westwhere | no man's sea

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no man's sea

Avast ye — sprawling til 18 June is part I of the Storm at Sea travel arc, which doubles as a test drive. Participants don’t need an invite to reserve or apply over 10-17 June.

Try to label if you’re a test drive tourist or an old timer — and don’t hesitate to leave an OOC note to opt out of random NPC piraaaaaaaargh interaction. Test drivers can post both log and network prompts. Have fun!

NO MAN’S SEA

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AHOY! SCALLYWAGS

Departing Ke-Waihu, the existing party joins paranoid pirate king, turned stalwart saint Samuel Vane — the feared Quicksilver Sam — aboard the Pariah.

Test drivers awaken anguishing at sea, floating on rafts, or on minuscule patches of deserted land. They are collected by two pirates and the recalcitrant sorceress Karsa — who supplies translation and communication devices. She explains the newcomers were summoned into the land of Akhuras by warring undead factions. Karsa’s master, the elusive Merchant, ferries newcomers east to beacons hoped to return them home. He has secured them passage on the pirate vessel Queen Zanyra of ’Wet Rope’ Caladan Kreil, an associate of Quicksilver Sam.

The Pariah and Zanyra meet at sea, a day’s travel away from Ke-Waihu:

■ Characters overhear that Quicksilver Sam seeks to reach the haunted Crossing Seas and ‘settle an old score.’ Long-term ally Caladan Kreil supports his cause.

■ The two vessels make daily supply and crew exchanges by rowboat. The Pariah’s passengers must give the passcode: flaunted like gold to board the Queen Zanyra. Staff of the Queen Zanyra must speak the words before the blind man to access the Pariah. Forget your passcode and fall at the mercy of whoever patrols the decks!

■ Tasks await all passengers: diligently clean and polish decks, climb tall masts to sew torn sails, banish a preposterous number of seagulls, fish, read post or… dubious novels to sailors, count loot, guard the decks, clean cannons or serve as boat lure for shark fishing. Medics and cooks can practise their natural trades, while musicians and entertainers should amuse the crew.

■ By all means, grab thematic garments from crew coffers. Also available: daggers, swords and rare pistols.

■ Characters may notice both ship crews are spirited, but grow weary when Quicksilver Sam fitfully orders his five on-call priests to carry out protection rites, or to ‘exorcise’ evil from random staff — through ineffective bitter potions, shrill chants and requests to sit in unusual luck-incurring poses, or to commit some mundane, repetitive task. Let’s bore the devil away.

■ Treat senior crew with respect: some pirates are equally drunk on rum and fleetingly authority and reward perceived slights with a 24h-stay in the brig. These fine accommodations fit two and annul powers while there. No dinner.

■ Sleep where you can: hammocks and rotting mattresses can be found in great common halls beneath decks. The sick and women (naturally, ill omens at sea) can share the four private cabins of each ship. Sumeragi Subaru has his own cabin aboard the Pariah.

■ Each night, expect drinking beneath the halls and a pirate’s greatest hobby: gambling. Conmen might lure you into an ‘innocent game’ that sinks you deep into debt, winning your valuables, favours, or kidney!

■ Ladies are afforded a wide, begrudging berth and some authority over the crew.

■ Accommodations: fresh potions are readily available to ward off sea sickness, and magically resilient oranges are on hand to counter scurvy. As woe would have it, the long-serving Mr. Ishmael has passed, and his earthly remains have been retained aboard the Pariah for Kaneki Ken. Viktor receives a leashed emotional support albatross — a large, loud but docile bird that flies above him counter-current to balance him, whenever the ship’s sway threatens his footing.

OBJECTIVES

■ Discover why good Quicksilver Sam is intent on his haunted travels. The captain declines audiences, but try to get information from the two crews.

■ Please share the information gained via network…!

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THAT SON OF A BISCUIT EATER

Trouble starts to brew, within days at sea:

■ Be on the lookout while on watch duty: on a handful of occasions, new faces appear aboard. They fail to offer the passcode — and attempt to injure characters, throw them overboard, or to enter the captains’ lodgings. Sound the alarm or seize intruders!

■ After interrogating an infiltrator, Caladan Kreil sends word that the assailants hail from the Concord, a war vessel of the Dawns’ Reach Trade Company that is pursuing the pirate ships at distance under the command of Maximilian Hawk. A credit to his name, Wet Rope Caladan has the spy hanged.

■ Prepare to get drafted for double watch duty, as both Caladan Kreil and Quicksilver Sam bolster defences. Tensions escalate, with pirate crew questioning the loyalties of newer recruits.

■ A few days later, at dawns, the silent, swift and massive Concord approaches close enough to fire its cannons at both ships and send vicious militia to climb aboard. Defend your ship!

■ The Concord withdraws by midday, after lightly damaging its opponents. Help with repairs and enjoy some rum — you’ve survived your first sea scuffle!

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MOLLYWICK

Just short of entering the Crossing, where the seas are dark and highly opaque, the Queen Zanyra and Pariah encounter a stretch of vibrant, lushly forested land.

■ Both vessels send crew over for a few hours, with captains urging quick incursions. Pair up to collect berries, scant mushrooms and sweet water. Curiously, no animals are found.

■ Veteran sailors say this is the Neverflight isle of myth, where sea kings have buried their treasures. Pirates share legendary coordinates of long lost loot, archived as riddles or poems. Grab a shovel and a-digging you go!

■ …ah, but don’t linger too long. What pranksters your sailor friends are. Within hours of the island’s appearance, the earth beneath your feet crumbles and quakes, and the land starts to sink. Evacuate or call for help to get out of here — as the great white whale Mollywick submerges in the waters with the Neverflight island it carries on its back. Hopefully, you don’t go under with them.

■ If you’ve threaded out a treasure dig, drop a line to receive some especially deplorable loot. You deserve it.

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THE CROSSING

The Pariah and Queen Zanyra — frequently chained together to avoid separation — creep into the Crossing : a stretch of eerily silent waters, dark and volatile.

■

■ Slowly, a thick, nearly impregnable fog dawns during the day, covering the sun and leaving the skies a desolate slate. Dreadful storms spark at night.

■ Strange, talking carps jump on board, offering to tell you your future. Caution: they only make bad luck readings (request yours) that turn true. They appear wherever their target flees and are exceptionally annoying, until either the moon rises, or you apply the superstitious cure of throwing salt on them.

■ Nightmares haunt you — your own, or glimpsed memories of ships crashing, sinking, falling to storm. Note: only your character suffers these memories/nightmares, but everyone else can experience their exhausted grumpiness, come morning.

■ Be wary, when pairing to cross over to the other pirate ship: you may find another rowboat beside yours, its sailor begging for an oar or ladle. If you give him one, he shovels water into your boat with inhuman speed — desert your vessel and swim quickly to a pirate ship, before undead hands pull you into the sea.

■ While alone on deck, characters might hear sweet, coaxing voices that urge them to walk the plank into the water. Break your brethren from this spell, or watch them fall into the arms of man-eating mermaids.

■ Now and then, the ships are shaken by long, whips of something lashing from the depths.

■ Pirates become increasingly skittish and on edge. Priests perform countless protection rites and exorcisms on both ships.

■ At night, a handful of undead men climb aboard. They lack awareness and are in a clear state of discomposure, looking to catch the living and drown them. With toothless, rotting mouths, some rasp, This is kinder.

■ As you officially enter the Crossing, beams of light erupt in the horizon, showing the distant silhouettes of several ghost ships.

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NOTES

TEST DRIVE QUESTIONS

OLD-TIMER QUESTIONS

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( Mr. Eames has, through luck and exercise and righteous perseverance, prevailed upon the wicked task of many a fool's incompetence, aye. He looks upon deckhands, and sees — and him, a second mate, sir, earned every stripe on the Queen Zanyra, strong may her sails flow — as all men should:

Cannon fodder.

But then, they give this particular morsel a mop, and he seems like a child learning the way of spoons, missing his mouth. And Mr. Eames, ain't one for gawking, him, but God's good and God's grand, and He posted Eames on deck, hands to his hips and staring, He knew what he gone done. What's Eames s'pposed to do, except at one point, gently, gently steer the mop in the general vicinity of an actual stain?

...and watch still, in the hands of yonder fool, miss target? )

'scuse me... ? Eyyy, 'scuse me, sir? You's been blind long, aye?

--What--oh, yes--hm? Sir? Blind?

[Lucius barely seems to notice the correction, as it were, redirecting his mop toward something that needs cleaning. He peers at the fellow directing him, then back at the mop, then--and only then--does he glance down at the deck and spy the muck he's meant to be mopping. The muck that is still not quite in line with the end of his mop.

With an apologetic grimace he shifts the mop dead into the center of said muck and swabs as best he can. Which is to say: terribly. He is mostly just making the mess larger, spreading it out in a nice, diluted circle and, since he looks back up at the mate speaking to him rather than at the task at hand, he doesn't notice what he's doing at all.]

Sorry, my mistake! This isn't--it's not my forte, really.

( Once, there was a tiny stain, and it was the size of a pea, he knows, he's eaten, him, plenty o' peas, cook makes them thrice a month for supper. Soup's what he makes, mighty fine, thank you, course, you don't be grateful for the rot, but, cook. Cook's trying.

...this fellow. He's also trying, only to meet the flat of Mr. Eames' palm, and do be excusing when it lands on the gentleman's back, paternally. You know. Just with a nudge. )

You's only a slack-jawed fool, we'll beat the sense in you, have you worries, ah? None be the worries, you just point your thing right and hit, like pissing.

[Lucius, who has the stability and constitution of one of those little toy birds that dips forward to pretend at drinking, sways under the paternal clap on his back and tries not to stumble, face-first into the mess he's making. He's a terrible sailor, just awful. If it weren't for his manner of dress, literally nobody would believe he had ever set foot on a ship.]

Beating the what into who? Oh, uh, right, like pissing is it? I mean, I'm not against that sort of thing, but is it really appropriate to take a piss on deck?

[He thought the captain was a scary woman. He's as free and easy as the next fellow, probably moreso, but just taking himself out to piss on a spot seems...unlikely to gain her favor. Then again, it isn't as if he knows how women think or what they find acceptable. He's not likely to gain her favor, regardless of how hard he tries.

But, unfortunately, now he's terribly uncomfortable. He's not going to be able to piss on anything.]

Is there...perhaps something else I can try? Maybe something a bit more...academic, or, not...cleaning related?

( ...well. Well, then. Wasn't to Mr. Eames to understand, but now he's seeing it, got them a gentleman on their hands. Can't be getting his hands dirty, calling favours already, just watch the look of him. Rascal.

Least there's more good, honest men, men who might bleed and pillage and give you a good bruising, but they's earned their meal fair and square, and they's always having the burning sun to their backs, and is they running their mouths? Noooooooooooooo.

So is them Mr. Eames is salutin' with one kind wave and a grin back, while the crew nods on, because lisn'up: )

You hear that, gentlemen o' the board? He don't be likin' our work, does he? Our new friend. He too good.

[Lucius suddenly feels like he's leapt a few years back in time and pales visibly. Oh, he had forgotten what it was like being on a normal crew without an eccentric landowner as a captain. He hadn't missed it....]

Oh! No, sir, sorry sir, my mistake-- [He offers a cute smile on reflex and then immediately thinks better of that. Polite smile it is.] --I'll just get back to swabbing, then, shall I?

[He makes a good show of it, looking straight back down at his work and not at the many, many pirates this important fellow has just goaded into disliking him. Tragically, he's still very bad at actual cleaning. He tidies it up a bit, but it's still much larger than the original mess due to his own general incompetence.

If he just...keeps trying hard will they leave him alone? Oh, he can hope.]

You lissssssssss'nnnnnnnn here. ( There's a sad beginning and no end to a drawl, smooth like a cat's licking. Worked hard to achieve it, did our man Eames, and won't be having no stranger question his craft. ) You listen'ere, yeah? Booooooooooys. He be listening.

( Grunts and heaving and the rare rum-addled salute from yonder back, where a gallery of bored sailors has now assembled, partly to watch the second mate put the discipline in man, partly to gawk at this frightening failure of... swabbing.

Mercy's a fair mistress, and Mr. Eames was a handsome lad once, also. He holds out his hand, landing it on the man's. )

You leave it soft. Grace o' God, I'll show ye, how it be done.

[Lucius has absolutely no idea what this man is saying. None whatsoever.

Oh, he understands the words perfectly on an individual basis. The long authoritative drawl this fellow has cultivated is impressively and exceptionally clear, and Lucius is extremely motivated to 'listen here'. Unfortunately, he must have hit his head when he was tossed overboard--maybe swallowed too much seawater--does he have another infected extremity he hadn't noticed?

He feels like he's listening through a filter, like trying to read in a dream, and no matter how much he wants to, he cannot make sense of this man's statements.

He jumps a bit when Mr. Eames sets a hand on his and freezes--like a spooked animal--but still no, he has not the faintest clue what he is saying. Lucius could not possibly look more lost and confused.]

So I...should or shouldn't leave it soft? I...don't know how to do that. The soft part?

[He gestures with his wooden finger at the whole...floor situation in front of him.]

Is it not...this? It's probably not this. Right, I will...keep...trying?

( Skittish like a maid brought white'n'pale to her wedding bed, isn't he? Damned man, damned nuisance. With a forlorn sigh, Mr. Eames takes it upon himself to explain himself thusly, clasp tightening over the young man's knuckles: )

You leave yer hand soft. So I can be steering.

( And steer he does, guiding the man's hand to shift the mop at a finer angle, forcing the gestures slow. Reshaping them, from stabs at the floor into smooth, hypnotically repetitive circles of the figure eight.

Then, Mr. Eames releases him with a step back. )

Now, you.

[It's lucky that Lucius is as generally malleable as he is, because he just allows himself to be maneuvered at will while he attempts to process what is happening. He's momentarily taken aback by Mr. Eames and glances, with slight panic, at the assembled pirates about. He likes an audience but--oh, steer the mop. Right. That makes much more sense.

He may be absolute shit at cleaning, checking rigging, tying knots, keeping watch, fighting, carpentry of any kind, and general sailing, but Lucius is a quick learner when he needs to be, and he certainly needs to be. He maintains the exact same motions that Mr. Eames has just demonstrated and, for once in his life, actually does a passable job at swabbing some amount of deck.

(It's an actual miracle.)

True, he had made most of this mess, and he's probably going to fail the moment he tries to translate this skill to any other area of deck, but at least he has succeeded this once. He'd be proud if he weren't so excruciatingly on edge.]

( Why, would you look at that? Under Mr. Eames' own squinting eye, the man prevails over the fine task of mopping. They'll teach him the polish tomorrow, and how to bait a hook without slashing his own arm, after.

Make a deckhand of him yet.

Approvingly, Mr. Eames nods along, waving towards the deck as if inviting the other sailors to bask in the brilliance of a job well done. From behind, a man claps. )

Is good, is good... Ye be a learned man, now. You speak o'me to your children, how Eames taught you trade, aye?

[One miracle per day is quite a lot, by any measure, and it would have taken one to keep Lucius from snorting a laugh at the comment. He's fresh out, unfortunately and the absurdity is just so staggering that not even terror can stay the ungainly noise of amusement that bubbles out of him. The very idea that he would have children, and stated with such encouraging...sincerity? Egads, he'd be howling with laughter in any other situation.

He really shouldn't have even snickered in this one. He feels like he's left his body and is watching from on high--he had just laughed in this fellow's face in front of a crowd.

Oh, how dearly he misses not being able to comprehend two words Mr. Eames strung together.

He snaps his mouth shut the very instant after he laughs, tries to look penitent about it, but his face is really not made for the expression. He's still swabbing, precisely as instructed, and continues to do so with a dedication bordering on fervent.]

Right sir, yes, sir. I will...tell them all about you. My. Children. That I will definitely have. Eventually.

( There's a... scent to a craven, like whale fat burning. Unmistakable. Mr. Eames feels his left eye twitch at the chuckle, because only be so much indignity a man can swallow face-front, and him, Mr. Eames, is a godly person, possessed of bravery and wisdom and composure, why, look at this face —

Only, My. Eames, with a voice entirely too paternal for anyone's comfort, he knows the trouble here.

He doesn't touch the young man again, though his hand waves over his shoulder as if he might — before he reconsiders. Then: )

You... with them lasses. To make them babes. You know how they be born? Don't need... help learnin'bout that too, do ye?

( ...he'd not ask, but look at this man, he can't even weaponise a mop. )

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