deercountry | 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! ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[So there Nil was, trudging through the difficult snow, forcing her way through despite her new powers of flight. She had long since decided that while that was something she could do, it wasn't especially something she should. There was something about the process of walking which made her feel connected to her human self... even if the difficulty of the situation was starting to grate.]

[Her attention is broken by the sounds of... shoveling? Her optimism of seeing a crew of people making the pathways accessible to all was broken when she saw who was doing the shoveling. Not only was it bizarre, it was grotesque, and probably an affront to the people that those skeletons used to be.]

Necromancy... [She mutters, looking around to see if there was a master to these ensorcelled bone men.]

[ Necromancy! It might take her a moment to place the culprit, because he looks like nothing much: just a middle-aged guy in a black coat, following behind the skeleton cleanup crew and chatting with bystanders.

Then he spots her, tentacles and all, and his gaze hangs on her for a beat. There's no revulsion in his all-black eyes: just a faintly bemused interest, a crinkling of the brow like he's looking into her and puzzled by what he sees.

Once that moment has hung long enough to go awkward, he tips his head in hello. ]

Don't mind us. My friends here are lending a quick hand.

[He had the air of a charming and dapper fellow. The type of person that would welcome you to tea and encourage you to wait because the sunset is so lovely across his own personal lake. The kind of gentleman whose mansion was refined and dignified and also covertly housing a murder room.]

[Nil was suspicious from the outset.]

How... generous. [Her tone is stiff and polite. If there was one thing that she learned it was to not upset powerful mages. Especially ones who are keen to put on a good image with free public service.]

[Even if that public service wasn't technically making somebody else do it...]

[ The mansion is just across town, actually, and it is decorated with an elaborate amount of human bone. ]

Not a fan, huh?

[ He doesn't seem offended. He just rubs at his chin and considers her while the skeletons toil in the background. ]

We'll be done soon enough. There's nobody in there, if it helps: just bones.

[It did not, but she was still going to be polite. For now. During her exile one of the tasks she gave herself was to bury any of the adventurer's who had met an unfortunate demise on her floor. Though their deaths may have been traumatic, they were deserving of a restful sleep.]

[From dust we rise, and to dust they should be allowed to return.]

[Still, he had opened the dialogue.] In my opinion, the dead should be allowed to rest. I think this is desecration.

[But she did admit other cultures and peoples have differing opinions. Some saw the body as just the vessel for the soul, and that which remained was nothing but hollowed shells. She's still willing to give this man reasonable doubt.] Respectfully. Sir.

[ He is deeply accustomed to a life of tacked-on Respectfully, my lords in strained tones of voice. This is humorously familiar. He quirks a little smile that does not reach his black eyes. ]

Were I pulling bodies out of graveyards, I'd agree with you. But these folks hadn't been laid to rest; I built them out of bits left behind here or there. You'd be amazed how many folks have died messily on these streets— human and Beast and every step in-between.

[ He turns to look back at them, thoughtful. ]

Figured I'd give them a job and then somewhere better to stay than out here under the snow.

[Nil's posture shifts slightly and she looks over to the skely man tending to the snow. She lets out a soft sigh. It would make sense that they weren't full and complete. Trench did seem like the type of place where death loomed constant. She didn't have to like it, but it was there.]

I see. [There is audible disappointment, but she's not going to continue to press the argument.]

Then, if I were to make a request, may you please see that they are given a proper rest when their work is finished? I think that would be only respectful.

[She is well aware that she had no leverage to ask such a thing, but if nothing else she wanted to ask.]

[ He turns back to consider her again. Something shifts in his face: a softening around the eyes, something tired and not unkind. ]

I will.

[ He says it soft and somber, and seems to mean it. ]

I appreciate that you're looking out for them. We'll put them to bed once they've done their bit to help.

[She looks to the eyes directly for the first time, unsure of the intention but gracious that her words were heeded. She may not like necromancy, but at the very least he understood. Maybe.]

I thank you. Our lot on this world is short and sometimes abrupt and terrible. But we should all be given the chance to sleep when our time is finished.

That is what I believe anyway.

[A polite smile comes to Nil's face and she extends a bow: a polite and practiced ones she's offered nobles and leaders who were deserving of the gesture.] My name is Nil, if it pleases.

[ Very polite! He nods as though this is all well-said, appreciative of the bow. ]

Lovely to meet you, Nil. I do respect a person with values about skeletons. [ Does he, though. ] The perspective on death is a bit different here than home; I'll keep it in mind.

[ This is, notably, not an introduction given in exchange. She'll have to forgive him the impoliteness. ]

[She will accept that, if nothing else because... pfhah, mages.]

[She will take the words in consideration, though, noting that in addition to his name he is not doing much to elaborate on his perspective.]

[She will take advantage of this.] That is fine. We all come from different places and backgrounds. I suspect our views differ quite a bit.

[But she won't press because frankly she doesn't really want to know what sort of mentality would make doing this okay.] Thank you for your willingness to respect my wishes. I will also take some time to reflect and discuss this with others, to see whether or not my views are unique when it comes to the remains of the dead.

There is much I have yet to learn. If you will excuse me?

[ This is delightfully formal, and he isn't even mad. Whether or not my views are unique is a hell of a quiet snipe at him, and he lets it pass with good humor. ]

Of course.

[ He lifts a hand in farewell, and turns back to his skeletons. ]

o4 . february catchall

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