Apparently I wasn't invited to the Ball but sent immediately to fight at Waterloo.
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| The Ball https://www.wargame.ch/board/nwc/viewtopic.php?f=5&t=14425 |
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| Author: | Scott Clawson [ Tue Jun 17, 2014 6:55 pm ] |
| Post subject: | The Ball |
Putting on my only clean uniform, I hoped to make a suitable impression at the ball this evening. What an honor to be invited! Is anyone else attending? With the rain and such terrible conditions, I am sure nothing will happen in the next few days............... |
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| Author: | Sir Muddy [ Tue Jun 17, 2014 7:09 pm ] |
| Post subject: | Re: The Ball |
Yes, the weather is nasty. I will find a room in the village of Waterloo. Surely, it will safe there from the escaped Corsican. |
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| Author: | EaglesFly [ Wed Jun 18, 2014 7:13 am ] |
| Post subject: | Re: The Ball |
Mr. Clawson Sir, I hope there was not too much dancing as you will need to be nimble this day to dodge the cannon that will commence shortly at Waterloo , (as by now you will of heard of the defeat of your Prussian brothers at Ligney) Sir Muddy - I hope your room had a splendid view to the south so as you open your shutters to let the morning daylight in you may catch a glimpse of the Emperor riding proudly in front of the French already deployed for the days battle. |
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| Author: | David Guegan [ Wed Jun 18, 2014 9:12 am ] |
| Post subject: | Re: The Ball |
Apparently I wasn't invited to the Ball but sent immediately to fight at Waterloo.
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| Author: | clifton seeney [ Wed Jun 18, 2014 12:24 pm ] |
| Post subject: | Re: The Ball |
    What a fight and a ball transfer moi back too the Prussian armee so my blade would have some garlic on it
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| Author: | Ed Blackburn [ Wed Jun 18, 2014 12:41 pm ] |
| Post subject: | Re: The Ball |
The Duke has assured us the ball is on, if the Little Ogre makes a move it will certainly be on Charleroi, sniff, sniff... 
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| Author: | Colin Knox [ Wed Jun 18, 2014 3:45 pm ] |
| Post subject: | Re: The Ball |
As the British feted each other and Clawson rode closer caked in Mud. General Knox at the head of the Old Guard marched with the Emperor throughout the night. Dark looks filled the faces of the Grognards. Their gold earings, waxed moustaches and tattoos gave them a foreboding presence. Despite the dark rainy conditions General Knox remained in full dress uniform. He rode up and down the columns encouraging the veterans who kept their colours guarded from the weather. All of the guard were ready and drawn by the gravitas of their Emperor to the fight. The Tondu looked deep in thought and pensive, sheltering his doubts within his greatcoat atop his Arabian. He knew the odd's were against him but Charleroi was a master stroke. This man knew how to do war honour. |
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| Author: | MCJones1810 [ Sat Jun 21, 2014 7:15 pm ] |
| Post subject: | Re: The Ball |
Gott im Himmel, I do so detest these political functions, thought the Army’s Chief of Staff as he buttoned the collar of his neatly pressed, dress uniform. The importance of such social gatherings was not lost on the veteran Guards officer, it was simply the fact that he much preferred being in the saddle with shot and shell raining all around him than kissing the hand of some royal who had never seen combat in his life. He was, after all, a soldier, and true soldiers much preferred productive actions to whispered words of intrigue. Still, he was a good soldier, and good soldiers performed their duties. Tonight it was his duty to accompany his Army Commander to the Duchess of Richmond’s Ball, and so he would. Things had been a bit quiet since Old Boney’s abdication at Fontainebleau the previous year, but it seemed that the Emperor of Elba was not content to let things lie quietly for long. He had returned to France in the cold of winter to reclaim his illegitimate throne. The veteran warrior grinned to himself as he thought of Napoleon tramping through the snow. His grin quickly faded, however, as he remembered the other details of the scene that danced across his mind’s eye. His men; his losses; the death of his brother; Russia! The memory kindled a fire in his blue gaze, a fire born of hatred for the tyrannical imp that these Frenchmen so worshipped. He well knew the murderous, callous nature of Bonaparte, so blinded by his own legend and oblivious to the great suffering that his insatiable ambition caused, and the terrible ruin it wreaked on the world. Perhaps it would all work out in the end, he thought as he straightened the many ribbons he had won over the course of his military career. War was once again brewing, and he may yet have the opportunity to place a bullet in the Corsican’s magnificent brain. The very thought brought a cold grin to his face, but this quickly warmed as another thought followed the first as he slipped on his white, dress gloves. Time to go, now. It is not polite to keep the ladies waiting…. |
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