Realistic or Modern Saoirse (Irish Revolutionary Period Historical Questlog) *COMPLETED*

[AlbaGuBrath]

(Hey, everyone. This may not be directly related to this discussion, but still... I've been made aware of a petrol bomb in Co. Londonderry yesterday, so asking thoughts and prayers for the residents. I don't think anyone was hurt, thankfully, but it's still very disturbing.)

 

[The Omen of Death]

(Hey, everyone. This may not be directly related to this discussion, but still... I've been made aware of a petrol bomb in Co. Londonderry yesterday, so asking thoughts and prayers for the residents. I don't think anyone was hurt, thankfully, but it's still very disturbing.)

(Well my heart goes out to anyone who was affected, personally while I emphasize with the why behind terrorist groups in Ireland like the IRA, I do not condone whatsoever the actions that makes them terrorists, taking the lives of innocent people the way they do with bombs and whatnot. Therefore I again condone any actions whoever the group was did. Also it looks like it was probably an illegal march in commemoration of the Easter Rising anniversary)

 

[Historical Storyteller]

(Option 2 has been chosen with 2 votes!)

You turn, bursting towards the nearest building as shells land around you, rushing inside a building as your comrades do the same. You drive your shoulder to open the door, finding yourself in an office building, no doubt one that was abandoned when the fighting started. You're left waiting there inside, hoping that the violence ends soon as shells explode outside.

The shelling continues until nightfall, as the sky darkens on the second day of the newly proclaimed Republic. As the shelling ends, you're left clutching at your rifle, praying to God it doesn't start up again, as tiles from the roof drop down, breaking open with crashes around you. For the next few minutes, or hours, perhaps, you're just left desperately hoping it doesn't start again, terrified out of your mind. Your allies are equally terrified. You're not soldiers; you're children, sent out to take back your country from an impossibly large Empire.

"God our father, almighty Jesus, Holy Spirit, please grant me the strength and power to last through the night. Please help me break away from the..." you begin to mutter before Joseph angrily grasps your arm.

"They can't take away our fighting spirit that easily!" Joseph says desperately. "They just can't! It's not fair!"

"Joseph, just quiet down. No one wants to hear you breaking the silence. They're content with it. Just leave them to appreciate the fact that shells aren't raining down now."

Joseph falls silent, but this time, the silence isn't as still. You can hear whimpering from the other buildings, crying from the wounded and the scared, desperate muttered prayers from the others. You close your eyes, desperately hoping for a way out. Joseph looks around, seeing the same group of terrified boys hiding that you see. He closes his eyes tightly, before opening them with a fierce look of determination. Slowly, he begins to sing one of the new Irish patriot tunes, his voice rising above the terrified mutterings of the rest of the poor souls hiding out there.

"We'll sing a song, a soldier's song, with cheering rousing chorus, As round our blazing fires we throng, The starry heavens o'er us!"

Joseph's never been a good singer by any degree, but something about the emotion, the determination, the spirit in his voice, it awakens the same feelings in you. Slowly, a few voices, yours included, join in.

"Impatient for the coming fight, And as we await the morning's light...!"

More voices join the singing, as the voices grow louder and more fierce.

"Here in the silence of the night, We'll chant a soldier's song!" the voices sing out into the night,

The song continues as your voices get louder, the song breaking through the cold, dark silence and filling you with inspiration.

"Soldiers are we whose lives are pledged to Ireland. Some have come from a land beyond the wave! Sworn to be free. No more our ancient sireland shall shelter the despot or the slave. Tonight we man the gap of danger. In Erin's cause, come woe or weal!"

At this point, not a voice is silent or passionless, dozens of voices roaring without pause, without regard for the enemy at the throat of the deathly rain of shrapnel and flames that landed minutes ago.

"'Mid cannons' roar and rifles peal We will chant a soldier's song!" you roar.

The group continues singing into the endless darkness. It's clear to you, as your voice is added to dozens of others, that the Irish spirit hasn't been broken tonight.

Days Later...
​

The next few days, you're not attacked, but the shelling, that goddamned shelling, continues on. Every day is a horror as you pray shells won't destroy the building, just hoping to survive as shells smash around you, tearing great holes in the buildings and blowing chunks of stone and mortar.

By Wednesday, hundreds of British troops attacked twenty-six volunteers in the Mendicity Institute, and they became the first of the rebels to surrender. Impressively, these men had been placed as a diversion to hold the area for a few hours to slow down the British but had lasted three days. Meanwhile, in the assault on Mount Street, seventeen Irish rebels managed to hold off over a thousand British soldiers, taking out 240 British soldiers with only 4 of their own casualties. God, they're impressive allies.

Of course, after that, the British hit hard. Over the next few days, there was endless brutality, As the British forces push in, they take heavy losses, but do push your forces back. It's going to be a hard fight to win this battle and push them back out of the city.

Now, on Thursday, a British force of soldiers have pushed up an advance force to the GPO, and you're forced to defend it. With a handful of other soldiers, James Connolly included, you're left defending an upper floor.

You stand by the window of the GPO, rushing to reload rifles. The single-shot nature of your rifles means you've set it up so while two men reload

"Christ, I need a better stance," Connolly says, putting his foot up on the windowsill.

James Connolly aims down his rifle, taking another shot. Suddenly, a bullet thuds into his leg, as he's sent toppling over with a scream. He lies on the ground, clutching his heavily bleeding leg. You drop the rifle you're holding, looking around for something to do. You can't see outside, but you know it's not going to take much to overrun your position.

1. Help Connolly

2. Take Connolly's spot on the window

2. Hmm, I didn't arrive back here for a week or so, but I agree with Vic. This is the best we can do for now.

 

[The Omen of Death]

(Option 2 has been chosen with 2 votes! Anyway I have noticed for a while this one doesn't seem as popular compared to the others, while I will still be doing this one, I am going to work on another one with an idea that recently came to me and am going to try to extend my reach for others as well because I think it's gonna be a great idea, it'll be a good way for me to work on my humor, you'll see what I mean in the interest check section, and I'll link everyone in the group that were here before. Hopefully we'll even get more people involved, it will help me with a certain character too. But back to the story.)

You rush over to the window, grabbing Connolly's rifle. You look to the woman sitting next to him, reloading the second rifle.

"We need to keep firing! If they get in, we're all fucked!"

She nods determined, as you quickly get to work.

You quickly begin firing, and swapping your rifle with the woman, but you realize why Connolly changed shooting position and exposed himself. Standing in cover means you barely have any field of view, and you can only fire down at a few of the soldiers, but it's mostly weak shots as you can't position yourself right. In order to get a better shot, you need to kind of change position, half-hanging out the window in order to fight and force back the enemy.

1. Take up a more advantageous position

2. Keep firing from your current position

 

[ViciousVip3R]

No risk, no reward...but really it just comes to efficiency. We only have so many bullets, so we need to make each of them count. This can only be done by taking a more advantageous position so that is what we should do.

1.

 

[acsgon]

Picking 1.

 

[Pryno]

Sorry for the long delay, I'm overwelmed by schoolwork IRL. First, acsgon , welcome to the adventure! Hope you enjoy your stay. Don't mind the flying bullets, you're safe. Most of us don't bite.

For the decision. Fool me once...changing our position would probably cause us to endure the same fate. However, we don't have grenades, which means that if we keep our position, we will probably be surrounded and be killed anyway. In both ways, it's a gamble. That means that we should make the most profitable choice in case of success. All this to say...option 1.

Let's give them hell.

 

[The Omen of Death]

(Very sorry for the delay guys, been quite busy lately anyway welcome acsgon great to see a newcomer! Anyway Option 1 has been chosen with 3 votes!)

You lean out the window, aiming down at the street as you prop yourself up the window. You're left half-hanging out of it, before you're left aiming down at the forces charging up the street. You aim your rifle carefully, taking a deep breath.

"Connolly needs a medic! Connolly needs a medic!" a voice cries behind you.

You fire your rifle, swapping it again as you raise the rifle, aiming down the iron sights again. You lean in, pressing your eye against the rifle, and pulling the trigger. Shots begin pinging off the stone window frame around you, before you swap your rifle again, grabbing another rifle. You aim again, firing as the bullet thuds into the paved street below, the bullet bouncing off the ground as you nearly hit a soldier charging down the street.

Suddenly, a bullet slams into your chest, as you're shot in the chest, sent fumbling out of the window with a pained scream. You fall through the air with a desperate scream, before your body and your life breaks on the streets, your bones shattering as your skull is smashed open on the streets.

(Looks like you guys were unlucky and got a bad roll and got killed, however as all of you should know and for acsgon since you are new to my Quest Logs, a death doesn't mean everything ends, we will keep going from this point, but the same option that was chosen will kill you again if you try it, so because there were only 2 options there, Option 2 will be chosen by default, if you guys are quick enough I will allow another free reply today. Anyway Option 2 has been chosen by default!)

You continue firing from the relative safety of your position. Relative being the key word, given how James Connolly took a bullet from it. You fire your rifle, hitting the British soldier in the stomach, as he topples over on the street. You pass your rifle to the woman next to you, as she passes you a loaded rifle. You raise it through the air, firing again, as the British in the street begin falling back.

Connolly is dragged off to a medic post, but you don't loss focus, continuing firing as the British make another attack. You fire again, shooting down at the British soldiers that are rushing towards you. You keep firing, determined to push them back.

Eventually, night falls, and the British soldiers fall back, unable to break through your lines and get into the building. You're left secure, as the enemy falls back, leaving you with a night's peace. Of course, that's what you think, until the shelling begins anew, as the British decide on that tactic instead of fighting. Connolly survives, but is badly wounded, and left unable to walk. As the shells explode around you, you settle in, for another night of praying the shells don't take down the whole building.

The Next Day...​

You crowd around Padraig Pearse, as he stares outward. The shelling hasn't ended, as the explosive rounds continue to smash into the building. As a lack of supplies, continued shelling damaging the infrastructure of the building, and the British outnumber and outgun you, allowing them to take over vast swathes of territory. Now, you're left outnumbered, as any moment the British could make their final push in, assaulting the GPO to capture or kill the remaining rising leaders and break the entire movement. After that, all that'll need to be done is a mop-up operation to take back control of the city.

As well as this, fires have sprung up through the building, as they begin to race through the old building. You've attempted to put them out, but you're completely unable to. Flames race through, and you're forced to abandon large sections of the building to horrific flames and fire. It's gotten to the point where it's completely out of control. Thus, you're in a desperate situation, as Padraig Pearse and the other leaders know.

"We need to begin a retreat," Padraig Pearse says. "This entire building is about to be overrun. Machine gun posts outside are ready to ambush us as soon as we go outside. Thus, we've found another solution."

"We're going to break through the walls of the GPO in order to get into the surrounding buildings to get the hell out of here. Meanwhile, a strike force is going to lend a diversionary assault out into the streets in order to take out the enemy, led by the O'Rahilly."

There's a quiet silence, as everyone thinks about the situation. It's a brutal issue, and the ability of rebel forces to fight every day grows harder and harder.

"We're looking for volunteers, true heroes, true patriots of the Irish republic, to join the O'Rahilly in his diversionary attack. Do we have any volunteers?"

Joseph who is next to you whispers in your ear, "I think we should join the group tunneling through the walls, that attack with O'Rahilly sounds like a suicide charge to me."

1. Escape the GPO with the O'Rahilly

2. Tunnel out through the walls

 

[Historical Storyteller]

(Very sorry for the delay guys, been quite busy lately anyway welcome acsgon great to see a newcomer! Anyway Option 1 has been chosen with 3 votes!)

You lean out the window, aiming down at the street as you prop yourself up the window. You're left half-hanging out of it, before you're left aiming down at the forces charging up the street. You aim your rifle carefully, taking a deep breath.

"Connolly needs a medic! Connolly needs a medic!" a voice cries behind you.

You fire your rifle, swapping it again as you raise the rifle, aiming down the iron sights again. You lean in, pressing your eye against the rifle, and pulling the trigger. Shots begin pinging off the stone window frame around you, before you swap your rifle again, grabbing another rifle. You aim again, firing as the bullet thuds into the paved street below, the bullet bouncing off the ground as you nearly hit a soldier charging down the street.

Suddenly, a bullet slams into your chest, as you're shot in the chest, sent fumbling out of the window with a pained scream. You fall through the air with a desperate scream, before your body and your life breaks on the streets, your bones shattering as your skull is smashed open on the streets.

(Looks like you guys were unlucky and got a bad roll and got killed, however as all of you should know and for acsgon since you are new to my Quest Logs, a death doesn't mean everything ends, we will keep going from this point, but the same option that was chosen will kill you again if you try it, so because there were only 2 options there, Option 2 will be chosen by default, if you guys are quick enough I will allow another free reply today. Anyway Option 2 has been chosen by default!)

You continue firing from the relative safety of your position. Relative being the key word, given how James Connolly took a bullet from it. You fire your rifle, hitting the British soldier in the stomach, as he topples over on the street. You pass your rifle to the woman next to you, as she passes you a loaded rifle. You raise it through the air, firing again, as the British in the street begin falling back.

Connolly is dragged off to a medic post, but you don't loss focus, continuing firing as the British make another attack. You fire again, shooting down at the British soldiers that are rushing towards you. You keep firing, determined to push them back.

Eventually, night falls, and the British soldiers fall back, unable to break through your lines and get into the building. You're left secure, as the enemy falls back, leaving you with a night's peace. Of course, that's what you think, until the shelling begins anew, as the British decide on that tactic instead of fighting. Connolly survives, but is badly wounded, and left unable to walk. As the shells explode around you, you settle in, for another night of praying the shells don't take down the whole building.

The Next Day...​

You crowd around Padraig Pearse, as he stares outward. The shelling hasn't ended, as the explosive rounds continue to smash into the building. As a lack of supplies, continued shelling damaging the infrastructure of the building, and the British outnumber and outgun you, allowing them to take over vast swathes of territory. Now, you're left outnumbered, as any moment the British could make their final push in, assaulting the GPO to capture or kill the remaining rising leaders and break the entire movement. After that, all that'll need to be done is a mop-up operation to take back control of the city.

As well as this, fires have sprung up through the building, as they begin to race through the old building. You've attempted to put them out, but you're completely unable to. Flames race through, and you're forced to abandon large sections of the building to horrific flames and fire. It's gotten to the point where it's completely out of control. Thus, you're in a desperate situation, as Padraig Pearse and the other leaders know.

"We need to begin a retreat," Padraig Pearse says. "This entire building is about to be overrun. Machine gun posts outside are ready to ambush us as soon as we go outside. Thus, we've found another solution."

"We're going to break through the walls of the GPO in order to get into the surrounding buildings to get the hell out of here. Meanwhile, a strike force is going to lend a diversionary assault out into the streets in order to take out the enemy, led by the O'Rahilly."

There's a quiet silence, as everyone thinks about the situation. It's a brutal issue, and the ability of rebel forces to fight every day grows harder and harder.

"We're looking for volunteers, true heroes, true patriots of the Irish republic, to join the O'Rahilly in his diversionary attack. Do we have any volunteers?"

Joseph who is next to you whispers in your ear, "I think we should join the group tunneling through the walls, that attack sounds like a suicide charge to me."

1. Escape the GPO with the O'Rahilly

2. Tunnel out through the walls

2. Looks like you're going to have to take one for the team, brother. You're probably going to die a horrible death, but your brothers-in-arms will live to fight another day.

 

[The Omen of Death]

2. Looks like you're going to have to take one for the team, brother. You're probably going to die a horrible death, but your brothers-in-arms will live to fight another day.

(Wow I am a dope I just realized I worded the thing wrong, I meant for Joseph to say that the diversionary attack with O'Rahily sounded like suicide. Gonna have to fix that, will you be sticking with Option 2? You sound like you would be on board with it either way. EDIT: actually no it's phrased right maybe not 100% clear though let me fix how it's phrased)

 

[Historical Storyteller]

(Wow I am a dope I just realized I worded the thing wrong, I meant for Joseph to say that the diversionary attack with O'Rahily sounded like suicide. Gonna have to fix that, will you be sticking with Option 2? You sound like you would be on board with it either way. EDIT: actually no it's phrased right maybe not 100% clear though let me fix how it's phrased)

Fuck yeah, let's do this, for Eireann! And for our buddies.

 

[Historical Storyteller]

Hey, where are the others?

 

[Pryno]

Sorry, I saw it and forgot to answer. Anyway, I'm not 100% sure about this. It does sound like a suicidal charge. Hell, even our fanatic brother thinks it! Should we live another day to continue to help the cause? Or should we die like heroes to make others escape? I'm gonna vote 1. The escape, not the diversion. Let's just save our skin and our brother's.

 

[The Omen of Death]

Sorry, I saw it and forgot to answer. Anyway, I'm not 100% sure about this. It does sound like a suicidal charge. Hell, even our fanatic brother thinks it! Should we live another day to continue to help the cause? Or should we die like heroes to make others escape? I'm gonna vote 1. The escape, not the diversion. Let's just save our skin and our brother's.

I just realized the confusion again, the phrasing was wrong the first time, number 1 is the diversionary attack number 2 is the escape.

 

[Pryno]

I voted 2 and Heisenberg voted 1. Got it.

Come with us, people! Vote whatever you want! But please protect Joseph.

 

[The Omen of Death]

(I am truly sorry for the delay, I am dealing with finals and last things for this college semester which is really sapping away my time and energy, and I am going to soon be unveiling my new idea, (I will still continue this one of course) in the interest checks which will link all my main stayer folks that have carried me through 4 stories, no matter their length, even if they haven't replied in a while just to see if they will be interested again, so I'll give you a nice juicy long one. Anyway we have a tie, and simply yer' all living to fight another day for Eireann, time to get the fuck outta there! Option 2 has been chosen by tie breaker!)

You don't raise your hand. Neither does Joseph. You watch as there's an assembly of volunteers, all led by the O'Rahilly. They prepare their arms, and quickly begin planning out their excursion, as the rest of you get to work.

You begin pushing out through the walls, as pairs of men get to work with sledgehammers, breaking through the backs of the walls as you attempt to break to freedom. You consider explosives, but you realize that it'll be far too loud, and perhaps lead to you being found out. It takes some time and effort to tunnel through several buildings, as well as an organized evacuation of the are. The O'Rahilly leads his men out into the bullet-torn, bloody streets. You don't hear back from him, but of course, you never expected to. The man gave his life for Ireland, and that's something you all give a silent prayer to thank.

Eventually, you manage to break through the walls of several buildings, hurrying to retreat to 16 Moore Street, where defensive positions are set up again. A young man, only 21, Seán McLoughlin, is given military command, and has already begun plans for a massive break-out to regroup and push the British forces back out of the city. The building is converted into the new headquarters, and you get back to work in organizing the rising between messengers and trying to see among all the chaos a chance to turn this into a victory, even though there isn't any way.

You spend the night on guard duty, terrified that the British are going to make another push, storming straight past the flaming GPO to where you are now, so that they can take your new headquarters and draw this rebellion to a close. Fortunately, they don't come, and the fifth day of the rebellion comes to a close.

The Next Day...​

It has become clear that the rising has failed. With too few men, too few supplies and the hastily relocated headquarters barely being capable to keeping the thing together, there's little chance of success.

More importantly that are the heavy casualties. Not among the rebels, of course, and certainly not among the enemy, but it's the deaths of those not involved in the fight that hits hardest. The British have been committing more than a few atrocities against the civilian populace of Ireland, executing men without trial for simply being associated with a rebel. This indiscriminate shelling of the city has led to a huge level of losses.

To ask soldiers to fight and die for the cause is necessary. There's to be no regrets when a soldier gives his life for Ireland. But civilians? Men, women and children who didn't join this? Their deaths are a horror. With more civilians dying that Rebels and Loyalists alike, they're the true victims of the war.

Sean McLoughin attempts to organize a break-out to take back enemy positions, but this is vetoed by Padraig Pearse, who fears that this will just prolong the inevitable and lead to further serious loss of civilian life.

Thus, a message is drafted, to be sent out to the various rebel cells across the city and in the outer areas, to be carried by a nurse, Elizabeth O'Farrell. It reads:

"In order to prevent the further slaughter of Dublin citizens, and in the hope of saving the lives of our followers now surrounded and hopelessly outnumbered, the members of the Provisional Government present at headquarters have agreed to an unconditional surrender, and the commandants of the various districts in the City and County will order their commands to lay down arms."

After that, Padraig Pearse heads out, to surrender to the British General William Lowe, and with that, the rebellion officially comes to an end with a weak whimper. Still, you march out proudly with your head held high as you're taken prisoner on mass. You refuse to let them break them, refuse to let them see how weak you are.

With that, you proudly march out into the streets, your weapons surrendered, you're taken prisoner. You're left there, at the mercy of the British soldiers as you're rounded up. You find yourself standing next to Joseph and a badly wounded James Connolly, who is being held by two soldiers. He's incapable of standing, lying there badly wounded. You doubt he'll last very long.

"Well, Michael, I'm sorry it had to come to this," Joseph says, sad but determined.

"It was always going to end this way," you say.

"We'll die heroes, at least," Joseph says.

"They're going to kill us?" a soldier asks meekly.

"Don't worry," James Connolly says, stirring from his pained sleep and having a moment of clarity. "Those of us that signed the proclamation will be shot. But the rest of you will be set free."

The soldier nods, as James Connolly smiles, before quickly collapsing back into sleep.

You're rounded up, your arms taken as the British hurry to organize this mass surrender. You're all taken away, as they attempt to separate the rank and file rebel soldiers from the leaders of this insurrection. It's not hard. The rebel leaders make no attempt to hide, proudly declaring their goals and their achievements in serving the cause. They're taken away to private locations, where they'll no doubt be tried and executed as soon as can be.

You're soon spread out between the local jails, where you're held temporarily. However, it's not long before the British realize that holding you on your own territory, where your supporters still remain, isn't the best idea. Instead, a few cargo ships are converted to prison ships, where they'll take you across the channel. If the British are lucky, German boats will sink you and send you to a watery grave so you don't have to be dealt with. If not, you're to be taken to a POW camp designed for German soldiers, where you'll be held, somewhere in Wales. The German POWs held there are being moved, and you'll instead stay there. Your destination is a place known as Frongoch, although you've never heard of it. You have no idea how long you'll stay there, but you can only hope you'll be getting out of there, and if you're lucky, it won't be in a coffin.

You sit in the bowels the ship, trying to stay calm as you face the idea of leaving Ireland for the first time in your life. You're in a tight, barred area reserved for cargo, sitting in one of the bunks crammed in there, surrounded by other men just like you. You're nervous, terrified, even, but you're trying to hide it, as is every man there. Well, that is, every man there besides one.

"Well? How did it go?" a dark haired, surprisingly cheerful man says out loud, drawing your attention, and everyone else's

You pause, as you recognize the man as the man who captured that British soldier the O'Rahilly talked to. Michael Collins was his name, you think.

"How did what go?" someone asks, confused.

"Why, the Easter Rising, of course," he smiles. "We need to learn from our failures of his whole thing for the next time."

"Next time?" you ask. "What next time? It's over. We lost."

"This isn't the end," Michael Collins says. "This is the start. We've lit the fire, but now we need to continue. I'd say we're about ready to begin planning the next take over. This is just the beginning, I promise you that."

You nod, feeling slightly more prepared for the trip to Wales, as all you rebels begin plotting for the next great rebellion.

Frongoch Internment Camp
​

Over the next six months, the situation changes, surprisingly. While initially, the rebels seem like villains, disturbing the peace and betraying Britain while she faces the evil Huns in the Great War, this quickly changes.

Early on, dozens of cases of atrocities committed by the British come out. Prisoners having been executed in the fighting. The destruction of property out of spite. The use of a pacifist activist as a human shield. Journalists being rounded up and executed by firing quad. Over a dozen civilians being rounded up and shot or bayoneted to death. All of that didn't even take into account Britain's indiscriminate shelling of the area. All of this coming to light quickly turns public favor, as makes the rebels, who took care to avoid civilian casualties, seem like the heroes of this uprising. Just as Padraig Pearse wanted, his men didn't achieve a tactical victory, but have become painted as martyrs for a cause, gaining huge support and lighting the fire of patriotism in the soul of every Irishman there.

Then, the British saw fit to execute the sixteen key figures of the rising: Pádraic Pearse, Thomas Clarke, MacDonagh, Joseph Plunkett, Edward Daly, Michael O'Hanrahan, Willie Pearse, John MacBride, Eamonn Ceantt, Michael Mallin, Sean Heuston, Con Colbert, Thomas Kent, Séan MacDiarmada and James Connolly.

These executions further made the British seem as oppressors rather than peace-keepers. Some of those executed weren't even leaders of the rising. John MacBride hadn't been aware of the rising until it began, while Thomas Kent hadn't participated in it.

The manner of execution was worse. John Connolly was so wounded he had to be tied in a chair to stay standing before his firing squad. Joseph Plunkett married his wife Grace Gifford, a Protestant who converted to Catholicism, seven hours before his execution. They weren't allowed to speak to each other or touch each other. He was shot later that day. Roger Casement, formerly Sir Roger Casement, a famed humanitarian who had done extensive charity work in Peru and the Congo, was hung, not even being given the soldier's death of a firing squad.

Stories like this quickly turned public support in favor of the rebels. Support for Sinn Féin, a nationalist political party, surged, as republicanism gained massive support. It became clear Britain was sitting on a powder keg as it tried to focus on dealing with this. With Sinn Féin rising into power, republicanism on the rise and a desperate longing for independence arising in the Irish zeitgeist, it seems clear that violence is coming.

Your life, on the other hand, shifts. Conditions in Frongoch are surprisingly good. However, it seems the intention of the British to quash the rebellious spirit has failed even worse in Wales than back in Ireland. They've put together the various rebels from across the country. Most of the rebellion took place in Dublin, but there's men from all over the country who rebelled. This means that the most radical, nationalist thinkers of the country are allowed to exchange ideas and plan for the future of the country. Connections are made between rebel members from all over Ireland, that'll allow for a more nationalized movement.

As well as this, the newest branch of nationalist leaders arrives. With the death of the old leaders, this leaves a power vacuum that new men are more than willing to step into. Men like Michael Collins, Seán McLoughlin, Patrick Daly, W.T. Cosgrave and many more rise up, using charisma and intellect to organize the prisoners. You all practically run the camp yourself, with jobs being organized by these new leaders to put in work together.

Life in Frongoch has been surprisingly easy. Surrounded by other Irishmen, you get along surprisingly well, with few issues rising up between prisoners. The workload is shared among men, and you're treated very well by the British, who are desperate to avoid another propaganda moment arising from your mistreatment. It's still prison, of course, but hey, it's not ended too badly, all things considered. Time flies quite quickly, and ultimately, it's barely even a punishment.

It's one of of those cold winter days, December 1916. You find yourself right at free time, ready to be released from your cell. Michael Collins is organizing work so that the younger men can fill in for the shifts so that the older men, and thus suffering from long standing injuries don't have to work. You owe him an extra shift, you could meet with him to get to work. You could also go visit Joseph in his cell, and see how that's going. Finally, you could go find a guard, attempting to garner some information on the status of your current imprisonment.

1. Help Michael Collins

2. Visit Joseph

3. Garner information from the guards

 

[ViciousVip3R]

I've been busy and never got the alerts, sorry. Maybe Historical Storyteller and Pryno are in the same boat.

Anyway, we promised Collins a shift, and being a man of our word, we should go fulfill our commitment.

1.

 

[Historical Storyteller]

(I am truly sorry for the delay, I am dealing with finals and last things for this college semester which is really sapping away my time and energy, and I am going to soon be unveiling my new idea, (I will still continue this one of course) in the interest checks which will link all my main stayer folks that have carried me through 4 stories, no matter their length, even if they haven't replied in a while just to see if they will be interested again, so I'll give you a nice juicy long one. Anyway we have a tie, and simply yer' all living to fight another day for Eireann, time to get the fuck outta there! Option 2 has been chosen by tie breaker!)

You don't raise your hand. Neither does Joseph. You watch as there's an assembly of volunteers, all led by the O'Rahilly. They prepare their arms, and quickly begin planning out their excursion, as the rest of you get to work.

You begin pushing out through the walls, as pairs of men get to work with sledgehammers, breaking through the backs of the walls as you attempt to break to freedom. You consider explosives, but you realize that it'll be far too loud, and perhaps lead to you being found out. It takes some time and effort to tunnel through several buildings, as well as an organized evacuation of the are. The O'Rahilly leads his men out into the bullet-torn, bloody streets. You don't hear back from him, but of course, you never expected to. The man gave his life for Ireland, and that's something you all give a silent prayer to thank.

Eventually, you manage to break through the walls of several buildings, hurrying to retreat to 16 Moore Street, where defensive positions are set up again. A young man, only 21, Seán McLoughlin, is given military command, and has already begun plans for a massive break-out to regroup and push the British forces back out of the city. The building is converted into the new headquarters, and you get back to work in organizing the rising between messengers and trying to see among all the chaos a chance to turn this into a victory, even though there isn't any way.

You spend the night on guard duty, terrified that the British are going to make another push, storming straight past the flaming GPO to where you are now, so that they can take your new headquarters and draw this rebellion to a close. Fortunately, they don't come, and the fifth day of the rebellion comes to a close.

The Next Day...​

It has become clear that the rising has failed. With too few men, too few supplies and the hastily relocated headquarters barely being capable to keeping the thing together, there's little chance of success.

More importantly that are the heavy casualties. Not among the rebels, of course, and certainly not among the enemy, but it's the deaths of those not involved in the fight that hits hardest. The British have been committing more than a few atrocities against the civilian populace of Ireland, executing men without trial for simply being associated with a rebel. This indiscriminate shelling of the city has led to a huge level of losses.

To ask soldiers to fight and die for the cause is necessary. There's to be no regrets when a soldier gives his life for Ireland. But civilians? Men, women and children who didn't join this? Their deaths are a horror. With more civilians dying that Rebels and Loyalists alike, they're the true victims of the war.

Sean McLoughin attempts to organize a break-out to take back enemy positions, but this is vetoed by Padraig Pearse, who fears that this will just prolong the inevitable and lead to further serious loss of civilian life.

Thus, a message is drafted, to be sent out to the various rebel cells across the city and in the outer areas, to be carried by a nurse, Elizabeth O'Farrell. It reads:

"In order to prevent the further slaughter of Dublin citizens, and in the hope of saving the lives of our followers now surrounded and hopelessly outnumbered, the members of the Provisional Government present at headquarters have agreed to an unconditional surrender, and the commandants of the various districts in the City and County will order their commands to lay down arms."

After that, Padraig Pearse heads out, to surrender to the British General William Lowe, and with that, the rebellion officially comes to an end with a weak whimper. Still, you march out proudly with your head held high as you're taken prisoner on mass. You refuse to let them break them, refuse to let them see how weak you are.

With that, you proudly march out into the streets, your weapons surrendered, you're taken prisoner. You're left there, at the mercy of the British soldiers as you're rounded up. You find yourself standing next to Joseph and a badly wounded James Connolly, who is being held by two soldiers. He's incapable of standing, lying there badly wounded. You doubt he'll last very long.

"Well, Michael, I'm sorry it had to come to this," Joseph says, sad but determined.

"It was always going to end this way," you say.

"We'll die heroes, at least," Joseph says.

"They're going to kill us?" a soldier asks meekly.

"Don't worry," James Connolly says, stirring from his pained sleep and having a moment of clarity. "Those of us that signed the proclamation will be shot. But the rest of you will be set free."

The soldier nods, as James Connolly smiles, before quickly collapsing back into sleep.

You're rounded up, your arms taken as the British hurry to organize this mass surrender. You're all taken away, as they attempt to separate the rank and file rebel soldiers from the leaders of this insurrection. It's not hard. The rebel leaders make no attempt to hide, proudly declaring their goals and their achievements in serving the cause. They're taken away to private locations, where they'll no doubt be tried and executed as soon as can be.

You're soon spread out between the local jails, where you're held temporarily. However, it's not long before the British realize that holding you on your own territory, where your supporters still remain, isn't the best idea. Instead, a few cargo ships are converted to prison ships, where they'll take you across the channel. If the British are lucky, German boats will sink you and send you to a watery grave so you don't have to be dealt with. If not, you're to be taken to a POW camp designed for German soldiers, where you'll be held, somewhere in Wales. The German POWs held there are being moved, and you'll instead stay there. Your destination is a place known as Frongoch, although you've never heard of it. You have no idea how long you'll stay there, but you can only hope you'll be getting out of there, and if you're lucky, it won't be in a coffin.

You sit in the bowels the ship, trying to stay calm as you face the idea of leaving Ireland for the first time in your life. You're in a tight, barred area reserved for cargo, sitting in one of the bunks crammed in there, surrounded by other men just like you. You're nervous, terrified, even, but you're trying to hide it, as is every man there. Well, that is, every man there besides one.

"Well? How did it go?" a dark haired, surprisingly cheerful man says out loud, drawing your attention, and everyone else's

You pause, as you recognize the man as the man who captured that British soldier the O'Rahilly talked to. Michael Collins was his name, you think.

"How did what go?" someone asks, confused.

"Why, the Easter Rising, of course," he smiles. "We need to learn from our failures of his whole thing for the next time."

"Next time?" you ask. "What next time? It's over. We lost."

"This isn't the end," Michael Collins says. "This is the start. We've lit the fire, but now we need to continue. I'd say we're about ready to begin planning the next take over. This is just the beginning, I promise you that."

You nod, feeling slightly more prepared for the trip to Wales, as all you rebels begin plotting for the next great rebellion.

Frongoch Internment Camp
​

Over the next six months, the situation changes, surprisingly. While initially, the rebels seem like villains, disturbing the peace and betraying Britain while she faces the evil Huns in the Great War, this quickly changes.

Early on, dozens of cases of atrocities committed by the British come out. Prisoners having been executed in the fighting. The destruction of property out of spite. The use of a pacifist activist as a human shield. Journalists being rounded up and executed by firing quad. Over a dozen civilians being rounded up and shot or bayoneted to death. All of that didn't even take into account Britain's indiscriminate shelling of the area. All of this coming to light quickly turns public favor, as makes the rebels, who took care to avoid civilian casualties, seem like the heroes of this uprising. Just as Padraig Pearse wanted, his men didn't achieve a tactical victory, but have become painted as martyrs for a cause, gaining huge support and lighting the fire of patriotism in the soul of every Irishman there.

Then, the British saw fit to execute the sixteen key figures of the rising: Pádraic Pearse, Thomas Clarke, MacDonagh, Joseph Plunkett, Edward Daly, Michael O'Hanrahan, Willie Pearse, John MacBride, Eamonn Ceantt, Michael Mallin, Sean Heuston, Con Colbert, Thomas Kent, Séan MacDiarmada and James Connolly.

These executions further made the British seem as oppressors rather than peace-keepers. Some of those executed weren't even leaders of the rising. John MacBride hadn't been aware of the rising until it began, while Thomas Kent hadn't participated in it.

The manner of execution was worse. John Connolly was so wounded he had to be tied in a chair to stay standing before his firing squad. Joseph Plunkett married his wife Grace Gifford, a Protestant who converted to Catholicism, seven hours before his execution. They weren't allowed to speak to each other or touch each other. He was shot later that day. Roger Casement, formerly Sir Roger Casement, a famed humanitarian who had done extensive charity work in Peru and the Congo, was hung, not even being given the soldier's death of a firing squad.

Stories like this quickly turned public support in favor of the rebels. Support for Sinn Féin, a nationalist political party, surged, as republicanism gained massive support. It became clear Britain was sitting on a powder keg as it tried to focus on dealing with this. With Sinn Féin rising into power, republicanism on the rise and a desperate longing for independence arising in the Irish zeitgeist, it seems clear that violence is coming.

Your life, on the other hand, shifts. Conditions in Frongoch are surprisingly good. However, it seems the intention of the British to quash the rebellious spirit has failed even worse in Wales than back in Ireland. They've put together the various rebels from across the country. Most of the rebellion took place in Dublin, but there's men from all over the country who rebelled. This means that the most radical, nationalist thinkers of the country are allowed to exchange ideas and plan for the future of the country. Connections are made between rebel members from all over Ireland, that'll allow for a more nationalized movement.

As well as this, the newest branch of nationalist leaders arrives. With the death of the old leaders, this leaves a power vacuum that new men are more than willing to step into. Men like Michael Collins, Seán McLoughlin, Patrick Daly, W.T. Cosgrave and many more rise up, using charisma and intellect to organize the prisoners. You all practically run the camp yourself, with jobs being organized by these new leaders to put in work together.

Life in Frongoch has been surprisingly easy. Surrounded by other Irishmen, you get along surprisingly well, with few issues rising up between prisoners. The workload is shared among men, and you're treated very well by the British, who are desperate to avoid another propaganda moment arising from your mistreatment. It's still prison, of course, but hey, it's not ended too badly, all things considered. Time flies quite quickly, and ultimately, it's barely even a punishment.

It's one of of those cold winter days, December 1916. You find yourself right at free time, ready to be released from your cell. Michael Collins is organizing work so that the younger men can fill in for the shifts so that the older men, and thus suffering from long standing injuries don't have to work. You owe him an extra shift, you could meet with him to get to work. You could also go visit Joseph in his cell, and see how that's going. Finally, you could go find a guard, attempting to garner some information on the status of your current imprisonment.

1. Help Michael Collins

2. Visit Joseph

3. Garner information from the guards

1. Don't be a buddy fucker, man. Take care of your comrades and they'll take care of you.

Had to take quite a long break from this site, but I'm back.

 

[Pryno]

Sorry for the long break. I was also pretty busy. But now, it's summer break! ^-^

Anyway, I'm with my comrades on this one. 1.

 

[The Omen of Death]

( ViciousVip3R Historical Storyteller Pryno I am truly sorry for this long wait I have subjected you all too, I was dealing with a lot and am trying to find a job so that's taken up a lot of my time, however I will be good to continue this story, I thank you all for your patience as it helps show that continuing this story is worth it, it truly means a lot. I have another questlog in the works that WILL NOT replace this one but was something I was considering for a while and thought would be a very fun idea to do, hopefully in the coming days you will see it. Anyway Option 1 has been chosen with 3 votes)

You quickly begin heading out into the open yard, where you quickly find the dark haired, cheerful man known as Michael Collins.

"Mr. Collins, how can I help you?"

"Michael. It's Michael. Mister Collins is hardly a name fitting for me, is it?"

"I suppose not. Other Michael doesn't work though, and Michael sounds very weird because I keep thinking you're referring to me. Any letters in for me?"

"Nothing yet. We do have a shift for you if you're willing to work."

"What needs to be done?" you ask.

"There's a laundry shift ready for you, seeing as Old Eamon's bloody knee is acting up again."

"It's always acting up, isn't it?" you smile. "Anything else needed?"

"You're fine," Michael Collins smiles. "You've been a terrific help over the past while. I appreciate it, other Michael."

"You're right, it is weird. I'll get to it," you say, turning and heading away.

Laundry detail is long, hard and boring. Washing the same dull, brightly colored prisoner garb in a hurried attempt to get through the work. It's a few hours of sweaty work dealing with all the dirty laundry for a huge camp of men. Eventually, just as your shift comes to an end, your work is interrupted by a group of celebrating Irishmen who rush through the laundry room, whooping and cheering.

"What's wrong?" you ask. "What are ye' so giddy about?"

"We're being released!" one of them says. "The British are releasing us in order to focus on the Great War and to try pacify us! Fat fucking chance!"

You pause, grinning, as the Irishman hugs you.

"Seriously? This is unbelievable! We're going back to Ireland!"

You grin, feeling a great joy surge through you. Just like that, the British are releasing the men who gent rebelled against them, and you're free again.

And just like that, after only eight months, you're released from Frongoch, and returning home to Ireland.

Eventually, you're released from Frongoch on mass, and you're back in Dublin with Joseph, returning home. You stroll down the path to your house, walking alongside Joseph as you head home. You wear a pair of dirtied street clothes, taken from donation by locals so your first steps back in Ireland aren't in prison primsolls. You walk down the path, your thick-soled boots crunching as you step over pebbles, the polished leather shining in the sun.

For once, the weather in Ireland is actually nice. The sun's out, there's clear skies above. There's a cool breeze, birds flying overhead, and the a general beauty in the world that feels delightful.

God, it feels good to be back in Ireland. What a homecoming.

"This is what we fought for, isn't it?" Joseph asks. "This beautiful nation."

You arrive at the old wooden door to the place, pulling it open as you stroll inside.

"Hello?" you ask loudly.

Mary appears out of the kitchen, looking at you. She certainly looks older now, her hair longer, her face more matured and like a woman rather than a girl, her body less boyish than you'd have hoped as she's matured into a full, grown woman. Mary blinks slowly, staring at you in shock.

"Michael? Joseph?" she asks. "Boys! Ma, the boys are home!"

Mary rushes towards you, embracing you, You wrap an arm around her, lifting her into the air as she laughs. Joseph quickly bursts in, hugging the two of you as Mary begins to tear up.

"It's so good to see you. I've missed you both so much."

"I'm glad to see you too, Mary," you grin. "How are things?"

Ma appears in the hallway, rushing towards you as fast as the hobbled over woman can. With almost surprising strength she squeezes you tightly, planting a kiss on your lips before another goes on your cheek.

"My two boys, both come home to me after being taken!" Ma shrieks loudly, pulling you in for a tight hug. "Oh boys, the Lord has blessed me. He's so good to me, so good to me."

"Come on, let's go get a cup of tea and hear all about how you've been," Mary says.

"Perfect," you say. "I'm dying for a taste of the Irish stuff."

Two Months Later...
​

As time goes on, you slowly return to normal life, working hard on the farm and supporting the growing surge of nationalism that's erupting through the country.

The 1918 Irish general elections are a shocker, but make it clear how polarized the nation is thanks to the radicalizing effect of the Easter Rising and its aftermath. Of the 105 seats the Irish people had in the House of Commons, the last election had left the main Home Rule party, the Irish Parliamentary Party, with 74 seats, with 17 going to the Irish Unionist party which sought to keep Ireland as part of Britain. The nationalist Sinn Féin did not hold a single seat.

After the elections, the Irish Parliamentary Party had six seats left. The Irish Unionist Party was left with 22. Sinn Féin now held a whopping 73 seats. Led by Éamon de Valera, a prominent commander in the Easter Rising who had been spared the firing squad due to his American citizenship and the fact that Britain was hoping to get America to join in on the war, Sinn Féin had become the most prominent party in Ireland. However, their members have taken a drastic policy, refusing to attend British parliament for fear that would legitimize Britain's rule over Ireland. What they plan to do next is anyone's guess.

It's the 21st of January, 1919. Thanks to winter, there's little work to do at the farm other than maintaining the animals, so you're left with a little free time. Given that it's nearly Mary's birthday, you've went into the city to try purchase a gift for her with Joseph.

You walk along the cold streets, your hands in your coat. Joseph walks alongside you. A cigarette hangs in your lips, while you listen to Joseph trying to justify his gift idea.

"It's good for her, but it's good for the whole house! That doesn't mean we're being selfish, we're just being logical."

"Mary doesn't drink, Joseph. She's had a few sips, but she'll never appreciate anything worth giving as a gift."

"Well, what do you suppose?" he asks.

You pass a group of young girls walking together. You tip your hat and smile at them, as they all smile respectfully back. You turn back to Joseph to continue your conversation, but your brother has a big, goofy grin on his face.

"She was looking at you, Michael. She seemed like she was dripping," he laughs.

"Dripping?" you ask.

"Yeah. You know what I mean."

You shake your head, shrugging.

"Christ, you really haven't been with many girls. Or more accurately, any girls. She liked you, Michael. Speaking of, I've heard there's more than a few girls are on the hunt for a man like you, you know. Katie Hales, for instance."

"The one with the face like a horse? I'll pass, Joseph."

"Alright, don't be a bollocks. Jane Garrety. She's a pretty girl, you can't argue with me there."

"Barely a personality there at all. I'd sooner marry horse-face."

"You're an awful man. There must be some woman you like."

You shake your head, as Joseph groans in frustration.

"You know, maybe those rumors are true, for fuck's sake."

You've heard the rumors before, and this. The accuracy in them might be what makes them so enraging.

"Watch your fucking tone with me," you growl." I swear to fuck, I will put your head through a fucking wall."

"Shit, sorry, sorry!" Joseph says, raising his hands defensively. "Didn't mean to start anything."

"Then don't," you say tersely.

You walk on for about a minute as Joseph goes silent and cowers down. Finally, he decides to break the silence again.

"So, shall we get the whiskey?" Joseph asks innocently.

"Christ above," you mutter.

"Well, I don't hear any suggestions from you."

"Something girly. A dress, or something."

"Do you know Mary's size?" Joseph asks, as you stare at him blankly.

"Ah for fuck's sake, I don't know. She's fairly small."

"I doubt 'fairly small' is a dress size."

"Christ above, then get her a book, or a fucking c-"

You slam into another man, knocking his papers to the ground as he nearly tips backwards. You grab his wrist, keeping steady, before dropping low to gather his papers.

"Excuse me, sir," you apologize. "I was distracted by my brother."

You pause, recognizing him.

"Rory? Rory O'Connor?" you ask.

"Ah, it's the McCarthy brothers!" he grins. "It's great to see you both. How's life after Frongoch?"

"Too close to life before Frongoch," you say.

"How are you, Rory?" Joseph grins, as the man smiles.

"So, how's life with you?" he asks, grinning.

"We're both surviving. What are you rushing about to do, anyway? You were in some fierce hurry."

"I do indeed, I've a lot to do, actually," Rory O'Connor says. "Speaking of, you could help me in that. I'm on a recruitment drive."

"For what?" you ask.

"The Irish Republican Army. We're reorganizing the Irish Volunteers, turning them into a proper fighting force. I'm taking on the role of Director of Engineering."

"There's no republic for there to be an army to fight for," you point out.

"That changes today. The Sinn Féin politicians are getting together to found the first Irish parliament, Dáil Éireann, the assembly of Ireland. We will declare an Irish republic, and with that, the IRA will have a nation to fight for. While you're here, actually, I suppose I'll just ask. McCarthy Brothers, will you join the IRA and fight for this newfound nation?"

"I'm in," Joseph says, extending his hand as the two shake hands. "I'll happily shed my blood for this country once more."

"Delightful," he says, grinning, before turning to you. "Michael? Your experience in the IRB and Rising could be appreciated. A lot of people have a lot of respect for you. We could use someone like you."

1. Join the IRA

2. Refuse Rory O'Connor's offer

 

[Pryno]

It’s good to have you back. I’m expecting news on the idea soon!

The choice is obvious for me. Let’s join the rebellion!

 

[ViciousVip3R]

Yeah, getting a job is a struggle. Can't wait to hear about your new idea.

I totally agree with Pryno , the only way to go is 1.

 

[Historical Storyteller]

( ViciousVip3R Historical Storyteller Pryno I am truly sorry for this long wait I have subjected you all too, I was dealing with a lot and am trying to find a job so that's taken up a lot of my time, however I will be good to continue this story, I thank you all for your patience as it helps show that continuing this story is worth it, it truly means a lot. I have another questlog in the works that WILL NOT replace this one but was something I was considering for a while and thought would be a very fun idea to do, hopefully in the coming days you will see it. Anyway Option 1 has been chosen with 3 votes)

You quickly begin heading out into the open yard, where you quickly find the dark haired, cheerful man known as Michael Collins.

"Mr. Collins, how can I help you?"

"Michael. It's Michael. Mister Collins is hardly a name fitting for me, is it?"

"I suppose not. Other Michael doesn't work though, and Michael sounds very weird because I keep thinking you're referring to me. Any letters in for me?"

"Nothing yet. We do have a shift for you if you're willing to work."

"What needs to be done?" you ask.

"There's a laundry shift ready for you, seeing as Old Eamon's bloody knee is acting up again."

"It's always acting up, isn't it?" you smile. "Anything else needed?"

"You're fine," Michael Collins smiles. "You've been a terrific help over the past while. I appreciate it, other Michael."

"You're right, it is weird. I'll get to it," you say, turning and heading away.

Laundry detail is long, hard and boring. Washing the same dull, brightly colored prisoner garb in a hurried attempt to get through the work. It's a few hours of sweaty work dealing with all the dirty laundry for a huge camp of men. Eventually, just as your shift comes to an end, your work is interrupted by a group of celebrating Irishmen who rush through the laundry room, whooping and cheering.

"What's wrong?" you ask. "What are ye' so giddy about?"

"We're being released!" one of them says. "The British are releasing us in order to focus on the Great War and to try pacify us! Fat fucking chance!"

You pause, grinning, as the Irishman hugs you.

"Seriously? This is unbelievable! We're going back to Ireland!"

You grin, feeling a great joy surge through you. Just like that, the British are releasing the men who gent rebelled against them, and you're free again.

And just like that, after only eight months, you're released from Frongoch, and returning home to Ireland.

Eventually, you're released from Frongoch on mass, and you're back in Dublin with Joseph, returning home. You stroll down the path to your house, walking alongside Joseph as you head home. You wear a pair of dirtied street clothes, taken from donation by locals so your first steps back in Ireland aren't in prison primsolls. You walk down the path, your thick-soled boots crunching as you step over pebbles, the polished leather shining in the sun.

For once, the weather in Ireland is actually nice. The sun's out, there's clear skies above. There's a cool breeze, birds flying overhead, and the a general beauty in the world that feels delightful.

God, it feels good to be back in Ireland. What a homecoming.

"This is what we fought for, isn't it?" Joseph asks. "This beautiful nation."

You arrive at the old wooden door to the place, pulling it open as you stroll inside.

"Hello?" you ask loudly.

Mary appears out of the kitchen, looking at you. She certainly looks older now, her hair longer, her face more matured and like a woman rather than a girl, her body less boyish than you'd have hoped as she's matured into a full, grown woman. Mary blinks slowly, staring at you in shock.

"Michael? Joseph?" she asks. "Boys! Ma, the boys are home!"

Mary rushes towards you, embracing you, You wrap an arm around her, lifting her into the air as she laughs. Joseph quickly bursts in, hugging the two of you as Mary begins to tear up.

"It's so good to see you. I've missed you both so much."

"I'm glad to see you too, Mary," you grin. "How are things?"

Ma appears in the hallway, rushing towards you as fast as the hobbled over woman can. With almost surprising strength she squeezes you tightly, planting a kiss on your lips before another goes on your cheek.

"My two boys, both come home to me after being taken!" Ma shrieks loudly, pulling you in for a tight hug. "Oh boys, the Lord has blessed me. He's so good to me, so good to me."

"Come on, let's go get a cup of tea and hear all about how you've been," Mary says.

"Perfect," you say. "I'm dying for a taste of the Irish stuff."

Two Months Later...
​

As time goes on, you slowly return to normal life, working hard on the farm and supporting the growing surge of nationalism that's erupting through the country.

The 1918 Irish general elections are a shocker, but make it clear how polarized the nation is thanks to the radicalizing effect of the Easter Rising and its aftermath. Of the 105 seats the Irish people had in the House of Commons, the last election had left the main Home Rule party, the Irish Parliamentary Party, with 74 seats, with 17 going to the Irish Unionist party which sought to keep Ireland as part of Britain. The nationalist Sinn Féin did not hold a single seat.

After the elections, the Irish Parliamentary Party had six seats left. The Irish Unionist Party was left with 22. Sinn Féin now held a whopping 73 seats. Led by Éamon de Valera, a prominent commander in the Easter Rising who had been spared the firing squad due to his American citizenship and the fact that Britain was hoping to get America to join in on the war, Sinn Féin had become the most prominent party in Ireland. However, their members have taken a drastic policy, refusing to attend British parliament for fear that would legitimize Britain's rule over Ireland. What they plan to do next is anyone's guess.

It's the 21st of January, 1919. Thanks to winter, there's little work to do at the farm other than maintaining the animals, so you're left with a little free time. Given that it's nearly Mary's birthday, you've went into the city to try purchase a gift for her with Joseph.

You walk along the cold streets, your hands in your coat. Joseph walks alongside you. A cigarette hangs in your lips, while you listen to Joseph trying to justify his gift idea.

"It's good for her, but it's good for the whole house! That doesn't mean we're being selfish, we're just being logical."

"Mary doesn't drink, Joseph. She's had a few sips, but she'll never appreciate anything worth giving as a gift."

"Well, what do you suppose?" he asks.

You pass a group of young girls walking together. You tip your hat and smile at them, as they all smile respectfully back. You turn back to Joseph to continue your conversation, but your brother has a big, goofy grin on his face.

"She was looking at you, Michael. She seemed like she was dripping," he laughs.

"Dripping?" you ask.

"Yeah. You know what I mean."

You shake your head, shrugging.

"Christ, you really haven't been with many girls. Or more accurately, any girls. She liked you, Michael. Speaking of, I've heard there's more than a few girls are on the hunt for a man like you, you know. Katie Hales, for instance."

"The one with the face like a horse? I'll pass, Joseph."

"Alright, don't be a bollocks. Jane Garrety. She's a pretty girl, you can't argue with me there."

"Barely a personality there at all. I'd sooner marry horse-face."

"You're an awful man. There must be some woman you like."

You shake your head, as Joseph groans in frustration.

"You know, maybe those rumors are true, for fuck's sake."

You've heard the rumors before, and this. The accuracy in them might be what makes them so enraging.

"Watch your fucking tone with me," you growl." I swear to fuck, I will put your head through a fucking wall."

"Shit, sorry, sorry!" Joseph says, raising his hands defensively. "Didn't mean to start anything."

"Then don't," you say tersely.

You walk on for about a minute as Joseph goes silent and cowers down. Finally, he decides to break the silence again.

"So, shall we get the whiskey?" Joseph asks innocently.

"Christ above," you mutter.

"Well, I don't hear any suggestions from you."

"Something girly. A dress, or something."

"Do you know Mary's size?" Joseph asks, as you stare at him blankly.

"Ah for fuck's sake, I don't know. She's fairly small."

"I doubt 'fairly small' is a dress size."

"Christ above, then get her a book, or a fucking c-"

You slam into another man, knocking his papers to the ground as he nearly tips backwards. You grab his wrist, keeping steady, before dropping low to gather his papers.

"Excuse me, sir," you apologize. "I was distracted by my brother."

You pause, recognizing him.

"Rory? Rory O'Connor?" you ask.

"Ah, it's the McCarthy brothers!" he grins. "It's great to see you both. How's life after Frongoch?"

"Too close to life before Frongoch," you say.

"How are you, Rory?" Joseph grins, as the man smiles.

"So, how's life with you?" he asks, grinning.

"We're both surviving. What are you rushing about to do, anyway? You were in some fierce hurry."

"I do indeed, I've a lot to do, actually," Rory O'Connor says. "Speaking of, you could help me in that. I'm on a recruitment drive."

"For what?" you ask.

"The Irish Republican Army. We're reorganizing the Irish Volunteers, turning them into a proper fighting force. I'm taking on the role of Director of Engineering."

"There's no republic for there to be an army to fight for," you point out.

"That changes today. The Sinn Féin politicians are getting together to found the first Irish parliament, Dáil Éireann, the assembly of Ireland. We will declare an Irish republic, and with that, the IRA will have a nation to fight for. While you're here, actually, I suppose I'll just ask. McCarthy Brothers, will you join the IRA and fight for this newfound nation?"

"I'm in," Joseph says, extending his hand as the two shake hands. "I'll happily shed my blood for this country once more."

"Delightful," he says, grinning, before turning to you. "Michael? Your experience in the IRB and Rising could be appreciated. A lot of people have a lot of respect for you. We could use someone like you."

1. Join the IRA

2. Refuse Rory O'Connor's offer

Good to have you back, Omen. And don't worry, I won't be going anywhere. As long as you tag me, I'll always come around sooner or later. All right, let's get this show on the road.

2. Hmm, complete independence from Britain? I think that's a bit too much. We already got our seats in parliament and the British still have a strong military to back them up, so we might be pushing our luck here. If they want us to sign up for the Irish Volunteers then they better get some real firepower this time around. Stay home and work on the farm, try to convince your brother to stay out of it, this independence gig isn't worth the lives that will be lost in the future.

 

[The Omen of Death]

(Alrighty looks like the fight for Ireland shall continue henceforth as you have made the decision to join the IRA, as Option 1 has been chosen with 2 votes! And just in case you don't get the message ViciousVip3R Pryno Historical Storyteller )

"I'll happily join," you say, nodding.

"Perfect," Rory says, extending his hand.

You grab his hand as he gives you a firm handshake, smiling at him.

"Go raibh míle maith agat, mo chara." (Thank you, my friend.) he says, nodding firmly.

"I'm glad to hear, Michael," Joseph says.

"That's terrific. Can you imagine just the two of us, fighting alongside each other at last for the greater good?"

"I suppose," you say. "It'll go badly."

"We're meeting tomorrow at the McGregor's farm at noon. Do you know it?"

"I know it well," Joseph nods. "Thank you for this opportunity, O'Connor."

"It's my pleasure, Joseph. I need to hurry, but I'll see you soon."

"Perfect. Goodbye, Rory. I'll see you later," Joseph says, as Rory moves off. "Now, let's go buy a candle or some bullshit, ok, Michael?"

"Yeah, let's do it."

And like that, you're a soldier in the Irish Republican Army, serving the newly declared nation of Ireland.

Later that day...​

The Dáil Éireann declares an Irish republic, similar to the Proclamation of Irish independence during the 1916 Easter Rising. Of course, that's not the main event of the day. In an event inspired by the declaration, a group of nine Irish volunteers, in an unauthorized action, organized an ambush at Soloheadbeg.

In hopes of provoking off a brutal conflict, the group ambush a convoy of two council officers and two RIC officers with the hopes of taking the guns and gelignite, an explosive. After calling on them to surrender, the RIC officers opened fire. They were gunned down, and the two council officers captured so the explosives and weapons could be taken. The group fled, releasing the hostages and escaping off into the farmlands.

However, it's clear that this isn't the end of the story. The actions of the volunteers provokes a brutal response. This action is such a serious event that it's clear the situation in Ireland has changed. It is the start of the Irish War of Independence, as the Irish Republican Army (IRA) is forced to defend the existence of the newfound Irish republic, and the Royal Irish constabulary and British army desperately attempt to defend their right.

The Irish War of Independence has began.

The Next Day...​

You sit around the kitchen of a farmhouse, waiting patiently for the other Volunteers to arrive for training. You sit next to Fionn, a young man who is an adamant supporter of the cause who even at his young age is willing to spill blood, your brother Joseph, and an older man by the name of John who is remarkably quiet.

"Sean Treacy always was a remarkably aggressive man. I'm not surprised at this," Fionn says.

"You don't support his actions?" you ask.

"Of course I do. They're for the best. It was only a matter of times before Britain attacks. So, probably the best we made the first move."

"Now, we can't submit to the British anymore," Joseph says. "Today, we're forced to live or die, fight or break. It's freedom or death, now."

"Sean Treacy and his group did their crimes without the approval of the Dáil. That wasn't an act of soldiers, it was an act of terrorism. They didn't fight for any nation, they fought to force us to act," Sean says, breaking his silence.

"Perhaps," Fionn says. "But perhaps it was necessary."

The door to the house opens, as a man strolls in, a pipe clenched between his teeth. He looks to Fionn, smiling.

"McGregor, I presume?"

"That's right. I can't say we've met before. You are?" Fionn asks.

"Ernie O'Malley," the man smiles. "I'm in charge of organizing the IRA rural branches. I was told your branch was meeting here."

"You're the college student who took pot shots at the British from UCD, didn't you?" Joseph asks, as Ernie O'Malley grins, embarrassed.

"Aye, that was me. I admittedly wasn't a big nationalist back then, but that tendency has grown, clearly," he nods. "Anyway, I hitched a ride here with a cart and carriage carrying a few men. How many are you expecting?"

"Nineteen men, myself included," Fionn says.

"Perfect. More than enough men to do what needs to be done. Now, it's best to keep drilling to night, and as quietly as can be, but this'll do for now. I'm in a bit of a hurry. Shall we begin?"

"Yes, we shall," Fionn says, as you all head outside.

"Sorry, I didn't catch your names," Ernie says, turning to your group.

"Sean Craig."

"Craig? Hardly a Catholic surname. Are you a Protestant?"

"That a problem?" Sean asks.

"Of course not. Wolfe Tone was a proper Irish patriot, and he was Protestant. There's rumors that the IRA are a Catholic supremacy organization, but that's a load of drivel. We want equal rights for Catholics and Protestants. We want nothing more, and we'll take nothing else."

Ernie O'Malley turns to you two again, nodding.

"And you two?"

"Joseph McCarthy. This is my brother, Michael."

"A pleasure to meet you two."

You're led outside, where about a dozen other men have assembled. A few hold rifles, taken from Fionn's shed. Ernie strolls over, grabbing a rifle from a recruit. He shoulders it, checking to make sure it's loaded, before staring down the iron sights.

"This'll work," he nods, before looking around. "Any targets?"

"I've a scarecrow that I've used before," Fionn says, as you spot the old scarecrow down the field, among the cold, winter-stricken fields.

"The scarecrow, then. A shame we don't have a British uniform to stuff it in. Anyone care to be the example?"

You're shoved forward by Joseph, as Ernie grins, handing you the rifle.

"All yours, Michael. Do your best."

You grab the rifle, aiming down it the iron sights as you stare at the scarecrow. It's very, very far away, and you highly doubt you have a chance to actually hit it.

"You're trying to ambush this British soldier, before he gets to your house, shits in your bed, pisses in your tea and eats your dinner. Take your time, he hasn't seen you yet. Go."

1. Take a few potshots

2. Adopt a shooting position

3. Pass on taking a shot

 

[ViciousVip3R]

Don't want to embarrass ourselves too much or look like a coward so let's adopt a proper firing position. If anything, it'll show them that we have some idea of what we are doing.

2.