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Post by Bloodtrailkiller on Jan 30, 2018 9:33:14 GMT -8
/The Foggy Beach/ A long, quiet walk of three days through a thinning thicket had the three compatriots arrive at a familiar visage to one; A large inlet was bared before them, its distance vanished into a dense fog which grew in intensity from its presumed center, where debris swelled in contrasting gradients. Flotsam and pieces of piers began densely packed around the edge of the expanse of water, though grew sparser and sparser as pieces of wood and nail vanished beneath the veil of fog. A single wide boardwalk, perhaps 20 feet wide, made of wood so black it looked almost like coal, speared into the fog like a harpoon just infront of them. Where they stood now was a light bog; there were only sparse white-dead trees, and less grass, more pale mossy loam within a hundred feet all around the muddy bank, which extended in a brown matte beyond them roughly thirty feet ahead, where pieces of debris had washed ashore. The thicket farther behind them, where they'd come, had been more densely populated in foliage, and the rise of evergreen and pine trees were hinted at around the inlet. Though the party had already marked the boundaries of that terrain; the only remaining piece of the puzzle was the foggy beyond infront of them. A light mist hung all around them, though none as intense as the fog coalesced at the center of the inlet. The party could see a good two hundred feet into the fog, before it became too dense. As it were, the party had just arrived, and would likely be a touch tired from the venture, hungry as well. A few gulls flew over head, squawking out into the air. \\ /  / With a huff, he set down his rucksack of supplies; two rolls of six torches, as well as a case of iron and flint to strike a light. four rolls of bandages were stacked atop eachother as well. And, of course, a single log for burning, kept dry within the burlap sack. The sack itself was rather large; meaning to double as a large blanket or cover for a lean-to if need be. "Looks like the place..." He nodded, offering a smirk to the two women beside him as he nodded to the foggy water. "... Wreckage of the vessel Gutte Hans." He chuckled and hefted up the burlap sack again, looking about for some dry dirt to settle on, "The... Heir didn't know it existed until some survivors came into the Hamlet, apparently. Then died soon after telling him of the vessel. A collection of trinkets, potions, and treasures were sunk with the ship, but in hard-cased crates. Air-tight but... they didn't float. By the time the Heir came back about; this--" He motioned absently to the fog as he stamped his heel on some solid ground beside a large pale tree, "--fog had come about, and any man that went in, never came out. No screams, no corpses, just this quiet." He hummed, content with his monologue, and set down his burlap sack again; content with the state of ground, he set his fists to his hip and looked up to Tilly and Courcy. "The Heir said he wanted the main boardwalk mapped, and locations to settle a watchpost marked so he can come round, later, and erect them." Lekalis explained the deed, clucking his tongue and twisting to face the lake, "... Now that the... Official quest has been declared; care to help me set up camp so we can figure out just how we 'ought to start?" \\ |
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Post by Vanitypirate on Jan 30, 2018 18:45:38 GMT -8
It was strange, seeing the inlet without the red tinge. Tilly almost couldn't believe her eyes when it appeared before her. She looked to Lekalis, and then to Courcy excitedly, as though to speak, but then reconsidered when she considered the amount of effort to be sunk into a disastrous explanation.
The trek there wore on her, and her limbs felt clumsier. Her rations weren't incredibly appetizing, and more often than not, she chose to store the leftovers in her satchel, away from the rest of the rations and the great tin of water, held by the burlap sack that felt more like a great weight of lead than anything at this point in the journey.
To her, the smell of the sea was almost overpowering.
Tilly listened quietly, gently setting the burlap sack down as she found respite leaning against a tree. Though, somewhere halfway through-- conveniently after he had mentioned a collection of crates and cargo-- her attention drifted, as her eyes did to the shore and its flotsam.
Scavenging was enough to liven her up.
"I'll go and... scout, mhm. You lot can get comfy." She yawned decidedly, slipping her hands into her pockets as she made to pick her way down to the shore.
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Post by Bloodtrailkiller on Jan 30, 2018 19:11:39 GMT -8
/Flotsam Beach/
/Tilly/
To her immediate gander, few bits and pieces glimmered brightly; though her looters eye managed to note a few crates with metal corners, reinforced panellings. Most were connected to broken crates with their remains scattered under planks and hay and sand, but one stood out.
Like Excalibur peaking out from a collective pile of rubbish, 3/4's of a crate jutted out defiantly, with a light mist dramatically wafting about the base of the pile. It may have been the exhaustion, but a ray of light seemed to bless the scene to boot.
Of course, there had to be more than the obvious; though she'd have to try and search again to surmount any goodies.
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Post by black379 on Jan 30, 2018 19:38:24 GMT -8
The redhead surveyed the bleak scene, almost offended by the suffocating stillness and blanketed unfamiliarity. If death was a place, it looked something like this. Even the soft wake of the shore was uninviting and cold. The aura of dampness made her shiver.
Courcy dropped her own satchel at the base of the tree to use as a makeshift cushion. Before she could seat, Tilly was already pacing nearer the clouded beach.
"You haven't done enough walking?" She called out, rubbing her biceps to contest the lurking chill. "It's okay to stop moving once in a while." It may not have been the most enticing of invitations, but Courcy found that the robber was stubborn when she had already made up her mind. Shuffling her boots in place, the ginger swayed her glance to Blood.
"Don't suppose we'll find any of that treasure? Imagine buying the Hamlet with gold from right under the Heir's nose." She scoffed and shook her head, sitting on her pack and staring back into the densest patch of fog that hovered above the inlet's dark water. "Or someplace nicer. You were a Lord before?"
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Post by Bloodtrailkiller on Jan 30, 2018 20:07:06 GMT -8
"Ah... and off she goes..." He agreed with a content smile, with a touch of whimsy as he postured his hands on his hip and his head traced her movements to the smallest hitch, all with a shamelessly smitten smirk."... Mmm, as for the treasure!" Lekalis agreed, snapping his attention back to Courcy with a nod, and then to the sack she brought. "It is technically not the Heir's, long as it doesn't get in his hands. Under his nose? Fine and dandy." He clucked his tongue and saw to producing the campfire log from his own sack, and sticking it squarely in the center of the dias of dry dirt. He paused, chuckling and shaking his head to one side as he'd been shoving the log firmly into the soil. "I was a Lord indeed. Though... I don't think the world out of this Dark is really ready to welcome me yet, y'know?" The Ex-Lord's smile faltered to one of self-pity as he nodded again. "I ever tell you I've a plot of land, here, in the Hamlet I intend to buy? Got the place picked out and reserved, sort of. Once this expedition's through, I intend to see to constructing a bed and bath, as well as a home there." His words came faster, excitedly, like a dam of bubbly wine set free from a glass. Though, he quickly thumbed a stop to the torrent as he palmed his chin and looked out to Tilly. "My own little Lordship again..." |
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Post by Vanitypirate on Jan 30, 2018 21:16:09 GMT -8
It certainly would have been 'ok' to stop moving for most people, but on the precipice of destitute poverty and ultimate ruin, extensive rest proved to be too expensive for Tilly.
Or, at least, that was how she saw it.
Truthfully, it likely would have been safe enough to take a nap. Her aching limbs certainly could have used it. But to simply... lay down, so close to treasure just ripe for the taking, she didn't rightly believe she could have felt relaxed enough to sleep.
Tilly eyed the boardwalk longingly, but the need to collect far outweighed the urge to explore further.
She kept an eye out for traps, pitfalls, and the like, lest the flotsam proved too good to be true, but otherwise made a beeline for one of the only crates in one piece. Once arrived safely, she would eye its surface for any locks, and then give it a solid nudge with her boot, in the event that this crate, too, was cursed or trapped. Firm enough to jostle it a touch, but gentle enough to avoid cracking any potentially fragile treasure...
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Post by Bloodtrailkiller on Jan 31, 2018 5:47:34 GMT -8
/Flotsam Beach/
/Tilly/
Her haste was just a hair too quick, as she'd find her foot catch the underside of a broken board. Thankfully, she'd recover before any real damage was done, and climbing the small heap proved easier than she might expect, sans the stumble previously.
At the top, the crate looked rather insignificant; made of a reddish wood with a rather beautiful grain of white, it didn't seem to be a tree recognized by any sort of intellect. Regardless, the more poignant importance was locks and identifiying marks; the crate was bereft of the former but laden in the latter. Amidst the grain were latin words and symbols. There were a few spottings of regular words, so that she might be able to identify the words if she looked hard enough, though at a glance... she felt a warm swell in her breast. Unlike the more alien ones of before, this one brewed within.
Her own fire kindled, the words on the crate were invigorating, and the solid nudge had the boards give a little; not breaking, but bending wetly. A sound of glass, both broken and unbroken jostled about within. So close to the crate now, she'd notice a golden film of oil slipping out between the boards. The smell was ripe and lemony. A sweet lemony to be sure, like what one might fight in a candy or cake.
The Crate was wholly made of wood, not even nails adorned it surface; she could probably pry its top open with her bare hands.
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Post by Vanitypirate on Jan 31, 2018 7:43:19 GMT -8
The thought of a humble lemon cake being contained in such ornate wood brought an amused smile to Tilly's face.
No doubt something more valuable had to be contained within. No one just printed Latin over any old crate, and she knew enough to be vary of warm, fuzzy feelings evoked by such things.
It wanted to be opened. Obviously this was a trap... perhaps it was cursed?
However, if touching the crate suddenly made her shriek and dance in unimaginable agony, that clearly meant the crate was cursed, too. And if it brought no response at all to touch, it was a curse in hiding.
It seemed that either way, the crate was cursed. Considering it had taken Tilly a good two-and-a-half years of expeditions to acquire just one curse, she presumed that she still had much time before she was set to acquire a second.
Tilly unhooked her pickaxe from her belt, and wedged the tooth of it beneath the top of the box, making to pry it open...
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Post by Bloodtrailkiller on Jan 31, 2018 8:07:15 GMT -8
/Flotsam Beach/
/Tilly/
With an absolutely satisfiying pop, the crate seemed to exude the scent tenfold now and placed within, hidden amidst hay and shards of glass... Were three bottles of Holy Oil. Seemingly specially made, as they were bound in a beautiful Prussian blue ribbon, each, tied with dedication, and the tie pinned by a golden sun.
A sodden piece of papyrus was doubly pinned against each, and while the ink had run, the words would be just readable through the calligraphy and smearing :
"Be Bright 4:05", was pinned to one,
"Slay the Dark 4:10", was pinned to another,
"The Fire Within 4:15", was pinned to the last.
The golden liquid that seeped out of the crate was more collected in the Holy Oils and now, collected inside the glass (Which seemed warbled like clear obsidian) looked very much like lava; a deep, primal orange substance that seemed to glow with the light bared down upon it.
There seemed to have been more, but much of the glass had been broken and sunk into the hay that had cushioned it.
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Post by Vanitypirate on Jan 31, 2018 8:27:27 GMT -8
Tilly gave pause at the liquids within, holding a hand over it to ensure the brilliantly glowing fluid wasn't glowing with heat.
Satisfied, with ever-careful hands, she plucked the potions out from the crate and gently shook them, so as to shake off any golden liquid that clung to them.
Curiously, she eyed the liquid and considered taking a sample with her.
She located a twig at her feet and dipped it into the glowing oil...
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Post by Bloodtrailkiller on Jan 31, 2018 8:40:27 GMT -8
/Flotsam Beach/
/Tilly/
While the oils were loathe to shake free of the Oil bottles, the clumps and globs of oil slipped free quickly enough. There was still a light covering of oil over the obsidian-like glass, but not enough to be worrying based on the lack of any reaction to her holding the bottles themselves.
Finding a twig easily enough, she found one roughly an arms-length long and a finger and a half wide, she would easily dip it safely into the oil to no reaction, and collected a sample. The oil acted a bit sticky, but was otherwise very much like a rubbing oil.
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Post by Vanitypirate on Jan 31, 2018 8:59:20 GMT -8
The reaction wasn't nearly as dramatic as she had hoped, so Tilly simple let the stick sit in the crate as a marker to show where she had been.
These bottles, though... she suspected them to be holy water, on account of the gratuitous Latin and Holy Book references. Though, typically she found them to be a different color.
She nestled them gently in her satchel, as they were too fragile to safely stow in her coat pockets, and straighted up, scanning the area around for any more potential goodies...
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Post by Bloodtrailkiller on Jan 31, 2018 9:10:56 GMT -8
/Flotsam Beach/
/Tilly/
Atop the rise of junk, she had an almost perfect looking-spot along the beach; indeed, with the light, she might've felt like a veritable light-house.
There were two more crates of mundane make, less fantastical than the one Tilly stood at presently, it looked to be made of ashen wood.
Perhaps most interesting was a very heavily armored crate; more steel than wood, nestled... Rather, cratered into the sand. There was almost an impact radius around it, where the wood cleared away from it. Even still, it seemed wood tried to hold it down. Roots, even, seemed to be growing out from the bottom of it while moss and seaweed seemed to drape over it like camoflauge as, for a moment, a glimmer on the steel crate caught her eye.
An emerald... Not just one, but 24 twinkled just on the surface of the crate, on the corners.
Indeed, the steel too, made like boards seemed to have jade embedded into their cores; the steel being just a frame for the jade.
It was a very pretty prize.
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Post by Vanitypirate on Jan 31, 2018 9:16:41 GMT -8
Tilly's expression veritably split with a wide grin, and a flutter in her heart warmer than that evoked by the holy oil.
For a moment she didn't know what to do with herself but to ecstarically rub her two hands together, atop of her perch of garbage.
It was more wealth than she had ever seen all at once.
Returning her pickaxe back into place, with an awkward mix of utmost haste as well as extreme care in not tripping over some other debris, she made to swiftly close the distance between herself and the bejewlewed crate.
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Post by Bloodtrailkiller on Jan 31, 2018 9:30:14 GMT -8
/Flotsam Beach/
/Tilly/
As she approached the crate, she'd find the ground growing with more and more foliage; green grass sprouted out from the soil, and the roots were in fact vines and stickers. It was a stark contrast to the otherwise white and bleak surroundings and was very clearly an effect of magic of some kind.
The crate itself seemed to shrink away, like a wounded beast, evoking a fearful vibe from an otherwise unliving object.
There were no locks or any apparent way of opening the jade-steel chest. The Emeralds at each corner were barely rising out from the steelwork, and seemed to act almost as screws of sorts. There was a lid, thankfully available for prying. Though there were also several roots and vines wrapping around the top of it, through the moss that and seaweed that had collected ontop of the verdant box.
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