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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Gilbert Nightray | memshare prompts fight me
[ The air is hazy with smoke, not-so-distant fires crackling all around. The sharp metallic stench of blood undercuts the acrid odor of burnt fabric, burnt wood, burnt flesh. It looks to be the inside of some kind of palace, with bloody corpses fallen in all the corridors, in doorways, sprawled over the stairs.
In the middle of it all is Gilbert himself, sitting cross-legged on a clean spot on the floor. He looks entirely unconcerned and perhaps even bored as he lights a cigarette and takes a long drag. This isn't the first time this has happened to him, he doesn't suspect it'll be the last. No point in getting worked up over it. Either it'll clear up on its own soon, or he'll shake Raven awake to get him out of here. He really doesn't want to resort to that, however. Since he's already using his Chain to keep Elliot's Chain under control, the extra exertion will probably cause him to pass out for the better part of a day, and in the meantime who knows what mischief Humpty Dumpty will get up to. Sigh.
Yeah, best just to give it some time to clear up on its own. He flicks a bit of ash off the end of his cigarette in the general direction of the mess around him, then has another mildly disgruntled, ultimately unconcerned drag. ]
[ ★ — WELCOME TO YOUR FUNERAL ]
[ Gilbert blinks and he's standing before a casket. A priest drones on about a young life lost too soon, the tragedy of it, the peace that comes with death, how Elliot is well met by his family waiting for him on the other side—
Elliot.
His head jerks up, looking around him in disbelief. Vincent is next to him, that drab and overcast day, all of them in funeral blacks. Vincent sniffs into a handkerchief, though Gilbert doesn't see any tears. There are other nobles assembled, some representation from each of the houses, though neither Duke Nightray nor Leo are there.
Elliot's in that casket.
It's small. It's too small. Elliot shouldn't fit in there. How could they fit all of him, all of his strength, his presence, his personality, into that little polished box? How can he be gone when he was just here, was always here, as as much family to Gilbert as anyone has ever been?
Elliot's in there. He's in that box and he's never coming home again.
There was so much to deal with after the party. Not just Elliot's death, but Vanessa's. Everything that came to light that day, everyone who was hurt, all the greater implications of what they learned.
Gilbert never got to take a breath until this day, never had a moment for it all to sink in.
Now that one hysterical thought keeps repeating in his head.
Elliot's in there. Elliot's in that casket. Elliot's in there. They're going to put him in the ground.
A wave of nausea tears through him. How did he get here? Why is he here again? He turns, just as he did that day. He knows no one will come after him. He runs from the cemetery to the far tree line, runs until he reaches a clearing, crashes to his hands and feet. He doesn't want to be here. Hunching over the base of a tree, he dry heaves even as tears burn at his eyes, blurring his vision. ]
Dammit. [ He swears under his breath, trying to banish the sight of that fucking box. Get a grip, Gilbert. Elliot's not in there. He's waiting for you. He's at home if you just pull yourself together and get out of this mess. He just has to get up, get out of here. But he doesn't move. He chokes on his breath. He can still hear the rambling, meaningless eulogy. A gasping sob escapes him. ]
the worst
He shouldn't be here.
Wasn't all of this supposed to be gone?
There's a nervous swallow as he walks down the footpaths between the graves, spotting Fred, Claude and Ernest's names are all there in a row, before he stumbles upon a name he never thought he'd see. Vanessa Nightray is there and the grave is fresh. For a moment he thinks he's seeing things, blue eyes wrenched wide as he moves closer to examine. This couldn't be real...this had to be some bizarre dream. Had he fallen asleep without knowing? Was this another nightmare?
There's another fresh grave, just beside her's. He's afraid to look at the name but can't look away, can't peel his gaze from the inscription carved into the stone.
E L L I O T -- N I G H T R A Y
Never so quickly has the air in his lungs escaped him. Seeing his own name there, staring back at him...it's too much. A hand is raised to his chest, gripping the front of his shirt, the color draining from his face. He has to get away, out of the cemetery, and so his feet begin to move at a brisk pace, taking him god knows where. There are trees up ahead and so that's where he heads, breathing shallow, steps rough and uneven.
It's only when he spots a familiar figure up ahead that he stops in his tracks, hanging back. Gilbert's...sobbing. Was it because of the graves back there? What sort of fucked up dream was this?]
...Gilbert?
[He calls out to him anyway because what else is he supposed to do?]
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Elliot.
Elliot, calling his name.
Elliot, who shouldn't be here, who's in that wretched little box, who's going into the ground but waiting for him at home if he can just pull himself together—
His head jerks up and he sees Elliot there, standing over him. For a long minute he's only able to fix Elliot with his wide-eyed gaze, breath coming in shaky, shallow gasps.
Then he's on his feet, stumbling towards his brother, his little brother, his youngest brother, the best of them, the brightest and kindest and and most straightforward of them. Elliot who has always, always stood on his own two feet. Who never doubts, whose existence is whole and conviction never falters, never wavers. ]
Elliot—
[ It's not real until Gilbert holds him, until Elliot's thin frame is in his arms, too thin, needs more feeding. When they get out of here he'll make dinner. Plan breakfast. Pack Elliot's lunch. He grips Elliot tight and tries to get a handle on his wracking sobs.
No, Elliot shouldn't be here. He doesn't know. He should never have to know. ]
How— [ Gilbert begins and then stops, wanting to ask what Elliot's doing here, how he even got here, but how can Gilbert ask when he doesn't know how he himself came to be here? So he falls silent, still holding Elliot, still trying to stop his tears. ]
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He let's Gilbert hold him, doesn't push him away, even returns the embrace after a moment although he's uncertain with his grip. What was he supposed to do about any of this, especially when he's not even sure what's happening right now.]
Hey...you don't need to cry, alright? This is just some weird dream...I don't know what's happening but it's not going to last forever.
[Because how could any of this be real? It had to be a dream. There's just no other explanation for it.]
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We... We have to get out of here. I have to keep you safe. We— We have to get out. Get back... Back home.
[ Yes, home. Their little cramped apartment, Elliot's cat. The home that Nightray Manor never was. If Elliot's here, if this is really Elliot, then— Can he use Raven? Can he justify it? What if he passes out and Humpty gets loose? Gilbert's head jerks back, eyes on Vanessa's grave through the dense thicket of trees. He can't see but a glimpse of it, but he knows it's there. Knows they fastened her head back in place with a black ribbon like some terrible macabre joke. ]
Come on, let's— Let's find a way out.
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[Yeah, this is definitely some weird dream. It's a bit more tame than others he's had, and it's weird that Gilbert seems to be having a fit over the contents of it...but maybe he thought it was real. Maybe he thought that the grave back there really was his grave.]
We just have to wake up, right?
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I have to— You're all I have left. Don't you understand? I can't lose you again—
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Lose me again? You didn't lose me. I'm right here. I told you we're always going to be brothers, remember? I mean, I got mad at you for leaving back then but I'm mostly over it...
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Then he lets go. Draws in a slow, steadying breath. Then he gives a hard swallow, nodding his head. ]
...sorry. I— ...I'm a sorry excuse for a big brother as usual. Sorry Elliot.
[ Gilbert says this slowly, savoring the syllables of Elliot's name. The ability to say them. The gift in this moment, and all the moments before it. ]
Let's... Let's find a way out of here. Stay close.
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Stop apologizing. You didn't do anything...let's just get out of here.
[But how? That's the question. The forest seems too dense to travel further into, so it only makes sense to work their way back toward the cemetery and up the main road past the church.]
This way.
[That's right. Back toward his own grave.]
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No, I can't—
[ The sounds coming from that direction distort; they're not recorded in Gilbert's memory. Here is when he lost himself to tears. He'd thrown himself to the ground here, pounded the earth with his fists until his knuckles were bloody and bruised, cried himself sick and then laid there among the gnarled tree roots and underbrush until someone came to collect him. Break, he thinks. Or maybe it was Vincent. Usually it's impossible to mix those two up, but here, in this memory, Gilbert has no idea who came to retrieve him. ]
I can't—
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[Seriously, Gilbert? You're making this way more difficult than it has to be.]
Look, do you think I want to walk back through a creepy cemetery as much as you do? Of course not! Do you see me freaking out? No? Let's go Gilbert!
[Don't make him literally drag you.]
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But Elliot is insisting, and any more fuss and— Elliot doesn't know, doesn't realize. He can't be the reason Elliot learns, can't be why Elliot understands the true devastation hiding in plain sight. So he forces himself forward, one foot in front of the other. ]
Not there. [ He gestures at the funeral still in progress, nodding instead to the other side of the cemetery, nearer to Vanessa's grave. ] That way. Don't... Don't know what happens when you turn up at your own funeral, but it can't be good.
[ He manages, just barely manages not to choke on his own words. ]
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[He's already walked past the grave with Vanessa's name etched into it, along with a headstone bearing his own...but this had to be some fucked up dream, right? Nothing of what Gilbert says makes any sense. His own funeral?]
I don't know what kind of nightmare we've found ourselves in, but nothing in here is real Gilbert. Don't you realize that?
Welcome to your funeral
He's witnessed far worse in reality than a single procession of grief, so neither the priest's droning nor the weary looks from apparent family move his heart in any particular direction. Not until one figure breaks away, fleeing as though the deceased and every other restless ghost here were hot on their heels.
He doesn't need three guesses to know this piece of haunting nostalgia must belong to the one person most traumatized by revisiting it. So both out of obligation, and the smallest hint of curiosity, Dazai follows suit. It doesn't take long to find Gilbert, nor assess what sort of terrible state he's in.
There are plenty of adages about not startling wild animals or waking sleepwalkers, but few wives-tales bestow the best knowledge on how to console any manner of bereaved strangers. The wrong touch, given with the hope of comforting, might be ill appreciated. And too many or few words could only cause further distress by crushing a man's ego when he's already emotionally felled.
So Dazai takes a page out of his own book of quirks, making enough noise through a thoughtful hum or two, before tossing a quiet comment from against the tree Gilbert is sobbing upon. ]
It looks like rain, don't you think?
[ As if there exists an immediate threat of an actual downpour, not that of some imagined memory of it, and it'll be abated by a single handkerchief, Dazai extends one out toward the man doubled over in grief. He isn't meeting Gilbert's eyes just yet, and instead focuses on the sky. It's a purposeful attempt at giving the other man a second of privacy to collect himself before Dazai is forced to intrude further upon such a private moment of loss. ]