When it started, all we wanted was a chance to live our lives. Now in darkness, taking anything we want and we will rise… We’ll rise…

The night of July 21st. It would be remembered as the most horrific night in recent history. King Louis and his wife ran away in the streets of Varennes as they heard the mechanized whirrs of the supposed guardians of the Naval trading ships: The Navirezes.

However, this Navirez was smaller than some of the others. Standing at roughly 16 feet, the Navirez easily scaled the buildings to stalk its prey. Marie tripped and fell as Louis ran to help her up, only for a red hand to point its metal, knife-like claw at Louis. Louis had a chance to see the Navirez. It was crimson red with a white faceplate depicting the face of a gargoyle and having large, bull-like horns. It wasn’t a Navirez at all… But a Ramirez. He recalled the stories of this Ramirez. Led by the leader of a known rebellious group: The Jacobins. His name: Jacques.

“King Louis XVI, your reign of terror ends now!” Jacques spoke, voice echoed throughout the Ramirez. His metal claw stabbed through Louis’ shoulder.

“RUN! RUN!” Was all Louis said to his wife before he was hoisted up onto the rooftop. He saw a crowd of passing through villagers, who looked up in awe of the Ramirez.

“People of France! I have captured the king, and have thus claimed checkmate over this war! We, the people, have won! Let the revolution begin with the death of our tyrant as I drive him fast to his tomb. THIS FROM JACQUES!” Louis only clued in Jacques’ intentions with him too late. He struggled, but the claw tossed him up in the air, loosening him and freeing him from its grasp. He hovered in the air for a bit before the metal claw had its palm out to him. A stream of fire seeped out of the claw as it burned Louis alive. His dying screams echoed throughout the small town of Varennes. It is met with mixed responses, both joyous and horrified.

This night would be remembered forever. To some, it was the end to a reign of terror. To others, it was the beginning of one.

This is a story of those who believed the latter, and their war to prevent it from destroying France.

Welcome to a world of bloody revolution

It has been a week since that bloody night of July 21st and the city of Versailles has been quiet. Out of shock? Out of fear? Out of victorious feelings? Who’s to say now? Versailles has been quiet, save for a few dozen people. The Girondins weren’t happy with Jacques’ message to France, and neither were the nobles. They forged a secret alliance to take down the Jacobins.

As such, one of the conditions was that a squad of people capable of piloting Navirezes be put together by one of the nobles’ top generals: General Auguste Bittencourt. The team he had formed consisted of a son of a minor noble family, a dock worker, and even a slave trader. Each with their own custom Navirez. “Good. Least I don’t have to conscript some myself.” General Auguste thought. He written to each of the three a letter telling them to meet him behind the palace to begin their first day as the salvation of France.

Ermenegilde pulled out the pocket-watch from his breast-pocket, as he checked the time. "Well, I can properly assure you..." he said as he leaned on his oak cane, "This is a most excellent specimen." He said as the nobleman held up the lips of the slave, and examining the teeth. Beads of sweat were collecting in Ermenegilde's jowls. Plucking out his handkerchief, he returned the pocket-watch back to its position, as he began wiping the sweat collected within the folds. "But, ah sir, I do have other business I must attend to," He said as he gave a small nod to the client, who gave a smile and a wave.

Striding with his cane, he headed towards the Palace of Versailles, ready to meet the individual who sent him the missive. He frowned a bit as he noticed some individuals glancing at his crippled leg, as he strolled over there.

Frank had read the letter more than once during his day. He had nothing special to do actually, after the incidents the docks were quiet and empty, the traffic had stop, and hell, who knew, maybe they were under an embargo. He had spent his day in the tavern until the time begun to be right. He was now heading towards the location indicated in the letter. He glances around empty streets as he went, spinning his pistol out of boredom. The closer he got to the spot, the less and less it spun, until finally it stops and he slips the gun into it's holster. He wasn't the first, nor the last, and he examined others as they arrive, Especially the nobleman that arrived soon after him caught his attention, for he had seen him before many times during his days. Nevertheless, he greeted him just as he would greet anyone else, politely yet quite neutrally.

Jean-Baptiste Bertrand gave no fucks about the salvation of France. He didn't care that the rightful king had been brutally murdered either, in fact, if he let himself get skewered and roasted like a pig he deserved what he got. The war, however, was good business for him. For his entirely family as well, but especially for him. Usually, it took the sons of minor nobles several years to raise their standing in the military high enough to actually get some benefits, but with the bloody mess that was currently destroying the country, he'd seen himself well rewarded in no time, and why wouldn't he, he was quite good at putting down a rabble.

He was, of course, rather displeased that one such as him would be paired with commoners, even if they proved useful, but desperate times called for desperate measures, he supposed. Why else would the nobility ally itself with those that sought to overthrow them not long ago? Whatever the case, Jean-Baptiste would play along. When the time was right, he covered himself head to toe in the worn out, inconspicuous guise of an old soldier, one that had fallen on hard times like many others. It was a particularly effective disguise, common enough to not attract any attention and it kept away undesirables, as few dared bother a potentially volatile man at arms, and so dressed he departed towards the meeting point.

Auguste looked at the group he had assembled arrive to his meeting place. He gave them a salute.

"Bonjour." He said. "I appreciate you all coming here. This is the first step to saving France from destruction. You maybe wondering why I called you behind the palace instead of somewhere more... official. Well, I can tell you all that the reason for the discreetness is justified. I worry that Jacobin spies might become aware of our plans and seek to thwart them... It is believed that's how the Jacobins managed to capture and kill our king in the first place. When we establish a more suitable footing, we'll lack the need to hide from potential spies and hold meetings in actual buildings." He took out a map and placed it on the ground. It was a map of Versailles.

"Now, your first mission's a simple one. Like how the Jacobins sent a message to us, you will send a message to them. There is a small encampment outside of Versailles." He points to an area marked with a red circle. "We can't let them take in anymore people to join the revolution, so we want you to disband this encampment by any means necessary. I only ask that you spare civilians who aren't allied with the Jacobins. It's one thing to send a message to the Jacobins regarding our refusal to bow out of fear, it's another to send them that message while stooping to their lows." He said.

Ermengilde leaned on his cane as he listened to the General. He paused as he pushed up on the brims of his reading glasses as he spoke up. "Yes, well while that is all well and good sir. I hope you find it fitting for me to ask the following question." He gestured with his right hand as he waggled his index finger, "What exactly is that encampment? Is it just something we'd waltz into? Is it civilian, military or noble in its nature? And you want us to, what go in their weapons ablazing?" He asked as he pulled out the handkerchief and wiped down his brow.

He coughed a bit as he caught the globbels of spit in it and returned it back to his breast pocket. "My sincerest apologizes on that. But yes, if you'd be obliged to spare any more details regarding potential dangers we'd face during this, I would be quite grateful for the information."

Bertrand grunted. Did this man not know who he was, not know the kind of weapon he controlled? Thankfully his...comrade brought up some good points, but it was still not enough for Jean-Baptiste, who took off his wide-brimmed hat and began rubbing his eyes with his free hand before turning to stare at his contact. "Asking that we spare "civilians" who aren't allied with the Jacobins. Yes, that's all well and good. Can't have people thinking the nobility is the same as these savages, yes? My only question is, how do we tell? Do we get off our massive war machines to check each of them personally and ask them to kindly step off the field of battle? Do we give proper warning that we're about to rain down God's own punishment on them so the innocent have time to flee? Please, do instruct me in how to separate one ant from another".

"Well good sir, if you are referring to the standard moor there are many variations. General body size for one, the quality of their teeth, some of the tribes further from the coast-lines sharpen their teeth, and are in general smaller. This hampers their use in the plantations of course, but it makes them quite suitable for carrying more of them, and if properly trained could do well in the house." Ermengilde stated matter of factly as he adjusted his glasses once more. "I could go on, but, I am unaware if you still have curiosity on the subject. I ask this, as some individuals would rather not partake in listening to it, but sometimes they still show curiosity of Darkest Africa, and continue the conversation as such."

Shaking his head, the folds of fat upon Ermengilde's face began jiggling. "But oh, oh yes, the matter of the Jacobins."

Frank had enough of the bickering by now."Alright, break it off you two you know? The civvies are not the important part here, the encampment is. So we go there, we smash it you know? The civvies? We spare them because we can't tell if they are the allies of our enemy, right? Then we bash the camp some more and maybe even those that are allied, next time when they are out for a drink, think again for the side they need to pick you know?" He smacks his palm to his forehead then."Oh right, are there gonna be any of those Jacobin mechies there? The more we bash them, the more people see ours are the better ones, thus they join us and thus forth. It's the power they are fond to you know? Thus we'll give them power. Smash. Right, good. Let's get to bashing." He looks around and shrugs then."Or not, if you have better plan..."

"It used to be a civilian village before the Jacobins came in and turned it into their personal playhouse. And when I mean, any means... I mean whatever you can do to make sure that encampment becomes defunct. I'll spare you as much details as I can for this assignment." Auguste said to Ermengilde. He had a pause when he was presented the hole in his logic: Separating Non-Jacobins from the Jacobins. The group could see just a twinge of unsureness in him before he speaks up.

"They'll probably be the ones to strike at you upon seeing your Navirezes. At least, that's what I believe. As for any additional info I can give regarding the situation, we have reports of Jacques sending Revolutionaries under his control to different strongholds. This encampment is no exception. We have no info on his power other than his Ramirez having a spear as a weapon. There will be others with basic Navirezes. About two dozen." He said.

Ermengilde frowned, as he tapped his cane down once. "Well then, I suppose it'll be a Salting of the Earth, so to speak." Drawing out his handkerchief with his left hand he again wiped between some folds of fat on his face, before returning it once again back to the breast-pocket of his outfit. "Just hope that no civilian strikes it in a fearful reaction, desperately trying to cling onto life, and instead that they choose to run away in object horror at the sight."

"Exactly." Auguste said. He nodded and cracked his knuckles. "Alright, let's prep the Navirezes for the mission." He unraveled a piece of cloth that looked like dirt and pulled it out. He opened a small hatch that was revealed, showing a downwards staircase. He went down. "This will lead to where your Navirezes will be readied. These tunnels were originally meant to bring forth supplies via Navirezes, but we'll be using them now to cover ourselves for the assault." He said.