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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Cowt there, actually can you drop? this pun has erased all of your redeeming qualities
Richie hitches his jacket over his head and starts navigating his way back to camp. He might have to beg for sanctuary when he gets there, his tent was somewheres on the opposite end of the settlement and he'd rather get dry quicker than try to shimmy all the way over.
As he zigzags through the underbrush, he hears someone. It's distant, muffled by the rain, but the electric zip that goes through his spine at the sound comes through loud and clear. He stops short. His eyes are wide under the bleak shadow of his suspended jacket. The wet is soaking through already, he can feel it against his arms.
But he'd heard...
Richie moves forward. Could be one of those errant memory things floating on by. Could be, could be, but he wouldn't know unless he looks.
His figure is slight and perhaps easily lost among the trees, but his feet crunch twigs, splash through puddles. His presence should be secret to no one as he follows the rough direction of that shout.
His heart pounds all the while. Can't be, won't be, shouldn't be...]
that's fair, heads over to the drop page.
[ It isn't a warm rain by any means, and she'd barely been dressed for the weather in the first place. Shivering, Beverly folds her arms, blouse halfway to see-through, and she squints forward until a crunching rustle through the nearby underbrush has her startling a neat 180. A calling card of sinister things over the drumming downpour. She raises a hand to shield her suddenly too-wide eyes as they strain into the thin of the trees. ]
[ There's a gangling figure in there somewhere, oddly top-heavy for its spindly legs until she can identify the jacket pulled over its head. Shadowing its face, but sensible in the bigger picture... too nicely dressed, in theory, for some sort of bog monster, some highway robber. Of course, she doesn't know what anything looks like anymore. Maybe the Creature From the Flona Lagoon doesn't do casual Fridays. ]
Who's there?
[ Called out well over the rain and just a hair's breadth over the threshold of realization that running is going to be a bitch in this mud, so... put up your dukes, pal. ]
thank you for accepting my criticism gracefully, tabs out of wg
He's sure that's another person over yonder. He has to squint a bit, take a few extra steps and get around all this budding foliage. And person it is, seemingly. Looking soggy and sorry as he feels. Human shaped, that's nice. Lady-shaped, even.
(His heart picks up the pace, his mouth is going dry even in this sopping mess, but he can't begin to hope—)
She speaks.
Richie goes very still.
It's odd, you know. He'd only really had one day to know her as a woman. A sprinkle of time in his youth, where she had been just a girl with coltish legs peeking out from tartan skirts and the odd purple moon swelling up the side of her cheek. But there are people whose presence wrestled down within you. Wriggled through the pores of your skin, swam in the divides of sinew to wedge into your bones. Make a home in your marrow. And in spite of the fact that there were a good twenty five years any old Joe could have come up to him and asked, "Hey, you ever hear of a Beverly Marsh?" and Richie would have said, "No sir, why? Is she single?", this year was different. This year, a voice like that has line cast straight into the core of him, hook and bait catching on the meat of his innards and giving a mighty yank.
He straightens some. He feels emptied out somehow. Bubbling up. Ludicrous, clear, electric. Richie opens his mouth and like so many times before, the thick catalogue of party jokes has a zinger up and ready to fire before his mind gets to put a veto on it.]
Me?! Bye the be-yird hairs of bushy-jawed Jaysus, can't ye use yer oiyes, lassie? It's only Aloysius Nell! Deh-rry fhoot patrol, checkin' the ole woods for ohll that skulks and luhrks and lies a-waiting for a foine thing like yerself to come skippin' along unawares, splashin' in ohll the mud an' the puddles like she was fit for a second round o' baptism! What in the bleedin' hell do ye think yer doin' out here?
hey either close the tab or square up ho.
[ But likewise, there's a moment where Beverly falls so totally still, even her muscles forget to shiver. A moment where her blood turns to ice and freezes her the rest of the way to solid in an instant of gut-dropping, head-reeling terror. It hadn't been what she'd thought it'd been, she'd made (double—triple—quadruple) sure of that, but alien nature had one hell of a cosmic sense of humor, didn't it? Or perhaps alien nature was what they'd all had dropped on them in the first place, a hundred million years ago. Who the hell even knows what those two had seen down in the smoke-choked clubhouse. Who the hell could even say it was real (besides, well... all of them). A creature that burrowed down inside your thoughts and used them all against you—fitting, isn't it, that it would take the shape of a spider (big fat black spider, drains the size of freeways) getting all eight of its legs so into your grey matter you don't even notice the mandibles. It felt just shy of familiar, but far past ugly. Creeping in the drains just out of sight. ]
[ There's no spider, down in the bushes. No place big enough for one to hide between the scattering of trees, playing Pied Piper with an old Irish cop. Nary a mention of shapeshifting to be found, back up in the old space library. But quite possibly, were it not for one well-armed gentleman leaving her with the odd seed of hope that some old loon should be down planetside, she might have turn tail and ran right there. ]
[ There's still a moment that runs cold, palpable as a split second of dead silence at Houston, when the instant after zero runs a second too long, the moment a cockpit, a control room, and a nation simultaneously accept that it could all explode right there on the launch pad. Richie Tozier would have Boxer to thank for liftoff, in the bitter end. That fright doesn't quite go nuclear, and when she tries to run after all, it's not away down the road, but chancing straight down off the path, sloshing and skidding down into the real thick of the muck and lunging into the man with all the momentum she can't quite halt. He deserves the smack just as much as he deserves the hug. ]
Oh— Why can't you say hello like a normal goddamn human being?! Everything's looneytunes here and you know it!
[ It meets the crook of his shoulder halfway between blazing frustration and fluttering laughter, as if she knows the answer full well and loves to hate it. It'd been only a handful of days since she'd seen him last, and only a handful of hours she'd seen him before that in nearly thirty-odd years, but if she needed something familiar to cling to then... Now, well... Perhaps if she felt a little ten again, like she had (like they all had) sat around Arthur's Round Table in that darkened library—even just for a moment—all this fantasy nonsense could finally go down smooth. Spoonful of sugar and all that. ]
I've been looking all over for you, [ she can't help but huff, softer now. The beeping in too many words came nostalgic, but the rest of it, she lets it melt her fragile nerves in spite of the chilling rain. Finally found the other little lab rat that got away, the other one too dumb and antsy to keep sleeping through the post-apocalypse. ]
don't threaten me!!!!
His heart leaps. She careens into him and he loses the jacket, loses air, loses a bit of his footing and has to scramble to regain it before they tumble. His arms are full, wrapping tight around the payload that just launched into his chest.
He's stunned too. Laughing, but it's thick and warbled with emotion.]
If I just said hello you'd know it was a fake, wouldn't you? [Richie shivers. His hands find the sides of her head and he leans back to look at her. His eyes are hot and prickling around his contacts, his smile broad but brittle, lips quivering.]
...Beverly.
[He sounds small. Like he too had been transported to the past, that it was some buck-toothed loudmouth with knobby knees and no social grace quivering in her arms, staring at her like a dream come true. Too good to be true, and yet it is.
He can't help it. The dam has snapped, looking into those big doe eyes and hearing her voice, feeling the warmth of her solid body against his. Richie breaks into a sob, burying his face into her shoulder. His arms are chains around her back, not one inch of leeway given. His shoulders shake.]
You've been looking? Baby, I've been waiting. I've waited for-fucking-ever, Christ Beverly, you have no damn clue! I never thought you'd wake up...
:knife:
[ For all he was right and all she could feign to hate that it was so, it's too heavy to be kidding, too hot to be shaking with the cold. The corner of her smile seems to catch on the edge of his collar, peeling right off as he lifts her head off his shoulder. And the smile she's met with seems to fray even worse. The lines around his mouth and eyes, the shadow along his jaw, it all suddenly has the look of a boy drowning in his father's overcoat, tie in a clumsy knot under chin, hat propped just above his eyes by the good grace of his big old ears alone. As if manhood suddenly looks far too big on him. ]
[ And then he shatters off the last of the facade in one fell swoop against her shoulder, that aching sob sending a spider's web of cracks through her own porcelain mask. Sympathy is always quick to burn her eyes, but awash with a rush of confusion, of fear—panic and pain, tears are quick to join the rain painting streaks down the rest of her face. Her arms, already hugging tight, shore up in a reflexive jolt, one hooking the line of his rattling shoulders and the other cradling his head. Fingers thread soothingly through his short crop of curls, as if searching through the flood of what he's mumbling for half a lick of sense. ]
Richie—
[ There's a lot of sense there, actually. A little too much she hadn't entirely had the nerve to try wrapping her head around. A little, fuck, there's been so goddamn much, who could blame her. But Boxer, he'd outright told her that Richie was loose, and she hadn't even thought so far as to ask how long. Months, years, decades irrationally spring to mind, there were nowhere near decades in those lines, but her breath can't help but catch, hiccup, her chest seizing trapped against his. Decades, no, but there could be years. All at once, the utter weakness in his voice terrifies her. Even if it is relief. ]
I'm here, Richie, I'm— [ Her arms tense, her fingers squeeze, all solid and real, and she gives it a good, long time before she even dares to move. But she has to pull him off eventually, has to search his eyes. ] How long... How long have I been out? How long have we been—
[ Christ, Richie, how long have you been alone? ]
:bomb:!!!!!!!!
Yet she looks like a goddess even when everything else has turned to drowning rats and mud. With a mug like that Bevvie you should have hauled ass to Hollywood. We might have been neighbors, kid.]
Five months. [He takes an unsteady breath and gives her arms a squeeze.] Sounds like I'm being a real baby, I know, but Beverly this place...Things are seriously wrong here, these people are on the brink of war and we're all getting hit in the crossfire. And it's not regular, Bev, I don't know how much you've seen since you woke up but it's like living in the fucking Twilight Zone. It's all curses and starving monsters and magic wands. I'm telling you, it's a madhouse.
[There's so much she has to know. Stories to tell, and some to edit finely, keep other people's privacy in check and his own in tact, but the bulk of it needs to be said. She can't be safe here armed with the skippy dippy bullshit they'd put on in that little travel fair upstairs. She has to know.
But there's another thing...
He looks over his shoulder. His spilled jacket is gathered and shaken out, for all the good it would do, but he takes her hand again the moment he's slung it over one shoulder.]
Come on. We need to get out of the wet or we'll die of space pneumonia. There's something I have to talk to you about.
no subject
[ She isn't an idiot, try as the world might to make her seem it. Maybe the brochures were cute, in some after school nerd kind of way, maybe the promise of free lodging to get back on one's feet is more than she'd ever expected to get back home, even if they had made it out of everything alive. But no two royal cities sell themselves that hard when there's no beef between them, she could feel it in the air. Richie might be the most unreliable narrator when there's a story to tell (and God in heaven, if he didn't have a story or two by now he'd be lying), but here there's none of his usual bluster here, none of the sort he usually spends in spades on blowing everything out of proportion. ]
[ Whatever's happened here in those five months, it's shaken him to his core so bad he's too messed up to laugh about it. Curses and monsters and magic wands, she'd gotten enough of that up there in space too, and she can't help shuddering when he turns to snatch up his coat. But honestly, it's half a shudder of laughter she's still got kicking around for the both of them. Scraped off the cold bottom of the barrel. ]
I spent the past three days hunting for you round a space station full of freakshows like Sigourney goddamn Weaver, you don't have to waste your breath on regular.
[ Down here, though... Things aren't regular in a whole new way. And even through the chucks, it's noted. She spends that time scraping her sodden hair off her face, off her back and over a shoulder and continuing to tame it down even as his hand finds her other again to lead her along. She takes it firmly, glancing up toward the road before back down into their forested little ditch. There's some brush to push through, but at least the earth is held together by grassroots off the beaten path. ]
Let's hike, the main drag is like quicksand up there. I almost lost my shoes. [ And besides, maybe it'd be a little nostalgic. Eager as she is to be out of the rain at this point, that doesn't mean she's going to stop, ] There's something I have to ask you too.
[ Or, maybe, it does mean she's going to stop, at least verbally as her eyes find her feet to traverse through the undergrowth. She doesn't even know how to go on, how you're even supposed to talk about any of this without getting checked in somewhere. But he's been here five months longer than she has. If either of them are going to think she isn't crazy, it'll be him. She takes a breath before looking up again. There's a million somethings she has to ask him, but first and foremost, ] I saw the others. When I woke up, when I was looking for you. They weren't...
[ Fuck, they weren't regular either. Sleeping, sure, Bill and Ben, they seemed alright on the surface, but just conjuring up the mental image of how ghastly Mike and Eddie looked beneath that glass has heat springing to her eyes and throat again, and her hand clamps a moment around his fingers. ]
That wasn't all part of the crossfire, was it? Or part of the Storm? They look like hell, Richie.
no subject