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Barrayar ⚔ Cetaganda ⚔ The Invasion

Have you read the FAQ?

The Village ⚔ The Barrayaran Camp ⚔ The Cetagandan Base ⚔ The Fight

You've been on Barrayar for a while now, and you're finally starting to adjust. Or maybe you're not. Maybe this is all still too much for you – the attacks, the constant raids, living in the middle of a war zone by no choice of your own. But if you want to live long enough to make it back home one day, you might as well do what you can to help the war effort. Besides, where else are you going to go?

The fierce Barrayaran winter rages even to the southern end of the continent, and it's been none too kind to Vorkosigan's District. Temperatures at sea level are well below freezing, and up in the mountains, it's even colder. Several inches of snow already blanket most of the mountains all the way down to the Cetagandan base, and the storm that's just started up is only bringing more down. Visibility is low in the flurries, wind swirling snow everywhere, and God help you if you get lost on your own out in the storm. Nights are cold, these days.

A recent attack on the Cetagandan base has left half their facilities damaged and in disarray. Raid parties snuck in by night, planting bombs in previously scouted locations for maximum effect. Damage to the base's water treatment plant and organic grow labs have considerably impacted the Cetagandans' food and water supply, and in the chaos caused by the explosions, the Barrayaran guerrillas raided their medbay and made off with a considerable bounty of medical supplies. One man's bane is another man's boon, and while the Cetagandans have reserve supplies to sustain them for now, some of the damage is extensive and the repairs will take time. But in the meantime, the Barrayarans have scored a precious victory as well as equally precious resources.

the village
The Riverfall villagers are used to the harsh winters of the Dendarii mountains, and though they don't have much themselves, they are happy to offer what they can in terms of cold-weather clothing and extra blankets to those allied with the guerrillas. Despite the cold, the hill children are going wild in the snow, and they may try to lure you into their play by sneakily pelting you with snowballs.

Cetagandan allies, however, may not be met so warmly, and at the first sight of ghem soldiers, any children out playing in the snow will be immediately ushered into their homes. Unaccompanied outsiders from the Cetagandan base might have an easier time talking to the hillfolk, but any attempt at digging information about the guerrillas out of them will get you stonewalled fast. A sneaky hill child or two may steal away from their home to approach one of the "bad guy" outsiders to sate their curiosity.

the barrayaran camp
Morale is higher than it has been in a while after their recent victory, and the guerrillas are in high spirits. And do they ever love their spirits – as night falls, most of the Barrayarans gathered around the campfires are enjoying the deceptively named, dangerously alcoholic moonshine they call maple mead. It might start out sweet, but it burns all the way down, and a few glasses of that stuff will tank even the heaviest Barrayaran soldier.

But the storm rages on despite their celebration, and preparations must be made. Clearing as much snow off the tents as possible will help ensure that no tents collapse overnight, the horses need to be tended to, and the officers are always running training drills. Food is in real supply now, but the guerrillas need help foraging and hunting nonetheless. And when night falls, you'll have to find a way to keep yourself warm – it's a good thing there are a cozy ten of you to a tent.

the cetagandan base
The Cetagandans outnumber their guerrilla enemies almost seventy-to-one, so their base has not been completely devastated, but it hardly looks to be the work of a few raiding parties. Nothing is beyond repair, but the water treatment plant has been taken offline, which means that all water is now locally sourced and must be treated by hand with purification tablets. No one in the base will starve, but fresh food is mostly unavailable until they get the grow labs back online, which means that meals are mostly comprised of ration bars and MREs. Morale isn't exactly at an all-time low, but none of the ghem officers seem to be in a good mood.

They won't hesitate to put you to work, either. They need all the engineers and laborers they can get for the grow labs and the treatment plant, and the medbay's inventory needs to be thoroughly audited before they can send a request for more supplies. But if you need a break, it's not too hard to slip away for a little quiet downtime. Some of the lower-ranked ghem ladies might let you participate in some more artistic activities, or maybe some of the enlisted soldiers who are a little more used to you by now might invite you into one of their Cetagandan games of strategy. Or, since the treatment plant only affected potable water, you could appreciate your comfortable surroundings and take a nice hot soak in the bathroom while everyone else is working.

the fight
PVP
You're in the midst of a skirmish with the other side -- maybe you signed up for the battle, maybe you just got caught up in the fight -- but at least it's easy to tell who's on what side. Only one side is wielding swords, and the other guns.

But then you come across someone who doesn't look like they're either -- not one of the rugged Barrayarans or the face-painted Cetagandans, but an outsider, an exotic like you. They must be. So do you fight?

RECON
Maybe you're not on the front lines, but there's plenty more to winning the war than just fighting. You're partnered with another outsider on recon; the ground is cold, and you try not to let your shoes crunch too loudly on snow as you scout, scanning for patrols or supply lines.

Or maybe you're with the Cetagandans, hiking it thorugh the mountains with one of your fellow exotics in an attempt to locate the enemy camp. Except it's damned cold, and there's hidden ice everywhere, and everything is starting to really look the same.

--

Feel free to write prompts for your character on either side -- you don't have to choose just one for the TDM! Just label it clearly so folks know. GO WILD, MY FRIENDS

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This, at least, Miles can answer without fear of tangling timelines. He relaxes nearly as much as Sonia does. "Really? That's quite rare here. But it's good to see someone else who knows the old sandbox." He leans one hand on his hip, tapping the other to his chin while he thinks. "Not too far out from Silica. And - well, I was brought here much like everyone else."

"Oh, yes. It's been...a long time, but I know I'll see it again." Sonia's still smiling, though she thinks of the ten long years it's been since she last saw it. She twists her lips at the whole unexplained appearances of people thing. "Oh, really? I thought it was only bringing people from other worlds, or whatever. I guess there's really no sense to it after all."

She shrugs and scuffs her boot against the snow, brushing snowflakes from her hair. "Oh -- I didn't even get your name, did I?"

Did Sonia live through the Occupation? Miles doesn't remember. Wouldn't tell her even if he did. So instead, he settles for a warm, "I'm sure you will. We both will."

He has to believe that. Stranded in the past for the rest of his life is not his idea of a good life, even if he can effect any kind of change.

Ah, but it is cold out here. Miles gestures back towards one of the buildings, beckoning for Sonia to follow him. "Miles," he says easily enough. "Miles Ilyan." The lie rolls off his tongue neatly by now.

Oh, that conviction -- that's encouraging. The only time anyone around here has that kind of conviction is about death. He really does seem like a nice man, this one. Sonia likes him, anyhow. She gives him a polite but still tongue-in-cheek curtsy, holding her skirt with one hand.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Miles," she chirps, "and you just call me Sonia." She hesitates before following him, though, pursing her lips. "Have the soldiers been giving you a lot of trouble?"

She knows it's not no trouble, because come on, this is Barrayar.

Miles would give her an equally tongue-in-cheek bow in return, but she specifically asked for no bowing or scraping. So instead he grins up at her.

"Sonia, then. A pleasure." Less pleasurable is that second question... Miles frowns a bit. She's right to ask about the amount of trouble rather than whether he's having any. "Oh, I get the usual hex signs," he says with forced airiness. "I've encountered it all my life. But no ones laid a finger on me yet."

"Well, good," Sonia huffs, pursing her lips, and her free hand goes to her hip. She doesn't doubt he's been getting it all his life, that he must have grown a thick skin to it to have survived to his age -- whatever it is, but he looks older than her -- but that doesn't mean he should have to endure it. "And if they start, you let me know. Count Piotr might have a stick up his ass about it, but I'm not going to stand for that horseshit."

An Imperial Princess, cussing like a sailor? Only when her sister's not around, of course. But really, when you spend your formative years around a bunch of gruff and dirty soldiers, what can you really expect.

The cursing prompts a sharp but very real laugh from Miles. To the point where has to stop for a moment, doubling over. God. Is he really surprised? He shouldn't be - but she's such a firecracker compared to Gregor's quiet reticence. "Then I am very glad to have an ally in you," he says, once he's managed to catch his breath. "I'm quite tired of the horseshit myself."

For a split second Sonia's worried he's -- injured, or something, until she realizes he's laughing, and dammit, it's infectious. She smothers her laughter against her gloved hand, though not very effectively, her shoulders shaking. Oh, she really does like him. Good sense of humor. The one benefit to everyone knowing she's a frigging Princess is that if she glares daggers at a soldier stepping out of line, he's almost sure to recoil.

"It really is horseshit," she puffs, trying to recover her own breath, but she's still grinning as she adjusts her hold on the camera under her arm. "God, you haven't gotten any trouble from Count Piotr, have you? I keep hoping my sister will rub off on him a little more, she's the sensible one, but I've never met a man of such ghastly stubbornness. No idea what she sees in him. No accounting for taste, I suppose. But," she declares, adopting her most Imperial Princess tone, "if you're with me, he can't say a thing. Well, he could, but I don't have to listen. I usually don't."

Ah, Count Piotr. Miles can't help a flicker of fondness in his expression before he manages to lock it down. Perhaps it will look like amusement instead. "Ghastly stubbornness seems to be that man's entire identity," he say with another grin. "I just take that as a challenge. An opportunity to prove myself."

Sonia's eyebrows shoot up at that, and she lets out a little breath through her nose, looking both skeptical and amused. "You're either some kind of masochist, or just plain crazy."

Oh, Sonia. If only you knew.

Miles laughs again at that. "I've been told that many times," he says cheerfully. "A sawed-off maniac, that's me."

That gets a crooked grin out of Sonia, a little flash of teeth. "Well, you're a very refreshing sawed-off maniac, I'll have you know. You're the most interesting conversation I've had in at least two years." She wrinkles her nose in a decidedly un-princesslike fashion. "You're the only Barrayaran I've met who will just talk to me. Like I'm just another person. Well, the only one who's not related to me, anyway."

Ha. He decides not to correct her on that last point. He's not entirely sure what the relationship is in this case. (Great cousin? Something like that.) "Blame it on my appearance, then," he says. "Most Barrayarans won't talk to me like I'm a person either."

Sonia's mouth twists, a look of wry acknowledgment as she tosses her head. "Well, maybe between the two of us, they'll just opt to shut up instead."

She puffs out a cloud of breath that fades almost instantly, but the wind is picking up and the snow doesn't seem to be letting up any time soon, either. Sonia glances around and purses her lips. "I came out here to take some pictures, but I think if we don't head back soon, we'll both be buried in snow." She grins and holds out her elbow to Miles. "Shall we head back to camp? A Princess needs an escort, you know."

Miles looks back at the snow pile he'd been trying to clear. Unsuccessfully ... Yeah, he'd much rather walk a pretty relative back instead. Much warmer for starters.

He reaches up to take her arm carefully. "If you truly don't mind being seen with me," he says, with a sheepish sort of smile. One last chance for her to gracefully extract herself from this apparent mutant's company.

Sonia sees him falter, and hooks her arm around his firmly. "Why should I?" she says with an imperious lift of her chin. "I've nothing to be ashamed of, and neither do you. If anything, it's they who ought to be ashamed." She gives a haughty toss of her hair, just for the added Imperial Princess effect. "Somebody needs to set an example."

Miles straightens, then, and reasserts his gentle grip. "I agree," he says with a gleam in his eye. "Maybe make it a little easier for other apparent mutants." And himself, of course, but that's secondary.

"Apparent mutants?" Sonia raises her eyebrows down at him, perplexed. "Aren't you?"

Damn. He really needs to stop underestimating her. Of course she'd pick up on that distinction.

"Ah. Technically, my issues are teratogenic. Not genetic." He shrugs lightly. "Not much point in differentiating here."

"Hm. Not to them, no." Sonia, however, is unburdened with that level of idiocy. It allows her to excel in other specialized areas of idiocy. "Can I ask what happened? You don't have to tell me."

Miles hesitates. Will his story ring untrue if he does? He's suddenly quite desperate for someone to know the truth, especially this pretty young woman that he's reasoably certain isn't actually related to him. (Well, no more than the rest of the current Vor anyway, and probably less so given both their Betan heritages.) But ... he's also quite certain she'll be sharp enough to figure him out if there are any holes.

What the hell. He'll risk it.

"My mother was poisoned by soltoxin while she was pregnant with me," he says. "Collateral damage - some Vor lord had been the true target. She was cured but..." A faint shrug. "It did terrible things to my bones as a result."

Sorry, Miles, you are super related to Sonia.

She looks appropriately aghast at that, but it's heartfelt. No pity, just -- sad. "Oh...God, I'm sorry. That sounds awful." Her lips thin. "Politics. Useless for anything but getting people hurt."

Rats. Well, he can still feel a bit lonely. God he misses Elli at a time like this.

"I agree with that wholeheartedly." No need to lie about that. "It smarts quite a bit to be labeled the way I am when it's not even true. But arguing over semantics does me no good."

And not that being called a mutant is anything he wants to continue in the first place. His only comfort in all this time traveling nonsense is that he might have a chance to improve Barrayaran opinions of mutants if he does well enough in the resistance.

Sonia offers him a grim little smile in exchange for that agreement. She blows her breath out in a sigh, shaking her head. "You'd have a much better time on Beta Colony."

He would give quite a lot to be on Beta Colony right now. Ah, well ...

"Likely so. Alas, I've no choice now. No way to get home from here." His tone is soft, aching.

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