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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PAINFUL NOISES
When he finds himself in this memory he thinks it is a dream. He doesn't question that he sees things as though he is Grantaire, watching himself fold his arms in defiance of the guards. There is still so much life in that frame, he thinks absently. There is no trace of fear, though he remembers how he felt and fought against it.
Then comes the expected (still unexpected!) cry. How strange to watch his own expression of surprise! Where is the relief he felt, because all he sees now is pleasure, a fond smile- the opening of the mouth (he has been told many times how disdainful his lower lip is. There is no disdain there now) but the gunfire cuts off his reply.
There's silence then, as his bedroom returns. He stares unseeingly across the room. Is it the sickness or the memory which make him sigh so heavily? He cannot help but finish the interrupted thought his memory-self:] Gladly, with all my heart.
[Is there someone else present? He has not realised it.]
wOW SAME
He shouldn’t watch the scene with a smile, but he does. He always did say that life was meaningless, but his death felt like it had meaning. He didn’t die for the revolution, but he died for something. He didn’t die alone, and he didn’t die friendless. He died accepted, by Enjolras' side. Perhaps it wasn't heroic, perhaps he didn't fight, but it wasn't nothing.
When the shots fire out, he feels a brief moment of dread. Don’t leave me here alone, his panicked thoughts begin to intrude, but when the room reappears and Enjolras is still there, his expression softens once more.
The only trouble is, he’s forgotten that he’s still holding a handful of papers, pilfered from Enjolras’ bed while he slept. ]
I understand I’m a nuisance. Do you regret it?
[ He knows that not much has changed, after all. Grantaire is still Grantaire, a staunch nonbeliever and an excessive drinker, still poorly motivated and lacking in ambition. He still hates himself, but still watches Enjolras with that same impossibly tender gaze. If he could will himself to become what Enjolras wished him to be, he would do it in an instant, but it doesn’t work that way. ]
incoherent sounds
He hears the question, mulling it over almost abstractly. His usual clarity of thought is muddled, working in circles where he intends to go in straight lines.
There had been a promise in that death. I'm one of them, is what the drunk had said, and Enjolras had thought he knew what it meant.]
I thought you would be different. I expected it. A miracle, I told myself. A man changed by revolution. Even you could not be so indifferent to not see what was being done here. [A pause. No, not here.] There.
same.......
He gazes, and he listens. ]
From the time I found your group, I attended every meeting. I saw and understood what was being done. Why is it you think I can speak of Rousseau and Robespierre and Danton? Of the Social Contract? I know as much of Revolution as the rest of you, but is there not a separation between understanding and believing?
[ He can tell that Enjolras isn’t at his best, and he glances at him to be sure he’s following. Taking off on one of his usual rants may not be the best choice of action at the moment. ]
I wanted to be among you. To live or to die among you.
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Why not make more effort on the barricade? Why ask permission to die if he hadn't asked permission to live? Why was he holding those papers? Hm, another deep sigh, interrupted by a cough.]
It was enough, just to be among us. To die without believing in the future that we all fought for. [Speaking it aloud doesn't bring it any closer. Frowning at the man doesn't help either, though it feels comfortable and familiar enough.] And here you are again. It's a shame you've only me for company. Combeferre would humour your better. Jolllly and Bossuet would encourage you more.
[Perhaps he's met Jehan already and forgotten. Perhaps he hasn't met him yet. Either way, he doesn't think of him now. It's been the two of them for long enough.]
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Should I be humored? That would only make me a further nuisance. Encouraged? To do what, exactly?
[ Enjolras’ frown only serves to make him smile. He doesn’t remind him that Jehan has also woken, if only because Jehan isn’t here right at this very moment. There will be time for that; their friend will return soon enough. ]
You make for fine company. Have I voiced a complaint?
[ Literally ever? ]
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It's bizarre. An anomaly in his life. Enjolras knows himself to be difficult. He is a man with a cause who holds himself and those around him to standards far higher than the world demands. It is not easy for him- it is impossible for his friends. All of them have complained or lamented or protested the standards he asks of them.
But not Grantaire. Is the scowl still there? Enjolras has been staring at the man as he thinks and tries to think and tries to remember.
There's something just there, a revelation whose shape he can almost make out the contours of but the content of which escapes him. Perhaps if he were more clear-minded he'd grasp it (perhaps if he were more clear-minded he'd never get even as close as this)
He might take his hand again. He might ask for that soft gaze to turn on him. He might speak-] You should complain. I cannot force you to be who you're not. I cannot force the world to be what it is not. Or what it is not yet.
[The thought is gone. He releases.]
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[ He isn’t going to complain. He knows the type of person Enjolras is, knows what he stands for, and he wouldn’t want anything about him to change. He’s been kind to Grantaire, whether he realizes it or not. Only once did he ask Grantaire to leave, though he might have requested it many times more. He offered Grantaire chances to prove himself, though he squandered them. He could never complain. He has no right to complain.
He gazes at Enjolras for a moment, a curious expression on his face. Have they ever spoken like this before? He doesn’t think they have, and he doesn’t think he would have forgotten such a conversation. He’s more grateful than he can express. ]
The world doesn’t change overnight.
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[His expression seems as though he'll begin a speech, there's a light in his eyes that he often gets when he thinks of the future; the better future when the ideal and the reality align.
But his thoughts spiral, something occurs to him:] Your feet didn't drag that day.
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They knew where they wished to carry me that day, and for once my mind was in agreement.
[ The one and only time his mind and his feet worked together to accomplish something in life. He glances down, finally remembering he’s still grasping a handful of pilfered papers. Turning away, he places them out of the way, somewhere Enjolras will (hopefully) not ask after them. Quietly, he muses: ]
But for a moment, I thought you might deny me.
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It was a relief not to die alone. There were only a few of us left, I sent the others to hide in the roof. If I gave myself up I thought it would satisfy the guard. Though Marius was reckless on the barricade they knew me for the leader. [His mind is back there, remembering. Has Grantaire turned back yet? Somehow he is not angry that he needs to share this because Grantaire was sleeping.]
I do not think they will have lived, those who went in the roof. The guard were thorough. Revolutionaries cannot be permitted to live, if the revolution has not taken. [Another sigh. It cannot be the sickness, it must be the memories.]
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[ He had listened, he had learned, he had feared for his friends all throughout the planning stages of their revolution. He never claimed to know more than them, but a defeatist is an expert at pessimism. He never dwells on what he missed at the barricade for long. After all, he never truly wanted to see it. Some men can stomach it, but not Grantaire. He wanted to be there, but not to witness it.
He knows nothing of Jehan’s fate, separate from the others. He knows nothing of Marius’s recklessness. He knows nothing of inspector Javert or of Jean Valjean. All he knows takes place in that tiny room above the wine shop, and all he knows comes back to Enjolras.
Just as he turns back to Enjolras now, aching to take his hand once more. ]
May I thank you?
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Thank me? What for? [A pause as he considers it. Does he wish to be thanked?] No. I don't want that.
[He's interrupted by a cough- once it's done he carries on.] Men are equal when they die. Each is grateful to the other that he doesn't die alone. Do not thank me, Grantaire, and I will not thank you. We will accept it.
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As Enjolras coughs, concern touches his features. When it ceases, he merely shakes his head. ]
I am grateful not to have died alone, it’s true, but that is not what I mean to thank you for. You never sent me away.
[ Once, only once did he ask for him to leave, but Grantaire looks beyond it. ]
You could have turn away at the end, but you accepted me as you might have accepted a man who actually fought alongside you. If you do not want my thanks, then I will not speak it, but you have it all the same. It’s your burden to bear.
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You escape me, Grantaire. I do not understand you; there, I confess it. [It should frustrate him to not understand, shouldn't it. He's unsure how it makes him feel.]
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If anyone other than Enjolras had admitted to not understanding him, he would have laughed in amusement. He feels as though he puts it all out on the table for anyone to see, but this is Enjolras, and all he can do is furrow his eyebrows. ]
There’s little to understand. I drink, I gamble, I speak of things in a most distressing and grave manner, and then I drink some more. I believe in very little, and I have the motivation to accomplish even less. What is it that escapes you?
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He grasps for the right words, for the first time frustrated at his current invalid condition.] I did not realise you were so kind. [No- kind is not the right word, but he cannot think of a better. Hopefully Grantaire will realise that the scowl isn't on his account.]
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[ A fond smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. There is seldom a time when he wouldn’t like a drink, it’s true, but he wouldn’t choose to be anywhere but here. Enjolras hasn’t grown particularly annoyed with him, and this conversation has been…nice. Pleasant, even. ]
Kind? You're mistaken. I’m amusing. Witty, if you will.
[ And kind, but he prefers to ignore his best qualities. ]
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I won't. I mean what I said.
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I know you did.
[ He doesn’t believe Enjolras would have said it if he didn’t mean it. He thinks, perhaps, he knows him well enough to make that assumption. ]
But I mean what I said as well. In my own mind, that’s all I am. A terribly witty man. I wonder, though, if you realize how kind you are.
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It's not wit that keeps you here. Not amusement either, unless you're hiding a smirk I haven't noti- [There's more he'd like to say, but coughing overtakes him again. Whether he wants it or not he really ought to sleep.]
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I wouldn’t dream of hiding anything from you. You should rest, Enjolras.
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He is full of sighs today!] You, too.
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[ Says the man who puts off rest regularly only to crash for almost an entire day when the lack of sleep catches up to him.
But Enjolras is not him, and thus the same lack of care does not apply. ]
I will rest when I'm certain you're resting.
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His hands spread, demonstrating the bed and himself in it.] What would you call this?
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