o4 . february catchall

[necrolord]

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! ]

Comments

[shiro2hero]

She's not -

[Or was she? Was Cynthia technically an "eldritch" god? She was some kind of god, certainly. All the Pthurmerians were. But 'eldritch' meant something like Cthulhu, something that wanted destruction and devastation, didn't it? That didn't describe the woman-turned-Moon-Presence. Not to him.]

She's not a threat, if that's what you mean by 'eldritch'.

[But back to the topic at hand. Har har.]

No. They can't. I know that. [Boy does he know that. And pushes a hand through his hair.] It's not a bad theory.

[necrolord]

[ His eyebrows jump in surprise. He says, slowly: ]

She could be if she wanted to.

[ He holds up a hand to preempt argument, tone gentle. ]

Not an accusation. I'm just establishing who has power here. They have a lot; we have a little. [ He has more than he's letting on. Takes one to know one, et cetera. ] But the folks who live here, the ones without tentacles? They've got none. Even the least of us is still a legend to them.

If you want an afterschool special takeaway, maybe have that one. We're worth more than we think.

[ He quirks that tired little smile. ]

So come on by if something locks up again. It gives me something to do.

[shiro2hero]

She wouldn't.

[There is absolute surety in the words. Even though, in reality, there isn't any way to have that kind of certainty, not with the Pthumerians. But after what Cynthia had done for them, in the end? What she'd done to the one who truly wanted to hurt them?]

[He trusts her.] I just know ... she was part of the dream, before. She was on our side.

[Cynthia had been trapped. Just like the rest of them.]

I don't know if I want to be a legend. Helpful is fine with me. [We're worth more than we think - shouldn't that be his line?]

[necrolord]

[ He considers this, then tips his head in a nod. ]

So I've heard. Still... I'll keep your vote of confidence in mind.

[ He does not intend to be a friend to Pthumerians, but Cynthia's story hits different. ]

Sure, sure. [ This rekindles the gentle smile like a candle flame. ] Legends leave a lot of people behind, don't they? Lot of casualties to any big journey. Helpful is more than enough.

[shiro2hero]

Maybe I'm wrong about the rest of them, but... not her. Just - whatever you hear about her, the Moon Presence isn't an enemy.

[He can't believe she is. He can't believe Cynthia would be anything other than an ally. A neutral, at worst.]

[Leave a lot of people behind - He looks down. Looks away.]

We've had enough Sleeper casualties.

[necrolord]

[ He leaves the touched nerve alone. ]

So here's to doing what we can for the folks still here.

[ He claps his hands on his thighs and stands, then offers Shiro a hand up. Without bite: ]

Which includes keeping all our limbs functional, generally.

[shiro2hero]

[Doing what we can. So why does it never seem to be like it's enough? Why does he always feel like he's trying to catch up to a retreating shadow?]

Right.

[He'll take that hand, though.]

First time it's ever acted up, actually.

[necrolord]

Well, that's good to hear.

[ He squeezes Shiro's hand before he lets it go, a little handclasp like a much-delayed handshake of hello. They never quite got to introductions on the slaver boat, or crossing paths in Gaze, or crowded into a bathroom that does not— maybe never did— exist. ]

Thanks for letting me have a look at it.

[ It sounds very much like Thanks for letting me help. ]

[shiro2hero]

[He's frankly surprised. Why is he being thanked? Why in the world would anyone want to thank him for this? All he did was sit there and make small talk. And flinch.]

Ah. You're welcome?

[He's not resisting the handshake though. Just baffled by it.]