deercountry | o4 . february catchall

Entry tags:

o4 . february catchall

Who:

necrolord and you!
What: Local necromancer is networking. Archives research, healing for lockjoint and self-mutilation, and more.
When: February.
Where: Archives, Lumenwood, streets of Trench.

Content Warnings: Skeletons and mentions of the self-mutilation curse. Note all the usual warnings of this character.

(1) research.

You've probably seen him around, by now. The man is something of a fixture in the Archives: he settles at an unremarkable table and proceeds to drown it in open books, scattered pages, notes, journals. He seems intent on skimming his way through half the library. Sometimes there's a girl, scrawny and dour with her face painted up like a skull, hovering at his elbow. Today, he's on his own.

He doesn't look like much. Simple clothes; bare hands, which suggests he's either confident or reckless, in a town that will titter at anyone who doesn't wear gloves; he looks fortyish and plain. Only one thing about him is remarkable: his eyes, black as oil from edge to unpleasant edge.

Today, he's amassed an odd collection of vials, bloodstones, and shards of bone. You might catch the sudden reek of Beast blood, which is alarmingly toxic to handle even with gloves; you might catch him weighing a huge, inhuman bone in the palm of his hand, looking thoughtful. If he notices your attention, he'll speak without looking up.

"Six months, and I'm still trying to puzzle out the basics."

(2) the skeleton plow.

[ On the 9th, a blizzard blows in. It leaves the town blanketed in a heavy weight of snow, and Trenchies come out with shovels and resigned expressions to scrape the streets clear.

God, who has places to be, finds this a touch inconvenient. He's meant to be in Lumenwood just now, playing Jesus on everyone's frostbite and having a generally pleasant morning. So he claps his hands, watches a dozen skeletons claw their way free of the frozen earth and pop out of the snow ("like daisies," he says to whoever is nearest) and then sets off across town with his helpful new posse.

Each skeleton moves as smoothly and politely as a human servant, with a speck of red light in each empty eye. God makes a little gesture, like a conductor with an orchestra; his servants' fingerbones fuse and spread. Their arms distort and lengthen. They each now wield a broad bone scoop, which looks somewhere between silly and horrifying.

The skeleton army sets to work shoveling snow, heedless of appalled bystanders. ]

(3) healing.

[ Maybe you're still suffering from Lockjoint, Sleeper. Maybe you've begun scraping your own skin away under this month's curse, trying to resist temptation, trying to resist the urge to confess.

It doesn't matter whether all the damage is hidden by your clothing, or whether you think you're doing a good job of masking your pain. Today you're near the gates of Lumenwood - maybe to get help for your own issues, maybe not - and there is a man here, who has just waved away a grateful Trenchie making conversation. He turns, tips his head in hello, and considers you. ]

Want a hand with that?

(4) wildcard.

[ Happy to match formatting! ]

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The common takes can be the ones I miss the most, ironically enough.

[His own wry bit of self-deprecation. A bit of a shut-in, this one, and he looks every bit of it.]

An approximate link might be enough, for my purposes... but it sounds like you have a much bigger picture in mind.

[Careful not to overflatter, or simper. He's not as good at this as Light Yagami; interacting like this, one on one, even in situations that are totally without agenda and unthreatening, can be taxing and challenging for L.]

Not being a sword-swinging type... how did you come by this blood? A source would be useful to know about, considering a beast is less likely than a Vileblood to volunteer a donation.

Orpheus nods along as the man speaks, lighting up slightly as he realizes that maybe this is something he can help with.

"Well," he says. "I can't help with the squids, or the blood magic? But I may know some things that aren't recorded here, or that may be hard to find. You're a Sleeper, right? Were you one of the ones who came from Deerington, before you were here?"

Because that seems like a good place to start, at least. Others might've already filled him in on what Orpheus knows, but he figures there could be some bits and pieces he's picked up along the way that could prove useful.

[Passing through Lumenwood is a detour. It's the long route. But he deserves the hike today. Deserves the long slog through the snow and ice. It's freezing, and he'd left his heavier coat at home. Even left Kristoff's vest behind. Why not? the guilt deserved it.]

[His right arm aches. It has to be from the stunt with the bike, right? There's no other reason for it. It's tucked securely in a pocket, the fabric taking up most of the weight. His eyes are on his feet. Picking a slow path through the snow.]

[So the greeting, the question, catches him completely off-guard. He jerks to a halt, stunned, confused.]

What?

[ For a moment, the King Undying quirks his eyebrows up, cognizant that the questions now border on prying. He looks at worst amused. ]

I have some very capable sword-swinging friends. [ He says this as though it's the answer to the question. ] Good grounding when you're all tangled up in the big picture.

[ He holds up the vial of Beast's blood between thumb and forefinger; it roils unpleasantly within the glass, as though itself alive. ]

Can't promise a consistent supply, but if you fill me in on your project, I'll part with this one. With the obvious caveat of, you know, don't touch it. Pretend you've signed a waiver.

[ Oh, fantastic, that got his attention. Shiro might regret giving it a moment later: God quirks his eyebrows and wiggles his fingers in what is obviously a pun. ]

A hand. You were holding yours like it might be giving you some trouble.

[ He gestures, as though Shiro is telegraphing his pain for all to see. He isn't, really, but most people just blame themselves when they get caught out. ]

Call it healer's intuition. It's been a slow day and I'm looking for someone to indulge me. Got a minute?

This sharpens his interest right away. He rubs his chin, thoughtful.

"No, I missed out on the dream. I've been assured I should be glad of that, but a little more info would be nice." Quite seriously, he says: "I'll be glad of anything you can tell me. Seems like I have a lot of catching up to do."

[L understands, now, what Paul means about him being difficult to read. He remains convinced that no one is truly impossible, but the black-eyed man is definitely a challenge.

It might bode poorly that both of them think so, that everyone might well think so.]

Oh, you're willing to part with it? That would be helpful.

[He rests his cheek in the palm of his hand; both are shadowed in charcoal, as if he's spent a lot of time recently writing or drawing with poor technique.]

There's a creature approaching Trench. You're probably aware of it by now.

[It's no secret. The campsite is not hidden, anyone is welcome to help. Additionally, L is already aware that this individual has pried a future, unknown debt from Paul in return for his promised and highly valuable help during the "ceasefire."]

I also have sword-swinging friends who are likely to be in close combat with it, so I've taken it upon myself to protect them in a way I'm able. The creature weaponizes a neurotoxin not unlike the one in box jellyfish spines, and I think that an appropriate immune response could come from beast's blood, as opposed to, say, a sheep. The goal is a prophylactically applied and water-resistant antivenom... ideally, it could begin counteracting the venom immediately upon contact.

[His work isn't a secret, either, though L doesn't typically spend time explaining details if he thinks that time could be better used. He doesn't pepper the explanation with passive-aggression or condescension, considering it a preemptive peace offering.

Notably, however, he does not mention how he knows this.]

I could actually sign a waiver, if it would reassure you, Mr...?

[Paul had mentioned that he didn't even know the guy's name. L's not confident that he can easily learn it, inferring that even Palamedes doesn't know, or at least is not willing to divulge it to Paul.]

[ He nods, as though this is all very right and expected. As though they're discussing an inconvenient weather pattern. To the explanation, he looks genuinely attentive, genuinely interested: God rubs his chin like he's mulling it over. ]

Decent use of time. Keep it, then. But if you don't make much headway, try Vileblood: there's something going on there with toxicity neutralization. Most are immune to stuff that could drop an elephant. A thimble of Vileblood's the folk cure for parasite infestation, even the really nasty kind— but any more and you'll be treating a corpse.

[ He waves away the question under the guise of waving away the offer, wholly unrepentant. ]

You seem like a guy who knows what he's doing. We'll keep it an imaginary waiver. You need a hand with it, though, come and find me: I could use a break from books about squid.

[He's unsure how much of the man's affable approval is polite and how much of it is entirely earnest. Either way, he can't shake the feeling that he's being subtly toyed-with. Then again, that could wholly be the bias that Paul instilled in him when he gave him the rundown of his situation.

He nods, seeming newly invigorated and encouraged. It's not entirely an affectation; he is. An angle has been suggested that he had not considered; like most, he has the blood types and personalities he gravitates towards, and it's overwhelmingly Palebloods like himself and Darkbloods, like Palamedes, Illarion, and, so far unknown to him, the Emperor.]

It's an avenue to try, certainly... and it seems promising with that rationale. I'll be sure to approach some Vilebloods about contributing to the cause.

[Surely some of them are hanging around camp. He'll put out a call.]

Thank you for the invitation. Who should I send my omen for if it comes to that point?

[He was either too subtle about fishing for a name, or the black-eyed man saw through the effort. L thinks it's telling that he doesn't even seem to want to give a fake name, which is easy enough; it's what L himself does, to keep his secrets while avoiding standing out too much.]

Right! That enemy has already used it's reaction for this round, so it's only the other one you need to worry about.

[ Ford, who has been contemplative and focused just a moment ago, brightens up like a child that's just been handed a puppy when John asks his question. It's always been a challenge to find people that want to play tabletop games with him, let alone someone that seems like they're actually invested in the rules and setting. ]

You have some spells on the back of your sheet. Using them isn't too different from melee attacks, but you need to be mindful of your range, line of sight, and remaining spell slots.

[This is brand new to Willow too, and it's a safe bet that she's here more to hang out with Ford than anything else.

She leans forward over the table to study the grid carefully.]

I'll... use my range attack, I guess? To hit the other one? I should be able to hit him from here, right?

[ Give God this: he seems to have zero qualms about standing out. ]

I guess 'the guy with the squid books' won't cut it. [ He looks, again, amused. ] I'm more of a titles guy. Makes introductions a bit awkward, but you know what they say about old habits.

[ Before they can unpack that, he adds: ]

You know Paul? [ There is no weight to the way he says it. He says it like a foregone conclusion, the little convenience of a friend in common. ] He's helped me a bit with the boat I've got in harbor. To him, I'm the Captain.

[ This is also a lie. It'll be an interesting one when it trickles back to Paul: there's some slim chance the kid will take it as a kind word, an open door, an offer to recognize navigator instead of Duke. There's a bigger chance he'll take it as advice to get back on his knees.

(Not in a creepy way, yikes, he's like twelve.)

God takes up drumming his fingers on his book again, and says: ]

Kids with an interest in blood magic call me Teacher.

Ah - no it's. It's fine.

[It is not fine. It is patently not fine. But Shiro just can't ... let that information go freely. It's not fair - it's burdening someone else.]

[He shifts his weight, debating.]

I'm sure you've got... that someone else is more pressing.

He hadn't come in for conversation.

...That was a lie. Perell was always up for a chat, but often times found that few people were interested in the nitty gritty details of realmic theory or the ways the ebb and flow of thaumic energy were influenced by both the material and spiritual planes. Tipping his hat up briefly, Perell regarded the stranger in quiet interest for a moment before setting his books down.

"Only six months? It took me six years to get the energies controlled enough to feel comfortable venturing out in public without worry.-- and several decades to even feel close to mastry."

Unbidden, he sat-- a plain looking bespectacled man who looked like a ragged 40-something with his worn hat and scruffy moustache. Perell leaned back, glad to take the weight off of his aching body that had stiffened from jointlock.

"Six months is nothing. Why don't you tell me about it like you're talking to a frog?"

He was a fool-- but, he also had time.

Edited 2022-02-10 05:15 (UTC)

[L hates giving; really, there's always something he receives in return, usually overwhelmingly in his favor. Palely, he rises to the Emperor's amusement, even if he doesn't quite match it.]

Awkward doesn't bother me. Empty spaces in universal grammar tend to.

[He was prepared for this thanks to Paul; he knows to keep his surprise tempered when he's asked if he knows the other. Who he's been seen with, who he is dream-mentoring and, by this point, Bonded with.]

Yes, we're acquainted. I think highly of him.

[There's a scale in L's mind, constantly tipping and teetering, screaming when he gives more than necessary, even as he understands that it's suspicious not to volunteer some things. Why would a friend of Paul's not volunteer a positive opinion of his character?]

I've met another here who goes by different names, depending on the person addressing him. Is that what you prefer, or something like it?

[L named Illarion "Moonsight" after a moth's transverse orientation. He's very grateful that he was able to choose; a title asks more of one, a sort of implicit respect or reverence. Is that why it's difficult to come around to it? He thinks it might be; he's not, after all, offended at the implication that he's a "kid." He understands why; he's found it useful at times.]

I never like to presume that others care, particularly, but I'm Lazarus Sauveterre.

[As pretty as a chocolate coin, and worth just about as much for how honest it is.]

Edited 2022-02-10 05:47 (UTC)

[ In response, he turns and sweeps an arm to indicate the amount of nothing in his vicinity. With the Trenchie heading off, they stand apart from the usual trickle of people in and out of this district. Nobody looks at them with anything but cursory interest. ]

I am having a deeply boring afternoon. Will you humor me?

Oh no, this is hilarious.

No one talks to God like this. Well, okay: back home, no one talks to God like this without adding a hurried respectfully, Lord at the end of whatever exasperated thing they've just said. Here a lot of people talk to him however they please, which is honestly a little refreshing, and this is still the first time he's had a guy invite himself to the table and tell him he's being an idiot.

There is the briefest moment in which he looks genuinely impressed. Then it breaks to amusement, and something assessing just beneath.

"What kind of frog?" he asks, smiling. "A rubber one? One of the colorful little jungle ones that can drop an elephant? I need to set the scene, here."

Oh, great. An artist. Perell regarded the smile with his best attempts at impassivity in response to the proposed theatrics.

"One of the friendly looking ones that can drop the largest and unluckiest crocodile in the bog." He replied, going by the habitats he was most familiar with.

It didn't matter that crocodiles were on the verge of extinction because of the actions taken by himself and others to rescue a friend. He had honed his wizardly demeanor during his century in isolation. It was just nice to have it be useful.

[ He tips his head in agreement. It's the gesture of a man casually pleased to be right, content to throw in with I think highly of him. If there is any hint in him of something amiss, it's in those unreadable oilslick eyes. ]

Have you? Glad to hear I'm not the only weird one.

[ He considers this. Decides to hammer home whatever makes it back to Paul, just in case. ]

What they call me back home is a bit starved for context. 'King of somewhere very far away' doesn't have much of a ring to it.

[ He smiles. It does not reach those eyes. ]

Good to meet you, Lazarus.

Wow. Not a speck of humor about it, either, not a hint. This is incredible.

"Fantastic. Alright, little frog," and here he steeples his fingers atop his stack of books, "let me tell you all about Trench. Great little seaside town, just don't eat the calamari."

He drums his fingertips against each other, considering.

"The problem," he says slowly, "is that the place is all one big, tangled system. Planets generally are, sure, but this goes above and beyond: every time you think you've cracked this bit of blood magic, it turns out that outside force interweaves. Which makes it not so much an outside force as a part of an ecosystem, or the systems in a body."

He stills his fingers, regards his frog.

"I'm beginning to think decades is more the scale of it."

Perell is very serious about frogs.

Listening to the explanation, Perell nodded quietly. This was familiar territory to him-- the flow of energies in his own realm were interwoven in a complex ecosystem, as it were. Few were blessed with the ability to walk between realms, few were mad enough to make deals with entities beyond their comprehension to embody a fraction of their power, and few were placed within the ecosystem by the cosmos as neutral entities who could manipulate the flow as needed.

"Fortunately, we do have that kind of time. I mean, we are the calamari here after all."

It was something he had a little more experience with than he wished.

Edited 2022-02-10 18:57 (UTC)

[ Zhongli is not an expert on any of the happenings here by any means of the word. So in order to really gain more of an understanding he often frequents the library from time to time to do some reading.

Not needing to sleep or even eat he's often there for long periods of time, wandering the stacks in search of his next book. It on such a day that he happens upon the other man, his own curiosity getting the better of him. ]

That is quite extensive research. Have you tried asking others for assistance? Perhaps there is someone here with the knowledge that might help speed up the process on finding an answer.

I don't mind pain.

[ Not the regular kind, anyway. The kind bubbling up inside him every time he has to smile politely at someone he hates, or show fake respect, or otherwise pretend he wouldn't like to have a good, hard beatdown (on the giving or receiving end) is nearly unbearable.

He clenches his jaw, his voice tense like he's trying to keep something from coming out. ]

What is it?

Orpheus nods, frowning a little in thought as he tries to figure out where best to start.

"There's a lot to go over," he says, slowly, considering whether he wants to share what he's been working on. It isn't finished, but... "I wasn't there for all of it, but I've been trying to gather what we know about how it came to be and what happened in it, so I can record it for people. It's worth remembering, I think. I'm not anywhere near done, but I have the start, if you'd like to hear it."

He slides the guitar on his back around on its strap, serving as a hint as to exactly what format he's been recording this history in. It's maybe not the most efficient for preserving certain details, but it's what Orpheus knows, and songs have a way of outlasting the written word, under the right circumstances.

[They raise their eyebrow, studying this man. At least he seems dedicated to understanding, which in Chara's mind makes him more of an asset than some.

And if John were to look at Chara, they would see their soul so deeply stained with death, both their own and the civilization that has fallen at their hand. And so much power that it's just barely recognizable as human. But it is, with a faint glow of DETERMINATION that overrides any violence they might carry.

And for now, they have a cup of tea and an old book about Darkblood and it's connection with time and space.]

Not a fan of Trench's local spin on blood magic?

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o4 . february catchall

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3 - lemme know if this works!

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1 - Research

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Research

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Research