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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Jon Snow | Game of Thrones
Religion no longer rested easy on Jon. The Old Gods were Lord Stark's gods, and so he had always honored them, even taking his vows before a Heart Tree. But since his resurrection, it was hard to ignore how so much of this sounded the same to things he had heard before. There were different approaches to worshiping (not everyone burned their sacrifices as the Lord of Light's followers did), but there was the warning about how you treat people, the blessings of the gods, etc.
He had gathered with the rest around the podium, curious to see if anything different would be said, but as it was much the same, he had begun to drift out. A crowd had gathered, making his retreat a little more difficult. Accidentally, he stepped on someone's foot, tripping and colliding into their shoulder. He was quick to catch them, keeping himself steady and helping the other person.
"I'm sorry. I didn't think so many would want to listen to this."
The Coming Storm (Forgetting is So Long)
His memories were kept close to the chest, shared only in certain circumstances and with those he trusted. The winds were fierce around him and the rain pelted against his face for a time, only to suddenly let up and disappear. It was in those moments of calm that things suddenly appeared to him. A simple blink and he was returned to Castle Black or Winterfell, moments of his life that had been personal were now displayed before the crowd.
His breath felt ragged in his chest as he stared ahead of him at the scene. "This isn't real. This can't be real."
[ooc: Specify if you want a Winterfell, Castle Black, or Army of the Dead memory.]
Fire and Blood (Wyver)
Everything still needed to be finalized, but Jon had already began to move his things from Olympia to Wyver. Going from the cool temperatures to the heat was a shock to his system. The cloak and heavy tunic he usually wore would have to be cast aside, leaving him feeling naked and vulnerable. But it wasn't only this that made him apprehensive and uncertain, though the decision to be with Dany was the right one.
It was the need for employment. He didn't want to transfer from the guards to the Wyver equivalent, but there was little else he was good at, save for swinging his sword. There weren't many options for a man that had lived his life as a soldier and settling would be a difficult thing. He never felt comfortable relying on others, but it was something he would have to do, at least until he finally made up his mind.
In wandering the city, he found himself suddenly at the fighting pits. It was hardly a place that he would want to go by his own freewill, let alone consider. Fighting for sport rather than honor didn't fall into his code of honor, from the looks of things, it was more for show than anything else. No different than the tourneys or melees he had seen growing up.
Despite himself, he watched from the sidelines, drawn in by the crowd's response and the skill of those fighting.
"These are volunteers? Men who choose to do this rather than slaves?"
Wine with a friend (Closed to Lucy)
Luck had never been a friend to him, but it seemed to be in this case. As he was returning to Olympia to pack a few more things, he found her near the entertainment district. He smiled warmly at her, stopping in his steps, his task already forgotten.]
It's good to see you.
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Are you well healed, then?
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Thanks to you. The stitches will be out soon.
Are you well?
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And find a good healer. Such wounds infect easily.
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I trust you to help me. I would rather come to you for aid instead of someone I don't know. How are you?
the coming storm
She doesn't think they've gone anywhere - she can still feel the crowd, but muffled. Try though she might, Wanda can't psychically struggle free from whatever this is, although her eyes briefly flicker red with the effort.
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"It's a memory." Is all he can. That's what it has to be. Why and how it's happening, he doesn't know. This is his first time experiencing something like this, but as with all the magic in this world, it doesn't surprise him anymore.
"My lady?" Another Jon Snow appeared, this one of similar age but weighed down by a coming battle he couldn't win and a missing spark that made him seem only half alive. He was still one foot in the grave then, before he found the will to live. "You were not at the war council."
"I'm not a soldier." The red woman responded.
"Any advice?"
"Don't lose." Jon at Wanda's side said it at the same time as Melisandre. He knew what would come next, the things he would say and reveal, but he couldn't stop it. He couldn't stop any of this. Wanda would know something so very few did. It was almost like she was being given a door into his soul, free rein to walk and wander across his fears and secrets. He felt frozen and cold, witnessing something he'd rather forget.
"If I do...if I fall...don't bring me back."
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Awkward.
She feels like she shouldn't be seeing this when Jon's never given her a reason not to trust him or look in his head. But there's nothing either of them can do to stop the scene from playing out or the memory-Jon from revealing something that makes Wanda raise an eyebrow. "Bring you back?"
Surely she misheard. Wanda's seen more than her share, but that's just impossible...right?
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"From the dead." He said matter of factly, a slight grumble in his voice. "She can't make that promise. She says that she has to try." Not that it came to that in the end. The battle had cut it close, but he had lived and fought to live himself.
"She claims her Lord of Light wants it this way, to have me back alive."
"A Knife to the Heart For His People" (Closed to Dany)
During it all, he pushed forward, searching for the familiar glimmer of silver hair. The rain was beginning again, the momentary sunlight now hidden by looming clouds. He took hold of Dany's arm, keeping close to her as others tried to rush more quickly towards their destination.
There was no warning for when the memories would come. In the span of a breath, it was there. Just as his fingers curled around her arm, he was standing back in the courtyard of Castle Black. The cold was sharp against his skin, but nothing compared to the dread turning over in his stomach.
He was a witness to his own murder, watching as a group of men stood around him, letting him take in the cross bearing the words "TRAITOR" before Ser Alliser dove forward and crushed his blade into Jon's chest.
Watching the boy he was and the look of betrayal, it made his older self stagger back, as though he were struck as well.
"For the Watch." Ser Alliser said matter of factly. Then one by one, his brothers followed suit. "For the Watch." Until finally, there was only a small boy left, one who had a withering look of hatred and sorrow. His knife went straight to the heart. "For the Watch."
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The two of them are separated for but a moment, broken apart by the flail of bodies running about in mass panic. When the next weather burst hits, the people flee like cattle. Wind whips her cheeks and hair, hail pelting her... until it's not.
And she is in the cold. Snow beneath her feet, Jon's hand on her arm, the darkness of a courtyard tugging from her an involuntary shiver. Her eyes scan the perimeter, but none of this looks familiar. North, of course, if this is indeed Westeros. Is that Jon? No, it can't be, for Jon is beside her. Right beside her, she confirms, glancing up at him, gazing ahead when she catches the look on his face. But, no, no. One step, two, the snow crunches beneath her boots as she steps closer, wary and careful not to--
"No!" Traitor, the cross says. She attempts to shove past the men, finding no headway in this. Murmurs reach her ears. The sickening scratch of a blade ripping through fabric--flesh? Her stomach roils, breath catching. "Move!"
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Instinctively, he moved to grab her, trying to pull her away from the congregation of men. He didn't know this magic or what could happen, but he knew that while Alliser Thorne thought he was doing right, the other men would have no qualms about killing a woman. How many among them were already murderers? What was one more body in the courtyard.
He could see his other self, the one dressed in black fall back against the snow. Small huffs of breath disappearing in a sliver of fog, the slush around him turning dark. The smell of blood was strong, but he couldn't remember noticing it before, not in that moment. He could see the sky and the stars, a single flicker of light before everything dimmed. But he never thought he'd see it from his place, as though it were another man that was dying in the snow.
Everything was beginning to warp around them, turning to nothingness just as Jon knew it was happening for him. A whisper of death before their eyes. And then their surroundings began to change again, a room Jon knew and could never forget. There was a large table, a brazier and Ghost on the floor. Laying on top of the desk was Jon, undressed and still as a corpse. His stab wounds were fresh and cleaned. There was no one else about, only Ghost who seemed to sense something and raised his head.
With a sudden gasp, the body awoke and Jon was alive again.
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"Release me." Struggling in his hold. Against it. He's behind her and he's before her--younger, darker, wilder--and the illusion teaches her one very painful lesson about something she'd suspected, but could never confirm. "Release me!"
The darker, younger Jon slumps to the ground and she's clawing at her Jon's wrists. This is far, far too much like her hallucinations, and she wonders: has she gone mad? It feels real enough, as the House of the Undying did, even as Viserys and the wings in her back did. That's the problem with magic and illusions. Its main purpose is to trick.
Dark crimson, near black at the time of night, begins to pool around his body. She stares, horrified, as one by one, his 'brothers' walk away. Traitors! she wants to shout at them all.
Immediately, the scene shifts. Wisps of fog, clouds of nothingness swallowing the images away, soon materializing a new scene. This time, he's in a room. Clean, half naked, the wounds on his chest far uglier than the healed over scars on Jon's chest. She slips from her lover's hold and pads closer, throat working against the tightness--like fingers constricting around her windpipe.
The sight of him dead on a table makes her stomach twist in rebellion. Like ser Barristan. She couldn't save either of them. What kind of queen is she if she cannot protect her people? It doesn't matter that this happened long before she'd met him. Doesn't matter if ser Barristan had died fighting to defend their city. It's--
A jerk. A gasp. A body shooting up. The younger, deader Jon suddenly is not dead, and she's left staring. First at this one, then at hers, unable to find enough of her mind to think of something to say.
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It was only when the scene changed that he released his hold on her, stepping back as close to the corner as he could. He could still feel that shock and fear, that confusion to his surroundings and what had happened. It had almost been like waking from a vivid dream, he needed a moment to find his bearings and recall where he was.
Then it struck him, all his past self needed was to look down at his chest to realize and remember. Ser Davos seemed to appear from almost nowhere, charging forward to catch Jon as he stumbled to his feet and struggled to get off the table. His past self was wrapped in a cloak and helped onto a stool. It seemed a blur to him now, events that were in the back of his mind but not truly real.
There was talk between them, the sort of subjects she might be familiar with when it came to Jon. Belief that he had failed and guilt self imposed because of it. It was only when Melisandre entered that it changed. What had he seen when he died? What was beyond life? Nothing, nothing at all. Then came the pronouncement that he was the Lord's chosen. While his past self could only stare at her in confusion, the older Jon toed the ground and sighed, uncomfortable with the entire idea.
"That is just a legend, the Prince that was Promised."
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let's say that the memory = he can understand Dothraki
'Kay!
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the coming storm | winterfell
Bewildered and caught off guard, Claire's at his side, grabbing onto his arm for balance and to be sure that he's actually real. It's not a hallucination, is it? It has to be magic, or... technology? One and the same, really.
"What is this?"
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Jon glanced at Claire, nodding towards Bran's bed where the small boy lay unconscious. Catelyn was at his side, weaving her talismans to the gods. "That's Lady Stark." He offered by way of explanation, half hearted though it was. "My brother Bran."
His younger self came in, fresh faced and speaking about the Night's Watch. It seemed almost laughable now. That simple hope that Bran would wake up and come to Castle Black where Jon would be a ranger. The dreams of a boy that didn't fully understand what he was heading towards. But what was better in the end? To know or not know?
Lady Catelyn looked at Jon with a sad and broken glare, the words still as sharp and painful as they were then. 'I want you to leave.'
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This baby-faced Jon Snow has Claire's mouth opening to remark on it. He's so young, and she already thinks he's young as is. The conversation has her attention. This had to be so long ago.
And then his step-mother says the words. Claire can't help but scoff.
"Please tell me this isn't..." A true memory, or whatever it is.
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"That was the last I saw her." It was sad to consider now, after all he heard had happened at the Red Wedding. If he had been there, would she have grown to admire him or care for him? Would his devotion for Robb have been enough to change her mind?
Age and wisdom said no, but it didn't alter that innocent hope in him that he might someday have her look at him as she did her own children. "She was a good woman who loved her children." The standard response he always gave about her, no matter what she said to him.
It was easier than anger.
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She doesn't want to think ill of Catelyn Stark, but given Claire's own love for Jon and how easily it came, it's difficult.
"I'm sorry she didn't get the chance to love you as you deserved," she settles on saying, stepping in front of him to block his view of the memory and to take his hands. "Neither of you were in an easy situation, but it wasn't your fault. You, know I judged your father for it, too."
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Fire and Blood
"Of course they are. Um...why wouldn't they be volunteers? You get paid for competing, especially if you win."
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The idea of fighting like this was strange, but different from what he usually had been drawn to.
"Are you part of the fighting ring?"
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Her people are warriors, and it's true that she was bullied and shamed for having a more peaceful and timid nature than most of her peers, but not once has she ever been forced to fight.
"I'm not one of the people who runs it, but I compete in it regularly."
Which might seem a bit odd given her diminuiative stature. Kale doesn't exactly look intimidating.
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It doesn't matter how small she was. In hearing that, she reminded him of Arya. If his sister were awake, she would likely do the same thing.
"What do you think of it? Competing in the ring?" She could at least give him insight.
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Alive, thankfully, but like so many others, she hasn't awakened yet. There's no point in dwelling on what she can't change, though.
"I like the competition. I think if more people channeled their violent instincts into competition rather than attacking and hurting others, the world would be a better place."
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