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

[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?