agogelogs | AND THE ANZAC LEGENDS DIDN'T MENTION...

AND THE ANZAC LEGENDS DIDN'T MENTION...

AND THEN SOMEONE YELLED OUT "CONTACT!";

and the bloke behind me swore

THE SILENT WAR

The news of the day of the retreat spreads like wildfire through the Trenches. Leading up to the final date, all soldiers on the ground are instructed to limit their gunfire, to make it look like the usual traditions for warfare, which have determined much of human history up until this point: no one really goes to war in winter. Everyone is to maintain a verbal and physical presence, but the time to confuse the Turks has really become paramount. At times, whole sections are ordered to be perfectly quiet until the last possible second and then spring out before the Turks can get too close.

Which is just how it is supposed to be. In fact, for COST recruits, there's a real sense that this might just go according to plan.

Around this time, the Rear Guard signup starts. COST recruits are met with some surprise by Captain Lewis; he will blink in surprise at a group so new wanting to volunteer so readily, but he's glad and gives everyone who joins a big warm handshake.

Each day gets closer and the mood of the soldiers becomes more jubilant and tenser; the erratic sense of relief that they might be leaving what has become the graveyard of so many friends and, often times, family, combines with the frustration of not being able to do anything but wait. This leads to more than a few fights breaking out, often over nothing important. Just the edge of temporary relief.

Then, before dawn on Jan 7th, the evacuation begins in earnest. It's possible to see it from the top of some sections: a bustling populace until it trickles down to the ghost of the Trenches, where there is nothing left but the rear guard. It's a smooth, efficient evacuation.

The Rear Guard

This is a skeleton army, just enough to make it seem no one has left. Everyone is encouraged to come up with ways to make it seem like there are more men than there actually are.

The local soldiers have come up with a particularly sneaky one - a rope is wrapped around the trigger of a rifle, just loose enough not to pull it, and from the end of it hangs a bucket. Another container slowly drips water into the bucket until it fills and drops, pulling the rope around the trigger and firing the gun. Soldiers are tasked with emptying the water, refilling the cannister, or checking the gun if it looks like it has jammed.

Outside of that, if someone has a sneaky idea to keep up the ruse - even if it's lighting small fires or singing loudly in a chorus to give the notion of people still around - it's all encouraged.

THE THUNDER OF GUNS

Everything is going well. It's not even that worrying when a thick mist comes up, heavy and difficult to see through. But, for those with powers, it prickles oddly on bare skin, followed by a pressure that builds in the back of the mind. It seems to dull any extra powers or senses; magic and its ilk are still usable, but require more concentration to reach now.

In the stillness of the night, however, there is no breeze to move the fog on and it settles like oil through the trench.

It's 1am when the first shell drops. It falls to the east of the recruits' position at Lone Pine. It's a shell that comes down and splits apart the night air in an explosion of shrapnel, dirt and heat. Then a second, then a third, now starting from both sides.

All the soldiers' clamour out of the way and Captain Lewis can be heard shouting over the din: "Into the Tunnels!"

But not everyone can make it. The shells are coming steadily now and one step in the wrong direction is the difference between life and death in such a small space. It's chaos - some soldiers are killed outright. Others get buried under the debris and dirt. Others catch shrapnel that, if not fatal, is enough to throw them and make it hard to get up. But COST's mission is the same as it always is: save as many of these men's lives as possible.

There are four direct entries into the tunnels, all about four or five meters apart, and they're all interconnected within the tunnels themselves.

One by one, however, shells fall and destroy the entrances to the tunnels.

WARTIME ARCHEOLOGY

It takes another three hours for the bombardment to stop and, once the tunnel entrances collapse, it becomes very dark in there. Might be time to fish out a match and strike up a torch.

While Officers previously told soldiers to keep out of the tunnels and otherwise left them ignored, these tunnels are huge. Not like the ones in other sections of the coast; here, they seem to go far into No Man's Land. They're crudely constructed and only some sections are reenforced with heavy beams of wood. But once journeying into them, there are all sorts of things to be found. There are old gas lamps that can be used to light your way or hung on a secure nook or cranny. The stone has been worn smooth in some sections, and other parts have been carved with graffiti of the soldiers who cut them out.

Some locations go down a few steps, while others go up and small holes seem to have been dug through the roof of the tunnels.

It's definitely best to get away from the front of the tunnels, where the bombing is still going on. There are wounded to be seen to and secured from bleeding out, people to find to make sure everyone is still alive. Maybe you want to go farther into the interweaving tunnels to see what else can be recovered. Or maybe you're being stubbornly sensible and looking for a way to dig your way out again, once the bombs stop firing.

Either way, it's a long, exhausting wait in the dark as the ground shakes, showering dust and rocks over everyone.

INTO THE DAWN

The sun has risen when the firing stops - and it's time to search for a way out of here.

Stepping into the light reveals utter destruction. The concentrated bombing has done its work; everything is strewn or buried in dirt and rubble. Machine guns are overturned and parts of the Trench have collapsed; going over the top would be disastrous, given that the Turks have no idea what is happening and will pick off anyone who sticks their head up.

There also isn't...anyone else around. All that's left is this one segment of the rear guard, just 500 men and the COST soldiers. It isn't possible to discern if the other groups have been evacuated or killed at this point.

It's time to consolidate, count their losses, see who is alive and who isn't, and salvage what supplies are left after some digging clean up is done. Work out who needs to stand watch. For now, Captain Lewis' orders are to use the tunnels as a new base of operations.

SOMETHING WICKED THIS WAY COMES

They appear first as a shimmer of off-light, no more than a haze against the resettling mist. A faint shape against the grey - the long lines of a dog's face, almost Jackal-like, in a clean black uniform that gives more to the appearance of shadows - moves closer, but not too close. They could almost be a trick of the light, out of the corner of your eye. Almost intangible.

They're not moving closer, however, choosing to hang back in the rubble of the Trenches. The ANZAC soldiers don't seem to notice them at all.

Ten minutes after they're first spotted, Commander Grothia issues a priority message:

Contact. Regency soldiers. Do not engage.

If a shot does get fired that way, whether it's from Turkish or ANZAC soldiers unknowingly or from COST operatives: it's quick but, as the bullet seems to come into contact with them, the air around them shimmers blue, like it's hitting a field of light. This effect seems to be stronger when they're standing close together and, as of now, they remain unhurt.

Moving closer to them increases that feeling of mind fog on powered characters; for the unmagical, a sense of unease prickles up. It's a feeling not unlike the beginnings of the time-step, the hum of sensation that marks a transfer through time. Veteran recruits will easily recognize the buzz that dances through their bones before it stills as they move away; rookies might recall it from their initial arrival from BASE.

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Chiron frowns, and there's no hiding his disapproval at what to him sounds like a plan designed to waste mana instead of accomplishing anything of use.

"We'll be no use to anyone if we don't at least try to minimize our exposure to the stuff."

Using a collective term is likely to backfire. Chiron doesn't care. He's too unnerved right now, and it isn't like they couldn't make excuses. Something in the air making them break out in a bad rash and needing to make sure it didn't impact them in the fight to come.

Yeah, that was horrible.

"There's a tarp covering a few men over to the left, no one will notice two more."

"Then you go ahead. A king doesn't run from anything."

Not that he's running; but to Mordred, taking shelter might as well be the same thing. She can't imagine her father under the tarp, and so she won't go there either. No wonder her mana supplies are the worst of all the Servants.

"If there's an attack, the first thing they'll see is me. They ought to run away with their tails between their legs." From a Saber without sword or armour, sure. "You should come up with a plan for getting others to safety."

"A king isn't running. A king is simply waiting for the opportune moment, and ensuring that they are at their most splendid."

It's the last words Chiron will use to try and convince Mordred to not forge ahead with what seems to be a foolhardy plan. His entire body is as tense as it was before, and now there's a hint of concern in it as well, directed specifically at Mordred.

"They could be using this substance for a number of hours, very much on purpose, just to make sure no one is at full strength."

Chiron, why are you like this... she hates it when other people are right, especially about things she doesn't want to hear. She grouses a little more, but if he's right, and it lasts hours...

"Hmph." That's Mordred-speak for 'good idea'. "Very well. I'll set an example for everyone else."

Mordred strides over towards the tarp, all confidence now that she's made her decision. She'd still much rather be out in the open where she was, but if she's doing this, there's no point loitering any longer.

"If that's their goal... they'll be expecting a weakened force." She grins. "They won't find it."

Chiron's more than a little surprised that his attempt actually worked, but he'll take it. Slowly, he follows after Mordred, trying not to spend any more mana than he absolutely must. It's a tall order, and one he isn't sure he can actually succeed at.

"It's definitely their goal," he agrees, keeping his voice low.

"But so far, they've only gone after those who rely on something else to power their attacks. I don't doubt they're going to create some physical obstacles next."

Sometimes, very rarely, Mordred can take good advice when it's given. Just don't get used to it... and don't be surprised if (when) she gets bored and leaves the protection anyway. But for now, she's playing along.

"Or they simply won't waste their time on humans." She can never miss a chance to disparage humanity. "We're the real problem. Servants and mages are far more powerful than anyone else."

At full power, she'd be right. But even before this, most of them had been limited in some way. The only thing not limited seems to be Mordred's cockiness.

"Anyway, physical objects pose no threat to us. Let the others worry about it."

Chiron snuggles himself between the trench wall and the group that have gathered under the overhang, trying to take up as little room as possible. With the condensation greatly reduced, he can feel the difference in how much mana he is spending, and it is a relief. It shows on his face for a moment, a flicker of being pleased, before his serious countance resumes.

"I doubt that's the case," he says, eyes on Mordred. "They're likely working on the assumption of a group that includes magic users and mortals. I'd be more surprised if that isn't the case, and berate them for poor strategy besides."

At least Mordred's certain of victory. That sort of optimism was the kind of thing the gods would have a field day with back in Greece, but she's also...well. Mordred's right. Physical obstacles are the least of all concerns right now.

"I suppose it wouldn't do any harm to indulge in a selfish sentiment when the time comes."

"You'd berate them?" She laughs. "You never stop thinking, do you?"

Compared to Mordred, who seems to think rarely if ever. But it's still funny to imagine Chiron criticizing their strategy even while under attack. Once a teacher, always a teacher.

"I wonder how the others are managing." It's phrased as a statement, not a question, because she definitely, totally, 100% doesn't actually care if they're okay or not. Just idle conversation, not concern.

"Ask Achilles," Chiron said, giving Mordred a little smile. The laugh wasn't infectious, but it did lift his mood slightly. "I did exactly that in our first encounter of the Grail War, while flinging him about."

It was with reason, of course. If they were to fight each other, they couldn't be sentimental. But that was gone now, and Chiron's disapproval in strategy could be turned towards an actual enemy, rather than enemy by circumstance.

"They've probably figured the mist is a problem. I don't know how much they've got left of if they've...." found a master. Chiron lets that just hang in the air.

Ask Achilles, huh? Maybe she will. She always like hearing stories about him getting beat up. But she doesn't actually want him dead, which is why the mist is an issue.

"You're one to talk. You don't have a Master yet either, right?" She figures he's been taking it easy compared to her, but there's still a limit to how far that can get a Servant. They've been lucky to last this long as-is. "I know Archers can cheat, but you really should think about it."

By 'cheat' she means 'they have Independent Action'. Of course she considers it cheating if it's a skill she doesn't have.

Edited (where'd that second a come from) 2018-02-01 14:35 (UTC)

"I do not," Chiron confirms. It had become a point of contention between himself and Achilles, with the latter starting to worry far more than Chiron felt was strictly needed. "Even with the class advantage, I believe tonight I will hit the upper limit of it if I'm not careful."

It was why he was keen to move towards shelter once he had confirmation that the mist was a problem. It is why he's frowning so deeply now, and quietly thinking of what to do if something truly foolish happens.

"There won't be time to quickly replenish the supply either, I suspect."

She grumbles in agreement. "No way. The food here is utter garbage... if there was anything else available, I'd spit it out."

Priorities. Of course, food is the only way she's been getting any mana at all, so maybe she's right to complain. The tack isn't even nutritious to make up for its bland taste. They could sit and eat for hours without recovering enough mana for even a medium-scale attack.

"Start planning for yourself instead of everyone else." That includes her, frankly. They weren't enemies back home, not anymore, but it was still a temporary alliance. And a Servant should look after themselves first and foremost. "Fading away would be an embarrassing end for any Servant."

"I imagine we have at least a month left of such cuisine, if the duration of our time in Paris is an indicator of how long these missions are to take."

Chiron had been food reliant as well, the other options to him less savory than just eating the poor food and pretending that it didn't make his insides twist up from the...everything about it, in truth.

"I'm certain that Achilles would find a way to make it otherwise just so he could reprimand me." But Chiron nods to show that he has taken Mordred's point. Which brings him to another.

"Have you discussed our natures with anyone else?"

"A few know of our nature as spirits." The Servant and Master system, less so, but she sees no real need to keep it a secret. Her identity is another matter, but even that... "My name as well. I could not stand for the falsehoods I encountered."

Morgana. Merlin. To hear of another Mordred, one who wasn't even the son of King Arthur — it burns something in her. What else does she have, if not that? Another world's Chiron, Achilles, Siegfried, are all still heroes. She has no such claim, in any universe.

"Rider has likely told more than I have." If Ryuji is any indication. Also, Achilles is just a braggart in general.

"...Falsehoods?" Chiron raises an eyebrow. There was a lot more to that statement than Mordred was letting on, and that had him a little concerned. Not just because Mordred's temper was something Chiron saw as something to be cautious of, but out of concern that she might have run into another version of someone she knew in her own time and place.

He closes his eyes for a moment, and nods in agreement with her final statement.

"I can confirm that much. I had one person ask after my contract status who wasn't one of us."

"Great. Well, it's nothing too bad. I don't trust mages anyway, so they can do what they want with the knowledge."

She'd trusted one mage. She won't be so quick to trust another — at least not to the point of admitting it. Months later, Kairi is still the only exception to that rule.

For a moment, she goes quiet, considering whether to open up about her private issues. Then, she sighs.

"The other you. I'm sure you guys have some differences, but you're basically the same, right?" Which is probably (definitely) weird in its own way, but in her mind, it'd be easier to deal with. "There were two people who spoke of a different Mordred entirely. A druid boy, unrelated to the king. Talk about a bad joke."

Chiron couldn't quite agree. If there was a mage out there that wasn't as trustworthy as the ones he had encountered so far, then there could be a genuine issue. It was something he didn't want to reflect on though, and nothing that could be discussed further.

He let it lie.

"Aside from the part where he's still immortal, yes," Chiron confirms and before he listens.

And then he goes very, very still. Being proven right was of no comfort. If anything, being right in this instant felt cruel. "Just wearing your name. What has he done?"

"Nothing like I have." There's pride and anger both in her voice, and it's impossible to tell which is the stronger emotion. "Perhaps he will, one day. But it would hardly be justified."

Her rebellion could hardly be justified, either — she's the first to admit it was selfish and vengeful, built entirely on her own grudge against the king for never acknowledging her. But without that grudge, what possible reason could there be to rebel at all?

"... One of the two claimed to be Merlin. Honestly, he'd be an improvement over that old bastard." A moment of levity. It's clear the other person is one she's much more reluctant to talk about, which leaves few options besides Arthur himself.

"So...a name and nothing more."

It's a moment where Chiron is reminded of how Heroic Spirits are the sum of all legends, and this Mordred could be one of the thousands that fed into well...the one he's talking to, and in a way has come to enjoy the company of.

"May I ask after the improvements?" He doesn't push after the other. If it was Arthur, he's certain that Mordred would have already done something in response to that fact.

"Hmph. He can stay just a name, for all I care."

She huffs. It's immature, when she knows almost nothing of the other man, but she takes offense when it comes to her legacy. Even Morgana is cutting too close to home. Merlin, however, she has no such attachment to, and she's happy to diss him all day long.

"We only spoke once. But he seemed far more foolish, and yet far less insufferable." Read: her Merlin seemed to know everything, the few times they spoke.. and yet, he never stopped her rebellion, or stood at the king's side at the end. It's not something she'll ever understand. "Loyal to my fa— to Arthur as well. I guess not everything changes."

Just the one thing that matters to her.

"....A contrast to what you knew then," he concludes neatly. It's probably a good thing for everyone else too, but CHiron isn't about to say that outloud.

"There are...some consistentices in certain variations of legends. When the Greek poets spoke of stories, they were usually different from each other. It wasn't until something was written down that there was an agreed upon version. It's probably a factor here too."

Mordred nods. "Some differences are to be expected."

She thinks of the depictions of her father in art and writing — not to mention herself. If only they knew the truth of that, and of everything else. But to take their relationship away is to kill her as surely as Rhongomyniad did.

"... The other I spoke with was Morgana. My father's sister, still. And yet she claimed neither she, nor Arthur, had any child." In that much, at least, Mordred has no reason to doubt her. Her reaction was too genuine. "Surely that is too great a change. For the origins of the others to remain as they were, yet mine to be so different."

Now she just sounds frustrated. Not at Chiron, but in general.

"...It's a lot to take in," Chiron says after he lets the silence breathe. It's partly out of wanting to let Mordred get everything she wants to say out, but also respecting that this is a lot to tell anyone. Chiron is genuinely surprised that she's even saying this much to him.

Quietly, his conversation with himself weighs in his mind. Not the part about the state of the gods and their alliance with the Regency, but about his family. Split up, passed on, and at least one turned into an enemy. Those were differences the Greeks could never dream up, and hearing them, they hadn't felt true. But they had weighed heavily on him, because they were still versions of his own family.

"And too great a change. That much, the extreme differences, I do understand. I still don't rest comfortably with it, and I expect I never will."

Without Kairi, her options are limited. It has to be someone who knows her name, which leaves few enough people to choose from, and Chiron is the only one to have dealt with meeting... well, himself. (Of course, Mordred hasn't met this other version of herself, but the sentiment is largely the same.)

"Mm. I figure I'll just ignore it." Oh, of course. Great job there. "I'm the only knight to surpass King Arthur, after all. If they can't even get that part right, then I have no reason to listen."

Having seemingly come to a conclusion, she gets to her feet, leaving the safety of the tarp. The fog still lingers, but there's a limit to how much waiting she can stand.

"Enough sitting around." She hesitates, then glances back at Chiron. "... Don't forget what I said before. If you fade away after all this, I'll be really mad."

"...Pay attention to them at least," he suggests. Ignoring them entirely is what strikes Chiron as a very stupid idea. "If only to take advantage of the mistakes of others and perfect their failures."

But...that's that, he supposes. Mordred has her own agenda, and Chiron's not fool enough to try and exert any kind of control or show a more guiding hand. He's around to talk to. Nothing more and nothing less.

"I'll see you after this is all over. You have my word."

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AND THE ANZAC LEGENDS DIDN'T MENTION...

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