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( introlog #5 ) strangerer things
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. ON A BEAM OF LIGHT ![]()
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. CLOSE ENCOUNTERS ![]()
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. DECISIONS, DECISIONS... ![]()
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.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. FINAL OOC NOTES
An AC-eligible thread with a new character as a participant for 2 REP POINTS FOR EITHER OLYMPIA OR WYVER may be submitted from this log. SUBMIT THE THREAD FOR OLYMPIA OR WYVER HERE AND HERE RESPECTIVELY BY APRIL 29th 11:59 PM EST.
We will no longer be providing overflow posts. In an event where the post hits CAPTCHA, players are advised to move threads to an overflow post on their character journals or create their own catch-all post. These threads remain eligible for AC, AC Rewards, and REP. 1 SILVER = 1 US DOLLAR. |
I'm proud of your environmental consciousness
So his expression goes smooth at the sound of Richie's voice, the emotion giving way to his usual smoothly cheerful-ironic mask. The smile becomes a smirk. And he turns, steps in such a way that ever-so-subtly puts him between Richie and the echo of his sister (knowing, knowing, that it's not really her, but still; he still has to). And he deflects: ]
Oh, come now. What do you know about music, mon Richard?
i fucking love the earth bruh
It's nothing of the sort. Shielding the girl. Richie's pace stutters for a moment.
He should have expected that. Even now, By-by? The gal is probably just refracted light and pixie dust, and they're too engrossed in their instruments to dive off into scandalous conversation.]
Didn't I tell you? I worked in radio. I ran a whole music segment, Byerly, that was my gig. [His brows lift and he sighs.] Wasn't the classical stuff though, I'll grant you that.
she's our MOTHER bruh
[ A little step forward adjusts the relationship between his personal space and Richie's, enough to hopefully make him take a corresponding step back. Urging him towards the door an inch at a time. ]
I'd taken you for a complete neanderthal. But it seems there's a bit of artistry in that blunt soul of yours after all.
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Oh you know it. I gotta split for the cave anyway, son, grab my bone club and go bag a woolly mammoth for the Missus. She's got the appetite of a t-rex, you know how it is.
[Richie's sent a hand behind him as a scout, and it finds the door handle before he can rattle off about sabretooth throw rugs. He turns it and flings the door open, spinning on his heel to leave.
Except he's looking in a funhouse mirror maze. The scene of the room he's leaving — two grown men and the kid on the fiddle and the kid at the keys, the musty heirlooms and molding drapes — are all repeated and infinite, growing smaller through each open door but no less vivid, no less real. Richie can see the back of his head tilt as he leans further into the frame, gobsmacked. The sweet tune behind him has now turned to an echoing cacaphony, each iteration amplifying the music two-fold.
It's a rare thing that he's stunned into silence, but here you have it.]
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[ Byerly, meanwhile, seems a bit put off by the oddity of it - but not much more than put off. He frowns at the odd refracted patterns, but, well...Is the distortion of the image so much odder than the appearance of the image? They're searching and digging through his memories; so what if those memories are made strange? So Richie's frightened silence seems bizarre more than anything else. So By urges him - ]
Shall we press on?
[ And he takes a step out into the odd illusion. ]
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Richie frowns, following after and feeling a shiver as all the phantom repeats edge forward too. A conga line of little men drifting off, smaller and smaller and smaller...]
Seems a little pointless, don't you think? We already know what's behind door number two, and three, and four. Wanna take a bet on four hundred and sixty two?
[And the room is exactly the same. The doors all shut behind them once they're through (thank fuck) and they're left with the precocious duo and their genteel serenade.]
What's the deal, anyhow? All this stuff. [He takes a finger to a dusty book. It feels unpleasant to the touch, even if none of the debris comes off when he runs it along that fuzz-laden cover.] Neither one of your clothes fit, either. I thought you were royalty.
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But...Well. He doesn't particularly like the fact that revisiting this memory has sparked questions. Questions that could theoretically be worse - he is not embarrassed of the shit his father put him through; he is enraged by it - but still. ]
What - you're a clever man. Decent education. Musical soul. Haven't you ever heard of the impoverished nobility?
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Bits and pieces. I grew up in a democracy, remember? Most history classes didn't dwell on it.
[Why would a man so sharp and privileged choose to work at a brothel? He'd wondered about it. It was hardly as if there was nowhere else to get hired as a refugee, plenty of them got signed on to respectable things. But Byerly called it a ticket out of starvation.
Richie's gaze flicks to the younger boy. He's not sallow, or waifish. Starving...
It must have come after. There had to be worse than this. Ill wills and misfortunes to give him that edge and that scramble, sharpened the blade that served as his tongue, honed that calculating wit.
Richie leans against a stack and watches the duet. His frown is slight.]
What happened to the family fortune, then?
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[ He smiles slightly, sourness tempered by his pleasure at the clever double entendre. Overbreeding in both senses. There was a reason all the Vorrutyer cousins look like they could be siblings, and all the siblings twins. ]
Père was the fifth in his generation. Not much left for the youngest son. Upon the death of my most dreadful and vile grandfather, he received this crumbling pile and a small income - an income that he refused to spend. Not on clothes, not on repairs, not on food, not on education, not on dowry. Just collected it to brood over, like a fairy-tale monster. [ The smile goes thinner. ] There were several arguments over it.
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You're serious? What a fucking asshole. [He scoffs, eyes the ankles and wrists peeping out of the kid's second rate get ups.] Can't so much as throw a dime your own kid's way. Unbelievable. Did you two split?
[He jerks his to the pair before them.]
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What do you mean by "split"?
[ Though it must be noted - he does rather appreciate Richie's reaction. Not you-poor-things, but what-an-asshole. That's nice. ]
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But that's not what this was. Right. ]
I did. Left with absolutely nothing. She's the smarter one - bided her time till her majority, then gracefully married someone a continent away. Not a single night spent sleeping under a bridge.
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A lot of things make sense now. Just his reactions don't, the prickling up. He's so willing to give over gritty details but he's skirting around something else.]
She's the cuter one, too. [Probably. They're almost identical in their youth, and had struck so in the pods as well. It's strange to see something like that. Features that worked well on both sexes. Most of the time guys made for lumpy, misshapen women, and women's features looked too frail to pass for handsome. Some Like it Hot was a real gas riot, but no one was itching to get Jack Lemmon in a dress again.]
You two keep in touch?
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[ It's telling, perhaps, that that's where he draws the line. And melancholy, too. How many days here has Byerly spent loathing himself for never keeping in touch with Nadine? The specter of disrepute seems so petty here, with her in cryo-stasis, with all the wagging tongues of the vicious rumormongers of his home world stilled for good. Twenty years of silence, when now he wants nothing more than to see her and talk to her and hear her laugh. Thirty years of protection come to nothing at all, thirty years of sacrifices to keep her safe only to end with her vulnerable and alone and imprisoned. He was a fucking idiot.
It is a strange thing, though, that Richie is so free with his questions. What does he care? Why does he care? Does he see some use in this information? Or is he trying to be friendly? The latter option seems...odd, to put it lightly. ]
Maybe I'll answer if you start making this a more equal exchange, my dear. At the moment, I feel quite taken advantage of.
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I'm not after anything, I'm just making some damn conversation. If you don't want to talk about your sister, that's fine. I'll leave off! I'm well versed in how to go fuck myself, thank you very much, but you can't fault me for being curious when we're stuck here.
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Well, it's a rather loaded question, isn't it? Now that we know each other a bit better, friend, tell me: do you beat your wife?
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Do you beat your wife?
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[He takes a step back, shaking his head. Appalled.]
What must you think of me? Christ.
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How strange. I think that's the most sincere I've ever seen you.
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He hates talking to this jackass, he decides. Nothing was ever safe, nothing couldn't be turned into a jab, and he never saw the hits coming. Just walked into every fist like a sucker with his head in the clouds.]
Yeah yeah yeah, I'm a real snake in the grass. But it takes one to know one, asshole. [He turns, tugging at his hair. He strides to the middle of the room and calls out to the ceiling.] Hey, Great Aliens in the Sky! We're done here! We've maxed out on the symphony, time to go home!
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It shows that you're honorable.
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[He turns the knob and flings it open, and the words die in his throat. Sunshine spills around him, blocking the view outside to Byerly.
But the sounds?
Children screaming. Two boys. A guttural, echoing snarl of a beast, wolfish. Then the pang of a gunshot blasts through the room and cuts through the notes of the sweet duet like the swing of an axe.
Richie slams the door shut, skittering back. Shaking. His skin has turned ashen grey and his eyes are wide and owlish.]
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Are we doing another memory or shunting them back to reality?
why is that even a question
I JUST WANTED TO BE POLITE....
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