Entry tags:
- * setting: france 1792,
- aloy [horizon zero dawn],
- angela zieglar [overwatch],
- arthur [inception],
- ashitaka [princess mononoke],
- chiron [fate],
- daenerys targaryen [asoiaf],
- draco malfoy [harry potter],
- drogo [asoiaf],
- eren yeager [attack on titan],
- jacob frye [assassin's creed],
- joel [the last of us],
- jon snow [asoiaf],
- kate bishop [marvel],
- midnighter [dc],
- soldier 76 [overwatch],
- takatora todo [samurai warriors],
- yoshitsugu otani [samurai warriors]
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.
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.
1792: revolutionary france.

read the valmy setting infopage
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.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.
DEPLOYMENT: VALMY, FRANCE. IT'S GOING TO BE A WET ONE. WE ARE EXPECTING MORE TRANSFERS ON ARRIVAL.
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.
read the valmy setting infopage

A LITTLE BIT OF THIS AND THAT
So he stands watching on the sidelines as Daenerys gives them all a rousing speech... something about their lands, their homes, whether or not they have enough food to fill their bellies, the fact that their spirits will lead them to victory. It's along the lines of what he might have said, and his attention is rapt. This is a dangerous place for her, but when she'd told him she had faith in herself, some months ago, he'd gotten a taste of this kind of speech. He's never seen her deliver something like it to a crowd, but it's clear that this isn't the first time.
As she passes him, she comments that the smallfolk are tired.]
They are. War will make it worse, for a while, but I think they believed you.
UNTZ UNTZ UNTZ, WE DO WHAT WE WANT
Jon stands nearby, watching, and the look in his eyes is both familiar and foreign. It brings to mind the hot sand beneath their feet in Jerusalem, the confusion his touch summoned... not because it was unwelcome, but because it spoke of familiarity which went beyond their encounter in the caves, or her demands for guidance prior to her attack on the Lannisters.
Still, he is a familiar and welcomed face, and she smiles in greeting as she steps near enough, folding her hands in front of her. The rain continues, as it has, and she feels weighed down with the water's hold. Likely, she looks soaked to the bone as well. He, at least, is still handsome no matter the setting. ]
War makes many things worse, but if it brings with it change for the better, it's worth it. [ She had to believe that. ] Having something to place their faith in and fight for is what most people need.
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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.
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Mn, so they'll fight. And some will die for their cause, while others live, but they will have something worth fighting for. Something to distract them from the suffering war will cause. [ It has to be enough.
She shakes her head at his question, and steps closer to him, slipping her arm through his. It might seem like a lady merely holding on for balance, but it's far more nuanced than that: warmth, privacy (as much as they can achieve in this place), and also the touch of something--someone--familiar. ] I don't know what to make of him, truthfully. The stances between this king and queen sounds similar enough to our own world, in some ways.
She reminds me of a maddened queen, from the whispers I have heard. [ After a thoughtful silence, she adds: ] My tent's not far, though it's hardly and dryer.
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[Those who are habituated to more comfort, he means.
There's been something different about her since he saw her in the first place, Jerusalem... something different than the woman he'd chosen to sail with to White Harbor. He can't place it, but it's a distance in her. The way she loops her arm through his and stands close to him is the first sign that she means to close it, at least for a time. He glances down at their linked arms, and his expression brightens a little as he looks back at her... pleasure, but mostly interest and relief.]
I will fight for these people. Some of their weapons are new to me, though.
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I've heard they've become overcrowded. [ Being near so many sounded less than ideal. Privacy in a world where they were expected to blend with the smallfolk of this place was a luxury. Relinquishing the scraps of it afforded to her by searching for a dry barn? No.
A group rushes past, and Dany's forced to step closer to Jon. Glancing up at him is when she catches the look in his eye: something warmer, something which has her watching him for far longer than she should, until the frown lines between her brows ease.
A moment later, and she's huffing in amusement, ducking her head and shaking it, eyes closed. ] They've tricked us into this, and you'll still fight for these men and women, despite knowing it's what COST expects of us.
[ Why is she not surprised? He would protect. With an inhale, she steers them toward her tent. ]
I'm familiar with the knives and the one which appears to be a flimsier arakh. I've not used either, though.
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[This seems more important than why he will do what COST expects, but as they come close to her tent, he sighs and addresses that.]
They need someone to fight for them. I only fought for the Wildlings once, but as the matter goes, they didn't ask to be cut off from the rest of the world by the Wall, stuck behind it with the White Walkers and the wights. Most of them couldn't even make a sickle; few villages have the knowledge. These people are better off, but it seems much the same to me. The nobles don't seem to have a care for the smallfolk... not enough of them.
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[ It's too honest. Riding a dragon and commanding her son to burn her enemies... commanding her guard to execute someone... smothering her near-dead husband--all of these are far different versus the heat of battle. Could she spin around and attack Jon when they stand this close? If he were a threat, maybe, but she'd likely already be dead if he were. ]
I wonder if this king will be any different. You're right, of course, they don't seem to have a care for the smallfolk here. That's the same as in our world, no matter how better off one group appears over another. [ A light squeeze to his arm. ] I'd tried to change that... in the slaver cities.
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[The squeeze on his arm gets another glance, another brightening.]
You left them changed. Was that the way you spoke to them there?
[He means the speech he's just observed.]
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[ She looks ahead, blinking the rain from her lashes. Had she left them changed? Could she change so much of what was ingrained in the time she'd spent there? ]
I spoke with more force in Essos, perhaps. I'd also encouraged the slaves to turn against their masters. [ Clearing her throat, she spares him a brief glance. Now, they walk amongst the tents, weighed down some with puddles of water. ] I only mention it because of Jerusalem. They mean to have us aid in battle, to turn the tides... but if there is not a strong figurehead to maintain some semblance of order, many will fall back into old habits when the battles end.
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I will... as much as I can. Even a little training is better than nothing.
[That settled, he moves on to the other subject.]
What sort of strong figure would you look to? Not this king. Not someone who rules by cruelty, either,
[he amends, thinking of Joffrey and Ramsay Bolton, and the ways some people try to show their strength. But he's not sure that someone like his father is what would be needed here, either.]
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Thank you.
[
If only she knew what she was getting herself into.]Mn, not cruelty, no. We've seen what befalls those who rule with cruelty. Fairness is important. Mercy in the face of rendering justice. The smallfolk and nobles alike need a ruler who can differentiate between when it's appropriate to choose one over the other. [ It's a nuanced thing, and one which she still continues to struggle with.
Soon, she gives a gentle tug on his arm. They've reached her tent, as pitiful as all the others, but it does not stop her from stepping from him and brushing the flap aside to step inside. ] Who would you look to?
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The other question is easier to address.]
Someone like you. Someone who knows these things and has the strength to see them through. Someone who listens to their advisors but makes their own decisions. There will be any number of nobles trying to sway them to their own benefit, which may not be to the benefit of the realm.
[This describes him, too, but she has more of a taste for ruling than he does, he thinks.]
Your sights are set further away than this France, however.
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He truly thinks these things of her? She'd believed him to find her too abrasive with her demands, too quick to temper. Hadn't her rush to burn the Lannisters proved that? Though she did take his counsel to heart.
Still-- ] You surprise me yet, Jon Snow.
[ Has she ever sounded so warm, murmuring his name? Before she does something ridiculous, she ducks into her tent, holding the flap aside for him. ]
This is not my home, no. These are not my people. [ Though she's no doubt if forced to, she could find commonalities between she and them, much like she's done with so many others. ] And I lack dragons and armies to hold sway in very many a thing. Even with your support, here.
There's also the question of how long they will keep us here. Were we to choose to stay, would COST allow it of us?
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[And anyway, Daenerys is urgently needed in Westeros, and wouldn't be happy here without her dragons. That's something he understands about her now.
He follows her into the tent, then looks around it.]
I don't know if these people will find the king they need... I only think they'd be lucky to have you.
Now, where's the weapon they gave you? Let's see the edge.
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[ Truth be told, her speeches to the smallfolk does inspire some form of attachment, no matter how minuscule it may be. France, Jerusalem, Westeros, or Essos, it's all the same, isn't it?
His flattery gives her pause, earning the furrow of a brow as she regards his back. Her expression will clear into something neutral as they face each other once again, but he... he leaves her unsteady. Left floundering for something steady. Such an offhanded thing to say, and not something she's heard from him before.
Clearing her throat, she lifts the skirts of her dress. The greatest issue with this garb was the lack of trousers to wear beneath the dress they'd provided; stealing a pair had taken time, but it was well worth the hassle. So she does not hesitate as she lifts the skirts, reaching for the knife she'd haphazardly tucked into her boot.
The flimsy arakh is hooked to her waist, carefully removed, both weapons proffered to him. ]
It's not the same quality as the Dothraki's blades, I'm afraid.
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Still, the way he looks at her now is the way he's been looking at her for months.
When she hands him the two blades, he looks at them closely... first in the tent's half-light, but then he crosses to the flap and opens it to peer at them in daylight. After that, he lets the flap close, crosses back to her, and returns the two blades with care.]
They're good steel. Not as good as castle-made, but good enough to kill and not be killed, if you use them well. I don't see any notches in the blades or anything that would make them likely to break.
It seems COST will move us from here again. I don't know where.
[His tone suggests that the "where" is a source of concern to him.]
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And why she trusts him to teach her how to use them properly. If he truly desired to cause her harm, he's had ample opportunities thus far. ]
You'll teach me to use them well? [ She'd rather avoid the "to be killed" part. ] I've no experience in battle, Jon. Not like you or the others. I've fought my brother, but my hit was lucky and caught him by surprise. I cannot rely on merely luck here. Back in Meereen--
[ She stops abruptly, huffing a sigh. Best not to think about that time when she'd been reunited with Jorah again.
When he offers her the weapons, she takes them, slightly awkward with it as a novice is. ]
I truly wonder what 'good' we offer these people through COST's initiatives. Or those back in Jerusalem.
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[Only luck had saved him from the volleys of arrows the Bolton forces had shot when he had battled them to retake Winterfell; enough men around him had fallen, even as he was speaking to them. And these bullets seem more lethal than arrows, if also more complicated to use. With no shaft, the point can bury itself deep in a wound. The whole thing seems to him like a pyromancer's trick. The combination of a gun and a spear makes him uneasy enough that he's relieved to have a pike himself: something to keep the blade end at a distance.
He knows Daenerys has killed, which makes this easier... but likely not with her own hands, which does not.]
Fight to end the fight quickly. Stab them before they stab you.
As to COST, we don't know enough about these people to know whether it's better that they should win or that they should lose. [After a brief hesitation, he allows,] If they were to lose, there would be reprisals.
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I've seen a man, one who also claims to have been in Jerusalem, with one of these guns. It reminds me of a portable cannon.
[ His advice earns him an arched brow. Not quite an arch look in reprimand, but there's certainly a no, really? to her expression. One which soon settles into something grimmer as she goes to tuck the blade back into her boot. ]
There will always be consequences to face. One could just as easily spin me and mine as the enemy in this scenario. Were it Cersei, she undoubtedly would. [ Rearranging her skirts, she straightens, studying him. ] It doesn't sit well with me, following the commands of our kidnappers like a sheep.
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A shield isn't only a shield: if you know how to use it, it's a weapon on its own. Even so, I can't say it would do anything against these guns unless you used it to knock one out of a man's hands.
[The cannons seem to him like seige engines: something you could use to bring down a wall, though maybe not the Wall. He's never seen a weapon at home, not even a foreign one, that was too far from familiar for him, except maybe the dragons... and those are living creatures. Now, it seems to him that men are ever inventing new ways to kill each other.
As it turns out, his thought of the Wall sits well alongside the next thing she says.]
No, I suppose it wouldn't. But I was a captive once... of the Wildlings. I was under orders from the Watch to do as they told me to do.
[This is clearly the beginning of a tale, and he's not sure exactly how much of it he's going to tell her. His tongue shies away from the things that were more important to him than to this line of discussion.]
Whatever they told me to do, to prove I was a turncloak.
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So instead she nods her head. ] There may be a time where I have no luxury of choosing. Are they heavy?
[ He speaks of his time of capture and she doesn't interrupt, her attention rapt as he describes a similar scenario to this, in some ways. They both started in weaker positions when with the Wildlings and Dothraki. France is no different, in some ways.
His emphasis on what was expected of him to prove his loyalties, however... ]
Just how much were you expected to do to prove yourself?
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I drew the line at the next killing... he was an innocent man, he raised horses for the Watch... and I was able to escape and find my way back to Castle Black.
[With three arrows in him, because he'd done more with a Wildling girl than just climbing a wall of ice.]
COST wants more deaths, but battle and murder are different things. Soldiers know what they're about.
As to a shield or a buckler, aye, they're heavy enough when you're not used to them. Your arms get stronger in time.
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They would see to all of them broken? [ She's no full grasp of what a man of the Watch is expected to swear by, but she's an idea. Why else would men willingly live on the outskirts of what the Westerosi deemed civilization? And what use would Wildlings have, if not to break their enemies in the process? It would be what a Dothraki does--take that which man finds sacred, such as one's braid, and destroy it.
Jon is not broken. He makes mention of a girl, a king, the dead, and she thinks there are details he intentionally leaves out. Details that--what? Will skew her image of him? Further prove his point? Was there not a man, a king, and a witch for her? ] We do what we must to survive--even if those things one day cause us regret. You and I both wear blood on our hands, and we'll bathe in more before we leave this place for the next.
I don't want to. And however strong you may be after what you've survived, I know you do not, either. These things you've seen and done, they haven't turned you to ice.
[ The boy died in the snow; the girl died in the fire... and both were surrounded by their 'savages.' ]
If you look back... [ She ducks her head, shakes it, meets his gaze again. ] Would you kill that man now if COST demanded it? The one who raised horses?
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[A heavy sigh, but one with no exasperation in it. She's right that there's blood on his hands: most of the men he's killed were already dead, but not all of them, not by any means. It may have been justice, or it may have been self-defence, but nonetheless, they are dead and he is not.
He doesn't look away from her.]
I'd never kill that man, if he were only a man who raised horses near the Wall. Would you kill him if he were a Regency spy -- or an assassin working for Robert Baratheon? The situations aren't the same. It was more as if the Regency wanted him dead because he might warn COST of their plans. If COST wanted him dead because he might warn the Regency of their plans... well, it still wouldn't be the same. I don't know who's right.
But I know that you are... I haven't turned to ice.
[And there's a strange pleasure in hearing her say that, knowing that she understands it... that even if there had been times when he'd tried to turn himself to ice, it had never worked.]
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