Blackrock Dragoons

((This has absolutly nothing to do with werewolves))
((Or elves))

Backstory-

Arvaria, world of magic. Of the magic, four types exist- High Magic, that of great magi; Earth Magic, that of healers and craftsmen; Vis, the magical essence of all things; and Ruina, the unballenced, chaotic, malformed magic-substance that comes forth when Vis is torn out of mater. High and Earth magics are cast by people, power regardless of any sort of standing- only innate power and will are needed. Vis, however, is special- enchanted machines can use it for any sort of purpose imagenable. Ruina, also, has diffrent rules: It may only be shaped and wielded by one born exposed to it from their first breath, at the cost of markings in the skin that grow evermore elaborate as the magic is wielded.

The city-state of Marik was the first to harnes Vis on grand scale. It powered their lives, fueling a conquest that grew into a kingdom. Foriegn prisoners and slaves manned the plants that turned waste into magic, as well as prisoners were sent en masse to desolate camps in the wasteland to force the vile Ruina from it's dormant liquid form into airborn clouds of poison. Locked in the volcanic wastelands, one group of prisoners escaped and formed Blackrock- a town that steadaly grew as they lived and learned how to make what was in apearwnce a dessert and volcanic hell their home.


Roleplaying Notes-

-I'd like to keep it all together so we have a constant reason to interact. For this RP, I'm making the focus a platoon of mounted light calvary, known as dragoons. Any role in relation to the platoon would be acceptable- soldier, cook, armorer... you catch my drift.

-Please don't try shoehorning existing characters in this universe. Make new ones, please. Feel free to keep a preferred name, though. ((Your Lordship Fuzziness, this means YOU.))

-Unless clearly and repeatedly said otherwise, your character is Wildborn. Ergo, they can use Ruina magic, but not High magic. Ruina magic is very primal, gesture-heavy and token-heavy to cast. In other words, no orginized or complicated spells, nothing that lasts for longer than ten minutes unsupervised, and big fancy helper crap (I.E. Staffs, focus stones, a favorite weapon) are all acceptable. The power for the magic is drawn either from the air, from your Marks, or from the tangible form of it, taintwine. Because I happen to know nobody here is a mind-reader, try to keep the magic simple. Blowing stuff up, for example, or making light. NO healing, though- because Ruina is destrution-based, it takes someone familiar with how it works to use it.

-Crude, low-tier gunpowder-esq weapons are avaliable, but think Napoleonic Era grade. A carbine and two long pistols are the uniform firearms, but these are highly irregular troops, so use your imagenation.

-Melee weapons are the main means if combat- lances and sabers preferably. Most combat can expected to be mounted.

-Ruina magic disrupts the flow of High magic. Inside the Wilderness, High magic is inaccessible, and preexisting enchantments are warped until broken. Outside the Wilderness, a tangible supply of Ruina is needed for spell casting. Cast Ruina magic, no mater the location, disrupts and warps any High magic. Earth magic is only slightly warped by Ruina magic, and raw Vis magic combining with Ruina magic creates an explosion and large clouds of thick black dust.

((That all being said, I'll make my first story post later. PM me any questions, and I'll add them to backstory or roleplaying information. Please ask if anything needs to be cleaned up, and have fun, guys!))

When most people thought of the underworld, vast landscapes of abyssal rock, blasted clean by harsh heat first came to mind. They were followed by rivers of lava and lakes of pitch, while malformed grotesques shepherded the souls of the damned from torture to torture. To most people, that was the definition of Hell.

To Tarpún Ferii, it was his home; The Wilderness.

Left torn and ravaged from a war of great magi thousands of years prior, the Wilderness was a hellish wasteland, left alone to mutate into the barren, volcanic wasteland so famous for it's personal vendetta against human life. Now, after being used for countless years as an exile for troublemakers and malconets, a civilization had pulled itself together: Blackrock, the kingdom of the exile, the slave, and the Wildborn. Forged from the bastards of bandits, the freed slaves who had been sent to gulags to drain life from the very stones themselves, and the proud Wildborn sired by any mother who dared bring forth a child into the tainted embrace of the Wilderness. Banded together in a fertile valley, Blackrock stood strong against those who would call it anathema and try to destroy it.

For Tarpún Ferii, that was his country. His to hold precious, his to protect, and his to help save.

****

Leaning into the strong dusk wind, Tarpún rubbed his head under the battered helm he wore. He was tired. The last caravan of slaves he had helped rescue had been one riddled with guards, and not the slack-eyed pavise crossbowmen Tarpún's dragoons could crush underfoot without sullying their sabers. No, it had been a guard of city militia backed by arabelast troops this time, all terrified out of their wits by the jaunt through Hell they were on. It had taken three wheels of caracole to break them, and the saber charge had not been cheap. The battalion's commander had been taken by the militia's spears, leaving Tarpún to corral the freed slaves and begin the laborious transport to safety. Sighing in aggravation, Tarpún headed down the wall. The freed men had probably ellected someone to speak for them, and it was his responsibility to inform them of what was happening.

Straightening my helm, I looked about the fort, and patrolled the eastern wall, just as I was told to do so. However, no one mentioned I couldn't patrol the wall and eat a few chicken legs while I was at it. After all it was rare that we got a good stock and i wanted to make good use of what was left.

Beats me what they want me to patrol for though. It was a baran, hellish, wasteland that any and all prefered to ignore and I didn't blame them. To be honest, most of my time up here was me trying not to fall asleep, which was not that hard though I would never tell anyone that. Every so often i would pear back into the courtyard but I never let my interes maintain itself for long in that one spot.

((NAMES ARE GREAT THINGS TO MENTION IN POSTS. In lieu of something else, I'm using James))

Looking over at the scraggaly leutenant next to him, Tarpún snorted quietly.

"Once again, Leutenant James, you aptly demonstrate why first rabk eludes you. I know they just shipped your platoon out, but this was no stamderd raid. Normally all we have to deal with are crossbowmen with pavise shields. This was diffrent. Too difrent."

Looking over at a pair of sargents sharpening sabers, Tarpún lead lead James over to a pair of barrels. Quietly, he started talking.

"Judging by your utter lack of Marks, I'm going to make the guess you were a rescue yourself, one we picked up close to the border. I don't care if that's the case or not, because that's not going to make a diffrence yet. Seeing as Captain Amlien was kind enough to catch a spear today, I'm nowpromoted to leutenant-captain, hopefully to be formallized when we get home. Now, I need an an Xo- executive officer, in simple terms. If I had my way, that would be a third leutenant like Johan or Thane. Unfortunatly, you still rank them, wich makes you my Xo. As Xo, you're taking on mostly the basic data-crunching. The catch is that Xos are normally the regiment main Grimus. Unless you can haul up the slack on that front, Thane will handle that for you."

Digging in his coat for a minute, Tarpún pulled out a pair of green epaulette cords.

"This is the Xo set of epaulette cords. Take care of them- about as well as you do your pistols, as those never seem to be dirty."

Over all I think he was clearly stating he did not care to have me as his Xo. Actually I go a clear impression he prefered I did not exist. I didn't even take the cords. This was not going to work. I had every right of my own to even deny the so called promotion. "Respectfully sir, I must decline. To be frank and clear, you gave me the impression you don't even want me around. When we do get home, I am sure once I make a formal decline of the position you can happily have one of the other two. If you will excuse me, I have a post to patrol and on a last note, I am not James, my name is Von." With that I respectfully turned my back to the man and walked back to my post, returning to the patrol on the wall.

How, how can someone mistaken me for James. James for one was a military commander last I heard and never did he even serve with this group. Talk about a way to insult someone.

(You never asked either.)

Looking over at Von, Tarpún snorted. Not the worst dragoon I've ever had to work with, but he still needs a little polish off the field. he thought to himself, pulling out a clay tablet. Ruina was incredably difficult to cast an organized spell with, but any Grimus worth their sal tknew how to use a chanaling bord. Tracing the lines he needed, Tarpún got ready to cast the spell.

"Von, you're forgeting something" Tarpún whispered onto the board. It was for directing a whisper of sound to people. Most officers carried them as a way to instruct troops in a battle. Tarpún was a little diffrent in that his could pick out just one person.

"Von, you're forgeting something. I may not like you, and you may not like me, but we're both stuck here unless you want to have fun with the tribunal boards back home. As much as I don't like you, I still don't want you stuck in the quarries making my bullets. Yet. Now, we can do this the easy way, or the nightmare time-waste way. You've got the better part of an hour to decide. Meanwhile, I have civies to deal with. "

Walking over to the barn where recwnt rescues were kept, Tarpún grimmanced. As usual, the building stank of sweat, blood, and illness. The slave drivers who had been hearding the trains of prisoners were not particular as to the state of the cargo- most had been whipped, the women had been raped, what few children remained were all in shock.

"Bastards" Tarpún muttered, moving through the sea of broken humanity to the station where the healer worked.

"How many did we save this time?" He asked, dreading the answer.

"Around two hundred women, six humdred men, and a hundred children" the clerk replied quietly.

"That doesn't line up- nor,ally there are more women and children than that"

"Normally the gaurds are a bunch of idiots with crossbows. These were mercenaries with... apitites."

"I'm glad ww didn't take prisoners, then."

"Me too."


Pouring through the small soup line a handfull of the fort's staff had set up went those capable of walking, while the invalids quietly praised for their bunks. They might have been sent into hell, bu tat least the company was good.

"Von, if nothing else, take a look at the barn where we keep the rescues. See why we do this. There are still five raids lefot on our card, so think on that while you look."

Within the hour I sought him out, posing as calm as ever. Before he could talk first I raised my hand. "I don't care where you don't want me and i will not work with a man who will treat me like trash. Do what you want with the others as far as ranks go, but until yo get a sense of decency and respect to others, weather you like them or not, I want nothing to do with you. With all do respect, I decline your offer. I have better thins to do. If you will excuse me now, I will be off."

Honestly, who was he kidding. He had no right to determine weather I like him or not. He had no respect for those under him, he cant get a mans name right, and he thinks he knows what I am thinking. Bull shit. What did he expect, for me to roll over and fit his agenda. I would rather work the stables than serve with a man like that.

I decided it would be best I attended to my second chose of the day, which, to my luck, was working the stables. I checked the board and it seams today I get to groom the horses. That be what I did. Took my time and was patient, grooming the horses and all as I was tasked to do.

Snorting at his perspective Xo's avoidence of the rescued, Tarpún headed in to the main administration building. Paperwork was flying, courtesy of railcarts with field modules on them, while clerks bustled about. This was not going to be a fun day.

Cou trary to most belief, Von's platoon was not requested, required, or in any way expected. The company was already at effective fighting strength- five forty-man platoons, leaving off at two hundred people according to the Tables of Organization. Combat losses for this tour were normall, leaving the company with a hundred and eighty three. Tacking an additional forty people on to that represented two things , neither good. First, Strategic command planned on sending them into a waycamp or other fortified enclosure. Very bad, foe a force that was either light cavalry or mounted infantry. Second was that something big was coming, and Strategic wanted to squeek as many out as possinle before the trouble hit the fan. Tadpún reconed on the second.

The Armies of Blackrock were distinguished and unusuall for four reasons. One was the crackdust-based weapontry, giving units unparalled firepower-for-wieght. Only an arabelast could causes as much damge as a rifled musket or carbine, and those were slower and heavier by far. Add a bayonet, and your musketmen became spearmen with only a few seconds to prepare. Second wa sthat it was a voulenteer army. No mercanaries served in it's ranks- only rescued to pay thier ticket, and citizens searching for war. Third, the beaurocratic methodes in which it was run. Every step of the way, it benifited to find a better way to do things, versus the old way that let chislers and corruption flourish. Fourth, every Wildborn in the armies was a Grimus- the Wildborn equivlent to a Magnus, or mage. Furthermore, they were encouraged to fight as both magi and footmen. All these together made the Blackrock Armies disconcerting for those who had previous military expeeeiance.

As direct counterballence to their effectivness on the field, the Armies were crippled with tiny numbers. A platoon was considered to be an independent command. The problem here was why Von's platoon had been dispatched so mysteriously in the first place. Grimmancing, Tarpún shook his head. While he did paperwork, there was another patrol he had to plan.