THROUGH STRIFE AND FAMINE AND WAR AND PEACE,

[agogemod]

WHO? Everybody!
WHAT? Fight in the historic Battle of Valmy.
WHEN? September 20th, 1792. Valmy.
ANYTHING ELSE? Violence, as always. Please warn in subject lines for anything beyond physical violence, and move to a personal journal if things go beyond PG-13.

it'll be fine;

between sainte-menehould and valmy,
1792: revolutionary france.

read the valmy setting infopage

MISSION OBJECTIVE

Win the day!

Historically, Valmy was an unexpected victory for France that really kicked off the French Revolution. Make sure this holds true! Don't let the Prussians break through French lines, take either Dumouriez or Kellerman, and survive.

WHAT EVER HAPPENED TO GOETHE

The life of Goethe was saved by those who volunteered to keep him from the clutches of Regency assassination, though it was a near thing; they were not able to leave completely stealthily, and had to run back to French lines as dawn broke.

Most important after saving the life of Goethe, they were able to apprehend and capture the Regency spy. She is in holding, restrained in a tent hidden far behind enemy lines. You can speak with her, if you wish.



SHARPSHOOTING

Famously, Kellerman had his troups climb up a windmill and the nearby farmhouse to shoot down at the valley below and the Prussians attempting to run through it from the cover of the forest. Take out as many Prussians as you can. Alternatively, if you're not much for shooting but you're quick fingered and organized, you can help reload the shooter's muskets, hand them supplies, more musket balls and powder, fresh muskets when one of theirs becomes jammed, or simply keep the rain out of their eyes.

Battery

You hear that? It's canonfire! Cannons take at least two people to load, aim and fire, making it a steady process requiring teamwork and balance. You want to go as fast as possible so the attacking army doesn't get right up to your nose, after all. Be careful! Don't drop a cannonball on your foot.

COMBAT

Get into the thick of it! There's less armor in this era, more quick jabs with sabers and bayonets, and your pistol can only hold a single bullet at a time. Unless you've got time to reload, you're better off just throwing the thing aside after firing a shot-- you'll see this tactic is popular among troops on either side, not wanting to be weighed down by a now-useless hunk of metal. Horses are not uncommon either, though they're largely reserved for officers who are more than happy to reach down and stab you while they ride by… if they don't just run you over in the first place. And did I mention the cannonfire occasionally making the ground explode into huge chunks? Try to avoid those.

MEDICAL

As always, wounded soldiers require assistance. The medical tent has a steady supply of the wounded, many with injuries from cannonfire, where limbs have been blown off almost in their entirety, and blood gushes readily from damaged major arteries. Act quick, and don't be afraid to, uh, amputate. Nobody else is.

STEALTH

There is reason to believe some Regency spies are undercover as French officers, and intend to kill either Kellerman or Dumouriez. Stay near the generals and protect them... without letting on. Capturing the spies alive would be a serious boon for COST, so if you could manage not to kill the spy, please? ...Please?

INFORMATION is worth its weight in gold

The way these battles work is reliant on the generals sending information down to their troops from the hills they're using to overlook the fighting. Fast riders or runners are essential for this task, and it affords you an opportunity to be near either general should you need to protect them against spying. Or maybe the runners are the spies? Who knows. Regardless, try to preserve the flow of information, and fix any tangles that may appear. If a runner with vital orders gets attacked, back them up; if they get killed, replace them; if they disappear… figure out what happened?

cannon killer squad

For the fast, stealthy, and / or magically gifted, Takatora has set up a 'Cannon-killer' plan, intending to weaken Prussian artillery through magic, speed, and the application of giant hammers. It's risky-- you'll have to get pretty close to the Prussian lines-- but it's worthwhile if you can weaken them even a little.

I'm going down I'm yelling timber

At some point late in the day, just when the worst of the rain has finally stopped, Prussian artillery finally gets aim good enough to send a volley of cannonballs straight at the windmill and farmhouse on the hill. There's a reason this strategy was considered a bold move; stationary targets are never safe in wartime. The windmill comes down in an explosive crash, and the farmhouse begins to collapse. Were you caught in the crossfire? Are you coming to pull bodies out of the rubble? Do what you can to recoup from this loss.

MORALE

When all else fails, keep spirits high. This battle will be impossible without enthusiastic troops committed to the cause. Give rousing speeches! Inspire people! Sing a song! Do whatever you need to.

read the valmy setting infopage

NAV NETWORK LOGS OOC PLURK DISCORD

Comments

Joel | OTA

[i_swear]

I: Best Laid Plans...

[Materials aren't hard to come by. There's no duct tape to cinch it all together with, but he's handy enough to know how to make do without it. Broken bayonets secured to sticks via scavenged cording and cloth, bottles of alcohol and oil, dirty fabric plugged into their necks. At the fringes of the battlefield, Joel's tugged off his coat and rolled up his sleeves, sweating out the last few minutes of silence before any troops begin to encroach with a good old fashioned dose of sabotage.

He was a Hunter for a long time. He knows how to lay a good trap.

The problem is, he also intends to go it alone. Wiping sweat from his brow with his forearm, Joel exhales sharp for a moment— the only pause he gives himself before jamming a few more scavenged pikes into the grass, lower than the foliage sticks out. Better watch your step.]

II: Hurt Comfort Meme

Get up. [It's the dig of a rough hand around one of your arms, hoisting you up off of the muddy ground.] C'mon. On your feet.

[Joel might be impatient about lending a helping hand to his fellow wounded soldier, but he's not cruel enough to make the pain of any injuries that (you) might've sustained on the battlefield any worse. In his other hands he's holding the reigns to a horse— tall and tawny-colored— impatiently chomping at its bit amidst the deafening chaos of battle. There's no rider on its back, but it's easy enough to put two and two together as Joel nudges you towards the open saddle.] The horse'll take you back to camp. You can get patched up there.

[But just in case you might've assumed he's being a guardian angel on the battlefield, the hand that was at your side extends expectantly, open palmed.] Pass off your weapons first.

III: Wildcard

[OOC: Anything else you feel like doing? Want to combine prompts? Skip to the action? Hit me up at ladyavali or just give me a starter and I'll run with it.]

[pointedlook]

[ Since the shooting and yelling and bleeding started, he's been on his feet. He'd originally been on the edges of the lines, sharp eyes and sharper trigger finger taking out Prussians from a distance. But now that his line has been relieved for a break, he's taken it upon himself to stay in motion. Over the past hour, it's been reloading muskets, refilling powder satchels, reorganizing musketball cases.

Arthur's finally decided to pull away from the work, eyes starting to cross. He's looping around the camp, hands in his pockets, taking in what everyone else is up to. On the far side of their lines, up near where the enemy could cross, he sees someone working. Just one.

Carefully, he picks his way over, stopping just short of the area, on a small hill of dirt. More like a batter's mound than anything else. ]

Traps. You want some help?

[i_swear]

If you know what you're doing.

[He scavenged these supplies himself— from their own side, and from the enemy's scraps wherever they could be found. It wasn't easy going, and he sure as hell didn't work up a sweat to burn the last of his resources on some neophyte that's never had to lay a good pitfall in the middle of a fight.

Which is why he doesn't move to offer any of those supplies to Arthur just yet, watching him from out of the corner of his eyes.

If Arthur can find his way through that figurative minefield to the safe space sitting at Joel's side, he'll have earned it, he figures.]

[pointedlook]

Pitfalls, easy.

[ In theory, but he's not going to mention that. Arthur's navigated at least five of these types of traps in dreamshare; most of them crafted by himself or Cobb. It helps that he's read possibly too many books on warfare, old and new. Whatever tricks they could use in a dream to get them ahead, he was more than willing to research.

Joel doesn't make a move and he figures there's a test involved. Alright then.

Calculatingly, cautiously, he picks his way over, sharp eyes looking for the merge of grounded grass and the parts that had been carefully laid over to blend. It's a good job, he has to admit, as he re-distributes his weight so as not to fall into a ditch.

Eventually, he's a couple feet away from the other man, hands stuffed in his pockets as he raises an eyebrow at him. ]

I'm impressed.

[i_swear]

[There's only a dismissive grunt in response; Joel's never been the kind of man to accept a compliment gracefully— doubly so from a stranger at a time like this, no matter what side they're on.

When Arthur gets entirely caught up, Joel picks up the satchel full of improvised materials and broken shrapnel at his side, and dumps it expectantly down on the ground in front of his new partner-in-sabotage.] Make yourself useful.

We got five, ten minutes tops to put a dent in their numbers before they hit the field.

[The words 'better make it count' go unspoken.]

[pointedlook]

[ Not talkative much, is he? That's perfectly alright with Arthur, honestly. Better than incessant chatter when people are trying to work.

So, he wastes no time in picking through the items dumped at their feet, pulling bits of shrapnel out. Moving up a little, he sets the shrapnel up just on the other side of a small ditch. Hard to see when someone is charging forward. Especially when they may not be looking where they're going.

There's a soft rumble of approaching hooves and he leaps back towards the bag of materials, yanking out a length of rope and two sturdy looking bits of wood. As he hurries off to the side, he ties the rope to both ends of the wood, searching briefly before he sticks the bits into the ground, rope pulling taut.

The ground is a little soggy, but it should still trip someone up as they come through. ]

Let's go. They're close.

[i_swear]

[To that, Joel says nothing. In tune with his work, he waits a half beat longer before securing one last bit of rope and burying it beneath a long line of grass before whipping around to rush towards the treeline behind them: once he's there, he drops to one knee, already working to load up one well-weathered gun.

Getting it ready to fire takes so long, he doesn't intend to wait until their enemies start to close in.]

Hurry up, get your ammo going. You're not gonna get a better chance than this.

[pointedlook]

[ As he's retreating for the same treeline– just a bit further off, sticking too close is a bad idea in a situation like this– he starts prepping his gun. It's off his shoulder and he's got the cartridge in hand for when he hits his position.

From there, it's a matter of twist, rip, pour, load, aim. It's still slow, but with the two of them firing off at the same time, it'll go better than just one.

Arthur keeps his sight aimed down the barrel, watching the soldiers come in closer. He breathes out as one of the cavalry suddenly pitches forward and there's the horrible squeal and shout of both horse and rider going down. It's the first of many similar sounds as the shrapnel, pitfalls, and string traps do their jobs.

The middle portion of the unit is a mess, which leaves the sides. Arthur looks sharply to his left, spotting a footman who's made it through the chaos. Too far for him but– ]

Ten o'clock!

[i_swear]

Get low, take point! [It's a command that leaves little room for misinterpretation or debate— one loud, clean shot ringing out as the footman buckles and falls lifelessly into the brush. A clean shot through his skull.

As Joel works to reload, he keeps himself upright. Cover for Arthur.] These assholes don't know about fighting dirty yet.

Teach 'em.

[Scattered cries ring out, and it's not long before a spattering of return fire heads their way as their current adversaries fight to recover and regroup. Only a handful compared to the swath from before, if anyone's counting fired rounds...]

best laid plains

[courtintrigue]

[ Back at base before the sun's up, Eren had said. Should be smooth sailing, he had said. I sure hope, he had said.

Daybreak sees her running across the field as a cat, an irritated blur of black fur and golden eyes. The enemy was aware of her group's presence when they fled, and while she cast a subtle glyph on the ground behind them to knock back the first few who thought to pursue, a real battle will break out soon.

With such momentum fueling her, she fails to anticipate or even truly recognize the well-hidden trap before her until pain sears across the side of her face, making her let out a short yowl of protest. Slinking through it all is not as hard once she realizes what she has rushed into, but she hisses on principal once she has reached the safety of a small cluster of trees and barely steps behind it before shifting back into her own form.

Dressed more or less like a man of this time and place, minus any coattails, she blots blood away from her cheekbone with her fingers. Her face is flushed, much of her hair escapes the pins that hold it back, and her eyes betray her recent lack of sleep. It takes a moment, but the stranger's presence registers and she warily turns her face toward him, not knowing if he is just another man ready to fight or one brought from another world like her. His next move will dictate the severity of hers. ]

[i_swear]

[He might be old, but his ears are sharp: he hears the scattered sound of an animal rushing through the underbrush, its footfalls soft— and then its yelp as it retreats. Back home, he might've rushed after it, but here he doesn't ration his every meal, doesn't starve any time he's too busy to hunt.

But when she emerges from that same patch of foliage without any noticeable warning (no footsteps, no approaching sound other than the moment she steps clear of the treeline), his attention snaps upwards. If his furrowed brow and hard set jaw are any indication, he's just as wary as she is.

Joel's not a bleeding heart, after all: the sight of blood on her cheek doesn't spark a need to make sure she's all right. Still, a second later his eyes drop to the colors she's wearing. Familiar enough.]

You one of ours?

[courtintrigue]

Enough of one.

[ For about two seconds longer she eyes him as though they are territorial animals of the wilds stopping to drink from the same stream. ]

I can show you my collarbone if you like.

[ That should only mean something to people like her -- taking the time to look others up in this system she has been connected to does not come reflexively -- but the man before her can think what he likes as long as that wariness does not give way to threatening. Slowly, her breathing begins to even out. ]

The trap is your handiwork?

[i_swear]

I'm good. [Reflexive, dismissive. He takes her word for it because anyone else from the outside wouldn't give that kind of offer in the first place, and they both know it.

Instead, he turns back to winding a taut section of cord around a few sharpened shards of metal and wood, all of them already tucked down into the loamy earth.]

Somebody's got to even the odds. [It's what they're here for, after all, but Joel's not about to take a few extra hands on deck as a sign of surefire victory for France.] That ain't gonna happen if all we're using is a handful of antiques that don't shoot for shit.

[courtintrigue]

[ She watches as her breath normalizes. Her shoulders and chin know nothing but pride, but without his scrutiny her posture relaxes a bit.

Even if her own scrutiny continues. There is a lingering desire to aim her irritation at him, but she does not disagree with his assessment. ]

You would be far more likely to use a bow in my world. But we are not all limited to antiques here.

[ Her hand rises to her face again. Just as she is unwilling to die for this cause, she has no need of its scars. The slice in her cheek is minor enough and the skin knits neatly when her palm presses against it. ]

I can drive the enemy toward your trap.

power slides back in here after an unexpected rl hiatus

[i_swear]

And get yourself killed in the process.

[He isn't looking at her when he says it— only glancing up after she's already done the work of fixing her cheek (and he's done the work of tying off a few more knots, covering the rope with a section of loamy earth). There's a second where he doesn't react at all, and in the next moment, his dark eyes narrow just slightly.

He's old, sure, but he's not blind, and fighting for his survival means his ability to spot even the smallest details is well above average.

Or at least, he thought it was. Now he might just be going senile. Shit.]

hurt comfort

[heilt]

( she hears the gruff words across the field, her ears almost pricking at 'medical attention'. it isn't long before angela's over there, hand on joel's arm to let him know that someone else has arrived before she begins looking over her patient )

Did you see it happen?

( it's a battlefield, it's not difficult to know what happened, but the more specific information that angela has the better her treatment can be )

[i_swear]

[Strangely enough, he doesn't look too happy to be interrupted by an attentive medic: his outstretched hand only barely nudged out of the way. He wants those weapons, and as far as he's concerned, he's going to get them whether or not she's trying to play medic.]

No. [Gruff and irritable, he reaches up to yank a pistol loose from their bleeding friend, clearly not minding the fact that they're, you know, not at all well.] Not my problem.

[heilt]

I beg to differ.

( it's one of their comrades, it's all of their problems -- a fallen friend means less help in the efforts. and angela can't carry him back alone.

she looks over at him as he tries to loot the pistol, mildly displeased at his actions )

I'll need your hand.

( oh are you being conscripted? )

[i_swear]

For what?

[Gruff a question as it is, it's practically growled out, his notched browline tightening by bitter degrees. That said, he still (hesitantly) holds out his free hand, one scarred palm turned up, dirt pressed in beneath his fingernails.

If she tries anything, he figures he can just snatch it right back.]

[heilt]

( oh she's trying something. her grip on his hand is gentle, turning it over before using it to press down on one of the wounds that she'd already seen, pressure firm )

Keep it there. ( her tone is a little more commanding, though the gentle air still filters through her words ) You can help me save his life and continue your fight.

( she never agreed with the violence, wondering here as she had during the omnic crisis if there was a better way. she'd do her job to the end, to make sure as few as possible met theirs while they took this action, whilst they tried to save history )

[i_swear]

Continuing the fight means being out there. [His head jerks sharply towards the fray echoing out nearby, but at the moment— despite the bitter look on his shadowed face— his hand stays where she put it.

How much longer that lasts remains to be seen.]

You want medical supplies, I'll get 'em for you.

[It's not a nice offer; his tone makes it clear he's trying to ditch his newfound duty as soon as possible.]

[heilt]

Medical supplies won't be any use if I can't stop him from bleeding out.

( she already had medical supplies with her, angela was well prepared for this type of gig, but what she needed most was a hand. she was also very familiar with his tone, and had little care as to whether or not he wanted to be there )

Would you rather be a part of his death?

[i_swear]

[He doesn't respond. Honestly, he doesn't need to: this isn't his fight, and no matter how much she might try to impress on him just how urgent this situation is, his withered heart isn't capable of being swayed by her empathy.

But she's right about needing to stall their losses, and if she can't handle this on her own, well...]

How long's this gonna take?

[He flexes his fingers only briefly against the other man's side, fixing his grip to keep it sturdy against slick skin.]

[heilt]

As long as it takes.

( which is part to say that angela doesn't know, not until she gets a complete look at his injuries and how severe they are, but also that you can't rush a good job. she needs to rely on more conventional skills, the whole process would be quicker with her staff but that isn't to say she can't do the job alone

with his hands in place angela pulls her pack round to start unloading some of the supplies )

Use this to clean the wound. It'll let me see what we're dealing with.