|
Post by LADY HELENE DE ROCHAMBEAU on Sept 1, 2015 20:02:01 GMT
-----Valentin Gauthier----- | The caves were dark and dank, not the most fitting place for a Lady, but Helene had never really seen herself as a Lady. Well not the kind of Ladies that graced her fathers halls with their fine fashions and large wigs. Helene had always been a law unto herself, disappearing into the woods whenever her governesses back was turned, climbing trees so she could watch the shocked expression of her nursemaid when she found her swinging high in the grounds trees. Although Helene no longer expressed the desire to go climbing trees she still had a strong sense of adventure. She loved the feel of the wind on her face and and grass between her toes.
With a cry Helene manage to heave herself up onto the small ledge which led to the caves the Sacred Heart had been using to store spare supplies. They were secluded and known only to her...and now a few select members of the Sacred Heart. Helene had taken it upon herself to keep a check on the items stored here. The cold air and dampness could effect some of the weaponry, so Helene came to check they were still in good working order, plus it was a good chance for her to collect her thoughts away from the noise of the camp.
Things were becoming busier there, several families had left the village for fear of the things that were happening there. It was putting a strain on the camps resources, but Henri would think of something. Henri always found a way. Helene blushed slightly, thinking of him as she ducked down low and made her way through the tunnel to the cavern within. Her mother had shown her this place...
It had been a cold winters morning when her mother had led her to the cave, Valentin Gauthier had been his name, the name of the man her mother had said was her father. That's all Helene knew about the man who had given her life. She resented him. The man who had abandoned her mother leaving her to the brutality of the townsfolk. Her adoptive father was a saint and Helene was incredibly grateful for him, she felt a sadness, knowing she had deceived him by leaving the safety of the convent, but she had to follow her heart.
Peering through the darkness she made her way with the expertise of someone who had visited the cave many times before. It had been her safe place and for a while a meeting spot for herself and Henri.
The light filtered down through some cracks in the ceiling and Helene found her way to the boxes which were stack against the back wall. It all seemed to be in order, she thought, as she perched herself on a rock nearby.
|
template by eliza @ TB & SP
|
|
|
Post by PAUL CHAUVELIN on Sept 11, 2015 5:31:51 GMT
[nospaces] [attr="class","LDtable"] [attr="class","LDmain"] [attr="class","LDcontainer"] [attr="class","LDtriangle"] [attr="class","LDcontent"]
Chauvelin paused just inside the crevice that gave access into this part of the cave system, absently brushing rock dust from his chest and shoulders. He would've sworn that gap had gotten narrower since the last time he’d been through it. His 32-year-old self – Mon Dieu had it really been 18 years? – hadn’t slipped in so easily as he had as a child, of course, but there had been none of that squirming and scraping of buttons then. [break][break] But all that aside, he was in now, and he felt a wave of nostalgia wash through him. This was the way he’d first found in when he was a little boy, before his eager explorations located the ‘more proper’ entrance nearer to the river, and it remained his favorite. It added a childish fillip of transgressive thrill to the whole clandestine endeavor. [break][break] Still no more than a pace from the entrance, sunlight spilled in patterned by the leaves of the forest outside, but he knew that would not reach far into the caves. He also knew they twisted and turned far too much for him to trust memories almost two decades old. Once he got to the middle section, there would be sun filtering down through cracks in the ceiling, but for now he would have to light his own way. [break][break] From the pocket of his coat the old spymaster extracted a small box, and from it one of the wax Vestas he’d lately taken to using to light his cigars. It worked just as well for igniting the candle he pulled from a second pocket, and by the taper’s flickering flame he was soon moving deeper into the caverns. [break][break] As he moved along, Chauvelin caught occasional snippets of sound from outside, the chuckle of the river, leaves in the wind, even a bit of birdsong. The acoustics in the caverns were strange, with no way to pinpoint where any given noise originated or from how far away. So when he heard a creaking sound, at first he thought nothing of it, taking it for a branch shifting in the wind. But then he heard it again and stopped, listening hard, struck by the instinct that something wasn’t quite right. [break][break] Licking his finger and thumb and snuffing the candle, the old spymaster replaced it in his pocket and began to move forward again, more stealthily than he had before.
[attr="class","trinCredits"]TABLE BY TRINITY @ ADOXOGRAPHY [googlefont="Oswald"] [newclass=".LDtable"]width:500px[/newclass] [newclass=".LDmain]width:400px;height:500px;overflow:hidden;display:table-cell;background-size:cover;background-position:center center[/newclass] [newclass=".LDcontainer"]opacity:.8;height:400px;transform:translateY(400px);-webkit-transition-duration:1s;transition-duration:1s;-moz-transition-duration:1s[/newclass] [newclass=".LDmain:hover .LDcontainer"]transform:translateY(0px);-webkit-transition-duration:1s;transition-duration:1s;-moz-transition-duration:1s[/newclass] [newclass=".LDtriangle"]width:0;height:0;border-style:solid;border-width:0 0 100px 400px[/newclass] [newclass=".LDcontent"]height:400px;width:400px;padding:20px;box-sizing:border-box;-moz-box-sizing:border-box;-webkit-box-sizing:border-box[/newclass] [newclass=".LDcontent p]height:360px;padding-right:5px;text-align:justify;overflow-x:hidden;overflow-y:auto[/newclass] [newclass=".LDcontent p::-webkit-scrollbar"]width:1px[/newclass] [newclass=".LDcontent p::-webkit-scrollbar-thumb"]background:white[/newclass] [newclass=".LDextras]width:100px;display:table-cell;font-family:oswald;vertical-align:bottom;padding:10px;box-sizing:border-box;font-size:10px;text-align:left;text-transform:uppercase[/newclass] [newclass=".trinCredits"]font-family:arial narrow;font-size:10px;font-style:italic;letter-spacing:1px[/newclass]
|
|
|
Post by LADY HELENE DE ROCHAMBEAU on Sept 14, 2015 16:39:23 GMT
-----Valentin Gauthier----- | Helene's dark eyes scanned the crates that were stacked among the rocky crevices. There were several crates of guns, but the Sacred Hearts biggest acquirement were the four barrels of gunpowder that were stacked against the far south wall. Helene didn't know much about weapons, Henri had tried to teach her how to use a sword, but after the fifth lesson had decided it was safer she left such weapons alone.
The barrels were stacked against the driest wall, they hoped the damp wouldn't get to the powder too much, but keeping such items in the camp wasn't the wisest of things. Especially since the camp was becoming more of a refuge than a military operation.
Helene wiped her muddy hands across her dress. It had seen better days. She doubted anyone would be able to tell now that she had once lived in a grand home. Her long brown hair fell naturally around her face, her hair that was once well styled and clean, lay unkempt as it reached her waist.
A flash of orange caught Helene's eyes, her breath caught in her throat as she strained her eyes for the sign of light she was certain she had seen. She was not alone. She awkwardly slid off the rock she was perched upon and crouched behind the rock. Only a few people knew of this cave, but Helene was not brave enough to announce her presence. These were dangerous times after all.
|
template by eliza @ TB & SP
|
|