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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Time for that, later. Given the dilapidated state of the structures in the distance, there's no real knowing they'll be much more stable, in the violent gusts and the hammering rain, than the creaking bulk of the tree. But they've stood this long, and they've got to be drier, if nothing else. Six of one, half a dozen of the other.
He takes the time to push away from the trunk of the tree and heft the blade of the Transistor onto a shoulder to better move through the storm. In a tone far drier than the weather—]
Well, what've we got to lose? [Hah. Doesn't look like too bad a dash...a couple hundred feet. Figure it out from there.] Ladies first?
[He'll wait til she's moving to follow—just to be sure she doesn't lose her footing.]
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Ladies first he offers, and she responds with a tight lipped smile and a nod, before taking off at a jog. Eyes squinted against the rain in her face, Allura moves nimbly, only getting tripped up once by combo of muddy ground and gust of wind that causes her to stumble. She turns to look behind her, both to check and make sure he's still with her, and to caution,] Be careful! The ground here is slicker than it looks!
[Not too much further now,]
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But, y'know, hard to mess this up, yet. He's at least a sight bigger and solider than she is, (like this, anyway,) and so a little bit harder to push around in the wind. But the wide flat of the Transistor is pretty good at catching air, so it all evens out.
Still, long legged, he catches up and keeps pace pretty easy, bracing Allura at the shoulder once they stop in the relative open outside the structure and try for the door. And it...doesn't budge. Great.
He says something that gets swallowed up by the storm. (Something to do with it being stuck, maybe.) The rest gets pitched higher, a little easier to hear.]
Let me see if I can...
[He takes a step back to ram a shoulder into the jammed door to force it open. Which—after a try or two—gives way to a darker, drier interior.]
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What a relief, [Her voice comes out too loud at first, compared to the silence of the building that wraps around them like a blanket. The sound of the rain and wind is still relatively noisy, against the side of the building, but despite its dilapidated state, the building seems well insulated against the storm.
She walks to one of the windows, briefly looking out, scanning the fog for any other figures before moving to pull the shutters closed against the storm,] I hope the others are doing alright. I have never seen a storm like this one before.
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Wry, if as reassuring as he can manage—]
It'll pass, I think. [It's definitely not normal. Not in the months he's been here. But with the weather acting up as it has been...so far it's been short-lived enough. He cants his head back at the door.]
Think you can hold this, a minute? I want to go find something to keep it shut.
[Luckily, it opens inward. So she can just lean back to put her weight against it until he finds a proper barricade.]
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[She pulls herself away from the window, jogging back to the door to take up door-holding duty. As he moves away, she looks for anything nearby that could be of help, but the entryway is sparse.
Leaning her back against it, she faces the center of the room. It shakes and jostles with the power of the storm, but at least seems to hold sturdy, other than the broken latch.
As Boxer disappears from the room, in search of something sturdy, she calls out, her voice bouncing off of the empty walls,] It's a pleasure to meet you! [No time like the present for proper introductions,] My name is Princess Allura!
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Boxer's fine. [Hah. There's a self-effacing wry tilt to it, but this isn't a joke, promise.] Same to you.
[Any lady who can keep her wits with a crazy probably-metaphysical storm rolling in is already a pleasure. (Lightning flashes beyond the door, and even after the thunder is done rolling through the air he can feel it. The odd electromagnetic timespace disruption that cracks in like a shot and lingers like ozone afterward. Buzzing through his nerves and his attention, like the world's fuzzed out for a moment, gone distant and staticy and strange. He sort of flinches, as if from the sound, braces himself against the crate he'd just deposited next to Allura. Half expects an Overload to kick him back out of place where tempting fate with the rain didn't. But the feeling dims, evens out to a low discomfort, and it holds...for now.)
Backlit by the light of the Transistor, (it flickers noticeably with the disturbance, then eases back to a steady glow,) he pushes himself up. His smile goes a little rueful, a sight strained. But...first things first.]
Wish it was under better circumstances. [He knocks his wrapped knuckles against the crate to prompt her to slide over so he can slot it into her place at the door and free her of her responsibility as doorstop.] Try that.
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Thunder rolls in, she can feel it rumble through the door as much as she can hear it and he flinches, the sword’s light flickering ominously in time with the storm’s disruption. Without knowledge of the two’s unique connection, it’s easy to misinterpret the reaction as nerves, and who could blame anyone for being wary of storms after what they’d been through.]
It will pass eventually. [Reassuring, if not slightly misguided. She steps around the crate, moving back so Boxer can move it into place. It gives her a good chance to get a look at the sword propped against the wall behind him, it’s blue-green glow all that much brighter now that the windows and doors are shut.]
…Is that a weapon?
[The handle and hilt suggest as much, but the rest of it reminds her more of parts of her castle-ship.]
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Sort of, yeah. ...Among other things.
[The Transistor. He's used to that question, or obvious reasons. Doesn't mean he's gotten all that much better at answering it. (Still, maybe he should try, in this case. For both their sakes. He can feel the dissonant buzz of the Storm in the air, still. Less than the oppressive influence from the Spine, but just as present. Waxing and waning with the winds, building steadily until the next crash of lightning strikes, the next wave of jarring energy threatens to rattle the mysterious systems governing his whole existence.)]
...kind of a long story.
[Not that they've got anywhere to be. But, y'know. It's a gentler sidestep than I don't like to talk about it.]
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Being stuck in from the storm sounds like the best time for a long story, but even though she's not always the best at reading human subtleties, it's easy enough to catch Boxer's reluctance to elaborate.]
I just thought, the light reminds me a lot of the technology on my ship.
[Although she didn't feel the gentle thrum of quintessence coming from the sword. Her people had a intrinsic relationship with the mysterious and powerful substance, but she felt her connection... muted ever since the storm. Either there's less of it on this side of the universe, or the storm dampened her powers, though she's not sure which of those answers would bother her more.]
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He's not huge on the scrutiny—but again, he's kind of had to adjust. Easily enough—]
Not one I get very much.
[Recognition, that is. Definitely not around here, where tech level likes to hover several dozen rungs under Cloudbank standard to start. Huh. (He's tempted to wonder why that might be, if it means anything that it rings familiar to her—they've got more questions about the Transistor than they have answers, really, even now. He's just largely stopped asking them in favor of getting by with what he's got.) The wistfulness in that observation reads as homesick to him. Which...well. Can't much blame her. Especially if she's new. Of course, when he thinks ship, he definitely doesn't jump straight to the space kind. So, (mock) apologetically, as he shakes the rainwater off the collar of his coat—]
Don't think it'd do you much good on the water, though...
[(Sorry.) But it's invitation enough to go on.]
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[
Quaint.When you grow up in a society that could zip across the universe in only a few ticks, certain modes of transportation became obsolete. More for pleasure than for utility. Elaborating,] It was much closer to the Natha’s ship.[Then, a small smile,] But that’s an idea… you could have used it as a shelter, [Holds a hand up above her head, simulating the use of the sword as an umbrella. It’s large enough.] If the circuits are water-safe, that is.
[Hopefully, considering what’s going on outside.]
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...Oh. [He's not bumpkin enough to be blindsided by the implications, especially not with the frame of reference of the Station behind them. But Cloudbank wasn't quite the spacefaring kind of scifi. And, y'know. Pretty fond of a good pleasure vessel to boot.
And, about the waterproofing and all— He cracks a rueful and crooked kind of smile at her little joke and then drops to a crouch in front of the Transistor, seemingly to inspect the drying surface of the blade. Funny you put it that way. With a slow tone to match—]
About that—
[Seems like he's sort of worked his way around his reluctance to talk about it. (Some of it, anyway. Given the circumstances—) But before he can spit it out...lightning crashes, thunder rolls. And there's a crackling sound as the light of the Transistor—blinks out entirely, plunging the room into darkness until Allura's eyes adjust to what's left.]
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Boxer?
[Her eyes adjust to the darkness, but there's nothing. No sign of the man she'd been talking to only moments before. Thunder rolls in, shuddering the windows and floors in an undertone that feels that much more ominous alone in the dark house.
The front door shakes back and forth with the few inches it'd gained, the sound shaking Allura out of it, and, heart in her throat, she dashes over to shut the door, replacing the box firmly in front of it. Leaning the back of her legs against the box, she turns to face the darkened, empty space behind her.]
...If this is some kind of trick, I do not think it is very funny.
[Where could he have gone? Why would he have gone?]
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Not helping this feeling: even with the new shaft of light, the room is empty. He'd been dripping wet, so there's a placid little puddle left where Allura's company had been standing. Watery footsteps leading over from the door where he'd been stationed, over to where he'd been standing crouched in front of the Transistor. And then nothing else. None leading away. No sign of him.
The lightning in the storm flashes again. Ominously, as the thunder fades, the blade flickers. Hums back to dim light with a crackly static sound.]
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The building is oppressively quiet, despite the storm raging outside; her companion’s sudden absence hanging in the air as heavily as his presence had been. Allura feels the hair at the back of her neck standing on edge, and her breathing seems loud to her ears. Cautiously, she takes a few steps forward, until her reflection looks up at her from the puddle where Boxer had been standing only moments before.]
Calm down, Allura. Surely there’s some explanation for this…
[Lightning flashes again, and her bayard is in hand before she can really think about it (not sure what it can do against some unseen force that steals people away). The dim grey light is replaced by a familiar blue-green as the sword crackles back to life. She glances at the device,]
…I don’t suppose you know where he’s gone?
[Talking to inanimate objects is normal.]
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For a long second or so, it seems like she's really, truly, alone in here. But then, the dim light of the blade flickers again. Flashes brighter as an odd groaning sound seems to echo from it.]
Ugh. [Yeah...that's definitely a voice, groaning his displeasure as it adjusts. A familiar one, even, the clearer it gets through the static. If she's keen enough to listen for it. And, eloquently—]
Ow.
[...Ow.]
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But there's nothing there. Just her and the sword the same glow of the sword as it hums back to life. "Ow" the light pulses along with the single syllable. It's clearer, and the voice pings her as familiar, but he hasn't really said enough to be sure. Still, she's cautious,]
Who's there? Identify yourself.
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Still, just a second or so after Allura starts making demands—]
Hi. Just me, sorry.
[Mildly sheepish, carefully casual, despite the drawn weapon she's holding. Like it'll help unruffle her feathers and ease back her alarm. But if he could wince, he would, as he comes back up to speed. Doesn't it just figure.]
Talk about your terrible timing.
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[His voice is clearer now, even if his familiar voice is filtered through the sword, like her father's AI. Feathers not entirely unruffled, her stance does relaxes, the glowing blue-white light of her whip extinguishing back into the curved handle that she returns to her hip.
Taking a few steps forward, she kneels in the puddle of water where Boxer had been only moments ago, although she's keen to keep her hands to herself. Doesn't want the same to happen to her what happened to her companion.]
You don't sound surprised. [That's reassuring in a way,] What happened? Where did you go?
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Yeah, down here.
[Only one place for him to go, really. Still, he's not in a rush to get to the nitty-gritty. It's...complicated. So, the broadest way to answer that question—]
Don't think the weather's agreeing with me.
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The storm around them cracks with another bolt of lightning, smaller than the one from before, but the thunder that follows still rumbles deep in her gut.]
The static of the storm is interfering with your processor. [It makes as much sense as anything else. There's a silence as she's piecing something together, then—] Boxer, are you an artificial intelligence?
[If so, it's not too dissimilar to her father's, although the Boxer from earlier was definitely more solid than a mere projection.]
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The rest, though... (Good question, to be honest.) There's a beat, as if he needs to feel his way around that question. Then, apologetic, if not entirely unhelpful—]
Not sure I know how to answer that.
[Not a term he has very much context for, funnily enough. (But also, well. Hell if he really knows, anymore.) He half considers a joke at his own expense in regard to intelligence but thinks better of it as the thunder echoes back down to quiet. Maybe another time.]
...Didn't mean to spook you. Thought I was finally getting the hang of all this.
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[Said unevenly, in a voice that says it's not entirely fine. She didn't blame him for the fright, but she's still a little shaken. At least he's returned, in some sense of the word,]
An artificial intelligence is a program that is made to behave like an intelligent being. Like an Altean, or a human. [She dances around the words, unsure if it's confusion over the terminology, or if it's just a sensitive subject that she's prying into. Her father's AI had known it was a program, but King Alfor created it with a purpose, as a companion to his daughter after he died. All of that isn't important, though, she supposes. The most important thing is—]
Are you alright?
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Yeah, I'm—I'm good. [Much as he hates to admit it, this is pretty much status quo, these days. Not the other way around.] I know what it looks like, but...this is me, for now. Just got to wait it out.
[As if on cue, another crack of thunder breaks through in the howling wind.]
...not like we've got much choice.
[Not in this weather.]
Wish I could be better company. Might as well get comfortable. [A beat. Then, gamely self-effacing—] Those of us who can.
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