Grand Adventure: Red Skies at Morn - Rivals IC

[KamiKahzy]

~Posting Guidelines~​

As stated in the Rules section in the Overview, there's only one thing I ask whilst posting. Keep an eye on your grammar, it physically hurts some of us when we witness horrendously bad use of the english language. You don't need to be a scholar or an english major but please be aware of the apostrophe and try to make friends with it.


In addition, please use the following for certain actions.

• "Quotation marks" for actively speaking. EX: "Avast ye scum!" shouted the Captain.
  
• 'Italics' for personal thoughts / inner monologues. EX: 'He looks good in those shorts', she thought.
  
• (Parentheses) for BRIEF OOC comments. EX: (LOLOL, booty)
  

As a final suggestion, consider it may be a good idea to add a sort of "signature" to the end of your post. A brief little spiel that explains where your character is, who they're interacting with and possibly a little OOC comment just for fun if you like. This isn't mandatory, but it may help out your fellow players in keeping track of things. I may make this necessary during battles with other crews but we'll cross that bridge when we get there.

~Cross-Posting~​

So the issue has been brought up of, "Hey, what if I want to interact with someone's character from another crew?"

I think it would be best if the initiating character in that situation were to post in the receiving character's thread to keep things coherent. EX:

https://www.rpnation.com/profile/12394-navi/@Navi

https://www.rpnation.com/profile/12394-navi/ wants to interact with

https://www.rpnation.com/profile/12734-erik/@Erik

https://www.rpnation.com/profile/12734-erik/'s character, so she posts in the Rival's IC thread since she is the initiating party. It would also be helpful to post something in your own IC thread to let your fellow shipmates know what you're up to.

 

[KamiKahzy]

Greetings Aeriner,



I have heard through various sources that you are one who can get things done. I find myself in need of such an individual and would like to offer an opportunity for employment. The details of the job are sensitive and as such cannot be discussed on paper, but I can assure that the rewards will be great. If you are interested I ask that you meet me at the Royal Pride tavern in Helgen on the 12th of this month. Do not worry over finding me, my subordinate shall find you.



Sincerely,


David Eddard Gunn



The letter itself was a testament to the strangeness of the invitation. A note written in careful scrawl sealed with red wax, yet delivered in the dead of night by a cloaked courier. Masked elegance beneath a veneer of mystery and suspicion. Yet the allure of payment was too much for the wayward aeriner to deny, as the rumbling in their stomach was wont to remind them. So they took the bait and traveled to Helgen to discuss the details of this voyage.


The meeting itself was brief yet cordial. The established Mr. Gunn was looking to hire a crew for a very specific task. A simple task, yet one that was borne of avarice and jealousy. Mr. Gunn had a long standing rivalry with a Mr. Oddsgrove who had just passed away last year. Mr. Gunn had thought their rivalry to finally be at an end as he had managed to outlast the old fool. Yet it seemed the deceased trader had one last trick up his sleeve to cement his legacy and forever label Mr. Gunn as an amateur entrepreneur. A doomed quest to find the lost island of Zorion.


This could not stand. Even if the expedition was a failure there was a good chance that Oddsgrove's explorers would stumble upon something of renown and claim that as their victory. And so Mr. Gunn had sought out a crew for one final task before his years caught up to him: sabotage Oddsgrove's expedition.


The details were vague yet the finances were vast. So the new captain was given a recently built vessel, one with great capabilities and firepower. A crew was mustered to man the new ship and supplies were brought aboard for the journey ahead. One week later the Lightbearer was sailing at a fast clip, making way towards Logera where the Lady Skyclad had last been spied. There was little to go on yet the mission would be completed, and neither Heaven nor Hell would stand in their way.

 

[Atom]

Darrow directed his gaze from off the prow of the ship to look along the deck in search of his crew mates. His crew mates he didn't trust. And for good reason. All these men and women were hired to sabotage a voyage by a completely different crew. All for money. Just like him.


And if he was anyone else he'd never trust himself.

 

[Erik]

Bezek had been studying everything he could find on the Lady Skyclad and her crew since the moment Mr. Gunn had revealed their ultimate mission. There was distressingly little on the ship itself; only a newspaper article here or a magazine clipping there. (Or was it a newspaper clipping and a magazine article? Eh, it was irrelevant.) He could only say a few things for certain, and one of those was that at the time of its creation, it had indeed been the ultimate ship--the apex of technological advancement. That meant it would be outdated now--and the Lightbearer was newer, with fittingly newer technologies.


But, of course, that assumed that this Oddsgrove man hadn't been upgrading and updating the ship with the times. Or perhaps his widow had taken care of that when she decided on the mission--that glorious mission--the one she hadn't brought him in for, him! Bezek! Any fool in Qizil could tell you that he knew the most of Zorion--anyone other than this woman would have hired him to help find it--agh, but these thoughts were useless.


Bezek stood up abruptly, taking off his glasses to rub his face as he paced his quarters in mild agitation. He had his own private quarters, at least--that was nice. It paid (in many ways) to be the First Mate aboard such an expensive ship. Too bad all the money in the world couldn't apparently get me more knowledge of the Skyclad. I need to know more. He wrinkled his nose, sneered at the pitiful pile of paper on his desk, and put his glasses back on. Perhaps some fresh air--he'd been locked up in his room for... Well, he'd run right through one candle, he knew that much, and this second one was... halfway gone? He blew it out and strode from the room. He paid little mind to the crewmembers who he hadn't been so specifically introduced to by Mr. Gunn; this was in part because he did not have anything to say to them, and in part because he did not notice they were there.


He did notice the presence of Darrow, though. (That was the young man's name, wasn't it? Or was it Darren? Barrow? No, it had to be Darrow--rhyming with arrow and starting with a D, an odd enough name.) The spy. A good idea, he supposed, though why Mr. Gunn had not simply arranged for the spy to start on the Skyclad was beyond him. What use was a spy who stayed among them? Were they meant to get him aboard the Skyclad themselves? If Darrow were already aboard their rival ship, he could be giving them information as to its layout, its weaknesses and its weaponry. They needed that information if they were to do as Mr. Gunn wished--though, in all honesty, Bezek could care less about that. What he really wanted was to know if Mr. Oddsgrove had known something about Zorion that he'd kept secret--something that only those on that ship would know.


Bezek approached Darrow. His hair flipped slightly in the breeze; the sunlight made it seem a brighter white than normal. His shirt, which he had started to unbutton at some point in his cabins (candles make it so warm sometimes), was a wrinkled mess. It was easy on an average day to perceive the glow of his homestar through the pale fabric; with the wind now opening it further, the homestar was only more obvious. There was never any denying that Bezek was a Star. "Your name is Darrow, right? The, ah--well, the spy that Mr. Gunn hired?" He should probably have spent more time getting to know the crew--the vital ones especially--but could you blame him for wanting to know all there was about their targets, first?

 

[Atom]

"Darrow. Darrow au Andromedus. And yes, I am indeed hired on as the spy. Bezek, First Mate. Correct?" Darrow replied with a bored expression, leaning back on the prow's rail. Darrow grumbled and leaned forward, crossing his arms, "I assume you know how far from our destination we are, yes? I'm useless until we get there so the sooner we get to their ship the better. Understand what I mean?" Darrow asked.

 

[Erik]

Bezek hummed and put his hands in his pockets. (Ah, so he had indeed remembered to wear pants. Good.) "Yes, and I'm glad you've also noticed this... divergence of your purpose and your placement. We are on the same page, then, which always makes things easier." He wondered if Darrow was trying to look intimidating, leaning forwards with his arms crossed like that, but perhaps it was just a habit. He tilted his head against the glare of the sun. "In the meantime, I might suggest doing research on Oddsgrove, the Lady Skyclad, and her crew, but given that I have been engaged in that activity myself, I must admit it is surprisingly futile to learn of the ship."


Some of his hair blew into his face with the wind, and he frowned as he corrected its course with one hand. I hate wind. He put his hand back into his pocket; immediately, as if it had been waiting for the opportunity, his hair danced right back into his face. He huffed. His hair twirled, taunting, though he could not see it--at least, if it insisted on getting in his face, it was still too short to get in his eyes. "Perhaps you would have some luck learning of the crew hired to man the Lady Skyclad, though. I doubt Oddsgrove's widow made the mistake of hiring just anyone from the street--even if she did not hire only the best."


Was his bitterness too loud? Pity the old woman couldn't hear him.

 

[Atom]

Darrow smirked, settling into his position, "You sound disgruntled. Wishing she'd hired you?" Darrow asked mockingly. "But no, of course not. You're proud to be on this proud vessel for your reasons aye? And what are those reasons actually? Come, tell me about yourself Bezek, i find myself with time to use as I wish, spin me a yarnin which you are the focus." Darrow asked, settling into his position comfortably.

 

[Erik]

The Star's eyes were nearly crimson in the bright light, and they stared openly at Darrow, brows furrowed and mouth turned down as the spy so easily unraveled his mannerism. Perhaps he ought to work on that. He sighed and looked over Darrow's shoulder at the horizon, frown still evident. He shifted his weight to one foot before starting to speak. "You want to know about me? I suppose I could entertain you. I am--or, I suppose I was--a professor of Folklore and Mythology at Qizil University." His eyes met Darrow's again, and one eyebrow lifted. "You've heard of the institution, I trust? It is rather rare to meet someone who hasn't."


He didn't wait for Darrow's reply, slipping all too easily into a slightly edited version of his traditional first-of-the-semester meet-your-professor spiel that he recited for his students. "I am a Star, as you should already have noticed, and you already know my name to be Bezek. I will not demand you call me professor, since you are not my student, but it would serve you well to remember that I am a professor. My particular area of interest is Zorion and associated folklore, and I have taken many trips to learn more from sources that have often otherwise been overlooked. I am also knowledgeable on the stories of Ao, and had expanded somewhat recently into the superstitions of the Fuvu peoples." His hands, which he had started to use for some generic gestures as he spoke, clenched briefly, reminding him that he did not have chalk or a blackboard to illustrate with.


"My age is irrelevant, but I will allow you the curiosity, as so many find Stars to be such a curiosity." He sighed, the sound both weary and frustrated, like he'd heard these sorts of questions a thousand times. "In the interest of keeping questions to that end to a minimum: I am less than fifty years old and, no, I do not remember my previous lifetimes." He almost launched into the part where he typically would preemptively tell any art students in his classes that he had no interest in sitting as the subject of their paintings or sketches or what-have-you, and especially not with his shirt off so that they could see his homestar. (This did not stop all of them, and he did feel flattered when someone painted him without needing him to sit for it, but he said it all the same.)

 

[Atom]

"Interesting. Very interesting. I'd tell you about myself but..


Well I'd be a bad example of a spy then eh?" Darrow asked with a chuckle. "But you still have yet to answer two of my questions. I will ask the last first, what reasons bring you on this vessel?" Darrow asked again.

 

[Erik]

At least Darrow seemed to take his role seriously. Bezek had not distracted him in the slightest from his line of inquiry, either. "I was hired, same as the rest of our crew, presumably for my skills." He shrugged. "I can be quite... dedicated, when I am given a task to complete. I will learn what must be learned of our target. To that effect, I know already the target's ultimate destination, which just so happens to be Zorion." He smirked. "Perhaps I was hired for my expertise on the subject."

 

[Girouette]

"Gooood morning, my min...Crew!"

​

From atop the deck of the best ship in the world...Or at least in the opinion of the one yelling across it, stood a pale-blue skinned man who had the look on his face of a person who had just eaten one to many sugar cakes, of which was exactly what he had for breakfast that morning, as he had very responsibly used about a 1/2-the of their budget (Which was nothing to scoff at) on personal treats, of which he had been gouging himself on all night and morning.


It was true that he hadn't eaten like that since his days of stealing things from captains stores...Ah, but now he was a captain himself, and had his own stores! What a wonderful way his life had turned out, off searching for some kind of magical relic or something, and captaining his own ship...


Speaking of which, he probably should be paying attention to the goings on of the crew, and should have come out a few hours earlier, but he was the captain! He can do as he pleases, right? Well, he did have duties...Of which he was pretty sure he offloaded onto his first mate last night, well...What was he to do then? Perhaps he should call a meeting, captains did that, right? They seemed to be going at a fairly fast pace, and would most likely reach their destination...Which would be the area the Lady Skyclad was last seen, which would be Logera, in around a day or so. well....Regardless, he thought it would be best to start off with finding his First Mate and addressing what needed to be done for the day.

 

[simj26]

Tatiana Mundy


Best Doctor

It was clear to anyone who kept an eye on the good doctor that Tatiana Mundy was not fond of being woken up, or waking up for that matter. Today was no different, and, as anyone knew from experience, falling asleep on one's worktable was an experience most sore and punishing to the poor sleeper. The doctor blinked once or twice, clearing the miasma that clouded her vision, and found her pillow to be rather paper-like in smell and texture. She lifted her head slowly, and felt her neck crack and her back creak as she straightened up. She twisted her neck, fearing the worst. Pain registered as she did, and Tatiana knew the day was going to be a horrible one. Groaning, she stood up, kicking her chair back, sending it across the room and colliding with the side of her bed. She rolled her neck once more, and winced when the reminder that no one should ever take naps as she had the night before. Being a deep sleeper and a long one at that, she felt the full brunt of resting upon furniture not meant for overnight recuperation. The ship had departed as soon as the captain returned with their job. Tatiana had no worry with regards to the ability of her ship, but she was not a deckhand and could not be bothered with staying on deck to help any, and had retired early to her own quarters.


She brushed her wayward locks out of her face and did up the buttons of her dress shirt, examining her still half-asleep features through the mirror nailed into the wall of her quarters. As she did, her eyes fell on the open journal at her desk, and the list of names written in an almost unintelligible cursive scrawl on it, part of the list obscured by yet another journal with a sketch of a carnivorous plant on its visible pages.


Sam Ridgins


Michael Parthing


Jane Livingstone


Kubrick Jensen


Tatiana shut the book, her disgruntled expression only worsening as her frown deepened and her brow creased further. She picked up the crystal-clear glass that she had emptied repeatedly the night before and swirled its contents, and drank it. She let the remnants of hard liquor diluted with heavy purified dihydrogen monoxide content stay in her mouth for a minute, then swallowed. It wasn't medically or scientifically proven that liquor was a confirmed aid in curing personal issues, but it was, by first-hand experience, an aid in blocking out said issues while passing the night. Feeling nauseous, Tatiana thought it best for herself that some fresh air was needed, for her sake, and her crewmates' sakes. She was not known for being merciful with a needle when she was thoroughly discombobulated.


She threw open the door of her quarters, made it to the side of the ship, and promptly started emptying the contents of her stomach, the bile burning at her throat as her vomit cascaded down past the clouds. It was also by first-hand experience that she learned that drinking and travelling on an airship mixed as well as caesium and plain water, but she did so anyway. As she continued to throw up what remained of her dinner and her drink, she made a mental note to stop buying the strongest whiskey at the docks, and a mental note to not forget that note. Of course, anyone who knew Tatiana well enough knew that both notes would be discarded by the day's end.

 

[Father Gigantor]

Burgundy V. Breitbarth II
​

The pungent smell of Sulfur and burning plastics wafted throughout the armory, a warning sign for all those who dare tread near Burgundy's domain and a very effective one at that. All the better, his explosives lab was no place for mortals, soft squishy mortals who couldn't even handle being burnt, shot, smeared against the wall in a fine red paste or vaporised to the bone. No no no... his creations were only to be beheld by the unwashed masses after he had refined them, enhanced them, perfected them, only then would they be allowed to utilise his carefully comissioned tools of mass explosions, and what explosions they were.... hee hee hee...


Burgundy scooped handfuls of thickening agent into gelling agent into the tanks of volatile fuel he had been cooking all night, if all had went as planned, the crew would be having ready made fire bombs by mid-day. All that was left was to let the compounds bond and fester for several hours. The fumes that filled the place were by then nearing toxic levels already, but Burgundy could care less. Scent and disgust were concepts of the past to an individual such as himself, all that mattered was flame... The thing that kept his dear vessel aloft, that lit the paths during the blackest of nights, that blew the opposition into itty bitty bits and pieces, the very thing that had once tortured him so, but now wreathed his everlasting body.


'Flame, oh my sweet darling flame, how you taunt me so, and how I love you so... my sweet sweet bringer of death...'


Burgundy was roused from his trance by presences, four of them it seemed. Master Gunn had finally brought aboard that crew he had been searching for so fervantly then. He wondered vaguely whether Gunn had mentioned the surprise that awaited these thirsting young travelers that awaited them below the hold, but if he knew the man well enough, he probably never did. All the better for Burgundy's entertainment.


"Not many by the looks of it, one might even call it a... skeleton crew? WHEEHAHAHA!"


He paused and held his (metaphorical) breath as he prepared to channel his powers, not because it was an effort by any means, the ship's flames more or less bended to his will, it was regular magic he had trouble with. He held his breath for the single most embarassing and ungentlemanly part required to use said ghostly powers.


"ME HEARTIES SING CHANTIES OF GIRLS IN LOOSE PANTIES


WHO LINGER BY THE SHOOOOORE~


FOR SIX PENCE I'LL LOVE HER


THEN DITCH THAT LANDLUBBER


A PIRATE EVER MOOOOOORE~"


Burgundy ended the ranchy shanty with sweep of his arms, lighting each and every lamp on the vessel in one go. With a clear view of all that lay above him, he promptly begun inspecting the fresh batch of recruits Master Gunn had oh-so graciously invited aboard the vessel to carry out his Master Gunn's nefarious sabotage...


He spied two fellows above deck, opposite the main mast chatting together. One appeared to be a light haired almost effeminate looking young chap.


'Tut tut, you look like you're a long way from home blondie, I can see the green leaking out of that mop of yours. You best be getting some meat on the wild doesn't take kindly to your sort."


He turned his attention to his considerably more weathered looking compatriot. His dark hair and unkempt beard was curled and ruffled, but to be an adventurer, one had to do more than just look the part.


"Oho, Tall, dark and silent? A man with a past perhaps? Wracked by guilt or loneliness perhaps? A sharp and brusque attitude to mask it? It doesn't really matter, I've seen your kind, dime a dozen they are. Boring too, people are never fun when they try to be all broody and witty on you. They're what I like to call the barnacles, rough, edgy and complete pests."





Next up, was the bloke exiting the Captain's cabin, likely the captain himself, or some really ballsy tosser maybe. There certainly was much difference at first glance to him as compared to the other two. Grey skin, tall build and sharp eyes, no doubt one of the special snowflake halflings. Vampire-human thingamabobs, they never had a name for them back in his day.


"Well, rise and shine Cap'n off to an early start I see, those colored crumbs on your cheek must mean it was a healthy start too no less. Oh my, what a joyous occasion it is, three whackjob crew members already, just like little old me."





Last but not least would be the one who seemed to be slumped across the starboard deck, a redheaded lady in the process of evacuating her stomach of its very watery and yellowish contents.


"Two healthy starters on the ship! What a momentous occasion! The Demon Drink I presume then? Good ol' regular seasickness vomit is a lot chunkier than that. Oh, and try not to get any of that down into here would you kindly? Stomach acid has a way of ruining the my sealing agents."





Burgundy allowed himself a hearty chuckly as he placed his modified brass smoking pipe into his mouth, igniting the kerosene within in a single puff. A greenhorn, a loner, a glutton and a drunkard and a neurotic. All under the same poop deck. Mr Gunn had certainly chosen the most entertaining crew to sabotage Oddsgrove's expedition, that was for certain. Now all that was left, was to let the journey unfold...

 

[Atom]

"Interesting... well the captain's awake. And the good doctor. Oh, oooh, Oh yep. Knew it. Out the door to the side and out the stomach. Someone can't hold their whiskey I'm sure." Darrow noted.


"And there's flamey, oooh I need to have a talk with him soon." Darrow remembered.


"Well friend. Unless you have anything else you wish to discuss then I believe we both have jobs to get to?" Darrow suggested.

 

[Erik]

Bezek jumped at Burgundy's surprise appearance. The ... man's words caused him to blink and frown, but there wasn't really a chance to respond--off the skeleton (man? ethereal being?) went to bother the doctor, who had shown her face just in time to puke over the side. Bezek winced and hoped there were no people below them to be caught in the downfall. That would be... unfortunate. At least flying ships tended to be (mostly) smoother than those which went over water. He'd had the misfortune of sailing on a trip to Nomawe once.


Once.





At Darrow's words, though, Bezek hummed thoughtfully. "Yes, yes, I suppose you're right." He waved a hand like he was shooing a fly, then left the prow to greet the captain. He strolled over easily, but started to slow as he drew near the Dhampir. Would he be expected to salute or something as ridiculous? They weren't a military, but they did have a distinct rank system on the vessel. Well, he supposed that if Mosath didn't seem bothered by the lack of a salute, then he would simply not. "Good morning, Captain," Bezek greeted, standing a respectful distance from the man, but within easy range for... whatever sort of greeting their dear captain chose. (He spared a brief thought to hope that it would not involve copious affection or physical intimacy. Hugs were fine when with the right people. He'd had an encounter in Rotsai with a settlement that was much too touchy once, and hugs were the standard greeting.)