let fury have the hour,

[agogemod]

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.

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.

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

NAV NETWORK LOGS OOC PLURK DISCORD

Comments

II cornered

[macginger]

[Sweeney hadn't seen it happen, because there was so much else out there to be seen that he didn't have the time for it. But he certainly heard 'witchcraft' being shouted out in that same familiar cry that had been so wonderfully popular when Christianity came knocking.

Sweeney pushes himself past the horrified onlookers. He's already been in so many fights that no one is going to mistake him for being some noble with his red teeth and bloodied fists. He leers over Morgana's shoulder and grins at the poor bastard she has pinned.]

It's going to take you fucking forever to cut his head off with that. You sure you don't want me to just punch the poor bastard and be done with it?

[scinlae]

[ She spares the man a momentary glance before her eyes returns to the man she had pinned, her eyes flash gold once more as the blade digs in deeper and the man whimpers in pain. ]

You act as though you think I want to take his head. [ It's a simple motion of her head, deeper the blade goes, more blood bubbling up. ] That would be far more kinder than I am willing to be.

[ But then she glances behind her, past her new friend to the other two men. ]

You can have them, if you wish.

[macginger]

[This goddamned stupid woman. He falters a minute as he smiles at the two men she had indicated that he ought to be pummeling. Nothing would bring him greater joy than that, but he was not a man that reveled in pointless death either. And so he lays a hand on her shoulder and he lowers his voice.]

Put the fucking knife away or I swear I'll carve your eyeballs out myself. This isn't why we're here.

[scinlae]

[ It's the touch that drags her attention from the man she was threatening, the hand upon her shoulder that makes Morgana jerk away as though she had been struck. Her eyes go wide, almost feral, glowing with a sharp gold as the blade tears from poor Philippe to the man behind her. ]

Touch me again and it will be you whose eyes are carved from their skull. [ There is a wildness to her, even in her fancy dress, that seems to add a weight of promise to her words. For a moment the dagger hovers in the air, blade angled towards his eye before a jerk of her head has it zip to her hand. ]

[macginger]

[Ah there we are. Whoever the hell Philippe was, the man owed him a drink. Sweeney wasn't particularly worried about having to deal with Morgana, but he also didn't really enjoy being cut either. He fixed her with a toothy, bloody grin. The floating dagger doesn't seem to even register.]

Well you sure as fuck proved you're a witch to them now.

[scinlae]

[ Luckily it seems she has forgotten the man who has tried to assault her, barely notices as he and his friends skitter away like frightened children. No, her attention is far more focused now, mild amusement for this stranger morphed into irritation. ]

You speak as though I should care what they think of me. I don't. Nor do I care for any who dares lay a finger upon me. [ Fingers curl around the blade, lips into a sneer. ] Which is exactly what that man had done prior to your... Arrival. And by the way you spoke, did you expect me to simply accept my fate? Hold my blade for 'this isn't why we're here'?

[macginger]

As a matter of fact, I do. They're a bunch of ignorant fucks and I've no qualm knocking them on their backs, but one dead king is plenty for now. [And it's not like they'll stop. There's so much more to come.] So since you don't care so much, try and unbunch your panties and get the fuck over it.

[scinlae]

[ Inside her veins she feels her blood boil, her knuckles turn white as a hot rage screams through her. ]

So what? I should have waited for you to come and save me from my fate? [ Her eyes flash with fire, with anger, yet her mouth turns up and she laughs. ] More will die before this day is done, perhaps not by my hands, this world will not weep men who seek to debase me. [ Each word is spat as more and more vitriol gathers. ] If all you wish to do is lecture me then leave, I was well enough before you arrived and I shall be even better when you are gone.

[macginger]

[Sweeney just looks tired and done. He wears the expression of a parent trapped in the check out lane while their child screams like a banshee while the rest of the store watches on in silent, condemning judgement. There was a question of whether he was even paying attention - but he was. To his credit and misfortune, he was.]

You're a fucking looney, do you know that? Out of your fucking mind.

[scinlae]

[ His attitude only seems to fuel her displeasure, gathering around her like some sort of storm cloud threatening to burst with a onslaught of thunder and lightning. ]

If wanting to defend myself makes me insane I'll embrace madness gladly.

[macginger]

[Sweeney weathers the storm. He stands in the eye of it and he didn't even bring an umbrella.]

No, knocking him on his ass? That's defending yourself. Carving out a memento in his throat is fucking murder.

[scinlae]

I spent two years trapped by men like him, no matter how many times you knock them down they will stand back up. They do not stop, they will not stop. Better them dead.

[ For a moment her gaze goes distance, trapped in an old memory before clarifying once more. ]

[macginger]

It's the fucking eighteenth century. They're already dead, they just haven't caught onto it yet. And they're long gone now. So please, fucking drop it.

[He doesn't want to get into a fight. He really doesn't. She seems like the kind of woman that could be nice if she was passed out and in another city, so he doesn't want to go forming bad blood.]