin line were the knights mounted upon mighty chargers wielding great lances.

There at the Heart of the glorious formation was the Great Potato Standard protected by Warrior Monks of the Starch wielding Swords of War that were as long as their wielders were tall.

The Army of the Holy Starch stood ten thousand men strong, the greatest force in all of starchdom.

Across the field the Hordes of Lemurism scurried into an insulting excuse of a formation. The minions of Zoboomafoo were ugly creatures of darkness. Once men, and believers of Starch, so much exposure to memes had disfigured them into twisted beasts unrecognizable of their original form.

By the time the Lemurists had fielded their whole force, the Starchy Crusaders were surrounded by millions of the unholy creatures armed with jagged rusty blades hungry for the blood of innocent Believers in Starch.

The stage was set for the battle to commence, the last battle in a long crusade which had taken the men of Starch from their tiny stronghold in Wintreath all the way to the meme infested NW community. A light in the darkness of the interworld, it’s fate resting in the hands of these brave 10,000 men.

A great and terrible horn was sounded, and the Lemurist horde lurched forward.

Upon a great silver steed rode Pope Cru*censored*us himself unphased by how numerous the enemy army was, he signaled to a trumpeter who sounded the call to ranks for the archers.

The longbowmen rushed to the front with all haste and knocked their first arrows.

The trumpet sounded the call to loose at will, and the archers began their bloody work.

They aimed, drew, and loosed the first volley, at such extreme ranges only a few of the arrows found their marks. The same could be said for the second volley, but then as the Lemurists passed within 200 meters, the Archers loosed their third volley, and dealt devastating casualties on the front ranks of the horde.

Next the Grand Inquisitor rode forward and ordered the archers to focus their efforts on one spot, thus weakening an area for the cavalry to break through.

The longbows did good work to an area on the right flank, and then with the sounding of another trumpet, the Knights charged through the weakened position trampling over the heretics dumb enough to stand in their way. A small portion of the horde chased after the few hundred knights who broke through, but it was barely more than a single percent of the Lemurist army. (Though even that was rather large.)

The archers continued to loose volley after volley until the Lemurists passed within 30 meters. It was then that the trumpet sounded off again, telling the archers to fall back behind the men at arms.

Now it came to the melee.

The Crusader’s formation had altered into a circle, with the front ranks containing two rows of spearmen, 3 ranks of men at arms behind them, and the archers brandishing whatever melee weapon they could find behind that. At the very center was the Potato Standard and it’s Holy Guardians, a force of the most elite crusaders, including the Pope and his Cheddar Guard.

In an instant, the Lemurist Horde crashed into the Crusader formation, only to be shoved back by the unrivaled strength of the Starchy Spearmen.

The Lemurists were unrelenting, even as they fell in droves to the holy steel blessed by the priests of the Great Potato.

The dead began to pile high forming a wall of decay around the holy warriors.

The spearmen alone would hold the line for two days, without a moment of rest, for the Lemurists gave them no chance to.

 One by one, the heroic spearmen fell among the filth of their fallen foes, blessing the ground with their saintly blood.

Finally at dawn on the third day the Lemurists paused their attack allowing the few spearmen left to retire to the center, the wall of the dead now a good 5 meters tall.

The ground began to rumble once again as the Lemurists recommenced their attack, and this time the men at arms charged up the hill of the dead to meet their foes. Holy blades met the savage iron in a great clash as the battle was joined.

Within minutes the Men at arms maxed their already high experience chevrons, as they cast their foes down the mound of the dead. They pushed down the outer slope, allowing the archers to take position at the peak and let loose a deadly hail of arrows once again.

For days more the battle seemed to go in favour of the Holy Warriors of Starch, for every crusader who fell, 10 Lemurists were slain in return, but it wasn’t enough, the Lemurists still outnumbered the Crusaders 50 to 1.

Over the course of the eighth day, it started to become clear that there simply weren’t enough Holy Warriors to triumph over the seemingly endless horde of Lemurist savages.

The Crusade once 10 thousand strong was dwindling down to little more than 2,500. Who knows how many infidels laid dead upon the field, but who would waste their time to actually count?

Things were starting to look more grim. The crusaders were running out of arrows, their swords were dull, their shields were splintered, their armour was rent, and they were all drenched in the filthy blood of the heretics.

After more than a week of near nonstop fighting, the iron wills of the mighty warriors of Starch was beginning to rust, fatigue, lack of sleep and food, were all contributing to a growing fear: Fear that they would lose, fear that they had been abandoned, fear that The Holy Potato would not find their efforts good enough… Fear that was all wiped clean from their minds by the mere passing of Cru*censored*us and his Cheddar Guard, those mighty warriors yet to commit to the fight.

The Lemurists came again and again each time losing hundreds, thousands, tens of thousands of warriors.

It did not matter to them.

The mound of corpses was more than 20 meters tall by now. It was a citadel of savage corpses with the Great Potato Standard crowning its peak.

The Crusaders fought bravely, and met their enemies savagery with the merciful relief of removing their corrupted heads from their bodies, freeing the souls of the damned to be saved by the Great and Holy Starch.

However the overwhelming numbers of the Lemurists would bring down more and more heroic Crusaders.

By the tenth day, even the archers were in the melee, having run out of arrows on the ninth.

Blood soared through the air from great geysers of flesh, and the roars of the Lemurist battle cries began to be overturned by the sounds of breaking bones and clashing steel.

The Crusaders dwindled more and more, 1,900… 1,600… 1,100. Each one of these Saintly Martyrs making every drop of their blood count for one Lemurist savage slain.

By the pre-dawn hours of the thirteenth day, only 300 Holy Warriors of Starch were left alive, standing firm above a mountain of corpses 50 meters high, and at least 30 wide.

Finally, the guards of the Great Potato Standard would enter the fray.

As the red sun began to rise, Cru*censored*us stood before his soldiers and said this.

“Brothers! Fellow Warriors of Starch, hear me now! For thirteen long days you have stood by and watched your comrades fight with glorious fury, and little by little you have watched them fall upon this holy ground to take their place among the Holy Starch. And Brothers I must tell you, your sacrifices have not been in vain, for last night, the Holy Starch came to me as I slept… and he told me that today, would be the last day of our battle, and that today!.. Today I see not 300 men… I see ten thousand mighty warrior Saints of the Holy Potato. Today will be our last day of battle, and the Holy Starch has assured me that there will be no outcome but victory for us! So now, steel your hearts for the final push! Take up the sword, the spear, and the unbeatable resolve of Starch and drive these Infidels from the earth! DEUS STARCH!!!”

The Crusaders replied with an earth shattering united roar “DEUS STARCH!!!!!” and with fire in their bellies, and victory in their hearts, they charged down from the Fortress of Corpses descending into the jaws of the Lemurists one final time.

But this time, to the utter disbelief of the Lemurist savages, their foes fought with the strength and ferocity of a thousand men. Single sword strikes rent the beasts of Zoboomafoo asunder in a glorious red haze of blood and gore.

It took the combined strikes of at least a dozen Lemurists to bring down even a single Warrior the Starch.

Crusaders were slashed and stabbed through with hungry savage iron, yet still they continued until there was nothing left of them.

As they fought on, the brave 300 carved a deep scarring path through the Lemurist lines, but… soon 300 fell to 150, and then further to 90.

By the time the Crusaders had circled back around to the Great Standard, only 36 remained, most of them Cheddar Guard, or Monks of the Standard.

As the Lemurists began to climb the mountain of corpses for the final push, most of the remaining Crusaders gave their final prayers, preparing to meet their fallen brothers on the other side.

It was then that Pope Cru*censored*us spotted in the distance a speck of light in the darkness, a hope that would make true the word of the Holy Starch.

As the Lemurists reached the last of the Crusaders upon the mountain, the Knights of the Potato Inquisition rode at full tilt bannered lances fluttering in the wind, their white armour shining in the morning light.

At the center of the line rode the Grand Inquisitor himself, for on the first day he and his knights had cut their way through the enemy lines and wreaked havoc upon their rear before riding to the nearest Potato Monastery to retrieve reinforcements, and retrieved them he had.

2,500 Knights and Mounted Sergeants crashed into the Lemurists rear catching them completely off guard.

The last defenders of the standard too fought with a divine fury unrivaled by any other mortal man.

By the twilight of the thirteenth day, the Lemurist horde was finally broken, and by midnight, the Knights had slaughtered and scattered them so well that their foes would never again even consider taking up arms.

As the Grand Inquisitor climbed to the top of the mountain of corpses, he came upon the last of the defenders of the Great Standard.

7 Warriors stood upon the peak, at the center of them Pope Cru*censored*us, his broken blade clutched tightly in his hands.

In his hand the Grand Inquisitor carried the severed head of the Lemurist General, and upon greeting his noble vicar, he offered up the final prize of the successful Crusade.

Cru*censored*us took the head in his hands and stared deep into its dead glazed over eyes for a moment, then gingerly closed them, before taking the head, and hurling it from the top of the mountain.

He took a step forward, placed a hand upon the Grand Inquisitors shoulder and said, “Starch’s will has been done.”

The Crusade was finally, over.

So ended the Great War of Lemurist Extermination. At the cost of nearly ten thousand Holy Warriors, Potatoism continued to spread, no longer hindered by the savage and heretical faith of Zoboomafoo.

Upon the site of the Mountain of Corpses, Cru*censored*us built a mighty fortress monastery which will forever watch over the lands of Lemurism’s final defeat.

And Cru*censored*us himself, would finally gain immortality as the Holy Starch’s eternal vicar.

“Blessed be the Starch, my rock, who trained my arms for battle, and my hands for war. It is my love, my fortress: It is my stronghold, my saviour, my shield, my place of refuge… For I fell upon the field in those thirteen bloody days, and now I live forever among Starch’s Saints. Deus Starch…”

Develop Your Story / The Wraith Knight [Novel Workshop 2.0]
« on: August 28, 2017, 06:54:43 AM »
The Wraith Knight

Synopsis: In a world where the supernatural exists, a monastic order known as the Legion of the Holy Trinity, serve the Pope and God to defend humanity and exterminate the darkness with divine wrath; But when an enemy the Legion has not seen in centuries reemerges from the shadows, and the knowledge to defeat it has been long lost, they task a young squire to chase a rumour, that the spirit of one of the order's greatest heroes, resides somewhere in Japan...

Prologue, "Just another day at the office."

Hello everyone, Fortis here bringing up a little idea and asking if anyone would be interested in participating. That idea is doing a sort of choose your own adventure/RP esque story (Which I would primarily write) in a similar vein to what was done with Galactic Raiders here on the forum.

The idea I have is a historical fiction/low fantasy story set in 1755 during the French and Indian War, in a colonial town on the North American frontier. Where most of the characters would live and interact. The story would revolve around this town and the surrounding region including a fort, a few Native American villages, and various homesteads and trappers outposts, as well as all their inhabitants as the Britsh and French fight over the region which is vital to both the British and French campaigns.

This is all obviously fictionalised it does not take place in a real place nor would it involve real historical people, though some characters and events may be inspired by history.

So how would this work, well it would be somewhat similar to Galactic Raiders, anyone who takes part can create their own character where they choose where they live, their occupation, their faction alignment, and so on.

If anyone so chooses they may play the role of a faction commander. This would be primarily military, Overall there are five important commanders with a few autonomous subgroups choosing either side.

The French Commander, in total command of French regulars in the region, and at least in theory command of militia and native allies though that could be questionable.

The British Commander, in total command of British regulars and Colonial Provincials in the region, with again in theory command of local militia and native allies.

The Town Mayor/Local Militia Commander, in command of the county militia forces choosing whichever side, as well as any Native American allies levied to them. (There can be more than one should things break down and some choose either side)

The Mohawk Commander, in command of the Mohawk Indian forces, (Historically these natives sided with the British)

and finally The Abenaki Commander, in command of Abenaki Indian forces, (Historically these natives sided with the French)

The member in the role of these commanders would collaborate with me on their decisions and strategy as the story goes on, shaping the war and the story. If commanders meet in battle, I'm not entirely sure how that system would work out as of yet (Open to suggestions) but any characters involved in the battle would be able to make their own decisions and live or die accordingly to the consequences of those decisions, so if you're a British soldier who decides to desert in the middle of the fight, if you're caught by either side... you're probably dead.

There are many more details to go over but the intention of this story would be for me to become a better writer, (Getting a crap ton of practice in,) and a chance for me to become more involved with the community here on MR.

So please leave your thoughts, comments, suggestions, and tell me if you're interested in taking part in this.

Alright everybody, thank you for taking the time out of your day to read this post, I hope you all have an awesome day.  :thumbsup:

Hello everybody, so as most of you probably know I'm a writer, it's one of my main hobbies.

But I also dabble in photography, so I wanted to share it with you all, perhaps it'll provide some inspiration for both artists and writers.

So here are a few of the pictures I've taken most of these are from the past year or two. I hope you enjoy them, and I hope you all have a very good day  ;D

Here's one of my cat looking like Zeus  :tongue:

So it's been a while since I've done anything with my character Archangel Uriel, so I've decided to do a series of short stories before I get into the story I started more than a year ago, and rewrite the little of it I had done before continuing.   ;D

Hope you like it, and please feel free to give me some feedback, it really helps me out.  :thumbsup:


Field Report 24/06/05, Swiss Guard Section 2962 (Vampire Kill Team) to his Holiness Pope Urban IX

By order of his holiness Arch Bishop Dominic Vollensio, on the morning of June twenty-third the year of our Lord two thousand and five, we conducted a clearing operation of a building on the outskirts of Gorga, Italy, which according to multiple sources of intelligence was the location of the large S-class vampire coven codenamed Hellhound which my team had been tracking for six months.

At 06:30 hours we arrived on location and breached the building.

Upon entering, we found the entirety of the coven as well as a number of civilians dead. The cause of death for the civilians was determined to be blood loss, but each had a postmortem gunshot wound to the head. Cause of death for the vampires was determined to be repeated gunshot wounds, knife and or sword wounds, and a number of arrows tipped with blessed silver and gold. The condition of the bodies suggests they were dispatched with extreme prejudice.

A number of red feathers were also retrieved from the scene.

The only conclusion I can find is that this is the work of an Angel, however, I know not any angel whose wings are red...


01:00 Hours 23/06/05, abandoned building, Gorga, Italy.

A speaker in the corner of the coven boomed a cover of the Bee Gee's Stayin' Alive. (This one to be precise, )

The Vampires feasted upon the two human teenagers who had foolishly followed them back to the coven, lower vampires licking the blood that dripped from their superiors chins.

"To a new home!" The Elder cheered slobbering blood as he tongue kissed a young female next to him.

The others cheered as they drank, and danced to the music.

Suddenly with great force, the front door was knocked off its hinges and sent flying down the hall.

"What the?!" one of the guards cursed.

Out from the shadows of the outside, a man in a white suit strutted in through the broken door.

"A little ironic to be listening to this song wouldn't you say?" The man smirked, "Considering you're already dead..."

The two guards drew pistols on the man, "Who the hell are you?" one of them snarled.

"Oh me?" The mysterious man said stroking his scruffy chin, "I'm just a freelancer for death."

The man suddenly disappeared with a blast of air, a few feathers flying at the two guards' faces.

"Where'd he go?!" a guard said. Just then he heard something bounce off the side of his shoe, it was a frag grenade with a cross carved into it, "Oh Shi--" The grenade went off blasting the two guards feet off and sending their weapons flying.

As quickly as he'd disappeared the man dropped back down through the doorway a pair of chrome pistols in his hands.

"Knock knock assholes!"

He walked into the first room spotting a dozen panicking vampires. The man smiled a big toothy grin laughing with joy, then opened fire.

The Vampires could barely react, those that didn't get dropped in the opening hail of bullets tried to attack or run.

A pair of them rushed with knives in their hands, teeth bared.

With a flash of white light, one of the man's pistols reconstructed itself into a sword before he used it to decapitate one of his attackers. The other went in to bite the man but found himself chewing on the barrel of the man's pistol. The man pulled the trigger painting the wall a greyish pink and red, the vampire's corpse falling flat on his back the last of his brain matter sloshing out the back of his obliterated skull.

The man casually walked through the house humming the tune of the song as he killed every vampire he found.

One rounded a corner as the man went to change magazines, rushing at him with a machete in his hand. The man reached down to the new magazine and with another flash of light pulled out a bullet from the magazine which turned into an arrow, then he jammed it into the vampire's neck before using his sword to decapitate him.

The man finally came to the last door in the house, which led to the basement. He reached down to open it but found it locked. He let in a deep irritated breath before kicking the door down the stairs.

"Some Vampires you are... I thought this was supposed to be a strong coven, apparently... I was mistaken." The man cackled.

"What?! What the hell are you?!" The elder cried holding an old sword in both hands trembling.

The man continued to laugh as wings slowly sprung out of his back the feathers completely red.

"Oh god... You're him... The Redeemed Fallen, The Crimson Winged Angel.... Archangel Uriel!"

"I wouldn't be calling to god if I were you boy." Uriel Hissed picking up the old vampire by the throat. "You shouldn't have robbed my friend, and killed his subordinate you son of a bitch," he snapped the vampire's neck and dropped him to the floor.

"Please! Don't kill us!" The young vampires sobbed.

"Shame, you two are pretty hot..." He muttered unloading his pistols into the two of them.

Uriel knelt in the pool of blood gathering on the floor and howled with laughter convulsing. "I haven't played like this in decades!"

To be continued....

Develop Your Story / Fortis' unfiltered, unedited rambling
« on: April 28, 2017, 06:43:39 PM »
Sup whomever decided to click on this thread. I haven't been all that active on the forum recently but I'm going to try and change that here by doing a couple of what I am warning you now are messy, garbled, if I had to picture what it would look like as an object probably cat vomit, sort of rambling story like things... Now you're probably wondering, "Why would you do this? What are you a masochist?" my answer to that would be, well yes to a minor extent, and the point is to help break through a slight writer's block for a certain story which I need to do the third draft for, and also to just refine my writing process and skill. Now part of the point of this is for it to be a conversation. Comment, criticize, laugh at, whatever feels right.

PS some of these stories may take place in the universe of one of my stories, or it might not, this is kind of a massive mental dump to make room for actual writing power for the aforementioned third draft, let's call it spring brain cleaning.

Rambling 1 (Written while listening to Rules of Nature from Metal Gear Rising: Revengeance OST, as well as No Differences from the Aldnoah OST)

*Radio static* "Command, this is Fox One, we're taking heavy fire in sector four, requesting immediate reinforcements!" A frightened young man's voice hollered, the sound of gunfire clear in the background.

The radio was silent.

"Fox One, this is Command, hold your position, reinforcements will be routed to your location as soon as they're available." the voice of a woman came through clear and cold.

"Command, how long is that going to take, we're in dire need of relief!" The young man said desperately.

"I repeat, reinforcements will be routed to you as soon as they're available," she repeated in the same tone.

"Attendants damn it! Command, this is Major Timothy Sotiris, my men and I are facing an entire armored division with nothing more than scraps of one infantry battalion! So I hope you can find it in that black void in your chest that used to house your soul to send some reinforcements our way before we're overrun and the evacuation site is wiped off the face of the map by Sarvanist fanatics!" This voice was deep and gruff, belonging to a man no younger than fifty.

There was an eerie silence over the radio.

"Repeat, reinforcements will be routed to you as soon as they're available." The woman said for the third time, though there were hints of distress which cracked through the cold monotone.

"I hope Remiel leaves your souls to wander you soulless bastards." The older man's voice was defeated and somber.

Onboard the Eclenian Aircraft Carrier Maria Sotiris, the pilots of the fourth close air support squadron sat huddled around the radio in their quarters, they'd heard every word of the past exchange and were horrified.

"Sector four? That's where the embassy is isn't it?" One pilot said.

"By the Attendants, there must be at least one unit they can get to them!" Another spoke.

One of the pilots, Lieutenant Mossburry scanned over the operations area map packet he and the rest of his comrades had been issued, "There is an available unit in range of them!" He exclaimed.

"Can we radio to them?" one of the other pilots replied.

"I think so considering it's us." He said confidently

All of the pilots turned from the radio and looked at Mossburry.

"But our orders are to hold and wait for orders..." One of them replied sadly.

"Screw orders! Those guys need our help! Command isn't giving them any... We'd be breaking our oaths as naval officers to not assist our comrades... and I for one will not be disgracing my oath." Mossburry's chest heaved heavily with pride.

Mossburry's comrades nodded and mumbled in agreement.

"We'll have to get past the Captain to get our bird's off the deck..." A pilot said.

"Yeah, and there's no way we'll be able to distract him long enough to get the whole squadron in the air." Another added.

"How many do you think we can get?" Mossburry asked.

"Four max, three more realistically."

"Guys remember time is a factor here those guys in sector four won't last long without help."

"Alright, we load up two birds full armament, and we get off the deck as quick as we can." Mossburry concurred.

"That should work."

The pilots made haste to get underway. Mossburry and his wingman Al Fruxi got into their jumpsuits and got to the hangar to load up their MkXVII "Freedom Reaper" close air support (CAS) fighter planes.

They had partly bribed, partly threatened the technicians into assisting them.

Meanwhile the Squadron leader distracted the Captain and Executive Officer by inviting them to a game of poker, which they accepted... While a couple of other pilots got onto the bridge and convinced some of the crew there to help them.

Within a half hour, the planes were ready and on the flight deck preparing for take off.

*Radio static*"Tower, this is Frog, ready for take off," Mossburry called into his radio

"Tower, this is FracT, ready for take off," Fruxi called.

"This is tower, Frog, FracT, you are cleared for take off, good luck out there."

"Thanks... We won't need it," Mossbury and Fruxi replied in unison.

The ground crew gave them the go ahead. Their engines roared to life and propelled the fighters forward, Mossburry went first catapulting off the flight deck with great speed. Fruxi followed close behind.

"Hang on guys, help is on the way..." Mossburry thought.

I think I'll leave it off there for now.

Develop Your Story / The Wondrous World of Mithra (Lore for my universe)
« on: February 16, 2017, 10:48:31 AM »
Sorry but this lore was so outdated I've removed it so I can go back and update things.  :thumbsup:

Develop Your Story / A Lovely Tuesday: December 1917
« on: December 19, 2016, 03:20:42 PM »
This is a story I started writing this morning, expect more later today.

Please enjoy and have a wonderful day!

I love tuesday. It’s probably my favorite day of the week. It’s mail day, and the day the red cross comes with blankets, sweets, and fresh food from home. The girls all wear their nicest perfume and the doctors rarely perform surgery. Tuesday is also when Marie has an all day shift with me. I don’t know how she does it, but no matter what, she always smells so nice, like fresh flowers in my Mum’s garden in spring. Her voice, I swear fills angels with envy, and I don’t feel even the smallest twitch of pain when she replaces my bandages.

“Good morning Private McBride,” her voice sounded out from the darkness.

I smiled and sat up in bed moving my pillows accordingly. “Good morning Marie.”

The legs of a chair scraped across the concrete floor, and someone sat down.

“You’re looking quite well this morning Will,” she said taking hold of my right wrist. “And your pulse seems to agree, just slightly faster than resting pace, as usual.”

“It is tuesday after all,” I replied.

“It is tuesday,” She giggled, “But today’s not just any tuesday,”

I scratched my head, “What’s so special about today?”

“It’s Christmas day Will!” She exclaimed with a light tap on my hand.

Christmas day….  I thought my smile fading. The scent of gunpowder overwhelmed my nose, the thunder of the shells rang in my ears, and the taste of dirt filled my mouth.

“Keep your bloody heads down!” A familiar voice shouted,

“McBride are you alright!” yelled another.

“Will what’s wrong?” Marie asked grasping my hand.

Her voice brought me back to my senses, once again I smelled her perfume and heard only her voice and the sound of music coming from a radio in the distance.

“I’m alright,” I said smiling again.

“Are you sure?” she asked concerned.

“I’m sure,” I said holding her hand tight.

 “Oh, I’m glad,” she said happily. “I’ll be back later to read mail with you, okay?”
“I look forward to it,” I replied.

The chair scraped on the floor again and Marie got up and walked away from my bed.

“You’re quite a lucky one laddy,” a raspy old man’s voice spoke. It sounded quite familiar, but it was impossible for it to be who it sounded like.

“How’s that?” I asked.

“Ah, well it’s quite rare for her to tend to somebody personally, and in such a patient manner at that.” The voice explained.

“What do you mean?” I asked, “Marie has a shift in the ward every tuesday and thursday, and she’s always personal with her patients…”

“Oh... so that’s what you think this is….” The voice said fading away into silence.

That was odd… I thought.

Time passed quickly as I sat silently in my bed listening to the oddly quiet hospital ward. The only noises I could hear being the light footsteps of Marie, and the sound of music in the distance.

So to explain what I mean by a "modern" AoT soldier basically what I'm saying is a hybrid of the AoT human uniform and our world's modern military combat uniform.

This was actually brought on because I play airsoft in my near-nonexistent free time and about 3 or more months ago I was at a game and when crap hit the fan I got separated from my assigned unit and ended up pinned down inside of a building with these three guys who were all buddies, they weren't an official team or anything but they all had Survey Corp patches on, hilariously enough I was actually running my Hellsing Organization loadout so it made for a good amount of laughs and a lot of TFS Alucard quoting "Bitches Love Cannons!" "You Cheeky Dick Waffle," etc.

Anyway, it got me thinking it might be cool to put together a full-on theoretical Survey Corp cosplay/loadout. I mean really I can kind of pull it off just by getting a Survey Corp cloak and patch and then just wearing that over my regular kit but I'm curious to see what you guys can come up with in character drawings. The only thing that I'd really request as a guideline is that you definitely include the Survey Corp green cloak. (I love that thing)

And if you're in need of some inspirations/ visual references here's a few pictures

Pages: [1] 2