Post by France on Jan 22, 2011 0:44:17 GMT -8
Paris is beautiful and beauty is Paris, but Paris is gone. So is Marseilles, Lyon, Toulouse... his precious Bordeaux and, to his great displeasure, Calais.
Paris has fallen victim to harsh earthquakes, the strongest Francis has ever seen. It remains a graveyard, a wrecking site too chaotic to set up even the smallest of towns with what little materials his people have. Similar disasters have struck his other cities, though it has not always been earthquakes. He feels the death and destruction underneath his skin, and the painful throbs of anarchy in his bones. It's not a pleasant feeling, and it makes the Frenchman frown.
It's a little better in Calais, which has been terrorized by the water from the Strait of Dover. The roads are muddy and the buildings worse for wear, but the city still stands. The greatest con about Calais, though, is that it has been overtaken by the English, who have somehow made it across the strait on boats and ships that look as if they will collapse any minute.
Francis doesn't doubt that a good number of Englishmen have sunk on their voyage here, but he can't bring himself to care. He is too angry with the men and women who think they can just take and steal as they please, without any regard whatsoever to the Frenchmen they are stepping on. Everything is hectic enough as it is, and Francis does not need his northern neighbor's people to come and take away what little resources he has.
He begins helping with the construction of ships, because he wants to go up to England and find Arthur. He wants this pillaging and thievery to stop, because they can both help each other without dipping down to such detestable measures. Francis knows that he ought to concentrate more on the increasing threats of invasion and raids from the countries around him, because the people from Belgium and Luxembourg have been drawing suspiciously close to French borders. But still, he faces north.
Paris has fallen victim to harsh earthquakes, the strongest Francis has ever seen. It remains a graveyard, a wrecking site too chaotic to set up even the smallest of towns with what little materials his people have. Similar disasters have struck his other cities, though it has not always been earthquakes. He feels the death and destruction underneath his skin, and the painful throbs of anarchy in his bones. It's not a pleasant feeling, and it makes the Frenchman frown.
It's a little better in Calais, which has been terrorized by the water from the Strait of Dover. The roads are muddy and the buildings worse for wear, but the city still stands. The greatest con about Calais, though, is that it has been overtaken by the English, who have somehow made it across the strait on boats and ships that look as if they will collapse any minute.
Francis doesn't doubt that a good number of Englishmen have sunk on their voyage here, but he can't bring himself to care. He is too angry with the men and women who think they can just take and steal as they please, without any regard whatsoever to the Frenchmen they are stepping on. Everything is hectic enough as it is, and Francis does not need his northern neighbor's people to come and take away what little resources he has.
He begins helping with the construction of ships, because he wants to go up to England and find Arthur. He wants this pillaging and thievery to stop, because they can both help each other without dipping down to such detestable measures. Francis knows that he ought to concentrate more on the increasing threats of invasion and raids from the countries around him, because the people from Belgium and Luxembourg have been drawing suspiciously close to French borders. But still, he faces north.