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

[ He nods approval as they sit, and leans back to consider the question. ]

Don't we all? As it stands, we're at the mercy of forces we barely have names for. Our hosts love to throw surprise curveballs.

Edited 2022-02-12 05:57 (UTC)

We do. Still, plenty are content to accept what they've been given.

It's strange. You'd think everyone would be tripping on their feet to get home and escape this nightmare world, but I don't get the sense anyone actually wants to leave. [Their opinion on leaving is ambivalent at most. They just don't want to return home.]

Not that that's my own motivation, but I'd have thought it would be a common one.

That's its own set of questions, huh? What home means to us now. They really want to sell us on settling in.

[ He crooks a smile like it's funny, but no warmth reaches his black eyes. ]

[Chara knows how to fake warmth in their brown eyes, but they see no reason to put on such airs for the moment. There is a smile on their face, all the same, but that's a common occurance.]

Yes, it is isn't it? [They steeple their fingers together with a distantly amused hum.]

They don't have to do much seling when they can just reach into our heads, though, do they?

Sure seems to be the case.

[ He gives no indication this is shocking or upsetting, but the set of his smile is wry. ]

But here they are, selling anyway. We've got moving-on rituals and remembering rituals and now, I think, marriages involving a very romantic bloody pulp in a bowl.

Not just marriage, I believe there's an adoption ceremony and a recognition of hostile intent. And a friendship pact designed more like a shackle.

[They're all shackles. At least the hostility bond grants something useful.]

And then there's Mother Mercy. Selling her own cult of shame and repentance, despite being nothing but a fraudulent human apparently.

[No, they don't have a grudge, wdym.]

Now her I find interesting.

[ For no reason whatsoever. ]

Sounds like you're not her biggest fan.

[They shrug.]

No, not particularly. [They're planning to murder her and all her followers, so.] I only know a bit about the woman she was in the dream, but I'm looking to learn more.

Why do you find her interesting?

Sounds like she was a real nasty piece of work, in the dream. Everyone's big villain, everyone's worst nightmare.

[ He wiggles his fingers as though to convey a spooky nightmare. ]

And now here she is, penitent— and willing to forgive anyone, any sin, any crime. There's more going on there, right? I'm not sold.

So magnanimous of her to forgive so easily. [There's a sneer behind Chara's words. They may have had a confession forced out of them. Or two.]

If she were really penitent, she'd tie cinderblocks to her ankles and throw herself into the ocean. No, she's still working a self-serving angle. She wouldn't be lying about who she was if she was telling the truth about her motives.

Any theories?

[ This is a truly incredible degree of bitterness from a kid who looks all of nine years old. ]

I haven't had the pleasure of a conversation yet, so I'm running on secondhand info here.

[Rude.

They could lie and say it's the LOVE or the looping that made them this way, but no they were always this salty.]

I wasn't here for the dream, not this itertion of me, anyway. I know there was another version of me around, and I know they had a personal vendetta against this woman.

People don't falsely declare themselves a god unless they want to achieve that status in actuality. She's amassing a cult of misguided followers, and from there probably plans to take back control somehow.

[ John Gaius thinks he should win awards for his poker face, actually. There's only a flicker: something tired, something wryly amused. He raises a hand to rub at the worry lines between his eyes. ]

You think she's setting up to attack and dethrone the actual Patrons. Get her status back. To what end, though? I never had a good picture of what she wanted.

[ This is a lie. What she wanted has always seemed clear: to burn down everything that fucked up her tidy little world. He can relate. ]

[Chara notices. Interesting.]

Why does anyone seek out power? There doesn't have to even be a reason, a lot of the time. They'll seek out power because they can, and thus, they have to. [It's why Chara exists, after-all, the compulsive need to see those numbers grow. To get stronger.]

But if I had to guess at what makes that woman tick? I'd say revenge.

There's always revenge.

[ He says it with amusement; he means it with genuine respect. ]

Against the Sleepers? Or the Pthumerians backing 'em?

[In contrast, Chara's lip is curled in a way that subtly points to the sheer level of their disdain.]

I'd have to do more research to decide. But probably both if I had to guess.

If you turn up anything interesting, let me know. I'd love to have a better idea of what makes our local gods— and, sure, would-be gods— do what they do.

[ He thinks he is very funny. He says, played up like a big secret: ]

I can trade you theories about squid.

Oh? Well, I was going to inquire on learning more about blood magic, but now my interest is piqued.

Are we sure there's a difference?

[ He cracks a faint smile again. ]

Though if you're more interested in the practical application than the metaphysics, I can appreciate that. You be my informant on all things gods, and I'll talk about how to move blood around.

[They hum. Six months of research and this guy hadn't even found out about Mother Mercy what a few trips to Vira-Lorr's taught Chara.

They don't buy that. It was a test of some kind, and Chara can't honestly tell whether they passed or failed.]

I'm amicable to these terms, yes. Though I don't turn my nose up at the theoretical either.

[The 'theoretical' is the purpose of their existence, after-all.]

We'll do a bit of both, then. That suits well enough, since I'm looking into the connections: blood powers to squid, everything in between.

[ He sits back in his chair to settle a hand upon his stack of books. ]

You can usually find me here.

It's a deal.

[With a demon, if you will.]

I'm usually here or at the Leviathan camp.

o4 . february catchall

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cw for suicide mention

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