nysalogs | ❪ introlog: #6 ❫ city of secrets

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❪ introlog: #6 ❫ city of secrets

You've spent the last few days on Thesa Station, taking in the knowledge that your world is no more. Now, the time to put all your survival training into practice has arrived: El Nysa needs you, and you're here to help the planet thrive. Are you ready?

THE DESCENT

All refugees on the station are called to the hangar, where a large-scale teleporter awaits. Simply step onto the space between the arrays and wait; everyone will be sent down to the planet together. Before they depart, all refugees will be given a cold weather survival kit with warm clothing, rations, and bedding.

The arrays build into a brilliant wash of light, creating a column that travels all the way from Thesa Station to the surface of El Nysa, teleporting the refugees to the planet on an aurora. Once on the planet's surface, refugees receive one last message from Darma.

It has been a long, perilous year for you, refugees. And yet we must ask you to brave further peril. Within Nadril are the secrets to how poor Ysverai's revival was hidden from our sight and how this disaster has come to our star. Find the first refugee from beyond this planet, a man named Magda. He will not speak to us, for much has come between us, but to you… If you prove yourselves, he may be willing to answer your questions. We beseech you, for there is a veil over Nadril that hides all within from us. There may yet be more untold dangers waiting to befall this planet. For the good of all who make this world home, we ask you to lend us your aid.

There is yet one more favor we would ask of you. In warding off the Storm's encroachment, the physical aspect of ourselves that you call Thesa Station was damaged. We must remain to continue repairs to El Nysa and to deal with Ysverai, but there should be suitable technology within Nadril that could be used for spare parts. If you have the chance to find it and can return it to us, it would hasten—

Darma's message crackles with static, another image overlaying hers — her broadcast is cut off and replaced with another. A more sullen and alien voice takes Darma’s place, overlapping on itself in an ominous reveal.

It has been a long, perilous year for you, refugees. And yet you’ve only just arrived here. To say I’m not disappointed in your… generation would be to lie, and I am nothing if not an honest creature. But I suppose these have been unusual circumstances. You must ask yourself this — are you only here as Darma's lapdogs? I can assure you, it's not worth being on the Natha's leash. With time, that will be something you'll have to learn for yourself. If you're so determined to come find Nadril, then follow the path north, and you'll find the border. What awaits you is revelation, if you're up to the challenge.

A FROZEN LAND

The refugees land on a literally frozen world, both in temperature and time. Curls of icy wind hold swirls of snow aloft and an uncanny silence is broken only by the crunch of hoarfrost underfoot. Only Darma's protection allows the refugees to move through this frozen world — and movement is very necessary. Bitter cold sneaks through even the thickest clothing and without warning, a snowstorm rises: unnaturally quickly, a wall of white howls directly in the refugee's path. Bizarrely, the way back is perfectly calm; it's obvious that this storm is no product of nature.

Magda's challenge becomes clear: the only way to Nadril lies through this storm. Visibility within the storm is near zero, the whiteout hiding any landmarks from view and making navigation near impossible. The only guidance refugees have is a sporadic path of faint, greenish lights, easily lost in the raging storm. Refugees need all the survival skills they practiced on Thesa Station to survive, for getting lost alone is a death sentence. Luckily, those separated from the group can happen upon guiding lights Magda has planted throughout the tundra. These blue-white sparks cause frostbite if handled recklessly, but they also serve as directional anchors, turning into ghostly flames that lead lost souls back to the path to Nadril.

The trek through the storm will be no mean feat and will last for the better part of three days. By the time the refugees reach Nadril's gate, most will find themselves exhausted and running on fumes. As the snowstorm dies away and a gap in the glittering forcefield around the city opens to usher the refugees inside, it's clear that Nadril is a different beast.

A WARM(?) WELCOME

I. Despite the unforgiving journey, entering Nadril is painless. Once inside, characters will be greeted by their predecessors: the original refugees who made this advanced city. They'll immediately be offered medical attention, as well as warm cider and blankets. But it's obvious that the Nadril citizens prefer higher tech to fend off the weather: they also offer wristlets and ear cuffs that that double as mittens and earmuffs by creating warm bubbles of air. The earrings also feature a few quality of life programs, such as timed alarms and thought-to-speech messaging. However, both programs are in beta stages so it's not unusual for a stray thought to accidentally slip through or an alarm to accidentally ring at an inopportune time.

II. Refugees are offered free lodging in a large, crystalline building crafted from ice. Despite the coarse building material, the ice is unmelting and surprisingly well-insulated, and the beds are as warm and cozy. The rooms are, however, small. The sleeping quarters house two people, and are some cross between an igloo and a capsule hotel.

Though built for efficiency over comfort, all rooms are also outfitted with the latest Nadril AI, RoboAlfred, or Ralf for short. This helpful program is installed in practically all the furnishings: the closet tells guests to bundle up, the bathroom sink reminds them to brush their teeth, and the mirror offers helpful fashion tips. Ralf's personality matrix still needs polish, though: it may very well insult your clothes and passively-aggressively question your lifestyle choices for the entire stay.

III. Though not as advanced as Thesa Station, the colony has technology far beyond the rest of the continent, such as rudimentary AIs and mechanical transportation. Nadril's skyline is a point of pride — refugees can take a (literal) lightrail that gives an aerial view of the colony, which is hewn almost entirely from ice and rock. Despite its tech, Nadril is much more sparsely populated than Olympia and Wyver, and its residents stay near a central hub: a Natha refugee drop ship, Central, which has crashed and long embedded itself into the earth.

Central is similar to an older, smaller, grounded model of Thesa Station, in functional order with round-the-clock solar power. Within Central are lounges similar to ones on the Station, though many of the damaged areas have been converted. They include repair stations, different wings dedicated to science, botany, astrology, and mechanics, and a research and history facility, which has a smattering of technology from planets beyond El Nysa — including your own. The staff here don't mind if anything is sampled and studied, but objects cannot be taken from the labs.

IV. On the outskirts of the central hub, many will find several curious looking bots with insect-like wings perched about high traffic walkways. Simply passing the bots will cause a dizzying flash before a series of photos print out. Upon closer inspection, people will find that these images reflect stills taken from their home worlds as they remember it. Unfortunately, these photos only last a couple of hours at best. At that time, they will revert back to regular pictures of the refugees.

People will be encouraged to share these images of their worlds. The residents of Nadril comprehend the value of remembering one's origins, and will be pleased to see that people still hold memories of old homes close to them.

RECREATION IN NADRIL

I. Small, mechanical creatures scampering through the city are a common sight. Ask anyone, and they’ll tell you that they come from a shop called Paws About Town. They’re very useful, as companions, gophers, and couriers (though the more mischievous will note that they’re just small enough to keep tabs on people without being noticed).

Premade robotic pets are available on display inside the shop. They come in all shapes, but small sizes; one may be able to find robots that even look like miniature creatures from their homeworld. These are a part of a new, highly customizable line with programmable personalities. Customers have the chance to take pets for a one-day trial run. Those who don’t know how to program may want to enlist more knowledgeable aid, but the pets come with instructional pamphlets for basic personality traits such as obedience, helpfulness, playfulness, and bloodthirst.

For returns, the switch to wipe the robot's personality to a blank slate is on the back of its neck, right between a switch to invert all traits, and a switch to have them learn by observing. Try not to press the wrong switch — you might wind up with a pet with a mind of its own!

II. A. The Frosty Tap Cantina is a thriving hub of activity, but one of the major draws is the self-service bar: molecular mixology is wildly popular here. Playing with drink compositions can be a game in and of itself, and newcomers to the cantina will find that the bartender — a cheerful woman with lilac skin and three eyes — is always happy to give them a few tips on how to use the wide array of tools within reach of the barstools.

All manner of drinks are possible — from glowing, layered cocktails, to clear drinks with colored, spherical bubbles and vividly-colored shots that give off their own smoke. There's a nightly contest in the cantina for the most creative drink created by a team — this may be as good a time as any to partner up with someone and see what can you come up with. Winner gets all their drinks for the night free!

And, hey, even if you don't win, you get to drink whatever you make. The well-lubricated patrons of the bar are eager to challenge anyone nearby to a different sort of drinking game… Just how well can you hold your liquor?

B. Holo-screens in the cantina are nearly always broadcasting some match or another of a game that looks very much like hockey, albeit played with sticks that light up and a puck that changes shape from time to time. Colonists here merely refer to the game as "the sport," and one of their favored pastimes is betting. However, they don't use currency — they wager dares. Nadril colonists are a tough, weathered lot, and they prefer to speak with actions over silver.

Colonists will urge the refugees to take part as well. Common dares range from the ridiculous (lead a sing-a-long, attempt to make someone with a poker face smile) to the suggestive (kiss the person in the cantina you find most attractive, strip off a piece of clothing), to the outright reckless (venture out into the snow for a certain amount of time, and no one will judge if you find some company to keep warm). The colonists are unfazed by even the most insane or tawdry of dares — but you'll certainly be called a killjoy for refusing too often! Why not grab a friend and give it a whirl, or challenge a rival to a dare yourself?

THE MISSION

I. On the outskirts of Nadril is the communications tower of the old refugees. This is where Magda resides, monitoring Nadril's technological protections, the extent of the Natha’s influence, and running his own personal projects for El Nysa’s technological advancement. It is isolated, filled with research labs and relics of the past refugees who have come to El Nysa — a living mausoleum of worlds swallowed up by the Storm whose peoples have refused to forget where they came from.

Crew photos line the walls of the tower: pictures of alien families and friends, the refugees who came to Nadril before you. Each group of photos gradually becomes smaller in number, and the most recent of the pictures are from half a century ago. Magda's picture can be found among the first group of refugees, an unusually small cluster of photos dating back centuries in El Nysa's past.

I have been on this planet for nearly two centuries. Life has come, evolved, and collided in an ever expanding culture. But Darma fears interference, and made this place a prison, with she our warden, stifling the growth of the creatures native to this world rather than encouraging them to flourish.

She sent you here for answers in her stead because she knows I'll spurn her, and after seeing what that fool Raysc has wrought, I'll give you them — not for Darma's sake, but because I trust after all the Natha have done to you, you'll understand my decision. Mistakes were made, and I won't hide them. You've made it here so there's some mettle to you, and unlike the Orbiters, I'm not interested in hiding the secrets of the dangers we face.

I gave Raysc what he needed to keep his actions hidden from Darma's eyes — what he needed to advance the primitive magics the Natha had doomed him to. It was old Natha tech, Darma's very own used against her. Hilarious, isn't it? Raysc learned of Nadril, and like you, braved the snow to find his way here. He proved his worth and his determination, and he spoke of a brighter future, El Nysa coming into its own, its people realizing their true potential, unhindered by the shackles that had been put upon them. I believed him. He had vision — or so I thought. In truth, he was a fool. A madman. He wasted the opportunity I gave him on his petty vengeance.

But not everyone on this planet is such an idiot. Surely you lot aren't. The Natha are hiding things from us — about the Storm, about everything. And here in Nadril, we're going to find all those secrets. What's it going to be? Will you help us, or are you going to stay obedient dogs on Darma's leash?

Magda isn't too talkative yet; after all, the new flock of refugees may just be here as eyes and ears for the Orbiters. But what he has said leaves you with plenty to talk about, and if you can earn his trust by helping out around Nadril, he doubtless has a great deal more to reveal.

II. Central isn't the only Natha ship that made its way to El Nysa — another, crashed just outside Nadril's borders, is little more than a junk heap. It's here that you'll find the spare parts Darma asked you to retrieve for Thesa Station.

What remains of the ship's hull serves as a windbreak, and snow has built up against it, turning the piles of old Natha tech inside into something of a snowy morass. Holes in the deck offer would-be scavengers passage to the ship's innards, barely illuminated with flickering lights — the tech is old, but hardy enough to withstand a crash landing, the severe weather, and the passage of centuries.

Deep in the wreck are the remains of living quarters, research labs, VR arenas, mecha bays, cafeterias, and a host of other rooms, many of which may seem familiar from Thesa Station, albeit with a decidedly older feel to what remains of the smooth curves and sleek surfaces of the Natha architecture. Most of the ship's systems are damaged and the technology is nonfunctional, but that just means there's plenty of spare parts to be found. The wreck isn't in the best shape, its structural integrity damaged, and the drifting snow threatens to block off exit routes. Be careful while exploring and be sure to bring a partner.

As it turns out, Darma isn't the only one interested in the wreck — Magda is also eager to get his hands on Natha technology. In his own way of taking some responsibility for Raysc, he's asking scavengers to bring him parts, muttering about seeing what he can do about Ysverai's curse. Bring him anything that looks useful, and he may have a chance to succeed, though whether he'll be more effective than the Natha Orbiters is up for debate...

FINAL OOC NOTES

An AC-eligible thread with a new character as a participant for 2 NADRIL REP POINTS may be submitted from this log. SUBMIT THE THREAD HERE BY AUGUST 5TH, 11:59 PM EST.

As always, feel free to create your own prompts and explore the Nadril location page! There are a variety of activities made available, including fishing and cave exploration!

Please direct questions to the questions thread below! Thank you!

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A Frozen Land

Rumlow had mustered through all the extreme weathers that the Earth had to throw at the human body, so the fact that the refugees were dropped off in the middle of a frozen snowstorm was not beyond his capabilities or his comfort level. He stood quiet for a moment to gather his bearings and allow the snow to blow around him. Snow-blindness was the second biggest problem; the first was standing still. When warm-blooded creatures stopped moving, they would freeze.

Within a minute or two, he was on the move, stretching muscles and hunkering into the storm. Anyone along his way that seemed uncertain of the weather, he caught up with and urged them to form a quick single-file line, all within close quarters of each other, close enough to reach out and touch the person in front of them.

The wind was harsh and it blew words away. He paused only long enough to reassess the lights and find the next, but he never stayed still long. It might have looked hilarious, but he shuffled his arms and stomped his feet, flexing his hands and even tucking them into his armpits. Anything to keep the blood flowing.

If anyone seemed to be in trouble, he would move to assist.

"A tidbit chilly compared to the usual, yeah? Come on, we're heading to safety, so keep up."

A Warm Welcome

Now this was more like it! He found the frozen city to be rather quaint, and it reminded him a lot of his missions in Russia. Bitterly cold place that country, but damn if they didn't know how to survive well. This was much like that, the kind of hardened weather-worn people that were honest and blunt. His kind of people. He had no doubt they had a few of their own lies.

He jumped in both feet when it came to the wagering manner when it came to "the sport", and he dared and was dared. He never turned one down, earning himself a quick reputation as someone with no shame and a highly competitive nature. If he dragged other people in on the dares that he faced, he certainly would.

Almost instantly, he liked it here in this place. Like others, he would tell stories of home, the kind of missions he took part in. Anyone was free to listen and just as many were free to assess if he was telling the truth or just blowing it out of his ass. He was a fabulous liar.

"So I had to tell the green-horn, 'if you don't piss fast enough, you'll freeze your dick off'. Of course, he believed me, but that kind of cold... makes you lose three inches in two seconds," he said with a smirk. "Practically crawls right up to the kidneys!" He shrugged and took a sip of his drink. "Lost the kid in the first big storm of the year, wandered too far from his post to investigate something or another.... some lessons are only learned in pain."

Mission

Salvage of tech wasn't his class of mission, but Rumlow recognized the value of it in this place. Clearly, Darma and Magda would compete for the best parts, which meant that he was all in, and he was willing to pair off with anyone that looked like they would be savvy in the wreck. He understood that these old beaters were dangers, and the weather made their job even more difficult.

However, he brought lengths of rope, a small shovel (or the equivalent), and survival gear as he moved to the central control panels. He figured those might be fried the hardest, but they also might be useful to find good replacement parts too. He had several sacks to carry whatever was pulled out of the wreck to drag back.

"Grab whatever looks useful. I have some tools that we can use to chip ice and unscrew panels," he remarked while leaning into a dark hole of the wall to search for a clear passage deeper into the wreck. "We need to keep an ear out for shifting. This might have been here awhile, but wrecks like these are like the desert, always shifting and changing. Let's not die here, alright? It would dampen my day."

Wildcard

Feel free to add your own starter! Also, I'm willing to match the style of the post (prose or action), so don't feel obligated to stick to my format.

It is not until the day turns toward its close that Jean Valjean realizes he has acquired a roommate. In fact, having had little to do after supper but walk about the city and return to settle into prayer, he is already in bed when the door opens. The sudden light pierces through the veil of sleep, jolting him awake and upright in bed to see that another man stands in the cramped confines of the room.

“Hello?” is all he can manage to say. It is less a greeting and more a question; in the shadow of his confusion lies chariness for this surprise.

As the haze that accompanies sleep burns off, like mist dissipating in the morning sun, he realizes that he knows this man, for they had spoken at the summit where first gathered the Coalition of Refugees.

Edited 2018-07-18 18:34 (UTC)

So the rooms were kind of assigned at random, much like a toy from a cereal box like when he was a kid. He was given a number and directions and left to his own devices, and he spent most of his time exploring rather than bothering to figure out where he was sleeping. Hell, he could sleep on the floor if he really wanted to, but apparently it was frowned upon and by about midnight, he was pushing open the door to the ice hotel and found a guy already there.

Hey, he knew that voice, sort of. He stepped into the room and shut the door behind him, having ascertained where his bed was just from the light pouring in. He estimated the paces it would take and headed in that direction.

"Just your roomie for the night, pal. I'm not here to do anything untoward on you," he said then the smirk could practically be heard in his voice. "...unless you're into that or something. Haven't we met before, champ?"

Then they are left draped in darkness, which circumstances Jean Valjean thinks far from ideal for meeting with a practical stranger. He reaches behind him to find the switch that turns in the small crystalline lamp mounted to the wall at the head of his bed, and its anemic light touches the room.

“I should much prefer sleep,” he answers curtly. It is rare that he is so blunt of speech, but the churlish jest, if not the interruption of his sleep, requires little courtesy in return. “But indeed we have met once before, among the Coalition of Refugees.”

He remains sitting in the bed, which is certainly no way to greet someone, but then there are no customary manners to dictate a late night meeting with one who appears suddenly in another’s chambers. Moreover, he wears only a night shirt. Nevertheless, he shall give his name, since it seems they will be sharing these tight quarters.

“I did not get your name that time, monsieur. I am Fauchelevent.”

Rumlow wasn't about to force his new roommate to have to get up on his account. He was used to stripping and finding his bed in the dark, especially since he had already sighted where it was. He expected the guy to just go back to sleep, but he raised his eyebrows when the dim illumination came from the bedside table.

He used the opportunity to seat himself on his bed for the night and bend to pick at his boot laces in order to loosen them. "Well, don't let me stop you from that," he replied, not at all affected by the curt tone. "Ah, yes, now I remember. We had a pretty good debate that evening."

He sat up again and toed off his boots, setting them neatly at the head of the bed before unzipping his jacket and folding it smartly. He squinted at the Frenchman for a second and then pulled a very American attitude. "God bless you... wait, was that your name or a sneeze?" He smirked and then dropped the act, holding out his hand like an olive branch across the gap between the beds. "Pleasure to meet you formally, Fauchelevent. Name's Rumlow."

He shall return to sleep once Rumlow has lain himself in bed. For the present, he studies the younger man and his mannerisms. He wonders what had kept him out in the city until such a late hour, but he does not ask, and he has several guesses besides. When a hand is offered, he takes it for a firm but brief shake.

“A pleasure, Monsieur Rumlow,” he answers. Then he adds with a touch of dryness, “It seems I bear quite a cumbersome name. You are not the first.”

But if his assumed name is somewhat resistant to being imprinted in one’s memory, then he minds not.

Once the formalities of hand shaking were completed, he rose to stand again and pull off his long-sleeved shirt to fold it and drop it down. Even in the anemic light, the burn scars could be seen rippling across his arms, shoulders and part of his chest. He rolled his shoulders and removed his fatigues, folding them as well. His newly folded clothing was put neatly aside.

"Don't worry. I speak just enough French to get me into trouble," he replied with a grin and then pulled back the covers so that he could crawl under them in nothing more than his boxers.

"I haven't been following much of the Coalition lately thanks to a stint back in the freezer, but you carry on with it? Or what have you been doing to keep out of trouble?"

Once Rumlow begins removing more clothing, Jean Valjean lies down again to politely avert his gaze to the ceiling that hangs not far above his head. But he catches a glimpse of the network of scars marring the man’s flesh, and he wonders what manner of life had marked him so. He himself has his own landscape of scars cut into his back, kept secret beneath his shirt, a constant reminder of the past that shadows him. Although he has lain down, he leaves the light on for the moment, as the other man continues the conversation.

“There are not many here whom you might use it on, unfortunately.” Perhaps, he thinks, that is for the best.

“As to the Coalition,” he continues, “I have heard of nothing since then. Preparations were no doubt underway, but what labors were begun are now on hold.”

Brock Rumlow | MCU

wildcard - roomies

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A Warm Welcome

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wildcard @ the cantina

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A Frozen Land

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