no man's sea

[groundrules]

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

---

DEEP WATERS | SON OF A BISCUIT EATER | MOLLYWICK | | THE CROSSING | NOTES

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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

Comments

emilia di carlo, old timer.

[valeas]

starters can be found below. please feel free to pm or ping me at moonstones if you'd like something!

mollywick, for allison.

[valeas]

( It took no coaxing to get Emilia to return to land, if only for some hours. She wants to stretch her legs and give herself a respite from the cramped nature of their temporary abode. Beggars can't be choosers, true, but even beggars have their limits.

Besides, she was a plant mom before her life turned upside down quite literally. She knows how to forage, how to determine which berries they can pick and which they should steer clear of. It helps when you're in good company, as Allison Hargreeves has joined her for the task.

She takes in a deep breath, a small moment of contentedness to be surrounded by such luscious greenery. The witch in her, the one with a connection to the elements, feels renewed. ) One of the sailors said this is where sea kings would bury their treasures.

[rumorate]

Yeah?

[Allison can't help but be amused at that. She's always been one for stories, and pirates were some of Claire's favorites. As much as she understands the utility for this trip, she can't help but be curious about what they might find that's not plants.]

Did they mention anything worth looking for?

[valeas]

Nothing specific.

( Emilia stretches out her hand, letting it hover over the sand. Curious to what she might feel. )

I suspect their ambiguity was an attempt to be mysterious. Either they speak true, or they meant to trick. ( A prank for the newcomers. It is something Vittoria might have done, perhaps, so fond of pranking others that she was. )

[rumorate]

Probably a little of both. The truth tends to be somewhere in the middle for stuff like this.

[And then, because she loves a good story, even if she has her doubts it's true ...]

You want to try and find some of it?

that son of a biscuit eater, for lan wangji.

[valeas]

( Emilia di Carlo was born on the night of an unforgivable storm. Something powerful stirred the seas and turned the moon blood-red. When sardines washed onto the shore the next day, the gulls would not touch them. Her grandmother would say it's because they are no fools.

Then again, Nonna Maria is a superstitious sort. Emilia can't help but wonder what omen she would glean from these strange waters. Just as quickly, she banishes the wondering. She has a duty to perform, and thoughts of her family pinch her chest still. It's not only mourning. )

Here. ( She turns to her companion for the evening, lifting one of the lamps she holds in offer. In lieu of spelling candles, she has worked with the oil of these lamps instead, casting an extended spell that should double its duration and give them better sight.

Not since Taravast have Lan Wangji and Emilia been assigned to something together. Let us see what horrors they get up to tonight. )

so here for this

[downswing]

( Water and wet and salt-crept stench of sea water that sputters futilely, dragged at their feet, like the rheum of a hazed moon, cataracted. He feels every colour limpid and coerced to a vexed, seeping confusion: the pale, ghostly greys of his silks, and the greys of cold, rattling water, and the sleepy, sullen greys of a sky long-loomed, unblinking.

He assumes the position Emilia spares him, ever steps behind and at her right, in strategic tessellation that leave his sword hand exposed — and defends their geometry again, when she proposes the brazier, head soft in shake, incorruptible. One tap of his fingers, drum-danced, where Bichen nests in her fetters, biding time to her bite. If they are to walk the decks and murmur vigil on a night half-stormed by air that feels at once prickly and stung, electric and spasmodic — cloying and mineral-heavy in his lungs — then he cannot burden himself with distraction. )

One suffices. ( She leads. He culls. An easy arrangement. ) Perhaps, offer to our companion.

( At distance, the rags of a smoky silhouette, half dream and half man, betrayed more by the jitters of his movements — he seems to Lan Wangji out of turn, too dried on a night that weeps down, trickled.

Confused, perhaps by drink that coaxes their sailor collaborators so often to vacuity, to slack-jawed mouths and rapid hands and dice that tumble, crashing to splinter wet-broken wood and rouse Lan Wangji from his watch, past the sunset hour. There's wanderlust that haunts them, when swill warms their innards tame. A sense of gentle, melodious drift —

That crumbles into jitters now, the man paralysed when they cross glances. Thunder crows, rain tumbles down, spiking. He breathes wet. Cannot explain his need, only, like an animal — waits. )

[valeas]

( At every turn, a choice.

The first one more digestible. )

We draw more attention to him if we give him light.

( Better to keep it as a spare, should they be forced to separate. She remains aware of Lan Wangji at her back. Never to forget what it means, to bare it.

Emilia looks up — thunder and storm clouds gather yet — before she turns to this smoky silhouette. There is an overwhelming stench of salt about him, grey streaking his bushy black beard and hair. She thinks she caught sight of a golden wiring on one tooth, before his mouth grew tight. He fears. Her stomach roils.

Her head bends toward Lan Wangji, a conversation hushed. )

He would be hanged. ( If they were to give him up. If they were to speak. A choice, at every turn. )

[downswing]

( It sleeps in him, anticipation like a small, laired animal moderating its breaths until the shadow of its predator has slithered by.

The raw rhetoric of rain sundered from a sleepy night ruins him. They are too stagnant, too convoluted to witness this. The tempo of their hunt is wrong. If Emilia and Lan Wangji were to dash for the man now —

He hesitates. Later, he will remember this: that he stood before an inexplicable threat and named its hoary, careless form a negligible distraction. That he was arrogant, first. Inattentive, first. Kind, first.

That he was taught better. )

Perhaps he hails from the other vessel. ( Hazed speculation, a summer's dream. To watch how the man stirs and settles, fear chokes him like a merchant's fist on fragile coin. ) Perhaps we have not crossed path.

( Do not force death upon him. Bichen is yet too red-bathed, too prone. )

the crossing, open to all.

[valeas]

Vittoria?

( It grasps hold of her like the sweetest and most vicious spell. Seizes upon her the very moment she finds herself alone on deck, seeking a moment of respite. The wind picks up as if in warning, and Emilia fails to listen. How could she, when her sister is the one beckoning her forward?

She should know better, really. Has trained brutally, in fact, for moments not unlike these. Moments of influence that will leave one vulnerable to their enemies, of which she has many. The Seven Circles is a realm of sin, and to lose control of yourself for a moment is to lose.

None of that seems to matter, at the moment. If she could only just get to her. If she could only just know. She takes these steps forward, swaying lightly as if in trance, not quite realising she is being led to the plank. )

after whoever it is rescues her from the plank

[sansdoute]

( It is a simple thing, to know a man or woman thralled. There is an emptiness to their step, a drift to their gaze, unseeing. A categorical absence of themselves.

Caladan Kreil has captained enough ships to glance at the girl and know her state. Happily, she is commandeered away from her natural conclusion before he must intercede — and so he keeps his distance, until the next slate-skied morning, when they meet on the deck, and he slithers close enough to say: )

Rope yourself at night, lass. Better down in your bed than down the plank.

[valeas]

( Of all the deadly sins, pride is the one Emilia is least susceptible to. The one she was able to shake off with relative ease when training her mental barriers. Yet it does sting to acknowledge she was vulnerable to this thrall, and looks over to Caladan with a sharp and inquisitive gaze. )

Was it the mermaids?

( The lure itself was powerful, and knew just how to weaken her resolve.

At least now she can identify it should it drag up her spine once more. )

[inferus]

( Wrath finds these hammocks entirely unsufferable. It is worse even than the old beds they were given in the previous village. However, this world has made sleep more of a requirement for him than it would be otherwise - he actually feels tired more often. So he is making an attempt despite the fact the hammock is far too small for his towering frame. The rolling mattress may be the better option but the idea of sleeping on the floor surrounded by dirt is nauseating to be frank.

He stands up from the hammock in frustration.

His shoulders tight and tense when he senses it, senses her - Emilia, his wife not yet, perhaps not ever. In these moments, he always allows himself to forget those details, because she's his. That is how it feels, and he can sense something is wrong even if he does not know what.

She's... on the deck. His chest aches deep, and he thinks the ache is hers or a part of himself calling out to her, needing to be beside her. )

[valeas]

( Emilia has worked so hard to make herself unassailable. To relinquish every fear so that she may become fearless instead. But there is no power great enough to leave her unmoved when it comes to her twin. There is a piece of her heart that will forever be screaming for Vittoria.

Come back. Let me gather the bones of you, so we can be put back together.

Several steps along now. The storm that brews leaves the floorboards unsteady, or perhaps it is those lashings that arise from the depths at night. The closer she gets to the plank, the more distorted the voice becomes. ) Vittoria? ( Her voice is less certain, now.

The carefree laughter becomes something more sinister, hateful. The same voice that haunts her dreams as of late. Emilia's foot flattens on the plank right as a gust of wind tears through, making her sway. Making everything sway. )

[cairhien]

Emilia.

( the woman's name is soft on her tongue, cautious to not spook her and cause her to fall. though there's a thought to use air, to perhaps bind her in place to bring her back. but perhaps she can ask her back first )

You don't want to keep walking.

[valeas]

( moiraine's voice is familiar, unlike this cloying facsimile of the voice emilia longs to hear. it creates enough of a pause in her that she does slow her steps, half-turning to her fellow companion. for a split second, she does not look like the confident and driven witch that moiraine met.

she looks confused, filled with a devastation that makes her feel small. )

But she needs me. I must not fail her again.

ahoy! scallywags, open.

[valeas]

( The treatment of women aboard the ships is familiar to Emilia, who hails from the 19th century. Antiquated notions and slights against their gender are age-old male pastimes, and she herself has no time for it. Besides, there is a perk: they give her a wide berth, and it does allow her some privacy.

She hunkers down in her favored(?) spot to work on some spell candles.

Her spoon clinks against an iron cauldron, herbal scents wafting up from it. Beside her are some beeswax and dried petals. A small blessing, that Lily has left her with a charmed bag that allows her to carry all manner of things within, no matter how small it looks on the outside.

There is no sleep for the wicked, but she can at least make sure that her sleeplessness isn't miserable. It gives her a task to do, besides, and it keeps her mind occupied. Even as it reminds her of times long past. She can swallow the bitter, and the painfully sweet. And work. )

[reaction]

( the herbal scents are a blessing considering how rank-smelling most parts of the ship are, so it's no surprise that damon finds himself sort of lured to the spot where emilia's hunkered down at. )

You are doing a great service to the people onboard. ( he hadn't wanted to even approach the gal, considering she looks kind of witchy-like and he's not a big fan of those, but what can he say? he's a sucker for a brunette. )

It's been smelling a little icky. ( he twirls a finger around, indicating the general area. ) I'm sorry, where are my manners. I'm Damon. New to.... ( well, obviously this isn't a town. ) I guess you could say, these parts. ( he simply gives her a polite nod from where he's standing a good few feet away, not wanting to assume that it'd be right to even offer her a handshake. he'd gotten the memo about people not being from the same world, universe, time. )

[valeas]

( emilia plucks one of the orange blossoms woven into her hair and drops it into the cauldron next. damon salvatore is onto something about the smells, and not just from her herbal mixture. on the table next to some (non-witchy) books is a basket half-full of fresh orange bread.

some of the pirates, it seems, refused to listen to wen qing about scurvy. she wasn't about to let the oranges go to waste, and she can use the peels besides.

she looks up as he makes his presence known, her head tipping in sharp evaluation. even before he acknowledges it, she discerns this is a new face. he must have been met with tension for it, what with the concord deciding to send its infiltrators forth. emilia herself keeps it in mind. )

Welcome to the madness. ( she pushes up the sleeves of the white shirt she was given, alongside some trousers that hold up with a belt. ) You've joined us at a time of... transition. Should it make you feel better, you were spared a village full of curses and an angry volcano.

[somebadnews]

[ Five has never been a stranger to nightmares, even when he's awake, but they've been more visceral lately. When he wakes up in a panic one night, it takes him ten minutes to come back to reality and accept that he isn't still in the apocalypse. The air is clean and nothing is burning, people are alive, and somehow being on a pirate ship isn't an insane delusion.

He's not afraid to go back to sleep and face what seemed to be the more likely truth, but he's unsettled enough that he decides to walk the ship in search of anything that might serve as a distraction from his memories.

Generally it doesn't smell great when you're traveling among pirates. Especially after the day he spent being cursed by a fish, of all things; another nonsensical experience that made him extremely sensitive to their odors that rivaled those of rotting bodies and spoiled food in those early months of the apocalypse. So when he catches a whiff of pleasant-smelling herbs, he follows it and is surprised when it leads him to Emilia.

Knowing how their last encounter went, he should leave her be. But the sight of a cauldron was common those months he lived with Hermione. He didn't know they had that in common.

Eventually he's curious enough that he speaks up. ]

You're making potions?

[valeas]

( Her surroundings grow sharper in focus as he steps closer into her space: Grace Three dozing off on a corner, only one uneaten berry on a floorboard near her muzzle. A small basket of half-eaten orange bread, with the peels spread out on the table she works at.

Emilia looks up at Five upon his entering, and answers: ) Candles.

( If asked by those unaware of her origins, it is easy enough to explain away, granting her a degree of defense. No one can actually tell the candles are imbued with magic once she has spelled them. But Five does well know by now, and so she moves to clarify. )

They are spelled with charms for different needs. Guidance, clairvoyance, restoration.

[gladiokinesis]

(diego, like most people, hasn't been sleeping well. after another nightmare (this time of when he disconnected grace) he goes looking for the missing wolf from his pack, knowing he'll probably find grace 3 with emilia. he finds what she's doing and he doesn't know shit about candle making but he is very good with knives, if anything needs to be chopped. grace three is joined by the other wolves who swarm around her to also do a snooze.)

Do you need any help?

[valeas]

Perhaps not need, but I certainly wouldn't mind.

( emilia looks up at diego with a quiet smile. it's a little on the edge of weary, but she welcomes his company all the same. she isn't the only one plagued with nightmares as of late, and she's well aware of that. keeping busy helps: her grief is never far, but the true enemy is allowing it to catch up to her. )

How good are you at chopping herbs?

[techmaturgy]

[Viktor is visibly ill, which means that he's relegated to the same quarters and general status as the women--not that he really minds. The quarters aren't private, necessarily, but it's better than sleeping below decks and it keeps the crew away from him. He's always at his best when he's left to his own devices, and this is no exception, though given the nature of work on board the ship, there isn't much that he can do. Combine that with his own proclivity for not sleeping, it's only a matter of time before he zeroes in on the first interesting thing he can find.

That happens to be Emilia, with her materials arranged in front of her. He's instantly curious, approaching but keeping a few steps away, just in case.]

A project?

[He loves projects. Tell him what it is.]

[valeas]

( Prior to this world, Emilia had never been on a ship — except, that's not quite right, is it? When she was a child, she accompanied her grandmother to Northern Italy. To visit a friend, is what Nonna Maria had said. They must've disembarked from a ship then. She just really can't remember.

All she can remember is a little cabin deep in a frozen wood, and a plume of silver smoke twisting into the skies. Whenever her eyes close, she is gifted with some nightmare or other. A fickle memory she has no context for. And the building frustration of yet another faulty beacon keeping them here.

Better to keep busy, you see. To keep moving, in what ways she can while they're at sea.

Emilia keeps her guard up at all times, so she hears Viktor before he makes his presence known. The intent focus in her expression shifts somewhat to seem a little less unwelcoming. Her smile is small, but sincere. ) In a manner of speaking. I'm making candles.

( It looks innocent enough to the unknowing, and smells more pleasant than anywhere else on the ship. )