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.

READ THE OOC INFOPAGE.

NAV. NETWORK LOGS OOC MEMES PLURK

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So he consumes her energy. Would that leave her incapacitated and incapable of tending to her own duties? It would be less than what a mage provides because she is not a witch, but if this aids him in survival during this mission...

"Any matters which require you to obtain sustenance through other means than our words must be with another." Jon is her intended, and she's no intention of entangling herself with another, be it sexually or through any other means that would not be deemed appropriate save on Base. She steps closer to him, fingers catching and curling around his forearm. No flinch, no hesitance as she meets his gaze. "So long as I am able to tend to my duties--" Meaning, he doesn't suck her dry, "--you may use the connection to sustain yourself. Be it here, or elsewhere on a mission."

She likes him enough, it would seem, to proffer what might very well be a piece of her part in order for him to not fade in this place. Or any place, for that matter.

"I don't know your binding words."

"It is within my capacity to monitor those levels, and I would do so regardless of who it was I was placing my trust in. Anything that would require a greater borrowing of strength would be something I would run by you first."

Chiron's still physically there. His arm muscles as strong and solid as ever, but in his eyes there's a levelness that makes it clear that all of this may as well be an oath. It's easiest to treat it as a frank assessment of what they're about to embark on. At least, that's how he sees it.

"It's a longer piece of spellwork, but nothing hard. Just repeat what I say, and the matter will be done."

So she's earned enough of his trust. Her gaze softens just a flicker, and she nods. It would not be misplaced, she would see to that.

She places her own trust into him by agreeing to this. One of the first of their allies--aside from Jon--that she opens herself to in this place, and hopefully not the last. That faith would be needed, if they were to succeed in COST.

"Do it."

The first words of the spell speak of silver and steel and essence, and then there is talk of contracts and stone, colors and wind, gates to the north, south, east, and west, and a road with three paths.

In so many ways, the combinations are strange, but there is a point in all of it. To summon a Heroic Spirit is to reach to a great place beyond and to pluck something from it. Demand it not only attend to your voice but tie it's fate to your own, all while promising to attain all virtues and declare dominion over all evils. Chiron repeats line after line with clarity, no wavering in his voice. It's a different feeling, this. A transfer, rather than being called forth entirely. That fact does not change the fact that around them, the place has gone dark, save for a single bright ring that circles where they stand. In words, there's surplus power, highlighting the spellwork and the gravity of the moment.

"Come forth from the ring of restraint, protector of the holy balance."

Silver and steel, gates, paths. These words hold power, reminding her of the rituals she once faced as a mere girl, whilst she consumed a horse heart. Vaes Dothrak. The Dosh Khaleen and their chanting. Do not be sick, not in front of these people.

But this time, there are no onlookers--merely he and she. Their words are steady: first his, then hers, lightly melodic, as if they weave together this contract from time and space itself. There is no room for hesitation.

She does not look away, not even to observe the ring of light that seems to flood her periphery.

"Come forth from the ring of restraint," she repeats, "Protector of the holy balance."

There is a flash of light and then...

...then there is simply Chiron. He stands slightly straighter, energy already starting to be renewed. It's a relief, and while it doesn't show on his face, it is there in his eyes. Achilles can stop fussing about this now. Everything can proceed as normal, as there is nothing else to be concerned about.

Rather than speak though, Chiron relies on one of the genuine perks of this particular bond. Telepathic communication.

Thank you. I can already feel the change.

She feels no different, strangely. If anything, she expected a sudden strain on her, as if the chains from the House of the Undying were shackling her once more, holding her down. Only when the flash of light fades does she look away, around them, curious to see if there were any others nearby, and if they'd witnessed this.

None watch them. None stand near. If Chiron weren't here, she'd believe herself to have imagined it all.

Of course his voice echoing in her mind has her eyes widening, head snapping upwards as she looks back at him. Her lips part, as if she's to speak. Then they close.

This is different from the mind ravens. A tentative, hesitant echo. You can hear me?

I can, yes. It's a private connection, no one else can interfere with it. It will also work even if I don't have physical form.

That last part is, as far as Chiron is concerned, the most important part of all. He doesn't need to worry about taking material form just for a conversation, and with the way things are going, it is even more important.

Distance has no impact on it either.

Can you hear all my thoughts?

She and Jon marveled over the mind ravens and how valuable a tool that would be back home... but this? This far surpasses what the BCE is capable of. This could make all the difference in war.

This is how they battled, in his world. Mage and spirit, joined as one and powerful in ways so many could not fathom. It would be like having the bonds with her dragons, but amplified.

If you will be more comfortable without your physical form, please don't remain on my behalf. I would like to show you something, though.

I cannot. Only what you make an active effort to communicate to me, and vice versa.

Anything that allowed for unfiltered thoughts would be a nightmare, a stream of consciousness that would be endless and impossible to navigate. This is simple, and truly all that's needed.

Chiron's also relieved that he doesn't have to excuse himself to slip into his spirit form. He does so quickly, fading out but still communicating.

What is it?

What else is to be gained from this?

She waits until he disappears from sight, and there's a thread of amusement relayed (or at least... she thinks it is? But this is difficult to fully parse) between them. Waiting until there is no sound of any others, she begins moving deeper into the tunnels.

Deeper, until all sound is extinguished, save for her own footsteps.

How do you feel?

It's not long until they (he is still following, she hopes) happen upon a fork in the tunnels; she takes the left pathway, and then there is more walking. A teensy flame is her only guiding light, lit prior to her movements.

A few minutes later, and they'll happen upon a corpse.

"It looks like a weapon. And that would be its fuel, no?"

Chiron moves as spirits do through the tunnel, keeping pace. Even he can't articulate how he wills himself to travel in this form, only that it works and that is the best that can be said for any and all of it.

Better. It will take a little longer for me to return to normal, but this is a massive improvement already.

The tunnels and their eerie quiet are the most disconcerting part of it all. Every one Chiron had been in so far at least had one person within, maybe two, alive or at least trying to remain as such.

Upon stopping at the discovery, Chiron slips back into his physical form. He can't interact with the real world if he is not manifest within it.

"I'd guess," he says, crouching down to examine it better. After a long moment, he nods in confirmation. "You're correct on both accounts."

Good. Use what you need. Out of the two of them, he was far more formidable in combat. So long as she could do what was expected of her, he was welcome to whatever... magic was in her veins. Is it the nature of the connection which slows your recovery?

His return to his corporeal form earns less of a start from her this time. A lingering look. She steps closer and crouches beside him, elbows resting on her knees as she fingers one of the fuel tanks.

"You've not seen a weapon like this before?" Now she looks thoughtful, as she lifts that very same tank. "I wonder what it does. Seems heavy, but I might take it, if it will help us."

(ooc: lmao spellcheck kept wanting to say "a lingering look" as "a lingerie look" WHY SPELLCHECK, WHY.)

Not at all. It's a natural delay, in the way that you shouldn't give a starved man all the food in the world immediately.

The metaphor holds, in his opinion, and it's something he has been conscious of since the connection began. Speed aside, moving too fast would cause an energy loss in Daenerys. Unfair and frankly, a betrayal of trust.

In examining the weapon, Chiron pokes at the main body of it, before tapping the cannister attached. It isn't hollow, meaning fuel remains. He frowns at that.

"We should determine what it does first," he says, eyes unmoving from the body. "This area's safe enough to experiment in, I believe."

[ooc: DDD8 no that's a tag for jon!!!]

She smiles. One of the few real smiles for those save Jon. You're a wise man. Thoughtful, as well.

Looting the dead feels like a terrible thing--one done only out of necessity, when survival was on the line. This corpse is long since gone, hopefully to a better place, if his soul was to remain. With the briefest of pauses, she lightly presses her palm to the body's sternum, feeling dust and bone against her gloved hand. After that pause, she begins unbuckling the weapon.

"That would be tragic, wouldn't it? Take the weapon, only for it to fail on us in the heat of battle." After some tinkering, she lifts the long nozzle, looking at it curiously. "It's certainly no gun."

(ooc: lmao right? chiron you get the lingerie look bow chicka. make achilles cry those man tears.)

Your praise is far too high. But Chiron knows how he has gone down in stories. The so-called wisest of the centaurs. A low bar. Better to apply it to a larger population, and have it truly imbued with meaning.

It is a grave thing to disrespect the dead. Chiron can't help but think it as he helps to remove the weapon, cautious as he does so. If the thing goes off, then they're both going to make right asses of themselves.

"No, it looks as if it sprays something," he says with a frown. "Gas, perhaps, but why attach it to one man when lobbing a canister without a human with it is more logical?"

Chiron frowns. There's another option. "There must be some kind of trigger mechanism though."

[ooc: he refuses because he doesn't want to listen to those.]

Know this about me: I offer kind words only when I deem it deserved. Compliments were never something she excelled in. Flattery was best left to those with an interest in playing the game; for her, such interest waned far too quickly.

Come to think of it, this weapon does look as if it sprays something. "It would explain the canisters with their liquids."

In a bid of curiosity, she reaches for one of the canisters and begins to unscrew its top. Carefully, she'll lean down to sniff at it--and promptly cough and jerk away.

"It smells awful." Gas? She's quick to seal the tank shut again, then smooths her fingers along the weapon. "Ah--I feel something. Should we test it?"

(ooc: have we found his weakness? :V)

I shall keep in mind. That's not quite a joke, although the phrasing might make it seem like an attempt at one. Chiron's a fan of that kind of straight forward frankness, and he's glad to know that anything given is always going to be geninue.

The smell from the cannister smacks Chiron like a wave, and he wrinkles his nose in response. But it does give him an idea of what the gas might be.

"If we test it, what will we aim it at? We can't endanger ourselves with experimentation."

(ooc: Possibly. We will have to explore further and confirm.)

It's a good way to communicate, she thinks. The flowery language some lob about only serves to hide one's true meaning. Useful in a court when the time arose, but not for most interactions. She preferred her point being clear and not misinterpreted.

Casting a quick glance around them, she pushes to her feet, lifting the strange weapon with her. "There's not much to aim it at around here..."

So, aiming at nothing but the tunnel wall--dirt and stone--she presses the trigger.

...and promptly stumbles backwards when a plume of bright flame roars to life. The problem, of course, with losing her balance is that the flames shoot upward for a brief moment.

It is an easy thing for Chiron to move behind Daenerys, bracing her so that balance is not lost and she doesn't land flat on her ass. His eyes, however, are on the flames and where they are directed towards, before they travel to their point of origin.

At least the purpose of the weapon is known. That and the fact dirt isn't going to immediately catch on fire from a brief spurt of flames.

"A flamethrower," he says simply. "I'm unsure how useful it may prove, but that's what it is."

Oh he's a wonderful man... or spirit... or whatever he is for catching her like that. Her laughter soon replaces the roar of flames as she straightens, marveling the weapon in her hand.

"A flamethrower," she repeats, sounding the word out on her tongue with open wonder. She looks as a child might when presented with a wonderful gift. "Fire is power, Chiron. Dragons are fire made flesh."

And she is a dragon. Without another word, she nods to him in silent thanks, then begins the process of attaching this thing to herself. She would carry it. Fire would always serve her best.

"It may not fare well against bullets, but we won't discount it."

(ooc: ugh he should find her flamethrower back at came after she gets kidnapped!!!)

He's a good horse. At least, he tries very hard to be, and likes to think that he does well overall in that attempt. Either way, his own face is looking at the weapon with a look of utter seriousness.

"It's a way to share a dragon's powers, certaintly," he says, knowing full well that it will probably be put to use the minute that it can. Perhaps after some training with it though.

"If you're to practice with it though, you'll have to remain underground. It'd give positions away otherwise."

Gas will work best with flames of course, causing combustion after combustion. The other option is to set a light parts of enemy trenches that feature wooden structures, but that seems like something that doesn't need to be said. "And I think it's worth becoming comfortable with it while we have the luxury of time."

(ooc: yesssssssssss)

"It's just as the trenches. This will be to our advantage, not something to foolishly give us away." But the fuel... she shouldn't practice too much with it, no? That was the limitation in this. She had nothing with an endless reserve, nor the luxury of casting flames as per her want.

Still, the mention of time is advantageous for them. So she nods, smoothing her fingers along the nozzle. There is the faint hint of the fuel's odor hanging in the hair, not at all appealing to her.

"We should find the fallen and give them a proper passing." Old habits and beliefs would die hard in this place. "They likely would find little relief in these tunnels."

(ooc: welcome to pain by finding her new toy, bud)

Chiron's unsure of the best way to carry the additional cannisters of fuel about, and he stands there for a moment, fingers tapping on his chin, contemplating the matter. An old sock or nylon something-or-other would likely do the trick, and could be attached to a belt or slung over the shoulder.

When passing is mentioned, Chiron nods in agreement and reaches into his pocket. For the little bit of money he acquired at that ridiculous coin tossing game, he can think of no better use for the stuff.

"Most likely. And our rituals are probably foreign to him. I hope they will do."

Chiron crouches down beside the late soldier, making sure that he is facing upwards before placing one coin on each eye. "We usually had funerary pyres, but that's impossible at the moment."

(ooc: :<<<<<<)

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AND THE ANZAC LEGENDS DIDN'T MENTION...

i did the sleeps thinger too

of course i end up having to help at a work event tonight |D

Adulting can be so rude

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