THERE WERE MASTERS AND SERVANTS,

[agogemod]

WHO? Everybody!
WHAT? Prepare for the historic Battle of Valmy.
WHEN? Mid September 1792, France.
ANYTHING ELSE? Violence, as always. Please warn in subject lines for anything beyond physical violence, and move to a personal journal if things go beyond PG-13.

IT'LL BE FINE;

between sainte-menehould and valmy,
1792: revolutionary france.

read the valmy setting infopage

DEPARTING JERUSALEM

The clean up of the battle is slog. A full day of piling together corpses. Noting down famous men and women. In the heat, the bodies bloat and become fetid, and the smell builds until it cannot be ignored. Insects swarm, and vultures blot out the sun, swooping down and taking back what's been left for nature. Stragglers and the poor pick through the field for scattered weapons and valuables to collect. The bodies of important men and women are taken for burial; the rest are left for scavengers, animal or human.

It's in this gruesome scene that the order comes:

PACK UP, GET READY TO MOVE OUT. THE TARGETS HAVE BEEN NEAUTRALIZED. WE MAKE OUR DEPARTURE LOCAL TIME, DAWN.

DEPLOYMENT: VALMY, FRANCE. IT'S GOING TO BE A WET ONE. WE ARE EXPECTING MORE TRANSFERS ON ARRIVAL.

The present COST soldiers that have been in strict cover begin finishing their work, if they've decided to help the army move out, tend to the wounded, or clean up after the dead. There is no sign of the Commander yet, but maybe you recognise some of your fellow operatives. They seem be taking advantage of a particular event that maybe you stopped to see, maybe you didn't.

Saladin beheads Reynald de Chattilion and his words fill the camp as much as the news of their next move.

A king does not kill a king, Saladin says to King Guy, and the orders run like wildfire through the camp: next they take Jerusalem, and it's in this march, that when the rest of the army moves on that COST slips away. A order to fall back in steady increments; when the time comes, Saladin's army is out of sight, marching toward Jerusalem.

In the midst of all of this, COST operatives begin to disappear, here one moment and gone in another. Such a strange sight, more than one native soldier muses, must be the fault of heat exhaustion.

The Time-Step

The transfer begins, and it starts like a vibrating heat on the collar bone, not painful, not to start with. Just a hum of sensation. But the vibration spreads. Veteran COST soldiers often refer to this phenomena as 'the buzz'. The sensation builds, feeling not unlike standing near a great engine, or the wind rattling the branches of a great tree. There is long a moment of motion sickness, and one cannot always be sure if it is you that is shaking from the inside out, or the world that is shaking you from the outside in. It may just be better to close your eyes against the growing nausea as the world blurs out of focus. A star shines in the distance. You may hear the faint rustling of leaves. Some swear they hear voices in this moment, indistinct words echoing off nothingness. Some swear they feel a touch of the divine. One thing is for sure: One moment you are here, and the next, you are not.

The soldier next to you might not have been so clever, when it stops and you find yourself standing in the green fields of France, September 1792. She or he throws up as the vibration fades. Everyone seems to stumble sideways for a second. The world turns, and then rights itself. The heat is gone, replaced with cold and wet.



ARRIVAL FOR TRANSFERS FROM JERUSALEM

It's raining.

You're inside of a tent, (another one), and it already seems to be bustling with movements, they call to you in French, which you understand if you did not already: hurry now, they say, you need out of that cuircass before they're spotted. The rest of the army will be following, and the Prussian army to meet it. There isn't much time to loiter around getting sick in this weather. You have a kit to pick up, and perhaps training to do.

ARRIVAL FOR NEW RECRUITS

The first thing you'll notice is the sound of rain. You awake in a tent that seems to be sheltering against the ruins of a farm house, and everything feels damp. It's a wet September morning in 1792, and when the woman across from you in the tent speaks, you understand it to be French. If you didn't understand French already, you sure do now.

If you ask, she'll explain: you are fighting for France, as the Prussian army intends to invade and sack Paris. You may be a citizen, you may be a soldier; you have risen up in defense of France all the same.

She asks you what role you wish to play in the coming battle, and provides you with clothes and supplies to suit. She won't let you leave until you can pass for a native of France, setting up camp in the rain pouring down between Sainte-Menehould and Valmy.

MISSION OBJECTIVE

The forces of COST have gotten word that Regency operatives have gone to Revolutionary France, intending to turn the tides in one of the most historically important battles in European history. The Battle of Valmy, which decided the entirety of the French Revolution and all that follows it, must be won by the French army, as it was in history.

Unlike the incident in Jerusalem-- you may remember it, you may not-- COST has managed to get here before the day of the battle. Make no mistake; it's coming soon. But this time, you and your fellow travelers have time to prepare.

The French Army has managed to get ahead as well; they've maneuvered around the Prussians, cutting off their supply lines. You and your fellow soldiers are now chasing the invaders as they head for Paris. This is time to prepare and ready your forces. The fight is coming soon.



STAY DRY, STAY SECURE

A few things are strongly remembered about the Battle of Valmy; one of them is the rain. It's really pouring out here, and you're in the thick of it. Rain is a dangerous thing for an army such as this; during this era of warfare, gunpowder was an essential commodity, and wet gunpowder is useless gunpowder. Secure the supplies, rescue supply carriages from muddy sinkholes, steer the horses, check supplies, and try to keep the essential materials for victory dry.

TRAIN UP

General Kellerman and Dumouriez are training peasants in basic military tactics. While veterans make up the core of this army, there are a substantial amount of peasants, and most here have never seen battle in their lives, or ever held a gun. Many are equipped with only rudimentary farming equipment. Help train or be trained so you're ready when the Prussian army arrives.

MEDICAL

Plenty of people need medical attention, not from battle wounds so much as malnutrition and overwork. These are mostly peasant laborers, and they're not entirely fit for battle. Help people get as rested and ready as possible.

ESPIONAGE

We have reason to believe some of the 'peasants' are actually Regency spies. Root them out by seeing keeping an ear to the ground for suspicious activity. They don't know all the words to La Marseillaise? Off with their head! Be careful not to attack time travellers on your side, though!

MORALE

Keep spirits high! Sing, dance, and generally try to keep people from succumbing to fear. Despite the rain and the mud, despite the seemingly impossible odds, the average soldier is full of excitement for battle, ready to fight to the death to defend their freedom.

SUPPLY AND SEEK

Since the French army is behind the invading force, they've cut off the enemy's supply lines. This means that, should the Prussians become encamped here for any amount of time, they won't be able to send for food and munitions from their home country. It's your job to make sure it stays that way. You may see someone riding on a swift horse in a Prussian uniform, attempting to sneak through French lines and try to get word back to mother Prussia. Chase them down, and make sure they can't get their reports back home so a second force isn't sent-- or worse.

BE A COMMUNITY ORGANIZER

This battle is one that's widely known for its popular support-- for the most part, France unites against this invading force with alarming cohesion. Someone gifted with a clever mind, or perhaps a clever tongue, may be able to use that. The French army passes farms and peasant villages along the way-- make rousing speeches, and try to recruit more to the cause, secure donations of food and weaponry, anything you can get.

read the valmy setting infopage

NAV. NETWORK LOGS OOC PLURK DISCORD

Comments

Malfoy | OTA

[putorius]

A. This Is An Outrage (arrival)

The first thing Draco realized, after the disorientation wore off, was that his clothes were missing. No, not his clothes. The gown Madame Pomfrey gave him while he was in the hospital wing. But where were his wounds? He'd been told he was going to have scars, they shouldn't have been healed yet. But before he could think through any of that, someone was talking to him. A woman he'd never seen before. She was speaking French, but he understood her just fine. It was only years of drilled-in caution that curbed his tongue on the specifics, but his demands eventually led him to a bundle that was supposed to belong to him. To his great relief, he found his wand, but the clothes within definitely were not his. They were not fine enough, there was nothing black or green. At least not this his usual taste.

While he was digging through the clothes, text appeared in his field of vision. Like some sort of strange, crude magic as the letters looked mechanical. He tried to wipe the words away as if they'd been some sort of magic that could be dismissed. The words did vanish, but not the way he'd intended. Strange.

After dressing it clothes that were definitely not his, he set to figuring out where those words had come from. It wasn't difficult, like part of him knew how to bring them back. The same way he knew how to summon his magic, only different. He just reached up and touched his collarbone. No, he touched something on his collarbone. He started to look down at where he'd touched, but the display popped up and it was far more than text. Unsettled in a way he couldn't quite explain, he sat down in the corner where he'd found his bundle, he started going through anything he could find. He may have been an arrogant twit most of the time, sometimes on purpose, but he wasn't about to go charging off without knowing all that he could. He would not be the one left in the dark when he was so accustomed to being the expert in so many areas.

He could be found there for quite some time, huddled in the corner, seemingly scowling at the ground, twirling his wand between his fingers. To a non-wizard, it would just seem like a rather strange stick. Ten inches of dark, highly polished wood, the sides perfectly straight, the ends rounded. But before long he started to wonder if he should hide it because he had the growing sensation that he was surrounded by nothing but muggles.

B. Rain Rain Go Away

Draco stood staring out of the tent at the torrential rain. He couldn't set foot out into it, not that he wanted to, because every he tried to leave, he had that woman yelling at him. He still hadn't chosen his post. She didn't seem to understand the fact that he had something more important he should be doing. He'd be pressed for what he could do, what role he'd suit, and he'd only say he was a student. He definitely wasn't going to prove himself capable of passing as a French peasant. That was preposterous.

With each minute, each hour that ticked by, he had this growing sense of dread. Somewhere beyond that soggy field was the English channel. From there it wasn't far to London. But if he allowed himself to believe everything he'd learned, even if he could slip away from the battlefield, if he could somehow reach his school, it wouldn't be the same. His target wasn't even born yet. But he had to try. Maybe if he got away from this place he could find some way back. He had his wand. His father had told him about forbidden time magics. It wasn't forbidden to return one's self to the proper time, was it?

"You there!" he called out suddenly, spotting someone. He was already concocting a plan of how to find out if this was even possible. "You look slightly...less dimwitted than anyone else here."

(misc)

[ wanna plot something? Hit me up on plurk thorhugs, or on discord at ThorHugs#5484 ]

B

[horsepowered]

The rain wasn't a bother to Chiron in the least. He had endured much worse storms than this, and if that gave him an advantage in say, delivering inventories of medical supplies from one side of the camp to the other, then so be it.

Draco's words barely caught his attention. It was the younger face that said them that caused him pause, a netural face sliding into a slight frown. It remained there, disapproving, and moreover, silent.

In truth, Chiron just wanted to see if the young man would realize that those kinds of words usually invited scorn rather than anyone willing to help.

[putorius]

The problem was that Draco knew quite well what those sort of words would invite. He didn't put much stock in the whole "being polite" thing, and only tried to endear himself to people why they were more powerful superiors. Even then it was begrudging and cold. To anyone else, he felt that being crass and cruel was the way to get thing done. It was quite possible he didn't know how to communicate without insults in most cases.

"Well?" He demanded, after his eyes scanned over the person before him. "Are you or aren't you?" He had a plan, sure. But he also needed to express his frustration some how to help him think clearly. Too bad the only way he knew how to do that was being even more irritating than usual

[horsepowered]

"I'll leave the assessment to you, then," Chiron decided, after Draco's response. He was young, yes, but that was all the more reason to not respond to, never mind reward, rude behavior. He had no reason to assume that there was any good reason to speak to anyone like this, and this was the most graceful way of responding. The rest of Chiron wanted to give the young man a gentle hint that perhaps this was not the best way to gain assistance but, well.

Experience was far better in that regard. He turned his shoulder, and began to walk again.

[putorius]

Teaching Draco subtle lessons was never a fruitful method. Especially when it was on things that he had no desire to change in any fashion. His father treated people as if they were little more than dirt on his shoe, so why shouldn't Draco do the same? No one was going to teach him otherwise. At least not any time soon.

"Not, then," he sneered. Because clearly, anyone who didn't recognize his status was not worth his time. "Why don't you find me someone useful, then?"

[horsepowered]

Chiron's response was simple and direct, but unaware that subtle and Draco were not a good match.

"I suspect you'd be sorely disappointed, based on your exacting standards and poor manners. Good luck with what you're trying to accomplish."

[putorius]

That was more than enough to sour Draco's expression, his lips twisting as though he'd bitten into an exceptionally bitter lemon. As if a completely ordinary, non-magical fly and just landed in his pumpkin juice.

"I'll not be lectured by the likes of you! Now do as I say, and find me someone useful!" He itched to reach for his wand, to teach this muggle a lesson he wouldn't easily forget. But for the same reason he couldn't explain what manner of useful he needed, he couldn't just whip out his wand. He was still under age. While the rules were lax at home with his parents, he could be expelled if he started throwing magic around now. Or worse, if it was in front of a bunch of muggles.

[horsepowered]

Nothing on Chiron's face suggested that he was impressed by the response he was treated to. If anything, he looked disappointed that the young man was doubling down on pissing what was a hissy-fit over not getting his way.

He was very happy to make an escape, and turned his back to Draco.

"If you'll excuse me, I have information that needs to get to the medics regarding inventory."

[putorius]

One spell. That's all it would take. He could freeze the man in place. He could force him to do whatever he wanted. He could cause him immense pain to teach him a lesson. It would be so easy. A muggle would never even know what hit them. He was good enough to do it without uttering a word. He'd never know...

Instead, he curled his hands into fists at his dies, fingernails digging crescents into his palms. A reminder he couldn't risk it. Not until he could get away from the tent to find out for sure. Maybe he didn't even need to do research, though that was the safer route. His theory was shifting at the back of his mind as he thought over more aspects of everything he'd found out so far. He didn't want to look too closely over this newest idea because in a lot of ways it was worse.

"You'll do no such thing!" he barked. It wasn't a hissy-fit it was demanding respect. (no it wasn't) "You will find me someone, or you'll sorely regret it."

[horsepowered]

"Good day."

Chiron didn't look back as he walked away. Had Draco attempted any form of magic, then that would have made life interesting. Being a mythological figure imbued with magic energy to sustain oneself would have had...well, the effect would have been fascinating, if not something messy.

As it was, Chiron debated with himself as he continued to walk. That kind of an attitude begged for some kind of adult intervention, the kind that included near infinite patience. Chiron was good at that, but he was also aware that he needed to focus on other things, like assisting with the medical supplies and improving his own skills. Contemporary firearms were proving an interesting challenge on their own.

A.

[trample]

Though he was likely the last person who should be doing this, he was always there for someone down on their luck. This time, not unlike his last memories of home, it was comforting a short, blond fellow that seemed to be far too attached to a stick for his own good. The look on his face suggested he was stuck in an endless cycle of self-defeating brooding, the sort that stymies any forward thinking. That wouldn't do at all.

"Are you a new arrival?" It's a fair question, asked in a polite tone. "I figured that anyone sticking around in the base tent here ought to be someone that's fresh, green, and has hardly any clue as to what's going on. Either that or you do have a clue and you just don't want to make a move. Which is it?"

[putorius]

The moment someone approached, Draco's head snapped up and the look of apparent brooding vanished. In its place grew an irritated sneer, having been interrupted in his study of this strange device. It was almost like magic, only not. It was too...direct. Too mechanical. And yet it behaved in similar ways. Control of it was along the same lines, and it hovered in the air just like magic.

But now he had this guy to deal with, instead. Getting to his feet, so the other wasn't staring down at him, he glared at Eren. "What's it matter?" He snapped. "Which are you?"

[trample]

"Oh, dear old me? I'm a veteran of the whole one battle we've gone through so far." He says it lightly, to get the guy to ease up, but it probably won't work. "So I've got a little bit more time here than you do, assuming you're a newbie. And it's always up to those with more experience to help out the fresh recruits. That's where I come in. You got any other questions?"

Preferably, ones that didn't come with implied insults to his person. Eren didn't get his hopes up.

B

[pointedlook]

[ After the whirlwind introduction, Arthur had incrementally grown accustomed to his surroundings. It was still in the realm of weird as hell, but he'd rolled his totem and reality stared him in the face. Not a dream.

Too bad, he'd wanted to make fun of Ariadne wearing heeled shoes and stockings.

Instead, he was ducking from tent to tent, avoiding the weary drizzle in order to keep his satchel of gunpowder as dry as possible. These conditions were absolute misery to wage firearm warfare in, especially with such early technology. But, there was no changing it. And with everything, he rolled with the punches, took notes, researched until his eyes crossed, and got on with it.

He's halfway through mentally and obsessively reviewing everything he could remember about this period in history when someone cuts straight through his thoughts. Glancing up sharply, he spots a lean-faced blonde kid with a smart mouth.

On dark brow raises slowly, as if unimpressed. ]

You don't talk to people very often, do you?

[putorius]

That reaction actually made Draco take a slight step back, looking about as offended as if Arthur had slapped him across the face. That wasn't something he was used to. Even Potter and his stupid little tribe of followers took time to wind up most days. How dare this...this muggle speak to him this way.

"I talk to people far more important than you'll ever be." Even if some of those important people terrified him to his very core whenever they so much as looked at him. "I asked you a question, didn't I?"

Perhaps if he could learn to be a little bit nicer to people he might get somewhere. But he was too out of his depth to think of that right now. He'd lost his footing, which meant he was scrambling for anything and falling back on ingrained habits rather than any form of logic.

[pointedlook]

[ After his comment, he sees the kid visibly step back, shock written across his features clear as day. Hm. Not used to getting backtalk, it seems like. Or he's realizing the error of his ways. Arthur is gonna bet on the former, just from experience.

(Ok maybe also because he's a cynic.) ]

I'm sure you do. [ Cool story bro. ]

I don't know, did you? All I heard was you insulting my intelligence based on a superficial assumption.

[ His eyebrows go up just the slightest fraction, hands sliding into his pockets. ]

Did you want to start over or keep going at this?

[putorius]

Okay, maybe he hadn't asked an obvious question. But it was implied, wasn't it? That much should have been obvious. If this guy couldn't see that much, he probably wasn't very bright anyway. Never mind the fact that what he said was completely true and all Draco had done was insult him without elaborating on why he'd done that or what his purpose was. He had a bit too much going on to keep track of every little thing he'd said or didn't say. Most of those things were nagging little voices reminding him of what had to be done back home. Reminding him of what would happen if he failed.

"I'll just find someone who isn't nearly so brainless, then," he snapped. Maybe with luck he could find another wizard, but he was starting to doubt that fact. He turned away from Arthur, as if he could easily get someone else's attention.

[pointedlook]

[ Well, if he was going to play it that way, it was no skin off his nose. Yeah, they're supposed to sort of. Work as a team. Right? Arthur ran point on all his jobs, which usually amounted to some sort of babysitting. Apparently here wasn't going to stray too far.

Momentarily grinding his teeth, he forced out huffed exhale, in slight disbelief.

He was being dismissed. Fine then. Arthur dug a little deeper in his pockets, starting to stroll away. ]

Your loss.

[putorius]

His loss? He didn't think so. But he wasn't going to let this muggle think he was some how superior. He stopped, mid-turn, and abruptly turned on his heel to face Arthur again.

"My loss?" He sneered. "Hardly. What could you possibly do for me that I couldn't find in one of these pathetic..." He quickly swallowed the word 'muggles', trying to find a replacement. Anything that came to mind just made it sound ridiculous. "...miscreants," he spat out after only a slight pause.

[pointedlook]

[ He may not be superior, firepower wise, to a wizard. But hey, he's doing his dang best.

Arthur's only halfway through his strides away from the punk teen when Draco pipes up again, condescension dripping in every word. Pausing, he slants a look over his shoulder, still clearly nonplussed, despite the continued insults. ]

I'm sorry, I couldn't understand you over the howl of your attitude. [ Somehow, his voice is still level, only the barest of annoyance bubbling to the surface. ]

Are you done? Clearly you've made up your mind about me so I don't feel like wasting my breath justifying my resume.

[putorius]

There was only so much Draco could take before something snapped. The weight of what he left behind was the bulk of it, what he'd been dragged away from. But trying to piece together where he was, why he was here, and if there were even other wizards about was enough to push a young man to the breaking point alone. But on top of it all was the various standards and behaviors that had been drilled into him by his father, adding additional strain. When the snap eventually came, there it would either be explosive rage or implosive despair. Either was incapacitating in the wrong setting, and it was near impossible to control which way it went.

Some how, that dismissive tone was the breaking point. That utter lack of respect that Draco had so long commanded. Before he could think through it, before he could push it down like he so often did, he was reaching for his wand. He had it pointed at Arthur before he could stop himself. And before he fully realized what he was doing, let alone why he was doing it, he uttered the words "Locomotor Mortis!"

Unless Arthur managed to evade the spell, his legs would snap together as if magnetized to one another. Whether or not he remained upright depended entirely on him, but at least now he couldn't so easily walk away.

[pointedlook]

[ If there's one thing he's absolutely familiar with, it's breaking points. Arthur had watched Mal's descent into madness despite her protests. Despite the therapy. He'd followed Dom all over the world, watched him break into tinier and tinier pieces and become less of himself.

He'd felt something snap clean through on the Fischer job when Saito was shot, only repairable through time.

Draco's face goes from sneering fury to sheer anger in the space between his words. Arthur recognizes it for what it is, but he's not fast enough to get out of the way of the explosion. His legs snap together, shins knocking uncomfortably, and he less than gracefully drops right onto his ass.

In the mud. It has been raining.

Eyes wide, he snaps his gaze to Draco, stares at the wand still pointed in his direction. ]

Did you just– [ He cuts off, mouth suddenly quirking up and a disbelieving laugh shakes loose, all the tension unfurling. ]

You just magically tied my shoes together. [ Arthur manages to wheeze out, expression lit up like a total child. ] Are you for real?