03 . boat log!

[necrolord]

Who: necrolord and existing CR. If your character has met the Emperor and would respond positively to an invite, jump on in. (If you're not sure, ask me at ochrona!)
What: A voyage out to sea! This is a mingle log; feel free to toplevel and tag around.
When: Ambiguously around New Year's.
Where: The Pthumerian Ocean.

Content Warnings: Undead sailors, flesh-eating crabs, tentacles, corpses; Deer-standard levels of inherent fleshy horror. Note all the usual warnings of this character.

[ See John's toplevel for prompts, and feel free to tag in brackets or prose! ]

Comments

the emperor | ota

[necrolord]

(1) in the harbor.

Welcome aboard the Lonely Island. It's... sure something. What John sold to some acquaintances as "a boat" appears to be a vast two-masted brigantine, flying tattered dark sails and looking generally very haunted. It is crewed by a dozen of the glassy-eyed undead, which move around the ship in rote, mechanical fashion, carrying out John's whims without any overt direction from him. They are, or were, Corrupted pirates: none of them looks wholly human anymore, with their scaly skin and tentacled faces et cetera. They don't seem to rot.

The ship is meticulously clean, but still strung with odd baubles here and there: things of polished black glass, trinkets of antler and bone. Monster teeth. Some of these clink in the salty wind, which makes for some very thematic background noise, actually.

The Emperor of the Nine Houses has donned his long black captain's coat, and is personally welcoming his crew aboard.

"Ready to set sail?"

He sees nothing wrong with this picture.

(2) on the water.

"Right!" says John, over the wind and the seaspray, and he claps his hands together like they're all having a delightful little vacation. "Sea shanties, anyone? Who knows something worth singing?"

If the kids who occasionally address him as my lord look pained, he gamely pretends not to see it.

(3) land ho!

After a certain point, John slips away to his captain's quarters. What he's doing in there is anyone's guess, because he shoos even Harrow away. Maybe you've heard him say something vague about research.

The island appears shortly after that. It's a low, ugly little spit of black rock, only barely big enough to be worth checking out. God— because he's rather busy being God, now, picking at the fabric of this reality with something unreadable in his oily dark eyes— waves everyone off to go check it out.

"Be careful," he says, somberly earnest. "My attention will be elsewhere, and I don't want anyone hurt."

The island is riddled with sea caves, and inside are nasty, flesh-eating little Trench Crabs. But the real danger is on the bits sheltered enough to collect snow: tentacle parasites lie in wait.

Before he sends the kids off, God adds, "And if anyone is hurt, do bring them back here, Harrow. I'll have a look."

The girl in skull facepaint seems to have been elected party leader. Enjoy.

(4) rough seas.

Whatever John was doing alone in his cabin, Mariana doesn't seem to like it.

The voyage out was choppy, dark, and marked by more than a little tension about the local giant tentacle monster. The voyage back in is a nightmare. Sleet comes pelting down; the ship is tossed to and fro by worsening swells; John has lost his easy, mild humor. His expression has cooled to something calm and dark.

"Fasten your seat belts, kids," he says. "Won't be much longer now. Here; I'll call in the reinforcements."

He doesn't move. But all around, a horrifying process begins: the little bone trinkets stop chiming. Each patters down onto the deck, bursts upwards into a fully-formed human skeleton, and clatters along on bony feet to help man the struggling ship.

So that's normal.

2

[frogfear]

Just a little sailing expedition, he said. It will be fine, he said.

Yeah. Sure. Fine, except for dead pirates manning the ship, which she already knew to expect of course, and now sea shanties, which come as a bit more of a surprise.

Somehow, it seemed like a good idea when she agreed to come along - a little exploration of the area surrounding Trench seemed smart. It might even give them a heads up as to what else they might expect to run into in town as the months drag on.

She does not sing, especially in front of other people. Not willingly, anyway; nightmares of operas, and singing demons aside. So when the suggestion comes up, she just turns towards him and stares.

"Hey. Let's, uh. Let's just skip the sing along, okay?"

[necrolord]

"Oh, we're all going to be cooped up together a while. I don't see the harm in keeping things light." He gestures, broadly, to the choppy dark sea and the ugly spires of Trench in the distance. "We have little enough levity to be getting by with."

[frogfear]

"There's all kinds of things we can do to keep things light, or fun," Willow answers. "We could play cards, or, word games, or math games... We don't need to sing."

If he wants to sing, he is absolutely free to do so. She is not joining in, lest his undead tentacle friends threaten to throw her overboard or something. Or worse, some of their perfectly alive companions do.

[necrolord]

"Right, got it, that's a no from you on the singing." He clasps his hands together politely, but the amusement's still there in his arched eyebrows. "We can get down to business, if you like. Think a bit about how your magic will interact in the local spaces."

[frogfear]

Oh. Willow wants to talk about her lack of magic in Trench about as much as she wants to join in on a singalong. He's going to find out sooner or later, but it's still a particularly uncomfortable topic, and it's not exactly public knowledge.

"Oh, uh. Yeah. About that," she says as she shifts her weight. She glances at him after a moment, and shrugs a little. "My magic doesn't interact with, um, the local spaces here. At all."

[necrolord]

He can tell from the set of her shoulders, but he still arcs his eyebrows up and gestures for her to go on.

"Well, that might be useful to hear about, if you wouldn't mind. Give us an idea of how the forces interact."

[frogfear]

Willow shrugs a little. It's probably best to just tell him the truth - especially if there's any chance at all any of his insight might be helpful.

"There's not much to tell. When I said they don't interact, I mean they don't interact. Blood magic is fine - I've had no problem making any of that work. But my own, what I knew from home, doesn't work at all," she takes a deep breath. "If I try, it's just migraines and fog, and distorted noise, like... uh, like radio static?"

[necrolord]

"Radio static," he echoes. "I wouldn't call that nothing. I think 'nothing' would be pretty distinct. You could watch me try to pull a rabbit out of a hat to get an example of what 'nothing' looks like."

(He could certainly pull something out of a hat, with his knack for constructs, but she wouldn't like it.)

"There must be information to gain in radio static."

[frogfear]

"I don't know, I couldn't make anything out of it." It's been frustrating, especially in light of the threats the town has thrown at them the last couple months. Not being able to defend herself with magic feels vulnerable.

"To be fair, though, I only tried a few times," she shrugs a little. "Not really a big fan of the headaches afterwards."

2

[hauntedsavior]

[this boat is huge. he'd made it seem like it was a dinghy, but now actually being on it makes her feel far less susceptible to ocean death. which means she can loosen up and actually follow through on her promises. anna's covered up in a longcoat and got a fancy tricorn on, so if she doesn't blend in then she's sure about to.]

Got one hot off the presses from back home for you, cap'n. [she takes a seat on the closest flat surface and starts pounding out a beat, one fist into her open palm, emphasized by tapping her foot.] There once was a ship that put to sea...

[yes, she is singing wellerman. and she's not doing too bad of a job at it, honestly? she's had practice. and she is technically, like, sort of a musician.]

[necrolord]

[ Now this is the spirit. This is a genuine delight. Somewhere in the background, Harrow makes an expression and Gideon makes a noise, and their Kindly Prince, their Resurrector, simply takes up the beat by snapping. ]

Do you know, I think I've heard this one. The name of the ship was—

[ God's singing voice is, objectively, not very good. The whole of him is soft-spoken and plain. But he seems to be having a good time of it, following the lead of the girl in the tricorn.

He is, after all, years behind on embarrassing his daughter. ]

[hauntedsavior]

[hey, it's good enough for anna. she also realizes that it might be a little silly to sing this shanty back and forth to each other when they totally could be having a normal conversation about stuff—and, as she looks past her captain and sees the reaction, she has a different idea. so, still to the tune that's in her head forever now, she sings,]

—the Billy o' Tea, and how the fuck do you know this song, you aren't from Earth, my duuude.

[please. indulge her.]

[lipochrome]

[ said daughter is lying on the deck a few feet away, face turned up towards the sky and hands covering her shades which are covering her eyes. this is the worst. having parents is bad, actually. how the fuck do people live like this. ]

Lorrrd, [ gideon whines, a title she now only uses when she's incredibly annoyed with him ] could you not. Or just throw me overboard. Either one.

[ she'll take the ocean over...whatever the fuck this is. honestly, the pouty lyctor had the right of it. yuck! pfaugh! ]

[necrolord]

[ Oh, no, he's being challenged by children.

Nothing for it. He hasn't sung anything since before they lost Ulysses, and even then, not well. He returns a crooked smile, and replies in his soft low voice: ]

Oh, it's a curious thing
Around here all the songs they sing
Seem to have a familiar ring
I'm 'fraid that's all I know

[ This was not very good. He looks delighted. Over the continued beat, he turns to raise his eyebrows at the anguished form of his daughter on the deck. ]

You could always give it a try.

[hauntedsavior]

[anna's still going for it, keeping the beat constant, though she needs a few extra bars to think of the right way to approach it. she leans forward, ignoring the part about how these songs all seem to sound familiar to this dude, and directs her voice—and her lyrics—at gideon instead.]

We've not been two weeks from shore,
And Gid-e-on is a massive bore!
Now here's the chorus one time more,
So Gideon fucking goooo:

[and she keeps the beat going, and she is not going to stop until everyone is singing along. that is a threat.]

[lipochrome]

[ Oh, no, she's being ganged up on! This is the worst!! Gideon does not get up from the deck, but she rolls over so that her face isn't pressed against the floor.

If singing will get them to stop, then fine. She'll sing. But not loudly, because if Harrow hears her, it's all over. ]

Soon may this voyage be done
There's nothing out here but waves and sun
Now that you've had your fun
I'll take my leave and go

[ there!! happy?? ]

1

[terriblepurpose]

In the days since that chance meeting in the library, Paul has considered that he may have been too preoccupied with the theological implications of this voyage and not enough with the practical ones. The sight of the ship and its crew don't help settle his sense of unease about either concern.

At least the undead aren't new, although he decides he prefers the skeletal variety. Paul boards the ship with a heavily laden bag over his shoulder, wearing a slightly different looking black coat than he had on last time, and gives her captain a smooth salute.

"Aye, sir." He says, solemnly, heels neatly together and posture appropriately composed.

[necrolord]

Now that's the spirit. His captain favors him with a faint smile, then turns and waves Paul along for the tour.

"She's a good ship, though I'll be the first to confess I know very little about boats. But she's taken me out and back in the past, and the crew will heed your orders if you care to give them." He sweeps a hand, almost dismissively, to the corpses. "The less talkative of the crew, at least. The rest of the crew I'll not make promises for."

At the other end of the deck is, of course, a familiar little black shadow with a painted face. John points, and looks openly charmed to find that she doesn't have her shoulders hunched up around her ears in miserable nausea yet, which is promising.

"And there's our first mate. Her order is my order, though I will tell you in confidence she knows even less about boats than I do."

[terriblepurpose]

The city being what it is, Paul knew he was bound to come across the Reverend Daughter eventually, and though there is a possibly this is a different tiny skull-painted woman wearing bone, he doubts it. He doubts it's a coincidence to find her on a ship crewed by the undead, either.

"That's what this is for, isn't it? Learning." He adjusts the strap of his satchel, watching the first mate for a lingering moment before returning his focus to the captain. "I know the answer may seem obvious, but are you a necromancer as well?"

There's no harm in alluding to his recognition, he thinks. Necromancers seem to be as common as gulls, and just as brash about announcing themselves. He ought to be relieved, considering his initial speculations, and of course he is - but he can't help but also feel slightly, perversely disappointed.

[necrolord]

"What gave it away?"

This is said with a gently wry expression, and no bite. He is reminded, fondly, of the moment he fished a boy up onto his boat of corpses and was told You don't look like a necromancer. Genuinely the first time he's ever heard that one. It's all a bit of a novelty, being profaned.

"I am. There are a few of us here from the same home system."

[terriblepurpose]

Paul matches the captain's smile, and then surpasses it, brightening immediately at the revelation of shared origin. That's a different spin on things again, and a welcome one.

"I know. I've met the Sixth, and Gideon of the Ninth." He's pleased, clearly, and put at ease, a distinct difference from the tenterhook wariness he still had when he stepped abroad. "Are they coming with us?"

Given Palamedes, the way the captain spoke about magic makes much more sense in retrospect. Paul is mildly embarrassed not to have made the connection earlier, but he's still reassured by the prospect of going out to sea with a better known quantity.

[necrolord]

"Oh, good." He seems to mean it quite genuinely, not least because of the way tension has dropped out of the young man's frame. "They are indeed. Both the Sixth and the Ninth will be aboard, and we will be joined by a few other friends interested in the voyage. But it's largely the necromancers who will be conducting research."

[terriblepurpose]

"I should have known." Paul shakes his head, still smiling - of course the necromancers would be doing the bulk of the research, considering the goal. "The way you talked about gods."

He'd lacked context for their first meeting, but now that he's heard how the rest of them talk about their god-emperor, he understands why the captain wasn't giving out his name to strangers, why the obscurity around the plan. But there's no one near them here except the dead, and the wind will whip their voices out of reach of the living.

Paul's smile fades, though a trace of it remains for onlookers to see.

"Tell me about him," he says, quietly, "The King Undying."

[necrolord]

For a moment, his eyebrows shoot up.

It lasts only a beat before subsiding to something thoughtful, and he turns to look out to sea. He says, "The Resurrecting King, the Necrolord Prime, the Kindly Prince, et cetera. More titles than any man needs, if you ask me. He is a very powerful man, I'll grant, and a very old one. But I don't believe immortality makes a man infallible, Paul, I really don't."

There is a beat of pause, in which he sets his hands upon the gunwale and regards the distant storm. He looks back at Paul, the creases of a frown between his dark eyes.

"Still. Sometimes even a fallible god is the best we can hope for, if the alternative is something," he gestures, vaguely, to that distant storm, "without humanity's best interests at heart."