Something has happened!
General Howe sat at his desk, one fist clenching a letter and the other tightened on the chair arm. Burgoyne was a fool – the failures in New York at Saratoga were his doing, not Howe’s. Being the commander of all British forces, however, came with the unfortunate task of being blamed for everything. How dare Burgoyne blame him for his own failures! Even after he had told Burgoyne that his intentions were for Pennsylvania and that he expected to lure Washington into a trap. Washington was the primary problem!
His fists unclenched somewhat as he thought of his American counterpart. One of the charges against him was that he had failed to end Washington for good on Long Island. By all accounts, Washington’s retreat across the river that night was nothing short of impossible… yet it had happened. That strange fog that had covered the river that night was to blame for him not catching Washington in the act of escaping. Regardless, the Battle of Brooklyn was his decisive victory over the Americans. That was more than Burgoyne could claim. Brooklyn. Brandywine. Germantown. Philadelphia. All his successes were overshadowed by Burgoyne’s inability to take responsibility for his own shortcomings. His purpose was to capture Manhattan. He had succeeded. Yet, here he was, taking blame for having failed to destroy that “tobacco planter” and his “ragged crew.”
“So I left you alone to deal with the rebels, Burgoyne,” Howe breathed furiously. “If I am to receive no praise for my achievements, I do not want this post any longer because working with you is intolerable.” His lips twitched in a grimace as he pushed the words “Boston, Trenton, Princeton” out of his mind. Even great leaders suffered setbacks every once in a while. And Trenton wasn’t really his fault, anyway. Nobody could have expected Washington to drag his tattered soldiers across a half-frozen river in the dead of night on Christmas. Well, nobody except him, according to the scathing newspaper reports written by bitter Loyalists who needed someone to blame for losing their property.
His letter was blunt. He requested to be relieved of this very painful service, where he didn’t even have the good fortune of enjoying the confidence of his superiors. Signing his name with a sharp flourish, he tossed the pen back on his desk and sighed. There was going to be quite a hostile environment when he had to explain this war to the Parliament.
The Mischianza was fully underway on the night of May 18. General Howe could finally smile, knowing that his men, at least, could appreciate him. A parade in his honor, followed by dancing and fireworks made for an enjoyable farewell party. He could even forget what lay ahead of him when he returned to England.
Late in the evening, an officer approached him. “Good evening, General,” he said pleasantly, bowing slightly. “I have received word of a small force of Americans camped on Barren Hill, led by the Frenchman.”
Howe took a sip of wine. “Dispatch a few columns to deal with them. Trap them against the river and capture them. I’d prefer the marquis left alive.”
The officer inclined his head and turned away.
Howe spent the rest of the night enjoying the company of his soldiers, many of whom adored him. The evening air was magnificent. It was perfect.
A small band of Americans spotted the general chatting with his men from the tree line.
“There he is,” one muttered. “I almost feel bad about us having to kill him. He’s the only one who wanted to stop us and not destroy us. He seems like a good officer.”
Another hefted his rifle to eye level. “Well, they’re heading after the marquis now so we should get this over with and hurry back to let him know Howe planned on circling him.”
Howe was beginning to get tired. The half moon, bonfires, and fireworks provided plenty of light, and Howe suspected the party would continue until dawn. He was certainly not going to make it that long. With polite nods and handshakes, the general headed off toward the home he was staying in.
He didn’t get very far before he was shot.
Howe really survived his party and went back to England where everyone told him that he screwed up even though, in all fairness, he did a decent job given his resources. But everyone needs a scapegoat and Howe was it.
Also, the Mischianza was the name of the party thrown in Howe's honor by his men.
It is now Night 6. Night actions should be used at this time. This phase will end between 11pm-midnight on July 9.
We're doing well, guys! ^^
well I mean I couldn't live with myself anyway with the bLOOD OF BENJAMIN FRANKLIN ON MY HANDS
but you'll never take down the rest of the British nyeh nyeh relish in the victory while you can!!!
These are somewhat half-personal reads, half facts, but let's treat this list as pure facts for the moment.
Zenax; obvious british.
Russia.; most likely town.
Smasher 101; town.
Joltik; null, might be scum according to some.
FinalArcadia; null, leaning scum.
Insanish Danish; most likely town.
Feralize; most likely town.
Assuming there are two scums left, they are probably in Tris, Greece, Joltik, Canada* and FinalArcadia.
Since the most suspicious right now are Joltik and FinalArcadia, the cop should check one of those two.
Definitely FinalArcadia. Joltik is always this inactive when mafia.
With what, a roleclaim? Who would you like me to roleclaim to? Is Zenax the only confirmed town member? I'll roleclaim to him, if you guys want.
If you guys want, I'll send in the PM to use my ability in the coming day phase. Will that make you feel any better? It doesn't help anybody but myself, but still.