Introducing Deoiridh D'Alembert (Accepted)

October 21, 1719

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

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

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.

OK, a long introduction to the character, but I hope you are at least intrigued! I like developing character stories through different kinds of communications (diaries, letters, etc.), and this was one that just seemed to flow.

My forum name is Raiif (at the time I registered it was my character name in SWG). I was in SWG when it began, and I lasted for three years until. . .what's the technical term, oh yes. . .I was bored out of my mind. I played on Starsider, as part of a roleplaying guild, and we lasted for about two and a half years and had a blast. Those of you who were players know what happened as the original game slowly moved away from its original vision, as trading was gutted, and it became a combat and quest-fest. Our guild drifted apart, mainly because it was hard to keep the interest and roleplay going. I'm also active (in a completely different arena) in a squad that flies online flight sims (more crossover with RP than you might expect, actually!). And I think I'm also the only person in the universe not playing WoW.

For me, the big thing about roleplaying is remembering that you are creating immersion for someone else. I like getting into a character and seeing where that unknown process takes not only me, but the people I'm interacting with. I'm not fascist about RP, I don't inflict it on people outside my guild without asking them first, and I'll break character if there's a good joke to be had! But I hope what I wrote shows that I do take it seriously.

I'm interested in being a freetrader, at least that's my plan at the moment. From what I'm reading on the forums I think I'll need to be a fast and relatively well-armed free trader, or well escorted! But the combat will be so much the focus of this, that I'm interested to see what other opportunities there are.

As far as the character goes, I'm interested in developing a character that isn't only a woman but an older woman. One of the big drawbacks of most MMORPGs is that they are relentlessly young. You see very few older characters (and very few that are really old). One of my big regrets about leaving SWG is that I was beginning to develop an Alt that was absolutely antique--and she was a bounty hunter, which made a lot of people look twice (she was also very hard core: thought the Empire had a lot of great ideas, but just didn't push things far enough. . .). So I wanted to play around again with developing a believable older woman and seeing what I could learn from that.

The Highland Confederacy interests me because I do have Scottish ancestry (the thoroughly awful Simon the Fox is actually a distant ancestor, regrettably). I'm also attracted to "underdog" guilds and groups and I think this type of guild also offers a lot of intersting scope (combat, trading, group and solo interactions, etc).

((I haven't had a chance to read everything so far as it is late here and I have to hit the hay, but I will tomorrow. So far it's really good and I appreciate the detail you put into the character so far. I'm going to make you a recruit and the journey continues from there. Welcome!))

((Excellent read - I really enjoyed it and well written for anything on net. Kudos!! I'd like to link or cross-post some to my site for a little PR - is that ok?))

((Dermid, thanks and glad you enjoyed it. It's always a little bit of a crapshoot posting anything lengthy on the net since its not a medium that encourages you to work through a lot of text. It's another reason I'm attracted to POTBS and the Highland Confederacy; literate people were wordy in the eighteenth-century, something that suits my disposition well! By all means, feel free to use what you need for PR purposes. Anything that helps the confederacy and recruitment!))

((I guess double paranthesis means out of character? Sorry, I'm not too used to forum role play. Anyway, nice intro, I must say. I'm sure the more militant of us will be more than happy to run escort duty when the situation calls for it, although a few heavily armed merchants can probably hold off most pirates looking for a rumble. And you can't be the only person not playing WoW, because I'm not either, although I did for a few months when it came out.))

Yes, double parans mean ooc. Or you could just preface with OOC. I mainly did it because I plan to respond IC a bit later on.

OOC: I never replied to this as I wanted to, so will remedy that now. Need to catch up on everyone. :)


IC:

My Dear Lady,

I have received a missive from Duncan concerning your arrival. As my friend speaks very highly of you, I look forward to meeting you. I will not make claims to the huge size of my company in these West Indies, but I will say there is not a saltier bunch to be found on these seas and our numbers seem to swell daily. Though I believe my beloved Scotland may well be lost to me, too many dogs willing to lick the feet of their masters, I endeavor to in some way build a small part of Scotland here in this New World. What success we will find only God our Great Father knows, but what a go we will give of it. I had hoped that Duncan might join you, but he was ever more optimistic than I.

It was with sadness that I read about the loss of your husband. Though I did not know the man I understand the loss all too well. My wife and two daughters did not live long past our travel to this land. This land is a grand New World, but some things from the old world seem to follow us and these Seas can be unforgiving. My wife died on the voyage over, taken sick with some pox the hack of a doctor could not identify. Soon after arrival my darling daughters took sick as well. Some tropical malady with no cure. I myself took sick, but I suppose my time on this earth is not done for I survived. Though I do not often talk about it, perhaps knowing that someone here is not a stranger to the pain you have recently endured would bring you some comfort.

We have modest means at this time, but all who find employment in our company also find a family of sorts and we will endeavor to help you with whatever means is at our disposal.

Yours Sincerely,

Hamish MacBane, Captain
Highland Wind
Highland Confederacy.

OOC - Bravo! Bravo! I truly am awed. Being a nosey Frenchmen (IC) I look forward to ferreting out your past; take no offense, I do this with all my business associates, even the smallest detail can make a difference in the number of coins involved in any given trasaction, and I foresee much business in our futures. ~Puits rencontre.