[ january i log: barrayar ]

[barrayarmods]

Who: Everyone
What: Arrival on Barrayar and what follows
When: January 2nd - January 17th
Where: Barrayaran guerrilla camp
Warnings: None (at the moment)


welcome to barrayar.
It's the dark of night when you come to in the foothills. Snow on the ground, chill winter wind whistling. A steep mountain range towers just ahead, its peaks illuminated by the light of two moons. Whatever you last remember, it isn't how you got here, and you feel oddly jetlagged, slightly queasy.

And you're not alone. There are nine other people close by, all looking equally lost and confused. But before any of you have a chance to figure out what's going on, the soldiers arrive.

They're dressed in weather-worn green uniforms, bearing swords and bows, and they surround you immediately, poised to attack. But they quickly realize you're not their enemy, the ones they call Cetagandans. They're just as confused as you are, but rather than hanging around to puzzle it out, they start shepherding you toward their camp in the mountains while it's still dark. There's a war on, they say, and you unlucky bastards have just been dropped right smack in the middle of it.

the guerrilla camp
It's a few hours' hike through the mountains to get to their hidden camp, set up in a clearing framed by dense, hard forestry and backed against a rock face. Daylight is finally dawning when you make it there. You and your fellow sudden arrivals are ushered to an empty tent on the far end of the camp, just big enough to fit all ten of you. You can't help but notice they've posted guards all around it. You aren't under arrest – they just don't know what else to do with you.

You are able to glean, from hearsay and what the soldiers are willing to share with you, that you are on a planet called Barrayar, and this is their home, and ten years ago they were attacked without warning by the Cetagandan Empire. They've been holed up in the mountains fighting against their invaders ever since, outgunned and outmanned, but scoring little victories where they can. They don't tell you much more than that. Some dialect of Russian seems to be one of the predominant languages of the camp, but for the most part they all speak English too, if with an accent. They're gruff and wary, and if you look a little less – or more – than human, they'll eye you with suspicion, maybe even make obscure hex signs at you that seem intended to ward off evil or disease. But they aren't hostile to you, not unless you start something with them.

the outsiders' tent
It's not in the greatest shape, but if you look around the camp, the rest aren't much better off. It's cramped, but you've at least been provided with bedrolls and heavy wool blankets to ward off the frozen chill, and if you're in need of clothing, they'll provide it, although it probably hasn't been washed in…a while. The soldiers bring you food at mealtimes -- not very good food, mostly tough meat and groats, and they keep you your own campfire, just to keep you warm. They've also hastily dug you your own latrine area at the edge of the perimeter, just behind the treeline. No private bathroom stalls in this outfit, unfortunately. The entire camp seems tense and wary, and the soldiers are alert, but they don't talk much. You could try sneaking past them, but you probably won't get far.

Well, at least you've got each other for company: the outsiders on Barrayar.

Comments

[dendarii]

Let's focus on Simon, then.

[vorrutyer]

Do you really call him by his given name?

[dendarii]

[ Too brightly: ]

Uncle Simon then.

[vorrutyer]

And to think there were rumors you'd benefitted from nepotism.

[dendarii]

You're smart enough to know they're false.

Spit it out, dammit. What the hell happened to Simon?

[vorrutyer]

You're smart enough to know they're true.

He retires.

[dendarii]

[ He's not rising to that bait, dammit. ]

Why?

[vorrutyer]

[ Byerly's eyes are fixed on Miles' face, watching for any flicker of foreknowledge, understanding, planning. Oh, Illyan's situation was resolved to his satisfaction, yes - Haroche was almost certainly guilty - but there's always room for doubt in his head. And if anyone is twisty enough to gracefully frame someone for his crime... ]

Assassination. After a fashion.

[dendarii]

[ It would be Miles. But there's not the slightest hint that he knew. That he even knows now for that matter. Because he's only just been ejected from ImpSec, before Simon had started showing signs of trouble...

Shock first, then terror. All the color has drained out of his face. ]

What? Who? What happened?

[vorrutyer]

Look at that. Hardly even a hint of vindictive glee.

[dendarii]

Why the fuck would I be gleeful? Or vindictive?

[ God, he needs to sit down. His skull feels like it's about to burst. The stress of that news and the general stress of the situation hasn't been good for him, and the last thing he wants is to have a seizure in front of Byerly, of all people. ]

[vorrutyer]

Illyan did fire you.

[ He takes pity in the next moment. ]

Assassination after a fashion, I said.

[dendarii]

I deserved it.

[ And that's the beginning and end of what he's going to say about that. ]

The hell does that mean. Spit it out already.

[vorrutyer]

Hm.

[ Considering: ]

Tell me why you deserved it.

[dendarii]

[ Stubbornly: ]

Tell me what the hell happened to Simon.

[vorrutyer]

You want my information more than I want yours. You first.

[dendarii]

I think you want it very much, Byerly.

[ Ugh, his head. He really is going to have to sit down. In the absence of any real furniture, he steals someone's bedroll and sits down abruptly on top of it. ]

[vorrutyer]

I think you overestimate how much I care about you.

[dendarii]

That's exactly why. You know I fucked up something huge. But the information never quite made it public, did it.

[vorrutyer]

Maybe. Or maybe I just think you should come clean.

[dendarii]

[ He really should. For all that he hates the thought of Byerly Fucking Vorrutyer spotting him through his seizures, he's also the only person here that Miles has known for longer than ten minutes. And Vorrutyers do have their own curious sort of loyalty, if it works in their own interests...

He's silent a long moment, not responding yet. ]

[vorrutyer]

[ And Byerly watches him for several seconds. Then, getting bored - and to goad him - he starts whistling a jaunty Imperial march. ]

[dendarii]

God, Byerly. Just shut up. I can't think straight.

[vorrutyer]

[ And here you claimed that you weren't able to think any way but straight.

By, with a flourish of his hands, acquiesces. ]

[dendarii]

[ He hates everything right now. Hates the camp, hates this damn time traveling, and especially hates Byerly.

But really, he has no choice. ]

This has to remain a secret, Vorrutyer.