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Sailing the Neath



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Thu Jan 05, 2017 8:12 pm
ThePatchworkPilgrims says...



Are you seeking passage on a ship to nowhere in particular? Are you tired of the Fallen City, and hungry for some new sights and secrets? Then come to the Wolfstack Docks next Thursday morning, and seek out the ARS Baskerville and me, captain Fuchard. The ship is unfortunately a simple Ligeia-class vessel, thus I only have place for seven passengers, including cargo, supplies and crew.

Cost is 200 echoes, covering for a week’s rations, fuel and the wages of my crew. Any special or potentially dangerous items will cost 50 echoes extra to cover security and harbour fees. Any specific requests, such as certain dietary needs or other requirements can be discussed and bartered on at the Docks.

Expected harbours we will call on during this journey are Venderbight, Whither, Port Palmerston and Irem. Please ensure to bring along necessary adjustments in attire.

Captain Henry Fuchard, Captain of the ARS Baskerville


You see this small, wax-stained poster among the dozens of other scraps stuck to the announcement boards inside the inns and bazaars of the Fallen City. This is your chance, you think, to finally leave this city behind you. Maybe you conned the wrong person, or have quite an extensive debt with the infamous Cheery Man. Or maybe you got in too deep and are now on the run. Or, maybe (and this is a big maybe), you really are simply seeking to get some not-so-fresh air away from this City for a while.

This City where lies, secrets and gossip used as currency more often than the actual currency does. This City where sin is a sign of status, as long as you can keep them from being used against you. This City where devils walk freely among the elite of the elite, casually buying the souls of the rich and powerful over glasses of bloodrock wine. This City where the Admiralty hold more power than the meek and corrupt parliament, implementing laws and regulations to benefit their Great Game.

That is what the Fallen City really is.

Main story arc


A/N- This SB is based on and in the Fallen London world from the game of the same name. I really enjoy the game, and thought an SB set in it and the follow-up game Sunless Sea would be an excellent adventure/intrigue SB. Most of the content is from the games, but I am planning on adding my own concepts and ideas as we progress. If you wish to learn more about the game(s), the link is at the end of this post (and I really recommend the games... they're brilliant)

So as you can deduce, your character is trying to leave the Fallen City. The reasons can be anything from stealing a conning a random stranger (with powerful connections), to failing in a blackmail attempt of the mayor, known as Sinning Jenny. It can be murder, or even just planning a secret meeting about banned books or poetry.

Your character can also be anyone: from a thief who has grown too old to be part of the Urchin Gangs, to a wealthy and connected lord or lady living on the prime Watchmaker Hill.

Our seven characters will all be on the same ship heading out onto the dark waters of the Nethersea. Each of us will be on it for different reasons, but one thing’s for certain- we’ll have to work together to survive (let’s just say Captain Fuchard and his officers won’t be living through this SB)

Background


This SB takes place in the Neath, a large, underground world. The majority of the Neath is filled with the Nethersea, a large, ever-changing sea that is filled with untold horrors and secrets in its dark, sunless depths.

The entire SB takes place underground, starting in the Fallen City (a major city that fell from the surface due to sin), as well as the other islands, cities and places in the Neath. The entire Neath is without any sun or sunlight (or any natural light…), and this darkness has been known to drive many a sailor or citizen crazy (it is not simply a natural darkness, but a darkness that has not known light for thousands of years)

The technology, clothing and architecture are all Victorian English, with steam technology the main form of technology to motor ship and factories.

Important places in the Neath:


The Fallen City: The capital of the Fallen Empire and home base of the Admiralty. The city has four districts, along with two islands in close proximity of the City’s harbour.
Spoiler! :
The Districts
    - Veilgarten- this district is the middleclass district, filled with crowded apartments, inns, cardhouses, and honey dens. Most Bohemians, writers, conmen, and charlatans live and operate here.

    - Wolfstack Harbour- the port of the Fallen City, and the location of the Admiralty. This district can only be entered with a pass, a connection in/to the Admiralty or a lot of money/influence/secrets.

    - Ladybones Road- the main road the Fallen City. Most big businesses are lined along this road, as well as many low-income housings. It is also the scene of frequent executions or fights.

    - Watchmaker Hill- Anyone who is anyone lives on the Hill, or is on friendly terms with the higher-ups of society. This is also the location of the Church of the Vicar (not a religious place, btw…) and the homes of most of the Devil nobles who fled Hell into the Neath (known as the Brimstone Convention)

The Islands
    - Hunter’s Keep- This is basically a large, possibly haunted mansion on a rock in the Nethersea. It is home to the keepers of many secrets, the Three Sisters (they really are sisters… Though some say they are vampires)

    - Mutton Island- This relatively flat islet is on the route towards the Iron Republic in the southwest of the Neath. Populated mostly with fishermen or herders.
-


The Iron Republic: This is a city ruled by some of the more ruthless devils from Hell. The Admiralty call the Republic lawless, but refuse to subjugate, embargo or take any other action regarding the Republic and its devil overlords.

Venderbight: The tomb colony set on the sea route to Whither in the northwestern Neath. The colonists of Venderbight are individuals who are enduring the prolonged torture of death (for whatever reasons they decided to give up on any life in the Neath, wrapped themselves in cloth like corpses, and slowly die among others like them)

Whither: A fishing settlement in the northern reaches of the Neath, where the unnatural snow constantly falls. The settlement of Whither is also known as the “place of questions”, where no answers are ever directly given, and questions always asked.

Gaider’s Mourn & the Ilse of Cats: These two different locations are the pirate strongholds of the Neath. Gaider’s Mourn is a city of pirates and vagrants built up and in the collosal pillars that hold up the Neath roof. The Poet (a very deadly pirate lord) is said to reign here.
The Ilse of Cats on the other hand is an island of unimaginable pleasures and dalliances, all ruled over by the Pirate King with his “rose gardens” (not your usual roses)

The Khanate: A very old nation that has been in the Neath for centuries before the Fallen City fell. Their cities are Khan’s Heart (the main trading hub), Khan’s Glory (the noble houses), and Khan’s Shadow (where the Khan’s war fleets reside in a castle made of broken ships) They are not openly hostile to the Fallen City and the Admiralty, but are suspicious of anyone that is not them.

The Presbyterate: This is also known as the Elder Continent, where 37 kingdoms exists and fight for power. No Fallen Citizen or any non-Prebyterate individual has ever made it through Adam’s Way to get to the undying continent (since people can live essentially forever, if they don’t mind being hunted for breaking the Sacred Law) The closest port available for non-Presbyterites is Apis Meet, where one may only stay for as long as the Neath tree lives (one gets planted as soon as you step ashore)

Fathomking’s Hold: The mysterious islands that are the residence of the Fathomking, a very ancient being that is said to know all the secrets of the Nethersea and one of the only “magical” individuals in the Neath.

Port Palmerston: This is the mining port set at the foot of Mount Palmerston, which is from where the devils of the Brimstone Convention fled during the revolution in Hell.

Port Cecil and the Bonny Reefs: Port Cecil is a city located in a large coral network, the city itself built on a big coral island. The residents of Port Cecil are, only second to the keepers of Irem, the most enthusiastic over riddles and tales. They are all players in the Great Game as well.

*

There are other locations, but I will mention them as the SB progresses. I simply mentioned the big settlements.

Important individuals or concepts

    - Nethersea- The Nethersea is unlike all other seas in our surface world. Not only is it underground and filled with strange creatures, but it is also known as the ever-changing sea. This means that nothing stays the same for long, with islands changing position in the spontaneously, never being in the same location twice. To inexperienced sailors or land citizens, this is confusing and sometimes drives them insane, but to a skilled sailor, they have become accustomed to know when change is occurring somewhere in the Neath.

    - The Terror of the Neath- The Neath’s perpetual darkness is more than just dark, but filled with horrors and terrors that plague one’s mind if one stays away from civilisation for too long in the open water. The Neath also start causing terrible nightmares, that slowly but surely become more real and lifelike before they consume the minds of those they afflict.

    - Sinning Jenny- The official mayor of the Fallen City. Extremely influential and dangerous, yet not the most powerful individual in the Fallen City. However, the Sisterhood are loyal to her, and would do her bidding if required.

    - The Cheery Man- The leader of the thieves, cutthroats, smugglers and all other shady sorts of the City. His/Her network is vast, and the Cheery Man’s vengeance is not something you want directed at you.

    - The Admiral- No one knows how he looks, except that he wears a pair of dark spectacles. Other than being the leader of the Admiralty, he is also a major player in the Great Game, with an army of spies and informants ensuring that all other players or attempting new entrees are kept in check.

    -The Great Game- unless you are a player, no one knows what the Great Game is about, but one thing everyone knows is that if you’re a player, you must be prepared to pay some grave prices.

    - The Brimstone Convention- The council of the devil nobles that fled Hell during a revolution in Hell. They are collectors of souls and information, and would hunt and kill any who steal or cheat them.

    - Sea, Storm and Stone- These three mysterious entities are the tree ancient rulers of the Neath. Worshipped by some, blasphemed by others, their reputation varies wherever one goes. But one thing is certain- they are all three extremely dangerous is taunted.

    - Honey dens and Rose gardens- Honey from the roses of the Pirate king are not like our usual honey made by bees. This honey is used to unlock one’s full mental potential, at a price. Many who dare use it disappear from public life or go insane.

Character slots, profile template and other stuff


1) reserved for TheSunderedSorcerer
2) reserved for ChildOfNowhere
3) reserved for EvangelineFire
4) reserved for Rydia
5) Open
6) Open
7) Open

Just a note on the Character Profiles and Character creation- This world is a world based on how you can use other people’s secrets or any other information about them to your own advantage. This counts for the character profiles, so feel free to write this as a person trying to conceal (or seemingly conceal) who they actually are. Let’s just say that I am expecting everyone to doubt whether the others are telling the truth or not… ;-) :D :P 8)

Code: Select all
[b][u]Name:[/u][/b]
[b][u]Nickname:[/u][/b] (What do people call you if they talk about you)

[b][u]Gender:[/u][/b]
[b][u]Appearance:[/u][/b] (attire you are wearing when you board the ship included in appearance please)

[b][u]Background:[/u][/b] (if you wish not to divulge, just write “my past will stay wreathed in shadows”)
[b][u]Is there one item you would never let out of your sight?:[/u][/b]
[b][u]Are you bringing any special cargo?:[/u][/b]
[b][u]Have you sold your soul yet?:[/u][/b] (Albeit to a Devil or Pentecost ape)
[b][u]What sin are you most guilty of?:[/u][/b]

[b][u]Overt reason for leaving the Fallen City:[/u][/b] (even if Captain Fuchard doesn't ask too many questions, he'd like to "know" why you want to leave)


Other stuff

- Devils look just like normal humans, just with paler skin, glowing eyes, extremely expensive clothing, and always an aura of heat coming from them (Your character may secretly be one ;-) )
- Although tomb colonists usually go to Venderbight to die, some go out on the Nethersea to experience some new sights before they die, so don't worry too much if we encounter mummy-like people with the smell of death sailing around on ships
- Vampires exist. Enough said.
- Although we are underground, there is a way to the surface (usually to allow people down, not allow people out) Unless you are rich and own a Irem cloak, you'd probably die in prolonged sunlight if you managed to sneak through the Albertine Gates, run by the Admiralty
- Here's the link to Fallen London if you want to check it out- http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/ Enjoy ;-)
Former incarnations have been:
TheWanderingWizard
TheClockworkConjurer
TheIllusiveIntellect
TheSunderingSorceror
And, TheMaieuticMesmerist


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Sun Jan 29, 2017 8:38 am
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ThePatchworkPilgrims says...



The Orator

Playing the Great Game


"Are we ready, master?"

My voice seemed to bounce through the empty room that had been the Orator's office for several months. Most of the books and furniture had already been moved into a secure storage facility, where it would stay until my master and I returned from our voyage.

The Orator was standing at one of the three small windows looking out onto the street outside, where several early risers were already hurrying down the cobbled walkways to their daily errands. Beside him was the opaque glass case that he intended to take along with him on the journey. There seemed to be faint movements inside, but no sound escaped the thick glass.

As a inconspicuous-looking carriage pulled up outside the building, my master gestured at the glass case, my signal to pick it up and carry it downstairs to the carriage. He led me down the three flights of stairs into the bookstore below, where our landlady missus Thom stood waiting for my master, her thin arms crossed over her chest.

"So, it seems my bookstore isn't good enough for you anymore, is it?" missus Thom said as we reached the bottom of the stairs.

My master reached into his coat pocket, removing a yellow piece of paper and handing it over to the bookkeeper. Her eyes quickly dashed over the contents of the letter, turning from surprise to fright to surprise again before she finished reading.

"Th... Thank you, mister Orator sir," she stammered, placing the piece of paper into one of her dress pockets. "I will be sure to keep an eye out for them."

A quiet yet gruff cough from the door drew our attention to the driver, dressed in the baggy brown and grey clothing of an employee of mister Sacks, who had finished loading the bags into the carriage.

"That glass case coming along, sir?" he asked. My master nodded, but held up his hand when the driver wanted to take it from me.

"I will carry it, thank you," I said to the driver, who bowed and walked out of the store. He held open the windowless carriage door for my master, before helping me climb in with the case.

"To the Docks, sir?" he asked through a small window beside his seat.

"Yes, but not too hasty over the bumps please," I replied, the carriage starting forward at a gentle pace as I finished.

The carriage proceeded from the small side street onto the Ladybones Road, already crowded with pedestrians at four in the morning. Most of them steered clear from the carriage, though, thus their progress was still steady.

While the carriage passed under the arm of a crane, a soft thud on the roof of the carriage alerted my master, who tapped the window beside the driver to inquire about it. Almost immediately after, the window opened and a small, sealed letter was handed to my master.

"An urchin boy, sir," the driver said, briefly looking through the window before closing it again.

The Orator opened the letter, and quickly read it, before handing it to me. The writing was in the quick, small handwriting of the leader of the urchin gangs, a vampire girl who had reportedly been alive for two hundred years.

Bishop to A3

To any individual unfamiliar with the Great Game,this would seem like a casual long-distance chess game, but to my master and me, this was an important piece of information. Stretching passed the case, I knocked on the window, saying to the driver as he opened it, "To the Admiralty, please."

The driver seemed indignant. "That'd mean I'll have to used the main entrance to the Docks," he said, "and mister Sacks didn't provide me with a pass for the carriage."

"Go there please," I replied when my master gestured for him to continue on his way there.

We reached the high, iron gates that marked the entrance to the Wolfstack Docks just after five. There was only one guard stationed at the gate itself, but from previous experiences I know that there were several more close by to assist in the event of a scuffle. The guard was dressed in the blue and red uniform of the Admiralty, and carried a long musket as he stepped up to the carriage.

"Ah, one o' mister Sacks' men, hey?" he said, "Do you have a pass for this carriage? Or you just droppin' someone off who does?"

My master showed my his hand gesture to ask for the name of the guard. When I did so, the guard's voice seemed confused.

"Alan Olton, but what's that got to do with anything?" he asked, "Pass, or leave."

The Orator sat thinking for several moments, before pulling out a black fountain pen (very expensive), and wrote something on a paper for me to read aloud.

"Alan," I said, "be a goo lad and let us pass, lest your employer find out that you have secretly been smuggling red honey into the city for the Cheery Man."

This information got the requisite reaction, since the loud creaking of the iron gates' hinges filled the carriage almost immediately. The driver stopped before the large, militaristic shape of the Admiralty soon afterwards, opening the carriage door for my master and me (the glass case placed on the floor of the carriage) to exit.

"Please unload the bags so long," I told the driver, pulling my collar up against the biting cold air from the Nethersea, "Leave the glass case inside. Stay here until we return, when I will provide you with your payment."

The driver nodded and started unloading the bags onto the black, damp stones of the Docks. Turning around, I saw my master already coming out of the Admiralty (he never goes anywhere without me to speak on his behalf), with an Admiralty guard carrying a small wooden box (no bigger than a shoe box) with him. My master was frowning intensely, and as I hurried to get the glass case and follow him to the Baskerville, with the driver straggling even more behind carrying the bags, I wondered what could have angered my master in such a brief moment. I also wondered what was in this mysterious wooden box which seemed so important, but not important enough to inform me of its contents.

It was with these thoughts that as we boarded the gangplank to be greeted by the greying captain Fuchard, his dark green eyes both welcoming and cold as he shook the Orator's hand, I knew that this was going to be a long and interesting journey.
Former incarnations have been:
TheWanderingWizard
TheClockworkConjurer
TheIllusiveIntellect
TheSunderingSorceror
And, TheMaieuticMesmerist


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Tue Jan 31, 2017 9:33 pm
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Rydia says...



Petronella Psinskey

"He used to sing, do you remember, Pol?" Petra gave the owl's feathers a fond stroke and he nipped at her gloved hand with his sharp beak. She hardly noticed the bead of blood welling between her fingers as she murmured the words under her breath:

"The worst old brig that I ever did sail,
set out from the wolves in a big old gale."

Petra crossed the street and approached the towering, iron gates of the Wolfstack, still half in a daze. It had been many years since her business had taken her this way and they seemed taller somehow, more imposing without the blind confidence of childhood.

"And the wolves chased after
but the brig was hale
and she held, how she held, oh she held, my dear
and she held, how she held, oh she held."

"My dear."

Petra started and looked up into the once familiar eyes of Alan Olton and then smiled and offered her hand - the one now dripping with a steady stream of red raindrops.

"Mr. Olton, how's Maud and the kids?"

"Ah, they're right as rain, thanks very much for askin', miss. Terribly sorry about the news."

Petra inclined her head in thanks and then moved to step by him and through the gates. Alan stepped aside but her way was quickly blocked by a second man in the blue and red uniform of the Admiralty.

"Luka, it's okay, I don't need any-"

"Your pass, please," the guard, presumably called Luka, held out his hand expectantly. Petra lifted her eyes to meet his and then very purposefully looked away and to Alan for help. This was definitely not a place where a show of brute strength would get you through the door - it was all about who you knew and how you knew them and whether other people knew them too.

"Luka, as I was saying, I don't need any help," Alan insisted apologetically. "The young lady, that is to say Miss-"

Petra gave the slightest shake of her head. There was a power in names and most people knew better than to abuse that. Alan ran his tongue over his lips nervously.

"Well?" Luka prompted.

"She's the late Captain Gold's daughter."

It was another false name, but appropriate and one that she'd heard so often it had almost become real and her father's original name felt more like a puff of smoke, only visible in the top corner of a smeared mirror. The change came over Luka almost immediately and he stood to attention and then held out his hand again and then put it away without shaking hers and he had the good sense to look abashed, if not entirely compliant.

"A thousand apologies and my commiserations, Miss Gold. But uh- you do have your papers, don't you?"

Petra sighed, gave the smallest nod and presented them, though she'd sooner not have had to. Her father had never had any trouble acquiring a dock pass but she wasn't her father and finances had been more stringent of late. Still, the guard looked over the pass only very briefly and then quickly gave it back, only to grateful to be allowed to usher her through.

Once past the gates, Petra hitched her bag more firmly onto her shoulder and strode out across the dark cobbles. Despite the early hour and heavy restrictions, the docks were already teeming with people, most of them either richly dressed or wearing the gleaming uniforms of the Admiralty as they marched their muskets up and down and looked important or prepared to take them out to sea with them. Only the very best of ships could afford for a member of the Admiralty to accompany them as a guard, especially since they had their own sailing business to be about, but that wasn't the type of ship Petra was looking for.

She found the ARS Baskerville easily enough and dropped her bag in a pile with a lot of other cargo waiting to be rowed aboard and settled in the hold. She still had a lighter bag strapped to her back but it in no way hampered her movement and she had to resist the urge to wriggle up one of the docking ropes which the child in her insisted was the only real way to board a ship.

"Captain Fuchard, I assume?" Petra greeted the impassive, green eyed man. He smiled and nodded but the smile didn't go all the way to his eyes and it confirmed once again that this wasn't an entirely above board voyage.

"I'd like to freshen up in my quarters, if I may?"

"Yes, of course, miss-"

Petra smiled - she had of course 'forgotten' to introduce herself on purpose. "Psinskey. I said I'd be bringing my owl, remember?" She didn't doubt that her description had been more than adequate to have already matched her to the made up name.

"But of course."

The captain called for a cabin boy to show her to the rooms and then he left her there to get settled in. As it turned out, freshening up would be a lot harder than Petra had anticipated for the room was hollowed out from a fine, dark wood and gave ample space for both her and another occupant, but every possible surface was covered in the residue of gun powder and a few canon balls rested on the second bed like a strange trophy. Whoever the gunnery officer was, he was definitely going to be making his rooms more hospitable for her but until then, Petra decided she would not spend a moment longer in them. She stalked out with Polaris still alert on her shoulder and strode back to the top deck.
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LordZeus says...



Zander "Dead Zed" Crossblade


Zane sprinted down Ladybones Road. He darted past poor daily wage workers, beggars and squids as fast as he could. He glanced back, and his hear sunk as he realized his pursuer was gaining on him, his gold trimmed crimson cloak clearly marking him out from the crowd.

The man's hood was up, and it cast a shadow on his face. But Zane didn't need to see his face to know who the man was-or what he was there for. The man's cloak was drawn around him as he took long strides through the crowd, which split before him, easily noticing his expensive clothing as a mark of a higher rank.

Zane turned and kept moving, as fast as he could, his cloak billowing out behind him. He heard whispers of "Dead Zed." as he moved past, his reputation obviously well-known.

But then he noticed another figure, moving towards him from the other side, a man in a tattered blue jacket. Zane didn't know his face, but the fact that h was staring at him and had a steely grin told him all he needed to know.

With enemies in front and behind-both experienced killers, he was certain-Zane took the only path available to him; he turned and leaped onto the nearest building, grabbing the sill of a first floor window and clambering up as fast as he could.

A child stood at one, laughing as he observed Zane's climb before his mother closed the window, knowing exactly what was going on. Chases and subsequent murders happened more often on Ladybones Road than games of dice.

He had nearly made it to the roof, when he felt something grasp his ankle. He looked down to see the man in the blue jacket, with a knife out. "Stop." he hissed but Zane shook his leg and dislodged his hand and clambered onto the roof before sprinting along it and jumping on the next one.

But then he felt his heart chill when another came over the side of the roof and blocked his path. He turned but the other man had closed him off that way too.

"Now, now, Zane, let's be reasonable." said the newcomer, a middle aged, balding but spry man in brown cloak said. "The master is willing to be generous, given this is your first infraction."

Zane tilted his head. "How generous, Barthos?" he said, as If considering it. Meanwhile, his hands reached down under his cloak towards his belt.

Give us back the item and we'll just cut off your right hand. A very sensible deal, I think. And you've got nowhere to go." replied Barthos with a cruel grin.

Zain's left reached towards his satchel, as if about to give them what they wanted, but right then his right hand pulled put one of his knives and flung into Barthos's stomach, simultaneously drawing the left with his other hand before turning to counter an attack from the blue jacketed man.

Hs opponent slashed viciously at Zane's shoulder, and he managed to jump back just in time to avoid a sustantial injury, but not quck enough to avoid him drawing a line of blood.

Zane stepped back, but his opponent leapt forward, slapping in a wide arc. Zane ducked, before grabbing his enemy's wrist and pulling him down in one swift movement.

Then, Zane was upon him, holding his struggling opponent down as he he stabbed him repeatedly in the chest, until he finally, convulsed, shuddered and lay still.

Zane's mouth pressed in a grim line, he got up and wiped the knife onto his tunic, before turning to Barhtos who was clutching his wound, and coughing up blood.

As Zane kneeled beside him, his piercing blue eyes glaring into Zane's dark ones. "The Master will hunt you down for this." he hissed. "And this time, no offers. You'll be killed on sight."

Zane gave ascornful chuckle. "If that gives you comfort as you go, old friend, then take it. But I don't plan on staying around." and he slashed open his throat.

Zane stood up, humming, before recovering his right knife and putting both in their sheaths on his belt. Then he checked his satchel, to make sure his treasure remained safe.

He lifted ut the small wooden box, the emblem of a skull on it, with gentleness. As he did so, it shook, the chain's binding it together shuddering. He stroked it, trying to calm it down, whispering, "You'll be with your master soon." before placing it back in his satchel.

"And then maybe he'll stop hunting me." he muttered, t no one in particular. Suddenly he felt as if he was being watched, and he turned. And gulped. For two houses down was the man in the olden cape, He couldn't see if he was looking at Zane, but he knew that this man was there for him alone.

Suddenly, the man's face lifted, and Zane caught a glimpse of his glowing red eyes, and turned to the roof quickly to avoid their disconcerting gaze.

"Well, Zane..." said he Devil. "Not bad. But you will be mine soon enough." and then he jumped off the roof.

Zane shook his head. Why hadn't the creature attacked them then and there But he pushed those thoughts to the side for a moment as he caught a glimpse of something in Barthos's' pocket.

"No way..." he muttered, pulling it out to reveal a dock pass. Immediately, a poster he'd read came to mind. Are you seeking passage on a ship to nowhere in particular? Are you tired of the Fallen City, and hungry for some new sights and secrets? Then come to the Wolfstack Docks next Thursday morning, and seek out the ARS Baskerville and me, captain Fuchard. remembered Zane. Well, well, now that I have the means it seems I will be going with you, Captain Fuchard...but if you knew who's hunting me, you'd never agree to take me with you.

----

Zane whistled as he entered the dock. Zane listened as the traders set in or set out, and smelled the cargo of spices as a cart went by him. There were people of every description at the docks, from every land in the Neath. Ships of every size gathers at the docks, from the great vessels of the Admiralty, own to the tiniest trader with the Fallen City's nearby islands. It was here that Zane had often led expeditions to steal rare goods when he was younger, and just starting out in the Fallen City, and he had any memories-most rather fun-of the place. Of course, it was a long gone time now.

Zane found the ARS Baskerville without much trouble. Te plain, unremarkable and slightly battered looking wasn't much of a sight, but Zane preferred to blend in.

He stepped onto the gangplank and boarded the ship, before being greeted by an impassive, green eyed man. "Welcome Aboard. I'm Captain Fuchard. Name?"

Zane smiled slightly. "Zander Crossblade." a name he'd just thought of, one more added to the substantial number he had already. Then, realizing the need to adopt the new identity, he resolved to call himself Zander from then on, even in thoughts.

Zander threw a pouch of gold into the Fuchard's hand, and his fist tightened on the money before nodding. "Alright, come on in." he grunted. "Pick a room with one of the crew-I don't care who- and then you're set." he aid, gesturing at a doorway and Zander nodded, striding into the living quarters.

----

Zander leaned on the railing of the deck, enjoying the last pungent smells of the Fallen icy, a place he'd been in for years-though his origin was far from this place.

Just then, a voice called ut from the doorway of the living quarters. Zander, could you come here, please?"

He sighed and moved into the room with the young but obviously enthusiastic Chief Steward. "Zander, this is not about the room. I was told you have some special cargo you. want stored/"

Zander nodded and took the box out of his satchel and passed it to him. "Put it in the safe. Make sure you lock it and reinforce it with chains."

The dark haired young man muttered "What have you got in here?"

Zander replied, "None of our business." and he scowled and departed. Zander smiled. He had chosen the steward's rooms, because he had seemed the least threatening. And it appears he was right, he didn't seem the type to start a fight even when poked. And his room was pretty good, with a couple of decent cots. and better, the steward was very neat and tidy, his room spotlessly clean and his things meticulously organized in a pair of cabinets.

Zander's things were well organized too, but that was more because all of his belongings were either on his back or in his satchel.

It reminded him of back in a time when he was...different. Suddenly, his hand grasped into the shadows of his cloak, into a pocket stitched into the inside. Although he told himself it was a bad idea, he grasped the item within and pulled it. out. The amulet o blue glowing coral was nestled in his palm, an item that was Zane's sole remainder of his past identity-or one of them, anyway.

Suddenly, memories starting spiraling around him. Shut it down! he yelled at himself as shame, sorrow and fear played out in his ind again. But he quickly bottled up his feelings once more, just about managing to get a grip on them. He stuffed it back into his pocket, gasping. The memories were too strong to deal with. Maybe a walk on deck will clear my head. he thought.

He went back on deck and froze when he noticed a pale skinned women near the railing, her dark hair flowing behind her.

As he watched, she turned nothing him. "Oh, hello." she muttered,

"Um...hello." replied Zander, realizing that both were feeling awkward.

"I'm Zander." he said, extending his hand.Oh, very well, I'd better get to know my fellow passengers.

The woman hesitated for a moment, hen shook it. "Hecate." she replied tersely.

Zander nodded. "So, what's your reason for leaving the Fallen City?"





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Thu Feb 02, 2017 12:30 pm
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EvangelineFire says...



Hecate Melanthios



A slow trickle of rain fell from the sky, wetting the cobblestones in a sheen of water. Hecate's boots kicked up splashes as she carelessly tread through small puddles. Her head was bowed, hood shielding her from the weather. A thick fog covered everything, from the ground in front of her, to the shifting bushes ahead. A couple of times she thought she saw shadows lurking with in, but whether they were actually there or just in her head wasn't for certain. Over the years she'd come to learn that both were equally as probable.

Hecate walked past a tall lamppost, one of many along this road, and turned into a residence. She paused to look up at it as she approached. It was a mansion, beautiful and elaborate in every way. She couldn't count how many times she'd been here before. For years this had been the house of secret meeting and business dealings—and a good many parties, too, she was glad to remember.

It was also the place she'd met Valdus.

Hecate made her way up the steps and to the front door. She gave three hard knocks.

The door swung open a moment later by a servant. “Do you have an appointment with Master Adalard?” he asked.

“No,” Hecate said. “Tell him The Raven is here to see him.”

The servant paled ever so slightly at the mention of that name. He scurried quickly away.

It wasn't long before he returned and said, “Master Adalard waits for you in his office.”

Hecate pulled back her dripping hood and stepped inside. A rush of warm air surrounded her, burning her frozen fingers and nose. She continued on through the house.

It hadn't changed one bit since she'd last been here. Adalard had never been one to skimp out on anything, and this reflected on his house. Every wall was adorned with some painting or another and each room was carefully decorated in plush seats, tall bookshelves, and delicate tables. She still didn't feel entirely comfortable walking through it, especially with her soggy boots and still dripping cloak. But surely a little water wouldn't hurt.

Hecate approached the familiar double oak doors and pushed them open. She stepped into the room.

Ilvinn Adalard sat at the head of the long table, his ever-staring dark eyes both a little frightened and intrigued.

Hecate held his gaze for a moment, then turned to latch the door shut behind her. She approached the table and sat down at the opposite end. She landed her arms on the smooth wood, staring him in the eye.

A tense silence fell between them.

“I need your help,” Hecate said finally.

Ilvinn snorted and leaned forward in his seat. “Do you now?” he said, voice rumbling and deep. “I would imagine so considering Syvrik claims that you appeared out of no where and tried to murder him two days ago.”

Hecate stared at him blankly. “Will you help me?”

Ilvinn ran a hand over one side of his face, suddenly weary. At length, he said, “You've been gone for over six months, sweetheart, I'm gonna need more information than that.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Syvrik isn't who you think he is.”

“And why is that?”

“He killed Valdus.” Six months. It had taken six months for her to accept that. Yet his name still sent shivs through her heart and threatened shatter her all over again. She didn't allow it to happen.

Ilvinn shook his head and fell back in his chair with a rueful smile. “You see, Hecate,” he rumbled, “there's a rumor going around that you were the one who killed him. And with this attempt on Syvrik's life, that is becoming more and more believable by the day.”

Hecate's hands clenched fists on the table. “Are you saying you think I killed Valdus?” she hissed. “I'd never thought you a fool, Ilvinn, so it comes as a surprise to see you see easily deceived.”

“I don't think it matters what I believe,” he said honestly, “because we both know how this night ends.”

Hecate pushed herself to her feet. “Yes,” she said. “We do.”

Ilvinn got to his feet and moved to his desk. “I'll have the pass to Wolfstack Harbor within a few days,” he said, his back turned to her as he filed through papers.

She lingered a moment longer, then started towards the door.

“Oh and, Hecate?”

She turned. “Yes?”

Ilvinn looked her in the eye. “I don't believe the rumors, by the way. You wouldn't have killed Valdus.”

She nodded and hurried out the door.

***


Four days later, Hecate rode in a gently swaying carriage, her hood drawn to conceal her face through the window. It was unlikely anyone would recognize her, as she had always clung to the shadows and was careful to stay out of sight as much as possible. But the possibility was still there and Syvrik no doubt had men on the lookout for her.

A little over a week ago, she'd tried to kill him for murdering Valdus that night six months ago. The plan, of course, hadn't gone as she'd hoped it would. Hecate had underestimated him. Syvrik was in fact the warrior everyone claimed him to be, and every bit as perceptive. She had only narrowly escaped with her life.

Hecate knew he would seek revenge. She wasn't certain whether he'd hunt her in person, but he wouldn't stop sending men after her until one of them brought back her head.

But it wasn't just Syvrik she had to worry about anymore. What she'd done was bigger than that.

Hecate would never be safe in the Fallen City again. There were too many people she'd betrayed, too many people who blamed her for the death of Valdus. She'd always known it would end like this. Not exactly like this, but she'd always known it would end in violence.

That was the way of things in the Fallen City.

The carriage rolled into the iron gates of Wolfstack Docks. A guard approached the window, his long musket held at one side.

“Dock's Pass, please,” the guard said.

Hecate reached into her small bag and groped for the pass. She quickly found it, but at the same time her hand brushed an unfamiliar piece of paper. She ignored it for now and handed the Dock Pass to the guard.

He motioned for the carriage to continue on and the driver rolled back into motion.

Hecate reached back into her bag. She retrieved the small piece of paper and flipped it over in her hands. She didn't remember putting it in there

It read, It turns out I was one of the first people Syvrik asked about your whereabouts. I was able to lie to him easily enough, but as he knows that I'm the only one you trust after the death of Valddus, he'll surely be back. I don't know how discrete you were when coming to my house and although I trust my servants, one of them could easily let Syvrik know that you were there.

So, in order help cover my sorry ass, I let it slip to them that you're taking a ship out of the Fallen City. Thought I should at least let you know. You can take it as a sort of payment for the Dock Pass.

Good luck, sweetheart!


Hecate crumpled the piece of paper into her fist. That bastard, she thought angrily. She should have seen this coming, though. Ilvinn held no loyalty to her other than their friendship, if it could be called that.

And to be entirely honest, she would have done the same thing were their places switched.

***


Hecate laid her eyes on the ARS Baskerville, which rolled gently on the dark waters beside the dock. Cargo lay off to the side to be boarded onto the ship and crew members bustled about. The only one who noticed her approach was a sturdy man with a careworn face. He walked up to her with his hand outstretched.

She took it as he said, “Welcome to the ARS Baskerville, I'm Captain Fuchard.”

“Hecate Melanthios,” she said. All her life she'd made an effort to keep that name as untainted as possible so that she could use it freely. A couple people knew it here and there, but as nothing more than the daughter of a simple merchant. The nickname The Raven, however, now that was a tainted name. Luckily there was no connection between Hecate the merchants daughter and The Raven.

Captain Fuchard called over the cabin boy and he offered to show Hecate to her quarters.

Hecate followed him through the ship and eventually passed through the doors of the Chief Engineer's quarters. She stepped inside curiously.

No space was left unused. Every shelf and every corner was the home of one gadget or another. Some of them made soft ticking sounds or gave shudders at random, and others emitted a steady stream of white steam. In short, it was both a very odd and very amazing room.

She resisted inspecting any of the objects, for she just knew that she would end up messing one of them up.

Hecate laid her bag on the small bed she assumed was meant for her and returned to the deck. She ambled about for a bit, watching the crew as they worked to get everything ready for departure. But eventually she found herself looking out to sea.

She couldn't see very far, the darkness too deep and the sea too vast. But what she could see was unnerving. The black, rolling waters were merely a hint as to what was beyond. She imagined she saw shadows moving around out there, but again she wondered if it was all just in her head.

Hecate rested her arms on the railing, feeling a gentle breeze pull at her hair. Her eyes dropped to her hands, where a silver ring on her finger glittered in the light. It was a simple thing, its two pale blue gemstones warping around each other in cold metal. Despite fearing that she would lose it or have it damaged, she elected to wear it anyway. It made her feel safe. Sometimes she swore she could feel protective arms wrap around her whenever she touched it, and now was no different.

She had the sudden feeling that someone was watching her.

Hecate turned and saw a tall young man staring at her. His skin was a light brown, but his hair and eyes were dark, almost piercingly so. She took note of the two long black sheaths hanging on either side of him.

She immediately felt a mixture of annoyance and discomfort. “Hello,” she said.

“Um, hello,” he said. Then after an awkward moment of silence, held out his hand and continued, “I'm Zander.”

Hecate's eyes dropped to his outstretched hand. She took it reluctantly. “Hecate.”

Zander nodded. “So, what's your reason for leaving the Fallen City?”

She lifted at eyebrow. “Why do you want to know?”

“I just thought it would be nice to get to know my fellow passengers,” he replied simply.

She sighed softly through her nose and turned back out to the black waters. After a long moment, she said, “I won't give any details, but if you must know I'm on the run. I made friends with the wrong sort and now I'm paying the price for it.” She glanced back at Zander. “What about you?”





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StupidSoup says...



Sivv the Mouse

The bustle of the city streets filled the air; footsteps overlapping voices, shouting, whistling, running, shrieking. The old damp cobblestones groaned and crunched and cracked against the rush of carriage wheels towing men and women here and there, there and here. From above, gusts and gales sullied the city with mist and scatters of rain.
A group of boys ran up and down the streets, finding the fortunate men and women of said city to prey upon with such weapons as, "please ma'am, sir, lady, gentleman: spare some coins for us cretins, us poor unfortunates." They passed through the crowded streets like a liquid, ready to work their word craft on such unwary souls.

They passed a poor dockworker lugging cannonballs down the same path. He looked at the ground, passing the boys and the carriages and the men and women all hurrying about their business. He passed Sivv, playing a sad song amidst the chaos.

Sivv sat in the doorway of his residency, playing a slow somber song, one that fit the scene perfectly. His hands moved lazily across the strings finding the notes needed to construct his melody. They plucked here and pulled there, ignoring what needed to be ignored and playing what was won't to be played. The tune rose and fell, not without its sense of eeriness, but it was a pleasant song nonetheless.

But all ears were turned away, all minds elsewhere. So Sivv played alone, watching the men and women pass him by. The song lay dormant now, a steady base note resounding over and over, now it rose, a scale climbing up the neck of the instrument. Sivv's eyes flicked here and there, memorizing faces. Eyes, noses, mouths. Looks of pain, disgust, fear, sorrow, joy. However, he was not interested in the public. His eyes sought a man. A man worth killing.

Sivv rose, still playing. He moved down the crowded sidewalks, feet treading lightly on the old cobble. His song writhed, falling from it's former grace it warned those listening to run far, far away.

A younger man leaned against a wagon, watching the time. The rise and fall of the sea and the creaking of old wood on the ocean nearby marked his destination. The man glanced up, eyes squinting up the road before him, watching for a warning. His gaze traveled through the crowd, watching, waiting.

Sivv quickened his step, his song spreading around him. The crowds parted before him, fear making them veer away. The angry plucking picking up speed, the melody a high eerie pitch. Sivv glared ahead, down the hill and to the sea. There, masts lined the docks, waving white flags in the wind. Sailors crowded the wooden walkways, loading their vessels, moving boxes this way and that. A man leaned on a wagon, watching the time.

A young man clicked his watch shut. Eyes trained on the guitarist walking down the street. He could hear the foreboding whisper of the song already. A warning to all. He heeded it, feet flying towards the docks.

Sivv slung the guitar around to his back and ran. The hill gave him speed, it's slope egging him onward. Sivv reached the shipyard, eyes following the fleeing figure. His prey.

A young man looked desperately for his escape. Ships flew by, the sea whispered below him, "not here, not here, not here." He dared a glance back. The Mouse was on his tail.

Sivv bounded forwards, closing the gap between he and his victim. The poor soul's top hat had fallen off long ago, exposing a tidy target of brown hair. Sivv aimed for that.

A young man fell dead, his head hitting the old boards of the dock with finality. The sailors barked curses, jumping back from the morbid scene.

The Mouse had caught it's prey. It drew it's keen little knife out of the victim's skull and sheathed the blade. Sivv, the little mouse, scurried away. His own escape was anchored ahead. Sivv glanced behind him. The frightened sea dogs had regained their courage and swarmed after the assassin, barking and shouting. However, they were far to late.

"Welcome aboard. I assume you have your mode of payment ready."

Captain Henry Fuchard was his name. He had promised Sivv an escape by sea and a means of transportation to his next target for a fare that was hard to come by in such trying times. Sivv was not one to pass up an opportunity. Tossing the captain two hundred and some echos, the Mouse made his way below deck, where his aggressors could not follow.

Within the vessel, an assembly of faces greeted Sivv, eyes trained on him, some fearful, others curious. Sivv ignored them. He had not planned on company on this venture but he was accustomed to sharing rooms. Hopefully the journey would not be so long.
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The simple truth is that authors like making people squirm. If this weren't the case, all novels would be filled completely with cute bunnies having birthday parties.
— Brandon Sanderson, Alcatraz Versus the Evil Librarians