Napoleonic Wargame Club

As the winds blow...
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Author:  Richard Bradshaw [ Mon Feb 24, 2020 1:52 pm ]
Post subject:  As the winds blow...

As the winds blew through the narrow cobblestoned streets, cold and damp, I pull my cloak tighter about me as I approach the tavern doors. The thought of some mulled wine or a stout pint of the shop's finest, plus a chair by the fire, makes this trek all the more worthwhile. I have to push firmly against the door to get it to open. The sounds of rusty hinges scares the two cats that were playing with a terrorized French rat.

Inside, the tavern was dark, barely lit by a barely smoldering fire and two lanterns behind the bar. There were several patrons sitting at tables in the establishment. Russians, Prussians, Brits, Irishmen, Croissants, and two men in plaid skirts. The coloring of their uniforms was difficult to discern as there was a significant layer of dust on them, the tables, and floor. The only one not in such disarray was Helga, behind the bar. She glowed in the faint lantern light and her one good eye twinkled when she smiled at me.

I hastened towards her to order a drink and rescue myself from the solemn and quiet crowd sitting at the tables. Some looked like they may have passed on to the great beyond! In my haste I failed to notice the young French cavalryman stretched out on the floor between two tables closest to the bar. It appears he may have had too many exotic drinks, Shirley Temples I believe, causing him to pass out. The layer of dust upon him caused me to miss him and I tripped, falling forward, and banging my head against the bar. Fortunately I had my helmet on which saved me from a serious injury. Unfortunately it pushed down hard across my forehead and I was unable to loosen it. I looked like quite the fool!

I managed to stand erect and Helga put a tankard in front of me in preparation to filling it. As I blew the coating of dust off of it I was blinded by it blowing back into my eyes. I staggered backwards, spurs catching on the aforementioned Frenchman's arm, and fell upon the floor knocking myself out. As I lost consciousness, I feared that I too would soon be covered in a coating of dust.

Author:  Andy Moss [ Tue Feb 25, 2020 3:20 am ]
Post subject:  Re: As the winds blow...

It's not dust, it's spent gunpowder. I've been shooting Frenchmen, and anything else for that matter, since before you were born young man.

And if you had looked closely it wasn't a young man on the floor, it was another dog.

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