❪ event ❫ what is the storm—?

[natha]

What is the storm —?     The sky is falling. The moon draws closer, visibly now. Whether you've found out from Nurray, or somewhere else, everyone now knows that in about a week, Thesa will collide with El Nysa. However, not all is lost - Nurray has a plan. Old technology is being powered by the storm somehow, giving the developers in Nadril the means they need to create a device capable of jumping back into the past. The device can only transport to one singular point in time per activation, but passing through is a better chance for safety than remaining. As long as you're in Nadril you'll make it, which is why she'll urge everyone to try to get all their business done and travel back north. At first, it was a mere atmospheric pressure drop. Headaches, a sense of dread in the gut, and a chill that would not be quelled drifted over all of El Nysa's inhabitants. And then the days grew shorter. By hours at a time, until there was nothing left but night. Still lit with stars, people turned to Thesa, to their scholars, to their shamans for answers. None came, only exploding lights in the sky. One by one, stars began to burst, like the grimmest of fireworks. For one dreadful night, the sky was alight once more with the death of the surrounding galaxy as thousands of stars extinguished in a blaze. And then came the lightning, low hanging clouds and whipping wind that howls at all hours. It brings with it calamity, beasts and fog and a reality shattering effect that progresses ever closer. Against these unstoppable odds, the people of Nysa are finally united - desperate, and determined to preserve their homeland. IN WYVER     The life that imbues the jungle town has gone still. Animals do not seek shelter - they simply lay forlorn, lethargic and unresponsive to even their dearest handlers. The wild creatures are no different, with predator and prey supping from the same stream, seemingly resigned. Once vibrant plant life droops, blotted into obscurity by the darkness that surrounds. Only the people of this great kingdom remain lively, though their actions are fueled by desperation, than valor. A rally cry rings out over Wyver, even to Olympia, begging anyone who is able to fight. Beasts no one has ever seen before have begun to attack, roaming the city and the lands surrounding as if it is their hunting ground. These creatures are cobbled together from the many worlds the storm has consumed - perhaps your own included. They could bear familiar technology, animal features, or even a loved one's visage. No matter their composition, they are always amalgamous, and always crazed. The valiant warriors fighting these creatures have more to worry about than just the monsters. Their own bodies may become entangled and fused - an effect that only wears off when one retreats from the storm's epicenter. Specters also drift through the onslaught, oddly peaceful compared to the frenzy surrounding. They are wholly composed people, memories from planets devoured. Someone you know, perhaps, stuck in a loop - the same five minutes - for hours before fading away. They cannot be killed, doing so will simply reset the loop; they will vanish on their own, as mysteriously as they came. I. THE FRONTLINES Wyver might not be able to fully understand exactly what is happening, but they've already assigned a task force to combat these apparitions that have begun plaguing the jungle Kingdom. But the Storm is sentient; it has always gathered what it's known of the habitants of the universes the Storm has swallowed. And as it begins to unravel El Nysa, it will begin to learn of your time here — yes, it knows that you are trying to stop the Storm from happening, somehow. It knows you're looking to fight you way back north, and it simply cannot let that happen. After all, El Nysa is an anomaly created by Darma. All of its inhabitants, organisms, and even existence were not supposed to be. The apparitions start off monstrous at first, taking forms of ghostly bestiaries. Your weapons won't do much to get rid of them — they will disappear, but only temporarily, until they come back. Each time, more evolved than the last — until it's able to take on the form of someone who has left you, someone who has returned to the stasis chambers in Thesa, awaiting to be devoured by the Storm. Your partner will likely be doing the same, haunted by images of their loved ones of the past — and there is a possibility that as you fight along with your partner, that these apparitions will combine into ghastly, wretched creatures, serving no other purpose than to spook you into submission. They will fight you, embrace you, and seduce you into staying. "Let the Storm take care of this," they'd stay — "You've got it all wrong. You and that Witch had it all so, so wrong." Will you make it out of Wyver, or will you let the Storm take you? IN OLYMPIA     All of Olympia is awash in fog. It creeps in around each and every corner, so thick it is almost difficult to breathe, and even more difficult to see. You can hear the panicked citizens all around you, although through the fog, their shapes are indistinct and almost menacing. A family fleeing from something might look like a quick-moving, multi-headed monster, or perhaps a lone man hauling his belongings to safety on his back might appear to be an imposing creature with wicked claws. And then, of course, there are the figures that look achingly familiar to you, like someone you've lost or care for deeply… but then, when you catch up to them, they vanish, only to call out for you from somewhere further in the city. Tread carefully — with your impaired vision, it would be all too easy to inadvertently wind up injured. Of course, this isn't solely due to the hazards obscured by the mist, although that is certainly part of it. The fog has a quality to it that serves to amplify the desires and lower the inhibitions of everyone exposed to it. II. SILENT HILL Similarly, Olympia isn't properly equipped to deal with a crisis like this. Wars, they are certainly accustomed to — but when their very own land is indiscriminately being torn apart by alien forces, it is uncertain to know for sure what they can do. Word from Nadril is that the inhabitants up north has opened its gates for everyone to enter — this is news to Olympia, but they do not hesitate to migrate to the chilly gates regardless. The first obstacle, of course, is to find a way out of Olympia. The fog is debilitating, but you may not immediately notice it. It starts small. A spark of annoyance at getting cut off by someone you barely saw coming might twist itseful up in you until it becomes unbridled rage. Simple fear becomes indescribable terror, and of course, people are at their worst when they are acting on fear. If what you want is an escape, you may find yourself willing and able to do things you simply could not fathom in order to get out of there. If what you want is riches… well, there is plenty of wealth ripe for the taking, should you simply ambush someone fleeing or break into their homes. The longer you spend in the fog, the more difficult it will become to fight back these urges. If the fear doesn't completely paralyze you, you may find that there is a rather unconventional yet risky way of alleviating this ailment -- which might require someone you trust. The thing is, upon holding someone, all of your fears will be transferred unto that person. It will then be your duty, then, to escort them out of the fog before your fears start to completely deteriorate your ally's psyche. Move quickly, or you may both be crumbled by the weight of this Storm and its fog. IN NADRIL     The journey north is treacherous, but not without its own rewards. Nadril is marked by a storm that is raging at the territory's edge, as if the forces of nature are attempting to do away with the border itself. Strangely, the storm seems to be stopped by the borders — electricity crackles in midair as snow and ice whip about, disintegrating when they touch what seems to be an invisible dome sheltering the area. Inside, the weather is even stranger. The iced-over lakes have begun to thaw, and it is warmer and brighter than anyone here can recall it ever being — almost as if it is summer near the Olympia-Wyver border, not the dead of winter near the northernmost part of the isles. There is an almost palpable level of unease as those who live here full-time attempt to adapt to their new climate. Everyone is working, however. At the center of Nadril is what they all hope will be a solution to their problems: they claim it is a time machine, and that they have tested it through simulations and believe that it can, and will, work. They are already using it to help combat the storm at the borders — at times it does manage to penetrate the dome, but when it does, engineers turn back the clock an hour at a time to so that they can divert power to the parts of the shield that they know will need reinforcement. Be careful when this happens — it would be very easy to run into your own double in such a circumstance, and that could be… awkward, until enough time passes to bring you back to the "present" and you merge once more, taking on the memories of everything that you and your double (or triple, or quadruple) have experienced. Operating such a machine will take manpower, which the people of Nadril are prepared to provide. However, the undertakings they will require in the past — waking the gods, who they believe can provide protection from the Storm if you can convince them — will require all of you. Relying on a single person to change history is untenable. Only by working together will you be able to make the jump to the past and secure your future. III. INCEPTION Most importantly, there will need to be volunteers to undergo stasis. Pods that were similar to those in Thesa can be found all over the city center, beckoning people to sleep now, and hopefully wake to better tomorrow. But just as the Storm benefits some technology, it negatively affects others — but this is to do with the mind more than technology itself. For one, those undergoing stasis will find themselves dreaming of a better time in their lives — be it their homeworld or some other happy memory of theirs. The Storm magnifies this dream — everyone within a certain radius will find themselves entering the dream, despite being wide awake. Inside this dream, you will know instantly that something is awry. The events of reality, of the awoken, are beginning to seep into the sleeping person's dream. The lines between dream and reality become blurred, and you've been tasked to ensure that they remain asleep. That means that you must guide them into believing that nothing is awry with their happier memories, that they are not dreaming, and guide them through it. Ensure that the nightmares of reality be kept at bay, and that they may sleep through it all. The Ark of the Woken     The Ark of the Woken awaits, its chambers an imposing majesty of their own. Compared to the sleek design of Thesa, the Ark is a cobbled together patchwork of technology. But even with its exposed wires and manual input systems, Nurray promises it will get the job done. That is, once the pods have been brought to it from Thesa. The targets are Thesans who have previously awoken, however, no one has time to actually inventory the sleeping ones brought to this hamlet. If you choose to bring someone else, you'll probably get away with it. The procedure is harrowing - severing the pods from Thesa runs the risk of interrupting the life support system inside. To compensate, there is a small device that can be hardwired into a port on the back of the pod. It's fragile, and the function it provides only lasts twenty minutes. You have that time to move the pod to a small ship, and pilot it planetside yourself. Nurray suggests traveling in pairs - the Natha duo pilot ships are faster, and more reliable. However, they rely on a neurolink between pilots. If one is not focused, the ship may begin to malfunction. While navigating through rough turbulence, each pilot will be able to feel the others emotions, and hear whispers of their thoughts. All while the storm clouds around them play glimpses into their memories. Snippets, only seconds long, from the perspective of the pilot, provide easy distraction. Stay on task, and make your landing safely - your lives and others are depending on it. A Simpler Time     Your seven days is up. You have (mostly) achieved all your tasks, and you are now waiting. Those harrowing last hour may stay with you forever — while your peers tirelessly secure the time machine's effectiveness, you watch as Thesa draws closer. It's closer to you than you've ever seen it, more menacing than you realize as it threatens the lives of everyone you ever cared for. Alria, the lesser known moon, is first pulled toward Thesa, crushing a side of it. You may witness debris spilling into space and dissipate into the atmosphere. You might think, perhaps, that those were bodies of some you were told not to bring to the Ark. But you're assured many times that that won't matter, that this can be fixed if you simply wait and watch. The time machine will work. It's into the final minute, and time seems to stop — yet, you feel your breath catch as Thesa penetrates the atmosphere. You can no longer breathe, and gravity loses all its bearings on the laws of physics. As you float into the air, you're wondering if the light that engulfs you is an explosion — you might wonder if it could be death. At the very least, you are among people you've known on this planet. It isn't as though you were never meant to survive the first Storm. Simply close your eyes, and the Storm run its course. In the distance, you hear a muted voice. What is the Storm, But an attempt to cleanse the world — Of its anomalies? Open your eyes, Traveler, Where are you now? FINAL OOC NOTES     Welcome to El Nysa, Year XXX. Due to the time warping of the Storm, this event will not strictly follow the 1:1 ratio. Additional information about this world will be revealed early next month! For now, play at your pace. RNG for NPC threads will announced later tonight! RECOMMENDED LISTENING: Live Forever 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

1

[idealisme]

[But whoever Grantaire's addressing won't have the chance to answer, for a young blond stalks up the street behind him, taking Grantaire by the shoulder.]

Like a rat going back to his hole. I thought I'd find you here. [Is he concerned for the man or just angry to find him searching out a drink, it's hard to tell.

He stops, lips pressing into a thin line before continuing with less vehemence.] It's too quiet to be the end of the world. Come home.

Re: 1

[winecasks]

[ He isn’t even ashamed. He has no reason to be. Enjolras knows how prone he is to driving, and if this isn’t a reason to drink, then when has there ever been a reason to drink? Instead, Grantaire merely smiles his sad smile. ]

Rats seek shelter in the midst a storm. I am merely doing the same.

[ Seeking shelter at the bottom of a bottle. A shame he couldn’t find it. ]

Did anyone ever claim the end of the world could not be silent?

[ Not that it is with all his talking. ]

Come home? To what? What of importance will be there that is not here now?

[ Meaning, very subtly, Enjolras. ]

[idealisme]

[There are things that should be done. Preparations.]

Whatever this silence heralds, it will not be silent. That will be the real end. [Wasn't that the way of things? The stillness feels like the night before his death. It left him irritable, restless to do something.

In Paris he'd been able to check on the other barricades. Here he has nothing.

No one.


And it was that thought that led him here, to find Grantaire.]

Last time you died you slept your way through most of it. Don't repeat that. [His voice is unused to pleading with others. It comes out as an order.]

[winecasks]

[ He’d drunk and slept to avoid the grief. He knew his friends might die and he didn’t want to bear witness to it. Aside from a drinking problem and a touch of melancholia, his friends were all he had.

But they’re not here. Only Enjolras is here, and he would do anything for Enjolras. It sounds like an order, so he takes it as one. He steps away from the tavern door, resigned to follow Enjolras wherever he may lead. ]

My sleep wasn’t as peaceful as it may sound. I was wounded, long before death took me.

[ There’s that smile again, never quite a true smile. He was deeply wounded by Enjolras’ words. They’re one of the few things he can still recall from that night. ]

[idealisme]

[Expecting resistance and meeting none, Enjolras isn't sure whether to take this as a victory, or just another of Grantaire's inabilities to stick to anything. He sets off for their accommodation, walking at his usual brisk pace despite there being nothing urgent waiting for him. ]

What? A shot flew through the window and surprised you?

[He doesn't think that's the case. Probably the man had run out of wine.]

[winecasks]

[ Grantaire follows at his usual slower pace, trailing behind Enjolras like a man caught in a dream. Maybe he’s still running on wine fumes, or maybe he’s simply drawn to follow Enjolras in this manner. Either way, he has no complaint. ]

A sweeter pain that might have been. It was your words. They wounded me deeply. Incapable of believing, thinking, willing, of living and dying.

[ He thinks he’s proved at least two of them wrong by this point. ]

[idealisme]

[Had he said those words? Yes, of course he had.

Grantaire can't see the frown that forms.]

That is what I intended those words to do. [There's no joy in the admission. Even when he'd spoken the words he wouldn't have been glad to know they served their purpose.]

There was no place for drunkenness that night. [Once he might have said "there was no place for you". He does not.]

[winecasks]

[ Grantaire’s memory is often unreliable, shrouded in a near-constant haze of wine, but there are some things he remembers as clear as day. Those words still stand out stark and cold in a sea of long forgotten recollections from that night. ]

I wished to be there. What more was I to do?

[ His tone is gentle, almost pleading, with none of his usual jests. To Grantaire, the revolution was lost as soon as it began. What would one more man’s efforts do to help it? He wanted to be there, but he didn’t want to bear witness to his friends’ deaths. Drinking was the only option he had.]

[idealisme]

You didn't share our beliefs, but you might have respected what we were doing. [There isn't the fire in Enjolras right now to push for Grantaire to accept their ideals. They'd lived together a year and he still hadn't. He likely never would.

He seems to struggle with the words that follow. It's as if he's voicing a new idea for the first time.] I am sure some of our number would have appreciated your humour, if you'd been sober enough to share it.

[Jehan had appreciated it while he was here. He seems to recall Bossuet and Joly talking often of the fine places Grantaire knew. Enjolras has no experience of it, but he has never sought that.]

[winecasks]

[ Grantaire has listened to Enjolras for a long time. He hangs on his every word, regardless of whether he believes in it or not, and he truly does not expect to hear that. Kind words. They come as such a shock that he steps forward and grabs hold of Enjolras’ sleeve, trying to keep in step with him now. Maybe Enjolras has a point. ]

I respected your passion. I admire it still. To believe in something some vehemently that it drives you to such lengths. I was never capable of such things.

[ Grantaire has his single belief, and it’s unwavering, but it doesn’t drive him. He watches from a distance, and he’s content with that. ]

I’m a dismal sort of man. I drink to cheer myself, I drink to cheer others, I drink to forget my woes, but oftentimes I drink too much. I apologize, my friend. I apologize for what seemed like lack of respect, but only the man who collected my corpse could have taken me from that barricade. If I had not died with you, I would have stayed and drank and slept until death took me through some other course.

[idealisme]

[He has to fight the urge not to knock away the fingers on his sleeve, one born of habit. He sighs instead, slowing to allowing them to walk side by side.

His words, coming after a brief pause, aren't as allowing.] Well there's no need for it now. There isn't a barricade to die on, and I've seen you remain sober for an entire night before. You can manage it now, surely.

[That isn't exactly what they had been talking about, but Enjolras still doesn't know what to make of what he thinks is behind Grantaire's words. That belief in him.]

[winecasks]

It’s a sour habit, I realize, but the end of the world may last two nights. Perhaps three or four. I have lasted one night, but to last longer—

[ He pauses, finally letting go of Enjolras’ sleeve. Perhaps he’s finally realized he’s gripping it just a bit too tight. ]

Forgive me. I will try, but I have little to offer as proof. My word, my heart, but I will make you no promises.

[ Jfc, Grantaire, take it down a notch. ]

I will try, and if I should fail, throw me to the tempest. My last wish is to disappoint you again.

[idealisme]

[He scoffs, a habit he hasn't yet kicked, assuming Grantaire is being dramatic. Throw him to the tempest indeed]

We aren't going to just sit here for the duration, I'm sure. It's a wonder someone hasn't already contacted us all with ways we're to prevent the end of this apocalypse.

[He hasn't always engaged in these tasks, but he does eventually notice the notifications that pile up.]

[winecasks]

[ Grantaire is always dramatic. Ridiculously dramatic. It’s a surprise no one has tried to stop hims dramatics by force yet. ]

Perhaps this time, it is inevitable. Perhaps this time, sitting is the only option we will be left with. What can be done? Only to wait, only to drink—but I have given my word.

[ He sighs, almost melancholy. He’ll need to pass his time in some other way, or he’ll never stop thinking about wine. He doesn’t often participate in these tasks either, but he has when the idea takes him. It’s rare. ]

[idealisme]

[Another huff, but of disbelief this time.] With the technological progress they have here? No. They'll have something for us to do.

[He skips right over the talk of drink, and perhaps that insistence from Prouvaire that they not fight is the reason. Talking about drink always leads to arguments.]

No canon arrayed against us, at least. How you slept through the guard knocking at our gate is entirely beyond me.

[winecasks]

[ Grantaire heard nothing of the fighting. He heard no gunfire, no guards, nothing before the silence that followed. He never wanted to see what the scene outside the wine shop looked like. He can already picture it too clearly in his head. ]

I am deeply unskilled in a great many things, but I find that sleeping comes easily. The absinthe was likely of some help.

[ He almost makes a remark about how Enjolras never seems to sleep himself, but it doesn’t seem like the time. He chooses to leave it alone. ]

Storms in Paris were never half so miserable. All there was to do was wait for them to pass. They never meant the end of the world.