[GM4F/FB] [22] [Tele/Disc] Oh, war, such an interesting endeavour.

Hello, fellows! Today, I bring you an idea and concept that has been particularly interesting to me, something heavily inspired by a text-based game I played some time ago; Sabres of Infinity. In this, it is to be expected that the idea will have that similar flavor with muskets, sabers and plenty of war drama. However, in order to get a few things out of the way;

First of all, a very particular amount of violence, blood and brutality is to be expected, since cities cannot be taken without shooting anyone and with a simple Persuasion roll. Plus, well, your character is supposed to be a soldier, and soldiers eventually kill the enemies of their respective states, so. With that, I am warning you.

Secondly, despite being written in first person, I hardly have a singular preference between third and first in this specific case, so feel free.

And lastly, of course, bed-breaking, hip-destroying, the plappliest, raunchiest and steamiest of plap-plaps are present, but they hardly are that prevalent, so, do not expect easy smut here. The focus is to story bits, although the sexy stuff is far from vanilla. Also, yeah, if you pay a wittle bit of attention, the sexy stuff is to involve your char taking it, so ➡️Bottoms only⬅️.

Ah, also, needless to say, LITERACY PLEASE. I am not going to gm this shi' fo' the guy or gal that can't whip up more than a single paragraph per reply.

With that out of the way, letsa go on--

The War of the Rift

As the wheels of industry turned steadily in the heartlands of the world, and nations sought power under the thin veil of progress, the Rift War erupted into its third decade—a churning, bloodied stalemate between the fractured world powers. On one side stood the Union Concord, a sprawling coalition of western powers:

• Albareth – The economic and political core of the isles. Isolated enough to be peaceful, but yet, close enough to be forced to always stand at attention.

• The Republic of Alvorada – Fierce jungles and gold-fed cities, stretched across more than half of what once was South Améris.

• The Sovereign States of Teryn A continental web of restless liberty. The ferocious military powerhouse of the entire Union.

• The Coalition of Vellessa – Grand halls, cold diplomacy, and faded nobility. The coalition is the first line of defense against the Federation, and their union of countries acts as a permanent siege on Khazgraad.

Against them, the opposing force:

The Iron Federation, an alliance of militarized superstates and ancient empires:

• Khazgraad – Harsh tundra, endless rail lines, and monstrous mechanized legions.

• Drachenholdt – Steel factories, black banners, and ash-stained sky.

• Zhongtai Sovereignty – Unified under crimson banners, their reach extends far beyond the eastern seas.

• And smaller nations bound by history, fear, or shared hatred.

After years of trenches, attrition, and frostbitten retreats, the Iron Federation vanished from the front overnight—burned its crops, razed its cities, and fell back behind the borderlands of Khazgraad. It was not surrender. It was a summoning. Within weeks, entire Union battalions disappeared without a sound. Trenches were swallowed whole. Fleets vanished. Something had changed. And whatever weapon the Federation had unearthed in their retreat—it was working. Now, in 1873 by the post-Union calendar, the front has shifted again. The Union Concord, bloodied and cornered, digs deep, sharpens bayonets anew and grinds out more and more muskets. But whispers rise of discontent between the states, of betrayals yet to come, of thrones too brittle to support their crowns. And that… is where we begin. You are the scion of House...

[Caerlin, the golden Lion]

● Once lords of the northern shorelines, House Caerlin forged its legacy in steel and statesmanship. You were raised in cold stone halls and colder expectations.

• +10 Discipline, +5 Charisma

• You start with a warhorse bred from noble stock

• Officers usually regard you with wary respect

[Earygle, the double-headed hawk]

● Patriots, firebrands, and stubborn idealists. Your family helped write Teryn’s founding edicts—now they fund the bullets and blades that uphold them.

• +10 Willpower, +5 Gunnery

• Eventual access to experimental Union firearms

• Respected by troops, resented by monarchists for a reason you are yet to know

[Whitehouse, the white Dove]

● Old money. Older scandals. You were raised with silver cutlery and gilded little lies. Your family throws galas and luxurious parties while men bleed abroad, capitalizing on the blood and sweat of the damned...

• +10 Intelligence, +5 Intrigue

• Begins with diplomatic contacts

• Often underestimated and disliked by most.

*...one of the ancient noble families of the Union—powerful from Londarre to Lysreach.

But you?

You’re... different. You've just been sent to live at your uncle's countryside manor in the green hills of Merrowshire, near the edges of Livered Hollow. The estate is old, beautiful, and filled with watchful eyes—servants with sharp tongues and distant smiles. It is a place meant to keep you out of the public eye, not raise you into glory. You’ve just turned nineteen—formally declared heir in name, if not in function.

Two weeks after your birthday, a letter arrives bearing the crimson wax of the Albarethian High Command. You've been summoned—drafted, really—into the war effort. Your rank? Cornet. The lowest officer caste in the mounted auxiliaries. A rank usually reserved for disgraced sons of nobility, exiled heirs, or those simply too soft to serve at the front without a title to hide behind. The truth? Well...*

[You are...(Male)]:

Beautiful. Breathtaking, even. But not in the way men are often praised. Your hips are wide. Your thighs, soft and generous, more than enough to fill all and any bottoms you wear and provide onlookers with a splendorous view. Your gait is… feminine. Much like your bone structure, lacking most—if not all—the angular solidity of more masculine fellows. Beneath the tailored trousers they force upon you, your manhood is a sad afterthought. Particularly small. Possibly useless. A detail more mocked than desired. You are a noble, yes—but no warrior. Men will hardly hear what you have to say on normal circumstances.

[You are...(Female)]:

Stunning, truly. The war effort only recently accepted controlled volunteering and summoning of women to the war effort. Such progressism is hardly accepted by most, be they freshly enlisted or seasoned veteran, for many varying reasons. But still, you were summoned; a walking scandal—too curvy and mayhaps too indecent for command. The regulation wool does little to hide the generous slope of your figure; in fact, it clings too well. Your nipples remain outlined no matter the weather or clothing, stiff, betraying your state beneath even the thickest uniform. Your thighs rub together in tight trousers clearly not designed for hips like yours, and your backside… well, it can be said that the soldiers behind you in formation will never lack for distraction.

...

And yet… they send you anyway...

---

The carriage ride is long, drawn by mules and watched over by stone-faced men in blue-black cloaks riding at front and back of the convoy. Your thighs ache in the stiff uniform. You're to report to Camp Aethercross, where the newest Dragoons are to be trained. The front is weeks away, but the ghosts of war are already in the air. With you, you bring...

[📜 A letter of personal commendation from a great Lord that happens to know your father.]

Its crimson seal alone is enough to make a colonel pause. Most assume you earned it through exceptional promise. The truth is… irrelevant.

• +20 Reputation, grants access to restricted officer circles. Your name precedes you.

[🔫 A masterworked flintlock with ivory grip and silver inlay.]

Slightly outdated in design, but devastating in the right hands. The rifled and elongated barrel makes it heavy, but the firepower is a force to be reckoned woth A gift from a dueling-obsessed uncle who believed pistols solved more than politics.

• +15 Gunnery, impresses traditionalists. Terrifies the lower castes among the ranks.

[🎽 A high-grade officer’s uniform tailored by Valbreux & Sons.]

Custom-fitted to your unusual shape. The buttons are made in silver, the internal part is lightly padded in silk and. It hugs your skin, perhaps a little too much. Still, it is far above flattering. The fabric alone is worth a peasant’s yearly wage—and it feels like it.

• +15 Presence, you look too elegant for the trenches. Everyone notices.

[📚 A trunk of annotated military and philosophical texts.]

You read them beneath moonlight in your uncle’s library, absorbing every tactic and contradiction. You learned more about war in ink than among the fire.

• +20 Intelligence, sometimes, even captains might ask what you think.

---

You stare out at your uncle’s estate for the last time, wondering if any of this was ever your choice to begin with. You ask yourself what destiny might have saved for you...