agogelogs | let fury have the hour,

Entry tags:

let fury have the hour,

WHO? Everybody!
WHAT? Agoge's third TDM! And the death of an important guy. And some very upset royalty.
WHEN? Late 1792, Paris.
ANYTHING ELSE? Violence, as always. Please warn in subject lines for anything beyond physical violence, and move to a personal journal if things go beyond PG-13.

IT'LL BE FINE;

Paris, 1792: revolutionary france.

read the France setting infopages

arrival for new recruits

(Note: If you were one of the people who used the previous TDM and want to use that as canon while still participating in this one, feel free! The following will still happen, though the guide will apologize for a malfunction in your BCE causing you to zap through the intervening month instead of joining your comrades like you should have. You'll be assured the glitch is fixed now, and it probably is. Probably.)

You wake up in a Parisian hotel room with a kind woman standing near the door, waiting for you to awaken. You have none of your clothing, just black military-issued underwear, and none of your previous possessions beyond the one you chose (if you remember choosing) to bring with you.

The woman by the door speaks French, and if you didn't understand the language before, you do now. If you have questions as to what's going on, she'll answer: you are a member of COST, a paramilitary organization of time travelers fighting against the Regency, a tyrannous kingdom of the future who are trying to stamp out freedom and individuality in the name of peace.

She will provide you with the clothing necessary to fit in at this time, and show you how to use your BCE implant to look up information on this time period and its social and political mores. She won't let you leave until you're properly dressed to fit in, but once you are, she'll wish you luck.

oops papercut.

KILL THE KING

It doesn't matter if you're new, or if you've been here a while. You'll hear about the execution going on today. It's as though the barely restrained urban chaos of Paris has ground to a halt. Everything is about the king. Is it really going to happen? Are they really going to do it? Can they do it? Is it even possible?

Anyone out of the loop will be filled in, but with no small amount of ridicule: Today is the day of the king's execution. His trial has wrapped up, and the National Convention voted to execute him for treason and tyranny.

The crowd at the execution is enormous, a riotous mob of passion barely restrained. Everyone is jockeying for a better view, with children and adults climbing up on nearby statues, lampposts, the sides of houses, rooves, some even hang from windows. Everyone watches the scaffold.

The prison cart arrives with no fanfare save the yells of the crowd. Within it sits a small, fat little man, looking like he's doing his best to remain composed. He's brought to the scaffold, and his crimes are read out: colluding with foreign powers, and the crime of royalty, which is anathema to the republic of France.

When asked for his final words, Louis Capet, known to some as King Louis XVI, speaks in a quiet voice. "I forgive my enemies."

When the blade comes down, the crowd errupts into cheers. Many rush forward to touch the blood of a king, dipping bits of cloth in it in an attempt to save it.

and then everyone went home peacefully

I PREDICT A RIOT

It's as though all the built up tension in Paris exploded when the king was killed.

Who knows what started it. Rumors spread like wildfire, and it doesn't matter, does it? In the end, most of Paris is swarmed with chaos, especially in the areas nearest to where the king was executed. There's no doubt that the riot and the king's death are directly related; no peasant currently throwing stones and breaking windows will deny it.

Fights are happening with great frequency. It only takes a word, a half sentence, for someone to decide you're some kind of counter-revolutionary. There is a current of anxiety in Paris that hasn't gone away; after reaching a fever pitch, it has expressed itself with violence and chaos.

let's visit the tuileries

The Tuileries was the royal palace in Paris, the last residence of the king before his death. Of course the people of France end up clamoring at its gates, screaming profanities and attempting to scale them.

The majority of the guard let them do this, making only the most token of efforts to keep the peasantry back. But one guard, a man by the name of Antoine Colin, seems to become spooked and shoots repeatedly into the crowd before someone knocks him out.

By then, though, it's too late. The crowd was rambunctious, but not murderous. Now it's bloodthirsty, and the gates are stormed. It isn't long before the common people of France are trampling through the corridors of power. Inside, they'll mostly find servants running and hiding, and lots of valuables to steal.

Most are content with that, but not all. Some clamor for the deaths of the queen and the royal children-- per the laws of inheritance, Marie Capet's remaining son is now King of France. Should he not die as well?

The queen is hidden in a safe room, a hollow wall inside her apartments. Do you try to find her? Try to save her? Try to kill her yourself?

...And what about those kids hiding in there with her?

BRING IN THE TROOPS

The riot in the Tuileries lasts several hours, well past nightfall. It's beginning to peter off, people loosing their energy or vigor, when the sound of gunfire echoes from the front courtyard.

General Lafayette has arrived to save the queen, and brought with him a retinue of personal soldiers. All on horseback, brandishing firearms and sabers, they stream through the expansive halls of the Tuileries and attack anyone who looks out of place. They're here to clean up this mess with no concern for more filthy peasants getting in the way.

Aftermath

The night is a long one. Several fires break out in various parts of Paris, shops are looted, and several die in the Tuileries. The queen has disappeared, along with Lafayette. Some say she and Lafayette died, and they'll show you the bodies for a couple sou. Others claim they saw them riding off into safety just before sunrise. There are already talks of hunting them down, trying to find the traitors.

Only one thing is known for sure: It may be advisable to stay inside for the foreseeable future.

read the France setting infopages

oops you might have saved the life of a woman famous for dying???

NAV NETWORK LOGS OOC PLURK DISCORD

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

That's surprisingly mature, for a woman who couldn't figure out a hat.

[Snide. Prelati legitimately admires the sentiment, though - for as young as she looks, the bags under her eyes are heavy. Even her 'perfect body' needs sleep, and with what she's seen - what she's done - it's hard to come by.]

You're going to have to do more than just observe, you know. If something was preventing the executioner from getting here, or the guillotine from working, we'd have to make sure it was fixed. Maybe you should go soak up a bit of his blood. As a keepsake.

That's surprisingly morbid, for someone your age.

[ a little too judgy? mostly keyleth finds it easier to focus on prelati than the gruesome deeds at hand. ]

I think I'll leave blood collecting for someday that isn't my orientation?

The older you get, the less death scares you.

[AKA: Prelati is real old. She doesn't spell it out for poor Kayleth though. It'd give the game away and lead to a lot of questions, and both of those sound like a pain.]

You're going to have to get your feet wet at some point. Might as well make it the blood of a king. Basically, start off on the right foot.

With all due respect, I already said no.

[ her gaze turns a little sharper. shrewder. prelati is dropping pretty major hints at least, and keyleth's heard plenty about what it is to have many lifetimes ahead of you. ]

I'm assuming age also gives you the urge to mess with other people? Say, egging on fish you find out of water?

A fish out of water is already dead. You're closer to a beached whale, or a trapped bear.

[But Kayleth's looking at her sharply enough that Prelati feels the urge to match the gaze - glance at her over her glasses, and all.]

And I was like this even when I was a child. If anything, I've gotten more restrained as I've gotten older. Of course, meeting the right people helped.

... Also, 'with all due respect?' Your parents must have raised you well.

I might be ignorant of the world-- this world-- [ an important distinction! ] --but erring on the side of overformal is a universally good idea.

[ she shrugs, and doesn't quite smile. this, in truth, is one of the easier conversations she's had in this world. whether or not she likes prelati, she likes being able to adhere to the bluntness the woman (?) prefers. ]

Especially when I don't know even the members of my own group very well.

With how you were struggling before, you might be ignorant of your own world. Basically, I think you're a little childish.

[Prelati doesn't say it that meanly, though. More and more, she's realizing just how ignorant she was of her own world, no matter how much she thought she knew. Her and Kayleth are two peas in a pod, that way.]

Are you hoping to get to know people? Some of us might prefer to keep our secrets.

I suppose everyone deserves secrets. I just think it's childish to be ignorant of your allies when you're supposed to be fighting side by side so closely.

[ prelati's observation stings, certainly, and keyleth tries her darndest to volley it back. she's never been great at engaging with anger, and so this seems to be the biggest 'barb' she can muster. ]

I never said I was one of them. It's childish to assume the worst, isn't it? I was just making conversation.

[But it's not a bad little jab - and now she thinks about what Saint-Germain would want, and her expression gets wistful, far-off.]

If you're curious about something, just ask. We're blessed with the ability to understand each other, even though we're from different times and places. There's no harm in questions, when you think about it.

[ both of her points are razor sharp, and keyleth can't deny them-- as much as her bruised pride wants to. her cheeks are flushed, and she huffs out a puff of frustration. ]

I just-- I was-- [ huff the second. keyleth's never been great at keeping her composure, and wit isn't her forte. ] It's not like you haven't made your own assumptions.

Very true. [Prelati doesn't argue it, because it's a fair point, one she can't really contest. She nods up at Keyleth, no huff in her tone.]

Why not start over, then? Again, I don't mind answering your questions, so long as I feel like answering them. Basically, don't ask anything rude.

OK, you're right. Uhm...

[ she's not great at impulse control, but the first question that comes to her mind isn't as specific as it could be, at least. ]

Why don't you look your age? I mean-- I know my kind live long, but you clearly aren't elven. And you aren't small enough to be a gnome...

[ she's not sure how old dwarves live to, but-- she's pretty sure they all have beards, so. ]

I'm human. [She's read about elves - in fairy tales, fiction, and mythology. Even in her world, she wasn't sure if they existed. But, well - she once got hit in the face by Gungnir, so she supposes other aspects of Norse mythology aren't out of the question.]

This body isn't my own - it's a perfect one, made by a friend as a container for my soul. No matter how long I live, I won't age. My friend and another associate of mine are the same way. It's something anyone with enough skill in alchemy could do. Admittedly, you'd need at least a few hundred years of research.

Basically, hard, but not impossible.

Oh. Oh wow. OK, sure. Yeah. That's totally...

[ she's utterly floored. she's seen friends be brought back from the grasp of death, but this is a whole new bag of incredible. ]

Are you messing with me right now?

If I were messing with you, I'd have told you I was a God or vampire or something of the sort. My story has too many mundane details to be interesting.

[To be fair, Prelati'd be floored by the whole 'resurrection' thing - she's only known one person to pull it off, and she resurrected herself, she didn't have someone else do it for her.]

I'd offer you a demonstration, but it's not something I've done myself. Not to mention, we'd need materials. And a willing subject. Realistically, a little too much effort.

That's totally fine. No demos necessary, really.

[ she chuckles a little, partly out of anxiety but mostly because prelati hit on the very two creatures keyleth has had enough of. ]

And if you ask me, the mundane is way more interesting than vampires and gods. And even more interesting than that is that you're calling the details of having your soul plopped into another body mundane...

Well, experiencing something once tends to eliminate most of the thrill. And call it a consequence of being an alchemist, beyond that. I understand the materials that make up a human body, and I understand the mechanics of the human soul. They're as mundane to me as the ingredients for a meal, or understanding how light refracts through glass.

Alchemy is the art of understanding, but understanding tends to make things mundane.

[ keyleth nods along in "understanding," and takes a moment to consider prelati's very good points. but it's quite a lot of information in one go, which means her answer is probably a little reductive, but hey. food is tasty.

she does smirk a little and shrug in self-deprecation, at least. ]

I don't know. I know how my meals are made and sometimes they're still the most thrilling part of my day...

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

let fury have the hour,

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