02 . december catch-all

[necrolord]

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! ]

Comments

[necrolord]

"Oh, very certainly both." This with the same good humor, the same gentle waving away of what all this might encompass. He notes the mention of the boy's cavalier with an understanding nod and the faintest creasing of the lines around his eyes.

"For the most part, you will be there to help me speculate at length about squid, and to tell me what you are able to notice. Harrow has her specialties, even now, and these things are always best approached from a few angles at once."

He regards the Sixth necromancer's notebook again, and adds: "Consider it a trip for data-gathering, from which we might launch more targeted efforts. We do have to start somewhere."

[megatheorem]

Cool, so that's tacit permission to do whatever he wants, he hears. Were he a different necromancer he might take it as a slight against his pride; reporting back on things he notices is not necessarily a great use of his many necromantic talents, unless God wants to know how old some rocks are, but Palamedes has no particular investment in that line of thinking. Ergo: he can do whatever he wants, which is good to know.

"More boat trips," he says, doing something uncertain with his eyebrows. What if he hates boats, after this? Tough to say.

"Alright." Squid notes. "I'll think about squid. We'll bring a fresh notebook or two."

[necrolord]

"Always more boat trips, I'm afraid," he says. He clasps his hands together, a sort of that's that gesture. "I'll be in touch, then. My regards to Camilla the Sixth."

He straightens to go, and gives a slight tilt of a smile under black eyes.

"And don't let me forget: history over tea."

slaps a wrapped bow on this thread

[megatheorem]

It's a credit to his own laser focused self control, Palamedes thinks, that he doesn't say something immediately hostile when God (actual God) has the gall to speak Camilla's name. Even for his regards, which Palamedes cannot convince himself would serve Cam well in any circumstance, knowing what he knows. He squeezes the spine of his notebook; he gives God a very mild look.

Alright.

"Tea." He manages, despite all odds, a wry little smile. "If Harrowhark humors you, so will I."