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f20202020-09-15 12:53 am
- allison hargreeves ⧓ krakoa,
- anders ⧒ the white tower,
- beckett mariner ⧓ twin cities,
- cecelia ardenbury ⧓ olin vale,
- count dooku ⧓ the white tower,
- david alleyne ⧓ krakoa,
- declan lynch ⧓ sanctum aurorae,
- finn onaru ⧒ the white tower,
- fuu hououji ⧓ eden,
- jin bubaigawara ⧒ twin cities,
- jonathan walsh ⧓ northwestern imperium,
- kang ⧓ seekers of the new dawn,
- kylo ren ⧓ sanctum aurorae,
- lucina ⋈ ␣,
- luther hargreeves ⧓ krakoa,
- midnighter ⧒ the white tower,
- number five hargreeves ⧓ krakoa,
- padmé amidala ⧓ luminary,
- pepper potts ⋈ the white tower,
- rey ⧓ the white tower,
- ronan lynch ⧓ sanctum aurorae,
- rude ⧒ olin vale,
- stephen strange ⧓ the white tower,
- tony stark ⧓ the white tower,
- wei wuxian ⧓ house of m,
- wen ning ⋈ house of m,
- xue yang ⧓ sanctum aurorae
SEPTEMBER 14TH, 2020: THE SYNOD IS CONVENING.
THE SYNOD
While the Gates are the simplest form of transportation, those making the journey to the Synod from the White Tower have the option of travelling by train, if they wish. Despite the playfully grim moniker, there haven't been any recorded fatalities on board the Death Train in many years. Or ever, really. Raw, untamed entropy doesn't do anything as simple as kill.
For that delightful reason, passengers will be reminded at frequent intervals not to attempt to leave the train once it enters the active zone of the Porter's defenses, or to do anything that could jeopardise the integrity of its shielding.
The journey is relatively comfortable and takes approximately two and a half hours. A limited menu of pastries and alcohol is available from the buffet car. The smallest tables seat two.
As the train passes through the entropy-saturated wasteland of the Deathdome, the view from the heavily tinted windows of each of the train's four-person cars is impossible to comprehend: every atom of the landscape is in a constant state of flux, scattered in endless possibilities across the multiverse.
WELCOME CARPET
Inside, you get the impression of three towers; no view from outside is possible. You're totally sealed inside for the week, by the same Fate-built tech that shields this place from the ravages of cosmic radiation— the train station is built into the structure, entrance tunnel hermetically sealed.
You're greeted by welcome robots, primitive little things full endless enthusiasm and covered in dents. What they lack in intelligence they make up for in persistence and durability. Each and every ImPort is assigned their own personal robutler.
Though they tend to hinder more than help.
Boop boop boop boop. They provide you with a complimentary swag bag. Inside is one (1) t-shirt, one (1) top of the line tablet (pre-loaded with this year's Agenda and a simple game app that looks suspiciously like 2048), a stress ball, personalised souvenir pen and eraser (but no pencil), and of course, a lanyard keycard for accessing the comfortably adequate accommodations provided for all attendees.
Given the week-long Synod, your room itself is a decent suite, furnished with dark colors, redolent with a smell you can't quite place. You may find yourself assigned an unexpected roommate, which may feel awkward considering you'll find arrayed on the beds, a half-dozen complimentary tickets to the spa, restaurants and the power gym, with its preternaturally durable equipment.
Robutlers constantly remind: do not attempt to leave the Porter facility or do anything to jeopardise the integrity of its shielding.
Talks and panels take place in the convention area, which feels like a miniature city within the Porter's defenses, a hive with padded audience seats, wide stages, and complete with holographic audiovisual equipment that's curiously compatible with presentation software from every city.
Here, ImPorts will present and debate various topics regarded as major concerns for all. [OOCly, players are invited to suggest topics! Scroll down; they will be added below.]
This is also something of an expo, where cities practically demonstrate— or show off their good works. From the latest hovertechnology models to demonstrations of healing powers, playful duels in the forcefield-enclosed stages to magical books that temporarily transfer skills on touch, this is the place to pretend you're showing off your cards... while playing the most important ones close to your chest.
PANELS AND DEBATES
Every night of the Synod, ImPorts gather to dine in a grand hall with a ballroom party. Each dinner is hosted by one ImPort city, gruntwork complete with robutlers-- which guarantees food safety, and complete with multiple cuisine options, cultural decor, and entertainment.
Given the range of cities represented, food options vary from greasy burgers to six courses of seafood and blue venison, and rarefied vegan fare.
When ImPorts aren't here eating, they're most often talking. Ergo, it's not uncommon for low-key drama to break out, but this year, the majority of Synod days seem to be passing uneventfully.
Fortunately, speeches are reserved for daytime. After dinner, it's time to dance.
The last song of the night is always obscure music no one can quite remember the words or melody to afterward. It's a slow dance song meant for two or more partners; the ballroom grows dark and the world seems to fade away. Or rather, it just fades back into one's hotel room.
On Monday, September 21st, shortly before the Gates are due to resume ordinary function and allow attendees to leave, the Porter building suffers a power cut.
Abruptly, all the lights cut out. Music stops. Your faithful robutler freezes in place, unresponsive— though its internal systems appear to be running, the centralised command hub that it relies on has fallen silent.
Though the robutlers are out of comission, technology-minded ImPorts and their tech drones hasten to reassure that systems analyses are underway. Within a few hours, repairs begin, the estimated time being two days.
In the meantime, thanks to the diversity of powers on hand, there is enough food and water. Candles start to circulate. It might even be a little romantic, if it weren't for the chaos outside. Characters might find themselves trapped in an elevator for a few hours, or compelled to seek comfort from one another.
Ronan Lynch | Sanctum Aurorae
The Greywaren is not in attendance. However, a masked valet by the name of Ronan Lynch — younger brother to the High Priest Declan Lynch, apparently — has been a favorite servant of the Supreme Leader since the earliest days of the cult. He accompanies Kylo Ren to the Synod every year as his esquire of the body, a role performed with just as much unsettling pomp and ceremony as anything else conducted by the mesmerized disciples of the Sanctum Aurorae.
Unless otherwise dismissed, Ronan remains at Kylo's side as a silent, looming bodyguard. At every meal, he kneels at Kylo's feet, guarding his food and drink from poison and clearing it all away when he's finished. When Kylo is meeting privately with other imPorts, Ronan keeps watch at the door, and when he retires to bed, Ronan goes with him.
While on duty, Ronan does not engage in conversation — even if he's directly addressed — unless given explicit permission by Kylo to respond. But there are moments when someone can catch him alone. Whenever Kylo is entertaining a guest and doesn't want to be disturbed, Ronan stands just outside his suite, where he's free to speak. And during the evening events (where he's dressed in slightly more formal attire), it's easier to get a few words out of him... though he'll probably refuse an invitation to dance.
The inner circle of rare individuals who are aware of Ronan's true identity may pull him aside at any time, but it's best to visit him inside his suite later or invite him to visit yours.
Evening Events/The Gala;
All pulled together in this appearance. Statement.
But she's never quailed before showmanship.
Here, or on her long-gone homeworld.
She doesn't go about making her way to the singular figure standing out from the crowd, given his space by those swirling talking many if, perhaps, for his appearance and the and the nigh-on wall of apparentness that he wasn't there to make merry and socialize in the same way as anyone else.
She decides on a moment when Kylo has already found himself pulled onto the floor, before appearing, quietly, but nothing like furtively near his side. "Good evening, Ronan."
no subject
"Your Majesty," Ronan answers, bowing low. The formality may be unnecessary between them, but onlookers are all around, and he's ostensibly nothing but a favored servant.
no subject
"How are you enjoying the Synod?"
no subject
Which, from the wry tone of his voice, suggests he's not enjoying it at all.
Ronan tilts his head toward her, not looking directly at her but at least granting a little warmth to the conversation. It doesn't feel right to avert his eyes. "What about you?" he asks. "Having a good time?"
no subject
It's an excellent way to put it. There isn't much choice in coming. Oh, they could decide to stay away, any of them, fortify behind their walls and not appear. Break the slimmest of rules that were abided by all, no matter in which alignments they found themselves in. but they didn't. They all came. Paid their respects. Their dues.
Too much more could be found here if one simply inconvenienced themselves.
"The presentation topics look like they might be more of interest this year. Less cultivation and acculturation this time." She sounds so enthused, honestly, but what else does one fill so many days with doing other than what's been left around for them to do.