❪ event ❫ khalo? can you hear me?

[natha]

In normal circumstances, this would have been near the time in which you're called upon to greet the newly awakened. Unfortunately, I speak to you to inform that we must postpone that — there is trouble on your horizon. What, I cannot see for sure. We shall continue to monitor the situation, however — we - ... we — [feed cuts off.] OLYMPIAN PRESERVATION     The city of Olympia is preparing the send-off of its most prized artifact: the heart of the ancient dragon, Ysverai. In doing this, they've transformed the palace court into an exhibition detailing the centuries-old war between Wyver and Olympia. Sculptures of Nithor the Exalted and his men and women in clean, white marble, while their armors are polished in perfect gold. Among Nithor are the sculptures of stallions in all shapes and sizes that also aided in the great war. Further in the exhibition, one may also find other artifacts of much older weaponry, rusted by its time in the earth, and items found from a time when humans feared the dragons. The Royal Guard has increased its numbers in wake of such a public event, particularly because the heart will be in display also. The heart is not what one might expect it to be: about the size of an average human, the heart's core is surrounded in stone, a red glow emitting from its still beating core. If that were not unsettling enough, one might also find that lingering around this particular exhibit will have undue affects on one's inhibitions. You'll notice your heart has fallen into sync with the organ, and your more selfish desires will come forth. Things that have long been buried will rise up and place you in a state of unease, encouraging paranoia about your companions intentions. Allow it to fester, and one will carry this feeling with them long after you've left the scene. It's probably a good thing this is leaving Olympia — perhaps it's a source of so much conflict you've endured. It's easy to become mesmerized by all the historical artifacts that are present in Olympia's exhibition. Some even seem mystical or, like Ysverai’s heart, to hold unspeakable powers. Others are just a little eerie. Either way, Olympia prides itself in its generosity and their grand displays, and so refugees are urged to learn more about their artifacts by spending the night in Palace Court. Though, someone should probably mention that there are rumors of strange, almost occult things happening around these relics at night. People speak of armored soldiers casting shadows that have the ability to walk on their own, or gemstones that catch the moonlight in a certain way and show you visions. But those are just silly ghost stories, right? TALL TALES OF KHALO VILLAGE     Because of Khalo's proximity to Wyver, it's no surprise that they would catch wind of the peace talks between Wyver and Olympia. In response, for the first time in centuries, Khalo Village has willingly granted passage to outsiders — but visitors will immediately find out that one cannot just simply walk into the village. Visitors will need to inhale the smoke of a fyrra herb in order to enter the premises without falling into slumber. Khalo is notably different than what refugees are used to. Visitors, specifically refugees, will find that they are exceedingly accommodating. The Khali are very intrigued by the outsiders, thus they're treated with much respect and given instant access to some of the best lounges and fyrra the village has to offer. In exchange, the village is interested in hearing about your journey thus far. Whether it be through a conversation with another individual or the Khali themselves, they'll very likely to have been eavesdropping and recording the tales of their exploits. Why, exactly? Perhaps it will not be immediately clear, but if you happened upon a venasou, a tamed Khali creature, it may have guided you to their Enchanted Library. Upon entering the library, visitors will notice that it is quite the happening place — but not because it's occupied by the Khali, but because there seems to be an assembly of magical quills seemingly writing on their own. The quills are mostly undisturbed by the intrusion and will not stop writing even if parchment is taken from it; it will simply produce another piece of paper and continue its tales. If you happen to read the parchment, you may notice that there is a daunting similarity between your story and the ones being written here. Tales of Thesa birthing new races and sending them from the sky, for example, are very popular in Khalo Village. They mark July 15th as the day in which the Moon Goddess, Thesa, created more people in her image and brought them to El Nysa as saviors. The coincidences don't end there: specifics about your home world might be found in the writings if you search deeply enough — but it's not without its exaggerations. These stories are given all sorts of poetic and literary forms, from short stories to limericks, biographies to something similar to haiku. If asked, the Khali will inform visitors that the enchanted library has access to vague parts of your memories, and thus it is duty-bound to record. The Khali have not seen stories as strange as the ones being made by refugees, which is largely why they are interested in them. NOTE: This is entirely optional! You may make up your own "stories" (fanfiction) and it could be as accurate or inaccurate, or as serious or silly as you'd like. While tales of the Thesa's descendants are still being written, visitors of the Enchanted Library might find intrigue in the more complete works — KING AND KIN. If one is willing to delve deep, they may also find parts of Wyver's past that have been removed from their own archives. These pages will recount the tales of Shanrian and Rasyc. Though a lot of the narrative seems to divide at certain points in the story, it becomes obvious with some quick reading that Rasyc is not only the son of Shanrian, but that he glorifies the Wyver of old, more bloodthirsty and brutal than it is today. Unlike his father, he does not take kindly to Olympia and the threat they will always pose for their people. He has not forgotten Olympia's past sins and he believes that, in his foolish quest for peace, the king has gone soft and no longer possesses the real will to fight. His present voice in affairs of state is not a loud one, as he chooses to speak in whispers and move in the dead of silence. In these quiet murmurings, he boasts of his unwavering belief in the power and dignity of his people. Of how they should all return to what they once were — the kingdom, its citizens, and naturally the father who he had once admired greatly. Though perhaps it can be argued that any estranged son would wish the same. It's difficult to pinpoint what becomes political and what is and always will be more personal for him. But, it hardly matters. It's clear that Rasyc will stop at nothing to achieve his objectives, even if it means never returning to place he calls home. Even if it means turning his back on his own father, Shanrian, King of Wyver... DRAGONFIRE. While tales of the Thesa's descendants are still being written, visitors to the Enchanted Library might find intrigue in the more complete works. In particular, tales of Ysverai, the last of Wyver's great high dragons. Ysverai is most commonly known for being slain by Olympia’s past king and legendary hero, Nithor, but here in Khalo he is depicted in another light. Ysverai is known to the Khali people as a wise being, old as the first inhabitants that walked El Nysa. The creature spoke in the common tongue to the early settlers, guiding them to refuge when his kin began to dominate the land at the cost of its own isolation. It ultimately becomes a tale of sacrifice, for its stand with Nithor became a testament against the Olympian Empire's long reaching influence. At the bottom, there is a quotation: Your hearts will fill with greed and malice the moment my own stops beating. Take care in the Eye of the Storm. Find strength in one another, before it is too late. It seems to end there. Refugees are naturally allowed to question the natives. However, keep in mind that many of their replies will seem more like speculation than fact. But maybe that can be fun too? If you have no interest in the library and the tales they've woven, feel free to explore any of the other areas of interest. Khalo Village is thrilled to be open for you all. THOSE THAT SEEK PEACE, AND THOSE THAT SEEK --     The morning of the 20th is marked by fairly dismal weather. The sky is overcast and a downpour seems imminent. Regardless of the poor forecast, those who signed up to assist in this mission will be required to come early in order to receive their briefing. Members of Group A: ▸ Jon Snow (song_of_ice) ▸ Daenerys Targaryen (dorzalta) ▸ Loras Tyrell (triplerose) ▸ Terra (earthy) ▸ Alisaie Leveilleur (adelphoi) ▸ Solider: 76 (personalwar) ▸ Ardyn Izunia (daemonized) ▸ Mai(maipokerface) ▸ Olivier Armstrong (wallsofbriggs) ▸ Atsushi Nakajima (gekkajuu) Members of Group B: ▸ Kale (kaleorbekaled) ▸ Diana Prince (wondie) ▸ Pheonix Wright (objectionattourney) ▸ Revolver Ocelot (shashka) ▸ Frederick (pebblestone) ▸ John Sheppard (impavid ▸ Ianto Jones (torchwoodteaboy) ▸ Lena Oxton (quevarly) ▸ Allura (quintessent) Due to the rain, members of Group A will have to immediately stop by the checkpoint at the East Watchtower. Additionally, the Royal Guard and Knightryders are well-prepared with extra cloaks for those who may require it. They also will provide basic refreshments such as water and bread. People are encouraged to take what they need prior to their departure on this mission. The checkpoints are a bit far between, after all. Members of the envoy will also be encouraged to utilize this time to become familiar with one another. Maybe some introductions are in order? You never know who will end up having your back... For both groups, the paths will be relatively straightforward with evenly spaced checkpoints along the way. The only issue seems to be the downpour, really. The rain is unforgiving and the roads easily become unstable and increasingly difficult for the carriage to be drawn through. Hence, there may be more than one occasion where you will be expected to lend a hand in prying out its wheels from a particularly pesky (and muddy) pothole. Or perhaps you will be called upon by a fellow guard to assist in getting a particularly stubborn creature out of the path ahead of you. Seems like it may be a longer journey than you expected. Dirtier, too. While weathering the conditions may have been a bit tiring, this journey isn't too bad, right? Well, maybe not. GROUP A. Once the carriage gets through the worst of the terrain and finally manages to depart from the watchtower, it won't be long until the group is met with a physical roadblock. A large tree trunk will be set down the center of the road, acting as a blockade. But, before the group can react or begin crafting a plan around this obstruction, the carriage will be attacked without warning. At first, it's unclear where the attack comes from or from whom, but you don't have the leisure to deliberate this. You hear one of your fellow guards mention something about bandits frequenting these parts, but maybe there's more to it? Either way, your task is clear: protect the artifact, Nithor's skull, and fight the bandits off. You'll be encouraged to try and capture them so that they may later be turned and questioned by the authorities. GROUP B. With clear motives to restock and collect a few more materials for the carriage, it's evident that the envoy will appear restless to arrive at the second checkpoint. However, despite their unspoken delight at seeing the South Outpost from a distance, it's clear something has gone awry. There will be several hooded figures awaiting them right where the mud path meets the cobblestone of the Outpost's road. Soon, several more of these figures will come to flank them from both sides. While they seem like bandits, at least from their physical appearance, there is something far more polished in their movements. They will be attacking the envoy in concise, practiced formations. For those who are more perceptive, it becomes obvious that they are moving around and acting as decoy to one central figure. This member is likely the "leader" of their group, but no matter how one may try to close the distance between themselves and this mysterious leader, someone will constantly get in the way of that. The fighting also seems to act as a distraction since by the time everything is cleared up... only two things are missing. The leader of this group of bandits and more importantly — Ysverai's heart. NOTE: Those RNG'd to thread out the capture and questioning of the bandits will have starters below. For everyone else that signed up, you will still have the opportunity to capture the assailants even though they were not selected to thread the interrogation; you are free to make up your NPCs with the same basic guideline: they will not reveal their motive or their organization. You may turn them in to authorities (Wyver or Olympia or otherwise) or find creative ways to get rid of them. FINAL OOC NOTE     To reiterate: you may use this log as a general mingle for everything from the May Outline, including all Khalo Village activities. In other words, your top-levels don't necessarily have to be related to the prompts written here. An AC-eligible thread in which your character participates in anything mentioned in the May Outline and/or Khalo Village location page may be submitted for 2 REP POINT FOR EITHER OLYMPIA OR WYVER. SUBMIT THE THREAD FOR OLYMPIA OR WYVER HERE OR HERE RESPECTIVELY BY June 10th 11:59 PM EST. For those who participated in this month's plot-related portion, to receive IC recognition for it, a summary of the thread must be submitted HERE by June 8th 11:59 PM EST. Please direct all queries to the question thread below. Thank you, and have fun! QUICK NAV premise ● faq ● lore ● map ● npcs ● bestiary taken ● atp/emp ● application ● rep/acp ● quest bulletin calendar ● hiatus/drops ● modbox [ FULL NAVIGATION ] elnysa nysalogs nysaisles nysaooc elnyan

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dorian pavus | ota (olympia & khalo)

[flashystyle]

I. AND IF YOU LOOK TO YOUR LEFT YOU'LL SEE DESPAIR

I'm certain a microbe of what's in this room is worth more than your family has for the past few centuries, please do not touch any of the artifacts—and you're gone. All right. There you go. Get your grubby little hands all over everything you possibly can, that's exactly what I requested. Good job. Gold star!

[A very exasperated tour guide drops his hands, staring after a group of young children running off ahead of him. He's dressed finely, well-groomed, exactly the type of person that you'd expect to stand around and wax poetic about the nostalgia a certain exhibit provokes in a person. But rather than doing that, he's holding a clipboard of things to do (with notes on how not to age ten years doing them) throughout the entire day. He's mite exhausted already, and it's hardly noon.

Muttering under his breath, he turns his gaze away from the "demons in the making" to look towards the looming statue of a dragon. Apparently, he's speaking to it more than anyone in the vicinity, but it isn't as if he's lowered his voice beyond being overheard.]

Volunteer to babysit your coworkers children, Dorian. You'll get a promotion eventually, Dorian. You could be cracking the secrets of this very universe at this very moment, but this is a better way to spend your time, Dorian. I've made the right decision? How kind of you to say so.

II. DUMB DUMB WANT GUM GUM?

[Long after the little demons that some might call children returned to the Hell in which they came, Dorian finds himself back in the exhibit hall for the grand purpose of finding some little girl's Ysverai plush. It's well past the hours of when one would already have started drinking, and that's precisely what Dorian was in the middle of when he got the call from Robert Dickass (Dickens, but Dorian's decided he's going to spread this nickname throughout the Institute) in Potions who claims his daughter can't go to sleep. And that brings us to the present. Dorian is tipsy in a museum at midnight.

However, the fact that Dorian is tipsy is not the reason the area is this particularly creepy. With the sound of its day visitors gone, the sole consistency through silence is the loud heartbeat of a long dead dragon. It'd sound like the foreboding drum of Jumanji, if Dorian knew what that was. It leaves him on edge, on this quest to find a plush, and in desperate need of another drink.

Perhaps you're there, too. In fact, you must be there, because the second Dorian turns around the corner and spots you, he lets out a little gasp of surprise and fills his hand with flame. Illuminating an otherwise dim room, he blinks several times, then knits his brows.]

You can't be looking for the dragon, too.

III. WHERE DO YOU SUPPOSE THOSE RIDDLES LEAD? A POT OF CHOCOLATE? FAIRIES?

[The Enchanted Library is already flitting with objects to run into. Books are flying about like some kind of scene in Harry Potter, quills are brushing noses and surely invoking a sneeze or two if the dust doesn't. But perhaps you're making your way down an aisle when you come across stacks and stacks of books directly in your path. Hardcovers, paperbacks—hardly any relation to one another aside from the fact they are in the same monolith. Upon closer inspection, you'll find a there's a man behind the mountain, crouching to one of the lower shelves to retrieve yet another for his pile. He hasn't noticed you yet.]

Oh— [Until he does. Rather than make matters somewhat better, though, you've caught him by surprise—he knocks his arm into the stack. Think fast, stranger, or lose a leg to knowledge.]

IV. BLAZE IT

[It rained, because of course it did. The weather, apparently, won't ever be predictable after the last arrivals. For a time, water rolled down the winding branches of the canopy, dripping onto the heads of those down below. But now the showers have subsided, and rather than complain, Dorian comes to appreciate the glistening of the dewdrops reflecting the luminescence of the plants around them. Some glow blue, others orange, most a delightful little pink. That, and the perfect humidity it leaves them in, leaves Dorian blissful.

That, and the fyrra he's currently smoking. He's currently sat on the steps outside of the ground level accommodations, watching the distant musicians play as the Khali people perform acrobats he hardly thinks anyone else here can manage. Take up a seat beside him, and he might offer you his smoke. Regardless of whether or not you accept, he'll follow up shortly afterward.]

Do you think we could have a life here? [A beat.] July 15th... I've been here nearly a year now. All I've succeeded in is not dying.

iii.

[latkje]

[ Nash is, himself, only halfway paying attention where he's going. It's unlike him. But it's difficult to walk and read at the same time. Just like life is difficult. There's a lesson in here, somewhere.

Maybe the lesson is "don't read and walk", because he doesn't move out of the way in time to not get crushed by a stack of falling books. ]

Hnnn. [ It's a wincing noise of obvious pain. He hasn't lost the leg, but it feels like it could be twisted up pretty bad. ]

[flashystyle]

[Dorian doesn't really make any attempt to save Nash. None what-so-ever. In his plethora of magical knowledge, there is probably something, somewhere in his mind that would do the trick if he bothered — but he just stands witness to the tragedy. A tragedy of his own doing.

Nash is blessed by the fact he's too busy trying not to laugh at his misfortune to take a picture, though. Instead he takes a deep breath and raises a hand to lift the books up and off him (the magic he probably could have used to stop it, but details), shaking his head.]

I hope the last line of whatever you're reading is something ironic. The man was walking along the mountainside when he passed a sign for falling rocks. He was found dead under a falling rock.

[latkje]

[ The wincing done and through with, Nash adopts an exasperatingly chipper tone. ]

On the contrary. If you always know where you're going, are you really going anywhere?

[ That is not in the book he's reading. That is 100% his own bullshit.

He tests out the leg. ]

I think it might be broken.

[ He certainly can't put any weight on it. ]

[flashystyle]

What, your philosophy? It is. I've shattered it into a thousand pieces.

[Dorian glances at Nash's face, then his leg. Face, leg. Face. The amusement all but dies then and there.]

You're joking, yes? You're joking.

[latkje]

Alas no, it's all a ploy to get you to feel for me. Which is something I take very seriously.

[ It might not be broken, he doesn't really want to take the time to examine it thoroughly. One, because it hurts, but mostly two, because: ]

I can fix it.

[flashystyle]

You can fix it.

[Doubt.jpg]

You've skills beyond baking? Well, strike me and call me a soporati. Let's see it.

[latkje]

You haven't heard of my previous miracles?

[ Though, Nash supposes Prior's leg gave out after a while. ]

I was a famous mage back where I come from, in addition to being the second best baker in New Rupanda. [ This is a lie. But it's a lie he's been meaning to try out more. ]

Just don't interrupt. [ He raises his right hand in an arcane gesture and chants. While he does need concentration to cast, especially because he's not particularly gifted at it, this spell is one he's pretty good at. And soon enough a cloud of blue fey lights begins circling overhead, a telltale sign of wind magic, for those who knew how to read it. ]

[flashystyle]

[There was a moment, when it all began, that Dorian thought he could interrupt if he pleased. But he holds his tongue the moment the magic actually appears, brows raising high. There isn't wind magic, where he's from, per say. Probably all of the elements except that.

Then his brows knit. Under his breath:] A bit showy for healing, but all right...

[latkje]

[ In fact, this is something Nash hates about magic— there's no real way to do it without announcing your position with a cloud of fairy dust. But, he'd be in a few more pieces if it weren't for magical healing. It was distantly troubling that so many worlds apparently didn't have it.

Anyway, the spell completed, his leg back to normal, he turns to Dorian with one eyebrow raised. Dorian calling something showy is a bit like the crown calling the necklace overdressed. ]

IV.

[cassus]

[ The atmosphere is ethereal here, like something pulled straight from the pages of a children's fairy-tale, from the winding tree houses built in ancient times to the teeming sense of something magical in the air. It leaves one feeling serene; at peace from within for just long enough to forget the chaos and strife not gone long enough to call 'the past'.

Dazai takes the path to Khalo's ground level, searching for a distraction as he tends to do when left to his own devices. There's something of a performance going on a bit farther off, but he's in no mood for a crowd. One person is manageable company, found in a man sitting and smoking the local herb that suddenly looks like the ideal focus of his restless attention.

Dazai slides into the seat nearest to the handsome stranger whom he acknowledges with a nod and the quirk of his mouth, his mannerisms friendly but silent at first. The air is thick with smoke that he'd prefer to indulge in more than merely through a second-hand encounter. So when he's offered the fyrra, Dazai doesn't need further prompting to take it with a murmur of gratitude.

He's smoked plenty enough during his youth, when it was just another vice and way to handle the life he'd led back then. It's been a while since he'd indulged again, but not enough that Dazai coughs when he inhales the first experimental puff. Nor after the second; dragging it in longer than before. Only then does his attention glide back to the company he's been given tonight. ]

This wouldn't be the worst place to call home.

[ It should be odd to engage in such personal conversation straight off the bat, yet it seems easy once the fyrra is in his system, under the leafy green canopy and amid the sound of distance music and colorful dancers. The mood is too otherworldly to feel completely guarded, and even talk of the future or personal gains or losses flow freely as the hour grows later. ]

Where I come from that's enough of an accomplishment.

[flashystyle]

[Dorian considers his reply while he looks on ahead, watching the natives flit from the different levels of the village. The spectacularness of the place is something to behold, and not something to take lightly... though it's an answer he takes with a certain reluctance. Time, it seems, has worn Dazai's new companion down—though his spirit is elevated by the fyrra, there's something resigned in the way he reacts. He draws a knee up to rest his arm across it, bites the inside of his cheek.

Though he chuckles, at least, at his follow-up.]

An accomplishment across all worlds, it seems. Rare in some, hardly note-worthy in others, but one none-the-less. Every so often, I sit down and speculate the reasons we're all here, and the negativities are the only thing that seems to be consistent. I don't quite know what to make of that.

Tell me, what method did the universe usually use to dispose of your world-mates?

[cassus]

Are you asking how people typically died, before it was their time?

[ The use of 'dispose' is too poignant an addition for Dazai to assume that the stranger insinuates anything but foul play. That and no matter how much his companion exudes the rugged masculinity that ought to suggest endless arrogance and the type of confidence that can render lesser men blind, his mood dredges the depths of sadness.

He reeks of pain. Dazai can almost taste it on the tip of his tongue; stronger and more satisfying in it's realness than any artificial feeling a drug may provide. ]

Oh, that's easy to answer!

[ He turns so that they can speak face to face, no matter the billowing clouds pouring from a cheshire mouth. Dazai is smiling, his voice chipper and lifted with the lit of intrigue that's been piqued. But none of that reaches dark eyes which gaze back without a hint of light; as empty and hollow in their appearance as Dorian feels.

If anyone was an expert on wrongful deaths within the scope of the world which he was most familiar, then Dazai would be it. He's lived with this fact for longer than his adulthood, but ached from recent wounds left by such a truth and mourned it for four long years. ]

We killed each other, of course.

[ It's rude to ask. But the answer exists, hovering unanswered over them like a rain-cloud just waiting to unleash the whole of it's downpour, at the slightest provocation. So why drag things out? Better to put them both out of their misery and end things painlessly. ]

You've lost someone important to you, haven't you?

[ A dangerous question, when the very same could just as easily be turned around and asked of himself. ]

prior 📚❣️

[flashystyle]

I'm afraid our illustrious affair must come to an end, my dear.

[Dorian sighs from behind the stack of books he's currently placing on their shared table, as if he were listing an undeniable fact of life. He, of course, does not have a serious expression to match — it's taken hours to make a journey together, and when he isn't fussing over the potential strains on Prior's body, he's finding some manner to compliment him (and himself) or asking questions about the intricacies of the fabled New York life. He managed to look enraptured most of the time, even about the mundane. And these... clubs, they would play the recording like Tozier's collection? No, don't answer that, I could phrase that less stupidly. He isn't going anywhere.

But it is a significantly nicer atmosphere than that of the last library they were in. Stuffy, scolding old mother hen-like acolytes insisting silence and looming over your shoulder if you so much as breathe too loudly replaced with absolutely no caretakers, other than the self-appointed visitors. Dorian isn't over the moon, because as he's stated before, nowhere they go is going to compare to the archives of his homeland, but he is at ease. At ease, and casting a wry smile at Prior over a paperback.]

My heart beats for another, older, more knowledgeable. I'm to look upon these pages until my eyes shut for eternal rest.

[priorly]

[Prior, in the meanwhile, is coping with the stresses of the journey very well, thank you. Granted, there's the unfortunate old-lady-like need to nap after a very long carriage ride but - that taken care of - he's practically kittenish in his interest in... everything.

It's a long time since he's played the tourist. There was one trip to a quaint little model village somewhere in New England - the details of which he's regaled Dorian with during the trip - complete with creaky floorboards and a creepy landlady in the B&B, and this trip's a little like a less postironic version. Nothing here's faux-quaint, it's the real deal.

Like this place. Prior may have promised to take Dorian to a club someday (somehow) but for now the trade remains on his side: they visit libraries.

It's nice to watch the way Dorian slowly unwinds with every flip of a page.

Looking up from examining the writings of an enchanted pen, Prior pulls himself up onto the table with the excuse of taking a closer look at the topmost title of Dorian's book pile, to see what has him so enchanted. He reads aloud:]

Studs in Spurs 2: Bucked by a Cowboy. [Whether this is the title or not, Prior's hand flutters against his chest.] Well I don't blame you, it sounds like a classic of its time.