forum Revolutionary War Roleplay! [CLOSED]

Started December 04, 2018 by @KalamariCakes

tune

Nah)

"Drop the gun." The redcoat hissed to her ear. His voice was like cold oil drooling down her ear. Edonine–trembling with fear–did as she was told.

Goodmorning y'all!)

(Heyo
Sorry I haven’t been on in almost a day, I was throwing up nonstop and got on a few minutes ago
How’re you?)

He spotted a few of his brothers-in-arms behind a collapsed tent, their guns leveled over the top. Running to join them, he crouched beside, shooting from the vantage point.

Oh gee.. I hope youre feeling better..
Im sick too, but luckily less intense O.o )

The Brit kept the weapon threatened at her throat, and with the other hand retrieved a sash to gag Francis.

(Ah, hope you feel better)

By now, Pierre had gotten into the violent rhythm. Point, shoot, watch the spurt of blood. Hear the thump, turn, point, shoot. Over and over and over again. Death after death.

Edonine swallowed the lump in her throat– and for the moment while she could she screamed for help–the fabric choked her quiet, and she was blindfolded.
She didn't want to die. That's not what could be happening. She wasn't ready. She was too young. She hadn't told–

A gunshot.

Edonine felt the redcoat's blood spatter across her scalp and cheek.
"Francis," Cruz spoke gruffly, tearing off the blindfold. "I'm getting you the hell outta here."

In John's response:

My Dearest,
I apologize for the late of this letter, it was inevitable. My occupation requires of it my whole attention.
Yes, Mister James Hawthorne. He is an excellent soldier–it is beyond me as to why the young man hasn't expedited his talents to their full potential. I have full belief he could outrank me if the effort was applied.
As for myself, my dearest, Jane, my heart is weary. The tempest of war erodes at me and I long, with painful earnest, your presence. There is no aspiration in a job lije this, it is thankless. Yet, I know it is righteous.
I have never needed nothing more than you.
Your Obedient Companion,
John André

My John.

While I am delighted to hear from you, I am distressed for your weary heart. Do you remember the day you took me to the flower meadow? Do you remember the words we shared? Remember, what I told you? Do not forget who you are, my dear John. You are a man with a longing to protect and provide for your fellow man.

I pray for you and your men, John, through success you become stronger and through failure, you become wiser. Of course, I pray that you not fail, but it is a reminder to learn.

I'm afraid for you John. Your safety and the safety of your men is in my prayers.

All my love and regards,

Jane

Edonine swallowed the lump in her throat– and for the moment while she could she screamed for help–the fabric choked her quiet, and she was blindfolded.
She didn't want to die. That's not what could be happening. She wasn't ready. She was too young. She hadn't told–

A gunshot.

Edonine felt the redcoat's blood spatter across her scalp and cheek.
"Francis," Cruz spoke gruffly, tearing off the blindfold. "I'm getting you the hell outta here."

(Oh thank god)

Pierre’s panic had begun to get the better of him. Where was Cruz? Where was Geoffrey? Where was Edonine? His hand fumbled at his belt, reaching for the extra ammo that wasn’t there.

"Cruz, oh God thank God," Francis gasped. Cruz took hold of her arm and yanked her from the tent, "–Where are we going?"

"Getting news of the attack to Washington." Cruz replied gruffly. "Surprise attack." He hissed through his teeth.

"What about me? What do i do?"

"Yer comin' with me." He replied, making her frown. "I'm not gonna let you die here, you're too young."

"Cruz, I cant, what about Geoffrey, Louis– Pierre?"

"They are grown men!" He retorted urgently.

He was weaponless, holding a useless gun with no bullets, and both his best friends and lover were nowhere to be seen. Pierre gritted his teeth, slipping out from behind the barricade.

Edonine held her breath. At least to try and quell the wild pounding of her heart.

"Oi! Dun' let 'im leave!" She heard the cry of a bloodied British officer. The Spaniard peeled a hand axe off a tree–as his opponent lifted their gun–buried the damn thing square in the Officer's chest.

"Oh my God," Edonine breathed in a panic. She felt like fainting, like running and bursting all at the same time, so much intensity in danger in death snapping at every footstep.

Bullets flew around him, one grazing his shoulder. He bit back a hiss of pain, instead reaching for the gun of a dead man.

"Pierre!" Geoffrey coughed from the ground, where he hid against the back of a tent. "Pierre, help me get inside the tent," he'd a bullet through his side– appeared nonfatal, but exacerbatingly agonizing for the poor man.

Cruz tugged her along at a stiff jog. Every muscle in his face tight– he had something to lose, this time. He had April. The fact that he had something made him so much more afraid. The barn–property of the Jasper Home, the family had retreated from their estate and donated it for Rebel cause, while they needed it–was just a few strides away, and though bullets could sneak their way through the splits of the walls, Francis would be safe. He let go of Francis's arm, tore open the barn to a handful of the enemy. Bright red, them– the lantern to burn the regiment's hay.
A brief exchange of glances. Cruz lifted his gun and so did they. He thought of April, and they shot first.
He could only think now of burning to death in a barn, unable to escape.
"Run, Francis!"

"Aye, tie him up!" The redcoat who shot cried to the other three in the barn, and readjusted the aim of the narrow barrel towards fleeing Edonine.

Pierre snatched up the weapon and immediately went to his friend, hooking his arms through the other man’s. “Geoffrey!! Are you okay??” He moved to lift his friend up, pull him inside the tent.

"I'm– I'm okay, they just clipped my side," he hissed through his teeth, "Here, take my powder horn," he gasped quietly from pain, peeling off the strap holding the hollow bison horn of gunpowder.

Pierre took it into his hands, but set it aside, focused mostly on patching the man up as best he could. “How much does it hurt?”

"Like hell," he gasped, sweat beading across his face. "Hah– I, My wife. She'd say, not as bad as childbirth–!"

Pierre could hear his lover crying his name, trying to find him.

He went rigid, heart stopping. He had never known such fear, such utter terror as he quickly comforted Geoffrey and stuck his head out of the tent flap.

He turned his head, concern overcast his face. Outside, Edonine searched desperately for Pierre, a cut marked freshly above her brow. "Pierre?!"

Pierre beckoned desperately too her, afraid to call too loudly. “Over here!”

She caught sight of his face, and stumbled over. "Pierre," she gasped, her body and voice trembling. "They took him. They took Cruz,"

Pierre pulled her inside the tent and held her to his chest, and his face was lined with grief and anguish. He hugged her tightly, keeping hold of her as he turned back to Geoffrey. “I’m here— you’re okay— it’s okay— I should have been there-“

In John's response:

My Dearest,
I apologize for the late of this letter, it was inevitable. My occupation requires of it my whole attention.
Yes, Mister James Hawthorne. He is an excellent soldier–it is beyond me as to why the young man hasn't expedited his talents to their full potential. I have full belief he could outrank me if the effort was applied.
As for myself, my dearest, Jane, my heart is weary. The tempest of war erodes at me and I long, with painful earnest, your presence. There is no aspiration in a job lije this, it is thankless. Yet, I know it is righteous.
I have never needed nothing more than you.
Your Obedient Companion,
John André

My John.

While I am delighted to hear from you, I am distressed for your weary heart. Do you remember the day you took me to the flower meadow? Do you remember the words we shared? Remember, what I told you? Do not forget who you are, my dear John. You are a man with a longing to protect and provide for your fellow man.

I pray for you and your men, John, through success you become stronger and through failure, you become wiser. Of course, I pray that you not fail, but it is a reminder to learn.

I'm afraid for you John. Your safety and the safety of your men is in my prayers.

All my love and regards,

Jane

Geoffrey's expression softened when Francis started to cry. "Ohhh, Sprout.." He spoke with a hurting heart. "You shoulda stayed home out of this war.."

In John's response:

My Dearest,
I apologize for the late of this letter, it was inevitable. My occupation requires of it my whole attention.
Yes, Mister James Hawthorne. He is an excellent soldier–it is beyond me as to why the young man hasn't expedited his talents to their full potential. I have full belief he could outrank me if the effort was applied.
As for myself, my dearest, Jane, my heart is weary. The tempest of war erodes at me and I long, with painful earnest, your presence. There is no aspiration in a job lije this, it is thankless. Yet, I know it is righteous.
I have never needed nothing more than you.
Your Obedient Companion,
John André

My John.

While I am delighted to hear from you, I am distressed for your weary heart. Do you remember the day you took me to the flower meadow? Do you remember the words we shared? Remember, what I told you? Do not forget who you are, my dear John. You are a man with a longing to protect and provide for your fellow man.

I pray for you and your men, John, through success you become stronger and through failure, you become wiser. Of course, I pray that you not fail, but it is a reminder to learn.

I'm afraid for you John. Your safety and the safety of your men is in my prayers.

All my love and regards,

Jane

My Sunshine.
In the weeks that have passed since this response, I have with elated feeling to report a successful attack on the Virginia Regiment of Mr. Daniels, have you know, the weary fat man had weak strategy. We've reaped large reward–spare for a few escapees–and we now have many subjects to farm of military intelligence of rebel movement. I have not seen my soldiers so empowered by the sneaky victory. It is elightening.
I plea, my love, the sentries Mr. James posted at our doorstep address you well. Being so far it is a common concern, a nightmarish thing, to wonder if your affection for me is harmed by distance.
My Love I will See you again.
John André

Geoffrey's expression softened when Francis started to cry. "Ohhh, Sprout.." He spoke with a hurting heart. "You shoulda stayed home out of this war.."

Pierre had never agreed with Geoffrey more in his entire life. He held her tightly, heartbreak evident in his eyes. “Listen,” he said softly to both of them, pushing the tremor from his voice. “I’m going to go after him. Or wait—“ Conflict flashed across his features. He’d already failed at protecting Edonine, what good would leaving do?

Geoffrey spoke after a phlemy cough, "Wait til we restore this camp, Pierre. Leaving now is top dangerous." He breathed in painfully, "Cruz can hold his own.."

"I'm so sorry," Francis sobbed quietly. "I should have stopped him. I shouldve done something,"

Pierre only held her tighter. “No. It is— Listen to me, it is not your fault. First battle— it’s your first battle. It’s my fault for not protecting you like I promised.” Tears slipped out, only to have him angrily wipe them away. Cruz.. Edonine.. I’ve failed you both.

Gently, he let her go, turning his attention to Geoffrey. “Can you help me patch up this wound, Francis? It hurts, I know, war hurts, but we’ve got to take things one step at a time.”

She pushed a hand against her eyes to wipe the tears away, nodding stiffly. "I can help," her voice tremored.

He gave her arm a comforting squeeze, eyes softening to show just how much his heart hurt at that moment. “Alright. Geoffrey, do you have a knife on you? I need to cut your uniform away form the wound, I can see the fibres sticking to the blood.”