SEPTEMBER 14TH, 2020: THE SYNOD IS CONVENING.

[modormenace]

All fourteen Gates simultaneously reverse polarity. For the next seven days, and only these seven days, any imPort stepping through a Gate will arrive safely in the Porter building: the only place on this fractured planet that can safely contain the energy of the imPort community in its entirety.

SO IT BEGINS
THE SYNOD

THE

DEATH

TRAIN

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.

CONVENTION

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

PRESENTERS

TOPIC

Joseph Kavinsky vs [N/PC]

White Tower ImPort Overpopulation and Dimensional Instability

Tony Stark and other technopaths

How Technology Will Save Us

Joshua Foley

The Mysteries and Intricacies of ImPort Physiology

Count Dooku and volunteers

ImPort Factions Must Align Against the Shared 'Resistance' Threat

Jin Bubaigawara (x3)

The Twin Cities are NOT Dimensionally Unstable No Matter What You Heard

Kang

Bridging Old and New: Maintaining Infrastructure with Limited Modern Resources

EVENING

EVENTS

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.

THE BLACKOUT

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.

Comments

LUCINA | Fresh imPort | OTA

[fauxmarth]

TRAIN
If it looks like a trap, feels like a trap...

Lucina barely has her bearings in this world, but things seem to be moving quickly to some pressure point of sorts. She can't risk avoiding it, should she find a way to either return to the world she hails from or, at the very least, mitigate any harm that could come of this. After all, it's not like the Swear-ins she knows ever went without a hitch when less than half this dire-feeling!

Much of her attention is on the view outside during the journey, her stomach doing anxious somersaults, and she starts at the sound of any entry into the car, her eyes shooting straight to the source. Her hand never leaves Aurora's hilt, both out of comfort and practicality.

What next? What now?

More importantly: Where are my friends in all of this, or am I truly alone?


CONVENTION FLOOR
"It...really is like a swear-in," she murmurs to herself, slowly walking into the massive space already full of people.

She sweeps the area with her unblinking gaze, still searching for something familiar -- even a silly brand logo will do! Already she'd gotten glimpses of a roster with faces and names that leave her very nervous indeed -- are Luke and Archie truly here? And what was with the titles of the things they're allegedly affiliated with...?

To some here, she may be a ghost among the crowd -- not in stealth, but in appearance alone. She doesn't know there was already a Lucina of Ylisse in this realm, one who perished years ago. She doesn't know who knew her then, doesn't know who to expect to approach her with that awareness.

Honestly, she's well aware how in over her head she is, but what can she do? To stand in place and do nothing is not the right call here. So she moves forward...


EVENINGS
Forward, and onward into the length of days the event goes on, still searching for answers (and the questions to couple with them). In much the same way as the day, she treads carefully, still more suited up for knightly combat than a proper dance. Her eyes still look for familiarity or, at least, guidance in this place, her heart still troubled by what she's begun to learn about the state of things.

"Please let me wake up," she murmurs.

CONVENTION FLOOR

[dun_moch]

Good news: Count Dooku does not know there was previously a Lucina here. He just sees her as a new imPort, clearly lost and confused.

Bad news: the Count is very interested in new imPorts.

As she moves forward, she will likely sense a presence at her back, tall and imposing. The voice that sounds from behind her is kind of friendly, but naturally pitched at a level best suited for condemning prisoners to the spider pit.

"Overwhelming, isn't it?" Count Dooku says with a soft smile on his lips. "I remember being staggered myself at my first Synod, many years ago."

This is not true. Even as a first-time imPort, Dooku already had more than enough experience with great gatherings from a long career in politics to cut through his first Synod like a shark through herring.

[fauxmarth]

For Lucina, the Count had been more of a celebrity bogeyman of sorts than a tangible threat; she knew of his activities thanks to the records saved at Aegis, but she never made direct contact with him before.

Of all the people who could speak out her way right now, he is certainly one he did not expect, and it shows. Her eyebrows shoot up high into her bangs, eyes big as recognition slaps her right in the face; she at least keeps her jaw from dropping.

This man...why, of all familiar faces, is he here? Was she to expect to see Gangrel strolling along next?!

After that initial beat of shock, she blinks and snaps out of it, though her posture remains tense as she stares at him.

"How many years?" she asks tentatively. How long has he been a presence here? An influence here?

[dun_moch]

Dooku's piercing dark eyes seem to unfocus for a moment, drifting over her shoulder as he reaches back in his memory. But it's an act. Those eyes did not miss her surprise for an instant.

"Eight years, as this planet counts time," he says after a second. "When I arrived, the White Tower was still rising. We have come a long way since then. You should be thankful to arrive at a time when we have made so many advances."

The years after the rebellion- the so-called 'fall' some say- were even more chaotic than the Fractured World is now. It had taken a great many words and a great deal of violence for Count Dooku to help carve out his current position.

[fauxmarth]

Eight years with a land and world such as this, fractured as a continent of uneasy kingdoms and empires as her homeland was...Did it really settle on them well? Eight years is hardly any time at all in the scope of nations, and yet...

"I suppose I should be," she muses, her gaze flickering past him at the mulling crowds. "At the very least, I am grateful to not have stepped into a world consumed by battle..."

So far.

evening

[dragony]

It's not how she looks in the dress of combat that catches Ruka's attention, but rather how she looks: the way her eyes scan the people around her, the set of concern and uncertainty in her expression when she thinks herself unnoticed.

It's a slim chance, Ruka knows, but she has to take the chances she sees. There's no getting anywhere if she's too afraid to do anything. Where Lucina's stride is a hesitant, cautious step, Ruka moves with the certainty and purpose of a wave rolling to shore — but the Ruka who approaches this Lucina doesn't look quite like the one she remembers. She's exactly as short and diminutive as the girl she knows, of course, but the differences are numerous. Just starting from the top of her head, instead of those usual updo buns, her hair is worn down in loose curls. Below, her eye patch is neither red, nor heart-shaped, but is a round and lacy white to match her dress.

That, and it's covering the wrong eye.

"Hey," says Ruka, bright and casual as she offers her hand. No gloves. "Dance with me?"

[fauxmarth]

"Eh...?"

The events in this place seem tailored to throwing her off-balance; Lucina blinks and stares for a couple beats, shifting in place as she tries to come to terms with this very backwards image of her friend.

Of course, she doesn't really do subtlety that well, so she still winds up blurting her thoughts, even as she absently lifts her hand to reach out in turn.

"Ruka?"

Her hand hesitates, hovering in place. To the outside viewer, it is a starstruck knight ogling a very peculiar maiden.

[dragony]

It's not just the confusion on Lucina's face, but the way she's confused — the way even at this close range, Ruka can see her looking back and forth between her living eye and her missing one, bewildered by their placement — that gives her hope.

She doesn't smile brightly with her mouth, but her lips tug up at the corners and her cheeks press up for a wide-eyed look. She snatches the offered hand, and begins pulling the other girl to the dance floor.

When Lucina looks at their hands, she'll see a blue ribbon tied around Ruka's wrist — covering the spot where a Registration tattoo would go, if she still had one.

She just needs to be sure...

"I think I've changed my look since the last time you saw me, Lucina," she says, her gaze still searching Lucina's, her tone leading. Please. Please be the right one. "How do you like it? Can you tell what's different?"

All vague enough to deny anything strange if she's wrong, but...

COME ON RIDE THE TRAIN

[patchricide]

Allura's own gaze is directly pointed away from the windows. The world outside is far too unsettling, multiplied by her own empathic sensitivity — even without looking at the windows, she can feel energy traces of the world outside, as if it were some dark presence leering in at the passengers. But if nothing else, at least the entropic nature of it all creates a sort of consistency to the chaos, meaning it's possible to let the existential horrorscape fade in the background like white noise.

All she needs to do is find something else to focus her attentions on.

So, despite the fact that it's probably best to quietly keep to herself, Allura has instead started a walk up the length of the train, quietly investigating for something else going on. (Isn't there always?)

The sight of blue hair catches her attention first. Not for being unusual, but instead the opposite, for being a familiar and comforting color. From a distance, and only seeing the back of the head, she can't be sure it is someone familiar; but as she approaches the form becomes distinct enough to not dismiss it as a fictional hope.

"Lucina?" It's said in such a quiet voice, as if Allura were just wondering it aloud to herself instead of trying to get the other woman's attention.

[fauxmarth]

Lucina's already well on alert thanks to the sound of the door sliding open, that Allura doesn't need to wonder long before that head of blue hair turns and searches for who has next come to pass through.

Upon seeing the unmistakable sight of the princess, Lucina's eyes light up, and she all but springs out of her seat.

"Allura!" she cries, almost about to leap at her, but her hand tightly grips the back of the seat to keep her in place. Wait-- this place...people are different. She may not even--

"Do...do you know me? Remember who I am?" Please, oh please...!

[patchricide]

"Of course I remember! We were both part of Aegis! And we both..."

Allura hesitates. She started speaking before thinking this through. It's always possible that this is a different Lucina, remembering a different Allura.

As absurd as it seems. Alternate universes seemed to run on absurdity, so that isn't truly surprising.

But she dials it back. "Right, do you remember Aegis?"

CONVENTION FLOOR

[khajidont]

The evening hasn't gone on long before Jaime has decided that he needs a drink. He grabs a beer - the bartender insists on pouring it into some fancy cup, which is a little disappointing - and wanders aimlessly through the floor. Everyone's keeping to themselves, mostly, which is an uncomfortable atmosphere in and of itself. The Synod is becoming more and more impractical, he thinks glumly to himself, gulping down a swig of his beer. Maybe he can say that the train ride over depressed him too much, and he can get some privacy in his room before whoever the heck is rooming with him gets there. Or maybe...

He spots Lucina in mid-turn. Her long blue hair first, which makes him think it could be a relative, or someone else entirely, but that face is all her. They'd been working together, before things got out of hand, and then -- and then --

He drops his glass. It shatters on the floor, sending beer spraying everywhere, and Jaime jumps away reflexively. "Shit!"

[fauxmarth]

The accident, so near her, causes her to start as well, whirling on her heel with her hand on the hilt of her sword. Her eyes drop to the spill, but only briefly, before darting up to the man who'd done the dropping.

At first glance, she can't discern the face of a friend hidden within many years of living a different life and time, and so all she sees is a distressed young man.

"Are you alright?" she calls, rocking forward on one foot with a thought to approach him to confirm. "Are you in distress?"

[khajidont]

"I, I'm -- of course, I --"

Shit. This happens sometimes, doesn't it? It just hasn't happened to him. Someone dying, or vanishing, and coming back as though nothing had happened. It's downright eerie, seeing her now, and even if he's trying to hide it, he's hiding it miserably; he looks at Lucina as though he's just seen a ghost.

"It's fine." Oh, god. He's gonna hurl. He's not gonna do it now, but he's totally gonna hurl. He should probably pretend not to know her.

"...Lucina?"

He can't quite manage even that.

Convention Floor

[looking_sharp]

It's not that he intended to bother the woman. Wasn't even doing much beyond exploring. But then there were the words.

Swear-In.

Rude, who had been walking past, comes to a stop with surprising speed and without toppling over. Stops and turns to look at the woman. Had he heard what he thought he'd heard? Dare he risk it?

"If I say Nonah," he asked of the stranger, pitching his voice to a soft level, almost a whisper, "does it mean anything to you?"

[fauxmarth]

At that, Lucina's own path is halted. Her breath, too -- so surprised to be approached in such a way and to hear the question murmured her way. Her mouth opens and closes with a slight sound of surprise as she turns her head enough to peer at him.

Who...?!

She doesn't recognize him, and yet...

She nods slightly.

[looking_sharp]

It's not that he recognizes her either. But he's not alone. Not alone at all. Rude turns his full attention to the girl.

"You remember there, but people here remember you as someone else?"

Still a whisper. This is dangerous to talk about.

Convention Floor

[heliophilic]

[How about a crescent moon surrounded by a gray triangle? Is that familiar enough for her? Because here comes Midnighter straight for her. He sees to scan her eyes for something before somewhat detachedly asking:]

You seem lost. Do you require assistance?

Re: Convention Floor

[fauxmarth]

I--

[she stops short, taken aback by the sight of him. her mouth opens and closes without another sound, silent for a beat as her mind races and her heart hammers.

navigating this whole world-where-people-you-love-are-different is hard, and she doubts she'll ever master it. she doesn't want to master it!]

Lost...ye-yes, you can certainly say that. [she gulps, blinking against the stinging in her eyes.]

[heliophilic]

[M stands there, observing her microexpressions. And that damn well looked like recognition, followed by disappointment.

He may actually have an ally here yet.]

Without Falchion?

[He lets a small smile creep up his face. Please know him.]

CONVENTION FLOOR

[forgeabettertomorrow]

It's rare that Darin sees someone with blue hair. When he does...well, needless to say, thanks to his own origins, he remembers. He'll remember the face of someone who was cursed with hair like his.

Which is why when he sees those long, flowing, deep blue locks...

Well, he has a bit of a freak out.

Pushing his way through the people, he'll catch that familiar silhouette by the shoulder to spin her around.

"I...I knew it! But this is impossible!!"

[fauxmarth]

"Huh-?!"

The conga line of confusion and familiar faces isn't over, it seems, as her next partner in the dance is really taking this by force. Bristling and dizzy, she has to blink the blur out of her eyes and gape back at the face gaping at her.

"D-Darin?! You're here, too?"

Evenings

[faithfulson]

She may have seen a certain familiar face here and there -- older, wiser, more burdened than she had last seen it -- but it was always surrounded by a crowd of people, never alone for more than a couple seconds.

Thankfully for Luke, at least, the others around had gotten used to his presence by the first evening's festivities, leaving him to seek out a certain blue haired woman. He had spotted her through the day as well, not that she was hard to miss, looking exceptionally lost and dismayed at everything going on around her. He couldn't help but feel a twinge of pity for her, remembering when he had first shown up over ten years ago, and things had been much more peaceful back then.

He nudged the Force at her as he approached, gently, so as not to alarm her more than she already seemed to be. He needed to get a sense of her first, of course, and try to find a reason behind the nagging sense of familiarity that grew the closer he got to her.

"Excuse me, miss," he began. "I couldn't help but notice you seem lost. Are you all right?"

[fauxmarth]

"Luke-?!"

She can't help it -- the name blurts out before she can even think to realize. The small bristle becomes a proper startle as she reacts, her eyes widening and her face going pink.

At least she stopped herself from hugging him.

Or throttling him.

"I--"

Of course, she rapidly remembers the problem of this place: so many familiar or near-familiar places, not a whole lot of sense or remembrance of her. This leaves her in a bit of a tangle, stuck for a direction to take with this sudden curve the evening has thrown her.

Gods, what do I do?!

"You don't...know me, do you?" Maybe that's the best start after such a sudden bungle.

[faithfulson]

Luke tilted his head in confusion. She seemed to know him -- not that that in and of itself was too surprising -- but he didn't recognize her. Despite that, there was a... vague sense of familiarity to her, one he couldn't quite pin point, but looking at her, he could feel his heart sort of flip over in his chest in a way that was all together uncomfortable.

He cleared his throat, carefully keeping his hands at his sides.

"I'm afraid not, no," he replied. "Would we have met back home?"

Maybe that was why the Force felt like it was nudging him in her direction.