Das Begman: RP Scene 18
SUMMARY: The same atmospheric anomaly as the previous times make itself known, and common factors between all instances are determined.
CHARACTERS: Merrisol and Maggie
As they arrive back on the Wave Dancer, Rebman water sluices to the deck in a steady patter, gravity reasserting itself and the ship rising upon a sea swell to meet them besides. The rising wind that hits them immediately chills the moisture that remains on hair, skin, and clothes. The murderous red sky fills their eyes, although in one area to starboard it is already black as night. Maggie's trump is returned and Li-Fang rushes away to resume arming the crew for action. Not that there's any clear threat of battle, but Fang has been here before when the weather was like this and she isn't taking any chances for when the beasts come over the rails.
Merrisol hands Maggie her garments and drops the boots to the deck, to do up some shirt buttons while listening to the sitrep delivered by another officer. It had only been rough seas and the red sky for a while, before and after the Captain and First Mate departed, and everyone expected it to stabilize soon. Red sky at night and all... But then that dark.. atmospheric disturbance had risen up, seeming from the sea itself. The dark fissure is continuing to grow, and the wind with it, and crackles of electricity feed off the edges, leaping from point to point. Merri goes to the rail to look towards the phenomenon, trying to gauge the distance to the point of origin. He turns, calls for the copy of the topographical map Quinlan created of the seabed, where marks of foreign matter had been detected upon the sediment, whether great or small.
The sudden shift from warm sea to cold wind is hardly noticed as Maggie arrives on the deck of her ship. For once her blood's peculiar attributes are a benefit rather than a curse. Once Merrisol has materialized next to her, she turns and notes that he is now holding a pile of clothing, "Oh. Thanks, Kerf. I forgot all about them." Silly thing that she is. Maybe she has endless copies of those pants and boots in her wardrobe downstairs. Or, a tailor and cobbler on retainer. As the boots hit the deck, she lifts first one foot and then the other into the leaden, sodden denim. Uncurling the fabric as she rises, she abandons the notion of 'socks' whether wet or dry and stuffs her feet into the boots. Doing up the zipper and button, she stomps her feet to force them farther into the boots and marches resolutely off to the railing. Turning, she listens to the siterep, then politely and considerately requests spyglasses for herself and the first mate. A sailor darts off to fing a pair and will bring them back shortly.
The map comes back around the same time as the spy glasses do, and Merrisol opens it p and spends a moment getting his bearings. He accepts one of the glasses but continues to hold the rendered map at arm's length, letting Maggie make a distance assessment. Still.. there are not many markers out in that direction; a few small-scale blips and one rather large one, described by the earth-scrying mages as an irregular fried-egg kind of shape covering the sea bed. So it had been dismissed out of hand. Merri glances over at Maggie questioningly.
Maggie accepts the spy glass as it is brought to her, "Thanks." Opening it, she glances at the map for only a moment before fitting the eyepiece where it belongs. Closing her other eye she peers out toward the apparent source of the disturbance. "I don't know, Kerf. Something big is rising toward the surface, but I can't tell what it is." She tips the glass downward, stepping closer to the railing of the ship, "The outlines... Seem to be regular-ish, though there are some distortions that could be caused by structures, flukes, appendages or the way the water bends light. Sorry, but the water is too roiled up there to see clearly." A glance over her shoulder shows that Li-Fang has given orders for the storm canon to be readied.
(ooc) Merrisol figures there's nothing coming to the surface per se, the water is just disturbed while the atmospheric effect is taking shape. It serves to indicate the source of the gateway phenomenon as being something beneath the surface all this time.
(ooc) Maggie nods, "Ohhhh! Coooool." :)
(ooc) Merrisol says, "But as the GMs nixed the idea of a gateway (even though Scholastica had approved it in the TP), we're still going with it being an atmospheric side effect, instead of an official gateway that needs a Karm."
The intrepid crew has been through a lot of rough situations, and just three days ago come through the Minos shadowroute, fraught with as unnerving experiences as an adventurous sailor could hope fore. Something with which to regale the grandkids someday. This dark blot hanging in the air, so dense and nebulous that it looks like a hole slashed open across the red sky, revealing a howling void beyond, is probably one of those stories they'll be keeping to themselves. Isn't this the same spot wherein the former Wave Dancer crew were lost? Is it destined to happen again?
Merrisol had been looking for a distance measure for the disturbance, so he could try and match it to one of the markers if possible. He hands off the map to one of the sailors and extends his own piece, and that's when the wind gusts. The swells in the sea have developed foaming peaks, as the blight charges the area with enough negative particles to adversely affect the local weather patterns. Dark clouds curl into existence, take on mass, and hang overhead, threatening to burst open on their heads. "It's the large one if its anything," Merri gauges, doggedly, with a frown upwards before he goes right back to the map. "Stands to reason it's the same spot as last time, Captain.. and the same spot you pointed to." Wow.. what could it meeeaan? Merrisol collapses the spyglass and passes it back to the runner.
The crew up in the rigging scrambles down to the deck. While most do not continue below decks, some do. The harsh red of the encroaching night is gradually lost to the deeply dark clouds gathering. These oddities or terrors are nothing when compared to the opening that rends the air above. After a while those who went below return bearing arms issued below. They spell another set who go down to retreive their own weapons. This continues at regular intervals until everyone has been armed.
Maggie blinks once, realizing her mistake, "Oh. Sorry." She does not look again at the map, trusting Merrisol's assessment of the distance and direction. The wind tosses spray up into the air as clouds blot out the light. Slowly, Maggie turns her spyglass to the opening as though trying to look down into the throat of hell, "So what sets it off? It was peaceful as a summer's day not long ago." Moving her head to one side, she folds the spy glass and tucks it into a pocket. "You know that pointing thing was intended to be encouraging, right? Not prophetic."
Merrisol is peripherally aware of the movement and rotation of the deck crew, acting on their own volition if not by Fang's order. Well, he for one is not going to stop them preparing to defend themselves and also the ship. There was a time when he regarded his duties as first officer aboard the Wave Dancer as paramount. Now, he could be one of the guests.. or the Captain he used to be, on more equal footing with the mistress of this vessel. Turning, he has to raise his voice above the tumult of the wind and rush of the sea, and it's Maggie he addresses. "What is the common factor, all.. three times? This ship..?" Weird Ship strikes again! He stares at Maggie in tense concentration for a moment, as hard, cold bullets of rain begin to strike the deck and its occupants, matting down hair in seconds. "You, Captain? You walked the Pattern, located the Dancer and visited it somehow, I recall. Did it storm even then?"
A shriek of wind whips through Maggie's hair, tossing handfulls of glittering spray into her hair and eyes before skittering along the deck to spiral up the main mast to set the rigging dancing. Some of the crew work to bring down the sails, fighting against the growing fury of the unnatural storm. Rain darknes the decking in dark splotches then runs in sparkling lines against the woodgrain to fall over the side and back into the sea. Concern has settled over Maggie's expression as she watches the bedamned hole disgorge mmercurial chaos. Listening, she glances at him, recognizing shifts that have grown over time but have culminated in this moment. She does not speak of them, nor does she resent them for they have been somewhat inevitable. A corner of her lips twitches upward slightly then fades as she considers the question. "Me or the ship, then, yes." Lifting her voice to continue against the rising wind and the protesting creak of irritated wood, she adds, "When you walk the pattern you can go anywhere you wish to go. I came to the deck of my ship. Yes. It was storming then too."
Merri inclines his head in acknowledgement, while folding up the sodden map into a sloppy square. Don't much need it anymore, and it's just in the way now. He frowns still. "Unless it just randomly storms, and we've just been around long enough to catch it happening, all three times!" Or is that four? Anyway. He undoes the buttons of his shirt now as he goes on. "In any case, you ought to weigh anchor, and take the ship out from the area while she is still navigable, Captain!"
And so it comes down to it. "You don't believe that and neither do I." A flash of light or lightning illuminates her darkening hair and reflects in her eyes. A hand lifts to rest on his forearm, "I am sending the ship away. Li-Fang has my trump. I am not leaving you here to face whatever it is alone, Kerf. I have your back." She squeezes his arm if the touch is allowed, then turns to walk carefully back to the inner railing. A runner is sent to find the Master at Arms.
He pauses in peeling out of his shirt, looking at her fixedly while she speaks, while the world inexorably goes to hell around them. When has he ever refused her touch? As she walks away he walks after her. "And if you are the catalyst, Maggie? Departing with the ship might restore calm to this unlucky spot." He doesn't believe that either. Which probably means he really isn't certain about anything anymore. Except.. "We'll need to go armed! Daggers. Spears.. or harpoons." Shirt and map fall in a jumble over the side to present an inexplicable mystery to whatever soul finds the map washed up on whatever beach.
Maggie does not expect the touch to be refused, though his words give her pause for a moment before she shakes her head, "I don't... think so." When she can, she gives Fang orders to get the ship out of there. Spears, harpoons, daggers. She sends a runner for spears and daggers. Facing him again, she adds, "The ship was here by itself for a long time and the storm raged even without me aboard her." As she speaks, she kicks off her boots and pulls her tunic up over her head to abandon it in a sodden splat of fabric hitting the wood deck. A fine cutlass is taken from one hip and offered guard first to Merrisol. "Bennedict gave it to me." Her flame sword? She keeps it with her, though does not expect the magical fire to work underwater.
Merrisol never did get around to putting on his own boots after coming through the trump, so he's ahead of the game. He nods over the logic, taking the reassurance for what it's worth, since it wouldn't have mattered anyway. She's sticking around. He hesitates over the cutlass, but takes it. It's not ideal for underwater combat, but maybe if they need to saw their way out of a giant clam... Once the other weapons arrive, he takes the spears from his new position atop the siderail, balancing precariously while the ship pitches and drags anchor a dozen feet. Judging an acute angle, he javelins the pole weapons into the waves, where they disappear swiftly and with nary a splash. Harpoons might have gone all the way to the sea bed due to their full metal weight, but then, who wants to be raising one of those during a lightning storm? He is forced to kneel and hold tight to the gunwale, as the weighing anchor sends the ship wave riding forward. Steadying, he holds his empty hand out to her, so they can take the leap full together this time.
Once orders have been given and the anchor weighed, Maggie pauses long enough to slither out of her soaked jeans. Denim is such a forgiving fabric, tough and sturdy when dry. Wet, it clings like nothing else so the jeans are rolled and left in an eternity of fiber and water on the wooden deck. She draws her belt from the loops and resettles it about her narrow waist, cutlass fixed to it. It might not be the ideal weapon below the waves, but in her mind every Captain should have one so it goes where she goes, and he should have one. Catching the rhythm of the pitch and yaw of the newly freed ship, she moves to the railing and, placing her hand in his, climbs onto the heaving surface. Steadying, she smiles a complicated smile his way. There is a grim determination there, along with gentler, more personal emotions ever-present but nearly hidden. The determination wins and she nods once to signal her readiness to face whatever they find in the deep.
CHARACTERS: Merrisol and Maggie
As they arrive back on the Wave Dancer, Rebman water sluices to the deck in a steady patter, gravity reasserting itself and the ship rising upon a sea swell to meet them besides. The rising wind that hits them immediately chills the moisture that remains on hair, skin, and clothes. The murderous red sky fills their eyes, although in one area to starboard it is already black as night. Maggie's trump is returned and Li-Fang rushes away to resume arming the crew for action. Not that there's any clear threat of battle, but Fang has been here before when the weather was like this and she isn't taking any chances for when the beasts come over the rails.
Merrisol hands Maggie her garments and drops the boots to the deck, to do up some shirt buttons while listening to the sitrep delivered by another officer. It had only been rough seas and the red sky for a while, before and after the Captain and First Mate departed, and everyone expected it to stabilize soon. Red sky at night and all... But then that dark.. atmospheric disturbance had risen up, seeming from the sea itself. The dark fissure is continuing to grow, and the wind with it, and crackles of electricity feed off the edges, leaping from point to point. Merri goes to the rail to look towards the phenomenon, trying to gauge the distance to the point of origin. He turns, calls for the copy of the topographical map Quinlan created of the seabed, where marks of foreign matter had been detected upon the sediment, whether great or small.
The sudden shift from warm sea to cold wind is hardly noticed as Maggie arrives on the deck of her ship. For once her blood's peculiar attributes are a benefit rather than a curse. Once Merrisol has materialized next to her, she turns and notes that he is now holding a pile of clothing, "Oh. Thanks, Kerf. I forgot all about them." Silly thing that she is. Maybe she has endless copies of those pants and boots in her wardrobe downstairs. Or, a tailor and cobbler on retainer. As the boots hit the deck, she lifts first one foot and then the other into the leaden, sodden denim. Uncurling the fabric as she rises, she abandons the notion of 'socks' whether wet or dry and stuffs her feet into the boots. Doing up the zipper and button, she stomps her feet to force them farther into the boots and marches resolutely off to the railing. Turning, she listens to the siterep, then politely and considerately requests spyglasses for herself and the first mate. A sailor darts off to fing a pair and will bring them back shortly.
The map comes back around the same time as the spy glasses do, and Merrisol opens it p and spends a moment getting his bearings. He accepts one of the glasses but continues to hold the rendered map at arm's length, letting Maggie make a distance assessment. Still.. there are not many markers out in that direction; a few small-scale blips and one rather large one, described by the earth-scrying mages as an irregular fried-egg kind of shape covering the sea bed. So it had been dismissed out of hand. Merri glances over at Maggie questioningly.
Maggie accepts the spy glass as it is brought to her, "Thanks." Opening it, she glances at the map for only a moment before fitting the eyepiece where it belongs. Closing her other eye she peers out toward the apparent source of the disturbance. "I don't know, Kerf. Something big is rising toward the surface, but I can't tell what it is." She tips the glass downward, stepping closer to the railing of the ship, "The outlines... Seem to be regular-ish, though there are some distortions that could be caused by structures, flukes, appendages or the way the water bends light. Sorry, but the water is too roiled up there to see clearly." A glance over her shoulder shows that Li-Fang has given orders for the storm canon to be readied.
(ooc) Merrisol figures there's nothing coming to the surface per se, the water is just disturbed while the atmospheric effect is taking shape. It serves to indicate the source of the gateway phenomenon as being something beneath the surface all this time.
(ooc) Maggie nods, "Ohhhh! Coooool." :)
(ooc) Merrisol says, "But as the GMs nixed the idea of a gateway (even though Scholastica had approved it in the TP), we're still going with it being an atmospheric side effect, instead of an official gateway that needs a Karm."
The intrepid crew has been through a lot of rough situations, and just three days ago come through the Minos shadowroute, fraught with as unnerving experiences as an adventurous sailor could hope fore. Something with which to regale the grandkids someday. This dark blot hanging in the air, so dense and nebulous that it looks like a hole slashed open across the red sky, revealing a howling void beyond, is probably one of those stories they'll be keeping to themselves. Isn't this the same spot wherein the former Wave Dancer crew were lost? Is it destined to happen again?
Merrisol had been looking for a distance measure for the disturbance, so he could try and match it to one of the markers if possible. He hands off the map to one of the sailors and extends his own piece, and that's when the wind gusts. The swells in the sea have developed foaming peaks, as the blight charges the area with enough negative particles to adversely affect the local weather patterns. Dark clouds curl into existence, take on mass, and hang overhead, threatening to burst open on their heads. "It's the large one if its anything," Merri gauges, doggedly, with a frown upwards before he goes right back to the map. "Stands to reason it's the same spot as last time, Captain.. and the same spot you pointed to." Wow.. what could it meeeaan? Merrisol collapses the spyglass and passes it back to the runner.
The crew up in the rigging scrambles down to the deck. While most do not continue below decks, some do. The harsh red of the encroaching night is gradually lost to the deeply dark clouds gathering. These oddities or terrors are nothing when compared to the opening that rends the air above. After a while those who went below return bearing arms issued below. They spell another set who go down to retreive their own weapons. This continues at regular intervals until everyone has been armed.
Maggie blinks once, realizing her mistake, "Oh. Sorry." She does not look again at the map, trusting Merrisol's assessment of the distance and direction. The wind tosses spray up into the air as clouds blot out the light. Slowly, Maggie turns her spyglass to the opening as though trying to look down into the throat of hell, "So what sets it off? It was peaceful as a summer's day not long ago." Moving her head to one side, she folds the spy glass and tucks it into a pocket. "You know that pointing thing was intended to be encouraging, right? Not prophetic."
Merrisol is peripherally aware of the movement and rotation of the deck crew, acting on their own volition if not by Fang's order. Well, he for one is not going to stop them preparing to defend themselves and also the ship. There was a time when he regarded his duties as first officer aboard the Wave Dancer as paramount. Now, he could be one of the guests.. or the Captain he used to be, on more equal footing with the mistress of this vessel. Turning, he has to raise his voice above the tumult of the wind and rush of the sea, and it's Maggie he addresses. "What is the common factor, all.. three times? This ship..?" Weird Ship strikes again! He stares at Maggie in tense concentration for a moment, as hard, cold bullets of rain begin to strike the deck and its occupants, matting down hair in seconds. "You, Captain? You walked the Pattern, located the Dancer and visited it somehow, I recall. Did it storm even then?"
A shriek of wind whips through Maggie's hair, tossing handfulls of glittering spray into her hair and eyes before skittering along the deck to spiral up the main mast to set the rigging dancing. Some of the crew work to bring down the sails, fighting against the growing fury of the unnatural storm. Rain darknes the decking in dark splotches then runs in sparkling lines against the woodgrain to fall over the side and back into the sea. Concern has settled over Maggie's expression as she watches the bedamned hole disgorge mmercurial chaos. Listening, she glances at him, recognizing shifts that have grown over time but have culminated in this moment. She does not speak of them, nor does she resent them for they have been somewhat inevitable. A corner of her lips twitches upward slightly then fades as she considers the question. "Me or the ship, then, yes." Lifting her voice to continue against the rising wind and the protesting creak of irritated wood, she adds, "When you walk the pattern you can go anywhere you wish to go. I came to the deck of my ship. Yes. It was storming then too."
Merri inclines his head in acknowledgement, while folding up the sodden map into a sloppy square. Don't much need it anymore, and it's just in the way now. He frowns still. "Unless it just randomly storms, and we've just been around long enough to catch it happening, all three times!" Or is that four? Anyway. He undoes the buttons of his shirt now as he goes on. "In any case, you ought to weigh anchor, and take the ship out from the area while she is still navigable, Captain!"
And so it comes down to it. "You don't believe that and neither do I." A flash of light or lightning illuminates her darkening hair and reflects in her eyes. A hand lifts to rest on his forearm, "I am sending the ship away. Li-Fang has my trump. I am not leaving you here to face whatever it is alone, Kerf. I have your back." She squeezes his arm if the touch is allowed, then turns to walk carefully back to the inner railing. A runner is sent to find the Master at Arms.
He pauses in peeling out of his shirt, looking at her fixedly while she speaks, while the world inexorably goes to hell around them. When has he ever refused her touch? As she walks away he walks after her. "And if you are the catalyst, Maggie? Departing with the ship might restore calm to this unlucky spot." He doesn't believe that either. Which probably means he really isn't certain about anything anymore. Except.. "We'll need to go armed! Daggers. Spears.. or harpoons." Shirt and map fall in a jumble over the side to present an inexplicable mystery to whatever soul finds the map washed up on whatever beach.
Maggie does not expect the touch to be refused, though his words give her pause for a moment before she shakes her head, "I don't... think so." When she can, she gives Fang orders to get the ship out of there. Spears, harpoons, daggers. She sends a runner for spears and daggers. Facing him again, she adds, "The ship was here by itself for a long time and the storm raged even without me aboard her." As she speaks, she kicks off her boots and pulls her tunic up over her head to abandon it in a sodden splat of fabric hitting the wood deck. A fine cutlass is taken from one hip and offered guard first to Merrisol. "Bennedict gave it to me." Her flame sword? She keeps it with her, though does not expect the magical fire to work underwater.
Merrisol never did get around to putting on his own boots after coming through the trump, so he's ahead of the game. He nods over the logic, taking the reassurance for what it's worth, since it wouldn't have mattered anyway. She's sticking around. He hesitates over the cutlass, but takes it. It's not ideal for underwater combat, but maybe if they need to saw their way out of a giant clam... Once the other weapons arrive, he takes the spears from his new position atop the siderail, balancing precariously while the ship pitches and drags anchor a dozen feet. Judging an acute angle, he javelins the pole weapons into the waves, where they disappear swiftly and with nary a splash. Harpoons might have gone all the way to the sea bed due to their full metal weight, but then, who wants to be raising one of those during a lightning storm? He is forced to kneel and hold tight to the gunwale, as the weighing anchor sends the ship wave riding forward. Steadying, he holds his empty hand out to her, so they can take the leap full together this time.
Once orders have been given and the anchor weighed, Maggie pauses long enough to slither out of her soaked jeans. Denim is such a forgiving fabric, tough and sturdy when dry. Wet, it clings like nothing else so the jeans are rolled and left in an eternity of fiber and water on the wooden deck. She draws her belt from the loops and resettles it about her narrow waist, cutlass fixed to it. It might not be the ideal weapon below the waves, but in her mind every Captain should have one so it goes where she goes, and he should have one. Catching the rhythm of the pitch and yaw of the newly freed ship, she moves to the railing and, placing her hand in his, climbs onto the heaving surface. Steadying, she smiles a complicated smile his way. There is a grim determination there, along with gentler, more personal emotions ever-present but nearly hidden. The determination wins and she nods once to signal her readiness to face whatever they find in the deep.