❪ event ❫ hour of ruin

[natha]

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. 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

Comments

[impavid]

"Well, I didn't want to offend you or anything but..."

He nudges Ianto gently, offers him a faint smile.

"They were putting a damper on my hopes of seeing your calves."

Obviously he had to move on to the Wendy dress plan after that. Can't a man just enjoy some pale, welsh calves? He studies Ianto a long moment, then shifts his weight on his hands and leans slightly into his side.

"I'm sorry," he says, and it comes out a little awkward because he feels awkward about it. He keeps making a mess of things and he doesn't mean to or want to but there you are. He's just not good at handling any of this.

[torchwoodteaboy]

His calves again. Ianto offers the other man another smile again at the nudge and wonders whether he really means any of it. Whether he really is attracted to him -- his body, that is -- like he keeps playing around as he might be. He supposes there's no reason he wouldn't be, it's just. Difficult to tell, with John. Between all the lines and funny bits, where the truth really lies.

Ianto takes in a deep breath and lets it out shakily at the apology. At the press of the other man's weight against his side. Reaching sideways, he slides an arm around John's waist to hold him there, tipping his head sideways against his shoulder and just steadying himself against the other man for a moment. He can't decide whether he's finished being emotional or not, stuck on the awkward threshold of feeling mostly calm until the steady warmth of John's body against him sets him off again.

He raises a hand to wipe across his eyes, shaking his head. He's not sure what John's apologizing for, but it's not his fault. Not all of it, anyway. "You kept your promise, didn't you?" he says, after a long breath. "In the end. Maybe just. The next time something dangerous crops up, if you could. Not run off to certain death quite so soon, that would be..." He lets out a sound that is half a laugh and probably half a stifled sob. "I would appreciate the reprise."

[impavid]

John can feel the slow, quiet grip of internal panic beginning to crawl its way through his system as Ianto runs an arm around him. As he leans into his side and rests a head on his shoulder. He slips an arm around the other man's shoulders in turn, tries to ignore the way his heart has picked up. The way he feels a prickling awareness of what Ianto wants from him, and how easy and yet difficult that is.

"How's a twenty minute delay sound?"

Jokes are easy, John can do jokes all night. Feelings are so much harder.

[torchwoodteaboy]

A twenty minute delay. Another joke, only the quiet reluctance in this one hurts a little because there's something to it that speaks of more. Of the fact that John couldn't just promise him just this once that come what may he might let the chips fall where they may and leave someone else to pick up the pieces or save the day, for him. Because Ianto Jones had asked him to, and he supposes he should have known better.

"It sounds like the answer is no is how it sounds," Ianto answers tiredly. Slumping further against him and breathing in the smell of burn cream through his tshirt. He squeezes his eyes shut tight and takes a few deep breaths to keep himself steady. "Then make me a promise that you can keep," he requests at last. "No twenty second delays. I just. I just need you to give me something I can hold on to, here. Because I'm..." He swallows thickly and blows out a slow breath. "I'm no good at swimming on my own. You know that."

[impavid]

A promise he can keep.

John thinks about that for a long moment, tries to think what promises he could make that... Ianto would want to hear. That would make him feel better. That would help instead of hinder.

"I promise I don't want to go anywhere. I don't want to abandon you, I'm not... trying to."

If he does, it's not because he wants to. That's got to be worth something, right? He can't promise not to bolt into danger, not to recklessly do something that risks his life. Yet all the same, John can promise this much -- that he's not actively trying to leave Ianto. Not trying to end his life on purpose, not... hoping to leave him behind in some way.

[torchwoodteaboy]

Ianto sits still by the other man's side, leaning against his shoulder and just listens. To the other man's breathing. To the sound his voice makes as he speaks. To the promises he makes.

It takes him a few moments to process just what exactly the other man is saying. Because it's subtle. Everything about every emotional statement John gives is subtle, Ianto is learning. Careful. It's taken so much just to drag so little out of him. But Ianto trusts his words to be true. He trusts John to uphold a promise he makes, because he also trusts John not to make a promise he cannot.

And it means something. To hear even so much as this, it means something. Which is rather startling, in its realization. It's so simple to be told that John isn't trying to go anywhere, that he shouldn't want to. But there it is, and it strikes him hard and fast and there come the tears again. He turns his head into the other man's shoulder and takes in a deep and shuddering breath, tightening his arm around his waist as his breath hitches again.

[impavid]

He supposes he should have expected this response, but John tiredly wishes he could say something at this point that doesn't result in more tears.

"Ianto," he protests weakly, but then he toes off his shoes again and sit back on the bed, draws the other man a little better into his arms. "I'm really... not good at this. I mean I've been aiming to make this better but I'm pretty sure I'm making you cry more, so unless you want me to resort to playing Ghost Riders in the Sky again I'm going to... need some direction here."

Is he even doing anything right at all? Is he making this worse? Should he just give up and get them both some beer to try and cope with this? John has no idea. This is far more crying within a 24 hour period than he's even experienced at a funeral. All Sheppard family funerals involve silent resentment and stoic misery.

[torchwoodteaboy]

Ianto tucks himself close to the other man's chest and does his best to take a few calming breaths in and out, trying to steady himself because he knows that just crying at the other man isn't fair to him, especially because he appreciates this. He lets out a huff of breath at the mention of the song (he had wondered whether he'd try that tactic on him again, hadn't he) which sounds closer to a sob than it should and he tightens his hand on John's tshirt, shaking his head as he tries to collect himself.

"No, no," he says, roughly. "You -- you are. You. You are, I..." He takes in another breath, raising a hand to dash across his face. "I'm sorry, I. Don't mean to." He motions to himself. "Get emotional. I'm not -- usually this bad, I. I don't know what's wrong with me. Please, this is... Stay with me. Like this. I mean, I suppose it's your bed, so. You've got no choice, but." Look it's really hard to make light of a situation when you've been crying long enough your nose is starting to be congested but he's really trying. He does appreciate it, he does.

[impavid]

"No kidding. Come on, then."

John moves to shove the pillows around on his bed, props them up so he can sit up properly and waits for Ianto to kick off his shoes and join him -- wraps him back against his chest and lets out a tired sort of sigh. Something about Ianto's highly strung emotions is draining, for John. Maybe it's the way he feels tense, unsure what the right thing to do or say is.

"Stay as long as you want," he murmurs, since yes -- it is his bed, technically it was in fact his room first. Yet John doesn't mind, Ianto can stay if it will make him feel better.

[torchwoodteaboy]

Ianto does his best to kick his shoes off as quickly as he can so that he can fit himself back into John's arms once he's done. He doesn't miss the sigh John lets out but he hopes that he can forgive him for all of this despite how uncomfortable he has to be in the moment.

Fitting his head against John's shoulder, he wraps an arm around his waist and simply lets the other man hold him. Until he feels a little bit less like the ground is spinning out from underneath him and he's just doing his best to hold on. Until the warmth of John's arm around him and his chest underneath him ground him, the steady rise and fall of his breathing steady Ianto's own, and he starts to feel his eyelids growing heavy again. In the back of his mind, he knows that he should move. Instead he shifts a hand to fist in John's tshirt and allows himself to drift away.