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

KYLO REN ⧓ SANCTUM AURORAE

[photophobic]

I'm going to throw some prompts under this toplevel shortly! If you'd like to plot with me you can drop me a comment on Kylo's plotting thread here, catch me on plurk— starktech or hit me up on discord— cryloren#2195!

for rey (& ronan);

[photophobic]

all aboard...

It's been literally years since Rey gained some measure of control over her infuriating Porter-given ability to summon him with a stray thought. Years. And while she's threatened it many times, he's always believed they have an understanding about which challenges and provocations are exciting, and which are decidedly not. Which means, when Kylo feels the strange lurch of connection just before he winks out of existence...

 

...only to reappear near-instantaneously on the other side of the continent at Rey's side, he's already furious— long before she says a single word.

They're standing on the platform of the Death Train's White Tower terminal. Kylo knows this, because they've been here before. The last time he was waiting for the train here, Rey had been all but vibrating with her belief that despite everything, at the conclusion of the Synod he would make the decision to step through the White Tower's Gate with her to join her, formally. She'd been so convinced he would renounce his former allegiances and replace them with loyalty only to her that for a while, he'd believed he might, too.

Kylo whirls to face her, seething silently. He is quite clearly not dressed for the pomp and pageantry of the Synod yet— in fact, he looks very much like he might have come directly from a sparring session. His face says it all: he is not amused.

[reydacted]

For as practiced of a politician as Rey had grown into being, control for her was sometimes at best just a thinly veiled illusion. Each and every single one of her victories both before the White Tower and in it was fought with teeth bared and hard won. Control was a mask that she wore carved from absolute necessity, but her strength would always be in the depth of her fury rather than how carefully she kept it contained.

The failures of her plans so far have all but taken a hammer to that mask. It had been many years since she had unintentionally found herself in Kylo's company, but annoyance blooms in her stomach all the same, heels digging into the ground, chin tipped up and lip pulled tight as he appears on the platform with her. Like an unlucky chit, turning up at the wrong moment.

"You're not even ready," she looks him over with an exasperated huff as if he should have somehow known she was going to accidentally summon him.

[photophobic]

He's not ready for any of this. His fingers curl into tight, irritable fists at his sides as his chest heaves with sharp, shudder-edged breaths.

"I prepare to represent my people at the Synod with a ceremony, " he grinds out. "Which was due to begin in an hour."

And he'd been looking forward to it, which is a source of annoyance quite separate to his building fury over the effect this kidnapping could have on the peace and stability of his Sanctum. Ronan, of course, can find him here: he isn't concerned about that. He is concerned about the mood he'll be in when he does.

Rey hasn't disrupted their ceremonies before. Even Kylo begins to feel the encroachment, now.

"You're slipping."

[reydacted]

"I've been distracted, nothing more," Rey waves her hand dismissively at his appraisal, although her tone is decidedly much more defensive than she'd like to let on with her demeanor.

"I'm sure your people will forgive you for missing whatever annual self-indulgent ritual sex you perform before the Synod," Not that she usually does, but Rey really making no attempt to hide how she really feels about the Sanctum now. She has no actual basis for thinking that's the ceremony, but really there's nothing to point to it not being the ceremony.

"You don't have time to go back," she walks towards a train car, clearly expecting him to follow. "I'll have Kavinsky make you so you don't show up like-- that."

What, was Kylo expecting her to apologize or something?

[nightmarist]

Like an offhand thought that went forgotten before drifting back to the forefront of one's mind, Ronan is here. Unsummoned, but present nevertheless. Like Kylo, he's not prepared for either the ceremony or the Synod, but at least he's cloaked enough to go unrecognized from a distance.

"Did I miss the invite for this little party?" Ronan hisses softly, his icy gaze sliding from Rey to Kylo. "Or is Kavinsky going to be handling you from now on?"

[photophobic]

And there he is. Kylo's irritation doesn't fade in the slightest, but with Ronan's appearance (frosty as it may be) the tension across his shoulders eases— only by a fraction, but enough for something about his posture to register as having changed. He meets Ronan's eyes.

"I wasn't invited," he replies with the sharpness of an anger belonging to something far older than Rey's faux pas, "And no-one is handling me."

Rey hasn't stopped to wait for them of course, which is aggravating— particularly as they will require her as cover if they want to avoid speculation of a different flavour altogether. The Supreme Leader choosing to visit the White Tower may be a potent seed for gossip, but the suggestion that he was taken against his will would settle far less pleasantly.

...which means, he'll be boarding the accursed Death Train eventually, once he can stomach the compliance of the act. Kylo Ren is not about to step through the White Tower's Gate to attend the Synod, after all.

"I will protect my Sanctum with a Dome of its own if I have to," he mutters, glaring furiously at Rey's back.

Notably, however, despite knowing he has little choice, he fails to take a single step towards the waiting train. Perhaps he does need a little handling after all?

[reydacted]

She turns sharply when Kylo doesn't follow. Rey has long since gotten over any hangups confronting him in large or small ways. Of course he would be petty and stubborn enough to stand rooted on the platform.

"Ronan," Rey flashes a politician's smile that is completely devoid of any sort of warmth and yet still manages to be more infinitely more pleasant than what she offers to Kylo as she chooses to ignore The Supreme Leader's threats. "I don't believe you've ever had the pleasure of riding our train to the Synod."

"Not like Kylo," her eyes dart back to the Supreme Leader's, even the feigned generosity totally absent as her eyes narrow and her tone caustic, remembering the occasion. "If you're so interested in building domes I could pull you through this. I'm sure the firsthand view would be enlightening."

[nightmarist]

Ronan doesn't smile. He fixes a long stare on her, turning that threat over in his mind, and thanks the darkness of his hood for concealing the flush of quiet rage that rises to his cheeks. Only Kylo is near enough to see the hurt in Ronan's eyes when they return to him.

"How nostalgic this must be for you."

[photophobic]

Nostalgic is certainly one word for it. The blaze of fury Ronan earns for his remark in the wake of Rey's obvious baiting is brief— Kylo crushes it down near-instantly— but quite clearly, a nerve has been hit. There's no trace of the hidden pleasure Kylo sometimes finds in the release of anger, no relief or exhilaration: this is rage-as-armour, not power. His focus drags back to Rey's face, but his words aren't for her.

"The White Tower hasn't changed."

He'd found the duplicity and treachery of its politics distasteful even then, stark in its contrast to the clarity of the arena. He adds: "It can't."

Judgement delivered, he extends his hand to gesture for Ronan to fall in step with him as he finally acquiesces. Fine. The Death Train it is— though anyone expecting him to be happy about it is going to be exceedingly disappointed.

open;

[photophobic]

pomp and circumstance...

Kylo might not have arrived to the Synod in the manner of his choosing, but he wastes little time reclaiming control over his appearance. Rumours about his rekindled connection to Rey Palpatine of the White Tower may be circulating already, but Kylo himself offers little evidence to support the idea. In fact, the only person Kylo Ren appears to have any sustained connection with is his masked valet, who accompanies him as he has done every year since the Sanctum's violent founding— a silent, faithful shadow.

As the leader of the only extant Faction established without Synod approval, Kylo's presence here is something of a provocation— even a warning. Empires can crumble, kingdoms can fall, Gates can be stolen and there's little this patchwork parliament of conflicting interests can do about it: factions are only as strong as their leaders' abilities to hold on to power.
And it seems Kylo knows what he is, particularly this year: the first time he emerges from his suite to walk the floor of the Convention, he's dressed not in his customary black but stark, defiant red. He's hard to miss, should anyone be seeking him out.

Re: open;

[helpdesk_hero]

It's a garish shade of red, one that David's inner fashion critic wants to groan over. But this is the man he's been assigned by his own Council to interact with, and damned if David wasn't going to go face the icy crazies like he was ordered to. With a deep breath and a calm mind to bury whatever thoughts he needs, David approaches the other faction leader and offers a polite not of his head.

"Kylo Ren," he greets, keeping a respectful tone to his voice. "David Alleyne of Krakoa's Council of Five."

Which the man will likely already know. But politeness, right?

"I was wondering if I might schedule a few moments of your time for discussion."

[photophobic]

Kylo turns to face David as he senses his approach, smooth and unhurried. He knows who he is, of course— the Sanctum may be largely cut off from the rest of the world and hidden from sight in the barren wastes of the arctic circle, but its leader makes some effort to keep up with the times.

If mostly because Rey likes to talk.

He considers the proposal quite visibly, curiosity piqued. What could Krakoa want from him and his Sanctum?

"How many moments do you think you might need?" he asks mildly, though he gestures for David to fall into step. Clearly, he doesn't mind spending the time... and as he's offering to lead him somewhere, it seems he suspects David may prefer some privacy.

[helpdesk_hero]

Privacy would be insanely valuable here, because so much needs to happen, needs to be determined.

"As many as you might be given to spare someone from another faction. IT's a trivial matters, after all. Just a man wistful for the cold."

It's about SO MUCH more than that.

[photophobic]

Kylo's eyebrows raise slightly, though he makes no direct comment on the obvious obfuscation— politicians are, in his experience, all the same in this regard. All but allergic to speaking plainly.

"In that case, I think we can accommodate you," he says, leading David towards the elevators. Without having been given particular instruction, his valet follows silently. Kylo continues: "I always bring a piece of home. When I travel."

Which he'll gladly demonstrate, once they reach his suite.

[helpdesk_hero]

It's less an allergy to speaking plainly. More an allergy for what White Tower is going to do to him for this very conversation. But David follows along. And the camera watching the elevator, with it's little blinking light, goes dead. Technopaths are useful, right?

"I wonder if the weather here is disarming to you. I don't know that if I lived where you did I'd enjoy southern late summer."

[photophobic]

"We don't tend to have much weather indoors," Kylo points out lightly. The slight tug of his mouth might indicate amusement, possibly. It is a little hard to tell, considering the otherwise severe set of his expression. Nevertheless, he seems willing enough to indulge David, observing with interest as he employs his particular gifts.

"The light is different. The quality of it. It's difficult to describe to someone who hasn't experienced it."

As the elevator reaches Kylo's floor, his valet slips out ahead and takes a fairly obvious watch position at the door to his suite. Clearly, he won't be joining the discussion.

"You'll have to come visit," Kylo suggests, unlocking the door not with his keycard but a brief curl of his fingers— for reasons that soon become apparent. Kylo wasn't exaggerating about having brought a piece of home: while the door matches all the others of the hallway from the outside, the interior (quite mind-bendingly) appears to have been replaced with a slice of the Sanctum itself. Cool without being cold, the antechamber is all smooth, reflective stone and sharp edges— but it has at least been furnished for receiving guests. Kylo strides inside without pause.

[helpdesk_hero]

Visit doesn't seem likely. He prefers to stay away from cults of personality. Or religion. They don't tend to pan out well for mutants. Still, he heads through the door and frowns. Yeah, this was just weird. That wasn't what the hotel rooms should look like at all.

"Mind if I check for bugs? I'll be able to pick up on any electronics in the room, no matter their purpose. And even tell if another technopath is currently watching through one."

[photophobic]

"Be my guest," Kylo tells him offhandedly— he knows there's nothing to be found, but he can understand David's desire to confirm for himself. In fact, there don't appear to be any electronics in the suite aside from the comm devices they brought in with them. Why would Kylo rely on technology to provide for his needs when he can have anything he can dream of?

Re: open;

[forcechanic]

It's quite possible that the version of Jaina Solo that has been here a year knows exactly who this is. Unfortunately, all the one currently inhabiting this body knows is that she thinks she's encountered another Force user.

Having to make an appearance for the cameras at boring political events has taught her the right demeanour despite herself (she has, after all, yet to punch Borsk Fey'lya even once), but that sense is still enough to take her by surprise. "Oh, excuse me, I took you for someone else."

Because clearly so many people would be wearing that getup.

[photophobic]

Kylo's skepticism is entirely obvious. Looming above, he looks down with the slightly wearied air of a man steeling himself for the rest of a tiresome joke. "Did you," he asks flatly. It's not really a question— they both know how unlikely that particular scenario is.
Or, more accurately, they would both know, if this Jaina Solo was the one Kylo first met last year. Unaware of her ignorance of their shared history, Kylo sees no reason to provide the relevant background and context as he continues:

"Ask me for it. Whatever it is you're looking for this time."

[forcechanic]

This time. Kriff. She's supposed to know this guy. And she's sensing no clarifying details off him. "The same as usual, more or less."

That was vague enough, right? This time sounded like she must see him a lot doesn't that just figure.

[resoluteandunyielding]

Padmé has been seen here and there in the Synod since she and her consort arrived, but this is a specific visit that had been intended since shortly after she arrived. She gave it most of the first day, into the evening. A reigning monarch of her own faction, she provides something that might be considered time to settle in, whether it's the veneer of politeness or patience or politics. Even to family.

But she appears later that evening at his suit, in the space between the last panels of the day and first Gala, dressed a dress of intricate lines and gauzy, flowing cloth, all in the shadow black-blue, fading into white-silver, as much of Luminary tended toward the night and the moon goddess, which was set off with a crown that betokened the moon itself.

After the doors open, her first words are calm, simple, and straightforward, "I received your message?"

Something request, something summons. A curiosity, even though she had left her Dragon behind, which was a show already of how much she trusted in nothing happening to her in this place, even alone.

[photophobic]

Kylo is something of a collector, when it comes to those he favours— those precious few he cares for, in his own way. Whenever possible, he prefers to gather them to himself, keeping them close at hand where he can feel them sheltered safely under his protection. He likes to know where his vulnerabilities are.

Most people, however, aren't quite as keen on the idea, which is something he's slowly come to terms with. It still prickles when he hears word of a threat that could reach them— and it certainly frustrates him— but he's learned over the course of the last five years that extending an offer of assistance takes some of the edge off the persisting alarm.

He welcomes her into the transplanted portion of his Sanctum he had Ronan dream as a replacement for the hotel suite they were assigned a little stiffly, matching polite greeting with an attempt at one of his own— though with the awkward edge to his looming presence he's clearly not the politician she is:

"Please. Come in."

Padmé, the woman who was snatched away from their story long before she could become his grandmother, hardly needs his protection. But she could, he thinks, use some of what he knows.

[resoluteandunyielding]

Padmé gives it an unhurried, long few moments, considering the room. Pulled away from another world, trapped in snow and ice. It's a critical look she lets settle it. A statement, again, like everything else about appearances at the Synod. Displays of power and prowess, warning, and education on a political scale, in the seven supposedly neutral days of that made and broke alliances every year.

There's skill and artistry to the cool, smooth, sharp stones, and she appreciates what all it must have taken to accomplish it somehow, even though she knows this display isn't all here to sway or impress her specifically.

"I really should make the trip up and see what the rest of your Sanctum looks like. The work is stunning." There's a small touch of the girl who came from a planet beholden to the pleasure of all art that slips through for the last sentence, and the question that follows it. "How did you make it this reflective?"