You have spent the last few days on Thesa Station, taking in the knowledge that your world is no more. Perhaps you've made some friends (or maybe an enemy or two). Either way, you aren't expected to spend all of your time on the Station. El Nysa needs you, after all, and you promised you'd help the planet thrive. Are you ready?
Submit an AC-eligible thread with a new character as a participant for 2 OLYMPIA REP POINTS OR 2 WYVER REP POINTS, respectively, HERE or HERE. THESA STATION
All refugees on the station are called to the hangar where a large-scale teleporter has been set up; everyone will be sent to the planet together. Simply step onto the space between the arrays and wait. Before they depart, all new refugees will be given a starter kit!
 You may have heard about earlier technical difficulties, but don't worry. I promise everything is in perfect working order this time. I'd say I tested it myself, but since that's not exactly possible, you'll just have to trust me! (Please.)
The older refugees will also be there to guide you to ensure no one is left confused... or behind. Make sure you wait for them — I've been detecting something odd so I'll be having them meet you at the landing site. Good luck, refugees! Not that you'll be needing it or anything...
The arrays begin to hum and glow, quickly building into a brilliant wash of light. It creates a column that travels all the way from Thesa Station to the surface of El Nysa. With the night sky as a canvas, the beam can be seen all the way from Olympia and Wyver — a view that has the natives whispering of blessings.
As a sudden but beautiful aurora splays across the sky, the refugees down on the planet receive a message asking them to travel to the landing site — and warning them to prepare for what may come of the strange readings Zasere's gotten from the teleport itself.
Traveling through the light leaves the impression of blinding starlight, a strange sense of weightlessness, and a disorienting moment of total sensory deprivation. The radiance of your teleport hangs bright in the sky above you, a shimmering aurora that reflects off the calm waters below, visible for miles all around.
You've landed on a peninsula to the east of the South Outpost. There's little here — scattered trees on spring-barren plains, with a few overgrown, dilapidated structures poking out of the brush. All is quiet save for the keening of animals and the gentle lapping of waves against the shore. This lonely desolation is hardly the bustling cities and vibrant cultures you were promised back on the station...
BY CAMPFIRE'S GLOW. But waiting for you is a group of your predecessors, and with them, a veritable tent city, with portable stoves, coolers of food and drink, comfortable bedrolls, and cheerful rings of bonfires — all that you need to make merry of the night, courtesy of Overseer Voss, who has, thanks to his interest in blessed meteorological phenomena and refugees, decided to make a holy expedition of the affair.
Settle in, meet new comrades, and enjoy yourself, for you've safely completed your journey. But don't wander too far from the fires — the dark is closing in, and there's a strange, electric feeling in the air, the scent of ozone drifting on the breeze. And what were those odd readings Zasere mentioned?
A SHEPHERD OVER THE FLOCK. The spring sun dawns on a grey morning, already burning away the fog rolling in off the sea. It quickly becomes apparent that Voss and his entourage of acolytes have been up for hours, hard at work. They've set up a brightly-draped stage and a travel pulpit, magically enchanted to amplify his voice, and as the sun breaks over the horizon, Voss is all set to do what he does best: proselytize.
 As our Goddess has sent Her blessing once before to herald the coming of those touched by Her light, so She has done once again! Here you see them, those surrounded by the light of our Goddess, each of them bearing the mark upon their skin of Her holiest of hands! Do you not see? Do none among you bear witness to the righteousness of Her message? Perhaps this is why our people have shamed themselves in front of our Goddess—
[ He continues for another 15 minutes... ]
Nevertheless. See you them before us now! See them as they are, coming to our gates with Her reminder, that these people must be treated with the utmost respect and care. Thesa's divinity is not to be treated with such flagrant disregard! Those who She chooses are not ours to use as mindless fodder, to hurt, to torture — shame upon those who allowed such deeds to shame us under Her watchful gaze!
To those of you who have just arrived here on our doorstep, be not afraid! The Temples of Thesa welcome you to our home with hearts and minds open! Should you ever find yourself in need of solace, seek out the Temples, as there are no greater allies to you than those of us within the Temple walls. You are welcome all to Olympia!
As he steps away from the enchanted podium, he can be heard saying aside to an acolyte, "How was that? Heavy on the shame, but I think it went well!" While he will not leave the area immediately, his acolytes will politely turn away attempts to speak with him and remind anyone interested that they can leave a message at the Temples.
Despite going off without hitch, the new refugees' arrival isn't entirely without incident. It seems that the "blessed" beam of light that brought the refugees down to El Nysa brought something else along with it — a sliver of the Storm. At least the beam was short enough that only a small fraction managed to squeeze through.
But it's enough to wreak a little havoc around the landing site and along the road back toward Olympia and Wyver — and even, for a few days, in the cities themselves.
THE TRUTH IS OUT THERE. The Storm is an undeniably destructive force, and that's proven with this small sliver's effect as it ripples across the continent. While there's no visible sign of its presence, strange phenomena soon begin to appear, corresponding with Zasere's odd readings.
They're innocuous little things at first. A sudden silence, animals going quiet, insects stilling. All technology, no matter how advanced, ceases working. You discover when you check with a friend, the clock on your phone is twelve minutes slow even though you'd swear only a minute had passed — time missing. Walking through the woods takes longer than it should when brushing past one bush leads to brushing past that same bush again — and again, and again, the area looping on itself. It keeps you trapped, going in circles for minutes, even hours, before finally releasing you in a random direction.
Or perhaps you'll feel a sense of deja vu, like you've walked down this road, taken this turn, seen that bird fly from this branch before. This is the second time that cat has crossed your path. The person you're meeting, you already know their name; you're certain you've already met.
WE GOT COWS. The Storm sliver also ushers in sudden, localized weather anomalies — heavy storms, blizzards, strong winds, and more. Affected areas range from just a few feet wide to nearly half a mile. One minute, the sky may be sunny and clear, but the next dark storm clouds roll in, unleashing torrential rain. Small tornadoes surge along the road, kicking up winds strong enough to knock people over and carry objects away. Hail hurtles down from the sky, but only in a ten foot radius. Temperatures fluctuate wildly between one extreme and the next, from heat waves to cold snaps. Soupy fog blankets the area, thick enough that you can barely see your hand in front of your face. Good luck finding your way!
FORGETTING IS SO LONG. The visions come on suddenly and with very little warning. One second, you're carrying on as normal — but the next, you blink and find yourself (and anyone near you) somewhere else completely. You may recognize this place as a moment from the past, one that you lived through. It's a memory, your memory, and it now replays around you in exceptional detail, unnervingly lifelike. Or you may not recognize it at all. It might belong to the person next to you, or to someone else entirely — a memory that the Storm has swallowed up.
Either way, the scene plays out just as it once did, and there's nothing you can do to stop it — or escape it. The memory surrounds you to no end: every door you open leads nowhere, every hallway you turn down continues on forever, every horizon you flee toward hangs just out of reach. And linger too long or turn the wrong corner, and you may find yourself abruptly stuck in a completely different memory. It's almost tempting, then, to give up, to let the past sweep you away...
But this isn't the full might of the Storm. Look closely, and you can see that in the walls of this trap, there are minute, hairline cracks, a facade of fractured glass. Imperfections in the memory where the real world is breaking through. It seems the only way to escape these memories is to find those cracks and break through them — by force, by will, or by some other method entirely.
The time is coming to make a choice — perhaps not a permanent choice, but unless you want to spend the rest of your nights out under the stars, you'll need to pick which city you will initially spend your time in. On the horizon, you will see that people have arrived to help you make that decision...
A FORK IN THE ROAD. Refugees and the hyper-religious wishing to hear Voss speak are not the only ones out and about under the light of the aurora. Citizens of both Olympia and Wyver have flocked to a point on the road midway between the cities and where the refugees have appeared, and they all have the same goal in mind: convincing the newcomers who have just descended in the blessed light of Thesa to come to their city and not the other.
They've come with bribes — that is, examples of what their cities have to offer. If you spent much time at the exhibition up on Thesa Station, you might recognize some of what's being shown off, though the offerings here are markedly more tangible, and shown off by hawkers wearing substantially fewer clothes.
A herd of pegasi accompanies the Olympians, while a line of flying serpents is stabled at a tent bearing Wyver colors. Refugees are given the chance to experience solo flights and are told that if they prove their loyalty, they may have the privilege of owning such fine beasts one day themselves. The Olympians have also brought couture clothing, jewelry, and makeup to offer a taste of Olympian splendor, while the Wyver delegation has brought along fine weapons, sense-enhancing jungle plants, and small vials of diluted dragon’s blood (drinking confers a temporary boost in strength) to demonstrate their might. The Olympians speak proudly of the glory of the Temples of Thesa; the Wyverns speak of the Volkkran Pact and inform newcomers that they can make a pilgrimage to the summit of Namarak Mountain at the next full moon.
This is as good a time as any to compare your plans with others around you and exchange contact information before going your separate ways with people who are going to the city you are not. When you’re ready to go, don’t worry about safe passage — the natives of each city will gladly escort you there in luxury.
OF WHITE AND GOLD. The people of Olympia are ecstatic that you’ve come to join them... So much so that they’ve prepared a grand tour of the city for the new arrivals. You will be introduced to the major businesses in the city, including businesses that they are proud to point out were founded by refugees.
Refugees who have been here for some time already are encouraged to pair up with newcomers to introduce them to the parts of the city they like best. To facilitate this, they’ve made arrangements with many of the business owners: new refugees who visit their shops (and older refugees who escort them) are given discounts!
Just a few examples of many: the Wyvernest offers free desserts to first time visitors with the purchase of a drink, refugees who visit the Silk Wyrms can have one custom (though not exceedingly expensive) outfit made for them for free, and visitors to Shades Darker are offered a half-hour session with one of the prostitutes at half price… or access to a private room, if they seem to have taken a shine to one of their companions on the tour.
Lastly, tour guides will point out that over the course of the next week, the train to Flona Cove will allow new refugees to board for free so that they can experience the seaside for themselves. With the weather finally starting to warm, this is as good a time as any for a visit to the beach, isn’t it?
OF RED AND BLACK. Life in Wyver is typically a sink-or-swim sort of experience — but in light of the valor recently displayed by their predecessors, the natives are now more willing to assist in getting newcomers settled. The entire journey here they have been talking up the virtues of their city… and now is the time to show everything that's on offer.
The well-known businesses in the city are prepared for the influx of newcomers. Some are giving out discounted samples of their products while others are offering a more hands-on experience: in exchange for working a few hours, they will give training in whatever task is being performed.
At the Forged, newcomers can learn the basics of crafting simple weapons (and take one of their successes home), while visitors to spas near the lagoons are trained in the art of massage. Those who wander to Falmi’s Ring can learn the art of pugilism or how to keep (and fix) books if they're more inclined to the gambling that goes on. Newcomers interested in Wyver's dragons can get hands-on experience at the Fields of the Exalted's nursery. While they walk from place to place, a guide may point out a job posting from Highwind Hires, noting that refugees can make a name for themselves outside official channels.
The last stop on the tour is the Undergrowth. The guides speak of the jungle in reverent tones and caution new refugees not to wander too far in. They warn never to explore alone, but also urge refugees to take time to familiarize themselves with it; after all, the jungle is an important part of life in Wyver, and those who are going to be living here should understand it as well as they do.
You've chosen your path, refugee, but that doesn't necessarily make it a permanent one. Watch out for the strange effects of the Storm, which linger still in the two cities and everywhere in between for the next few days before dissipating just as mysteriously as they came, but otherwise enjoy the welcome and make yourself at home — after all, this is home now.
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a; :3c
He follows the man into the burning building, his heart pounding heavily in his ears. Hadn't he just been...walking towards the outpost? And now he finds himself in another place entirely, now in a building with the name Lutece on the outside. Where is he? And maybe the better question is...
Why?
Carefully, he calls out: ]
R-Ros?
no subject
The man walks confidently through the entrance, past the shop portion of the labs and into the building proper. It's a house and home, though the carpet is burnt and the picture frames are cracked. The smell of smoke and burnt flesh grows worse, and yet Jeremiah Fink laughs softly to himself as he reaches the lab.
There's a machine there, so enormous someone had knocked out the ceiling and built right up into the second floor. It's off now, and the amount of smoke and ash and destruction is enough to confirm that it's this which exploded.
The two figures on the floor might tip one off as well.
They look more like mannequins than people, really. Their clothes are fused to their bodies, heat melting silk and cotton and searing it to skin. One is carelessly tossed atop the other, their limbs tangled together and bent the wrong way around. White bone juts out here and there, and now that the house has had time to cool down, blood is starting to seep over the tile.]
Hideous, isn't it?
[When had Rosalind come in? How had she gotten by his side? And yet there she is, staring down dispassionately at the corpses below. Her eyes flick up as Fink begins picking his way through the lab, grabbing indiscriminately at papers and books and tucking them beneath his arm as though it's Christmas.]
no subject
...He just really, really wishes he was wrong.
But even if her name hadn't been on the building, this place would have reminded Prompto entirely too much of Rosalind to ignore the connection. He reaches the room with the machine, gargantuan and strange and reminding him a little too much of magitek for comfort, though he knows that isn't what this is. What it is he can't even begin to guess, but as for the bodies on the floor...
Well. Hadn't Rosalind just recently described this very thing to him?
A painful noise wrests its way out of him, because although Prompto has been fully aware of Rosalind's fate since very early in their friendship, it's another thing entirely to see her here like this - or what remains of her, anyway, and Robert, too. Charred and smoldering and broken and bleeding, the floor sticky beneath his boots.
At the sound of her voice, he looks quickly over at her, until he understands.
This isn't a dream. It's a memory. ]
...Yeah. One hell of a mess.
[ To put it lightly. ]
no subject
[She says it coldly, nodding towards Fink. He's got most of their patents under his arm by now, and picks his way carefully towards the stairway. Rosalind follows, turning sharply on her heels and putting her back to the bodies.
She can't bear to see Robert's body. Not now, not when she's parted from him. Her own doesn't matter, but Robert . . . no. Her throat would close up, her eyes would fill, and she'd never forgive herself for that humiliation, not even in front of Prompto.
Up the stairs, down the hall, and into her bedroom. The remains of the machine rupture up in here, but there's a little area where their bed and nightstand are that's just for them.
Fink is tugging open the dresser drawers, rifling through each one with no shame.]
He's looking for my diaries. He wants to finish his looting before anyone, even the paramedics, gets in, just in case they wonder why he's so eager to explore Lutece Labs.
That was his promised price, you see: our patents, and anything else he could get his hands on and make use of. I'm sure Comstock meant it in a purely professional sense, but Fink took it to mean personal usage as well.
[She hadn't reacted when he'd grabbed her diaries. But she does go stiff when Fink hesitates, then reaches for a portrait of Robert.]
no subject
This is infuriating.
Coldly, and unevenly: ]
So who is this son of a bitch? Did he...did he do this to you?
[ Is this the face of her murderer? ]
no subject
[Fink lingers over the portrait, staring at it far too possessively, before putting it beneath his arm. Rosalind's diary is set down on the bedside table, and he presses the button, playing back the recording.
Rosalind's voice fills the area, and Fink smiles. The biological urge to leave one's mark is strong. And it is not an impossibility . . .]
He kept it in his bedroom. The diary, I mean. And Robert's portrait.
no subject
Why?
[ That's the big question, isn't it? Why would he take those things specifically? Why did this happen? Any of it? ]
no subject
So he tasked me with scouring other worlds. I was to find one in which he had already had a child. A world where he was no prophet, but instead an alcoholic and a gambler. Who was so deep in debt that he'd sell his child in exchange for a large sum of money.
And he did.
Once he had the child secured, Comstock then pretended his wife had carried the child for only a week, and that it was a miracle baby, gifted to him from God.
His wife was informed only afterwards.
[The scene changes suddenly, the walls blurring and the pictures fading. Rosalind inhales sharply, taken aback, but-- ah. Well. If this is her memory, it only makes sense that it might change based as she reminisces, doesn't it?
Rosalind stands in a different home-- a mansion, enormous and opulent. Marble busts and oil paintings, all starring the same man, decorate the walls. There's a fire roaring, and Rosalind, barely twenty-two, stands with her arms crossed. She looks quite unimpressed as she stares at the woman standing across from her.
You whore! the woman screams, and Rosalind blinks just once, her eyebrows ticking up in an expression of patronizing exasperation.
I assure you, madam, my sexual interest in your dear prophet is nonexistent. A little pause, and her eyes dart towards the shadowed doorway. There's a girl standing there, blue eyes wide. She looks to be a year old, if that. Her eyes go between Rosalind and Lady Comstock. Furthermore, the man is quite sterile.
That's a lie, the woman says, her voice first soft and ending on a scream, trembling with emotion. Come and get your little bastard, I want her out of my house!
And then . . . something odd happens. Rosalind comes forward, picking the girl up, turning on her heel to take her back to Lutece Labs. Except that had never happened. Rosalind had never taken the girl. She'd left her with the Comstocks, because it was her father's fault she was there and she wasn't going to take responsibility.]
That's . . . not how it went.
[But no, he'd asked a question, hadn't he? She shakes her head, though her eyes are narrowed.]
In any case: Father Comstock grew terrified I would spill his secrets. His entire reputation was built upon a pedestal of being divine. His image would be ruined if his flock was informed that this miracle was a sham-- because of course it would cast doubt on all his other miracles, which were, by the by, the product of my science.
So. He hired Fink, who had been after Robert and I from the start, to kill us, thus ensuring his secret wouldn't get out. And in exchange, Fink got everything he could get his hands on, including all the patents to our technology.
no subject
It's honestly a relief when Rosalind takes the girl, though it's cut short when Rosalind says that isn't how things go. So...that wasn't a memory? Something else? Something to ask about in a minute, anyway, as there's still a lot to suss out here, a lot to take in. He's quiet a moment longer after the scene has ended, carding through his thoughts, internalizing what she's told him. Maybe Rosalind should have never worked with such a man in the first place, but...how could she have known how things would go? How could she have expected it would come to this, that he would kill her and her husband out of the mere fear that they might say something?
He laughs hollowly, mirthlessly. ]
Heh...some miracle. All that, just for a little bit of power...
[ But Prompto understands well what lengths men will go to in order to obtain - and maintain - power over others.
What a sick son of a bitch.
He won't belabor that point, though. She doesn't want his pity. That's not why she is telling him this, so he'll feel sorry, or sympathetic. Even if he does - and you bet he does - he knows better than to bother her with it. ]
Rosalind...that last thing that just happened, that...wasn't your memory?
no subject
I never took Anna. Or, ah, Elizabeth, I suppose her name was now.
[It's not that the younger Rosalind seems so very comfortable with a child. She holds her a touch awkwardly, patting her back every so often in a stiff sort of way. But what she lacks in grace and motherly virtues, she at least makes up with intentions.]
I'm no mother. Robert was still sickly; I had my hands full taking care of him. And Elizabeth wasn't my responsibility. Her father had dragged her into this mess; I wouldn't relieve him of the burden when reality caught up with him.
[But ah, there they are: Lutece Labs, much more put together than the last time Prompto had seen them. A little cheaper looking, too, honestly, but she'd only just bought it.
The smell of blood is still thick in here, though. Some things never change. Robert sprawls in an armchair in the sitting room, dried blood splattered over his shirt, a bloody handkerchief pressed to his face. He's dozing, though he sits up sharply when he notices what Rosalind's carrying.]
He's the one who wanted a baby.
[But things are starting to blur. This isn't right, and the memory (if you can even call it that; a fantasy, maybe, some alternate interpretation where Rosalind had been kinder) is starting to disintegrate. Grass fields flicker in and out; the scent of rain fills the air.]
no subject
Maybe if she wanted to keep the child a secret, but...why would that matter to him? In fact, it's...almost a comfort to see Rosalind carrying the girl who had been so fearful in the previous memory they had been in.
...What ended up happening to her?
The image starts to fade from around them, giving away to dimmer, damper surroundings, and Prompto's gaze flickers to Rosalind once more. ]
Are we...out?
no subject
We are, yes.
[She inhales sharply, savoring the scent of wet earth, the solid confirmation that she's not trapped within her memories again.]
. . . well. That certainly wouldn't have been the memories I wished you to see, but here we are.
no subject
What memories would she have wished to see? ]
...Yeah. Sorry...about that.
[ It's a stupid thing to apologize for, and he knows it - he made no conscious choice to arrive in her memories in that way. But the impulse to apologize is still there, to be a part of something that had taken the control of her own past away from her. He gets...how that can rankle. ]
You okay?