WHERE ARE YOU GOING?

[agogemod]

WHO? Everybody!
WHAT? Agoge's fifth TDM.
WHEN? January 1916, Gallipoli.
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.

And you know what they say;

Nobody deserves to die.

READ THE SETTING INFOPAGE.

arrival for new recruits

You wake up to the sound of bombardment, shells exploding in the distance, the smell of mud and rot and...mustard? You're in a tent and the cold wind rips right through it. You have none of your clothing, just black military-issued underwear, and none of your previous possessions beyond the one you chose (if you remember choosing) to bring with you. It's not a lot to go on, but the enemy isn't going to care very much if you remember why you're here on not. If you want to survive the next few hours, you'll all have to fight - and fight hard.

There's a man nearby in a corner, wearing an ANZAC uniform and sitting on a stool that's seen better days. When he sees you're awake, he answers any questions you may have and provides a quick briefing: you are a member of COST, a paramilitary organization of time travellers fighting against the Regency, a tyrannous kingdom of the future who are trying to stamp out freedom and individuality in the name of peace. And you are now in World War I on the planet Earth, in the doomed Gallipoli campaign on the coasts of Turkey. These specific trenches are known as Lone Pine.

He provides you with the clothing necessary to fit in and shows you how to use your BCE implant to look up information on this dimension, including its social and political mores. He won't let you leave until you're properly dressed, but once you are, he'll wish you luck. We could all use a little luck, here.


FOR VETERANS

It's been some long, long weeks since the veteran COST soldiers arrived in Gallipoli.

Despite the Regency's best efforts and the horror of the World War itself, it seems that the overwhelming majority of the ANZAC soldiers left behind have been saved. The men and few nurses still alive are looking forward to getting out and going home, and that's finally possible due to the work of dedicated COST veterans.

Congratulations everyone, there's a chance of getting out of here alive.

Groups 1 and 2 successfully established contact with a French ship, the Marie Antoinette. The French were in the middle of pulling out of Cape Helles and the Captain agreed to take on the stranded forces and bring them to Egypt - the training base for all Australia and New Zealand troops in this corner of the world, from where they'll be returned home. If all goes according to plan, COST's agents will slip out somewhere in the middle and back to BASE to regroup.

Which leaves getting there, made exceptionally easier by the work of Group 3's diplomats. They struck a deal with Ataturk - who, true to the tone between the ground soldiers of this war, greatly respects his enemy and recognizes no need to further pointless bloodshed.


LONE PINE

The situation at Lone Pine is dire. Food has run short and ammo even shorter. The fight with the Regency - disguised as German troops - has tainted morale. Their movement has been limited and, cut off as they are, the defense group has had little hope since the others left. The ANZAC troops are nervous and restless with the waiting. After all, they don't have the reassurances that COST members do through the use of their BCEs to keep in touch. They don't know what's coming or if the other groups have been captured or killed. They look for whatever cheer they can find in this truly desperate situation.

But they have some relief: the extensive tunnels in Lone Pine that cut into No Man's Land are still mostly intact. They offer some insulation against the cold snows that turn the ground to sludge and somewhere to sit where a sniper's bullet can't reach. It's in this space that meals are cooked and the wounded are kept out of harm's way.

...And then, in the early hours of the day before evacuation, the Matron Mary Smythe disappears. There's the sound of someone screaming and maybe you're awake in time to see Mary Smythe walk out of the medical tent, covered in blood up to her elbows. She disappears into the morning fog and, inside the makeshift medical tent, you'll find bewildered nurses and a few dead soldiers. They were recuperating, but the Matron did her best to slit their throats.

However, the Matron left in a hurry. Some of the bleeding men may still be saved, their injuries grave but salvageable. Act quickly.


FOR VETERAN RECRUITS RETURNING TO LONE PINE

Recruits who return with Group 3 have an easier return, with something of an unofficial escort through the Ottoman Turk lines. Though they have to keep their heads down, they are safe mostly if they stick together. The last thing Ataturk wants is for them to be shot down after he personally organised their safe passage. Nor does he want anything to tarnish what should be his flawless victory over the Allied Forces. They are brought to the edge of the Turkish Lines and make the rest of their way back alone to Lone Pine. Ultimately, Group 3 arrives back with a day to spare on their organised retreat.

Those still with Groups 1 & 2 make it back and in one piece, but they don't have the luxury of an escort. Nor is it easy going - they'll have to dodge gunfire the whole run down from the Nek and the French Dugout - but ultimately they make it. They arrive an hour later than Group 3.


UPON REGROUPING

The return and good news is met with raucous cheers from every soldier present - they clap members of the returning groups on the back, whistling with excited cheers of "You bastards did it! You bastards really did it!" It's an all-around hero's welcome, some of it shamefully tearful. They've assuaged fears that the surviving ANZAC troopers wouldn't see their homes or their loved ones again and the mood is palpable. "I'm going to tell my Darling to thank her stars for you every night!" These men have lived through hell for many months now and have had their hopes of going home shot already; many of them believed they'd never get out alive. But as the plans come together, there is a second where it dissolves into painful relief where they grip any other soldiers or nurses tight. "We might just make it." It's been a long while since anyone has even dared to think it.

The disorder from excitement only lasts a little while, before the order comes then from Captain Lewis - "Alright, settle down, we're not there yet." But even he looks relieved; the last few weeks and days of pointless waiting have turned him grey at every edge.

The terrain is now their biggest enemy. It's easy enough for COST recruits to communicate via their BCEs, but the ANZACs have their own communication system to circumvent the difficult, hilly country that often makes it impossible to track fellow soldiers. It's old - far older than the white colonists who have come to inhabit Australia - but it's a very simple cry of the word "Cooee". Adopted from the Dharug language of the Australian Aboriginal people who inhabited what is now Sydney, it has been used for years by everyone, from city folk to bush workers for a simple purpose. It's a loud resonating cry to let other people know where you are.

It may come in handy, when there are wounded men to transport down the heights of Lone Pine. Stretcher bearers are needed, to dodge anyone and anything that might mean them harm. Maps need to be studied to come up with the best routes and diversify the lines, to ensure they don't get funneled together at any point. This requires planning; it's vital everyone know their respective roles and shifts come the evacuation in the morning. Many COST recruits have an easier time of this than the average ANZAC, so maybe its the time to stretch some middle management skills or a hidden talent in deciphering turn of the century cartography. Sitting down and going over this with the local soldiers is important; some of them can't read very well, so it might be slow going. Others are just overeager and likely to do something stupid. Do what you can to get the words into the heads.

Meanwhile, for the long-standing COST recruits, there is another pressing matter: the six of their number kidnapped by the Regency. Just what might have become of them?


escape from bullshit mountain

Veteran recruits have heard plenty of explosions since they arrived in Gallipoli, but this one is different. It sounds nothing like a shell or grenade. There's a shock-wave quality to it, echoing across the trenches, but the epicenter can't quite be found. It seems to come from nowhere.

There's a moment of confused silence, but those with BCEs (those with COST), will notice a momentary glitch, a split second where their holographic technical interfaces blur.

Six captives have managed to escape and destroy this Regency cell's base of operations. The captives are ejected back into No Man's Land and must make a run for it back to Lone Pine. If they're fast, dodging bullets and slipping through mud and barbed wire, they can return to the closest approximation of safety in war-torn Gallipoli: the trenches most familiar to them.

Which shaves this affair down to the truth of what it always was: COST vs. the Regency. Until this point, it looked as though the Regency had the upper hand - they cut off supplies, launched surprise attacks on the defenders of Lone Pine, and captured a number of COST recruits - and were happy to goad everyone with their position. But the tide quickly turns.

For the escapees, it comes down to the same point: regroup to Lone Pine, gather up what remains of the soldiers, and get ready. There is only limited time to get everyone out with their lives intact. And COST has invoked a more resolute ire of the Regency, now without a home base. While most of them are too disorganized and disoriented to engage the escapees directly, others still in disguises of the era line up in the trenches and open fire.

The former captives will not make it by themselves. The Captain, while confused, yells the same order he's been giving for his last six months here: "Cover them!" Which is simple, really. Grab the nearest gun that looks like it might have a single bullet left and haul it up to the trench wall to fire over the top of it.

Do try not to hit the escapees though, will you?


THE CEASEFIRE

Ataturk, the one-day future founder of the Republic of Turkey, has earned the accolades of victory. They will position him upon the fall of the Ottoman Empire to free his homeland.

But, at the moment, he isn't able to give a direct order for everyone to stand down. Today, he is still at the instruction of the Ottoman Empire, allied with the Germans in this war and unwilling to let so many of Prisoners of War go. But due to his own opinions about the Ottoman Empire, Ataturk instead orders his soldiers to involve themselves in activities elsewhere. Namely, no matter what they see and hear on the front lines, with only Ataturk to oversee them, they will not move on other soldiers unless attacked. There are many other things they could be doing and he heartily encourages this.

It will last one full day, as agreed upon: from the dawn of the chosen day to midnight. No Turkish soldier will attack unless it becomes unavoidable for them to do so - and, as they are the main forces in the peninsula, this massively cuts the numbers they might have been facing.

This means that now the only enemy they are truly fighting are Regency soldiers disguised as Germans. Those who remain disguised are imperfect actors of the era and look rough around the edges; they may be better at fitting in than COST soldiers, but only on average.


THE DESCENT

In the morning, it snows.

But the evacuation can't wait and begins with the break of dawn. The process is fairly simple: one or two soldiers, armed and ready, break up the slower moving force of stretcher bearers and the wounded. The plotted paths send them on a winding trek through three alternative routes. Sometimes they overlap. In all cases, it makes clear the real obstacle to the ANZACS and the greatest aid to the Regency is, again, the terrain.

The Regency agents take potshots, snipe from safe positions, and ignore the ceasefire that does not, truly, apply to them. The ANZACs know that the order might not have gotten around, but when the first shot goes off, the soldiers swear something furious. "Haven't they already won?" The ANZAC soldiers can't know that the soldiers ignoring the ceasefire are Regency operatives in disguise.

But not all members of the Regency like these acts of subtlety; the jackal-masked soldiers are difficult to fight and harder to kill. They use the terrain and increasingly snowy weather to target any COST operative sloppy enough to expose themselves. Still, these soldiers are off their game. They're disorganized and reckless; if you kill one successfully - and it is possible, if difficult - the body will disintegrate.

Do what you can to stop them.

It's going to take teamwork to distract and keep them off their true marks, the ANZACs. When the Regency soldiers strike, it's clear they're not wasting any time. Every move is, if not kill, to incapacitate, to slow down the procession reaching the beaches and off the coast. They've got ample places and opportunities to ambush and attack unsuspecting groups of soldiers. One moment, the path is empty; the next, a Regency agent bears down on your position.

But ammo is low on COST's side and it might be better to scrounge around when you can.

Luckily, the trenches were abandoned in a hurry when the call for evacuation came. While the soldiers took as much as they could and removed bodies when and where possible, only so much could be taken. There are still quarter full boxes of ammo left behind, half covered in snow, and canteens still full of water drape off the knives stuck into the walls. If it's a piece of munitions, there's a chance of finding it on the way down.

There is something more, though. Left on tables and desks, in drawers and in cupboards, are fond farewells. There are notes, left in a myriad of chicken scratch handwriting to proper curving letters, that say: To Johnny Turk or To an honest Turk. And, occasionally, you may find gifts left behind as well: a bottle of wine, a fine cigar. Gifts of a fight so hardly meant.

In those little pockets of calm, when even the Regency needs to regroup, do you take it? Or, between a shift of ferrying people down the lines, do you just look at it and leave it be?


THE BEACHES

For those who remember coming to Gallipoli and landing on the beach weeks ago, the change is striking. When they arrived, it was a 300,000 strong teaming force of people, moving like its own city; ships pulled to the shore and the might of the British Navy sat just off the coast.

Now, it's a ghost town of half dismantled tents, holes from shelling in the earth like craters. The smaller docking vessels used for transport are riddled with machine gun bullets. And there are bodies too - always more bodies - with the ever-present stench. But the smell of the sea is, for once, stronger than the damp and death. After a war of so much sound and fury, the world muffled by an already thick blanket of snow, the emptiness and silence is striking.

But there, in the snowy distance (but thankfully not too distant), is a singular warship. And it's flying, much to everyone's relief, French colours. The rescue boat is there.

The cheer that goes up travels all the way down the line.


david vs. goliath: final round

Still, as you hit the beaches, the air crackles and more Regency soldiers appear in a desperate last attempt to stop COST. There is little cover and the Regency soldiers hit hard, all interest in subtlety gone. They aim to kill, not caring who they hit or what cover is lost in the process.

But, hey, if they're going to fight dirty, so can you.

Protect as many ANZAC soldiers as you can. There's no point in maintaining your cover at this stage; hit them with everything you've got. The Regency will target escape vessels and the wounded first, going for soft targets in their final offensive. Fight for your life and the lives of the men and women you want to survive, the people you don't want to die on this stinking beach, so close to escape and so far from home.

When the smoke clears, you'll have to deal with the fact that some ANZAC soldiers did see what you did. However, you'll find anything beyond the comprehension of the average 1916 soldier is often written off as a miracle, a touch of the divine, a legend. They don't think it was you. They think it was a greater luck and magic than can be fully comprehended.

Also, after weeks and weeks in the trenches, sometimes spending days living underground completely and low on food rations, they're all a little delirious.


meanwhile, a message from our sponsors

As soon as the fighting breaks out, Grothia issues a high priority, cell-wide bulletin.

@CMDR. ATTN: ALL.

Get to that beach. The ship won't wait and neither can we.

Some of you may have noticed we called in for extra reinforcements to ensure victory at all possible costs. I do mean all possible. Until these soldiers - every last ANZAC whose lives you have preserved up until this point - has survived this fight. Their lives must come first or all of this, everything you have been through up until now, counts for nothing.

If death comes for them, it is you who will take their place. You, we can revive. As such, you are to treat yourselves as expendable from this point forward. If you find a downed COST member, do not stop for them, we can bring them back.

Lastly - and most importantly. We give no quarter to the Regency.

I will see you on the ship.

She means it; the ship cannot afford to wait, exposed as it is in enemy waters. Successful completion of this mission rests less on a complete defeat of the Regency and more on getting everyone aboard the French ship as quickly as possible. Fight and fight hard, but don't become so consumed by it that you miss the last call to the boats.


anchors aweigh

The boats taking the soldiers to the Marie Antoinette seat around twenty, tightly packed. The wounded go first, then ANZACs. In the interest of being able to protect the convoys as long as possible, COST recruits are told to wait last, so you're liable to be stacked with a lot of your fellow recruits when you do get aboard. Try not to look too relieved. The water is bitter cold and the wind whips snow into your face.

But once you board the ship, you may be in for a strange sight: celebration. No one expected to make it this far, but they have and their joy is effusive; cheers bubble in the crowd. Men hug and laugh, shaking the hands of their saviors and slapping the backs of their comrades.

French wine rations are handed out in celebration; it's not the good stuff, low quality and recently bottled. But after the horrible rum rations given to ANZAC soldiers, it likely tastes like the holy grail. Soldiers sing and drink, cheering with tears in their eyes, glad to be alive. French soldiers ask what happened and ANZACs answer with outlandish and outrageous stories, angels and devils, fairies and goblins, soldiers accomplishing impossible feats.

Those COST soldiers who secured diplomatic ceasefire, repaired the radios and contacted the French, or protected both groups: all are cheered on, wine almost forced into their hands. And, hey, if you're a good enough liar, you can probably convince someone that's exactly what you are, even if you weren't around for it. It's not like everyone's sober for this leg of the trip.

Only fifty ANZAC soldiers died, largely of wounds sustained in transfer, and their funerals are short and solemn; a priest speaks their last rites, reads their names and ranks, and they are buried at sea. Among them are both the Long brothers and Captain Morangey shows his first emotion other than frustration and annoyance.

The funerals are over quickly and more wine is passed out as the ship is gently rocked by the sea. The mood shifts between solemn and joyful depending on the group, or even the moment. The people here have made it out, they're alive, and it's not unusual to hear their shock at this, repeated over and over, grateful despite it all.

READ THE SETTING INFOPAGE.

NAV. NETWORK LOGS OOC MEMES PLURK

Comments

midnighter | dc (rebirth) | ota.

[thingpuncher]

a. HELL'S DITCH | lone pine.

Honestly, he was on guard duty when the screaming started.

Midnighter wasn't really expecting everyone to get all slasher film in the medical tent. He misses the (literally) bloody matron putter out, launching himself inside to find screaming, crying nurses and wounded soldiers with stitches ripped open and blood pooling out of fresh cuts and stabs.

The computer tells Midnighter how to kill people, not to save them. He grabs the nearest soldier, a teenage boy twitching through his death throes, and tries to stop the bleeding coming from a punctured artery. "Jesus. Gauze or something- shit! Somebody get me some fucking gauze!"

b. DIRTY OLD TOWN | ceasefire.

The ceasefire is... eerie. After days of bombardment, weeks of explosions and shells serving as the backtrack to his every movement, the silence is odd and new. He doesn't trust it, but then, he wasn't made to trust things.

When an undercover soldier makes a potshot at someone he's walking with, he snatches the tin hat off his head and catches the bullet in it. The metal hitting metal rings out, giving their position away further. Fuck. He wasn't made for trench warfare, either.

He ducks low behind a small knoll they were maneuvering supplies around. "Take cover," he mutters under his breath, and his voice is harsh and rough. "I think they're trying to pin us down."

c. DOWN IN THE GROUND WHERE THE DEAD MEN GO | the descent.

Coming to the abandoned trenches, Midnighter finally understands what 'ghost town' means. He'd seen it on TV shows and in casual conversations, but he gets it, now. This is the place where someone used to inhabit, and the sense of their absence is almost palpable. It sticks in your throat, waters your eyes, and you keep expecting to see them round the corner.

Midnighter wishes there was a simple word for the shadows of missing people he's never met.

As he moves along, he spots a bottle of rum holding down a piece of paper, a note on a nearby cart. He picks up the rum, holding it to the side, his attention caught far more by the words hidden beneath it.

"To Johnny Turk-- You had a better aim than anyone in our company, but you shot wide when it was for me. God bless you, bastard." Midnighter chuckles under his breath, and slips the letter into his pocket.

d. BOYS FROM THE COUNTY HELL | david v goliath.

Midnighter notices the crackle in the air just as the masked soldier appears. He yells about taking cover, or trying to-- it all happens so fast, even he can barely keep up.

The sand sprays around them as a jackal-masked asshole appears out of nowhere with some kind of energy gun. It shoots hot red light and singes Midnighter's shoulder, burning into the skin, and he swears, grabbing for some kind of weapon. "Stay fucking here," Midnighter says, and grabs a bayonet. He wrenches the metal blade from the end, cheap steel twisting easily in his palm, and hears a nearby ANZAC gasp at his own strength. That'd be flattering, normally. It's not, now. Since this whole mess started, everything feels duller, dumber, his own emotions and reactions muted. Now's no different, it seems.

With incredible accuracy, he tosses the blade into the air, and it lands in the chest of a Regency soldier. Blood bubbles up. The Regency soldier wrenches it out of their chest without a second thought.

"Crap," Midnighter sneers, before holding the gun like a bat ready to swing, and rushing forward.

e1. IN SOUTH AUSTRALIA I WAS BORN | heave away, haul away.

And then he's finally, fucking finally on the ship, and everyone's safe, right? Right.

So excuse Midnighter if he seems like he's personally checking through the crowd for familiar faces. If you've seen him before, only met up with him once, or know him intimately; it doesn't matter. He sees you, and his eyes light with joy. He rushes forward, his hands on your shoulders. He doesn't even smell like wine.

"Shit!" He sounds elated. "You made it!"

e2. IN SOUTH AUSTRALIA ROUND CAPE HORN | bound for south australia.

Or maybe he doesn't know you. It doesn't matter. As the voyage drags on, Midnighter lets himself get lost in the joy of it. He even drinks the shitty wine, trying to fit in and fly under the radar. His hair's finally grown out, and that makes it a hell of a lot easier.

He's listening to a story an ANZAC is telling, of an angel battling a demon in the middle of a fight, some utter miracle that might just have been a hallucination. The ANZAC soldier is drunk and doesn't care. Everyone's happy just for being alive. As far as Midnighter's concerned, this is the best humanity has to offer.

"The angel was me, by the way." He cuts in. "Don't I look angelic?" If he's talking to a man, he might throw in a flirtatious wink.

CLOSED TO OPERATION SHITSTORM | you know who you are.

[thingpuncher]

[DLC content downloading...]

BUCKY AND MIDNIGHTER KILL A DUDE.

[thingpuncher]

He doesn't know much of the grander scope of this war, he just knows it's his job to protect the soldiers stuck behind in Lone Pine. But he's never been good at following orders. He keeps thinking about the captured soldiers, the people probably being tortured right now.

Noctis. He keeps thinking about Noctis. That idiot kid with the bad hair.

Midnighter watches the wall of mist and the Regency operatives dancing behind it, dull light and the zap of far off electricity. Midnighter turns to someone else guarding the trenches, a soldier he doesn't know well, but knows the name of simply for his ubiquity. The guy's quiet, and that's fine; Midnighter also suspects something's weird about his arm, just based on the electrical readouts the computer gives him, but he doesn't have enough data to be sure definitively.

"Hey," Midnighter says, passing Bucky a cigarette. "What d'you bet if we caught one of those bastards, he'd sing like a bird?"

Daenerys Targaryen | GoT | veteran

[dorzalta]

1. ESCAPE FROM BULLSHIT MOUNTAIN (for captives and her horse)
It seems near impossible that this is real. The explosion occurs and life in the Regency's realm is suddenly over. She doesn't know how much time's passed since their kidnapping, nor how long she'd been trapped in that space with Kebechet, enduring the murmurings of a dead father. Even the plan, loosely made with Mordred, seems surreal as she stumbles to her hands and knees, the Regency lion mask set firmly atop her head. Pale silver hair slips past her shoulders with the motion, and her sharp breaths are muffled by the mask.

Chiron? she tries, shouting his name in her mind. The attempt at communication comes near moments after the explosion will rock the lands. Can you hear me?

Gunfire has her looking up, through the strange lens. The head piece remains intact, her entire goal whilst placing it atop her head during the escape. She turns to whoever is nearest--for there are others, she hears their breaths, their movements--and says: "We must move. We're vulnerable without weapons, out in the open like this."

Or maybe you travel further with her, through the war-torn lands as you both are suddenly seized by fire. Lone Pine is within sight, but bullets rain down. With the first shots ringing, she's quick to crouch whilst still moving, trying to become less of a target. But the stray bullets coming from their side? One buzzes dangerously close to her, and she ducks down, taking you with her if you're close enough to be grabbed. "Why are they shooting at us!?" she manages to ask, before allies poke up from the protections of the trenches to rain bullets upon the forces behind you both.


2. ESCAPE FROM BULLSHIT MOUNTAIN (for everyone else)
Return to the trenches is surprisingly welcomed. Lone Pine, so cursed in her mind for the length of time they'd resided there, is also a sight of relief. Dodging bullets and surviving the trek from where they'd been ejected is exhausting enough. By the time she reaches familiar territory, her nerves are frayed and she's exhausted. Escaping the Regency was not an easy thing, no matter how lucky she and Mordred were in destroying their base.

Beware, COST members: a small woman donning a lion mask approaches; but what is notable is the woman's long, silver hair, which streams out behind her. Some of it is smeared with mud, there's dust darkening some chunks, and there is also some crimson streaked within it, as well. Most notable (if the pale hair color is not), is that there are braids interwoven throughout as well--though they are not nearly as neat as they typically are when she's time to tend to her hair.

Any guns pointed in her direction will have her lifting her hands. "My name is Danielle, I was separated from the group when we were attacked and fled to the tunnels." Please don't shoot Daenerys.

Once she's past the initial welcoming squad, she'll be stalking through the trenches, head turning every which way as she searches for her allies--for Jon. Many give her space, glancing at the strange mask she dons with open distrust. It's salt pressed into an open wound, walking as a lion and not a dragon.


3. THE DESCENT
She cannot sleep. Restless, shaken, and entirely frustrated in knowing she cannot remove this damned mask, Dany stalks the trenches for most of the eve. She is exhausted; their time in the prison cell ensured no restful slumber was to be had. Nevertheless, there is also a part to her that is not so riled. You might even hear her murmuring soothingly in another language and brushing her palm along her chest. Come closer, and you're to hear an all-too-familiar clicking noise that speaks to Irriella's reunion with her mother. You might even hear the soft, dulcet tones of French as the Day-One refers to Dany as her lady mother. "You did well, tala."

When the snows begin to fall is when her pacing ceases. The Dragon Queen, currently disguised as a lion, becomes nearly a statue, her head tilted upwards as she considers the skies. "I've never seen snow in person before," she'll tell you, if you step close enough.

Trailing down the hill, you may be her armed partner between stretchers of the injured. Her outraged noise upon sighting jackal-masked soldiers is pronounced, and were you able to see her face, you might think she ready to roar. "Couldn't be content to hide and lick their wounds, could they?"


4. THE BEACH
She's her flamethrower back. Having donned it down from Lone Pine, the liquid fuel inside the tankards sloshing all the while, she finally finds use for it fully here. On the roughened terrain, she was wary in releasing its flames with so many near. The Regency seems particularly interested in targeting the lion-masked target, exposed as she is alongside the rest of you. It makes her far more agitated and ready to gun those foolish enough to expose themselves. Do you help her, or do you try to calm her?

You might have to chase after her. She's ignoring common sense and urging those stumbling along the beach to move faster. Grothia's message about saving them if they fall is enough encouragement to trudge on. She is understandably wary of death, but if they're to be revived, she will do what she must.

"Gather anything flammable," she tells you, pulling the nozzle to her weapon free. "They will be met with Fire and Blood."


5. THE SHIP
It's cold. The flamethrower is abandoned at first sign that they're to board the boats embarking for the Marie Antoinette. When she first heard the ship's name, she snorted in amusement, all whilst her heart ached for the woman and her family. What became of the children, she'd often wondered. But there's no time for such musings when you're both huddled close on a boat. "I don't think I like snow very much."

(Unfortunately, she's not experienced the true reason to dislike the snow just yet.)

The celebrations on the ship include even she, with that stupid lion mask. She cannot drink the wine, alas, but nurses her own serving of it when those reach out to include her. Blindingly sober, she's near delirious from exhaustion, thirst, and hunger. And it shows in the way she sways at times. Others laugh it off as her being drunk, but as she weaves through the clusters of men, it's noticeable if you watch her. You might even be the lucky recipient of her gripping your arm for balance, if you're not moving. "Do you think we'll leave soon?" she asks by way of silent apology for disturbing you.


( ooc: MILLIONS OF PROMPTS but if you want something else, please let me know on disco or plurk and we can plot something out! :> )

Rose Hathaway || VA/Bloodlines || New Recruit - OTA

[littledhampir]

[Rose had been sure that no amount of hair braiding, chest binding or smudging of dirt to disguise her features would hide the fact that she was a woman and she was probably right. Upon emerging from the tent however, she was quick to realize that it didn’t much matter. Nobody was going to be looking too hard at her, not in this godforsaken place.

She could feel the press of death all around her, the mental guard that kept the lingering spirits of those who had died at bay, strained in a place that had seen as much bloodshed as this one. It was like feeling a migraine coming on, threatening to explode inside her head and she had to grit her teeth and focus hard to keep the guard up. A battlefield such as this one, was clearly no place for somebody who was ‘Kissed by Shadows’, but there was no backing out now.

The mud she’d smeared across the back of her neck, barely conceals the cluster of tattoos inked there and with the constant touching brought on by irritation, it was doubtful they’d stay hidden long. While all of this should have marked her as out of place, it was the eyes that were truly telling. She saw the ghosts of war in the faces of every man and woman she passed and while she’d seen enough in her life to recognize it? The stench of blood and death that permeated the very air that she breathed was a reminder that the war she’d been waging back home, hardly deserved to be called one. She wasn’t hardened or haunted enough to look like she belonged here but she wasn’t scared or shocked enough to look like she didn’t.]

a ][ Lone Pine [Medical Tent]

[Trying to sleep with the overwhelming stench of death in the air was about as easy for Rose as trying to stomach the rations that were supposed to pass as food, her bully beef and hard tack left untouched until hunger could fully take hold. Desperation had a way of making a person less fussy, but Rose wasn’t quite there yet.

She was therefore awake when the bloodcurdling scream pierced the air, any weariness stripped away in an instant as she got to her feet with alarming quickness. The sight of a woman who looked more like a nun than a murderer gives her a moments pause, the arcs of arterial spray that paints her pinafore, burning into her brain before she can make her feet move.

It never occurs to her that the danger was making her escape into the fog, Rose rushing past the Matron and into the tent where the metallic scent of blood slammed into her. Death, while never easy went hand in hand with war, she understood that reality better than the average person but like this; Men who against all odds, survived this long just to be slaughtered where they lay?

Off to her right, there's a gurgle, a wet, bubbling cough and the anger that had started to rise inside of her, is overpowered by a surge of hope. She moves without thought, the point of the weapon she conceals in her boot stabbing into her foot as she drops to the side of the soldier still clinging to life.

Warm blood slips between her fingers as she struggles to cover the wound, the pulse of it growing weaker as he continues to bleed out in front of her. Streaks of crimson smear across her forehead as she wipes the sweat that’s formed on her brow, Rose frantically looking for anything she can use stem the flow.]

A little help here! [Her accent too American. Her voice too feminine but under the circumstances, she doesn’t have time to care.]

b ][ The Beaches [David VS Goliath]

Incoming!

[The cry that rings out across the beach is followed by a crash of limbs, Rose hurling herself directly at a Regency Soldier as he goes to launch a bomb at the retreating backs of the ANZACs. There’s no time to see if her warning is enough to be of any help, if the collision managed to knock the bomb off course. Her hand is already reaching for the silver stake concealed in her boot because while she was never one for guns? Hand to hand combat against an enemy who is bigger, stronger and faster than she is, is very much her forte.

Don’t hesitate. Those two words as much a mantra as a silent taunt as Rose strikes out with the blade, looking to damage the dominant arm of her opponent, to at least make it harder for him to launch any more of those attacks. The uniform restricts her ease of movement, the dancer-like grace that would normally accompany her fights, hindered by the shifting sand beneath her feet.

White hot pain shoots through her shoulder as she manages to connect, Rose, slow to notice the knife that has been buried in her body. She drops down to allow it to slip free before it can do any serious damage to sinew and muscle, her fingers closing around a fistful of sand that she sprays in the face of her opponent.

The split second of blindness allows her to aim a shot at his knee, the crunch of gristle and bone quickly bringing the man crashing down but she can’t pull her stake free fast enough to roll clear of his hulking form, the weight of his body momentarily pinning her as they both scramble to be the first to land another blow.]

c ][ Anchors Aweigh

[In the wake of the fight against the Regency soldiers, Rose’s attempt to pass as male is failing now more than ever. The slouch hat she’d been using to hide her hair had been knocked off in battle, while long, blood matted pieces of it, create a ghoulish frame around her face. The binding, now too loose to hide her bustline has begun to unravel and pool around her waist, Rose’s only real hope of going unnoticed left in trying to tuck herself away once they board the ship

The blood that spreads across the shoulder of her uniform, looks almost black against the khaki material, the only hint that it belongs to her, the dull ache that slowly intensifies. Shock and adrenaline would work as a pain reliever until they could get back to B.A.S.E and the wind that bites at every inch of exposed skin, distracts her as much as it leaves her numb.

She doesn’t recognize any of the faces cramped into the boat headed to the ship, but as one of the last to leave she’s at least sure that most, if not all are COST.]

I’ve never wanted a hamburger with the works, more than I do right now.

d ][ Wildcard

[I’ll roll with any scenario you want to throw my way! Action or Prose is fine. I only went with an action format cause it disguises how ridiculously TLDR this post is.]

mordred | fate | veteran, come at me

[bloodings]

a | no man's land; open to other captives.

[ Mordred's laughing when she's ejected out of the Regency base. How could she not be? They didn't just escape; they destroyed the entire thing. After the torture, all the time in that blank cell, even the dirt under her feet and the wind in her face is something to celebrate. She grins, and it's all teeth. ]

Hahaha! That was awesome! [ Her joy is short-lived, though, when a bullet whizzes by her head. She flinches, even knowing it wouldn't kill her; those by her side might not be so lucky. ] —The hell? Hey, they're shooting at us!

[ The war isn't over yet, she realizes very quickly. With how time flows here, they could have been captured for weeks or just minutes — so when she sees men on the ANZAC side firing back, her relief is almost palpable. Still, there's no time to lose, and she grabs whoever's closest to her — actually grabs; lifting them into her arms bridal style, seemingly without effort. Servant strength is a wonderful thing to have again. ]

It's faster this way. [ And her back, small as it is, will be a bigger target than anyone else. ]

b | the aftermath; closed to ryuji.

Master! [ Mordred knows he's alive, because so is their connection. Beyond that? She has no idea, and it's not just the physical side of things she's worried about. ] Everyone's okay. I'm coming to find you.

[ It doesn't matter where he is. She dematerializes, and starts honing in on his presence, passing straight through anything in her way. ]

c | knight vs goliath; open to all.

[ With her strength back, there's nothing she wants more than to fight. She wishes desperately that she had her sword, her armour, if only to fight even harder... but the lives of the men are even more important. Even if it got through the nullifiers, her Noble Phantasm could cause a rockslide, no matter how carefully aimed.

So she fights with what she has instead — a bayonet, and her own hands, feet, and teeth. It's not easy, but the Knights of the Round Table don't do easy; and, in the end, every minute the Regency spends fighting her is a minute for everyone else to keep evacuating. Which is why she's prepared to admit when she needs help, if only for the sake of those around her. ]

Screw this. [ She spits blood on the ground, and looks for the nearest COST agent. ] Come with me. I'm not normally the type to team up with people, but we don't have a choice.

d | a quiet moment; open to all.

[ On the boat, she takes the wine offered to her — even though she looks far too young to be drinking — and downs it like it's second nature. As a Servant, it's not like she can really get drunk, but she can sure as hell try. ]

Dammit... we blew it up, but I don't know if we killed that bastard. [ Kebechet. She has a feeling she'll be hearing that name again. ] Well, whatever. [ To whoever's closest to her: ] Hey, get me some more wine, will you? I'm still thirsty.

[ Can't she just get it herself? ]

e | wildcard.

[ the obligatory wildcard option! hmu with basically anything, i'm available at palkia or via pm to hash stuff out. ]

a horse is a horse of course.

[horsepowered]

Over the past....gods. How many days has it been? Too many and too few. Chiron drew into himself for the most part, manifesting only if he must and even then for the briefest amounts of time. It was enough to drive anyone to madness, as he could not communicate without taking form.

Endurance was always a strength though, and Chiron knew he could manage. He would force himself to manage, or be dust. And so when he heard the link forged between himself and Daenerys flicker to life, felt the sudden surge of mana in his veins, it was all he could do to not cry out in relief.

Yes. Stay where you are, I will be by your side in a moment.

e2

[dorzalta]

"You look dirty, more like it." Not that she knows what an angel is. Even though she's stuck with that ridiculous mask on, there is no mistaking her voice--still maintaining that queenly drawl reserved specifically for him.

What? She's not still mad about the dragon head, is she?

Well, no, not really. Not after such an ordeal as this place. And is that not strange in and of itself? Grudges were to be held in some instances, though her grudge toward him was complicated at best, and she feels very little in the way of anger toward an ally.

"Nevertheless, I'm glad to claim you as an ally."

D

[horsepowered]

[When Siegfried had informed Chiron that somehow Mordred had been among those taken, Chiron had felt the true weight of the Regency's threat come home. It wasn't even that Mordred was a servant, it was that Mordred was Mordred.

Not that he'd ever say that to Mordred's face. What he will say is far simpler as he approaches her, offering her his portion of wine.]

By all means, have mine.

best horse ever!!

[dorzalta]

We're too vulnerable here.

She felt far too exposed in this open space--especially after so much time in that room, sectioned off with one other, or by herself with Kebechet. No, no Kebechet's illusions were different; there was the idea of open space, at least, and too much stimulation to pay much attention to one's vulnerabilities to attack... likely because she was already captured.

Mordred and I--we destroyed their base. There's six of us.

[horsepowered]

You need to get out of where you are! I'll give you proper congratulations in due course.

Somehow, the explosions just make sense. Chiron isn't going to question it, the only thing on his mind is how to get everyone to safety as quickly as humanly possible. Or inhumanly possible, as it were.

If I come towards you all without being visible I can chart a course that will allow for safest possible passage. Acceptable?

vax'ildan | critical role | new recruit.

[duskmeadow]

ESCAPE FROM BULLSHIT MOUNTAIN—

[ What the fuck?

The refrain has been bouncing through Vax's mind on a loop since he woke up in that tent. The only familiar thing he has is one of his daggers. Every single thing about this place is alien to him, and he'd be more resentful of it all if he hadn't so clearly been plunged into a battle.

Where is everyone? ghosts along beneath his more immediate objections, but Vax carefully sets that aside. If he starts worrying about where Vex'ahlia and the rest of Vox Machina has gotten off to, he'll get himself killed.

After all, the bigger issue here for Vax is how ill-suited he is to this kind of combat. One dagger (and a weapon better suited for Percy) against an opposing army? The gun is awkward in his hands as he looks up in disbelief before eyeing the top of the trench. ]

Give me a boost!

[ He'll figure out what to do with it when he gets up there and assess the incoming danger. ]

THE DESCENT—

[ Retreating doesn't sit well with Vax. The urge to stand and fight even in an impossible situation with terrible odds is ingrained in him, no matter how many times he's found himself overwhelmed. If he could stop and just listen for a moment, maybe he could pick a few of their opposition off with his dagger, but he's lacking his Belt of Returning. It would be more involved than just aiming true at whatever enemies are perched in those trees. ]

This fucking—

[ Whatever objection he'd been intending to make cuts off as gunfire cracks through the air again. His face is pinched and irritated as he starts pulling knives out of the wall. They aren't anything like the weaponry he's missing (left behind?) but they'll do. ]

What's that?

[ From here, the note isn't visible. And Vax, who has never seen a cigar before, can't tell if it's useful or not. ]

ANCHORS AWEIGH—

[ The celebration takes Vax aback. It makes sense, but after his slapdash arrival he's barely acclimated to their mission. His relief feels unearned. Compared to the others here, Vax had barely done anything at all to ensure they made it to this boat and he's still prickling over the idea that they'd left a job half-finished behind them.

And he feels worse upon skimming the crowd and not finding any of the faces he'd been instinctively looking for. No Keyleth. No Percy. No Grog or Scanlan.

No Vex'ahlia.

Here, in the first moment of relative peace, Vax has time to process what that really means. He looks down into the cup that had been pushed into his hands and throws it back. He's going to need another. ]

Is this everyone?

[ He asks the first person whose attention he can draw from the merriment. None of the dead had been familiar to him. Maybe there was another place aboard this boat. Maybe there was another group. It was a stupid hope, but he can't stop himself from asking. He can't be alone here, can he? ]

WILDCARD—

[ Hit me with your best shot. ]

Chiron || Fate/ nonsense || vet

[horsepowered]

Regrouping
For all of the success the group has managed with regards to diplomacy (and it is a thing to be proud of, to look back on and say that it was a well executed plan, a well argued truce), Chiron cannot take any joy in being back with the others. The issue of the Regency still holding onto other comrades weighs heavy on his mind.

His life, in it's way, depends on their return.

So when the group does reunite with the others, Chiron manifests after the inital celebration is gone. The only reason he is doing so is to make it clear that so far, he is alive.

Familiar faces are given a small smile, but there's little movement from Chiron otherwise. He is lost in thought, and exhausted from even doing that much.

The Descent.
"There are two on the left."

Chiron's voice is soft and firm, his attention drawn off to the side. There are two sets of ears peaking out from behind what should be full cover, and there's nothing natural about them.

"I believe they can be taken out. We should get the men who are several steps behind us out of the area first though."

Chiron's not about to do something stupid without support, but he does make for his own firearm.

Anchors Aweigh
Chiron's own interest is the ocean itself. Not the celebration, not the wine, none of it. He rests his forearms on edge of the ship, putting the full of his weight there and enjoying the splash of seaspray that smacks lightly against his face every so often. Beyond him he can hear all of the merry making, and in that, he feels too many echoes of such scenes that existing in the past. This land's past.

There has never been irony lost on him that this was where Troy once stood, where an endless war birthed so many legends. The reverberation is almost painful.

Should anyone join him in such an aside, they're greeted with a soft nod of the head and a quiet, "Καλημέρα."

It is a new dawn, of a sorts. The greeting feels appropriate.

The Descent

[horsepowered]

--Ignore it.

[Chiron notes where Vax's eyeline has gone, and he sees the cigar plainly. It's a distraction, one not needed at the moment. Chiron's own face is tense, focusing on the matter at hand if only to keep himself from doing anything more emotionally charged.

He knows the Regency is just shit stirring right now, and he hates it.]

Just keep moving.

[dorzalta]

I don't know if there are Regency operatives near us. I can barely see anything with this stupid mask on.

That holds the first hint of her eternal frustrations. Soon, she's moving. There are others, six of them total, and she's not entirely sure where they might've been transported. Not all of them were together upon the time of the destruction. Had they made it out, alive?

Do it, so long as you come to no harm.

[horsepowered]

Mask?

Chiron manifests just long enough to look at the BCE, to get a read on coordinates, and then disappears again. His movement is swift, confident, tracing every inch.

Order has been given to provide you all cover while you get behind our lines, the problem is that you're too within range for the opposition. I'd say you're a three to five minute full run from safety. I'm working on what the best way forward is for you--

anchors!!!!

[decisions]

[ he looks like he'll need another, which is why percy pushes his into his hands immediately. though percy looks far more mud covered and maybe nigh unrecognizable with the dirt coating nearly all of his white hair and smeared over his face. the leftmost lens of his spectacles is cocked at an odd angle, but he still manages to look rather dignified as he passes the wine off. ]

I've yet to see any of ours...

[ the note in his voice is flat, hoarse and drawn tight as he gives vax a cautious nod. it's a woeful situation. he clears his throat all the same. ]

Vax. [ it could be too hopefully. he bites down on it and instead pulls off that ridiculous hat. ] And in one piece. Miracle of miracles.

[duskmeadow]

[ It's nothing to ignore the cigars at Chiron's dismissal. With so many unidentifiable objects around, deferring to the assessment of those around him is Vax's only option. There's hardly enough time to start fussing with each item he stumbles over to gauge whether or not he can make use of it. He goes back to collecting knives, gun long abandoned. ]

Isn't there anything we can do?

[ Anything more than just run from this fight. ]

[horsepowered]

What is it that you actually wish to do?

[The question is genuine, but with an air of wariness to it that suggests that even an answer is an indulgence.]

anchors!

[faenthras]

Not everyone.

[ She's relieved, of course, to find him after hours of chaos and confusion. Of her heart thundering in her chest, worry threatening to tear her focus to pieces - it succeed a couple of times judging by the scrapes and dirt upon her face, tears in her clothes. And yet despite her relief there is a noticeable exhaustion in her voice, in her smile, as she sits down beside him, resting her head upon his shoulder. ]

I'm glad you're still in one piece, brother. But please, stop getting into fights without me, I am going to gray at this rate.

screa

[duskmeadow]

[ Vax has the urge to take the cuff of his jacket and wipe the mud off Percy's face to be certain it's him. The instant relief of hearing his voice eases the growing dread at Vex's absence. At least one member of Vox Machina is here with him, and it's better than having to wrangle the confusing jumble of this new outfit on his own. ]

I could say the same about you. Fuck, Percival, I hadn't seen you during all that.

[ That meaning the retreat and the gunfire and the trenches. ]

You're looking handsome as ever.

[ Wisecracks aside, Vax couldn't be more glad to see him. He lifts the cup in silent toast, trusting that Percy understands what Vax can't quite put into words. ]

[duskmeadow]

[ Vex'ahlia.

If he weren't sitting, Vax's knees may have buckled. He feels the fist clenched around his chest loosen, then vanish the moment his sister speaks. He slings an arm across her shoulders, squeezing her tightly as he does. ]

You can hardly blame me for this one.

[ Vax couldn't even remember signing up for this particular scuffle. Troubling as that was, he doesn't care to admit that to her just yet. ]

Are you alright? Are you hurt?

[ Just because he can't see any blood doesn't mean it's not masked by the dirt caked down her front. ]

percival fredrickstein von musel klossowski de rolo iii / critical role / new recruit

[decisions]

( ooc note: if you prefer prose, feel free! i always default to action brackets, but will match. )

ESCAPE FROM BULLSHIT MOUNTAIN

[ this.

now this is something percy can do.

waking up with a sharp gasp in the tent, having a strange uniform shoved into his hands and a mission between his ears, he wonders if this is what the afterlife is like: work, work, work, no different from the land of the living, really. he barely has time to breathe between all the belt buckles and cloth, the sound of explosions echoing from outside. he's in the middle of getting up to speed with a new rifle supplied to him, when an enormous roar gets him urged outside the tent, scrambling but snatching up bad news and slinging the other rifle over his shoulder (you never know when you need a back up, right?)

in the back of his mind, he's trying to scan his surroundings for anyone - anything, a half panic thinking well if i'm dead, no doubt everyone else has come to join me. a shock of keyleth's red hair, grog's unmistakable form, the silhouette of vex'ahlia sailing through the air or a shadow that looks too uncanny to be anyone but vax. a wafting of purple magic or scanlan's sharp, pitched voice. but as far as he knows, they aren't here. and there's no time as someone barks out the order: "cover them!"

bad news comes up immediately, miraculously unjammed and ready to go. he loads a shot, and he gets into a good position up against cover, seeing the frantic silhouettes of people running towards them - rabbits in a field of mud and gore, what look to be curled rows of metallic thorned vines snaking together.

percy is methodical in his shots, well-practiced, and his hits land with every high-risk roll he makes. if someone looks completely unfamiliar with a rifle, he offers to help without so much as a beat, sliding into position beside them and doing his best to teach on the fly. the only point he stops is to reach out when someone is close enough to the edge trench. if allowed, grabbing them by the forearm, easing them down. ]

Here, here we go... easy does it now...

[ the smell of gunpowder is hot in the air, bad news snaking heat from its barrel. ]

THE DESCENT

[ the snow falls and percy feels an intense jag of yearning pitch inside of him. it yawns wide and cavernous for whitestone, for his sister, for the isle of glintshore, for the overwhelming heaviness of orthax striking him down.

he's got both hands around bad news, regulation rifle strapped to his back as he walks among the stretches, eyes up at every vantage point he, as a gunman, can imagine, ready at a moment's notice to fire. he may be accompanying you as a stretcher bearer or even as a weak and tired patient on said stretcher, or he may be taking a moment's rest to count out what ammunition he has left in a pouch at his hip. regardless, he stalks, and as strangely bookish as he might look with his glasses perched on his nose and the mud in his fine, white hair under his hat, he looks as though he very much means business.

those who may be lining up to shoot at a regency solider peering up over their ledge of cover to get in an attack of opportunity, percy will aid in other ways. not with his gun, but with a hand and a soft plume of almost unsettlingly alive smoke climbing up over his collar. while the injured parade behind him, he casts hex silently on the target ahead, a soft mutter coming from him. ]

Strike now while the advantage is yours.

THE BEACH (DAVID VS. GOLIATH)

[ the black smoke flaring up from percy's coat is easy to blame on delirium. there's no time to waste as enough time has passed from the descent to the beach. a respite allows percy to cast hex on one regency soldier and fire off a shot, smash ribs with the gun stock. he's not a melee fighter, but what had the message said?

expendability?

hadn't he already caused enough trouble as it were? this would be... some sort of repentance, perhaps. it doesn't fix the self loathing, but does it provide a balm for it? maybe. he lets the stronger of their forces finish off a hexed target quickly, the black smoke fluttering from one soldier to another of percy's choosing as the spell's yet to complete and his concentration is precision focused, best that it can be. of course, all good things wear down in time, and percy - a little breathless, eyebrows screwed tightly, waves off one last withering tendril of smoke. ]

I can't -

[ as someone smashes straight into his face with an elbow, glass of his spectacles cracking and sending him down.

(how he makes it to the boats headed for the marie antoinette is anyone's guess.) ]

ANCHORS AWEIGH

[ someone come fix his fucking glasses please, he's doing his best!!!!!

aka a wildcard where percy is pretty fucking blind rip. ]

[duskmeadow]

[ That gives Vax a moment's pause. His immediate instincts don't offer much beyond the need to stand his ground. But fighting an entire army without Vox Machina at his back is... ]

Something other than run. [ Ruefully, frustration coloring his tone. ] They're just trying to pick us off one by one.

[ Surely there were people among them to mount a defense. ]

Is this always how it goes with this group?

[horsepowered]

Running is not the point. [Chiron's willing to explain. The guy's new and gods only know how much of a disaster this mission has been.]

The point is providing adequate cover for the men and women who are here, and ensuring their safety above all else. As a result and in line with the objective, there is a strategic need to withdraw. To call it running misses that larger point.

[As for how it always goes, Chiron shakes his head no.]

This mission has been...exceptional.