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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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At camp
Mark is every bit the mutie that Miles is, of course, but he moves through the camp a bit more easily than his brother does. It's part that Mark just doesn't care about the looks that these hicks give him - he has wounds aplenty, after all, and doesn't want to hoard all of 'em; he's generous enough to give Miles primary ownership over the old mutant scars and bruises. But it's also part that they give him fewer looks. Maybe it's how distinctly unfragile Mark is in comparison to his brother, a fact that makes him look less like a failed infanticide, maybe it's his unapologetic surliness - maybe it's because he's shown up dressed in a way that makes him look less small than Miles - but by his sheer heavyset aggression he moves a bit more subtly.

Also, when one of those hicks had muttered something about him being a Cetagandan plot, he'd responded with a direct, "Komarran, actually," and that had been confusing enough to redirect some of the conversation.

It's possible to find him around at a number of different places, but he absolutely stops by the mess tent. And curls his lip in utter dismay. Military rations. Military rations. His therapist has been working with him on redirecting Gorge, encouraging him to work with quality instead of quantity - but, hell, how's he supposed to work with this sort of quality?

"Isn't there a cook around here...?" he murmurs.

In the woods
It doesn't take him long to remember: he showed up with a little box of butter-bugs. Samples, for the most part, but even sample bugs still produce, and there's a queen in there, too. Not bioengineered for Barrayaran plantlife - he could tear out his hair over that, why couldn't Enrique have come up with that permutation on the creature right away (oh, right, midnight flight from Escobar, that's why) but he manages to find a twisted old maple and gathers up the twigs to feed to the bugs.

Before long, he has a respectable little pile of bug-butter. And what if they breed? What if he can figure out a way to get them to reproduce, and then he has enough to produce large amounts of food - feeding the Barrayaran Resistance with bug butter. Mark Vorkosigan, hero of the Occupation. Well, every Vorkosigan did their part in this war, they say...Granted, that assessment definitely didn't include time-displaced ones from the future who just want to go home and bury themselves in the warm round arms of their beautiful, marvelous, miraculous Kareen...But his mother and father wouldn't ever let a bit of time-travel let him off the hook from making something of himself.

He leans his forehead against the trunk of the maple tree and lets out a loud, cracked laugh.

Sonia's managed to escape her Armsman bodyguard for at least a little while, ditching him in favor of a quiet walk on her own. She feels a bit bad for him, but she's comforted by the knowledge that if anyone's going to get chewed out for it, it'll be her and not her Armsman. She'll survive a scolding from her sister, she's sure. Pfff.

The bulky antique camera tucked under one arm, Sonia's trudging through the thick snow in leather boots, wool skirt hiked up to keep the hem dry. Not the most princessly of looks, but the hillfolk have the warmest clothing, and honestly, it's a novelty when people don't know she's a princess. It affords her an honest conversation once in a while.

She doesn't expect to find this area totally deserted, but she is surprised to see the little man -- well, alright, short man -- out here. Well, maybe he got tired of being hassled by the soldiers. Fair enough. That laugh, though, that's a little worrying. Sonia stops where she is, knitting her brow.

"Oh, uh...are you alright there?"

"Uh - "

Shit. Right. There are other people around. He straightens, and turns around to see a woman - Hill-woman? Maybe? She's dressed like a hill-woman. On the other hand, though, she's not spitting at him, and her accent isn't hill-country coarse, so maybe not.

"Yeah. Yeah, sorry." Suddenly, and apropos of nothing else so far, he asks her, "Did you see any more Earth-descended biological material on your way up here?" Which - now he definitely hopes she isn't some backcountry rube, because if so that question will get him a puzzled look. Hell, if she's a Vor it might still get him a puzzled look. Not too many galactic-class educations floating around on Barrayar during the Occupation, no sir...

Well, Mark just happened to hit the lottery and run into one of the few galactic-educated anyone in this area, so congrats on that. Her accent was never particularly strong to begin with, having mostly grown up on Beta Colony before the war, but it's certainly thickened in the last ten years. The look she gives him is half-puzzled, half-thoughtful as she glances around.

"Well, there are plenty more maple trees around here, mixed in with the rest. The village's got a little farm going on, but I imagine you meant things in the wild. But the terraforming here is still very much incomplete." She shrugs slightly, scuffing one boot against the snow, but she offers Mark a slight smile. "Want a hand looking? You're liable to get lost around here if you don't know the area."

Oh - huh. Mark blinks in surprise and relaxes a little further. He wonders who this is - she definitely doesn't seem like a Galactic, and he doesn't think she's one of the transplanted group...Interesting. His instinct is, of course, to go off on his own - his instinct is nearly always to go off on his own - but he's curious enough about her that he nods in agreement.

"I'd appreciate it," he answers. He presses his hands into his pockets and lifts his chin in greeting - because hell if he knows how you're supposed to treat women at this time and place. Bowing? Shaking hands? Genuflecting? He settles on a polite lift of his chin. "I'm Mark - " What was that stupid name Miles had come up with, right - "Ilyan."

The man's not very Barrayaran in manner, but that's more refreshing than anything else. And she can't imagine he'd have survived long if he'd been born on this planet, anyway.

Sonia smiles slightly at his greeting, returning it in kind with a tilt of her head. "Pleased to meet you, Mark. You can call me Sonia." She plucks at her skirt with one hand in a lazy mock curtsy. "So, why can't you use the Barrayaran stuff?"

"Oh." He brightens up a bit, a little of the frozen unhappiness easing away from his face as he realizes that he can go into his pitch. Which - all right, doing his pitch is ridiculous here and now - how much is the Barrayaran mark even worth in Betan dollars? Is it even listed on the stock exchange? What good would an investor do? But it's something to do and something to say. And so he pulls the box with a butter bug out from his pocket. It stays closed for the moment as he explains -

"I have, in this box, a creature that can take wood, twigs, scraps, any biological plant material, and turn it into an edible foodstuff."

Sonia watches with curiosity as Mark pulls the little box from his pocket, because he's certainly hooked her attention by now. Her eyebrows creep higher as he gives his pitch, and then knit together in nascent skepticism.

"Are you going to try to sell me snake oil next?"

Mark grunts dismissively. He's less offended by the slight against his honesty than he is by the slight against his business acumen. "Running a scam would be idiotic in this setting," he responds. "The last thing I want to do is piss people off. Especially looking like I do. Better to earn my way."

Then, a little more energetically, "I'm sure you know that keeping soldiers fed is always a problem."

Sonia raises her eyebrows and tilts her head in concession of the point, turning her palm up as an invitation for him to go on. She's really curious now, and she can see he's winding up to a real pitch.

"I'm sure I do. There's only so much to go around. And your little critter can fix that?"

"It can," Mark answers proudly, and then - because surely there's no better time for this - whips the top off the box to reveal a few of the horrible, pulsating, disgusting, shit-brown creatures. "Meet the butter-bug."

Can a good sales pitch overwhelm the natural disgust at seeing these things? It could if it were Kareen giving it, he supposes. Kareen...

Being half-Betan, Sonia tends to have more sensible reactions to things on the whole, but it's the ten years spent living in the Barrayaran wilderness that tempers her reaction to the writhing little bugs. Even so, she scrunches her nose up and recoils with a little eugh in disgust, although, to her credit, she doesn't yell and slap the box out of Mark's hand, which is what she might've done at age thirteen.

"Well, that's...kind of a cute name," Sonia says, which is the nicest thing she can think of to say about the bugs at the moment. Curiosity overcomes disgust though, and though she keeps her distance and that grossed-out look doesn't leave her face, she leans forward to have another look at them. Not any less gross on a second look. Ew.

"Okay, so how do they work, then?"

Charlie has earned herself a reputation as one of the surlier newcomers. Despite an effort from some of the others to get to know her, she generally looks sour and like she's being stabbed repeatedly when someone she's not interested in tries having a conversation with her. And when she's cornered into doing something she doesn't like, she looks like an animal that's about to lash out and attack in order to run away. The one thing that she does like happens to be the rations. The food is awful to some of the others, but for someone that's used to either going hungry or having to eat canned food that expired over a decade ago she's pretty content with what's offered here. Especially since she supplements everything with what she hunts in her spare time.

She's in the middle of grabbing some rations to go along with the meat she's going to be cooking when she hears his question, and turns to look him up and down. "What, you aren't grateful to the hand that feeds you?" It's as close as she's come to being genuinely conversational since her arrival. She even manages a smile.

The look that Mark turns on her is hard and wary and distrustful. Nothing personal, of course: in contrast to his brother, Mark's temperament tends to run to paranoid and sour, and so it takes a moment before he responds. But respond he does: after a long moment in which he searches her comment for some implicit criticism or mockery and finds none, he gives a short shrug.

"Are you?" He's vaguely aware of her, and so he knows that she's one of the less-enthusiastic ones; he's fairly assured of what the answer to that question is. And because he's fairly sure, he's comfortable enough to go on, "Barrayaran fare can be good if it's prepared correctly. Even this backcountry stuff. This is what happens when you build your army up like they have."

"And that's why you hunt to be able to have something decent." She gives a little shrug, not minding the fact that he's looking at her like he doesn't trust her as far as he can throw her. The feeling is mutual, and she figures all of her best acquaintanceships come from people who might possibly betray her. She might as well go out on a limb and at least try to talk to others here. Even if it is about food, something she hasn't exactly had the luxury to have opinions about until very recently.

"Things here are better than what I had back home. But I still like making my own meals." Mostly because she doesn't trust anyone here to not make her sick.

"Hunt?" His brows draw up a little. "You mean hunt meat?" Not, of course, that that ought to be all that shocking - after all, they're surrounded by Barrayarans, who rip into real dead animals with gusto. And pride. Mark doesn't flinch at the thought of eating non-vat-grown protein - or at least he doesn't flinch hard - but he definitely has his preferences. So it's strange to hear a non-Barrayaran, someone who's accented like a galactic, talking about hunting.

It's a wonder she doesn't get on with them better.

She really shouldn't be out here. Wanting to get a bit of air and take a break away from camp, she ventured out into the woods. Which sounds simple and fine in theory, but the reality of the situation is that she's currently very lost. There's just so many trees and she's so short that she can't see far enough any given direction to really stop walking in circles. It's frustrating and she's just about to give in and have a good sulk when she hears the loud laughter.

Her head instantly turns toward the sound and she takes off toward it as fast as she can. Her boots falling onto the ground are in no way quiet as she hurries, and she winds up slipping and sliding to a stop a good distance away from him when she takes in the sight of his form against the tree.

Not sure what she's interrupting, she awkwardly stands there. "Are you alright?"

Mark straightens up guiltily, turns around. Right. There are other people around. No one's going to appreciate it if you scare everyone into insanity of their own, Mark...

"You're, uh - " He doesn't answer that question. Instead, he wipes his hands nervously on the sides of his trousers and says, incongruously, "You're not Barrayaran."

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test drive meme

Mark Vorkosigan | OTA

in the woods

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camp

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woods

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