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West.; Luis solo
Topic Started: Jan 12 2017, 02:53 PM (103 Views)
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Quote:
 
You awaken in the local jail with a pounding headache and what can only be dried blood on your face. You're alone in your cell for the better part of an hour before Captain Halphen joins you with an exhausted look. He sits on the bench opposite you and has the larger, half-swamper guard lock the two of you in.

When he speaks, his voice lacks the strategic bark that he displayed outside your manor.

"I'm sorry for your loss Luis, I lost my own mother recently. But that doesn't make your actions reasonable. Tales of your passionate defense of your home are spreading like wildfire through the streets and Monsieur Lemaigre has begun the most vile of smear campaigns against you. Claims that he always saw you a bit savage and creepy."

He pauses and takes a brief swig of some heavy liquor off his canteen; after swirling it around his mouth with the most disgusted expression, Halphen offers it to you. If you take it, you're treated to a drink of the worst bathtub gin this side of the Mississippi. Some people's tastes.

"My point is, this city has abandoned you," Halphen continues. "It is also abandoning me. The Governor's favorite piece of ass, a noted acrobat and knife thrower they stuck in my regiment, had his brains bashed in by one of your washerwomen who he tried to rape after they took you in. His death is on my hands and the Governor is all too furious. I'm to be sent west with one of the scouting parties in search of fresh lands to slave from."

"This expedition could use a translator and trader to go with it," Halphen shrugs. "It might be a long trip into hostile territory, but if you're interested, it could be good publicity that shows that we both still have C'est's best interests at heart. Either way you're to be exiled on the morning, with the value of your estate that was damaged to be left to you. It won't be much after your little showing of defiance, but they aren't about to hang you."

"You'll have until the morning to decide if you wish to accompany me. I don't doubt it will be a hard journey, so don't go into this expecting a easy way out. You're a valuable man, but I'm sure I can find another before I have to leave; you happen to have the lowest price tag."

He leaves you with a scrap of paper detailing what you will claim if you accept the exile, and what will become of you if you join his expedition.

Quote:
 
If you accept the Captain's offer:
00 C'est Reputation - You made a mockery of the law with your standoff, but the slave trade won't exist forever without expansion. Those in high places will recognize your efforts. This reputation will sour significantly if you willing leave the expedition without just cause.
Zouave Outfit (GC Desert Clothing) - The captain says you will need these if you head west with him.
d'Duret Family Dagger(Kitchen Knife) - An old style dagger that James Andrews carried in his day.
Luis d'Duret
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After the Captain’s departure, Luis sat alone in his cell for a time in complete silence. He was a sorry sight to say the least. His face was flushed and bruised around his broken nose and a tourniquet secured his jaw in place after it had been bludgeoned with a musket’s stock. His clothes, once fine and tailored to fit him by the city’s clothiers, were soaked yellow with sweat from a man who hadn’t bathed in days and stained red from his still leaking nose. Worst of all, however, was the dark crimson that caked the end of his unlaced boot. The brain matter of his childhood steward.

He continued to wallow in his misery for the rest of the night. He did little more than stare at the ceiling of his cell before drifting into a dreamless, uncomfortable sleep. It was only broken by a terrible clanging on the bars of his cell. Luis barely raised his stiff neck enough to see his visitor: a man with a large, bushy beard clad in the most outlandish garb he had ever seen. A red fez sat on his head of short hair and a cream-colored jacket covered his chest. It was ornately trimmed Lilac of the C’est style and bore the rank of corporal, from what Luis could tell. The most jarring aspect of his uniform were the large, poofy pants of the same cream color he wore over a pair of fine boots. Strapped over his back was a small musket. A skirmisher by the looks of it.

“Luis d’Duret. I am Sergeant Albert Raoult of his Excellency’s 1st Zouaves under the command of Captain Halphen. Are you to join us?” The Sergeant’s voice was sharp and concise and seemed almost robotic in nature. Luis blinked some of the crust out of his eyes as he laid his head back down to the cold concrete floor.

“Morning already?” his voice was dry and barely rose above a whisper.

“Yes. Are you to join us?” A no-nonsense type it seemed. Luis let out a deep sigh before slowly easing himself up against the wall.

“Yes.”

“Very good. The Captain has ordered me to lead you to the baths so that you may clean and rejuvenate yourself,” The Sergeant grabbed a key from his jacket and swiftly unlocked the cell door. “Please, follow me.”

Luis was lead (with great assistance) to a small, dank room in the jail. It had a window, unlike his cell, and at the center of it was a medium-sized wooden tub. It had been filled with the freshest water that could be found in the city, and a bar of scented soap sat on the floor beside it. The tub could’ve been a barrel of horse piss for all he cared, he just wanted to soak. The Sergeant closed the door and left Luis to himself for a few minutes. Despite it all, it was the greatest bath Luis had ever taken. It felt good to get five days worth of grime and blood off of his body.

When at last he began to towel himself off, a slot on the room’s door slid open and a parcel paper-wrapped package slid through.

“Wear this.” The Sergeant said before closing the slot, disregarding anything Luis might have to say in the matter. Still wet from the bath, Luis began to unwrap the bundle and sighed when he saw its contents. It was better than wearing his piss stained trousers, he supposed.

Luis stepped out from the room dressed in the cream colored uniform of the Zouaves, devoid of any rank or identification. The Sergeant did little more than give a stern nod before leading him out of the jail and into the streets of CTE.
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Luis was slower than usual to follow the Sergeant due to his sore limbs and still-throbbing head. The Zouave practically had to lead him like a dog down the dirty streets and over Le Péage Troll bridge that stood over the River Miel. Worst of all, he could feel the stares. Luis was already a figure that stood out in a crowd. His busted face and silly outfit did little to dissuade passersby that this was the firebrand d’Duret bastard. Children stopped playing in his wake and laborers dropped what they were doing and gawked as he passed. The Sergeant paid it no heed, stoic as ever, as he lead Luis to the Zouave camp on the outskirts of town.

The camp was just that. It looked no better than a poacher’s haunt, with several unwashed soldiers huddled around a dead campfire laughing like madmen. A welcome change, however, was that they seemed to completely ignore his presence. They seemed too engrossed in their own affairs to notice him, or simply didn’t care. Either way, Luis was relieved. It felt good to be out of the wearying gazes of the commoners.

Having not said a word their entire journey, the Sergeant lead Luis to the largest tent in the camp. “Captain! He is here!” There was silence for a moment before an answer finally came from within the tent.

“Good, good! Send him in.” At that, the Sergeant pulled back the tent’s flap and urged Luis in. The tent was sparsely decorated, but what little decor there was struck Luis as very refined. A medium-sized portrait of the Governor hung on one end of the tent over a finely-carved writing desk. Fine sheets covered his cot, which Halphen was currently sitting on, facing Luis with a warm smile. “Monsieur d’Duret, a pleasure to meet you under better circumstance!”

“The pleasure is all mine.” Luis responded softly, his jaw still in immense pain.

“I highly doubt that!” The Captain chuckled as he stood from his cot and clapped his guest on the back. “Tell me, how familiar are you with outdoorsmanship? I am not here to judge, I simply need to know how I may accommodate your experience level.”

“As you can see, I spent more time eating capon than trail mix, Captain.” Luis cracked a smile at his own joke, feeling a sharp twinge of pain in his jaw.

“Ha! I take your point, good sir! Do not worry. If you were some common wastrel I would have you march until you bled, but as this expedition’s interpreter you have many privileges, leniency being one of them.” Halphen patted Luis on the back again and began to walk out the tent flap. “Follow me.”

Halphen straightened the collar of his jacket as he approached the circle of Zouaves at the center of camp. The man had a commanding, but not harsh, presence. While still having many years ahead of him he was a man seasoned by a life spent drilling. Whatever jovial mood he had greeted Luis with had disappeared, replaced by the mind and voice of an old soldier. “Men!” he barked. “Attention!”

At his word, the 1st Zouaves scrambled into a line, knocking over pots and pans and cutting conversations brutally short. At astounding speed the once rowdy bunch had transitioned into a well oiled formation. The captain kept pace by marching up to one of the now silent soldiers, looking him up and down and yelling in his face, “What is your name, Private?!”

“Natanael Clerico, Capitaine!” From the looks of it the private was barely old enough to have hair on his face, let alone be in an elite scouting unit. Luis guessed his father had gotten him this post for his glory. Or his death.

“Clerico, you look like your mother popped you out yesterday! Why, might I ask, are you under my command and not laying in a shit-stained crib?!”

“To bring glory to his Excellency and to protect our great city, sir!”

“We shall see about that, boy.” Halphen passed the private by and stood before the Sergeant. “Raoult! Do you believe these men are in fighting form? Do you believe they are ready to depart?”

“More than ready, sir! For the City!”

“Then we march!” The Captain barked. “Grab only the bare necessities, you lillies! Where we’re going you won't need much more than your wits and a good rifle!”
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The line of men trudged out of sight of the City, marching into the vast wilderness far beyond CTE’s reaches. To put it lightly, Luis was out of his element. He walked side-by-side with Halphen next to the column of men at a slower pace than the Captain would’ve liked, but such was his burden for letting Luis come along in the first place. Being a light, skirmishing unit, the Zouaves took to the wilds instead of marching on the steady asphalt that Luis would’ve much preferred. They had to keep out of sight of the Rangers, Halphen said, their Houston outpost was less than a day away.

Night had fallen on the first day when the men stopped to camp. The setup was similar to the camp Luis arrived at, the officers wrote reports while the rank and file gathered round a fire. Luis had spent enough time in the presence of the Captain. d’Duret learned early on to never neglect the rank and file, lest his head end up seperate from his shoulders. He began to saunter towards the huddle of scouts when he nearly stumbled over a figure in the dark. A small gasp emitted beneath him as Luis planted his heel in the dirt to keep balance. “Most pardon, Monsieur d’Duret! I should not have been in your way!”

The voice came from a lightly familiar face. The boyish Private from earlier.

“It is no bother, friend. I am blind enough in the light, let alone darkness. I trust you are unscathed?”

“O-of course not, sir. I do not bruise so easily.” The Private’s words were accented by the sound of rattling sticks. Luis’ eyes had adjusted enough to spot a dim light sitting by the boy’s figure.

“What is it that you are doing out here so far from the others, Private…?”

“Clerico,” the boy piped up, “I...am painting, sir. I know it is not the most manly pursuit for a soldier, but it keeps me occupied.”

Luis cracked a faint smile. “We must all have our hobbies, Clerico. Truth be told, I am something of a writer in my spare time. May I see?”

“Yes...yes, sir, although I am not quite done…” Clerico outstretched his hand somewhat feebly. In it was a damp slate of cardboard, Luis assumed it was the lid of a cigar box.

“Relax, Private. I am not your officer, I am a civilian.” He said before taking the painting. “You probably hold more authority over me than I do you.” The painting itself was above average by his eye. It was a landscape depicting this dark night in the irradiated wilds. The Private no doubt had talent. It also lead him to wonder if this is why he was out here; frontier scouting was an easy way to rid yourself of a son who was more interested in the arts than family affairs. “Wonderful. Once we return to the City I should have you do a commission!”

“Thank you for your kind words, Monsieur. I’m afraid my comrades do not share your enthusiasm…”

“Piss on them, then! Do what you feel is fulfilling, lad. Civilization has become too stifled by the opinions of fools!”

At that, the Private seemed to perk up, if only slightly.

“Thank you.” This was said without the hint of regimented obedience of his previous responses. Luis couldn’t help but feel a soft spot for the boy. Every artist was a bastard in his father’s eye.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, Clerico, I have to survey the rest of the camp. It has been a pleasure.”
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Luis laid in his much-too-small tent, trying to hold a candle in such a way as not to set the whole thing ablaze. His mind was murky from the previous hour’s revelry with the zouaves as he stared at the parchment pressed against his knee. He stared a hole through it in deep thought, dry quill propped against his temple. Then, the creative spark seemed to light.

Fairest Anne-Claire,

Hell’s hottest fires whip at my heart as I think of the poisons the blackguards of that vile town are feeding you. I have no doubt that they brand me a madman for my actions. Perhaps they laugh at the lowly bastard who staged an ill fated last stand at his mother’s manor? It matters not. The rats who ridicule me know nothing of loss. Never have they had to lift a finger to protect what they owned. I regret what I was forced to do, but I swear by the gods of fate that I would do it again and for a thousand lifetimes if pushed. That is what sets me apart from the pigs which that city calls its 'elite.’

Anne-Claire, I know in the deepest depths of my haggard soul that you will one day be mine. Your father, your brothers, and your city be damned. Anne-Claire d’Duret would be the happiest woman on this ravaged earth, lest I be condemned to whatever ethereal torments await us once we leave this mortal coil. I will see to it that we are both free of our respective bonds in due time. Before then, build a strength in your heart. You will certainly need it.

With All Love,
Luis d’Duret


Satisfied with his letter, Luis folded it into his pack before blowing out the candle. He fished out his short, fat sausage and tugged it while thinking of his lost love. After he cleaned up with the tent flap. He soon feel into a deep, dreamless sleep.
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