Napoleonic Dread French Vivandiere

myminifactory

Sophie Chandail felt her heart racing. Around her, men were shouting and a shot cracked. This was the part that she hated. The part when chaos and terror errupted and made soldiers panic and die horrible deaths, and she always felt so useless. She liked taking care of the unit, especially of the young recruits with their clean uniforms and their smooth cheeks and their eyes that had never seen true despair. She liked how thankful they were for the decent, nutritious food she cooked for them. For the sip of booze in cold nights. For her company and her stories when they were alone on watch with wolves howling in the background. That part she liked. What she didn't like was when they got torn apart by some monstrosity and left to die in some cold crypt or dark forest, far away from their homes and mothers. So many of them she had comforted as they took their final breaths. She would save them all if she could, but she wasn't combat trained. Her club was good for knocking the occasional zombie over the head, but that was it. Nothing she could do against a vampire or werewolf or some of the other nasty things that they hunted. She still tried every time. To her left she saw that new huntress disappear in the shadows between two houses. For a second she considered following her, but then she saw two of the young recruits firing hasty shots at a vague shape in the foggy sky. She grasped her club tighter and took a deep breath. Her place was with them, come what may.File also comes supported.