f2020 | The End of an Empire

WHO: Darth Jadus and OPEN
WHERE: The (former) Empire of Light
WHEN: During/After the Synod blackout
WHAT: A severe reality distortion is underway. Come save citizens, or try and find the source.
WARNINGS: Bloodless transformation body horror, esp. in illustrative links regarding citizens.

The Empire of Light begins to fall apart.

It was a grand experiment, a city of peace, glittering under clear skies, grown over and healed by the plants spilling forth from the park.

Darth Jadus spent years biding his time, using his position within the Empire to study the effects of dimensional distortion. As the lush greenery softened the streets of what was once New York City, he planted seeds of his own design--hungry things, spreading roots beneath the roads, drinking in hints of the imPort powers at work above.

In an instant, they germinate, and flower. Years of stolen power unleashed. Too much for reality to take.

From each seed, distortion flows.

There is an illusion of linearity to the events that follow: whether one enters the distortion or tries to flee it, the same thing will be seen.

At The Edges

Most imPorts have seen ripples of distortion before: Colorful rain falling over a battle, perhaps, strange creatures interrupting an unwise gathering, thoughts and memories given illusory form.

This is far more severe. Some of the city's streets remain, seemingly untouched. But turn a corner and one might find themselves standing upon an open plain, or at a seashore where the sand oozes like a wet paintbrush before snapping back into real grains, arranged into painstaking patterns. Still, up is up and down is down--mostly. And on the horizon, familiar pieces of the city skyline shimmer in and out of view. There's enough to navigate by.

But the native citizens of the Empire have not been spared. Most have been touched somehow, the distortion spilling into them, or some part of them spilling out. Some are cognizant of the change, and others seem oblivious. They are all still identifiable as human, but how long that might last here is uncertain.

Moving Deeper

The longer it goes on, the distortion grows stronger, and navigation becomes more treacherous. It's impossible to find stable footing as the landscape slowly shifts and bends and boils.

The citizens are falling apart. Humanoid forms are slowly being shed--many have stopped moving, leaving shadows and roots of what they once were. Others still wander, with movements that lack the weight and logic they should. Some can still speak. Helpful, harmful, both. The distortion touches them all differently.

The plants are still there--and they are flourishing as they mutate into ever stranger forms. Perhaps you're in the park? Is there a park anymore? Less and less of the world makes sense.

Lost

The city is gone. There are no echoes of familiarity. Strange creatures wander through the manifold angles of the shifting landscape, small as mites and big as mountains.

There is only one certainty. In the distance, everything resolves into a single point. A source? Perhaps a passage out--or into the center.

The Sanctum

At the center of the distortion, something remains of Jadus' sanctum. some coherency, some echo of what it was. He had woven the walls out of metal roots, connecting to each of the seeds. Their sinuous forms are still echoed in the writhing tunnels and halls.

It might take days or seconds, but finally, you reach the center of the sanctum.

Jadus stands and approaches, speaking without sound.

It cannot be stopped now.