deercountry | (closed) the captain called all hands and swore

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(closed) the captain called all hands and swore

Who: John and friends. This is the CLOSED log.
What: A boat trip.
When: 7/05
Where: Out on the sea.

Warnings: blood, violence, murder of helpless victims, drowning, grief, body horror, eldritch bug monsters.

[ It's time for BOATGATE, a player plot full of murder, corruption, and vengeance. This log is closed to John's close CR. Here is a timeline.

PART 1 - BOAT FIGHT
1.1 - The Preparations - John invites his friends out sailing.
1.2 - The Trip - They have a briefly pleasant time.
1.3 - The Raid - John asks his kids to capture some NPC pirates.
1.4 - The Sacrifice - John asks his kids to execute the pirates. This goes wrong quickly.
1.5 - The Sinking - Mariana rebels and the ship goes down. Waves, Beasts, chaos.

PART 2 - BEACH FIGHT
2.1 - Washing Up - Characters make it to shore, react to the chaos, and decide to fight or flee.
2.2 - Fight Fight Fight - Several new combatants enter the scene.
2.3 - The Immediate Aftermath - Survivors limp home.

Participants, feel free to mingle and tag around below. Everyone else, please see the OPEN log for PART 3 - CONSEQUENCES. ]

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[Sasha might not even notice, but Oscar has all eyes on him.

Tucked up in a pine tree just on shore was an owl-- no, a young man. It must have been a trick of the branches, the wind, and the seething chaos that was brewing along the shoreline. For a brief moment, Oscar felt vindicated in his caution.

He had turned his back on the man that called himself Teacher-- only to have Qrow Branwen, the best huntsman of his generation, be struck glassy-eyed with a vision from the Pthumerians, of Willow Rosenberg being endangered on the beach. Oscar hadn't expected this-- but, he knew he should have.

That would be the last time he gave the deceptively harmless old man with eyes blacker than the abyssal ichor that flowed within that Whale in veins like blood. The depths of those eyes burned with the unending watchfulness of the Atlesian midnight sun-- and chilled Oscar's bones in the way that the arctic tundra had.

After passing a message to Ruby, Ozpin, and the other, Qrow and Oscar had taken wing. Without thought he has grabbed the spear-gun that Ruby forged for him and a handful of coldblood ammo.

It had been a good choice.

From his perch in the tree, Oscar laid low and watched. This wasn't a fight he could win, but he couldn't just wait any longer.

Enough was enough.]

Edited 2022-07-02 19:17 (UTC)

[He was watching everything.

Breathing in the salted air, Oscar did the one thing he had made a point of avoiding and reached into the uncountable depths of experience and memories from within. He and Ozpin had a standing agreement to respect each other's boundaries and privacy, but in this instance--

His hands shook as he took aim. He thought of Ironwood and the hours of training with the tank-like general, how both his speed and his ability to hold aim under pressure was a point to be admired all on it's own. Although they had primarily worked to get Oscar's hand-to-hand skills up to snuff, he had been watching everything during his weeks within Atlas.

Including target practice.

For all of his posturing, Ironwood was still nothing more than a man who sought a degree of comfort in the sense of control provided by what was familiar. While the others were out working in the field, he had stayed by the General's side.

Only in recalling those fraught days where his capacity to act and lie had bought them time did he remember to breathe.

From there: a multitude of memories, as viceral as the moments when he guided the damaged war plane to a safe landing, guided his movements.

The man-- no, the creature of chitin and bone and impossibility was by its very nature as terrible as the strongest Grimm he had seen. The Hound, with it's skull-like mask of a face and impossible skill with speech and strategy, was among them.

But.

So was Salem herself.

"You're not him." he recalled her voice, sweet as venom, saying while she stood before him with the awful control of a predator that could strike in an instant. "Not yet."

...Oscar didn't need to be him.

Just himself.

Rifle leveled, he found the eye within the roiling anxiety within himself and willed his hands to still.

On bated breath that felt to his nerves like the skittering dance of electricity, he waited for an opening. A moment of distraction. Then-- his paleblood telepathy fully open and unhindered in the adrenaline that pumped through his body and the strange tides brought in by the storm, he let his words spill out in a voice only the would-be God could hear:]

"Hi, Sasha."

[And he fired-- the coldblood enhanced bullet arcing through the air towards the most obvious target.

Sasha's face.

It connected in an icy burst that dealt electrical damage amidst the oceanborn madness.

It was sure to burn.]

"It's time to say Goodbye."

Edited 2022-07-02 21:01 (UTC)

[ He's aware of the kid, is the thing. Oscar exists at his periphery, one more body and soul in the landscape, but John doesn't really process him; doesn't really worry about it; he is, at the moment, a bit distracted. There is a lot going on.

So it catches him off-guard, when the voice speaks in his head. He looks up at exactly the wrong moment and it is deeply rude.

The impact knocks him back, jagged shards of ice peeling off his temples like a makeshift crown; his body spasms, smoke and Darkblood shuddering off him in confused eddies; he catches himself with a clumsy buzz of wasp's wings. The monster at his side swivels to face the threat and rises, with a low and menacing drone, into the air. ]

[There was no way he could win.

However, sitting idle was no longer an option. He grit his teeth. Knowing he had probably seconds to buy a distraction for someone stronger to make a move, he fired of volley after volley in the distance between them, watching as the coldblood bullets smoked and fizzled when they met they target.

He had no idea how many seconds he had. This was the only stand he could make. ]

[But it's not Teacher - or John as people seem to be calling him - that strikes. Oscar might catch the barest glimpse of eyes as black as the empty darkness of the void, as hateful as a demon and an angel combined. But only for a split second. Because in mere moments, they disappear.

And in mere moments, they're right behind him, and their fingers reach out to grab his hair and pull. Hard enough to hurt, certainly. Hard enough to leave a mark, certainly. Their blood isn't for show.

His attack is interrupted by the Real Knife cutting his rifle clean in half, with a red gleam and a vicious swipe, it's like tissue paper, and all the blood magic in the world won't protect him or his weapon from the wrath of the demon that comes.

Their voice is soft, amused, playing at friendliness.]

You don't have much of a survival instinct, do you, Oscar?

[They tug him forward, and in moments they're bringing him out into the open for slaughter. When they next speak, there's nothing soft about them, and black empty eyes stare down at him like a sacrificial animal on the altar of a wicked god.

Except there are no real gods here, are there? Only a collection of corrupt abominations clinging on to a past that wasn't truly theirs to begin with. Ghosts of an idea, more than anything.

Well. An example needs to be set for interference, regardless. And Oscar presented himself happily.]

You really shouldn't have come here and meddled. [They kick his feet out from under him and have the knife readied to stab him through the heart. He has a few moments, really.]

Edited 2022-07-04 14:20 (UTC)

[It's a fine line-- the balance between courage and fear. And, in truth, it wasn't even as if they were opposites. Rather, it was courage that helped a person stand alongside their fear and become something more.

Oscar knew he had only the space of a few heartbeats. This was a space he had occupied before. Both on the precipice of Atlas' heart and-- in other bodies and other places-- multiple times before he had even drawn breath.

His breath was shaky with the electric jitters of adrenaline and fear. He squirmed in the grip of the avenging angel, feeling helpless and unprotected without the weapon that Ruby had crafted for him. His scalp burned where he was held by a fistful of his hair--

Yet, still. He looked askance at Chara]

You're smarter than this, Chara. Why do you care?

What's in it for you?

[Chara smiles. It's unpleasant, but maybe that's just the situation and not the expression itself. Maybe anything is unpleasant when you are staring into the cold lifeless black eyes of an apocalypse incarnate.]

I would be careful about making assumptions about your killer. [Still, they hum, thoughtful. A little amused by his bravery and complete lack of self preservation. So helpless. Like a cornered mouse who insists on chattering at the predator that nature designed to slaughter him without difficulty. There's something admirable about the sheer stupidity behind it.] I suppose you can consider this a personal warning to stay out of the way of what comes next.

See you when you in the next cycle.

[And with that, they drive their knife deep into his chest.

It's been a few months since they've killed anyone like this before. One thing that their victim will see in his last moments, is that for all the malice in their eyes there is no glee or satisfaction in killing. There is nothing sadistic about this murder. It is done with all of the satisfaction of a gardener picking buttercups from their field. Of a baker removing a dish from an oven.

It's nothing but a step for what comes after.

* Talks too much.
* Seems like free EXP.]

[The fury of the battle, and swarming beasts, including their Captain's Omen making an appearance for the first time is sufficient enough distraction that Willow barely registered the rifle shot when it goes off.

It's the movement of someone dropping to the ground that catches her attention, and she turns, assuming it's one of their number who might need assistance. Instead, she sees Chara with the knife raised, ready to strike.]

OSCAR!

[She thrusts a hand towards the beast she's been fighting, an oversized crab that skitters back and forth, clacking its claws menacingly as it prepares to strike, and a blast of energy catches it right in the face as she abandons the fight to try to defend the boy on the ground.

She is just barely a fraction of a moment too late.

The fireball forms in her hand as Chara drives the knife into Oscar's chest, and she screams with rage as she releases it.

She might be too late to save Oscar, but she's not too late to end the little monster that killed him.]

[They look at the fireball, the scream more than telegraphing Willow's intentions. Ah. Well, that'd make sense. People do tend to get angry when you kill their friends. They didn't imagine they'd stay on the same side as this witch for long. She's hardly Beatrice, and she reacted to the sacrifice with uncertainty and buried moral objection.

Oh well. One more to add to the body pile. The fireball approaches them but it's slow enough to dodge. Chara's been here before, standing in the halls of their mother and their father, and they guided Frisk's soul and body away from the flames.

But when they leap out of the way of the fireball, it only follows them. Great. They dive back to Oscar's hiding place and allow the fireball to slam into the tree with a flaming explosion of heat. It catches them, but the effect is lessened, even as their cloak catches fire.

95/110 HP.

They recall their knife to them - it is, after all, a part of their soul and cut through the space between the two of them in an instant until they are right before her with their knife primed for the attack.]

Well, Rosenberg. If you're so eager to follow him, I won't deny you.

[The fireball was a mistake, it's not fast enough, and it's clear even as it zooms after Chara as they dodge behind the tree Oscar had chosen for cover. Frustrating that it's just the wood it slammed into and ignited instead of the child hidden behind it, but at least it buys Willow valuable seconds to gather her power for another attack.

They appear out of nowhere directly in front of her, and it's not at all what she expected, but she's lucky Chara chooses to try to taunt her first instead of just attacking. She can feel her blood boil with rage, as a ball of energy glows white in her hand and she throws it straight at her attacker.]

Oh, I don't think so! When I'm done with you, you're going to wish you never crawled out of the ocean!

[They're far closer now, so dodging is less a matter of timing and thought and more a matter of instinct. However, Chara isn't a being of instinct and feelings in that way. They're a creature of numbers and statistics.

Every time a number increases. That feeling. That's me.

0.32% of dodging from point blank range. So don't dodge.

They raise their dagger, feel the hatred surge in their blood and they rip the ball of light in half in a horrific flash of red. She's stronger now. She wasn't this strong on the ship.

They leap back, having fun despite themselves. Their hubris is, as always, their undoing.]

Hmmm. Bold claim.

How about I help you reunite with your friend first? [One more attack should do, and then they'll finish this pathetic excuse of a witch.]

[The knife cuts through the energy ball, dispersing it effortlessly and it only feeds Willow's frustration. That knife is a problem. Or at least the wielder is.]

Kind of pesky, aren't you?

[It's fine (it is not fine, it is very annoying!), she still has a couple tricks up her sleeve. The key is preventing Chara from using the knife, or hopefully, eventually, destroying it entirely.

Willow lifts a hand and an unseen force tightens around the child to keep them from moving and lifts them off the ground. Her other hand rises towards the clouds as the storm rages, and she pulls the lightning down from the sky to strike.]

Let's see if you can dodge now, you little shit!

[They smirk.]

An understatement. Not very impressive for a witch, are you?

[But then the air around them becomes their prison, binding them. It's not an unfamiliar feeling to them. Undyne pulled this trick on them often. They know their soul has turned green, but this time they have no spear to block the incoming attack.

So, instead, they sneer, about to talk more. Almost certainly it would have been some jeering remark.

But it doesn't prepare them for the lightning lancing through their system. The overwhelming force and static lancing through their body doesn't cause them to scream, but it does make them shudder. It isn't painful. Dying covered in filth with flowers that acted as razors inside your throat in front of the weeping faces of the only people in your entire life who had ever loved you is painful. Fading away as you realize it was all for nothing is painful.

Becoming everything you ever hated in the first place is painful.

But all the same. Their face melts into a grotesque caricature of humanity, black liquid leaking from their eyes and mouth and nose, as if this pitch black tar has replaced anything in their body that once was natural. That once was living.

* But it refused.
* 1/110 HP.
* [CHECK]
* High offense and versatility. But low defence.
* You know what to do.

They tighten their grip on the knife, and create a tear through sheer power of will. A shortcut by force, with all the ugly brutality of tearing the ribcage of a dead world and ripping out it's unbeating heart. Because, in some ways, that's all that they're doing.

When they're right in front of her, there's little that this stupid girl can do to stop them from plunging the knife right into her chest.]

M̴̰̌y̶̢̐ ̶̱̎t̶͎͛ǔ̶͚r̸̫͊ṇ̵͒ ̴͗ͅn̷̖̓ó̸̬w̶̼̅.

[Willow grins as the lightning strikes - it's about damn time she find something this kid couldn't escape so easily. It doesn't get any screams, which certainly would have been satisfying, but at least it shuts them up.

It's already been clear that Chara isn't an ordinary child, but her face warping, and melting into black tar sure isn't what she expected. It's absolutely horrifying and a little intriguing at the same time - What is this? Some kind of possession or something? Does it matter? She's got them right where she wants them, and she's pretty sure she can just shock them to death.

Until suddenly, alarmingly, Chara is right in front of her again with that horrible knife raised again. She reaches for a spell to throw a barrier up between them. It's a last ditch effort that she knows will buy her only a moment, but it doesn't matter. The child - no, the monster - with the knife is faster.

There's a sharp pained cry that cuts off as the knife slips between her ribs to puncture a lung and rob her of her breath.

Willow sinks to her knees in the sand as the blood flows freely from the wound, and she turns her focus inward, to slow her heartrate, slow her breathing. To survival. It was a mistake, underestimating them. Perhaps a fatal one, but she hadn't seen the kid fight before. Only murder.

Oscar is dead. Oscar is dead after she said she would have his back. She might not be able to kill Chara, but she may still be able to hurt her.]

Tougher than I thought... Still... still got a couple tricks up my sleeve, though.

[With no moon in sight, the blood that spills between her fingers is red instead of pale, but the instinct is still the same. She lifts her gaze to meet Chara's eyes - or where their eyes were before the lightning attack, and she shifts her focus to their emotions. The manipulation is subtle - it doesn't even require an incantation to inflict an unexplainable, intense feeling of terror on them.]

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(closed) the captain called all hands and swore

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cw: blood