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 Knife to the Heart For His People" (Closed to Dany)
During it all, he pushed forward, searching for the familiar glimmer of silver hair. The rain was beginning again, the momentary sunlight now hidden by looming clouds. He took hold of Dany's arm, keeping close to her as others tried to rush more quickly towards their destination.
There was no warning for when the memories would come. In the span of a breath, it was there. Just as his fingers curled around her arm, he was standing back in the courtyard of Castle Black. The cold was sharp against his skin, but nothing compared to the dread turning over in his stomach.
He was a witness to his own murder, watching as a group of men stood around him, letting him take in the cross bearing the words "TRAITOR" before Ser Alliser dove forward and crushed his blade into Jon's chest.
Watching the boy he was and the look of betrayal, it made his older self stagger back, as though he were struck as well.
"For the Watch." Ser Alliser said matter of factly. Then one by one, his brothers followed suit. "For the Watch." Until finally, there was only a small boy left, one who had a withering look of hatred and sorrow. His knife went straight to the heart. "For the Watch."
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The two of them are separated for but a moment, broken apart by the flail of bodies running about in mass panic. When the next weather burst hits, the people flee like cattle. Wind whips her cheeks and hair, hail pelting her... until it's not.
And she is in the cold. Snow beneath her feet, Jon's hand on her arm, the darkness of a courtyard tugging from her an involuntary shiver. Her eyes scan the perimeter, but none of this looks familiar. North, of course, if this is indeed Westeros. Is that Jon? No, it can't be, for Jon is beside her. Right beside her, she confirms, glancing up at him, gazing ahead when she catches the look on his face. But, no, no. One step, two, the snow crunches beneath her boots as she steps closer, wary and careful not to--
"No!" Traitor, the cross says. She attempts to shove past the men, finding no headway in this. Murmurs reach her ears. The sickening scratch of a blade ripping through fabric--flesh? Her stomach roils, breath catching. "Move!"
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Instinctively, he moved to grab her, trying to pull her away from the congregation of men. He didn't know this magic or what could happen, but he knew that while Alliser Thorne thought he was doing right, the other men would have no qualms about killing a woman. How many among them were already murderers? What was one more body in the courtyard.
He could see his other self, the one dressed in black fall back against the snow. Small huffs of breath disappearing in a sliver of fog, the slush around him turning dark. The smell of blood was strong, but he couldn't remember noticing it before, not in that moment. He could see the sky and the stars, a single flicker of light before everything dimmed. But he never thought he'd see it from his place, as though it were another man that was dying in the snow.
Everything was beginning to warp around them, turning to nothingness just as Jon knew it was happening for him. A whisper of death before their eyes. And then their surroundings began to change again, a room Jon knew and could never forget. There was a large table, a brazier and Ghost on the floor. Laying on top of the desk was Jon, undressed and still as a corpse. His stab wounds were fresh and cleaned. There was no one else about, only Ghost who seemed to sense something and raised his head.
With a sudden gasp, the body awoke and Jon was alive again.
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"Release me." Struggling in his hold. Against it. He's behind her and he's before her--younger, darker, wilder--and the illusion teaches her one very painful lesson about something she'd suspected, but could never confirm. "Release me!"
The darker, younger Jon slumps to the ground and she's clawing at her Jon's wrists. This is far, far too much like her hallucinations, and she wonders: has she gone mad? It feels real enough, as the House of the Undying did, even as Viserys and the wings in her back did. That's the problem with magic and illusions. Its main purpose is to trick.
Dark crimson, near black at the time of night, begins to pool around his body. She stares, horrified, as one by one, his 'brothers' walk away. Traitors! she wants to shout at them all.
Immediately, the scene shifts. Wisps of fog, clouds of nothingness swallowing the images away, soon materializing a new scene. This time, he's in a room. Clean, half naked, the wounds on his chest far uglier than the healed over scars on Jon's chest. She slips from her lover's hold and pads closer, throat working against the tightness--like fingers constricting around her windpipe.
The sight of him dead on a table makes her stomach twist in rebellion. Like ser Barristan. She couldn't save either of them. What kind of queen is she if she cannot protect her people? It doesn't matter that this happened long before she'd met him. Doesn't matter if ser Barristan had died fighting to defend their city. It's--
A jerk. A gasp. A body shooting up. The younger, deader Jon suddenly is not dead, and she's left staring. First at this one, then at hers, unable to find enough of her mind to think of something to say.
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It was only when the scene changed that he released his hold on her, stepping back as close to the corner as he could. He could still feel that shock and fear, that confusion to his surroundings and what had happened. It had almost been like waking from a vivid dream, he needed a moment to find his bearings and recall where he was.
Then it struck him, all his past self needed was to look down at his chest to realize and remember. Ser Davos seemed to appear from almost nowhere, charging forward to catch Jon as he stumbled to his feet and struggled to get off the table. His past self was wrapped in a cloak and helped onto a stool. It seemed a blur to him now, events that were in the back of his mind but not truly real.
There was talk between them, the sort of subjects she might be familiar with when it came to Jon. Belief that he had failed and guilt self imposed because of it. It was only when Melisandre entered that it changed. What had he seen when he died? What was beyond life? Nothing, nothing at all. Then came the pronouncement that he was the Lord's chosen. While his past self could only stare at her in confusion, the older Jon toed the ground and sighed, uncomfortable with the entire idea.
"That is just a legend, the Prince that was Promised."
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Her hands fall to the table he'd been on, watching the scene play out with a strange look in her eyes. So he'd died. He truly had taken a knife to the heart, Davos was not merely a Northerner with his silly tales. Of course she'd suspected... but how could one return from the dead?
"The translation is gender neutral," she says, voice dull. Still, she watches the trio. "It means the prince or princess. I said I liked it better that way."
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If he were superstitious, he would assume that it was that moment that lead the Gods to take Rickon. However, he knew that was Ramsay's doing and no one else's. This was his.
The mention of the prophecy had him turning to look at her more fully, seeing her distress and how sick she felt. "Someone told you about it too?" That wasn't a surprise really. She brought dragons back into the world. Why shouldn't it be here?
let's say that the memory = he can understand Dothraki
"Melisandre did." Only when it grows too cloudy to see the scene before her does she look to him. What does one say in response to this? Gods, but even suspicion cannot hold itself to this. He'd died. "She wished for me to summon you to Dragonstone."
It might've frightened her that they're both swallowed by the mist, but she finds it to be a relief. It means not looking to him in that moment. It means she has a chance to gather her thoughts. It means--
"Bring in Drogo's widow," comes a voice from the fog, speaking in Dothraki.
--No. She stiffens. No, no, no.
Yes, yes, yes. As the scene shifts, they're no longer in a cold and dark room, but a large and spacious wooden building. Fires burn, casting the immediate vicinity in dancing shadows. It's evening, that much is clear. Further ahead of them sit a cluster of men. Khals.
A door creaks open and in walks three women: two of the Dosh Khaleen, and then herself. Messy hair half pulled back. Ragged clothing more appropriate for living with the horselords than anything she would willingly don as a queen. She stands beside Jon, staring long and hard at these men with an unreadable expression.
The other khals speak once she's left to stand before them. Insulting her height, how they would like to taste a khaleesi, laughing over their stupid jokes. The laughter dies, however, when the man who summoned her says, "She belongs with the Dosh Khaleen." Then, they discuss the masters of Yunkai, the reward for turning her in.
"Still so foolish," she murmurs loud enough for Jon to hear.
'Kay!
Should he thank Melisandre for that? So much was complicated with her that all he can discern from the flood of confusing emotions is simple surprise. If that was all that made sense, he would concentrate on that.
There isn't time to focus on any of that or even reply, the scene has shifted to a place he doesn't recognize. He knows Dothrakhi when he sees them, having been surrounded by them at Dragonstone. These were men that he didn't know and hadn't seen among her armies. He spent so long trying to place them, it almost slipped his notice that he could understand their language.
He stepped closer to Daenerys, watching intently as she stood on the platform, listening to their insults and decision for her future. His fists clenched at the sexual nature of their comments, but much like with Ramsay, he kept his composure.
"They didn't hurt you?" She had told him that she had been abused and sold by others, but never went into details. This wasn't that moment? He couldn't stomach it and would tear these men apart if it were.
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--"Don't you want to know what I think?" she asks.
Khal Moro stares at her, eyes narrowing. "You'd rather be sold into slavery? Or maybe you'd like to show Rhalko here what you taste like?"
She shakes her head, expression blank, tone bored. "No. I don't want either of those things."
"We don't care what you want." One of the Dothraki says. Khal Moro shakes his head, saying, "This is the Temple of the Dosh Khaleen. You have no voice here, unless you are Dosh Khaleen. Which you are not, until we decide you are."
"I know where I am. I have been here before." She looks up, stepping away. Her voice rises as she turns to gaze into one of the braziers. "The is where the Dosh Khaleen pronounced my child the Stallion Who Mounts the World."
"And what happened?" Khal Moro interrupts. "You trusted a sorceress like a fool. Your baby is dead because of you. And so is Khal Drogo."--
Much like the memory of herself, Dany doesn't react. There is a coldness to her gaze as she watches the khals with sharp eyes. But her thoughts, they're not on what this discussion will reveal to her lover. The mistakes she'd made as a girl. No, her mind is on what will happen next, and what would happen to Jon if the flames engulfed them both.
"We need to leave."
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Her voice cut through the memory, interrupting the accusations and sharp reminders of her past. Her child, her former husband, he heard briefly about all of this, but it was only recently. He couldn't think that was why she would want to pull him away. It was a dark secret he wasn't already aware of.
So what would make her want to run?
"Why?" He looked back at her, tearing his eyes from the scene briefly. "What happens?"
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