Pryno
Probably a Malkavian
I agree. It’s our best shot. Pun intended. 2.
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Realistic or Modern Saoirse (Irish Revolutionary Period Historical Questlog) *COMPLETED*
- Thread starter The Omen of Death
- Start date
The Omen of Death
My presence has marked your eventual demise.
(Option 2 has been chosen with 2 votes! Sorry for the shortness of this, I'll try to put out a next post more quickly once we get the votes since this is so short.)
You pause, struggling to remember what's the ideal shooting position at this point. You've done endless hours of rifle training and drilling, this shouldn't be that hard, but that scarecrow is incredibly far away.
You could drop to a knee, taking the classic kneeling position. It'll give you a better chance at at shot then just raising your rifle or firing, or you could go prone, lying flat on the ground, which might work just as well. It's hard to tell which would work.
1. Drop to a knee
2. Go prone
You pause, struggling to remember what's the ideal shooting position at this point. You've done endless hours of rifle training and drilling, this shouldn't be that hard, but that scarecrow is incredibly far away.
You could drop to a knee, taking the classic kneeling position. It'll give you a better chance at at shot then just raising your rifle or firing, or you could go prone, lying flat on the ground, which might work just as well. It's hard to tell which would work.
1. Drop to a knee
2. Go prone
Pryno
Probably a Malkavian
We are exposed, in a bare field. Hypothetically, we would like to ambush this soldier. Let’s go sneaky and stick to the ground. 2.
ViciousVip3R
Merchant of Death, Quest Log Fanatic
I agree with everything Pryno has said. Shooting from the ground should also help our accuracy.
2.
2.
The Omen of Death
My presence has marked your eventual demise.
(Alright there we are I did say this post could come much quicker than the others, Option 2 has been chosen with 2 posts!)
You drop down low, raising your rifle. You aim down the iron sights, your gun focused on the scarecrow. You control your breathing, keeping it low and controlled. You take a deep breath, focusing slowly. The trembling of your hands goes away, as your finger slips to the trigger.
You fire once, as the shot flies through the air, straight over the scarecrow's head. The second shot hits the soil just to the left of the scarecrow, shooting up dust. You fire once more, as the bullet nearly glances the side of the scarecrow, but instead flies past and hits the earth.
"Good shots," Ernie O'Malley says.
"I missed every shot," you say.
"Bah, at this distance, I'd be shocked if you could land a hit, But it's a good shooting position either way. Notice it men, try to emulate it. He's even keeping low down, so that if they're firing back, they're going to have a great deal of issues trying to hit him. Now, let's try focus on a potential ambush position. Let's continue your streak, Michael. You're trying to ambush a convoy going down a long road with plenty of cover. You have, let's say... ten riflemen. How do you space them out?"
1. Spread out your riflemen at equal intervals alongside the road
2. Have your men grouped together at the best ambush point
3. Have the main body of men in an ambush site, while two more are further down the road to stop the any escapes
4. Have the main body of men in an ambush site, while two more are further up the road scouting out the target
You drop down low, raising your rifle. You aim down the iron sights, your gun focused on the scarecrow. You control your breathing, keeping it low and controlled. You take a deep breath, focusing slowly. The trembling of your hands goes away, as your finger slips to the trigger.
You fire once, as the shot flies through the air, straight over the scarecrow's head. The second shot hits the soil just to the left of the scarecrow, shooting up dust. You fire once more, as the bullet nearly glances the side of the scarecrow, but instead flies past and hits the earth.
"Good shots," Ernie O'Malley says.
"I missed every shot," you say.
"Bah, at this distance, I'd be shocked if you could land a hit, But it's a good shooting position either way. Notice it men, try to emulate it. He's even keeping low down, so that if they're firing back, they're going to have a great deal of issues trying to hit him. Now, let's try focus on a potential ambush position. Let's continue your streak, Michael. You're trying to ambush a convoy going down a long road with plenty of cover. You have, let's say... ten riflemen. How do you space them out?"
1. Spread out your riflemen at equal intervals alongside the road
2. Have your men grouped together at the best ambush point
3. Have the main body of men in an ambush site, while two more are further down the road to stop the any escapes
4. Have the main body of men in an ambush site, while two more are further up the road scouting out the target
ViciousVip3R
Merchant of Death, Quest Log Fanatic
I'm liking 4. There's pros and cons to all the choices, but keeping in mind that this is an ambush, I think we should group most of our firepower to unload on the convoy all at once. The scouts will provide intel that will be used to determine how to most effectively wipe out the convoy, and the rest of the men will inflict as much damage as possible from behind cover before the enemy has a chance to get to cover themselves.
4.
4.
Pryno
Probably a Malkavian
I hesitate between 3 and 4. Fourth it is, then!
Historical Storyteller
Four Thousand Club
4. I actually agree with this choice. We don't want to just blindly attack the enemy without knowing their full strength first. We need to know what kind of heat they're packing and if they're the kind of target we're looking for. There should be some sort of signal to call off the attack if they enemy caravan is too strong or if the scout sees that something is off. I don't think the objective is to defeat the enemy, simply to weaken his forces and demoralize him while keeping your own casualties to a minimum.
The Omen of Death
My presence has marked your eventual demise.
(Sorry for the delay, was at a cousins wedding and just returned today. So Option 4 has been chosen with 3 votes!)
"You group the main few soldiers at one point, so that their firepower is consolidated and there's an element of surprise for all the soldiers. However, you have a pair of them further up the road, scouting ahead to wait to see the convoy passing through."
"Ah, but we're not equipped with any equipment to communicate other than shouting. No messenger pigeons for us, this isn't the trenches. So as the convoy bursts through, the scouts won't be able to get any information on numbers or arms or convoy size to the main bulk. Really, you're just losing two men who can't do anything. No, the ideal system we have, like the one used at the Soloheadbeg Ambush, is to have a primary body at the ambush point. They attack in superior numbers, wiping out the enemy, but if the enemy, try to blow on straight through and drive on, have two more men further up ahead to eliminate the drivers if they try to escape. That's the system we go with."
The soldiers all nod thoughtfully, as you nod as well.
"That's the tactic we're going to use to deal with the RIC convoy we're going to be raiding. That's our plan. The gracious Michael Collins have given us information on a weapons convoy we're going to hit."
Quite a few of the men around you nod eagerly. Apparently, Michael Collins has made quite a reputation for himself in Frongoch, and now as the Minister of Finance of Dáil Eireann, a commander of the IRA, and director of information, he's a very powerful man. He controls vast networks of informants, and a near mystical group of assassins known as the Squad, or the Twelve Disciples, that hunt down spies and informants as well as performing assassinations.
"We're going to hit them to fully arm this group. Until then, we're using weapons borrowed from Liam Lynch and the No. 2 Cork Brigade. We're going to hit in the formation discussed, and wipe out the convoy. I'll be taking the ten best shots here, so let's get to work and show me what you can do."
The rest of the day is spent drilling and going over tactics, as well as O'Malley and the locals establishing the various levels of support held for them among all the various locals. Various safe houses and villages with high nationalist tendencies, as well as areas with a high unionist presence that are likely to be filled with informants. The locations of various RIC barracks and where the presence of the British army is strongest, as well as the area that this branch was expected to deal with, a large section of outer and rural Dublin. It's going to be hard work, and you're under-supplied, under-armed and under-supported, but most importantly, you're underestimated. The Crown thinks the problem in Ireland is a bunch of peasants mucking about in their pigsties, trying to rise up without knowing what they're doing.
They'll learn never to underestimate an Irishman.
You sit on a rocky hillside, a rifle in your hands. Fionn sits next to you, another rifle in his hands. The two of you wait patiently, sitting there.
"How are you feeling?" you ask.
"Confident. We have this handled, and we're fighting for the cause," Fionn says.
"Really? That's impressive. I'm fucking shitting myself," you chuckle.
"Oh, we're being completely honest?" Fionn asks. "Then I threw up this morning, and I'm sitting on my hands to stop them from shaking. I'm fucking terrified."
"We'll deal with it, I suppose. Or maybe we won't and we'll get butchered," you say. "Who knows? We'll see what happens, I suppose."
"They're approaching!" a voice hisses, as you stare across the road to where Joseph and Sean wait.
"Get down! This happens now," you say, crouching down and raising your rifle.
You stare down, as a horse-drawn carriage begins approaching down the road. Four RIC are aboard it, slowly approaching as the horses pull the carriage down the road. You pull up your balaclava, partially obscuring your face, as you take slow, deep breaths. Finally, just as they hit the target point, Ernie holds up his fist as you all rise, taking aim at the carriage.
"Hold!" Joseph yells. "You are ordered to surrender by the Irish Republican Army!"
The carriage stops in it's tracks, as the RIC quickly begin looking around, reaching for their guns.
"Don't! I have the best crackshots in the country all aiming at your hearts, and trust me, they have itchy trigger fingers they're just scratch with their triggers. Something loud might just set them off and pump you all full of lead."
You watch as the lead RIC slowly reaches down for his gun, where the pistol sits in the holster.
1. Take him out
2. Fire a warning shot
3. Shout a warning to your allies
4. Shout a command for him to stop
"You group the main few soldiers at one point, so that their firepower is consolidated and there's an element of surprise for all the soldiers. However, you have a pair of them further up the road, scouting ahead to wait to see the convoy passing through."
"Ah, but we're not equipped with any equipment to communicate other than shouting. No messenger pigeons for us, this isn't the trenches. So as the convoy bursts through, the scouts won't be able to get any information on numbers or arms or convoy size to the main bulk. Really, you're just losing two men who can't do anything. No, the ideal system we have, like the one used at the Soloheadbeg Ambush, is to have a primary body at the ambush point. They attack in superior numbers, wiping out the enemy, but if the enemy, try to blow on straight through and drive on, have two more men further up ahead to eliminate the drivers if they try to escape. That's the system we go with."
The soldiers all nod thoughtfully, as you nod as well.
"That's the tactic we're going to use to deal with the RIC convoy we're going to be raiding. That's our plan. The gracious Michael Collins have given us information on a weapons convoy we're going to hit."
Quite a few of the men around you nod eagerly. Apparently, Michael Collins has made quite a reputation for himself in Frongoch, and now as the Minister of Finance of Dáil Eireann, a commander of the IRA, and director of information, he's a very powerful man. He controls vast networks of informants, and a near mystical group of assassins known as the Squad, or the Twelve Disciples, that hunt down spies and informants as well as performing assassinations.
"We're going to hit them to fully arm this group. Until then, we're using weapons borrowed from Liam Lynch and the No. 2 Cork Brigade. We're going to hit in the formation discussed, and wipe out the convoy. I'll be taking the ten best shots here, so let's get to work and show me what you can do."
The rest of the day is spent drilling and going over tactics, as well as O'Malley and the locals establishing the various levels of support held for them among all the various locals. Various safe houses and villages with high nationalist tendencies, as well as areas with a high unionist presence that are likely to be filled with informants. The locations of various RIC barracks and where the presence of the British army is strongest, as well as the area that this branch was expected to deal with, a large section of outer and rural Dublin. It's going to be hard work, and you're under-supplied, under-armed and under-supported, but most importantly, you're underestimated. The Crown thinks the problem in Ireland is a bunch of peasants mucking about in their pigsties, trying to rise up without knowing what they're doing.
They'll learn never to underestimate an Irishman.
The Day Of The Ambush
You sit on a rocky hillside, a rifle in your hands. Fionn sits next to you, another rifle in his hands. The two of you wait patiently, sitting there.
"How are you feeling?" you ask.
"Confident. We have this handled, and we're fighting for the cause," Fionn says.
"Really? That's impressive. I'm fucking shitting myself," you chuckle.
"Oh, we're being completely honest?" Fionn asks. "Then I threw up this morning, and I'm sitting on my hands to stop them from shaking. I'm fucking terrified."
"We'll deal with it, I suppose. Or maybe we won't and we'll get butchered," you say. "Who knows? We'll see what happens, I suppose."
"They're approaching!" a voice hisses, as you stare across the road to where Joseph and Sean wait.
"Get down! This happens now," you say, crouching down and raising your rifle.
You stare down, as a horse-drawn carriage begins approaching down the road. Four RIC are aboard it, slowly approaching as the horses pull the carriage down the road. You pull up your balaclava, partially obscuring your face, as you take slow, deep breaths. Finally, just as they hit the target point, Ernie holds up his fist as you all rise, taking aim at the carriage.
"Hold!" Joseph yells. "You are ordered to surrender by the Irish Republican Army!"
The carriage stops in it's tracks, as the RIC quickly begin looking around, reaching for their guns.
"Don't! I have the best crackshots in the country all aiming at your hearts, and trust me, they have itchy trigger fingers they're just scratch with their triggers. Something loud might just set them off and pump you all full of lead."
You watch as the lead RIC slowly reaches down for his gun, where the pistol sits in the holster.
1. Take him out
2. Fire a warning shot
3. Shout a warning to your allies
4. Shout a command for him to stop
Pryno
Probably a Malkavian
Oh well. I did not think of that.
1 would provoke a battle, 3 would be useless and 4 would make the lead think that we are all bark, no bite. 2!
1 would provoke a battle, 3 would be useless and 4 would make the lead think that we are all bark, no bite. 2!
ViciousVip3R
Merchant of Death, Quest Log Fanatic
Oops, I didn't think of that either haha.
I feel like firing a warning shot will set of a battle anyways, so the pacifist option would be to tell him to stop. We already told him to stop once, so he obviously has no intention to stop at all. Better to just take him out.
(This reminds me of the check stop scene from Hart's war and the border scene from Sicario and both resulted in the ambushers shooting, so I feel it's the way to go.)
I feel like firing a warning shot will set of a battle anyways, so the pacifist option would be to tell him to stop. We already told him to stop once, so he obviously has no intention to stop at all. Better to just take him out.
(This reminds me of the check stop scene from Hart's war and the border scene from Sicario and both resulted in the ambushers shooting, so I feel it's the way to go.)
Historical Storyteller
Four Thousand Club
1. They knew the risks yet they still took their chances. Maybe a bullet to the head will give them something to think about.
The Omen of Death
My presence has marked your eventual demise.
(Option 1 has been chosen with 2 votes!)
You fire your rifle, as the man topples back from the force of the bullet that explodes through his chest, crumpling onto the floor. In a blind panic, the other guns go off, as a hail of bullets rain down on the group. They manage to raise their rifles, exchange a short amount of gunfire, as they dive for cover, but it's a brief moment and they don't last. In the quick flash of gunfire, they're all dead.
"What a fucking massacre," Joseph says. "Let's check the guns, then."
"Wait!" Fionn shouts. "I think there's one still left."
Or perhaps not.
You stare down at the corpses, and think you see one moving, twitching ever so slightly. Of course, it could easily be your imagination. Still, you raise your rifle again, aiming at it.
"Any of ye' still alive?" Fionn asks loudly.
"I hear him whimpering," Joseph yells. "He's probably playing dead."
"Shoot the corpses, make sure they're dead," Sean suggests.
"Please, I'm still alive," one of them suddenly screams. "I surrender! I surrender!"
"For fuck's sake, hold your fire!" you shout. "He's wounded."
"Stay back, he could be trying to trick us," Sean snarls.
"Fuck's sake," you say, standing up from the ridge you're hiding behind.
You quickly step down the rocky terrain, strolling towards the carriage. The injured police officer raises his empty hands pathetically. You reach down, grabbing his sidearm from his holster and pulling it out, as you toss it out of his reach.
"You can come down now," you say.
The various men hidden in the ambush site arise, slowly creeping down to the road. You all surround the wounded.
"He's the enemy. We can't afford to take prisoners. We execute him," Sean says.
"We can't," Fionn says. "He surrendered. The republic doesn't execute prisoners. We're a civilized country."
"We don't get to be a country if men like this exist. Men who subdue their own kind so they can hold onto their own power."
"Jesus Christ above, I don't own land! No one working escort missions is rich and powerful, for God's sake! I'm not even Protestant, I'm a Catholic!"
"Bullshit! What diocese?" Sean says.
"Cork! Queenstown, I'm from Queenstown!" he says.
"Samuel's from Cobh, aren't you, Samuel?" Sean asks.
Samuel nods slowly, looking down at the man.
"Yeah, I am."
"This doesn't matter," Joseph says. "This war isn't between Catholics and Protestants! It's between Republicans and Unionists!"
"We need to know if this man's honest," Sean says. "What was the name of the priest there?"
The man goes pale, the blood draining from his face.
"I... I don't remember."
"Then he's a liar, and we shoot him," Sean shrugs.
"No! For fuck's sake, I just don't remember! We just called him 'Father'! He, he had a big nose, really flat! He constantly had bloody noses, so we called him Tomato Nose! I swear to God, I'm not lying."
You almost laugh at the absurdity of a man pleading for his life telling you about how he called his priest Tomato Nose. You all look to Samuel, as he nods.
"Father Jacob had a very big nose. It did look sort of like a tomato."
There's a moment of silent, as the RIC lets out a sigh of relief.
"Thank god, you know I'm not lying," he says.
"So what, he's Catholic?" Sean says. "That doesn't matter. He's a traitor to the country! If we let him go, he might gun down our soldiers some other day."
"Shoot him, then," Ernie says.
"What?" Sean says, startled.
"Shoot him. Go ahead," Ernie says.
Sean raises his pistol, pointing it to the man's head.
"Please, please don't!" the man begs.
He holds his position, pausing. His brow furrows, as his finger starts to tap on the trigger. The RIC closes his eyes, beginning to pray silently.
"God our father, please grant me mercy for all the sins I have committed against you..." he begins to pray.
"Shut the fuck up," Sean snarls.
"...and please grant my soul the gift of eternal life alongside you, serving you..."
"I said shut the fuck up!" Sean shouts.
Sean aims the gun at his head for a moment for, before swearing.
"Goddammit," Sean says, lowering his revolver. "I can't do it."
"I thought so," Ernie says. "It's easy to sentence a begging man to death, but it's hard to pull the trigger. If any man thinks that we should kill this man, step forward and have the guts to do it yourself. If not, then it's our duty to spare him."
You look around, but none of the others seem eager. You suppose you're faced with the same choice as everyone else.
1. Execute him
2. Spare him
You fire your rifle, as the man topples back from the force of the bullet that explodes through his chest, crumpling onto the floor. In a blind panic, the other guns go off, as a hail of bullets rain down on the group. They manage to raise their rifles, exchange a short amount of gunfire, as they dive for cover, but it's a brief moment and they don't last. In the quick flash of gunfire, they're all dead.
"What a fucking massacre," Joseph says. "Let's check the guns, then."
"Wait!" Fionn shouts. "I think there's one still left."
Or perhaps not.
You stare down at the corpses, and think you see one moving, twitching ever so slightly. Of course, it could easily be your imagination. Still, you raise your rifle again, aiming at it.
"Any of ye' still alive?" Fionn asks loudly.
"I hear him whimpering," Joseph yells. "He's probably playing dead."
"Shoot the corpses, make sure they're dead," Sean suggests.
"Please, I'm still alive," one of them suddenly screams. "I surrender! I surrender!"
"For fuck's sake, hold your fire!" you shout. "He's wounded."
"Stay back, he could be trying to trick us," Sean snarls.
"Fuck's sake," you say, standing up from the ridge you're hiding behind.
You quickly step down the rocky terrain, strolling towards the carriage. The injured police officer raises his empty hands pathetically. You reach down, grabbing his sidearm from his holster and pulling it out, as you toss it out of his reach.
"You can come down now," you say.
The various men hidden in the ambush site arise, slowly creeping down to the road. You all surround the wounded.
"He's the enemy. We can't afford to take prisoners. We execute him," Sean says.
"We can't," Fionn says. "He surrendered. The republic doesn't execute prisoners. We're a civilized country."
"We don't get to be a country if men like this exist. Men who subdue their own kind so they can hold onto their own power."
"Jesus Christ above, I don't own land! No one working escort missions is rich and powerful, for God's sake! I'm not even Protestant, I'm a Catholic!"
"Bullshit! What diocese?" Sean says.
"Cork! Queenstown, I'm from Queenstown!" he says.
"Samuel's from Cobh, aren't you, Samuel?" Sean asks.
Samuel nods slowly, looking down at the man.
"Yeah, I am."
"This doesn't matter," Joseph says. "This war isn't between Catholics and Protestants! It's between Republicans and Unionists!"
"We need to know if this man's honest," Sean says. "What was the name of the priest there?"
The man goes pale, the blood draining from his face.
"I... I don't remember."
"Then he's a liar, and we shoot him," Sean shrugs.
"No! For fuck's sake, I just don't remember! We just called him 'Father'! He, he had a big nose, really flat! He constantly had bloody noses, so we called him Tomato Nose! I swear to God, I'm not lying."
You almost laugh at the absurdity of a man pleading for his life telling you about how he called his priest Tomato Nose. You all look to Samuel, as he nods.
"Father Jacob had a very big nose. It did look sort of like a tomato."
There's a moment of silent, as the RIC lets out a sigh of relief.
"Thank god, you know I'm not lying," he says.
"So what, he's Catholic?" Sean says. "That doesn't matter. He's a traitor to the country! If we let him go, he might gun down our soldiers some other day."
"Shoot him, then," Ernie says.
"What?" Sean says, startled.
"Shoot him. Go ahead," Ernie says.
Sean raises his pistol, pointing it to the man's head.
"Please, please don't!" the man begs.
He holds his position, pausing. His brow furrows, as his finger starts to tap on the trigger. The RIC closes his eyes, beginning to pray silently.
"God our father, please grant me mercy for all the sins I have committed against you..." he begins to pray.
"Shut the fuck up," Sean snarls.
"...and please grant my soul the gift of eternal life alongside you, serving you..."
"I said shut the fuck up!" Sean shouts.
Sean aims the gun at his head for a moment for, before swearing.
"Goddammit," Sean says, lowering his revolver. "I can't do it."
"I thought so," Ernie says. "It's easy to sentence a begging man to death, but it's hard to pull the trigger. If any man thinks that we should kill this man, step forward and have the guts to do it yourself. If not, then it's our duty to spare him."
You look around, but none of the others seem eager. You suppose you're faced with the same choice as everyone else.
1. Execute him
2. Spare him
Pryno
Probably a Malkavian
2. If we kill him even now, where is the justice in our cause?
Historical Storyteller
Four Thousand Club
2. The officer's more use to us alive than dead. If we spare him, he'll either keep his mouth shut or he'll put in a good word on us. Either way, we don't have any real reasons to kill this man. It's not like he can rat us out, he doesn't know us. And if you shoot him, you'll gain a reputation as a heartless bastard, and nobody likes to stick around someone like that. This war hasn't gotten barbaric yet, so you can't just have a blast killing people left and right. Let him go, so he'll live to tell the tale. And maybe, just maybe, he'll be able to convince a few convoys we come across to surrender immediately to make life easier for both sides.
Whether you're a Republican or a Unionist, you shouldn't forget that you're Irishmen, and that if you continue to spill each other's blood the only people that will benefit from this are the British.
Any man who comes forward to kill this man just doesn't understand this. So, if someone steps forward to give the officer his sentence, you gotta make sure he understands what he's doing first. Try reason, but if that fails, step back and watch the poor sod's brains take a flying lesson.
ViciousVip3R
Merchant of Death, Quest Log Fanatic
Yeah, what everyone else said. We can't shoot a surrendered soldier.
2.
2.
The Omen of Death
My presence has marked your eventual demise.
(Very intriguing opinions here, Option 2 has been chosen with 3 votes!)
You don't step forward, like the rest of the men there. You all just watch, sickened by the scene in front of you. After a moment, Ernie smiles, nodding.
"There we are. We spare him. It's easy to sentence a man to death, but so much harder to pull the trigger," he says again. "Sean, use the rope to tie him up."
Sean tries his hands up, making sure there's a loop of rope around his head to keep it forced down. The prisoner is forced to his knees, as Ernie steps off, strolling over to the carriage. You follow him to the back, where he climbs inside, pulling open the door to let you all see inside. Boxes of ammo and rifles sit inside, as Ernie busts the first one open to reveal a bolt-action rifle.
"Perfect," Ernie says. "Now, let's get out of here, men. We follow the plan."
"What about the captive?" Sean asks.
Ernie walks over to the captive, looking down at him
"You are the luckiest man I have ever seen," Ernie chuckles. "If you had been captured by any other men of the IRA, you might've been executed. Or at least had your hands broken so you couldn't fight. I'm just going to give you some information. If you're ever captured by me again, you're going to be tortured and shot. Retire from the Royal Irish Constabulary, Cobh man. Learn your lessons. Now, stand up and get walking, or I'll here shoot you dead."
The prisoner stands, and quickly begins hurrying away. Ernie watches him run, nodding.
"Glad we didn't have to kill them all. There's a lot of great men who don't deserve to die on either side of this war. He might've been one of them. Now, let's bring those horses out from where we left them and load up the rifles so we can get out of here," Ernie says.
Over the next few months, you take part in a few more raids with your group. As the IRA attempts to spread and organize, it's focus is mainly the founding of the new cells and units, as well as the information war. The British refuse to acknowledge the legitimacy of the Dáil, or even that it's fighting a war. They claim that it's simply an enforcement of martial law by the British army as well as a heavy reinforcing and militarization of the police in Ireland. You recruit young more patriots to the cause, raiding enough weapons and ammo to keep the unit supplied as the war rages on. Still, it's not a particularly brutal war, and there's hope peace may still come about.
You stand in the fields, working away as you plant endless seeds. There's sweat in your brow and a desperate hunger in your stomach, but you're nearly finished. As you let out an exhausted yawn, Joseph appears from the house, strolling towards you, followed by a worried looking Mary. Joseph holds a crumpled up letter in his hands.
"Joseph, stop!" Mary says.
"I'm not going to do anything!" Joseph says. "I'm just talking to my brother about family business!"
"It's none of either of your business, Joseph?"
"What's wrong?" you ask, tossing down your sack of seeds and strolling towards him.
"Mary's gone and got herself a suitor."
You crack a smile, looking at Mary.
"Anyone we know, Mary?"
"He goes by the name Arthur," Joseph says. "I've got a little love letter from him here."
"Arthur? That's hardly a name for an Irishman," you say.
"That's because it's not, is it? He's an Englishman, or at least his parents are. Proper Unionist, runs the local Irish Unionist party." Joseph says.
"If you touch a hair on his head, I'll take your rifle and shoot you both!" Mary shouts.
Admittedly, in the past, you have been a bit rough with Mary's boyfriends. Not because you're bad people, but she does have a habit of falling in love with various scumbags and villains. But a Unionist is a step worse than even you'd have thought.
"We'll go have a talk with him," you say.
"A talk like you had with Seamus, who he ended up with a broken collarbone?" Mary says, accusatively.
"A talk like we had with Seamus, who we found out was screwing Sarah from the butcher's behind your back," Joseph says.
"Don't worry, we won't do anything awful," you say. "Let's go, we'll head into town."
"Michael! I...!" Mary says, before you hush her.
"I promise, nothing much," you lie. "Why would Joseph or I have any issue with a Unionist? Come on, Joseph, let's go."
You walk down the bustling city streets next to Joseph, your hands in your pockets as you head towards the Irish Unionist party headquarters. It's late enough that it should be closing, and you'll be able to grab Arthur as he's walking home. After a short stroll, you arrive at an elegant stone building, and lean against the wall, lighting a cigarette.
Time passes, as various women leave the building, secretaries and that, presumably. Eventually, after about half an hour past closing time, as you're beginning to head home, a large, tall, muscled man with cropped blond hair walks out.
"Fuck me, he's a big bastard. No wonder Mary likes him," Joseph says.
"Are we sure it's him?" you ask.
"Must be. No one but women have left."
You step forward, blocking the man's path with a smile.
"Arthur, I presume?" you say.
"Yes, I'm Arthur," the man replies, nodding. "How can I help you?"
"We were wondering if we could get some information on the Irish Unionist party. We were considering changing our vote for future elections."
"Oh, I'm sorry, I'm Arthur Jones. You're looking for Arthur Craig."
"Ah. Could you by any chance point him out to us?"
Jones nods to a pale, skinny man walking out after him. You turn to look at the man, raising an eyebrow. He's about as frail and thin and Ma is, with a pair of thick black glasses.
"Thanks," you say, as Jones walks off down the street.
You step out in front Arthur Craig, as he looks at you with a worried expression.
"Arthur Craig?" you ask.
"Yes, that's me. How may I help you?"
"The same Arthur Craig that's courting Mary McCarthy?" Joseph asks.
"Yes, that's right. What's this about? Is she alright?" the meek figure asks.
You look down the street to make sure the more intimidating Arthur is gone, before shoving Arthur up against the wall, glaring at him.
"My name's Michael McCarthy, and that's Mary's my sister," you smile, keeping Arthur pressed against the wall as he offers little resistance.
"I've heard what your kind do," Joseph says. "Having poor Catholic girls fall in love with you, fucking them until your balls are drained and then dumping them more a more prim and proper Prod like yourself. Did you think we'd just let you do that to sweet Mary?"
"I don't want to do that!" Arthur frantically mutters. "For god's sake, don't hurt me, I've done nothing wrong."
"I'm not going to hurt you," you say. "If you stay away from Mary, we'll never see each other again. But we're not letting you lead her around and making a whore of her. You go near her again, and we'll break your legs. Got it?"
Arthur looks at you in terror, before shaking his head.
"No, you bloody fool, nod if you agree and will stay away from her," Joseph says.
"I will not," Arthur says, quiet but determined. "I'm not letting a pair of thugs like you keep me from the woman I hold dear! I won't do as you say!"
"Fuck's sake, I'll show him we're not kidding," Joseph says, grabbing Arthur from you and immediately planting a fist in his stomach as Arthur doubles over with a yelp of pain.
Joseph then slams his elbow into the back of Arthur's head. He lifts his boot, seemingly planning to continue his assault on the Unionist.
1. Stop Joseph
2. Leave Joseph to continue beating him
You don't step forward, like the rest of the men there. You all just watch, sickened by the scene in front of you. After a moment, Ernie smiles, nodding.
"There we are. We spare him. It's easy to sentence a man to death, but so much harder to pull the trigger," he says again. "Sean, use the rope to tie him up."
Sean tries his hands up, making sure there's a loop of rope around his head to keep it forced down. The prisoner is forced to his knees, as Ernie steps off, strolling over to the carriage. You follow him to the back, where he climbs inside, pulling open the door to let you all see inside. Boxes of ammo and rifles sit inside, as Ernie busts the first one open to reveal a bolt-action rifle.
"Perfect," Ernie says. "Now, let's get out of here, men. We follow the plan."
"What about the captive?" Sean asks.
Ernie walks over to the captive, looking down at him
"You are the luckiest man I have ever seen," Ernie chuckles. "If you had been captured by any other men of the IRA, you might've been executed. Or at least had your hands broken so you couldn't fight. I'm just going to give you some information. If you're ever captured by me again, you're going to be tortured and shot. Retire from the Royal Irish Constabulary, Cobh man. Learn your lessons. Now, stand up and get walking, or I'll here shoot you dead."
The prisoner stands, and quickly begins hurrying away. Ernie watches him run, nodding.
"Glad we didn't have to kill them all. There's a lot of great men who don't deserve to die on either side of this war. He might've been one of them. Now, let's bring those horses out from where we left them and load up the rifles so we can get out of here," Ernie says.
A Few Months Later...
Over the next few months, you take part in a few more raids with your group. As the IRA attempts to spread and organize, it's focus is mainly the founding of the new cells and units, as well as the information war. The British refuse to acknowledge the legitimacy of the Dáil, or even that it's fighting a war. They claim that it's simply an enforcement of martial law by the British army as well as a heavy reinforcing and militarization of the police in Ireland. You recruit young more patriots to the cause, raiding enough weapons and ammo to keep the unit supplied as the war rages on. Still, it's not a particularly brutal war, and there's hope peace may still come about.
You stand in the fields, working away as you plant endless seeds. There's sweat in your brow and a desperate hunger in your stomach, but you're nearly finished. As you let out an exhausted yawn, Joseph appears from the house, strolling towards you, followed by a worried looking Mary. Joseph holds a crumpled up letter in his hands.
"Joseph, stop!" Mary says.
"I'm not going to do anything!" Joseph says. "I'm just talking to my brother about family business!"
"It's none of either of your business, Joseph?"
"What's wrong?" you ask, tossing down your sack of seeds and strolling towards him.
"Mary's gone and got herself a suitor."
You crack a smile, looking at Mary.
"Anyone we know, Mary?"
"He goes by the name Arthur," Joseph says. "I've got a little love letter from him here."
"Arthur? That's hardly a name for an Irishman," you say.
"That's because it's not, is it? He's an Englishman, or at least his parents are. Proper Unionist, runs the local Irish Unionist party." Joseph says.
"If you touch a hair on his head, I'll take your rifle and shoot you both!" Mary shouts.
Admittedly, in the past, you have been a bit rough with Mary's boyfriends. Not because you're bad people, but she does have a habit of falling in love with various scumbags and villains. But a Unionist is a step worse than even you'd have thought.
"We'll go have a talk with him," you say.
"A talk like you had with Seamus, who he ended up with a broken collarbone?" Mary says, accusatively.
"A talk like we had with Seamus, who we found out was screwing Sarah from the butcher's behind your back," Joseph says.
"Don't worry, we won't do anything awful," you say. "Let's go, we'll head into town."
"Michael! I...!" Mary says, before you hush her.
"I promise, nothing much," you lie. "Why would Joseph or I have any issue with a Unionist? Come on, Joseph, let's go."
You walk down the bustling city streets next to Joseph, your hands in your pockets as you head towards the Irish Unionist party headquarters. It's late enough that it should be closing, and you'll be able to grab Arthur as he's walking home. After a short stroll, you arrive at an elegant stone building, and lean against the wall, lighting a cigarette.
Time passes, as various women leave the building, secretaries and that, presumably. Eventually, after about half an hour past closing time, as you're beginning to head home, a large, tall, muscled man with cropped blond hair walks out.
"Fuck me, he's a big bastard. No wonder Mary likes him," Joseph says.
"Are we sure it's him?" you ask.
"Must be. No one but women have left."
You step forward, blocking the man's path with a smile.
"Arthur, I presume?" you say.
"Yes, I'm Arthur," the man replies, nodding. "How can I help you?"
"We were wondering if we could get some information on the Irish Unionist party. We were considering changing our vote for future elections."
"Oh, I'm sorry, I'm Arthur Jones. You're looking for Arthur Craig."
"Ah. Could you by any chance point him out to us?"
Jones nods to a pale, skinny man walking out after him. You turn to look at the man, raising an eyebrow. He's about as frail and thin and Ma is, with a pair of thick black glasses.
"Thanks," you say, as Jones walks off down the street.
You step out in front Arthur Craig, as he looks at you with a worried expression.
"Arthur Craig?" you ask.
"Yes, that's me. How may I help you?"
"The same Arthur Craig that's courting Mary McCarthy?" Joseph asks.
"Yes, that's right. What's this about? Is she alright?" the meek figure asks.
You look down the street to make sure the more intimidating Arthur is gone, before shoving Arthur up against the wall, glaring at him.
"My name's Michael McCarthy, and that's Mary's my sister," you smile, keeping Arthur pressed against the wall as he offers little resistance.
"I've heard what your kind do," Joseph says. "Having poor Catholic girls fall in love with you, fucking them until your balls are drained and then dumping them more a more prim and proper Prod like yourself. Did you think we'd just let you do that to sweet Mary?"
"I don't want to do that!" Arthur frantically mutters. "For god's sake, don't hurt me, I've done nothing wrong."
"I'm not going to hurt you," you say. "If you stay away from Mary, we'll never see each other again. But we're not letting you lead her around and making a whore of her. You go near her again, and we'll break your legs. Got it?"
Arthur looks at you in terror, before shaking his head.
"No, you bloody fool, nod if you agree and will stay away from her," Joseph says.
"I will not," Arthur says, quiet but determined. "I'm not letting a pair of thugs like you keep me from the woman I hold dear! I won't do as you say!"
"Fuck's sake, I'll show him we're not kidding," Joseph says, grabbing Arthur from you and immediately planting a fist in his stomach as Arthur doubles over with a yelp of pain.
Joseph then slams his elbow into the back of Arthur's head. He lifts his boot, seemingly planning to continue his assault on the Unionist.
1. Stop Joseph
2. Leave Joseph to continue beating him
Pryno
Probably a Malkavian
1. Maybe he is an Unionist like his parents. Maybe he isn’t. Who cares? Nothing is known about him, except that he cares about Mary (he asks us if she is alright and refuse to let her go when there are threats) and that he is scared. Let’s give him a chance.
Historical Storyteller
Four Thousand Club
2. Let him feel the pain, it's better he experiences the hardships of having relations with a Republican now than to let things get even worse later. You may be beating him with your fists and it looks plenty cruel, but its far better than having a gun pressed to his head. People can be cruel in such unexpected ways, and if you give them a chance to fuck you up, you'll be screwed. It's not like you're doing this for yourself, you're doing this for your sister, your family, for the Republic, and for Ireland. If this Arthur fellow truly has the guts to stay with your sister despite all that, then he has to be stronger than the entire world, because the path he's taking will never be easy. Even if he is a good man, will he be a strong man that can stand up for himself?
It would be okay if he had a Union girl, but now he's messing with the Republicans.
It would be okay if he had a Union girl, but now he's messing with the Republicans.
The Omen of Death
My presence has marked your eventual demise.
(Sorry for the delay guys, got very busy. Anyway it looks like a tiebreaker is needed. I would say at this moment it sounds like Arthur is sincere, and I say he's received enough punishment, besides it seems Michael and Joseph have a history of driving away boyfriends of Mary, and if he ever ends up doing anything to Mary you guys will definitely have the option to make him suffer. So therefore Option 1 has been chosen by tiebreaker!)
You grab Joseph, pulling him back as Arthur keels over, vomiting onto the pavement.
"Leave it, Joseph," you say. "Let's talk to the stupid fool."
You crouch down, next to Arthur, who raises his hands defensively in fear of the next hit.
"For Christ's sake, what does Mary see in you?" you ask. "You really care for her, do you?"
"With all my heart," Arthur says. "I'll happily take a beating for her."
"Well, you won't need to. I suppose we'll leave you off," you say. "But listen to me closely. Me and Joseph have connections with a lot of powerful members of the IRA. We can't give you the details, but I promise you this, if you treat her badly, we'll kill you. If you break her heart, we break your head open. And so help me God above, if you raise a hand against her, you're going to beg for us to kill you after what we do. Got it?"
Arthur nods, as Joseph stares at you in annoyance.
"We can't let our sister date a unionist!" Joseph says indignantly.
"She's a grown woman, she can be with who she pleases, I suppose," you say. "Plus, she's half one herself."
"Fuck's sake," Joseph says, rolling his eyes. "Fine."
"I suppose I best be on my way then," Arthur says, stepping back.
"No you don't," you say. "You're heading to the pub with us. We owe you a pint after all this, and it's best to find out for sure you're not some piece of shit before we let you continue seeing our sister."
Over the next few months, the British government puts forward the Government of Ireland Act 1920, where three of the four Irish provinces, Munster, Leinster and Connaught, all combine into an entity gaining it's own "Southern Parliament" while the Northmost Ulster remains under the British parliament, and Southern Ireland gains home rule. However, it's too little too late, as the Irish people already wants full independence now, and home rule clearly isn't enough.
In order to help deal with the Irish dilemma, the Englishmen begin recruiting vast quantities of English veterans from the Great War. Due to their expertise in fighting they're perfect for waging war on the IRA, but due to the fact that they're not soldiers and are hired as police men, the British can continue to pretend like they're not at war with Ireland and that they're simply putting down a wave of crime and terrorism. As they wear a mixture of tan military uniforms and black police uniforms, these men are known as the Black and Tans.
The Black and Tans are brutal in their oppression of the Irish people. A lack of discipline allows them to perform endless atrocities. In retaliation for losing men to IRA attacks, they burn down towns, beat up civilians, rob businesses, shooting innocent people and executing prisoners. Of course, this oppression fails to break the spirit of the Irish people. Instead, it forces the Irish people to pick sides, and they almost all side with the less brutal IRA. A wave of nationalism surges through the country, and it becomes clear peace is impossible. No, the path forward is one of war and bloodshed.
You walk down the busy streets of Dublin, a cigarette hanging in the corner of your mouth. You hold a bag of bottled apple juice for Ma, her favorite, as well as quite a few other bits and bobs for the house. You hurry down the road, quickly trying to reach home before sunrise.
"Shut your fucking mouth!" a voice screams. "You fucking Irish c***, I will blow your husbands head off and make you tongue the neck-hole!"
"Jesus," you mutter, turning to see what the dilemma is.
A young man lies on the street corner, covered in blood. It's clear he's been heavily beaten by the bruising covering his face. A woman is being held against the wall by a Black and Tans' fist, as three others stand over the man.
"Stay the fuck back!" one of the Black and Tans says, raising his rifle to aim it at your chest.
You quickly raise your hands in a gesture of surrender, stepping back.
"Relax, I'm not trying to start anything," you say. "I just wanted to know what was going on."
"This man is a traitor to the Empire!" the Black and Tan explains. "He proclaimed we were "invaders", the fucking pig farmer. I'm so sick of this fucking civil war, I'm not showing mercy to any fucking supporters of the enemy."
"You called it a civil war," you remark. "Haven't the British argued that they're only putting down terrorists?"
"Watch it, paddy," the Black and Tan says, glaring at you. "Don't get smart with me.
"That's not a crime, is it?" you ask.
The Black and Tan spits on the ground in front of you, snarling.
"It is if I go and fucking say it is, you understand? Best stroll on before it gets dark. We'll deal with this."
Fuckers. If you had your IRA unit, you'd make short work of these pricks. Of course, now you don't, so maybe fighting isn't the best option.
1. Stand up to them
2. Leave and head off
You grab Joseph, pulling him back as Arthur keels over, vomiting onto the pavement.
"Leave it, Joseph," you say. "Let's talk to the stupid fool."
You crouch down, next to Arthur, who raises his hands defensively in fear of the next hit.
"For Christ's sake, what does Mary see in you?" you ask. "You really care for her, do you?"
"With all my heart," Arthur says. "I'll happily take a beating for her."
"Well, you won't need to. I suppose we'll leave you off," you say. "But listen to me closely. Me and Joseph have connections with a lot of powerful members of the IRA. We can't give you the details, but I promise you this, if you treat her badly, we'll kill you. If you break her heart, we break your head open. And so help me God above, if you raise a hand against her, you're going to beg for us to kill you after what we do. Got it?"
Arthur nods, as Joseph stares at you in annoyance.
"We can't let our sister date a unionist!" Joseph says indignantly.
"She's a grown woman, she can be with who she pleases, I suppose," you say. "Plus, she's half one herself."
"Fuck's sake," Joseph says, rolling his eyes. "Fine."
"I suppose I best be on my way then," Arthur says, stepping back.
"No you don't," you say. "You're heading to the pub with us. We owe you a pint after all this, and it's best to find out for sure you're not some piece of shit before we let you continue seeing our sister."
Months Later...
Over the next few months, the British government puts forward the Government of Ireland Act 1920, where three of the four Irish provinces, Munster, Leinster and Connaught, all combine into an entity gaining it's own "Southern Parliament" while the Northmost Ulster remains under the British parliament, and Southern Ireland gains home rule. However, it's too little too late, as the Irish people already wants full independence now, and home rule clearly isn't enough.
In order to help deal with the Irish dilemma, the Englishmen begin recruiting vast quantities of English veterans from the Great War. Due to their expertise in fighting they're perfect for waging war on the IRA, but due to the fact that they're not soldiers and are hired as police men, the British can continue to pretend like they're not at war with Ireland and that they're simply putting down a wave of crime and terrorism. As they wear a mixture of tan military uniforms and black police uniforms, these men are known as the Black and Tans.
The Black and Tans are brutal in their oppression of the Irish people. A lack of discipline allows them to perform endless atrocities. In retaliation for losing men to IRA attacks, they burn down towns, beat up civilians, rob businesses, shooting innocent people and executing prisoners. Of course, this oppression fails to break the spirit of the Irish people. Instead, it forces the Irish people to pick sides, and they almost all side with the less brutal IRA. A wave of nationalism surges through the country, and it becomes clear peace is impossible. No, the path forward is one of war and bloodshed.
You walk down the busy streets of Dublin, a cigarette hanging in the corner of your mouth. You hold a bag of bottled apple juice for Ma, her favorite, as well as quite a few other bits and bobs for the house. You hurry down the road, quickly trying to reach home before sunrise.
"Shut your fucking mouth!" a voice screams. "You fucking Irish c***, I will blow your husbands head off and make you tongue the neck-hole!"
"Jesus," you mutter, turning to see what the dilemma is.
A young man lies on the street corner, covered in blood. It's clear he's been heavily beaten by the bruising covering his face. A woman is being held against the wall by a Black and Tans' fist, as three others stand over the man.
"Stay the fuck back!" one of the Black and Tans says, raising his rifle to aim it at your chest.
You quickly raise your hands in a gesture of surrender, stepping back.
"Relax, I'm not trying to start anything," you say. "I just wanted to know what was going on."
"This man is a traitor to the Empire!" the Black and Tan explains. "He proclaimed we were "invaders", the fucking pig farmer. I'm so sick of this fucking civil war, I'm not showing mercy to any fucking supporters of the enemy."
"You called it a civil war," you remark. "Haven't the British argued that they're only putting down terrorists?"
"Watch it, paddy," the Black and Tan says, glaring at you. "Don't get smart with me.
"That's not a crime, is it?" you ask.
The Black and Tan spits on the ground in front of you, snarling.
"It is if I go and fucking say it is, you understand? Best stroll on before it gets dark. We'll deal with this."
Fuckers. If you had your IRA unit, you'd make short work of these pricks. Of course, now you don't, so maybe fighting isn't the best option.
1. Stand up to them
2. Leave and head off
Pryno
Probably a Malkavian
I am tempted to hold my vote for this one, until someone convinces me. The first option is pretty risky, if not deadly. The second is...unacceptable.
Maybe 1? If I really have to choose? I will probably change my vote.
Edit: Following the devil’s advocate. 2.
Maybe 1? If I really have to choose? I will probably change my vote.
Edit: Following the devil’s advocate. 2.
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Historical Storyteller
Four Thousand Club
2. Clear off for now. Don't get yourself involved in a fight you can't win, if you can get home safely without getting your ass kicked in, then that's victory enough. You'll still pose a threat to the empire, and have better chances of winning Irish independence alive. Worst case scenario is, you die, and you ain't going to be fighting battles as a rotting corpse. Remember, you're going up against vets, and chances are, every one of them's more than a match for every one of you fighter-borns. What's even worse is that they have guns, you don't, and you're outnumbered four to one. If you get yourself into trouble, don't expect to come out alive.
They may have taken your pride today, but you get to keep your life. Wait for better days, where you can take back your dignity as an Irishman. Don't die for Ireland, live for it, let the British die for the empire for all they care.
The Omen of Death
My presence has marked your eventual demise.
(Sorry for the delay again. Anyway Option 2 has been chosen with 2 votes! Also trigger warning here as rape is mentioned here.)
"Sorry to bother," you say, keeping your hands raised and stepping away as you begin to stroll home.
Your face darkens as you do. That man so perfectly represents the current political situation. Bullies and villains rule the world and keep your face ground in the mud. Fucking thugs. It's your duty to end that, to rise up and free the nation with the IRA.
It doesn't matter, you suppose. Time to get home. Hopefully, those fuckers end up on the business end of your rifle some day, but it's not a good idea to draw attention to yourself. That suspicion would only get you, or even worse, your family, killed.
With that, you begin the long journey home. It takes some time, and as you arrive, the sun is just disappearing over the hill, vanishing from your site. You push open the door to the same house, walking inside. Joseph and Ma sit at the kitchen table. Joseph's reading a book, while Ma stares, worried looking into the candle that sits in the middle of the table. You sit down next to her, putting the groceries onto the table. You pull out the bottle of apple juice, sliding it over to her.
"Here you are," you say. "How are you doing, anyway?"
"I... ah, you know," Ma says, absent-mindedly, her gaze not shifting from the flame.
"What's wrong?" you ask.
"Mary's gone missing," Ma says.
"Mary is an hour late to get home," Joseph says. "She's not gone missing."
"Mary is never home late," Ma says. "Never."
"She's probably out with Arthur," you say.
"Arthur's a good boy, he never ends up being late," Ma says.
"Never thought I'd hear you say that about a Unionist," Joseph says.
"We need to go out and look for her," Ma says.
"It's fine," you say. "She's a grown woman. She'll be home soon."
You quickly begin preparing dinner, getting the stove going and boiling the potatoes and getting everything ready. You make sure you're cooking up enough for Mary as well, because like Ma says, it's strange she's late. She'll definitely be home for dinner.
You're halfway through finishing dinner when the door to the farmhouse opens, as Mary arrives home.
"Thank Christ," you mutter under your breath, walking out to the entrance to the home.
Mary stands there, in the worst state you've ever seen her in. Her hair is slick with blood, sticking to the side of her face as it smears it red. Her face is heavily bruised from what must've been one serious beating. Her dress is nearly torn off her, with several tears along the skirt. Tears run down her discolored cheeks, as her lip quivers from the trauma of her night. A long cut runs across her forehead, disappearing to her hairline, with a trickle of blood running down her face and soaking her hair and scap with the dark blood. Her inner thighs and legs are slick with blood and... you grimace, as Mary stares at you with a distant, deadened look.
"Christ above," you say. "Ma! Joseph! Get down here!"
You rush over to her, wrapping her up as she presses her face into the the nook of your neck and shoulder. Ma and Joseph arrive on scene. Ma lets out a horrified shriek, running over to her daughter and giving her a tight hug as you step back.
"Oh my dear God, sweet God above, what's happened? What's happened? What's happened you?"
"I... I was walking home, and he attacked me," she says in between sobs.
"Who? Who fucking did it?" Joseph shouts.
"Calm down, Joseph," you say, grabbing his arm.
"Calm down? Don't you know what they did to her?!" Joseph says.
"And she doesn't need you yelling at her. Take it easy."
"Carter. The others called him Carter," she says softly.
"Leave her alone!" Ma hisses, tears streaming down her face. "Come on, sweetheart, you're alright, you're alright."
Ma leads Mary to the bed as she continuously sobs, as you're left with Joseph. You pause, staring blankly at Joseph, who is absolutely fuming with rage.
"That fucking bastard raped her," Joseph says. "We've been putting up with this for far too long, far too much bullshit because of cockroaches like these. We need to deal with him. This can't be left standing."
"We go group up the IRA unit, organize an ambush. Blow Carter's head off with a fucking rifle and deal with this shit," you say.
"No, we can't involve the unit. It's not their job to deal with this. It's ours," Joseph says. "We confront the fucker man to man, right now."
"Then we do that. Either way, we finish this."
You walk with Joseph down the dark streets towards the small bar known as the Boar's Head. You've already searched several other bars for the man known as Carter, as well as all the local Black and Tan spots. The staunchly unionist Boar's Head Pub is one of the last places you've left to check, but one of the most promising. A heavy revolver sits tucked away in your pocket, as Joseph pushes open the door and you follow Joseph inside.
The interior of a pub is a well lit, relatively empty place. Apart from a few old patrons, the main customers of the place are a group of uniformed Black and Tans who sit around a table.
"That's gotta be them?" Joseph says.
"Let's do this," you say, walking forward.
You walk up to the group of men, leaning down over them as their laughter and conversation grows soft.
"Hello there, lads. I'm looking for Carter?"
A young, blond-haired man with blue eyes looks up at you.
"Yes?" he asks.
1. Shoot him
2. Punch him
3. Berate him
"Sorry to bother," you say, keeping your hands raised and stepping away as you begin to stroll home.
Your face darkens as you do. That man so perfectly represents the current political situation. Bullies and villains rule the world and keep your face ground in the mud. Fucking thugs. It's your duty to end that, to rise up and free the nation with the IRA.
It doesn't matter, you suppose. Time to get home. Hopefully, those fuckers end up on the business end of your rifle some day, but it's not a good idea to draw attention to yourself. That suspicion would only get you, or even worse, your family, killed.
With that, you begin the long journey home. It takes some time, and as you arrive, the sun is just disappearing over the hill, vanishing from your site. You push open the door to the same house, walking inside. Joseph and Ma sit at the kitchen table. Joseph's reading a book, while Ma stares, worried looking into the candle that sits in the middle of the table. You sit down next to her, putting the groceries onto the table. You pull out the bottle of apple juice, sliding it over to her.
"Here you are," you say. "How are you doing, anyway?"
"I... ah, you know," Ma says, absent-mindedly, her gaze not shifting from the flame.
"What's wrong?" you ask.
"Mary's gone missing," Ma says.
"Mary is an hour late to get home," Joseph says. "She's not gone missing."
"Mary is never home late," Ma says. "Never."
"She's probably out with Arthur," you say.
"Arthur's a good boy, he never ends up being late," Ma says.
"Never thought I'd hear you say that about a Unionist," Joseph says.
"We need to go out and look for her," Ma says.
"It's fine," you say. "She's a grown woman. She'll be home soon."
You quickly begin preparing dinner, getting the stove going and boiling the potatoes and getting everything ready. You make sure you're cooking up enough for Mary as well, because like Ma says, it's strange she's late. She'll definitely be home for dinner.
You're halfway through finishing dinner when the door to the farmhouse opens, as Mary arrives home.
"Thank Christ," you mutter under your breath, walking out to the entrance to the home.
Mary stands there, in the worst state you've ever seen her in. Her hair is slick with blood, sticking to the side of her face as it smears it red. Her face is heavily bruised from what must've been one serious beating. Her dress is nearly torn off her, with several tears along the skirt. Tears run down her discolored cheeks, as her lip quivers from the trauma of her night. A long cut runs across her forehead, disappearing to her hairline, with a trickle of blood running down her face and soaking her hair and scap with the dark blood. Her inner thighs and legs are slick with blood and... you grimace, as Mary stares at you with a distant, deadened look.
"Christ above," you say. "Ma! Joseph! Get down here!"
You rush over to her, wrapping her up as she presses her face into the the nook of your neck and shoulder. Ma and Joseph arrive on scene. Ma lets out a horrified shriek, running over to her daughter and giving her a tight hug as you step back.
"Oh my dear God, sweet God above, what's happened? What's happened? What's happened you?"
"I... I was walking home, and he attacked me," she says in between sobs.
"Who? Who fucking did it?" Joseph shouts.
"Calm down, Joseph," you say, grabbing his arm.
"Calm down? Don't you know what they did to her?!" Joseph says.
"And she doesn't need you yelling at her. Take it easy."
"Carter. The others called him Carter," she says softly.
"Leave her alone!" Ma hisses, tears streaming down her face. "Come on, sweetheart, you're alright, you're alright."
Ma leads Mary to the bed as she continuously sobs, as you're left with Joseph. You pause, staring blankly at Joseph, who is absolutely fuming with rage.
"That fucking bastard raped her," Joseph says. "We've been putting up with this for far too long, far too much bullshit because of cockroaches like these. We need to deal with him. This can't be left standing."
"We go group up the IRA unit, organize an ambush. Blow Carter's head off with a fucking rifle and deal with this shit," you say.
"No, we can't involve the unit. It's not their job to deal with this. It's ours," Joseph says. "We confront the fucker man to man, right now."
"Then we do that. Either way, we finish this."
You walk with Joseph down the dark streets towards the small bar known as the Boar's Head. You've already searched several other bars for the man known as Carter, as well as all the local Black and Tan spots. The staunchly unionist Boar's Head Pub is one of the last places you've left to check, but one of the most promising. A heavy revolver sits tucked away in your pocket, as Joseph pushes open the door and you follow Joseph inside.
The interior of a pub is a well lit, relatively empty place. Apart from a few old patrons, the main customers of the place are a group of uniformed Black and Tans who sit around a table.
"That's gotta be them?" Joseph says.
"Let's do this," you say, walking forward.
You walk up to the group of men, leaning down over them as their laughter and conversation grows soft.
"Hello there, lads. I'm looking for Carter?"
A young, blond-haired man with blue eyes looks up at you.
"Yes?" he asks.
1. Shoot him
2. Punch him
3. Berate him
Pryno
Probably a Malkavian
I'm taking into account that harming an unionist in an unionist bar is a pretty bad idea. I know that the Black and Tan could take a grudge against us. Hell, it could be another Carter that did it. It is not really a rare name. But...
I'm a pacifist. But even for a character, there are three red lines, at least according to my standards: slavery, harm to children and rape. Crossing one of them makes the guilty a morally acceptable target for shooting practice. But, in the case of the third ban, there is a proper way to aim: we don't want to put too much blood on the floor, right? It is so hard to clean up afterwards.
Shoot him in the nuts.
I'm a pacifist. But even for a character, there are three red lines, at least according to my standards: slavery, harm to children and rape. Crossing one of them makes the guilty a morally acceptable target for shooting practice. But, in the case of the third ban, there is a proper way to aim: we don't want to put too much blood on the floor, right? It is so hard to clean up afterwards.
Shoot him in the nuts.
Historical Storyteller
Four Thousand Club
3. Try staying out of trouble, not getting even deeper into it. Get Carter when the moment is right, but now is not the time. I'm editing this post, since an hour ago I wrote a three-paragraph long rant. At least I'll get the core of the idea down in two sentences with this edition.
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