natha: (Default)
ɴᴀᴛʜᴀ orbiters ❰ mod collective ❱ ([personal profile] natha) wrote in [community profile] nysalogs2018-06-17 01:35 am

❪ event ❫ hour of ruin

HOUR OF RUIN    

Sometime after midnight, after preparations have been put aside in favor of drinks and rest, a thunderous beating of wings shatters the air — the High Dragon Ysverai, once again risen. The sound echoes high off Namarak Mountain, but travels easily to both Wyver and Olympia: scream after scream rends the still night, as though a creature were dying rather than being born again.

Having only had days to plan their defense against the creature, Olympia and Wyver snatch up their arms. The Royal Guard and the Knightryders can be seen on their steeds hurrying through the cities, because Ysverai doesn't remain isolated at the mountain's peak for long.

There are pictures of Ysverai in abundance throughout both cities, but the creature that circles in the sky looks nothing like the majestic creature spoken of in history books. Even from far below, wounds and lacerations can be seen marring what should be smooth scales, and blood falls with every beat of the dragon's wings. The damage becomes more clear when moonlight illuminates Ysverai, revealing the rotting dragon for all to see.

The sight of flesh peeling away and thick blood where it oozes from his cracked, greyish hide is as frightening as the power he possesses.

REASON'S TRANSCENDENCE    
Mad from the anguish of his forced revival, Ysverai will show none of his renowned wisdom or compassion, mindless and seeking to inflict his pain onto whatever emerges in his path.

His very presence creates chaos: animals (Olympia | Wyver) domesticated and wild, flee from the merest hint of his approach, panicked and stampeding in wild droves. The reason is obvious: organic matter exposed too long to his presence begins to rot and decay. A field he lands in rots and lies fallow. Buildings crack and crumble, their supports pitted and corroded as though they've been left in disrepair for years. Even the ground that Ysverai walks upon is tainted; a corrosive sludge bubbles up in his massive, clawed footsteps, the ground beneath him putrefied and toxic, oozing corruption. This sludge can be tar-like, poisonous and sucking people in like quicksand; panic, and you'll only sink faster.

Prolonged exposure to Ysverai takes a mental toll on anyone in his proximity as well. Effects similar to those from being near his heart — selfish desires and lowered inhibitions — will begin to fester in those around him.

Every time Ysverai roars, pain will run through all those that hear him — a pain not just physical, but of true, anguished heartbreak. Those who hear Ysverai will feel (to a degree of your choosing) a sharing of his pain, the agony of flesh rotting from their bodies, blood oozing from under their skin, and a terrible, incandescent fury — and beneath that, a gut-wrenching sadness. This effect is further enhanced by any exposure to Ysverai's blood, and being drenched in greater quantities will cause one to become more in sync with the dragon.

Finally, Ysverai is aggressive, attacking anyone and anything that approaches. He starts by breathing out a smog, acidic and putrefying — characters caught directly by this attack will find that medicine and healing magic of any kind hurts them for hours after exposure. The dragon will ignite the smog to breathe fire, if sparingly.

IN WYVER    
Ysverai's shadow falls over the near reaches of Wyver first. Upon hearing Ysverai's cry, the dragons in Wyver become completely frenzied, turning against their partners among the Knightryders without the slightest resistance. Those familiar with dragons might deduce that they're in pain, though they don't show any sign of injury. The dragons knock their riders off their backs in midair and dive at citizens, jaws wide. Any attempts to soothe them will be long fought, achieved with great difficulty, and will see them retreat into a cowering state.

It's not just the airborne Knightryders taking to the defense of the city however, and people on the ground are mobilizing as well. On rooftops across the city are cannons set to fire harpoons. And if the spearheads alone aren't enough to injure the beast, they're coated with a paralyzing poison as well. Unfortunately, the soldiers stationed on the rooftops are prime targets to the frenzied dragons populating Wyver's skies, leaving the cannons open for ordinary citizens to use should they choose. Left alone too long, and cannons may fall under the control of the few remaining radicals that had opted not to flee the cities to join up with their leader Raysc, choosing instead to wait for an opportune moment to unleash their anger on the people of Wyver. These radicals will need to be dealt with before they can turn the cannons upon Wyver's defenders.

IN OLYMPIA    
In Olympia, the gryphon partners of the Royal Guard react with immediate hostility to anyone showing signs of Ysverai's influence. Their keen senses allow them to pick up the smell of Ysverai's blood and they attack anyone with so much as a drop of tainted blood on them. Those who bear lingering effects of Ysverai's mental attack and who remain in sync with the dragon after hearing Ysverai's cry are also targeted and must face the gryphons' wrath without mercy or restraint. The gryphons must be disabled, for Olympia will not look upon any injury to their prized steeds lightly. However, the gryphons also show some resistance to Ysverai's cry, which is a great boon in battle against the dragon — gryphons that have lost their riders will be available for use, able to carry two passengers at a time.

The people of Olympia aren't planning to restrict their offense to pure brute force, and the mages of the city can be seen across Olympia wielding enchanted chains, using telekinesis in the hopes of restraining Ysverai and assisting in the airborne troops. But like the decaying buildings and wildlife, Ysverai is warping the magic around him, the chains faltering as they approach him, whipping back toward the city instead to cage whoever happens to be closest. It's not just the enchanted chains either, but other magic might behave erratically in his presence, as if the very essence of the spells have been corrupted.

VIRTUOUS VERSE    
Both cities realize they need to seek survival rather than victory against Ysverai, switching gears to carry out diversion efforts and evacuation plans. It falls to refugees to continue the offensive while the Royal Guard and the Knightryders devote their attention to ensuring the safety of the citizens as they flee.

With official forces stretched thin, civilians and refugees alike will also need to step up to help herd citizens toward safety among a maze of collapsing buildings. Others will need to see to gathering resources for the evacuation, and while gathering non perishables is easy enough, it's considerably harder to wrangle livestock into cooperating amidst such chaos.

Those fighting may be asked to act as bait for Ysverai. Chatter through official troops speaks of a switch in strategy: the objective now is capture the dragon's attention and draw him away from the populous cities and towards the South Outpost. Whether or not it's possible to defeat the dragon remains uncertain, but there's no question that it will be easier to battle him without worrying about civilians.

THE RAGE    

Luckily, the dragon is indiscriminate in his rage, and easily lured so long as a suitably infuriating target is before him. It doesn't take long to draw him to the South Outpost, but the trail of destruction he leaves in his wake is vast. Once there, the combined forces are greeted not just by Ysverai, but also by the appearance of Ysverai's master.

How bravely you've all come to meet your doom! Great heroes, one and all, ha! I welcome you, bring your best. Show me the power that's protected Olympia and Wyver, all that you have to offer me, whatever pitiful excuse for valor you seek to cling to when the fear has you cowering in your beds. All will be for naught in the face of Ysverai's might!

Let history witness the day the glory of war is reignited — the day that Wyver remembers its fangs once more! Come, Ysverai, last and greatest of the High Dragons! Come, and restore Wyver to its rightful place! Come, fulfill the promise as our protector that you could not in life!
Raysc lifts a gleaming device as he issues his command. Red lights blink and blood, the same oozing liquid that drips from Ysverai's many wounds, runs in clear tubes through the device. Ysverai rears back as Raysc makes adjustments to a control panel — and then lunges forward, mouth agape. With a single swallow, Raysc meets his end.

Raysc's attempt to control the dragon has only enraged him further, spurring Ysverai on to new heights of fury. It's become more vital than ever to face the dragon and take him down here and now. A few effective strategies are learned from research efforts and observed while defending Olympia and Wyver: goading the dragon into breathing fire will hurt him, burning him from the inside out, and attacks to his joints, eyes, wings, and exposed bone are effective. Ice is a natural repellent to dragons and can be used defensively or to weaken the dragon's hide. Healing spells will also react unnaturally to Ysverai's flesh, hastening his decay.

However, while concentrated efforts will lock him down, Ysverai cannot be permanently killed in this state — his flesh constantly rots and spawns anew. Attacking him here is to protect civilians, keeping him busy to avoid mass destruction elsewhere. Therefore, the battle is one of attrition, a matter of a race against time. You must destroy his flesh faster than it is able to regenerate to have any hope of victory.

Finally, when Ysverai is weakening, little more than bones with a few last vestiges of rotten meat hanging from a skeleton, the pathetic remnants of the last High Dragon takes to the skies. His wings are barely intact enough to carry him, yet desperation lifts him, higher and higher, until he lets out one great, earth-shaking roar.

A roar that carries across the battlefield, sending all who hear it to their knees. A roar that shatters the swords in soldiers' hands, that rends apart the very air itself — Ysverai's last act, a great curse upon El Nysa, to bring down the sky.

AND THE WORLD STOOD STILL    

The terror of Ysverai's destruction hangs overhead — a tear in the sky, darkness pouring through, tendrils reaching down towards El Nysa to swallow up the planet in the dragon's final act of revenge. And yet nothing moves. A halo of brilliant light surrounds the rift in the sky, holding the grasping, hungry tendrils in check. And on the planet, not a creature moves. Not a blade of grass stirs. You're not able to even draw a breath. No matter where you are, not even the heart in your chest is beating. Everything has stopped — time has come to a standstill.

In a wash of light, an aurora of transport, you find yourself delivered to Thesa Station. Darma stands before you, her expression solemn, perhaps even grim, though that may just be a trick of the station's harsh lighting. She explains what has happened in short order: planetside, time has been completely frozen.

We have seen the birth and end of worlds. The rise and fall of civilizations infinite times over. We have seen all threads of possibilities that could have lead to this very moment... Or should have. Perhaps you might doubt our sincerity when we say this comes as a surprise to us, as well...

Special technology has been used to blind us. To this day, we only know of one region capable of creating and utilizing such technology... you will find this technology in a city known as Nadril. We understand that you have created a life down in Wyver and Olympia, but now we must ask that you put that life on pause. We ask you to travel to Nadril and find the original Refugee, and with him, answers. As you will discover, he does not wish to speak to us. It is no matter. By now it is too late to keep the Nysan public unaware of our existence.

We commend the efforts of those who wish to protect their comrades on the battlefield below, but a creature like poor Ysverai, twisted and warped, given unnatural life with terrible magic and technology, does not simply go down with manpower. Please, leave Ysverai to us. Time on the planet will remain stopped while we determine how to deal with the dragon. For now, rest and recover your strength. We have returned, and soon, there will be new refugees awakening. Perhaps you might like to prepare yourselves to greet them?

I'm sorry that I can't answer more questions, but for now, all our attention must turn to finding a way to stop what Ysverai has wrought.
A bank of monitors behind Darma displays the battlefield below: Ysverai's frozen, looming figure and the breach in the sky, and the Natha's halo, holding the destruction back. Though time passes normally on Thesa Station, El Nysa remains frozen, and all Refugees are unable to return to the planet until Ysverai's menace is dealt with. Luckily, with the Natha's return, full functionality has also returned to the station. The lights and environmentals are back to full power, access to all areas has been restored, the cafeteria is serving its normal offerings, and there's no evidence of any glitching or malfunctions.

Doubtless, the period of rest is much needed after the hard-fought battle. For now, with time on El Nysa at a standstill, there's little else to be done but enjoy the reprieve aboard Thesa Station.
FINAL OOC NOTE    
Characters that reach an AC length action thread in this event will receive 2 rep for all factions, including Natha. Note that while these are split up for ease of processing, players may submit for all three.

OLYMPIA | WYVER | NATHA

Players can expect this event to run three days ICly before everyone is teleported to Thesa Station! From thereon, all characters will be grounded at the Station until the Test Drive Meme later this month.
punshots: (✘ ambient.)

[personal profile] punshots 2018-06-19 03:37 am (UTC)(link)
[ Even after he finishes changing out the sheets, Prompto finds other things to do to preoccupy his time, because Alisaie is right in her assessment of him: he needs something to keep him busy, because he is not ready to face the dark corners in his own mind yet. As ever, to deal with his trauma he looks outward first, focusing on bettering things around him in some hope that by so doing, his own troubles will grow inconsequential. Sometimes, that approach works. Sometimes, that's okay. This time he won't be so lucky, but for the short-term, it's a viable solution, and one he is familiar with. It's so easy to fall back into old habits, when processing something so horrible as all this.

But even for how he's kept himself busy, he can't help but feel a little relieved when Alisaie returns from the bath. Even with the door open, he doesn't like being in a separate room from her, in being so distant when the place he most wants to be is nestled close to her. They're both exhausted beyond words and while sleep still won't come easy for either of them, maybe...it won't be asking too much to hold her tonight while they drift in that lull between wakefulness and rest.

Prompto drops heavily onto his usual side of the bed to reach down and unlace his boots, giving Alisaie a cursory, evaluative look over his shoulder before he rises again to fetch some clothes from the dresser himself. She looks more weary than he's ever seen her, but somehow she appears more herself than she had when he'd first found her in here, like a husk of her former self, staring distantly into his camera. How long had she...been like that? ]


I...uh, I saw you...got my ring. [ Said thickly, awkwardly, because there's no good way to say he understands why she took it from his corpse. ] ...Thank you.

[ She couldn't have taken it in hopes of giving it back to him later, but all the same, since it wasn't from Eos, there's no telling if he would have had it when he revived, either. Her decision to take it, as difficult as it must have been, might have saved him his wedding ring.

He hasn't replaced it on his finger yet. He's...not sure if he should, since she hasn't been wearing hers, either. ]
adelphoi: (🍰 ʀᴜᴍ)

[personal profile] adelphoi 2018-06-19 03:52 am (UTC)(link)
[ she slips the nightdress over her head, and it's soft and clean and loose, a small comfort, but a comfort nonetheless.

looking over to see him perched on the bed is.. strange, unreal. these days have felt as years, with the world below them held in the balance, and seeing him sitting in his usual place as if nothing has changed at all is jarring. as if their lives were simply on pause, and are now continuing again.

alisaie lingers by the dresser for a few moments, her fingers moving idly over her hairbrush, but he turns her attention to the rings that sit nearby, glimmering gently in the low light. of course she had taken it. nothing is guaranteed, and the natha are mysterious at best. who could say whether prompto would return to stasis at all, and if he did, if he would ever awaken? she could not bear the thought of losing his ring forever, and while she had cast them both away in her anger, she had not gotten rid of them. she'd known her fury would be a temporary thing, and that one day she would be able to touch them again, to keep them close to her heart.

she'd hardly expected that day to arrive so soon, and in this fashion.

after a thoughtful silence she scoops up both rings, and her hairbrush, then moves to sit beside him on the fresh, clean blankets, opening her palm between them so he can take it back, if he so chooses, for she is slipping her own back into place soon after. if prompto is going to go on and keep living, she wants to feel its weight again. soon after, she's offering him the brush as well. ]


Would you.. braid my hair?

[ she doesn't say you're welcome, doesn't feel that she needs to - surely he would have done the same, had he been in her position. like his pendant, and camera, these precious tokens could not be left to the whims of fate. ]
punshots: (✘ hudson.)

[personal profile] punshots 2018-06-19 04:11 am (UTC)(link)
[ His eyes follow her curiously as she sits next to him on the bed, and when she offers him his ring back he takes it without a second thought, sliding it back into place on his finger wordlessly. He has worn it for so long now, even before it became inscribed with her words for their wedding, that he had felt its absence keenly, naked and bare, and once its familiar presence returns to his hand, resonating warmly with hers, one more worry is lifted from his heart. Yes, this is right. This is where he is supposed to be.

Absently, a weary smile finds its place on his lips as he takes the brush from her, already turning and tentatively reaching out to touch her hair. ]


Yeah. [ A sob rubs against a laugh in his throat at this simple gesture. ] Yeah, you bet.

[ And so once he's sure she isn't going to change her mind, that this contact isn't asking too much, too soon, he starts to work the brush through her hair, fingers gently working through the snarls as they encounter them, treating her head and her hair like they are the most precious things he has ever touched. There's so much he wants to say, needs to ask, but for now, he lets his actions speak for themselves, for his elective silence to say more than his words ever could. It's all there, in his movements, anyway. His adoration and love for her, his appreciation for everything she has done and does for him now, his sorrow for having left her, for having died in her arms, for not being there for her when she needed him the most.

But he is here now, and this is where they begin to rebuild. ]
adelphoi: (🍰 sᴇᴍᴘʀᴏɴɢ)

[personal profile] adelphoi 2018-06-19 05:26 pm (UTC)(link)
[ it is difficult to be touched, but his hands in her hair are tolerable, and soothing, and alisaie exhales softly as he begins to work. it doesn't matter that there are knots and snags to work through that tug at her scalp, prompto's hands are gentle, they are always gentle, and this soft touch is all that matters. alisaie closes her eyes, and lets him work.

it's difficult not to feel the extremity of her fatigue now that she's had a bath, now that her heart and mind are quieted and his fingers are in her hair, dragging gently, consoling, easing away the burden of these last few days. her eyelids flicker and her breathing slows, but she keeps awake to enjoy this sensation for as long as she can. it's such a simple thing, combing someone's hair, but there is an intimacy in it that wraps her up like a warm blanket, a salve to her wounded heart that has her tensions uncoiling at last, after so many long, long days of fighting and mourning and surviving.

there's still so much to come. the world beneath them, frozen in time, is rent and torn and calamitous, its fate grim and uncertain. none can say what lies ahead.

but this, at least, is being repaired. it's so selfish, to worry so much about him, about being without him when there is so very much at stake - prompto is hardly the only person who lost their life to this tumult, she was not the only one left bereft and hurting. she should have been stronger. more independent.

as he finishes up, she sighs softly, sitting quietly for several more moments simply to enjoy the feel of his fingers in her hair before she turns at last, and settles down onto her side, into the crisp, clean sheets. her hands move immediately for the camera, scooping it near, but after a few thoughtful seconds she.. offers it toward him again. it belongs to him, after all. she should not cling to it so. ]


Here.
punshots: (✘ technicolor.)

[personal profile] punshots 2018-06-20 03:54 am (UTC)(link)
[ The simple act of braiding her hair is soothing not only to Alisaie, but to Prompto as well. He is ever gentle anytime she asks him to do something like this for her, but now he is almost exquisitely so, his movements slow and syrupy as he plaits her hair, securing the braid comfortably. (Unsurprisingly, he's pretty good at hair.) She's been through so much, so much, that he owes her this and any other tender touch or reassurance he can possibly give her. When she's...ready to receive them.

It won't be easy. Gods, of course it won't be. They've both suffered unspeakable trauma and dealt with it in very different ways, and they will need time and tender care both to heal from this, to become again what they were before. The shadows will likely always linger, but it isn't hopeless. It could never be. Loving her has ever been easy, effortless, as natural as breathing, and with everything they've overcome before...

They'll just have to find a way to overcome this, too.

Prompto ties off her braid with her customary ribbon, exhales with a gentle hum as she settles down onto the bed. He watches her for a long moment, lost somewhere between the past and the present, and when she picks up his camera to hand over to him, his reaction is a bit delayed, like he is waking from a daydream. ]


...Oh. [ He murmurs, his hands closing over hers on the camera after a long moment. It may not have done much to spare her grief, but...he's glad, at least, that she took his camera, not so much for his own sake, as for hers, that it gave her happier moments to look back on. How many pictures must there be on there now of their smiling faces? Hundreds? Thousands? And so many more of just her, catching her in sweet moments when she was unaware, capturing everything he loves about her. His entire heart and soul is contained in this camera, and he blinks back tears as he pulls it against his chest, against his impossibly beating heart. ]

Thank you. [ And then, meeting her eyes once more, he adds, carefully, timidly: ] I love you.

[ Hopefully her heart isn't too raw to hear it right now, but he needs to say it. ]
adelphoi: (🍰 ᴘɪᴢᴢᴇʟʟᴇ)

[personal profile] adelphoi 2018-06-20 11:36 am (UTC)(link)
[ it certainly hurts to hear it, after she had convinced herself so completely that she never would again, that only his recording would keep her company, assure her of his love - but nevertheless, it is a welcome pain. she would bear this ache every day to keep him in her life, to draw him away from silence and death. something like the ghost of a smile tugs at the corners of her mouth, soft and weary, while she pulls her damp braid over her shoulder, and runs her fingertips along the ribbon. it's been quite some time since last he did this for her. mayhaps they should make it a more common occurrence. ]

I love you, too.

[ she whispers it almost haltingly, as if saying the words will break whatever spell this is, and wake her from this sweet dream, back into the cold, painful nightmare. but he does not disappear before her eyes. she can still feel the tingling on her scalp where his fingers drew against it so delicately, so sweetly.

but gods, she is too exhausted even to keep her heavy eyelids up. blinking blearily, alisaie tugs the blankets over her legs and curls toward him, nuzzling into her pillow, and after a moment, she reaches to gently thread her fingers through his own. it is the best she can manage. ]
punshots: (✘ willow.)

[personal profile] punshots 2018-06-22 04:41 am (UTC)(link)
[ Those words should never be difficult to say, but just because they were difficult to say doesn't mean they are any less true. He can hear it in her voice, the love and affection and sorrow and pain, all mingling together in the shape of her heartache, and honestly, he would have understood if she couldn't say it at all. But then she's returning the words to him, and as they settle down beneath the sheets, she curls her hand around his. Maybe it's not the level of contact he wants, but he knows it's the most she can give right now, and so it will be enough. Her hand, warm in his, his camera still nestled between them.

Blinking back tears, he reaches over to switch off the lamp, and settles down onto his pillow, meeting her eyes in the near-darkness. ]


I'll be right here.

[ Should she need anything, or just...a reminder of his presence. ]
adelphoi: (🍰 ʙᴏᴜʀʙᴏɴ)

[personal profile] adelphoi 2018-06-22 04:21 pm (UTC)(link)
[ that he does not ask more of her is something she is.. immensely grateful for. what makes it so difficult to touch him even she cannot say for sure - the flesh memory of his passing, perhaps, that she cannot touch him without remembering so vividly the way it felt when he fell slack in her arms, the horrible way he shuddered when he breathed his last breath -

gods..

swallowing around her tightening throat, alisaie tightens her grip around his fingers. this is enough. his hand is warm and alive, moving in her own. mayhaps soon enough she shall be able to convince herself that this is real. closing her eyes, alisaie exhales softly, doing her best to breathe her stress away. ]


Sleep well, my love.

[ no doubt they both shall, after too many long, sleepless days. ]