Solo A Day at the Docks

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An undead citadel created before the cataclysm, Sahova is devoted to all kinds of magical research. The living may visit the island, if they are willing to obey its rules. [Lore]

A Day at the Docks

Postby Keene Ward on November 19th, 2014, 8:30 am

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The thirty-fifth day of fall, 514 AV

Keene awoke to the all too familiar rapping of Boswell's knuckles against his door. Struggling to his feet, Keene shuffled over, having grown accustomed to the small room's layout even in the darkness. The chill was partially mitigated by him sleeping in full clothing, but he had been finding his pants and boots to be articles of clothing that were not entirely conducive to island's climate. Were he to be a researcher within the Gug Andjak, his clothing would have been much more appropriate. However, since coming to the island, Keene had spent much of his time outside. The laboratories and workshops were too busy for him to understand much of what was going on, and he found Risabel seemed to be an exception when it came to friendly wizards. Having only really ever known a single magic user, Keene had not quite understood just how distrusting others of his kind were. There were few who wanted to start conversations and fewer who wanted to share any sort of relevant information. Boswell, however, was quite the opposite.

"Keene! Get yer lazy bum outta bed! There'sa ship comin' today with goods from the mainland!" He had seen Boswell excited before, but the wide grin and giddy tone in his voice were a new high for him. Keene had already noticed the island had little to offer to Pulsers, the daily ration of food was incredibly minimal. Any other sort of material comfort was entirely absent from the Sahovan market - including a market. Thus, Boswell's excitement was understandable, and Keene found the prospect of new clothes to be well worth being woken before his time. Nodding, Keene moved back into the room, putting on his boots and grabbing a handful of raisins before locking the door behind him. "The others went ahead, but I didn't want ya to miss out!" He slapped Keene on the shoulder, eliciting a grunt and a frown. "We better get goin'. It's a long walk to the docks."

Keene was very familiar with the absurd distance it took to get from the citadel to the docks. Following Boswell down the steps as the man jabbered away about his latest hunting trip, Keene mentally prepared himself for the next several bells of walking. With the accompaniment of Boswell, however, he figured the journey would not feel nearly as lengthy with the chatter of his companion to keep his mind off of the agonizing distance. Having managed to amass a fair amount of money before leaving Zeltiva, Keene had money to spend. There were things he needed, such as more climate friendly clothes, but beyond that he wasn't sure what all the merchants would have to offer. Boswell seemed excited enough that Keene figured whatever the merchant had to offer, it was more than they were going to get for a good while.

Stepping out into the murky heat of the courtyard, Boswell fell quiet as they traversed the swirling mists of the ghosts' domain. Keene kept an eye out for the round, grinning face of the single spirit he knew by name, but nothing seemed to peer back at him from the obscured details hidden within the fog. Keeping to the path, they continued on until they reached the Vestibule whereupon Boswell's monologue struck up again as if it had never been stopped at all. Glancing at Boswell intermittently as their boots clacked against the cool stone of the gigantic hallway, Keene gave him enough indication that he was listening to avoid having to say much beyond the occasional, "Is that so?" which was plenty to keep the man yapping. After having spent a fair amount of time with Boswell, Keene had grown used to the incessant ramblings. At times it was almost amusing, and at best it was informative. He'd learned a fair bit from the mousy hunter since he'd come to the island, and the only thing he had to repay him was through listening. From what Boswell had told him, there wasn't anyone on the island who was better at listening than Keene.

Keene had never met anyone who could talk so much (at least, no one of the male gender). While it had begun as a minor inconvenience in order to gain information about Sahova, Keene had grown to find Boswell's ability to destroy silence to be almost impressive. Almost. There was the still the unfortunate fact that the majority of what Boswell told him was useless information about his expeditions into the Forest of Thorns. The amount of times he referenced members of his group without preface made many of the stories extremely difficult to follow, even if Keene paid close attention. Still, he kept his mind open and ready to latch onto any subject Boswell happened upon that carried any sort of relevance. As they passed out from under the massive arch that signified both the entrance and exit of the citadel's vestibule, Boswell had started onto a recollection of the time he and his friend had investigated the more intimate areas of their physiology and the ensuing shenanigans. Keene didn't seem to find the tale as humorous as his chuckling companion.

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A Day at the Docks

Postby Keene Ward on November 20th, 2014, 10:44 pm

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"And then we both jumped outta our skins when my ma showed up with crazy eyes." Boswell let out a hearty laugh, his voice rising up to the grey, empty sky and quickly being stifled by the cloud cover. He turned a grinning face to Keene, nudging him with his elbow. "Whattabout ya, Keene? Ever done anythin' like that before?" He was referring to the bell long story in which he and two friends from his home town had further investigated the mysterious of the growing male anatomy. Keene shook his head, a brow slightly raised. "Aw shucks, Keene. Ya know ya can tell me!" Boswell seemed disappointed, and eliciting a sigh from his companion. "What?"

"I can't tell you something that didn't happen." He kept and easy, cool gaze locked with Boswell's expectant one.

"Sure ya can! Just make somethin' up." His grin had returned; Keene's face turned into a frown at the same rate Boswell's raised.

"Just... Make something up?" He shook his head, his brow knitting. "What do you mean?"

Boswell paused, halting their ambling expedition to give Keene a raised brow of his own. Placing his hands on his hips, the man shook his head in an air of disbelief. "Don't honestly tell me ya've never told a fib before?" Keene was fairly certain a "fib" was a lie, and having never done either (or the singular if his presumption was correct), he shook his head. Boswell whistled, chuckling when the sharp sound had faded into the dusty landscape. "Ya know, yer a real straight lacer." Unfamiliar with the term, Keene stared back blankly. "Ah, ya stick to the rules. Well, yer rules anyhow." It was true Keene did his best to abide by the social rules and regulations to avoid unnecessary confusion, though in his experience most others seemed to deviate from the standard, making things more difficult for him more often than not. Still, it had been his habit for so long, conducting a conversation any other way without the structure he was so accustomed to was a bit beyond his capabilities.

"I don't see the point of lying to you." The necessity of lying was not lost on Keene. In Zeltiva, Mella had ordered him to tell no one of their research or magic. His ability to lie was rather abysmal, and usually, if the subject ever did somehow come up, he chose to avoid the question rather than choosing fabrication. He was creative in the sense of the magic and thoughtful in the sense of philosophy, but neither words could be used to describe his "fibbing". Lying to Boswell seemed to be a pointless effort.

"Well... I mean, that way ya can tell me somethin' ya wish ya did like ya did it."

"I don't follow."

"'Course ya don't." Boswell shook his head, starting up along the path once more. They'd managed to make it about half way to the docks, and Keene's breath was still relatively under control thanks to the ease of pace Boswell set. Unlike the day Keene had attempted to rush to the water's edge to observe the waterspouts, there was little reason for them to hurry to the docks. Somewhere between two of the more sexual stories Boswell had relayed, he'd explained the ship was to be docked for the whole day. Thus, the time frame they had to get to the ship, shop, and depart was wide enough for them to take their time. With their current pace, Keene was almost able to enjoy the exercise, though the heat of the day still sat heavy upon him, creating spots of saturation on his shirt about his chest and armpits. "How about... Ya ever tried anythin' like what I told ya?" Boswell had lowered his voice some, his boisterous tone giving way to something a bit more conspiratorial.

Keene shrugged. "Nothing quite like what you've done, no." He didn't see why it mattered.

"Aw, yer no fun." Another slap on the shoulder was followed by a grey eyed frown. "I'm just playin', Keene." He offered a wink, which was received with the commonly blank stare of the young reimancer. "Not that I'm offerin', but if ya get the chance to... Ya know. 'Experiment'," Boswell spoke the word as if it had a separate meaning beyond it's common one, and though Keene knew what Boswell was referring to, it still held the same definition, making the emphasis unnecessary. "Ya never know if ya'll like somethin' until ya try it." Boswell nodded, apparently impressed with his snippet of philosophical advice. "Plus, ya look like ya could use a little fun." He pushed Keene with a friendly shove of the shoulder. "Mister Straight-lace."

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Keene Ward
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A Day at the Docks

Postby Keene Ward on November 21st, 2014, 4:03 am

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The next few bells were spent with more stories at the comfortable ambling pace. Boswell had moved on from his preoccupation with the sensual, adopting such tales as the first time he went hunting, his first kill, and the handful of times he almost drowned. Boswell had lived an active life, something Keene was unfamiliar with. The experiences and memories were mostly based upon action; Keene's childhood had consisted of repetition, order, and progression. The sheer volume of chaos in Boswell's childhood gave Keene a bit of a clue as to how the young man had become the boisterous, vivacious individual he was in spite of the environmental circumstances around him. It was impressive, and while Keene imagined his own life would have been quite different had he had a similar childhood, he found that he was content in their differences. Boswell's sunny disposition suited him, and Keene's colder, analytic nature suited him.

He had been correct in thinking the journey made with company was much less arduous. Having the leisure to focus on something other than aching muscles and sore bones, Keene found he was close to enjoying the hike. Of course, there were times where Boswell's stories seemed to be a bit too fantastical to be pleasing, but he excused the hunter from strict realism, as he seemed to enjoy hyperbole too much to contain himself. Normally, silence would have been the preferred, but Boswell's distraction of a monologue made walking all the easier; for that Keene was grateful. In physical comparison, Keene was incredibly weak next to the much more fit hunter. While the pace was slow, Boswell appeared completely fine, with only a small trickle of sweat running down the sides of his face. Keene, on the other hand, was a glistening mess of perspiration, and though he didn't feel as if he were dying or anything quite as terrible as such, his breath still came a bit heavily and his feet were beginning to protest their unfortunate circumstance and prison of leather. As they climbed the final rise that lead to a clear view of the harbor, the two ships docked, calmly floating on the murky waters of the ocean rose up out of the steady blue-green expanse that melded with the grey horizon in the distance.

"And she stopped me and said, 'Boswell, ya dolt!' before hittin' me up the head with her pan!" The hunter let out another round of raucous laughter as they descended towards the rocky beach, Keene silently following behind a half step. Boswell's ability to find humor is just about anything was a bit tiresome, and he wasn't entirely sure how the young man managed to grin so much. Frowning was more than enough for his face to make. The facial acrobats his companion subjected himself to seemed entirely unnecessary and superfluous, serving no purpose other than to tire out the muscles; though Keene supposed Boswell's face was just as fit as the rest of his body. He supposed the myriad of expressions produced by the young man were a reflection of his own active nature. Keene was much more reserved in both action and expression, which further supported his extremely tentative hypothesis that the face and body expressions reflected the nature of the individual. There were too many exceptions, however, for the idea to gain too much merit in his mind.

A collection of people had gathered at the docks, all of whom Keene was relatively certain were Pulsers. He wasn't sure what the ship would have to offer the Nuit, but he thought he saw at least one of the undead within the small crowd, quickly altering his initial speculation. Boswell's chatter had died down some as they traversed the uneven beach on their way to the raised, wooden piers. "What're ya thinkin' of gettin'?" Whatever story he'd been telling had taken a backseat to the current question. "I'm low on foodstuffs and pants. This's my last pair." The pair looked down at the clothes in question. Several patches were poorly sewn over increasingly vicious looking tears. "Yeah."

"Sandals." Keene looked towards the ship where a small flow of those departing and boarding passed over the gangplank. "And perhaps some clothes better suited for the heat." Boswell grinned at the addendum, agreeing wholeheartedly that Keene's current choices on apparel weren't doing him any favors. Once they had boarded the merchant ship, Keene found it was reminiscent of Zeltiva's market place: stalls were scattered across the deck, and while there weren't nearly as many people, it had the same familiar feeling of capitalistic opportunity he knew so well. Ceasing to follow Boswell, Keene made his way over to a stall that had neatly stacked clothing along several wooden crates stacked like a table.

"Good day, sir." A woman in her later years smiled at him from behind the weathered, leathery skin that came from many years out on the sea under the sun. "Anything catch your eye?"

Grey eyes wandered over the assortment of clothing, his hands following in a gentle appraisal of fabric. He stopped to pick up and handle a simple, linen tunic. Unlike the shirts he already owned, the tunic had shorter sleeves and a deep collar that could be laced up. The fabric was thinner than the shirts he owned as well, a promising marginal relief from the semi-furnace that currently adorned his body. "How much for four of these?" He let his attention fall to the searching green eyes of the saleswoman, keeping his tone even but interested.

"Ah, two golds." Pulling another tunic of similar design with an embellished, embroidered hem about the bottom, the sleeves, and the neck, she offered it to him, extending it over the makeshift table that housed the more common goods. "This one would look much nicer on you, and it's only two and five." It was much more visually appealing in that the embroidery made the entire piece less of a piece of clothing and more a work of art.

Shaking his head, Keene put his hand into his pocket, handing over the two gold mizas as he collected three more tunics, folding them over his sweaty arm to hang. "I have no need of something so fine." The woman seemed a bit put-off, but she accepted the money with a polite smile, keeping her eyes close on Keene's movements and he further pursued the selection. There was an interesting pair of breeches that caught his attention. Thin linen as well, they were only about a three-quarter pant length that had draw strings to tie them below the knee. Picking them up with a free hand, he turned to the woman with a raised brows.

"Eight silvers."

He nodded, glancing around for another pair. "Do you have any more?"

"I have..." The woman turned and rummaged through a crate behind her, withdrawing several more britches of differing colors. Returning with several different hues in hand, she set them over the clothes already presently displayed on the crate-table. "These are one and two." Keene appraised the different colors and selected the proper payment for the pair in his hand and a brown and black pair she had brought over. Handing the money over, Keene collected his purchases and offered the woman a bow of his head in thanks. She responded with a happy smile before turning to return the clothes to where she'd squirreled them away.

Glancing around the deck, he spotted Boswell at a different stall selling similar clothing items. By the way he waved his arms, it seemed as though he was having a fine time. Feeling little need to interrupt him, Keene wandered past several more stalls selling jewelry, food, and trade goods, stopping at a make-shift shop peddling leathers. The man tending the store seemed uncomfortable, wringing his hands and flashing a nervous smile as Keene approached. Taking little notice of the man's emotional state, he stared down at the various belts, gloves, and foot-ware displayed. Finding several different styles of sandals, Keene shifted over to them, picking them up and comparing as the man started to speak in a hushed voice.

"D-do you live here, sir?"

Keene turned, raising a brow at being interrupted by the man's strange question. "I do."

Shifting his eyes about, the man shuddered. "And you d-don't feel the evil here?"

Keene let his lips dip into a frown. Shaking his head, he returned to investigating a particularly interesting pair of leather sandals. There was a firm sole with four tongues through which was weaved a strap of leather that seemed to serve as both the binding agent to keep the shoe in place as well as a trap for the big toe to be secured. The design allowed a large amount of skin to be exposed, something he found very appealing in contrast to the stifling boots he currently wore. The alternatives covered quite a bit more of the foot, with some barely even allowing for the heel to be free from the sweat embrace of the worked hides. Deciding upon the most revealing and free choice of sandal, Keene turned to ask the shopkeep how much the purchase would cost. The man's eyes flicked about as if he were in a waking nightmare. Clearing his throat to gain the man's attention, Keene let his voice move steady and smooth in hope that his stability would help calm the man enough to answer his question. "How much for these?"

The man was able to focus enough to utter "F-four silvers." Keene handed the man the money, but the man's shaking fingers let the coins clatter and bounce off of the wooden deck. He quickly fell to all fours to collect them. Wanting little more to do with the emotional wreck of a breakdown, Keene continued down the ship's deck, eyeing the various shops and their myriad displays of merchandise.

Total Purchase5 GM 6 SM

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Keene Ward
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A Day at the Docks

Postby Keene Ward on November 21st, 2014, 10:30 am

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There was little of interest to be had in the remaining stalls. While there were plenty opportunities for him to purchase more food, he had not brought his backpack to transport the goods (and he still had plenty of stores). Having already purchased the clothes he had desired, Keene found he was little interested in much else. A small collection of cages was situated near the stern tended by a muscular man and a short, devious looking woman. Pausing, Keene peered into the cages, spying several different animals contained within. The woman noticed his approach and sidled up to him with a gap toothed grin. "They're nice aren't they, baby face?" Her voice was low and sweet like an overripe peach, drifting through his ears like rotting honey. "That one there is only five hundred golds." She nudged him in the ribs, waggling her eyebrows, her smile growing wider. "And she's a real looker, if you get my meaning, baby face."

Keene gave her a blank, unimpressed stare. "I do not."

The woman paused, a wrinkle of confusion appearing across her brow. "...What?"

"I do not get your meaning."

Her smile returned as a small chuckle of laughter eased its way from behind her chapped lips. "You're a strange one." Shaking her head, she moseyed over to the muscular man, pointing in Keene's direction as she spoke to him. The man raised a brow before heading over to greet him. He stood several inches taller than Keene and several more wider from sheer mass of muscle. It was an intimidating difference in brawn, but Keene had little reason to fear them man and greeted him with the customary nod of acknowledgement. The man stuck out a hand, "Name's Barty."

Keene eyed the gesture with a slight frown before gingerly placing his own hand into Barty's outstretched palm. The resulting crushing of his meager digits lasted for several ticks before Keene was finally able to draw away with a wincing exchange of his own name. "Keene."

"Well, Keene." Barty gave him a wide, conniving grin that made him feel a bit uneasy. "You interested in purchasing a kelvic today? We've go a mighty fine selection."

"A what?"

Barty gave Keene a concerned look, his grin fading to a slight curve of his lips towards the deck below. "A kelvic? You know, the shapeshifting bastard race?" The way the information was presented made it seem as though Keene was supposed to have known about them. Having never heard of them nor quite sure why the man sounded so surprised, Keene simply shrugged off his ignorance. "So you're saying you've never seen a kelvic?" Keene nodded, his expression giving little away as there wasn't much to give. "Oh this'll be a blast then." The man's excitement was almost tangible as he waved over at the woman, "Lidia, grab the owl!" The woman, Lidia, gave Barty a look of partial confusion. "He's never seen a kelvic before!" A bright, sinister grin spread across her features as she moved over to one of the cages, snatching up the one that contained the owl and bringing it over. "Oh, you're in for a treat." Barty grinned down at Keene, who returned the smile with a tilt of his head and slowly growing frown. He wasn't sure what exactly it was he was in for, but the couple's actions were growing increasingly suspicious. Uncertain what might happen, Keene turned his eyes to the owl's cage but kept his attention focus on his Djed. Were something dangerous to happen, he would be ready to defend himself.

Drawing the bird from the cage, Lidia placed it on the ground. The large, feathered beast looked at him with wild eyes. "Alright now," She cooed with the same overly sugared tone Keene was quickly finding to be nearly unpalatable. "Show baby face what you can do." In a bright flash of shimmering lights that warped around the creature, a sound much like sobbing could be heard from within. As the scintillating luminescence faded, there stood a nude young man, perhaps only a year or so older that Keene, in the place where the owl had been. The man had a long scar across his chest as well as a clean shaven body. Raising his brows in surprise, Keene stared at the puffy red eyes that met his own grey with a deadened green. The eyes were much the same as those of a nuit, but what the nuit lacked in vivacity, the kelvic lacked in hope. They were orbs void of the sheen of dreams or wonder, something he found inexplicably saddening. Keene supposed they were similar in that neither one of them had been quite in charge of their own destiny; the difference being Keene's ability to forge a new path while the kelvic remained in chains.

"What you think of that, baby face?" The woman snickered, slapping the young man on the buttocks with a sharp smacking of skin to skin. "Pretty, isn't he?"

Keene's frown had found a definite place upon his visage as he gave the woman a stern gaze. "He is a slave?"

She returned the gaze with a seductive raise of her own carefully maintained brow. "He is."

The kelvic stood still and silent, evidently not the first time he'd been called upon to do something similar. Keene shook his head, finding the whole situation deplorable. He saw little reason for slavery beyond the efficiency of free labor, yet even that was questionable as something forced into action often provided sub par results in comparison to one who was avidly performing by choice. Both Lidia and Barty's mannerisms and steely eyes made it all the more unpleasant. "Then I am not interested." Lidia shot a look at Barty that caused the man to place a hand on Keene's shoulder.

"Look, Keene. This one is more than just a pretty face. He can cook, clean-" In a slightly lower, conspiratory voice, Barty added a chuckling, "And he even likes to 'receive'. Broken in and everything." Boswell's stories were quick to come to the forefront of Keene's mind.

Side stepping away from Barty's grip, Keene turned to address the couple, averting his eyes from the bareness of that man to his immediate left. "I am not interested, thank you." Before heading back down the way he'd come. Several of the nearby stalls' owners shook their heads or gave him encouraging smiles as he passed, but Keene paid them little heed. He kept his face forward and pace steady as he departed from the slaver's booth, instead seeking out Boswell's location. While he found the introduction of a new race to be an interesting and useful development, the cost of having remained in the company of the slaver couple was not worth the reward of further knowledge. From what he had gathered, the kelvics were a shapeshifting slave race. He was almost certain the denizens of Sahova knew as much or more about the race than Barty and Lidia, and he made a point to ask Risabel about them at a later point. The thought never crossed his mind that Boswell might have relevant information on them.

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Keene Ward
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A Day at the Docks

Postby Ink on December 5th, 2014, 5:46 am

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Fate has dictated the conclusion to your journey...

...And now, only Fortune awaits you.


I am Ink, Mistress of Sahova; and it is my pleasure to award you with this bounty of XP and Lore. If you have any questions regarding this Grade, please do not hesitate to send me a PM. Fret not, I tend not to smite...often.

 
Keene
XP
  • Observation 3
  • Detection 1
  • Logic 2
  • Rhetoric 1
  • Endurance 1
LORES
  • Kelvics: Shape Shifting Slave Race?
  • On the Receiving End of Salacious Advice
MISCELLANEOUS
  • Please be sure to update your ledger and possessions list appropriately.


With Regards,
Ink
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