)O( Hytegia )O(
Active Member
Act I - Arnhem Knights
It was a cold September evening - 1944.
Given the fact that sitting in a crunched plane, headed to what was sure to be your deathbed was one thing - but it was absolutely another thing to be doing it with total strangers. It almost seemed like a shitty bar joke:
Two American GIs and 21 British Airborne are flying above a warzone in a plane -
(but, for the life of you, you couldn't develop a punch-line to this whole ordeal. Regardless, it's probably about to play out anyways).
Due to the fact that the other American plane had to stow two special new radios, it turns out that the British had two open seats on their plane for the two unfortunate Yanks who drew the short straws. Welcome to the British 1st Airborne - for a moment, at least.
It was crammed on the plane, and the noise of a flying chunk of metal and propellers slicing through the turbulent winds left an eerie silence throughout the plane that was unmatched by the simple fact that you all were about to be jumping in on one of the heavier-guarded cities in this entire operation. Earlier, in the briefing, it was explained that this plane's orders were to locate some operative that would give them the slip into the city, therefore giving them the unique chance to raise some hell and cause confusion amongst the Krauts.
It was one of those missions that they gave your parents your medals for you.
Oh well - orders are orders. Nobody can argue with that.
Another thing that couldn't be argued was the fact that this plane was just given two of the best GIs to set foot in this theater. One, a strapping leader straight out of boot with the words that could make Lincoln consider lying an option. Another, a world-class shooter with renown for shooting the burning tip off of his CO's cigar for calling him an incompetent shot.
The plane made a shuddering noise again, another gust of wind moving the plane slightly. Around the two Americans were several faces. Some of them scared, some of them apathetic. But two men in particular stuck out to you both - the only people you could see clearly (because, well, they were sitting in front of you) were a pair of the most odd-sighted fellows you would ever see. One of them was tall, and had a mustache that you could hang a coat on. He had brown hair, short trimmed. The other was smaller than the average man, making him a shrimp compared two the giant that towered over himself - he had blonde hair, with a bit of blonde 5 o'clock shadow creeping on his face that was barely visible. They both wore blue berets, with meaning that was completely lost to the Americans. They were talking, with a bit of laughter on the sides.
(You may interact with the rest of the plane, and each other.)
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For Liam Schipper, (or Liam Schleisser as the people around town call him), he was a bit on-edge tonight... The last several months had been spent in underhanded work, and in possibly the most risky situation that could be said of anyone. Over half a year ago, he was dispatched by His Majesty's finest with the task of infiltrating the heavily-fortified and heavily-trafficked city in order to gather information, cause mayhem, disrupt communications, and so on and so forth by any means possible in preparation for the imminent strike that was to come from Allied forces.
As much progress as he has made, however, the strapping young man still had quite the bit of work to do. He had set up an information network within the city by several disgruntled locals, utilized the non-indoctrinated youth to help snag several weapons from the German forces and prepared them mentally for the coming "revolution" - and even had made progress in terms of preparing for the unit he was supposed to be herding into the city...
But, Liam was bright enough to realize that even the best laid plans never survive a boot hitting the battlefield. The second that the Germans would realize that they were being attacked, the defenses would shift and it would be nearly impossible to predict the best point of entree for the troops that were being sent. Needless to say, the quiet day was about to get plenty rough for the seeming-bar tender.
Liam was cleaning a glass behind a counter, hat canted on his head and a towel on his shoulder. Around him was the enemy (aside from a few of the broads that liked to make some coin here and there - and a waitress) all sitting around and relaxing, laughing to music and having their shares of drinks. Liam was one of the few people with the correct papers to be out after curfew, and the streets outside the window were dead empty compared to what they were in the daytime, except for the occasional wandering sentry that passed by the window.
Everything was ready for the young Brit to get up and go - his rubbish car parked in the back, always ready to roll if it decided to get moving.
But here is where a problem arises:
Liam is the only one tending the bar tonight. His absence would be noticed, and considered highly suspicious if he just got up and left right now... The bar was packed to the brim, like most other nights. It's closing would also be noticed.
(you may now interact with any NPCs via myself, and roll out any actions to be taken.)
[showmore=Hint]If your first move isn't obvious, you need to find a reason to close shop for the night.[/showmore]
It was a cold September evening - 1944.
Given the fact that sitting in a crunched plane, headed to what was sure to be your deathbed was one thing - but it was absolutely another thing to be doing it with total strangers. It almost seemed like a shitty bar joke:
Two American GIs and 21 British Airborne are flying above a warzone in a plane -
(but, for the life of you, you couldn't develop a punch-line to this whole ordeal. Regardless, it's probably about to play out anyways).
Due to the fact that the other American plane had to stow two special new radios, it turns out that the British had two open seats on their plane for the two unfortunate Yanks who drew the short straws. Welcome to the British 1st Airborne - for a moment, at least.
It was crammed on the plane, and the noise of a flying chunk of metal and propellers slicing through the turbulent winds left an eerie silence throughout the plane that was unmatched by the simple fact that you all were about to be jumping in on one of the heavier-guarded cities in this entire operation. Earlier, in the briefing, it was explained that this plane's orders were to locate some operative that would give them the slip into the city, therefore giving them the unique chance to raise some hell and cause confusion amongst the Krauts.
It was one of those missions that they gave your parents your medals for you.
Oh well - orders are orders. Nobody can argue with that.
Another thing that couldn't be argued was the fact that this plane was just given two of the best GIs to set foot in this theater. One, a strapping leader straight out of boot with the words that could make Lincoln consider lying an option. Another, a world-class shooter with renown for shooting the burning tip off of his CO's cigar for calling him an incompetent shot.
The plane made a shuddering noise again, another gust of wind moving the plane slightly. Around the two Americans were several faces. Some of them scared, some of them apathetic. But two men in particular stuck out to you both - the only people you could see clearly (because, well, they were sitting in front of you) were a pair of the most odd-sighted fellows you would ever see. One of them was tall, and had a mustache that you could hang a coat on. He had brown hair, short trimmed. The other was smaller than the average man, making him a shrimp compared two the giant that towered over himself - he had blonde hair, with a bit of blonde 5 o'clock shadow creeping on his face that was barely visible. They both wore blue berets, with meaning that was completely lost to the Americans. They were talking, with a bit of laughter on the sides.
(You may interact with the rest of the plane, and each other.)
------------------------------------------------------
For Liam Schipper, (or Liam Schleisser as the people around town call him), he was a bit on-edge tonight... The last several months had been spent in underhanded work, and in possibly the most risky situation that could be said of anyone. Over half a year ago, he was dispatched by His Majesty's finest with the task of infiltrating the heavily-fortified and heavily-trafficked city in order to gather information, cause mayhem, disrupt communications, and so on and so forth by any means possible in preparation for the imminent strike that was to come from Allied forces.
As much progress as he has made, however, the strapping young man still had quite the bit of work to do. He had set up an information network within the city by several disgruntled locals, utilized the non-indoctrinated youth to help snag several weapons from the German forces and prepared them mentally for the coming "revolution" - and even had made progress in terms of preparing for the unit he was supposed to be herding into the city...
But, Liam was bright enough to realize that even the best laid plans never survive a boot hitting the battlefield. The second that the Germans would realize that they were being attacked, the defenses would shift and it would be nearly impossible to predict the best point of entree for the troops that were being sent. Needless to say, the quiet day was about to get plenty rough for the seeming-bar tender.
Liam was cleaning a glass behind a counter, hat canted on his head and a towel on his shoulder. Around him was the enemy (aside from a few of the broads that liked to make some coin here and there - and a waitress) all sitting around and relaxing, laughing to music and having their shares of drinks. Liam was one of the few people with the correct papers to be out after curfew, and the streets outside the window were dead empty compared to what they were in the daytime, except for the occasional wandering sentry that passed by the window.
Everything was ready for the young Brit to get up and go - his rubbish car parked in the back, always ready to roll if it decided to get moving.
But here is where a problem arises:
Liam is the only one tending the bar tonight. His absence would be noticed, and considered highly suspicious if he just got up and left right now... The bar was packed to the brim, like most other nights. It's closing would also be noticed.
(you may now interact with any NPCs via myself, and roll out any actions to be taken.)
[showmore=Hint]If your first move isn't obvious, you need to find a reason to close shop for the night.[/showmore]
[/showmore]