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

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Anduin turns to smile at Wrathion's frowning squint. This had been something of a sell on Anduin's part, getting Wrathion to come with him off the boat and on this treasure hunting excursion in the first place. If Anduin's being honest with himself, however, this isn't really about the treasure hunt at all.

It has been a decent amount of time now, since Wrathion had been forced to hide out in those caves. Since they were afforded the privacy of those caves. Since then, everything had come to a head with the volcano, and the village, and the cleanup, and then there hadn't been time for -- well. The pair of them. Even now, here on the boat and on their journey onward, they've hardly been afforded a moment's privacy to themselves. Anduin doesn't particularly know what he'd care to do with one when he finds it, but he will cross that bridge when he gets there.

"Explorers are finding hidden treasure on Azeroth every day. Who's to say that there isn't anything of interest on this island? We certainly won't know until we take a look around," he suggests, warmly. Anduin's borrowed pirate's coat whips around him in the wind, and he raises a hand to tuck a stray strand of hair back behind his ear that has managed to escape his own hair tie.

"This is not Azeroth," Wrathion grouses. "Were we to find something, we could not even be assured it was safe given our lack of contextual history."

Honestly, who has time for this frivolity? Their situation is precarious. Once again, the beacon has failed them -- more so than previously. Neither of them has managed to return home even briefly this time, and now they are crossing the ocean to some new unknown destination.

The Beastmaster may be dead, but the Huntress is now missing -- and Wrathion cannot be sure if that is a good thing or not.

Wrathion is right, of course. This island is likely no safer than any of the other locations they've visited so far. Perhaps even less so, considering its deserted location. The truth is that Anduin does not intend to search for buried treasure. Since that day, rescuing the children from the volcano, Anduin had been -- busy, with the villagers, and the cleanup. And then there had been the beacon, and all the mixed feelings the idea of returning home had brought with it, only to have it fail again. Now here they are, voyaging across the ocean on a pirate ship and sharing their living space with the rest of the group at large, and this whole time they haven't really managed to check in with each other.

Maybe it doesn't matter. Wrathion has spent most of his life fending for himself. But here in this place, where they have grown to count on one another... Or at least that is what Anduin would like to think, anyway. Wrathion's mind has always been difficult to read. Anduin's spent enough time trying to guess at what he might be thinking. If Anduin knows him, then he knows that he will never truly speak his mind in front of an audience, as much as he does like to put on airs.

Shouldering his own pack, he steps forward to lead Wrathion further into the jungle -- and away from anyone else from the party they might have landed with. If there is one thing that can be counted on, it is that treasure hunting is not a group activity, and soon they are well and truly alone in the dense forest.

"I have been meaning to speak to you," Anduin says, slowing his pace before turning to glance back at Wrathion. "The ship presents itself with few opportunities for private conversation, so I had thought..." His pale blue eyes search Wrathion's face for any sign of frustration or protest, at the somewhat less than honest ruse to lure him out here. Then again, Anduin is not so sure that he would have come otherwise.

The ruse to lure him out doesn't bother Wrathion -- he'd have no moral high ground in that argument -- however the desire for private conversation does induce wariness.

What is it Anduin needs to speak to him about that requires privacy?

Something serious? Something dangerous? Something he cannot risk the rest of their party overhearing?

"Speak your mind," he prompts, brow furrowing as he tries to pick apart Anduin's expression in turn. He doesn't look angry, he thinks. So it may not be that he's upset with him. Has he done anything that might have upset Anduin, for that matter? He doesn't -- hm. Perhaps Anduin objects to the Beastmaster's death, perhaps he felt pity for him? Desired him to live, the way Daenerys had?

They both stand studying each other's expressions for a moment before Anduin makes the first move to break the silence. This had been his idea, after all. The lot of it had been.

"So much has happened, recently," Anduin says, at last. "You were forced out of the village, on the run from the Beastmaster. I met with you, when I could, and I -- did try my best to see that you were protected from his influences. But then what with the troubles in the village, the drought, the volcano's eruption, and the tributes they sought to sacrifice..."

He takes a tentative step back toward Wrathion, searching his face as he continues.

"I know that he is dead now. But..." Anduin frowns, realizing perhaps exactly what it is that's troubling him about all of this. "I should have been there with you. During that final battle. I made you a promise, and I -- should have seen it through."

Ah.

Realisation smooths out Wrathion's expression, and he hesitates thoughtfully.

It is, after all, quite true. Anduin did make him a promise, and in the end he was not there. He could have been, but instead Wrathion veered from his goal to help Anduin first -- to fly him and the tributes to safety. A noble goal, and one Wrathion cannot begrudge. Anduin prioritised saving individuals who were not as strong as either of them, so that they did not come to harm in all the chaos.

Still.

He folds his arms thoughtfully, fingers tapping against his arm as he considers it.

"You had other concerns in the moment," Wrathion says. "I managed regardless."

Anduin's frown deepens slightly, both at the way that Wrathion folds his arms over his chest and then at his companion's choice of words.

Other concerns.

"Your health and well-being have and always will be among my chief concerns, Wrathion," Anduin insists. "I could not turn my back on those people. Not when they needed me to be there for them. But that is not to say that I meant to abandon you -- that you did not need me there for you as well. Even if you did manage, as you say, without me."

He holds Wrathion's gaze in his for a long moment, before he says, softly, "I am sorry."

That is entirely not true.

There was a time Wrathion's health and well-being were not at all Anduin's concern, he's quite sure. All his own doing, of course, yet still -- even the smallest hint of falsehood in the words is something Wrathion latches onto. He lofts an eyebrow, then slides his eyes away as he processes the apology.

Did he need an apology? He isn't sure. He was not, exactly, upset about it.

He was not upset because he hadn't actually expected Anduin to appear by his side. What would he have done if he had? Healed him, he supposes? Would he have fought? How would Wrathion have felt about that?

"Given the way things have progressed so far, I do not doubt you will have ample opportunities to fight by my side."

"Yes," Anduin agrees quietly. "Given the way that things have progressed, as you have said. I suppose it is only a matter of time, at this rate."

He stands, studying Wrathion for a moment longer. The way that he has let his gaze slide away, the way that he has crossed his arms over his chest. As though he feels he needs to guard himself, even here and now, in this private moment between them. Perhaps because Anduin has construed this private moment between them in such a way. Wrathion always has preferred to be much more straightforward about these things, Anduin realizes with a wince.

"I suppose that I also simply wanted to ask if you are alright? After everything in Ke-Waihu..."

Anduin's eyes are soft and impossibly blue as he watches studies Wrathion for his response.

Edited 2022-06-22 22:52 (UTC)

If he's... alright? Wrathion's furrows as he processes that question.

"I suffered no permanent damage," he allows. Anduin, he suspects, is not actually asking if he needs healing -- yet all the same he cannot quite articulate how he feels. He should be relieved, and he is in a manner of speaking -- yet he's also uneasy. A discomfort that crawls over his skin restlessly, whispers to him when he tries to rest.

He doesn't know the name of this feeling, but he does know that he is still on edge. Perhaps it is simply that he hasn't had time enough to recover? Perhaps a decent period of relaxation would help, but it seems unlikely they will get that.

Anduin is quiet for a long moment, before offering Wrathion a small shake of his head. He would like to hope that if his companion had had need of healing, he would not have waited for Anduin to ask after his health before he requested it. But physical wounds are not the only suffering that a person can endure. Anduin knows that Wrathion understands this quite well, given his personal history.

He also understands that Wrathion would rather suffer in silence than admit to any discomforts or perceived weaknesses. Does he not yet know that he can trust Anduin with anything? Perhaps he simply needs a little push.

"You do not appear injured," Anduin agrees. "But that is not what I ask."

Hm. Wrathion lofts an eyebrow, hesitates. It's a much more direct question, in truth, than he knows how to answer. What is he even supposed to say?

"I am with you," he says finally, "that is all that matters."

Which is the truth. The process may be difficult, here, but they are together. So long as they are together, then any obstacles can be overcome.

Wrathion's words are unexpectedly tender, enough to make Anduin's heart ache for him.

That is all that matters.

Anduin takes a few tentative steps forward to close the distance between them, reaching for Wrathion's hand. It is foolish to feel self-conscious of such a gesture, considering how much more forward he has been with his affections as it is, and yet.

"You are," he agrees, softly, and gently squeezes Wrathion's fingers in his own. "And I with you."

Wrathion glances down at the hand that catches his, then warily around them.

They're alone.

Would it matter if they were not?

Some people know, is secrecy preferable?

Usually he'd say yes. Wrathion is private, protective of anything that might be used against him. Weak points, vulnerabilities. Anduin is that, something he knows could be used against him. Does he trust this group enough to be open with this? Or, at least, more open?

"Nothing would take me willingly from your side," Wrathion assures him. "Although I fear peace is a long way from us yet."

Anduin cannot help but notice the way that Wrathion glances around, following with his own gaze before recognizing just what it is that Wrathion is looking for.

He squeezes Wrathion's fingers in his own once more, a soft gesture of reassurance. He had intended this to be a private conversation, just between the pair of them. No one should be around. Although... Would it be such a terrible thing if they were? They are only holding hands. Does Wrathion wish for -- whatever it is between them to be a secret from others? In truth, Anduin does not know if he is capable of holding himself back in such a way. Not when they have already come this far.

"Peace..." Anduin says, glancing down to their joined hands before back up at Wrathion himself. "I do not know whether there will ever be peace for either of us, in this land or back at home. However... I find it all much easier to endure with you here with me."

Wrathion takes a slow step closer, his free hand lifting gloved fingers to brush a strand of blond hair out of Anduin's face. The action is excessively slow, some balance of consideration going into it that is drawn out unnecessarily to the point of dramatics.

"Both this world and Azeroth face many threats, that is true. Yet between us, we have done more than endure. We have risen and thrived. There may be a darkness here, but there is little fear to be had of that for wielders of the Light I should think. Strife may keep us from rest, but I know we will succeed. There is no other option."

Anduin finds himself leaning into the brush of Wrathion's fingers against his skin, warm even through the leather of his gloves.

"The Light is everywhere, in all places, in all things," Anduin agrees, a soft smile playing at his lips as he does. "Even here, in this place of mystery and -- so often, death."

Anduin pauses, searching Wrathion's face for a long moment.

"Sometimes, I do find it difficult to have faith that the Light will guide me toward the right path, when there never seems to be one." Anduin's eyes sadden, slightly for a moment, before he visibly finds his resolve. "I do not think that either of us has ever known what it is to have an easy life. But -- we will continue to thrive. And I know that I for one am strengthened by your presence here, more than I could ever put into words."

Anduin's praise is -- awkward to accept, the open emotion in it and the easy display of affection. Wrathion offers a hesitant smile, letting his hand drop away once more.

"Does this mean we are not treasure hunting after all?"

Since that was, apparently, just a reason to come out here -- does he not intend to follow through? If so, he supposes they can just explore a little and return when they are ready.

That question brings the quirk of a smile to Anduin's lips in reply, and he cannot help but raise his eyebrows at his companion in an expression of mock innocence.

"Do you mean," he replies, "that you do not want to spend the day together searching for mysterious buried treasure, which may or may not, in fact, be there at all?"

He lets the question linger between them for a moment, before shaking his head with the breath of a laugh.

"If it is the same to you," he offers, "I think we may as well simply enjoy the fresh air -- off of the ship and away from the rest of our companions -- for what time we are allowed, before we must return. Although..."

Self-consciously, he raises a hand to press to his chest, feeling for his pocket and the items resting within. Still there, still safe. His face flushes slightly as he raises his eyes to meet Wrathion's again. "Before that, I. Have something for you."

Something for him?

Hopefully not another treasure map -- although the indication that actually he'd simply like to enjoy the fresh air suggests otherwise. Wrathion lofts an eyebrow in answer, watching Anduin pat at his chest curiously.

"Very well," he allows.

Should he say anything else? He's not well practised at receiving gifts -- is there some etiquette for this?

Anduin cannot help but smile slightly at that response, even as he feels a flutter of nerves in his chest as he steps back and reaches inside his jacket. From within the innermost pocket of his jacket, he reaches in and pulls out a small pouch, where he usually keeps his fathers' compass. It is still inside of course, but it is not the only item there.

"It... Is not much," Anduin says, his face flushing slightly as he speaks. "The truth is that... After you gave me this cuff, I -- had looked for something for you in return, as a way of thanking you. I am not a craftsman myself, and I am conscious of your... Discerning eye." He flicks Wrathion a little twist of a smile -- it's the nicest way of saying that he thinks he is fancy, after all, with fancy tastes.

"Between one thing and another, with you out there in the forest and everything else going on... The timing did not seem right. But now that we find ourselves on the other side of the worst of the danger..."

He feels awkward, and he knows he is stumbling over his words far more than he would otherwise. Perhaps the better thing is just to end the suspense for them both. Tugging off his gloves so that he may handle the item more easily, Anduin reaches into the pouch and pulls it out. Reaching for Wrathion's hand so that he might lay it in his palm: a thin silver coin, with the etching of a lion's head on its face, strung on a silver chain.

"I had this commissioned from the jeweler I rescued. I had shown him the cuff, and let him know it was a gift in return. I think -- he was quite taken by the design..."

Ah!

Wrathion blinks down at the coin, studying the lion's head on its face. It is a well carved piece, small but finely made. Did Anduin ask for this design, or did the jeweller simply make it to match the piece Anduin made? He supposes that he could not have known the significance of the lion symbol, unless Anduin told him. He doesn't think Anduin would have explained, but he might have asked for something to match?

How would it feel to wear a symbol of the Alliance? He's uncertain, in truth, but when he thinks of it as a symbol of his bond to Anduin the feeling is much clearer.

His other hand moves, one finger rubbing over the surface of the coin thoughtfully.

"Was the design your idea or his?"

Just curious. He doesn't want to say something out of turn about it, so best to know.

Anduin watches Wrathion's fingers tracing over the face of the lion on the coin, feeling -- oddly possessive, for having given him such a thing. That wasn't entirely the idea, when he had commissioned it, of course. Wrathion isn't the sort of person to wear Stormwind colors, or regalia. But for him to wear one single item with the design, a gift from Anduin himself.

It does make him feel a certain way...

"I suppose it might have been a little bit of both," Anduin replies, with a somewhat self-conscious smile. "I showed him what you had made for me, and requested... Well. That whatever he made be not exactly the same, of course. In retrospect, I do not think I gave much further direction than that, but. It is quite a fine little piece."

He hesitates for a moment, before feeling self-consciously compelled to point out, "If you do not care for the design then you do not need to wear it, of course."

Wrathion lifts his eyes from the pendant at that, closing his fingers around it.

"Unless you've explained it, I doubt the design means anything to anyone but the two of us."

He tilts his head, thoughtful.

"It might cause a stir were I to wear it in Azeroth, but here I think I might do so without incident."

He thinks about making a joke here about about being recruited, but that doesn't seem quite right. Anduin's self-consciousness is already too visible. He's given a gift, and Wrathion thinks he should be clear that it has been well received. He slides it in his fingers, lets it drop to hang from the chain left hooked around his fingers.

"Should I wear it now?"

He imagines Anduin might like to put it on him. A little more than he'd normally allow, but he can indulge it for the sake of the moment.

It is true, if they were back on Azeroth, wearing such a thing would make it seem as though Wrathion was all but declaring himself -- if not for Anduin himself, then certainly for Stormwind. For the Alliance.

To wear it here and now, though. It is not without its own meaning. It is both acceptance of the gift and also -- something more than just that. At least to Anduin himself. No, Wrathion is not joining up, or whatever joke he might have made. But it is very -- forward, to wear something so... Branded. Anduin will not be able to look at the necklace and not feel some sense of -- well. Possession feels the wrong word, he could never possibly possess a person like Wrathion. But belonging, perhaps?

His heart does a little somersault in his chest as Wrathion holds the chain out toward him, Anduin's eyes flicking between the chain and the expression on Wrathion's face.

"I would like that," Anduin says, a soft smile curling across his lips. "If... I may?"

He reaches for the chain and gently takes it back, gesturing for Wrathion to turn.

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