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Robert: Rising

A voice Robert Gould Shaw knew, having heard it once, but would never forget echoed in his ears, though the words were new, the sentiment and emotion were not. “Fondly do we hope, fervently do we pray, that this mighty scourge of war may speedily pass away. Yet, if God wills that it continue until all the wealth piled by the bondsman's two hundred and fifty years of unrequited toil shall be sunk, and until every drop of blood drawn with the lash shall be paid by another drawn with the sword, as was said three thousand years ago, so still it must be said ‘the judgments of the Lord are true and righteous altogether.’”

“And do you think the blood spilled by the sword in the last five years has matched that drawn by the lash in the last eighty-nine?” this voice he did not recognize, it was deep, mocking, cruel.

“If not, then I shall pay the bal—”

He heard a shot, pistol, not rifle and screams, the cruel voice returned. “Accepted, but insufficient, especially given how little the sword was actually used!” mocking laughter filled the space around Robert. “You spoke for your nation...who should pay the balance?”

Silence stretched. Robert tried to speak, but he could not. He could see nothing. He was in total darkness—no, his eyes weren’t open—no, he did not have eyes.

“What is the funniest answer?”

He had no tongue, no lips, no throat. He had no way to speak, or scream.

“Oh, yes, that will definitely do. Delightfully obscene.”

Everything twisted. Blue lights flashed before his eyes, resolving into a floating, translucent blue box.

What had happened? He had eyes.

When had he not had eyes? What a strange thought.

He’d been shot! His hands automatically sought his wounds and found only the cloth of his undamaged uniform. It took a moment for his eyes to focus on the blue box rather than the brilliantly blue sky above, or the green grass underneath him. Hadn’t it just been night? On a beach? Now it was noon, in a field. A river was somewhere off in the distance to the east, he could hear it and there were birds in the trees around the field.

Error-Transfer Limits Exceeded-Tutorial Mode Activated-Tutorial Mode Overloaded-Stat Transfer Complete-Skill Transfer Complete-Background Transfer Complete-Class Choice Override-Random Assignment-Error-Recompense-No Recompense Available At Needed Scale-Skill Mode Selected-Warlock Class Removed-Pact Barred-

He blinked. The box remained in place. The sky overhead was replaced with darkness, as he closed his eyes but the blue box remained. He tried to push it away and his hand just slid through the translucent blue box. It remained in front of him until he read its nonsensical words, then it was replaced with more words.

Name: Robert Gould Shaw

Hit Points: 10

Species: Human

Strength: 13

Class: Paladin

Dexterity: 10

Background: Military

Constitution: 10

EXP: 0

Intelligence: 12

Level: 1

Wisdom: 14

Deity: Christian God

Charisma: 16

Age: 25

AC: 10

Skills: Persuasion, Religion, Athletics, Intimidation, Martial Weapons, Firearms

Background Feature: Officer (Colonel): Members of the Union Army recognize your rank and subordinates will generally defer to you. You can requisition support and supplies at Army posts.

Species Feature: Human: You gain EXP faster and level faster than more long lived species.

Sense Evil: 4 times per long rest you may invoke your divine senses and become aware of any undead or fiends within 60 feet of you, as well as sense anyone committing an evil act within that radius at the time of invocation.

Lay on Hands: You may heal up to 5 HP per long rest, simply by touching the target and willing it so.

“What the dev—” Robert muttered and another box popped up.

Error-Automatic Translation Buffer Overload-Error-Searching For Fix-Searching-No Fix-Recompense-No Recompense Available At Given Scale-Alteration-Possible-Recompense-Divine Boon of Translation-

“What the—” Robert started to stand up and another box appeared.

Congratulations! You are a recipient of the Divine Boon of Translation. You will be able to understand any spoken language you hear, or any language you read [barring unusual circumstances]. You may also mark ten (10) individuals with this boon. Caution, once chosen, the boon cannot be removed! Additional uses may be earned.

“Colonel!” he turned to see his men stirring around him, dozens of them. More appeared even as he watched, recovering as slowly as he had. But in the distance, he saw about fifteen already standing and moving towards them quickly. They wore the blue coats of Union soldiers, and their dark skin made it obvious they were not secessionists in disguise. Though they were strikingly untidy and their uniforms undone. The box returned.

Error-Starting Equipment Unavailable. Starting Gold: 5d4*10-Rolling-(2+1+3+2+2)*10=100-Error-Gold Supply Limit Exceeded-Recompense-No Recompense Available At Given Scale-Alteration-Recompense For Rogues.

“Rogues? What the devil? There are no rogues in my regiment!” Robert announced to the heavens which would not stop tormenting him with blue boxes. Gold began to pour out of the air around a number of the fallen men.

“Sir!”

Robert took in the small group of men. He knew them. By face and by name, for he had been reviewing the casualty rolls and ensuring the bodies would be sent home just last night. They were the men who had fallen at James Island. They did not look dead, even if they were decidedly untidy.

“Gentlemen,” he saluted and Corporal Braugher returned the salute sharply.

“Boy are we glad to see you, Colonel. We thought we were alone here.”

“Ain’t so bad,” Private Turnball said. “Plenty of game in the forest.”

The corporal shot him a look and he shut up. “Sir, what happened after we fell? Did we win?”

“At James Island? Of course. The rebels ran.” All fourteen men began to hoot and holler, lifting their hats and praising the Lord that their sacrifice had not been in vain. Robert considered for a moment. “Ah, gentlemen, did you...see anything when you arrived?”

“The boxes, you mean, Colonel? Yes, sir, all of us got ‘em. They’re right weird. The way they show up only for each man...tis spooky.”

“Okay. Well...did you hear anything...in between?” the words slipped out of his mouth without full control, but it was like, well, it was like Antietam, when death had touched him and passed him by, but not without leaving its mark upon him. Something had happened in that liminal space, which was now escaping his conscious mind.”

“Don’t try ta remember the words, sir. They fall outta yer mind. Johnnie tried to remember and all he got was a bloody nose and a nap.”

Robert shook off the horror after a moment. The other men rising and beginning to talk were also beginning to panic. Some were scrabbling around in the dirt after the coins which had fallen from the sky, others were having some sort of attack and sergeants were trying to keep order, but the situation was sliding towards chaos. Chaos of the sort that got men killed, especially when they were all armed.

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That couldn’t be allowed. Picking out the officers was easy, given the skin color, only three were here. Forbes amongst them to Robert’s ashamed gratitude. He raised his voice sharply and wished for his horse, this was so much easier when you towered over everyone else, something he otherwise very much did not do. He didn’t spend any time trying to calm them down, they wanted answers he did not possess, so rather than waste time, he gave orders.

“Captain Simpkins, interview the men, gather information on all the content of these blue boxes everyone’s seeing. Write it all done and organize it properly, you know how it’s done. Men, try to remember the contents of the boxes as best you can!”

“Yes, sir!” the man snapped, glad for orders he could follow. “Fall in by companies!” he ordered loudly, a command that was taken up by the handful of sergeants and corporals who were here. Men organized themselves rapidly...and horrifyingly, or gratifyingly. The entire regiment , ten companies had marched out, but he had little more than a single full strength company here. Which must mean that most of them had survived! And weren’t here.

“Sir, if you just think that you want to see the big box with all the stuff about you again, it comes back,” one of the soldiers who’d been here for two days said.

Robert blinked at that. Tested it.

Name: Robert Gould Shaw

Hit Points: 10

Species: Human

Strength: 13

Class: Paladin

Dexterity: 10

Background: Military

Constitution: 10

EXP: 0

Intelligence: 12

Level: 1

Wisdom: 14

Deity: Christian God

Charisma: 16

Age: 25

AC: 10

Skills: Persuasion, Religion, Athletics, Intimidation, Martial Weapons, Firearms

Background Feature: Officer (Colonel): Members of the Union Army recognize your rank and subordinates will generally defer to you. You can requisition support and supplies at Army posts.

Species Feature: Human: You gain EXP faster and level faster than more long lived species.

Sense Evil: 4 times per long rest you may invoke your divine senses and become aware of any undead or fiends within 60 feet of you, as well as sense anyone committing an evil act within that radius at the time of invocation.

Lay on Hands: You may heal up to 5 HP per long rest, simply by touching the target and willing it so.

“If the large box beginning with your name has gone away, simply think you want to see it again and it will return. For those who can’t read—”

A man shifted nervously and Robert turned his eye on him, pausing for a moment, lowering his voice. “Well?”

“I can’t read, but I can understand what it all says.”

Robert swallowed, forced his face to calm and raised his voice again, “I hear you may be able to understand their contents nonetheless, if not, draw what you see, as best you can when it’s your turn!”

“Captain Russel, interview the men, get a full inventory of all supplies!”

“Yes, sir,” the younger man was nervous, patting the top of his head repeatedly, like he was afraid it was going to come off in his hands. But he moved out.

“Sergeant-Major, set up pickets!”

“Yes, Colonel,” the older man said, selecting his pickets swiftly and assigning them in pairs, out into the woods surrounding the field they’d all woken up in.

Things seemed to be calming down until another man just appeared, but snapped up, not slow as most had been, clutching at his leg, “My leg! Stop cuttin’ on me! My—”

Trip smacked the man in the back of the head, “You’re fine, boy. Both your legs are fine. We’re all fine.”

That was handled, Robert turned to his last officer. “Major Forbes, get these men back in uniform, interviewed and pull together a patrol to scout the area. Start with that river I’m hearing east of here!”

“Yes, sir!”

Thomas! He’d been injured before the attack on the fort, he might still be hurt and this [Lay on Hands] allegedly allowed him to heal. And his old friend could speak several languages Robert himself did not, so he could test this boon of translation. “Corporal Searles, front and center!”

Thomas marched up quickly and precisely, saluting, “Colonel, sir!”

Robert returned the salute. “Corporal, how’s your wound?”

“Gone, sir!”

Robert stared at him in confusion, then, disbelieving dropped his hand to his old friend’s should, expecting to feel bandages and see a wince. There was nothing.

“Sir, I think we’re all like we were when we originally marched out of Boston, including all our gear.”

That made sense—well, it didn’t, but it fit with what he had on him and everyone else’s clean and undamaged equipment. Robert’s heart rose as he saw both flags flying above his small body of troops. It was no surprise that the color guard were all here, with their flags, they had been in the front with him when he--

“I see. These strange boxes claim that I can understand any language, do you mind saying something in German?”

Thomas smiled at the reminder of his more academic days and Robert’s total disinterest in the language, far preferring Latin, or even French. Carefully watching his lips, he heard “All good things must come to an end,” but that obviously was not the words his lips and tongue were shaping.

“All good things must come to an end.”

“Literally, everything has an end, only a sausage has two, but that’s the meaning, yes.”

Robert blinked—which was why he’d been able to understand some of the men so much clearer, it wasn’t just translating languages, it was translating accents too. Not fully, but enough...

There was a disturbance in the ranks, and people were shifting nervously away from someone, Robert heard the words ‘magic’ and ‘witchcraft’ being bandied about and felt himself shifting slightly away, awkwardly, but he forced the movement to still.

“Robert...my box says ‘spellcasting,’” Thomas admitted, quietly.

Robert blinked for a moment and barely controlled the urge to flinch back from his old friend. Then he did when from the crowd, a sudden uproar emerged as an entire section was suddenly bathed in violet light, which clung to more than half of them. Men shrieked and clawed at themselves, another took a swing at the man who’d been speaking as the formation broke apart.

“STAND AT ATTENTION!” Robert bellowed.

The command was echoed by every officer and noncom in the field and drilled instinct slammed everyone into place. The light faded after a moment and Robert approached the group. Captain Simpkins stood there with his little diary in his hand as he’d been taking careful notes.

“Sir, I just said Fa—” the man began, only to be gagged by the man next to him. He shut up.

Robert glanced at the notes, Captain Simpkins had actually finished writing it down as he hadn’t been looking. [Faerie Fire]. A ‘spell’ the man knew. He’d spoken it and...his eyes roamed over the page.

“Bring back up your box, private.”

He closed his eyes then nodded, “Sir, it says I’ve only got ‘1 spell slot’ left this long rest. I must have...cast it when I said the name, but I said the name of the others too!”

Robert nodded. “Everyone with the spellcasting feature in their boxes, fall out and report to Corporal Searles. Corporal Searles, figure out how that works—over there,” he pointed to an unoccupied corner of the field, “and report back!”

There was muttering as men fell out, though Robert could see some holding back, unwilling to out themselves to their companions. He frowned slightly and raised his voice, “Gentlemen, I do not know where we are. But I know three things. This is not heaven. This is not hell. And we are the soldiers of the 54th! Soldiers of the Union! We have nothing to hide from one another and nothing to fear from anything in this universe except the Lord, our God, who has not abandoned us! Even these boxes say it, do they not? Deity: Christian Lord! We are all of us, godly men, patriots and no boxes or change in scenery can change that. We will figure this out. We will overcome all challenges before us!”

Three times they cheered a huzzah, before he repeated the order. More fell out. Almost half went over and began talking. Including Cabot. And Rawlins. Any fear Robert had had that he might be wrong vanished with that. Rawlins was by far the most godly man he’d ever met. Half the pickets moved out as well, which kept him busy for a moment reorganizing that.

As he finished, he heard the group announcing that if you ‘just thought about the spell name,’ a new box would appear, describing how it works and what it required. Robert kept moving, finishing organizing the patrol and glanced back at where Major Forbes was talking to the other people with the spellcasting feature.

A couple of the men who’d been here longer were in the patrol, as were Privates Trip and Sharts. Most of the men I’d have wanted to lead a patrol were in the spellcasting group. My sharpest minds and calmest hands were over there, trying to make sure they weren’t cursed. The two captains I had were brave men, but neither was a woodsman, nor did I want them operating on their own. The senior man in the patrol was Sergeant Merriman.

“Sergeant, give me a quick patrol, make sure nothing’s about to ambush us, then get back here.”

“Yes, sir!” he snapped off a sharp salute.

“You know your men and their skills, use them well,” Robert said, giving a slight nod towards Trip. Given the man’s history, he was probably the best sneaker in the regiment, even if it hadn’t quite worked out for him. And Sharts, after long weeks of drilling had steadied his nerves, was undoubtedly the best shot in the regiment.

The sergeant nodded. Robert hesitated for a moment, but if there were people here, better they be able to talk. He dropped a hand on the sergeant’s shoulder and focused. Divine Boon of Translation, I choose him.

Nothing seemed to happen, but he checked and he had only 9 uses of the ‘Divine Boon’ left. “Sergeant, I believe I have just made it so you will understand other languages...which I cannot test, as the box claims everyone will understand my speech regardless of language. Anyone know a language the sergeant doesn’t?”

“Colonel, what class you get?” Trip called out. “Damnable box calls me a barbarian!”

“Better than ‘commoner’ what’s that mean?” another man muttered.

“Paladin,” Robert said.

“Son of a gun, guess it does work,” Trip said, and Robert belatedly realized the other man had been talking some other language, most likely either one of the southern creoles or some native language, depending on how the man had escaped his bondage. Robert glanced at the sergeant, who also nodded.

“How’s that work, then, sir?” the sergeant asked nervously.

“That’s a problem for those poor fellas to solve,” he nodded at the spellcasters. “Our job is to figure out where we are and what the threats are.”

“Yes, sir!” the sergeant agreed, saluting sharply.

“Two hours, sergeant, by your watch,” he’d noted the watch chain on the man’s uniform, uncommon, but not rare for an enlisted man, which was good, otherwise he’d have had to offer his own, “or I’ll lead another patrol looking for you myself!” Robert returned the salute and the patrol moved out carefully. They headed east, towards the slight sound of a distant river, as rivers tended to mean people.

Robert watched them go, then turned back to the chaos and did his best to bring it to some sort of order and understanding.

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