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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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.

Offering Anduin to do this is not the same as then submitting to it. Turning his back to someone, lowering himself in submission in any way is immediately a repellent thing -- even if that person is Anduin Wrynn. If he were indoors, could sit and let Anduin rise to do it that would be one thing.

Wrathion weighs up his options a long moment, then draws his hair over one shoulder and after another few seconds of hesitation slowly drops to kneel facing him. The tension in doing it is clear, anxiety locking all his muscles and his heart beginning to race. He knows he doesn't have to, knows he could have found another way to do this.

Yet this is a matter of trust, and this is the most open display of it he can offer.

Anduin schools his face into the most neutral expression he can, as Wrathion kneels in front of him. How strange it feels, to watch him do so. Anduin's own pulse picks up slightly, a mixture of excitement and uncertainty racing through him at the sight of it.

In the back of his mind, Anduin recognizes that Wrathion is a dragon, and while this is not exactly a gesture of supplication, it's clearly... Well. It's more along those lines than it is otherwise.

Being a king, it is not the first time that Anduin has had men kneeling in front of him, and he cannot help but draw such parallels as well. On their knees as he lays his sword on their shoulders and takes him into the service of the Alliance. This... Is not the same. And yet...

Anduin regards Wrathion there on the ground in front of him for a long moment, before he steps forward and gently slips the silver chain over his neck, reaching to readjust his hair once it is in place. Unable to help himself from reaching to tuck a stray curl behind Wrathion's ear as he does.

"There," he says, softly, turning the coin so it rests lion-side out against his skin, before holding a hand out to help him back up.

Wrathion shoots the hand a look that says he's not certain he likes it, that he doesn't need it and would prefer not to have it -- but accepts anyway. He shifts to push to his feet, barely using the grip as if to prove some unspoken point, then dusts himself down. Wrathion cannot help but wonder how the medallion looks beside his usual star ruby necklace. If it looks dull in comparison, or in turn makes the glinting red gem look ostentatious.

Should he wear it openly? Or consider wearing shirts that are buttoned higher?

He considers Anduin a long moment, then lofts an eyebrow curiously.

"Well?" he prompts, "does it please you?"

After all, gifts like this are given both to please the recipient and the giver. There is pleasure in seeing someone wear your insignia.

Does it please him?

Anduin allows himself a moment to consider his reply, reaching to toy with the medallion again, smoothing his hands over the lapels of Wrathion's jacket, as if adjusting his already immaculate attire. It -- may not have been something Wrathion had chosen for himself. But that does not mean that it does not suit him. The coin itself is smaller and more subtle than Wrathion's ruby necklace, and the lion's head design is--

His. Unashamedly so. To see him wearing it...

"Yes," Anduin says, flicking his eyes up to meet Wrathion's, a subtle flush coloring his light skin as he does. "Yes, I -- think it does, rather."

"Then it will please me to wear it."

It's that simple. He -- feels a little strange, in truth. He's never worn anyone else's symbol before, let alone one so... obvious in its affiliations. Then again, he's never really openly been affiliated with anyone other than himself.

The Alliance seem to cover everything in their own insignia. Perhaps it is simply something you get used to.

Anduin allows his hands to linger, fingers curled in the fabric of Wrathion's lapels, keeping him close. He studies Wrathion's face, watching the expressions play through his eyes from so little distance between them.

The medallion is clearly a complicated gift. Much more so than Anduin had had any intention for it to be. Wrathion had accepted it willingly, however. He is wearing it willingly. And he had said that it would please him to do so. Anduin does not think he would lie to him in such a way, simply to make him happy.

He offers his companion a soft smile, before reaching up to tuck another curl away from his face. Turning his arm so the light catches the cuff on his wrist -- the cuff that Wrathion had made, only for him.

"What about this?" he finds himself asking. "Does it please you to know that I wear it? Even if you cannot see it, to understand that is there with me always." Perhaps the intent behind the cuff and the medallion were not quite the same. And yet...

His eyes drop to the cuff thoughtfully. It is, of course, different. Seeing someone wear your work is always pleasing, but the design is all Anduin -- the piece had been specifically crafted to blend in and be practical rather than as a gift to put his mark on Anduin.

The circumstances were very different. Their relationship was very different at that point.

Still.

"It is always a pleasure to see my work appreciated," he admits. "Especially by you."

Anduin allows himself a moment to consider this. To consider Wrathion, and the cuff itself. Perhaps appreciating his work had not been the intention of this gift, precisely. But --

"Perhaps, then, when circumstances allow," Anduin says, thoughtfully, "you will indulge me with an original design."

A slow smile creeps across his features. He thinks he might like to be given such a gift. From Wrathion. Made by Wrathion. Especially for him, without the need to disguise it under the trappings of Stormwind's regalia.

"I understand you are quite the craftsman."

Compliments are always welcome.

Wrathion lofts an eyebrow at that, nods finally. He turns toward the hand that gently pushed hair out of his face, lifts one of his own to gently grasp Anduin about the wrist -- fingers closing over the cuff.

"Usually I make people work first."

Is Anduin Wrynn skipping the fetch quests, demanding gifts of his own? The privileges of rank, it seems, are many and varied.

"You would not want for people to think that you are looking favorably on me," Anduin says, his lips quirking up further at the edges, a playful twinkle lighting in the blue of his eyes. "That would give off entirely the wrong impression, giving a favor, favorably."

Is he enjoying himself, being perhaps somewhere on the side of overly facetious in this moment? Why yes, yes he is. But he's also enjoying the fact that he can be. That he doesn't have to prove anything to Wrathion, and Wrathion does not (he hopes) feel as though he needs to prove anything to him anymore. They are here, on the pretense of a treasure hunt, simply sharing -- finally -- a private moment together.

Anduin cocks his head to the side and offers, "I would do my best to earn it, if that is what is required."

Wrathion lifts his chin in response, exuding a faux-imperious air.

"Perhaps you should," he says. "You're quite correct, after all. Favouritism would be inappropriate, when others have had to work for such things."

So perhaps Anduin should indeed put in effort here to earn his prize. What manner of effort, Wrathion isn't certain. It would be fun to think something up, however. Some combination of tasks to keep him busy, perhaps.

Anduin raises his eyebrows at his companion, a somewhat less faux imperious expression on his own face. At the suggestion that Wrathion might not see him more highly than one of the many champions he has worked alongside. He has an inkling that he does -- he had better -- but Anduin can play along if Wrathion so insists.

"Is the idea that I should treasure the item more for the fact that you have put me through your trials in the effort to obtain it?" he offers. "Perhaps I have gone about my own gift all wrong."

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