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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[It's far fom just his physical wellbeing. It's... it's everything. Prior's grip on Byerly's hand is uncomfortably tight.]
You, not him, not this. I know what it's like, you live with something rotten long enough you start to think that's how things should smell. But this isn't miserliness and that is not a father. You can't just brush this off because he's known for it. Pol Pot was known for genocide, that doesn't mean people should have been elbowing each other amiably and gossiping about murdery old Pol at parties. Did you know. Do you?
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[ His voice is light, smooth, polished. But his face is leaden in its control. His eyes fix on the ground by his feet - looking at the familiar knot in the wood, the little imperfection he'd stare at and concentrate on so hard as he tried to just hypnotize himself into not hearing any of it. Not sensing any of it. It never worked then, and it doesn't work now - everything is as sharp as it always was. ]
I was innocent of everything he accused me of. Of course I knew that. [ Usually. Sometimes he wondered - the firmness with which Father believed it, he wondered if maybe he hadn't gone mad - But Nadine always reeled him back in. ] Of course I knew he was wrong.
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[Prior disrupts Byerly's eyeline as directly as he disrupts the heavy silence in the room, breaking through that fixed point of view to put himself there instead. All the control Byerly's so careful with does nothing but trap him inside with all this and Prior won't have it anymore.]
He can't understand. That's what you're right about. If he could, if he really believed it, this whole - this reaction would still be messed up. [Too calm, too cold, lock it in a box, throw away the key and pretend you can't hear it screaming. He's heard attempts at the same sentiment from Byerly, fortunately less successful in the execution. There's nothing in his father's demeanor that suggests he can be appealed to.
There's just.
There's nothing there.]
You're asking for reason for someone who - call it a hunch - checked out of that hotel long ago. I don't know what he's suffering with but there's something and he's - oh. [Flinching like someone's taken their hand to his arm and pinched hard, Prior shoots a look back at the table. He is suffering, locked away in his own little box, but these things just keep opening around Prior. For a moment there's something like pity on his face, shaken away hard as he turns back.]
Whatever he's suffering with isn't an excuse. But he's not capable of believing you. You were right. And you have nothing to be ashamed of, Byerly, especially not yourself.
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[ Which must be true. He was just a petty little monster. Right? There was nothing to the old man aside from his greed and his spite, the judgmental little barbs thrown at Byerly and at the Vorrutyers and at all the Vor from the Emperor on down. There doesn't need to be some deep well of sorrow that underlies misanthropy. Some people are just bastards. Right?
By lifts his gaze from Prior's torso - not quite meeting his eyes, yet, just focusing on his chin, but at least it's general upwards momentum. ]
And I could provoke him, sometimes. [ In his younger years, at least. Not when he was older, when Father had really settled into his icy remove, but on three satisfying occasions he'd said the right combination of things that Father had broken and slapped him. Here, this time, he should have been able to. He should have been able to get through, but instead -
By shakes his head. Just very slightly, the motion small and stiff and painful. ]
But you really think I had nothing to be ashamed of? Look. [ At Nadine, who's lost the steel she had when By was at the table. Not all of it - she's hardly falling apart - but it's clear she's fiercer when her brother is there. ] I was as much of a coward as your Louis.
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Look. He takes the offer of distraction to watch Nadine for a moment, as their father's knife scrapes across his plate, the sound high and jarring. Her head is bowed, now, and Prior's fingertips curl with the want to tip her chin back up to defiance.]
I wish you'd taken her. You're stronger, with her, maybe you'd have been happier too. But. More people might have believed the stories, then. [It's phrased as a question, the words pitched upwards at the tail, but it's not much of one. In the same way, they might have taken Byerly's flight as an admission of guilt. There really is no winning here.] It's an impossible situation, and you're practically a child. How are you supposed to do the right thing when there's no right thing to do? You tried for a month and ran out of ideas to protect her. Lou's 32, and was fucking me, until that prospect became unappealing. That's when he ran. This is so not the same. There's no fair chance for you, you don't even know what you're up against.
[Byerly's father drops his cutlery, loud enough to startle, and sits staring dully ahead. It's a small horror to see a man so hollowed out. Prior takes a breath, and the bullet between his teeth.]
Your father. He was the youngest, growing up. [It's a question, and it's not.] And he had an older brother, too.
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Four years ago, young Lydia Vordarian had been smeared by some anonymous wag who had said that she was taking pay for her time. Quietly, subtly, the work had been done to uncover the source of the gossip. Her old flame, Eugene Vorinnis. No one remembered the rumors about Lydia once the work was through, not with good Eugene's reputation scorched to high heaven. If only, though - if only there had been people like that, back then - if only someone had looked out for him...
Was it cowardice, then? Like Louis' cowardice? At the end of the day, he left her to the wolves. By the grace of her inner strength and ferocity, she fought them off - emerged alive - but he still left her to that. ]
Yes.
[ By answers rather absently, hardly even attending to the question, too lost in his reverie. ] Three older brothers. Count Oleg, Alexander, and Ges.
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And Ges.
[He nods a few times, stalling over the words a last few seconds. It is better to think of cruelty as meaningless or rooted in some distant cause? It's still cruelty, and this man is still no father to his children. He could have taken his experiences as cause to keep them safe, not retreated into this, where no one's safe, and the love that should be between them's turned as cold and rotten as the family home. He's protecting no one with this, not even himself.
But he's not here either, is he. Not in this room, not even when this was more than just memory.
Prior curls both his arms around Byerly's one, pushing up to rest his chin on his shoulder, keeping his voice soft as a whisper.]
He's seeing echoes, not you. That's why he believes it.
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But even sharp-eyed men have their blind spots. By stirs, slightly, uneasily, and asks - ]
What do you mean, echoes?
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[His father, that block of rigid stone at the table was once a scared boy nobody would listen to, if he'd been able to tell.]
He's stuck on what Ges did to him. And he can't hear the truth in what you're saying because you sound too much like the people who'd never have believed truth when it came from him.
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[ Impossible. Byerly knows what it's like to be a victim. He'd spent half his summers with Richars kneeling on his chest and pressing the breath out of him or chasing him through the woods just to watch him stumble. His father - hard-eyed, stony-faced, sarcastic - he's not a victim. He -
He was a child once, too. He wasn't born like this.
By pulls back just a bit, an anxious odd feeling churning in his gut. ]
The things they said about Ges - That was slander. I know. They've said the exact same things about me.
[ Said, too, things about how - how much Byerly looked like Ges. You could be my brother's twin, Count Oleg had said - and he wasn't just talking about appearances, because Byerly had also heard so often how his character was just like his late uncle's. The same dry, mocking senses of humor. The same libertine spirit. Drinking, gambling, cutting class - screwing, and screwing men - society hated them both in the same way. Ges went and got respectable enough to get promoted up the ranks, By followed a more clandestine path of serving the Imperium, but otherwise, their biographies were impossibly alike.
By knew that. That was just fact. ]
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[How to revise the text for a man with a degree in his own history. It doesn't feel like Prior's place to argue, and yet there are things he knows must be true. Things Byerly must at least suspect, somehow, deep down. He's been matched to the wrong blueprint all along.]
What about the things they didn't say? I told you - up on the ship, about Ges and the Emperor's father. Not Miles, though Miles might know, if he was your age. Your reputation's a shield, what was his?
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[ What? An act of rebellion, of course. Pushing back against a community that despised a man who dared to kiss men. By knew that well, the desire to shock and scandalize and horrify, the desire to lean into your bad reputation just to make them flinch. That's what Ges was doing, too. Saying fuck you to Barrayar, to the old Vor system that tied you and choked you and broke you.
Or. Or it was exactly what it seemed like. Or he was as wicked as they said. That's what Prior has hinted at, before. And it's not...impossible. Ges was a Vorrutyer, after all. Byerly knows well just how real the family madness is. He's seen, and felt, the way that sadism rises to the surface in their line, even knows the impulse himself, sometimes. And if Ges was like a young Richars, but with a hunger for boys instead of girls, and his father had been right there - ]
But I - I... [ By swallows hard against a dry throat. He tries - ] If...if that's true, then Father should have - he should have known that I wouldn't. Ever. If Ges was...Then he should have been able to spot the differences, and... [ By can hardly keep the train of thought maintained. Instead, strained - ] Is it true? Is that true? Are you sure?
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[Prior breaks away then, across to the table where Nadine can't eat any longer and sits waiting for this silent judgement to be done. It's obvious who's hurting her here, and it's not the brother who fled the room.
The table cracks and splits wide open in a long jagged gash where Prior touches it. Neither of the two at the table seem aware.]
Of course I'm not sure. [It's a revelation, a bolt from the blue: it's insanity.] But I'm as certain as I am of my own name.
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And - what, then. What. All that time, sitting in silence, it was all his father could do to keep from screaming in pain instead? His father, his cursed cruel father, had been as much a victim as By had been - more than he had been, because Richars had been a sadist but he only forced himself on girls. Is that it? And so - ]
So - so what, then.
[ By looks at Prior, the frail prophet with the voice of the divine in his ear, or perhaps the huckster who's taken Byerly in completely and yoked his heart and who's now laughing at his confusion - stop being so fucking paranoid, By - And he's helpless. Because what does he do? What does he do with that? Byerly stands - quietly, unshowily, but unflaggingly - for those who've been fucked over by others' cruelty. But what does he do if his father falls into that category? That hated, hateful son-of-a-bitch? What then? ]
I forgive him? Just because - [ He breaks off. ]
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[Even the crack slowly edging down one leg of the table and into the floor, threatening to rend the table in two and the room with it can't change the memory itself. This is past, and this is real and it will never change. Prior lifts his hands, edging away from the split in the room and back to Byerly, hesitating a slight, staccato moment before touching him in case he splits too. That control's visibly on the precipice now. Prior clasps his arms anyway. It's not possible to let him stand alone.]
None of what he did to you was or will ever be right or fair or anything but cruelty and neglect. People live through worse than he has, they survive greater horrors without inflicting it on the people they're supposed to love. So forgiveness? It seems to me that would take distance and time if it was possible at all, and that would be far from my call to make. But you can know it wasn't you. Nothing wrong in you that made him believe it. It never was.
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[ It's a lot to take in. Honestly - it feels like he's cracked, well before Prior laid hands on him. His father, not the villain and monster of By's childhood, but a miserable and frightened boy himself. Someone hurt. Someone miserable. There aren't many people whom Byerly has ever managed to hate, but his father was one - that cold, indifferent man, who cared not a whit for what his children were going through, who hardly even seemed to recognize his children as people. He was as hurt as the rest of them.
Forgiveness? Is he capable of that? His father wrecked him, far beyond Richars or Stamos or any of the other cousins, far beyond what Lord Sasha had done to him, exceeding even his beloved ImpSec with their little cruelties designed to break him and then make him. His father destroyed him. And for what cause? Because he was hurt himself? Because he was broken, too? Then you shouldn't ever have had children, you bastard. You should have died in solitude, rather than inflicting this on us. You should have - ]
Find some way out of it. There must be some escape route.
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Oh, there is. You'll take it with you, though, all this. We can never leave it behind, really. Like the saying - wherever you go, there you are. So - anyway, I love you.
[He takes the breath he should have taken before that last part after saying it instead, quick and nervous.]
And you can tell me I'm obvious, you can tell me whatever you want, but I've only half said it before. [I've been half in love with you - ] Because I was scared. Because loving hurts, because it's hopeful. But if I'm going to say it anywhere it may as well be here, so you can take that with you, too. I don't want to be someone who keeps things from you. I love you. I don't plan to stop.
[And that said, he looks at the door, the other door, and then leads Byerly toward the opposite wall, unrelenting stone, which rips itself apart in the corner as Prior reaches out to touch. It makes a small, rubble-filled doorway, which isn't so very different from the land beyond.
They're in a city much like San Fransisco. Or like it might have been in the moments after the great earthquake struck. Rubble and wreckage everywhere, upturned crates, tumbledown walls with weeds growing thick between the brickwork.
Prior looks up at Byerly expectantly.]
So where are we now?