nexus_crossings | The Start of the Storm

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The Start of the Storm

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

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The longer she pauses, the more it seems as if that unseen presence is coming from more than one direction. Across the street, behind her... above...

And then there's a crashing sound, further up the street. The wind carries the noises of smashing glass, of squabbling voices. As quickly as it rose, the watching presence recedes into the wail of snow-laden wind.

She doesn't like it. Not at all. It really is like those eerie feelings in those ancient temples. Where rituals and terrible things occurred, horrific Force experiments that did frightening things to the fabric of reality, to say nothing of what other things could be hidden away.

Being stalked is not something Dia is fond of. She's the Assassin, damn it, she's the one who should be doing the stalking!

She holds her position, frowning when that feeling of Being Watched is coming from around her. She pulls the cloak and robe she's wearing tighter, pulling one of the Lightsabers off of her belt, twirling it in her hand to hold it at the ready.

Then there's a crash. Smashing glass and voices.

The smart thing to do would be to not get involved. To avoid whatever trouble there is and try to reach the central plaza, see what's going on. This would be the thing that most Sith would probably do without hesitating.

The problem was: Dia'ndria Starfall was not your typical Sith. She had a heart. She had compassion, which was never fully drilled out of her, just compartmentalized with the rest of her emotions. Dia hesitated for a moment as she mulled over which decision to make.

She sighed. Rolled her eyes expressively behind her goggles, mumbled something about 'Oh, fine' into her scarf, and went towards the commotion.

She rationalized it simply: Where there was commotion, there was people

Where there were people, there happened to be information.

By the Force, whatever it was, it was going to face the wrath of her very long, terrible, and absolutely cold and wet day.

Edited (Adding a couple lines.) 2019-01-08 06:08 (UTC)

There's more crashing as she makes her way closer. The voices become a little more distinct, although no more comprehensible: unintelligible snarls and harsh vocalizations that might be words- though if so the Nexus isn't translating them. Either way, they're coming from the gaping void where a restaurant window used to be. Through the snow the name can be seen dimly, half obscured by frost: Pi-c-on--'s.

Hopefully the family that runs this pizza parlor has long since fled somewhere safe. Their charming little establishment is currently being ransacked. A prettily-upholstered stool comes tumbling over the window's edge and lands upturned in the snow. Inside are a trio of... looters, that much is clear.

They're humanoid, all average human size, bundled up in scrappy cloth and makeshift armor, with masks that make their actual species hard to determine. They feel like people, albeit Dia's senses might find them a little off. One is tearing the till open, one rifling through a basket of condiments while their third works on the door to the kitchen. It's the one checking out the pepper shakers who'll be first to spot Dia- and at that point the hostile snarls and the knives produced make it clear they're not interested in negotiating.

Edited (adding relevant detail!) 2019-01-09 22:18 (UTC)

Trudging through the snow, wearing a black cloak, heavy black robes, and heavy boots (rather than no cloak, light robes, and much lighter shoes she generally prefers), Dia's presence isn't exactly hidden as she makes her way towards the sound. Poor visibility on top of that makes approaching from a better vantage point much, much more difficult.

She doesn't have much time to really dwell on the family who might have been, more to the point, it's a quick assessment of the threat she's now dealing with.

She sees two of them immediately, and could swear she hears a third above the wind. Not appearing quite human suits her fine--she is, after all, from a Galaxy Far, Far Away, she's used to aliens. Things that feel different in the Force that bends the universe--and in this case, multiverse.

Still. Being threatened is not a surprise, given they're rooting through everything. Her eyes narrow behind the flight goggles and she activates her Lightsaber, the weapon activating with the characteristic hiss and hum, snow and ice melting on contact as it blows into the plasma blade. "Knives? Please."

That was a Bitch? Please, tone if ever there was one.

The menacing flare of the saber's light and the figure in black give the thieves pause. For a moment. Then- they aren't entirely foolish- the two in view spread out, grab weapons from their sides. They're scrappy too, the outline strange- but when they open fire, they loose rapid streams of blue energy bolts and that is probably all too familiar. One springs onto a table to get a better shot at her.

Either they're brave, or they just have no idea who they're dealing with.

Oh. Now this. This was more into Dia's element than it needed to be. Spreading out and away from her? Legitimate tactic. Interesting. That means they aren't feral, and they aren't stupid.

Well.

That stupid.

Shooting at her with energy weapons, instinct immediately reacts, Dia whips up the saber to block and deflect, sorry, Resturant owners, she's aiming to kill that table and deal with that vantage point first with the deflected shot, Dia whips the other saber off her belt, effectively doubling her area to defend with, "You know!" She shouts over the wind, "This isn't bloody polite!"

Not that it matters much. She stepped back in the snow, then Force leapt for the nearest one, kicking off a cloud of snow and ice behind her as she did, leaving a rumble of power in her wake, aiming to cut his blaster apart in his hand, and disarm him that way--the easiest way, really, without killing him outright.

The sprightly shooter goes tumbling down as the table shatters beneath it, managing to turn it into a roll that carries it further out of the way- and into a small table for two.

Dia's already on the second one, slicing that blaster into a pair of sizzling fragments. The thief too reacts on instinct: the shock knife in its off hand whips up, slicing toward her throat. Its startled shout rings in her ear, half snarl, half yowl.

And there's a second problem: looter number three was waiting just inside the window, hiding itself behind the wall. The assassin's speed won her a second of surprise- but now the last one lunges quietly at her back, knife alive with electricity.

Edited 2019-01-12 13:43 (UTC)

Bloody weather and fucking with her senses. She wouldn't have made this mistake otherwise. The knife from the one she's attacking? Parried with a saber hilt to shove aside.

The one hitting her from behind? Fuck. Unaccounted for. Careless. Rookie mistake. Would've gotten her killed--if not for the thick robe and layers of clothing. It shocks her, causing a yelp in pain and instinctive reach for the Force, shoving outwards.

Shoving away. Get distance, control the field. Control the fight. It's a raw, uncontrolled burst of telekinetic power.

Dia's quick to reign in the flood, control the cascade, grabbing the one in front of her with whoosh of displaced air, a grasp forming around its throat as she hauls it into the air, and hurls him into the third with enough force to try and send them tumbling.

Sabers twirl, flashy and bright crimson in the white air, snow and ice melting in their wake, blades humming and hissing as snow melts into water, which evaporates on contact with the superheated plasma. These things don't seem fully sentient, especially from the snarling yowls they're making.

Play on that fear. Use it to your advantage.

The one behind her can't even squall in shock- she can hear it slam into the wall. It must be good and winded at the least. The other two go rolling across the floor, and in the dim light something dark spatters across the floor. A new smell filters through Dia's mask, thin and sharp.

As they scrabble and growl and lunge to their feet, they must know they're in trouble. One of the two thrown is moving more painfully. Those brilliant sabers dance across their vision, a guard and a threat from the robed woman. But they don't run.

The one behind her lifts its blaster from the corner it was slammed into. Opens fire on her again. One of the others- the injured one- pulls a short cylinder from its belt and throws it like a spear, aiming for the floor behind Dia. It sparks as it flies, ready to stick where it hits and burst with an electrical explosion.

Dia makes a mildly irritated sound at the smell, not being able to entirely stop herself from doing so. Still, throwing their ranks into chaos, she's quick to capitalize on both, sidestepping as soon as she his the blaster fire, and charging the one who drew the cylinder and threw it, intending to dash under it and let it land some distance behind her as she pragmatically decides here and now:

It's her, or it's them.

It's a wide, hard swing aimed for that one, aimed to kill, rather than cripple, disable, or disarm. Dealing with two will be easier than three, and eventually having one will be easier than two.

The Sith Assassin is fast, moving like an airbender with an aggressive posture using rotation to add to her movements, flashy sabers adding confusing, distracting, terrifying, hot light to otherwise poorly lit, broken into restaurant.

Dia doesn't play nice when survival is on the line. It's a wise mindset- these beings, be they people or creatures, are clearly fighting to kill. But now it's they who are on the defensive. The grenade explodes behind her, but the sparks merely singe her robes and backlight her lethal strike. The one already wounded dies without a sound- and as it does something bright flies up from its body: a glowing, ghostly figure that dissipates in less than the blink of an eye.

No time to wonder about that.

The one beside it bounds back in time to avoid the lethal whirl of Dia's saber- for the moment. Buying time, it turns and vaults behind the counter: a moment's cover from which to try and shoot at the Sith. But it's trapped. If it's smart it knows that. There's no chance it can bolt past the searing arcs Dia's cutting through the air. Still it pops up from behind the counter to shoot at her.

But the third?

When Dia charges the others it takes a chance. It hurls itself from the corner, scrambling below the sweep of her blades; throws itself out of the shattered window and into the snowy street beyond. Only then does it cry out: a raspy, broken yell that rebounds off stone and ice and concrete in the frigid air.

Paying attention to details as Dia does, she notices the glowing figure, but it's filed away, compartmentalized to research and look into later for the simple fact that survival is paramount. One has to live to research this sort of thing later, after all.

Ignoring the smell from the instant kill, burned flesh, and cauterized wounds from being cut by superheated plasma, Dia's quick to whirl around on the defensive, blades flashing in the dark as she deflects the oncoming shot from its blaster, aiming to kill, or at least disable so she can kill.

Still, multiple assailants is difficult even for those trained to deal with them--it's why Dia generally prefers one-on-one fights, or to have help when they aren't. The third rushing outside to cry out isn't so much ignored, as set lower on the ex-Sith's priority list. Kill these ones. Find a place to wait out whatever help they call, and then move on.

At least.

That's the plan.

But best laid plains and all that.

Her opponent makes an awful cry when she deflects its own fire into its face. Disabled, though, it's not in pain for long. A clean thrust through the chest silences it for good- and again that bright wisp escapes, fainter this time and just as quickly gone.

Two down. Just one more-

Then that desperate little shout is answered. A howl echoes on the wind, raw and deep and bigger sounding than the creature scurrying for cover outside. Then another, carrying above the rooftops from the opposite direction. Too close for comfort. In mere seconds shadows come running over roofs, dropping into the frigid haze that swirls through the streets. The hunt is on.

It's only assassin's training that keeps her from swearing out loud at the sound the new arrival outside. Shit. It's not more little things. She could probably handle more little things, but big ones?

In this weather?

The odds were not looking good in her favor. Better make an exit, and quick. Sabers click off, and Dia's quick to slip out of the restaurant and into one of the nearby alleyways, trying to catch a glimpse at what's been called forth from the depths of the storm.

It could be any number of things.

Especially in the Nexus, Dia dared not even hazard a guess.

It can't be coincidence that the wind is picking up now, turning the air into a still thicker swirl of white. But with the benefit of her mask, Dia's not so easy to blind.

Figures scamper through the street on the trail of her battle: more of those creatures ones, indeed. Above them, harder to see, prowl other, larger shapes, low-slung and moving wrong for humanoids. Too low and hunched, too smooth as they scuttle over rooftop fans and ledges. Intermittently they pause, as if to look around...

Snow flies up as something else lands at the end of the street, behind the scattering pack of little ones. Its outline is obscure, hunched: something flutters dark around it for a moment and Dia, with her experience, might think of a cape. Even at this distance it's far bigger than the human-size creatures it follows. While they search and chatter and dart into broken doorways, the big one is still, head lifting to the air. Watching. Listening. Scenting the wind.

No, it's probably not a coincidence. Her previous time on Hoth and Tatoonie both have taught her that wearing goggles and covering her mouth with a makeshift mask solves a lot of problems--even if the latter still has her need a long shower to wash the sand out of everything later.

Although right now that's the least of her problems.

Whatever these things are, she doesn't like this at all. The odds not being in her favor at this very moment at all.

Silent, and quick, she's not going to linger. Trying to get behind buildings, put them between her and these newer monsters, ideally without attracting their attention.

The assassin will have to stay sharp. After those howls the noises have diminished; there's only the odd scrape and scuffle above the wind, the growls between one small creature and another. But listening will pay off. The pack's coming from behind to her right- and then there's a thump from a roof on the next street over, snarls carried on a shift of the gale. A second pack, from her other side.

No heading back to her ship, nor to left and right. If she wants to stay ahead of the hunt there's only one way forward.

(And now, perhaps, there's that prickling sense of being under observation again...)

Ice makes her steps treacherous, snow threatens to slow her down. Ducking into alleys, weaving under porches, staying out of sight. How much farther can safety be?

Beneath the shadow of an archway she finally sees it. A small orange glow at the end of the street- no, two, either side of the road. The torches. And maybe it's just the sight of some other sign of life, or an instinctive notion, but those torches feel like safety. Like home and light and friendly voices...

The snow atop the archway crunches. Something's sitting right atop her shelter.

Staying sharp and honed is how assassins survive. Yes, the Nexus is peaceful, but by and large she's kept her skills honed through training, self awareness, and other tasks in the absence of mercenary work since she's been staying in the Nexus.

The ship's too far anyway, particularly in the snow and the storm, where visibility's poor and there's little in the way of cover to maintain what few advantages she's still got at the moment.

She could've sworn it wasn't this far to the plaza, but the weather combined with now having to avoid whatever it is.

Spotting the torches makes her pause beneath the archway, crouched and waiting. When the the snow on top of the archway crunches softly, Dia tenses. With her hood up and the goggles on, her peripheral vision upwards is more poor than usual. That said, there are ways to handle such a presence.

Hoping upon hopes it's not someone friendly, she slowly takes her sabers in her hands, not activating them yet--she suddenly and sharply gestures upwards with a faint rustle of her robes in the coming wind, following this motion is a sudden raw burst of telekinetic power to try and throw whatever it is off of the archway.

Hopefully, whatever it is doesn't expect an attack from directly below--such a thing should give her an advantage in either fleeing or defending herself, depending on where it lands.

Whoever, whatever the being that lies in watch above her...

It wasn't expecting that.

There's a dull thump and paff! of snow spray a few feet away. Through the blizzard Dia will see a dark shape scrabble and roll to its feet. That's definitely a flattened helm, a blue cloak, but the outline's odd, limbs gangly- no, misshapen- no- and then it flickers, disappears from view.

As soon as she hears the thump, Dia takes off in a hard sprint, risking the ice and hauling herself towards the light as fast as possible. Fully expecting this entire situation to go sideways--as they typically do, with her poor luck, she has her sabers in hand, not activated, but ready to be so in a moment's notice once this thing recovers from her sudden attack.

Misshapen or no, she pays it no mind--she's from a Galaxy with some fairly strange aliens, after all, but that doesn't make this any less unnerving, simply for the fact that it's stalking her.

And has been doing so thus far with some disturbing accuracy, given her skills as an assassin.

A scuffle of snow behind her. A sense of motion to the right. Then noise- no! That's the cry of the pack. They've seen her racing for the border.

It's her Force senses, perhaps, that will alert her a split second before there's a thok, like the loosing of a heavy bolt; a flash of blue energy lancing just past her into the snow. Then another, and they're on her tail now but the assassin is fast...

And then it all goes quiet, very suddenly. No more shots. No more growls. Her feet fall on snow alight with the warm glow of torchlight, and if she looks back she'll see the creatures halted in their tracks. Just watching now.

It's simply because she relies on her Force senses more than the average Sith who powers through everything with sheer anger alone, that probably saves her from being hit with any energy bolts in this particular instance. Adjusting her trajectory slightly one way, then the other, causing any shots that looked like they'd be a sure strike to turn into a near miss.

As it goes quiet, her life of paranoia has taught her that this does not mean all is well.

Generally, that heralds the opposite. That something worse was almost certainly about to occur.

Still, if nothing else, waiting in the light is going to grant her some respite for the moment, panting softly as she tries to catch her breath, watching them, eyes narrowed, hands tightly wrapped around saber hilts.

What other shoe could possibly drop now?

For a long moment, tension hangs in the air. Something has changed, that much is clear. They stand there waiting, knee-deep in snow or perched like ragged vultures on the rooftops, weapons raised. None firing. All of them watching her.

Then, a call. A low, guttural bark from the hunched figure that looms behind them. It's shrouded by swirling snow but it must stand eight feet tall. Slowly, the creatures withdraw. In twos and threes they turn and disappear back into the storm, always with one or two watching Dia. At last she stands quite alone, and she might realize that on her side of the torches the wind blows less fiercely, the snow falls more softly. Somewhere down the street behind her are distant voices.

The slightest movement ahead, in the shadow of a walkway. A thin slash of light like eyes, burning white and watching her. Just a glimpse. Then it's gone again.

For her part, a life of caution and paranoia has her ignore the voices behind her, standing and staring at the things that chased her to the main street area of the Nexus. Even after they're gone, she doesn't relax until she feels a few long tense minutes pass. As if waiting for that other shoe to drop, some attack, some thing to come out of nowhere.

It's happened before, and these... things feel weird in her more extranormal senses, so it's entirely possible they could surprise her. Plenty of things in the Nexus have so far.

The flash of movement, light. Eyes, glowing and dangerous, watching her--Dia's hands tighten briefly on her sabers, comforted by their presence in this situation that's not in her control.

When it's gone, she takes a careful step back. Walking backwards for a few steps as she passes the torches and their warm light, and it's not until she reaches at least one more set that she feels even remotely safe enough to turn around--heading towards the voices.

To anyone who sees her, she's a sight: Black, heavy robes and cloak, hood up and drawn tight, a face mask and heavy goggles covering her eyes, and with the heavy bag on her back, she might not be immediately recognized, all considered.

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The Start of the Storm

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