RP:Dark Waters and Darker Hearts

From HollowWiki

This is a Necromancer's Guild RP.


Summary: While further investigating and repairing Barnabas Bones’ new ship, the captain, Dyzz, and Celaeno run across some trouble from superstitious folk on the dock.

Fisherman's Wharf

The stone boulders that previously formed the structure jutting out into the ocean quickly give way to a much wider oaken wharf of water-proofed planks and the occasional granite pillar. This spot is as far out to sea as the wharf reaches and has thus become the most popular location for fishermen of both business and pleasure. There are literally dozens of fishermen, some with little wooden boats, and others content to simply cast their rod over the side. Many of those gathered chat amongst themselves amidst the calming sea air, the soothing sounds of the ocean and the salty tang of the seaweed that clings to the pillars of wood and stone that hold the wharf above the sea. To provide to the needs of the fishermen there is a small wooden stall and a merchant pedalling all kinds of useful gear and equipment from rods to small bags of writhing earth worms that can be uses as bait. The only route away from this place is following the stone and wooden structure that winds back towards majestic Cenril in the east.

Celaeno managed a much more focused walk down the wharf, no longer in the inquisitive trance she had sustained since finding the decrepit ship. It may have been quite a walk from the Mage’s Tower in Xalious to the very edge of the main continent, with quite a few misadventures on the way, but it was one she valued to better decipher what runes she could understand in that metal book. Sure, turning the pages made her ears squirm what with the likewise metal nature of her fingers, but a couple swabs of cotton did wonders to muffle that. Her journey found her winding through the usual bustling sailors and fishermen hawking their wares, toward the section where the mystery vessel still floated. She did a once-over of its state of construction before digging into her pack, pulling out the book among the other volumes she kept, and parking cross-legged next to a stack of barrels out of the way of the rest of the traffick, but still within eye-shot of her own quarry’s gangplank.

Dyzz had been working quite hard. Barnabas wanted his ship to be better... so, she worked on it. She went alone to chop down trees, not trusting the lumber available from market, and seasoned it using her own blood and sweat... literally. She treated the wood in such ways to make it match the decrepit rest of the ship in coloration, but made it sturdier, more flexible. She was an old hand at this work, and her bandana bobbing next to the wood she worked was becoming a common sight on Cenril's shores once more. She was known to carve scrimshaw out of bone and ironwood with her fingernails... and was regarded by many as a master craftsman. She also brought totems of wood aboard the ship, featuring marine animals, and took to staring at the front of the ship for long hours, trying to decide on what should guide their path.

Barnabas Bones stood commandingly on the high deck as bodies bustled across it. Many were contracted laborers, and that many avoided the few that appeared to all inquisitive eyes to be thoroughly decomposed. By now, Barnabas had conceded the veil of secrecy that he had initially tried to maintain about the nature of his ship. Too many looky loos and rubber neckers had brought the opposite effect than he had hoped, and yet once the general populace savvy to the rumor mill had learned of the necromantic nature of the ship, the overwhelming majority went out of their way to avoid the vessel and its berth at the docks. Most of the labor on the deck was superficial: scrubbing, washing, sanding and planing. Dyzz was entrusted with the finer crafting, and Barnabas was pleased to see how the troblin and her claws and such made precision tools unnecessary. Saved a bit of coin, that. For now, the sentient ship seemed satisfied with the work being done and no arbitrary reactions had occurred. The pirate's eyes swiveled to the dock as Celaeno's movement caught his attention, while nary another body seemed to brave such nearness to the ghostly ship. A smile could be seen as he descended the gangplank, a single hand lifted to salute the arcane student in greeting. "Oi, Celaeno," hailed Barnabas. "Ye make any sense o' those symbols yet?"

Celaeno, unlike usual, didn’t even glance up at Barnabas upon his approach. Instead, she set the book open on one knee and dug around in her pack, deeper for a couple other volumes. A Minor Book of the Dead and worn volume about the other Classical Runic Alphabet were pulled out and stacked on her other knee. Sea spray washed over her, dampening her robes and making small icy spots as her robe blew against her shirt, but she had a frustrated frown on her face as she finished situating herself. “Aside from the obvious, no, not yet. But I’ve only gone through with one alphabet. The writer or writers did not prefer it, so I have to turn to a different one. And I’ve run across a few basic symbols when it comes to the sections detailing the dark magic attached to it and how it works, but not enough to make sense. So help me, if I have to access any restricted sections of the Black Library to finish translating this, I will quite possibly have to teach myself how to summon this practitioner’s or these practitioners’ spirits and ask them what’s going on.” Evidently, her initial perusal of the book hadn’t been all that fruitful. When she does ultimately remember her manners and glance up at Barnabas, he might notice her eyes seemed a tad more sunken than those mere dark circles, cheekbones ever so slightly more defined. Perhaps sleep hadn’t been coming well, or had been abandoned all together? The usual dark auras floated about her, however, not having changed between this and her last meeting with the Troblin and the Pirate. Dyzz’s pensive stares off the front like she had placed herself as the figurehead does catch the half-elf’s attention out of the corner of her eye as she squints up from the dock that far away, even as the workers bustle behind the tiny woman. Despite her initial bad first impression, the fact the odd blue lady seemed to have a good impression of what was going on during her episode last they met had eaten at her. A mystery that needed solving.

Dyzz was startled out of her reverie when she was brushed quite rudely by a craftsman. One that obviously didn't know her reputation. The words he mumbled were unlikely to be heard by Barnabas and Celaeno over the wind, but Dyzz had a front row seat. After a very short scuffle, Dyzz had the man dangling from her spear, hooked through his shirt, over the side of the ship. The display of strength to hold the struggling man with one hand, effortlessly, from the end of Gae Bolg's, a decent 5 foot javelin, was all any of his friends needed to see to know not to rush to his aid. Dyzz was breathing, heavily. Whatever he'd said, he'd roused a beast in her, and she was holding herself back from doing more than tossing him into the water. Without intervention, the man wailing for his life might die.

Barnabas came to stand on the dock with the air of a business man, and one who anticipated their endeavors to take shape very soon. He was not surprised that decrypting the tome proved initially difficult, but he nodded as if it were revelatory news. It was actually encouraging to know that at least a handful of symbols appeared familiar. More concerning to the pirate, as written by the tight line drawn in place of his smile, was the very apparent fatigue that wore deeply into Celaeno's face. He almost made mention of it -rather hypocritically, really, since Barnabas had found it damn near impossible, himself, to sleep with the new resident voices of the dead in his mind- but the desperate cries of the suspended laborer cut that short. "Somebody - HAAYYLP!" pleaded the man as he looked across the decrepit hull and down at the waves from the business end of Dyzz's javelin. The gaps in the ship belied nightmarish threats that summoned piteous emotions in the man's voice. Tentacles and eyes threatened to take him before the waves could, should Dyzz send him plummeting. Barnabas craned his neck to observe this, and gave a sigh. Dyzz had been working fervently on the ship the last few days, and her mood had been growing testier as well. As such, he was quite sure that this laborer was deserving such a fright for whatever uncouth thing he foolishly uttered her way. Barnabas had come to trust the troblin's often premonitory wisdom. While staring on at the scene, he continued, as did the other living bodies that scrubbed but looked onward with no intention of interceding. "Summon th'practitioners?" he asked, as if the idea hadn't yet occurred to him. "Not a terrible idea -jus' know 'at the beings bound t'this ship have a great hate in their hearts." His warning was distant, as he tried to think past the cacophany of voices that assailed him in his mind. "An' know, also: if finances would facilitate yer study, I've no qualms with fundin' the research...I know those old mages get finnicky 'bout sharing sometimes." Barnabas' eyes never left the dangling laborer, not entirely displeased with the excitement.

Celaeno, at first, had no qualms about leaving Dyzz to deciding the man’s fate. In her mind, the man probably deserved it as well and she didn’t know or trust Barnabas’ troblin companion nearly as well as he did. Regardless, such was none of her business, and unfortunately, she thought as much to the single dead presence inside her mind still full of self-righteous morals. This wasn’t apparent at first, as the budding necromancer sighed and nodded her head. “Better to try that as a last resort, something to try when I have advanced more. As for the mages, every other library has been quite welcoming, so far. It’s refreshing in fact. The only one that could possibly help with all of these necromantic notes, however, isn’t restricted on account of an ancient elitist. No, he seemed rather young when I met him, and claims to be reasonable while not showing anything to the contrary just yet. However, more advanced things are barred until I have risen to handle them.” There was one way she could perhaps decipher them faster but...then a rather nasty tirade squeals through her mind, making her groan and hold her head. One part of it was pointed toward that sailor and she huffs as she sets her book aside, muttering to herself, “Fiddlesticks, fine! I just set up too…” She proceeds to carefully stack those tomes and set them back into her pack. A quick apologetic glance is thrown toward the pirate, an eerie imitation of when they first met as she hikes the thing back on her shoulders with a grunt. “Shall we put a pin in this discussion?” She wobbles a moment as she glances toward the wailing sailor and gulps as she balances her way across the gangplank, apparently in Dyzz’s direction to obey the demands of the pernicious presence in her mind. “Ah, Miss Dyzz, was it? Would you mind putting the lummox down on solid ground so we may converse a moment? He is rather loud, isn’t he hanging there like that? And I’m sure he’s learned his lesson and will get back to work straight away.”

Dyzz looked at Celaeno when she spoke, and blinked several times, as though, perhaps, unsure of who she was. Then, she grunted, and set the man down on the deck, ignoring him as he scrambled away. It was a moment before she spoke, still. "Too many voices." She finally said. "All of us, voices in us heads. You, Dyzz. Cap'n. The ship brings them out, calls to them. It hurts. Jacoby stirs." Along with her entire ancestry. Even Bones didn't have the cacaphony in his head that she did... though she'd had a lifetime to adapt, and even a time of endless time in a deities limbo. She'd managed to avoid insanity then, at least, a permanent impression of it, and she'd survive this as well. She sat on the rail, with a wistful sigh. "What can Dyzz help with?" She seemed uniquely vulnerable in the moment, shoulders cast down, expression to the deck. Whatever he'd said, hit more than an angry nerve.

Barnabas trailed a few steps behind Celaeno as the researcher neared the ruckus in an effort to diffuse it. As a Captain as well as a hopeful friend of the two, strange as that aspiration would be for such a misanthropic man, he was quite interested in the dynamic interaction on deck. The man fell to his hands and knees as he was returned to the security of the deck boards, and he scurried to his feet and made an effort to escape the frightening situation. This brought him past Barnabas, who spun and planted a firm toe upon his rear as if to encourage his swift evanescence, and one, certainly, without wages. The man didn't bother to offer a rebuttal, and simply ran all the faster to the boardwalk and beyond. Dyzz's deflated demeanour struck the pirate, having grown somewhat accustomed to the motherly encouragements of the troblin and her persistent optimism. "Aye," he confirmed ruefully as Dyzz mentioned the burden of disembodied voices, something he had yet to become even near to comfortable with. He felt their restlessness, their hatred and he had to resist the urge to assume ownership of that animosity himself. The mental intonation of Selene, the goddess of the sea, seemed to be somewhat effective at quieting this. "The figurehead," interrupted the pirate in a mildly absent way as he indicated past where Dyzz perched to the bowspirit. "It might be proper t'fashion the likeness of Selene. I think the, err, crew might be fond ovvit." His apprehensive tone seemed to indicate his own sympathies for waiving the craftsmanship of the animalistic figures Dyzz had already carved. The pirate's solemn tone and expression spoke volumes towards his feelings of responsibility for bringing the stress of this cryptic ship into both Dyzz and Celaeno's life. "Yer doin' a fine job, I'd like to say, Dyzz. Yer woodworking skills are quite commendable."

Celaeno, little did Barnabas know, was using the ship as a welcome distraction. As soon as she made her way onto the ship proper, wobbling here and there with her imagined memories of it bobbing back and forth, she made her way to Dyzz with a light sheen of sweat breaking out across her face and neck as she glanced toward the edge and all that water over the horizon. At least her own personal phantom seemed to calm with the presence of all that well brined wood and salty air, despite the undercurrent of rot that all necrotic influence seemed to have. When she finally reaches the diminutive ‘brute’ turned handy shipwright, she looks over the carved animals with eyebrows up as her opinion shifted, albeit subtly at first. “Oh my, you did those? They are lovely.” She plops atop the deck, folding her knees to attempt making it look natural as opposed to the cause being vertigo. Barnabas is examined further at his admission of having spirits somewhere inside his person and her eyes narrow toward him with renewed interest. But her task was the petite lady who had saved her life. “I...ah…oh don’t worry about that, from me, at least. Mine actually likes the ship very much, always an aspiring adventurer. you can sense those sorts of things? And you have those sorts of things?” She pauses, waiting for the voice who had demanded her go there to speak up with ideas of what else to say, about why she had come up. Nothing. “I thought we should be introduced properly. I was...rude the first time because of being startled and such.” She extends her hand in the form of a customary shake, “I’m Celaeno. Please do be careful with the hands, they’re hollow inside and strong but I suspect you’re mightier than you appear and could possibly dent them.” An apology, perhaps? Barnabas is examined further at his admission of having spirits somewhere inside his person and her eyes narrow toward him with renewed interest.

Dyzz watched the man leave, grateful that he was gone before she could be pushed to... real violence. The way she watched him go was far too predatory, and in no way reminiscent of Martuld's habits. It was Jacoby that was the dangerous one. She gave a sad little smile to Celaeno. "Dyzz is... savant. Very good at some craft, but not has magic, despite be red eye goblin. Talk to spirits, yes, because Dyzz is awaken. All ancestors, far, far back, Dyzz hear them, always. Has since was little. One very dangerous, made this javelin. It is Gae Bolg. He was troll headhunter, Jacoby. He could kill anything mortal, and many things what weren't. He too powerful, possess Dyzz sometime. Especially if Dyzz let Dyzz get too hungry. If Dyzz quiet, not talk, look too serious, and like bloodthirsty... leave Dyzz alone. Never talk to Dyzz like this, never, NEVER, touch Dyzz like this. This is Jacoby, and he will kill anyone." She didn't usually have to give such a warning, but the ship made her ancestors stronger within her, made her unpredictable. She went to one of her totems, a six foot tall affair with a manatee stacked upon the likeness of a seal, stacked upon a walrus. "This totem keep crew warm in cold waters, keep crew resilient. Even dead crew, help ship be fast." Her totems would extend their blessings to all allies, of course. "If Selene is it, Dyzz make. Can no bind spirits to, though. Must bless proper, with priest or shaman." She wasn't sure if she was talking to Celaeno or Barns in the moment, her mind a bit gone from her as it traveled the byways of memories not her own. It was so hard to focus, now... she'd been rattled as her inferiority complex surfaced. "Spirits speak to Dyzz, yes. Can hear them loud." She didn't take Celaeno's hand for a shake, instead rubbing her own together, feeling them carefully. She was afraid to touch anyone at the moment.

Barnabas absently rubbed at his forearms beneath the frilled cuffs of his fanciful white shirt as he listened to Dyzz expound on her demons. By now, the pirate had come to assume the blue skinned shaman was host to an array of spirits, a go-between as it were, but until today he never felt disconcerted about it. Now, listening to her describe the violent nature of Jacoby, he considered carefully the very real prospect of having a randomly rabid first mate. At least Dyzz seemed aware enough of this danger to caution Celaeno and him. Before he could further inquire about the specific voices she heard, though, and what it meant for the daily affairs of the ship, Barnabas found himself being illuminated on the blessings of the various totems. The freak amalgamation of sea mammals received an especially appreciative eye. "Indeed," agreed the pirate once Dyzz mentioned the need for a proper delegate of Selene to bestow her blessing upon the ship. "Fixin' to take meself a visit to a priest." He paused. These were words he found alien to say, but were nonetheless spoken with genuine purpose. It had kept him up at night, almost as effectively as the chidings of the undead ship and crew did, this sense of calling to Selene's temple. Markedly less so was he called to the deity commonly personified as her husband, Zaytor, whose temple was significantly more opulent and easier to access. On the docks below, a scene was beginning to unravel. The violently dismissed laborer had returned with a few sympathetic sets of ears, and the handful of dockworkers bunched up beside the ship. "It's a blasphemous ship, I say! We're all cursed until it leaves port!" The man and his compatriots seemed to be taking the nature of the ship quite personally. Barnabas cast a glance over the gunnels, acknowledging the potential for future conflict, but showing little concern for the affair at present. Instead, he looked back to Celaeno's tired features, allowing the protest to continue barking over the waves. "Celaeno 'ere says she might 'ave a shot at decipherin' that funny book...looks like she's been workin' at it pretty powerful, too."

Celaeno’s interest seemed to shift from polite obligation to genuine, wide-eyed interest despite the dangers Dyzz described. She withdraws her hand, tucking both into her sleeves. And that’s when the tirade started again in her own head, making her wince for how loud it was. “That’s fascinating, actually. You were born with such abilities? Binding spirits as well as have multiples of them possess you? Unless I understood you wrong…” She waits, glancing toward the totem that Dyzz spoke of with the large, blubbery animals she had never laid eyes on. “That seems far more beneficial than a goddess of sort. They’re more unique as well. Fitting for a ship of this nature.” Regardless of her irreverent attitude, her pointed ears perk as the commotion from below reaches them. “Given enough time, that’s certainly possible. I am unfortunately spread rather thin, what with my studies and research into things so I might help a friend. And...what could perhaps be causing my wits to abandon me for certain periods.” Her gauntlets clench under her robe sleeves with a high squeal coming from their stiff joints and her teeth grind together. It was almost as if the voices of the disgruntled sailors matched the plethora of angry slurs running through her mind. Her teeth grind together with obvious frustration. “Please tell me this vessel has cannons for that rabble…”

Barnabas cringed more at the squealing of metal than at the rabble ashore. Celaeno's request was met with a quick chuckle, though. "Unfortunately," he lamented as he looked back out to the irate and superstitious handful of sailors, "ain't fitted nothin' on acc--bloody hell!" The captain cut short, his neck snapping a double-take upon the marina docks to the movement that interrupted him. A crimson tentacle of nightmarishly giant proportions curled out from somewhere, somewhere below the deck line, and coiled about the very dockhand that had just a few moments ago been dangled upside down over the water. His conversarion was cut short even quicker than Barnabas' was as he found himself in another upside-down predicament. He hung over the dock for a second, and then the massive tentacle snapped back to its recesses -whether that was the very hull of the ship or the waters below was difficult to ascertain. Barnabas blinked a few times, leaning out at the rail and peering over, looking back to where the vanished man was just standing. His small company of friends were profoundly routed, having dove, scurried, or dashed away accordingly when the giant appendage first appeared. "I'll be a frog's uncle..." muttered Barnabas, still pressing against the rail. He tossed an eye back to Celaeno and Dyzz as if to silently test their witness to the sudden event. At least one of them seemed to have missed it, and Barnabas briefly hoped his inclination towards a divine effigy hadn't offended Dyzz. "Any scribbles innat book wot's like a doodle ovvan octopus?!" asked, no, exclaimed Barnabas, the words tumbling out in his excitement. He obviously found the ship as much a quandry as Celaeno must have found the archaic tome, and he seemed unnerved to suspect there might be some hungry leviathan residing in the ship's hold.

Celaeno actually grinned a little, a macabre expression for a girl of her age as she pats the deck under her. “Well aren’t you a sweet one. Ah! Oh for the love…” She holds her head, swatting it a little as her spirit goes a bit overboard. “He wasn’t nice, he was going to hurt us if he got the chance,” she muttered, rationalizing to whatever presence was stuck in there, talking back? She sighs as she looks through her pack and pulls out the metal book, wincing a little as her fingers scraped against as that as well, reminding her of another enchantment she had to perform as she flips through the stiff pages. Octopus? Tentacles? Sea monster? “Perhaps it’s a good idea to sail out of this particular port? So as not to cause anymore...casualties. Up to you really. I imagine there will be a riot once word of this breaks out. I’d hate for a mob to damage your prize either after you and Miss Dyzz have worked so hard on restoring her.”

Barnabas craned his neck curiously for the brief lapse while Celaeno seemed to rationalize some traumatic incident with, well, that was the curious part. It seemed this ship attracted or magnified madness in folks. Barnabas certainly felt like he was going mad, and at an increasing pace, though he did remarkably well at not letting it chisel his demeanour. "Leave port?" he parroted suddenly, glancing over the deck where about a dozen of Cenril's laborers worked among four, less energetic, undead crew members, their faces wrapped tight in old linens. A glance to Dyzz as she poured over bringing life to her carvings, too, was given before Barnabas conceded the point. Attention meant trouble, and it was inevitable -even if it was unlikely that Cenril would rally a proper investigation any time soon. More likely a mob. With the adroitness of an acrobat, Barnabas swung up from the knotted hemp sheathing that netted either side of the foremast, touched off from the railing, and landed upon bended knees on the dock. A few circles of his arms unwound the ropes from the moorings, all three, and he dashed up the gangplank, kicked it aside and into the water, all with the ease that only a pirate many times in such a haste could maintain. The sails, tattered as they were, remained furled, and yet the laborer's looked up in great shock as the ship began to lurch forward. More than a lurch, really; there was enough slack action to send even the experienced Barnabas rolling backwards from where he stood after disposing of the heavy oak plank. He rolled to his feet, cursing, and picked his hat up from where it fell to the deck. The Cenril citizens contracted to install the new deckboards stared back at their hometown in disbelief -disbelief that they were now on a compulsory ghost ship tour, and disbelief in the actual physics of it all. Forget that the ship shouldn't have been floating without constant pumping and twisting of the capstan -they had never seen, let alone felt, a ship take to motion like that without a breath of wind in its sails. They regained their footing and began unanimously petitioning Barnabas to let them ashore in one great collective roar. Barnabas casually waved his hat in the air towards them. "Never ye mind, lads, ye'll be 'ome afore ye know it! An' ye'll be gettin' sailors' wages atop yer carpenters', without liftin' another finger about it! Just keep fittin' them boards now, boys, I don't want t'ear another fuss about it!" Maybe it was Barnabas' commanding tone, maybe it was the terrifying and mysterious nature of the ship, or maybe it was the promise of more than doubled wages to take home to their families, but one in all the men resumed their labors. "Ye alright, Miss Celaeno?" Barnabas would call towards the fore of the deck as he walked back towards where they had spoken. I 'ope ye aren't bein' torn from business thataway...there's a quiet cove across the channel that I'd been fond of years past...ye can get to Rynvale proper from there without much ado. I've proper papers o' salvage from Cenril's 'arbormaster, but yer right. I ain't ready to be stirrin' up a fuss with this floatin' mess yet." Floating it was, indeed, but messily it was not. The ship launched over the waves as if synced to Barnabas' mental will from the moment it left its slip in Cenril. The weather was fair, but the wind was much too light for any of the fishing ships that speckled the coast to even dream of matching its wake. Celaeno could tell, maybe, that some piece of that vanished laborer's lifeforce fueled the magic that propelled the ship now, magic that was waning and weak for having been dormant so long. No, not waning, but hungry. Weak from hunger.