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

[thingpuncher]

"High speed chase!" Is Midnighter's instinctive reply. The white horse speeding out ahead of them, saddled with a man in Prussian military uniform, is still pretty far ahead, but they're gaining, inch by fucking inch. There's too much shit on this cart, too much dead weight, and it's slowing them down. He can already see how tired the horse is getting.

"Help or jump off!"

[handtowels]

"What—"

But then Takatora sees the Prussian, and his blue eyes widen.

Shit.

They can't risk losing or damaging their supplies unless it's dire.

"Give me a moment!"

If he uses his musou when he jumps off then he can avoid injury, but he'll need time to gather the energy. Instead, Takatora stands the best he can for a better view, waits a few more yards, quickly glancing around to make sure no one else can see, then focuses.

The French could use that horse — it would be a waste to kill it unnecessarily.

Ice bursts out of the ground under the white horse's hooves. No more than an inch thick, difficult to see and treacherous ground to gallop across. The horse looses its footing, slips and both horse and rider crash to the ground. The now frightened horse panics, struggling violently to get back up and neighing in terror. The Prussian, if they've not already been, will need some luck to avoid getting crushed.

Now's your chance, Midnighter.

[thingpuncher]

Midnighter sees it, and isn't completely surprised-- the computer estimated some extra-human talents in this guy, but wasn't able to make a conclusive guess as to its nature. Magic and all that shit. Whatever.

What the sudden appearance of ice means, really means, is an advantage, and Midnighter is literally programmed to use those by any means necessary. Armed only with a hammer, Midnighter launches himself from the cart as the lucky Prussian scrambles away through the wet and sodden ground.

Midnighter's first volley hits the Prussian in the throat. He falls back, choking and gasping, tears in his eyes. Midnighter steps forward to place a boot on the man's chest. Not using the translator-- he doesn't need it with a fucking computer in his head-- he leans forward to menace the soldier. "Willkommen in Frankreich, Arschgeige."

[handtowels]

Takatora hops down into the driver's seat and takes the reigns, bringing the cart to a stop. At the same time, he watches Midnighter closely.

The words are lost on him, but actions speak louder anyway. The Prussian spy cannot be allowed to live; it's one enemy's life against potentially hundreds of their allies. But there's a big difference between a quick, clean death and a messy, slow one.

Takatora doesn't intend to interfere unless it would be a mercy.

[thingpuncher]

The following scene plays out in a mix of modern and older German, between the man now kneeling down on the soldier's chest, and the terrified and gasping soldier:

What information where you carrying, Midnighter asks. The Prussian soldier says nothing, shaking his head as his only reply. How many fingernails do you like having, Midnighter asks, and holds up his hammer. The Prussian soldier gasps and ineffectually tries to squirm away. I'm only going to ask one more time- and then the Prussian soldier belts out a litany of apologies, and says (in German) that he was trying to inform Emperor Joseph II of his army's movements.

"Good enough for me," Midnighter says, once more in the language the BCE has chosen to translate, and caves the soldier's skull in with his hammer. It's not a clean death, but it's a quick one. This poor idiot doesn't deserve wanton torture; he hasn't earned it.

He looks over to his companion while he stands and wipes some of the mud off his knees. The blood splatter stays where it is. "Nice trick." He nods in the direction of the patch of now melting ice.

[handtowels]

Takatora sets down the reins and gets off of the cart. A quick death in one confident blow sits fine with him. The intimidation doesn't bother him enough to make a fuss, though that may be because he doesn't know German.

"The one way this rain actually helps. I wonder if I could make fog."

It's not something he's tried, but it could be potentially be useful. Ice is his only trick, but sheer volume makes up for his lack of variety. He begins to walk over.

"What did he say? Does he have anything on him?"

[thingpuncher]

Midnighter is already rifling through the dead soldier's clothes like a particularly muscular raccoon. He takes the dead man's sabre and musket without a second thought, along with a spyglass and his hat.

Now wearing the dead man's hat, he stands. "Nothing sensitive on him. Let's check the horse." Midnighter whistles, and the horse just stares at him. If horses have a sense of humor, this one's is very dry. "Uh," he says to his companion. "You an animal person?"

Because he is not.

[handtowels]

While sensitive material was his primary concern, having spent some time as a ronin, Takatora regards the looting as a matter of practicality. Though he can't resist making one brief comment.

"The hat too?"

He's also quite obviously laughing internally at Midnighter's exchange with the horse. It's only politeness that keeps him from laughing outright.

"If you take the cart, I'll manage the horse."

As a samurai, he's an experienced equestrian. Just to be safe, Takatora approaches the horse from the front when he moves in to grab hold of its reins.

[thingpuncher]

"Completes the ensemble," Midnighter says, tipping his tricorner in the guy's direction.

He turns to walk toward the cart, hop in step. "Yeah, the horse's your problem. Animals don't like me." In reality, he just doesn't fucking like animals, and the feeling extends to mutuality. Midnighter takes the cart and begins to pull it forward, displaying more strength than a man his size should necessarily possess.

Not by a tremendous amount, but it's noticeable; he's strong.

[handtowels]

"Huh. Impressive."

Takatora remarks, before he climbs up onto the saddle. The horse is still a little antsy, so he pats its neck and hopes that it won't decide to throw him.

Using physical cues, he coaxes the horse to begin moving.

"So you've seen battle before."

Midnighter didn't even flinch in killing that spy, which is the sure mark of a veteran. He doesn't consider that soldiering might not be the only way one gets used to killing.

"Under a certain command, or...?"

He's pretty sure that Midnighter is with COST. Between noticing and having no problems with Takatora's ice, that display of uncommon strength, and mannerisms that seem different to those of the French it's a reasonable conclusion.

[thingpuncher]

"Command? Uh." He thinks of Stormwatch, and an annoyed expression briefly passes over him. "Not anymore. Let's just say I'm my own boss and I love my work."

He clasps his bloody hands together, satisfied with the joke (it's not the first time he's used it), before turning to connect the cart to the horse once more. "What about you, Iceman? You with some metahuman team or something?"

He could be a superhero Midnighter's never heard of, with abilities like those. Midnighter keeps his operations mostly in America, mostly on the Eastern coast. There's plenty of shit he trusts the Gardner to let him know about if it suddenly becomes relevant.