Hi Ro! LdF primer

It was the rain; no question about it. Even now, as it patters against the freshly-assembled pines in the roof, so fresh you can still smell the fragrant sap wafting through the dense bunkhouse.

“What first made you feel that you were in some place that was beyond the ordinary?”

 You turn the question over in your head. You never got a chance to see the fabled unicorn when the ship was sailing around the island. Gagnon probably would have sailed right by the scrap of land had the mythical beast not been seen sunning itself on the shores of what would become Incroyable: the first settlement on the sovereign French territory of the Vanishing Isle.

“Nations have been founded on less auspicious events,” you reflect, and continue listening to the rain, awake in your hammock.
The landing had been one of the most chaotic things you had ever borne witness to: between the crew, passengers, and the marines, almost two hundred souls were clamouring to disembark the Sitael. It took nearly all day, but everyone and everything made landfall. You remember that next week as one of the busiest in your life—every colonist and sailor worked through the night to clear the trees inland to provide timber to build the bunkhouses and the town hall. All the while, the marines patrolled the ground. That was the routine for five days until the colony had its first death: one of the young marines, D’Anjou was it? He didn’t report in from his scouting assignment from the forest, and a section of men went out to look for him. When the section returned, they carried with them a flawless stone statue of the young man, clad in his shako, dolman-jacket, and Hungarian style trousers of the marines, his musket held in his hands, angled towards the ground in shock at an unseen enemy.

The next day, a small pedestal was built for the statue, sitting right outside the door to town hall. After D’Anjou’s demise, the next couple day’s task was to erect a high-palisade with gate and towers, to keep the wonders of the island at bay. It was good that so much work was to be done else people would have run screaming for the Sitael. You certainly considered it—what sort of beast turns a man to stone?

That night, the first rain fell on the Vanishing isle. The rain fell from a small, silver-grey cloud that spat no lightning. The moment you felt it hit your skin; you turned your eyes skyward to look at it. You weren’t alone—colonist, soldier, and sailor alike watched the heavens as they felt the rain fall upon them.  It seemed to invigorate you; made your breaths feel deeper, and the air as rich and crisp as the first lungfuls of life to a newborn babe. At the same time, it felt as though it soothed your worries and fears as the blissful waters fell upon the French colonists. Once it had stopped, there was a great clamour outside the town hall: young D’Anjou had collapsed off his perch, flesh and blood once more. He could recall nothing of the event that had trapped him so.

The next two weeks, like the first, were fraught with activity and little time for sleep. At the edge of the town, near to the palisade gate, a forge was built, and is manned ‘round-the-clock by the towering Rousseau: the dedicated blacksmith of the town. Facing across the road from the town hall, a modest chapel, more closely resembling a log-cabin were it not for its steeple, was built and is the refuge of many even outside of the Sunday mass, where it is fit to burst. Young Pere Gregori tends to the congregation well, and with an earnestness that makes the hardest heart soften. Last to be erected was the dock, even if it could hardly be called a dock, and more a floating, stable square of wood. None the less, the Sitael has weighed anchor not too far away, and its four lifeboats, with the swift additions of a mast, sail, and centerboard, have become fair fishing ships. Just in time, too, as the supply of food brought down from the Sitael had begun to run out. The dock is dutifully guarded and manned by a small group of marines. Chief among them is a bear of a man called Gauthier who looks as though he could storm a corvette with nothing but his fists and his voice. Even thinking back to yesterday, the main street of Incroyable seems to have blossomed in size. Fishermen closer to the dock shout their catch of the day, while foragers modestly display the fruits of their labours. Doubtlessly, they have had to prove to prospective clients that whatever it is that they are offering will not be of any detriment: no one wants a fish or a fruit that will make you drop dead, but so far, we have been lucky. Some are even trying their hand at building a farm with some local fruits, and some seed that was brought over.

You’re brought back into the world by heavy footfalls clomping against the wood floor of the bunkhouse. They halt by your hammock and you see a pair of imposing marines staring down at you, and then looking at each other inquiringly. Finally, the larger of the two, a black, large moustache prominent on his smooth face speaks quietly, a basso voice rising from his large frame:

“Viceroy Gagnon wants to see you at his office, in the town hall, at once. Dress yourself quickly. We will wait outside.”

The two look at each other once again, and leave, the same heavy footfalls accompanying their departure. Looking at the door however, you see three others, not soldiers, waiting just outside the door as well. You dress yourself quickly, not wishing to hold up whatever ominous reason the Captain-now-Viceroy wants to speak with you, and these others, about.

As you leave the bunkhouse, the sunrise is beginning to peak over the water—whatever reason Gagnon wants to see you, and these three equally perplexed others, you wonder why it couldn’t have waited till later. Walking down the beaten dirt roads, it does not take long for you to see the town hall. Entirely wooden and modest in stature, the building more closely seems to resemble a manor house. From a pole on the top of the hall, the tri-colour of France billows in the seaside breeze, along with a second flag on the same pole below it: a two colour, blue on top, beige on the bottom, with a rearing unicorn emblazoned in the middle. You smile to yourself and muse:

We have our own flag now.

Crossing the threshold into the building, the two guards at either side of the large, oaken door to the town hall snap to attention as the larger of the two marines accompanying you passes through the door, and leads you into the hectic interior of Incroyable’s town hall. With little exception, everything appears brand-new. Simple chairs, wood walls smelling of pine, a brickwork fireplace. A couple paintings adorn the otherwise barren walls and dark space as the marines lead you up the stairs to a large office, overlooking the town. Inside, the stout, muscled, but short figure of Viceroy Gagnon leers in discontent at the large map adorning his wall, a candle burning nearby. A roughly-teardrop shape, but aside from a few mountains in the thicker part of the island, some trees, and the star of Incroyable, it is entirely empty.

The two marines look at each other and snap to attention as the larger of the two speaks out. “Monsieur, we have found the colonists that you were looking for.” He says simply, holding his rifle sharply to his side.

Gagnon spins around, and you are a little surprised by the austerity of his garb: well-fitting khaki pantaloons, brown sable boots, and a white linen shirt with a rouge cravat. His salt and pepper hair is pulled back into a small ponytail; not at all what the Viceroy of an island of the French Empire would be expected to wear. By the same token, however, you remember that Gagnon is very much a “man of the people”, and has been working to erect the buildings in the town just as much as any other man here. He opens his arm in welcome, and speaks with a rich, too-loud voice, not having quite found the right volume for Viceroy instead of Captain.

“Good morning mes amis! I’m sorry to have dragged you from your beds, but I am facing something of a crisis, something that I cannot remedy with just the aid of Jean-Luc and Francois there. Please sit, let me explain.” He says, smiling and gesturing to the two marines who wait at the corner of the room for further instructions, and then pointing at four chairs gathered at the front of his desk—boxy and freshly hewn from oak, a mass of papers, an ink bottle, and a pen are its sole decorations.

“Look there, on the wall, and tell me what you see?” He says, pointing at the map, and before you have a chance to respond, he slams his hand quickly on the desk. “Yes, it is, to my shame, an empty map. It can tell you nothing more than what we knew on our very first day arriving at this paradise. This simply cannot be allowed to stand—if L’empereur himself were here, he would scold us for our laxity and tell us to go forth and explore! That, my friends, is what I have called you here to do. You are all learned peoples, botanist, doctor, archeologist, and pioneer, and more surely than any crude tradesmen of the island, can tell me what it is that lies out there, in the unknown beyond.” He says, a sweeping gesture made towards the forest and the mountains, barely visible from the beach, but still present, ever looming.

“Now! Before you go to asking why it is you who should undertake this task, and perhaps someone less vital, consider! I need every marine here, in Incroyable, to keep order, defend the settlement, and act as labour when needed. You four were made to explore this wilderness, I can see it in your eyes! And the truth of the matter is that, with the colony as rudimentary as it is now, we have no real need for your specialized talents in camp, so what better opportunity to develop your skills abroad! Think of it friends, to be like Champlain or Cartier, exploring the wilderness of New France. But even they would weep for a chance to do what it is that you will do: explore L’ile de fuite.” He says, working himself into such a state that he can barely stand still—you get the impression that he would have loved to undertake this task himself, had he not been burdened with the responsibility of governing an Imperial colony.

From the desk, he takes four documents and hands one to each of you. On one side is a miniature representation of the map you see upon the wall, complete with all the details, and blank space, that you have seen. On the opposite side, is a declaration that you are acting on behalf of Viceroy Jean Michel Gagnon, on the order of Napoleon, Emperor of France, as official explorers. To that end, you have the right to be treated as diplomats, befitting any national representative, hold diplomatic immunity, and have the right to seize and appropriate any and all materials which you encounter for use by the government of France. At the bottom is an ornate, red seal, freshly-stamped with the seal of office for the island: a unicorn inside a teardrop, and to the side, a larger, regal blue seal of the office of Napoleon Bonaparte.

As you examine the document, he leans backwards against the desk, smirking and giving you a wink. “Not too shabby eh? Think of what you’ll tell your grandchildren: that you were explorers on a magical island. Literally the stuff of legends, no? And before you think of putting up some notion of protest, understand that this task, as the seal indicates, is an order. Meaning, you can do it, and be glad that you have the opportunity, or I can speak with the carpenters and ask them how quickly they can have a gallows built. One way or the other, you’ll be famous! Either the first to be executed in Incroyable, or the first explorers of the island. I don’t think it is a hard choice, my friends. Now, don’t worry, I won’t be sending you out there all alone to be eaten by a dragon. Jean-Luc and Francois there will be coming along with you to act as your personal bodyguards. There are no finer marines in my service. Now, if there are any other questions, you can ask me when you get back. I caution you, do not return without adding something new to that map! I’ll give you an hour to prepare a rucksack for yourself with the tools and instruments that you’ll need. Jean-Luc and Francois will meet you by the palisade gate, ready to adventure. Au Revoir mes amis, et bon chance!” He says in departure, gesturing the two marines to shuffle you through the door, down the stairs, and past the guards by the front door.

Jean-Luc and Francois are talking incredulously to each other as they hurry away to what you assume must be their bunkhouses.

The four of you stand on the dirt road, in front of the now-statueless pedestal. The sunset has broken through the horizon, and people are beginning to wander the streets and attend to their Provençal duties.

It seems you’ve been drafted for a rare purpose.