Geoffrey Stone Marie-Ange Laurent Gilliard Reynald OBSESSION Part I 1918 A.D. Belgium .......... General Cumberland and the elder French immortal both turn in, leading you to finish out your sentry rounds. Nothing else disturbs the night, except the occasional rumble of distant artillery. <><><><><> [Geoffrey] Checking on the sentries was a slow and quiet duty, which gave him a chance to digest what he'd learned. An immortal was using 'unfair' means to kill others, yet Cumberland and DuMonde behaved more like a couple of senior officers tut-tutting over some social faux-pas. So much for Cumberland's insistance that any immortal fighting unfairly would be immediately hunted down and slain by the others... Should he have told them about Marie-Ange? No - he was learning to be cautious about who or what he mentioned. Marie-Ange was probably safer with her anonymity, as long as Cumberland didn't visit her hospital. It was strange how quiet it was at night, in such a contrast to the day. If there'd been a major attack, there'd be the cries of the wounded being rescued from No-Man's Land; now, there was just the artillery, like distant thunder, firing on locations fixed during the day or else firing optimistically at map references. Even the barrage was cursory: both sides had enough sense not to go back into an area the guns had been shelling earlier. <><><><><> <> At sunrise, you're relieved by another officer and off-duty for the time being. <><><><><> [Geoffrey] Geoffrey naturally felt like getting some sleep after the long night, but something else nagged at him. Everything DuMonde had said the night before suggested that Marie-Ange might be in danger, especially if Laurent was going after any immortal he could find. Besides, she also might know more about this renegade immortal. He set out for the field hospital where he'd met her. <><><><><> >Mari-Ange< Nights were always hard for nurses. Their circadian rhythms wanted them to be sleeping just when they were needed the most. And this night had not be the pleasant exception. There were too few priests, and sometimes all the nun could do was hold the hand of a dying soldier until that last breath rattled forth, whispering encouragement and solace. As she pulled the sheet over a young man's face and rose from her knees, she felt the Quickening and she looked around, expecting to see M. Laurent. Instead, there was the Englishman... Oh, le bon Dieu, she must be tired. All she could remember was that his name was Geoffrey. <><><><><> [Geoffrey] The field-hospital made him uncomfortable: all the sick and injured reminded him that he was forever going to be different. "Excuse me, are you busy?" he asked quietly. He paused for a moment, not knowing how to continue. "Do you know a man called called Laurent?" <><><><><> >Mari-Ange< She shook her head. "Not too busy ... since you clearly need to talk." She led them outside the tent. His question brought a quick smile. "Yes, I have a friend ... M. Laurent. We have known each other a long time." <><><><><> [Geoffrey] The young officer looked uncomfortable. "I've got bad news, then. "He's not dead," he quickly adds, "But I've been in a meeting between General Cumberland and another immortal, Reynald DuMonde. He said he'd recently met Laurent again, and had then gone to fight a duel with a Hun immortal, Otto Maximillian. Otto nearly won... then Laurent threw a grenade. When Reynald recovered, Otto had been killed and Laurent was nowhere to be seen. Reynald thinks that Laurent has started hunting other immortals, using any means he can to get an advantage." <><><><><> >Mari-Ange< She tensed as he spoke of bad news... but she knew that M. Laurent was not dead; she'd left him sleeping in her tent, and had he been killed, she'd have felt the quickening. The tension fled when he mentioned Reynald ... her M. Guillaume! ... but returned just as quickly as the young lieutenant told the tale. "Oh, that cannot be! M. Laurent is an honorable man ... he took care of me when he didn't need to, there would have been no gain for him. He helped us escape from the Terror.. I am sure it is all a simple misunderstanding." She smiled at him. "Where is M. DuMonde? I will speak with him, and then we will speak with M. Laurent... and it will all be well." She smiled with Gallic ease and simplicity. <><><><><> <> Laurent is not around at present....sometime during the day while Marie-Ange was tending the wounded, he must have left her tent, and until now, she had merely assumed he went to find food or something of the sort. <><><><><> >Mari-Ange< A small worry line creased her forehead. He had not left a note... had he just disappeared out of her life again? She asked the lieutenant, "Could you help me find M. duMonde? I ... I would like to ask him about M. Laurent. I don't think there is anything wrong ..." But her smile didn't return. Where had M. Laurent gone? She touched the rosary in her pocket, praying silently as they walked. <><><><><> [Geoffrey] He looks surprised when Mari-Ange admits to knowing where Laurent is. "I hope it's just a misunderstanding. There are plenty of possibilities: perhaps Otto recovered quicker from the grenade, and then lost a duel. Or perhaps there's another immortal involved. Or maybe Laurent is guilty, but has some reason to excuse it." He shrugs, and gives a wry smile. "I'm starting to sound like Cumberland now! Me, I don't see much honour in trying to take someone's head anyway. "I think M. DuMonde is still in the General's tent. He may not be in the mood to talk, though." <><><><><> >Mari-Ange< "Perhaps you are right. I should not bother him." The little nun's face was sad, and that was not the typical expression for her. "Will you tell him that I have seen M. Laurent, and that I expect him to return ... we've not said our leave to one another." <><><><><> [Geoffrey] "We can always ask. He may still be asleep, though; perhaps it would be better if I told him you were here when he wakes up?" He gives an embarrassed grin. "Cumberland told him you were probably dead; I didn't want to interrupt and correct him." <><><><><> >Mari-Ange< "He thinks I am dead?" She nodded, "Yes, tell him gently, please. I will go back to my quarters and wait for M. Laurent. He will turn up there again, I'm certain." Mari-Ange gave him directions so that he could find her. <><><><><> [Geoffrey] He nods, remembering her directions. "I'll go and have a talk." *** Geoffrey heads for General Cumberland's tent, looking for Reynald. If he's asleep, though, he won't disturb him for the moment. <><><><><> <> Reynald is sleeping, but he stirs as soon as Geoffrey come within Quickening range....he's been an immortal too long to remain asleep when another of his kind approaches. <><><><><> Sleep had eluded him. He'd removed his great coat and spread it on the bed for a blanket, although they'd provided a thin wool coverlet, and he didn't bother to undress, merely set his sword within easy reach, lying down. He was wary. With both Cumberland and Geoffery in proximity, his unease increased. Not that he thought that they would deal in treachery, but because he was concerned that he would mistake their quickening for an intruder, or worse, grow complacent, and miss a deadly warning. He was disturbed by Cumberland's casual dismissal of the danger that Laurent posed, but concluded after all, that it was the general's own responsiblity to guard against attacks from that quarter. He hoped the younger immortal was taking the matter seriously. He looked relatively untried, and mistakes could be fatal at that juncture. Would Laurent stick at shooting fish in a barrel? Reynald thought not.... Cumberland's report of Marie-Ange's death had saddened him. Lying in the dark, he murmured a short prayer for the repose of her soul, his cynical self wondering if immortals were even to be granted salvation. But he was a christian knight, and the oath he had taken at the feet of Charles, so many centuries since, was still so very much a part of his personality that he still trusted God to guide the actions of mankind, and preserve the innocent and weak... God, and his own good sword. Anachronism.... The cynical self taunted. As usual, he tried to ignore it. Immortality had left him ample time for self-reflection. This was a different world...even Cumberland had evolved, the stiff-rumped old reprobate of a roundhead, offering him good brandy, and wearing the trim, tailored uniform of a peer. He watched the dim flickering from the assorted campfires, banked around Cumberland's command area for a while, as the troop settled for the night, undisturbed except for the sentries marching their posts. He hoped they were alert, although there was far more than jerries infiltrating the lines, that concerned him on this eve. And somewhere between waking and sleeping he felt an approach. No sentry this, except in the most broad sense of the word. He flicked off the cot like a lizard from a sunny rock, and took up the blade that had served for the centuries he'd carried it. On his feet, he waits for the tent flap to open. <><><><><> [Geoffrey] The young lieutenant looks through the tent flap, and sees Reynald is awake. "M. DuMonde? Mari-Ange would like to speak to you." <><><><><> For a moment, Reynald merely stared, the sword nearly forgotten in his hands, with the world skewing once, and again, and finally settling from the threat of attack, to the completely unbelievable, to the strange prickling in the back of the neck that he'd experienced only once or twice in his existence, when he'd had the strange and fleeting notion that le Bon Dieu actually heard the prayers of men, and had responded. "But...Arthur...said... But-" he half-sputters, knowing he sounds like a fool. "She is alive? Where? Take me to her!" He doesn't even wonder if it is a trap. Snatching his great coat from the bed and refastening the sword in the hidden sheath in the back of it, he mutters "Merci..." -the best he can manage in his confusion. He is out of the tent, following the young man before it strikes him. He has followed Laurent here. What if it is not Arthur, but Marie-Ange, that the rogue is seeking? "Vide," he mutters, "Videment, monsieur, s'il vous plait..." <><><><><> <> Lieutenant Stone leads you to the field hospital, a few miles away. The Red Cross is here now, as is a group of nurse nuns. When you approach one small tent next to the hospital, the Quickening already buzzing around the two immortals increases with the proximity of a third. <><><><><> Although he had expected to feel the quickening that signalled Marie-Ange's presence, he is no fool. While it seems unlikely that Laurent would use this means to camoflage his own quickening, Reynald does not think him above such treachery. He slows, flipping open the buttons on the greatcoat so that he can reach his sword quickly and easily if necessary. He glances about warily, noting what has become, over the years, a familiar and poignant sight, grim and silent ministers to the wounded, the flickering lights by which they worked, and the sad, sickening stench of pain and death. This, he reflects, is what the battlefield is really about. His weariness catches up with him, very suddenly. Only the thought of seeing Marie-Ange's calm, gentle face once more, pushes him onward. **I'm getting to old for this....** The thought comes unbiddened, hardening his features into a stern mask. If there is anyone else, but Marie-Ange in the infirmary.... He glances quickly at Stone, who's face has taken on a sinister aura in the lamplight. ....they will learn how the old knight has managed to live 900 years... <><><><><> [Geoffrey] "She's in here", he says quietly, looking inside to see if he can spot Mari-Ange, "At least, she should be." He doesn't touch his sword, but his uniform wouldn't get in the way of his drawing it. <><><><><> <> The small nun comes to the entrance before Geoffrey even touches the flap. "Welcome back, Lieutenant," she says. "Have you....have you brought M. DuMonde with you?" She smiles tentatively, trying to peer over his shoulder, at the wary Frenchman lurking in the shadows. <><><><><> Reynald peers around Geoffrey's shoulder, taking in the sight of the diminutive nun he hasn't seen in over a hundred years. "Marie-Ange...." he murmurs, a smile lighting his rather stern, dark features..." "C'est ....vraiment...." <><><><><> [Geoffrey] Geoffrey nods, and indicates the man standing behind him. Not that he need bother, since it's immediately clear that the two know each other. <><><><><> >MariAnge< She could feel the smile in her cheeks. "Mon ami! Je suis ... content. Both you and M. Laurent appear here in the space of 24 hours. It is ... I am... " She held her hands out to him, so glad to see her friend. <><><><><> He stands, grim face wreathed in a smile, resisting the impulse to throw his arms around her. Instead he says: "Laurent? Where....Marie-Ange...._Seour_ Marie....where have you seen M'suier Laurent? It is very important...." <><><><><> >MariAnge< "Where? Why, here, of course. He came to me late last night. I have not seen him today, but I'm sure he will return soon." Her gentle brown eyes searched her friend's face, the trace of a smile remaining. "Whatever is wrong? You seem so... worried." <><><><><> He is almost sick with relief, that she is unharmed. "Was he...well, Marie-Ange?" he asks, fearing to alarm her.... And fearing to _not_ alarm her, given the circumstances. "Did he say aught of where he had been and what he had been doing?" <><><><><> >MariAnge< She looked from her friend to the young lieutenant and back again. Slowly, she replied, "He... seemed tired." She watched their faces, trying to discern the reason for caution, the reason for their concern. "He fell asleep in my tent while I went to find him food. But that kind of exhaustion is not unusual in this place." <><><><><> "It is good to see you again, Soeur Mari-Ange. Is all well with you?" Something closes upon his face, and the change of subject is not subtle. It is clear that having reacted in some surprise, he feels the worse for his cross-examination. "I do not suppose you have time to take a glass of wine with me? I would dearly love to hear how you have fared, along all of these years...." He casts a sharp glance to Geoffrey, and follows it around the crowded ward full of wounds and pain. "Or perhaps, if I can help you here, ma ami....you will have time later...." He stands, hands loose and empty at his sides, a faint smile on his face. "I have some small experience with the treatment of wounds....they are differently made these sad days, non? But the pain and the suffering never changes..." His dark eyes bore into hers. There is much left unsaid, that much is clear. <><><><><> >MariAnge< Her smile widened to include her friend, the young lieutenant, even the soldiers in the cots, open, warm, filled with the love of her fellow man that had lighted her years. "Stay, please... I will have time, most assuredly, to sit with you later. Just a few more hours." Her brown eyes were open to him, nothing hidden. "Perhaps M. Laurent will have returned by then and we can celebrate our reunion." She looked like a young girl as she turned her gaze to the lieutenant. "You and M. Laurent are ... he was about your age..." <><><><><> He watched her, comparing Laurent to young Geoffrey Stone, and thought suddenly of how different things might have been if he had met the fledgling Laurent in a time of peace, when he might have spent some time with the young man, and taught him the ways of honor...of chivalry.... He grimaced, forcing himself to turn the expression into a smile of sorts... Neither Laurent nor Stone were likely to have listened. Young men had scoffed at chivalry for centuries now....as society itself had become more self-absorbed. The only 'chivalry' left, was for men like himself, and the pious and gentle women like MariAnge. Anachronisms, both of them...and yet... He pushed back the sleeves of the great coat, and prepared to help her. "What needs to be done, ma petite?" he asked. Perhaps, even anachronisms, could relieve some of the pain is this world.... And someday, it would not be wartime... And the anachronisms could sit quietly under a tree, in an apple orchard, talk of old times, and sip some wine...If they could keep their heads, of course. He moves among the wounded, following the nursing sister's directions, and bringing some comfort where he could. <><><><><> >MariAnge< She directed him without seeming to ... showing him what needed to be done and letting him do those things he wished. But there were men to be bathed, dressings to be changed, more work than the few nurses and corpsmen could do and his assistance was gratefully accepted. She smiled at Lt. Stone and asked, "Would you like to join us later? I am so grateful to you for bringing my old friend to see me." <><><><><> He works quickly but gently, no stranger to battlefield casualties.... The wire bothers him worst, a hellish way for a man to suffer and die. He had thought himself hardened, but better a man should lose his head by an honorable stroke or a dishonorable one, than to twist screaming caught on metal barbs in the no-mans land between the trenches. But he does not let this show on his face....centuries of schooling... He speaks to those who are able to hear a kind word, and to a few of whom he is not sure.... As tirelessly as the nurses and the nuns. <><><><><> [Geoffrey] Geoffrey nods, sensing that MariAnge and the newcomer don't want other immortals around, and starts to return to his tent. <><><><><> <> As Geoffrey is returning to his tent, he feels the Quickening. With so many immortals about, it's almost becoming familiar. "Excuse me," says an unfamiliar voice, and a young man about his age, in very worn clothes, including the tattered remains of a French field jacket, approaches from the surrounding officer's tents. He's not wearing any sword that Geoffrey can see, though he does have a pistol on a belt. He smiles at the Lieutenant. "I don't believe we've met. I am Laurent Gilliard." <><><><><> [Geoffrey] Geoffrey nods briefly. "I've heard of you. I'm Geoffrey Stone." He pauses. He'd heard so many conflicting stories about this Immortal, and many questions went through his mind. Was he really a villain, who'd deceived MariAnge? Was he innocent, either set up for a crime he was innocent of, or even just a victim of circumstances? Or was there room for a middle road, that of an honourable man driven to dishonourable acts? Or were his acts necessarily dishonourable, when looked at from outside the game's rules? Finally, he adds: "Can I help you?" <><><><><> "Oh...you may be able to help me. I just wanted to speak to you. We haven't met. I figured it would be unpolitic of me not to introduce myself to one of my fellows.", he offers his hand smiling, "It is good to meet you Geoffrey Stone. I hope that the feeling is likewise.", he looks around the room then back at Geoffrey examining his gaze. <><><><><> [Geoffrey] He shakes Laurent's hand, with a smile. However, there's just a touch of ambivalence about his greeting: "It's always good to meet an immortal who doesn't want my head." The tent is a spartan affair, just a cot, a small table and a chair; it's a place to snatch some rest whenever possible, and to keep out the worst of the rain. Geoffrey's neither a great reader nor a great writer, so the table is bare of papers and books. It does have, rather incongruously, a tumbler with a handful of withered flowers in it. Geoffrey himself is about six-foot, brown haired, and moderately good- looking. Although he wears the uniform of a Lieutenant, his accent (North London working class) betrays that he didn't get his promotion via Sandhurst. He also wears a sword, and a Webley revolver in a flapped holster. "So, what brings you to this part of the Front?" <><><><><> "Yes it is good to meet an immortal that doesn't want my head. However they do say that there can be only one don't they?", he smiles pacing around examining his surroundings and Geoffrey. >>"So, what brings you to this part of the Front?" "I was flung by a mortar.", he chuckles, "Damn shame this war business is. Wouldn't you agree?",he looks down and shakes his head, "Horrible absolutely horrible." <><><><><> [Geoffrey] "Yes, it's horrible. There's no such thing as a nice war." He shudders, thinking of Elainne's burnt body. "I expect it'll create many more of us, one way or another - perhaps too many for them all to be properly taught. I know some immortals have shelved their duelling until the war's over; others use the war to hide what they're doing." <><><><><> Laurent nods in agreement, "Yes it is horrible the way some immortals use it as a way to hide their motives. Capitolizing on the horror.", he shakes his head. Laurent looks back up at him, "No there is not such a thing as a 'nice' war." <><><><><> [Geoffrey] This fencing was getting nowhere. Time to be a bit more direct. "I've heard that we've both run into the same enemy immortal: General von Kesselnau. He used to be called Otto Maximillian; he blew me up with a grenade the last time we met." <><><><><> Laurent looks shocked, "That's horrible. What an underhanded way to treat anothe immortal. Completely and totally lacking in honor if you ask me.", he sighs shaking his head, "Some people just do not treat people with respect and decency." <><><><><> [Geoffrey] "The grenade just stopped a duel, since he didn't want to fight; at least he didn't take anyone's head. How did you run across him? I haven't heard the details." <><><><><> "Well I ran into him back in Britain shortly after the revolution.", he shrugs, "I've run into him a few times here and there you know. With the few brief meetings we've had I feel I knew him very well." <><><><><> [Geoffrey] Geoffrey frowns slightly, with a puzzled expression. "You _knew_ him well? Is he dead, then?" Then he shrugs. "I should bring you to my commander; news of von Kesselnau's demise is important, and he'll want to know the details." <><><><><> "Did I say knew?", Laurent smiles, "Probably because it has been a while. Well seems like a while. This whole war business confuses time all to hell. No need to bring me to your commander. I have no news to share with him." <><><><><> [Geoffrey] Geoffrey sighs. "This is pointless. I know of your involvement in von Kesselnau's death; I was hoping you'd volunteer your side of the story, before certain less patient immortals decide you'll look better without a head." <><><><><> Laurent looks at Geoffrey quizzically, "If you are so sure you know what happened then why did you make up that elaborate lie? Why not just come out and say it? Or else come up with a lie closer to the truth?" <><><><><> [Geoffrey] The British officer shrugged. "I want to hear your side. If you've got difficulty telling truth from fiction... well, that's your problem, not mine." <><><><><> Laurent sighs dramatically, "An untruth is an untruth no matter who differentiates it. I have claimed nothing. You said one thing and then changed your story to villify me. There is no interpretation. Only that the things you said conflict with one another. I only assumed the latter statement to be the one you believed because you negated the former with it." <><><><><> [Geoffrey] Geoffrey laughs. "You posh frogs play so many games with words that you no longer know what truth is!" His smile disappears, and he looks coldly at Laurent. "Perhaps you can try a new experience, and tell the truth. Because I certainly haven't lied to you." <><><><><> Laurent sighs, "I have yet to tell you a story. So how may I lie? You on the other hand have told me two stories and for either one to be true it must take precedence over the other.", he slumps his shoulders in a dismissive shrug, "You have to say something for it to be a lie." <><><><><> [Geoffrey] The Englishman smiles back at Laurent, but there's little humour in his eyes. "You seem to have trouble counting, too. There's only one version, the true one. "Speaking of truth, do you still say you haven't seen von Kesselnau for a long time? You didn't meet him much more recently?" <><><><><> Laurent looks at the Briton and shakes his head, "Well when you go to a French school they may teach you to count. Then when you come back you can apologize for your statement. However until then I will maintain that you came up with two different stories within the last five minutes. There may be only one truth. However which of the stories that passed your lips is it, only you and I know." <><><><><> [Geoffrey] "You can dribble your posh talk as much as you like; you can't change the facts with it. You were quick to call Otto dishonourable for blowing me up with a grenade - what of your own behaviour, lying about Otto's death? You're like a bawling little kid, caught with his hand in the sweet jar and denying he's been stealing sweets. "You may go, little lying Laurent. Come back when you've decided to tell the truth. Or don't come back at all, for all I care; I'm not the one being hunted." <><><><><> <> "As you wish," the Frenchman says. He shrugs, turns away, then reaches into his coat, turns around, and points a pistol with a large tube fitted over the barrel at your face. "Posh frog," he murmurs, as he pulls the trigger. It makes a brief choking noise, and you feel the bullet whip past your face. "You English..." His voice trails off as he realizes he missed, and frowns. You see a sawed-off shotgun and a bandolier full of grenades dangling beneath his coat. <><><><><> [Geoffrey] "GUARDS!!!" yells Geoffrey. No point in trying to get his Webley out - damn flapped holsters. Instead, he dove on Laurent, aiming to bear him to the ground and stop him using that strange quiet pistol again. Then he could pin the Frenchman to the ground, or at least get in a few punches. *Laurent's finally shown his true colours*. <><><><><> <> "Merde," he mutters, and fires another shot that catches you in the chest before you slam into him. He does not resist as you bear him to the ground. But he is as slippery in a brawl as he is when speaking, and keeps his gun-hand free of your clutches. The shock of the bullet to your chest hasn't even hit you yet, but he presses the barrel of the strangely silent pistol to your temple. The next shot is like being kicked in the head by a champion Rugby player, but only for a second, and then you don't remember anything, until you wake up and smell smoke, followed by the realization that you seem to be on fire. ..... [to Reynald] You have been tending to the sick at the hospital for a little under an hour, when you hear a distant rumble. Artillery is a familiar sound, but there were sharper popping sounds accompanying this. A few minutes later, you hear men running outside, responding to something. Marie-Ange has heard the commotion also, and emerges from the rear of the hospital. <><><><><> >MariAnge< She could feel the quickening but she could look across the hospital tent and see her old friend. Somehow, having him there felt wonderful. She had just finished changing the bandages on a young lad from Staines when there came a sound of gunfire. It was too close, too near, and there were people running. Without hesitating, she grabbed up the first aid satchel and came out the rear door of the hospital tent, looking for the source of the commotion. <><><><><> There was something very wrong with the sound....and he set aside the basin and left the cool wet cloth on the head of the wounded boy he was tending, as he stood, watching in some horror, as Marie Ange grabbed her satchel and went running headlong into the unknown. He hastened afterward... "Marie-Ange...stay down...pour l'amour de Dieu....!" Catching up with the nun, he tried to thrust her behind him. A gunshot wouldn't kill her, unless there were an _opportunist_ around. But there _would_ be questions, that neither of them were prepared to answer. <><><><><> [Geoffrey] [OOC: Make that 'brutal chopper of a defender' - Geoffrey's the wrong class and from the wrong part of the country to have ever played rugby ] *Fire!* Even if fire couldn't kill him, it still hurt. He stole a quick, painful glance to take in the situation - if he was still in his tent, he was going to dive out of it as quickly as possible. <><><><><> <> You are in your tent, and it is ablaze. You burn your hands as you push yourself off the ground, and feel flames whipping at your face as you leap for the flap. You come tumbling out, with your uniform and hair smouldering, and running soldiers almost trip over you. You hear the crackling of ammunition boxes detonating in the flames, and urgent cries for action, but there isn't much in the way of firefighting equipment around a field headquarters. As Marie-Ange and Reynald exit the medical tent, they see in the direction of the main camp, half a mile away, flames and explosions. Tents are ablaze -- but it looks as if the explosions are occuring *within* the camp, not as a result of German bombardment. <><><><><> >MariAnge< "Blankets... saline solution, burn packs...and send for one of the doctors." MariAnge called to one of the men on crutches. Without waiting for an answer, she started loping toward the flames, knowing that there would be men hurt and in pain. She was praying softly as she ran, her voice just loud enough to reach Reynald. <><><><><> He ran after her, catching up and pulling her down, while he looked around in the gloom of the brass-knuckled dawn for snipers. With the main camp under attack, casualties or no, it would be foolish to assume that their way would be clear. And _certain_ snipers would not heed the white habit, limning her like a pale, slim ghost in the murky light, and the glare from the fires... Of that much he was sure. When he was certain the way was relatively clear, he permitted her to proceed him, drawing a sidearm, which he knew was little proof against rifles or grenades. But the weight of it was a small comfort against his palm. "For the love of God, Mari-Ange, keep your head down!" Voice much lower and harsher than he intended, he would apologize later.... <><><><><> >Mari-Ange< Despite the gravity of the situation, she couldn't hold back the soft laugh. "Mon ami, you cannot protect me all the time... and certainly not from a stray bullet. If it happens, it happens. It is the will of God." But she kept her head down a little as they approached the fire. Well, at least for the moment or two that she remembered she was supposed to. But the glare of the fire was more urgent, and she stood stock-still, chaos all around, searching for casualties, her lips moving in an almost silent prayer that no one was trapped by the flames. <><><><><> [Geoffrey] "PUT THOSE FIRES OUT" he yells, "Use water from the puddles if you have to, or just heave dollops of mud at it!" Great - they've been up to their knees in soft mud and water for weeks, yet the soldiers are looking round for fire-fighting equipment. *Too much basic training, not enough experience.* Ignoring the pain from his burns as best he can - *he* knows they'll heal - Geoffrey begins to scoop up mud and water with whatever happens to be available, and throw it at the fire. Starting with any ammunition boxes that are only smouldering, so they can be safely pulled clear, and then at the heart of the fire. *All this mud will make it hard for the men to see how burned I was*, he muses, *Should save a few awkward questions later!* "Damn that French traitor!" he curses under his breath as he works. <><><><><> <> As you begin to try directing firefighting efforts, you sense the Quickening. Knowing there are at least four other immortals in the area, there's no telling whether it will be friend or foe. [to Reynald and Marie-Ange] Reynald and Marie-Ange both reach the periphery of the conflagration. It doesn't appear that people are likely to be trapped -- the camp is just a tent city. But there are a fair number of bodies on the ground, and you see men hitting the dirt who'd been running towards one of the larger tents, as there is a loud crackle and a series of flashes from the center of the blaze. "Save the ammo tent!" someone is shouting, but the ammunition is going off, making it dangerous to approach. Fortunately, artillery shells are usually piled under a dirt ledge in trenches, precisely so a lucky mortar round won't land on them and set them all off. Reynald hears the familiar pop of a grenade, somewhat further off. Those don't go off from being exposed to fire. <><><><><> >Mari-Ange< She paused for only a second to nod to Reynald. His duty would take him elsewhere and they would meet after this for that talk. Just the second, and she was on the way to the nearest body on the ground. Triage was the word. If he isn't badly hurt, let him know help is on the way and move toward the next body. <><><><><> [Geoffrey] *That's all I need* For the moment, the fire's more important. And it seems unlikely that Laurent would hang around after his treachery. Doing his best to ignore the Quickening, he continues to fight the flames. <><><><><> Reynald cast his own senses into the hunter mode, feeling other immortals about him and wishing the process was more definitive, that there was some way of identifying _who_ as well as what. But there was not, so he merely kept watchful. The panic in the camp was subsiding to controlled chaos...and those who were not wounded were either trying to fight the fires, or regroup at the perimeter to search for the intruders who had wrought such destruction upon them. He noted several younger officers, obviously known or recognized by the men who served under them, who were organizing small groups of soldiers to one task or another. He joined one of the firefighting groups, his great coat making any rank or bearing, indistinct in the murky half dawn and the confusion. He joined a bucket brigade, working toward the center of the camp. He tried to stay in a vicinity where he could at least feel Mari-Ange's presence nearby.... <><><><><> <> Despite his best efforts, Reynald cannot keep Marie-Ange in sight as he engages in firefighting, and she goes from one wounded soldier to another. More troubling, there is more than one immortal moving around -- Marie-Ange, Reynald and Geoffrey all sense the Quickening waxing and waning as they move around, making it difficult to know just how many other immortals are in the vicinity. Geoffrey is the first to meet another, as General Cumberland's voice roars above the din, "STONE!" He comes striding across the camp towards Geoffrey, trailed by junior officers who seem to be trying, unsuccessfully, to persuade him to seek cover while they figure out what sniper or saboteur is responsible for all this chaos. Cumberland's sword is in his hand. <><><><><> >Mari-Ange< At some level, it worries her. She knew of Reynald, and Laurent... and the young lieutenant, and oh, yes, Cumberland... none of whom caused her to be afraid, but in a battlefield, there could be any one who ... She shrugged it off as she closed a boy's eyes and murmured a soft prayer. They were the ones with so few years. She had had her life and longer. If le Bon Dieu chose, she would not regret one moment. She lifted her head, looking for the next boy. As she stood up, she remembered that Reynald had told her to keep her head down. Didn't he know she couldn't see the wounded that way? <><><><><> He tried to keep an eye on Mari-Ange and fight fires at the same time. It was impossible. He swore, quietly, dragging a young man from a smoking tent, into the mud, and knowing that the gesture was futile... A spark of life remained, but too far gone to spend a great deal of time on...he moved on, hoping to find someone with a better chance of survival. Noting the quickening about him, and realizing that he could not account for the extra presence...above and beyond Sir Arthur, and Geoffrey and Mari-Ange he stopped, looking around him carefully. It had to be Laurant. But what he was doing and why.....? Well, Reynald decided...he was pretty sure he knew _why_! "Coward!" he muttered the word aloud, almost like a curse. The urgency increased, and he abandoned his quest for survirors in order to find the defenseless little nun. Sir Arthur and Geoffrey could look out for themselves. <><><><><> <> Marie-Ange finds there aren't all that many wounded -- the fires and explosions seem to have been more of a distraction than a successful attack. The men who have caught bits of flying schrapnel or been burned are assembling or being led in a group towards the hospital, except for those who can still help fight the fires. She settles in to treating the ones who can't, performing quick assistance to the really badly injured ones. She is kneeling over a young man who is probably going to lose his eye, and possibly an ear as well, when someone screams "Grenade!" <><><><><> >MariAnge< "Shhh... we'll get you back to the hospital and the doctors will take care of you." She placed a quick dressing over the gory mass of his face, not showing him how bad it was. Time enough for that when he was safe. "GRENADE!" She heard the cry and without thinking, she curled her body over the young man, shielding his face and upper body as best she can. "Hail Mary full of grace..." The prayer was whispered aloud, and as the words rose heavenward, her thoughts also reached out for her friends, <><><><><> He tried to keep an eye on Mari-Ange and fight fires at the same time. It was impossible. He swore, quietly, dragging a young man from a smoking tent, into the mud, and knowing that the gesture was futile... A spark of life remained, but too far gone to spend a great deal of time on...he moved on, hoping to find someone with a better chance of survival. Noting the quickening about him, and realizing that he could not account for the extra presence...above and beyond Sir Arthur, and Geoffrey and Mari-Ange he stopped, looking around him carefully. It had to be Laurant. But what he was doing and why.....? Well, Reynald decided...he was pretty sure he knew _why_! "Coward!" he muttered the word aloud, almost like a curse. The urgency increased, and he abandoned his quest for survirors in order to find the defenseless little nun. Sir Arthur and Geoffrey could look out for themselves. <><><><><> [Geoffrey] "Over here, Sir!" He signals to General Cumberland, but continues to fight the fires. When Cumberland gets close enough, he speaks. "It was a saboteur, Sir. A French traitor, said his name was Laurent. I couldn't stop him." He won't say anything else, so long as Cumberland has his non-immortal staff with him. <><><><><> <> Cumberland turns to his aides. "Gather some more men who aren't fighting the fires. Spread out. Round up anyone who's a stranger, or a Frenchman. Shoot anyone who offers resistance." As the mortals disperse, he steps closer to you and in a lower voice growls "Where is Reynald?" <><><><><> [Geoffrey] "I haven't seen him", Geoffrey replies, "But I haven't really been looking - things have been a bit hectic since I woke up in a burning tent." <><><><><> <> Cumberland gnashes his teeth. "Find that bloody Frenchman and cut his bloody head off!" he snarls. "No, just fill him with lead! Then put a few more bullets in him to make sure he stays dead a while, then have him brought to me. I'll deal with him according to the Rules, and better than he deserves!" Suddenly another explosion goes off, not far away at all, and the cumulative effect of the bangs, pops and smoke and fire is beginning to get to you; you feel twitchy, and ready to dive for cover at any moment, fearing another mortar attack like the one that killed you. ..... [to Marie-Ange] Amidst the scurrying of men, you cover the one wounded soldier with your body, and so save his life as the grenade goes off only yards away. It is not the first time you've died, but you've avoided violence for the past century and so it is not a familiar sensation, and certainly not pleasant as the schrapnel rips through you. ..... [to Reynald] Some distance away, someone yells "Grenade!" Who would be throwing grenades in the _middle_ of the camp? You can think of only one person, and so you are already moving in that direction when you see the flash of light and hear the all-too-familiar sound, perhaps thirty yards away. Instinctively ducking your head -- you're well out of the blast radius, but bits of schrapnel can fly a considerable distance -- another step brings the Quickening, doubling in intensity with the next. <><><><><> >MariAnge< She had seen others die and come back, but she had died only the once. There was the first rush of shock, then pain so great as to take her breath away, and then nothing. Her last sounds, should anyone have been close enough to hear her were a half-scream as the schrapnel tore through the white habit into her, a soft exhalation of breath... and whispered words: "Into Thy hands..." <><><><><> He snarled a wordless shout of anger, fearing for Mari-Ange, but if he doesn't see her within a distance he can cover, to drop her....and protect her from the blast, he throws himself to the ground, rolling toward the nearest cover from the shrapnel. Vowing to take Laurant out if he must. Which is becoming more and more likely with each passing moment. <><><><><> [Geoffrey] This was all getting too much. He wanted to just curl up with his hands over his ears until everything settled down. Forcing himself to stay calm, he left the soldiers to fight the fires, while he sat down and tried to regain a measure of control. He doubted they'd find Laurent. The traitor had plenty of time to kill a British soldier and steal his uniform; in the confusion, he could slip away unhindered. <><><><><> <> [to Geoffrey] "What are you doing, Stone?!" Cumberland bellows. "Get up off the ground, boy!" [to Reynald] You can't see who's next to the grenade. When you rise again after rolling for cover, and continue sprinting in that direction, though, you sense one Quickening, and then another, and see a trench-coated figure turning towards you -- with the long barrel of a firearm protruding from beneath his coat.