❪ 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

2.

[beatupgrass]

[Somewhere to the left of Mamoru as he slices and dices his way through the opposition, a flaming crossbow bolt embeds itself in some kind of monster trying to weave its way among the spectres hoping to take down unwary persons who might be distracted by the apparitions. It vanishes and Rocket lowers the red and black crossbow and yanks his hood down.

And then, almost too blithely, Rocket says:]

Oh hey, man, you found a sword. Good for you.

[prizeneck]

[Said sword almost raised - he feels the focus of someone aiming, the impulse at that moment to pull the trigger, and he's ready to defend himself even if it's friendly fire.

The system in his sunglasses gives him the trajectory of the bolt by the corner of his lens, and he gives a final blow at the big-headed apparition, making it disappear for a while.

He arches an eyebrow, rolling his shoulder. More than these apparitions, these monsters, the fact that he has no blood on his blade when he shakes it out of habit is what gets to him the most.]

Nice shot. Gotta say I've never seen anything like that. [It's a bad, bad joke.]

[beatupgrass]

You're not the first blind guy I've met here to make that joke, dude. [Pour a 40 for Matt Murdock. He steps a little further into the space, thoroughly displeased at the lack of body to kick. ]

This is crap. A person can only go through so many world-ending scenarios before it feels cheap.

[prizeneck]

Hah, beat me to the punch. [He doesn't have ears like Rocket has, but they do perk up - metaphorically - at that quip.]

What do you mean, this has happened before? [Not that he's actually looking at him, there's another figure that he senses before he can see it, and it's with a wide swing of the blade that is way too fast for its own good that he attacks it.

The metal stops against what seems fingers fused together into something hard like a wooden bokken. This figure is very similar to Mamoru's stature but sharp where he's unruly, perhaps a little leaner, smoke drifting out of its mouth.

In his blindness, Mamoru sees red, voice lowered to a snarl as he quickly switches hands and slices the figure's "arm" off.] Don't you dare.

[beatupgrass]

It's happened before to me. I'm just a magnet for this kind of shi- aw fuck. [It's not clear whether Rocket is responding to Mamoru or his own apparition, but he's clearly involved in something, because he doesn't interfere. There's a sudden heat and the sound of an incendiary bolt giving way as it hits something. The sound he makes is anguished as he watches an apparition of Drax with long serrated knives instead of hands is consumed in flame and then dissipates entirely.]

You go this, dude? [He calls over his shoulder, afraid to turn his back to the shadows swirling and coalescing and ready to take form and shove another nightmare at him. Unfortunately, he also doesn't want to leave a dude hanging. He's not that sort of person anymore.]

[prizeneck]

I do. [Comes the reply through gritted teeth. The blade in his hand sounds like a screeching the way a bokken doesn't, and the apparition shifts beneath it and Mamoru isn't sparring a mockery of the All-Time Champion in Japan but has the edge digging into the skull of a gangly mess of limbs, eyes bulged out like goggles.

I've beaten you before, he thinks, eyes wide, levelling his grip with both hands and doing a helmet-splitter with enough strength to break a spine.

He stays in position for a second, glancing over his shoulder just to make sure he can feel Rocket's presence behind him, but keeping his hearing and his eyes peeled for the time being.]

What happened to you, then?

[beatupgrass]

Just now? I set a guy on fire. [He knows what he meant. He's just trying to collect his thoughts and parse out how to answer that question as he narrows his eyes and dares any of the variety of smoke-forms to start making a move. He'll put an bolt in them before they form... and waste bolts because they're barely solid.]

But that? That's been like three times. Genocidal maniacs can really ruin a guy's day.

[prizeneck]

Save them - the more they fuse the more they take to come back. [Mamoru frowns at the shot, but he can understand frustration allied to fatigue.

He takes the time for that quip to push his shades a bit higher the bridge of his nose, switch his grip around because a long time to practice gave him the opportunity to not have a dominant hand.

] This ain't no maniac, though, is it?

[beatupgrass]

That depends on your definition. Maniac sounds a lot better than massive, hyper-intelligent world-devouring superstorm. A maniac feels killable- an act of nature feels like we're just bidin' time 'til we run out of it.

[Ah yes, words of advice from the consummate cynic. There's not a whole lot to be happy or optimistic about right now.]

[prizeneck]

[Mamoru can't help but find some sort of validity to that. Sometimes, in groups, squads, teams, a matter of how you call a target can change an entire outcome. If it worked for himself, then it's a legitimate way of thinking - as long as it maintained your own resolve.]

So you think this is just nature doing its thing? No villain behind it?

[beatupgrass]

Awhile ago, I would've told you sure. That tracks. But I went back into a pod and came out with memories of a purple crapsack snapping half the known universe into oblivion, so now I'm not even sure.

[Also Ego. Ego was basically his own perfect storm, but even Ego had to work at what he did and it felt like an act of nature since he was, you know, a god- Thanos is fresher in his mind, and just a dude. A really powerful massive dude.]

[prizeneck]

[That

makes absolutely no sense. ]

You'll need to explain that to me in more detail, then.

[His voice lowers to a stop when he moves to move his blade upwards. There's a hulking mass of an apparition of over 7 feet tall, slowly walking up but too precise to be dragging, half black and half white, heavy and solid.

Mamoru's soles grind a little more against the floor, readying for a lunge.] Huh, I wondered when he'd show up.

[beatupgrass]

His name is Thanos. He has magic universe-ending rocks. He killed half the galaxy with a snap of his fingers. That's basically all I got.

[He could overcomplicate it further, but Mamoru has another friend, and Rocket has more monsters that look like horrific cobbled together science experiments that blend various animals and robots into some nightmare amalgam that makes his stomach churn. He fires off shot after shot, telling himself that they're not real and if they were, it's a mercy kill. They all look like they're in pain.

He does spare a glance over his shoulder to see what Mamoru is facing.] You have weird friends, man.

[kzzt kzzt kzzt goes his rifle as plasma beam after plasma beam obliterates the experiments. It's basically methodical now.]

[prizeneck]

[It's a good thing he has honed his hearing, even before the loss of his vision and his adaptation to living the way he does now. It's the only way someone could've heard fully what Rocket had described and commented as he stepped aside and dodged the wide swipes of machete-like fingers from the aberration in front of him.

But what Rocket is telling him is almost so weird to him that he almost missteps and falls straight into a blade, but managing to keep the damage to the seam of his jacket.]

Not friends. Not this one. [He swipes at each one of those fingers before he cleaves the blade straight into the creature's chest.] Opponents.

[beatupgrass]

I mean if you have a certain lifestyle, I feel like those two things are basically the same.

[He raises his voice, because between the sound of blades crashing, the sharp blasts of his rifle, and the roaring of a dozen war cries from beyond this stretch of Wyver jungle, he can barely hear himself think, much less talk.

But talking normalizes things. Mid-battle banter makes it feel like a normal fight, and not one geared up for the end of the world. The fight that Thor brought him and Groot too was like this.

Maybe a little too like this.] Man, I'm gettin' this sense of... What's that Earth word for when you feel like you've done this exact thing twice? I only have, like, a Skrull word for it, and it's a lot of syllables.

[prizeneck]

Not this time.

[He's not exactly a talkative guy when he's fighting. But he understands the need for it. The underlying, relentless urgency of normalcy in something that seems to have no end, no other outcome no matter what they do.

He falls silent when he takes the final blow of the giant mess of a creature and digs the blade in the ground in front of him (the edge is already dull, what's one more effort). The space between his shoulder blades is burning and his hands need to release to maintain some sort of mobility, so he uses the break to open them wide and stretch his fingers.] Deja vu?

[beatupgrass]

Yeah, that thing!

[Rocket pops off the last of his assailants and gives his head a good shake to try and dislodge the memory of just blowing a hole through something lithe like an otter that's more unholy mess of cybernetics than actual organic creature.

Mamoru's giant fuck-off has also gone down and it's in this moment that Rocket realizes he is extremely tired.] Man, I never thought I'd say this, but this killin' everything that tries to kill us, no matter how many there are thing? Kinda not so fun anymore.

[prizeneck]

[He does know what that means, beyond the first façade of Rocket's words.

These things may be aiming to win by exhaustion rather than skill or strength. Mamoru snarls and rolls his wrist to steady the blade in his hand. They need to work smart here, as much as the promise of a neverending fight is appealing to him.

He glances over his shoulder, checks for an opening around them. Turns his foot on the ground so that the tip can point at it without turning his back on the most likely spot the apparitions may show up again.] Tactically valid. There's a way there.

[beatupgrass]

Fan-frickin'-tastic. [He spins in a clockwise fashion, checking all angles for his own apparitions, and then starts walking, keeping the gun shouldered and out as he keeps an eye on his surroundings.]

It's about time we got our asses to Nadril, anyway.