We Sing What Was Lost

[Legion]

The stars are not wanted now; put out every one, Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun, Pour away the ocean and sweep up the woods; For nothing now can ever come to any good. - W.H. Auden. 32 Summer 512 AV The rising sun thrust up fistfuls of light out of the east and broke them upon the waves. It set the sails of Ice Rivener glowing in the pearl fog but beginning to dissipate along the western shore of the Spires. While the passengers and crewmen returned, clunking up the gangplank, the first mate Syon Coolwater squinted at every face with multicolored eyes. Even the familiar faces of those who had been with them since Avanthal fell victim to Syon's silent scrutiny, mouth tucked up on one side as he tapped a bit of sharpened charcoal against a loose binding of parchment. Once and a while, he scribbled a remark. A few sailors winced playfully. More reliable was the pacing of their foreign captain whose high boots clocked the hard scrubbed boards of the afterdeck. Human, dark and with a shadow that knifed darker still despite the sickle moon curve of his smile. Captain Delucia displayed his impatience with that unceasing prowl that carried him across the coils of ropes and beneath the creaking ladders and gears that armored masts and rigging with greater utility. It was a strange collection that Syon ultimately plucked from the crowd once the gangplank had been raised and the anchor hauled, their belongings stored belowdeck in the cabinets littering the shelves that would serve for sleeping. Balthazaar, Belgar, Massacre and Sliver were beckoned by the first mate once the strength of the Jamoura had heaved them free of the shore and released them again unto Laviku's keeping. He led them to the forecastle, winding a path past the bridge and jogging nimbly up the short flight of steps in easy tune with the rocking of the ship. They found there their captain standing at the bow, strong hands relinquishing their grip on the rail as he turned to observe their approach with coal colored eyes. "I am Captain Caius Delucia," was the introduction despite that the majority had been sailing with him since Avanthal. "Welcome aboard Ice Rivener. Name, place of origin, skills of note, if you please," he addressed them, his smile faint but amicable. The accent he spoke with suggested an education the tale tellers of Morwen's city doubtless appreciated. "Oh," he added like an afterthought. "Divine loyalties?"

[Massacre]

Massacre truly had no idea what he was getting himself into. Since coming to the Spires he had spent most of his time helping to reclaim those lost to the fog, or helping out the Zith of the area with their territorial disputes. When talk of another mission began, Massacre joined up for no other reason than want of something different. He had never been on a boat. Though Taldera itself was not unfamiliar to him, he had never been so far north as Avanthal, and knew nothing of its people. They just looked like humans to him, and he couldn't tell the difference between one race of human or the next. At least Jamoura were obviously not human. Massacre stood and waited to be picked, wondering what the human must have thought seeing so many wild species in one place. The Spires was filled with Zith, Kelvic, and of course Jamoura to name a few. Massacre had everything he owned with him, which really wasn't much, just as he had when he came to the Spires. When his things were stowed below decks he made certain he knew exactly where they were, but otherwise did not worry himself over them. He was beckoned along with three people who looked to be human, although it was impossible to tell when considering the place they had all come from, and led to meet the captain. Caius Delucia was his name, and he was in charge of the Ice Rivener. Massacre didn't notice the accent, all common sounded the same to him, but he understood well enough what he had been asked. "I am called Massacre. I was born in a land of grass far away from here with my tribe. I'm a hunter, I can fight, and I was leader of my tribe." The only part Massacre didn't really understand was the divine loyalties part. He knew nothing of gods, and didn't understand the word divine, though he thought he knew what the word "loyalties" meant. After thinking for a moment, trying to find the right words to say, he finished. "I said I would help, and I will be loyal to you."

[Sliver]

The air was crisp and cool on the Kelvic's face as the group was ushered from below decks up with the rest of the crew. The wolverine had been anxious about getting on the water, being surrounded by it was a daunting proposition, engulfed by an expanse of blue. As it turned out, Sliver quite enjoyed the new atmosphere. The air seemed cleaner out on the sea, and she enjoyed most of all the new smells: The tang of the salt as it entered her nostrils, the stale musty scent that permeated the rotting wood of the lower parts of the ship, mixed with rat excretions, and old urine, the more familiar odors that radiated from the Jamoura, the musk of the pine tar that varnished the ropes, the smell of oil, wood, and fresh canvas. These new sensations and individuals both made her hackles rise and invigorated the Kelvic simultaneously, just part of the reason she had answered the help for aid in the first place. The Kelvic was perplexed by the Jamoura. She had never encountered them before, and though they appeared bestial, doing the most labor intensive tasks aboard the vessel, the way their gaze caught hers spoke of a much more acute intelligence just below the surface, one that made the wolverine inside avert her gaze every time. Sliver's dark eyes roamed the other newcomers aboard the vessel. She was surprisingly comforted by the familiar face of the botanist she had encountered in Avanthal, it was good to know one individual, even it was only one. The Zith stood out most of the people gathered there, his form was mountainous, large black wings folded neatly along his back, and Sliver listened attentively as he spoke first. Once done, the captain's gaze roamed from the Zith way on down to the Kelvic."Sliver, Sahova, I can track, hunt, and punch." Short and to the point, just as the wolverine did most things. After a pause though, she cleared her throat. "I can also aid with cooking...if need be." It was after another moment, a flock of seagulls breaking up the dialogue with a noisy chorus, that Sliver met the gaze of the captain. "I lay my divine loyalty upon the Ice Queen Morwen." The words left her throat in a most satisfying manner, and the Kelvic felt content at being held under the goddesses sovereignty, her ears pricked for the responses of her companions, unable to keep a small exhilarated smile from her lips that exposed the tips of her elongated lower canines.

[Balthazaar Kraigen]

Balthazaar took a moment to take in his surroundings. The air, the ship, and the people working it were all very exciting to the young botanist. Although he found it a little unsettling being on a boat for the first time, the prospect of the journey and the adventure made what little nervousness he felt almost insignificant. When he had first heard about the call for help from the Spires, he was hesitant about joining. It wasn’t that he was necessarily worried about the potential danger surrounding the quest; rather he was worried about returning to the Spires after having only been away for a little awhile. However, it was also the potential of visiting his hometown and seeking closure for what had happened before he had left that eventually pushed him towards answering the call.

The presence of the Jamoura and even the Zith on the ship didn’t bother or perplex Balthazaar in the slightest. Knowing the common inhabitants of the Spires, it wasn’t surprising to see them onboard the vessel. In fact, their presence was almost comforting to the young man as he tried to get his bearings together in this new environment. To top it off, his Kelvic friend from Avanthal had also answered the call for help and it was nice to know he would be working with someone he could talk to with ease, even if she wasn’t known for extravagant conversations.

When the group was finally beckoned to meet with the captain, Balthazaar stuck towards the back of the group and took some time to observe his surroundings a bit more. He was fascinated with the ease that the crew of the ship seemed to have as they went through a flurry of motions in order to perform their assigned tasks aboard the vessel.

When the group was finally brought before captain, the Zith was the first to speak. This was quickly followed by Silver, who spoke in her famous short and concise sentences. In fact, they were so concise Balthazaar almost didn’t realize it was his turn to speak until all eyes were directed towards him. Although the full attention of the group was mildly unsettling for young man, he spoke with surprising confidence and ease when he finally opened his mouth.

“My name is Balthazaar and I was born and raised in the Spires. I’ve done quite a bit of study on Botany and know how to use a wide variety of flora for the purposes of making potions with medicinal attributes…”

The young man paused for a moment, what he planned on revealing next seemed to so foreign as it ran through his head and he even thought of omitting it from his skill set for a brief moment. However, after reasoning with himself, he realized it would be better if his companions knew.

“…I also know how to make other types of concoctions, poisons to be precise. Furthermore I’m well versed in the flora around the Spires region. I know my way around a bow and have been hunting since was a young boy. As for divine loyalties…”

Balthazaar paused once again. He knew very little of the gods and had to preference towards any particular one. His father had tried to teach him about the one he was loyal to, but Balthazaar couldn’t even remember her name now. Taking a moment to look at his fellow companions and gauge their current reactions. He then let a tiny smirk cross his face and continued with:

“…I don’t have any”

[Belgar]

The water here was different, and not in all the bad ways. Urgent hope rose in the travelling sailors like contagious flames, and their sweat mixed with it and the ocean and the air. Where the ice had melted, the taste of clean brine filled his nose and where humid warmth pressed against him, life moved in happy quantity. He had an inclination to go out into it and swim, but there had not yet been time. He set his muscles to more important tasks, moving ropes and water as needed, completing the menial duties that greater sailors preferred to avoid. It was invigorating, to be useful. If he was asked, he would have said that he had only come to help, to offer his strength to any who had lost theirs. If pressed for the truth, he might admit that he had followed the expedition in search of some purpose which he could not find in Avanthal, where an aged and unbound beast was more a burden than a boon. But he was the quiet kind, too stupid to entertain the jamoura and too big to be approached by other animals, and so he never had the chance to explain one or the other. Until the interview on the forecastle, he might have named whole days in which he had not spoken. He did as he was bidden, and that did not require words. Such was life. The rest had their say, and Belgar evaluated them all in turn. The winged demon would be hard to trust, but the other kelvic had a kindred nose and the human seemed able to hold his own weapon, despite his peculiar intelligences. The bear himself might have feared his own redundancy, if he could not have recalled these past days on the water. “I am Belgar, of Avanthal’s Icewatch.” He considered mentioning his knowledge of the wilds, but even those he had once known were not the same any more. A single season was not enough time to learn the world again. “I can fight and I can track scents. I can carry one or two men and move with some speed. I am a child of Oriana, and I have served the kind Queen Morwen for all my life.”

[Legion]

"Excellent," Captain Delucia declared. "You are exactly what I was hoping for." Approval mingled with restrained amusement as he considered the motley assortment of volunteers before him. Light of the aging dawn gleamed in black hair, pulling out colors as if he were Vantha; but, no, their captain was decidedly human as he paced in front of them, as confident before the intimidating bulk of Massacre as he was before the slighter stature of Balthazaar. Sliver was delivered a bold stare and a lynx smile while Belgar was reserved for a more thoughtful expression, dark eyes perhaps in search of auroras. "Syon tells me that I am impatient," and he turned his smirk on Balthazaar. Maybe he imagined the young man might empathize. His eyes cut to Massacre next, holding there before he swiveled on his heel to pace back again. "Mostly so in my demands for loyalty. But I believe in equal measures, mates, and what is given to me will be returned to you." Hands spread, noble boned but as thickly calloused as any sailor's, before ducking into the pockets of his brass buttoned coat. Four glass vials stoppered in wax coated cork were pulled out. He held them up for their study and they gleamed against the horizon beyond the ship rail. Stopping before Massacre, he tucked all but one of the vials back into his pocket and gestured to the zith to hold out his hand. When Massacre did so, Caius twisted off the vial's cap and poured a jagged, malachite colored dust into Massacre's waiting palm. This process was repeated for each of them until they stood in a line holding handfuls of dust. Sliver's had the consistency of wood dust and salt while Balthazaar's was so very fine as to be insidious and clung like powder to his skin. The dust in Belgar's hand glittered with tarnished light like a jewel ground down. "While under my command, you will be expected to pull your weight," their captain continued. He removed a fifth and final vial from his pocket, this one much larger than the others. It glowed pallid and strange in the day. "Our journey but begins on the water, but you will learn skills here to aid me and your fellow crew mates. As none of you have professed to have much sailing experience, these companions will assist and guide you. It is my hope that you will find that them capable of even greater aide when we reach our destination." Syon smirked from his slouch against the rail behind his captain. The first mate swayed easily with the rock of the ship. "This is soulmist," Caius nodded to the glowing vial and stood first before Belgar. Partial contents of the glowing vial was poured into the polar bear's hand and Caius mixed it with the jewel toned dust using a finger. Black eyes lifted, meeting Belgar's. "Be calm," he gently forewarned. It was a not a moment too soon as the gooey mixture in Belgar's hand rapidly evaporated and a ghost appeared beside him, wraith limbs shaking free whatever emotions had been haunting it while dusted. "And this is your companion," Caius concluded with a magnetic smile. Once more Caius moved down the line, this time mixing fresh soulmist with their dusted mates cradled in hand until there stood with them four ghosts altogether. "Don't be afraid," Caius cautioned and deposited the empty soulmist vial into his pocket. "Your ghost will show you your duties. They all possess knowledge of this ship and how to maintain it. More importantly, perhaps, they have all, while living or dead, been to Denval." He paused and clasped his hands behind his back. His shadow broke against the curve of the prow. "Do you have any questions for me? If not, go with your new companions about your business and we will speak again when we make land." OOCEach of you now has primary control of a ghost NPC. You may consider them to have average skill levels and considerable knowledge. I trust you to use them within reason and you have permission to write them as a teacher of any skill applicable to this quest. I have purposefully not named or described the personalities or histories of the ghosts. Please be creative and detailed in fleshing them out. I promise your efforts will not go unrewarded. The common vein is that all of the ghosts appear to be absolutely loyal to Captain Caius Delucia. As ever, feel free to contact me with any questions or concerns. You may post multiple times before my next post if you want and the time can span over the course of many days until the point where the Denval shoreline comes into sight.

[Sliver]

Sliver waited patiently. Her ears pricked when she heard Belgar speak. She was not able to identify other Kelvic on first sight generally, but his words, coupled with those dark animal eyes and his build suddenly clicked together, so Sliver took note of this and stored it away for later. Though her interest was fully piqued, when the apparitions appeared she took a step backward, a low growl building unbidden in the back of her throat, canines showing menacingly at the entity that materialized in the quickest instant before her. What in the GODS name is this? Her nose curled at the smell, a mix of sulfur, sand, and death swept up into her senses. Her fists curled, ready for violence, every muscle tense and ready. He was a skinny thing this man that appeared before her. He flicked a few times before coming into full focus, and had a hazel outline, a few Jamoura could be seen clearly through him on the other side of the ship. His back was to the Kelvic, and the man wore light cotton pants with bare and calloused feet that shifted as if rubbing against the planks of the ship, despite the fact they hung half an inch above the floor. His chest and upper body were bare save a long sash that ran over one shoulder, and held a few pouches and knives. His dark and semi-transparent hair was close cropped with several intricate designs shaved into it, and a dagger dripping blood was tattooed on the back of his neck. Though he was well muscled, he was an awkwardly proportioned stick of a thing, revealing his form fully as he turned to face the Kelvic with gleaming silver eyes, filled to the brim with mischievous intent. His head cocked, listening to the rest of the Captain's words before giving a jaunty rather sardonic salute, returning his focus back toward the Kelvic, his grin mirroring that of the one the Captain had given her. "Ach, I kin tell yer gunna be a fun lass. We'll git alung like two werts on a buzzards backside we will." Sliver's manner had subsided somewhat, but she was completely taken aback at this entity before her. Dead, but living, so many things stank wrong with it. And his speech, lilting and so heavily accented. This seemed a horrible idea. She spat on the floor boards and glanced around at the other apparitions warily

[Massacre]

I'm not one to question the captain, but what in Morwen's name does he think he's doing taking a Zith on board?" Massacre was, for once, completely caught off guard. He had found the whole dust pouring ritual rather strange, but figured maybe it was just some human custom that he didn't understand. But it wasn't just some strange custom. It was something Massacre, in all his years, would never have expected and the Zith was truly caught off guard. Yes, he'd heard of ghosts, and it was sometimes whispered that the ghosts of their victims sometimes haunted his old tribe, but Massacre had never before seen a spirit himself. He didn't know what to think, didn't know how to respond. Should he be frightened? Respectful? Appalled? Massacre had no idea. "Well, can you even speak?" Massacre blinked, finally shaking off his initial shock. The Zith cleared his throat and glanced around the room, noting the other's already reacting to their companions. Massacre didn't like the idea of having a dead man haunt him, especially a human.. or Vantha, or whatever these people called themselves, but he supposed he had no choice. It was the captain's orders, and Massacre had agreed to listen to him. "I um.. yes.. I can speak your language." The ghost nodded. "Good, what's your name then?" "Uh.. I am called Massacre." "Massacre? That some sort of joke? Well, whatever then. My name is Hadar, Hadar Coolwater. I've been sailing these waters since long before you were born, so you'd best listen to me when I speak, because I can tell already you've got a lot to learn. Right?" Massacre nodded, his shock still evident that he was even talking to a ghost. He couldn't deny that he didn't know a thing about the high seas, and had never before even set foot on a boat. Massacre took a deep breath, steeling himself against the strangeness of the situation. The man obviously didn't care for him, but Massacre was used to that from non-Zith. It would be rather annoying to have to learn from him though, but he had no choice. "I will learn whatever you have to teach."

[Balthazaar Kraigen]

Balthazaar looked down at powdery substance in his palm. It was a fascinating material, very thin and almost unnoticeable with the way it stuck to the skin. Bringing it closer to his face, he began to examine the powder closely trying to discover either hidden properties or the material from which it was made. However, even after seeing it close up or sniffing it lightly he was unable to discover anything else that would help him identify it. Mildly frustrated, he put his hand back in its starting position and waited for the captain to finish explaining the strange ritual he was performing.

One by one, the captain made his way over to his companions and started mixing another strange material with the substances in their hands. Within seconds the newly formed substance evaporated into thin air and soon formed into an apparition of “crewmen past”. Taking a moment to observe the various personalities and appearances that the other ghosts had, Balthazaar was excited to meet his.

When the other material was finally mixed with his, the newly formed goo seemed to take longer to evaporate than the others. Much like the powdery substance that it had been derived from, it seemed to want to cling to the hand, unwilling to budge. Eventually the substance yielded and began to evaporate, forming Balthazaar’s ghostly companion.

The man that stood before him was tall, thin, and a tad overbearing in his appearance. He had slicked back jet black hair that although transparent, seemed to be less so than the rest of his body. His face was gaunt and lacked expression and he had eyes that seemed to pierce into your very soul. The rest of his body was difficult to see, he wore a large black cloak that seemed to be there for the sole purpose of obscuring his figure from the world. This being said, from what little that could be seen under the cloak, he seemed to wear surprisingly nice looking clothing that were well kept considering his post mortem state.

He didn’t say anything to Balthazaar as he appeared. Rather, he just stood there and stared at the young man, sizing him up. Balthazaar tried to remain calm in the man’s presence, but found it ever increasingly more difficult as man continued to stare him down in silence. After what seemed like ages to the young man, the ghostly figure turned his gaze to the captain and gave him a small bow before pivoting into the opposite direction and making his way towards the bowels of the ship. As he walked past the young man, he motioned for him to follow behind without saying a word.

Balthazaar didn’t even register that his companion had motioned for him to follow. He was so frozen with shock, that he wasn’t even aware of the ghost’s departure. It wasn’t until the gaunt apparition turned and spoke that the boy became aware of the situation:

“Make haste! I do not like to waste time…” His accent was unidentifiable to the young man, but it was thick. His voice was deep and seemed to carry an air of arrogance with it. To top it off the man also seemed to annunciate every word that his said. If it hadn’t been apparent to Balthazaar before, it was apparent now:

‘This is not going to fun’

[Belgar]

Belgar was well-versed in the supression of instinct, the proper conduct among at least the Vantha people. He regretted to flinch as the cool substances mixed in his hand, but he did not otherwise show his discomfort. He kept his nose straight as the captain explained their purpose but, by the time the ethereal cold had risen up around them, his whole body was stiff with unease. His attention wandered between the others’ companions before he finally met the translucent eyes that stood before him. She was of a height with Belgar, and that in itself was new to him. Her hair was as fair as her skin in the general grayness of her soulmist, her face suspended somewhere between a girl’s and a woman’s. She wore thick metal armor that shone in some ghostly non-light, the detailed outline of a tree reflecting almost deliberately from the plating on her chest. The kelvic could not help but stare at it and wonder at the necessity of such armor to a creature that could not be harmed by any blade, carefully avoiding her eyes again. It unnerved him that he should receive the only female, and one with a face so much like the woman’s he hoped to forget. “Greetings,” she said kindly, eager to be in world. “I’m Amily Morgan, the Almost-Knight.” “Belgar,” he answered with a compulsory nod, straining to understand her accent with his limited knowledge of the Common language. He thought to offer his hand before he remembered that she could not shake it. Searching for some other polite thing to say, he inquired, “Almost?” She laughed and gave a shrug. “Didn’t get all the way there, I’m afraid.” Her head turned to investigate the deck, her metal arms creaking as her hands rose to her hips. “But that doesn’t make the honor of living worth any less. What do you know about this ship?” “Ah... very little.” “Excellent. And of Denval?” He cracked a smile. “Less.” She gave him an appreciative grin and a nod, then waved that he follow her to the main deck. Belgar hesitated. He had never particularly hoped to become acquainted with his fellow adventurers, but his new companion’s boldness was remarkably contagious. He gave a hasty acknowledgement to the kelvic whom he would later learn to call Sliver, and then to the unintelligible man at her side, waving that they follow as he stepped quickly after Amily. Before she could bother to explain something about the winds or the ropes, he threw out a rather daring appeal: “Tell me about it. Denval. How is it?”