>>26784302
>[ ] Go find your father, the hard working quartermaster.

>>26784302
>[ ] Go find your father, the noble captain.

>[ ] Go find your father, the rugged lieutenant of the marines.

>>26784383
He was never really lucky before he started bringing us to work. He rose from the bottom rug to Lieutenant in just a few years. Thanks to his lucky charm.

>>26784383
>>26784369
>>26784343
Why am I not surprised?

>>26784383
>>26784395
I'll have to hope this is two separate people.

Writing.

Your father, lieutenant of the vessels of the king, in charge of the sixty three remaining marines on the Saint-Esprit, the vessel you were on now.

You stumble forward on the pitching deck, more out of exhaustion than poor sea legs. 70 gun ship of the line needs a great deal of work. Scrubbing decks, hauling supplies, picking apart ropes, and getting yelled at endlessly. Your father always found himself close by, looking out of the corner of his eye to make sure you weren't in any serious danger, but good lord you were worked hard.

You stumble clamber up the top decks, cursed at by the sailors streaming around you, and you wince at the cold breeze, pulling your coat around you tightly.

It doesn't take long to find your father, dressed in crisp, blue uniform, red breasted, gold buttons shining in the weak light proudly, hat in the crook of his left arm, and right hand on his saber. He's at the edge of the deck, looking over the water, with a group of fellow petty officers, but not speaking with them. Just staring, like some statue of a general. Proud, proud man.

You stumble forward, and your father leans back, and smiles broadly at your approach, "Ah! My son, you have brought me great luck again! The admiral has signaled enemy ships have been spotted," He leans in, takes your hand, guides you to the rail, "We go to battle, my son!"

He raises you up to look over the rail, and you squint across the water. Your vessel is forming a line with the rest of the fleet, but...Well, you think you might see something on the horizon? You can't be sure. Your father lowers you back down, pats you on the head, nodding, "You see? With luck, your brave papa will be a hero! He might be ennobled! Wouldn't you like that?"

>[ ] "How is a battle good, father?"
>[ ] "What can I do to help?"
>[ ] "Please, please tell me I can stay below decks."
>[ ] Other.

File: 1377243262796.png-(258 KB, 421x500, 1370227462546.png)

258 KB PNG

>>26784559
>[ ] Other.
Say nothing

>>26784559
>>[ ] "What can I do to help?"

>>26784559
What can I do to help?

>>26784559
>[ ] "Please, please tell me I can stay below decks."
I'm not sure about all the fighting and the wars. As lucky as father says I am, this battle business sounds dangerous.

>>26784625
>>26784664
>Eh. Combined.

You stare up at your father incredulously. His smile holds for a time, and he gestures at you, "Well? Little one? Wouldn't you like that?"

You look away from him, looking through the gaps in the railing to the horizon. He was insane. Battles on ships brought bullets, cannons, and blood. Your father was too eager for battles.

You glance back up. Your father is no longer smiling. His brow is furrowed, and he looks sad. He looks away from you, shakes his head, murmurs something, then up to the other officers sharing your bit of railing space.
"Louis? I'm sorry to impress upon you, but would you-"

"What can I do to help?"

Your father looks astonished, back down to you. All smiles again.
"Ha, I nearly thought you afraid for a moment!" You were, "Truly, you are my son, hmm? Not one for too many words. Man of action. Indeed. Well," He glances up, smiles, "Louis? Need a look out?"
"I could use one-" Louis is a broad, fat man with a great beard, dressed all in white behind you, before your father looks back down to you, conspiratorially.
"Oh perhaps you want to be by the cannons, hm? Run powder to the great guns, hah? Boom! Like fireworks!"

You're very familiar with the fact that cannons are not at all like fireworks.

Louis speaks up with annoyance, "I thought you were asking for my opinion?"

>[ ] "On second thought, those both sound dangerous."
>[ ] "Sure. I'd like to know more about cannons."
>[ ] "I've got sharp eyes, I'd be a good look out."
>[ ] "Can't I help you, father? I want to be a marine too!"
>[ ] Other.

>>26784736

>[ ] "I've got sharp eyes, I'd be a good look out."

>>26784736
>>[ ] "I've got sharp eyes, I'd be a good look out."
Mmkay.

>>26784736

"Can't I help you father? We'll give the bloody frogs a thumping!"

>>26784736
>[ ] "I've got sharp eyes, I'd be a good look out."

So far this sounds alright, PC doesn't sound very eager to be by those cannons. Good luck to our father down below.

>>26784736
>[ ] "I've got sharp eyes, I'd be a good look out."

"I'd be a fine look out father," Your father had a tendency to rub people the wrong way. Had managed a rise in the ranks only recently. Effective man. Just not a political one. Might as well smooth over this minor faux pas, "And thank you, Mr. Louis, sir, for your kindness."
"Ah, very good, see? See how brave my son is?" Your father inevitably has to chat up your qualities.

Louis grunts, mollified, before taking you by the shoulder, and pointing up, "You're small, you'll fit in the ropes easy. Just climb up there, and shout down if you see anything, hm? You look back, to the center, you'll see the admiral's vessel. One hundred and ten guns on that one!" He smiles at you, expecting you to be impressed.

You've been at sea for two years, dragged by your father. You're not that impressed. You give a grin, nod, "Very impressed, sir. Just keep eyes out?"

"Yes," Louis nods happily, though his smile fades, "But come right back down as soon as you hear gun shots, hm? I don't want your father thinking I got you killed. You go below decks when that happens."

"Of course," You reply, taking to the ropes quickly and easily.

You're not sure how you feel about being at sea all the time, but if nothing else, it's taught you the value of caution, hard work, how to climb, and how to swim. Your father has been somewhat lacking when it comes to teaching you your letters and sums, but what battles have letters and sums won? You don't know history, so you don't really know the answer to that either, but shrug and climb.

You climb up, and see some of the crew give bemused waves seeing you. You're no stranger. You know the ropes. It's a chilly September day, and from your height you can see the coast of America, and more than that, you can see your fleet forming in to a line.

On the horizon, your opposite number are forming up. Your vessel is in the van, it won't be long before you come in to range.

>[ ] Stay until you hear guns.
>[ ] Stick it out. You can help!
>[ ] Other.

>>26784903
>[ ] Stay until you hear guns.

>>26784903
>>[ ] Stick it out. You can help!
do we have a knife a sling?

>>26784903
>[ ] Stick it out. You can help!

>>26785027
>>26785033
Dang it. Gotta remember to post I'm writing in the future.

Gimme ten, rewriting.

Rolled 13, 96, 14 = 123

You're not mutinous, but you're no coward either. You stay, hooked in the rigging, make plans. You don't really have anything that can do damage at range, but you do have a sturdy knife. You place your hand on it, and will your heart to still.

You shout down the commands from down the line, and count the oncoming ships- nineteen ships in all. Less than your twenty four. But not by much, and they had the wind at their backs. The white sails are unfurled, and the vessels get closer. Somewhere up ahead, you hear a cannon's roar, and you know it's time to go.

But you can not. Even if it's only a small part, you can help your father in this battle.

In the vanguard, your time is coming up.

What was once a blob on the horizon is closing, gaining fatal definition. A vast vessel, heavy with death. You glance back to your fellows in the fleet, and see orders from the center. Close. The orders are relayed down the line, and you see the helmsman bring the ship in closer.

You roll your fingers in to the ropes, lick your lips, prepare yourself. You'll be exchanging gunfire at range, rather, should be exchanging gunfire at range. The boat rocks beneath you, as you hear guns roar below, and see them fly in to the distance- and splash uselessly in to the water.

You see bright flashes, and hear distant thunder from your opposition.

>[ ] Stay in the rigging.
>[ ] Get down to the deck.
>[ ] Get below decks, fast!
>[ ] Other.

>>26785137
>[ ] Get down to the deck.

>>26785137
>>[ ] Stay in the rigging.
who shots a kid in the sails when you can hit a man on a cannon

>>26785137
>Get down to the deck.

>>26785137
Stay in the rigging.

We are tired of being a lucky charm. On this day, we become a man.

>>26785160
The question isn't quite "who tries to shoot a kid" so much as it is "who tries to crack the mast" and the answer to that is everyone.

rigging, no one shoots at the crows nest when they can hit the crew

>>26785194
>>26785167
>>26785160
Rigging it is. Writing.

Rolled 28, 9, 79 = 116

You keep yourself very still, hug the rope tight, but don't look away.

Big ship. Lot of guns. You see what looks like a momentary dark cloud, but in an eye blink, the shot is around you, and hitting the ship. You first see a white crest of saltwater, and for a split second hope they were short as well, but it was not to be. You hear terrible crashing, noise of iron against iron, and men's screams. Accurate shot, this one- a few balls fly through the rigging, but it ends.

You glance down from your position to the deck, and see cannons cratered in the board, and one unlucky man laying, screaming, one leg, but it doesn't look like anything vital was damaged. You mean the ship's vitals, not the man's. The man is probably going to die.

You glance back up. Your squadron is still approaching their squadron- and you note to your satisfaction that your ships are staying spread apart as they should be. The opposite number are crowded, and you hear confused shots, and see waving flags. You're a lot closer now, can see the ant like figures of shapes drifting back and forth on the vessel. In range of your cannons.

You rock back and forth in the rigging again, as the cannons underneath you roar, and you see the shot fly up, chains attached, aiming to demast.

You hear a crackle of timbers, and see some rigging fly loose, but the mast holds. And so do their guns. You can't be more than a hundred yards apart by now, but still they hold their broadside.

You hear nervous confusion around you, before officers start shouting for guns to ready and reload.

While they're distracted though, you glance back to the center further back- signals are coming down the line, calling for the ships to draw back.

>[ ] Pass on the order. Discipline leads to victory.
>[ ] Don't notice order. Heroes make victories.
>[ ] Other.

>Also, might want to decide whether or not you want to stay in the rigging.

>>26785299
>[ ] Pass on the order. Discipline leads to victory.
Do your job kid

>>26785299
>>[ ] Pass on the order. Discipline leads to victory.

>>26785299
>[ ] Pass on the order. Discipline leads to victory.

>>26785336
>>26785333
>>26785322
No loose cannons on this ship! Writing.

Also, assuming you're staying in the rigging.

go relay the order, and tourniqute the mans leg with a length of line if he is still kicking

You think for a moment, imagining closing with the enemy ship, swinging on to their vessel-

But no. That was foolish.

"Captain! Captain!" You shout from the rigging. A rather official looking man in uniform looks up, irritated.
"Boy, what are you doing up there? Somebody go get him-"
"Behind us sir! They're signaling to draw back!"

That caught his attention. He leans back, bringing a telescope to his eye, and swears directions at the helmsman.

You pull your ship away from your opponent. At the sight of you leaving their range, they also arrest their charge, and fire a poorly timed and poorly aimed broadside that flies high, above the deck. And in to the rigging.

Luckily, none of the shots hit you, nor do they hit the mast dead on. Unluckily, they tear apart the rope you're hanging on to. You feel yourself suddenly swung out, away from the ship as your vessel turns hard away from your enemy. And then, the rope you're holding on to get's very, very loose, and you're flying through space.

You feel your stomach flop, and your heart go up in to your throat as you find your self falling, flailing.

You're quiet though. That always surprised you about yourself, how quiet you were. Your father called it your best feature, teasingly.

Amidst the bellowing of men, the snap of lines, and the ringing noise of cannon, you know you wouldn't be heard anyway.

>Aim for the water.
>Aim for the deck.
>Grab at a rope, any rope, desperately.

>Give me a 1d100 roll. Best of first three taken.

Rolled 51

>>26785410
>Grab at a rope, any rope, desperately

Rolled 22

>>26785410

>Grab at a rope, any rope, desperately.

we spider-man now

Rolled 47

>>26785410
Rope

>>26785476
>>26785458
>>26785430
Eeeesh. The night is not kind for 4chan's dice seed. Writing.

You grasp, flail, try to grab on to any rope that's near by.

You brush your fingers on a free flying rope. That's the closest you get.

You plummet.

You manage to get a glimpse at the greeny, blue white foam of the sea, before you hit the water hard enough to jar your teeth.

You drift, stunned for a moment, eyes wide open, the wind knocked out of you. Don't breath. Don't breath. Your lungs ache, you retch, but you know better than to breath.

Happy birthday. That would be the most embarassing thing, to die on your birthday. You get a grip, flail, falling for a moment in the cold water, before you start clambering, going for what you think is up, where you think you see the dim light.

You break through the water, and gasp, coughing, managing to breath, not even caring about the sips of water coming in with the oxygen. It's hard to keep your head above water, but you've been taught to swim. You squint through your stinging eyes.

Where's your ship? You can't see through the veil of water very well, and feel a tide of panic well up in you. You're surrounded by smoke, smelling powder.

"Man overboard!" You hear, somewhere in the distance. Sounded far. But you hear something splash behind you, and hear someone calling out in a foreign tongue. Sounded near.

You can't swim forever. You're a good swimmer, but stunned as you were, shivering and water logged, you don't know how much you want to test that. Would be a shame to die on your birthday.

>[ ] Go for the near foreigners.
>[ ] Go for distant countrymen.

>>26785587
>[ ] Go for the near foreigners.

>>26785587
[X] Go for the near foreigners.

Survival first.

>>26785587
[X] distant country men

>>26785587
Distant countrymen

>>26785587
>[ ] Go for distant countrymen.

>>26785630
>>26785623
>>26785606
Huh, tide shifts quickly.

Best of 3 1d100 rolls, +10 for swimming skill.

Rolled 75 + 10

>>26785648

Rolled 85 + 10

>>26785648

Rolled 95 + 10

>>26785648

Rolled 34, 85, 10 + 10 = 139

>>26785648
heres hoping that the /tg/ dice gods are willing to help

>>26785657
>>26785655
>>26785652
Jesus, screw spider man, we're Namor.

Writing.

>>26785652
>>26785655
>>26785657
That's a neat pattern.

>>26785652
>>26785655
>>26785657
Well, the dice gods have truly blessed us. Three rolls in a cool pattern.

>>26785652
>>26785655
>>26785657
>75,85,95
WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS COMBO?

File: 1377251562170.jpg-(8 KB, 211x193, 1278224244752.jpg)

8 KB JPG

>>26785652
>>26785655
>>26785657
>75, 85, 95

You're not giving up that easy.

You're young, strong, and you know how to swim. You won't beg to the enemy for your life.

You take to the water like you had sails and gills, coursing through, one arm over the other rapidly, listening for familiar voices, kicking along against the tide. In the eddies caused by the great ships, burdened with cannon and shot, many would flounder and drown. Not you. You're the one that lived, despite all reason saying other wise.

You splash through smoke and mist, leaving a trail behind you, heave one arm in front of the other, pulling through salt water, until you hear them.

"I don't believe it! There he is!"

You glance up. The Saint-Esprit. Your vessel. You smile, then see guns pushing through port holes, and dive. Even under water, the broad side is loud, and you can feel shock waves pass through you.

You surface again, and see your father, waving, shouting, red in the face.

"My son! Hold on! Damn that Louis! Hold on!" He's frantic, switching between waving his arm to you, as if wishing he could reach down from the deck to you, and turning and shouting curses with a sword waving about to the men behind him. You can't help but smile at his frenzy.

You follow, even as the ship goes to pass you- even your prodigious swimming can't keep up with it, but thankfully a line is thrown to you before it's too late, and you grab hold, thankful for the miracle and are hauled up the side of the vessel, dripping and shivering. Your father immediately embraces you, weeping, "Oh my son, my child, oh thank God," he whispers, over and over again. Rather embarrassing scene.

You try to speak, but then you hear something that sends a chill down your spine. "Port side, vessel approaching. Repel boarders!" What mad course had this battle taken that this could happen?

Your father perks up at that- then freezes, looking to you.

>[ ] "Leave me. I'll go below."
>[ ] "We can fight them back, together!"
>[ ] You need his protection.
>[ ] Other.

>>26785718
[X] we can fight them back together

>>26785718
"We can fight them back, together!"

>>26785732
>>26785735
Writing.

"We can fight them back together," You look up at your father. Battle was frightful, dangerous, and terrible. But what would be worse than that would be to hide below while your father fought on your behalf, unable to help. You've fought before after all. Admittedly, with no guns or swords, but you've given as good as you've gotten in the rough housing with kids.

"You're but a boy!" Louis comes by, his clean white uniform stained in blood. He puts a hand on your father's shoulder, "Come on, you need to get your men read-"

"He's my lucky charm," Your father's gaze hasn't moved. He stands, letting you free from his embrace, putting his hands on your shoulders, "That's twice you've cheated death, my boy."

"It was a fair fight, father," You allow yourself a slight grin, still high on adrenaline, "I just fought better."

Your father leans back and laughs, clapping you on your shoulder, "Hah, the gift I got you isn't enough. I'll have to get you two! Louis!" The unsmiling bearded man stands at your father's shoulder, "Go, get my son equipped. I'll ready the men," He claps Louis on the shoulder, giving him a dark look, "Do not lose him again," He strides off, shouting, "Come, you lazy, filth ridden, grumbling bastards! Come rise up, and prove you're worth the coin of the king!"

Louis looks after your father, then looks down to you, in irritation, "I thought I told you to stay in the rigging?"

"If I wasn't there, we would not have gotten the orders, sir."
Louis sighs, shakes his head, "Fine! Go to the fore castle-" He points to the front of the ship, "And find a good spot. I'll get you a musket."

You see in the distance, a ship coming out of the smoke and mist. Big ship, bigger than yours even. Perhaps forty yards away. A few over confident men fire shots, before your father yells at them to hold.

>[ ] "I need to by my father. Get me a weapon, or I'll fight with a knife!"
>[ ] "On second thought, perhaps I should be below?"
>[ ] "As you say, sir."
>[ ] Other.

In the future we should ask for a pistol or five, but for now we should focus on ham stringing everyone who gets near us

>>26785812
[X] "As you say, sir."

Acquire Musket, kill fuckers.

>>26785812
Ask for extra ammunition and a bayonet incase someone tries to get close

>>26785812
[X]as you say sir

File: 1377254599156.jpg-(4.97 MB, 2232x2652, Het_Kanonschot_-_Canon_fi(...).jpg)

4.97 MB JPG

>>26785844
>>26785825
"As you say, sir," You give your best salute. Louis shakes his head.

"Brave, brave, stupid boy. Go," Louis nods to the fore castle, find some place safe, keep low. I'll get to you soon as I can."

You nod, and then sprint up the stairs and crowd along the fore castle, crouching hard against the wood. Soaked, shivering, alive, and about to be in your first battle. Kill your first man. You swallow, and edge your head above the board. The boat under you shakes, as your guns fire on the enemy boat. You see flinder and shrapnel fly from the boat, but on it comes. Does it mean to ram you?

You glance out on the deck, see your father standing above the men, holding his cutlass aloft, a dashing and noble figure, confident, giving one of his famous speeches. The men under him laugh and cough.

The enemy ship. Their fore castle alights, four cannons shoot. Light guns, probably mere nine pounders. The shots bury themselves, somewhere beneath you.

The captain calls out from aft, and the marines stand, readying their muskets, and fire a volley at the enemy vessel. Crackle of musketry rings back, and you see a few men stiffen and fall, to be dragged below. You peer back out at the deck, squint. No sign of your musket.

Where the devil is Louis?

>[ ] Go find him. Getting caught above deck unarmed was a quick way to die.
>[ ] Sit tight. It's too late, going out in the open will get you shot.
>[ ] Go below deck fast, get your own weapon.
>[ ] Other.

>>26785941
[X] go find him

>>26785941
[X] Sit tight

>>26785941
[X] Go find him.

Rolled 44, 22, 33 = 99

>>26786005
>>26785982
Finding.

>>26786014
should we roll?

You stand from the crowd of huddled men and dash down the steps- immediately regretting your decision as a shot wizzes past your head. You dive down flat on your face.

That's what saves you. "Cannon! Cann-"

Then a roar of thunder and steel washes over the deck. A hard rain of grapeshot, wickering, buzzing, a hornet's nest of gunpowder and iron, tearing up wood and flesh alike with impunity. A man standing over you falls to pieces, another man you see sent end over end like a rag doll. You glance up- twenty, maybe thirty fallen forms of the hundred or so that once were on the deck.

You hear a yell of triumph in the distance. Your guns fire back a response, and that cuts their triumph short. You try to peer up, over the railing, try to see how the ship charging forwards could have put out that volume of fire from the fore castle, and see just in time a carved figure of a horse approaching rapidly, wreathed in smoke and fire, slamming into the side of your boat.

You stand and run, as the railing buckles, and you hear a great and awful groan of punctuated by snapping timbers around you. Had you stayed in place a moment longer, you might have broken just the timbers.

Stumbling as the boat shudders, you see two things- Louis, coming up the stairs, two muskets in hand, stumbling, and your father standing, raising his cutlass, his men cheering, and preparing. A deck above them, you see muskets pointed at them.

>[ ] Go help your father. A knife and a warning can help.
>[ ] Go get a musket. Bullets can do a lot more to help right now.
>[ ] Other.

>>26786063
Warn your father and then pull back to grab a Musket

You shout out a warning, stumbling to Louis, falling flat on his face as the ship continues to rock on the waves in the face of the enemy vessel's charge.

Your father cocks his head back, in slight annoyance, before the two sides exchange a volley. Shrouded in smoke, your father still stands.

Then, the battle truly begins.

The enemy marines come over the side, bellowing in their foreign manner, swinging clubs and blades, firing pistols in a frenzy. Your father's men do their best to keep them off of the vessel, but they're pushed back the ferocity of the charge. Your father remains in the thick of the melee, swinging his blade with lethal effect.

Louis is pale by the time you get to him. A black, smoking hole is in his back. You're shoved over as you reach for the musket- the captain of your ship, Captain Picquet, pushes past you, going below. You curse his cowardice, and take up a weapon.

You're eleven years old. The weapon is hardly ergonomic, considering your size. You heft it up, try to get it in front of you, and swing over to look.

Your father is in a duel with another man, a younger man, dressed in a red coat, and an officer's cap. The man in the red coat clearly has the better of your father, and is fighting with an arm behind his back, a smile on his face. Your father, on the other hand, has blood running from a cut on his brow, and an arm hanging limply. He's been forced to fight with his left hand, his non dominant hand.

The other combatants make way for the two, as they fight like duelists of old with great and bloody stakes. The rest of the marines fight cruelly and savagely, giving no quarter and holding no honor, but not your father, and his opposite.

Louis beneath you is still alive. Barely.

>[ ] Try to hit the man in the red coat without hitting your father. Difficult.
>[ ] Drag Louis below, see if you can keep him alive.
>[ ] Backstab with your knife while the man in red isn't looking. Your father's life depends on it!
>[ ] Other.

>>26786175
Backstab. Fuck honour. Winning is the only thing that counts.

Rolled 30

>>26786201
Derped the roll

>>26786175
Back stab

Rolled 37

>>26786175
here's some dice if they're needed

>>26786209
>>26786201
Backstabbing without honor or humanity.

3 1d100 rolls.

Rolled 80, 12, 6 = 98

>>26786218
Forgot my own roll, sorry.

Rolled 32, 38, 86 = 156

>>26786218
rolling

Rolled 90

>>26786218
I pray to the Dice gods

Rolled 2

>>26786175
Backstab! Time to teach those upstart protestants to keep their place!

Rolled 40

>>26786218
rollan!

>>26786224
Just 1d100.

>>26786229
Impressive. Writing.

No. No, your father shall not die here. You glance to Louis, bleeding below you, in pain.

"Please, hold on just one moment," You murmur, then dash across the slick and tilted deck for your father, and the man in red.

You don't go unnoticed. Sailors don't like killing kids, but the fact of life is that children serve on vessels, and a sharp knife can kill as easy in the hands of a child as the hands of a man. Ducking and weaving in the melee, trying to keep your father in sight as his blade flashes in the weak September light. A man lashes out with the butt of his musket shouting at you, but you manage to dash around him, trying to get in to the circle. You see a boy in an officer's uniform, not much older than you shout and try to bar your way from entering the circle. He shouts at your knife, and tries to grab you, but you give him a head butt in to his freckled nose and shove him off, leaving him to hold his broken nose.

You enter the circle just as your father overextends on a thrust.

The man in red parries your father's blade, twisting it down and in to the deck, and then gives a lazy back hand, slicing your father's coat open, leaving a red line on the surface. Your father stumbles back, swearing, and dashes for his sword, but the man in the red coat raises his foot and trips your father, sending him sprawling across the deck. The red coated man laughs.

He stops laughing when you hurtle in to him, pushing your knife in to his back with both hands. He makes a gasping sound, as you push him down in to the ground, you dragging along with him. The man lets go of his sword, hands and knees on the ground and backhands you off, sending you rolling. A bit mussed, but fine otherwise.

>[ ] Make sure your enemy is dead.
>[ ] Run to your father. Get him up, and back to the rest of his marines.
>[ ] Take up the fallen sword, and be prepared to defend your father to the last.
>[ ] Other.

>>26786306
[X] Run to your father. Get him up, and back to the rest of his marines.

>>26786306
Make sure that enemy is dead and take up the sword and be prepared to defend your father

>>26786306
[X] take up the fallen sword then make sure the guys dead with a swift slash to the neck

Rolled 70

>>26786306
[x] Run to your father. He is hurt.

Remember, while we are a badass motherfucker, we are only 11 years, and we are not a cold-blooded calulating soldier. Yet.

>>26786306
>[X] Make sure your enemy is dead.

Rolled 68 + 10

>>26786354
>>26786344
>>26786328
Right. Give me 3 1d100 rolls then. -20.

You are eleven years old.

Rolled 100 + 20

>>26786373
rolling

Rolled 32

>>26786373
Dice gods!

>>26786385
/tg/ is retarded, but the dice gods saves us!

>>26786385
...Well then.

Writing.

>>26786385
we are a vicious serial killer in the making
also that was supposed to be a minus

>>26786393
In order to actually get it to do a minus you have to write "dice+1d100+-20". I know, weird.

>>26786385
>Hahaohwow

You hear the man in the red coat shout something, as he gets to his knees, drawing a pistol from his belt. Oh no. You know all too well what that means. You dive forward, grabbing for his gun hand, but he's much, much stronger than you, and throws you offer after a momentary struggle.

Right by your father's blade.

The red coated man gets to his feet, and looks over to your father, and says in a crude approximation of your tongue, "That kid yours? That kid yours? Watch him die!"

Your father taught you never to take your eye off of your enemy. A lesson that this man's father should have taught him.

Red nosed, bleeding, powder wig half off, he turns, smiling, crinkle eyed, and then shocked when he realizes his gun is missing. Along with most of his hand.

He falls to his knees, screaming, hand over his stump, gushing blood, as you pant, staring, still trying to compensate for the two handed swing you had made. Your father's sword is sharp. You look up, as the foreign officer stares at where his hand used to be, wide eyed. He looks up to you.

Your first kill.

All of a sudden, it doesn't seem quite as romantic as it had always been made out to be. You tighten your grip. Think of where to stab. What to do. Lift the sword. Wonder if anyone's behind you, look for muskets your way, think of Louis, think of your father, think of anyone and everything except the task before you.

"Do it! Quickly!" Your father's voice breaks you from your reverie. Breaks the the man in the red coat's reverie too, as he suddenly goes for his sword with his good hand.

The man's eyes are blue. They reflect the light of the fires on the ship.

You're not sure when, but you've put your father's sword through his chest up to the hilt. Warm blood is on your face. You're face to face with the blue eyed man. He's staring at you, disbelieving.

"Come! Rally, rally!" Your father's voice again. You're stuck here, staring at the blue eyed man. He's still alive, but very still on the sword. The blue eyed man shakes his head, regains his composure, and whispers something to you. Then, slides off the blade, back, down on to the deck. At least he died with as much dignity as one can salvage from getting killed by an eleven year old boy.

You wish you spoke his language. Would only be fair, to remember the last words of the first man you killed.

You feel a hand on your shoulder, and suddenly remember there is a world around you with a lot more people that might try to do the same to you. Your father is above you. Unsmiling, but proud. You glance past him, see your blue coated marines pushing the enemy back. Victory.

"Good work," Your father whispers. Like he doesn't want anyone else to hear. He reaches forward, and touches the hilt of the blade. Surprised, you unclench your fist, let him have it.

Your father takes the sword, and gives a smile, pats you on the head, "I think that's enough for the both of us today, hm?"

>[ ] Try to remember the dying man's words, to look them up later.
>[ ] "Yes. I think so."
>[ ] "What do you mean? If we push now, we can take their ship! You spoke of glory, you can become a nobleman with such a prize, father!"
>[ ] Other.

>>26786485
>[ ] Try to remember the dying man's words, to look them up later.

"What's next, father? What do we do now?"

>>26786496
this

>>26785299
I'm confused as to how the rolls affect how the story goes.

>>26786485
[X] Try to remember the dying man's words, to look them up later.

>>26786516
>>26786496
Writing.

>>26786507
Oh, that was just me rolling to randomly determine where the majority of the shot went. First 3d100 set had the middle roll highest, so above the water and below the rigging, second 3d100 had the last roll highest, so shots ended up in the rigging.

Get yer musket lad
Also is Louis in the land of the living?

You repeat the strange language's words to yourself, under your breath. Glance up to your father, who sets his good hand on your shoulder, and leads you back to the way below deck. Keep repeating the words, to memorize them. In the middle, you stop, look back up as you walk over the wounded.

"What now?"
"Now," Your father raises his hand from you, points to his wound, "I get myself bandaged up," He looks back to the other boat drifting on the water, as your father's marines swarm across it, "You get bandaged up too."

"I wasn't hurt-"
"Yes you were," Your father quickly interrupts, wrapping your skull with his knuckles. Smarts a little, "See? Dreadful war wound. We'll need to get you to Albert as soon as possible. Wouldn't want my lucky charm getting gangrene."

You nod. Makes sense. You continue to repeat the foreign words as you get across the deck. At one point, your father breaks in to a run away from you. You spare a moment to glance up to your father kneeling by Louis's fallen form, before he slips below deck half dragging, half carrying Louis along while shouting for Doctor Albert.

You walk below deck, walk past the walking wounded, the fallen wounded, the dying, and the dead, back to your hammock, repeating the strange words.

You wish you knew English.

The heavily damaged Saint Esprit rejoins the line of the fleet victorious, prize ship the Alcide, with forty seven prisoners in tow. At the cost of sixty eight wounded, and twenty one killed. Among the killed, Louis. Among the wounded, your father, and, at your father's insistence, you.

After slaying a British marine officer at the age of eleven, no one felt like denying you that.

The Battle of Chesepeake went down as a great victory, directly leading to the surrender of Cornwallis at Yorktown.

Your mother, however, insisted that your father head home from the war with his injuries. Your father was of a different mind. He still had not been ennobled yet.
>[ ] Go home.
>[ ] Stay at war.

>>26786621
>[ ] Stay at war.

Our father's legacy will be great. And we will make it even greater.

>>26786621
>[ ] Stay at war.

Our father won't go, and he needs all that good luck.

>>26786621
>[ ] Stay at war.
>>26786646
good point

>>26786621

Stay at war.

Chance at getting your family into nobility is worthy price, despite that there is good chance that we and our father get killed brutality during war

>>26786708

This is going to turn into Count of Monte Cristo/Actual Dumas Family History Quest down the line, isn't it? With our father betrayed by his friends and us thrown into prison for being related to him, hellbent on revenge when we escape years later.

>>26786722
>Dick Sand, A Captain at Fifteen

>Staying at war.
You've barely gotten off of the boat to the dock when you spot your father, quick stepping to you, broad grin on his face now growing stubbly, one arm in a sling, and another holding a letter. He waves it up to you in a form of greeting when he sees you.

"A letter from your mother," Your father starts. He's walking a lot better now. After staying five weeks in Head of Elk to recuperate, and the Saint Esprit to repair, he's back to his usual indefatigable self, "She has heard about our injuries," He always insists that you suffered grievously in the battle. The wounds he has imagined for you are really quite dramatic, "And wishes us to return to her caring arms," He passes the letter to you, then looks away, back of hand to head in dramatic grief.

You glance over the letter. Your mother's terse, if congratulatory writing stated she had heard of your father's heroics. And rather more icily, your own heroics. You blanch at the words she uses. She could teach the sailors on the boat some things.

"We're not noble yet, right father?"
"Not yet," Your father says with a smile, pointing at you, "Such a wise and intelligent son I have! You are exactly right," Your father takes the letter from your hand, "Your mother must not understand yet is all, hm? What use is prize money, without a name worth having it!" Your father holds the letter, and brings it to his lips for a kiss, then lets it go to drift on the wind in to the harbor, "It's a shame that letter was lost, no? We'll have to come back knights or not at all to make up for that."

"I suppose so, father."
"Yes, now, one last thing-" Your father reaches in to his pocket, takes out a letter, "Take this to the mail boat. The address is written. I, I had failed Louis. I wish to make this small recompense to his widow. Be careful with it. Very valuable this letter. I don't want to be seen by the Captain. So I trust you."

You nod. A valuable letter. It is heavy and fat when you take it from him.

>End of thread one.

>To be clear, you won't be eleven years old forever. There'll be some time skips, to chronicle this fellow, and his family as they roll through the Napoleonic era's history, and probably mess it up something fierce as well. Or not. I don't know.

>But right now, it's 6:00AM, and I really should have been sleeping way earlier.

>In the meantime, if you're interested in this continuing, please post a name for our hero and his father.

>Good night. Or morning. Or something.

>>26786848

Nicholas and Francois Durand.

>>26786848
Ricardo Arena, the son of Santiago Arena

Spanians, right?

>>26786848
Fils: Étienne Camus

Père Jacques Camus

Don't forget to archive the thread

>>26786876
Yes.

>>26786876

This has my vote

Nicholas and Francois Durand

>>26786876

This

>>26786848

This was an awesome thread, OP.

>>26786904

I just did that.

http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive/26784302/

>>26786848

This was by the way awesome guest. It's pretty shame that we don't get more quests from Napoleon era, a bit shame shame really.

Can someone actually tell me the name of 1700-1800 era? I must confess that I know nothing of it....And Yes I know that am bit pleb about this subject and I am ashamed of it.

While we are at it, can someone point me informative and entertaining books about that time period?

>>26788105
Enlightenment.

Fact or fiction?

>>26788139

Fiction, but I will take good facts based books too. Thanks for the information

>>26788105
Horatio Hornblower and Sharpe's Rifles series are good military books set immediately before and during the Napoleonic wars.

So will this quest stay at sea, or will we go to war and move some dirt around too?
Because I really, REALLY want a sea quest

>>26789964

Thanks. I recently became intrested in Enlightment Era, but didnät have any clue where to look any fictional stories.

>>26786876
Also has my vote.

>>26786262
>>26786273
>>26786275
Nice, but about 80 years outdated by 1781

File: 1377294967023.jpg-(78 KB, 500x688, 1354299466439.jpg)

78 KB JPG

>>26790689
Sharpe finns som serie, har boromir i huvudrollen om jag minns rätt. Kolla tpb svenskvän

>>26789983
Well, if we're French as I suspect, being at sea might be bad news. No matter how badass we are, the British navy was way, way, way stronger.

We'd have better chances on land.

God damn frogs. I need to start an HMS Quest now.

Actually, that might be an interesting idea. Dueling quests. A British and French captain being nemeses.

>>26786827
We shoulda gone home. By the end of the century, the nobility is, for the most part, put to the guillotine. We're screwed if we're looking to be knighted.

>>26798733
Not every noble got the guillotine.

Or, we could sign on with the Brits. Or, we could go full pirate, and go independent on the Indian Ocean.

Holy fuck the meta in this thread..

>>26798733
The nobility for the most part was not put to the guillotine...

>>26798808
Meta?

File: 1377326419047.jpg-(34 KB, 560x319, Frigate_Bay.jpg)

34 KB JPG

Huh. This thread is still here. And it got archived for some reason.

I'll just pick up where we left off then. Gimme a bit to down some coffee.

Holy shit. I just found this thread and Just finished reading it, I look down and see that the QM is about to start again. God damn, son!

The 12th of October, 1781. The Saint Esprit is under brisk repairs apart from the rest of the Comte de Grasse's fleet. Captain Picquet has magnanimously granted shore leave to you and your father. Your father's injuries require bed rest. A state of affairs that intensely irritates your father.

You, for your part, have been under a great deal of scrutiny and attention. Not every eleven year old slays a man in mortal combat- the fact that you had stabbed the man in the back initially is forgiven as youthful indiscretion.

You are Nicholas Durand, son of François Durand, and you are standing on a dock, being entrusted with a letter that your father insists is very valuable.

A mundane task, you suppose. Making sure that the widow Louis left behind is well taken care of. But you and your father don't have a great deal of money- as of yet, the Alfred has not been sold for a prize. All your father has is his salary- though the captain had given you a prize bag of 50 livre from his own pocket. A fair amount considering that soldiers on average earned 15 livre a day, seven of which would be with held for food, equipment, and accommodations. At least the captain was fair, though his craven dash below decks soured your opinion of him.

The letter feels very heavy though, very thick. Just how much money was your father going to send to some strange woman back in France?

You can worry about it later.

You haven't been wasting your time on shore though. While waiting for your father and boat to recover, you've been busy learning:

>[ ] The English language
>[ ] How to fight with a sword.
>[ ] How to navigate a vessel.
>[ ] How to shoot accurately with a firearm.
>[ ] Some custom option.

>Also, decide whether or not to keep the letter. It contains 100 livre, a considerable sum you might be able to put to use for your own ends.

Don't keep it. We spent our time learning englishh. His last words haunt us, e must know their meaning.

>>26800076
>[ ] The English language
Also deliver letter as promised

>>26800076
Don't keep it. That's just bad form.

>[X] Learned how to shoot accurately with a firearm. But ask our father what the words of the man meant

>>26800177
>>26800155
>>26800138
Little Nicholas is honest- and needs to find out what those last words were! Writing.

>>26800076
>[ ] Some custom option.
Do we know how to read? If not we should learn that. I'm sure the one of officers can teach us.

>>26800249
We don't.

>>26800415
Well I was a little late getting the vote in anyway so next time I guess.

Your father is brave and honest. Why shouldn't you be? You'll make sure that the mail boat gets it honestly.

"Of course, father. Also, I found out what that man, the man I killed, I found out what he said."

"Oh?" Your father raises an eyebrow at that. Not smiling.
"Well," You look away, a little red faced, "The officer said, 'what a fucking embarrassing way to go.'"

The American children had all howled with laughter at that one. Wandering around, murmuring it all the time made them think you were funny in the head. You're no native speaker, but you've learned how to ask directions, and you've learned when an insult was heading your way. Your father chuckles at your words.

"Ah, I probably would have said the same. Heh, well, let that be a lesson to you child," He raises a finger, stern, reprovingly, like your father does whenever he's trying to be serious with you, "There is absolutely no way to die with grace, and you shouldn't try at it. The best death is a comfortable death. Got it?"

"Of course, father. Do you know when you'll be able to go?"
"I'm ready now! But Albert, he insists I stay another week. Quite the worrier he is. I'm afraid this war will be over by the time I'm ready to go. Yorktown will surely fall soon, and with it, any British hopes of victory."
"Captain Picquet promised not to leave without you."
"Yes, with the Alfred to sell! No, no, we need heroics to ensure our rise in station."
"Taking a British ship of the line isn't heroic enough?"
"Not by half, but don't worry about it son. You worry about that letter, and I'll worry about making Albert less stubborn. Now if you'll excuse me," Your father smooths his hair in an attempt at vanity, "I've a social engagement to attend."
"Can I-"
"No children," Your father waggles a finger reprovingly, walking back down the dock, "Just worry about that letter!"

A week is time enough to learn the rudiments of a skill.

>[ ] Shooting.
>[ ] Fencing.
>[ ] Reading.
>[ ] Navigating.
>[ ] Other.

>>26800249
>Nicholas is familiar with the fact that letters make sounds. Not much more than that. He's not a complete illiterate, but he will be behind his peers, if he attempts to go to a loftier station.

>Choosing reading in this option will give him a leg up. However, you'll be going back to sea soon, please keep that in mind.

>>26800472
Shootan.

>>26800472
>[x] Navigating.

>>26800472
>[ ] Shooting.
Pop pop pop
We can learn to read when we're done being a seadog.

>Also, minor thing, but I think the equivalent to Nicholas in French is Nicolas. But the votes were for Nicholas, so Nicholas I shall stick with.

>Just mentioning it for no good reason.

>>26800472
shootin

>>26800472
Fencing is both noble and heroic. Shooting people holds little honor. Getting the drop on the Englishman was lucky, in the future we need to know the basics of fencing so we can at least defend ourselves for long enough for help to arrive.

>>26800472
[x] Reading

Read charts! Intercept enemy communications! Learn the contents of people's letters so you can extort them later!

>>26800548
We can just stab people in the back while our dad is dying being honorable.

I'd rather survive and rack up kills, anon.

>>26800517
>>26800513
>>26800494
Bang bang bang. Writing.

>>26800516

As the original suggester of the name, I give you my full approval to frenchify it.

The Americans are strange. They tease you over your pronunciation of their words, are impatient and rudely finish your sentences for you, and then insist on taking you out for hunting trips, loaning you their firearms along the way.

"Anything for our brave allies," They say with a smile, and then yell at you that you're holding the gun all wrong.

You pick up some pointers, and a taste for venison.

By the end of the week, you've polished up your English to the point where you only get laughed at at the ends of conversations, and you're don't need to stop your hosts every other word to catch up. At this time also, the good Doctor Albert finally relents, letting your father fall back in to service, and Captain Picquet returns from Yorktown on the mail courier, eager to be the first to share the good news. Yorktown has fallen, Cornwallis has surrendered, and some 7,000 British have been taken prisoner.

Naturally, the town erupts in jubilation. Your father is strangely shy to join in the celebration though. Instead, he goes to speak to Captain Picquet in private, leaving you stranded in the company of foreigners.

After making sure that your father's letter was safely in the hands of the mail courier who refuses payment from 'such a heroic and brave child,' you're left uncomfortably alone in the company of strangers. You know enough English that the time isn't entirely unenjoyable, but you find yourself distracted by the absence of your Father, and the argument he's having with your captain.

>[ ] Never mind them. You're no skulking sneak. Just enjoy the party.
>[ ] Go listen in. Try to hear what's going on there. Best of 3 1d100 rolls, DC 60.
>[ ] Just go and ask them what's going on. Have out with it, damn it!
>[ ] Other.

>>26800619
>Thank you. Frenchying going down.

Rolled 58

>>26800835
>[ ] Go listen in. Try to hear what's going on there. Best of 3 1d100 rolls, DC 60.

Rolled 86

>>26800866
>[x] Go listen in. Try to hear what's going on there. Best of 3 1d100 rolls, DC 60.

Rolled 20

>>26800835

[x] listen in. When you've heard enough to get a general gist, ask them what's going on.

>>26800835
>[ ] Just go and ask them what's going on. Have out with it, damn it!

>>26800874
>>26800873
>>26800866
In the future, come to a consensus, then roll.

My fault for not bringing it up earlier. But this seems the consensus, and it seems that it's worked. Writing.

You excuse yourself from the table, and after some disappointed noises, you exit out in to the cool night air.

"I already have my permission from the Admiral, Lieutenant."
"Captain, you can't be serious," Your father's voice. You walk through the town, quiet, following the voices. You find the captain and your father by the dock, the captain sitting on a crate, your father above him. The captain sounds very tired.

"Do not doubt me, I would love nothing more than to serve under the admiral further but-"
"But just turning around now to drop off the prize lines your pocket better, Captain?"

That makes Captain Picquet stand. Your father does not back down, staring up at the older, taller man still angry. You creep forward, stay behind the custom's house, keeping an eye on the two.

"Lieutenant, you are out line!"
"I am not! The ship is fine, Captain, why would accept a lesser post? Escorting merchantmen across the Atlantic, hah! The Saint Esprit is an 80 gun ship of the line, not a cutter!"
"The Saint Esprit is also damaged, because of your-" The captain cuts himself off, composes himself, suddenly aware he was yelling. The silence from your father suggests that he knows what the captain was about to say.

The captain starts again, diplomatically, "I respect you, Denard. That's why I was willing to come out here and talk. You're a brave man, and your quick action on deck has earned you my respect-"
"Yes, and where were you during that action, Captain Picquet?"
"HOWEVER," The captain's tone turns icy, "Even I have my limits. That will be all, lieutenant."
"Sir-"
"That will be all."

Captain Picquet's generous mood has apparently run out. He turns and walks back to the brew house. Your father, after some grumbling, turns and walks to the ship.

>[ ] Follow Captain Picquet to talk to him.
>[ ] Follow your father to talk to him.
>[ ] Way above your head. You're freaking eleven. Go have fun in the brew house.
>[ ] Other.

>>26801029
>[ ] Follow your father to talk to him.

>>26801029
>[ ] Follow Captain Picquet to talk to him.

>>26801029
>[x] Follow your father to talk to him.

We're eleven, we're not gonna get the captain to relent on whatever they were arguing about. But at least we can calm our dad down so he doesn't do something stupid.

Rolled 93

>>26801029
>[X] Follow Captain Picquet to talk to him.

>>26801029
>>[ ] Way above your head. You're freaking eleven. Go have fun in the brew house.

>>26801029
Father. Definitely don't go talk to the captain now, we'd risked exposing that we followed them, and he wouldn't care what we say anyway.

>>26801098
>>26801060
>>26801056
Papa pursuit is go.

You walk after your father, as he stalks down the dock to the ship, swearing and murmuring to himself all the while. You're not entirely sure what the proper protocol is for going to talk to someone after sneaking up on them, but you just follow your best intentions.

"Father," You say, perhaps ten paces behind him.

Your father turns on his heel, hand reaching for a sword that isn't there. As soon as he sees it's you, he relaxes, "Oh, Nicolas, I didn't realize-" He's half way to building a smile, before it crumbles, "Ah. You followed me."

"You didn't tell me not to."
"I suppose I didn't," Your father frowns, "I didn't realize I was raising a lawyer. I suppose you heard, my disagreement then?"
"I heard you implied our captain was a coward," You start, walking forward. Your father looks a little shamed at that.
"I. Well, that's something that you shouldn't do, boy, just to let you know. It's a bad idea-" He waves his hand, "Doesn't help you get up in your career."
"We're escorting cargo then?"
"Yes," Your father snorts, irritated, "Like a common ship. Not fitting for the Saint Esprit at all. I wager it's because our Captain Picquet and our Admiral, the Comte de Grasse have a disagreement. Namely, that our Captain doesn't want to risk his hide out there like a naval man should. If I could but get the officers on my side..."

Your father suddenly seems to realize he's talking about politics to you, and shakes his head, "Right. Nothing that concerns you. What do you want to be when you grow up, child?"

>[ ] "I want to captain my own ship!"
>[ ] "I want to be just like you, father!"
>[ ] "I don't know yet."
>[ ] Other.

File: 1377335491535.gif-(1.94 MB, 256x144, computerno.gif)

1.94 MB GIF

>Just finish reading this thread
You fags didn't train sword-fighting?

>>26801254
>[x] "I don't know yet."

>>26801254
>[X] "I don't know yet."

>>26801254
>[ ] "I don't know yet."

>>26801286
>>26801293
>>26801301
Writing.

>Other
The greatest duelist in the world.

Well. You ARE eleven year's old. Be honest.

You shrug, "I don't know yet."
"What do you mean you don't know, boy?" Your father looks astonished, "You certainly threw yourself head long in to combat."
"That was to save you, father."
"Yes, and thank you for that, but, you don't have any ambitions?"

You shrug again. You're eleven. You've been dragged around by your father as a lucky charm because your living through child birth was a surprise. You're nowhere near the point to decide your future.

Your father shakes his head, "Well, decide soon child. In the mean time," He looks up to the moon, "I think it's far past your bed time, my boy. Come on," He smiles at you as he takes you by the hand, "Try not to shoot anyone on the way though."
"I haven't shot anyone!"
"Oh, but I heard you're apparently growing to be quite the marksman, little Nicolas," Your father raises a hand in despair, "My boy, a precocious huntsman, drawn to the siren call of being a hunter!"

Your father continues to tease you, despite your protestations as he takes you to get tucked in to bed.

The next morning, the Saint Esprit sets off to sea. And sure enough, the Saint Esprit devotes itself to guarding trade from America heading for France, the captured Alfred in tow with skeleton crew. The Saint Esprit passes by the other vessels of the fleet it had been part of- they give a few fond shots of salute on the way. Your vacation on land comes to an abrupt close, as you return to scrubbing decks, slopping tar, and picking at rope. Venison is replaced with unpleasant hardtack and biscuits.

The work is dull, painfully dull. The highlight of the voyage was a predatory frigate on the horizon, but it turned tail as soon as the Saint Esprit turns its broad side to it.

The sixteenth day of your voyage was a good day though. You got a job that you enjoyed, playing look out in the rigging. From this height, you can actually look across the water, and see things coming. The Alfred is behind you, still looking ragged, and the two merchantmen you're escorting are low in the water with full holds.

The sun is at its highest peak in the sky when you see them on the horizon, two distant specks. You shout down the warnings, and men rush about the deck, setting telescopes to their eyes- and sure enough, the bells ring and men run to their posts.

You eagerly shimmy down to the deck, and see your father coming up from below, dressed in uniform and looking concerned. You follow after him as your father goes to the aft, captain and officers at the rail, looking at your new visitors.

"How many?" Your father spares a glance at you, and gives a toothy grin, at odds with his previous look of worry.

File: 1377337660572.jpg-(1.47 MB, 2860x2664, Warship_diagram_orig.jpg)

1.47 MB JPG

"Two," Captain Picquet sounds very matter of fact. He looks back to your father, gives a grin, "I suppose a cutter wouldn't be enough after all, hm?"
"Two ships?"
"Yes," A dour first mate speaks, red nosed and pox scarred, "And they have the wind to the back of them. I'm sorry, who's this-"
"My son," Your father says pointedly, placing himself in between you and the first mate, "You must have heard of him."
"Hmph. I heard a story, but I didn't see any proof of it-"
"Gentlemen!" The captain interrupts, "We do have two ships on the horizon, approaching fast. Renard, get us as much speed as you can. Durand, get your men ready," The captain looks back through his spyglass to the horizon, "I wager they're here to take a prize."

Your father nods, places a hand on your shoulder, "Learned how to shoot, right?"
"Of course!" You were proud of that. You didn't need any teaching or anything.

"Good," Your father leads you gently below deck, where men are readying themselves for battle. He walks past for the armory, where the fellow marines are arming themselves, and takes a musket and shot, handing them to you, "Now, I recommend you stay below until you hear the fighting. Don't want my best man knocked out before the fight begins!" He pats you on the head paternally, while you check the bag. Fifteen shots worth. Plenty for a fight.

You look up to ask your father a question, but he's gone among the men, shouting, finding faults in uniform and equipment. He doesn't have time for you.

You'll need to find a place to set up. You touch your knife for good luck, and think.

>[ ] Stay below. No reason to test your luck when cannon fire goes.
>[ ] Go up in the rigging. Sniper's nest!
>[ ] Fore castle will provide good cover, and allow you to fire if boarders come on the ship.
>[ ] Other.

>>26801516
>[ ] Fore castle will provide good cover, and allow you to fire if boarders come on the ship.
Operator engaged.

>>26801516
>[ ] Go up in the rigging. Sniper's nest!

>>26801516
>[x] Fore castle will provide good cover, and allow you to fire if boarders come on the ship.

No way we're going back on the rigging during a battle after what happened last time.

>>26801516
>[ ] Fore castle will provide good cover, and allow you to fire if boarders come on the ship.

>>26801516
>[X] Fore castle will provide good cover, and allow you to fire if boarders come on the ship.

Rigging is tempting, but I see it will be hard to get any good hits from there.

>>26801516
seconding seeking cover in the forcastle

>>26801559
>>26801540
>>26801530
>>26801535
>>26801527
That's pretty damn consensus filled. Writing.

Your father, though he is a very good man, doesn't understand the fact that every musket possible was needed. Your place was above, not hiding with the rats.

You take your musket, and with a nod of thanks to the quarter master, you rush up.

At the aft, you overhear an argument.

"Cut it loose damn it, every livre in the world won't bring us back if we're dead!" It's an officer. Some upjumped chevalier.

"I'm sorry seigneur, but after the blood I expended to take it, I don't want to rob my crew without a fight," Captain Picquet is still looking through his spy glass to the horizon. The two specks have grown in size, "Please return to your post."
"Leave the boat, sir, and they'll pursue it-"

You don't hear the rest of the argument, as you rush for the fore castle. Some of your comrades in arms of your last battle are there, and wave cheerily to you.

"Ah, the lucky one!" One of the sailors hauling at rope smiles at you, "Come to pull another miracle?"
"It will take one," One of the marines with a musket, and non-regulation facial hair leaning on the railing mutters, "Two vessels. Against one battered one, with lessened crew, and another skeleton crewed. Heh, I heard they already sold the guns on the Alfred to the Americans," He points to the Alfred, "So, it's unarmed and weighing us down."

"Enough, Jean, enough! We have the lucky one with us," The sailor finishes hauling on the ropes, his good mood dampened, "Enough of your doom saying. We'll be fine."

"I prefer to rely on guns, not on luck," Jean growls, but is otherwise silent.

The enemy ships approach. Is there anything you can do but wait?

>[ ] Wait.
>[ ] Hang on, before we go, let me... {Custom Options if you can think of any.}

>>26801663
>[x] Wait.

I can't think of anything special.

>>26801663
Feign surrender, wait for them to claim their prize and destroy them.

>>26801663
>[ ] Wait.

>>26801663
>[ ] Wait.
Ready our mind for battle.

>>26801713
>>26801696
>>26801686
Being a child soldier with a musket on a boat doesn't present a lot of options.

Writing.

>>26801663
Jean likes guns? Flatly state:

"I brought a gun as well this time."

>>26801724
I think Jean thinks of bigger guns.

Rolled 77, 71, 30, 62 = 240

"I have a gun," You point out, raising your musket. Jean looks down, and his dark look shatters into laughter, shaking his head. He gives no further reply.

The musket is uncomfortably long, ill suited for a child, but you come to a strange sitting position for compromise. You point your musket about, stock to shoulder, one eye open, looking down the barrel and pointing around, imagining your shots changing the tide of battle.

The two specks in the distance gradually form in to the shapes of ships. Three masted fighting ships, flying British naval ensigns. Smaller than your own, but not by much.

One ship dances in and out of your range, though thankfully your gunners are wise enough not to waste shot. The other ship tries to maneuver itself around your boat, to cut across the aft. and get to the vulnerable merchantmen, but Captain Picquet keeps it covered by the guns.

The positioning continues for a good hour, as each jockey for position. The wide is on the side of the British, but they seem unwilling to engage, very uncharacteristic of their navy's reputation.

At around three o'clock, things change. The ship to your port suddenly pushes in, taking advantage of the wind to get within range, and fires a broadside. Simultaneously, the laggard ship cuts hard across the aft, going for the merchantmen and the Alfred.

The shot flies fast to you, as the Saint Esprit fires back.

>Give me 3 1d100 rolls for your luck.

Rolled 30

>>26801886

captcha: menstrual letpedo

lol

Rolled 68

>>26801886

Rolled 50

>>26801886

>>26801927
>>26801909
>>26801905
Nicolas does not smear, fortunately. Writing.

>>26801259
This. This right here.

1. Shooting is the least useful skill in naval combat, by far. Enemies are only in the correct range for a really short time, and in the event of boarders you can only get one shot off before it becomes a big club - there's no time to reload. Swordfighting is far far far more useful. We should correct this ASAP, in my view.

2. If we want to be ennobled, it is again the least useful pursuit. Sharpshooters aren't promoted to nobility - lieutenants are: they know fencing and navigation.

Just my thoughts

>>26802007
At least we're still 11. If we survive we'll have plenty of time to train with a sword.

We should also have ambition. I don't know why people voted to have none. We rise through the ranks to become the greatest captain and swordsman in the navy.

At the distance the ship to port fired at, most of the shots fall short, or do only cosmetic damage.

The problem is the ship to the aft. With the wind aiding it, it has a clear shot down the ship.

You hear the captain's cabin window shatter, and see round shot fly down the length of the deck, reaping a bloody harvest. A cloud of splinters and blood fly up, obscuring your vision. You duck down, a free piece of wood the size of your arm flying over your head no more than two or three feet. You glance back- see it shatter off the fore castle and fall down in to the water. You look back aft, and see the crew stumbling, trying to get their bearings, and the enemy vessel sailing past, weathering the meager volleys of the merchantmen and the Alfred. A wolf among sheep in the yard.

There is a dead man laying against the wheel, and you fear for a moment that it's the captain, before seeing one of the forms rising from the deck, and pushing the dead man off, and start shouting orders. You feel relief, before you look back to port side, and see the other ship running parallel, and opening with another volley.

This time, the shots strike true, and you feel the boat under you shift, as a full volley of iron shot slam in to the boat. You grip on to the railing, cradling your musket close, trying to will the boat to stop shaking. Your ship responds, half heartedly in kind. You wager some of the cannon were knocked out.

As the cacophony comes to a momentary reprieve, you sigh in relief- before you hear the bells.

"Fire! Fire!"

To starboard, the vessel that was once aft of you is coming around- a starboard broadside from your vessel fires prematurely, most of the shot falling short as your boat is still off kilter from the broad side on the other side. You smell smoke.

>[ ] Go, quickly below to see if you can help stop the fire.
>[ ] Maintain your post! They could board at any time.
>[ ] Abandon ship! You don't want to explode!
>[ ] Other.

>>26802037
>[ ] Go, quickly below to see if you can help stop the fire.
Meant to vote for this.

>>26802037
>[ ] Go, quickly below to see if you can help stop the fire.

>>26802037

Go quickly below to see if you can help stop the fire

>>26802064
>>26802060
>>26802046
Firefighting. Makes sense. Gimme 2 1d100 rolls, best of 2.

Rolled 93

>>26802080
RNG hates everything, by the way.

Rolled 68, 78, 61 = 207

>>26802080
Oh, I should probably mention the difficulty. DC 55.

And rolling for the fleet action. First two count for your competition, last for the Saint Esprit.

>>26802083
huehuehuehue! praise to the dice gods!

>>26802083
Well, it doesn't hate Nicholas. Luck holds for him. Writing.

Some usefull literature

http://www.mediafire.com/folder/x79d839vnd86q/Napoleonic

"Fire?" Jean looks up from where he's been hiding under his hat, "Did they say-"
"Fire!" You shout, jumping up, running down the stairs making for where you see the smoke from below deck.
"You fool, don't-" Jean shouts, before the thunder of guns drowns him out, and he shrinks back to his hiding spot. You run across the deck, sliding, and by some miracle, aren't touched.

The merchantmen and the Alfred try to punish the ship off starboard for its impunity, but the British ship continues to pound the Saint Esprit. You hear timber's crack beneath you, and the shouts of dying men- but there's nothing you can do about that right now. You CAN stop the fire though.

You leap down to the deck, and see crowds of men already on the job, doing their best to smother the fire around the base of a mangled cannon. Lucky shot from the enemy. The torn gun hole gives you a disturbingly good look at your enemy's boat- but you put it from your head, and run to find water and sand to put it out.

Just as you quench the flames, and turn to go back to your post, you feel another broadside rake the vessel. You're thrown to the ground, and stumble.

The battle is going poorly, outnumbered as you are. You spare a glance starboard- the ship starboard is now ravaging the vulnerable cargo ships. And the Alfred- you realize in fury, that it's turning with the wind, leaving you to your fates. Cowards!

You hear a crack from up above, and then a terrible groaning- and then through the hole starboard, you see the main mast of your ship falling down like a felled tree.

>[ ] Oh dear. Find your father.
>[ ] Back to your post! Fight to the end!
>[ ] Other.

>>26802147
Thank you. I downloaded the French Warship Crews Osprey book, and I can already see one pretty major inaccuracy in my quest. Argh. I will study these fervently before coming back next session.

As soon as I wrap up this session.

>>26802214
>[X] Oh dear. Find your father.

We are just a kid :P

>>26802214
>[ ] Back to your post! Fight to the end!
Did we ever learn what the man we killed said?

>>26802242
>yes
>>26800472

>>26802242
>"Of course, father. Also, I found out what that man, the man I killed, I found out what he said."
>"Oh?" Your father raises an eyebrow at that. Not smiling.
>"Well," You look away, a little red faced, "The officer said, 'what a fucking embarrassing way to go.'"

>>26802214
Find father. It worked last time.

Training shot was stupid.

We need swordsmanship, gunnery, and reading.

>>26802266
>>26802241
Finding father.

>>26802273
it might come handy if we are to duel.

>>26802273
Actually, in this order.
1. Reading
2. Swordsmanship
3. Navigating.

Things were going very wrong. The mast, cracks, and you see it splash in to the water.

You're not sure just what good your luck will do here. The fire is still, and gunners shout at you to get out of the way as they get back to their work.

Your father. Where was he?

You call out for him, suddenly feeling very much a scared child again. Men run up and down deck, bloody and injured, or carrying the bloody and injured. You hear shots from above, "They're running? They're running! Bargeau, you son of a whore, I swear, I will kill you pig fucking coward!"

Your father's eloquence. What a relief. You run up deck, to see your father, hatchet in hand, hacking at the rigging still tying the fallen mast to the ship. He spares a glance to you, before shouting, "Go back down below, son!"
"I can help!"
"No you can't-" Your father waves a hatchet to the ship across the way from you, wreathed in smoke, "They mean to shoot us to pieces! There's nothing we can do," He hacks at the ropes with renewed fury, "And at this rate, we'll have to surrender."

Surrender? Your shock must have been clear to your father, as he nods, sadly, before going back to his work, "They had more guns than we, and acted bolder. It's a dark arithmetic- though why two seventy four guns would be this far out- well, it's bad luck. Just bad luck," Your father shakes his head, "Back down below son," The rope he was working on releases, and he moves to another, "We'll need all the good luck we can get, soon enough."

The ship rolls again, as first the starboard, then port side guns fire on the two frigates. The port side enemy responds in kind.

>[ ] Stay above deck. You're no coward.
>[ ] Resign yourself to the reality of the situation. Go back down below.
>[ ] Find the captain. See if you can encourage him to surrender, before you sink.
>[ ] Find the captain. Encourage him to fight to the last.
>[ ] Other.

Rolled 84, 97, 100 = 281

Rolling for battle's course.

>>26802355
listen to you father
go back below

>>26802363
well fuck
>>26802355
>[ ] Resign yourself to the reality of the situation. Go back down below.

File: 1377345338485.gif-(1.3 MB, 300x169, yes.gif)

1.3 MB GIF

>>26802363
>mfw last 100 was for our ship

>>26802355
>[X] Resign yourself to the reality of the situation. Go back down below.

This doesn't look like a fight we can win.

>>26802355
>[ ] Resign yourself to the reality of the situation. Go back down below.

>>26802355
>[X] Stay above deck. You're no coward.

>>26802355
>[ ] Find the captain. See if you can encourage him to surrender, before you sink.

Although knowing the man, he's probably preparing to surrender already.

>>26802363
...The devil's luck is on this boy.

>>26802382
>>26802377
>>26802372
>>26802367
Going back down below.

You look off through the smoke, see the fleeing Alfred, and the beaten nature of the Saint Esprit.

Nothing you could do but listen to your father. Silly to think you could do something. You hold on to your too large musket, and descend below deck. Halfway down the stairs, you hear a terrible distant crack, and then thunder. You look to starboard just in time to see a bright, fiery flash of light erupting from your opponent from starboard. The starboard gunners are cheering, yelling, and shouting as you see flaming flotsam fly in to the air- pieces of what was once one your torments turning end over end in the sky. It's split in two. A lucky shot to the powder stores. Very lucky shot.

You raise your fist and holler in joy. The battle was not over yet! Things had balanced out, now!

Regrettably, the merchantmen looked to be in dire straits as well.

A glance to port, and you see that the British ship is drawing away, as best as it can in the wind- the wind on the British side works to your advantage for once.

You stay below, and watch, suddenly very rejuvenated. Things were evening up now.

Up above, your father comes to Captain Picquet's side, the both of them staring at the smoldering embers of what was once a British ship.

"Luck," Captain Picquet whispers to your father.
"I told you," Your father says with a smile, "He's my lucky charm."
"Right," Captain Picquet glances back, "Well, we're missing a mast, have taken significant casualties, and still have one mostly fresh opponent. He better still have some luck in reserve, your son," The captain stares ahead, shaking his head, "My command led us to this situation. What do you think, François? What should we do?"

>Momentarily playing as François Durand.

>[ ] Recommend to the captain you don't let the British vessel escape.
>[ ] Recommend to the captain that you move to recover survivors from the wreck, and not press your luck.
>[ ] Other.

>>26802515
>[ ] Recommend to the captain that you move to recover survivors from the wreck, and not press your luck.

We're in no position to pursue, Sir. I suggest we cut our losses and continue the escort mission.

>>26802515
>[ ] Recommend to the captain that you move to recover survivors from the wreck, and not press your luck.

>>26802515
>[X] Recommend to the captain that you move to recover survivors from the wreck, and not press your luck.

>>26802515
don't let the english escape!

>>26802536
>>26802534
>>26802532
>>26802526
One brave fellow, but the rest see reason. Disengaging, and writing.

"Well, as much luck as my boy has," You nod to the mast, "I'd rather not tempt fate."

The enemy ship is moving out of range again. Whether it means to withdraw, or come at another angle is unclear. But it does mean that the pressure relents for now. The captain nods to you then, "I'm surprised, François," Captain Picquet shares a rare grin, "Fatherhood is tempering your sense of adventure. I'm glad."

"Don't get me wrong, were in any other situation, I'd be at the prow waving my blade begging for a chance to cut some rosbif, but," You look across the cratered and torn deck, shake your head, "Not now."

"Good. You can take the oars to recover any you can then," Captain Picquet turns, starts shouting orders to bring the boat about. The ship lurches to starboard. It's listing slightly to port, a bad sign, but one you have to hope the crew below are dealing with. You make for the rowboats, grabbing a few marines to help you out.

You hope the Alfred comes back. That's cold, hard cash there. Enough money to let you purchase the way for your son, whichever path he chose- even buy him a soft job working for the treasury if he'd like. Honestly, you kind of hope for that too. He was disturbingly quick with his sword.

Only two row boats left on your vessel, you stack four on each. You make sure each man has his weapon prominently at his side, just in case any of your prisoners get smart ideas. Now, it was a matter of collecting the floundering fellows before the fish had a fine dinner.

Your men do a good job collecting people from the sea. The merchantmen join in too- it takes a cold heart to see men drowning and ignore them. You even manage to personally find the captain, holding on to a scrap of timber, and draw him out. You collect six in your first run, before heading back. The six Britons are morose, in conversation. The captain's eyes dig in to you though. Young man. Probably his first command. Very angry. Well, you would be too if your ship blew up under you, you suppose.

You take him up the ship- Captain Picquet speaks some English. Enough to coordinate a surrender. A ceremonial handing of the sword- Picquet is kind enough to give it back to his opposite number, before he's led down below. You're back to rowing, picking up more prisoners, before you run out of people you can save.

In the mean time, the other British vessel makes its way to the horizon, slowly.

Just as you're done, and come back on deck, dragging up more shivering, water logged sailors, you hear calls from the look outs, and look aft. The Alfred comes back from behind. Convenient, for Bargeau to show his face after the battle was done.

You walk to the captain, having a meeting with what remained of his officers in what remained of his cabin. A shattered table had a map spread on it- debate about whether or not to forge on to Brittany, or try to find a nearer port. You interrupt to tell him the good news. His knuckles whiten as he considers the new information.

He stares down, trying to marshal his fury. Stares down for a good minute, before he speaks again, "François? Go send over a few men. I want Bargeau in irons here."

"At least he came back," The navigator speaks, weasel faced man with spectacles that you never liked. Touffet was his name. Very soft fellow.
"That's why I'm not going to shoot him," The captain replies, looking back to his maps, "But I hope he'll wish I had by the time we're over."

>[ ] "I'll take care of it personally, sir." Gather good men, lead them to the Alfred and arrest Bargeau.
>[ ] "I'll send some marines out to grab him." Pick some good men you can trust, and send them to arrest Bargeau. You need to tend to your son.
>[ ] "I'll take care of it, sir." Make sure that you pick the marines that will overlook an 'accident' for Bargeau.
>[ ] Other.

>>26802825
>[ ] "I'll take care of it personally, sir." Gather good men, lead them to the Alfred and arrest Bargeau.

>>26802825
>>[ ] "I'll take care of it personally, sir." Gather good men, lead them to the Alfred and arrest Bargeau.

>>26802825
I'll take care of it personally

>>26802825
>[ ] "I'll take care of it personally, sir." Gather good men, lead them to the Alfred and arrest Bargeau.

And find Nicolas. He'd need to see this. Learn and remember what happens to cowards.

>>26802858
Not a bad idea actually. Very François.

Unless there are any major objections, I'll include this. I'll leave voting open for four more minutes- but it doesn't seem like there's going to be any major change soon.

>>26802870
I'll second it.

We should learn reading if we hope to be noble.

Grabbing marines, and kid, then going to the Alfred. Writing.

Also, I think this is going to be my last post for the night, it's 6:12AM. Also also, I'm going to be taking a look at all the napoleonic stuff. I saw beat to quarters in there, might try to adapt those rules. Or something. Tired. Writing.

"I'll take care of it personally, sir."

Oh but you are going to enjoy this. Lieutenant Bargeau was a treacherous worm of a man. He was low born like you- neither of you were aristocrats, which was lucky for you. Meant you really would get to enjoy this job if he resisted. Where you worked and slaved your way up the ranks, Bargeau bribed, squealed, and backstabbed. Bargeau was a wretched, scummy man who's greatest quality was having no real character, and thus able to shape himself in to whatever he thought would please his superior officers. Captain Picquet hadn't liked him so much as he had liked the fact that others liked him. Bargeau did his best to hide from the captain's sight, but now, Bargeau showed his true colors. You looked forward to seeing him try to wriggle out of this one.

You walk out of the captain's cabin, stepping over puddles of blood and flesh, going below decks. This might get ugly on the Alfred- not killing ugly, mind, but a great deal of drama and unpleasantness. Nicolas had killed a man though, so he needed to see this, that cowardice had consequences. Would be a good teaching moment.

Aside from that, the kid was lucky. No two ways about it. Ever since you had the boy and took care of him, your life had been improving. Taking him along had only made things better- the Alfred, and then this latest thing- what were the chances of hitting the powder at that range, at that exact moment?

"Nicolas?" You call out, looking about for him- you found him packed between a barrel of fresh water and hard tack, watching the British prisoners chained up across from him musket in his hands pointed up. Your boy looks up silently at you. He was growing up well.

"Come on son," You reach down to him, "I need good marines, and you're at the top of my list."

>Thread end. Next session, the Alfred, crime and punishment, and character sheets.

>>26802933
>>26803040

This is the the best thread ever

>>26803056
That's a bit strong, isn't it?

>>26803140
Probably the best Quest Thread I've seen in a while.

Regrettably I don't have time to participate anymore. Hope it goes well OP. Godspeed.

>>26803170
Are you going to die, anon?

>>26802147
Huh.

Happen to have Privateers and Gentlemen, or In Harm's Way? Those are the other two big Napoleonic naval RPGs.

Nice collection though, very nice.

hnng dis thread

saving this from page 10

>>26808565
Might as well let it die since it's already been archived. Let OP start a new thread.

>>26803140
I love late-eighteenth century naval history. It's my thing (writing a thesis on it right now). So I guess that, rather than the actual content of the Quest (though that's pretty good too - we seem to be pretty lucky atm)

Okay, so. I've realized both my mechanics, and knowledge of sea life are inadequate. As of such, I'm going to be spending a long while reading and looking at mechanics. I intend for Gunpowder Quest to go on, but I'll be a while. This thread can probably just go ahead and die.

Again, my thanks to the guy with the Napoleonic mediafire sharing. It's proved very enlightening and interesting.

If anybody has any recommendations for RPG systems that I can try to butcher in to a format acceptable for quests, please post them.

Now, I must dash to a very dull birthday party. As soon as I get a grip, I'll start another thread with the same picture as OP, even though we're well past the battle of Chesapeake Bay. I just like the picture.