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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No, I suppose not.
You recall my story, yes? About the fate of my comrades?
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[Stories of betrayal resonate with Ardyn, and will remain with him for a long time. Even in passing. He did not forget X’rhun’s so easily.]
Is this what I’m witnessing, then?
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[ His younger self has a bit of a way to go yet, delayed by a body among a pile of rubble, a soldier of Ala Mhigo, clad in a charred uniform of earthy greens and browns. X’rhun of the past kneels over the still form, looks it over for some sort of identifying information, and finding none, takes a moment to offer a small prayer for a fallen brother.
Even now, X’rhun remembers the man’s face. ]
For whatever it may be worth, welcome to my homeland.
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But if he were ever to see them like this? He does wonder how well he would take to it -- if at all.
But he is not the subject today. It is his companion's, and his eyes continue to follow the figure of the other. He gestures out in his direction, idly.]
A homeland ravaged by war is most unflattering, indeed. I shall not hold it against yours. [A beat.] You seem rather calm, watching all of this unfold again.
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[ The younger shadow of X’rhun is soon on his way again, and whether compelled by the memory or out of habit, present-X’rhun follows along after him, trusting Ardyn to follow. The grand keep of Rhalgr’s Reach is well-concealed by magicks, and as X’rhun’s younger self follows a bend in the river, it looks for a moment like maybe he’s come across a dead end. However, he knows the way through the illusion, and the spectators to this memory are brought along with him.
There is some activity yet bustling in the Reach, healers tending to the wounded in the infirmary, others unwilling or unable to sleep milling around the myriad of tents occupying the river’s shore, at the feet of Rhalgr himself. Despite that, though, it is quiet.
Quiet until someone screams.
In the memory, X’rhun runs towards the source, the makeshift barracks of his fellow Duelists, but the real X’rhun winces involuntarily at the sound. He knows what’s to come, but he is tugged along to see it again anyway. Men and women in bright crimson, unmoving, as their clothes and the ground beneath them are stained darker crimson still. Some of them lie still in their bedrolls, run through in their sleep, others have their only rapiers half-drawn, taken by surprise.
X’rhun can place a name with every form. They were comrades in arms, all of them. Every man and woman, every hyur, miqo’te and roegadyn.
His younger self tears away the flap of the nearest tent, turning sharply to peer inside. The real X’rhun does not need to see the empty spot once occupied by Lambard’s bedroll and other affects to know that it’s there. Anger seeps into his past self’s frame, every line of his body going taut with rage.
Traitor! Someone screams. There’s a traitor in our midst! The Duelists… they’re all dead!
Past-X’rhun whirls to find the crowd that had gathered growing larger. Like a pack of hunters zeroing in on their prey, all eyes fix on him, as if drawn by the movement.
Not all of them, says another voice, accusation heavy in their tone.
Beside Ardyn, present-X’rhun tries his best to remain impassive, but there’s no denying the tension settling itself into his shoulders, or the way the leather of his gloves creak as he tightens his fists. ]
no subject
But as they are pulled along with X’rhun’s memory, there is the tiniest flicker of it. A painful remembrance, one that he doesn’t know what to do other than look on and watch. Unfurling before them, this bloody scene of betrayal. He knows the feeling — he would bet life and limb on the fact that there’s likely something cold coiling in X’rhun’s chest right this moment. Like a snake, fangs bared, tense and ready to spring. He is keeping it controlled, he knows, but Ardyn has no doubt that it’s there.
He raises a hand to adjust the brim of his hat, pushing it lower in a seemingly casual way, even as his eyes track against the scene.]
...Dreary, dreary. We needn’t stay and look on, you know.
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X’rhun takes the suggestion, turning away as one of the camp’s commanders intervenes on his behalf, talks down the crowd before things become too heated. His past self lingers there to help tend to the bodies of his fallen comrades and gather his things for his inevitable exit from Ala Mhigo, but the present X’rhun climbs the stone steps and takes to the bridges that cross over the pool of water that bisects the Reach. He follows the path to the feet of the towering statue of the Destroyer, Ala Mhigo’s patron deity. ]
I did not think I would find myself here again, even in a shadow. ‘Tis strange, but I am glad for the chance to look upon my home again.
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He cranes his neck up to look at the statue of the Destroyer, curious.]
You are far too positive an individual, X'rhun. Surely there were other memories to be graced with, ones that would not cause so much... well. I would say anger, but you seem to be sparing yourself from such an emotion.
[Ardyn wouldn't be so generous, if images from his own betrayal came back to haunt him.]
Perhaps it's because you've found resolution? Closure?
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[ He casts his gaze up, up, up to the looming visage of the God of Destruction. Probably a strange patron for a nation to take, but it has always been somewhat fitting for his home, he thinks. ]
I know I leave this place, and I meet Alisaie. I meet Arya and the Warrior of Light, and at long last, I meet Lambard again. Justice is served, and in my absence, my pupils achieve what I cannot and bring freedom to my homeland. There is hope, here, and that is what I choose to look upon.
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At least there is some comfort in knowing that there are a number of certainties to come. I must admit that a small part of me is jealous. Of that, and your ability to look upon such a sight with something at all shaped like hope.
[His own closure, left hanging. Unfinished and undone.]
So what are we looking at? [He means the statue.]
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This is Rhalgr, the God of Destruction, and patron deity of Ala Mhigo.
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[He looks over at X'rhun, quirking a brow from beneath the shadow the brim of his hat casts across his face.]
Not quite what I had expected. Why destruction?
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[ X’rhun’s gaze falls to the placard at the base of the statue, and the etching of the symbol of Rhalgr there. He trails his gloved fingers along the lines carved into the stone. It is with that contact that the imperfections of this memory start to become apparent – a spiderweb of cracks start to crawl out from X’rhun’s fingers, causing him to jerk his hand back suddenly.
The cracks shoot up the full height of the statue, and slither quickly over the stone walkway at their feet. Alarmed, X’rhun looks over at the people of the Reach, the figures from his memory, who seem to neither notice the cracks nor care. ]
What-?
[ Beneath them, the stone platform starts to give way. ]
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He knows immediately that this is not part of the memory. Perhaps their time is up in X’rhun’s remembrance, maybe they’ve dallied for too long away from its focus. But regardless of the reason, stone falls away from their feet, piece by piece, like something rotted and sloughing off. The world turns hazy and white, until there is nothing at all, and they begin to fall through the floor which no longer exists beneath their feet.
It’s like the end of a dream, or the start of one. And when they land, it’s blades of green grass that bend beneath the soles of their boots. Gently swaying in the breeze all around them, and there’s the rustle of thin tree branches overhead. Several more dot the landscape, and in the distance are the silhouettes of navy mountains cast against the canvas of an azure blue sky.
Ardyn knows the look of this land by instinct alone, the gentle hills and dales of the land, the sharp spikes of rock jutting up against the horizon far in the distance, where an ancient meteor once fell. Duscae.
In the distance, there are the small outlines of figures, near what appears to be a lonely homestead. They’re too far out, really, for Ardyn to really notice them just yet. Too caught is he in the revelation that this is Eos; this is a memory belonging to him.]
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Not so for his companion, if the way Ardyn is taking in the sight is any indication. ]
Ardyn?
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…From one memory to another. Welcome to Eos, my friend, in all its natural beauty.
[He forces a smile, and a wide sweeping gesture of his arm. The breeze plays at his already mussed hair, and his eyes track across the distance set before them. They land upon the homestead in the distance, a small, ramshackle-looking thing. Quaint, with a small stable that could house no more than maybe two chocobos at any given time. The figures there, they are hard to make out at this distance…
But this is a memory. Ardyn does not remember what it is like to stand this far from what is unfolding; soon, he will realize that instead, he plays a more prominent part in all of this than just an observer who remembers what Duscae looked like. This becomes obvious soon enough.
Something about the atmosphere lurches forward, momentum dragging them forth while somehow standing still. The setting shifting past them, green and trees and a line of birds that fly in the sky, and suddenly they stand near that little home, and the people surrounding it. Disorientation floods his senses, before he forces his mind back into focus. The people — a woman and her three young children, speaking to a man dressed in black, standing beside a black chocobo with glossy feathers. The bird has the look of the traveling sort, with large saddlebags strapped to it, holding all manner of who-knows-what. The man himself has hair the color of wine, and he laughs at something the mother had said. It’s a light and airy sound, well-meaning, and his eyes glint with amusement. She speaks again.
Thank you for what you’ve done for us. All of us — we owe you a debt. It’s true what they say about you, about your magic. You’re the light that fights against the dark—
Something coils in Ardyn’s chest, for he knows this scene. He has lived through many of them, hundreds of them, the same reflections of gratitude given to him so many times. The fool who stood there, taking in darkness and pain for the sake of a nation that would make him suffer for it.
It’s hard to quantify exactly what he feels. There’s too much of everything swirling in him, but he turns to X’rhun almost immediately. As if having a stranger here is a vulnerability that he must patch up.]
Well. What you see here is nothing that I haven’t already told you about.
[Except that’s not true. X’rhun has not seen this other Ardyn. The expression that he wears, the sincerity of that smile. He looks younger, less weighted with a tiredness around his eyes. The black chocobo next to him kwehs softly.]
no subject
[ He means that, though he wonders the sentiment means much to Ardyn, who would see the place shrouded in darkness if given the chance. Mayhap there was a point when he would have agreed.
The scene goes lurching beneath their feet, and though neither of them physically move, the sudden way everything starts zooming has X’rhun reaching for Ardyn’s arm to steady himself. Ah, but they’re not bound by the rules of reality, not here where they are outside observers to an event long past. Their sudden arrival at the little homestead begins to make sense when his eyes land on the man the woman is speaking to.
To hear about Ardyn’s past is one thing, but to see it like this…
There they are, side by side, the man who thought to save the world, and the man whose destiny it became to doom it. In age, they don’t look terribly far apart, but the Ardyn he knows wears his many, many years in other ways. Not once has he ever seen Ardyn smile like that.
It feels like he’s witnessing a betrayal on par with, if not worse than, what they just witnessed from his own past. He knows what is to happen to this man. The proof is standing right next to him, the sleeve of his coat still clutched lightly in X’rhun’s fingers.
To his credit, he keeps his thoughts about the scene to himself. ]
It seems we are both bearing witness to tales we’ve already told, today.
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The scene behind Ardyn continues to play out. Thanks from the mother, one of the young children coming up to Ardyn and asking if they can pet the chocobo, they've never been close to a black one before. And Ardyn, laughing teasingly, and eventually hoisting up the child and placing them in his chocobo's saddle. The boy grins wide, petting at the chocobo's neck.
The Ardyn of now brings a hand up to adjust his hat, huffing out something dry.]
Yes. And you know how this one ends.
[Or rather, how it's left hanging with no ending at all.]
A shame I can't reach out and tell him to stop what he's doing, hm?
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You know you better than I. Even if you could, would he really listen?
[ He knows far too well what it feels like to believe you are doing the right thing. To take up arms in the name of a crumbling nation, or to take in the plague that ravages the people, and believe that yours is the righteous cause will make one hold fast in the face of opposition. ]
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[Well, he would do it, anyway. He's sure of it; the gift of hindsight would not change the mind of a man like that, who held the ability to do good at his fingertips.
He doesn't finish that sentence.]
Well, adhering to destiny has always been a theme of my life. I see no reason why it would change, even if someone told him the path that lay before him.
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