Ross Fisher

Lovely build. Nice work!

You're probably right. In a meritocratic society, There would be a number of more obvious candidates. But that's not the world we play in. Hercule is nobility, he's reasonably wealthy, he's got family connections, and he's got some experience leading troops. Combined with the fact that El Oleonda is the far end of the world as far as Oleon is concerned, and you see why he's an obvious candidate. Thanks everyone!

@Darnok Thanks! The frame was inspired by @Ayrlego, who has used them very tastefully in the past: It's a hovercraft skirt piece, 2 end-to-end. Pretty rare, but worth it.

Checks out.

If the WTC don't want to end up with a horse's head in their sheets, they'd better steer clear of the Sisters of Artemis. They've still got a grudge over Fatu Hiva.

Hercule didn't seem to have a grasp on the severity of the situation. There was an army of Lotii somewhere out here, and yet he kept blabbering on about the latest vintages back home. "...Of course the claret in the Lavoye this year has suffered terribly from the inclement weather. All this hot and cold is terrible for the vine. It is possible that it will mature passably, but in my opinion they would be better to give it up as vinegar and save the cellar space for cheese instead. "Now, as for your colonial wines, even you must concede they are second-rate. Take, for example, this stuff coming out of Lavalette, or whatever it's called-" "Brother, have you spoken to the scouts recently?" snapped the Bishop, eager to interrupt his flow. "I... no?" he asked, as if it was unthinkable. "Don't you think you had better?" "Who do you want me to talk with, Jules?" He scoffed. "The killer nuns, or the local savages?" The Bishop sighed inwardly. "Talk to the Tyree'dee, Hercule. They know this land, and they move faster than we can." "A filthy native? No thankyou, brother. If it's so important to you, you talk to them." The Général trotted on, while the clergyman uttered a short prayer to Hades in dismay. "You there!" he snapped at a tribesman he recognised. "How is our route? Any sign of the enemy?" He prayed that the man understood him. "Enemy far. Route good. Some water, trees. No problem." He would have to send the pioneers ahead. Or persuade his brother to do so. Easier said than done. Now all the military hierarchy was in place, The Général found it all too easy to ignore advice from a mere representative of The Order. He looked back over the column of troops. Would they be enough? Only time would tell.

I love it! That lad with the quill looks familiar, though. He wouldn't happen to be from Pontelli, would he?

I've been reading the Locke Lamora series, and they go the opposite way on this. A ship without cats and women is an unlucky ship! Imagine how much there is below the waterline. Most icebergs only have a fifth of their volume above the surface, and this is a full-blown glacier!

Wow. Honestly, this is awesome. You've really nailed that class 10. So we'll done!

Lovely concept, and very appropriate. Don't keep us reliant on outside food production.

Always fun to see. Looking forward to more!

Glad to have you back @CapOnBOBS! I'm sure we could find space for such a lovely build. It's clearly a mock engagement. A barrack building maybe?

Got his experience in the Juniper Wars. But he's not bitter about it. Just wary.

Nice little vignette. Good work!

@AlexanderDuval

Hello and welcome! I'm gonna keep reading that as Dumas, but that's my issue, not yours. Are you able to paste the text of the intro story into this entry? I'd love to read it.

The Bishop had spent hours on the beachhead, walking back and forth between the troops; offering a blessing here, a commendation there. Enough to let the troops know that the gods were with them. Now, he just needed a moment to himself. Within months, many of these warriors would be dead, and he would offer prayers to Hades for their eternal salvation. Suddenly, his reverie was interrupted. He spotted a familiar figure. One that was very out of place. "Hercule? What the hell are you doing here?" he asked. "Little Brother!" boomed the jovial gentleman. "I thought I'd come and see what trouble you were getting yourself into!" The Bishop stopped short, looking his brother up and down. "I thought I left you safely drinking yourself into a stupor on your little vineyard back home?" "And so you did, Jules. But old soldiers never truly retire, eh?" As usual, Hercule missed the sarcasm. "You were recalled?" "Our sister's idea, really. There was an unfortunate incident. One of the girls from the village is with child..." "Hercule!" snapped the younger brother. "Where is your wife in all this?" "Damned if I know. She winters in the spa towns. Summers with her family. Sends me a postcard twice a year." "And you knocked up one of your peasants?" "Lovely girl," beamed the old soldier. "Plump, nice smile, you know... Or maybe you don't?" "And you're here to escape the consequences of your own actions?" "Oh Jules! You wound me! No, I'm here because your little colonials needed a real soldier to show them the ropes. Dusted off the old Juniper Wars saber and I'm ready to show these horse-munchers a thing or two!" "We're fighting on the same side," the holy man warned. "Details, details," replied his brother. "Just point me at the enemy and we'll test his mettle" "Back to the point, though. Why did Celeste decide to send you to me?" "Ah yes, well. You know how her mind works. Wheels within wheels. Sister seems to think that if I acquit myself well out here - mentioned in dispatches, all that - well then his Majesty might see his way to legitimising my ill-gotten offspring. "She talked about it in terms of keeping the family strong, shoring up the bloodline. In truth, I think she just wanted to Pierre from inheriting." "Well, quite right," replied the Bishop. "He'd be a worse Vicomte Guemain than even you." "Yes, I know. I'm a terrible failure. But I suppose if there's a chance to put things right, I ought to seize it?" Jules paused, sensing just a glimpse of his childhood playmate. The big, bluff softie, who would go to the ends of the earth for his people. Perhaps the horrors of combat, and the deprecations of the drink had not completely ruined this man. Did he not deserve a shot at redemption? But was this the best way to accomplish that?" "Understand this, Hercule," he addressed his brother. "Celeste didn't just send you to the front. She sent you to me." "Oui, that is clear." "I will help you. Many of your troops are beholden to me already. And I am gaining influence over the rest. I will provide you with information, intelligence, and advice." "I am much obliged to you little brother." "I'm not finished." He snapped. "In return, you will do your utmost to follow that advice." The man merely nodded. "You're not the only one of us who has fought in war. But my battles have been on these islands, with these troops, against this enemy. I know them." "Very good, brother." Hercule replied. "And be sure, if you disregard my instructions, I will have you relieved of your command and sent back home." And for the first time, his older brother looked at him with genuine wary respect. "He giveth and he taketh away, eh?" "You must understand, Hercule; to you they are wolves. But to me, every one of them is a sheep in my flock. I hold them as they are dying and usher them into His tender care. And I'll hold you responsible for every death." The old soldier nodded grimly, and remounted his horse. "I'll see you at Headquarters this evening. Bring all the intelligence you have."

A lovely little build. Fitting for both contexts.

Love it. Nice work!

Honestly, after Fatu Hiva, that might be an issue. Buuuttt, could I interest you in an unofficial WTC representation? A black market out in the farmland, or a safehouse hidden in the sewers?

That's cool! Maybe I'll give Mad Macspud a permanent home

One week later the guards finally showed up. An "Ensign Merrick" and half a dozen greencoats. A surly bunch of louts to be sure; convicts, conscripts and condemned men. They took over the De Bruer inn, and settled in thoroughly. A few folk took it as a sign that things might get better. There was a bit more life around the place, at least in the daytime. But as neither the inn nor the church got new management, some started moving on. Leaving for the city, or for relatives elsewhere. Rumour has it Walther De Pfeffel (of priestly-parentage-profaning fame) was planning to leave. Unfortunately, he didn't get any further in his plans. One foggy morning his body was found out at the edge of the settlement. Garrotted, some say. Revenge for what happened to the priest maybe? Who's to say? Either way, it was pretty clear that the guard weren't going to stop the deaths, and even more people started moving on.

Do it. Why is this build not frontpaged already?