nysalogs | ❪ event ❫ hour of ruin

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❪ 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.

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Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

That could be Bree, too.

[She had a temper that Claire would love to say is all from the Fraser side of the family, but... maybe not entirely. Their quarrels were explosive and ugly and Brianna always went right for the jugular.]

I do visit her often, yes. Not so much as I once did, because at some point I realized she'd probably be upset if she knew how much time I spent talking at her when she can't hear it. She'd think it'd be a waste when I could be doing something more useful.

But I just like to see her.

[And though she doesn't have any idea what Theon is thinking, she feels he should be reminded:]

It was awful, visiting the both of you when you were in here.

[She thought to visit him.]

[ Theon never speaks to any of the people he visits. He knows they can’t hear him, so he simply converses with them in his head, saying the words he wishes they could hear. Sometimes he’ll glare at Asha, but he never speaks a single word out loud.

He looks down at his hands, but he does feel better. Someone thought to visit him. Someone cared. ]

It was only three days.

[Three days too many. That's all it took for so much to catch up to him and so much to change.]

Three days or three months, I'd visit you. You're mine as much as she is.

[She nods over to Bree's sleeping form. No, he's not her blood, and no, she didn't spend twenty years raising him, but they have their own bond. She knows it weighs more than it should simply because he's lacked a mother for so long.]

Now. [No need to get too sentimental.] Who is it you were going to visit, Theon?

[ He doesn’t look up, because he feels those words incredibly deeply and doesn’t want Claire to see the tears forming in his eyes. Looking back, his father essentially abandoned him and never embraced him again. Lord Eddard couldn’t have ever embraced him as Theon wished he could. Duty wouldn’t allow it.

Claire isn’t going to behead him, though. She isn’t going to tell him he brings shame to his family. Her words and her acceptance are honest and heartfelt, but he simply nods, and clears his throat. ]

My sister.

[ He frowns. He doesn’t have the connection to his family that most do, but he thinks his sister must care about him on some level. He saw her struggling not to weep when she found him in the snow, looking nothing like the young man she left with a sparse army in Winterfell. ]

Will you come with me?

[When she thought she was unable to have children, she had once brought up the idea of adoption to Frank. The war left so many orphans in the world and they had a life that could support at least one or two children. He had rejected the idea, unsure if he could love a child that wasn't his own.

(He could. He loved Brianna more than anything else in his life up until he died.)

With Claire, it's always been easy, always been simple. Accepting someone who wants it so badly and giving them a love they've lacked doesn't take anything from her. She knows it makes him emotional, because Theon isn't a machine. She knows how his father treated him, and she knows Ned wasn't able to treat him as one of his own even if he may have wanted to.

She can't make up for any of that, but she can at least be someone that won't disappoint him.]

I'd be happy to. I've wondered what she looks like.

[ He nods once more, doing his best to make the swipe at his tears subtle. He fails, but he says nothing and simply leads Claire down the rows of pods until he finds his sister.

It’s clear that Asha takes after Balon, but she has the same dark hair that her brother once did, and the same wicked smirk. The only difference is that Asha never had to use her smile as a mask. ]

I don’t have any of the kind things to say about her that most families might.

[ It should be obvious. He had only just begun to get to know his sister as an adult when she returned to stasis, and he’s still hurting of her abandonment of him. ]

It just helps sometimes, knowing that she’s still here.

[Claire won't draw attention to those tears. She's been witness to enough of them lately, and she knows how it bothers him even if they don't bother her at all.]

Not all families are like the Starks, you know. [He might not, come to think of it. They're not like the Greyjoys, either, but the Starks were something else even from the bits and pieces Claire has been privy to.] Most families don't get along, I'd say.

[She looks over Asha beyond the thick layer of glass and sees someone that resembles a young man she used to know. Even if he has nothing nice to say about her, she's sure he misses her and would rather she be awake than in stasis. So, Claire makes a mental note to keep a look out for this face among the newcomers.]

I know.

[ Theon has been witness to the dynamics of three families, and he’s still struck by how different the Starks are from the Greyjoys and the Boltons. There were never any drunken fisticuffs or compulsive lies. The only beating anyone seemed to get from their older siblings was in the practice yard. There was no overtly cruel behavior and all children, even bastards, were loved and not simply tolerated. ]

But most families know one another.

[ Who a person is at ten isn’t who they are at twenty, and he and Asha are still almost strangers. He hadn’t recognized her when he returned home, and they’ve hardly exchanged an hour of conversation since. Most of it has been in the form of arguments.

All the same, he does miss her, in his own way. She’s the only family member he has who seems to actively care about him in any form. He just wishes he could say more about her. ]

I hope you get another opportunity to get to know your sister, then. And I hope she's made of better stuff than your father.

[She's never been subtle about her dislike of Balon.]

[ Sometimes, he thinks she is. Other times, he remembers that she abandoned him as well and his feelings curdle once more. It’s complicated, and so was the situation they were in. Theon still wounds easily, and he doesn’t forget.

He doesn’t want to talk about her anymore. He begins to limp further along the rows pods than he would ordinarily go, but the sight of someone else makes him pause. ]

This is my uncle Euron.

[ If there was ever any doubt that Theon were a Greyjoy, it can be put to rest now. Before Ramsay got his hands on him, he was the spitting image of his uncle. The only real difference is the patch over Euron’s eye. ]

He was exiled from the Iron Islands. I haven’t seen him since I was a boy.

[ Despite that, he seems to be in a state of unease around this particular uncle’s sleeping form. Euron was always terrifying. Theon wonders if his black eye isn’t wide open beneath that patch, if he isn’t somehow listening to them speak unlike all the others. There was always something dark about him. ]

He crewed a ship of mutes. They say he cut their tongues out himself.

[ He and Ramsay would get along, or just kill one another. ]

I see the family resemblance.

[Maybe a little more here than between Theon and his father, but Claire's blabbed about one too many uncle-father scandals in her lifetime. She was lucky Colum and Dougal didn't hang her for her (accidentally) correctly pegging Dougal as father of the heir to clan MacKenzie.

Maybe it's best not to ask now why Euron was exiled.]

Bloody hell. You've no aunt or grandmother that baked pies and planted flowers, do you?

[She knows that's unlikely.]

[ He gives her a wry look that says no, he does not. He only has one aunt as it is, and he can hardly remember her. He never met his grandmother. His family and the Iron Islands in general are very much male dominated, and perhaps part of that is what harmed him in the end.

Instead of answering, he simply gestures to the pod beside Euron. Another person he hasn’t visited. ]

Uncle Aeron.

[ A sour-faced man with very long hair hair and a very long beard, woven with seaweed. The Iron Islands breed some very colorful characters, and House Greyjoy may breed the most colorful of them all. ]

My father wrote to me about him once. His ship went down in a storm. When he washed up on shore, he became a priest of the Drowned God.

[ And lost his humor, he tacks on silently. He won’t forget just how different his uncle had become. ]

[Stasis is strange. It's like a mausoleum. They may be alive, the people behind the glass, but some of them perhaps were dead. Asleep or dead, is there that much of a difference when some might never wake?]

Aeron, Euron, Balon... Theon. [She looks over at him with a small smile.] I'm sensing a theme.

[Though Theon seems so much smaller than either of his uncles. A missing eye, a beard that looks like it might wash up on a shore somewhere-- there's a statement made. Stronger than snow white hair and teeth like a shark. Claire keeps that thought to herself. He knows how he must look in comparison to his relatives.]

Nothing makes man appreciate his maker more than nearly meeting him, I suppose. [She doesn't suppose. She knows. But, she shrugs.] I drowned before the Storm hit. A typical storm swept me overboard the ship I was on. [Claire's mostly certain she survived it and didn't hallucinate waking up.] I remember thinking I never wanted to be near saltwater or sand ever again. I'd pledge myself to whatever god to ensure that.

[ Theon doesn’t usually stay long for similar reasons. Stasis reminds him of the crypts, and he never liked the crypts. He’s surrounded by ghosts, some of them his own. He hopes some of these people will wake, and he hopes some of them never will.

Theon is clearly the runt of the litter. He’s the youngest of the entire family, and he doesn’t stand much taller than his sister. His uncles are such tall, imposing men, all strong and unbending. Theon is a frail creature now, white haired and starved. They’d never recognize him. ]

My mother's name is Alannys. My sister’s name is Asha. I had a brother named Rodrik.

[ Though his other brother was named Maron, thus continuing the theme. ]

There are two gods.

[ He furrows his eyebrows, doing his best to remember. He can’t recall much about the religion of the Drowned God, but he doesn’t need his uncle’s teachings to remember the basics. ]

The Drowned God and the Storm God. Uncle Aeron must have met them both. The Storm God sends storms to lures ships to destruction. The ironborn came from the Drowned God’s watery halls, and when we die, that’s where we’re meant to return, but you have to be near the sea.

[ He furrows his eyebrows, halfway glaring at his priest uncle in his pod. You see?, he thinks. I remember just as well as you do. ]

There is no sea in Winterfell or the Dreadfort. Or here.

So, no dying.

[Said almost playfully, but meant sincerely. No dying. He should know by now that she'd not take it well, given how upset she was when he returned to stasis.]

Though I don't know if gods can cross worlds.

[Not that she believed in any god much before. She prayed, in times of need and desperation, but she wasn't a religious woman.]

Only if Lord Ramsay allows it.

[ It’s Theon speaking, but he gives her a withering look, unable to smile. He would never see his death in the Dreadfort unless it was by accident. It was simply cut after cut, scar upon scar, threat upon threat. Death wasn’t in the cards.

He turns back to his priestly uncle, thinking how unhappy he would be. There is no Drowned God here. There’s nothing. ]

He never did.

[ It was the only reason Theon never ended the suffering on his own. If he failed, Ramsay would have made his life a living hell; worse than before. ]

Theon.

[That isn't funny and Claire didn't like it. She frowns before giving his arm a gentle tug.]

Do you know why that upsets me?

Because it's true?

[ He isn't joking. Ramsay offered him his freedom more than once, all in the form of a game or a trick or mockery. He can say for certain that Ramsay never once offered him death. ]

No. Try again.

[She's told him more than once.]

Because it’s…true.

[ He struggles, repeating it lamely. It is true. It’s not his fault if she wasn’t there or if she disagrees with him calling Ramsay by his title. He has to.

He sighs, looking frustrated. He hates guessing games. ]

Because you care.

[ That's true also. ]

I don't just care. Why does it upset me, Theon?

[She will always drive this point home because it's so important that he knows it without a doubt.]

[ He doesn’t like this. Questions clearly make him nervous. Ramsay asked so many of them early on, and he had answered incorrectly. ]

You want me here.

[ Of course he knows she thinks of him as one of her own, but he’s almost afraid to repeat it out loud, like it will make it untrue somehow. ]

[She doesn't want him to be afraid of saying it. Maybe not to Ramsay, of course, but not to her. Nor does she want him nervous. There's never anything he needs to fear with her, and maybe that's what she hopes for most for him on this long, unpleasant road to... somewhere. Somewhere better.

Claire smiles sadly and gives his arm an encouraging rub.]

I do, yes. That's not wrong. Why do I want you here?

[ Because Jon is moping, he considers japing. Because Sansa is well enough to handle things on her own. Because your own child is still in stasis and I’m all you have left at the moment.

He doesn’t feel like saying any of it, really. He simply shakes his head. He knows, truly he does. He isn’t a fool, and he isn’t as forgetful as Ramsay’s manipulation would leave one to believe. He’s just felt so dreadfully alone for so long. Sometimes, he fears that any little thing may destroy what he has now. ]

[Claire hopes he knows. She doubts he heard the words from the family he's shown her as much as he has from her. Maybe that makes it feel insincere to him, but if he hadn't been able to tell by her actions, she has to say it.]

Because I love you, you foolish boy. [She's sure some might think she's the foolish one.] For all the effort I've put in trying to get you healthy, get some meat on your bones, Ramsay doesn't get a say in anything that happens to you.

[If only it were that simple. Her smile falters, just briefly, and she glances at the sleeping face in the pod.]

Neither do they.

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