As some of you may know, one of my delights with Disco is how grounded it all feels. It has managed to sidestep the drudgery of having to keep things realistic, but I've always found the story beats and general atmosphere to feel credible. In that light, I've always ensured to give my roleplay as much credibility as I could, often weaving French traditions and customs into my Gallic characters (and yes, I did things besides Gallia, promise!) and picturing how they might have lived through, evolved and transformed over eight centuries of autarky. Think fermentation, but with ideas and practices instead of bacteria and fungi.
To the point, then : ever since my return, I took time to familiarise myself with Sirius and Gallia as they are now. We can probably agree on calling it a post-war era, with tensions everywhere, localised conflicts (and admittedly a looming threat that looks to be awaking). A period, then, that lends itself well to the examination of those who fought. Not the commanders, leaders and heroes, but the common man and woman, the soldier, the person on the ground and his rifle. What becomes of these millions of combatants that are now superfluous? What is their place in this new world of relative peace, particularly for those whose governments have changed dramatically? What are their options, their choices, their fates?
This is what I have chosen to explore with the story of the Goumier. But it has another purpose, and that is tied to the cultural weaving I exposed earlier : to shed some light and celebrate the troops of the Armée d'Afrique, those citizens of the French colonies across North and Central Africa who fought for France during the first and second World Wars, and in a myriad of conflicts before and after. They have often been left on the wayside of History despite their often heroic contribution, and the extraordinary circumstances of their very participation in those conflicts. I'm particularly attached to France's history of having been using diversity for 2000 years to strengthen itself time and again. To celebrate our diversity in these days where the Far Right is making worrying headway into the French parliament seemed proper.
To that effect, I've chosen to imagine that the Gallic armies stuck to some degree of French military custom and kept around select units rooted in Armée d'Afrique traditions, such as contemporary Spahis. Like their forebears, these Gallic units would have been chiefly employed as light cavalry, reconnaissance and shock troops, mostly ground branch. I will detail these aspects in an upcoming FACTION INFORMATION PAGE YES BIG REVEAL.
The following story is meant to depict the trajectory of a member of one of these units, from his youth to the present day, as a sort of faction prequel. Those of you who've already met Goumier or Spahi in the Taus or Gallia proper should have an idea or two of where I intend to take this. As always, I'm eager to hear your thoughts and ideas either on Discord or on my feedback page, link below. Thank you for your attention, I hope you will enjoy reading the story of the Goumier!
(06-14-2019, 12:25 PM)Sombra Hookier Wrote: If everyone was a bit more like Lanakov, the entire world would be more positive. Including pregnancy tests.
The year is 730 AGS (814 in Sirian years). The Tau War has begun between Bretonia and Kusari. It is the height of conflict between the Cretans and the Hessians, while the Maltese are consolidating their hold on the Houses through various pacts. Tensions are brewing between Liberty and Rheinland over unorthodox experiments, which would prove devastating. Within Gallia, the Republican Council, after almost a century of preparation and secrecy, has come out of the shadows and is making open headway against the regime.
It is a time of violence and uncertainty. A few places in the sector are still sheltered from it, however temporarily. One such place is where our story begins.
PART I :THE GENERATION THAT WILL CHANGE EVERYTHING
It all started in a stuffy classroom, as it so often does. The day was very warm, and the room buzzed with the energy of an old sleepy cat.
"...And that, children", entoned a dusty old teacher, with a practiced air of past glory about him, "is when the Alliance nations simply decided to call it quits. The Reds were, eh, a little everywhere, at that point, you see. Oh, we had given them a good run, and our ancestors more than most, of course, but the end was in sight, as it were." The class was comatose, eyes drawn to the windows overlooking the cityscape of La Pigeonnière, one of Amiens' notorious megacities. The decoration in the room was sparse, a signe of La Pigeonnière's hasty construction to accommodate yet another influx of either workforce or refugees, the latter ending up as the former anyway in most cases.
"The Reds, at this point, had control of most of Sol's inner planets, and were moving towards the outer planets at a rapid pace, removing obstacles as they came. It was after the decisive battle of Mars, a hard-won Coalition victory, that a plan was put in motion by the Alliance. That plan was simple in theory, complex in practice, particularly with the technology of that era : it was time, they realised, to simply up and leave, far away! Let the Reds enjoy the ruins of their folly, while us people of good company would travel together to pastures new. Us? Forgive me, children, for I meant : them." A few eyebrows raised, some day dreams cut short.
"That is right : this plan devised by the Alliance did not involve us. Our ancestors, unbeknownst to them, had been chosen to keep the Reds busy as the others laboured in abject secrecy to their own, egotistical salvation. We were to be sacrificed, so that others lived in comfort and peaceful oblivion."
"But why, monsieur? Why us? Did we do something bad?" said a little voice in the front.
"Why, indeed. It's a question Gallic researchers have been pondering for some time. So far, they reason that old France was much the same as Gallia is today : a powerful, innovative, truly just nation, a beacon of progress and sophistication for others to follow. Then, as now, these qualities attracted the envy and pettiness of lesser peoples : it is likely our friends in the Alliance were more than happy to imagine their paradise without us to hold them to higher standards. Old France had been uninvited, discarded, sacrificed likely without a second thought. And, naturally, without her knowledge."
"Monsieur", said another little voice, "if our ancestors didn't know, then... How could they succeed? How are we... Here?"
"Another excellent question, well done!" said the teacher, wiping his glasses as he pretended to contemplate the answer.
"It is another gap in our knowledge of History, young one. Our forebears came to know of the Plan, and realised they had been purposefully omitted from it. It may have been a chance discovery by government agents. But I like to imagine some, in the Alliance, could not go against their conscience and felt it their duty to leak the information to our ancestors, knowing a universe without fundamental French principles would be unrelenting barbarism and little else. The word, in any way, was out, and not a second too soon. Only thanks to their timely reaction and tireless efforts, our forebears managed to construct the sleeper ship Gallia, staff it with our best and brightest, and, in an impossibly short amount of time, cast it away from the solar system... And voilà."
He paused to look at the class with gravity.
"You, all of you, all of us, are the result of these efforts. Had there been a single error, a stroke of bad luck, a fault in the hardware..."
He paused and raised his hands to embrace the room, letting the harsh truth do what it always did to young, malleable minds. The silence was no longer one of ennui and sleepiness, but of awe and contemplation. The battle won, the old teacher pressed his advantage.
"Remember this, my children. Remember where you come from, and how you got here. Never forget those who allowed it to happen... And those who did all they could to stop it from happening. Those who betrayed us. Those who, even now, and for the past eight centuries, have profited off the spoils of Sirius, thinking they wouldn't need to share with us. We once knew them as our brethren of the Alliance. You will now know them as... The Sirians." The word, foreign and unpleasant, hung in the air. It was the first time the kids had heard it. It wouldn't be the last. The old teacher readied himself for the final act. He had objected, as did others. But the directive came from up there. The King commands it.
"There are plans in place now, that will bring about change. Justice for all, and equality. You are lucky, my children. The march of History has decreed that you would be the actors of this change, the avengers of the Great Betrayal. Think of the honour. Yours is the generation that will change everything."
As he walked home after class, the young Daniel Tiqfarin Darras, walked home to his parents Maurice and Solange. He didn't come out to play with his friends after the family dinner. None of the kids did. Not because of one of Amiens' arctic storms, curfews or other incident. They stayed at home, and were told stories by their parents about the great enemy, these Sirians whom everyone apparently hated. They did not know their parents had been instructed to do so by the mayor's office of La Pigeonnière, and provided with the appropriate, pre-approved material. Nor that the mayor was, himself, following orders.
Daniel, not yet fully aware of the reasoning behind the odd patronym his parents had given him, blew his 14th candle that same evening.
(06-14-2019, 12:25 PM)Sombra Hookier Wrote: If everyone was a bit more like Lanakov, the entire world would be more positive. Including pregnancy tests.
