The Start of the Storm

[shardofwinter]

The god hosted Yule party left the Nexus in the state of beautiful Winter Wonderland. With the snow falling softly and steadily, and the beautiful festive lights twinkling in the darkness, the Nexus is left with a sense of serene nostalgia hanging in the cold air. This peace and joy clings to the streets for several weeks, buoying everyone’s mood as they look back on the past year and forward to ringing in the new one. 

It starts in the Wilds, and the outskirts. The cold air suddenly feels like it freezes everything it touches in an instant. Light doesn’t quite pierce the gloom. Gentle snowfall becomes thick and falls hard. One or two people looking for shelter from their uninhabitable homes isn’t too noticeable. People can still enjoy their pretty Winter, blissfully unaware. Pipes freeze solid, paths become impassable, power cuts out, simple walks become baffling in the poor visibility. Soon it’s not one or two people, it’s many, it’s families. There are people coming in, bloody, bruised and scared, saying they were chased. Eventually the kindness of friends and strangers becomes strained. Spare rooms are packed to the brim and the storm that stays just shy of the bizarre torches somehow seems to have a slow, but unmistakable march closer towards a point where the Plaza, Industrial sector and Downtown meet. On top of that, people are complaining about PINpoints acting up or portals freezing over. 

Streets are becoming packed full of people with far more problems than solutions. Huddling together and whispering about ghosts and monsters moving about in the shadows. In a place with no government, no organisation, no collaborative emergency services, chaos and confusion reigns supreme. And with chaos, comes panic. With confusion, comes frustration and anger. The Nexus is a powder keg waiting to blow.

That’s certainly how one Durant sees it. As a manager, Isidor is keen on organisation and order. Both things that are lacking in the Nexus at the moment. Groups pop up to help, but struggle to communicate effectively, or work together. Some people get free food twice, some people are still waiting for some at all. It’s madness, and Isidor can’t stand it. Particularly because she, her brother and sister-in-law are stuck here. So, when nobody else takes the mantle, Isidor Durant takes it upon herself to inject some order into this scrum.

In her fur hat and long coat, leather gloves and thick boots, Isidor can be seen directing people this way and that. There’s something about a confident person taking charge that means people instinctively defer to them. She becomes the point of contact quite easily, with people soon taking her direction regardless of whether or not they know her. Under her instruction, people are directed to a building that has tables set up, queues in front of them, and volunteers behind them taking names and telling people where to go. It might still be chaos, but at least now it’s organised chaos.

The question is: Where will your character go?

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((Below are comments for each desk. Tag any of them, threadhop, or post with your own character. I suggest putting your character’s name in the subject to help keep things clear. Comments marked with a snowflake ( ❅  ) have been coordinated with the mods and I as official event comments. The OOC Post is here! If you have any questions, feel free to message me or one of the mods!))

Threads of Note
Medicine/Illness | Shelter/Heat | Food | Security/Crime | Lost items/people | Misc resources/Donations | Volunteers | Expeditions | Planning Table/The woman in charge | Drulb's Deelz | A Ship in the Outskirts 

Comments

[coldsong]

Something like humanity is a good way to put it. A remarkable facsimile, indeed. But regardless, Loki doesn't like the idea of icy monsters stalking the Nexus, for a number of reasons, both selfish and un-.

"Couldn't recover?" He frowns. "Where? A human-sized body? I'll see what I can do."

Partly it's what he says about people on the outskirts. That's part of Loki's providence, though he doesn't say so often. People on the edge of society. Usually not quite so literally as people living on the edge of a more populous region, but sometimes the literal and the figurative overlap.

He's not quite done gathering information, though. It would be stupid to go off half-cocked out of a potentially-misguided sense of responsibility. "...Are there any definitive descriptions of the attackers?"

[staticandstock]

"Human sized. Dark skin, militaristic clothing. Frozen into the ground good and solid. But I can give you a location anyway. Bearing in mind the Nexus changes so it might not be precise."

Regardless of the issues at hand, he starts rifling through papers - printed out maps and roughly drawn sketches. Loki gets handed a photocopy of a decent sketch of part of the Nexus. Lyall pulls out a statement to get his facts straight before he makes any markings.

"Descriptions are all over the place. From being called ghosts, or simply 'monsters'. They're often either too far away to get a good look at, or so close people are too busy running to look. Knowing this place we could be dealing with all kinds of monsters all at once…" He looks up at the man in front of him. "What's your name?"

[coldsong]

"Frozen in place," he nods, unsurprised, and does a brief mental calculation of the potential weight of a frozen human corpse.

Substantial, by his reckoning. Could be even more so, if the corpse isn't human. Well, he asked for this, he had better follow through now, and he's certainly better equipped for that kind of work than most others in the Nexus. "Militaristic clothing would seem to suggest that was a person who might have been well-equipped to defend themselves. This bodes less and less well."

He accepts the paper and studies it briefly, then looks back at the other man with a shadow of his initial greeting smile. "Loki. I am Loki Odinson, of...well. Jotunheim, by birth. I am better built for the cold than most you will find in this place, hence my offer. If I go, when I go, I will go alone, but I will report anything of note."

[staticandstock]

A low, unhappy hum of agreement follows Loki's deductions. Honestly, nothing about this is good, but a crowd of desperate, starving people in close quarters is enough to deal with without monsters as well.

As Loki studies the paper, Lyall does his own thinking. If only the man in front of him was broad shouldered, or covered in weapons. Then he could see him as a monster hunter. That, at least, would make sense. Instead the stranger looks more suited to one of his employer's parties than a dangerous wilderness.

Then the man introduces himself and all thoughtfulness vanishes from his features. His eyes slide to one side to glance down the tables, but Isidor is completely distracted. Clearing his throat, he takes down the name.

"We can offer you some rations and a pickaxe. You don't need an extra coat then?"

[coldsong]

"Ah. You have heard of me," Loki is not in nearly as good a place to enjoy that as he has been in the Nexus in the past, so there's no sparkling smile this time, but he gives a little nod, and then follows the gaze toward Isidor.

"She looks busy. I thought it best not to interfere with her work," he says.

Besides, she might try to tell him what to do and he's not about that life right now.

"I will accept rations." He frowns a moment, then says, "And, yes, I may not need the pickaxe, myself, but should the ice prove resistant to my magic or if I happen to find a survivor, I'll take that, as well. A coat will not be necessary."

He hesitates a moment, because the last thing he wants is to discuss his Jotun form, but it seems...prudent, under the circumstances. "In the cold, it is possible I will look different. Blue skin, red eyes. If you could suggest others kindly refrain from shooting at me, it would make my life simpler."

[staticandstock]

Lyall is sure that Loki thinks it better not to bother the elder Durant. He's also sure that Isidor would definitely want to know that Loki is here. It's not an urgent issue. Important, but not urgent. Having a god of mischief involved in plans is... notable.

"We're all different beings from different worlds and a lot of us look very different. I'm trying to make sure everyone works together, and everyone's civil, but I'll make a note of it."

Hefting himself up off his seat, he moves to a pile behind the desk without turning his back on Loki, and picks up a small pack and pickaxe. He hands them over with a grunt. "They're not the best, but they're all we've got right now. There's a team around the outskirts. If you get into trouble you might be able to get their attention."

[coldsong]

A god of mischief and assorted other bullshit, depending who you ask. His providence is so very hard to define, and mostly Loki gets to define it himself, which is a great position for a god to be in. He can say this is his business whether anyone else likes it or not, and find myriad scholarly sources and New-Age pagan websites to back him up.

"I don't expect civility, but I'll make note of your attempt to suggest it," he says with a little grumbling note in his voice.

He accepts the tools, looking them over, and hangs the pickaxe off some sort of hidden belt around his waist. The pack vanishes into some sort of pocket dimension, but he nods his gratitude. He may or may not require the rations, himself, but he'll take them, and at worst pass them on to Harley later. If this situations continues, a day's worth of food is about to be considered a handsome wage.

"And vice versa," he says. "Should I bring the corpse back here, if possible, or is there a location for graves now?"

[staticandstock]

"Civility is the goal here. Miss Durant is adamant that we keep things to as normal standards as we can. So I'll say the same to you: Don't go attacking someone just because they look different."

Nothing he's handed looks particularly good. The axe in particular looks a little worse for wear. Still, it's all they have, and a god can probably get along fine without being given their best supplies.

"I'd be interested in taking a look at the body before it gets buried. Take it to the back door of either the makeshift hospital, or here. No need to spread panic."

[coldsong]

Loki opens his mouth as if to protest--or possibly vent--then closes it again and smiles. It's a fair point, really, and pointless to argue it, so he nods and shrugs elaborately. "Duly noted. I'll be on my most civil behavior, unless I have some sort of dramatic psychological breakdown."

"I think that's wise, to look it over. I don't promise to thaw it for you, but I will bring it here if I possibly can."

It seems like a fair bargain, to him. To be on corpse retrieval detail while he investigates what's going on out there on his own behalf. "I will be leaving momentarily, but do not concern yourself if you don't hear from me for some time. I'll attempt to return before dark, but--actually, don't concern yourself on my account at all; it's a waste of time."

"If someone prays to me, I may hear it. Otherwise, we'll see if my PINpoint would like to function in any useful capacity ever again." Some messages are getting through, but sluggishly, and based on what he's hearing, there's no point in trying it for transport.

"Your name, sir, before I go?"

[staticandstock]

That last bit gets a wrinkled nose. "Try not to."

"Just as long as you don't die out there. Last thing we need is everyone saying a god can't survive this damn weather," he mutters and gives a heavy shrug.

The sigh he heaves betrays his reluctance. He knows when he's risking making an enemy. Usually he likes to keep his nose out of trouble. He just wishes, desperately, his employer would do the same. "Lyall. Currently de facto head of security."

[coldsong]

No one really likes corpses, do they? Except carrion eaters, maybe.

Loki gives him a little smirk, nodding his understanding. Dead bodies aren't his favorite things to collect, either, but at least they're very un-demanding.

"No worries, then," he says. "I was dead when I got here."

"Lyall. I'll be in touch." He's not going to try to read the sighs and expressions of the people around him. He's made his offer, it's been accepted, and if someone doesn't like it, it'll be their problem for not intervening sooner.

One last, quick sweep of the crowd and a few words to Cricket to indicate what he's up to and where he's up to it, and he'll be on his way into the storm.