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Fantasy The Ninth Winter
- Thread starter Coin
- Start date
Coin
world's okayest lobotomite (they/them)
Chapter 1
Fare-thee-well"Aye a-hear the ol' Constable say
Good bye, fare thee well, good bye, fare thee well!
Aye a-hear the ol' Constable say
Harrah, me boys, we're mainland bound!
Ah, we're mainland bound to Cadrius town
Good bye, fare thee well, good bye, fare thee well!
So fill up your glasses for those who were lost
Harrah, me boys, we're mainland bound!
And drink to the girls we are leaving behind
Good bye, fare thee well, good bye, fare thee well!
We're mainland bound I hear them say
Harrah, me boys, we're mainland bound!
We're mainland bound with eleven months pay
Good bye, fare thee well, good bye, fare thee well!
Our anchor we'll weigh, our sails we will set
Harrah, me boys, we're mainland bound!
The friends we are leaving we'll never forget..."
- - -
Cask is a desolate place. It is a lonely isle under siege from a sea of ice on all sides. It was once a proud naval harborage, but it is now only mere months away from becoming a coffin of rime. Where it may seem impossible to hold onto hope in such a place, the people of Cask are unusually energetic. It is an hour before high dawn, and the survivors of the isle are alive and eccentric. Picks, drills, and hammers swing in rhythm to an old sea shanty bellowing from the souls of dozens of ice smashers. The unforgiving ice gives way, slowly, surely. Slabs of ice are hauled from the opened water on sleds and ropes before they are discarded a short distance away. On any other day, this would be a strange ritual, but this day is unique.
On this day, for the first time in years, a ship's resonance engine will be ignited not for heat, but for sail. The Ophelia, a light freighter hailing from Heldrun has been converted into a desperate ice breaker. Its mission is to make a journey that only a handful have ever survived during the Ninth Winter. The ship and her compliment of sixty-seven brave crew will carve a path across the ice fields and reconnect with the mainland of Belar, fate permitting. Once making shorefall with Belar, the crew are to serve as scouts and scavengers, bringing vital reconnaissance and material back to the starved isle. Without the voyage, Cask is sure to fall in the coming months. Thus, with each fall of a pick, dockworkers and sailors alike break the trail for the Ophelia to follow -- a trail that leads to Cask's last hope.
A two-way thoroughfare has been established from the lip of the Ophelia's loading ramp and across the dock in which the ship is moored upon. Laborers and porters cart the last crates of supplies aboard the ship as final preparations are made. Meek light from the sun preparing to crest the horizon is not enough for the operation, so several strings of resonance-powered lanterns hum and light the thoroughfare. It is shaping up to be a calm morning on Cask, as the air is windless and the skies are clear. Alcohol thermometers posted at regular intervals across the thoroughfare record the temperature to be -19°F, average for the time of year during sun-down periods. Despite the biting cold, a small crowd has gathered at the dock end of the thoroughfare.
The crowd of a dozen or so has gathered around Nora Stacker. She is your typical Sentinel from the Order of the Wolf, meaning she is quite remarkable. In an age where Sentinels are looked upon with general scrutiny and distrust inherited from the Sovereign's cowardice, Nora stands defiant. Her gaunt and unnoteworthy features inspire no bardic tales, but it is Nora's accomplishments and charisma that shine past the ilk of her fellow mortals. To the people of Cask, Nora Stacker is legendary -- it was she who led two fellow Sentinels into the howling plains of frozen death and returned from the mainland alive. No amount of bureaucratic infighting could argue the plethora of harrowing trials she and her comrades faced on the Belarian mainland. Some who were about to board the Ophelia seek Nora out for last minute advice for survival, while others loiter for the opportunity to hear another of the Ice Queen's exploits.
"...and that's why you always keep your ice pick close at hand, never in your rucksack," Nora explained while flourishing her own pick. "Those rockbiter drones can lay motionless in the snow for weeks until a poor sod like you wanders right into its waiting claws. However, a swift swing up towards the rockbiter's jaw with your pick should put the creep out cold. Remember, drones ain't like us humans -- their hearts are right under their jaws. Always aim for the heart. Your dead nan could shuffle over from Bosviir to tuck you in at night faster than you could hack a drone's skull open!"
This earns a round of laughs and chuckles from the crowd. Some already start to fish their ice picks out from their satchels, fixing them to their belts as if an ice pick were going to help aboard voyage over an icy sea.
One boy in his late teens with a Union patch on his parka raises his voice among the crowd, "Ms. Stacker! If you know so much about the Mortalis, why aren't you going too?"
The shit-eating grin on Nora's face fades at the boy's question hangs in a frigid silence. Nora's expression twists in a flavor of disgust, as if someone fed her a rotten fish. Her attention turns to him as she steadily regains her composure. The grin even finds its way back to her lips, "To give you a shot at making it big, kiddo."
- - -
Aboard the Ophelia, the engine room flickers to life. The series of counter-rotating apertures holding the resonance crystal begins to spin faster, harnessing the resonance energy and feeding main power to the rest of the freighter. In just a few moments, the engineers of the ship begin the ignition procedure for the ship's resonance core without a hitch. To signify the success of the engine, the ice breaker blares its foghorn. Across the docks, cheers, hoots, and hollers answer the ship's roar to life.
A sailor leans over the rails of the ship's main deck, cups his hands around his mouth and shouts over the din, "Attention crew! Fifteen minutes until departure! Ice crews, recall immediately! Prepare for departure!"
- - -
-ferret-
,
Chordling
,
The One Eyed Bandit
,
Shireling
,
The One Called X
,
simj26
,
_gallifrog_
,
Tenma
,
Life.
,
Absurdisan
,
Zerulu
,
Goonfire
,
Anne Boolean
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Shireling
A Servant of King and Country
Henry Monmouth
As the Ophelia blew her horn to signal the departure, a sluggish form descended down into the crew quarters by the aftdeck hatch. A gust of wind blew across the deck, causing chill air to rush belowdecks and slamming against the metal door to the hatch which the figure, ensconced in heavy fur clothing, earmuffs, and iced over goggles quickly drew shut behind him as the wind abated. The small flickering light of a lantern suspended from the ceiling was the only illumination by which Henry Monmouth, Sentinel of the Order of the Wolf, could grope to find the door to his cabin.
Crossing a small open area in the hold which was piled high with crates of provisions and pungent with the smell of dead fish, Henry passed through an open door in the bulkhead into the hallway beyond: this lit dimly by the resonance lamps that hung on the walls, fed power from the ship's main drive. At the end of the hallway, on his right, a closed door marked with a feint number etched upon the upper doorframe: 12. He cross-referenced a small sheet of parchment, then with one hand clutching his rucksack he turned the valve that unlocked the cabin and stepped inside.
The room he found himself in was small and lightly furnished. To one side, set into the wall, were two naval-style cots suspended from the wall by chains that served as a kind of bunkbed. He did not know whether he was to share his compartment with anyone else, but it made no great difference to him. He set his rucksack on the bottom cot and, closing the door behind him but leaving it unlocked, he began to take off his furs, leaving only his woolen thermals. He inspected the rest of the room: a small metal washbasin, a mirror, two cabinets set into the wall, a small table barely three feet across with two stools. Hanging from the ceiling, a small glass lantern cast light across the room from a candle inside, almost burned out. To the opposite end of the room from the door, a porthole stood at a height just slightly taller than Henry could manage comfortably. Out of which, if he strained, he could see the gangplank extended across icy waters and the last stragglers of the crew and volunteers crossing over onto the deck of the Ophelia. Checking himself in the mirror, he let his eyes linger for a moment on his face. It was wet as particles of ice from his condensed breath had settled into the small hairs of his day-old stubble then melted upon contact with the heat. In the mirror he spied a man who he did not despise, yet a man he felt he knew as one sees through a glass darkly. What people thought of the Henry behind the one that was his face was a mystery to him, and yet he hoped that he could be of service to the crew of the Ophelia, just as he had been of service to Balar all the years of his life.
He looked again about the room and smiled slightly with contentment. The appointments, though sparse, were to his satisfaction. They were even somewhat luxurious, he thought, given the constant heat from the ship's engines that radiated through the ventilation system. "And after all," he mused aloud to no one but himself, "why should I not enjoy some luxury? I am have done the state some service. Yes..."
He blinked then, wearily, as if to dispel the thought. There were no doubt duties he needed to attend to. Putting on a dark-colored pair of military trousers over his thermals, Henry pulled his boots back on his stocking'd feet and wrapped his blue, double-breasted military pea coat across his wiry frame. His last act was to buckle his sword onto his hip, before then stepping out back into the hallway.
Anne Boolean
One Thousand Club
Tulio Elesos
Tulio had been aboard the Ophelia since when the men and women around it first started breaking ice that morning. Despite this being a quick last-minute check-up for the mechanic, it was a fairly large freighter, and he wanted to be thorough to make sure everything was working properly with the lights and heating. There were sixty-seven people who were part of this expedition, and they didn't need that number dropping due to cold before they even hit mainland. It would be a treacherous, and potentially fruitless journey once they arrived, and they needed as much manpower as possible.
Currently he was at the tail end of his check up: the engine room. After he finished making sure every wire was properly connected and every nut and bolt was properly fastened Tulio gave the all clear to one of the crew members who was accompanying him. He figured the sailor would inform the captain or whoever was currently in charge, and with his work done he made his way out of the engine room and down the hall to the crew's living quarters.
As he approached the room that was assigned to him, room 12, he noticed someone stepping out. He hadn't necessarily expected a roommate, but when considering the size of the crew and the size of the ship, it made sense that there would be doubling up for living quarters.
"Oh, hello," he greeted the man. Tulio recognized him as a Sentinel through the talk he had heard around town, but beyond that didn't know much about him. If he recalled correctly, his name was Henry and he was a combatant of some sort. It was a relief to know that here would at least be people with fighting prowess along for the expedition, although with the well-known threat of the mortalis he figured it would be obviously something that was included in the planning. Still, desperate times called for desperate measures, and Tulio prayed that the time didn't come where he would have to be one of the combatants. His skill lay in machinery, not on the battlefield. It would probably be a good idea to become friendly with Henry, the man thought, as it could potentially lead him to saving his life out in the barren tundra. If nothing else it would at least make sharing bed chambers a little easier.
"Is the heat is working properly?" Tulio asked. He was sure it was, as he had checked it earlier and the man standing in front of him wasn't bundled up. Either way, he stepped into the room and stripped out of his work trousers to his thermals and donned his slightly less casual waistcoat. Sadly the Resonance they had wasn't enough to heat the ship to the temperatures Tulio remembered before the Ninth Winter, but it was better than being bundled up as if they were out in the open air. He stowed his work clothing in the pack that sat next to the bunk bed, as well as the Resonance glove he had along with him while doing maintenance work. Before stepping back his eyes drifted to the lamp sat next to the pack, and lingered for a few moments as he let out a soft sigh.
Like Henry, the porthole was a little too high for Tulio as well. He had to stand on his toes to see out of it, and even hop up a bit to get a good look. It seemed that the number of folks crossing the gangplank had almost finished up as the sound of the ship's horn rung through the air. It seemed his message had reached whoever was in charge, and he assumed they would be setting sail soon enough.
Tulio's gaze returned to Henry. "I don't suppose you'll be going to the deck to wave to the people on shore as we depart?" He glanced over at his pack once again as he considered doing so, although he didn't really have anyone he felt he needed to say goodbye to, or who would miss him while he was gone.
Shireling
Shireling
A Servant of King and Country
Henry Monmouth
Even as Tulio entered the cabin, Henry still had not put his thoughts to words and at first merely nodded assent to his entry. He stood in the doorway, watching with disinterested politeness as Tulio unpacked his gear and laid it aside.
His mind worked to place the face. Tulius? Julio? Tulio! Henry had some vague recollection of the man, a supposed inventor and a skillful worker with Resonance engines. This did nothing to engender Henry with warm feelings towards the man as he, like many, had serious misgivings about artificers and those who were, even if in a very nominal sense, the captains of industry that birthed the Resonance Age. Nevertheless he brushed those thoughts aside. The man seemed unassuming enough and certainly he could not hold him to account for what amounted to a supernatural disaster.
He had also, in the same mind, heard of Tulio's...personal proclivities. Though Henry was of military discipline, with all its attached codes of masculine discipline, as well as a temperamentally conservative man, he nevertheless waved these thoughts as well. He was never one to allow his disapproval of a man's lifestyle to get in the way of courtesy.
Thus he waved both thoughts aside, in the interest of magnanimous relations with his bunkmate and, therefore, relative placidity in his most important hours of rest.
At Tulio's question, Henry was roused from such thoughts and turned his eyes to meet him. "I have no one who I care to wave goodbye to," he said simply, a blank and emotionless expression on his face although at the cracks of his mouth, a small frown appeared. He laid his hand listlessly on the pommel of his sword.
"Do you know if the Captain requires any hands belowdecks for final preparations? I am not a sailor, but I can try my hand at any trade that is laid before me," he said simply.
Anne Boolean
Zerulu
The Real
Anastasia Isla
The cold wind didn't faze Anastasia as much as she expected it would, the big fur coat was mostly to thank for that. The ship blew its horn to signal it's departure, Anastasia had reached the point of no return, she was standing on the upper deck, powder gun in her holster as she stood solemnly. She was on her rotation for guarding, it wasn't her favourite job but it was a job that needed to be done nonetheless, it gave her time away from her quarters where she could actually think and have time away from her book.
She continued her patrol down the halls as people continued to rush by her, everyone getting ready to complete the final preparations required to get this ship finally sailing and breaking the ice. Others who were rushing by were making their way to the deck to wave goodbye to their loved ones, Anastasia on the other hand didn't have anyone she would say farewell too, the Ophelia was all she had now, the Ophelia and its crew, maybe it was time to get well acquainted with the crew and make some new connections, she thought to her self as she continued her patrol. Purely professional connections of course, Anastasia wasn't too eager to make any personal connections, this mission decided the future of their people, it wasn't the place to make friends, it was the place to make history. That's exactly what she intended to do.
Sometimes in the back of her mind she wished someone would interrupt her patrol and just talk to her, she would never admit it openly, or acknowledge the thought herself. However, she was usually left alone, not a lot of people were too interested in interrupting a Royal Marine's patrol.
_gallifrog_
Symbolic Animal of Gallifrey
Lucien Ryder
Lucien had been up since the dark hours of the night where the wind was at it's strongest, racing through the buildings and the constructions on the slum ships, shaking them and filling the air with a mournful racket, blowing eddies of loose ice crystals into any possible gap. The onslaught of winter was relentless. Usually during the witching hours the island was Cask was dead as the grave it was soon to become, save for maybe the poor sods who'd ended up on guarding or look out duty. The rest of the people of Cask used the night hours to huddle together around whatever source of warmth was possible, praying to whatever gods they still believed in that they would make it through the night and that the summer would return.
But this night was different, every able bodied man, woman and teenager on the island was out in force doing anything they could to contribute to the Ophelia, the ship that many had taken to calling Cask's last hope. A dark cleft was forming on the ice sheet, the water seeming impossible dark against the icy wastes, the pathway growing slowly but surely towards the open sea. It would freeze over again in a couple of days, first a sheen of 'grease' ice would appear, slowly thickening into what was colloquially known as 'gruel' ice and from there the pulp would harden into 'pancakes' before finally merging with the rest of the ice sheet, leaving no sign that there had ever been a pathway there. The islanders knew all too well that if something were to happen to the Ophelia then they would be doomed.
Luke had little in the way of affairs to take care of, while he might have a friendly demeanour and get on well with most people, there were few people he'd actually use the term 'friend' for. Even then, most were friendships of convenience, somebody to talk to and wile away the never ending hours with rather than somebody to form a deep connection with. The room where he stayed these past few years had been stripped out, his belongings packed up (with a parting gift of a small bottle of whiskey, a luxury for most in these harsh times) wrapped up and cushioned with in his pack.
Despite the sombre nature of the occasion the atmosphere as he made his way to the docks was almost jubilant. The wind was dying down and the temperatures were cold, but nowhere near as bad as they were in the darkest times. Regardless of that Luke was still dressed for the cold in a fur-lined overcoat (with the hood pulled firmly up), two long-sleeved undershirts, gloves, underwear, under-trousers and over trousers. The outfit was completed with thick leather boots, nails stuck into the soles to provide grip on the icy wastes and a pair of old, but functional snow goggles. Attached to his pack were a hunting bow and quiver full of arrows. What use they'd be was yet to be seen, but he'd rather have them than nothing at all. A stray strand of dark hair had worked it's way free from his hair tie and was now lying across his face.
He paused to take in the ship, craning his head backwards to get in the full expanse of it. Letting out a breath (which turned to a steam of fog instantly) he contemplated the vessel. The Ophelia may not have been the most beautiful ship to ever sail, but it would sail, and more importantly, it would take Luke away from the gods-forsaken island of Cask. Anywhere had to be better than freezing to death on what was in essence a rock on the ocean. Being stuck on the island was slowly driving him and, he wasn't meant to stay in one place, to settle, he was a wanderer at heart, happiest on a boat with only a vague destination in mind. Joining the crew of the Ophelia was a choice he didn't even have to make, it was a certainty in his mind that he would go. The ship needed able bodied sailors alongside researchers and military people anyway.
Once aboard he located his cabin (number 7), a mid sized room with six bunks, three on each side, a set of lockers for personal effects, a central porthole and little else in the way of comforts, a discoloured patch o the wall indicated that a mirror had once hung there but it had been long since removed. The bare bones and cramped nature of the cabin was not particularly surprising to him as the cabin roster indicated that this cabin was to be filled with sailors as opposed to scientists. Nobody else had arrived, so Luke staked his claim on one, tying his bag to the posts of the top bunk, a preventative measure in case they hit stormy conditions, he had no desire for his things to be thrown across the room.
The sailors had been briefed the day before and with nothing better to do, and no intention of waving off the crowds Lucien made his way to help the dockworkers bring the supplies on board. The food required to feed all sixty-seven crew was staggering, but through a display of almost miraculous skill the greenhouses and scientists of Cask had managed to stump up the necessary goods. He was reversing through a doorway, holding one end of a particularly large crate when the Royal Marine rounded the corner. Unable to see her he ended up barging right into her, all but knocking her to the ground.
"Well done Lucien, you're in for it now!" he scolded himself. Getting on the wrong side of any crew member, let alone a Royal Marine before even setting sail was hardly ideal. "Apologies ma'am, that was completely my fault, I didn't see you there. Are you alright?" He aplogised, turning to get a better look at the woman.
Zerulu
(Anastasia)
-ferret-
𝐝𝐞𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐠𝐨𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧 𝐛𝐨𝐲
Flora Jane Turner
Flora Jane was a wild thing. At least, that's what her parents always said. But despite growing up and reaching the age of maturity at eighteen, Flora Jane was still a wild thing. Racing between people and buildings alike, Flora bounded through the snow, hair whipping in the icy wind and skirts flying about her legs. Her brothers raced behind her carrying her things. Save for her medical bag. She would never entrust the precious leather bag to anyone but another scholar.Flora Jane was quite late. She'd woken up a tad too late into the morning, and then procceded to take too long to dress. Unlike most other women it seemed, Flora wore the fashion of women before the everlasting winter. This meant that getting dressed took far too long. But it was too late to complain now, Flora had to board the Ophelia before the ship set sail without her. She raced down the dock and quickly kissed her brothers farewell before grabbing her two suitcases and trudging up the gangplank. The brunette was quick to find her room (room 8), picking a bottom bunk and wedging her suitcases between the wall and the bed, hoping that when the ship was to lurch to life, her things wouldn't spill across the floor. She took much more caution with her medical bag though, tying the bag to the bed via a small piece of rope.
When she'd decided she was finished, she raced up back to the top deck, pulling her hat close over her head and wrapping her scarf tighter round her face and neck. From there she waved to her brothers, ready for adventure.
Tenma
New Member
Conrad Millange
This steel behemoth shuddered violently as it was unshackled itself from its frozen prison, its engines roaring as it plunged into the waves. And the graying spectre stood on deck above the thrashing seas, leaning over as he let the salt and sea and wind batter his form.
He looked to the ever-shrinking city of Cask, narrowing his yellow, catlike eyes. A desolate gray rock imprisoned by the hungry white sea, frothing in anticipation of devouring the doomed souls marooned on the wretched casket.
You will not be missed, the man known as Conrad Millange mused. He had burnt his bridges before stepping aboard the metal hulk, taking with him the barest of essentials- well, that and his materials. He had little idea what had overcome him when he had chosen to take those along. Regardless, he felt liberated seeing the back of the desolation and bitterness which Cask stood. That rock was doomed in a few months anyway, unless they returned with some miracle from the mainland. Conrad snorted. Truth was, he had given that little consideration nor concern. He was here because he needed to leave- what came next was but a blur.
It was then Conrad became aware he had no expectations of ever returning. He looked to his left and right, men and women waving and cheering as the Ophelia took its first voyage in decades. How many others had taken this trip simply to be escape from the imitation of life that this winter had brought upon them? The man to his right, a round-faced fellow also of the provisions and kitchens, was laughing at something in the distance.
Conrad gave him a long glance. The red-haired cook was an aged soul in an aged vessel- in both ways as it happened, he noted wryly. But weren't they all? Still, there was air about this man quite unlike himself. Was it his smile, a still remnant ember of enthusiasm in this winter? Did he have people to return to?
No- that wasn't it. No, that might have been correct, but it did not capture the spirit of the round fellow before him. How he gazed at the shrinking city- this was not a man who expected to return. He pictured a soldier in the first line- voluntarily, marching towards a red sunset. But why? Walking boldly to a battlefield of rotting corpses as though he had nothing else-
Ah yes, rot. His fellow cook had the stench of death about him. Of course- he moved impatiently, a man for which every second was like his last. And it fell together- death, a sickly death growing in his heart- followed him, so he chose to go headlong into it in a manner of his choosing.
'Alright, that's quite enough. Back below the decks, you lot. Catch some rest, you will need it.' The supervisor called from the steps. Conrad gave the man one last look- was it of pity? Or of envy? Conrad had forgotten by the time he looked beyond him. One final glance to Cask, now a dying speck barely visible in the raging snow winds, all but insignificant in the great sea and the yet vaster world.
Then- rather against his instincts, Conrad silently gave the accursed rock his regards- just a tip of his head. And the spectre turned around to the belly of the steel behemoth, leaving Cask behind forever.
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Anne Boolean
One Thousand Club
Tulio Elesos
It seemed they were on the same boat then. Quite literally. Tulio let out a small snort. "Me neither," he responded before wondering if the man already knew. Antoni and he, more so Antoni, were somewhat well-known on Cask. They had turned to Tulio's lover when the frost first set in and would not melt. Sadly Antoni had left not just Tulio too early, although others' yearning for him was more selfish and he was certain their grief wasn't nearly as bed.
He stumbled a bit as the ship jerked forth, which provided a momentary distraction from the sadness that was brought up from his previous thoughts. The man took a look past Henry into the hallway to see people running about in order to make sure everything was in place as they disembarked on their quest. He was able to make out a few familiar faces, some of the people he ran into throughout the days on Cask. Some of them came as a surprise, as he had withdrawn from his friends and colleagues after Antoni's passing and never really kept up with the happenings of their lives. Even now he felt really no drive to go and catch up with anyone he knew, but rather was just thinking about how things would have been different if his late lover was still here. What would this moment be like if Antoni was still here? Hell, would Antoni even come? Or would he be needed back home on Cask? Maybe this expedition wouldn't need to happen at all, as with his former partner's genius he would have come up with something to allow people to thrive in this climate. His eyes once again drifted over to the lamp. Antoni was on the verge of a breakthrough after all.
"I don't believe so, no," Tulio said, returning his attention to Henry after hearing him speak. "Although I'm only really capable of working with machinery, so the crew may just not have told me of any other duties that require doing." He turned to see out of the porthole the surroundings slowly moving by. It seemed they had moved far enough away that the people waving goodbye looked only like silhouettes in the distance. The sight was almost surreal. The place he and Antoni had relocated to in order to start a new life together, the success they achieved, and the downfall and loss the world brought onto Tulio was now quite literally drifting away.
Truthfully though, it was as if Cask had distanced itself from both he and Antoni since the start of the Ninth Winter. The strides made by them in industrializing Resonance, something which used to be appreciated and revered, became a reason to point fingers and place blame for what was happening in the world. How fickle followers were. Perhaps the Sovereign had the right idea when he fled into the blizzards. Perhaps things would have turned out different if Tulio and Antoni had done the same. Of course Tulio knew that that wasn't the truth. They had taken the most reasonable and altruistic path forward. It was unlikely any more planning could have changed what came to be.
"Perhaps you should ask the Captain about a plan for if mortalis attack us while sailing," Tulio suggested, turning back to Henry. "Why do general labor when you may be able to take on a task you're more specialized in?"
Shireling
Shireling
A Servant of King and Country
Henry Monmouth
"Of course," Henry mused, absent-mindedly, "I hadn't thought of it."
It was at this moment that Henry realized he had not actually introduced himself, nor had Tulio done so either. With a dignified air, Henry completed a curt, formal bow indicative of his rank and bloodline. He was markedly regal, aristocratic, and aloof in his mannerisms, although this combined with his lack of high-minded diction, and indeed a general restraint of his tongue, made him seem more as a simpleton than a self-important, highborn courtier.
"Excuse me, I believe we were never properly introduced. I am Henry Monmouth, son to Duke Walter Monmouth of the Circle of the Owl," he said, adding briefly, "Sovereign commend his soul to rest." He straightened and continued. "I am a Sentinel, a Lieutenant of the Order of the Wolf."
"You are Tulio, I believe?" He said questioningly, "the famous artificer?"
Anne Boolean
Zerulu
The Real
Anastasia Isla
The Royal Marine was thinking of her living conditions, she was located in the cabin number seven, the room itself wasn't anything to write home about, given that it was her home now. If she could however she would wish for her own cabin, or even a cabin for Royal Marine personnel, but as it seems the captain or whoever decided the dorms was more fixated on grouping people randomly, how this would play out in the future Anna couldn't tell, she wished not to think too much of the room's details, she'd rather forget about it then walk back into that dorm, however for the foreseeable future she would be cramped into a room one could mistake to be a house in a shantytown.
However, her problems didn't end with her living conditions, as she rounded a corner in the halls she was knocked down by someone barging into her. She had only just realised as she fell to the floor how cold the metal was, even through the thick layers of her fur coat she could feel the stinging pain of the cold, accompanied by the sudden pain of, well, falling onto a hard surface. Anna rose from the ground, her expression hidden behind her face mask, but her eyes spoke a thousand words. She was furious, she lowered her mask to make it easier to scold the poor man who had crossed Anna, "You utter dimwit" She emphasised the dimwit, she saw the food cart, some pieces had fallen to the floor due to the impact, "How can you be so careless when not only handling our only rations for this voyage but also as its the only voyage that has a chance to save our godforsaken race!"
She had to physically restrain herself from slapping the man, the man she recognised to be Lucian Ryder, she had read some of the files on the crew members, to make security work easier of course. "You're what? Labour Union?" She said with a tone one could discern to be disgust, "Pick up the damned food, and next time you inevitably bump into them go to the courtesy of helping them up next time!" She gave only half of her attention to the poor man's apology, only catching the last half, "I am quite alright." She was a bit impressed by the man's ability to take blame and check on her, whether it be from respect of her profession or courtesy. Though, Anna had considered writing up the man with an infraction, but decided against it as the extra paper work on the first day for quite an insignificant issue seemed tiresome, hopefully her scolding was sufficient to put the fear of the Mortalis in the man.
_gallifrog_
(Lucien Ryder)
Anne Boolean
One Thousand Club
Tulio Elesos
Tulio figured their interaction would end after Henry seemingly accepted his suggestion. Instead though, the man in front of him went on to bow and introduce himself by name, lineage, and occupation. He then went on to correctly guess Tulio's identity. The mechanic was a little taken aback, as he was planning to lay claim to one of the beds and take a nap, but figured it would only be good manners to introduce himself as well.
"Erm... well, actually, the artificer would have been Antoni... my late partner..." he corrected with a somewhat solemn tone. "I myself am just a simple mechanic, who helped somewhat in bringing his ideas to life. But yes, I am indeed Tulio. Tulio Elesos." He attempted to be formal in his introduction as well, but he had no impressive family history or occupation to list. "It's a pleasure to meet you."
He thought for a moment before adding on, "might I accompany you to speak to the Captain? I'm probably not fit for combat of any sort, but perhaps learning some self-defense would be beneficial for the whole crew in the case of a Mortalis attack."
Shireling
Chordling
Bardbarian, the Divine Chordia of Concordia
Callum Moore
The friends we are leaving we'll never forget
Good bye, fare thee well, good bye, fare thee well!
Good bye, fare thee well, good bye, fare thee well!
Callum sang the shanty in his usual baritone register. Every syllable escaped his frosted lips as a short-lived miniature puff of air despite the scarf wrapped twice around his mouth and nose. It used to smell like his wife, Iris, but the memory faded from the garment long ago. Callum let the unmerciful Cask winds bite at the edges of his green eyes only because he had no other option. His gloved fingers were curled around the rusty handle of a pickaxe they salvaged from some frozen abyss. He used both hands. The pointed end was hurled into the frozen block's surface synchronized to the rhythm of the shanty just like the others. Callum thought to himself, there was an old fairy tale he used to tell to put his children to rest about seven short miners, but he always had trouble recalling the finer details of the story. Iris was better at that. Suddenly, an echoing voice carried by the howling winds interrupted Callum's thoughts and the barked announcement interpolated the shanty without consideration to the rhythm they built. Yet all of the workers stopped and turned towards the sound of a fellow human. Fifteen minutes. That was all Callum needed to know.
It would be the remaining amount of time he would have left on Cask before boarding the mighty Ophelia to realize whatever kind of fate she had in mind for him. Callum did not have much to consider packing but there was no sense in wasting time. He moved his body as best as he could against the frigid temperatures. Callum lowered his arms with ease but took great caution when he pried his clenched fingers away from the pickaxe. He could feel his life flowing through them again. The pickaxe was soon discarded into a pile of spare tools. It wasn't one for him to keep. Callum jostled his sack to ensure that he had all of his comforts. Nothing was missing as long as it weighed the same as last time. It did him some good to shake away a bit of the snow, too. He pressed the left chest side of his jacket and sighed when the faint rustle that muffled its way through his layers confirmed that the last image of his wife was still protected from the evil environment. Callum made his approach towards the vessel. His boots crunched against the ground and left an obvious trail. He hummed the shanty to himself, not because he liked the tune, but it made his brain stubborn to forget it. But once again, the torturous winds carried a new sound to his ears that broke the rhythm of his tune. This sound was all too familiar to his ears. A crying child.
The footsteps in Callum's trail changed direction as he followed the distressing sound. He spied the child and accompanying family in the distance as he continued to approach them. The mother held her child by the shoulders. It was clear that she failed to comfort the young boy any other way she knew possible. The boy's cries were for his father. He didn't want to lose his dad on the ship. The father knew he had to leave soon but was having a difficult time pulling away from the child's pleas. But the three of them stopped for a moment when they saw Callum's tall figure coming closer.
"It's hard saying goodbye, isn't it lad?" Callum kneeled himself down in the snow next to the boy so that his height would at least seem less intimidating. The little boy held a look of shock when Callum addressed him but he nodded his head, sniffled, and wiped a few straggling tears away from his eyes. They were a soft blue. "Aye, it's not easy. It makes a lot of people feel the way your feeling; sad."
"I'll never get to see him again! He won't remember any of us if he gets too cold," the little boy sniffled and heaved some more. The mother and father weren't too sure about Callum's presence but allowed him to continue anyway.
"Some of the people you meet will disappear and forget after goodbyes. But not family," he emphasized. "Fathers and mothers never forget about their children. Same for brothers and sisters. It's an invincible bond. Family is always with you no matter how far away or how cold the world is, right here." Callum pointed to his heart. "Family is in your heart, too, young lad." The little boy seemed calmer. His breathing was more relaxed and at least his tears had started to dry. Callum knew it might be a lot for a child his age to try and absorb but there was a look of determination on the kid's face. He could tell that he was trying. Callum stood up again and this time he walked towards the father. He offered to walk with him onto the ship once he was ready to leave. The father only nodded and gave his small family one final embrace before taking off to the Ophelia by Callum's side. Nothing else had been said between them. They went separate ways once aboard the vessel. Their rooms would be on opposing ends of the ship. Callum located his from the slip of paper that was stored away in his back pocket. Door 10. The ship was oddly warmer than he had anticipated, and figured that it wouldn't hurt to remove a layer or two, but still kept most of the warmer articles with him in case he felt a chill while exploring the rest of the ship. He secured the sack of his belongings to the best post before leaving the room and began to go for a stroll along the decks wondering what kind of crew members he would be working with for their journey ahead.
_gallifrog_
Symbolic Animal of Gallifrey
Lucien Ryder
Knocking down a Royal Marine (even if it was by accident) went exactly as Lucien expected. She regained her footing quickly though, a skill that would prove useful when the ship was being tossed around like a kid's ball by the waves. Turning to face him revealed that most of her face was covered by a mask, which she quickly removed in order to yell at him. Based on her appearance Luke pegged her at being either the same age as him or a couple of years younger at most. He had seen her around, Cask was a small place and while he didn't know her name, he recognised the face. But right now the most prominent feature this woman had was a pair of dark eyes. Eyes that burned with the kind of anger he hadn't seen in a long time. Just his luck to bump into somebody already in a foul mood. He knew with certainty that he was in for a severe bollocking.
In all his years at sea Lucien had been on the ends of all kinds of tongue lashings, both from senior officers and people of his own ranking. Some had been deserved, as the events in question were indeed his fault, but other times they weren't. Over the years he'd developed a strategy to dealing with such tongue lashings. Never shout back (that always made things worse). Keep any remarks as short and even toned as possible. Always remain polite. Always use the correct title or ranking of the person who was doing the giving out. Never take visible offence at anything said or rise to any bait thrown out (it only gives the other person ammunition and an excuse to berate you further). And most importantly, don't make it worse.
She really didn't hold back while yelling, he was pretty sure half the ship could hear her and the dockworker who had been carrying the other end certainly could. Luke mightn't be able to see his face under the protective cloth he wore over his mouth and nose, but he would willingly bet the bottle of whiskey in his room that the other man was enjoying hearing him being given out to and was also thanking whatever gods that he hadn't been the one carrying the front end. The other man had already begun to pick up the fallen goods. Luke copied his example and crouched down to retrieve the few packages that fell, while also checking the cart and crates for any damage, breathing out a sigh of relief when he found none. He gave a nod to the other man who confirmed that his end of the transport cart was also confirmed and that the food packages were still in one piece.
The disgust in the Marine's tone was evident when she sussed out what group he was affiliated with. Signing up with the Labour Union had been more out of necessity for survival than an actual desire to be a member. When the winter came and he was trapped on Cask, Luke was very much on his own, nobody really cared whether he lived or died. Joining the Union meant a source of food, accommodation and once he figured out the logistics of ice hunting, a market for the food. At sea he doubted that his status as a union member would matter, his sailing skills would be more important than his affiliations on Cask.
He nodded once at her words, the part where she declared that yes, she was alright and he hadn't caused any damage, maybe it was wishful thinking (but more than likely he was partly deafened by her earlier shouting) but her tone seemed slightly calmer when she said that. He waited until she was finished before speaking in an even tone. "Yes ma'am I'm Labour Union, though once at sea I'd be Sailors' Union, if they still exist that is. While I hope there won't be a next time, I will remember your advice if such a misfortune does happen." He showed no outwards signs of being scared of her, standing his ground, while still giving the professional courtesy that her station and status demanded.
Zerulu
(Anastasia)
Shireling
A Servant of King and Country
Henry Monmouth
"Yes, you certainly may," Henry said, with an expressionless face. "Your suggestions have merit, as well. There are not enough soldiers available upon the Ophelia to protect an entire boatload of civilians. It will, I think, become imperative that the crew learn a bit of martial skill."
With that, Henry rested his hand again on the pommel of his sword and led the way down the hall and up a flight of stairs into the common area of the vessel aft of the kitchen and mess hall. The smell of lunch, predictably some form of soup or boiled fish, wafted in from a few open bulkhead doors, but Henry seemed impervious to the smell of morsel of any kind and proceeded apace down another hallway, up another flight of stairs, and into the the bridge of the Ophelia from the interior entrance.
The bridge was perceptibly colder than belowdecks, owing to the large windows at the fore and aft ends of the room that could not possibly be insulated as well as metal bulkheads, piping, and the other obstacles to the cold air that existed below. Nevertheless, with two resonance heaters burning on either side of the room, it was nevertheless not nearly as cold as the deck of the ship. Henry, with Tulio in tow, presented himself to the captain.
"A moment, if you please," he said, addressing the captain in a formal tone, "I am Lieutenant Henry Monmouth, Order of the Wolf." He paused. "Given that Lady Stacker will not be accompanying us on this voyage, I submit that, to the best of my knowledge, I am the ranking Sentinel aboard the Ophelia and thus responsible for the military security of this vessel." Another pause. "I would like to ask what services I myself my render at this time, and humbly request that you convene the ship's security personnel for a meeting at the earliest possible convenience."
He relaxed into a posture of attention, awaiting reply to his queries and completely ignoring Tulio, until the form of the man appeared in the corner of his eyes.
"Ah yes, this is Master Tulio Elesos. He also requests he be attached to the security forces as an auxiliary, as well as any other crewmen who would learn martial practice."
Henry, again, stood at attention.
Coin
Anne Boolean
Zerulu
The Real
Anastasia Isla
This wasn't the first time she has had to scold subordinates, and in a way she hoped it won't be the last. Something about yelling at someone for anything really just made her feel powerful, even if it was a short period of time, but something told her that it wouldn't be the last time, not on this ship at least. Anna did physically and mentally roll her eyes when he mentioned the sailor union, sailor union and labour union, same same, ones on land ones at sea, she thought, she didn't really understand the difference between the multiple unions, mostly because she didn't need too, it was just poor people giving other poor people fancy titles so they can feel less poor. Probably.
Anna was balancing between frustrated and impressed when Lucien showed no signs of being scared, usually this would be the part they start panicking, causing rapid apologising then begging to not be written up. However, something about the tone of this man told her that either he has had experience in being scolded, which wouldn't be too surprising to her, or he was something else. She would make a mental note to keep an eye on him in the future, if he had any intention of sabotaging the mission, which he seemed to be doing just fine right now intentional or not, she would need to shut it down straight away.
"Lets just hope another misfortune doesn't happen, so then you don't have to remember my advice, but rather remember your position on this ship." She leered at him, she continued her march, her shoulder bumping into him as she continued walking down the halls without even looking back. It was moments like these where one had to assert their position, a show of power if one would call it that. Sooner people on this ship learnt their positions on it the sooner this mission will be running smoothly.
Her patrol had lead her to the upper deck of the boat again, usually a fresh breath of air is what she would need but given the current circumstances she would rather keep her mask up and not breathe in the painfully cold air. She rubbed her left arm, the pain from the fall had mostly subsided, a small sharp pain retained in her left arm however. She sometimes wondered if she exposed it to the cold it would numb the area, but then she remembered that was probably a dumb idea which would mean she would then have to decapitate it later if it froze badly. She observed the rabble rushing around on the deck, everyone a cog in a machine much greater then them, with a mission most of them probably didn't fully understand, or grasp the importance of it. To some this was an escape from the frozen casket of Cask, to others this was their chance to make history.
_gallifrog_
(Lucien)
Life.
Forever Wandering
Verity Wells
The vibrations of the mighty blare belonging to the freighter, Ophelia, travelled throughout the ship, reaching all who was boarded, including a certain individual who rolled off the bottom cot of a two-person living quarter. It was clear in the manner that this person fell, there was no grace. With a loud thud, Verity's body met the hard surface of the floor. A long, low groan sounded from the woman as she stayed there for a minute. Most of her body had been jolted awake from the shock of landing on a hard surface, but a yearning for rest was battling her mind to stay asleep.
The various sounds of people hollering, engines purring, and objects shifting stimulated Verity's sense of hearing past the point of returning to sleep. Finally resigning to the idea of waking up, the short woman pushed herself off the ground, grumbling spells of discontent as she did so. Her complaining slowly dissipated as she stretched most of her drowsiness away. Unfortunately, a numbing headache settled in her head and an aching hunger in her stomach.
These were unusual states that Verity was experiencing since she maintains a healthy lifestyle. The exceptions being today and yesterday. Due to her anxiousness of the trip, she had not eaten anything yesterday, drank barely any water, and stayed up all night packing and unpacking till she settled on what she really needed to bring. It would be an understatement to say that she spooked the crew of the ship from her early arrival. A short figure that appeared more like a drumstick than a person from their layers of coats, shaking from the cold and excitement, approaching the freight with a luggage half its height, a couple of hours before dawn. The first few crew members of the ship said it was a sight to behold.
With enough persuasion and negotiation, the Chief Officer allowed Verity in. She walked over and chose room 3, tucked her luggage away, and then returned back outside to assist the crew members in whatever tasks needed to be completed to depart on time--the scientist never slipping a word of complaint as she agreed to help them in return of boarding on the ship early. Eventually more boatmen arrived around the time dawn was approaching to relieve Verity from her duty. Afterwords, she slipped away and dove into her cot, finally feeling the heaviness of exhaustion.
From the time she passed out to the moment she embraced the floor, it had only been a few hours. So the lack of rest was certainly affecting her now.
Verity ran her tongue across her lips, feeling cracks and tasting a bit of blood. "So dry," she reached down into one of the many pockets sewn into her coat to find it empty. "Bloody hell. I lost my lip moisturizer," with a sigh, Verity wrapped the scarf around her mouth to cover up her lips. "I swear I cannot get used to this cold climate. I'm literally freezing to death," Verity continued to grumble as she walked out of the room and down the deck, making her way over to the mess deck to obtain some sustenance.
The woman's mind was completely occupied with thoughts of food and the cold, that her spatial awareness was just about absent and she felt herself bumping into something large but soft. Had it been anything but cold, Verity might have caught herself from slipping but instead she fell bum-first onto the floor. "That's the second time I fall this morning. This must be a record of some sorts," she mumbled to herself before directing her attention up to the person she bumped into, "Sorry. I wasn't paying to where I was walking." Her eyes widened when she saw the tall, husky man with his full beard and worn expression, "Has anyone ever told you that you look like a man from a fairytale?"
Chordling
The vibrations of the mighty blare belonging to the freighter, Ophelia, travelled throughout the ship, reaching all who was boarded, including a certain individual who rolled off the bottom cot of a two-person living quarter. It was clear in the manner that this person fell, there was no grace. With a loud thud, Verity's body met the hard surface of the floor. A long, low groan sounded from the woman as she stayed there for a minute. Most of her body had been jolted awake from the shock of landing on a hard surface, but a yearning for rest was battling her mind to stay asleep.
The various sounds of people hollering, engines purring, and objects shifting stimulated Verity's sense of hearing past the point of returning to sleep. Finally resigning to the idea of waking up, the short woman pushed herself off the ground, grumbling spells of discontent as she did so. Her complaining slowly dissipated as she stretched most of her drowsiness away. Unfortunately, a numbing headache settled in her head and an aching hunger in her stomach.
These were unusual states that Verity was experiencing since she maintains a healthy lifestyle. The exceptions being today and yesterday. Due to her anxiousness of the trip, she had not eaten anything yesterday, drank barely any water, and stayed up all night packing and unpacking till she settled on what she really needed to bring. It would be an understatement to say that she spooked the crew of the ship from her early arrival. A short figure that appeared more like a drumstick than a person from their layers of coats, shaking from the cold and excitement, approaching the freight with a luggage half its height, a couple of hours before dawn. The first few crew members of the ship said it was a sight to behold.
With enough persuasion and negotiation, the Chief Officer allowed Verity in. She walked over and chose room 3, tucked her luggage away, and then returned back outside to assist the crew members in whatever tasks needed to be completed to depart on time--the scientist never slipping a word of complaint as she agreed to help them in return of boarding on the ship early. Eventually more boatmen arrived around the time dawn was approaching to relieve Verity from her duty. Afterwords, she slipped away and dove into her cot, finally feeling the heaviness of exhaustion.
From the time she passed out to the moment she embraced the floor, it had only been a few hours. So the lack of rest was certainly affecting her now.
Verity ran her tongue across her lips, feeling cracks and tasting a bit of blood. "So dry," she reached down into one of the many pockets sewn into her coat to find it empty. "Bloody hell. I lost my lip moisturizer," with a sigh, Verity wrapped the scarf around her mouth to cover up her lips. "I swear I cannot get used to this cold climate. I'm literally freezing to death," Verity continued to grumble as she walked out of the room and down the deck, making her way over to the mess deck to obtain some sustenance.
The woman's mind was completely occupied with thoughts of food and the cold, that her spatial awareness was just about absent and she felt herself bumping into something large but soft. Had it been anything but cold, Verity might have caught herself from slipping but instead she fell bum-first onto the floor. "That's the second time I fall this morning. This must be a record of some sorts," she mumbled to herself before directing her attention up to the person she bumped into, "Sorry. I wasn't paying to where I was walking." Her eyes widened when she saw the tall, husky man with his full beard and worn expression, "Has anyone ever told you that you look like a man from a fairytale?"
Chordling
Coin
world's okayest lobotomite (they/them)
Lord Odren Voslage
Lord Odren Rafael Vaali Arkus Voslage was tempered man. Death had come to him on numerous occasion, and Odren had politely declined every invitation. Sword wounds, lead shot, drowning, pirate ransom, and even an assassin's poison could not fell the heir of the Voslage lineage. A minor noble from the Belarian mainland, the Voslage name holds repute not for wealth or erudition, but for heroics. Odren was no exception. When the waters of the Mondra Sea began to freeze, Tura of Gallanhast, the Sentinel Marshal of Wolves made the difficult decision to ferry a contingent of Sentinel loyalists to the isle to ensure the isle's stability. It was Tura's close friend, Lord Odren, who volunteered to lead the one way trip to Cask with Sentinels and supplies in tow. While he was a man of nobility, and a sea-faring master, he was also a man of the people. Before the Ninth Winter, Voslage and his crews had moored on Cask's docks hundreds of times, and it was well known that though he had no political stake on the isle, he considered it a second home -- his first being at sea.
Naturally, he was an ideal candidate for helming the return expedition to the mainland aboard the Ophelia. Not only was he the most skilled captain still alive on Cask, but his leadership was seen as vital to keeping a suicide mission alive. Rumorous whispers, however, had him elected as captain due to his non-partisan affiliations. Though he was known to be sympathetic to the Sentinel covenants, he was no Sentinel himself. Due to bureaucratic differences, the Belarian Naval Offices was also disjunct from the Royal Marines, leaving him with no allegiance to Artelok's clique on Cask. Lastly, and most obviously, Voslage was a noble -- the Union was created to protect against men and women like him. In terms of compatibility to the mission, Voslage was as perfect as perfect came. Unfortunately, his presence was one of the only things the expedition had going for it.
Undermanned, under equipped, poorly armed, and relying solely on hope and the testimony of three souls, the Ophelia mission was doomed from the start. This, however, did not deter Lord Odren. Throughout the preparations that began hours before dawn, Odren was there directing operations and distributing manpower. Under his watch, not a single parcel would be forgotten, and not a single hand would be unaccounted for.
As time to zero hour approached its last dozen minutes, Odren was still overseeing operations directly. He was meeting the Senior Resonance engineer, Zyria Haldstein, as she gave her report on the status of the ship's engine when both Henry and Tulio arrived on the bridge. Odren caught the two of them in his hawkish peripheral vision as Zyria was finishing her relay.
"Excellent, Ms. Haldstein. Please congratulate your engineers on a successful ignition. We are all relying on you and your engineers for this journey. Inform me if anything at all is out of place. Dismissed," Odren nodded and waved her away, one hand still tucked behind his back.
Zyria saluted, "Right away, captain. Thank you, captain."
The senior engineer turned on heel, she jogged past the flag officers, paying no heed to either Tulio or Henry, and lleft the bridge. Lord Odren gestured for the new arrivals to join him at his post observing the workers scrambling for final preparations on the main deck from the bridge.
"Lieutenant, Master Tulio," Odren said in greeting. "I recognized your names from the roster I was given, but I am glad to finally see your faces. I regret to inform the both of you that an old man such as myself has trouble remembering people until I see their faces. I digress, as it iis a pleasure to have such talent aboard this ship that even I am a guest upon. It is, however, with greater pleasure that I was asked to present you with this, Henry."
Odren dug into his jacket pocket for a small iron and silver insignia depicting a tower shield and the crest of the Wolf upon it. Such gilding and fine craftsmanship was indicative of the medal's creation on the mainland, prior to the Ninth Winter. He turned to face Henry and stepped forth, pinning the insignia to his collar, "Lady Stacker would like to offer this to you, Constable Monmouth. Since she will not be joining us, you are indeed the ranking Sentinel officer aboard. Thus, Nora authorized me to grant you a title befitting of your role. I'm sure she would have granted this to you herself, or sooner perhaps, but she is a busy woman as you can imagine."
With a grin befitting that of a noble his stature, Odren tucked his hands behind his back, "As for your queries, I shall approve your request to convene the guardians of this voyage, including our attached marines. Expect it sometime this evening, once we are on proper sea. Until then, perhaps you should speak to your contemporary in the Royal Marines, Lieutenant Miyela Mordis? Furthermore, see to the task of rounding up those like Master Tulio here who wish to offer auxiliary assistance as well."
Odren's expression and tone then dropped into a far more serious tone, "I have a word of advice, for the both of you. No one aboard this vessel will have a solitary duty as a soldier, just as no one will be only a laborer. We have much to learn from each other, and all of us must be able to do the duties of the man and woman to our left and right. To remain ignorant is a luxury unaffordable. If there are no further questions, you are dismissed."
Shireling
,
Anne Boolean
Anne Boolean
One Thousand Club
Tulio Elesos
Tulio was happy to hear that the other would allow him to tag along. Although not quite the same as training him, perhaps that too would take place later once this idea is set in motion. He followed the man out of their sleeping quarters, making sure to close and lock the door behind him, and down the hall.
They passed by the kitchen and dining area, which seemed to be active with cooks preparing lunch and crew members having a break to eat. Of course the meal was fish. With how they were practically perfectly preserved under what was now a thick ring of ice around their island home, aside from the small bits of agricultural crop yielded, fish was the most readily available food. The mechanic was tired of it at this point, having eaten it for essentially every meal for a year now. He missed being able to eat meat and grain. When they were younger and living on the mainland, going to the bakery and splitting a small, warm loaf of bread was practically ritual for Tulio and Antoni. He hadn't even been able to indulge in that and relive those memories during his mourning. Still, fish was better than starving, at least when he actually had an appetite. He put a hand on his stomach; maybe he'd go and have a meal as well after meeting with the captain.
The bridge was slightly uncomfortable due to the air that seeped in through the uninsulated edges of the sealed windows, but it wasn't anything unbearable with the thermals he wore underneath his clothes and the Resonance heaters installed. He had only checked earlier in the day, but the mechanic in Tulio was happy to know they were still working properly when he felt the warmth they were giving off.
Upon arriving in the captain's quarters, he noticed the man who was leading the expedition talking with his own superior, Zyria Haldstein. It seemed she was giving him the report of Tulio and his colleagues' check from before they set off, or maybe it was an update about things still working fine now that they were moving. He tried to give her a nod as she walked past him and Henry, although it seemed her mind was elsewhere and she didn't notice. Not dwelling on it, he returned his attention to the situation at hand, and listened as Henry introduced himself as well as Tulio.
The gesture caught him by surprise. Throughout a majority of his career he always took a more subordinate role, and let the client he was working with or person he was working under do the talking unless he was giving a report. Antoni was the only one who also introduced him; although Tulio simply helped set up the inventions his late partner made, Antoni insisted that they were partners in business as well. It seemed he still wasn't quite used to being in anything other than a simple grunt's role.
"... It's a pleasure to be aboard with you as well," Tulio responded to the captain before watching him turn to Henry and give him a seal. He wasn't too aware of the hierarchies of Sentinels, but from what he overheard he assumed that his roommate had just been promoted. "Congratulations," the man simply said, hoping it was the appropriate way to respond to what he was seeing.
He went on to hear the captain agree to the proposal made by Henry and explain that he will have everyone gather for training later in the evening. It seemed he also wanted the members of the crew who were geared for combat to have some more training as well, as suggested to Henry that he plan accordingly with one of the higher ups in the Royal Marines. The advice he gave made sense to Tulio, although he couldn't help but find the tone... dire. It fit the situation he supposed, and assumed perhaps the captain was giving them motivation to gather as many laypeople in the crew for this combat preparation as possible.
When dismissed by the captain, the mechanic gave what he assumed would be a proper salute. His career as well as his involvement in the Labor Union had been much less formal thankfully, but he figured he should show the proper respect for everyone here as to not ruffle any feathers. He attempted to extend the same request to his roommate, telling him, "I'll make sure to refer to you as Constable now, then," before going on to ask, "should we try to recruit other members of the crew now?"
Shireling
Coin
The One Eyed Bandit
rotworm
The indistinct, semi-human groans of laboured steel, and the almost mechanical huffs and puffs of men and women hard at work. There was a certain rhythm to this sort of work. A harmony, not unlike that of nature, that took men and turned them into cogs in one great, unthinking machine.
Landry pressed her eyes shut, and squeezed the bridge of her nose.
She had found herself aboard the tail end of the Ophelia's aft deck, her arms perched atop cold steel railings whilst her eyes scanned over the sheets of ice beyond. Within a small part of her, a bud of nostalgia struggled for sunlight. She'd spent many a day sat atop that very sight, spending long hours in blissful isolation, free from the woes of the world, her only company the silent lullaby of glacial winds. Her ears, then, burned with contempt as the faint sounds of military jargon she'd spent so long forcing herself to forget echoed out from another part of the ship.
Behind her scarf, the corner's of Landry's mouth pulled taut in distress, and a faint huff escaped her nostrils. In her time since leaving the Royal Marines, she'd gone out of her way to avoid bothering Cask's military forces at large. She'd volunteered for the voyage knowing full well that they'd have a presence aboard the Ophelia, but she could feel clouds of regret gathering within her heart none the less. The ocean's biting cold, at least, served to numb her worries as much as it did her nostrils.
That, she noted to herself, wasn't even a joke. She flexed her fingers, and though mitted as they were, she could already feel that their movements were being inhibited by the numbing cold. With a second, and this time spirited huff, Landry then pushed herself from the rails and turned to make for the mess hall.
Her body, even as obscured as it was, instinctively shrunk in the presence of the Royal Marines that staffed that vessel. She recognized a few of the faces that patroled the Ophelia, and none of them had owners with whom she wished to rekindle a bond. She wasn't enough of a fool to believe that she'd be able to avoid them forever, especially considering that they shared their great iron coffin, but she was enough of one to delay the inevitable for as long as she could.
As she arrived, the mess hall was already lit with a buzz. Workers, soldiers, and professors alike huddled up together within the vessel's iron walls, exchanging words riddled with colloquialisms and verbiage from all walks of life, a medley of culture and companionship. Her eyes flicked through the crew, found no faces familiar to them, and her frame relaxed.
The warm air of the hall wrapped around her frosted skin like a blanket, a finer comfort than any of the slop that the mess cooks were likely to cough up. It was no fault of the cooks, but her stomach currently bore a certain grudge. Just the scent of ocean brine was enough to send it into a tirade of remembrance. It had, only a week prior, played host to a particularly uncouth guest, one which had made a particularly awful mess of its wallpaper, and did not care much for exactly who was to blame. The awkward, spiteful organ had only one thing on its mind at that moment; it would be allowing no fish, nor cephalopod, and especially no crustaceans into its walls, unless it was absolutely desperate for company.
Which it would not be for at least another two hours.
As such, the only business Landry had with the hall was a brief fling with the resonance heaters. Her focus shifted from the crew to the furnishings, searching out the goldilocks zone that was closest to the heaters, and furthest from any badges of military honour.
Landry pressed her eyes shut, and squeezed the bridge of her nose.
She had found herself aboard the tail end of the Ophelia's aft deck, her arms perched atop cold steel railings whilst her eyes scanned over the sheets of ice beyond. Within a small part of her, a bud of nostalgia struggled for sunlight. She'd spent many a day sat atop that very sight, spending long hours in blissful isolation, free from the woes of the world, her only company the silent lullaby of glacial winds. Her ears, then, burned with contempt as the faint sounds of military jargon she'd spent so long forcing herself to forget echoed out from another part of the ship.
Behind her scarf, the corner's of Landry's mouth pulled taut in distress, and a faint huff escaped her nostrils. In her time since leaving the Royal Marines, she'd gone out of her way to avoid bothering Cask's military forces at large. She'd volunteered for the voyage knowing full well that they'd have a presence aboard the Ophelia, but she could feel clouds of regret gathering within her heart none the less. The ocean's biting cold, at least, served to numb her worries as much as it did her nostrils.
That, she noted to herself, wasn't even a joke. She flexed her fingers, and though mitted as they were, she could already feel that their movements were being inhibited by the numbing cold. With a second, and this time spirited huff, Landry then pushed herself from the rails and turned to make for the mess hall.
Her body, even as obscured as it was, instinctively shrunk in the presence of the Royal Marines that staffed that vessel. She recognized a few of the faces that patroled the Ophelia, and none of them had owners with whom she wished to rekindle a bond. She wasn't enough of a fool to believe that she'd be able to avoid them forever, especially considering that they shared their great iron coffin, but she was enough of one to delay the inevitable for as long as she could.
As she arrived, the mess hall was already lit with a buzz. Workers, soldiers, and professors alike huddled up together within the vessel's iron walls, exchanging words riddled with colloquialisms and verbiage from all walks of life, a medley of culture and companionship. Her eyes flicked through the crew, found no faces familiar to them, and her frame relaxed.
The warm air of the hall wrapped around her frosted skin like a blanket, a finer comfort than any of the slop that the mess cooks were likely to cough up. It was no fault of the cooks, but her stomach currently bore a certain grudge. Just the scent of ocean brine was enough to send it into a tirade of remembrance. It had, only a week prior, played host to a particularly uncouth guest, one which had made a particularly awful mess of its wallpaper, and did not care much for exactly who was to blame. The awkward, spiteful organ had only one thing on its mind at that moment; it would be allowing no fish, nor cephalopod, and especially no crustaceans into its walls, unless it was absolutely desperate for company.
Which it would not be for at least another two hours.
As such, the only business Landry had with the hall was a brief fling with the resonance heaters. Her focus shifted from the crew to the furnishings, searching out the goldilocks zone that was closest to the heaters, and furthest from any badges of military honour.
Shireling
A Servant of King and Country
Henry Monmouth
The moment Henry saw the steel and silver of the metal flash in the light of the bridge, his heart skipped a beat. It was one of those animalistic impulses that men and women learned in the service. Whenever there is honor to be worn, you want to wear it. Henry was no different. He stood stock-still, hands behind his back in a posture of rigid attention as the Captain pinned the ornament to the lapel of his pea coat where it rested comfortably. He fought every urge to look at the badge, but in the end remained with his eyes on Voslage in a neutral expression, perhaps with a hint of excitement leaking out through the corners of his otherwise static mouth. After that exchange, he barely registered what Captain Voslage had said, although he believed he got the gist of it. He did not remember saluting, or calling out, "Aye Captain, advised Lord Captain, thank you Lord Captain," before leaving (although he was sure that he did). The next thing he remembered was walking back down the hall, and Tulio's voice beside him.
"I'll make sure to refer to you as Constable now, then," the engineer said to him, "should we try to recruit other members of the crew now?"
Henry nodded, and replied, "It is not the custom of civilians to respect military honors these days. Your deference is notable." A pause. "We should round up a militia detail. Treat the ship as if it were just a little village, because that is what it is. The best place to start would be the mess." He explained. As they walked past a relatively larger porthole lower on the wall, Henry paused and looked out on the fields of ice and sea that stretched before them. "Lord Captain Voslage is also correct in his assessment that the military detail will need to learn the skills of mariners if we are to survive. We will address this at tonight's security meeting, I think."
There was a kind of callousness, or coldness, or lack of care with which Henry discussed "not surviving." It was as if either possibility: survival or non-survival, was equally probable to him and he, a disinterested outsider, watched the way chance would play the Ophelia.
It was at this point Henry realized he had eaten nothing all day, and his stomach cried out for repast.
Steering their steps over to the mess, he found that many of the crewmen that were there before had vacated as they left to make the final, final preparations for voyage. Henry approached one of the giant copper pots to the side of the mess and, taking a small tin cup from a rack, dispensed a generous amount of tea into it. Tea, it could be called, but in truth it was more of a "thinly-flavored" water. He took a likewise tin tray to the mess officer, who dispensed him one hydroponically-grown potato, which was noticeably smaller than a typical specimen, a bit of rye bread, a fried fish patty (thankfully with the bones well-ground so none were immediately visible), and a tiny wooden cup with a bit of clear liquid that smelled strongly of liquor, although Henry could not place it. He found a seat for himself and Tulio while they waited for the mess to become populated again, erstwhile sipping tentatively on his hot water which the mess deigned to call tea. As Tulio joined him, he indulged in a crust of rye bread.
"I must admit it is meager, even by military standards," he said with a grimace.
Coin
Anne Boolean
Anne Boolean
One Thousand Club
Tulio Elesos
Tulio was happy to know that the Constable appreciated his sentiment. Despite most people having lost all respect for Sentinels, as well as partially placing the blame on them for what took place and how the Sovereign abandoned them, showing respect could have a butterfly effect which determined the difference between life or death in a dire situation. On top of that the two were going through somewhat similar things, in terms of being scapegoats for the state of the world.
"Sounds like a fine idea," Tulio responded to the man's suggestion. It seemed quite a bit of the crew were now having a meal after ensuring a proper departure for the ship. Plus by visiting the mess he could grab some lunch for himself as he had previous planned.
When looking out the window, unlike Henry, Tulio just felt apathy. His only reason to survive at this point was because he had promised Antoni to help fix the world. He would put his best efforts into it but the way he saw it, if he perished he would be reunited with his love sooner. "Indeed," he said, agreeing with Henry's sentiment. "It'll be important to build rapport between members of the crew as well."
He continued to follow the man through the bowels of the ship until they once again reached the mess hall. This time they stepped into the dining area, and like Henry, Tulio also picked up a tin tray and tin cup, taking in them the food that way being served. Ironically, part of the meal was bread. It was nothing like the fresh bread he and Antoni had back on the mainland, but it still brought up a bittersweet nostalgia in him. He went ahead and took a seat with Henry, deciding that having a meal first would be best since it seemed the mess was still fairly empty despite the crew coming in for lunch. "Hopefully we're just early, and haven't come in after the lunch rush."
The mechanic also took a bite of the bread, comparing it with what he had had in the past and being sorely disappointed. "Indeed," he agreed with Henry, "although bread and a potato are more than what I usually have so I suppose I'm happy with it." He took a sip from the diluted tea after it had cooled for a moment and grimaced. "Perhaps we should allocate the resources used to make this to grew better potatoes..." he commented, although when he took a bite of the potato he realized it would need quite a bit more work to be particularly appetizing.
Shireling
Coin
The One Called X
Enlightened Squid
Frederick Tamerlane
"Don't look at me like that," Frederick said. "It's your own fault, and you know it."Witch's ear twitched, her yellow eyes still fixed on his own. Frederick frowned. "Enough, I said." His voice was as low as he could pitch it without growling. Witch huffed and dropped her gaze at last, tail swishing slowly, as she lowered her head to paw at the muzzle. Frederick sighed, brushing a hand over her soft ears. "I'm sorry, my girl, but there's nothing for it. Small ship, this, and we can't afford for you to make us enemies before it's even set sail."
They were on the upper deck, as far out of the way as Frederick could manage in the close quarters, but already he was beginning to regret his choices. It was impossible to fade out of sight and mind with four large dogs, as he had on land. Witch and Notch were both muzzled, while Whitefoot and Spot, being generally friendlier than the bitches, were not. Still, Witch had to be watched closely- she was unhappy with the new environment. Frederick couldn't blame her for that- he didn't like it any better than she did. He was beginning to wonder if he'd better have simply struck out over the ice on a sled.
He shook his head. No, of course not. That would be a death sentence. The Ophelia may well come to a bad end- but a chance was a chance, in the end, and better to die in the attempt of surviving than to simply give up.
Of course, it could simply be that his time and manner of death were already appointed- that the course of time was set and certain, and their success or failure already decided. By Fate, magic, the coincidental convergence of a thousand small chances in the course of the universe's history. Which then, of course, begged the question of-
"Bollocks," Frederick muttered to himself. There was no time for that. But then, if all things were set by fate, then would it matter what there was or wasn't time for?
He was saved from his thoughts by the sound of nearby footsteps. Witch sprang to her feet with a deep, rumbling growl, and Frederick could sense the others tensing, readying themselves for a fight, depending on what he did. He laid a hand on the back of Witch's neck, scruffing her like a pup. "Easy, girl. Back down." She did, sitting at attention, hackles still raised.
He swallowed uncomfortably as he observed the woman standing a few feet away from them, hoping she had not noticed them. He didn't much fancy the idea of speaking to anyone. It was, as he'd said to Witch, entirely too early to start collecting enemies.
Zerulu
simj26
Awful, Terrible, No-good Layabout
Hask Wilder
The axe arced over his head, and downwards, burying itself deep into the hide of the creature. It scrabbled upon the floor, attempting to flee, but the bite of his axe did not let. He adjusted his grip, then pulled his axe towards him, dragging the struggling thing across the ground, taking care to force his axe downwards so as to grind its belly across the earth. He planted his foot atop the being, and hefted his axe out of its back. A cold fire blazed in the depths of his eyes as he swung his axe down once more to take what was his.
The call brought him out of his violent meditation. The Ophelia was preparing now to leave. The empty eyes, glazed over with his own thoughts, focused on the present now, taken away from his place of contemplation. He looked up, and saw the world around him begin to move, felt the weight of ship underneath him begin to shift, hear the groan of wood around him. He could smell it, not the scent of the cold air, but the intoxicating aroma of opportunity- the opportunity to feel something across the haft of his axe. Meditating on death and violence could only calm him so much. The time to act was close at hand, he felt, and, for the lack of a better word, he was excited.
It was close. So close. Blood and chaos. He could hear it, he could feel it, he could smell it.
His eyes faded away, as he melted away into his waking dreams once more.
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