deercountry | 02 . december catch-all

Who:

necrolord and you!
What: A necromancer enjoys Bone Season.
When: December.
Where: Throughout Trench.

Content Warnings: Will be marked as needed. Note all the usual warnings of this character.

(1) recruitment: OTA.

There is a man in the Archives. He doesn't look like much: average height, average build, dressed in simple blacks. He chews his lip as he thumbs through some borrowed tome. There's an untidy stack of ancient books beside him, the titles Rituals of Trench: Remembering Our Pasts and Legends of Trench: Curses and Causations glinting in the lamplight. The one in his hands seems to be The Sleeper Condition. If you've come to do some research on the current issues plaguing town, you'll have to approach this plain and faintly rumpled-looking stranger.

He drums his fingers against the tabletop as he reads, and at the approach of any passerby, he looks up.

His eyes are oil-black and horribly, weightily inhuman.

"I don't suppose," he says, by way of greeting, "you've run across much explanation for the squidly reincarnation? All our esteemed authors seem to take the tentacles as a normal fact of life."

(2) recruitment: existing CR.

It is, by and large, a quiet day in Trench. The God of Necromancers can be found ambling from Gaze to the Blood Ministers' District and back again, sometimes with his facepainted attaché and sometimes not. You might even spot him down by the docks, standing out among the brawn and bustle of sailors.

Regardless, he brightens when he spots an even slightly familiar face, and raises a hand in hello.

"Remind me," he says, bracingly, "how you feel about sailing?"

(3) wildcard.

[ Happy to match formatting! ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"No." Then he looks up and looks around, ears flicking, as if looking for something, or looking out for people who may be coming by. But he's simply looking all around them, at the books and texts, at their spines and titles, something else to look at for now. He can multitask.

"Compared to Sleepers, the people of Trench are unremarkable, but they have knowledge that we don't. But Sleeper blood always has the answer, and not theirs."

"It certainly seems that way." If he's lost his new acquaintance's attention, it doesn't seem to faze John. Certainly an odd transition, though, going from God to average library patron. Bit of a hit to one's ego. "I've never seen such an emphasis on blood, and I have witnessed some very dedicated blood mages at the peak of their craft. If there's a connection between the sea and our odd little color spectrum, I've yet to crack it."

Nehan turns one ear to the man, seconds before he turns his head back to him.

"If you can make a Pthumerian bleed, perhaps it will be a start. Sleepers are reborn in the Pthumerian Ocean after all, and I don't believe in coincidences."

John smiles like it's a neat little theory. There is the faintest edge to it, an unnerving little quirk of satisfaction when his new friend says make a Pthumerian bleed.

Public opinion of their captors isn't good, he's aware. There's a bit of a queue to start that fight. But he'd really like to have a chat with them, god to god.

"Perhaps," he echoes. "Given what our blood can do, I'd be very curious to see the properties in theirs. It'd make for a tidy missing link. A shame the local patrons don't seem to be volunteering for single combat."

Well, he could go flay open the singing slug, but that seems a bit heavy-handed.

Finally, Nehan deigns to have a seat at the table, placing his book on it so he can maneuver a chair out, doing everything with his right hand, even prop himself up. Not easy when he only has the one arm, but he manages just fine. Even if he doesn't ask permission first-- he doesn't much care for whatever perceptions of him may come about.

"Of course none of them would want to. I doubt they see us more than little pets. Or just something in their periphery." Like the more massive ones.

"But I hear rumors that one dies often and comes back, though if they return like Sleepers or not, that's something I haven't heard."

His new friend moves forward to join him, and John gestures a by all means. He settles back in and tips his head in thought.

"Interesting. I'd not realized any of them were vulnerable enough to give us a look at the process. Anything more you can tell me on this reincarnating Pthumerian?"

"He is not my patron, so I haven't had the chance to research him yet." And he's such a social butterfly, pun fully intended, that Nehan doesn't stand a chance of finding him in the same place twice.

"You've seen the moth the size of a housecat? That's him."

"I haven't yet." But now he'll be on the lookout. "The spread of appearances is certainly something. 'Moth the size of a housecat,' 'four-armed bird-man,' and 'chronically bleeding statue' really make you guess at the unifying design element."

Nehan's eyebrow raises. It's the only one he raises, but the only one seen move when the other is hidden behind his patch.

"What makes you think there is a unifying design, other than something that defies mortal convention? That is often enough for the immortal beings."

Oh, he has plenty of experience with defies mortal convention. But that category of being— which is to say, eldritch abomination— doesn't generally map onto reality like this. This doesn't align tidily with any of the rules he's used to, which is damned inconvenient.

"If you know something I don't about immortal beings, I would love to hear it." This is said as though genuine, just as mildly spoken as the rest.

His ancestors fought in a war against them, alongside their equally immortal creations. He's heard the stories, read the diaries when no one was looking. Other than that? He doesn't interact with them. The island he grew up on has its own primal guardian, as all isles do, but he's never even seen them. What's their name? Who knows?

So he shrugs, and continues to look blandly at the man.

"They can be whatever they want to be. Is that not often the case?"

John does not say, News to me, I should really start making some changes, because advertising his godhood is generally more of a mess than he'd prefer. Instead he says, "We don't have anything quite like our local landlords, where I'm from. Not that I've yet met, anyway." He crooks something that is almost a smile. "It's a learning experience for everybody."

"And it will continue to be one." Then the Erune leans forward, ears perked as well. "What are you planning on doing with the information I've given you?"

Especially with the Pthumerian that likes to get into trouble and die. If one were to get him into trouble and die... Well, Nehan would rather stay out of it.

"Oh, nothing drastic." He waves away the idea, pleasantly casual. "Just adding it to my research notes, maybe passing it along to a friend or two. We've got a ways to go before we can crack this place."

He says it in the light, good-humored way of someone discussing a neat little mystery.

"I was never in the dream, so I have some catching up to do."

"I wasn't in the dream world either," the Erune says in response. Then he tilts his head, ears twitching. "But from what I hear of the people from it, there's very little in common between Trench and that."

Though there seems to be more people from the dream than those who came straight to Trench, and Nehan has to wonder why the people from that dream aren't enough for whatever is happening now.

"A similarity in... troublesome things happening, yes. But that's mostly it."

02 . december catch-all

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