((OOC Rules: Anyone of a military or adventuring nature in a Pact Camp can participate! I'm going to largely be using this as a basis for an IC Questing Group in world, so if you'd like to participate, message me in world or post in here Feel free to add new situations or pass time in order to match it with events that happened with in world RP))
Manfred dismissed Sergeant Doan. He looked around the Camp. Just a few companies stationed here, at the moment. The fight against the Mordrem Guard had scarcely waned; resistance was...fierce. Once more, he'd returned to the garrison. In the time they'd been gone, the jungle had largely reclaimed it, their lovely, hellish little section of the Tarnished Coast. The foliage was...thick here. And the enemy, rarely, if ever, fought fair. The miserable conditions, the ambushes and sneak attacks, all of them had cost his unit as well as others dearly. In the Conflict against Zhaitan; they'd been faced with conventional war. And now there was...this. His Krytan Unit, assigned to the Pact, was stationed here with men of the vigil as well as a loose smattering of others, of other orders, volunteers, and Sylvari Scouts. Irreguars became a more common sight these days; adventurers looking for coin or bound by oath or duty.
He rubbed at his, for once, mostly smooth face. He'd managed to locate another razor. His hair was still long, bound in a dirty-blonde ponytail, which bounced as he gave the signal to dismiss his mustered company. Doan had told him that while he was away chaperoning their reinforcements back to them, that the Captain should be expecting another additional influx of troops, Krytan and Otherwise. Some would fight under him as a subordinate, others would fight alongside. Manfred Wulfe cared little; as long as they fought. He'd have two new junior Lieutenants that needed to learn the rigors and risks of command...so many new faces. Would these newcomers to the conflict help or hurt their efforts? The attrition rate was horrendous. Just then, thunder cracked overhead as it began to rain. Manfred sighed, pulling up his thick, scaled hood. He'd never want to -purposely- wear extra clothing in the jungle...but it helped with the rain. Just the same, some men had covered up more, to keep away the biting insects, and others had covered up less, unable to deal with the heat, taking off pauldrons, wearing shin-guards instead of armored boots, armored skirts instead of pants. It didn't exactly look uniform, but it was fairly obvious in the painful lessons the Pact Expeditionary Force had suffered that they were having difficulty flexing to the new situation.
Manfred sighed, and turned to march towards the mess tent. He wanted to get to know some of these new faces...and see who'd be volunteering for something new. An ambush. It was time they went on the offensive. "Damn the rain." he said, looking up past the hood at the storm clouds that peaked through the forest canopy. "Time for payback." he said, trudging through the mud to see who might go and seek a hot meal and shelter from the storm, and who was ready to unleash their own torrent of hate at their mutual enemy.