f2020 | SEPTEMBER 14TH, 2020: THE SYNOD IS CONVENING.

SEPTEMBER 14TH, 2020: THE SYNOD IS CONVENING.

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"I'm good at what I do. It's a small role that needs to be filled and not everyone can handle something like that."

He eyes her suspiciously.

"You speak as if you know me. In fact, you knew my name before I knew yours. And I don't recall you offering up what faction you were with."

"I told you that I'm a new arrival. Do you really expect me to be swearing allegiance while I'm still learning who all the players are?"

It's such a politician's answer, even she feels bad using it. But she has to try to keep the subject on him!

"... look. You... remind me quite a bit of someone I used to know from my home. Except that he wasn't someone who would have settled for being good at a small role. He could already do that. He took pride doing masterful work within a humble trade, one that helped people."

"But what he truly wanted was to be a hero. Someone who could use his power to rescue people!"

"People do dumb things all the time." He counters.

"And I do help people. I make sure all of those people who would disturb the peace and solace of their lives are removed. If Master Skywalker can't convert them, I make them vanish. And heroism is subjective. I might be feared throughout the country, maybe even the world, but to those who would call the Empire of Light their home, I am their hero."

"How does waging war make you a defender of peace and solace? If anything, it sounds to me you're the one perpetuating the cycle of violence, and creating enemies for your empire!"

"How did he even convert you? Surely you had to have a conversation first!"

"I didn't need converting! When I met Master Skywalker I—..."

"I...H-He..."

How did he come to be in Master Skywalker's employ? How did that conversation happen? He arrived and...he was...chosen? But why was he chosen? How did Master Skywalker know to choose him...?

"Why can't...?"

Why couldn't he remember? He remembered Master Skywalker coming to him but...everything before and during...and even immediately after...it wasn't...

It wasn't there.

The alarmed reaction is a fantastic tell. She's hit on something important.

"... what can you remember of it? Surely, if it meant such a great deal to you, there should be... something..."

She reaches up towards his hand. Then hesitates. Then, with a summoning of courage, decides to take it anyway.

"Come on, off to the side here. Let's get away from everyone, where you can think about it properly."

He flinches and snaps his hand away.

"What is this? What's happening? Why can't I remember?"

He takes a step back, away from her, then finds his footing.

"Who the hell are you?"

"I am someone who's trying to help. Like getting you away from where others can see before you break down and make a scene...!"

Her voice drops, but her tone gets harsher, as if she's trying to warn him. Paparazzi are enough of a concern in the world they came from. Here? Hostile factions could be watching.

He growls.

"They want to try anything and I'll unmake them..."

But regardless, he turns and makes his way out of the main thoroughfare. The dark look in his eyes is enough to send more than enough of the imPorts who know better scurrying away.

Finally, he slips into an empty room that had just hosted a panel. He takes a seat and runs a hand over his face...

"The hell is wrong with me...?"

She's quick to follow, and after closing the door, she finds a spot to wait nearby it where she can shoo out anyone who might try to follow.

"Let's start over. What happened when you arrived in this world? What... were you like...?"

"That's what I don't remember. I remember arriving here. I remember meeting Master Skywalker. I don't remember what we spoke about but he convinced me to join his Empire and protect the peace. I don't remember what he said and..."

He tugs at his bangs in frustration.

"I don't remember what I was before..."

"You don't remember anything of the world you came from...?"

She hesitates. This is a far more violent Darin than the one she knows. Revealing too much could be dangerous. But... how can she ignore him like this, so blatantly brainwashed?

"Perhaps... I could help remind you."

His eyes narrow.

"There you go again! You keep talking like you know me! From the moment I bumped into you, you recognized me! I thought it was because of the life I've cultivated for myself here but that's not it, is it?!"

He stands and begins approaching her.

"You know more about me. You know why I can't remember where I came from. And you're going to tell me. NOW."

The room itself starts to warp from the weight of Darin's ire and his entire body starts to spark and crackle with magic.

She makes a point of standing firm, of showing that she won't back down to mere shows of power — to him flexing his powers all over the room around him. After all, she's come this far — there's only ground to be lost if she acted like a weakling to be controlled.

(Though, truth be told, she's terrified.)

"... what I know is other realities. I am a newcomer to this one, but I may have seen more of other worlds and alternate timelines than most people who were already here."

"And I did meet someone like you. He was a blacksmith, from a world called Anmaral."

Her eyes stay focused on his face, waiting for any reaction. A spark of recognition. A crack in his brainwashing. Something.

"I am a blacksmith from Anmaral!"

His voice booms and the room they're in almost seems to expand in unison.

But as soon as the words leave his mouth, it's as if some of the bluster goes with it. When was the last time he was in a forge? When was the last time he actually created anything?

Why couldn't he remember the name or face of the man who taught him his craft?

He brings a hand up to his face and drags it down slowly.

"Something's...wrong. Anmaral. I'm from Anmaral. Why don't I remember it? Why don't I remember where I'm from?!"

"I have a theory, but I doubt you're going to like it. Perhaps... instead of speculating, you should try and push past this, to see if you can remember on your own."

"What about Kenmore? Does that bring back more memories?" She pauses, dredging up names from her own recollection. "Or Acteon?"

It's like a bolt in the blue when he hears his foster father's name.

"...How. How do you know so much? How do you know about my life back home...?"

"Because I was told it by someone I know. ... whether that was actually you, or another Darin from a different timeline, is difficult to determine."

"Not unless you can remember Heropa, or the Aegis organization..."

He shakes his head in frustration.

"No one else could have known those things...they're—"

He halts his train of thinking and looks at Allura suspiciously.

"The only way you could know those things is if I told you. And I told you those things then..."

He squares up.

"If what you say is true, you know who I am. Who I really am. So...? What am I?"

No reaction from her mention of Aegis or Heropa. While her face goes firm, her heart is sinking in her chest. After all, it could be taken as a sign that this is a different Darin, splintered from a timeline close to her fiancé's.

But it's also not definitive proof. Already, her mind is spinning other possibilities — it could be a simple matter of him being a part of that world for less time, having less opportunity for those memories to be so deeply etched that even the mention of a name could bring them back to the surface.

"You're... Diomuhr. A fragment of his soul, the reincarnation of a demon lord. And the other piece belongs to your twin brother, Dromas."

"... for a long time, you worried that you were destined to bring about the end of your world, and did not want any friendships, any close relationships at all in fear of the inevitable loss and heartbreak..."

"But when I became acquainted with you, I quickly found you to be... someone worth being close to, regardless of the risks."

He crosses his arms in an attempt to look imposing, but it quickly melts. He can't hold the pose. He reaches up and runs a hand through his hair, a gesture she likely hasn't seen in a long time.

It was a tic. He always did it when he felt unsure. Uncomfortable.

Vulnerable.

"Alright. I get it. You know me..."

A beat.

"And I...don't know the first thing about you. But I can't help but feel that...you think that what I am right now is...wrong. Somehow I know that look..."

"... ... ..."

Does he remember her?

"We were close. ... we worked together in close capacity. We were both part of a group called Aegis, and you were promoted to one of its leaders..."

"You were a hero. A real hero."

"For all your lamenting of being a destroyer by nature, I don't think you would condone any of this. Not unless..."

"... someone was making your decisions for you."

Immediately he's on the defensive.

"No one makes decisions for me. I make my own decisions!"

There it was again; that fire. Except this time, no one was there to let it out, to push the cork back into the opening...

He felt it. That defiance. He felt it flare up and suddenly he was anxious. And it showed.

"I don't..." He trails off, finding the ground he always stood on slowly eroding away.

"Darin...!"

She rushes over to him. If the space of the room is distorting, that's fine — she'll find her footing where she can, and leap across the gaps with the agility of an acrobat.

But if he remembers her? Then perhaps her touch will be enough to calm him back down.

"GET BACK!!"

It's purely a reaction, but the moment she tries to touch him, he grips her shoulder and tosses her back from whence she came, like he was swatting back a fly.

"Don't touch me...Don't touch me...!"

He rebuffs her through gritted teeth as everything he thought he knew suddenly starts to fall apart. As if he was looking at the world through lenses obscured by gossamer; the light streaming in from hitherto unseen patches. Events stopped matching up. Reactions stopped being his own. Everything was becoming disjointed and wrong.

Something was wrong. He was wrong...all wrong.

And this person who knew him so well...he didn't know her. She was a stranger.

"I don't know you...I don't know who you are but you're saying I should. That I should be a lot of things. That I'm something different now...! And everything I believed to be good and true is..."

"It's all wrong. AND I STILL DON'T KNOW WHO YOU ARE!"

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