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[D20 CoC] Beyond the Mountains of Madness Campaign - Prologue
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<blockquote data-quote="Taokan" data-source="post: 2438279" data-attributes="member: 34533"><p><strong>Response to Camille's rejection</strong></p><p></p><p><span style="font-size: 9px">Turiau Allvoz eagerly hurried into the small field behind the Victoria Hotel. Every day for several weeks Camille -the daughter of his best friend- has pestered him over whether a letter had come for her. Today, at last, her mysterious letter had indeed arrived, much to his relief. Now if he could only get her to fix his broken-down carriage in the bargain…</span></p><p> <span style="font-size: 9px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 9px">However, as he stepped into the center of the field, all he saw was a single small plane amid the abundant foliage; no oil-covered Frenchwoman in sight. "Camille, où êtes-vous?" He called out. Immediately a muffled, "I’m in America, Turiau, can’t you tell?" answered peevishly from the bowels of the plane. Raising an eyebrow, the Holland native waved an envelope stamped with the bright red </span><strong><span style="font-size: 9px"><span style="color: #ff0000">Aérer le Courrier – Air Mail </span></span></strong><span style="font-size: 9px">in the general direction of the half-muted voice and answered in heavily accented English. "Then I suppose I’ll read this letter from a Monsieur Starkweather uninterrupted. Hmmm… ‘Dear Miss Bardier…"</span></p><p> <span style="font-size: 9px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 9px">Instantly a tiny Frenchwoman covered in oil and grease popped out from under the plane and snatched the letter, tearing it open. Finally she would have a chance to show her skills, other than at monotonous explorations to places she’s already seen. Instead, to her great irritation and hidden amusement, the letter did not enthusiastically accept her experienced-self along, or, at the very least, let her off graciously with an apology. This letter, starting from the first sentence, insinuated with barely disguised insults that at the first setback –or, apparently, fieldmouse- she would shriek and faint in a maidenly swoon. Hmph. If anyone dared called her maidenly, they would soon learn their mistake.</span></p><p> <span style="font-size: 9px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 9px">"…I’m sure that your parents supported your endeavors and nurtured you along with thoughts of your future marriage to a talented officer in the French Air Force."</span></p><p> <span style="font-size: 9px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 9px">"A woman of delicate nature such as yourself is likely to find the cold rigors of the south to be somewhat adverse"</span></p><p> <span style="font-size: 9px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 9px">Turiau cringed away from the woman whose nappies he had changed on occasion; the sudden smirk creeping across Camille’s face never boded well. "Turiau! Start the plane! I need you to drive for me. I’ll repay you later. Glad I fixed that flying rust-bucket…" Nervously heading for the vehicle, he asked over his shoulder, "Why? And where are we going?" Chuckling low in her throat, Camille smoothly slid in the co-pilot seat, removing a tablet of paper and a pencil from under the seat and scribbling away furiously. "The Amherst Hôtel in New York. I have a feeling this Monsieur Starkweather will need the benefit of receiving my response in person." </span></p><p> <span style="font-size: 9px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 9px"><em>Dear Monsieur Starkweather,</em></span></p><p> <span style="font-size: 9px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 9px"><em>Perhaps your American, male insight has somehow obscured your vision, so you could not properly read my last postage; fear not, however, I shall endeavor to repeat myself, so you can understand. I shall begin my rebuttal of your views one at a time for your convenience.</em></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 9px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 9px"> <ol> <li data-xf-list-type="ol"><em>I <u>did not</u>, as you cleverly and subtly implied, travel to sunny, enjoyable ‘geographic locations’ or ‘</em>exotic locales’ <em>for holidays or to laze about in the sun. I traveled on hazardous, life-threatening missions for the French and American governments. No offense at all intended, but I apologize if I have not heard of you needing to make any recent, emergency refuelings in the middle of the Pacific. Please correct me if , as I suspect, I am indeed gravely mistaken.</em></li> <li data-xf-list-type="ol"><em>I most certainly <u>did not</u> engage in races only against my fellow Frenchman –or even Frenchwomen- Monsieur. I raced against highly talented men across Europe and America and -wait for the shock Monsieur- I indeed did win.</em></li> <li data-xf-list-type="ol"><em>I don’t know what you are implying, most-respected Monsieur, but my father <u>did no</u>t ‘nurture me along’ with the idea to marry me off to an officer of our Nation’s Air Force at first opportunity like a brood mare. For one, I can distinctly recall him telling me himself that I was become a famous pilot by my own skills – also informing me that if I married before I retired, he would disown me. For another, I most-likely would not have done so in either case. I never listened to my father. Authority needs to be proven, and frankly, he did not prove himself.</em></li> <li data-xf-list-type="ol"><em>As a side note, I can assure you that I most certainly did <u>not</u> join the French air force simply because my father told me to; or indeed, out of a misguided and bizarre attempt at finding an Air Force husband (which, if I may say so, I still do not sport, even after my service?): I joined for two reasons, I assume the same reasons that anyone would. (1) I was needed. (2) My beloved country was currently encouraging -no, more like recruiting- only those female pilots of respectable skill, and all others were weeded out. Need I say that because I was indeed in the Air Force to begin with proves my skill beyond a reasonable doubt?</em></li> <li data-xf-list-type="ol"><em>Disregarding your humorous opening to this statement, I am most certainly not in possession of a ‘delicate nature’ by any definition of the phrase, nor –as I have already pointed out- am I unused to arduous conditions such as I faced with Admiral Byrd.</em></li> <li data-xf-list-type="ol"><em>On that note, you seem vaguely disdainful of the Admiral’s efforts in addition to my own. As I am quite sure this is not the case, let me clarify: Admiral Byrd himself received international recognition, several rather nice awards and/or grants from the American government for his future trips, as well as being instrumental in future explorations to the Poles. There were several firsts on this expedition as well, including (but not limited to) being organized and financed by Admiral Byrd with financial aid and supplies contributed by a number of other individuals. Even if you overlook our success, you seemed to have taken this lesson to heart yourself, did you not, Honored-Monsieur?</em></li> <li data-xf-list-type="ol"><em>On one of my travels to Africa, during my brief stay in a village, a pair of hyenas -rather larger and more ferocious than the common fieldmouse- came into my room while I was sleeping and proceeded to attempt to drag away my pack. I still have a scar from that incident in a most inconvenient place if you require proof. (On a mostly-unrelated note, I have removed mice barehanded from my bureau without a twitch)</em></li> <li data-xf-list-type="ol"><em>To continue, while I certainly could ‘mock the spirit’ of this venture (which, you may note, I have admirably resisted), I have <u>never</u> ‘cried in the face of adversity’. Not once. No offense meant Most-Heroic Monsieur, but since I have not yet had the pleasure of your company, I cannot say with certainty if you can make the same claim. If you wish to prove your "courage in the face of adversity", I recommend marooning yourself in the South Pole during a blizzard –without benefit of much food, numerous blankets, or communication- for two weeks. I myself find that burning rejection letters creates an enjoyable warmth.</em></li> </ol><p><em>If those are all of the objections, you will undoubtedly be pleased to note that I have chosen to take this resistance as a test of my credentials –nay, acceptance- in the form of a jest on your part, which you obviously intended. If it is not, you shall be relieved to know that not only am I on my way to you as this is being written, I shall be happy to present more of my credentials face-to-face, which shall happen following the posting of my acceptance to the Times. I myself would check either the first several pages or the Sports section.</em></span></p><p> <span style="font-size: 9px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 9px"><em>Vous voir bientôt,</em></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 9px"><span style="font-family: 'Harlow Solid Italic'"><span style="font-size: 10px"><em>Camille Claud Bardier</em></span></span><em><span style="font-family: 'Harlow Solid Italic'"><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></span></em></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 9px"><em><span style="font-family: 'Harlow Solid Italic'"><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></span></em></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 9px"><em>Camille Claud Bardier</em></span></p><p> <span style="font-size: 9px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 9px"><em>P.S. If you become frightened, I shall hold your hand</em></span></p><p> <span style="font-size: 9px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 9px">"There!" Camille said with satisfaction, dotting the last "I". "Now to see the fireworks, I suppose…"</span></p><p> <span style="font-size: 9px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 9px"></span></p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Taokan, post: 2438279, member: 34533"] [b]Response to Camille's rejection[/b] [size=1]Turiau Allvoz eagerly hurried into the small field behind the Victoria Hotel. Every day for several weeks Camille -the daughter of his best friend- has pestered him over whether a letter had come for her. Today, at last, her mysterious letter had indeed arrived, much to his relief. Now if he could only get her to fix his broken-down carriage in the bargain… However, as he stepped into the center of the field, all he saw was a single small plane amid the abundant foliage; no oil-covered Frenchwoman in sight. "Camille, où êtes-vous?" He called out. Immediately a muffled, "I’m in America, Turiau, can’t you tell?" answered peevishly from the bowels of the plane. Raising an eyebrow, the Holland native waved an envelope stamped with the bright red [/size][b][size=1][color=#ff0000]Aérer le Courrier – Air Mail [/color][/size][/b][size=1][color=#ff0000][/color][/size][size=1]in the general direction of the half-muted voice and answered in heavily accented English. "Then I suppose I’ll read this letter from a Monsieur Starkweather uninterrupted. Hmmm… ‘Dear Miss Bardier…" Instantly a tiny Frenchwoman covered in oil and grease popped out from under the plane and snatched the letter, tearing it open. Finally she would have a chance to show her skills, other than at monotonous explorations to places she’s already seen. Instead, to her great irritation and hidden amusement, the letter did not enthusiastically accept her experienced-self along, or, at the very least, let her off graciously with an apology. This letter, starting from the first sentence, insinuated with barely disguised insults that at the first setback –or, apparently, fieldmouse- she would shriek and faint in a maidenly swoon. Hmph. If anyone dared called her maidenly, they would soon learn their mistake. "…I’m sure that your parents supported your endeavors and nurtured you along with thoughts of your future marriage to a talented officer in the French Air Force." "A woman of delicate nature such as yourself is likely to find the cold rigors of the south to be somewhat adverse" Turiau cringed away from the woman whose nappies he had changed on occasion; the sudden smirk creeping across Camille’s face never boded well. "Turiau! Start the plane! I need you to drive for me. I’ll repay you later. Glad I fixed that flying rust-bucket…" Nervously heading for the vehicle, he asked over his shoulder, "Why? And where are we going?" Chuckling low in her throat, Camille smoothly slid in the co-pilot seat, removing a tablet of paper and a pencil from under the seat and scribbling away furiously. "The Amherst Hôtel in New York. I have a feeling this Monsieur Starkweather will need the benefit of receiving my response in person." [i]Dear Monsieur Starkweather,[/i] [i]Perhaps your American, male insight has somehow obscured your vision, so you could not properly read my last postage; fear not, however, I shall endeavor to repeat myself, so you can understand. I shall begin my rebuttal of your views one at a time for your convenience.[/i] [list=1] [*][i]I [u]did not[/u], as you cleverly and subtly implied, travel to sunny, enjoyable ‘geographic locations’ or ‘[/i]exotic locales’ [i]for holidays or to laze about in the sun. I traveled on hazardous, life-threatening missions for the French and American governments. No offense at all intended, but I apologize if I have not heard of you needing to make any recent, emergency refuelings in the middle of the Pacific. Please correct me if , as I suspect, I am indeed gravely mistaken.[/i] [*][i]I most certainly [u]did not[/u] engage in races only against my fellow Frenchman –or even Frenchwomen- Monsieur. I raced against highly talented men across Europe and America and -wait for the shock Monsieur- I indeed did win.[/i] [*][i]I don’t know what you are implying, most-respected Monsieur, but my father [u]did no[/u]t ‘nurture me along’ with the idea to marry me off to an officer of our Nation’s Air Force at first opportunity like a brood mare. For one, I can distinctly recall him telling me himself that I was become a famous pilot by my own skills – also informing me that if I married before I retired, he would disown me. For another, I most-likely would not have done so in either case. I never listened to my father. Authority needs to be proven, and frankly, he did not prove himself.[/i] [*][i]As a side note, I can assure you that I most certainly did [u]not[/u] join the French air force simply because my father told me to; or indeed, out of a misguided and bizarre attempt at finding an Air Force husband (which, if I may say so, I still do not sport, even after my service?): I joined for two reasons, I assume the same reasons that anyone would. (1) I was needed. (2) My beloved country was currently encouraging -no, more like recruiting- only those female pilots of respectable skill, and all others were weeded out. Need I say that because I was indeed in the Air Force to begin with proves my skill beyond a reasonable doubt?[/i] [*][i]Disregarding your humorous opening to this statement, I am most certainly not in possession of a ‘delicate nature’ by any definition of the phrase, nor –as I have already pointed out- am I unused to arduous conditions such as I faced with Admiral Byrd.[/i] [*][i]On that note, you seem vaguely disdainful of the Admiral’s efforts in addition to my own. As I am quite sure this is not the case, let me clarify: Admiral Byrd himself received international recognition, several rather nice awards and/or grants from the American government for his future trips, as well as being instrumental in future explorations to the Poles. There were several firsts on this expedition as well, including (but not limited to) being organized and financed by Admiral Byrd with financial aid and supplies contributed by a number of other individuals. Even if you overlook our success, you seemed to have taken this lesson to heart yourself, did you not, Honored-Monsieur?[/i] [*][i]On one of my travels to Africa, during my brief stay in a village, a pair of hyenas -rather larger and more ferocious than the common fieldmouse- came into my room while I was sleeping and proceeded to attempt to drag away my pack. I still have a scar from that incident in a most inconvenient place if you require proof. (On a mostly-unrelated note, I have removed mice barehanded from my bureau without a twitch)[/i] [*][i]To continue, while I certainly could ‘mock the spirit’ of this venture (which, you may note, I have admirably resisted), I have [u]never[/u] ‘cried in the face of adversity’. Not once. No offense meant Most-Heroic Monsieur, but since I have not yet had the pleasure of your company, I cannot say with certainty if you can make the same claim. If you wish to prove your "courage in the face of adversity", I recommend marooning yourself in the South Pole during a blizzard –without benefit of much food, numerous blankets, or communication- for two weeks. I myself find that burning rejection letters creates an enjoyable warmth.[/i] [/list][i]If those are all of the objections, you will undoubtedly be pleased to note that I have chosen to take this resistance as a test of my credentials –nay, acceptance- in the form of a jest on your part, which you obviously intended. If it is not, you shall be relieved to know that not only am I on my way to you as this is being written, I shall be happy to present more of my credentials face-to-face, which shall happen following the posting of my acceptance to the Times. I myself would check either the first several pages or the Sports section.[/i] [i]Vous voir bientôt,[/i] [font=Harlow Solid Italic][size=2][i]Camille Claud Bardier[/i][/size][i][/i][/font][i][/i][i][font=Harlow Solid Italic][size=2] [i][/i][/size][i][/i][/font][i][/i][/i] [i]Camille Claud Bardier[/i] [i]P.S. If you become frightened, I shall hold your hand[/i] "There!" Camille said with satisfaction, dotting the last "I". "Now to see the fireworks, I suppose…" [/size] [/QUOTE]
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