agogemod: (Default)
⌞THE AGOGE⌝ MODS ([personal profile] agogemod) wrote in [community profile] agogelogs2017-10-07 12:21 am

THERE WERE MASTERS AND SERVANTS,

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




IT'LL BE FINE;
between sainte-menehould and valmy,
1792: revolutionary france.




DEPARTING JERUSALEM

The clean up of the battle is slog. A full day of piling together corpses. Noting down famous men and women. In the heat, the bodies bloat and become fetid, and the smell builds until it cannot be ignored. Insects swarm, and vultures blot out the sun, swooping down and taking back what's been left for nature. Stragglers and the poor pick through the field for scattered weapons and valuables to collect. The bodies of important men and women are taken for burial; the rest are left for scavengers, animal or human.

It's in this gruesome scene that the order comes:
PACK UP, GET READY TO MOVE OUT. THE TARGETS HAVE BEEN NEAUTRALIZED. WE MAKE OUR DEPARTURE LOCAL TIME, DAWN.

DEPLOYMENT: VALMY, FRANCE. IT'S GOING TO BE A WET ONE. WE ARE EXPECTING MORE TRANSFERS ON ARRIVAL.
The present COST soldiers that have been in strict cover begin finishing their work, if they've decided to help the army move out, tend to the wounded, or clean up after the dead. There is no sign of the Commander yet, but maybe you recognise some of your fellow operatives. They seem be taking advantage of a particular event that maybe you stopped to see, maybe you didn't.

Saladin beheads Reynald de Chattilion and his words fill the camp as much as the news of their next move.

A king does not kill a king, Saladin says to King Guy, and the orders run like wildfire through the camp: next they take Jerusalem, and it's in this march, that when the rest of the army moves on that COST slips away. A order to fall back in steady increments; when the time comes, Saladin's army is out of sight, marching toward Jerusalem.

In the midst of all of this, COST operatives begin to disappear, here one moment and gone in another. Such a strange sight, more than one native soldier muses, must be the fault of heat exhaustion.

The Time-Step

The transfer begins, and it starts like a vibrating heat on the collar bone, not painful, not to start with. Just a hum of sensation. But the vibration spreads. Veteran COST soldiers often refer to this phenomena as 'the buzz'. The sensation builds, feeling not unlike standing near a great engine, or the wind rattling the branches of a great tree. There is long a moment of motion sickness, and one cannot always be sure if it is you that is shaking from the inside out, or the world that is shaking you from the outside in. It may just be better to close your eyes against the growing nausea as the world blurs out of focus. A star shines in the distance. You may hear the faint rustling of leaves. Some swear they hear voices in this moment, indistinct words echoing off nothingness. Some swear they feel a touch of the divine. One thing is for sure: One moment you are here, and the next, you are not.

The soldier next to you might not have been so clever, when it stops and you find yourself standing in the green fields of France, September 1792. She or he throws up as the vibration fades. Everyone seems to stumble sideways for a second. The world turns, and then rights itself. The heat is gone, replaced with cold and wet.



ARRIVAL FOR TRANSFERS FROM JERUSALEM

It's raining.

You're inside of a tent, (another one), and it already seems to be bustling with movements, they call to you in French, which you understand if you did not already: hurry now, they say, you need out of that cuircass before they're spotted. The rest of the army will be following, and the Prussian army to meet it. There isn't much time to loiter around getting sick in this weather. You have a kit to pick up, and perhaps training to do.

ARRIVAL FOR NEW RECRUITS

The first thing you'll notice is the sound of rain. You awake in a tent that seems to be sheltering against the ruins of a farm house, and everything feels damp. It's a wet September morning in 1792, and when the woman across from you in the tent speaks, you understand it to be French. If you didn't understand French already, you sure do now.

If you ask, she'll explain: you are fighting for France, as the Prussian army intends to invade and sack Paris. You may be a citizen, you may be a soldier; you have risen up in defense of France all the same.

She asks you what role you wish to play in the coming battle, and provides you with clothes and supplies to suit. She won't let you leave until you can pass for a native of France, setting up camp in the rain pouring down between Sainte-Menehould and Valmy.

MISSION OBJECTIVE

The forces of COST have gotten word that Regency operatives have gone to Revolutionary France, intending to turn the tides in one of the most historically important battles in European history. The Battle of Valmy, which decided the entirety of the French Revolution and all that follows it, must be won by the French army, as it was in history.

Unlike the incident in Jerusalem-- you may remember it, you may not-- COST has managed to get here before the day of the battle. Make no mistake; it's coming soon. But this time, you and your fellow travelers have time to prepare.

The French Army has managed to get ahead as well; they've maneuvered around the Prussians, cutting off their supply lines. You and your fellow soldiers are now chasing the invaders as they head for Paris. This is time to prepare and ready your forces. The fight is coming soon.



STAY DRY, STAY SECURE
A few things are strongly remembered about the Battle of Valmy; one of them is the rain. It's really pouring out here, and you're in the thick of it. Rain is a dangerous thing for an army such as this; during this era of warfare, gunpowder was an essential commodity, and wet gunpowder is useless gunpowder. Secure the supplies, rescue supply carriages from muddy sinkholes, steer the horses, check supplies, and try to keep the essential materials for victory dry.
TRAIN UP
General Kellerman and Dumouriez are training peasants in basic military tactics. While veterans make up the core of this army, there are a substantial amount of peasants, and most here have never seen battle in their lives, or ever held a gun. Many are equipped with only rudimentary farming equipment. Help train or be trained so you're ready when the Prussian army arrives.
MEDICAL
Plenty of people need medical attention, not from battle wounds so much as malnutrition and overwork. These are mostly peasant laborers, and they're not entirely fit for battle. Help people get as rested and ready as possible.
ESPIONAGE
We have reason to believe some of the 'peasants' are actually Regency spies. Root them out by seeing keeping an ear to the ground for suspicious activity. They don't know all the words to La Marseillaise? Off with their head! Be careful not to attack time travellers on your side, though!
MORALE
Keep spirits high! Sing, dance, and generally try to keep people from succumbing to fear. Despite the rain and the mud, despite the seemingly impossible odds, the average soldier is full of excitement for battle, ready to fight to the death to defend their freedom.
SUPPLY AND SEEK
Since the French army is behind the invading force, they've cut off the enemy's supply lines. This means that, should the Prussians become encamped here for any amount of time, they won't be able to send for food and munitions from their home country. It's your job to make sure it stays that way. You may see someone riding on a swift horse in a Prussian uniform, attempting to sneak through French lines and try to get word back to mother Prussia. Chase them down, and make sure they can't get their reports back home so a second force isn't sent-- or worse.
BE A COMMUNITY ORGANIZER
This battle is one that's widely known for its popular support-- for the most part, France unites against this invading force with alarming cohesion. Someone gifted with a clever mind, or perhaps a clever tongue, may be able to use that. The French army passes farms and peasant villages along the way-- make rousing speeches, and try to recruit more to the cause, secure donations of food and weaponry, anything you can get.




trainwreckoning: (listening)

[personal profile] trainwreckoning 2017-10-09 01:03 am (UTC)(link)
Jacob's pace slows, and he blinks, startled. He should have thought that it might be a really bad answer. He maybe shouldn't have asked. He's careful to not let his expression dip into sympathy, but he can't help but be a little sad.

"I'm... I'm sorry," he says, reaching to touch Midnighter's arm softly and briefly. "Have you been able to piece it together?"
thingpuncher: (face) (aw thats cute.)

[personal profile] thingpuncher 2017-10-09 01:39 am (UTC)(link)
That's... sweet. Sweeter and kinder than Midnighter deserves, or really needs, but for one brief moment, he holds the feeling inside. How many times has he been comforted in his life? And how many times has that comfort come from someone who wasn't Apollo?

Sometimes he wonders if he can operate independently of Apollo, if he was made for things like that. Apollo is the only one who he's ever had so many experiences with, from emotional intimacy to doing the dishes together. It's unspeakably strange, but also very reassuring, to get even the tiniest sliver of that from another. Maybe he doesn't have to exist in tandem with Apollo. Maybe he can be his own person without having to go it completely alone.

So his grin goes softer to match. "It's not like that. Whoever I was is gone. I'm Midnighter now. I'm going forward, not back."
northerndragon: (break the silence)

[personal profile] northerndragon 2017-10-09 01:47 am (UTC)(link)
[The weather is miserable, but he's seen and lived through much worse, though he thinks the people here could use better boots and better shoes and thicker cloaks to keep the wind and wet away. They dress more flamboyantly than people do in the North, but less practically. How much of that is by choice and how much by circumstance, it's hard to say yet.

She isn't used to this kind of weather either, he thinks, and she's not wearing enough.]


Aye, so they'll fight. What do you think of this king?

[As little as he understands of it, it's an inherited position here, and the smallfolk seem to regard the queen as something like his own family regards Cersei Lannister. These people need someone like Mance and don't have him, though from what Jon can gather, the King of France is not a monster.

Before she can answer, he adds,]


You look cold. Let's get out of the wet for a while.
Edited 2017-10-09 02:45 (UTC)
horsepowered: (x2. Centaur mode)

[personal profile] horsepowered 2017-10-09 01:48 am (UTC)(link)
"No one likes being cut off in the middle of an explanation either," Chiron points out. There's a small grin embedded in his words though, like he's already accepted that some variation of the situation is going to happen again.

"Mmm, that is probably the best idea. Shame that there's little place for more traditional weapons here."
horsepowered: (x4. Serious face)

[personal profile] horsepowered 2017-10-09 02:07 am (UTC)(link)
"I'll leave the assessment to you, then," Chiron decided, after Draco's response. He was young, yes, but that was all the more reason to not respond to, never mind reward, rude behavior. He had no reason to assume that there was any good reason to speak to anyone like this, and this was the most graceful way of responding. The rest of Chiron wanted to give the young man a gentle hint that perhaps this was not the best way to gain assistance but, well.

Experience was far better in that regard. He turned his shoulder, and began to walk again.
trainwreckoning: (three)

[personal profile] trainwreckoning 2017-10-09 02:10 am (UTC)(link)
Jacob smiles, soft and kind of impressed. That mindset requires a certain strength that's admirable to him. He rubs his hands together, the chill in the air making him a bit cold.

"Don't go getting a big head, but for the record? I like you the way you are," he says, avoiding his gaze. He moves forward to accept two cups of coffee and hand one to Midnighter.

"Do you think we actually agreed to this?" he asks curiously, just holding his cup to warm his fingers.
thingpuncher: (mask) (see u in hell <3)

[personal profile] thingpuncher 2017-10-09 02:38 am (UTC)(link)
"More traditional than fucking flintcock? What're you used to, clubs and sticks?" Midnighter can't resist poking and prodding. He grins. "Y'know, they just invented this neat thing called fire, maybe you've heard of it."
thingpuncher: (mask) (i have a plan.)

[personal profile] thingpuncher 2017-10-09 02:40 am (UTC)(link)
"Can't get much bigger. There's a computer stuffed between the ears." Now that he knows the sad part of the story, Midnighter may as well tell the interesting, vaguely beneficial part. But he appreciates the compliment, un-asked for and oddly... vulnerable? But that's probably just his read. Some people are just naturally emotionally open. It's fascinating.

"If my track record's anything to go by, we were abducted," he says. "Usually what it means when I don't remember getting somewhere." He says it lightly, with good humor. This isn't some sob story for him, it's just a fact.
horsepowered: (x4. Serious face)

[personal profile] horsepowered 2017-10-09 02:46 am (UTC)(link)
Poking and prodding is met with an absolutely serious face. Chiron's not tone death, he just knows that true answer will be worth it just for the reaction.

"My personal preference is a bow and arrow, actually."
trainwreckoning: (listening)

[personal profile] trainwreckoning 2017-10-09 02:51 am (UTC)(link)
Jacob frowns, and then makes a face because he's burnt his lips with the coffee.

"Ah... Wait, back up. What's a 'computer'?"
thingpuncher: (face) (the coolest cat in the medical ward.)

[personal profile] thingpuncher 2017-10-09 02:55 am (UTC)(link)
Midnighter grins, mostly at Jacob burning his lips. Everything he's done so far today has been impossibly, almost annoyingly endearing. Fuck.

But anyway, he now has to content with explaining what a computer is. "Have you ever heard of calculators? Fuck, abacuses?"
trainwreckoning: (laugh)

[personal profile] trainwreckoning 2017-10-09 03:06 am (UTC)(link)
That makes him laugh. "Adding machines? Yes. It's a machine then. And I expect it runs calculations in your head."

He blinks, really realizing what that means. "Shit, do you really have one? What have you computed about me? Can you tell how tall I am?"

He could probably guess, Jacob.
trample: (42)

III.

[personal profile] trample 2017-10-09 03:10 am (UTC)(link)
Are you gonna use that thing?

[ It's with little trepidation that Eren pops into the shaky fellow's personal space. At arms' length away, it's so blatantly obvious that there's something keeping this guy from fighting that makes Eren want to just put his hand on the gun and lower it for him. In the end, that's exactly what he does. ]

You look like a big softy. [ He sighs. ] You'd be better off baking bread than making someone else dead. I'm telling this to you for your own sake, screw the weapons training, find something that works for you. Something that doesn't make you shake in your boots. If you're gonna be flaking out at this stage, there's no way in hell you're gonna be able to fire at another man.
trample: (33)

A.

[personal profile] trample 2017-10-09 03:22 am (UTC)(link)
Though he was likely the last person who should be doing this, he was always there for someone down on their luck. This time, not unlike his last memories of home, it was comforting a short, blond fellow that seemed to be far too attached to a stick for his own good. The look on his face suggested he was stuck in an endless cycle of self-defeating brooding, the sort that stymies any forward thinking. That wouldn't do at all.

"Are you a new arrival?" It's a fair question, asked in a polite tone. "I figured that anyone sticking around in the base tent here ought to be someone that's fresh, green, and has hardly any clue as to what's going on. Either that or you do have a clue and you just don't want to make a move. Which is it?"
lonelywar: (and then shit got serious)

[personal profile] lonelywar 2017-10-09 04:50 am (UTC)(link)
[Yes, there is something keeping Ashitaka from being able to pull the trigger. But it is not what one might think.

The talisman that he had found on his person seemed to be linked to the mark in some way, keeping it at bay so that it spread no further. Otherwise, Ashitaka would have died in Jerusalem. It seemed to dull the pain that it had caused almost constantly, though there were occasions that spurred it into a spiteful rage once more. To hold a firearm, the same type of weapon that had lodged within Nago an iron bullet that had shattered him and poisoned him into a demon, nearly put it into a riot. Ashitaka's right arm shook because he was doing his best to keep it in check, nervous of some scene that might draw the native people's attention to him.

The stranger taking notice and intervening was a mixed blessing. It allowed the instructors to turn their attention elsewhere, seeing that addressing this failure of a civilian recruit was at least underway, but he did have to subject himself to the other young man's admonishments. Ashitaka is not a prideful person; there was little pride to be had for a cursed man, exiled from his clan. If he were to take pride in anything, it would certainly not be the times he had been forced to take the lives of others. But this other recruit had the wrong idea of him.

He is silent, shouldering the words and taking a moment to set the rifle down. He clasps his left hand onto his right forearm, bidding the mark to calm. Despite his best efforts, his fingers emerging from the linen wrap he had used to hide the mark spasm slightly as the mark yearns—to shatter the rifle like those bones that had been broken, or to take it and use it to kill the woman Eboshi, wherever it would find her. Its pressing impulse for violence made it difficult to formulate a response. It did start to calm, however, and when it did, Ashitaka looked up to the other recruit with eyes sharp enough to cut through whatever preconceptions he might have formed.]


You're right. [It was an answer that even surprised him a little, though he knew it was true.] I'm not sure I will be able to use this weapon.

[He wasn't helpless, of course; he could defend himself, perhaps better than he would like. But it seemed foolish to champion his own martial skill when he was so loath to use it in the first place.]

But we are not here to bake, are we?
pointedlook: (we do this fast)

I. even queens can't avoid an asskissing I MEAN ASS KICKING

[personal profile] pointedlook 2017-10-09 05:38 am (UTC)(link)
[ He's fluent in French– one too many jobs in Paris, also Mal would've kicked his ass if he never learned– but he doesn't expect to be dropped in wartime. In the rain. With a pushy french woman asking him questions rapid fire. Blinking, he gains his ground enough to answer what's needed and is soon rewarded with a musket in his hand, a satchel of gunpowder, clothing, and hasty directions to where the rest of the necessary tools for riflery are.

Perturbed but too professional to let it show, he strips out of his obviously modern clothes and pulls on the garments he'd been handed. It's. Charming? In a peasant way. There's stockings involved and they're itchy. He desperately wishes he'd worn sock garters so he could've snuck them under his trousers. Arthur tries not to think too hard about who might've worn these clothes before; garments so rarely came freely unless the body that had needed them was six feet under.

Getting out of the bustle a little, he starts inspecting the gun, brow furrowed in concentration as he tries to remember his firearms history. Angling it towards the ground, he peers down the barrel, adjusting to the sighting and knowing he'll have to make corrections. It's as he's looking back up that he sees someone flagging him for attention. ]


Sure. [ Why the hell not. ] What d'you need?
pointedlook: (mhmm)

B

[personal profile] pointedlook 2017-10-09 05:51 am (UTC)(link)
[ After the whirlwind introduction, Arthur had incrementally grown accustomed to his surroundings. It was still in the realm of weird as hell, but he'd rolled his totem and reality stared him in the face. Not a dream.

Too bad, he'd wanted to make fun of Ariadne wearing heeled shoes and stockings.

Instead, he was ducking from tent to tent, avoiding the weary drizzle in order to keep his satchel of gunpowder as dry as possible. These conditions were absolute misery to wage firearm warfare in, especially with such early technology. But, there was no changing it. And with everything, he rolled with the punches, took notes, researched until his eyes crossed, and got on with it.

He's halfway through mentally and obsessively reviewing everything he could remember about this period in history when someone cuts straight through his thoughts. Glancing up sharply, he spots a lean-faced blonde kid with a smart mouth.

On dark brow raises slowly, as if unimpressed. ]


You don't talk to people very often, do you?
acchakat: seethesoldiers @ insanejournal (Bitch I don't give a fuck about you)

it's beautiful i'm gonna cry :')

[personal profile] acchakat 2017-10-09 05:53 am (UTC)(link)
The stone arrow hits, and Drogo's gaze shifts from the musket and quickly to the hat. He plucks it off his head with loosely bandaged hands--not from practice; it's another Dothraki tradition he refuses to let go of--and he examines the hole.

Clean through.

Drogo's gaze zeroes in on Midnighter at once, and he rises, striding towards him without so much as a blink.

acchakat: seethesoldiers @ insanejournal (I ain't fuckin' with you)

[personal profile] acchakat 2017-10-09 06:08 am (UTC)(link)
Drogo nods, the movement sharp and sure. He hadn't spoken much at all--he hadn't really been there in general, despite the rain, mostly because he'd been around the training grounds. When he'd been in the tent it would be silence, or sleep.

Now, though, he's found something he has in common with someone else: weapons. Weapons that are not guns.

"Blades," he echoes in the ugly common tongue. They look smart--like they're easy to hide. He cranes his neck to get a better view, and then nods, chin pointing to him.

"Show."
acchakat: seethesoldiers @ insanejournal (heard you got a new man)

[personal profile] acchakat 2017-10-09 06:29 am (UTC)(link)
His moon laughs, and Drogo's lips curl into another smile. IT is no surprise--not to him--that she is here. She is fierce, she has a way. Together, they will fight. Together, they will amass their army.

Drogo seeks power, but more importantly, Drogo also seeks power for Dany. Her wish is his, her laugh, too, and the Dothraki wastes no time. Even if he grunts and it sounds suspiciously like an annoyed groan at the fact that he's not wearing what he's used to.

Still, none of that matters, not when he leans down and kisses her, warm and inviting, arms strong and looping around her. To any, they are a pair of peasants, and yet those who look closer can see they are so much more.

"They recognize strength. You have such, moon of my life. It is known."
acchakat: seethesoldiers @ insanejournal (Little stupid ass)

[personal profile] acchakat 2017-10-09 06:54 am (UTC)(link)
He is not movek, but he has skinny arms and a frail complexion, and the moment he says 'strategies' things fall into place. The only thing that's missing is a strange coloured beard of someone from Pentos. This man thinks with his mind. He's here for that reason, not his prowess on the field. Drogo wonders if he's ever been in battle.

His assumptions are just that, assumptions, but Drogo thinks in absolutes: this one is not a threat. This one is an ally.

And, though Drogo won't admit it, he doesn't quite understand what the other is saying.

"Mare's milk," he says simply. "You will grow strong."
putorius: (I dare you to say they taste the same)

[personal profile] putorius 2017-10-09 07:03 am (UTC)(link)
Teaching Draco subtle lessons was never a fruitful method. Especially when it was on things that he had no desire to change in any fashion. His father treated people as if they were little more than dirt on his shoe, so why shouldn't Draco do the same? No one was going to teach him otherwise. At least not any time soon.

"Not, then," he sneered. Because clearly, anyone who didn't recognize his status was not worth his time. "Why don't you find me someone useful, then?"
putorius: (And let December glow in flames)

[personal profile] putorius 2017-10-09 07:14 am (UTC)(link)
The moment someone approached, Draco's head snapped up and the look of apparent brooding vanished. In its place grew an irritated sneer, having been interrupted in his study of this strange device. It was almost like magic, only not. It was too...direct. Too mechanical. And yet it behaved in similar ways. Control of it was along the same lines, and it hovered in the air just like magic.

But now he had this guy to deal with, instead. Getting to his feet, so the other wasn't staring down at him, he glared at Eren. "What's it matter?" He snapped. "Which are you?"
putorius: (I don't care what you think)

[personal profile] putorius 2017-10-09 07:25 am (UTC)(link)
That reaction actually made Draco take a slight step back, looking about as offended as if Arthur had slapped him across the face. That wasn't something he was used to. Even Potter and his stupid little tribe of followers took time to wind up most days. How dare this...this muggle speak to him this way.

"I talk to people far more important than you'll ever be." Even if some of those important people terrified him to his very core whenever they so much as looked at him. "I asked you a question, didn't I?"

Perhaps if he could learn to be a little bit nicer to people he might get somewhere. But he was too out of his depth to think of that right now. He'd lost his footing, which meant he was scrambling for anything and falling back on ingrained habits rather than any form of logic.
thingpuncher: (face) (aw thats cute.)

[personal profile] thingpuncher 2017-10-09 12:57 pm (UTC)(link)
Midnighter sighs, somewhere between bored and amused-- it's boring conversions for the computer, but it's hilarious how excited about this Jacob is getting. So Midnighter dutifully recounts Jacob's height and weight in metric and imperial, adding stone out of deference to his clear Britishness. "I also get a weird reading from the energy signatures in your head-- you probably see things differently than the average human, or... something. I don't have all the data."

He takes another sip of coffee. Here's the big thing, the thing that not everybody is comfortable with. "It mostly tells me a thousand ways to kill everybody I come in contact with. You know, just in case." Including you. But he doesn't say it.

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