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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If I were the one doing this, I would have made myself look younger. [ Obviously. ] But you're right. I'm not much for supposed tos, but I don't think I belong.
[ Following Prior, it just becomes more obvious. He stops and starts, his attention carried off by the noises of the street and the lights changing colors. Nash has never in his life felt provincial, and it still hasn't occurred to him. He still almost trips, trying to catch up with Prior. But he doesn't need to catch his breath. ]
I couldn't find my way alone.
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He notices only when he looks around and... picks something curious off a shoulder. Noodles?]
Well no. Though it looks like you found your way into a carton of General Tso's just fine.
[What the. It's enough of a distraction to make him laugh and take up Nash's hands again, checking him over for more stray snacks.]
And I hope you know it's disingenuous for someone so attractive to complain about their age. Think of those poor souls who never had looks to lose. [They're supposed to be somewhere, the memory he's chasing doesn't play out under a set of streetlights but]
We'll take a cab.
[Or not. The two steps Prior takes with his hand lifting toward the buzzing street pull them straight through a looking-glass shimmer that hadn't seemed there until they touched it, and out into a darker, cooler spot. Apparently his memory hadn't paid much attention to the ride.
They're in a park, on the wrong side of high, closed gates and with a path stretching ahead and behind them. There are very few lights, but enough to see another Prior just ahead, twined comfortably around the person he's walking with.
The Prior beside Nash blinks after them.]
Huh. I suppose that's one way to save on a fare.
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[ He's had many bad experiences with teleportation magic. Even for Nash, it's not a particularly casual way to get around. But it is the one way he knows to go back in time, to see things that had already happened, people you already were. If this was something else…
His body language shifts, from a sort of ephemeral uneasiness to a wary caution. He runs his hand through his hair, flicking away the last of the trash. ]
Do you still want me to follow?
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[In a mirroring gesture, Prior runs a hand back through his hair, pulling off the wig and letting it fall without another glance. Smoothing a palm over his face he finds it clean under the touch. Bare faced he looks younger still, with hair a little longer than it will be five years later, just unruly enough to fall into his eyes.
He frowns, a slight, brief thing, and then nods.]
If you'll still come? I'd still like you to see. [He offers a hand out as he starts walking deeper into the park.]
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Nash isn't sure he has much of a choice— what would he do here? What would happen if he just stood still? But he'd take Prior's hand anyway. ]
What am I walking toward, exactly?
[ His favorite place in the world? Is that what he'd heard? ]
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I know most people heading to the park this time of night make right for the ramble. And we can go there after if you want, but first I want you to meet my angel.
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[ After he says it, Nash realizes Prior might not understand the joke. But the wisecrack is reflexive— it can't be helped.
He makes a gesture with an empty hand, one that says, lead on, and he'll follow. ]
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[No, he doesn't understand the joke, and also wanting a priest is absolutely not what was said, but that's not the point. The point is...
Bethesda Terrace is lit at night, even in the four hours the park's closed. a warm glow, through which the lady at the heart of the park can be seen in silhouette, wings wide as she stretches a foot forward to bless the earth with a touch of her toe.
The other Prior's here, too. He and the boy he brought have stopped in one of the archways, against a pillar: hard to tell now where one of them ends and the other begins.]
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What matters is: ]
It's beautiful.
[ He means it. Beautiful in a way he can recognize, with ordered arches, and lights just bright enough to be mysterious, fascinating.
It's clear by Nash's tone of voice that he means it. He moves closer, to see if he can make out more detail, the small cracks in the tile, the softened edges in the stone. (And if someone left a plastic bag lying around he probably finds that just as fascinating.) ]
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[Prior points out the Angel - they have to walk up to and past his past self to see her properly, the darkest part of the night.]
She's an angel. Bethesda. Winged stone, too heavy to ever take off and yet she's an instrument of flight, hovering forever between earth and heaven. Memorials like these, angels, they commemorate dying, but they're eternal - though statuary. This one is said to have touched earth thousands of years ago with just the tip of one immortal foot, and from that place a healing well sprang, in which all who were sick in mind and body could go to be cleansed of their suffering.
[He takes a few steps forward - and almost trips. The limp's returned without warning.]
But that fountain doesn't exist anymore. Neither does this one, does it? And over there with me? That's Stefano Anelli. He died, two years after this. I remember now, he was one of the first I knew. We only spent this one night and -
[He laughs, something short and scared.]
I think I'm ready to go, now.
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He doesn't realize until the end that there's a sharpness to it. ]
Everything with a beginning has an ending. [ They're vague words, but he's repeated them sometimes at night, when no one was there to hear them. He's never found comfort in certainty. ] I'm sure this does too, but I don't know how to get out of it. Usually…
[ Usually he'd disrupt the source of the spell. But this magic doesn't have a source that he can see, and he's the thing that doesn't fit. ]
Is there anything here, besides me, that doesn't match?
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[He's kissing his ending, over there by the pillar. He's gone over names and places before, where he might have picked up the disease, but always somehow skipped over this. Now he's here it's so obvious, and it's hard to look away.
He makes himself, after a minute. It's far too late to shout warnings no one would hear.
Something that doesn't match.]
The fountain shouldn't be running this late at night, does that count? [It should. Walking over to the angel, her waters run down a flight of stairs into the dark.]
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Oh, just like old times. Do you have a light?
[ He starts checking his own pockets— but usually he has supplies to build a fire, not light a torch. ]
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[But, he reaches into the front of his top and pulls out a slim pack of cigarettes, a lighter tucked into the space where two used to be. They're a memory object, of course, but it might still function.
He's looking somewhat warily into the dark.]
Your old times might differ from mine, a little.
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[ Nash diverts to a nearby tree to fashion a makeshift torch from a stick and some twigs, mud, and a bit of the gunpowder he keeps in his pockets. It's not his best handiwork, but it'll be better than the dark. ]
Can you light it?
[ And then quieter. ]
If this doesn't work, maybe we're supposed to take the way on faith.
[ Not actually his usual style. ]
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Prior watches in a kind of fscinated horror. This is why he was never a boy scout. Macguyvering together flaming torches just isn't something you do in Central Park. But, being presented with the results, there doesn't seem much else to do but try to light it.
The lighter sparks, and the branch goes up - lit at least for the moment. Who knows how far down those steps it will get them.]
We're climbing down a stairwell that isn't there in a place that doesn't exist. What part of this isn't done on faith, really?
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[ The only way out is through. So he ventures into the dark, halting for a moment before going too deep, making sure Prior can manage the steps. But there's not very far to go. Even before he can crack wise about how he hopes this passageway leads to the Lady Lightfellow's chambers— the last pathway he followed through a well— he comes to a door that doesn't need to be opened.
When he steps through the threshold, the light in his hands goes out, vanishing with the torch. The space is lit by a single lamp, the kind with a flame kept sheltered by glass. Outside, it's the high part of night, though the moon isn't visible through the window.
This is an inn in the middle of nowhere. (A day's ride from Toran, on the main road, but still the middle of nowhere.) Nash is in the bed, fully clothed on top of the sheets, just blinking himself awake. He's young— younger than Prior had been, in his visions, or Nash's visions, or whatever— younger, but more recognizable. Nash hasn't changed much, not physically, over the past fifteen years. But he's lost something, a sort of verdant youth, that fades with too many presses of the razor, too many days in the sun.
The woman who is sitting on the foot of the bed looks even younger than he does. She's beautiful, but her face has none of that dewy quality. Her skin is nearly pale as the sheets, but her eyes are red.
"Nash?" she says. "Are you awake?"
It seems debatable. ]
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[He takes Nash's elbow in the dark, about to say something else himself - and then biting it back as the lights fade up, at least a little. The small flame barely lights to the edge of the room, but it does pool over the figure stretched out on it.]
Very respectable. [Prior keeps his murmuring to the level people speak at, late at night.] Still dressed, on top of the covers - you're practically a choirboy.
[The woman Prior thinks he's glimpsed before, though his own abilites, but he keeps quiet on any guesses to let... whatever this is... play out.]
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[ He remembers, now— it had been a day's journey, to the inn, and he'd had to carry the luggage. After not getting any sleep the night before, he passed out as soon as he'd handed over the potch to innkeeper.
The woman tells him as much. "Dinner is over. The landlady is celebrating her birthday. It was… quite the affair."
"I see," says the other Nash. "Too bad." He'll be hungry in the morning.
There's a pause, a silence that hangs like the sword in the parable. Both are leaving things unsaid. Finally, Nash speaks again. "Hey, Sierra." That's her name, apparently. "The power of the 27 True Runes… is it a burden?"
"It is your job to find the answer to that question, is it not?" Her gaze is lidded, eyes heavy.
"Yeah, but— for me, it's a job. For you, it's fate."
And this is about when the other Nash, the real Nash, starts to look for a way out of the room. (Maybe it's wrong to think of him as the real Nash, though. Both are equally true.) ]
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[Prior looks crossways to where Nash is investigating the room for exit strategies.]
It must be hard, seeing her.
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