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

[dorzalta]

Many a moon has passed since she consumed the horse heart. Many a day since she'd smothered him after making a terrible mistake. She's made many mistakes since then, learning how to walk and lead on her own, facing betrayal after betrayal along the way. It's an exhausting journey, made more so with the knowledge that, last she recalled, she sat perched upon Drogon's back, burning her enemies.

To speak to the smallfolk is not a new phenomenon, though the strangeness of these lands does add a surreality to it. The last straggler of this crowd she speaks with soon pales during their conversation, staring aghast over her shoulder before excusing himself and scampering off. It's a strange thing, and has her glancing back curiously.

Drogo.

The siren's call of battle, of victory through inspiring others--both bleed together with newfound adrenaline as Dany stares at him, surprise clear in the widening of her eyes and the way her jaw goes slack. But he smiles, oh how he smiles! So pleased, her warrior is, and she thinks to herself: I did that.

She does not understand this, how he is here, how she is here, when days ago she'd been in Jerusalem; nevertheless, there are some things one must attest to magic, however difficult it is to accept this as true. Is that not what her allies on the sands had said? And magic has been kind in the form of her children. If it's brought him back to her...

Dany beams at him, laughter in her eyes and throat as she steps closer. A puddle splashes her ankles, but she pays it no mind as she observes him in the fabrics of this land, reaching out to run her palms along his chest when they draw near enough (partly to prove that he is, in fact, real).

"You look like one of them," she teases. "And yet they still recognize a fierce khal and know to flee."

[acchakat]

His moon laughs, and Drogo's lips curl into another smile. IT is no surprise--not to him--that she is here. She is fierce, she has a way. Together, they will fight. Together, they will amass their army.

Drogo seeks power, but more importantly, Drogo also seeks power for Dany. Her wish is his, her laugh, too, and the Dothraki wastes no time. Even if he grunts and it sounds suspiciously like an annoyed groan at the fact that he's not wearing what he's used to.

Still, none of that matters, not when he leans down and kisses her, warm and inviting, arms strong and looping around her. To any, they are a pair of peasants, and yet those who look closer can see they are so much more.

"They recognize strength. You have such, moon of my life. It is known."

[dorzalta]

The warmth in her gaze crinkles the corners of her eyes, turns the blue in them to something akin to the bright summer sky. That grunt, she recognizes it; most would not, but most are not her. How many moons had passed while she'd learned the nuances of his silences? For all that he is a man, sometimes, he reminds her so very much of his mount--even her dragons, with their grunts of pleasure and displeasure.

She doesn't think he would appreciate the comparison, however fierce they might be. Still, the giddy laugh escapes her anyway, swallowed by a kiss that she readily leans into. Even with the patter of rain pelting her, the dampness cannot extinguish the rush of warmth and happiness seeing him summons. Hands cupping his cheeks, she presses her forehead to his when the kiss comes to its end.

"My sun and stars taught me how best to bare my teeth." She has so much to tell him, so many stories she thinks he would appreciate. That time would come, though. "I didn't see you in Jerusalem."

[acchakat]

The word is foreign. So many words are foreign, and Drogo dislikes that fact. If this was a trading center, if this was where one goes to barter or sell, it would be different. But it is not. It is unfamiliar languages (some he can still understand) and unfamiliar smells mixing with ones he recognizes but still seem off. It's enough to make ones head spin, though Drogo will never admit it, and he wonders if this is the same feeling his wife had upon first wedding him.

"Jeru--" Drogo's face pinches, just a tad. "Jerusalem," He echoes, trying to say it properly. It is a name--a place--he automatically distrusts. He glances up at the rain. They should probably move, Dany is small, she may fall ill with too much water from the sky on her skin. He doesn't.

"I am here for you," he says simply. "So you may cross the poison sea."

[dorzalta]

It is akin to how she'd felt--foreign, unwelcome, other. The sensation never eases, despite the years which pass and the cultures she's introduced to. What does change is her sensitivity to the differences. Acceptance makes acclimating easier a task, and immersion is far more gratifying for her.

Her lips tilt in approval, and she nods. The word was foreign on her tongue as well, and took time to learn to say properly. "You'd not come straight from the desert." It was not a question. He would know, had he been there. She would have seen the fiercest of khals riding into battle.

His words unearth long buried memories, and she leans back enough to look at him properly. Though she still appears happy, some of the queenly mask returns to her features upon mention of home. Reflex. It's so reflexive to adopt that cooler mien, the one which demands respect from her subordinates and those who would question her rule.

"What do you remember last, my sun and stars?"

[acchakat]

He doesn't nod his head in affirmation--Dany knows he had not arrived there, she's just puzzling it out for herself. Instead, he watches.

She is strange--she is strained, something Drogo has never seen in her. She is happy, yes, but there is more.

He will ask, but not here. Not in the presences of those that are unworthy. No one is worthy to see Dany as she is, as a human, not a khaleesi--no one but Drogo.

Drogo does not like this look on his wife.

"Khal Ogo. I took Lamb Men for your wooden horses, and then I took his head."

[dorzalta]

...Khal Ogo? She cannot recall an encounter with another khal, certainly not one which resulted in Drogo taking his head. That he wishes to aid in her war for the Iron Throne speaks to a moment in the days leading to his death. Dany, unfortunately, recalls each of those days in striking detail, having scoured over those last moments with him as if in bid to maintain his presence with her.

Before she'd smothered him.

The taste of defeat is sour on her tongue, even years later. It causes the hint of strain to intensity--until without warning, her gaze is dipping to his chest. Deft fingers work open his top, just enough for the peep of sun-kissed skin to meet the cool air of these lands. But she does not admire, despite how lovingly honed muscle from battle after battle would demand attention. No, her fingers are gently brushing aside fabrics to gaze at... at...

At a scar. Blemished skin not infected, but merely scarred.

At once, her hand drops from his skin, as if she'd been burned, of all things.

"Where did you get this?"