Seraphic Warriors RP {Closed}

[Malbourne]

Spoiler: Out of Character Introduction

Welp, it's up. If you know what faction you're in, you should also be able to guess to whom you're required to respond to. By the way, take it for granted that everybody speaks English (with a cockney accent, if that is your proclivity). Please send all questions my way if you have them! Toodles~

[HEADING=1]French army encampment outside of Moscow[/HEADING]
14 September 1812

The massive encampment was a hive of activity. Hours before the break of dawn the forces of Napoleon were getting ready to capture the city of Moscow. On the eastern fringe of the thousands of campfires and tens of thousands of soldiers scrounging for warmth in the cold air was a simple tent.

Two men were having a muted conversation as the wind whistled through the thin cloth. A retainer scurried into the tent, visibly anxious in the presence of the Second Lieutenant Terrier Bijou. He proffered a bottle of cheap wine, which the Second Lieutenant accepted, and almost immediately departed into the chilly Russian air. Bijou examined the label with some disinterest as his partner resumed the conversation.

"As I said," Jean Loreaux continued, obviously frustrated at the interruption, "my cousin, Cevente, said that the victory at Borodino sealed Napoleon's defeat." Loreaux, a slightly pudgy man who Bijou felt needed more field experience if he were to be an effective captain, was pacing about the small space of the tent. The upcoming invasion had him on edge, no doubt. Bijou was a bit more at ease, leaning slightly back in a crude wooden chair, eyes half-closed more from boredom than tiredness. Both men were bedecked in tidy uniforms denoting their respective ranks.

Loreaux continued without missing a beat. "An exaggeration, to be sure, but do you really think our commander wishes to take Moscow because he needs it? He believes the city to be a trophy, and we'll only lose more men. I say we hold off on a siege altogether; just walk right in and demand a surrender. There's no need for a battle, especially not when ordinary cityfolk are involved." Loreaux noticed Bijou seemed slightly more interested in the wine and sniffed irritably. "I don't suppose that's Merrie Vintage?"

"Alas," Bijou confirmed, setting it on the plain table between the two. He leaned back and propped his feet up beside the bottle, peering out the tent flap at the dry, snowy landscape as soldiers bustled about busily preparing. Off in the distance Moscow lay, resting like a blanket of buildings over the snow-tinged land of Russia. A pretty city, to be sure.

His companion chuckled at Bijou's distaste. "Why not take it with some ice?"

Bijou didn't see the humor in the comment. "I've had enough of ice, thank you very much." He tilted his cap over his eyes, feigning fatigue. "It's six'o'clock now, high time I started briefing the Sixth Tirailleurs Regiment. Be a dear and send for them, would you?"

Loreaux glanced at his pocket watch and hid his surprise at the accuracy of the guess. "Now? We just got a bottle..."

"Now," Bijou repeated lazily. "Besides, it's far too early for Merrie without ice."

[HEADING=1]Inside the Kremlin in the heart of the silent city of Moscow[/HEADING]
14 September 1812

General Mikhail Kutzov gazed out at the villa below. The few people still remaining in the city, most of them his personal guard, ran to and fro in their eleventh hour preparations. They seemed taller in the early morning light; Kutzov waxed philosophical, likening them to a band of ghosts haunting the nearly empty city. It was one of the few allowances he granted his mind as the war continued droning on. The uniform felt hot suddenly, and he adjusted his collar, wondering why he should feel most uncomfortable in such a fancy building.

A hoarse voice spoke up behind him. "It's amazing we got so many people out, frankly."

Kutzov turned. Governor Fyodor Rostopchin, looking greatly disheveled in his mussy noble regalia, was standing near the wall. He proffered a weary smile. "Would it be rude not to leave a card for Napoleon? I'd hate to think of him standing in the square with naught to greet him but the frost and the beggars."

"I'd rather not meet with him at all, governor," Kutzov replied. "The evacuation was meant to get as many people as possible away from the Grand Army."

"Perhaps he will give chase," Rostopchin said with a tinge of anxiety.

Kutzov crossed his arms. "Let him chase. Only cossacks and the winter will meet him in the snow."

Rostopchin was silent for a while. Then, "Do you suppose our Seraphim could..."

"That remains to be seen," Kutzov curtly replied. "But this much is fact: Napoleon is not waltzing in here in dance shoes, but a soldier's boots. And if he intends to muddy our doorstep, he shall find no reprieve. That is why the Seraphim are here. Their efficacy is not at question, but their loyalty. If you need to burden your political lobe with a fear, let it be of a superhuman stabbing you in the back with his bare hand."

The governor chuckled, though the general showed no hint of humor. "Right, well, uh...I suppose that's why we're here?"

"Indeed. They should be arriving any moment for their briefing. You may leave if you're uncomfortable."

Rostopchin shook his head in spite of his obvious lack of conviction. "I wish to see these 'superhumans' for myself."

[HEADING=1]In front of Moscow City Armory[/HEADING]
14 September 1812

"Voila! La porte est ouvertez!"

Vivienne gave Lucjan an icy glare. He looked away swiftly, pretending to be utterly absorbed in the intricacies of the lock he'd just cracked into. She rolled her eyes and muttered, "Never heard of a Polish ass raised in culture."

"Madamoiselle-"

"Desist."

"You'll find I'm skilled in more than the fine arts," he said, pocketing the lock. With an overly dramatic gesture he flung the door open, slamming it handily against the wall. Vivienne flinched.

"What if the guards hear us, moron?"

"This place has been abandoned for hours. Lee had a scout watch it for a whole week. Besides," he continued suavely, "I can handle any brute who may still be lurking in the shadows."

"You can be a meat shield, you mean," she muttered.

Even if somebody were to notice the two rebels in the street, their mean attire, dressed as they were like the rest of the impoverished who'd been left in the city, would probably merit no more than a glance. The Moscow City Armory was hardly populated, thankfully. The entire building seemed more like a stone mausoleum than a military compound. Even looters seemed unable to pierce the inner sections, where many more locks were to be found. Lucjan surmised, without an amicable reply, that the doors had been locked to prevent the Napoleonic army from getting at the stores of armaments. "Oh, yes, a man with six hundred thousand troops would never have accounted for a locked building!" Lucjan was silent for the rest of the venture.

Hallway after corridor led the pair to a vault in what Vivienne presumed to be the center. "Big handles, bronze frieze." She nodded with a hint of satisfaction and pocketed her map. "I do believe this is our objective."

Lucjan knelt by the massive pair of doors, rubbing his hands tensely. "Alright, what kind of lock would this be? A Gadr Combination? No, too expensive for the military bungholes. A double Crabclass-" He nearly slammed his head against the stone flooring as Vivienne shoved the doors inward. "Hey! Be careful, it could be an am-"

He sat up, brushing off his dark clothes. "...What happened to the weapons?"

Vivienne was standing in the middle of a vast chamber that had obviously been pilfered of its valuables some time ago. "I stuffed 'em in my pocket when you weren't looking. What the hell do you think?"

Lucjan scrambled about, searching every corner of the room, murmuring to himself. "Where, where...Do you think thieves-no, the Russians must have taken these with them."

"Of course they did," Vivienne said, rubbing her temples with one hand. "Which explains why we didn't need to conceal our identities. There was no need for Russian surveillance."

Lucjan twirled a lockpick about his fingers nervously. "S-so, what do we do?"

"Well, we were ordered to break into the armory vault without being detected, and then to wait for further instruction. So, we wait." She punctuated the statement by falling into a sitting position, legs crossed and eyes closed.

Lucjan examined the chamber distractedly. "Uh-"

"In silence."

"In silence, yeah. Could be spies listening."

 

[drmigit2]

The snow casted fields of Russia were cast over the horizon, brave soldiers sat preparing, some were cleaning their muzzles, others were eating, still others were writing letters to family and loved ones. Two of these soldiers, who were eating the daily rations of bread, water and some terrible tasting mystery meat were sitting at a table. They seemed nervous and their hands shook with each word they spoke.

"I heard Napoleon wants this city badly, I can't imagine why else he would send that guy."

"Who? Sicard?"

"Yeah."

In the distance, a wild looking and angry man, the only one who seemed to not even feel the cold was walking with purpose. He had a wicked smile and seemed to be only a measure away from breaking out in laughter. A group of soldiers got in his way, stopping him in his tracks. One of them, a brown haired youth, no older than sixteen threw a toothpick at the man.

"So you're Sicard eh? I've heard a lot about you. They say you are Napoleon's little trump card, his ace in the hole. Sounds like a crock of shit, you don't have anything on us."

Sicard's smile widened. "You're a Seraphim. I have felt you since I arrived."

The boy flicked his hair back and retorted. "The best one we got 'ere, killed at least a hundred of the Ruskies on the way here." He made a flick and a pocket of air came shooting out of his hand. Sicard didn't move, his smile got wider.

"I have orders to arrive at the lieutenant's tent in the next fifteen minutes. If you don't move, I am going to have to kill you."

The boy took offense. "Look Sicard." He said with a frown. "I am going to get some respect out of you, everyone else does. You don't have a pass to be an asshole round here. My name is-"

Sicard without warning came rushing at the boy, his Katars coming out of his rags. The boy pulled out a rapier and parried. Sicard was in a deep and dark chuckle, his pupils went from a typical round to a slit down the middle.

"You haven't earned a name yet. I don't care who you are." Sicard moved his knee in a lightning fast motion and the boy jumped back with a yelp. "I am under orders to escort myself to the tent, that is what I am going to do." The wild man's eyes calmed and he began walking off.

"Hey, asshole!" Yelled the boy. "You are going to show some damned respect to me the next time we meet!"

Sicard chuckled again and walked to the tent. It was a large green epicenter of a massive hive. Sicard hadn't seen this many people in a long time, things were getting exciting. He opened the flap and announced loudly. "I'm here, now what's the plan?"

 

[Captain Anon]

ah Russia the land of Alcohol and Snow, I can see why Napoleon wants this city but he's not getting it if I have anything to do about it, I've heard about The Russians being incredibly tough and having amazing strength it should be fun when the fighting starts I thought to himself as I walked about "The heart of Moscow" with a beer in one hand and the other on my sword I saw the two gentlemen I was supposed to meet with as I approached them I call out "Governor Rostopchin, General Kutzov I am John James of Libero Adstringo I was told to meet with you to enforce some undesirables and help put a stop to Napoleon's little game of conquest" He said with much pride and honor as I held out my hand to greet them both

 

[deathbydeath]

A few hours had passed now. Lucjan had suggested they scour the rest of the armory to see if there were any weapons to be scavenged. After Vivienne shot him down, he said, "How about just me then?"

Now he leaned against the cool stone wall, tapping his foot restlessly. "Bet the contact got lost."

"You haven't got the clout to bet," she replied.

"They did! I'm telling you, we were supposed to gather weaponry. A musket, a rapier, a butterknife. We should at least get something. Then if somebody finds us we can say: 'Sorry, it was all cleaned out. But we can show that bread who's boss!'"

"Lucjan. Shut up."

He did not shut up. On the contrary, he began walking to the door, muttering, "It'll only be a few minutes. I just need to stretch my legs."

"All orders are final," Vivienne reprimanded, though she made no move to intercept him.

Lucjan shrugged nonchalantly. "What, is Requiem gonna show up and smack my nose?" Before his eyes, the doorway and everything past it vanished, leaving only an impenetrable black void behind. He fell onto his rear, whimpering, "I d-didn't mean it! Please don't kill me! I'll stay, I'll stay! Just don't smack me..."

A fairly thin man with brown hair and a pseudo-elegant gait stepped out of the darkness with confusion on his face. "Requiem, what's that?"

He walked over to Lucjan and helped him up, explaining himself all the while, "Sorry about scaring you; I just needed to test something. My name is Tristan, by the way, and I was instructed by a clandestine organization to meet and cooperate with several agents staking out this particular armory." When his nonchalant excuses were up, he straightened himself and spoke again to Lucjan and Vivienne:

"So, what are you two doing out here in this lovely abandoned building?"

 

[The Hund]

Moonrik rode alone through the almost desolate streets of Moscow as soldiers around him went to and fro setting up fortifications and delivering letters until he finally arrived at the Kremlin.

The Frenchies may have forced their way to Moscow, but this is were we will make our stand! Surely, we will be victorious! Moonrik thought the Russian military would make their stand and heroically push back the filthy French at every battle. He had always been wrong, but he had hope. Surely a nation as great as Russia would not be defeated by such an inferior people?

With those thoughts occupying his mind he entered into the Kremlin. He made his way through the structure, to where three men were conversing, with the assistance of one of Kutzov's guardsmen.

"I wish to see these 'superhumans' for myself."

"Then you need look no farther. Col. Vladimir Moonrik of the 47th Royal Dragoons reporting for briefing." Said Moonrik as he saluted the general and governor.

"Governor Rostopchin, General Kutzov I am John James of Libero Adstringo I was told to meet with you to enforce some undesirables and help put a stop to Napoleon's little game of conquest"

"Er, Col.Vladimir Moonrik at your service. Who are the Libero Adstringo? Some mercenary group? Are we hiring mercenaries now?" He said looking at the odd looking fellow before turning back to the general and governor and asking if he was a mercenary almost in an accusatory way. As if the great Russian empire would hire mercenaries, pfft!

 

[Captain Anon]

"Er, Col.Vladimir Moonrik at your service. Who are the Libero Adstringo? Some mercenary group? Are we hiring mercenaries now?"

"no no no we are a covert rebellious organization which remained an observer for the majority of Napoleon's ruthless campaign but when we heard word he was moving into Russia we knew we had to step in and lend a hand, so no Colonel not Mercenaries we're more Freedom Fighters many of us are Seraphims and we both have a common enemy, you have reasons to fight Napoleon as do we and as they say the enemy of my enemy is my friend" I said before finishing off my beer and puts in my satchel

 

[Malbourne]

Napoleon's Encampment - Early Morning

"I'm here, now what's the plan?"

The arrival of Sicard startled Loreaux. Bijou eyed the newcomer from under the brim of his cap. "I'm surprised you're so prompt." He lifted the bottle of Merrie Vintage from the table. "Wine?"

"We've wasted enough time on formalities," Loreaux interrupted. The captain began addressing Sicard in an imperious tirade. "Let me be frank. I abhor these Seraphim warriors. Call me a bigot if you wish, but I feel there is no job a Seraph could do that a trained foot-soldier isn't equally capable of doing. That being said, I will cooperate with you and expect you to reciprocate."

"You'll be a member of the Sixth Regiment of Tirailleurs of the Imperial Guard," Bijou stated. "The Fifth and Fourth Regiments have already been briefed. Your group will be working under the orders of myself, Second Lieutenant Terrier Bijou." A wry grin spread across his face. "I believe you've already met Gaelle of the Fifth. Recruits in the New Guard are often like that. Takes a while for them to mature, like wine, and oftentimes they turn out just as sour."

"We march at noon," Captain Loreaux concluded irritably. "The noxious Russian government will be hard-pressed to hamper our conquest. Looting in the city is absolutely prohibited, and soldiers are expected to maintain standards of decorum while Moscow is under occupation. And before you ask, yes, you will receive remuneration within the week. Just don't expect a paycheck tomorrow morning. Any questions?"

The Kremlin

'"The enemy of my enemy is my friend.'"

Rostopchin visibly grimaced as James took a swig of beer. "Quite." He turned to the somewhat more dignified colonel. "Are you a member of this...Libero group as well?"

"Hardly," the general murmured. "This is Colonel Vladimir Moonrik, a valiant soldier and a good patriot. Not to mention..." Kutzov managed a small grin. "A Seraph warrior."

"Fascinating." The governor peered at the colonel with undisguised curiosity. "I'd heard of such warriors in battle, but I'd never seen one in person. Tell me, what sort of powers do you have?"

"We still don't know who our guest is," Kutzov interjected.

"Oh, yes," Rostopchin said, glancing at the crude man as if he'd just materialized. "What is this Libero Adstringo?"

"They are an underground faction that has consistently worked to undermine organized government," Kutzov explained. "In the past this included the Russian state. However, if what this man says is true, then we have gained a powerful ally indeed. The real question is, can we trust him?"

Rostopchin frowned. "Indeed! How do we know you're really our friend? Do you have proof?"

The Moscow City Armory

So, what are you two doing out here in this lovely abandoned building?"

"Careful, Vivienne. He could be a counterfeit!"

"Probably," she responded nonchalantly. "Let's hope he assassinates you first." She stood up to properly address the mysterious man. "The name's Vivienne. Tell anybody you want; it's just a code name. This lout's Lucjan the lock-cracker."

"At your service," he remarked with pseudo-confidence.

"I guess if you found us, you're here for a reason." She shrugged helplessly. "Unfortunately, we are without orders. So unless we get another missive..."

There was a faint popping sound. It echoed, lingering in the expansive chamber for several seconds. Lucjan almost immediately fell to the ground again. "It's the Russians! They came back for the building!"

"It's the missive," she said, ignoring his pitiful cries. "Less threatening. Hopefully." From her satchel she retrieved a scroll of parchment. A fine cursive list of orders was neatly printed on the paper. She scanned the list, nodding occasionally, and then said, "Looks like this is the Seraph."

"Seraph?"

She threw out a hand amicably. "Pleasure to meet you, Sir Tristan Moreau."

 

[drmigit2]

At the sound of Loreaux's rant, Sicard began to chuckle again. Humans were always so interesting when it came to their struggle to keep their sense of superiority. It was something in their spirit, Sicard supposed. Just as amusing as ever, but commendable he figured. Sicard wasn't interested in wine, looting, or the larger conquest. He was here under direct orders from Napoleon himself, and he was going to kill again.

Any Questions?

"Jean Loreaux...." Sicard began, it was the first thing he had said since he had arrived, outside of his amused laughter. "You come walking into battle worried about money and compensation? Allow me to tell you, once we are on the field, no monetary rewards will be on my mind. I am here under direct orders from my master Napoleon to exact swift destruction until the enemy has been silenced." Sicard's eyes grew slitted again, and he began to smile widely. "Going into this drunk would be missing out on all the fun." Sicard pointed at the wine which was being put away now. "This war shall be like no other before it, christened with the blood of those who would defy my master. Just get me near a battle and my teeth shall do the rest." Sicard's teeth visibly grew in size and his mouth was beginning to transform into that of a large wolf, but with human skin. The light in the tent began being absorbed by his body.

"Jean Loreaux, are you prepared to take and spill blood in the coming days? To watch your own men bleed at your behest and then destroy the lives of those you met that same day? Jean Loreaux, I am waiting in anticipation to find out." Sicard then turned around, as if to exit the tent.

 

[deathbydeath]

"Pleasure to meet you, Sir Tristan Moreau."

Tristan reciprocated the greeting with his own hand and a smile. "Nonsense Vivienne, the pleasure is mine. And again Lucjan, I apologize for scaring you."

As the introductions wrapped themselves up, Tristan took a step back, ready for business. You two are the spies, then? Capital. What's the first order of business; we're assassinating someone you say? I will warn you: I'm not the most efficient killer of men this war has seen but I'd be glad to assist you two when I'm needed."

 

[The Hund]

"I'd heard of such warriors in battle, but I'd never seen one in person. Tell me, what sort of powers do you have?"

"Well, it's all rather complicated really, and there is more to us then I can explain in a short time. It would be best if you had an expert brief you. As far as my abilities go I can summon angelic horses, and I have several abilities such as super strength, regenerative abilities, etc. I also have several mental abilities like super empathy, for lack of a better term. Oh yes, and I can sprout wings." Moonrik said with his hands behind is back as Kutzov explained the Libero.

"Ah, so we're working with rebels now." Said Moonrik with the sound of disdain in his voice quite obvious. He was none to keen on working with a group of self-righteous, foreign, anarchists. Truly, this is worse than mercenaries. They still didn't even have proof they were friendly, at least mercenaries could be trusted to stab you in the back.

 

[Captain Anon]

"I'd heard of such warriors in battle, but I'd never seen one in person. Tell me, what sort of powers do you have?"

"well it's your lucky day then as not only is the Colonel one but I am as well my powers are a lot more combat based, I can fire bullets from my hands or gun if I chose without using gunpowder or anything like that, I can also see the movements of the tiniest objects and predict their path and chose the best way to dodge or catch them" He said

"Indeed! How do we know you're really our friend? Do you have proof?"

"none really you'll just have to have faith in my words, I hate Napoleon as much as you do now I'm not here out of goodness of my heart but because I fear if Napoleon does defeat Russia which I doubt, he may turn his attention to my country and I refuse for that to happen" he said with much pride and stubbornness

 

[Malbourne]

Napoleon's Encampment

Loreaux appeared visibly shaken by the gruff warrior's grotesque transformation and morbid non sequitur.

Before Sicard could leave a frantic young man in a courier's uniform materialized in the tent opening. "Sir Bijou! Napoleon has just sent word that all battalions in the Imperial Guard are marching immediately! Denominative battalions will be dispatched at skewed intervals throughout the day. Sir!"

The messenger departed as quickly as he'd arrived. Bijou sighed and gradually got to his feet while Loreaux lamented, "Ah, and I thought we'd be able to get a quick chess game in. What could our esteemed leader be thinking?"

"That's not our business to guess," Bijou replied. "Lord Sicard, it seems you'll get to sharpen your claws on the walls of Moscow sooner than you'd hoped."

----------------

Kremlin

"...I fear if Napoleon does defeat Russia which I doubt, he may turn his attention to my country and I refuse for that to happen."

"So you say," Rostopchin murmured, clearly unconvinced.

"Hold on now, governor!" Kutzov suddenly exclaimed. "You shouldn't be so quick to look a gift horse in the mouth. This man is willing to assist not Russia's government but its people. I say we give him a chance."

Rostopchin looked dumbfounded. "W-what? We just met the man!"

"I consider myself a good judge of character," Kutzov said, smiling broadly at the Libero consign. "And I see sincerity in this man's intentions. Governor, would you be kind enough to fill Mr. James in on the finer workings of our bureaucracy?"

The governor appeared delighted at the thought of discussing politics; his trepidation almost immediately evaporated as he held his guest captive with a tirade of legal esoterica. Meanwhile, Kutzov discreetly took Vladimir Moonrik aside, his voice low. "Listen closely, Colonel. I know we share some concerns about this new 'ally.' But, whether or not this man is a saboteur or a friend, keeping him under our thumb can only work to our benefit. It would greatly please me if you could stay close to Mr. James, keep tabs on his activities, and monitor his loyalties." Without waiting for a response, the general tapped Mr. Rostopchin on the shoulder, saying, "It is time we showed our Seraphim to the garrison, yes?"

The governor appeared disappointed that his speech had been disrupted but gave a curt nod. "Quite right, quite right. Time waits for no man. Well," he said, addressing the two Seraphim, "Follow the general. He'll lead you to the makeshift garrison we've set up at the city perimeter. Not sure what good it will do, to be honest, but..."

His worried mutterings receded out the room. General Kutzov looked at the two guests, frowning. "I believe we should follow, much as I'd prefer to stay here. The host leaves last," he said with a courteous gesture.

----------------

Moscow City Armory

The mere mention of assassinations sent Lucjan into shivers all over again. Vivienne expressed a rare look of amusement. "Highly unlikely," she mused. "This is for you, apparently."

She handed the missive to the Seraph, adding, "This parchment is crucial for the Libero's communications. If there's a new order, listen for a 'pop' and it'll be on this scroll. Don't lose it." She waved a warning finger before Tristan's face. "Don't. Lose it."

"What was that look for?" Lucjan murmured.

"Also," she continued, pulling a curious small trinket from her pouch. "This is identification for members." She held it up for display: it was a small, unassuming silver cuff link in the image of a chain link. "It's a pin you can put on your clothing, and is more or less a common accessory to the normal eye."

"C'est incroyable," Lucjan remarked. "You'd think jewelry would attract attention. What do I know, though? I'm just a grunt."

"Be quiet, ass." Vivienne crossed her arms. "Alright, that's all the boring stuff out of the way. Now the interesting part. You may have seen that the missive has a location: the Royal Galleria, a stuffy museum that displays a ton of fascinating art. Personally, I doubt we're being sent there to appreciate the pieces."

"Not that you could." Lucjan had to duck a swift jab.

Vivienne turned to address Tristan personally. "Not too much to absorb is it? We should be off, then."

"Allons-y!"

Lucjan didn't manage to dodge the second blow.

 

[deathbydeath]

Tristan accepted the trinkets from Vivienne, and he tumbled them around in his hands in examination before sticking the pin to his left sleeve. He unraveled the letter for examination, and was curious about Lucjan and Vivienne's demeanor to each other. This semi-hostility must be normal, yet he wondered how it changed when the circumstances did.

Personally, I doubt we're being sent there to appreciate the pieces."

At the mention of "visiting" the art gallery, Tristan's mind was suddenly inundated with ideas. He had never peddled fine art before, and the salesman suddenly began to scour the letter for more information about the visit, mumbling plans under his breath all the while.

[sub]"Let's see, I'll probably need to aim for wealthier clientele, but that brings up the problem that they might write recognize the art or are aware of its 'misplacement' and don't want to be possibly affiliated with grand art theft, however the idea of possessing famous and recognizable art with no discernible connection between the disappearance and then will certainly appeal to some, and some of them might actually accept a higher price as implicit proof of their authenticity; the problem is twofold, however: how will I be able to tell what they can and can't pay without being rude and how will I be able to tell that they either don't recognize the art or recognize it and don't care? I may need to hire or recruit a con artist for this, or will I need to find someone in the know about upper-class finances and dispositions towards the arts...... [/sub]

 

[Malbourne]

Road to Moscow - High Noon

After hours of riding against the abrasive wind, First Lieutenant Rochefauld called for a break. The Sixth Regiment pulled to the side of the highway and took a brief reprieve, some of the soldiers drinking water, others sitting on the cold snow to give their legs a rest. Even though the group hadn't been traveling strenuously, only some had mounts while others relied on the thickness of their boots to carry them through the chilly hills.

All told, there were three Seraphim in the Sixth Regiment. The most senior, Adrien Lacelle, pulled his coat up around him, his breath misting in the air. With an eye like a wolf he watched the rest of the regiment, most of them regular soldiers, stomping the ground for warmth and striking up a distracting conversation. He noted with displeasure the crude mannerisms of most of the recruits. The recently-formed Sixth Regiment was certainly outclassed by its more ancient siblings.

Lacelle noticed the third Seraph, the naive fresh-faced conscript Edward Porter, a bulky man standing above almost every other person present, striding towards the crude man called Sicard. Porter seemed to say something courteous and extended a massive hand. Lacelle stiffened, wondering how Sicard would react to this man's friendly gesture.

----------------

Western District of Moscow

Much of the conversation that Kutzov's convoy enjoyed was particularly one-sided. The general managed to ignore Rostopchin's worried chatter, though he feared the two Seraphim may not have had the fortune to hone such a skill. Buildings merged together as they passed block after block until emerging into the western square.

"There is our grand base of operations," Kutzov said, cutting off Rostopchin's diatribe on Czar Alexander's religious reformations. The square was a hive of activity; soldiers were gathered about, worriedly discussing the impending invasion or cleaning their rifles. The governor squinted.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, General, but that appears to be a...museum?"

"The Royal Galleria," the general confirmed. "The largest building on the western face of Moscow. It's not very covert but it is well suited for our military needs. Shall we get inside where it's somewhat warmer?"

As the party of four entered the Galleria Rostopchin mused, "I think the military has been bilked of proper funding..."

"It would be a concern if the Czar hadn't relocated the majority of Russian forces to St. Petersburg. There are perhaps a thousand and half again soldiers garrisoned here, so you could say we're somewhat understaffed." They stopped in the decorous lobby, filled with higher-uppers who'd been selected to stay back in the city as per the Czar's orders. Kutzov stopped the governor. "I believe you have some diplomatic duties to attend to, sir?"

"Ah, of course." Rostopchin gave a small bow to the two Seraphim and the general and departed, vanishing into the crowd of officials.

Their distraction gone, Kutzov finally found himself alone with James and Moonrik. "Alright, let's get down to brass tacks. The French army will doubtless be here before nightfall. Our orders come straight from Czar Alexander: guard this 'fort' at all costs. I'm not sure if I can stress just how unusual it is for the Czar himself to dictate the operations of the military. So, since you'll be the ones on the front lines, I figure it's only fair I ask how you'd prefer to engage the French." He uttered a throaty chuckle. "Not that we have much time to prepare a strategy, of course."

----------------

The Libero is Moving

From the shade of the alley between an empty bakery and a barbershop Vivienne, Lucjan, and Tristan were afforded a relatively unobstructed view of the Royal Galleria. The surplus of soldiers elicited concerns from Lucjan that were swiftly ignored by Vivienne.

She frowned, pondering their options. "We'll need to find some way in there. Why, I don't know, but that's what the missive says. Any ideas?"

"We could stay here for a few hours, perform reconnaissance," Lucjan offered.

She afforded her partner half a second of consideration before turning to the Seraph. "...Any ideas, Tristan? Somebody as well-dressed as you must know something about mingling with soldiers."

 

[drmigit2]

Sicard was walking with determination at the front of the line, ushering the troops forward. While most officers and seraphs were on horseback, Sicard was on foot and pleased about it too. On occasion he would yell back to the line "Come on, the battle is waiting! We can not afford to dally!" He had a large grin on the entire time and seemed genuinely pleasant for the first time in a while. Then the Seraph in charge yelled out for a break and Sicard stopped. He did not sit like the others but stood as if he could spring out at any point. It seemed as if he was on a hot date, and didn't even feel the cold despite wearing torn rags that could hardly insulate.

"My name is Edward Porter. I did not get a chance to introduce myself before when we were preparing."

Then, with the break, one of the other Seraphs approached Sicard with a dopey grin and introduced himself. Sicard knew he was nearby, but until the battle commenced, it hardly mattered who he was. But, if he wished to talk, then so be it. Sicard shook the outreached hand

"I am Sicard. The Lord Preffix was given by Napoleon but I go by Sicard. Are you prepared for the battle?"

 

[The Hund]

Moonrik stood there silent for a few moments, before a smile creeped across his face. He had thought of a plan so insane that it might just work. He straightened his outfit and stood upright as he presented his plan.

"Not that I would ever question the wisdom of the Czar himself, but I believe that if we purely attempt to defend this position against almost the entirety of the French forces it will be a matter of hours before we inevitably capitulate. Of course, If this position falls then the entirety of Moscow will be left almost completely defenseless, and the whole Russia in result. So I would recommend that we fight on our terms. Now I'm not recommending that we attack with the entirety of our force, but perhaps a small and highly skilled force led by James and I could launch a preliminary attack on the French forces. At the least it would buy us time, deplete French forces and supplies, and give a small boost of moral to our men by proving the French aren't invincible. At the most it would convince the French we have more men then we really do and bluff them into a retreat, though I doubt that." He said as he took a deep breath after the rather long-winded speech.

"Opinions?" He asked looking at the general and James.

 

[Captain Anon]

Now I'm not recommending that we attack with the entirety of our force, but perhaps a small and highly skilled force led by James and I could launch a preliminary attack on the French forces. At the least it would buy us time, deplete French forces and supplies, and give a small boost of moral to our men by proving the French aren't invincible

a big grin sneaking across my face as I lean my hands on a table with a map of Moscow "this is not only an insane plan but a brilliant one at that, and even if that doesn't work myself and Moonrik can just sneak into their camp and simply burn the supplies as a plan B, but where to come from? right now I see three available flanks we could use, either we come in from the right, the left or behind him, that or we surround the camp and kill off a few soldiers here and there" I said as I moved my fingers around the map where the camp is "either way this is a brilliant plan and I fully support it what do you think General?" I said turning to Kutzov

 

[deathbydeath]

"We could stay here for a few hours, perform reconnaissance."

"...Any ideas, Tristan? Somebody as well-dressed as you must know something about mingling with soldiers."

The salesman couldn't conceal a flustered grin when Vivienne turned to him. "Thank you for the confidence, mademoiselle, but I don't share it. My initial thoughts were similar to Lucjan's, actually, as staying around and monitoring the area for a length of time would be sure to produce a workable result. If you want something faster, though, then I'll still need a minute or two to come up with something."

He wasn't thinking too long before asking questions, "Vivienne, now subtle or silent do you want this? It doesn't seem like entering without any disturbances is possible without another entrance; do you know of any?"

 

[Malbourne]

Inside the Royal Galleria

After hearing both viewpoints, Kutzov was silent. He strode to the edge of the planning table and tapped a finger against the mouth of a river southwest of Moscow. "It's funny you should mention that. We happen to have several cossacks roaming the countryside. They're occupied with harrying Napoleon's forces. Suffice it to say that you won't be able to flank his entire army. However, if you can reach the Seventh Battalion, here," he prodded a point further downstream, "then you may just be able to catch them and reconnoiter. Let me stress this, though: You are not only valuable warriors, but precious allies. If you find yourself in a risky situation, you must retreat. Napoleon is clever; he's bound to have Seraphim of his own."

He lifted a plate of small biscuits and placed one on a large road that wound through the hills west of the city. "This is the Green Road. Undoubtedly most of Napoleon's forces will use this to hasten their arrival. He'll have had most of his forces en route by noon, so it's your best option for an interception." Another biscuit went onto a smaller byway that branched southeast from the Green Road. "The Blue Road also leads into Moscow, but it's smaller and runs parallel to the Moskva River. Any regiment that travels along that route is just asking to be ambushed. It should be perfect for a Seraphim group and it also happens to be where we've stationed the Seventh. By the time you reach the Seventh, Napoleon's lead forces will have overextended themselves. I think Captain Pyotr Bagration can fill you in on the art of guerrilla warfare."

"Remember one thing, however." Kutzov upended the contents of the plate onto Moscow, his face grim. "Napoleon will be in Moscow by nightfall. You must not be compromised before then."

The general clasped his hands behind his back and said, "That will be all. Colonel Moonrik. I'm led to believe you possess the power to summon a steed of great strength, which should be handy for this mission. I only have two questions: how quickly can Moonrik reach the Seventh, and what does Mr. James offer by way of combat prowess?"

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On the Road to Moscow

"I am Sicard. The Lord Preffix was given by Napoleon but I go by Sicard. Are you prepared for the battle?"

"As ready as I could be." Porter suddenly looked quite gloomy. "I must say I'm rather disappointed we didn't get to march with the main forces, though. Wonder why Napoleon wanted us on the Blue Road?"

An older man with impressive black sideburns came up and slapped Porter on the back. "Don't you worry, Eddie! You can still pal up with us super-soldiers!" The stranger gave a sudden guffaw, which sounded rather like a suffocating calf. "There's probably, what, fifty of us regular footmen, all of us part of the Young Guard! And then there's you, this guy, and Lacelle. Three Seraphim on one team. Don't worry, though. We can protect you if you ever need help!" Another dying baby cow. The man caught his breath after a few seconds and stretched out a hand in the same fashion as Porter had to Sicard. "By the by, my name is-"

A crack like thunder echoed across the plains. The man's body collapsed to the ground like a lead weight. "Russians!" a soldier shouted. All of a sudden the hills around the encampment were alive with the sound of gunshots and rousing shouts. Several more French soldiers were hit by rifle fire before they started returning shots.

Porter grimaced, holding a hand to his chest. He pulled it away and found it bloody. "Oh, ah..." In a few seconds he fell to his knees and landed face-first in the snow. The cossacks were attacking.

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Outside the Royal Galleria

"Vivienne, now subtle or silent do you want this? It doesn't seem like entering without any disturbances is possible without another entrance; do you know of any?"

"I count thirty-five guards in front of the Galleria," Lucjan whispered. "I bet there are more in the surrounding buildings." Vivienne took a deep breath and shut her eyes.

"There's not much of an opportunity for us to check out the rest of the building for alternative entrances, but then, would they even have those guarded? Alternatively," she continued, glancing out at the square, "maybe we can walk in through the front door." A smile played about her face, something that unnerved Lucjan.

"We're not walking in through the front door, are we?" he asked with no small amount of trepidation.

"What say you, Tristan?" Vivienne turned to the Seraph, speaking with a hint of slyness. "Wanna catch a couple of uniforms? Or maybe pull the old snake-oil trick?"

"Or," Lucjan muttered, "we could look for a side entrance, where there are fewer guards."

 

[drmigit2]

The sound of rifles ripped through the air like a mudslide. Death and screams surrounded Sicard, who without fear began to survey the situation. A bullet bounced off of his head as he glanced about. Cossacks, about twenty five of them as it seemed. They looked satisfied with their kills and began to gallop away, but Sicard had other plans for them.

"Situation has been approved, Napoleonic Construct Order six six seven is in full effect. Rip the voices from their throats."

And with a crack, Sicard was off from the group. He made little attempt to dodge the dozens of Minie Balls that graced his flesh, instead opting to grab the throat of the first horse he saw and throw it like a rag doll, crushing the body of the soldier riding it. The Russian soldiers stopped for a moment and stared at Sicard, who's wild eyes became snakelike again. One of the soldiers screamed "Oh god, it's a Seraphim!" Another shouted "What do we do?" A bolder one yelled "Shoot it!" With that, more pointless volleys bounced harmlessly off of Sicard who retaliated in full force. Leaping high into the air and pulling out two gigantic looking pistols from his sides, much too large for a human to effectively wield, they resembled blunderbusses and when Sicard fired the simple looking hand cannons, there was no doubt, these were dragon pistols.

Death rained onto the dragoons who at this point were in full retreat. Another six had been knocked off their horses and bleeding from the massive amount of shrapnel that ripped through them. The battle had been taken away from the rest of the platoon, who at this point had organized and began to take out stragglers. Sicard wasted no time pursuing the remaining Cossacks. One by one he jumped on the horses and decapitated, dismembered or otherwise destroyed the rider. A graceful display of blood and guts. A commander stopped his horse and looked at Sicard. He was battle scarred and aged, blind in one eye and with enough regalia to impress anyone. "I will not run from death, you monster." He cursed as he pulled out his saber and dismounted his horse. Sicard looked at him with interest. "Humans can be so amusing he said. I'm a monster? Then you are in serious trouble. I hear monsters like to eat people!" And with that Sicard revealed a set of razor sharp teeth and lunged at the commander, who slashed downwards with his saber, only for Sicard to catch it with his teeth, snapping it in half. Sicard then grabbed the commander by the neck staring into his eyes as the hulk of a man slowly crushed his neck. Sicard was laughing now, almost maniacally and with his other hand he ripped out the heart of the commander, still beating.

The snow was stained red. WIth the distraction made by the captain, the remaining eleven cossacks who hand't been knocked off their horses or simply killed by Sicard rode off, an invisible trail of urine following their terrified path. Sicard let out a loud howl before eating the heart in one bite. The beast man then began laughing again. His voice echoed through the landscape, the ambush had failed, and now Moscow had lost even more of its cavalry. Sicard yelled to the retreating cowards. "I let you live only because I intend to have you for dinner tonight!" He was sure they heard him as they began galloping even faster. As they turned a corner however, they found themselves caught up in a counter-ambush. While they had been fighting Sicard and making little headway, the Sixth Regiment moved off road around and intercepted them. A single massive volley of bullets tore through the ranks of the cossacks, only one was able to make it away, having turned the opposite direction. Sicard could smell him. The Cossack rider made it another 100 yards before the beast of a seraphim caught up and grabbed him off his horse.