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Thanks for the recap. With all the characters it is easy to get them mixed up. As for the man in black being the devil I don't think so. There's going to be a natural explanation for who he is, maybe. 
Joe
Joe
Thanks for the recap here also. I think the man in black is herr Flick of the Gestapo.... Actually the price of 5/6ths of a soul is two appearances surrounded by nubile and willing maidens.A full soul is more difficult to get hold of.. I eagerly await the next update.
Actually the price of 5/6ths of a soul is two appearances surrounded by nubile and willing maidens.A full soul is more difficult to get hold of.. I eagerly await the next update.
Stuyvesant: Adams may well try to carve up Canada, but all those territories are literally trading posts...except for two new colonies in wake of the sudden Indian revolts up there. That's probably a long term goal though.
Draco Rexus: Bringing!
J. Passepartout: No! I thought I made it clear. Steroids? Win at all costs attitude?
Mr. Black is obviously a sports team owner!
Storey: Well...seminatural. I think we threw natural out the window when Heyward went back in time 170 years.
Dead William: Wait no more.
Well, I meant to post much sooner...but two things happened. First, I've begun work on another AAR. No, it's not posted yet..I'm still deciding on a writing style. I was going to borrow a page from the Anglo-Saxon Chronicles, which do read much like an AAR, but it got repetitive.
AD 1001: In this year did Bob the Great visit his uncle, then his aunt, then send his army against his cousin, who verily summoned forth the dread spirit of Bob's father. Bob won 10-9 in extra innings.
AD 1002: In this year did Bob the Great and Pious (after defeating the dread spirit) get drunk watching Mystery Science Theater 1000 and accidentally apply for European Idol, which he happened to win after a moving rendition of "I Believe I Can Fly." Which he immediately tried to do off the cliffs of Brest. So passed Bob the Great and Pious but moderately Stupid.
AD 1003: In this year....
So, more on that later. I also bought Rome: Total War Saturday. At 12 am Sunday morning, having mastered the tutorial, I figured I'd start the campaign, take a good look around and go to sleep. Next time I looked it was 6 am. Eep. On the other hand, I'm about two turns from controlling Carthage. :X
But we're back! Enjoy!
Draco Rexus: Bringing!
J. Passepartout: No! I thought I made it clear. Steroids? Win at all costs attitude?
Mr. Black is obviously a sports team owner!
Storey: Well...seminatural. I think we threw natural out the window when Heyward went back in time 170 years.
Dead William: Wait no more.
Well, I meant to post much sooner...but two things happened. First, I've begun work on another AAR. No, it's not posted yet..I'm still deciding on a writing style. I was going to borrow a page from the Anglo-Saxon Chronicles, which do read much like an AAR, but it got repetitive.
AD 1001: In this year did Bob the Great visit his uncle, then his aunt, then send his army against his cousin, who verily summoned forth the dread spirit of Bob's father. Bob won 10-9 in extra innings.
AD 1002: In this year did Bob the Great and Pious (after defeating the dread spirit) get drunk watching Mystery Science Theater 1000 and accidentally apply for European Idol, which he happened to win after a moving rendition of "I Believe I Can Fly." Which he immediately tried to do off the cliffs of Brest. So passed Bob the Great and Pious but moderately Stupid.
AD 1003: In this year....
So, more on that later. I also bought Rome: Total War Saturday. At 12 am Sunday morning, having mastered the tutorial, I figured I'd start the campaign, take a good look around and go to sleep. Next time I looked it was 6 am. Eep. On the other hand, I'm about two turns from controlling Carthage. :X
But we're back! Enjoy!
PART III: What Price a Soul?
4 June, 1782
Charleston, South Carolina
Tom Heyward stared at his reflection in the mirror he'd liberated from Saint Augustine after the siege. In the dim light of his dying lantern it showed a man in his mid-thirties with long brown hair and a trace of grey tied in a ponytail. His skin had darkened to near bronze after the last few years in the Gulf Coast sun, his eyes sunken and dark from having seen so much.
He spread lathered soap across cheek and jaw and took out his straight edge, prepared to do battle with the beard he'd let run away during the maddening trek through Georgia and across the Savannah River. Most of the people there settled for sullen resentment: Inns and boarding houses mysteriously filled up before their advance, taverns oddly developed supply problems, and everywhere the cold, even inimical stares as the Carolina Army wound its way home by valley, swamp and road. It didn't feel like victory, that was certain.
Worse perhaps were the raids. Some Georgians apparently took matters in their own hands, despite very genuine British attempts to stop it, and attacked wagons running south from Charleston. Several men on the outer pickets ran afoul of 'hunting accidents,' which Preston answered with a systematic, bloody purge of the Georgian swamps that earned them no friends. Their warmest reception came from a British company heading south who seemed thrilled to exchange the honors and courtesies of war with their former enemies. Their captain had invited the American command to dinner, a curious but humanizing affair. Even Doctor Hall had been cold, dismissing him after a vague promise to look out for the 'bent cross'...
The sentry looked in. "Beg pardon, sir, but General Lincoln is here for orders."
He didn't turn, but wiped the soap (and blood) from his face and stared. Good enough. "He's early."
"The whole camp's been up half an hour, sir," the sentry grinned.
Tom turned curiously. It wasn't even dawn yet. "Just so. Fine, send him in."
A moment later the Massachusetts general slipped in and saluted. "Wish you joy, General." He seemed unusually animated, as well he might. He shook Heyward's hand vigorously.
"We're not home yet, General."
Lincoln smiled. "We should be in Charleston before noon, sir." And from there I can catch a ship home and leave you loons in peace. "General Allen sent word ahead last night, we should receive a warm reception."
Heyward nodded. "That will be good. They deserve a celebration after all this. Someone has to remind them that we actually won."
"There are those who say we didn't. That they beat us on the bargaining table."
Tom shrugged. "We're still alive and we're not in prison. And now we can go after more important enemies."
Lincoln nodded, suddenly distant. "Of course." I am going to Massachusetts and forgetting I ever heard of you, sir. You are mad. "Do you have any special orders this morning?"
"I doubt they're necessary, but you know the routine. Everyone in their best uniform, best flags and form up by company and regiment. Wait, make sure they're fed first. I'm sure there will be all sorts of grateful speeches before we can dismiss them. Is John..Preston still demanding to leave early?"
"No, sir. General Steving reminded him how impressive he'd look to that fiance of his marching in with the rest of his command."
Tom smiled for the first time. "Then I owe Roland a drink. General, in case we don't have another chance in all this...thank you for everything." He offered his hand again.
Lincoln shook it. "A pleasure, General."
---------------
The people of Charleston, South Carolina could probably have taught the American army a few things about scouting and security. The Daughters of Carolina had gone to work as soon as they crossed the Savannah River, transforming their city into a huge festival, bright decorations and all. Riders from the border forts constantly kept the city up to date on their army's progress. Edward Rutledge, staring at a map, knew within one hundred yards where the Carolina Army .. his army .. camped through the June nights. By dawn a sophisticated scout and messenger system formed a ring to the city's south along the post road. They broke camp at 7:00. Passed Bearn's Plantation at 8:00. Centerville before 9:00. Delayed near McHenry's House when one of the gun carriages lost a wheel, quickly repaired.
Edward Rutledge stood on the steps of the Saint Michael's Church watching the gathering crowd. It'd been three years ago he'd stood here, declaring that with one last stab (and several thousand men) Heyward could destroy Jasen Exeter, avenge the trail of dead left by Lincoln's bloody retreat across the south and therefore free Carolina from the threat of British attack forever. That'd of course been before Congress had stabbed him in the back, stabbed everyone who'd fought so long and so hard in their own ways against the British south.
He genuinely appreciated what his army had accomplished. While it was true siege warfare took much longer than he wanted or expected, the Carolina Army never suffered another defeat. It certainly wasn't Heyward's fault Georgia and Florida were still under British control...and so far Tom Heyward had kept his word, leaving matters of politics and government in his hands. A war hero, properly appeased and controlled, could be very useful. Hm...was Heyward married? No. Did he even like women?
The forts south of Charleston, silent stone sentinels belched flame followed a split second later by harsh boom. Thirteen times they sang out, and the crowd grew more excited with each blast. As the last echo faded Rutledge raised his hands for quiet. As silence descended they could all hear the faint rat-a-tat of military drums. He glanced at the bandmaster, an old man of seventy who'd personally polished the trumpets of his little troupe. The bandmaster winked unnecessarily, turned and raised his arms.
----------
Colonel John Preston rode near the head of the column, just behind the generals and standard bearers and in front of his own command. His uniform blue had faded to near blue-grey despite his best efforts, the white to grey. He'd ordered his horse brushed and neatly combed and tied back his own hair. Little could be done about his cannister marked face though, and Preston stubbornly rode as jubilant cheers stuttered at his visage before rebounding as the cavalry, infantry and artillery wound its way through the city.
It took several minutes to find Cassie in the throng of people, though she stood near the front in a pink dress that clung to enough places to make his heart beat faster. Their eyes met. She smiled at him. John turned in his saddle even after he passed, watching her steadily as long as he could, until his horse thought he was about to lose his rider and began sideslipping left to try and rebalance.
"Colonel!" Major Engels hissed as their horses brushed each other.
John turned around, heart pounding. He didn't hear any of Rutledge's speech, though from the resounding cheers it must have been pretty good. He didn't hear the governor speak, nor the mayor, nor half a dozen other people. In fact the next thing he remembered was Tom riding up to him.
"Colonel Preston?"
"Sir!"
"I said, it's over. Aren't you going to dismiss your men?"
Preston grinned. "Major Engels, let them go!" He rode towards Cassie who ran forward to meet him. It's over! he thought happily. It's finally over!
Heyward and Engels exchanged glances and shrugged.
-= 101 =-
4 June, 1782
Charleston, South Carolina
Tom Heyward stared at his reflection in the mirror he'd liberated from Saint Augustine after the siege. In the dim light of his dying lantern it showed a man in his mid-thirties with long brown hair and a trace of grey tied in a ponytail. His skin had darkened to near bronze after the last few years in the Gulf Coast sun, his eyes sunken and dark from having seen so much.
He spread lathered soap across cheek and jaw and took out his straight edge, prepared to do battle with the beard he'd let run away during the maddening trek through Georgia and across the Savannah River. Most of the people there settled for sullen resentment: Inns and boarding houses mysteriously filled up before their advance, taverns oddly developed supply problems, and everywhere the cold, even inimical stares as the Carolina Army wound its way home by valley, swamp and road. It didn't feel like victory, that was certain.
Worse perhaps were the raids. Some Georgians apparently took matters in their own hands, despite very genuine British attempts to stop it, and attacked wagons running south from Charleston. Several men on the outer pickets ran afoul of 'hunting accidents,' which Preston answered with a systematic, bloody purge of the Georgian swamps that earned them no friends. Their warmest reception came from a British company heading south who seemed thrilled to exchange the honors and courtesies of war with their former enemies. Their captain had invited the American command to dinner, a curious but humanizing affair. Even Doctor Hall had been cold, dismissing him after a vague promise to look out for the 'bent cross'...
The sentry looked in. "Beg pardon, sir, but General Lincoln is here for orders."
He didn't turn, but wiped the soap (and blood) from his face and stared. Good enough. "He's early."
"The whole camp's been up half an hour, sir," the sentry grinned.
Tom turned curiously. It wasn't even dawn yet. "Just so. Fine, send him in."
A moment later the Massachusetts general slipped in and saluted. "Wish you joy, General." He seemed unusually animated, as well he might. He shook Heyward's hand vigorously.
"We're not home yet, General."
Lincoln smiled. "We should be in Charleston before noon, sir." And from there I can catch a ship home and leave you loons in peace. "General Allen sent word ahead last night, we should receive a warm reception."
Heyward nodded. "That will be good. They deserve a celebration after all this. Someone has to remind them that we actually won."
"There are those who say we didn't. That they beat us on the bargaining table."
Tom shrugged. "We're still alive and we're not in prison. And now we can go after more important enemies."
Lincoln nodded, suddenly distant. "Of course." I am going to Massachusetts and forgetting I ever heard of you, sir. You are mad. "Do you have any special orders this morning?"
"I doubt they're necessary, but you know the routine. Everyone in their best uniform, best flags and form up by company and regiment. Wait, make sure they're fed first. I'm sure there will be all sorts of grateful speeches before we can dismiss them. Is John..Preston still demanding to leave early?"
"No, sir. General Steving reminded him how impressive he'd look to that fiance of his marching in with the rest of his command."
Tom smiled for the first time. "Then I owe Roland a drink. General, in case we don't have another chance in all this...thank you for everything." He offered his hand again.
Lincoln shook it. "A pleasure, General."
---------------
The people of Charleston, South Carolina could probably have taught the American army a few things about scouting and security. The Daughters of Carolina had gone to work as soon as they crossed the Savannah River, transforming their city into a huge festival, bright decorations and all. Riders from the border forts constantly kept the city up to date on their army's progress. Edward Rutledge, staring at a map, knew within one hundred yards where the Carolina Army .. his army .. camped through the June nights. By dawn a sophisticated scout and messenger system formed a ring to the city's south along the post road. They broke camp at 7:00. Passed Bearn's Plantation at 8:00. Centerville before 9:00. Delayed near McHenry's House when one of the gun carriages lost a wheel, quickly repaired.
Edward Rutledge stood on the steps of the Saint Michael's Church watching the gathering crowd. It'd been three years ago he'd stood here, declaring that with one last stab (and several thousand men) Heyward could destroy Jasen Exeter, avenge the trail of dead left by Lincoln's bloody retreat across the south and therefore free Carolina from the threat of British attack forever. That'd of course been before Congress had stabbed him in the back, stabbed everyone who'd fought so long and so hard in their own ways against the British south.
He genuinely appreciated what his army had accomplished. While it was true siege warfare took much longer than he wanted or expected, the Carolina Army never suffered another defeat. It certainly wasn't Heyward's fault Georgia and Florida were still under British control...and so far Tom Heyward had kept his word, leaving matters of politics and government in his hands. A war hero, properly appeased and controlled, could be very useful. Hm...was Heyward married? No. Did he even like women?
The forts south of Charleston, silent stone sentinels belched flame followed a split second later by harsh boom. Thirteen times they sang out, and the crowd grew more excited with each blast. As the last echo faded Rutledge raised his hands for quiet. As silence descended they could all hear the faint rat-a-tat of military drums. He glanced at the bandmaster, an old man of seventy who'd personally polished the trumpets of his little troupe. The bandmaster winked unnecessarily, turned and raised his arms.
----------
Colonel John Preston rode near the head of the column, just behind the generals and standard bearers and in front of his own command. His uniform blue had faded to near blue-grey despite his best efforts, the white to grey. He'd ordered his horse brushed and neatly combed and tied back his own hair. Little could be done about his cannister marked face though, and Preston stubbornly rode as jubilant cheers stuttered at his visage before rebounding as the cavalry, infantry and artillery wound its way through the city.
It took several minutes to find Cassie in the throng of people, though she stood near the front in a pink dress that clung to enough places to make his heart beat faster. Their eyes met. She smiled at him. John turned in his saddle even after he passed, watching her steadily as long as he could, until his horse thought he was about to lose his rider and began sideslipping left to try and rebalance.
"Colonel!" Major Engels hissed as their horses brushed each other.
John turned around, heart pounding. He didn't hear any of Rutledge's speech, though from the resounding cheers it must have been pretty good. He didn't hear the governor speak, nor the mayor, nor half a dozen other people. In fact the next thing he remembered was Tom riding up to him.
"Colonel Preston?"
"Sir!"
"I said, it's over. Aren't you going to dismiss your men?"
Preston grinned. "Major Engels, let them go!" He rode towards Cassie who ran forward to meet him. It's over! he thought happily. It's finally over!
Heyward and Engels exchanged glances and shrugged.
Me first, me first! Man, poor Lincoln. His views of southern gentlemen can't have been improved by Tom and John. And John of course is neck deep in puppy love... I hope Lincoln's view of the South will improve in the next war... Any plans to export this to Vicky?
Nice update. Glad to see us moving forward again.... however, whereas before we all knew the basic destination of our journey, this time, things are quite a bit murkier, eh?
Just bought it myself yesterday.
This I tell you to explain any future absences from your great tale, so as to give me an excuse in advance. Now, as to writing another AAR, I'd personally prefer if you were to finish up this one first and then immediately launch into the next one, so as to minimize withdrawal. However, I understand that you, as the author, might have other ideas.
Still, I do hope your straying thoughts won't result in the abandonment of this story! I'm very curious simply to see what happens to the United States, let alone finding out about that mysterious, mysterious connection to the Nazis.
Nice scene of the end of a war. Now how long until the next one begins?
Dead William: I won't say no...I do have Vicky and all that, but it's unlikely. For one thing there's a definite ending point for this AAR (either Heyward or Mr. Black goes bye-bye) and that'll happen before 1819. Second, it's taken me over a year to cover 9 years of game play. At that rate we'd hit 1819 around post 520 in late 2009. Eep!
Draco Rexus: Obviously this is the part where everyone lives happily ever after!
Not.
Stuyvesant: I'll think about what you said. The reason I'm considering another AAR is that Resurrection does move a bit slowly, and I'm curious about different styles (historical etc.) Plus, I get a little jealous of people with four or six AARs under their belt. On the other hand, last time I tried another AAR I didn't enjoy it, so...I don't know. Don't fret though, regardless of what happens I have no intention of abandoning Resurrection.
Of course, if Roman legionnaires start showing up, you know I'm playing too much R:TW...
Draco Rexus: Obviously this is the part where everyone lives happily ever after!
Not.
Stuyvesant: I'll think about what you said. The reason I'm considering another AAR is that Resurrection does move a bit slowly, and I'm curious about different styles (historical etc.) Plus, I get a little jealous of people with four or six AARs under their belt.
On the other hand, last time I tried another AAR I didn't enjoy it, so...I don't know. Don't fret though, regardless of what happens I have no intention of abandoning Resurrection.Of course, if Roman legionnaires start showing up, you know I'm playing too much R:TW...
-= 102 =-
4 June, 1782
Charleston, South Carolina
"Come in, General! Come in!" Rutledge's dinner party, a close, intimate gathering of thirty, was finally winding down with Henrietta standing at the door beaming at generals, colonels and politicians. Edward Rutledge opened the double doors to his study. "This is, how you would say, my private sanctuary? My refuge?"
Thomas Heyward stood at the doorway, shocked by the sheer opulence. A massive cherry desk dominated the room and a painting of Mrs. Rutledge hung by the door. Edward waved him to one of the cushioned chairs in front of the desk and paced to his liquor cabinet. "I hope you like scotch? It's been with my wines for six months, I find liquor needs time to settle before its palatable, don't you agree?"
It was nearing midnight, and Heyward estimated he'd been awake almost twenty hours, past numerous boring speeches, equally tiresome conversations, and a huge meal. He could care less about aged scotch. "Yes," he replied without feeling.
"I thought so," Rutledge replied, handing over a glass. "We've had our disagreements no doubt, but I always figured you for a man of taste."
Heyward sipped and had to admit it was quite good. Why was he being so...obliging? What did he want? "Yes," he replied slowly. "And I always knew you were..." Before he could come up with something remotely friendly, an English Setter poked open the study door and stared at the general solemnly, tongue lolling.
"This is Lucy," Rutledge explained, grinning and ruffling the dog's fur roughly. "She pretty much has run of the house. She doesn't like feeling left out, Do you?" The last he said to the dog, shaking her muzzle lightly. Lucy snapped playfully and leapt back two feet, tail wagging.
"Sit! Good dog." Edward smiled at her one last time and turned back to Heyward. "I understand you had some trouble on the way home?"
"The Georgians? Yes, they were rather...unhappy with how things turned out." Tom sipped his scotch.
"How do you feel about it? The treaty I mean?" Rutledge sat on his desk and stared intently.
Tom sighed. Did they have to do this tonight? "I'm just as happy the fighting is over," he said honestly. "Though I will say Georgia was one of our main reasons for going to war. It seems strange that we just let them go."
"Exactly! And I dare say you feel the same about Florida? We didn't go to war expecting to gain Saint Augustine, but having taken her..."
"Yes," Tom answered unwillingly. "Certainly my men feel that way."
Rutledge nodded. "Quite. I was there, you know. At Philadelphia I mean, when they voted? And I will tell you what it is, sir. Petty rivalries. One delegation will do something just to spite another, and if they can get enough supporters? There you are. Adams and his cronies made sure all the hard work you and your men did was undone. Why, did you know they wanted to recall your rank? They say that South Carolina did not have the right to promote someone to general. What do you say to that?"
Tom narrowed his eyes, trying to think through the growing fog. Yes, the Articles of Confederation were fairly clear...a state couldn't promote anyone above colonel. Still...
"Why, I told them what for, of course! I told them that you'd done the hard work in this war, that you'd earned your rank more than half a dozen generals I could name, and if they tried to censure you.. what else can a demotion be? Well, we'd see about that! Thousands of men and women owe you their lives, sir!"
"Thank you..?"
Rutledge shook his head sharply. "Do not thank me. You deserve their thanks and respect. God's Death, Heyward, in another time and place you'd have laurels. But they don't agree, and do you know why?" He didn't wait for an answer. "Because you're a Carolinan. Because men like Adams and Jay fear us, and fear what we can accomplish."
Here we go. "And..what do you want to accomplish?"
"The same as you, I make no doubt." Rutledge poured himself another glass of scotch, apparently immune to its effects. "Do you remember 1772?" he asked. "We all came together because we were afraid of Guy Carleton and his armies. Now that he's gone we're afraid of each other. Fear, sir, is not a good foundation for a lasting nation."
Tom leaned forward, interested. "And you have a plan?"
"Yes. For now it is simply this: The southern states, what's left of us, must stand together. We must act with one voice to deal with these fearmongers. Respect, sir. They will learn to respect us and what we can offer. They will learn not to cause us trouble. In time mutual respect will take hold and we will finally stand unified against the true dangers to this nation!"
True dangers. Does he know!?? "What do you mean?"
Rutledge didn't know, though after talking with General Allen about Heyward's strange behavior he thought he did. "I tell you this, General. It is my firm belief that any further weakening of the southern position must damage America greatly. And I promise you, work with me and together we will deal with any threat to this nation we both cherish."
Tom shook his head, trying to clear it. "You want an alliance?"
"We have an alliance," Rutledge assured him. "I want your help."
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Hmmm, interesting... And I think Tom should drink less if he intends to negotiate... I wonder what ol' Rutledge is up to now.
Still great quality. Keep us posted on Rome Total War. If it is any good, I will have to try it myself.
On the matter of the continuation, you could do three things:
1)Skip a certain amount of time once you have reached a certain goal and continue with new, or partially new characters.
2) Make poor Tom a traveler through time's highways and byways.
3) Ignore me completely.
And if you want to try another type of AAR, please warn us so we can prepare for a long read
I wonder what ol' Rutledge is up to now. Still great quality. Keep us posted on Rome Total War. If it is any good, I will have to try it myself.
On the matter of the continuation, you could do three things:
1)Skip a certain amount of time once you have reached a certain goal and continue with new, or partially new characters.
2) Make poor Tom a traveler through time's highways and byways.
3) Ignore me completely.
And if you want to try another type of AAR, please warn us so we can prepare for a long read
Great update, Cat! I like how Rutledge manipulates everything to his advantage. That is, it is so true to his character. But he really has no clue about the TRUE enemy, does he? He only thinks he does.
Oh, and by the way, was that whole fear thing a vague reference to Michael Moore, per chance?
Oh, and by the way, was that whole fear thing a vague reference to Michael Moore, per chance?
I'm beginning to somewhat admire Rutledge, and that frankly scares the crap out of me! That man just oozes sincerity that the reader knows is fake but can't help but start to buy in to. And that, my friends, is the sign of a damn fine writer. Cat, bravo, sir, bravo!
Rutlege seems very manipulative at the moment, I imagine it will all fall down on his head.
My brother got Rome Total War for christmas and then we all discovered that our computer needs a better graphics card if we expect his game to work well.
My brother got Rome Total War for christmas and then we all discovered that our computer needs a better graphics card if we expect his game to work well.
Yes, Cat, your Rutledge simply oozes sincerity and honesty with every word -- and any sensible person would be on his guard, but somehow Rutledge can talk his way through just about anything (although I think Preston and Cassie could still surprise him).
I look forward :wacko: to more dastardly deeds from Black and Exeter. I hope Heyward and Zahringen can counter them somehow. I also hope you can finish before 2009.
I look forward :wacko: to more dastardly deeds from Black and Exeter. I hope Heyward and Zahringen can counter them somehow. I also hope you can finish before 2009.
An excellent update. Rutledge is a clever fellow. I wonder exactly what he plans to use Heyward for? I know the establishment of an actual American president has been created in this America, at least not that I am aware of.
Dead William: R:TW is an excellent game, though it is high end. Meaning if you don't have at least a credible graphics card and processor, save yourself the pain. For me I can play the game fine, but the movies tend to lock up and if I use the full capability of the game...(eight mutually hostile armies of twenty units each) my computer gets really angry.
If you've played any of the TW series, it's similar but there have been a few changes. Battles tend to move a little faster, which is good I think. You can always pause if the computer's running away from you. I know there are mods for it as well (similar to our mods for EU2) so you're not stuck with just the Roman era.
LewsTherin: Oh no, Rutledge knows nothing about the Nazis.
And no, no relation to Michael Moore. I've never even seen Fahrenheit..
Draco Rexus: Actually he is sincere. He just doesn't realize he and Heyward are on completely different tracks.
J. Passepartout: Yeah....good graphics, good processor, good sound. The entire Total War series is a history of escalating CPU demands. I had to get a new graphics card to play Medieval: Total War, and while Rome's game interface is happy...I have to be careful how much stress I put on the system.
But what you get is beautiful though. You can get the camera really close to 'eye' level and watch your general waving his sword to give orders, the men fighting. Enemies are actually thrown aside with cavalry and elephant charges.
And for those who don't care about eye candy....you definitely need to watch tactics and city development, and the AI is...credible, if not brilliant. Kinda like EU2 again.
jwolf: Oh...Preston and Cassie can definitely still surprise him. So can Tom. Actually, so can Black and Exeter. Hm, Rutledge may be in trouble down the line.
Machiavellian: No...there's a president of Congress, but there's no executive branch. That doesn't come until the US Constitution, which is 1789. In this timeline Congress will probably start discussing the need for a constitution soon, since it's becoming obvious the Articles of Confederation are failing.
If you've played any of the TW series, it's similar but there have been a few changes. Battles tend to move a little faster, which is good I think. You can always pause if the computer's running away from you. I know there are mods for it as well (similar to our mods for EU2) so you're not stuck with just the Roman era.
LewsTherin: Oh no, Rutledge knows nothing about the Nazis.
And no, no relation to Michael Moore. I've never even seen Fahrenheit..
Draco Rexus: Actually he is sincere. He just doesn't realize he and Heyward are on completely different tracks.
J. Passepartout: Yeah....good graphics, good processor, good sound. The entire Total War series is a history of escalating CPU demands. I had to get a new graphics card to play Medieval: Total War, and while Rome's game interface is happy...I have to be careful how much stress I put on the system.
But what you get is beautiful though. You can get the camera really close to 'eye' level and watch your general waving his sword to give orders, the men fighting. Enemies are actually thrown aside with cavalry and elephant charges.
And for those who don't care about eye candy....you definitely need to watch tactics and city development, and the AI is...credible, if not brilliant. Kinda like EU2 again.
jwolf: Oh...Preston and Cassie can definitely still surprise him. So can Tom. Actually, so can Black and Exeter. Hm, Rutledge may be in trouble down the line.
Machiavellian: No...there's a president of Congress, but there's no executive branch. That doesn't come until the US Constitution, which is 1789. In this timeline Congress will probably start discussing the need for a constitution soon, since it's becoming obvious the Articles of Confederation are failing.
-= 103 =-
15 June, 1782
Charleston, South Carolina
"I'm thinking of eloping." John Preston sat astride his horse, peering at the woodlands south of Charleston. The city itself he found confining, with all the secret half-smiles from pretty much everyone in town. For one Sunday now, and two to follow his nuptials would be announced at Saint Michael's and posted on a notice board outside the church. "Some place where the marriage laws aren't so .... THERE."
"I'm pretty sure the law's the same no matter where you go. And elsewhere you'd have to prove who you are, just like Miss Rafferty." Tom Heyward rode with him, more out of a sense of camaraderie and duty rather than a desire for the man's company.
"You heard about that?"
"Yes. How's the head?"
"It hurts," John admitted. "I didn't know getting a marriage license was so hard!"
"I understand you tried to intimidate the clerk."
"He wanted to start an investigation on Cassie's past! Do you know how long that'd take?"
"Months," Tom admitted. "Was this before or after you tried to impress him with your rank?"
"Whose side are you on? Listen, Cassie has no records. She explained that already, remember? The Brits destroyed New York's copies, she lost hers, her father died in Canada, who's to vouch for her if not me?"
Heyward had his private doubts about her claims but shrugged. "All I'm saying is if you were nicer, he would have told you she could have a letter notarized earlier...and he wouldn't have hit you with the county records."
"I didn't know books could be that heavy."
"Or sent for the constable."
"Alright!" Preston glared at the woodlands, hoping some animal would make the mistake of showing itself. Suddenly he grinned slyly. "How's your hunt for a wife coming?"
"I'm not looking for a wife," Heyward answered sharply.
"That's not the word around town." His smile broadened at Tom's obvious discomfort.
"Yes, well I need to have a discussion with Mister Rutledge about that." The lawyer seemed to take a perverse delight in playing Cupid, and after a few hints to the Daughters of Carolina his name shot to the top of the list of eligible bachelors. "A long discussion."
"There's Amelia Longhart, the daughter of Captain Longhart? I think she's a little young, but I don't think the captain cares. Pretty, and with a bit of negotiation her dowry could be substantial!"
"Shut up, John."
"Oh, and don't forget Laura Hollinger. I dated her once before I met Cassie. I'll give you a hint, she really likes it when a man...hey!"
Tom grabbed him by the neck cloth and pulled until their faces were inches apart. "Do not seek to give me advice on my personal life," he hissed.
"Alright!" Preston tugged himself free. "What's your problem? Hey, come back here!"
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At that moment Cassandra Rafferty stood at the top of Fort Charleston, one of the two towers flanking the only entrance to the city from the south. Fort Charleston was still a military base, and normally civilians be allowed on the stone ramparts, but apparently exceptions could be made for officers' wives. They simply extended the privilege early.
After a long, running explanation on the city's defenses courtesy an adoring young private too small for his uniform, she'd walked along the perimeter until she could see the entire city. She breathed deeply: the air here was just a little cooler, a little clearer.
Carefully she opened her purse and examined the notarized letter. It couldn't have been more direct. I solemnly declare that: My name is Cassandra Alice Rafferty. I was born on the 16th of May, 1759 in Poplar Ridge, State of New York. As such, I am a citizen of the United States. I have the authority and presence of mind to enter a marriage contract of my own free will. I am unrelated to my intended. There is no ban preventing a marriage. The letter went on this tangent for some time, finally ending with: Signed and subscribed before me, Edward Rutledge, Attorney-at-Law, on the twelfth day of June, 1782.
Cassie folded the note. She'd met General Heyward days after their return from the war and listened intently to his warnings about Edward Rutledge. Perhaps they were true, and she had no doubt his helping her had some political motivation...but in many ways he'd been kinder than her own kin. If Rutledge planned to collect on that debt some day, then that seemed to be the price of being southern gentry where favors and debts changed hands with every party.
She'd needed to get out of the city for a few hours. All the preliminary details were out of the way other than a few more meetings with the reverend. While John had been at war, their marriage had been a distant probability, something to look forward to. Now it loomed on the horizon. Every step, every breath pushed her inexorably towards this moment. Did she want to be a wife? Cassie no longer worried about fitting in, but the fact was marriage meant an end to a good amount of her freedom. She could no longer travel without him, be independent of him. From then on she would no longer be 'Cassandra Rafferty' but 'Mrs. John Preston.' He'd been at war for so long, not to mention the years she'd lost in Canada. How well did she know him really?
Sometimes she thought about running away...but where to? That cornet in Massachusetts? No, he'd been kind enough but what kind of life could she have there? She had no choice but to go through with this. And it scared her.
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29 June, 1782
"Alright!" Preston huffed, turning red-faced to Tom. "How do I look?"
"Like you're drunk. Hold still." Heyward plucked off the boy's wig, causing a cloud of powder to fill the air. John sneezed as the general seized a pair of shears and cut his ponytail.
"What the devil?"
"You'll thank me later." Tom plopped the white wig back on Preston's head creating another powder cloud. He'd never quite adjusted to eighteenth century style and thought it ridiculous, but every man in that church would be wearing one. "Good." He retreated as a slave brushed the powder off John's uniform. "Your jacket's too small. What happened? Did you eat the entire cow?"
"I wouldn't talk," John fumed. Heyward seemed okay so long as no one brought up 'new enemies', bent crosses or women, but he couldn't resist. "How many hams did Miss Coleridge give you?"
"Four. She said it was in gratitude for bringing her brother home safely."
The poor bastard doesn't even know the noose is closing on him. John grinned at the thought.
"What's so funny?"
"Nothing!" John answered quickly. "Hand me my sword? There. How do I look?"
Tom stared critically as the groom turned, turned again. "Passable."
"I'll take that as a compliment. Come on, the bells are ringing!"
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"Dearly beloved," Malcolm Coleridge, the reverend at St. Michael's and father of the aforementioned grateful daughter, smiled serenly at the small assembly. "Being now assembled in the presence of God, to join together this man, and this woman, in the sacred Bans of Matrimony, it is proper for us to reflect that marriage is an honorable estate being instituted by God in the time of man¹s innocency; and signifying unto us the mystical union there is betwixt Christ and his Church. It was honored by the presence of Christ, and sanctified by the first miracle..."
Thomas Heyward sat in the first row. He was surprised at how small the wedding was: The reverend, an usher, the bride and groom of course, Tom, Mrs. Rutledge (no one seemed sure where her husband had gone), and three friends/witnesses. Ceremonies in the eighteenth century tended to be more intimate than in later days.
Cassie, he saw at once, was beautiful in a sky blue gown with a flower design at her hip. He could understand John's attraction to her, had felt it himself for a moment before he guiltily remembered Jess, now ten years and a lifetime away. She glanced in his direction curiously and he looked away.
Jess. Where would they be now if the Nazis hadn't come? Married no doubt, probably two or three children. Perhaps her dancing career would have taken hold, perhaps he'd still be at the factory. And what did it matter? None of that could happen now. Twentieth century England was as remote as the moon, and he'd never see her again. Never.
"General Heyward? Are you alright?" Henrietta Rutledge whispered.
Tom angrily wiped his stinging eyes and glowered at the couple.
"Being as there is none to give away the bride, we will proceed to the vows. Jonathan Preston, the woman whom you now have by the hand, you take to be your wedded Wife, and you promise by Divine assistance to love and honor her, to comfort and cherish her in every situation of her life, and attaching yourself to none others, that you will cleave unto her only, so long as you both shall live."
"Aye."
"Cassandra Alice Rafferty. the man whom you now have by the hand, you take to be your wedded Husband, and you promise by Divine assistance to love, honor and obey him, to comfort and cherish him in every situation of his life, and attaching yourself to none other, that you will cleave unto him only, so long as you both shall live?"
Cassie hesitated just long enough for John's heart to annex his throat. "Yes," she whispered.
"Then I pronounce you to be Husband and Wife, and I do implore for you the constant aid of Divine Grace, that you may be enabled to live together as such, agreeably to the vows which you have made..."
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It was some hours later, after Edward Rutledge's hasty apology followed by a massive reception, when John kissed his wife softly and rolled out of bed. "I need to go downstairs," he announced abruptly, pulling on his breaches with the urgency of a man who needed the chamber pot right now. "Do you want anything?"
"No," Cassie smiled as he bolted out of the room. She held that pose, lying with a blanket over her breasts for a moment longer in case he returned, then catapulted out of bed. On with the lamp, and off with the bed sheets which she threw in the closet, coming back with the fresh sheets Martha had left behind at her insistence. She quickly made the bed and lay back down, huffing.
John returned a minute later and paused. Something about the room was different, and it wasn't the lit lamp. He dismissed it and sat by her side. "You're out of breath."
"Just thinking about you," she murmured, sinking into the bed as he leaned over her. She wrapped her arms around his bare back and memory faded.
He'd never know there hadn't been blood on the bedsheets.
CatKnight said:
Would that be the cornet in Massachussetes? Or someone else....? How many skeletons does Miss Rafferty have in her closet, pray tell? I guess we'll find out...