agogemod: (Default)
⌞THE AGOGE⌝ MODS ([personal profile] agogemod) wrote in [community profile] agogelogs2018-02-12 10:55 am

Sometimes they are five. Sometimes they are three.


We do not merely destroy our enemies;
we change them.


WELCOME TO THE END OF TIME.

The Regency has its spies and its cloaks and daggers. You may have even brushed shoulders with one and not have known it. There is a place for such tactics. You are not in that place any longer.




On missions like these, the Regency prefers to keep its base close, in a intradimensional time pocket. You're apart from Gallipoli, no longer technically on Earth or in the 1910s. There are multiple segments to this complex base of Regency operations, but you can only really see two places...

THE BRIG

This is your holding cell, a constantly shifting room of indesctructable grey squares. It folds and bends to hold you and your seven companions as you await... something.

There are no guards in this place. There are no bars to look through, or sounds to listen for. You are simply in the box, left to your own devices.

Occasionally, holes will open in the ceiling, and packaged, processed rations will fall from them before immediately closing. This is the only way to measure time. There are always exactly eight bags, each with the name of one captive written on the side in their native language.

Holes will occasionally open in the walls, and they always bring with them a searingly bright light. Sleeping and sitting is difficult on the ever-shifting floors, and when you try, it always seems like a pinhole of light opens right on your eyes. Even leaning on the walls has mixed results.

DON'T GO TOWARDS THE LIGHT

The windows of light that open always stay very small, making it difficult to look through, and always pour radiantly bright, hot light. If you're feeling particularly self-punishing, you might be able to peek at an odd angle and see something of the world outside without being completely flashblinded. The world outside the Brig looks rather like the interior of a Dyson sphere. In the center, a great, bright, hot energy radiates out like a sun, and it reflects off the exterior globe the pocket dimension functions within, illuminating everything from every angle. The Brig floats around it in a slow orbit, as do many other similar looking box-rooms made of similar material, connected by constantly moving tubes and chutes. Some boxes have more chutes going toward them than others. No chutes connect to the Brig, unless someone is about to disappear into the floor...

Getting this view will be difficult, but not impossible; it will just take characters willing to blind themselves with an overabundance of light multiple times until they get the correct angle, allowing them to see outside for roughly a half second before the room shifts to redirect the light back into their eyes.

not so solitary confinement

Occasionally, the cube will split into smaller segments, throwing characters together with others at random in close confinement. This is unpredictable and fast, splitting you off from the whole for what feels like hours at a time, often with only one companion as the cube shifts and squirms around you.

technical malfunction

The power nullification is still in full effect. No magic or special abilities rule this place. Your only master are the walls, undulating with no discernible pattern, always moving.

The Regency has also attempted to break the BCE's translation capabilities, but due to the fact that COST-jailbroken BCEs work on a different system than Regency ones, this is an intermittent problem that occurs sporadically. (ie, have the translation capabilities blink in and out at your discretion.)

THE OTHER PLACE

And then, suddenly, the floor drops out from underneath you. The shifting walls make a hole perfectly your shape and size, and sucks you through. The hole closes neatly, immediately, and you slide along in a world of boxes pressing close to your skin as you are moved from one holding area to another.

When you emerge, you do so in total darkness. Power nullification is still in effect, but even if you can naturally see in the dark, it doesn't matter. All you can see is an endless blackness, and walking doesn't help. You can keep walking for however long; there is nothing to walk to. The floor is perfectly level, but you'll never reach a wall.

Finally, there's light in the distance. A spotlight from nowhere shines down on a person with the head of a jackal. Looking closer, you'll find it's some kind of highly technical mask. They are wearing armor that obscures their exact shape-- no skin shows, no hint of identity or personality, just the cold eyes of the mask. They turn to you, and speak in a voice clear and soothing, almost gentle.

"I am Kebechet. I have been looking forward to speaking with you."

dorzalta: (pic#11766566)

[personal profile] dorzalta 2018-02-18 01:35 am (UTC)(link)
"Of course," she murmurs, not believing that to be their final conclusion. For one who claims to hunt for the answers to things, 'an odd tale' would be most unsatisfying. "I'm sure your wolf pack has aided you well in unearthing your answers. Or non-answers, in this case. It must be frustrating."

Lions and wolves were one thing; she'd seen the dog-like masks in Gallipoli.

...This speak of a tale about siblings, though. Her shoulders stiffen the more Kebechet explains. Diluting the blood, vengeance, two siblings surviving an attack which wiped an entire family line? They mock me.

Hot anger roars to life, pouring into her veins. Exhaustion from that ever-shifting room nearly makes her lash out. Her name and birthright, her accomplishments were not things to be belittled. She is the blood of the dragon, and she would not me mocked.

"COST bombed your home?" she asks instead, voice steady. The only indicator of her temper is the coolness in her gaze and the way she tightens her hold. "I regret hearing that, and for your loss. I hope the revenge you've sought has brought you some semblance of peace, thus far."
agogenpc: (⌞KEBECHET⌝)

[personal profile] agogenpc 2018-02-18 04:20 pm (UTC)(link)
"It has brought us here," Kebechet says, gesturing to the grass. "Your home is very beautiful. Shall we continue? I have questions of my own."

If they were aware of Danaerys' anger, their commonalities, anything, they do not show it.
dorzalta: (pic#11766553)

[personal profile] dorzalta 2018-02-18 04:28 pm (UTC)(link)
"You show me endless grass with the promise of fire." Flat, the first hint of rudeness in her tone. "This is not my home."

Essos was not her home, if this is truly meant to be Essos.

"Ask your questions. That is why you took me, is it not?"
agogenpc: (⌞KEBECHET⌝)

[personal profile] agogenpc 2018-02-18 11:32 pm (UTC)(link)
Kebechet nods, and walks on. "As you say. Surely you know your mind better than me."

The wind whips around them, strangely arid. Hot, carrying a hint of ash.

"Why do you fight for them? Is it just the vain hope of revenge?"
dorzalta: (pic#11766554)

[personal profile] dorzalta 2018-02-18 11:48 pm (UTC)(link)
This shift in the wind calls to mind the desert. The first tickling of unease skitters down her spine like hundreds of spiders. Irriella shifts against her chest.

"If it were, would you hold me in less regard than you do now?" She doesn't much care, either way. She's been chained, sold, and beaten. Being looked down upon for desiring retribution would be the least of those evils, though this silly one forgets that they made mention of revenge not even moments ago. "And do you believe my hope of achieving it is due to my slain consort?"

Consort. The word tastes like ash on her tongue. But this is an important question: how much does Kebechet know of her and her mind?
agogenpc: (⌞KEBECHET⌝)

[personal profile] agogenpc 2018-02-19 03:11 pm (UTC)(link)
"My regard hardly matters to you. Let us not pretend otherwise."

The grass around them begins to wilt.

"I believe you are a strong ruler with great potential, but often drawn by baser emotions when logic would better suit."
dorzalta: (Default)

[personal profile] dorzalta 2018-02-20 01:28 am (UTC)(link)
"Very well." Gods, but she's so tired... and what does she have to show for any of this save the meager scraps she's gained? Her steps halt. She looks to Kebechet. "Whether you speak truly to me or you mean to make a mockery of what I've experienced is irrelevant. Why I fight doesn't matter to either of us--only that I do. You, personally, may not have harmed me or mine. I respect that you have the decency to speak as opposed to kill on sight, but I trust very little of your true motivations for bringing us here."

She trusts nothing of this place, much like she trusted nothing of COST at first.

"Is it to convince us to join you? No. You'd not leave us scrounging for scraps else wise, nor would we be deprived of sleep, living in an ever-shifting room shining lights in our eyes, blinding us. Perhaps you corroborated with the lions who killed the consort you spoke of. Whether you directly or indirectly aided them doesn't matter either, because you protect them now."

Nothing she could say would satisfy them. Avenging Drogo is only part of the reason she fights. It's her children. Even the hint of promise of having a child is enough to draw her into this war, and she would fight until her final breath. She wouldn't lose another child... not even one she would never meet, but another version of herself in another world would.

She wouldn't lose Jon, either.

"Listen to me carefully: release me and my allies, and you will be spared. Harm them or I, and you will be shown no mercy."

She would see to it, personally.
agogenpc: (⌞KEBECHET⌝)

[personal profile] agogenpc 2018-02-22 12:33 am (UTC)(link)
"I had expected better of royalty," Kebechet says, voice thick with obvious disappointment. The air grows more arid. Sand sifts beneath Danaerys' feet, between the grass, and slowly, long-fingered hands emerge from it. The fingers are long and white, pale as bones, and the nails are sharp and crooked.

If Kebechet has noticed what now grips at Danaerys' ankles with surprising strength, they do not show it.

"Many do."
dorzalta: (Default)

[personal profile] dorzalta 2018-02-22 12:47 am (UTC)(link)
It comes suddenly, nipping on the heels of apparent disappointment. The ground shifts and remains in place. Sand bubbles between blades of grass. It's the quiet hiss of movement which tugs her focus from coldly staring at that ridiculous mask

...and noticing that--she goes to kick against the fingers wrapping themselves around her ankles, but to no avail. Her pulse skitters as she struggles against the hands on her ankles. No, whatever that is, it is not real. Is that bone? This is an illusion spun, like Pyat Pree's.

"Release me, Kebechet."
agogenpc: (⌞KEBECHET⌝)

[personal profile] agogenpc 2018-02-26 08:17 pm (UTC)(link)
Kebechet only watches her disappear. "Would that I could, little queen."

Danaerys is dragged down into the darkness and the sand, but it does not drown her. It takes her to another place entirely, a room filled with light and fire. Endless flames lick at the walls, the ceiling, the floor. She is within an orb of fire, and a voice calls out to her.

"The smallest of my children." An old man whose bony hands she may recall from moments ago, pale as a ghost, with milky purple eyes. "Nothing was expected of you. And now, this..."
dorzalta: (pic#11766407)

[personal profile] dorzalta 2018-02-26 08:42 pm (UTC)(link)
No matter how she struggles, the vice-like grip does not alleviate. Past her ankles, the sand rises. Her knees. Her hips. When it rises to her chest, she scrabbles for a way to crawl out, but the grip never lessens, and the last thing she sees are lifeless eyes of the mask before the sand swallows her alive.

She expects this to be the end of her... even holds her breath as sand brushes against any parts of her exposed. Yet before her lungs can even scream for breath, she lands--on her feet? In a new space, surrounded by light. It's a stark contrast to where she'd just been, and whilst the fire would be a comfort for her, it fills her with a sense of foreboding.

Dany's just in the process of dusting the sensation of sand from her braids when a voice seems to echo all around her. My children? She spins in place, eyes widened, heart kicking into a gallop in her chest. She does not recognize the man, save for the telltale Targaryen features. But--but he cannot be real.

"You're not real," she flatly says. Once, once she'd dreamed of meeting her family. If this is truly the Mad King, however... She shouts to the ceiling: "Do you think I fear this? You're just as cowardly as the wizard I burned who played the same tricks!"
agogenpc: (⌞KEBECHET⌝)

[personal profile] agogenpc 2018-02-26 08:50 pm (UTC)(link)
"Least of all my children, and greatest. First among them, and last." The Mad King does not respond to his daughter's strange comments. He is accustomed to things not making sense. He reaches for her with decrepit hands, pale and twitching, dirty and long-fingered. "The coin was flipped, but you do not yet know how it was landed... Yet it landed the same way for your brothers both."
dorzalta: (pic#11766585)

[personal profile] dorzalta 2018-02-26 09:00 pm (UTC)(link)
She looks back at him, frowning. After sparing the space where she'd fallen from one last look, she turns her attention to her father. Her father. He looks terrible, like a sack of bones with little meat, a far cry from any of the great Targaryen warriors she imagines. Not a conqueror, this man.

"Madness is not my companion." The saying of a Targaryen and his or her madness... she's heard of it and does not take kindly to it. "Nor was it for your eldest."

She cannot say this is the truth of Rhaegar, but ser Barristan... he'd known her brother. Never once had he alluded to cruelty or any of the tendencies Viserys favored. Her brother was kind and entertained the smallfolk in the streets. He didn't like killing.

"You saw to it that I would be the last."