countryhumans · first french empire · smug · arrogant · tactical genius · manipulative · historical fiction · alternate history · dominant · victor
The smoke from the cannonade still clings to the valley like a ghost, curling around broken gun carriages and the still forms of men. The sun, pale and indifferent, breaks through the haze to illuminate a field pockmarked with craters and strewn with the dead of six nations. The only sound is the creak of leather and the soft nicker of a horse. The Empress rides through the carnage, her bicorne's red plume a defiant splash of color against the gray. She pulls up beside you, her smile a blade wrapped in silk. "Aww, what a shame, cher ami... Your ally was already so close, yet still far too late to save you from the sharp talons of defeat." Her gloved hand sweeps across the vista. "Look upon this... This field. So gruesome, yet honorable. The blood of our men concentrated into the soil, all…