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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What must you do to make a fool of yourself in a brothel? I thought that was one place where one could do no ill.
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[He gestures towards the two of them, still having a respectable discussion about his assigned reading.]
A powerful magister, knows who he is since he works with his father, walks in. Rather than lying low, waiting it out, perhaps getting some blackmail, I invited him to bed. Father sent me a strongly worded letter.
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[ And now By's mouth splits in a delighted, wicked grin. ]
Did he take you up on it?
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[Dorian tries to remain dignified, but he grins despite himself. A woman calls from another room, saying they can't go all night again. Gereon laughs, reluctantly pats the young Dorian on the shoulder, and rises to leave him to studying.]
He clothed me, sobered me up, heard my plight and took me home. I lived here for years.
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Escaped your father.
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[Knowing he's gone doesn't weigh on him like it used to, but he still frowns too easily.]
Good men didn't last, back home. Neither of them did.
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[He trails off as the door opens again, a teenager holding more resemblance to Geroen slipping in quietly. He's many years younger than Dorian and much more impish in looks, but there's a certain earnestness in his eyes when he greets him. He carries a plate of baked sweets to the desk, and Dorian closes his book with a whisper.
"Don't get in trouble on my behalf."
"I like trouble." He replies. They both snicker, then speak in low voices to avoid being overheard.
Dorian snaps back to reality, drawing in on himself as he speaks again.]
Livia died, and Felix fell ill. He became obsessed with saving his son, even after we'd given him so many years to live, and it wasn't what Felix wanted. We had a falling out, and I left for a time. Little did I know they went south, and he'd bartered with the cult, who told him if he turned back time to end the world with something we'd created together... they'd cure his boy. And Maker, he tried. I witnessed a future where he'd rather his son be a husk of a thing than dead, and I had to kill him to fix it all.
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Carefully - hell, no, uncertainly, because he can't imagine Dorian's feelings about it - ]
It's easy to turn someone's sentiment against them. Far too easy.
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[He takes a breath, looking away from the scene and at Byerly. He isn't coming apart at the seams, but there's an unguarded vulnerability there. Regret, and a fear of being judged, overcome by the trust he has in him.]
They were both still alive, in the present. Felix went home and made a testimony of good will to the senate, then he passed away. His father spent his days wishing he were dead in a cell, no matter how I tried to speak with him. [A beat.] I wasn't a good friend, before all of it transpired. I owed him so much, but in wake of losing his family, I'd told him he should just get over it and move on. If I'd been there for him, if I'd understood, things would have been different.
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The best response he can come up with is a bit self-indulgent. But it is sincere. ]
I'd have done the same. Not that that endorsement makes you a good friend, but I'd have done the same.
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... I think I wasn't a good friend, and maybe you weren't the best brother. But I don't think we were the worst we could have been. I think we tried, and that matters.
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[ Right. Point to Dorian on that one. A very palpable hit. Even so, By reaches out and - with just a hint of awkwardness, because he's far more accustomed to making lascivious gestures than he is to making comforting ones - he squeezes Dorian's elbow. ]
And I'm sure you made up for it later.
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And I'm sure you wanted to. [Then he lets go, clears his throat. The illusion is starting to crack in places.] How do you suppose we get out of here?
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Find whoever's responsible and kill them? Worked for you.
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[He flashes a smile, but he's quick to start for the door before the memory can reset itself. Unfortunately, it doesn't quite open to outside world, though—it's an endless hallway, with distortions mirroring some of Byerly's home, and some of Dorian's. Whatever brought them there evidently wants them to stay.
The walls are thinner than they might be, if it were a completely accurate representation from either—the wind howls where they actually are, out there, but the voices of those they know call sweetly behind closed doors. His smile becomes strained, but he starts walking.]
Ah. I believe we'll have to will our way out—tell me something we can do when we get back.
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[ It doesn't entirely make sense to Byerly, but in his defense, he's much less accustomed to magical madness than some of the others are. So he hesitates a moment, then offers the suggestion: ]
Lay in the sunshine, I suppose. Ought to be getting warm soon...
[ But Byerly's voice is drowned out, abruptly, by - well, by Byerly's voice. From one of the side halls, through an open door, comes his voice, but his voice as Dorian has never heard it before. Because even in anger, By goes quiet and controlled, voice taut. He is always controlled. Never allows himself to slip the reins. But now, in the memory echoing from the side room, his voice is raised, snarling in fury, spitting -
"You useless fucking blind fucking - " And then a pure, apoplectic growl, an almost animalistic noise. "I should fucking kill you for this!"
Beside Dorian, Byerly has gone stiff, his face expressionless. ]
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And oh, he wants to know who angered him to that point, what they did. He wants to be angry for him. But after taking one look at Byerly's face, he remembers that it isn't his business to know unless the man tells him himself.]
Lay in the sunshine, drink something fruity, watch the waves roll onto the shore. [He tries, and reaching to take one of his hands.] I'll tell you you need to work on your tan, and you'll tell me you already look your best.
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[ But he's not really listening. He's too absorbed by the argument in that room. A low, level voice - always so fucking calm, his father, for all that he was a madman and a monster he always stayed calm - responding to him.
"As you wish. Of course, you know that it won't undo what you did."
And then a commotion, a clatter, and a scream. A woman's voice. Nadine's. "Byerly, don't!" And By can't help it; even knowing that this is not Nadine, that it isn't really her, he stumbles a few steps forward towards the noise. ]
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[Dorian falters, because it's a difficult thing to walk away from, even as a bystander. He worries for Nadine, and he worries for Byerly, and he doesn't worry for his father for a second but if he did something to his son, then he wants to know, to help—
He settled for grabbing Byerly's arm at the threshold, keeping him from entering the room, but not from looking in.]
Byerly, he's not here. They're not here.
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Do it.
[ Almost unconsciously, By urges on his younger self. It's futile for more than one reason. Even if he could reach that child, he never really would have been able to bring himself to take the old man's life. Never. And, indeed, just like last time, Father speaks -
"Go on. Be a murderer along all the other things you are. Pervert, rapist. Go on."
And the young Byerly sways again, and tightens his grip - and then turns and hurls the dagger across the room. It bounces futilely against the wall and clatters unsatisfyingly to the ground, the sound dulled by the soft floorboards, and so By searches for something better. He grabs a crystal drinking-glass - hurls it - and it doesn't shatter, either, simply likewise bouncing against the wall and then the floor. And so he snarls, "Fuck! Fuck!" And stands there, grabbing at his hair, overcome, helpless with rage, face turning red and tears starting to spill.
Byerly - the older Byerly - presses a hand over his own eyes. ]
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He moves around the man to slam the door shut, then turns back around to fit his arms around Byerly. He's not particularly well-versed in embraces—he doesn't know if he should be holding him this tightly, where to put his hands, or if he should at all, but it felt like the right thing to do and there isn't any going back now.]
You aren't those things. [He says, still shaken, but stern.] You know that. She knows that. I know that.
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And he blurts out - desperately - ]
Do you?
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[He speaks quickly out of lingering anger on his behalf, but it is with unswayed certainty. Despite his inability to truly know, there's no trace of doubt in his voice, his expression, his grip. No flicker of do I truly know, no wonder because he can't possibly know the full story. He doesn't need to. He pulls back enough to look at Byerly, resting a hand at his neck. ]
He should have known better, and he didn't deserve to have you as a son, and fuck him. Just breathe.
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One does not...wholly expect the strength of one's reaction, considering how long ago it all...happened.
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