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

III;

[hakanai]

[Yoshitsugu grew up in the era of Japan when guns had first started to be used in combat. He'd been a younger teenager, barely settled into the lowest ranks of the Azai army, when reports of the Battle of Nagashino had reached his ears.]

[Now, firearms had been used in war before, but not in the way Oda Nobunaga had utilised them. The Demon King had wooden stockades set up and had his gunmen ensure a constant stream of gunfire by ensuring a man was reloading only when the man in front or behind him was shooting. With no let-up and no easy way to flank the mighty cavalry of his enemy, the Takeda, had been destroyed. The word 'bloodbath' was whispered in relation to that battle. Yoshitsugu was a practical man and understood war, understood necessary sacrifices, but even he had found the mental images rather unsettling.]

['Guns were the future of warfare.' He'd been certain of it then, and seeing guns in this time ahead of his own proved him right.]

You are aiming at an inanimate object. [Yoshitsugu walks up, having put the gun he'd been using away. He speaks quietly enough that only the two of them can be heard, but touches the other man's weapon as if he was offering advice. And he is, in a way, though it's rather to the point.] Shoot it now or walk away rather than wasting time focused on your hatred of the thing. You aren't binding yourself to its use either way.

[lonelywar]

[His first experience with the firearms beginning to grow more widespread throughout Japan had been with its cruel symptoms. There was no stronger or better way to kill a god, for even if the bullet didn't end its life, it would parasitically drain its life away until the choice existed only between death and existence as a demon. Nago, prideful and furious, had chosen the latter route, traveling eastward to where he had by chance come across Ashitaka and his village. So many aspects of it seemed so random, so minimal in chance, and yet now the mark rest coiled around his chest, ready to rob him of his own life. To Ashitaka, that was what warfare was—cruel, random chance which took so liberally of life. To him, that was what firearms represented as well.

His knowledge of his own country was still small, limited only to the reclusive village he had grown up in and could no longer return to and the line of countryside he had traveled westward, to where the people of Irontown waged war with both the gods themselves and samurai armies to maintain their economic strength. With the rifles they'd had at their disposal, they seemed capable of both.

It was truly a weapon to rule the world, as Eboshi had said. It shook in his hands, the mark seething beneath his skin as he held it. The pain was distracting, enough so that he didn't notice the man's approach until he had spoke. To Ashitaka's credit, he does not react sharply, instead turning his head slightly to fix him in a sidelong glance. The way his hand shook seemed to betray fear, but there didn't seem to be fear in his eyes. This wouldn't be a surprise to him, though. He seemed to discern the root of Ashitaka's issue with the thing. In that, the calmness of his tone, he found something to respect. He weighs his words with care.

The young man looked back to the target, pausing, thinking. He did not fear the pain that shooting the weapon might cause him by way of the demon's mark, but he did fear what the use of such a weapon in the future would do to him in the long run. After a moment's consideration, he slowly lowered the weapon, expression clouded.]

I've seen weapons like these do more damage than anything should be capable of. [He has to take his right hand off of the rifle, clenching his fist to try to stymie the unrest of the mark.] Their use in this war will do nothing but further its destruction.

[Just now a bullet shot by a woman into a boar that was a god of the forest would one day bring a cursed young man to her doorstep, only to stop himself from killing her then and there. The reason he had not done so was because he had known it would not stop anything. But in a foreign land, such a small piece in the moving of nations, what was there to do? Was there anything? The powerlessness aggrieved him more than the curse.]

[hakanai]

[Yoshitsugu raises a slender eyebrow. This one has clearly been through some kind of brutal and deeply personal experience related to guns; there is emotion and history in that expression. Drawing back his hand, he considers for a moment before sliding it into his clothing and drawing out a piece of cloth.]

They are going to be used in this war. [Yoshitsugu isn't one to be soft or gentle about things; he's blunt and to the point.] That is a fact. Our thoughts on their use here will change nothing.

[He uses the cloth to wipe his face, an almost knowingly pointless attempt to dry his face; new drops rolls down his pale skin even as he tucks the damp cloth away again and sniffs. Yoshitsugu's eyes remain fixed on Ashitaka the entire time, thoughtful and calm. There is nothing accusatory or judgemental in his voice when he speaks next. It's just matter-of-fact.]

They are not all that will be used. No war relies entirely on its arms. Information, foresight and healers are needed. Good strategy. A keen eye. What do you intend to bring? Or do you intend to hide away?

[lonelywar]

[At first, seeing the weapons that could fire a pellet of metal at a high enough velocity to kill had simply solved the puzzle posed by the iron that they had found lodged within the remains of the god-turned-demon. The mark, the last echo of Nago's existence impressed into Ashitaka's body and soul, seethed, hating the weapon that had putrefied him. It had been enough to make Ashitaka wary, though now he had a shared experience of being shot. Only the steely impetus of getting San to safety had kept him moving forward as he bled out, and only the favor of the Great Forest Spirit had let him live through such a wound.

Yet the mark remained. Not all of the problems posed by his situation were so easily solved.

He is silent at Yoshitsugu's words, eyes shadowed but understanding in that darkness. He gives a single nod; he knows the truth when he hears it, and he will not turn from it.] I understand. [There is nothing to be done about it. He needs to accept this and move on.

If anything, he finds the man's continued efforts against the rain admirable. Ashitaka had long since been soaked to the skin, only lightly chilled and uncomfortable in civilian clothing he found cumbersome to move in.

The questions that he pose ring with a dreadful acuity; they had been things that Ashitaka had been wrestling with himself. He found himself at a unique crossroads. He had been a different person before the mark and the curse, and that quest had changed him into another, giving him a mortal mission to try to accomplish before his life was cut short. Here, he could be neither of these people, separate from the conflict that lie at the heart of his curse, forever separate from his home. Who was he now? What would he become if given the choice, free of strings or obligations?

He wasn't sure if he could decide something of such a magnitude so quickly.

Still.] I will not hide. [That much was certain.] I will do what I can to help. I know little of healing, and less of tactics. But I have grown used to watching conflict, and I believe I can perceive the moments where my intervention will do something.

[He is silent a moment after this, the strength and fervor behind those words fading as he thinks them over. That self-assuredness falters a moment as he adds on, quietly and with eyes averted in seeming sheepishness,] That is... vague. [But it's what he felt he had to do.]

[hakanai]

[Ah. Ah. Of course there has to be someone (besides Takatora) within COST's ranks that possesses that element of purity Yoshitsugu has always found endearing. No matter where he goes and whatever path the flow tosses him down there will be souls like this waiting to eventually make him question his personal philosophies and do really stupid things that will not work in his favour.]

[Will this one ever manage to do the same? Maybe, maybe not. COST alone is causing him to do that... ah, fate is having a lot of fun with them now. Even at its own expense.]

The ability to know when you can be useful is a rare and precious ability that every strategist treasures. [A touch of humour seeps into Yoshitsugu's expression, eyes growing half-lidded and catlike.] I shall remember that you are apparently so gifted.

[Turning around, Yoshitsugu walks a few steps away and stares out at the rest of the camp. It is busy; mud splashes everywhere as soldiers move things around, run to their next destination or pace up and down. The air thrums with an understandable tension. It's an energy that he's extremely familiar with on every level, knowing both the role of the lowest ranks and that of the highest in the war.]

Guns are not for you. We have established that. Step away from the range, look around and let's see if you can find a task that will benefit from your intervention.

[lonelywar]

[Ashitaka would not see it the same way. With his own hands he had claimed the lives of men and a god of the forest, and that they had technically thrown the first stone and refused to listen to his entreaties for peace didn't seem so relevant when the results marked him physically, spiritually, mortally. In a way, his quest was one of redemption, a search for a conclusion which would justify what he had needed to do in order to get there. His involvement with COST simply added to that, though it did pose unique challenges.

The praise was somewhat strange to receive, particularly because Ashitaka didn't expect it. In Irontown, he had expected derision for his inaction to their aid; he had certainly garnered mistrust when he had intervened in San and Eboshi's fight, carrying an enemy of the town to safety. Then he knew he had to act, and he had done so alone. That would not be viable here, not with what he knew of what was going on. So perhaps it was best he listen to those that would give him more guidance than just relying on gut instinct.

He considers this as Yoshitsugu turns and observes the camp. When addressed again, he doesn't waste time, setting the rifle down with some other materiel a short distance away and briskly returning to the man's side. He is silent a moment, eventually saying,] Thank you for your help. [His thoughts had seemed sluggish since waking up in Jerusalem, his mind so saturated with new information that it was a struggle to feel sure of anything. To rely on others to help work through such things was new to him, but he saw that it was, in a way, necessary.]

You are a strategist, then? [Battles had always seemed so chaotic; Ashitaka found it strange to think anyone could discern method from that mayhem.]

Sorry for the delay!

[hakanai]

Yes. [Yoshitsugu's eyes slide closed for a moment before he tilts his head back and stares at the sky.] A very good one.

[A strategist who doesn't know his own skill, his own capabilities, would be a rather useless one. Someone deluded to their own abilities or so deeply humble they can't even acknowledge them in their own head can't stand by a commander and dictate an entire army's movements; you have to be confident, and likewise able to say when something has gone beyond what you can handle. Failing to do that can waste lives that might otherwise be saved or prolong a fight that could be cut short.]

[Yoshitsugu is prepared to do practical things in battle. He's had to take lives himself during the long wars that have permeated his homeland. No matter what someone is going to die, but letting more deaths happen than necessary would make one, well... something like the man called demon, Oda Nobunaga. Ruthlessly efficient and frankly brilliant in many ways but also brutal and cruel.]

[Nostalgia washes through him, and Yoshitsugu remembers his first Lord and father-figure Azai Nagamasa. A warlord and local ruler who had somehow remained pure and noble, who would go back for any man and do anything and everything in his power to save you, who would and had risked his life for a rabbit. Nobunaga had killed Nagamasa in order to make a point, more than anything else, because the Azai had been decimated beyond saving by then.]

[Be ruthless. Strike down all who oppose you. Show no mercy. Ensure that one day, someone would betray you for it.]

Someone has to be, after all, or we'd all be hopelessly doomed to a dark flow. [He glances back at Ashitaka, straight-faced.] Our leaders are not very organised, though they may yet have their reasons for that.

i lost this notif?? feel free to ignore if too intense of a backtag

[lonelywar]

[Ashitaka does not mistake confidence for arrogance. He had encountered blaggards and blowhards, so full of the fire of false self-assurance that they had considered easy prey of an unassuming-looking young man. It was that sort of line of thinking that had made them somewhat easier to deal with, although all of his acts of violence did remain with him, a gnawing on the back of his conscious which felt like an echo of the demon's curse attempting to claw at his life. No, he felt it easier to respect Yoshitsugu for his honesty and healthy estimation of his own skill. It was far more dependable, and their working for COST was little more than a lesson in learning to depend on others.]

We are fortunate to have you with us, then. [He said it knowing he had little mind for tactics, instead usually swept about the battlefield like flotsam thrown through roiling rapids. In a way, he feared becoming too familiar with war, too comfortable with its pulses and patterns. Widespread conflict and strife like this was a mortal enemy of his, as mortally entangled with his personal mission as the curse that ensnared his soul in a vice's grip.

Their leaders... Ashitaka's expression is grave as he returns Yoshitsugu's gaze, and he gives a single nod.] We are not particularly set up to succeed. [He glances to the path ahead, though he does continue,] Not easily, anyway.

[Even his own memories had supposedly been tampered with, anything that might've happened between what he last remembered in his own world—going to rest alongside San, knowing in the morning he would leave for the unforeseen future of war the next morning. Then it had only been waking in Jerusalem to yet another war, and this one without a personal stake for him.]

I could not guess at those reasons, but I would hope them serious enough to warrant subjecting us to this. [It was mostly the lack of information. Ashitaka was a fish out of water in his own country and time, as he had been raised in a land sheltered from common society. Even walking about here seemed like a risk, and one not only for himself but apparently for his entire family and their history. He took a breath, his jaw set in frustration.]