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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.
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"I'm sure we can keep you entertained," he tells Ronan, though his gaze too has slid back to Rey's face. The First Lady who would be High Chancellor and the puzzle of her unassassinated husband. "Our host was about to tell us a story."
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Why then do her fingers twitch at her own bare knee and why is envy so plainly bubbling up into her stomach?
"If you're going to taunt me then I'd rather get it out of the way."
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And then he waits. She is going to tell the story, isn't she?
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"The Chancellor has been particularly... resiliant lately."
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And it was far from the only thing she said. Kylo quite clearly remembers her declaration that she would take everything that was hers, too.
He's still no closer to being certain whether or not she places him in that category.
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"I do," and she tries not to sound too defensive even if she knows Kylo has a nasty habit of seeing right through her. "He's not a challenge though," she adds as if to convince herself that he is only alive by her mercy right now. "Just the result of incompetencies that have been appropriately dealt with."
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And how well did that turn out for you, he doesn't need to add.
"If you don't have the hunger to do it yourself..."
He looks her over as if trying to measure it— just how genuine is her desire to murder Tony Stark, her husband, partner and companion turned obstacle to seizing power? It's difficult to know if he doesn't see it because it isn't there, or if it's because he doesn't want to.
Which is a strange thought. He hadn't realised he missed the struggle she used to have with the Dark.
"...then you don't really want it."
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"An emergency election does me no good if I'm sitting in a jail cell. An assassin was a calculated choice," and one that she'll apparently still defend despite it having not worked because she can never admit that Kylo is correct about anything. "And this is a delicate matter."
Outburst finished, she settles back and snidely adds, "You know nothing of what it takes to run a faction of this size and strength."
Even if Rey would secretly prefer the brutal honesty of what it must be to live in the freedom of the Sanctum, she's afforded much more power by taking the cunning approach.
"I will handle it. Personally."
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"You know nothing of how little it takes to destroy one."
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Whether or not he thinks his drink might be poisoned, he takes a sip of it now.
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"I know your power as well as mine," she taps idly on her glass as she leans back and gives Kylo an exaggerated look over. "And I know the limits of what can be accomplished with this pale imitation of the Force," maybe the two of them working together could have accomplished it, but she's not going to state that out loud when it hurts her potential as much as his.
Her gaze slips over to Ronan rather pointedly, "Would you be executing my downfall or do you think Kylo will want to do it himself?"
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"I'm his sword. Whether or not he uses me, he's the executioner."
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"You'll know it," he offers as a solidly unhurried assurance rather than a threat. "If I ever decide to be your enemy."
Which implies rather heavily that he currently considers himself to be something else.
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Part of the bravado in accusing Kylo to be too afraid to be her real enemy is to curb her jealousy and partly to try and knock Kylo's delight out of the bond.