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

[chariotry]

[ Oh, no. You are so wrong, Noctis.

Considering the other magic users he's met up until now, he imagines he's not familiar with the ritual of the Holy Grail War. Ah, should he just be direct and ask, or be subtle? He doesn't really want to waste any time trying to build the mood, but -- ]

Okay? [ BOSSY PANTS?

Achilles has no choice but to take the torch, especially because he fully intends on getting laid in this wine cellar now.

Time to go light those other torches, illuminating the cellar room and revealing the rows and rows of wine, and the rows of cheese behind the booze. ]

[fessus]

[ The questioning tone doesn't go unnoticed and it seems to make him more self-aware of his own actions, at least, glancing back over his shoulder. ]

I was gonna' go close up the entrance. If there's guys out there looking for a fight, better I deal with it since you're so out of it. [ Right. Still determined to protect Achilles, whatever that's worth and however laughable it may seem. He's a gentleman.

So that's exactly where he goes while his new compatriot lights up the cellar for them, luckily not met with more looters as he shuts the heavy doors before climbing back down the stairs. ] Is it really just cheese and wine? Geeze...

[chariotry]

[ He snorts, though this time it's quiet. He wonders about the extent of this mage's powers, if he's so self-assured that he thinks he can take on a flock of angry revolutionaries on his own without draining himself. Achilles at least finds it more endearing than insulting, knowing well that he'd be able to use barely any of his reserves to fend off a couple of humans.

The cellar is chilly, though it's a few degrees higher than that of an actual cold storage. Achilles searches through the area, waving the torch over the various shelving units in case there are thieves attempting to hide in the darkness.

When the coast seems clear, he returns to the stairwell. ]

Meat would spoil in here, since it's not nearly cold enough.

But it's still fairly chilly. [ Thoughtfully. ] Why don't we crack open a bottle? Alcohol should keep you warm.

[fessus]

Yeah, guess so... Unless it was dried or something.

[ This is a world totally divorced from his own so he knows nothing about the time period and its apparent lack of advanced technology, or even any awareness of the country that they're in. The word "France" had meant nothing to him, honestly. ]

Really I was just thinking about water. Alcohol's... I don't know, you don't think that's a bad idea? Shouldn't we stay on high alert here?

... I'm not saying I can't handle it, just doesn't seem that smart. [ Stop him. ]

[chariotry]

[ Well, screw you. Achilles is plucking a bottle from out of a cubby, flipping it by its neck and catching the glass body of it against his palm. He's studying the label, kind of ... ignoring Noctis' concerns. ]

1754. Not bad. [ POPS THE CORK OUT WITH HIS THUMB. ] You sure you don't want any?

It's probably not even possible for me to get intoxicated. I just like the taste of good wine.

[fessus]

[ Ugh... He's parched but he can smell the sourness of the wine from here, deliberating. ]

Just a sip, I guess. I don't wanna' go overboard. [ For a lot of reasons. There's no way it'd be poisoned or anything, right? ] Even if you can't get drunk I'm not expecting you to take point the whole time. You're tired too.

[ So he says as he approaches the far wall, finally sliding down it with a slump just to get more comfortable on the floor. What a fucking day... ]

[chariotry]

[ Seeeettles right beside him, smiling, before taking a swig straight from the mouth of the bottle.

And he holds it out to Noctis. ]

Don't go acting so considerate of me. I can likely beat you in a fight even in my state right now.

I'm not worried about a mob coming for either of us.

[fessus]

Hah? [ His eyes drop to the bottle, reaching out to grab it with a hint of mild irritation. ]

You sure are arrogant... Well, if you're saying that then I hope you can do a whole lot more than summon a weapon. [ The wine smells even worse this close up but he refuses to allow that to stop him, not wanting to look even more ridiculous than he currently feels. So he forces down a swig the same way he does with coffee, and for nearly the same reason. To look more mature. ]

Here, that's all I needed.

[chariotry]

I'm no mage, but there's plenty I can do, especially in a fight. [ He... is arrogant. He acknowledges this with an unabashed grin. ]

Too strong for you? [ He's not trying to bait him, actually. He can just tell that he's pretty youthful and thereby unable to handle the bitter taste of a good, fermented drink. His smile softens, fond.

More for him, then. He takes the bottle. ]

[fessus]

[ At first he thinks he's asking if Achilles is too strong for him, ready to retort until he realizes he's talking about the wine. Oh. Yeah, that's pretty terrible. ]

It's pretty sour. [ Admittedly, and now the taste is lingering in his mouth. Ugh... ]

But I can handle it fine. Maybe I'll have some more later if I get thirsty. [ Instead he's sinking further against the wall, exhaling as he allows himself to really relax. ] ... this day's been crazy... If you want to sleep first, though, go ahead.

[chariotry]

I don't sleep. Or I guess I don't need to. I mentioned I was a spirit, didn't I?

[ But he is unravelling the cloth of his scarf from around his body and tossing it over the boy's lap. ]

Get some rest. I'm telling you, you shouldn't worry about me.

[fessus]

You mentioned a lot of stuff. And you summoned that weapon. [ Yeah, he's definitely tired, but he'll never forget that. It was cool as much as it was a disappointment, just one more little kick in the teeth courtesy of this shitty day.

He eases back, ready to close heavy eyes when that scarf is draped on him. ]

... [ A blink down at his lap, then another... before he's abruptly starting to wrap it around himself, immediately getting himself warmer. YES, THANK YOU. ] Only if you're sure. Just... shake me if somebody comes.

[chariotry]

[ WOW WHAT A SPOILED BRAT... LETTING ACHILLES TAKE CARE OF YOU, NOT KNOWING THAT YOU'LL OWE HIM EVENTUALLY.

Anyway, he's wrapping his arm around him without warning (cringe) and pulling him up against his shoulder. ]

You didn't ask any questions. Does that mean you've encountered many of my kind before? ... Maybe you already have a familiar.

[fessus]

[ His eyes are once again all but closed when suddenly he's getting squished against a muscled side, giving him a bleary look of shock. What the... ]

Oi, oi... Hey, get off, I got the scarf already. [ I have all I need. ] What familiar...? I thought I was going to sleep.

[chariotry]

... [ Well, he's not pushing him away. Get comfortable, Noctis. ] A thin scarf isn't going to keep you completely warm.

And sorry. I was just interested in you. I'll let you sleep.

[fessus]

[ ... uggggh. ]

Fine, fine... I get it. [ He just so obviously doesn't. ] I'll answer you first. I don't really know what any of that is, I just figured asking about it was bad, or... I don't know, I really did wanna' sleep too.

[ Honesty. Even though he keeps shrugging his arm like that'll somehow make this contact less invasive. He's not exactly used to physical affection of this variety; Gladio and Prompto hanging off of him feels different. ]

[chariotry]

[ The more he shrugs his shoulder, the lower Achilles' hand roams, cupping over his arm like he figured the shrugging meant his hand was too high or close to his neck.

He adjusts as needed, laughing a little under his breath as he bends a leg at the knee. There, he's making a wall that to separate them. Feel better? ] A familiar spirit is a sentient life force a mage can conjure or summon.

I"m something like that, I guess. Only, I'm without a Master to contract with.

[fessus]

[ He stares, eyes half-lidded, at Achilles's knee. This is his life now. Wrapped up in a scarf, in a wine and cheese cellar, during the French revolution, using an ancient Greek sentient life force being as a pillow. ]

So... you're like an astral. [ Though he realizes quickly that this will mean nothing to him. ] You lend people your power but you haven't found anyone worthwhile yet.

[chariotry]

[ Yes, this is your life. So get comfortable while you can, before you inevitably punch Achilles in the face in the near future. ]

I'm summoned by contract, usually. I had a Master before being brought here by COST. [ Astral is at least a word he recognizes. ]

You're right, though. Now that I have a choice in who my Master will be, I've decided to wait until I find someone worthy. Until then, I have to find other ways of getting mana to ensure I don't fade.

[fessus]

Yeah.

[ He isn't at first entirely sure what he's agreeing with, but agreement seems like the right path to take anyway. It'll placate Achilles which will in turn placate him; soon this cellar will be silent. And when it is... his kingly nap will reign.

Or probably sooner, he's really that tired. ]

Guess you better do that. Sounds pretty important... Maybe a couple ethers. [ Noctis is absolutely fading, slipping further down the wall and more against Achilles as a result. ]

[chariotry]

[ He starts going into detail... but Noctis has fallen asleep.

So there's no point. ]

[fessus]

[ Zzzz... Good luck hitting on this. ]