RP:La Mantra Mori

Part of the Laugh Now, Cry Later Arc

Part of the The God of Undeath Arc

Part of the On Stranger Tides Arc

Summary: Strange horrors await for Valrae, Lanlan, Jaxson, and Khitti as they seek out the Sullen Siren, the ship where Cenril's zombie plague originated.

The Wharf, Cenril

Valrae || Late spring in Cenril usually brought crowds to the beaches, full of families and young lovers, eager to soak in the sun before the heat of summer brought sun burns and sweat that attracted clinging sand and buzzing flies. Now, the beaches were empty but for the most stubborn tourists and natives. Even still, they were wrapped up tightly against the endlessly cold wind that buffeted off of the choppy, endlessly churning waters of the ocean beyond. The sun was sinking low on the horizon, it sat atop the dark water and seemed to almost float there, a hazy blot of orange and yellow light. The sky was clear and empty, blue fading to pinks and purples behind the barrier of witchlight that glimmered overhead. Valrae arrived early, for what might be the first time in any of her lives, and waited by the docks. She’d had the foresight to braid her long hair back but wayward strands near her temples and forehead had already broken free in the relentless wind. She’d also worn tight fitting leather breeches and a tunic the color of moss underneath her white cloak. Her boots were sturdy and tall, even if she’d been unable to resist going for a narrow heel. Val had sent letters out immediately after her discussion with Lanlan at the Mage’s Tower. The witch had given a brief summary of their conversation about looking for a solution to Caluss’s wind and had requested aid in searching whatever remained of the cursed, blackened ship that still floated somewhere in Cenril’s waters. So she waited now, hopeful that some that she’d called on might show.

Valrae || The witch wasn’t waiting alone. The money that paid for the small ship they would be taking had come from Hudson, her secret benefactor, and he wouldn’t have allowed her to sail off alone. Two men were with her, the usual suspects lately, and one of them stood close holding her bag. She’d switched out her large purse for a sturdier, leather backpack. It held her wand, the emerald skull, and a few other tricks she’d thrown in to keep on standby in case things got messy. The other was talking to the captain and explaining exactly where they would be heading too. The conversation didn’t seem to be going well. She turned back to narrow her eyes at the caption and her guard, trying to pick out words from the raised voices, but gave up quickly. He’d take them, the money Hudson had paid them would convince him no matter how ill fated the old fisherman seemed to believe the journey to be. Even if the sinking feeling in the witch’s chest seemed to echo in agreement.

Jaxson Ravencroft had received yet another letter from Valrae, two in roughly about a week, asking him once more to venture forth from the manor in which he calls home and away from his ever-increasing training regimen to accompany her on a voyage. Naturally the woman was smart of leave out key details, but also include enough to relay the importance of this trek. So it was with that in mind that the man got himself ready and strolled down to the beach to find the Red Witch. They haven’t seen one another since the event with the lanterns in Gualon, but as ever does seeing her make a smile form upon his lips as he quickly, and quietly, finds a spot by her side. Well, if her bodyguards will allow it. He does tend to forget the woman is a political figure. Either way, the man will greet the witch with a knowing nod, before simply watching her go about making sure things are ready. They’ll have time to chit chat once on board, he assumes.

Khitti || “I won’t be gone long,” Khitti told her assistant Camina as she shoved various things into her black satchel, grabbed both her gladius and her harpe, and kissed Dominic and Lucien goodnight. “Tell Brand not to wait up for me. He knows the drill.” She made her way through the halls of the Tranquility, and eventually off the gangplank, then headed down the wharf to the ship that had been chosen for them. Before all of this, before she’d prepared herself to leave, she’d done another of her daily tarot readings. It had been… blank? She’d stared at the card in confusion, shoved the card back into the deck, looked at the entire deck itself to make sure there hadn’t been some weird blank ones that had been added in by Brand or something, and every single one of them were normal. So she’d shuffled again, and redrawn. Blank. And shuffled, redrawn, blank. “WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN?!” Well, there was no time to think about it beyond that, unfortunately, and even now as she boarded the other ship, the irritation was as plain as day on her face. She’d give Valrae a quiet nod, and merely eyed Jaxson for a moment, before finding a spot to brood for a bit and stare at the ocean.

Trajek || Tales were passed along from sailor to sailor, a chant that spoke of good tidings and quiet evenings; red skies at night, the sailor's delight. But even the blind, the dumbed, the dead that crewed ships in memories and all else could see the favor was not theirs this evening. Wind blew, and the seas chopped against it, the waves pushing against the blow as much as were its servants. A maelstrom of motion, of dark waters and the depths churning, yet even in the middle of such a tempest there was a single blot. Upon the waves but not of them, it was motionless, still, a reflection of the darkened depths and tormented skies. Those who felt the cold needed only turn turn in the direction the wind blew, yet those who were drawn to magic would see a world bound. Strands, the faintest of blackness, criss-crossed high above head. Some twisted into tangles, while others held firm and true, they crossed wind and wave and beach. Even in the bedlam, a direction could be discerned --- each strand pulsed as though it took a breath, the concentration of color that passed along each strand was chased from the ship onto the land, and, if one were close, into one of feral zombies, throwing its calm wanderings into the wild thrashings of their noteworthy rage. If a destination was needed, one only needed to look up, to see the riotous webbing held aloft by cold wind and the pulses that tensed them. Orange skies shot through with poisoned veins to those so inclined to see. It was not an evening for sailors.

Valrae greeted Jaxson with a bright smile and a quick side hug. “You came!” She said to him by way of greeting for the second time in too few days. She shouldn’t have been so surprised. “It’s good to see you.” His presence helped steady the unease that crawled along her skin. Her guard stepped back, joining the other after giving Jax a curt nod. She’d greeted Khitti just as happily, though backed off more quickly to allow her space to work through whatever it was that clearly troubled her. Valrae would have to ask later. Her smile falters at the appearance of two, and not just the one that she already struggled to keep up with, Lanlans. “Good to see you… Both?” She says, interrupting his introduction. When it was clear that everyone who was willing to go on this journey into the unknown had arrived, the captain ushered them all onto the ship and disappeared to set sail. As they boarded, Val leaned close to Lanlan and whispered, “What is with the double vision?” Valrae had taken her bag back from her guard and pulled it onto one shoulder, wrinkling her nose against the weight of it.The witch had always had a problem with sea sickness and it wasn’t long before the ship set out into the growing night that her skin became damp with sweat. “Oh, I had forgotten how much I hate this,” She said to Jaxson, having moved close to him again, her face pale as the floor creaked and swayed beneath them. The sun had been swallowed by the sea by the time they neared the Sullen Siren. Without the lights and noise of Cenril, the darkness on the open waters was absolute. Valrae felt as if they were gliding into nothingness, doomed to an eternity of black, and she could feel the anxiety closing around her throat. Her breathing became heavy, hitching like a sob when the first strand of black magic became clear to them. The wind howled now, loud and eerily similar to the sounds of wailing and suffering, and her braid snapped behind her like a wip. Her eyes struggled to see and her mind struggled to comprehend what it was that they saw as the Sullen Sire came into full view. Her breath came out in a single hiss as she cursed, looking toward Lan in the low light of the ship. She didn’t say anything to him at all, but even in the dark he might have read the dread in her eyes. They had been right. Their own ship came alive with movement, the crew working in silence to prepare for what came next. Valrae pulled the wand from her bag, reading herself to cross over the black water and into the stinking ship of the undead.

The Sullen Siren, Somewhere In Cenrilian Waters

Trajek || The ship was in relatively good order considering all that it had been through recently. Fire, sinking, the crushing weight of the ocean depths. But even with all those trials, the crew that manned it went on about their tasks as were expected. Sailors, little more than tattered clothing and putrid flesh, were on their wrist-bones and knee-bones, their rhythmic scrapping of bars and rocks matching the pops, sputterings, and gurlings of what could have been a song, had it not been thrown up from rotted lungs in cadaverous chests amplified by throats that had long since been shredded by crab on the sea floor. But attend to the task they did, whether it was the scrapping of the deck, the climbing---albeit only the first rung of the rotted rope as the others had long since fallen away----and even the pipping and patching of holes with blackened, foul smelling bitumen. But even among the din of a fully crewed deck, between the cracks of splintering wood, words could be discerned. Screamed words, yelled at the top of lungs that had long been burned hoarse by diligence, duty, and madness. Through open holes, up rotted stairs, the yells came from below deck, where a gallery would be found.

Jaxson takes up a vigil as a stalwart figure in contrast to Valrae’s disfavor of sea voyage, for the man finds himself at home in the waves, even though they are unnaturally rough and an ominous presence lingers within the depths and air. Yes, a smile will be offered to Val as she shows her gratitude for his presence, and the man makes sure to return such words with “Of course, I am always at your call.” Before his gaze sweeps out to take in the forsaken sights they all now sail into. Khitti’s presence is something the man expected, they are after all one of the red witch’s closest friends, and yet again the two cross paths with Valrae being the reason. But even so, Khitti is a known force to be reckoned with in these lands and having them in the mix brings a comfort that if anything else, Valrae will be protected. It’s the others that come, or rather the same person but split in two? A curious matter does the Ravencroft heir find this Lanlan figure, but if he is here at the witch’s request then it is for good reason. He trusts her judgement and trust his own skills in combat even more. Speaking of, as they near the ghost ship and its forsaken crew of damned men, the warlock feels that presence he has become aware of calling out to him. Its energy feels angry, the ships’ presence within its domain causing its fury to swell and build. His patron does not appreciate others in her domain. Of course, no one would know the man was having a kind of inner communion with a primordial creature that dwells within the depths of the ocean, but the man’s gaze does settle upon the Sullen Siren with a glare that hints at more than trepidation within his stormy gaze. The smell of ozone seems to build around him, more so from the wrath of that which he draws his powers from more than him, but as her vessel, the Ravencroft heir often finds he has little control over when she decides to channel through him. Hoping this doesn’t draw too much attention to himself, the man will simply ready himself for what may come as the somber tones of the undead crew’s attempts at reciting the sea shanties of their former life fill the air with even more gloom. “This isn’t right…” says the warlock, more to himself but loud enough for others to hear. “These souls should have been claimed by the sea… and the sea isn’t happy about being denying its bounty…”

Khitti grabbed hold of the railing on the starboard side of the ship, strangling it a little, her rage peeking through. After a moment, she sighed and told herself to suck it up and eventually joined the other three (er, four), her face void of that irritation that had been there not long ago. Her stomach turned into a tempest as they got closer to the haunted ship, the souls silently called out to her, just like the ones in the Demon Archipelago two years ago. Something deep within her cried out in return, yearning to free them, and yet she was forced to do nothing about it for now. The redhead reached into her bag and pulled out her planisphere, tossing it lightly into the air to allow it to float nearby her for future use. Valrae’s predicament had not gone unnoticed and once she was finished dealing with her light magic implement, Khitti placed a hand on the Red Witch’s shoulder. A soothing, warm feeling would overtake the witch if she allowed it, her apprentice’s light magic seeking to course through the woman’s body and settle her seasickness and her nerves. Her hand would soon remove itself, tiny glittery star-like remnants of that magic following in its wake as the hand returned to her side. “Be wary of everything. Even the ship itself,” she said at length, as she removed her swords from their place on her back, the harpe, Sol, alighting with her shimmery light magic, while the gladius Embershard erupted into a magical harmony of the lesser black tides (shadows, her purple shadowflames, and the grey shadow-ice). “Death can leave an imprint in inanimate objects. Like memories. And there’s nothing good about the memories with this ship.”

Lanlan was insulted immediately by Valrae, which was extremely typical. Of course in the company of strangers he remained graceful. He looks at her, smile never fading, mouth never moving, yet she would hear his disembodied. “Isn’t it obvious? You brought fodder, so did I.” He smiles near manically at Jaxson and Valrae’s other manservants. To Khitti he is a bit standoffish toward. Their last interaction was somewhat tense, and though they were successful in committing their atrocity, he wasn’t sure how much bad feelings would persist. It was safer to assume the maximum amount. Luckily, that concern soon became buried under more urgent ones. Darkness consumed them almost entirely. But Lanlan’s eyes glowed defiantly red against the blackness. “It’s just darkness,” Lanlan said to no one in particular. “Weak things think they can hide in it.” He sounded so sure and confident, but he was gripping his sturdy glamoured-up double with one hand and forcing a dimple into the planks with his cane using his other. Then he detected the subtle scent of ozone…and instantly became agitated. “Who’s doing that,” he demanded, as he looked to each person aboard the ship with acute and near-anguished scrutiny. He hardly knew what any of them were capable of he realized, but none of them seemed to be concerned with him. His consternation for that faded. Still, his optimism (or the illusion of it) was vanished, and even if they couldn’t see him doing it, Lanlan glowered at Khitti and Jaxson. “I don’t know if you realize how much you scare Valrae and the rest of the crew when you say such unnerving things.”

Valrae could feel the baby hairs on the back of her neck stand suddenly and her eyes move to Jaxson. She’d felt magic before but the energy pulsing from him felt unfamiliar, unknown. His face seemed dark, almost angry, and a curiosity bubbled through her fear for a moment. She reaches out, brushing her hand against his for a moment before turning her face back out to the Siren while replying, “We’ll give them a merciful death.” Her head whips around to look at Lanlan again when he speaks, demanding as always. She frowns at him. “Lan…” The glossy ashwood of her wand felt slick in her sweating hand. It shook with the witch as she trembled, fear crowding her mind even as stubborn resolve kept her moving forward. Her golden brow was furrowed, a line of worry appearing between them and above her slightly rounded nose. The unease and nausea that had wrapped itself around the witch melted away as Khitti’s hand found her shoulder. The magic she offered sank done deep, giving her nearly instant relief. Valrae gives the redhead a small smile of gratitude, nodding seriously as she warns them all to be careful of even the ship. She could hear the movements of it and the strangeness of that sent a prickle of unease along her spine. Her frown for Lanlan turns to a look of incredulousness for his next statement. Even if he spoke the truth about her fear, she wouldn’t agree with him. “I’m made of sterner stuff, Sublime Master.” His formal title rolls off of her tongue like an insult, even as her smile turns teasing. It wasn’t long before it was time to lead them over the endlessly swaying black ocean below. Her stomach rolled as she did, her knees weak and her progress slow as her cloak snapped in the wind behind her. Val regretted wearing heels now. When her feet landed on the black deck of the Siren, no feelings of relief or safety followed. Memories of the night she’d first boarded the ship swamped her. The screaming, the crush of bodies as they all fled. Whispering, magic tumbled from her lips and witchlight bloomed at the tip of her wand. Valrae wielded it like a lantern in the dark, searching the ship for the undead that she could hear… and smell. Decay mingled with the acrid tang of what remained after Kasyr’s fire and the rotting brine of the sea. She might have vomited then if not for the light magic Khitti had shared. “We should head below,” Her voice calls softly, nearly carried away by the wind. “That’s where I’m sensing the most magic.”

Trajek || Memories clung to the air, were drawn in with each breath, were layered upon fabric and exposed flesh. Like a film coating an outer layer, the ship infested all who stood upon its decks. Through Lanlan's blackness a new world could be seen; there were no tendrils, no strings, that ran from the sky to the cheery undead crew. Rope, twisted of ether and power, was pulled down, and each undead wore a noose around what little of the necks were left. Some called out to Khitti, pleaing with her to do something, to do anything --- the rope pulled taut, the etheral bodies of their soul were jerked up, and their begging ended in the quiet struggles of a man, a woman, a child, swinging from the gallows. Their spirits quieted soon there after, and the unnatural rope loosened once more. Strangled as they were, so was the ship; bound by similar magics, its essence shot through with both twine and rod; a structure, a permenance, that spat in the face of Jaxson's patron as it, if nothing else, held back what powers the Deep could muster. Valrae was right, though it did not take a master of Sublime or any other magics to see that. All you need do is listen for the words. "Yes. You. You. Yes. You have some? A ring? A necklace! You! A bangle? A belt! Someone -raise!-" The below decks were like any other, though there would be times the group would have to make way as a corpse rumbled the word to pass through the passageway. But what they could come upon at the gallery, with the slightest push of the door, was...awe inspiring. Gone were the degredation and deprecation of the ship; the room glowed with its own gold light, cast from orbs that hung from the ceiling and pushed from high alcoves. Rows upon rows, seats upon seats, cut by the finest lathes wielded by the steadiest of hands. Hardwoods, soft woods, woods that bore the most oppulence of fragrances only matched by the heady aroma of warmed wines and fairest foods that rose from seats, from carts, and from the carpeted floor. Items lined the walls, each with tags marked with gold, each bearing the names of bidders and what had one them the bid --- and in the seats were those few. Corpses. Some sitting tall, though their height ended at the horizontal cut across their neck, their heads long since gone. Some raised hands to bid, their hands and forearms missing, at times having little more than the concave openings where arms would have, should have been. None where whole; none where living; none were more than carcasses, barely clothed, their defining features of gender and sex long since removed and gone. There was one who was complete; one who was still human. Standing at the fore, he threw an immaculately gloved hand at a near corpse, his mouth frothing the words more than they were spoken. "You. Yes! You have a bid! Say it, man. Say it! It must be said -aloud-!" There was no mouth; there were no lips, no tongue, no upper jaw. What clattered was merely the lower jaw, what was expelled was the putrid gases of a decomposing stomach. "No, no no! There must be a bid! Someone must bid for the -piece!-" The auctioneer swung around, swinging his hand to the dais, to the figure that knelt upon the unstained, untarnished wood. A man, or what had been a man, fallen forward, his hands gripping gripping the basilik blade, forcing it to pass through his chest and pierce his back. From the wound on his back did the tendrils rise, did the ropes that bound the zombies originate, hundreds upon hundreds, thousands upon thousands, pulled from the wound like webbing. It bore the taste of Caluss, and the memories that poured from the corpse, that bled power into the very room, that kept it whole, was hunger. A ghoul's hunger for flesh.

Jaxson is brought back from the recesses of his mind that seems to be observing the ship and everything about it with a meticulous analytical manner when Valrae’s hand brushes his as they all begin to traverse the ghost ship’s perilous deck. The undead seem lost, as if stuck in time itself, cursed to continue the duties aboard this vessel that they were bound to in life, raising a curious bro from the warlock as he wonders why these creatures don’t even seem to be aware of their presence. Then, Val mention’s they should all head down, and Jax would start to head that way. Khitti’s previous words about death and memories and the foulness about this ship are noted, and heed is taken as the man prepares for a possible situation by planning to call forth the power he can channel if needed. His patron seems almost eager to lash out, wanting to rip this carcass of a ship apart so she can reclaim it once more for the depths. It’s a strain containing such wrath, but the man manages to do just that as they all move forth per the witch’s request. Lanlan was still a mystery, an enigma that tore at the man’s patience with every word that pours from his grey lips. Then Val mentions his title. Sublime Master. Of course, a Mage Guild representative, that made sense. The drow’s spell flows forth and raises the curiosity of the warlock momentarily before they all see the display of twisted visons the ship tries sinking into their minds. The death is one thing, as that was the reason, they were all here and one look at this ship could inform a blind man that horrors untold occurred upon this vessel, even before it met its fate. The twisting nether that is the foul magic that seeps from every plank of wood that keeps this revenant of a ship together looks more like a sickness and is met by the primordial energies that surge forth through the warlock as his patron screams out on protest

Jaxson || The vision of the dead spitting in her face causes the reaction of a roll of thunder starting to build up, as the darkness of the skies seem to churn even more into a chaos as a tempest starts to build forth. “We must hurry with our task…” Mentions the warlock to those gathered. He leaves out that he has no clue how long the wrath of the sea titan can be contained in the presence of such opposing power. Then, the shouting from below catches their attention and soon they all stand before some macabre auction. The stench of death wafts out of the enclosed space, filling the immediate area with the distinct aroma of long sitting death, rot and decay of the foulest nature. Its almost enough to make the man hurl would it not be they were there, and in their defense, prepared for such encounters. Death and the undead have been a plague on Cenril's side for some time now and dealing with such has become far too familiar for many Cenrilians. But as they watch the scene about them unfold, Jaxson feels his patron’s presence clearly. Caluss’ touch can be felt upon everything here now, and in the heart of this ship at this forsaken auction that unfolds before them it is at its strongest. The horrors before them, the touch of undeath brought on upon the great mistake known as Caluss, it all is an affront that his patron screams out within his mind for him to destroy. A deep booming voice, powerful and ancient and only he can hear her screams of rage. If the horrors he sees before him were not bad enough, his own patron may very well shatter his mind if they do not complete what they’ve all set out to do here.

Khitti || “Reality is unnerving. We can’t all live in a world of illusions like you do,” Khitti said through gritted teeth, her grip on her swords tightening as she resisted the urge to chop off both his and his doppleganger’s heads and let his soul join the others. “You know nothing of the dead, and until you do, keep your goddamn mouth shut about it before I shut it for you and let Vakmatharas himself sort you out.” The future leader of the Necromancer’s Guild gave the drow a look of disdain and a shake of her head before turning her attention to the souls that begged her for help. She watched them, watched as their nooses pulled taut as they reached for her, worn boots bringing her just close enough to them that they were barely out of reach on the off chance that they were released to attack. Her olive-green line of sight followed the rope, and then she too followed it to where the auction was being held, her pale lips drawn into a thin line. “And what exactly are we bidding with?” Her words were for the auctioneer, of course. “Gold? Jewels? Souls?” The witch-in-training sheathed her gladius and used the sickle-like end of her harpe to attempt to gather a few of the ropes that held fast the spirits to the ship and merely hold them there. “Seems you’ve a lot of all of those things already.” She lowered her sword and moved closer to where the ghoul knelt with the strange blade in his chest. “And you… I’ve felt your presence before. Somewhere not quite so long ago… though I cannot place it.” Khitti didn’t seem to care if either of them even spoke back to her. “I will figure it out, but for now… You anger the sea, Selene, and likely Vakmatharas himself with your presence and I’m afraid we’ve come to tell you that you’re being evicted. Now, what do you say to that, hm?” The redhead even offered the impaled man a rather polite smile, though it was quite obvious she was provoking it.

Lanlan became chilled into silence as they neared the other ship. It was hardly a thought at this point, to muffle his steps and his breath. Khitti can take it as a victory too, for even though he felt a spiteful urge roil in the nothings of his chest, he suppressed it, and kept quiet as she wished. Then, as if he might’ve somehow forgotten it, he anxiously snaps his fingers to the talisman around his neck. Round, smooth, cork-stoppered. He didn’t need to see it, he recognized it by touch alone. His gris-gris talisman, enchanted to hide him from undead, its power belied by what he considered a primitive appearance. Yes, he was more than familiar with it by now and didn’t need to see it with his eyes to know where it was. But still…he drew up the slack around his neck and looked closely. Yes, he was definitely wearing it. Then he’s led aboard the Sullen Siren by his wooden body double, who wields his cane like a club. It offers its arm out stiffly and Lanlan holds it like a railing as he jumps the gap from one ship to the other. As they creep down below, Valrae is proven to be inevitably and horribly correct; there was magic being done here. Of the most abhorrent kind. It filled him with revulsion; the smell, the look, the disgrace to life that it was. A convention of corpses. Only one of them even seemed complete, the rest were in pieces; scattered and burnt. And that One was demanding a bid? For a sword or the thing that was impaled on it? Both? The important thing is there was something to be won, Lanlan knew he deserved it. He swats his dummy sharply on the back of its head, triggering a complex magical process that causes the dummy to suddenly blurt out in Lanlan’s voice, “Twenty!”

Valrae fought back the horror that rose within her with each passing moment they stood upon the Siren. She’d been lost in a place between life and death before and that feeling rolled over her now in waves, as if she’d been plunged into the black sea and was drowning now in the pain that lingered here. The visions that called to them were haunting, an affront to nature and everything that she held sacred. The natural order of things had been broken here, souls lost and forced into a blasphemous play that mocked both life and true death. Her light floated ahead, revealing more and more of the wicked and unnatural things that lurked here, trapped and forgotten. Bile rose in her throat despite the magic Khitti had spared her. Even still, it was luck and perhaps an omen of darker things to come that their group was allowed passage to the bowels of the ship without violent interruption. She wore her own gris-gris talisman, the twin to Lanlan’s, but did not know if it’s power was what kept them from being attacked or if they were playing into a much darker plot. Jaxson spoke as they neared the center of the ship and could only nod, her own sense of nervousness and desire to be off the ship heightening. Her witchlight blinked out when they entered what was now an auction hall. A gasp fell from her slightly parted lips. For a moment, the lie of the room shone in her eyes. The plushness of the carpet beneath her feet, the smell of wine and food replacing the decay even as rotting corpses sat before them bidding upon whatever damned thing knelt upon the small stage at the front of the room, it all came to life for her for a heartbeat of time. The guards that had been following closely stood near the exit of the room, fear making their eyes bright. Both Lan and the illusion of him was to her left, she watched one of them raise a hand to bid and cursed. It was too late though, there would be no stopping him. Still, “Lan what the-” The auctioneer yelled something loud enough to drown out the end of whatever the witch was saying. But it was Khitti that she should have been worried about. Valrae watched in horror as she spoke to the two men on stage, was even bold enough to reach out and prod at the eerie ropes that rose from the impaled man sickeningly. “Khitti!” She half whispered, taking a few stumbling steps away from Jaxson and forward to join the redhead, afraid to leave her alone so close to the center of whatever was happening on this ship. Valrae gripped her wand so tightly her knuckles turned white, but her hands no longer trembled as she lifted it and pointed it toward the auctioneer. “It is time to go.” She says, echoing Khitti’s taunting sentiments.

Trajek || The young man, full of vigor and life, balked visibly as Khitti drew close. He would've stepped back had he the will to do it, had his mind had the power to shake himself free of his word, and, at the moment, his profession. Good coin had been spent on him and his craft, and he would, if only for the briefest of moments, ear his keep. "We bid with the only thing that matters. Rings, necklaces, bangles, chest plates, crowns, glasses, gowns..." He swung his arm out to the crowd, to the bidders, his other hand raising to his chest as he took a bow ---- there were no fingers, there were no noses, there were no few necks. Whole hands were gone, the bones of their wrist picked clean, and holes the sizes of fists, as jagged and rough as though ripped out by hands, were missing from chests, abdomens, and thighs. Blood trails, where there were any, snaked along the carpet, ruining the luxurious fabric of long since dried blood wadis up to the dais, up on the ghoul's chest, up to his slack-jawed mouth. A voice rumbled from the dais, from the corpse, from within Khitti's mind. A voice, and what felt like memories...of a city, of a people, of a crown placed upon her head. Where Gods and Goddess' bowed before her throne as she claimed what was hers, what had always been hers. Caluss was gone as quickly as the blade left Trajek's body, as quickly as the connection had been severed. But there was a promise there, a memory of things that would come if only she...had only she... "Twenty!" The auctioneer screamed as loud, as joyously, as rapturous as a man whose clemency came just as the axe brushed the back of his neck. "Twenty feet of his gut, from his stomach through to his intestines! This auction is now closed!" Decorum left the Auctioneer; he swung his arms high, he let out a wail, and he crumbled to his knees. He kissed the raised wooden stage. "Thank you, thank you, sir. You've given this world another day...the next auction will be once the ghoul hungers again..." At the very mention of hunger, the corpse impaled upon the blade shuttered. Stirred to life by the promise of a feast the corpse drove itself further down on the blade, until his palms were placed on wood worn down into their shapes. Fingers pierced the wood, pushed through their essence, drove the essence of the blade that made a mockery of titans and gods of this realm. Power surged forth, pushing through the unseen realms, and what lashed out at Lanlan were the ropes that bound the dead. These searched for what could not be seen, they searched for what had been pledged, and to rip from his body the twenty feet of intestines to be brought back to the ghoul to feed.

Jaxson felt an absolute lack of control as his body gave way to allow the wrath of a primordial being to surge forth through its chosen avatar. The tempest that was brewing within him breaks forth violently as the lingering presence of Caluss starts to fade back into the void in which its master lingers, to lash out at the forgotten god and his puppet. Aethereal forces gather rapidly to amass in a cluster that the man plunges his right hand into without hesitation, drawing forth from the inky blackness that now lingers before him the symbolic weapon of his patron. The Trident of the Primordial is brought forth with a familiarity that is more due to the fact the sea titan herself seems to control his body, as the crown of the mighty weapon is brought forth and pointed directly at the ghoul as it rises from its dormant slumber. As Trajek’s tendrils slither forth to seek the promised bid of Lanlan’s innards, a sinister look of rage flashes across the Ravencroft heir’s features as a concentration of dark power gathers at each tip of the trident, illuminating the darkness of the immediate area and revealing a startling hint of the darkness that lurks within Jaxson himself. His eyes are all but black, save for iris, which glows with a pale sea green glow. Dark veins course across his usually handsome features, as he almost snarls in rage just as he releases a thunderous blast of eldritch energy that surges forth to clash with the encroaching tendrils. Was this his aim? It's hard to tell, for the man seems to have his sights set upon eradicating Trajek in one single blast of unrelenting force. The clash of tendril to eldritch blast pauses this goal for now, as the opposing magical forces seem deadlocked in a test of Trajek’s hunger versus Sea Titan’s rage, saving Lanlan for the moment from watching his innards being devoured by a ghoul at least. How long this will last is unknown, though the longer such actions continue the more under his patron the man will become.

Khitti’s mind was filled with the thoughts of years past. Frostmaw. The war. The ambush on the way to Frostmaw in the Xalious mountain pass. She’d been literally impaled by a tree that day--well okay it was a large splinter of a tree, but it might as well have been the whole damn thing with frost giants throwing them--and nearly died because of it. The only reason why she’d been saved was because Brand had found her before she’d finally bled out and because she’d been a vampire back then. She’d sensed his presence elsewhere too though now that she really thought about it. Vailkrin. House Dragana. Her claivoyancy had tried to tell her something back then about Larewen and… But that didn’t matter now. Her line of sight snapped in Lanlan’s direction as he made his bid, “Lanlan, I am going to frakking kill--” And then the auction was over. She sighed heavily. This was worse than what she had been doing, really. “Never mind. Someone else is going to do it for me.” She went to retrieve Embershard from her back again, but Jaxson unleashing his rage gave her pause. Khitti blinked once. Then twice. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. The dark veins, the rage, the dark magic--it’s like she was watching herself from outside of her body. There was very little that unnerved her. There wasn’t anything about this place so far that had, and the even worse Shadow Plane didn’t either. But Jaxson? He did. The redhead took an unsteady step backward, her swords all but falling to her sides as she watched he who was like her mirror. Was this why the card was blank? But what did -that- even mean?

Khitti took a breath and then another, trying to quell that strange panic that filled her. She tried to think of things that calmed her. Her family. Baking. Singing. Singing? She drew in another breath and… ♫Through benediction, you tried to rid your mind of malediction, but through all this time, you tried to peel it off, and it's such a ride. Your desolation led you into this, vile incarnation of consummated bliss--I know you need it now, to make you feel alive! All your faith! All your rage! All your pain! It ain't over now! And I ain't talking about forgiveness! All your faith! All your rage! All your pain! It ain't over now! It's the cruel beast that you feed. It's your burning, yearning need to bleed, through your spillways!♫ Her voice echoed throughout the ship, necromantic energies dripping from her words as she sang, seeping into the souls of undead and the living alike. For the living, it was a boon, to strengthen them as she tried to strengthen herself. For the undead, she turned her pleas against them, begging the tethered souls to fight with them, to fight against that which held them, as she readied herself once more. Her swords reignited with their respective magicks and then she was soon joining Jaxson in battle, her targets the ropes that bound the spirits.

Lanlan :: “Yes!” Lanlan exclaimed victoriously. But the sensational feeling was fleeting, and suddenly he was facing his own imminent and horrible death. He quieted back down again while he examined his options, which he had time to do at the moment. The hangman’s nooses were seeking him, but they couldn’t find him yet. Then they could be duped? A fragile and wary smile dared to bend his mouth as he conceived of a plan so ridiculous and obvious and absurd that it might work for a second. There -was- after all, the prize that he won. Could it be worth twenty feet of intestines? No, but Lanlan wasn’t accustomed to making fair deals. Then the air is ripped open by eldritch energy and blasted toward Trajek and his clawing ropes. This place is chaos. He should leave. Then…beneath the sound of catastrophe, he heard Khitti’s voice ringing out. Maybe it bolstered him a little. “Need to bleed through my spillways eh?” She definitely agreed with his plan. He should definitely leave the chaos…But in chaos was opportunity, and Lanlan took his chance to slither away along with his twin. He enchanted them both to ignore the concept of walls and ceilings and only see upright walkways and paths. Creeping up the side of the wall, careful to avoid grabby dead things and strangling ropes and eviscerating magic, he sneaks toward Trajek’s podium. Twenty feet of his own guts? He would do it. Lanlan held up a viciously clawed hand and plunged it into Lanlan’s abdomen, removing approximately twenty feet,hand over hand. The wet squelching, the torrent of blood, the sound of the splats as they smacked the hardwood. It was a convincing illusion disguising a reliable length of rope. Now he just needed his prize.

Valrae felt pity as she watched the auctioneer, surprised to see someone alive and whole so deep within the center of so much death. When his voice rang out again, it was to echo the bid that one of the Lanlan’s made. She had little time for fear as the tendrils began to move. Everything happened quickly after that, the man kneeling moved. The witch watched in horror as he slid further forward on the blade that impaled him. She could hear the auctioneer crying with joy but the words were a blur, a mess of sound as Jaxson’s power gathered and blasted out. The entirety of the ship moved, swaying so hard that some of the ghouls were toppled from their seats. She fell forward, the blood soaked carpet squishing wetly beneath her hands. Her stomach rolled again as the sickly sweet coppery scent wreathed around her. With her wand still clutched in her fist, Valrae rose to her knees and pointed it at the kneeling man. The center of all of the madness. She hesitated for a heartbeat, her dark eyes searching for any signs of life or awareness, and there was Khitti’s voice. It washed over her, through her, and calmed her the way Lanlan had the night they’d unleashed something unholy in Vailkrin. Emerald fire erupted from her wand. She aimed above him, toward the mass of tendrils that tangled there. The witch doesn’t wait to see if her aim is true or even if her fire does any damage. She’s moving again, on her feet she rushes forward just as Khitti joins her efforts with Jaxson’s. She stumbles again, shaken at the sight of Lanlan ripping out his own intestines. She nearly vomits again but continues forward. Keeping low in front of Trajek, with her wand so close to his face he would only need to lean forward a hair’s breadth to touch it, Valrae leans down. Her hand reaches out to grab the hilt of the blade that pierced him, intent on ripping it out.

Trajek || No man could stand against the sea; all he could do is curse the waves that wash over him, and pray to his god as the wave drug him out to sea --- and so it was for a thousand zombies within Cenril proper. The eldritch blast that struck the tendrils halted them, severed them, and sent the wounded ends whipping back to the ghoul’s body. They passed through him, and in a flash of the fel God’s power, a thousand strands that had animated those zombies were shattered. Those that remained tensed, pulled tight against the titan’s power, until some began to fray. From thick hangman’s rope to the barest strands, from the darkest black to gossamer white, the hold upon the undead in Cenril weakened. Those nearest felt the worst of the strain; those poor souls who had been going about their daily duties, not a care in the world but with the whistle blew and their shift ended, fell to the gore-stained boards. They contorted violently, their spines twisted by the sheer power of the Titan’s vessel, all an attempt to save the ghoul from the brunt of the blast.

Trajek || The undead, the Ghoul’s shield, were beyond what Khitti’s song could move to aid. But one thing did answer her call. The ship rumbled, its boards tearing at their lashings, its joints and joists vibrating a song of defiance and hatred. As much as the wood had soaked up its bitumen, had swollen with the salt water of the sea, every inch of it had been inundated with necromantic energies. Days upon days, weeks upon weeks, whatever had once been living in its frame had succumbed to the necromantic onslaught. It would answer the call, and it did. Boards buckled. Planks warped. Walls twisted until they shattered, until shards of black-stained wood, from splinters to nearly spear length, were thrown about the area. Corpses were impaled. Corpses were obliterated. A hailstorm of wood rain wrapped by gore awaited all.

Trajek || It was the eldritch powers that blew him back; the confluence of ancient powers and wand strikes threw him from the dais. Where there had been a wall not but a moment before there was nothing, the ship entirely tearing itself apart in its attempt to rise to Khitti’s call. It was into the night, into the darkness, into the waves, that the ghoul’s body was flung. But one thing remained where it had been; the basilisk blade, gripped tightly by Valrae, remained in her hand, as the wooden world around them immolated in necromantic shards.

Jaxson was almost lost in the madness of it all as his body served as the vessel for an ancient titan’s wrath, the release of rage and raw eldritch power was a rush like he has never felt. And upon doing her bidding the primordial whispers in his ear like a pleased lover. “You see….” Comes a sultry voice, dark and far away, yet somehow close all at the same time. “The gifts I can bestow… the power….” It comes and goes, and of course all in his own head as the ancient being continues to try to wear down her chosen instrument. And just as quickly that it came did that power start to fade, his eyes the first to start to return to normal, allowing him a level of clarity just as all hell breaks loose. The ship itself seems to desire their deaths and seems to start to implode in upon itself just as Trajek is blown away by the result collision of clashing powers. Valrae, Khitti, and yes even Lanlan, are all looked upon before the rushing waters of the ocean seeks to reclaim that which was stolen from it. The undead seem to fall, the dark power that had ripped them from Vakmatharas’ grasp dissipating and leaving behind only the remains of the crew, which are quickly swallowed up by the rising depths. Wood clangs and clashes all around him, a maelstrom of chaos with the group now stuck within the bowels of a ship destined to be their grave unless they get out. And it is within this moment that Jaxson sees her again, his patron, like a shadowy figure in the waters lurking like a shark about to attack its prey, her voice once more entering his mind as she says. “I can help you… give you the power to command these waters…Just…” Her voice suddenly grows dark, powerful, and deep, a most startling and rapid change as she says in a booming, demanding voice. “LET. ME. IN!” She bellows from her prison so far down within the depths, unheard by anything but somehow resonating within Jaxson’s mind, causing the man to buckle to his knees, as it feels like his mind was being split apart. But even as this happens, he can feel the waters seemingly weaving about him, for he is untouched by them as they pass, per the influence of his dark mistress. To save his friends, the man would have to allow her control once more, thus weakening the wall that keeps her at bay and him in command. To choose to save the woman he is falling in love with, and those she gathered this day, or lose his soul as he gives in to an ancient creature of destruction… an impossible decision that has the man torn as he now stands at a crossroads…

Khitti continued with her song, even as the ship tore itself apart, even after Trajek’s body had been flung elsewhere. She wanted that ship gone and she was keen on letting it continue. Before it had finished, however, she stamped her foot three times on the floorboards beneath her, the wood splintering beneath her boots. Grey shadow-ice filled the waters beneath the ship, thickening over time into a sort of iceberg, teeming with shadows within. When the ship was finally destroyed, she stopped singing and swayed a little, ultimately falling to her knees from exhaustion. Clawing her way to the edge of the ice, she put a hand within the sea and conjured up several massive bursts of purple flames. It was a beacon, in hopes that a friend would see it… and whether it had been because of that or because the sea itself was on edge, the group did not have to wait long for a mermaid with a bright orange tail and wild purple hair to surface near where Khitti sat. “Nemona… I need you to find the ship nearby that brought us here. Get them home…” And then she quite promptly passed out. Her dreams while she slept to regain her strength wouldn’t be pleasant either, filled with memories from years ago and worries of what might lie ahead. The mermaid brushed strands of hair back behind Khitti’s ear as she eyed the rest of the group warily, but eventually gave a curt nod and disappeared into the depths to go find the other ship.

Lanlan was sad to see his intestines lying there unwanted, like he just sweated making this elegant meal for someone special and then it was snubbed. To make things worse, he didn’t even have time to get upset about it because the boat was exploding. He was beside himself. But he had to suck it up, gather up all his intestines and attempt to escape. The dummy led the way, clearing a path and trudging heavily through debris and detritus. So it didn’t lose track of its charge in the ruckus it had one end of the intestines looped around its wolid wooden hand. Lanlan held the other. They didn’t get very far. Ultimately they ran only a few steps toward the stairs before the stairs disintegrated. So they stop. Lanlan slides his hand over his chest, channeling power from himself into his drow vagrant insignia underneath, and he began to levitate. But that wasn’t enough to live, because gravity was still pulling down massive wooden slabs even if it wasn’t pulling him down. So he summons his Xalious wood staff and holds it up like an umbrella while a powerful force repels falling objects like the wrong side of a magnet. The dummy Lanlan dangled by the intestine-rope and looked up to the real Lanlan like he was a superhero. But eventually they’d float down to the iceberg of darkness and wait for their boat.

Valrae felt the boat rock and shudder beneath her feet again but she did not fall this time. Her grip on the hilt of the blade only tightened, knuckles white again as she held fast. The ether and magic continued to gather in the belly of the ship, strong enough now that it was almost suffocating. Trajek hurdled back and for a moment Valrae thought she would be blown out of the rapidly deteriorating boat with him. She stumbled forward again, catching herself as the water began to rise. A jagged board slammed into her shoulder, knocking her toward Lanlan and nearly off of her feet. “We have to go. Now!” She screamed toward the drow, blood dripping from her nose as she shook his shoulder. Wasting no more time, she ran toward Jaxson. The water was at her knees by the time she reached him. Her hair had broken free of the braid that had restrained it and it whipped behind her like the golden tail of a comet. “Jaxson?” She called his name over the howling wind, eyes wide as she watched the water move around him without touching him. Slipping the basilisk blade into her bag quickly, she reached out with her newly free hand to touch Jaxson. “Jax? We have to get off of this boat...” She didn’t know if he was listening. She looked around for Khitti, her heart dropping to her stomach as she spotted the other woman slumped down on the rapidly forming ice. She ran to her, sliding, desperate to make sure she still breathed. The guards that had been near the door had already vanished, running through the boat screaming. One of them was impaled on a jagged piece of the Siren that had broken free and hurdled through the air to join the rest that had answered Khitti’s call. He died before his body even fell into the ocean. The finality of his death was the only mercy the sea would show him. The other made it back safely to the first ship and had demanded the captain hold for the party, despite the crew's obvious displeasure.

Valrae || There was fear when the mermaid found them, but they followed her demands to what very little remained of the Siren and Khitti’s ice. The crew did their best to help them in, taking extra care with Khitti when Valrae sharply demanded it. The witch refused to leave her side until they were all aboard again. “Go!” Someone screamed, just as everyone had finally been loaded back in. As they sailed back toward Cenril, the last of the dying cries of the undead hounded their journey. Turning her dark eyes toward the shattered and floating remains of the ship, the witch uttered a quiet spell. Emerald flames erupted on all that remained, the power she called sending the curling ends of her hair flying as she finished what Kasyr had started. Whatever hadn’t been swallowed by the sea or ripped apart by Khitti would burn until there was only ash to be carried away by the current. With the cursed wind finally lifted, silence followed them all the way to Cenril’s shore.