Xaos
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Post by Xaos on Mar 31, 2018 1:46:43 GMT
Lago di Como, Austrian Italy, 1796Years spent at war give one certain expectations. The rations will always be bland and less-than-filling, cannons will always lose a wheel just before it's time to camp for the night and marching has a certain sound. That sound was nowhere to be heard these past five days, not due to any lack of troop movement, but because "marching" usually implies moving over sold ground. "Solid" was too fine a compliment to pay this mud which threatened to steal a man's foot with every step. No, the French army had not been "marching" this half-week but rather slogging, the endless and relentless rain had seen to that. Alexandre had actually looked forward, after fighting so long in the rough Alps, to seeing the famously beautiful mountain valley lake. He'd known there'd be little enough time to enjoy the sights in the midst of war but he had, at least, imagined the weather would allow for small moments of enjoyment. Instead, these days had been some of the grimmest and bloodiest combat he'd ever faced. Suvorov's axiom that, "the bullet is a fool, the bayonet is a fine fellow," was not mere opinion but fact under these environmental circumstances, and General Bonaparte had even quoted the phrase in his orders to the officers. Doubtless those few who got to the motto before the ink on the paper had washed away had appreciated its aptness. Only a Russian could advocate this type of warfare, Alexandre had fumed inwardly untold times. Men stabbing each other madly in a barbarous frenzy and losing more casualties to pneumonia than to the enemy was likely a Spring festival custom somewhere in Eurasia. This repetitive xenophobia was shocked to quiescence by the sound of the battalion's bugler. Focused again on his surroundings, Alexandre locked into formation alongside his numerous countrymen and, gazing forward through the gloom, saw the white uniforms and soaked flag of Austria advancing. The not-march of wet slog resumed at a previously unmatched enthusiasm; there was no value in standing before a charge without counter-fire. The lines made contact and the mad, barbarous stabbing frenzy began anew. Suddenly, above the downpour, above the cries of rage and anguish, could be heard a sound more bombastic than either thunder or artillery. All present for a moment wondered if it was the angry voice of God, before seeing the landslide roaring down the mountainside like a flood. Panicked, both sides scattered in all directions, desperate to find some shelter from the doom that was mere seconds away. Alexandre was half-way up the tree he was climbing when the wave hit him and carried him forward. As blessed motionlessness finally returned to Alexandre, a moment of panic was followed by several moments of struggle and then followed by relief that he'd only been buried deep enough to require a cursory self-excavation. Breathing in heavily, he saw several other figures in the distance freeing themselves from the mud. Only one of these men was close enough to discern his uniform through layers of mud. The Austrian soldier, like Alexandre deprived of his musket by the disaster, noticed the Frenchman as well and, at least for the two men, the fighting had not ended. Curling his hands into fists, the enemy soldier rose into as-near a run as could be managed towards Alexandre to strike at him. Alexandre's Initiative qWSImX7r + 3 + 3 = 15 Austrian Soldier's Initiative + 3 + 3 = 14 ·
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Post by Alexandre LeChevalier on Apr 17, 2018 3:51:52 GMT
Still disoriented for a moment, Alexandre reached for his saber before realizing it wasn't there. As a few deep breaths restored his wits, however, he tore a branch from the top of the mostly-buried tree. Despite all the expensive classes on tactics he had studied, he learned later that the first rule of combat was always to arm yourself. Club in hand, he charged toward the Austrian in a graceless manner, stomping quickly so that the mud wouldn't have enough time to swallow him in any given step. His cunning scheme revolved around hitting the Austrian on the side of the head with the branch, then pushing him under the mud and suffocating him with the rest of his compatriots.
Correct me if I'm wrong here, but 3 Dexterity and 3 Melee means I roll 6 dice, correct? If so...F00PKOsN ·····
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Xaos
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Post by Xaos on Apr 20, 2018 21:44:31 GMT
While the crack of the tree branch and the sound of Alexandre's footsteps were drowned out by the pounding rain, the resounding percussive effect the impromptu club had against his foe's head was not. Dizzied by the mighty head trauma, it took a huge exertion of inner strength for him to grab at Alexandre's weapon, both to keep from falling and to disarm the Frenchman. Neither goal was achieved and, with a thwack and a yell, the Austrian fell and slid rapidly down the only-recently stilled surface of the mudslide, leaving one boot behind him. The mercenary was stopped by his midsection contacting the branch of a partially buried tree many meters downhill. Alexandre briefly considered whether the treacherous slope might be worth braving to finish his enemy, but the sound of a partially-clogged bugle caught his attention. A turn of the head revealed that the French troops were rallying around a standard freshly-reclaimed from the mud and falling back. As Alexandre turned to heed the call, however, he could hear his foe's voice, bellowing over all competing noise, from below, "You'll pay for this! No one crosses David Rodriguez and lives! Alexandre rolls damage, 3 attack successes + Str 3 + 2 for club hjmFc1BK Austrian mercenary soaks with 3 Stamina Austrain takes 5 bashing damage Austrian spends Willpower point to abort action Austrian attempts to disarm at + 1 difficulty, must spend one die to close the distance due to inferior reach, -2 due to damage, Dex 3 + Brawl 3 ·············
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Post by Alexandre LeChevalier on Apr 24, 2018 16:41:35 GMT
Alexandre smirked to himself as his foe tumbled down the hill. Personal threats in wartime- so uncivilized. This is precisely why the French need to spread their influence. Nonetheless, the name did stick out to him, if only because of how Iberian it sounded for an Austrian. Not enough to change his behavior as he began back toward the rendezvous. Near the buried tree, Alexandre briefly considered digging around for his gun or sabre, but decided against staying a single target while the rest of the army regathered. They'd no doubt be resupplying the men there anyhow, he though, continuing toward the rallypoint.
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Xaos
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Post by Xaos on May 2, 2018 1:54:14 GMT
Amiens, France, 25th March 1802
The bright, multitudinous colors of fireworks had dominated the sky of Amiens since nightfall. For France the great relief and glory of a decade-long fight finally won had reached its apex with the treaty that had been signed earlier that day. Moods were just as colorful; the citizens milling about the streets were far more drunk on victory than on alcohol...though one certainly should not have underestimated the later effect. Their revolution was at last complete, the great powers of Europe now recognized the republic's legitimacy over the vanquished Ancien Regime.
But, while the crowds' collective gaze was oft cast upwards, both in appreciation of the display and in pride, very few noticed the pair of men who stood atop a roof above the town square with their gaze cast, not upwards, but downwards. Both these men were far more reserved than the populace, though one was no less joyous in his reservation, as they perched with impeccable balance on the steep roof.
"After all those years you spent with the Prometheans during the War of Princes, all those rants about the lost glory of Carthage, and here you are, Cornutus, cheering on the victory of a Caesar," the less jovial man said.
"Well, it is fitting then that I keep company with a former Furore who is now Primogen of...where is it, Gustavus?" Cornutus asked.
"Oude Haven," Gustavus replied, "And the difference is that I grew out of my youthful delusions. It is dangerous enough in the Kine when the old fail to move past their early utopianism, twice as disastrous for Kindred. You've left sense behind you, friend, I've seen enough would-be Princes to know that your savior Bonaparte will make himself king."
"He is but one of a triumvirate of Consuls, all of whom lead by popular acclaim."
"It is so, and so it was of Caesar."
"Which Caesar do you mean?" Cornutus chuckled, "I am never quite sure when you say that."
"Augustus if he succeeds, Julius if he fails," Gustavus offered with a shrug, "When the reign of King Bonaparte begins then your precious struggle against royal oppression will have been as meaningless as...say, that petty brawl down there."
The hurlyburly that Gustavus gestured to consisted of a collection of French soldier and a motley crew of British, Portuguese and Neapolitan soldiers shouting at each other. Most central in the dispute were two men. The first was Alexandre LeChevalier, face-to-face with the second, his old foe, David Rodriquez. David had recognized Alexandre while passing in the street and what had begun as a renewal of their personal dispute had escalated into an international drunken shouting match. A few moments into the argument Alexandre had noticed that this time David wore the uniform of Naples, suggesting the odd combination of ethnicity and national allegiance he noted in their last encounter was only deep as the paymaster's purse.
"Suce-moi, baiseur de cochon!" David shouted at Alexandre.
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Post by Alexandre LeChevalier on May 2, 2018 18:22:56 GMT
"Stand proud, men," Alexandre bellowed to his fellow men, "for today is a celebration of the victory of liberty, equality, and brotherhood. These drunken barbarians can't take that from you." He motioned to Rodriguez as he spoke, despite clearly being drunk himself. He was at that precise point where he was visibly inebriated, yet still concerned enough about his appearance to try and (unconvincingly) fake sobriety. Hence his grandiose speech, rather than just shaking the comments as he would in a more clear state of mind. "Just because they're content to wallow in filth doesn't mean we should sink to their level. This celebration of our victory proves the superiority of a more civilized approach."
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Xaos
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Post by Xaos on May 11, 2018 4:17:33 GMT
Approaching this fracas came two strangers; gentlemen in styles a few years out of date, one looking grim and the other jolly.
"What's this now?" the latter asked, "Is this not meant to be a night of peace? What's the substance of this brawl?"
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Post by Alexandre LeChevalier on May 17, 2018 5:01:31 GMT
"Just an old grievance that should have died with their failed monarchies. Nothing to concern yourself with, citizen." Times had changed and appearances didn't quite so rigidly correspond with social rank, but even so LeChevalier eyed the men to see what he could tell of them.
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Xaos
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Post by Xaos on May 23, 2018 0:51:41 GMT
Rodriguez looked ready to shout another obscenity when the grim-looking man interjected, "The war may be at an end, but there is still a better way for gentlemen to settle these differences than shouting in the streets. Both my compatriot and I are licensed, in multiple countries including this one, to serve as officiants for duels of honor."
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Post by Alexandre LeChevalier on Jul 12, 2018 3:57:20 GMT
"This man has done me no real dishonor. A sad man shouted a me in the streets, it is nothing more. I will not allow it to anger me, much less be cause for bloodshed," Alexandre said calmly, reaching for higher virtues before adding, "besides, I doubt this man would want to duel me after I so thoroughly defeated him in our last encounter."
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Xaos
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Post by Xaos on Jul 12, 2018 23:35:12 GMT
The more jovial stranger's smile seemed to broaden a little at Alexandre's response.
In a moment, however, Rodriquez was again swaggering in his slurred speech, "Last time the Devil sent a landslide to save his French whorespawn! You could never beat me in an even match!"
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Post by Alexandre LeChevalier on Jul 14, 2018 23:44:20 GMT
"The only luck that day was that I spared you. If you want an even match, though, I'd suggest tomorrow off to recover from the festivities. Are you gentlemen available the following morning?"
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Xaos
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Post by Xaos on Jul 16, 2018 0:56:59 GMT
"I'm afraid, monsieur, that our daylight hours are sacrosanct," the Saturnine part of the duo informed Alexandre.
"Bah, Frenchie is trying to find a chance to sneak away from me!" Rodriquez blustered, his questionably advisable eagerness for the duel shining through.
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Post by Alexandre LeChevalier on Jul 22, 2018 19:26:17 GMT
Brushing off the insult, Alexandre stuck to his guns. "Killing you now while drunk would be an act of anger, not honor, even with these dignitaries to officiate the matter. If you think me a coward for it, feel free. Your opinion has no influence on me. The only thing I can control is myself, and I won't allow myself to murder a drunk. Even one who deserves it."
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Xaos
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Post by Xaos on Aug 6, 2018 0:25:23 GMT
Rodriguez barked something back at Alexandre but his speech was so slurred that the latter man couldn't make it out. Apparently taking the several seconds LeChevalier spent trying to decipher what had been said as some victory, Rodriguez turned about and with his cohort departed. Those additional hangers-on who had gathered in hopes of seeing a fight began to disperse.
"You showed impressive dignity and restraint in that exchange," the smiling duel officiant said to Alexandre, "But I have not properly introduced myself, I am Cornutus."
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