Congress is doing everything in its power to strengthen unity among the colonies in order to lay groundwork for independence. If they were to offer Canada a separate realm, then why Georgia or North Carolina or even Virginia shouldn't be independent republics as well? This would set a dangerous precedent, that might kill the United States in the long and short term.
Well that depends on how the story would go, and besides how will we know if there would be a sister republic or if the Canadian colonies would even join the other American colonies for independence. We haven't even known about the rolls that our QM has done to begin our campaign in Canada, nor have we at least try to broach the topic of independence to the Canadians.
For this is going to be different then the OTL were instead of congress sending letters to try to convince Canadians to join the American Revolution, Johnathan Halbert is going to try to win the hearts and minds of the Canadians rather then letters and such.
Edit: check page 86 of the threadmark QM has mentioned the letters there when answering a question.
Congress is doing everything in its power to strengthen unity among the colonies in order to lay groundwork for independence. If they were to offer Canada a separate realm, then why Georgia or North Carolina or even Virginia shouldn't be independent republics as well? This would set a dangerous precedent, that might kill the United States in the long and short term.
Also, why would the Canadians want to be a separate nation from the other colonies? Considering how much autonomy every state has, they have nothing to lose and everything to gain in joining the Union.
As of now, O, Child of Liberty! has 400 watchers, 2/5ths of the way to 1,000 and more than I ever expected to get. I am so deeply grateful for the opportunity to entertain you guys with this little quest I made on a whim with almost zero preparation and improvium. This is all for you guys.
I have a list of people I want to thank. I want to thank you all for participating in this quest, I want to thank @Magoose, @Alexander Sturnn, & @Cyberphilosipher for their help writing in various stages of this quest, I want to thank my parents and family, Homer the Greek poet, my former pet rabbit Max, Charles "Lucky" Luciano, George Washington, Charles Dickens, Homer Simpson, every single worker who worked on the Pyramids of Giza, the Statue of Liberty, Taylor Hebert, an endangered species of butterfly, Gilgamesh and his bro Enkidu, Orbeez, DougDoug and his demented Twitch chat, Rosa the Otter, King George III, Kenji Doihara, the HR department of Reuters, the entire country of Andorra, and last, but certainly not least, God.
More sincerely, you will also be getting a bonus of +10 to all Actions during the Canadian and Iroquois Campaign (not including Battle Turns).
While we're still here, I also want to do something and ask you all a simple question: what specifically has brought you to this quest and why do you enjoy it? What do you like about this quest the most?
Anyways, here's to some happy holidays and an upcoming New Year. Cheers!!
Your obedient servant and humble QM, Duke William of.
While we're still here, I also want to do something and ask you all a simple question: what specifically has brought you to this quest and why do you enjoy it? What do you like about this quest the most?
What got me here in the first place, was the possibility of changing some things and that we really don't have much quests at all on this time frame so this ticked my curiosity on what we could do to derail everthing, and one of my favorities thing about this quest is just how our character is being molded by our actions and the consequences of that, and the absurd rewards that our stunts created.
I Am here because history quest in SV is rare. After reading La Chanson quest I tried to find similar quest. Lo and behold, your quest pop up, and here I am.
What I like the most of this quest, is the strategy. Also, the randomness of the dice making this quest the epitome of trying to snatch victory from the jaw of defeat. It has a lot of tense and jaw droping moment, especially the first rumor mill where old king george iii dead. Then the british army was impeded by storm during their sail in the atlantic, then benny succeded taking quebec city with only a company of soldier. I enjoy the random moment because of the dice, and your reaction to it.
I'm here because, one, it's an American Revolution quest, two, it's amusing seeing the dice go against the British so much, three, alternate history, and four? I get to see a man slowly lose his sanity, a win-win in my book.
Seriously, though, congrats man! I've loved reading this and watching our boy change American history (hopefully for the better), so get yourself some needed rest, a good drink and some snacks, and lay back for a good few hours before writing the next update, you deserve it.
Elizabeth O'Connor took her Rifle and inspected it. All the parts were polished and oiled, and the whole weapon looked as functional as always.
Nodding, she tossed a coin to the boy who had handed it to her. "Good job, Tom. Here you go."
The boy, a young lad of almost fourteen years, caught the coin and nodded to her. "Thanks, Ma'am. I did my best."
Elizabeth gave him a rare smile. "I know you did. And you've learned fast." She shook her head. "Go, now. Pack your things before you go to sleep. We'll leave early tomorrow."
The boy just nodded again, his expression around her mostly coldly neutral, as always, before he headed off.
Elizabeth frowned as she looked after him. Tom had gotten a handle on his anger, but she still hoped he wouldn't do anything stupid. He wasn't a bad lad. It would be shame if he got himself killed in some pointless Quest for revenge.
The Irish American woman snorted. Awfully hypocritical of her, wasn't that? Still, she knew her Limits, at least. He did not. He was justa kid who had lost a lot and didn't know what to do with the anger he felt.
As Elizabeth stood up and wandered back to her tent, she couldn't help but recall how she had met Tom in Boston. During a stroll through the recently conquered city, the lad had jumped at her with a small kitchen knife and tried to gut her.
Tried being the keyword. She had disarmed and pushed him to the ground instantly.
She remembered how the lad had snarled at er with angry tears in his eyes, saying something about how he would 'kill all those filthy traitors' and 'make them pay'.
After taking the boy back to the place she and her lads and lasses were staying at, she had grilled him for Information on why he had tried to kill her and who he was. Turns out, Tom's father, a British Redcoat, had been killed fighting at Breed's Hill, and his mother had passed away from an illness during the Siege. Orphaned and unable to pay, the lad had been kicked out of his home by the Landlord. With only his clothes on his body, a knife he stole from the kitchen and a burning, directionless anger in his heart, he had tried to kill the first Rebel he came across, blaming them for what had happened to his family.
...Dammit all. Maybe she should have given the lad over to the Authorities and forgotten about him, but Elizabeth still had a heart under all her anger and pain. And seeing this young boy, enraged and in grief over the loss of his family, seeking revenge or just anything that might make the pain stop...it had more than a bit reminded her of herself.
So, she had made Tom an offer. Rushing off and getting himself killed trying to take revenge would get him nowhere except in a grave. And didn't he want to live? Wouldn't that be a far better revenge on the 'Rebels' than trying to kill one of them in desperation and likely just dying?
So, how about he would work for her, at least for a while? She could pay and feed him, as long as he pulled his weight around camp.
At first, the lad had refused. But after a while, his growling stomach and the need to just find something, anything to do and keep going had won out and he took her offer.
Elizabeth sighed. Tom was less angry than he had been before, but rage over his and his family's fate was still bubbling in him. She hoped he would learn to handle it, maybe find a new purpose here in the Army.
She didn't want the lad to end up consumed by his loos, grief and anger. Like...like herself.
Elizabeth shook her head. The question of what she would do after this war often went through her head, and she knew that she was running away from it.
For now, that was still working. But for how much longer?
Who would she be once this was all over...?
She grit her teeth. Focus, Elizabeth. She would soon have more important things to do than wax philosophy in her head.
She and her folks would be sent out by Washington to spy on the approaching British Army. Harrass their columns, pick off Foragers and stragglers where they could, but mostly keep an eye on them and warn Washington when they were about to arrive at New York.
From the rumors, the Brits were advancing quite fast. Perhaps she and her lads and lasses could slow them down a bit.
For a fleeting moment, she hoped Halbert would come and join their forces. She hadn't had the most conversation with him after he essentially recruited her east, but he had earned her respect. The man believed in the cause, knew how to kill Redcoats and was audacious enough to take risks that paid off. She liked that.
But from what she heard, the man would be sent off to safe that mess up in Canada.
She sighed. Well, hopefully that crazy bastard would succeed again. Lord knew they would need every advantage they could get against the red tide rolling towards them.
A wolfish grin came to her lips. Oh well, Halbert would do his best, and so would she. She was eager to make some Lobsterbacks bleed again. That British General and his men would soon wish they had never come here.
...She silenced the part of her that asked how many boys like Tom here or back in England she would make into orphans in the following days. It made her feel even more uncomfortable...
A.N.: Bit short, but I hope you all like it. And that it covers the Omake Bounty for Elizabeth in New York.
Tom is a bit of a mirror to Elizabeth herself. Maybe caring for the lad, as best as she can, can also help her heal a little. We'll see.
Reward: +15 to Elizabeth O'Conner and her Hellhounds during the next Rumor Mill, and a +10 to George Washington and his army in New York in the next Rumor Mill.
Only one more, and all the Omake bounties for Omake Bounty List IV will be claimed!!
While we're still here, I also want to do something and ask you all a simple question: what specifically has brought you to this quest and why do you enjoy it? What do you like about this quest the most?
"Freedom can exist only in the society of knowledge. Without learning, men are incapable of knowing their rights."
–Benjamin Rush
[X] Plan: Northern Campaign
-[X] Getting the Greenhorns into shape: Your men are not... experts at warfare, to say the least. Your men better shape up before our head up north
-[X] Fellow fighters: You should meet with your subordinates and get a good feel on their personalities. See if they'll be any trouble for you
-[X] Lee and You: You're going to be coordinating with Charles Lee for the first half of your expedition ( who will technically be your commanding officer then), so you'll need to meet with him to discuss strategy.
-[X] Maps Galore: You have no idea about the terrain and Geography of either the Iroquois Territory or Canada. That should be remedied sooner rather then later.
-[X] Oneida Native American Friend: If your going to head to Iroquois Territory, you should get to know your erstwhile native allies.
-[X] Common sense: Thomas Paine, Author of the famous Common Sense, is eager to meet you, though he understands if you don't have time( No time Limit)
-[X] Focus on an action You want to make sure you accomplish this task well.(Applied a +10 bonuses to any action of your choice.)
--[X] Fellow fighters
-[X] Let's go: You think your men are ready. Let's do this(Begins the Canadian Campaign. Must be taken on or before Turn VII.)
-[X] Independent action: You need Tommy to do something for you.
--[X] Wars and Rumors of Wars
-[X] Let's Go: You think your men are ready. Let's do this. (Begins the Canadian Campaign. Must be taken on or before Turn VII.)
It was time to cross over the metaphorical Rubicon and march on metaphorical Rome. Whether you returned a hero or a failure would be a a roll of the dice.
Results: Next Update, you will officially begin your campaign for Canada.
-[X] Getting the Greenhorns Into Shape
1D100 = 19+10+5+5+5+5 => 49
"Sir, why are we being handed pikes? Why don't we have muskets?"
Captain–No, Colonel James Easton sighed as he turned to face the confused soldier, who sure enough had a pike in his hand. And so too were the others in the group of men he was in, also holding pikes and trench spears; beside them was a group of men, just as confused as they were, wielding muskets.
"We were not able to procure enough muskets to outfit you all, unfortunately," Easton said with a displeased tone. "However, the Congress people were kind enough to give us pikes and spears they'd made for other poor blokes. Which means that we'll have to share."
"How the hell is that going to work?" One particularly courageous or stupid fellow exclaimed, and the men around him whispered and muttered their agreement. Easton couldn't blame them; he'd also been rather miffed when General Halbert had informed his officers of the arrangement. Still, they had a duty to do.
"Simple. We're going to rotate training." Easton said simply. "Today, most of you will train with pikes while others train with the muskets. Tomorrow, those who trained with pikes will use the muskets while those who trained with muskets will use pikes. Is that satisfactory, or will I need to say it slowly? Like if I was talking to babies?"
The men shook their heads, some subtly puffing their chests up at the perceived challenge, and Easton smirked. "Good. Now come on, people, are those weapons gonna kill by themselves or are you going ta' do it for them?!"
Results: Halbert's force is not hopeless in a fight anymore, and the unarmed men now have pikes and trench spears. It isn't exactly a high bar, and the pikes won't be all that useful, but it's something. No malus suffered by Halbert's men when fighting due to no training.
Also, yes, there were American regiments outfitted with pikes during the American Revolution. The Marbleheaders you guys blew up a ship with were carrying pikes during the Battle of Trenton.
-[X] Fellow Fighters
1D100 = 36+10+10+5+5+5+5 => 76
Halbert leaned against the corner of the tavern, arms crossed, observing the men under his command. The flickering light from the hearth cast long shadows over the room, illuminating the lively faces of soldiers making the most of what they all knew would be their last night under a roof for a long time. Laughter, clinking mugs, and the murmur of conversation filled the air.
He allowed them this moment. Let them drink, talk, and laugh. They would need these memories when the long, grueling march began. If Halbert had his way, the next weeks would be filled with endless drilling and relentless marching—necessary preparation for the trials ahead.
Beside him, Major Hubbard leaned in, his expression uncharacteristically grim. "General," he began, voice low to avoid disturbing the revelry.
Halbert raised a hand, anticipating the topic. "Hubbard, if this is about pay, I assure you I'm working to secure a reliable line of payment for the men—"
"It's not that, sir." Hubbard's tone carried an edge that made Halbert stop. "It's how we're going to get there."
"We have the maps, the route is—"
Hubbard interrupted, his brow furrowed. "No, sir. I'm asking what happens when we arrive. How will we defend our position alongside Arnold and Montgomery?"
Halbert's gaze dropped to his boots. The question had been weighing on him for weeks. He had reviewed maps, considered strategies, and thought about fortifications, but the truth was simple: he didn't have a clear answer yet.
"I've been thinking on it," Halbert admitted, his tone quiet but firm. "But I need more time to decide. More information on the enemy's strength, the terrain, the resources at our disposal."
Hubbard nodded, though his concern didn't fade. "I hope we have that time, sir."
Halbert's reply was a curt nod, his thoughts already shifting to the challenges ahead.
Later, Halbert noticed a trio of officers from the first brigade seated at a corner table, mugs of ale in hand. He decided to join them, his approach unhurried. The men straightened slightly as he arrived, though not out of fear—Halbert wasn't the type to chastise his men for enjoying their drinks. He simply had matters to discuss.
"Gentlemen," he greeted, taking a seat. "How does it go?"
Tupper, the most reserved of the group, offered a curt nod. "Well enough, sir." His tone, however, betrayed a hint of discontent.
Wooster, meticulously scribbling notes even as he sipped his drink, remained silent, his focus unwavering.
Brown, on the other hand, was well into his cups. His face was flushed, and his movements lacked coordination. He looked at Halbert, slurring his words with reckless abandon. "I... I want to fuck."
Before Halbert could respond, Brown slumped forward, collapsing onto the table in a drunken stupor.
"I see," Halbert said dryly, turning to Tupper. "Your thoughts on this?"
Tupper exhaled sharply, his expression a mix of frustration and resignation. "He thinks he's about to die and wants to bed a woman before we leave. I won't allow it."
"Virtue?" Halbert asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Precisely," Tupper replied. "The man needs to set an example. We're representatives of the Army, after all, and I'll be damned if I let him tarnish our reputation."
"And keeping him here?"
"Necessary," Tupper said firmly. "He's safer in the tavern than out there finding trouble. Better to deal with his drunken ramblings than the aftermath of his 'adventures.'"
Halbert allowed himself a faint smirk. "A fine babysitter you've become, Tupper. Let him rest, and ensure he's ready for the march tomorrow."
"Yes, sir," Tupper replied, his voice steady with resolve.
Halbert rose, giving a final glance at the men scattered throughout the tavern. This was their last reprieve before the hardships began. Tomorrow, the road would be long, the drills relentless, and the enemy ever-present. But for tonight, they were allowed to be human—to laugh, drink, and, in Brown's case, dream of simpler desires.
He's speaking with the second brigade commanders, but he soon realized something... he was being called over by one of the few men not drinking.
|==================================|
Rogers was not drinking... he was trying to nurse some lemon water.
Halbert stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame as he watched the soldiers making their way back to camp. They were boisterous, their spirits high from the night's revelry, though some walked with the sluggish gait of men who had indulged too much. It wouldn't matter in the morning. They would march, hungover or not, and the real work would begin.
Nearby, Robert Rogers stood, a shadow against the fading light of the tavern. He wasn't mingling with the men or joining in their camaraderie. Instead, he seemed distant, his arms crossed as he gazed into the darkening woods beyond the camp.
"Colonel," Halbert called, using the man's rank to get his attention. Rogers turned slightly, acknowledging him with a faint nod but nothing more.
"You don't seem to be enjoying the celebration," Halbert remarked, stepping closer. "A moment of respite before the march might do you good."
Rogers exhaled, the sound somewhere between a sigh and a scoff. "There was a time I would've joined them without a second thought," he said, his voice low and rough. "But not anymore. I've made a promise to myself—no drink until I've regained what I've lost."
Halbert hesitated, noting the weariness etched into Rogers's features. The man's reputation as a fearless leader of rangers had once been unassailable, but time and circumstance had battered him. "I understand," Halbert said carefully. "Though I imagine that road back won't be easy."
Rogers turned fully to face him, his eyes sharp despite the melancholy that lingered in his expression. "It never is," he replied. Then, with a pointed look, he asked, "How much of your own money have you loaned out to keep this campaign afloat?"
The question took Halbert off guard, but he masked his discomfort with a measured response. "If you're offering—"
"I'm giving you advice, boy," Rogers cut in, his tone firm but not unkind. "How much?"
Halbert hesitated, then admitted, "A thousand dollars."
Rogers let out a long breath, shaking his head. "A thousand dollars," he repeated, his tone laced with something between disbelief and pity. "You're a fool. You should've discharged some of these wretches, kept only the best, and taken to the road with those who were already equipped. Throwing your own coin into this cause was reckless unless you were certain it would be repaid."
Halbert bristled but kept his composure. "I won't make the same mistakes you made," he said, his voice steady but edged with defiance. Reaching into his coat, he retrieved a few British silver sterlings and held them out. "I promise."
Rogers stared at the coins for a long moment before pushing Halbert's hand back. "Keep it," he said gruffly. "You'll need it more than I do. I'm sure Congress will be as plentiful, patient, and generous with you as they've been with me." The bitterness in his voice was impossible to miss.
Halbert frowned, the weight of Rogers's words settling uncomfortably. He had heard the stories of Rogers's debts, of his fall from favor and fortune, and he had even intervened once to keep the man out of a debtor's prison. But seeing Rogers like this—a man once full of confidence and ambition—was a sobering reminder of how precarious their positions were.
After a moment of silence, Rogers spoke again, his voice softer this time. "Do you pray to God, Halbert?"
"I do," Halbert replied, meeting his gaze.
"Then pray for wisdom," Rogers said, his tone almost imploring. "And pray that you don't end up like me, destroyed by the very cause you've sworn to serve." He paused, then added, "And if you can spare it, pray for hope—for all of us."
Halbert nodded, unsure of what to say. Before he could respond, Rogers continued. "I have one more request," he said, his voice gaining a hint of its old vigor. "Let me train my men in my tactics. Give me that, and I'll show you what we can do."
"If it's within our means," Halbert said, extending his hand. "You have my word."
Rogers clasped it firmly, his grip steady despite the years of hardship. "Then let's hope we're both still standing to see it through," he said, releasing Halbert's hand and turning back to the dark woods.
Results: Halbert has met with his subordinates and established good relations with all of them. All his subordinates are immediately set to (35/50) Relations, except for Hawkins, who gains +2 Relations with Halbert.
-[X] Lee and You
1D100 = 11+10+5+5+5+5 => 41
Halbert fidgeted as he looked down at his pocket watch, wondering if he was late, early, or if he had gotten the wrong time.
"General Lee will see you now, sir," a young lieutenant said as he stepped out of the room General Lee was in, and Halbert was snapped out of his thoughts. Quickly standing up, Halbert nodded gratefully to the lieutenant and walked into the room. General Charles Lee sat at his desk writing a letter, a dour expression on his face.
"You asked for my presence, General?" Halbert asked as he walked in, only to receive a cold silence in response as Lee looked up, regarded Halbert's person, before looking back to his letter. The sharp jobs and scratches of the pen cut through the room like a knife through butter, with Halbert standing at an awkward attention unsure of what to do. It reminded him too much of his... stern talk with General Washington.
After a long minute or two that seemed more like an hour, General Lee finally spoke. "So this is the young general who gives battle without consulting his superiors," Lee coldly stated as he stood up, "Who supposes strategy without consulting those men it affects."
Halbert fought back a wince; he hadn't thought much of his proposal to Congress that he accompany Lee's Iroquois expedition before swinging towards Montreal from the west. Lee then sighed.
"You have given myself quite a headache," Lee stolidly walked over to a window before turning to face Halbert again. "Despite your impetuousness, I now have more than 5,000 additional men for a time who, if utilized properly, could ensure an alliance with the Iroquois and break the British stranglehold over them."
Halbert remained silent, not wishing to poke at Lee's patience or temper like he had with Washington. At the very least, he had not committed as grievous an insult as he had last time.
After a minute, the sourness on General Lee's face faded. Not completely erased, that seemed impossible for the man, but he was certainly less imposing a figure now. "I suppose I shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth. I am sure there will not be trouble as to the hierarchy of our command, General Halbert?"
"It is as you say, General," Halbert nodded, withholding a sigh that was banging at his lips to open up.
Results: Lee and Halbert, while not friendly, have a polite enough relationship with each other that they both won't try to screw each other over. Lee wants to use his temporarily bolstered numbers for one major strike against the British and their Native allies as leverage for the upcoming negotiations and diplomacy. +2 Relations with Charles Lee.
Major General Charles Lee: (29/50) He is not too fond of Halbert, viewing him as reckless and glory-seeking. However, Lee acknowledges that the lad has some military skill and thinks he will be able to work with Halbert.
-[X] Maps Galore
1D100 = 49+10+5+5+5+5 => 79
The maps Halbert had were, in his blunt estimation, absolute shit.
Not because the maps of New York and Canada were poorly crafted—far from it. They were works of art, meticulously drawn by skilled cartographers, with every river bend and mountain ridge elegantly detailed. For most armies, they would have been perfectly serviceable, perhaps even exemplary.
But Halbert wasn't leading most armies. He wasn't even leading a typical force of the Continental Army. His command was a ragtag collection of misfits: the dregs of the cause, a patchwork of untrained recruits, soldiers with barely serviceable muskets and bloody pikes, and a handful of seasoned veterans held together by desperation and sheer stubbornness. Their equipment was scarce, their resources even scarcer. Every possible advantage had to be wrung out of what little they had, and that included intelligence on the terrain.
The problem with the maps wasn't in their craftsmanship, but in their age. They were three years old—ancient by the standards of any self-respecting cartographer. In the Americas, settlements rose and fell as quickly as the seasons. A village that once bustled with life might now be little more than a patch of charred ground, abandoned after a raid or some other calamity. Rivers changed their courses, roads were swallowed by forests, and what once passed for a fort could now be a decrepit ruin.
Halbert spread the maps across the table in his tent, pinning down the corners with rocks and discarded bits of equipment. Candlelight flickered over the yellowed parchment, casting shadows over towns that might no longer exist and roads that might now lead to nowhere.
He muttered to himself, tracing a finger along the line of the St. Lawrence River. "Three years... hell, this could be completely wrong by now." He paused at a mark indicating a small settlement, squinting at the faded ink. "Is this place even there anymore?"
A voice interrupted his musings. "General, if I may," said Hubbard, stepping into the tent with a polite cough. "You're right to question the maps. I passed through parts of this territory last year. Some of these settlements are nothing more than ruins now. Others..." He hesitated. "Well, they've changed hands more times than I can count."
Halbert exhaled sharply and leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples. "Of course they have. God forbid we get accurate intelligence for once." He glanced at Hubbard, his expression hardening. "What do you suggest, Major? Do we march blind and hope for the best?"
Hubbard stepped closer, his tone cautious but firm. "No, sir. We'll need scouts—good ones. Men who can move quickly, avoid detection, and gather real information on what lies ahead. That, or we risk leading this force into an ambush or a dead end."
Halbert nodded slowly, his mind already racing. The idea made sense, but finding reliable scouts wasn't easy. "We've got Rogers," he said, almost to himself. "And Doxtator and his men. They'll have to do."
Hubbard gave a small nod of approval. "Doxtator's detachment might be exactly what we need, even more then Roger's riflemen. His people know this land better than anyone, and they can navigate it faster than any of our troops."
Halbert stared at the maps again, his finger tapping against the parchment. "Then it's settled. We'll send them ahead to verify what's still standing and what isn't. But even with good scouting, this is going to be a gamble."
Hubbard's lips twitched into a faint, grim smile. "It always is, sir."
Halbert gave a dry chuckle. "Ain't that the truth." He pushed back from the table and stood, rolling the maps into a rough bundle. "Prep the scouts. If we're going to march into the unknown, we might as well do it with our eyes as open as possible."
He just wished that things weren't so desperate.
Results: Halbert has acquired accurate enough maps of the areas he will be marching through, though there are still many spots that are sketchy or inaccurate. He will need to relax on his scouts for guidance. -15 malus when traveling through Iroquois Territory and Canada is lowered to -5.
-[X] Oneida Native American Friend
1D100 = 47+10+5+5+5 => 72
Philadelphia was, by all accounts, a cosmopolitan city. The Penns had designed it so, and the Quakers who dominated its early governance prided themselves on tolerance—at least for those who prayed to the Lord, no matter their denomination. Still, even in this relatively progressive hub, the arrival of an Oneida war band marching through the streets, pledging their allegiance to the Continental Congress, caused a stir.
To many, this alliance was a boon, a much-needed symbol of unity in a fractured war effort. To others, it was a source of unease. The wounds from decades of frontier skirmishes, massacres, and raids ran deep. Trusting the same people who had once been adversaries did not come easily, and suspicions simmered beneath the surface.
The Oneida confederacy's participation also presented a challenge Congress could not ignore. Their involvement was a diplomatic and logistical test, as delicate as it was unprecedented. If the confederacy stood by the Americans through the conflict, what would come after? Would they negotiate as equals, or would Congress attempt to reduce them to subjects? These were questions few dared to ask aloud but were whispered in corridors and taverns across the city.
For Halbert, stationed temporarily in Philadelphia before his march northward, the issue became personal when certain Oneida individuals sought to join the Continental Army outright, rather than continuing with General Charles Lee's expedition to solidify the alliance with the rest of the confederacy. Among these was a young man who stood out not just for his presence but for his remarkable demeanor: Cornelius Doxtator.
Doxtator was an anomaly among his peers. His pale complexion and sharp European features made him look more like a colonial farmer than a member of the Oneida. Yet, when he spoke, it was with fluid ease in both the native tongue and English, the latter accented only slightly, with a precision that bespoke a formal education. Moreover, he wrote better than most of the officers Halbert had met in his career. He was an enigma, bridging two worlds with an uncanny naturalness.
General Lee, however, had little use for enigmas. Despite his history with the Iroquois and his own Mohawk wife, Lee saw Doxtator as a logistical complication rather than an asset. With his resources stretched thin and his sights set on his primary mission, Lee resolved to offload the young man and his small detachment of native scouts onto Halbert's command.
Halbert's first reaction was one of dismay. He barely had enough supplies to keep his current force equipped, and Congress's support had been, at best, inconsistent. Additional men—even a small detachment—were a burden he could ill afford.
"Mister Doxtator," Lee said briskly, gesturing to the young man standing at attention. Then his gaze shifted to Halbert. "General Halbert, I know this comes as a surprise, but I am assigning Doxtator and his detachment of native scouts to your command."
Halbert stiffened. The decision was presented not as a request but as a decree. "General Lee," he began carefully, "as much as I believe Mister Doxtator could be a valuable asset to the expedition to Canada, I cannot in good conscience accept him into my ranks."
Lee's eyes narrowed slightly, and Halbert knew the man well enough to sense the coming provocation. "Is it because he is a native?" Lee asked, his voice tinged with challenge.
Halbert took a steadying breath. "No, sir," he replied firmly. "It's because I lack the supplies. Congress has provided very little in the way of resources for my mission, and the loans I've personally taken are barely sufficient to arm and equip the men I already have. Unlike your detachment, mine must be prepared to sustain itself over long marches and in battle."
Lee made a sound, halfway between a hum and a click of the tongue, as he glanced toward the corner of the room, where his dogs lay sprawled in sleep. "Indeed," he said at last, "but I'm confident that Mister Doxtator and his men will not burden your forces. They'll assist you with scouting, foraging, and other essential tasks. I expect they'll prove their worth soon enough."
He paused, then reached into his coat and retrieved a folded piece of parchment. Handing it to Halbert, he added, "This is a commission for Lieutenant Doxtator, granting him rank within the Continental Army. It has already been approved by myself and General Washington."
Halbert unfolded the document and read it quickly. There was no room for negotiation. The ink was dry, and the names at the bottom were unimpeachable. He folded it again and tucked it away, his face unreadable. "Very well, sir," he said at last, his voice carefully neutral.
Lee clapped Halbert on the shoulder, a rare gesture of camaraderie. "You'll see, Halbert," he said. "Men like Doxtator are the future of this army—of this country. Treat him well, and he'll serve you better than you can imagine."
|==================================|
Doxtator sensed immediately that his presence unsettled Halbert as they walked back to camp. Though he kept a respectful distance, his voice cut through the quiet. "I had hoped to remain with Boiling Water," he began.
Halbert stopped mid-stride, turning back with a look of curiosity. "Boiling Water?"
"That is the name General Lee is known by among my people," Doxtator explained, his tone calm but earnest.
Halbert couldn't help but laugh at the unexpected sobriquet, a sharp and knowing sound in the still night. "Fitting," he said, a touch of humor lacing his words. "I suppose the man does have a way of reaching the boiling point faster than most." He shook his head, the levity of the moment fading as he motioned for Doxtator to continue walking beside him. "Forgive me, Lieutenant. My concerns are not about your ability, merely the timing. I simply can't afford more men under my command right now—not with our short supply of equipment, uniforms, and rations."
Doxtator nodded but did not let the subject drop. "Your people," he said evenly, "always seem to place such weight on money and supplies, as if a man's worth on the march or in battle is tied to silver and cloth. My warriors will not be a drain on your resources. We know how to feed and arm ourselves. What I fear is not whether we can keep pace, but whether men like Colonel Rogers will treat us as comrades."
The mention of Rogers made Halbert wince. He exhaled sharply, the sound halfway between a sigh and a groan. "Rogers..." Halbert hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "He's not the kind of man who... appreciates company that challenges his notions. Especially not natives, officer or otherwise."
Doxtator's face remained impassive, but his voice carried an edge of determination. "Regardless of his feelings, I will follow his orders. I expect no special treatment, only respect. If he treats me and my warriors as soldiers of the Continental Army, we will serve him with honor."
Halbert glanced sideways at the young lieutenant, noting the calm yet unyielding resolve in his bearing. "You don't lack for conviction, I'll give you that," Halbert said. "But Rogers is... complicated. He's a man burdened by his past failures, and while I've seen him rise above those burdens at least in words, I've also seen him stumble. If you find his respect difficult to earn, you won't be alone."
Doxtator tilted his head slightly. "Respect is not something I expect freely, General. Among my people, it is earned. If Rogers cannot offer it now, I will do what is necessary to change his mind." His tone carried no anger, only a firm confidence.
Halbert nodded slowly, impressed despite himself. "Then I hope you'll forgive me if I watch with interest. Rogers could use a lesson or two in humility."
As they neared the camp, the fires of the soldiers glowed softly against the dark, their laughter and voices mingling with the crackle of flames. Halbert paused, turning to Doxtator one last time. "I'll be honest with you, Lieutenant. I didn't want this. I don't trust Congress to keep the promises it makes to men like you or me. But since you're here, I expect you'll show them they were right to give you that commission."
Doxtator met his gaze, his eyes steady and bright. "I will. For my people, and for this alliance."
Halbert held his gaze for a moment longer, then clapped the younger man on the shoulder. "Good. Then let's get to work."
Results: Halbert has met Cornelius Doxtator, the son of Honyere Doxtator, and has acquired both Cornelius and a small detachment of Native American scouts, about 80 men, as further reinforcements for his division. +10 to Scouting rolls.
Cornelius Doxtator: (30/50) He's a bit wary of Halbert, having wanted to stay with General Lee instead. However, he is willing to trust Lee's judgment and stick with Halbert for now.
-[X] Common Sense
1D100 = Nat!100+20+10+5+5+5 => Nat!Crit! 145 ( Not again... Not again!! )
"My God! Jonathan Halbert–General Halbert, I mean!"
To be continued in: On Paine of Duty
-[X] Focus on an Action: You want to make sure you accomplish this task well.( Applies a +10 bonus to any action of your choice.)
--[X] Fellow Fighters
It would be only until long after midnight that Halbert left that tavern, having spent the night drinking (water) and conversing with his officers.
Results: +10 to Fellow Fighters action this Turn.
-[X] Independent Action: You need Tommy to do something for you.
--[X] Wars and Rumors of Wars.
1D100 = 87+10 => Art!Crit! 97 ( No no no no no no... Wait wait wait wait... WAIT WAIT WAIT WAIT)
"Sacre Bleu!"
Tommy's head whipped around at the sudden commotion and saw an old man on the other side of the tavern profusely apologizing to a server with some weird half English, half non-English over spilling a drink. The man's beard was overgrown like a bush, and he seemed to shiver even with a thick fur coat on. His eyes were a black, baggy tired. He pulled the coat tighter over himself, as if wishing to shroud himself from those nearby. Something attached to beads nearly fell out of the man's coat, but the man quickly caught it, his eyes darting about. Looking closer, Tommy could faintly make out... a cross? The man was a Papist?
Tommy's eyes then as he realized that the strange curse was so foreign to him because it was in a foreign language. French. Which, combined with the fur coat, meant that this man was Quebecois. If he was a Quebecois in Philadelphia, he was either very suicidal or... or...
Tommy quickly stood up and, taking a breath, walked over to the man.
"Pus-je m'useoir eci, monsieur?" Tommy asked in the most legible French he could muster. A second later, Tommy would swear that he saw the man's eyes light up.
"Of course, my child," the man smiled with his broken English, and Tommy politely smiled back as he sat down across the man. "How may I help you?"
"Do you speak more English than I do French," Tommy asked with some slight embarrassment. "Because I think I just spent the majority of my French knowledge."
"I speak enough English," the man chuckled. "Pardon my manners, my name is Pierre. Father Pierre-René Floquet."
"A pleasure, sir," Tommy nodded, noting that maybe that was why Floquet had called him a child. He wasn't, he was a big man with a big hat now.
"And yours?"
"Tommy Navarre, at your service." After a moment, Tommy then spoke again. "So what's a Father like you doing down here? I'm not a religious man, but I do know that people here don't really accept fellows like you."
At that, a great sadness washed over Floquet's eyes, and he hung his head despondently. "I was in charge of the Jesuits in Montreal when the Montreal Massacre happened. A good number of our flock perished that horrible night, and of course, I condemned the bloodshed."
Tommy shifted at that. He didn't know what a Jesuit was, but he did understand the Montreal Massacre, especially when he'd lived in the city home to the previous massacre. "Let me guess," Tommy said, "They had you arrested for treason."
"No, but I was sympathetic to the peoples' plights," the man admitted with a guilty shame and anger. "Apparently, that was enough to constitute treason for the governor. I barely escaped with my life. Now, I languish here, having failed both God and men."
As the priest hung his head, the gears in Tommy's head turned slowly before clicking into place.
"I don't know, Father," Tommy said as he rapped his knuckles against the table, "Seems to me that God closed a door to a hovel only to open another door to a mansion."
Floquet looked up in confusion. Tommy smirked. The hook was caught.
Results: Tommy has met with Pierre-René Floquet*, a Quebecois Jesuit priest sympathetic to the Thirteen Colonies who fled Quebec after the initial crackdowns. He is willing to provide help in bringing the Quebec populace onto the side of the Americans and keeping the peace. In Canada, Halbert will receive +10 to all Rolls when dealing and negotiating with Quebec natives in a peaceful manner.
*Floquet was a real man who existed, he is not an original creation of mine.
The emotes and crazy rolls are back, and I'm trying to get drunk off of only almond hazelnut creamer. Normal and bad rolls throughout, then bam, I get suckerpunched by a Nat! 100. Congrats, guys, you've officially become Thomas Paine BFF for life. I swear, you guys are getting all the madlads in your bromance harem...
If you don't know yet, I have nominated this quest for two categories of the Users' Choice Awards. If you could kindly spare some time and vote for my quest in these categories, it would make my day.
Once again, big thanks to @Magoose for helping me write this update.
Revolutionary Fun Fact–Thomas Paine was a man of many talents, once serving as a tax collector for tobacco and liquor. He would unfortunately be fired from this job in 1774 after he had written a pamphlet arguing that tax officers should be paid more.
"Sir, why are we being handed pikes? Why don't we have muskets?"
Captain–No, Colonel James Easton sighed as he turned to face the confused soldier, who sure enough had a pike in his hand. And so too were the others in the group of men he was in, also holding pikes and trench spears; beside them was a group of men, just as confused as they were, wielding muskets.
"We were not able to procure enough muskets to outfit you all, unfortunately," Easton said with a displeased tone. "However, the Congress people were kind enough to give us pikes and spears they'd made for other poor blokes. Which means that we'll have to share."
"How the hell is that going to work?" One particularly courageous or stupid fellow exclaimed, and the men around him whispered and muttered their agreement. Easton couldn't blame them; he'd also been rather miffed when General Halbert had informed his officers of the arrangement. Still, they had a duty to do.
"Simple. We're going to rotate training." Easton said simply. "Today, most of you will train with pikes while others train with the muskets. Tomorrow, those who trained with pikes will use the muskets while those who trained with muskets will use pikes. Is that satisfactory, or will I need to say it slowly? Like if I was talking to babies?"
I guess there's not to much difference between bayonet and pike training. Though I'd still heavily prefer to get our boys guns before and major fighting.
Also, yes, there were American regiments outfitted with pikes during the American Revolution. The Marbleheaders you guys blew up a ship with were carrying pikes during the Battle of Trenton.
Huh, so Empire Total War wasn't completely off. I guess it makes sense. Wolftones men had pikes in the rebellion of 1798. And I've heard of people proposing of using pikes up till around the US civil war.
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