❪ event ❫ THE DESCENT: PART ONE.

[natha]

THE PROLOGUE     Your sleep on the night of the 15th is not a restful one, unfortunately. It’s unclear whether you are in a state of half-wakefulness, or dreaming. The voices you hear certainly sound very real. What is it, Sael? —Is everyone asleep?! Every one, yes. Sael, it appears you do not have good news to deliver...? N-No! I don’t know how it slipped past us, but there’s something powerful coming this way. Something hostile. I can barely keep the core systems online! ... I don't know what to do... I see... and we cannot protect Thesa and Alria in addition to transferring the Refugees to Olympia. This force, they waited for this moment. They knew I have been Intervening, and that I have become weak from such Interventions— ... We've been had. It cannot be helped. To save the Refugees on the Stations, we must eject the awoken unto El Nysa. My remaining energy shall go into shielding Thesa— left defenseless, every being we have saved on this station will perish... Sael, where is the ideal location for the landing? Hmm. There aren’t any people within a ten mile radius of The Outlook, and there shouldn’t be any for a few more days. I think that’s the best location right now. Very well. Instruct Zasere and Roman to begin preparations for an emergency eject. This is the only way we can save everyone. I am counting on you to ward off the enemy on the space front. The rest... is up to our Refugees. The alarms are blaring. It shouts against your eardrums, calling you to wake again. This time, you are in new pod, strapped down completely and cushioned tightly against the walls. In truth, you had no idea when you’d gone to sleep, but it is reminiscent of when you had been saved from the force of the Storm. A voice greets you when you come to, while the conversation between Darma and Sael is still fresh on your mind. Despite their voices playing like an old tune in your memory, you still know it is something that happened. Something has gone terribly wrong. You hear Darma speak, her voice loud in your head. Fellow Refugee, I wake you with regrettable news. A force equal to our own is attempting to engage Thesa, no doubt to steal the souls contained here. My energy is near depleted with this last Intervention, so I cannot send you to the grounds safely as originally intended. However, there is hope yet.This power shall instead shield Thesa and Alria — and believe in me when I swear no one shall be hurt. Your loved ones are safe with us. —Unfortunately, that is at your expense. Your descent will not be an easy one. This pod that contains you shall pierce through El Nysa's atmosphere and land you on an island west of Olympia, simply called The Outlook. Travel east. Find the West Outpost, then continue east until you find the Olympian North Gate. There is a method to this madness. You shall be sent in waves. The inhumanly strong shall be first. The parachute will soften the landing, but I am aware of all your capabilities. The first wave will survive the drop, and will work tirelessly to secure the others. Find your bearings, and ensure the safety of the second wave. They are the healers and medics. Catch their pods, ease their landings, make certain that they shall not be harmed, because you will need them for your wounds. The third wave are your strongmen. They shall help clear the debris and take people to safety, making way for the fourth wave, those can conjure magic to help. Bring everyone to a safe distance. A supply drop will follow soon after; it shall contain tents and tools that will be useful for the long night. The fifth and sixth waves are largely vulnerable humans. With your combined efforts, you shall survive this great misfortune. Forgive us, Refugee. Leave the Moons to us, my promise to you is still in tact— focus on what you can do for others like you. Helping at least two (2) Refugees will earn you one (1) Natha REP. Threads must be AC length to qualify, and can be submitted HERE by JULY 31st. THE DESCENT     FIRST WAVE. The instructions are clear. Those who are a part of the First Wave should be equipped with physical strength and fortitude to survive the drop or the power to regenerate and heal their own wounds. While the pods are already designed to cushion some of the impact, as this is the first group, it will likely to be the most jarring. In all of the waves, some of the pods will malfunction and offer no cushion at all. They will be expected to quickly find their bearings. Their mission isn’t simply just landing, after all. The first wave will be expected to help the next wave, and the wave after that. Whether through their abilities or brute strength, they will be expected to help soften the landing for those who are falling. They will also be expected to pry open hatches, carry people to safety, and to just... survive. It’s not always easy being first. SECOND WAVE. Within the next hour, it’s time for the Second Wave to make their descent. You were selected based upon your aptitude for healing and/or being able to administer first aid. Perhaps you can help the tired and weary. Maybe those who have landed have have strength, but no stamina. Either way, it may be unwise to exhaust all their abilities at once. The night is long, and you may want to conserve their energy for the next waves to come. At least you’ll have help in getting settled. THIRD WAVE. Akin to the First Wave, the Third Wave will possess some durability, and some manner of strength, making you a reliable ally. Especially in a time of crisis... Or so we hope. While the landing is tough, and some of you may need first aid. As soon as you’re all healed up, you’ll have no time to dawdle. Your help is required. “Please help those still trapped in pods. Carry those unconscious to safety. Lift debris, and rescue all you can.” May be a vague message still stuck in the back of your head. Something whispered to you while you were just waking. Well, might as well roll with it. It’s the best shot you have, after all. FOURTH WAVE. Those in the Fourth Wave, as Darma projects, were selected due to the versatility of their abilities. No one expects one man to do the same as the next. Rather, that’s precisely the point: to be different. To be able to accomplish something unique. While one individual may be blessed with powers that assist in putting out fires, another may have the ability to shield those from oncoming debris. Maybe one even has the ability to channel all of these. Regardless, it’s up to you and your quick wits to see what tasks are open. It’ll take some coordination, especially as there are more people mixing into the fray, but, you can do it, can’t you? FIFTH WAVE. If you are in the Fifth Wave it is likely that you have a specific power or ability. One that isn’t easily channeled or called upon. Or, perhaps, you were merely placed here for insurance. Whatever the case if, your expertise will presently be put to the test. Maybe you’re quite proficient in survival skills, and you’re already eyeing the supplies that were dropped between the Fourth Wave and now. Goods all ready to be salvaged. Okay, maybe some can’t, but as they say, “it’s the thought that counts.” Besides, the injured from earlier certainly need a space to rest, and camp isn’t going to make itself. Regardless, maybe you feel more comfortable joining in the efforts to assist those who still require it. Whatever it is, you are sure to find your place and use. Darma obviously held the same faith. FINAL WAVE. The Final Wave is fortunate in a variety of ways. With Thesa Station a bit more stabilized, Darma utilizes the last bit of her powers in insuring that these last remaining pods are met with the softest landing, right beside the fifth, that is. The fragility of life is nothing she is unfamiliar with, after all. Still, that isn’t to say nothing is expected of you. Most of the individuals that have dropped earlier will likely be exhausted. An hour stretched between each one, makes several hours for the first couple of waves. They'll need a place to relax. You will act as the final group of helpers. Settle into whatever role feels best for you. Are you an excellent cook? Great at rationing supplies? Perhaps, you have a secret skill in ______ that might come in handy here? Or, maybe, despite the gentler landing you still managed to get hurt. The sky's the limit, and you got this! Meanwhile, in the distant kingdom of Olympia, the Empress and her loyal subject discuss matters late into the night... I’ll have the results of that dragon toxin study ready for you soon, Your Highness. I just need a few helpers to— oh wow, is that a meteor shower? Oh yes, it appears so. How beautiful.. hehe. Let us thank Thesa for this blessing. GATHER YOUR BEARINGS     All in all, the descent lasts for nearly seven hours. After the deployment of the last wave of refugees, it’s only natural that you may be feeling pretty worn out. A. Within the remains of the pods, Refugees will find basic camping supplies such as small tents, sleeping bags, and compasses. Not all of the supplies remain intact, thanks to the impact of the crash. But, sharing resources will ensure there is enough for everyone to rest for the night. Can you really in good conscience leave that stranger next to you without shelter? B. Although you may be tired after such a life-threatening ordeal, there is still work to be done to ensure your survival. Fortunately, it works out because now there are plenty of empty hands. There are stray debris and metal parts that should be collected and disposed of. There's firewood that needs to be collected, and campfires to upkeep. The nights in the Outlook are particularly chilly, and so it will be imperative to keep warm! C. Your clothes are tattered or too bloodied to sleep on with comfortably. Fortunately, Darma thought ahead. There will be various types of clothing provided, mostly robes that resemble her own in earthy tones, all to help them camouflage you for your next big adventure. FINAL OOC NOTE     This INTRO event will be broken up into three parts! Please keep this in mind when plotting your threads/tag load. PART 2 will be posted on JULY 18TH and PART 3 on JULY 22ND, at 6 PM EST. In the event of CAPTCHA, we will be providing an overflow. In the event of a second CAPTCHA, players are advised to move threads to an overflow post on their character journals. These threads remain eligible for AC, AC Rewards, and REP. The NETWORK is currently down, as Sael must concentrate all of his efforts on warding off the invading force. Characters may still message each other's personal IC inboxes. Submit two (2) AC-eligible threads from this log for one (1) Natha Orbiter REP point here by JULY 31ST. Recommended Listening: Alex & TOKYO Rose QUICK NAV premise ● faq ● world ● map ● reputation ● npcs taken ● reserves ● application calendar ● hiatus/drops ● modbox [ FULL NAVIGATION ] elnysa nysalogs nysaisles nysaooc elnyan

Comments

[pappio]

[ Dubiety this early on in the venture? Sad stuff. Even sadder, when considering the ramifications that this is just one of many, many tents that they'll be complied to make. There are other methods, like stringing up hammocks to play keep-away from the medley of foreign bugs, probing the area for the sort of game that'll wreak havoc if left unchecked, but all they've got are these starter supplies and the staple of survival, not the bulwark of it. There's only so much you can do with tent supplies if you can't craft the shape of it and bolster it down with the tact of a strangler noosing their latest victim. Meticulousness, and old habit. That's what gets it done fairly quick.

Looks like they managed it, though, for how shoddy the tent appears to be, but it'll do its job, last the evening with nothing more than some shaking through the winds for it. ]

Yep. You'll last, though there are better kinds out there.

[ Left bereft of his Coleman® camping gear, for example, he'll have to make-do with Darma's substitutes, which don't amount to much. But despite the lack of steel underneath his collar or embedded in his spine, Gladio's no less surmounted by it, eying the structure with no scarce amount of appreciation. His ego might be getting to him. Just a bit. ]

Need me to explain anything else, or d'you think you've got it covered from here? When you gotta pull it down come morning, just do the reverse.

[ Pull poles out, wrench the stakes from the earth. Simple stuff.

Gadio's more than content to go about his business, though there's the aspect of eating that's got his stomach straining up in knots. Well, whatever. This probably counts as the bare minimum of lending aid insofar as shielding off the chill, even if it doesn't shave off trepidation. Can't fix what he isn't aware of, though, like Giovanni's increasing unease. Too bad. ]

Sorry I'm so slow! I have family visiting ;;

[ofobedience]

[Well. If nothing else, he knows what to do, now. Can potentially assist in the construction of further shelters, help ensure that the others here aren't left out in the cold. He may feel nothing but glacial indifference for the people he's stranded here with, a motley group of strangers from stranger worlds, thrown together by a bizarre twist of fate that none of them could have predicted or prepared for, but he owes the Orbiters a debt, one he intends to pay. If for no other reason than that they still have things he wants, people he'd prefer remain alive, at least for the time being.

And so, despite the dubious expression, he nods. The look on his face remains chilly at best, shoulders tight beneath the increasing pressure building in him, muscles wound and hard by the threat of mental fracturing. But he keeps it together for the moment, for the sake of appearances, made easier for having so many people within close proximity; this man in particular, right now, standing close enough to see him crack, if he should do so. And so he won't. Remains, at least outwardly, collected and still.

He tries for a smile, though it's a strange expression; all sharp angles, pointed teeth.]

My thanks, then. For the assistance. Though ultimately I'll be all right, shelter or no. Not something I could say for everyone here, by the looks of it.

[And does he need anything else? Is there anything else he should know? Many things, no doubt. More than he can count, but--]

There's no need to labour on my account. I suppose building a fire would be useful, and not something I know how to do without...well. Anything.

[He could have used the powder from his bullets, if he still had his guns. But they're just one more thing that have been swallowed by the storm, taken from him by Zollner before it ever hit.]

There's little I need, so to speak.

[Nothing that's here, anyway.]

all good, take your time!! :^) no rush at all

[pappio]

[ Mental deterioration, clinical apathy, and the unchecked brutality of hands that could rip and shred as well as his teeth: the grand trifecta of all that'd get him in a ward, talking to a therapist on the daily. Not that he can judge, though. Despite appearances, Gladio doesn't quite have his head screwed on right, far too prone to that anger that's got him on tenterhooks, once he feeds it a proper outlet to catalyze. He's got his vices, but he's got his debts, too— and as long as they have Iris sealed away in the pods that hold so many other residents of Eos, thus trapped in stasis, he knows which way his loyalties will ultimately sway.

Truth be told, that's a weird look to the guy— the echo of cruelty, snapped to behold in the enamel. Gladio honors it with a tilt of his head, perplexed, and then returns it: brandishing his teeth in a similarly savage fashion. Rote shit. ]

Question of want, then. My bad. [ There's plenty of people pining, whether it's from the lack of a roof over their head or a hand to hold. On that note, though: ] If you really wanna survive, it ain't all that hard to manage.

[ Necessity brings out the worst — and conversely, best — of people in crisis. Gladio claps his hands dry, leaving the tent to stand the most harrowing ordeal of its painfully short lifespan: the test of time against the elements. ]

Let's get that pit started, then. Got any firewood on hand, or do we gotta go lookin'?

<3

[ofobedience]

When it comes to survival, I don't have a lot of choice. Hahah.

[Again with the smile that borders on something savage, and the words could be taken in a plethora of different ways, when looking in from the outside. He could mean something as simple as he has no choice but to survive because he has things to do and people to protect and a self that refuses to easily be burned away, but it's nothing like that. Not really. Now that the Orbiters have fixed his most significant flaw, dying will be no easy feat for him. Surviving is what he was made to do, created specifically for endurance, and with his own particular updates, now fully functional where they weren't before, there are very few ways for him to die.

Funny, when for the longest time now, it's what he's wanted. For things to end, with some part of himself left in tact. Preferably on the heels of a final reckoning with his brother, yet another thing that seems far away and beyond him, now.

He doesn't elaborate, however. Leaves that statement to be taken whichever way it will, shrugs his shoulders smooth and easy as he moves on to the other man's question, instead.]

Go looking, I suppose. I can't say I thought to collect any.

[He may be capable of tearing out a man's heart with his bare hands, but when it comes to even the simplest acts of ordinary self-preservation, he knows nothing at all.]

[pappio]

[ Must be a force of habit, or a tic, that laughter. Creepy in only the mildly peripheral sense, like Gladio's treading on the heels of a danger that he doesn't entirely understand, doesn't entirely comprehend, only just aware of something vaguely amiss. The strange urgency of it flays open any relative tranquility and Gladio stands there, entirely whole, and brushes off the nagging desire not to turn his back to this guy. They're strangers, for what it's worth. The chances that he's ever going to see this man again, in a group this huge and far-flung, are slim to none.

So there's no harm in wrenching past instinct, and shrugging as he turns on his heel. In contrast, that gesture's harmless. It's only ever considered benign. Very approachable. ]

No time like the present, I'd say. [ Give or take another second and he's fished out a flashlight, its illumination petering out into the surrounding forest. ] Let's get a move-on, then. Already dark out, but the walk shouldn't be too far off.

[ And Gladio tromps out in the forest, since his sense of self-preservation hinges a duty that's largely defunct in the barest sense of the word, since the end of his world. A few minutes of walking ensue, crunching off the general campgrounds people have amassed, until he lends a voice to his throat once more. ]

Sorry 'bout my manners. It's Gladio. [ Gladiolus Amicitia, if they're harping on technicalities. Such an elaborate name for a rough-and-tumble man. Shortening it comes easy, and it's not like his title as an Amicitia matters now — all it signifies is the depth of the indebtedness he owes to one man, and one man alone. ] Your name?

[ofobedience]

As you like it, then.

[And he'll begin to follow him into the woods, footsteps light and near-silent despite the foliage underfoot, all too accustomed to moving with stealth and poise, a propensity for going unnoticed. Not the wisest choice, perhaps, for the other man to push past instinct and head out into the dark tangle of trees with something that - even without trying - subtly radiates threat.

Not the wisest...but this time, at least, ignoring his inner feelings will do him no harm, a danger neatly side-stepped. The words that had susurrated through his mind as they'd fallen through the skies remains clear, his purpose here laid out for him. The Orbiters, they'd wanted him to assist, not destroy, and always the obedient dog, Giovanni has no intention of turning the ever-present violence in him on his fellow refugees. At least, not for the moment.

He owes them a debt, the Orbiters, for mending him. It's a debt he intends to repay.

And so he follows quietly on the other man's heels, not especially needing the light from the torch in the stranger's hand to guide him, but not protesting it either.]

Gladio. [He repeats it, a name that seems strange as it rolls off his tongue, as alien as their surroundings.] And I think, all things considered, we'd all be forgiven a lack of manners. It's been quite the day, after all.

[He's silent for a moment then, almost as though he's forgotten the question, or is - perhaps - evading it. But then the silence breaks, and his own name is given.]

Giovanni.

[Likewise, he withholds the 'Rammsteiner'-- less a name, anyway, and more his make and model. The name given to his series of genetically engineered monstrosities.]

i'm so sorry for the wait!! please feel free to drop/handwave this, nbd

[pappio]

[ Not the smartest move, but not the dumbest, either. Best place to be when a monster's out of its cage is right beside it, the deadbolt assurance that it isn't ravaging the populace (as if there's anything or anyone to destroy out here besides nature, and that's self-defeating with other beasts of prey that plausibly roam these parts).

It's just an inkling of doubt that's pursuing his heels, nothing more. But Gladio's on the defensive, full of all those hair-trigger impulses that befit the shield of a king of a dead world — that propensity for doubt where others would slide easy into trust. He's pretty companionable otherwise, though. ]

A-huh. I'll make sure to remember that.

[ Giovanni. He tests in silent mimicry, finds it fitting enough. Names range anywhere from Prompto to Dave on Eos, so he's good with either extreme. Doesn't mean shit to him, otherwise. They trek for five seconds bordering on five minutes (time flies when you're having fun, or living with caution traipsing about your ankles) until Gladio's amassed a fair amount of twigs from the ground on their journey to incite a small-scale fire pit. It won't keep anyone warm for the entire night, measly bundle of sticks that it is, but it should last long enough to cook something. With any luck, Giovanni over here's got his end of the stick-gathering well taken care of. ]

Think this should do, for our purposes. You good?

I'm fine to backtag! but also if it's easier for you, handwaving is also fine.

[ofobedience]

[And Giovanni, name given and the assurance of remembrance received, drifts into silence as he sets about the task of collecting sticks (and there's something vaguely funny about that, dogs and sticks, something along those lines, though he makes no mention of it.) It's an uneasy kind of silence though, less companionable and more the sort that fills up with things unsaid and unspoken, his own thoughts swiftly swarming in to fill up the gap that exists between them. The dark and twisting forest, the myriad sounds of insects and birds, the odd call of some unknown animal from off in the distance-- all of these things are strange and alien to him. All of them seek to remind him that he's a long, long way from his obliterated world, that he's out of his depth here. Maybe drowning.

A chill runs the length of his Spine, icy languid fingers, and it has nothing to do with the temperature of their environment.

But regardless, he does as he's bidden, tries to focus as much as he can on the small physical exertion required for the completion of the task. Tries to keep his looming concerns at a distance, no matter how hard they try to close in on him. And then Gladio speaks, Giovanni looks up, flashes a smile in the gathering dark that looks more like a bearing of over-sharp teeth.]

All done, I should think.

[And he does, indeed, have an armful of sticks and discarded branches. More, perhaps, than one would expect someone of his slight build to be able to manage.]