Meeting of Two Unlike Minds :: Dermid Gavin

The following is an account of several excepts and encounters between members of the Highland Confederacy and Captian L. Horatio Hawke of the St. George Squadron of the White.

______________________________
Captian L. Horatio Hawke K.C.M.G.
Master of the HMS Relentless
St George Squadron of the White
His Britannic Majesty’s Royal Navy

In May of 1719, there is the threat of a Jacobite invasion of Scotland with the assistance of Spanish forces. The Royal Navy sent five ships under the command of Captain Boyle of HMS Worcester to the area near Eilean Donan castle for reconnaissance. I was fortunate enough to have commanded the HMS Nemesis which was part of the squadron that helped put down that feeble attempt at rebellion. Dare if you will to bring your Jacobite cause to the Burning Sea and follow in the failed footsteps of the ‘Old Pretender’… The White Squadron will send you packing back to your Catholic Masters in Rome at best and at worst strech your neck from His Majesty’s Royal yardarm… However, I think it would be a waste of good rope.

For King & Country!

______________________________
Hamish McBane, Proprietor – General
The Highland Confederacy

Sir, I care not a whit for the pope and his ilk, but for the freedom English dogs would deny us by taking power from our country and seating it in their own. You may have bribed and cajouled the weak minded men of my country, but you sir will not dominate us. The Treaty of Union has stolen our soverienty and threatens to steal our national identity for which we will not stand. Scotland has ever stood against English villainy, since Edward the first and before. You have bought us and paid for us it would seem, but some of Scotland’s sons and daughters will not be bought and paid for! I care not a whit either for failed and weak Kings, for they fail to show the strength of our people. Though some may follow them, we seek the higher calling to freedom. We will find the freedom we seek and be like stinging nettles in your skin. The Jacobite cause is one of freedom and in the end it will succeed, for good and God will triumph over evil.

______________________________
Dermid Gavin, Proprietor – Merchant
The Highland Confederacy


Aye. Not a day’s sun will set without a vision of seeing a British ship fall. It is not a treat of union but rather one of oppression. The few that do argue something else are nothing that I call kin. The British left us to rot in New Caledonia when I was not more than a child and now I take to seas to set right against their wrongs.

Bring your fleets and your guns and your ill will and I will see them layed along side the buried depths of Port Royal!

Hail the Highland Confederacy!

______________________________
Captian L. Horatio Hawke K.C.M.G.

Pfft… the Highland Confederacy… Rebel rousing scum. Worse than any scallywag pirate. Indeed the noose would be too good for the lot of you. Your words are as hollow as your pathetic goals. The only vision you traitors will see are His Majety’s loyal servants pounding you to the black depths under the weight of full broadsides.

Strength in Unity!

______________________________
Dermid Gavin, Proprietor – Merchant

*Dermid raises his nose from his large tin stein*

Aye! Often the difference between right and wrong depends only on the side of the table you sit at. It might be harsh but I’ve seen it many times myself.

We come from many lands and many places. Our bond’s not a singular event but a willingness to escape the harshness of our homes for the right to make our own good fortune. Without friends to watch your back, these lands are unliveable. We represent merchants and privateers willing to trade goods at fair price and seek that chance here in this new world.

We fly under 5 flags today, and I’d bet this tin that that number grows. If that strikes you as unjust, then *politely tips hat* good day.

*Dermid returns his attention to his stein and proceeds onward towards the bottom of yet another leaky tin while visions of his banner float through his head.*

______________________________
Captian L. Horatio Hawke K.C.M.G.

…Any Captain who joins ranks with these rebels will find themselves branded traitors to the Crown and executed under the traditional methods of those charged with sedition.

______________________________
Dermid Gavin, Proprietor – Merchant

*laughs under his breath and thinks to himself about the comments reportedly made by Horatio Hawke*

It is not as if I shall walk around with target upon my back for you to simply strike upon. If the English believe this to be a fight fought upon level ground and open seas, then they are even more foolish and arrogant than what I know as truth.

______________________________
Captian L. Horatio Hawke K.C.M.G.

The sad truth is we put nothing past anyone who would abandon their own lands only to warm the feet and lick the boots of enemies of the Crown.

“What enables the wise sovereign and the good general to strike and conquer, and achieve things beyond the reach of ordinary men, is foreknowledge. Now this foreknowledge cannot be elicited from spirits; it cannot be obtained from experience, nor by any deductive calculation.”

______________________________
Dermid Gavin, Proprietor – Merchant

Oh how brave and mighty those filled to the brim with ignorance can sound.

“Abandon their own lands?!?” Abandon…. ha! I was thrown upon “The Endeavor” at no more than the age of 4 as my mother and father fought for our countries hope and survival. If helping to sail to the new world for Darien is what you deem to be abandonment then you are, perhaps, even worse than I would have imagined.

So yes, my father and my family left Scotland in hopes for a better life. From all accounts, life at home was nearly unlivable and there was little support from your “crown” so there was little else but to fight for own survival. My father did what any honorable man would do. Fight for his country, not so unlike yourself Captain Hawke.

But that is not my anger for the crown, no it goes deeper and I have seen it first hand. I will never forget the look upon my mother’s face when father returned home after pleading repeatedly with your governors as we Scots were left to die here in this new land. Did the crown offer support then? Simple supplies or medicine for the sick and dying? Of course they did not! It was only after we died and failed for your benefit; when our parliament was moved to your land; when our land taken that you offered your “generosity”.

If I am undecent for choosing to stand rather than to fall in line with those who I have watched let innocents die, then all that is good will soon fail.

*With that, rather than ending with an angry outburst of energy, Dermid seems saddened and depressed by having to recount the early days of his life. Head hanging low, he simply turns and walks into the crowded streets and disappears.*

OOC:

I’m excited for the unique angle that Pirates of the Burning Sea is bringing to this community. I think there is great opportunity for very real and reasonable alliances and enemies between various guilds making the community that much stronger and closer. Certainly, if you are interested in playing a British captain, please check out the St. George Squadron of the White. We have a great relationship building between the two guilds and I look forward to continuing this type of fun RP relationship for a good long time!

Curse the Wind! :: Tale of Dermid Gavin

The Tale of Dermid Gavin who has returned from a trip to the Antilles. He left the Albatross two weeks prior just a storm began to bring rain and wind out of the East.

*Nearly two weeks to the day, Dermid staggers back onto the shore just a few miles southwest of the Albatross. Slowly, he half-stumbles his way back to the comforts that he now wishes that he had never left.

He enters the Albatross and falls into a small cot tucked behind the old bar. At first glance there is little doubt that something has gone terribly amiss upon his journey. He has lost some 20 pounds and is but a shadow of his former self. The once relatively nice attair and polished appearance has been stripped from him and now something just before death’s doorstep lies nearly motionless behind the bar.

As he has often done over his years within the Albatross, Willem McDough is quick to offer what support and care he can for the man he often calls son. Within a short few hours, the initial exhaustion of relief at reaching familiar and stable ground begins to fade, and while still appearing to be a changed person, Dermid begins to recount his tale.*

“Curse the wind!! Curse the waves!! Curse that damned storm!! I probably wasn’t more than a few good hours from here to the south before the wind and rain turned more angry than I can ever remember. At once it seemed that the anger within the deeps rose up and purposefully lashed out at my sole with all of its might. There was little that could be done, I swear.

We attempted to turn and run from the rising beast but it was useless. Downwind the waves simply poured over the stern of boat and within minutes we would have been at the depths of the sea. We tacked into the wind and on the starboard side we held our own. I swear the men fought valiantly for seemingly hours within the darkness of that brutal evening. Certainly there was some damage to the sails and to the framework but it seemed like the worst was behind us and that we would reach safety beyond.

Then came a large bolt of lightening from the sky. Suddenly the darkness faded and a large reef was shown not more than a good throw off the bow. We were heading right towards it leaving us no option but to tack again to larboard. During the tack, the sails were ripped to small shreds wrestling aimlessly within the storm. We were left to the mercy of the sea and storm. Within just a few minutes, darkness overtook the boat as the schooner “Riverside” sunk into the darkness of the angry night sea.

Not a soul…. Not a single soul… the ship… the crew… supplies and timbers…. all taken by the sea for days.

I drifted upon little more than a few boards torn from the hull. Luckily a merchant ship came upon me on the twelfth sunset and offered to carry me back to safety. I don’t think I was more than a just over the horizon but it wasn’t a trip that I could have made without help.

It all now lies in the darkness of the great sea. It is all lost.”

*With that Dermid lays back into the cot and after a few gentle pats by the old barkeep, Dermid drifts off for a nice long nap and some long overdue rest.*

Highland Confederacy Grows into an RP Power!!

Ok… ok… “power” is in the eye of the beholder, but I think the Highland Confederacy is becoming known within the Pirates of the Burning Sea pre-release community as an important RP oriented guild. The guild continues to grow and interest across the board on both the primary forum site and this little blog seems to be gathering steam. I think we developed some nice roleplay enemies under the British flag and I’m hopeful that our small but active group will form a solid foundation for a long-term guild experience.

So far I continue to look forward to this game a bit more than anything else currently. I think the guild will help keep and maintain my interest a bit more than the solo path I have taken in LOTRO.

So… If you are looking for a roleplay oriented guild for PotBS, please check out our site and feel free to post and/or ask questions. I think we have a unique blend of allowing a variety of character styles and backgrounds into a loosely meshed historically based confederacy that might have existed within that time frame.

LOTRO :: Trouble Lands Upon the Pony

Derrid of the Dale gives his account of an evening at the Prancing Pony:

Having just returned from the Lone-Lands and the many dangers near the Forsaken Inn, I was happy to return to the familiar sights and sounds of Bree. It had been a fortnight since I had been within the walls and a good smoke, drink, and bed would be welcomed within The Prancing Pony. I made my way quickly up the old familiar streets to find myself in old comforts just past sunset. For a brief moment it was good to return. The bar was filled with life and the worries from beyond the walls of the tavern quickly began to fade.

Just as I began to enjoy my first ale, I noticed a man dressed in green near the door to the tavern. He gave me a peculiar look and made a gesture that I should not be looking his direction. It was far less than subtle. Taking a quick look around the tavern, I noticed that a young lady on the far side of the tavern appeared to have been watching closely. She quickly turned away as if she had not been, though it was too late. I slowly made my way across the tavern and to the large fireplace in the back of the tavern near where she stood, far away from the man near the door.

The lady, obviously nervous or frightened by the man dressed in green, was now near my side at the hearth. A good smoke was shared and we sat near the fire as a performance by 2 dwarves and a great female storyteller took to a nearby table. I must say it was the most tale I have heard in my trips across Middle-Earth and the story was one I thought heard told in Tom Bombadil’s house within the darkness of the Old Forest although his song seemed of a different origin. That said, what the young lady quietly relayed to me during the ongoing performance was disturbing.

She had witnessed a murder within the Prancing Pony within the month. She spoke in guarded phrases but was clearly fearful of something she thought was not of this world. I’m still a bit unclear as to whether she felt the man in green was directly related or whether it was that he simply made her recall her earlier vision of the murder through his behavior.

Unfortunately things turned from bad to worse as stories and suspicions turned into real events. As the performance ended, a seemingly innocent fight began as a well-dressed man in a pointed hat began to make advances on the young lady. Myself and a good dwarf quickly stepped up to offer protection. Clearly upset by the actions of the man, the young lady ran out of the tavern in tears. As she ran out of the tavern, I noticed that the man in green was conspicuously now missing from the tavern.

It seemed as though the good dwarf had things under control and I went to check upon the young lady that I had just spent the last hour or so along side. Stepping into the night air beyond the tavern door, she was no where to be seen. I made a short look around the tavern but after having no luck, I returned to the tavern.

There, bleeding on the floor, was the good dwarf!!

It seems that after I left the incident grew into something more. From his account, the man had pulled a knife and taken a good swipe at the good dwarf, fortunately landing on a shoulder. It seems that drew enough interest and several more well traveled adventurers stepped in and the man with the pointed hat quickly fled into the darkness of the night beyond the tavern. As I arrived, the good dwarf was under question for his involvement in the fight and I think it was good I was there to support his story. The experienced travelers were able to quickly bring calm to the situation and care for the wounds on the good dwarf. Soon music began to flow again through the tavern walls.

That night, I rested well. I am still not certain what to make of the events of yesterday, but those involved will not fall from my memory quickly. Perhaps it was all coincidence but perhaps it was a coordinated attack upon the good dwarf…. I can’t be certain. What I am certain of is that I am saddened to see the trouble beyond the walls of the Prancing Pony make their way into that place. I’m hopeful it not foretelling of things to come.

OOC: Last night I logged onto the Landroval server and this is my in-character description of the hour or so experience. A great time and I think it simply transpired due to a handful or more of players interested in more than simple questing. Good fun!!

LOTRO :: Real RP Opportunities

Logging onto the Landroval server last PM, I noticed yet another nice feature of the game. It looks like the new patch now “flags” people who are roleplaying with a white name instead of the more common yellow. You were flagged previously, but you had to cursor over people and look at the pop-up to see if they had the flag activated. I often did this if I was looking for someone to help with a quest in character but this makes it very obvious and easy to spot at a distance.

To turn on your Roleplaying Flag, simply type: /rp on

At that point, your flag is toggled on and your name will show up as white instead of yellow. It doesn’t “do” anything else, but it certainly does make it easier to find players on the server who are interested in something more than the hack-n-slash aspect of the game – simply look for the white names and you are in great shape.

As an example, I walked into the Prancing Pony last night and saw around 5-7 players who were roleplaying. It was easy to walk up next to them and quickly start conversations in character about game events. I have very little MMORPG experience with my only other game being Guild Wars, but I must say that I’m continuing to be impressed with the atmosphere within Middle Earth. I have heard all the terrible things about how immature the typical MMORPG audience is an in general I do think they lend themselves towards that with a pretty simple model. But this has been different and while there are many who don’t care about the story, many do and there is a sub-set of the community that is very interested and excited about seeing the game from a character’s perspective.

All in all, I continue to be impressed and while this was a subtle change with the patch; I think it is an important one that will serve the roleplaying community nicely. Excellent work Turbine!

Introducing Deoiridh D’Alembert :: Final

October 23 1719, on board the Ariane

I write simply to take my mind off the unpleasantness of my body; though it is late, everything is tossing and turning. The mal de mer is everything they warned me about, and more; even the sailors admit that this crossing is unusually rough. I think things would go better with me if I could be on deck, but the Captain has firmly insisted that the women—poor, gentle, helpless creatures that we are—stay below, “to be safe.” I think he might revise his definition of what counts as safe after spending an hour in a small cabin with three desperately ill women. The sounds of their suffering surround me even now as they struggle to feign sleep in the hope that it will fool their malady into passing them by. The attempt fails, regularly, accompanied by the sounds the likes of which I can’t bring myself to describe lest I lose my own fragile sense of control; the air in the cabin is hot, close, and sulphurous.

Duncan fulfilled his promise and wrote me a letter of introduction to his good friend Hamish McBane in the West Indies. It was while we were at his residence near Beauly, a modest house, to be sure, but betraying not so much a healthy reticence and lack of show, as an utter lack of imagination. I sat quietly in the drawing room, pretending to be occupied with my needlework, while he wrote. As I had hoped, one of the many interruptions that punctuate his work day occurred and he was called to the parlor to consult with a client. I seized the opportunity and quickly read the almost completed letter. It was both everything I had expected and more than I had hoped. An exceedingly generous letter to be sure and I breathed a sigh of relief that he does not seem to possess (or at least chose not to disclose) those suspicions that I am sure his employer possesses. There may yet be a chance that the public face of my shadows will not follow me to the New World. Can it really be possible to start anew?

At the same time, the letter confirmed what I already had begun myself to suspect: Duncan has formed a strong attachment to me, probably stronger than he is allowing himself to recognize. It is flattering, in the way that all such attentions are flattering, especially to a woman of my age. Yet there is a part of me that feels the injustice of his attentions keenly. I cultivate, unwittingly, the attention of men like Duncan: modest men, sound men, solid men, men of good sense adept at transacting the business of the world. Men without imagination, cold men, shallow men, and men who are carelessly, casually, thoroughly cruel in the way that kindly men always are. The kind of man who seeks to make a woman obliged to him by foreswearing all claim to place her under any obligation. I am sorry for Duncan, obviously, the more so because his inevitable disappointment will barely rise to the level of an awareness that he has been disappointed; it will weave itself into the fabric of his life, becoming another thread in the tapestry of meager expectations with which he surrounds himself.

It is no doubt churlish of me to write this way of a man who has done me much kindness, more kindness than I have received at the hands of many. Yet there is something about Duncan that seems to me to embody the spirit of my country, or at least the part of it I would fain leave behind: a seething superficiality that masquerades as passion, a desire for stability that presents itself as a rage for change. That things need to change in my homeland I have no doubt. That my countrymen, at least the ones left at home, can be the agents of that change, I no longer believe.

And it may well be that Duncan’s awakening will be quite abrupt. He heads to London, where Simon the Fox has taken up residence. Duncan was terribly upset at the fate of the last rising, but I don’t think he yet knows, or admits, the role his employer played in supporting (in the best possible construction) both sides, or, worse still, the cause of Tyranny. Duncan thinks of himself as a faithful employee, bound to execute the will of his employer as efficiently as possible. He doesn’t think he has a choice about whose money he takes. I only hope he is able to secure for the Fox the only thing he really cares about, his lands, and then extricate himself from the man’s clutches as soon as possible. Of course, his time with the heir presumptive to the Lovat title may be a shock in other ways. That the Fox knows the real reasons driving me to flee these shores, and the long chain of misadventures and flawed decisions that led me to this point, I have no doubt. He made it all too plain in our last meeting. That he provided the money for my departure simply indicates that he feels I can be useful elsewhere and more useful to the degree that my sense of obligation grows greater. My desperation, the driving force of my life, undoes every attempt to break free. I hope for Duncan’s sake that the Fox chooses not to share his information.

It is later than I realized when I began this. I do not know what awaits me in France. I will try to wrap up my husband’s affairs as expeditiously as possible. I think I will be able to call in the few favors owing me to ensure that my stay will be brief and as anonymous as possible. The West Indies is also a terra incognita, fascinating and threatening at the same time. Duncan has told me a little of Mr. McBane and his confederates, their ambitions, their plans, but only time will tell whether it is all more than the large talk in which my countrymen are so proficient.

I look around my reeking cabin and I think: all this for freedom, and the slavery that goes with it.

When Darkness Falls Upon the Marshes:: Introducing Derrid of the Dale

OOC:

In an unusual twist, I have a Saturday post… A few days back, I posted that I was wavering between the Landroval and Windfola servers. In all actuality, that struggle continues. I had pretty much moved exclusively to Landroval (the unofficial “roleplay” server) when I got word that Hamish (head of the Highland Confederacy) had joined on Windfola thus throwing me back into a seesaw battle. That said, I haven’t properly introduced my Landroval character and so here is an in character tale of his adventure into the Midgewater Marshes. No real spoilers at all in this, more of a quick tale with screenshots. Enjoy.

IC:

Trouble seems to be covering the land of Middle-Earth and much of it flows from the darker places. After seeing Archet burn first hand and watching the effects that had on the people; there was little to do but take to arms and try to make things right. With the smaller towns of Staddle and Combe sitting near the great Midgewater Marshes, I had been asked on several occasions to travel into that swamp and help the people of those nearby towns.

I still recall standing on the hill and looking down into that vast wasteland. It was closer to nightfall than I would have liked but the journey to the swamps edge had simply taken longer than I had planned and… in hindsight… perhaps ego ran ahead of the mind pushing me forward rather than seeking shelter in a nearby town for the night.

It was not long before the sun set. But by then my boots were wet and I was well into the thick of the marshes. Again, ego pushing forward into the darkness.

Shortly thereafter the marsh seemed to come alive. Bugs and critters and things I have never seen before seemed to come up from the ground. Constantly under attack in the darkness that was quickly covering the vast swamp, I must have wandered off course where I stumbled upon ancient ruins. It was there I wondered if I had seen the sun for the last time. The ego that led me to that point was noticeably absent.

Goblins! And not one of them, but waves it seemed appeared to flow to and from the ruins. I quickly took close to the ground and hid as groups of them passed but I could not stay forever. Gathering my strength I began to make progress for a small mound. There, not more than 10 feet away, one carrying a large canister appeared from over the mound. There was no retreating. I went to strike out at the goblin, but it was too late. The beast threw the canister to the ground causing a massive explosion. Within the fire, I struggled to kill the beast and then fell to the ground wondering if I would survive.

At that point, I had lost most hope. I had little option but to try and make it to safety… somehow… somewhere outside of the marshes. I knew I would not survive the night. For the next several hours, I remained silent and moved ever so cautiously so not to stir even a ripple.

Confused, tired, disoriented, I struggled in search of high ground… for a place to rest and gather my thoughts. There in the distance was safety – a large hill. Slowly I crept along the marsh before climbing to the top. There I realized that I my hope should have been fear. I had stumbled into a hideout of sorts. It seemed to be the lair for the goblins from which the smaller camps had been sprung.

For nearly an hour I watched as goblins carried on within the camp. Patrols came close on one occasion but soon I found myself alone with an opportunity for escape without conflict. Scanning the horizon, I saw the mountains of Midgewater Pass. I was far to the south of the pass and now needed to head there for higher ground and hopefully safety. Under cover of the moon, I made my way north and up.

There within the pass, I knew I was safe. With fair less accomplished than I had planned, I rested in peace knowing that morning would soon arrive.

Landroval Server :: An Update On My Move

Just looking at what brings people here to this random blog, it seems like many are coming for opinions on choosing a server for Lord of the Rings Online. That said, I thought I would put the ongoing story on hold and give a quick update of my experience on the Landroval server.

Here is the original link: Landroval vs. Windfola

First off, I am a roleplayer. I like to generally be “in character” while I am in the game. It is more fun for me to figure out a quest by asking other players in character about the quest rather than posting on the advice channel. Is it slower? Absolutely! But, it is more fun for me and so that is the perspective from where this review comes from.

If you are looking for roleplay oriented server – Landroval is it!

I can’t say it any more clearly than that. I’ve been on the server for several weeks and it is EASY to find an answer while staying in character. I’m not in a guild but simply roaming and traveling the lands and it has been a very good step forward from Windfola.

If you are not interested in roleplaying, I’d honestly point you to a less crowded server. Windfola was a very mature and respectful server and for those not wishing to be in character, I don’t think there is any downside. Honestly. But for roleplayers, it is simply much easier and much less work on the Landroval server. Without a guild, you can walk into a tavern and quickly pull together a small group of players for 5 min break from the running of quests. Everyone is NOT in character, but a significant number are and the difference is clearly felt.

I’d also check out a Landroval RP oriented site I found this week:

The Green Dragon

I think it shows that the RP community, especially on this server, continues to grow and grow in Middle Earth. Cheers!

~Derrid, Man Burglar current roaming the Bree-Lands~

Introducing Deoiridh D’Alembert :: Part II

OOC: In part two, Deoiridh D’Alembert writes directly to Hamish.

Part One is Here.

October 20 1719

My Dear Sir

Mister Lochartte has generously offered to write a letter that will both introduce me to your notice and vouch for my character. When you receive this letter I will be on my way to the West Indies; at present I am about to leave for France. It is with great sadness that I must confess myself recently widowed. My husband, Gustave D’Alembert, died suddenly but two months ago (has it been that long already? It seems only yesterday that I found him in his office, where he was wont to labor far into the night, that face on which I used to gaze with rapt attention stricken with the unmistakable pallor and fixity of death. . .the memory is too much, forgive me). My husband was a French merchant, who divided his business interests between here and the Continent. I confess that there are some difficulties and embarrassments surrounding the settlement of his estate (due, I hasten to add, not to any lack of integrity on my husband’s part, but which arise chiefly from the actions of a number of employees in which he trusted too liberally). Nevertheless, I believe that I will be able to satisfy all concerned parties once I have consolidated and disposed of his various assets.

Unfortunately, this will leave me with very little in the way of resources for my self; regrettably the complexities of his business enterprises preoccupied my husband to the extent that he neglected to provide as fully for my wellbeing should he predecease me as I am sure he would have wanted to. He did, however, possess several small business ventures in the West Indies, and I am journeying there to take over their administration. I imagine that you may well find this an unusual step for a woman, particularly one whom is well-born, to take. Rest assured that the perils of the journey do not frighten me, nor the prospect of encountering a variety of discomforts and vicissitudes upon my arrival. And in truth, while Inverness-shire will always be my home, the beauties of my native land hold little appeal for me any more, associated as they are, ineradicably, with the presence of my husband, and the many pleasurable times we had there together.

I do not intend at all to be a burden upon you, sir. I wish only a modest place to stay until I can put my affairs in order and make a new life for myself. Mr. Lochartte has mentioned, in the way of conversation, some of the other interests you possess in the Caribbean, and while it would be inappropriate to go into those matters in too much detail at this time, let me just suggest that should my businesses prove as profitable as I expect, then I would be more than happy to discuss how we might align our separate interests into a mutual profitability.

With anticipation and ready thanks for your kindness
I remain

Deoiridh D’Alembert
The Soldier’s Rest
Beauly
Inverness-shire

Introducing Deoiridh D’Alembert :: Part I

OOC: The following is a recent application into the Highland Confederacy. I found it enjoyable and decided to post it here. Hope you enjoy. It is a bit lengthy for the internet but a good read. This is the first of three parts. It is posted here to hopefully show off that I think the Highland Confederacy has great potential. Here is an example of some great artwork from the guild as well: LINK

The following letter was recently received by the Highland Confederacy’s Master, Hamish McBane.

Hamish McBane
c/- Pascal Trouveville
The Raven’s Rest
Rue du Colonel
Martinique

My Dear Hamish

I hope that you will make allowances for the rather roundabout way that this letter has reached you. By now you will no doubt have heard of the fate of the recent abortive attempt to rouse us to arms. The people, as is their wont, called it, yet again, a “rising,” but the more truthful among us are already calling it the “little rising.” And methinks even that a grandiose term to describe the complete destruction of Eilan Donan, the fiasco at Glen Shiel. As you have so often remarked, my friend, our curse is our lack of confidence in ourselves. Here again we waited on the efforts of foreign allies, the clans sitting on their brains while we waited for the great invasion in the south that never happened. We pride ourselves on our long memories. Why then could we not learn from history? It is almost laughable that we seriously trusted our fate to the prospect of the Spanish trying to sail another Armada to our shores. Fair weather sailors, the pack of them! Had we trusted to our own arms and our own leaders, things might well have been different. Matters here are still in a very delicate state. I trust you will understand if I say that I cannot go into more detail. While I trust the contacts through whose hands this letter must pass, who knows but that they might meet with some deliberate or accidental misadventure in the course of executing their charge?

I sincerely hope that this letter finds you well as it has been long since any of us have had news of you. A letter from Captain Martin announced you safely delivered at Martinique but that was the last we heard. My friend, it seems an age since we were shooting together on Lord Dunmore’s estate and you announced to me your plan to “set up,” as you put it, in the West Indies. I trust that your little “business venture” is proceeding profitably, for all our sakes. But we are hungry for news; in the gloom that has settled over all of us here, the only light seems to come from our many brethren abroad, their words our only assurance that the spirit of liberty has not died completely. News from far away, it seems, is all we have to remind us of happier times long ago.

Enclosed you will find a sealed letter from one Deoiridh D’Alembert. While I have no knowledge of the letter’s contents, I have no doubt that the woman will do an admirable job of introducing her situation and any additional words from me in that regard would prove redundant. Nevertheless, I will presume to risk such unnecessary supplementarity; in my acquaintance with Mrs. D’Alembert I have often been struck with the reticence, so characteristic of her sex, to advance the many personal claims that so manifestly recommend her to those so fortunate to have been able to spend time with her. You will find her to possess all the usual accomplishments of her sex, to which she adds the benefits of an extensive education. And far from having the pernicious effect that education so often has on women of lesser character, her teaching has had the effect of simply improving her innate good sense while preserving her modesty and mildness. She converses as readily in French and Spanish as she does in her native tongue and possesses an uncommon level of understanding for a woman when it comes to matters of politics and business. When you add that to a level of fortitude and initiative that many men would envy, I assure you that I have no qualms about her ability to undertake the rigors of a journey to the New World; nor do I doubt that she will delight the many new friends she makes there to as great an extent as she saddens those she leaves behind.

I am sending this letter by an English courier vessel bound for Port Royal; the captain owes me more than a few favors. Madame. D’Alembert has already left Scotland to take a somewhat roundabout route to France, whence she has booked passage on a merchantman. She should be arriving toward the end of this year or the beginning of the next. I know that your resources in the West Indies are stretched thin at this point, however I hope that you will be able to provide accommodations befitting a woman of her age and state. I am confident that you will find that Madame. D’Alembert has resources and personal gifts that will more than adequately repay your investment in her.

I myself am still hopeful of being able to join you in the not too distant future. However it looks as if my employers interests may take me in to the belly of the beast, to London, of all things. At this time, of all times, every bone in my body revolts at the thought. But there may be other things that I can accomplish while I am there. At any rate, I look forward to hearing from you, even a few brief lines, confirming Deoiridh’s safe arrival. Until such time I remain,

Your obedient servant, and friend,

Duncan Lochartte

Brailton House
Beauly
Inverness-shire