Here There Be Deadites

[rassafraggin]

Quinlan just goes along, staff in one hand, bookbag over the other shoulder. "You know, I don't *think* I've ever been to the mainland of Minos," he muses. "Unless that was the time Emma had me be a distraction."

Merrisol manages to say, "Sounds like a story that needs telling," before his trump senses kick in. He puts his hand on Quin's shoulder lightly so he can go through first. The shells stay behind, wrapped in their cloths, inside Ryika's desk.

Quinlan grins. "Not in her view, I think. Zombies aren't really very bright. I held their attention with an illusory stage show of The Lion Sleeps Tonight. D'you know, I think I saw her facepalming from half a mile away? She's very serious."

They are actually below decks when Ryika pulls them through, and after obtaining their promise that she will be notified once they receive their Feldane access, she slips back through her mirror. Best decision ever to keep one in a guest cabin. "I'm not familiar with that play," Merri says, puzzled. "But, yes.. I've been in some strange situations with the woman, myself. She's.. fine." He can appreciate 'very serious'. "Let's go see where we are.. but kindly do not remove the headscarf right away. Not that you really look like Maggie.. but from a distance it's possible."

Quinlan obligingly restores the scarf across his face, and makes sure his hair is hidden. "All right."



--[ Main Deck(#7167RJ) ]-------------------------------------[ Shipboard ]----

Setting by Merrisol at Fri Aug 8 12:51:59 2014: On deck of the lovely Dancer, rain-wet casks and barrels provide a spotty view of the full crew complement, but what can be seen of personnel is casual-dress instead of the usual uniform code. Above the topsail, a different flag than the heraldic flame on field emerald flies: a breaking wave hooking the curled ray of a heraldic sun on field aquamarine.


Merrisol nods his thanks, and delays a minute further to take his fancy red Minosian coat from the Captain's quarters. Coming up on deck, they are met by a tired mate who has foregone shaving for a week. He hops to and calls out, "Cap'n on deck!" After Merri looks the deck crew over and sends them back to their duties, he addresses the first man as Anderson and asks for a status report. That blahblah's in the background, but the real point of interest is seen off the port bow. The entire horizon to the north is taken up by grey misty mainland, still a few miles out while the Dancer runs parallel. Both forward and aft, the dark turmoil of stormclouds can be seen blotting out the sky to the west and east. It's a little difficult to gauge given the size of the wall, but both sides do seem to be closing in on a stretch of the mainland, like pincers.

There are also 2 other ships present on the local waters, further off-shore but doggedly keeping pace with the Wave Dancer. One is a Nave with black sails.

* * * * * * * * * *

Quinlan is on the deck of a ship - clearly, not his own. Not red enough. And for some reason, swathed in Alhambran garb. "Hallo."

Quinlan grins. "Alhambran robes. Helps hide the red hair." He offers his hand. "Sure, come ahead."

Quinlan nods. "Okay...um. Her who?"

Quinlan makes a face. "Good," he says. "You try matchmaking and I will *absolutely* flee for farthest Shadow. Lisette? Okay. She good at handling lots of undead?"

Quinlan makes a face. "You *want* me to leave you alone, all you really have to do is say so, y'know."

Maggie leans against a nearby bit of rigging that anchors the sails. She chuckles very quietly, "Tell Robert that I said you are not allowed to be driven into far shadows. At least... Not yet."

Quinlan grins, tilting his head to listen to something Robert can't see. "Maggie says to tell you she says you're not allowed to drive me into far shadows. Yet." He pauses. "She *has* met you, right? So I don't have to explain where that's a challenge?"
Maggie laughs, the sound merry and warm, "Ah, but it can be a challenge delayed until later, right?"

Quinlan steps back as the two Feldanes appear. "I think you two can sort that out for yourselves," he says lightly. "I doubt anything'd be helped by me getting involved on that score."

Lisette lurches a little, inhaling slowly through her nose to steady herself. Then she musters a soft laugh, and offers those already aboard a bow that's made only //slightly// more awkward by the military pack on her back. "I have heard about Trump travel, of course, but never before experienced it..."

"He'd just skitter off and hide. I'm surprised he even enters the same room as me and Mother any more." Robert jests lightly of Quinlan as he nods a greeting towards Maggie. "Good day, cousin." There's a low chuckle at Lisette. "It doesn't tend to make you sick. That would be the boat."

Maggie is leaning sort of casually against a bit of hardware anchoring the rigging for the sails to the deck. She pushes off to stand straighter and smiles at Lisette as the woman comes through, "Welcome to the Wave Dancer. I am Captain Flame, when acting in an official capacity, but Maggie will do for now." She turns her smile to Robert, "Cousin. Good to see you. Thank you both for coming. Is it okay to assume that you know the situation?"

Quinlan waggles his hand back and forth. "In a very sketchy way," he says. "The full story would've taken a tome."

"There's a need for Feldane slayers of undead, and... I happened to be the one available," Lisette says dryly, casting a sidelong glance at Robert. "Precious little else, in truth, but it's not as if there're terribly *many* ways I can slay undead."

"I think Quinlan's note was written in a cipher, for no matter which way I turned it or looked at it it made little sense. I managed to glean that some Feldane's were needed and so here we are?" is said with the dry humor that Robert keeps about him. "Archives, really? Ancestors. Please."

Maggie nods slowly as the truth is brought to light, "Ah. Yes. Well... This may take a while, so before I get to it, would you like some refreshments? The galley is fully stocked and Mouse is a genius with pastries." Turning toward the stairs down, she adds, "We have a fresh supply of Alhambran coffee and tea as well."

Quinlan sighs. "I was pretty sure I was clear this time, too," he laments. "I'll work on it."

Robert nods to Maggie. "A full and frank explanation would suit us both well, I think." He nods to Lisette as he says this and then looks at his brother in amusement. "No, truly brother, you were not."

Lisette nods agreement. "Finding out what we're up against would certainly be welcome."

Maggie says, "Full and frank?" She darts Robert an amused glance, "Right. When have you known me to be otherwise?" Her brows waggle just a little and she turns to duck down the stairs turning toward the galley at the bottom. The galley is warm and bright, the tables and benches clean and gleaming. She motions to one of the tables, "Make yourselves at home." Then she heads off to play crew member by getting coffee, tea and a plate of pastries from the slender young man near the stove. Judging by the man's demeaner one would never know that he was once a shy, unassuming youth with a hidden love of baking. Returning, she places the tray carrying the goodies on the table."

Quinlan follows the group down, but doesn't offer commentary. He just sets about getting himself some coffee, and listening.

Robert chuckles at Maggie and nods. "Never." He unslings his bag when he can and takes the sword off his back. All the better to be comfortable below. He casts a look to Lisette to make sure she is happy too as he parks in a seat and leans back. A drink is procured and when the food appears the Kite helps himself to a couple as he waits and watches the group. "Interesting scenery out above, for sure."

Merrisol comes into the dining hall after they are settled a short while. In truth, with the current trade crisis ongoing in Minos, and whole islands in need of relief goods, the Dancer must have truly fallen in with the outlaws and their ill-gotten stockpiles. He greets Robert and Lisette with respectful nods after introductions are out of the way. Carrying a roll of treated map parchment, he lays it out on a clear section of table and holds it down with errant crockery. "The Wave Dancer has been trapped in Minos for some time and we've been able to roughly chart the dimensions of the severe weather running a continuous cordon around the islands," he says, indicating the waxy markings upon the large standard diagram. Basically this: http://minos-rta.wdfiles.com/local--files/plot-hooks/stormwall.jpg (provided by Maereina) "As you can see, we are unable to land at Whitehold, but there is a section of the mainland that we can attempt to make land. I think we should try this first, if just to see how far the storm extends once it crosses onto land."

Lisette tucks her pack into an available corner, before folding herself onto a chair, right hand resting on her sword-hilt to help keep it under control. Initially, she gives much her attention to Maggie's refreshment preparations and the sights of the galley, but when the map appears she leans forward to peer at it.

Maggie claims a seat and a mug of coffee before nabbing a pastry. Leaning back a bit, she lifts a smile to Merrisol as he appears with his map. Ah, cartographers... Gotta love 'em. Or, maybe that is reserved for this particular cartogropher. She waits while the others have a moment to review the map, then begins, "Dirk has proven that we can maneuver through Shadow to get through the storm ring. He either has been, or will be, running supplies in from elsewhere. I don't know when that is to start. So. The upshot is this..." She pauses to take a longish sip of the coffee, then sets the mug down on the table. The click of crockery meeting wood is faintly muted. "A storm goddess is trying to get storm blooded people to bring artifacts that might, or might not be part of her to Minos. Once planted, the artifacts dig deeper and change. She can compel storm blooded people by influencing their blood, their emotions and intensifying the desires that form the basic building blocks of their personalities." She clears her throat, flickers Merrisol a glance that contains a hint of embarassment, then looks back to survey the others. "She claims to have reason to be angry at some storm blooded, but does not seem to bear others, or people in general ill will. When Dirk planted one of the artifacts on Antika, she could manifest. Sort of. She covered the island with raging storms. When the artifact was removed to Alhambra, the storm disipated, but the violent energy joined the storm ring making it impossible for ships without our family aboard to pass through. I spoke with Maereina and she suggested that we find the goddess' real name and that we might be able to find that information on the mainland. But, as you all know, the mainland is overrun by the undead. We would prefer not to join their company in a perminant way, though a visit seems indicated."

Quinlan nods. "Bonus data. The bones want to join, connect. Definitely keep them in separate boxes unless you're okay with that, because otherwise, sooner or later it will happen."

"So what you are telling me," says the Kite as he looks up from the map and after listening to the story, "is that you have a pissed off goddess? And that she has been angered even more in various ways?" He glances down to the map again and notes where the gap to the main land is and gives a slow shake of his head, tapping where Whitehold is. "I have researched the situation there, spoken with the Duke." He lives! "There are people still in Whitehold, our staunchest troops as it happens. It is all they can do to keep the zombies at bay from that one section. To set foot on land along here?" He taps the map where the gap is, "and cut through to the holding? Suicide."

Lisette offers Robert a rueful smile, then shrugs gently. "I've no personal knowledge of how things stand here," she says softly. "So... I'll go wherever directed. But I've never fought these zombies before, and can't say quite how many I can handle at once. It'll... be a learning experience."

Merrisol quietly absorbs the talk, his eyes resting on Maggie while she talks, almost looking zoned out over his mug of coffee. He blinks more alertly at her glance, and smiles warmly in an utter misinterpretation of signals. He looks to Quinlan with surprise, as evidently the bones wanting to connect is a new to him as well. "I'll let Ryika know to separate them," he murmurs, without interrupting Robert's train of speech. Merri shakes his head at the Kite Feldane however by the end. "Not the intent of this particular trip, Lord Robert. You see, before the stormwall began to ring Minos, reports gathered spoke of a strange fog and freak weather off the coast of the mainland. And," he points out the way the wall comes against the land from either end, "this shape suggests it originated from this area. We don't know if the wall joins up further inland, but it is worth looking to see what /is/ there," a tap to the same gap, "from which the walls seem to have come."

Robert looks back down to the map as Merrisol speaks, trying to follow what the Rebman is telling him. He slides a look to Quinlan. "So why was I contacted about Whitehold?" Colour him confused, and it's not a hue that suits him well. "But you wish to go ashore here and see what there is? I'm not sure even Feldane magics can hold what is there back if it s as strong as surrounds Whitehold."

Merri says offhandedly while he picks through his trump deck and finds the one for Ryika, "Whitehold is next, but we need to approach it from outside the stormwall." He looks disappointed in Robert's prognosis of their chances moving inland from the coast here, but as long as the Feldane isn't /firmly/ against it...

Quinlan indicates Merrisol. "Because you understand the risks and dangers of Whitehold, and the rest of the mainland, better than anyone else here?" he says to Robert.

The image of Ryika has, for likely a large variety of reasons, popped back to Alhambra, no matter that she took people to the ship. She looks up at the little nudge in the back of her head. "Hmmm, yes?"

To the image of Ryika, Merrisol pulls his attention from the others and latches it onto the card, while gingerly scooting along to put some distance between their conversation and his. "Ryika, good evening. A couple of things to keep you up to date on the situation. Quinlan has determined that the bones have a desire to fuse with one another, or at least come into direct contact. They're stored in your study desk, in their wraps, but to be more safe, one ought to be moved somewhere separate. Also, we now have Lord Robert and Lady Lisette of Feldane aboard, to discuss our plans for the mainland. Do you want to come over for that?"

Robert arches an eyebrow at Quinlan. "Do I need to give zombie lessons now?" His tone implies that he really shouldn't need to teach anyone about the dangers and threats zombies impose. "Laying them to rest is a skilled job, Quinlan. We both know that. But even skilled people cannot overcome vast numbers of the things. Whitehold does what it can to keep them out. And it manages only that. We have never made an incursion /in/."

The image of Ryika ahs softly as she listens and nods. "Another room, or another shadow? I've a few options for stashing things, some more diverse than others." She can be seen reaching out to nudge something apart, perhaps half expecting the bones to leap the gap between them on her desk spontaneously. "I'd love to, although how much insight I might have is likely quesitonable. I don't think I know Lady Lisette, another good reason to pop over. Are you still on the ship? Does Quin think they're going to fuse into a whole vessel for the goddess?"

Quinlan smiles. "Knowing that and being an authorized expert to define what is and isn't possible are very different things," he says. "Feldane understands the situation on the mainland. We don't. Pretty much that simple. Because, that said, it's been put forward that with this goddess thing we should investigate the mainland. If that isn't *possible* then...well, your word on that is much firmer than mine."

"Is there any chance I can speak to this goddess?" That might be professional interest speaking, or just the fact that the Feldane is a cocky bastard. Robert asks with a shrug of his shoulders. "I can't say I've spent a lot of time talking with deities. Well unless you count Cibola."

To the image of Ryika, Merrisol can't help a slight drift of his gaze as Robert advocates against going ashore with Feldane-Zombie facts. There, see? They've learned a new thing already. His focus snaps back to Ryika, a touch blearily. They are gathered in the dining hall of the Wave Dancer, by the looks of things. "We're still on the ship. We're off the coast of the mainland between where the storm walls jut inland.. no way to land in Whitehold from inside the ring. Bring the skull one with you, if you please, if you'd like to make new acquaintances with a ready conversation piece. I've been trumped in and out of Minos with it with no ill effect noticed, so that should be safe enough at least."

Lisette is frowning worriedly, and listening intently. It's clear that at least some of this is rather above her normal grade of operations, but she's doing a good job of at least //seeming// as if she thinks she shouldn't be diving overboard and swimming for it in preference to staying here.

The image of Ryika quirks a touch of a smile, moving to put the other away somewhere more safe than her desk and nodding at the information. "Do you want me to bring you some coffee? How about some baklava? I mean, while I'm coming and all. The coffee's hot still."

Quinlan nods slowly. "You *may* feel something when you touch it," he says. "And as you haven't yet acted against the goddess' wishes, she might talk to you. I've no problem with you trying. It'd be great to have some answers."

Robert asides to Lisette. "Do you have a Feldane blade?" He arches an eyebrow at Merrisol at the talk of a skull and then finally drags his attention back to Quinlan. "And how does one go about having a conversation with her? Is there a particular way to approach her?"

Lisette shakes her head, answering Robert in a murmur, lips twitching into a wry smile. "It's not //terribly// long since I was acknowledged."

To the image of Ryika, Merrisol perks up slightly. He would never charge a snack toll for trump transport, but that Ryika is so considerate. "Baklava.. yes. Mouse has done scones and cakes, but his Baklava is.. rusty." Non-existent. "We do have coffee... although. Fresh hot Alhambran?" No, not you Ryika. Okay, maybe you. But the coffee, also. "Do you want to come by now through trump, or by way of the mirror? he offers.

Quinlan smiles at Robert. "The skull isn't a real skull. At least we don't think it is, although it does seem to be bone. It's either a blessed bone, containing a tiny piece of the goddess' power, or it may be an actual godshard. You communicate - insofar as anyone has thus far been able to, I did send a note to Chantris - by holding on to the skull bone and paying attention to the sensations."

Robert nods to Lisette. "If some bone can be brought for me I shall craft you one." He looks to the other two men. "Something the size of a human thigh bone will do, if you have any bones of that size around?" He frowns at Quinlan. "It would be an odd thing to shape bone into a skull, why not just use a skull? But I should like to examine it at the very least as well as try and contact this goddess."

The image of Ryika chuckles softly. "I'll bring both, I can't imagine that coffee will go to waste if I bring it." She moves about, collecting up snacks and beverages and skull bones. "We're already in contact, I might as well come by trump."

To the image of Ryika, Merrisol looks a wee bit distracted by snippets of others' conversation that wander into his peripheral consciousness, but he somehow manages to hold on to Ryika, especially when she dangles more coffee. He stands and steps away from the table to a clearish spot to pull the petite woman through folds of sparkling space. "Alright. Ready?"

Merrisol files the card away into the deck tin while turning to the others at the table. Maggie is also present, dressed as one of the general crew, and Quinlan is covered Alhambran-style still. "Lady Lisette, this is Dame Ryika of House Ygrayne, Acting Ambassador to Amber." He alleviates Ryika of the coffee and snacks to deposit them on the table.

"Who comes bearing gifts?" Robert asks with a trace of dark amusement to him. He nods politely to Ryika. "Robert Feldane, Lord Seneschal of that House. Am I to understand you bear a skull that my brother has been speaking of?"

Ryika passes hot coffee and some sort of pastry over to Merrisol as she steps through the trump and smiles warmly. "Lady Lisette, Lord Seneschal. I brought more coffee, and baklava. Seemed a waste to leave it at the house when the party's moved over here. Pleasure to meet you both. You look much better than when last I saw you, Lord Seneschal." She flickers just a touch of a smirk, amused. She nods at the question from Robert, and draws out a silk wrapped item. "I do, yes. Not just baklava today."

Quinlan nods. "She can bring them here and remove them quickly. So she's kind of the keeper of the bones of late."

"I do?" Robert asks with a trace of confusion at Ryika. "You will have to forgive me, but I have no recollection of you. Might I see the skull please?"

"No, you wouldn't. You were dead at the time and there was a grand degree of speculation on exactly what to do about it. It was quite the introduction to Kitezh, and your mother." Ryika comments to Robert as she passes him the skull, still wrapped in its silk cloth.

Robert accepts the wrapped package with a small nod, then sets it down on the table in front of him and carefully undoes the silk, not actually touching the thing at all to start with. He takes his time with a visual examination.

It's small, way smaller than any human skull could be, despite its similarity to one. It could be mistaken for a bleached shell washed up on the beach. But it is bone.

"Ahh yes. My death was greatly overrated and Mother very upset about it all." Robert notes as he stares at the skull. Understatement of the year.

Quinlan rolls his eyes. "Don't make me throw an apple at your head," he says amiably, as if discussing whose turn it is to wash dishes. "You freaked *me* out pretty good too."

Robert glances up to Merrisol. "Do you mind if I study this somewhere in private where there aren't whinging younger brothers?" is asked in amusement.

Merrisol is already still standing, and agreeably offers to lead Robert to a guest cabin. "Right this way. It's a sure thing the artifact is 'of' or 'from' the Goddess we're dealing with. It affects the Storm-blooded Minosians at an instinctive level, and our current theory is that it is a godly piece broken away and scattered or hidden in shadow."

Lisette has been doing her best to follow the conversation and the array of strangeness... but is presently taking refuge behind refreshments, to give her a visible excuse for contributing next to nothing to the discussion thus far. She formally inclines her head to Robert as he moves to depart, worriedly eyeing the miniature skull... before returning her gaze to the chart.

"What distance were you planning to cover overland?", the remaining Feldane asks. "And do any of you have experience in fighting the undead here?"

Quinlan takes a deep breath as Robert leaves, gives a brief full body shake, and then returns to the matter at hand. "Um. I've set a lot of them on fire before now, but really all that does is give you flaming zombies unless you can crank it up hot enough to get ash."

Lisette lifts her brows, then chuckles softly. "That would help to explain why one of the other possible assistants for this measure wasn't brought along," she says dryly. "And yes... some undead seem to retain a fear of fire, but all too many don't. And from the sound of it, the ones here are especially ferocious. Though I admit I had hoped that was hyperbole, at least in part."

It wasn't a long way to Robert's cabin, and in fact, the very nearest one Merri could accommodate, in case the group had to respond to any unholy Feldane screeching at a run. He comes back in due time to answer the question before it gets stale. "There were hordes of undead on, and underneath, Kitezh.. Old Kitezh. As you've probably heard from Robert and Emma Karm. I've battled those, as has Maggie, and also the victims of necromantic cult of the deep undersea.. all three of us were caught up in that," he notes, nodding over at Quinlan and Maggie. "We have faced a chaos-corrupted Lich Queen, but it was mostly her eel-hair.. she was in a stasis. Lord Michio of Feldane helped her to the other side." And himself too, but best not to keep spooking Lisette with Feldane mishaps.

Merri then refers to the map, gauging the distance off shore. "Hopefully.. no more than twenty or so miles inland from the beach. There's too much fog to see how far the walls extend or if they meet at some point. What other methods might there be than fighting? Quinlan, you said you were able to distract the undead with illusions once?"

Quinlan shrugs. "The only reason I could think of that Feldane would tolerate a whole landmass of undead so near Amber is - they don't have a choice. So...I'm not surprised, but I am kind of sad that it's *that* hard. I didn't know it was impossible." He nods to Merri. "Yeah. But maybe this lot aren't as distractible?"

"Impossible might be over-stating it," Lisette says softly. "But Robert knows more than I do about this. Still... depending on quite what form they take, they might well cluster towards life. That would fit with the constant struggle element there seems to be, to retaining Whitehold. If that *is* the case, then it would theoretically be possible that the, ahh, rear areas of the zombie army would be comparatively sparsely occupied. But the presence of *any* life would then make use the closest attraction for things *leagues* away."

The Feldane darts a glance towards Robert's cabin. "I believe he said it would be impossible to reach Whitehold, and suicide to venture inland. The two might well apply, I'm afraid. If they *are* drawn to life... the further we go, the more we will attract. And they'd close in on us from every direction." To Quinlan, she offers a rueful smile, and a slight shake of her head. "I am... comparatively new to the family. I used to think that my own adventures were quite hair-raising, but I am entirely over-matched."

Merrisol regards Lisette more curiously now that main thrust of the operation has been hashed over, and possibly stalled out as well. "This is Lord Robert's way of welcoming you," he muses with a wry smile. "I mean.. if you're still willing to make the attempt. The information we're seeking.. it would mean the difference between erasing an ancient Minosian goddess in helpless ignorance, and knowing whether what we do is correct and to benefit Minos."

Quinlan nods. "Better to measure twice, cut once," he says. "Whatever we do will be rather difficult to undo later."

"I was confirmed as part of the lineage a few years ago, but... have only been residing in Amber for a couple of months now," Lisette says, one side of her mouth lifting wryly. "And, in all honesty, I am perhaps the only one available for him to recruit who can employ the family's blood to lay an unquiet soul to rest. Others could bring other talents to the table - but as you say, setting them on fire in this case is not a good idea."

Merri listens and watches, nodding. "I heard something about Feldanes being busy around Amber lower city.. with the death toll, there's probably many new spirits to send away. Quinlan, what about your flight.. what besides the storm would stop you from going inland at an unreachable altitude?"

Quinlan blinks. "Undead mages?" he says. "Undead archers? Undead giants or trolls with big rocks?"

"I spent a bit of time around the lower city myself, yes," Lisette says ruefully. "I... have limited ability to deal with intangible spirits, but I have some. Thankfully. And... yes. Sadly, those buried under a barrage of water, slime, and wrecked buildings were not the most likely to be travelling onwards with peace and joy in their hearts."

Quinlan nnns. "is there any way a non-feldane, like us, can give you guys a *hand* with that workload? Any rituals to make it easier?"

Trumps. Ryika's expression says that she has no clue why she ever took up with the damn things, chatting oh so quietly as she nibbles baklava and away from the general conversations going on. She finally blinks back to the here and now, and moves closer over towards the group. "What did I miss?"

"There are non-Feldanes capable of... everything that might crudely be lumped together as necromancy," Lisette says. "Whether that's seeing ghosts and managing to talk to *some* of them, or... the more infamous elements that generate results akin to those ashore now." Looking back to Ryika, she cracks a grin. "Oh, just discussions of whether something's impossible or merely suicidal. And... the state of affairs with the recently-deceased in Amber."

Quinlan sighs. "No. Not necromancy. What *Feldanes* do. The high risk stuff. Is there any means by which someone who isn't a Feldane could help you guys send spirits on?"

"Suicidal around here generally is plan B, and impossible just means we haven't left Quin on it long enough." Ryika quips back with a grin and a wimk towards the mage before she settles more serious. "In any way, help. Or fetch things. I'm very portable."

Lisette frowns thoughtfully. "Yes," she says softly. "Those with sufficient... mystical training, or an innate gift for it, can see... another side, as those with the Feldane blood can. It's why I didn't realise that I *was* Feldane for most of my life. My ability in that regard was... suggestive, but far from conclusive. It is possible to further develop that into... well, drawing things to a close. People can learn to reinforce the barrier against spirits trying to force their way through; and even to act as psychopomps, guiding souls to what is sometimes called Death's Door. But... there is an obvious difficulty with still being firmly attached to one's body while doing so. Hence some of the more dramatic approaches Feldanes have taken. And so far as I know, it is an uniquely Feldane ability to be able to develop techniques permitting the immediate severing of a connection between an undead creature and this world, if it can be brought to a disadvantage - either in combat or via trickery."

Merrisol has taken to standing in the doorway, devouring a wedge of baklava, monitoring both the conversation and activity down the corridor. "Psycho.. pomps..?" he repeats, although he subsides when she goes on to explain their purpose, if not the word itself. "Those of us with trumps may be able to act as lures to attract those zombies so inclined, away from those making headway inland.."

"Guides of the dead," Lisette answers with a slight smile. "In some mythologies - and shadows - a role often fufilled by birds. But it can be a literal guide, for those with the relevant... knack. Unfortunately, while one's spirit is securely bound to a living body, it's hard to get very far along the necessary journey. And..." She shrugs rather sheepishly. "I honestly don't know quite *how* the walking dead here behave, or track, or fight. But being drawn to life would seem to fit what little I know."

Merri nods pensively, absently exploring the stickiness of his post-baklava fingertips, tacking them to his thumb in random patterns. He smiles at her admission. "Some experimentation is in order, then." He did hear Robert say suicide, although the Feldane didn't take Begman mentality into account, for which suicide and experimentation are often two sides of the same coin. The Coin.. of Discovery! "Incidentally, it would be helpful to know the.. identity.. of these undead unfortunates. If the mainland has always been ravaged, then they might well be ancient.. lingering."

Lisette shrugs uncertainly. "Given the sheer scale of the problem, it would seem that there is something more than 'just' zombies out there. After all, if it were... as simple as corpses being animated, then one would expect to gradually reduce their numbers. Time would help with that, if nothing else. Speaking wholly as an ignorant new arrival to this problem... it would seem to make sense that there are one or more motive forces behind this. Now... given that we're already dealing with physical shards of an angry deity bound up in bone, further suppositions spring to mind..."

Merrisol looks at Lisette attentively, prompting her to share those suppositions, although for context he offers, "Yes, there has been confirmation from the goddess herself that she has existed since ancient times, when Minos was a different land. There was a cataclysmic event back then called The Sundering, which shattered Minos and cast bits and pieces into the Shadows. These shell-like bones called to Minosians from the lineage of Rilga - the Storm-blooded - out to shadow to retrieve them and bring them to Minos. They are connected to the Goddess, therefore our thought is they represent broken bits lost throughout Shadow, until now." He pauses there, so she can consider those details and see what fits in with her ideas.

Lisette nods slowly, brow creasing pensively. "And... were there other deities? Children? Major servants? Perhaps a psychopomp? If the realm's guide for dead spirits - or the guide responsible for the mainland - were to have been slain, or trapped, then so might the spirits of those who died there. With him, and forever after, if the realm requires the guide to escort them. Or it could be a conscious act of vengeance, or..."

Merrisol reaches across to a basin and wets a cloth to clean his hands. He frowns, "The thought had occurred to me, that the undead themselves might have come into being by way of the cataclysm. The Sundering. That their inability to pass beyond the veil might be a deliberate move.. an act of an angry goddess - or, due to a dysfunctioning pantheon? No, those thoughts are new to me.. possibly to the Feldanes too. According to Lord Robert, their efforts have been to withstand the undead, not to understand them." He tosses the cloth into a bin and crosses his arms, head lowering in thought. "There are other deities in Minos, yes. This goddess has admitted to their existence.. grudgingly. It suggests that whoever they are, they are not allies working together."

"That does raise another obvious option - or... obvious to this particular outsider, at least," Lisette says. "That the cataclysm was deliberately engineered, or at least exploited, by a power seeking to bring about this situation. That could provide the motive force, and the explanation for why there does not seem to be an end to the undead. And to maintain such an effect over this length of time... divine power would seem to fit. Though I'd note that it might not be //conscious// use of it, if more than one deity were shattered into fragments."

Merri listens... then emits a low rumbling sigh. "I'd like to whittle some feasible options away before they start piling up too high. However.. as for the notion of a subversive element, or a concentrated effort, to create the Minos of today.." He thinks a moment more. "Well, Stormy has made it clear she is bitterly angry at Storm-bloods for some as yet unknown offense, probably from long ago. She could not say definitively they caused the Sundering, but. If you squint, you /could/ see a motive behind the way Minos is nowadays. Gods, possibly any who could rule the realm, in strewn fragments, while the Storm-born rule the Sea. A mainland, possibly holding secrets to the past, made 'impossible' to penetrate by endless undead.." He stops himself there with a deep breath, and glances with mild apology to those present, mostly Lisette. "Some theories, the darker ones particularly, get to sounding so real. I'm thankful that on that scorecard, I tend to be wrong."

Lisette offers a low, slightly bleak laugh. "I can sympathise there. And I must apologise for being unable to divine answers, myself. As a seer, I am of decidedly limited use. I know a great deal more about... theory and possibility, rather than definite ways of determining facts. Problems - or disasters - I tend to have to assess face to face, sadly. Which can be a rather dangerous approach."

Merrisol looks like he understands, though he says decidedly, "Personally, I do enjoy a good brainstorm and exchange of ideas. Followed by the head-on approach. Don't much recommend the other way around, though." It's hard on the head. That said, he glances towards the guest room, then shakes his head. Perhaps he can hear the half-brothers bickering. "I'm going above to speak to the Captains of the other ships. Perhaps we will come up with a strategy to clear away a path from the shore. After all, there are the storm walls to consider. If they run across the land as well, they are likely keeping most of the population at bay."

"Now that's an interesting idea," Lisette concedes cheerfully. "For my own part... I'll tuck into what's down here, I think. I have the impression I might not get too many chances to relax with good food and a drink, on this journey." She raises her current drink to Merrisol, cracking a grin.

Merri hadn't noticed Lisette wasn't eating yet. None of it is poisoned. Really. Ignore the mess hall ghosts who are obviously dead of malicious applications of strychnine to their porridge. He smiles again. "Oh we're not that bad, Lady Lisette. Whatever else can be said about our penchant for misadventure, we do make sure to pack a lunch."

* * * * * * * * * *

Quinlan is up in the bow of the ship. Keeping to himself at present, and a bit spacy to look at; whatever he's focused on, it's not people.

While waiting for Robert and Quinlan to finish examining the skull bone and/or needling one another, Merrisol had gone away to Rebma to tackle the next undersea stop in his aggressive campaign to get the noble houses to send overstocked inventory to Amber. Sometime later, he trumps Maggie to request a pull-through back to the ship. On his study desk in the submersible, he appears to have gathered a little collection of artisan works, the ornamental dagger among them.

Maggie spent some time below decks while Robert and Quinlan worked on the two artifacts. She may have trumped off to another ship for a while but returned in plenty of time to pull Merrisol through when the request came. With her firey hair hidden beneath a dark brown kerchief and cap, she plays the part of a deck hand assigned to keep an eye on the ship's Captain. Though, from a distance it might look as though Merrisol has attracted the attention of a brunette.

Quinlan gestures to Maggie as she turns up on deck and near enough to see one. "Can you smell it?" he asks.

Merrisol has a surprise visitor to bring through with him from the close airtight quarters undersea to the open deck and heady sea breeze. It's Brigsby Brigolfr! The ghoulish Kite is geared for adventure, his chairmail mended and his sword sharpened. After he clatters on deck with a grunt of greeting to Maggie, Merrisol comes through to close the call. He waves deckhands back reassuringly. "He's fine. He's with me." He turns to go with Maggie towards the bow, trailed by the grim warrior.

RPG: Merrisol declares that he owns this token:
-------------------------------------------------------------------[ ee2 ]----
Author: Gerard Held By: Merrisol
Date: Fri Oct 10 13:47:06 2014 Focus: 0
Title: Brigsby's Honored Service
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Token Description
During the last days of old Kitezh, a squad of Kitezh Berserkers cursed with a state of half-death were awakened by the crew of the Solar Flare. One by one they marched through battle and helfire, through the lands of giants before falling in Hel's Domain as honorable soldiers. To this day only one remains, a ghastly figure of a berseker known as Brigsby Brigolfr who serves as a friend and confidant of the Captain of the vessel that saved him from an ignoble fate.

This token provides no in-combat effectiveness and is color, though the old cursed berserker is a resilient fighter and unswervingly loyal to Merrisol. Should he ever break free of the foul magic that makes him a shadow of what he was, though, who knows what deeds he could perform.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Maggie smiles at Brigsby, "Welcome aboard." With his grunted greeting, Maggie nods once, then turns to walk with Merrisol up to the bow. Hearing Quinlan's query, she slowe, eyes narrowing. Sniff-a-sniffing, she narrows her eyes a hair and begins casting about to find what Quinlan is referring to.

Quinlan points to the storm wall, and then to the mainland. "Focus hard on it. Each one. Tell me what you can smell."

Merrisol listens to the directive, glances between the mages and the mainland. He puts a hand on Brigsby's shoulder and they both back off, as though one or both of them might interfere with Maggie's smelling capabilities. The ghoul is perpetually at least a little stale, after all.

Maggie glances over her shoulder as Merri and Brigsby step back. Her smile for the two is only faintly wry. Turning back, she nods to Quinlan and steps slowly toward the rail. Reaching forward, she rests her hands on the wood, her attention focused on the stormwall extending out over the water. Her eyes close and she inhales slowly, testing the scents. A soft 'huh' sounds and she turns a bit toward the land. Her eyes do not open, for she is following her nose. While Quinlan's nose knows, Maggie's guesses. And then, she frowns, "Wait." Lifting one hand, she leans forward just a little and the sniffing intensifies for a moment or two. "Ah, there. There's something else on the mainland. I mean... There are two somethings. One is like the stormwall's magic and the other isn't."

Quinlan smiles. "Yeah. The ancient magic...the power behind the stormwall, maybe. It's on the mainland, somewhere. So we *do* need to go there. But that other magic on the mainland is going to be *trouble* for us. It smells viral. And a magical contagion is probably way past the ability of a hazmat suit to block."

Merrisol observes from his own range, squinting at the fog, then going back to focus on Maggie and Quinlan in turn. His curiosity intensifies over Maggie's findings, but he waits for Quinlan's clarification before he dares get more excited. "Aren't undead magically created, by definition..?"

A frown furrows between her brows and her eyes open. She is focused on the mainland, her gaze searching, "Man, Quinlan. Do you suppose a magical virus of some sort is what is causing the undead infestation?" She darts a troubled smile over her shoulder at Merrisol, nodding, "I think so? But, I am not sure." Her gaze strays back and her hands half tighten on the railing, "So. Yeah, we have to go to the mainland, but how will we keep from being killed by the undead and safe from infection?"

"The power of life and death is outside what you might call traditional magic," says Quinlan slowly. "At least, traditional magic as Pathi teaches it. They're forces in their own right, with more complex rules to them than, say, earth or fire. So...the blunt answer is, 'I don't know'. I don't think any power of Feldane causes *contagious* undeath. A magical disease, warping *life*, would be the province of Mandrake - and they'd have their hands full with it, too. So...I don't know. But I'm pretty sure whatever it is, is trouble for us."

Maggie inhales more deeply, then reaches up to rub the base of her nose as though to stop a sneeze or scratch a persistant tickle. "Um. So... That is what you smell? A life-warping magical disease?" She sidles a glance over toward her cousin, then looks back as her hand lowers. "So, why don't the Feldanes here get some help from the Mandrakes? Or are they and I just don't know it?"

Quinlan shakes his head. "I don't know 'life warping'. My nose isn't THAT good. Yet, anyway. I just smell magical contagion. Whatever's going on has a viral component. But as it's very difficult to defend against magical contagion, it's going to be trouble. Feldane *may* know more, because yes. Feldanes and Mandrakes have much better senses than I've got, when it comes to the spheres of their power. But...life and death aren't binary states, either. There's a lot of overlap, I've found."

Brigsby has been standing by stoically, his pale gaze betraying no discomfort or affront that there's basically a summit on death, life, and the un-fabulous states in-between occurring before him. Merrisol has long since ascertained that being a ghoul has not blessed Brigsby with any special insight into the matter, so he only glances to the side once before saying, "Lord Robert said they had powerful operatives at Whitehold, and they've been holding the horde at bay. Their magic must have at least partial effect on the individual. There must be some manner of death in these things, even if the virus is alive and well."

Maggie nods, her frown deepening, "I'm not happy about going ashore or sending anyone else for that matter. Not until we know more about it, Quin. Robert is below, right? Sleeping, or something? I'll send a bird to Amy and see if she can come give us a hand. Probably from the safety of the ship, though. At least to start." Turning, she nods to Merrisol, though her frown remains. For an instant, her gaze slips to Brigsby and she looks momentarily sympathetic and sort of chagrined. But she does continue, "I still wonder why the Mandrakes haven't been called in to help. I would think that if they can find a way to magically cure the magical virus, the Feldanes would have a better chance of gaining headway. Anyway. Maybe Amy and Robert can figure it out."

Quinlan smiles a bit wryly. "House rivalry?" he suggests. "The Houses are all very proud. And...very territorial. In some ways Mandrake's the *most* territorial. Possibly because of the dragon aspect. But by no means are they alone in that." He shrugs. "And frankly...maybe they don't know about the viral component. Feldane's power is in death, not magic in general. If Feldane says 'it's Zombies', who's really going to argue with that?"

Merrisol mulls it over, the strangeness of the overall concept. "But.. if it is a contagion that could harm the living, the Feldanes and their servants on Whitehold would surely have had an outbreak by now. Or for that matter, upon any ship's crew that might have ever ventured unknowingly to shore in the past hundreds of years. Nothing but myth and rumour is present along the rest of the coastline to stop treasure-hunters or ignorant merchants from the Circle from stopping by."

After a bit of a search, Maggie's questing ands find a bit of parchment and a pen in her pockets. Moving forward a bit, she smooths the parchment against the railing and begins to write a note on it. Her expression remains sort of grim, though it softens toward a smile at a turn of phrase, or the thought of seeing her gentle, but powerful, ocusin again soon. "Mm." Looking over to Quinlan, she nods, "I can understand that. It is possible that, in seeing the issue as purely an undead problem, the Feldanes have unknowingly cut themselves off from real collaborative help." Looking up at the mainland again, she pauses in writing, then bends again to finish it. Tucking the pen away, she lifts her hand. A parrot, the colors of emeralds and fire swoops in with a squack. It has few delicately sea-green feathers over its heart. After securing the note, she sends the bird off. It flapps its wings a few times, sending wafts of sea-salt touched air over the railing before spiraling up and up and away. Turning to Merrisol, she considers that for a long moment, her gaze focusing on him, "Well. I can't speak to that, really. Other than to say that the tales of the dangers on the mainland are pretty ingrained into Captains around here. At least, from what I remember. Sea Captains are a bit of a superstitious lot and anything that smacks of ill luck is to be avoided."

Quinlan nods. "It's a magic contagion," he repeats. "It doesn't have to follow the normal viral rules. And probably doesn't. I can't tell from here what the rules it operates by are; I can only smell 'contagious'."

Merrisol gets close to the rail now that the official sniff-testing is over. He leans out to scan the shore for anything.. anything indicating the fate of previous landing parties. "I will at least take a look at the state of things underwater. Ships battle.. they hit bad patches.. they go down. The survivors swim to shore, perhaps never to depart. What if the magic is upon the land itself.. like a curse that affects any who come into contact? Is that a possibility in the definition of 'contagious magic'?" He turns as as he hears the squawk, and watches Maggie sending the distinctive bird winging away, with a disquieted expression. Any minute now, he's going to get hails from the other ships over that.

Maggie watches the bird fly up and off for a few moments before she looks down again, "Still. Even so. I'll feel better having someone with us who is used to dealing with contagions. Even if it does not behave the way a non-magical one does, Amy will have some good ideas on how to begin, I would think." Flickering a glance over at Merrisol, she notes his expression but initially assumes she knows why he looks disturbed. Her frown returns as she moves to lean against the railing and look out over the water, "I... want to say it isn't the land. Or not... all of the land. If the land itself was contageous, then the water near the land might carry the virus. then the water farther out and farther out and so on. We have not had reports of schools of undead fish near here. Or of rotting, undead deep sea things. No, I rather think it is something inland." Looking up, she tries that sniffing again, but shrugs, "I can't tell if it is concentrated in a specific direction from here. Can you, Quin?" That is when she recalls the cant of Merrisol's head when she noted his expression. Her gaze shoots up toward where the bird vanished, then over to Merrisol and toward the ships trailing the Dancer. "Oh. Dang it." After she covered her hair and everything.

Quinlan smiles at that. "Maybe she'll consent to teach me," he says quietly. "Maybe. If word doesn't get back to Celeste about it." He nods toward Merrisol. "Yeah. That's a possibility. I'd suggest, though, poking at any accounts you can of people that've actually been to the mainland. Did they come back? Did they not? Did something happen? Any similarities in the accounts could be very revealing. If the captains will talk about it." At Maggie's suggestion, he returns his attention to the mainland, closing his eyes and sniffing deeply.

Merrisol meets Maggie's look of realization with hardly any sign of reproach, and if there are trace amounts, he's way more slaphappy and sanguine over it than anything. "All they know is your bird was here. It means you're closing in. It's what we want." He flashes her a warm smirk and actually Maggie's her with her own patented 'it's all good' wink. Timing's not the greatest, but that's just how they roll. "I'm going to get Brigsby a room below for now, then go deal with the Captains.. I'll ask about what they've heard supporting the whole mainland legend, while I'm at it."

Maggie's smile warms at Merrisol's reaction to her flub-up with the bird. She blushes just a bit at the wink, her eyes dancing Merri-ly. "Oh, good point. And yes we really do. More than a little." She is wearing crew-type clothing, the fire of her hair lost beneath a brown kerchief and cap. There is a reason for it! Probably. And she rolls with it. She's good at that. Nodding, she turns her gaze to Brigsby. What does one say to a ghoul? Good night? Sleep well? No. "Please let us know if you need anything." Other than death in glorious battle, right? Her gaze flickers to Merrisol, then over to Quinlan. Quin is sniffing at the mainland. Something Maggie was doing earlier. And might just do again. First things first. Looking back to Merrisol, she adds, "I will need to deal with Friendly. Soon." Code? Maybe.

Speaking of birds, one comes toward the ship that is entirely unreal. It looks like an illumination from a Kite parchment, or one of the few books out of Lyonesse before the Sinking that survived; a glorious bird of brilliant knotwork and many colors. Quinlan smiles as it approaches, raising an arm for it to land and give its message before it flies off again. "Robert," he says by way of explanation to the others, and unfolds the message. The smile fades to one of puzzlement. "Uh. He says he needs to see the other ...thing. The heart one. Because it's not bone, it's not linked at all with death. It's *sculpted seashell*."

Merrisol catches that from the stairs as he leads Brigsby to the deck and starts towards the below corridor hatch. "Lord Robert's not on the ship anymore? Well.." Fooey. That shell could be anywhere now. On the plus side, the ghoul is safe from him. "If he needs a ride into Alhambra, we can arrange it with Ryika. Or, I suppose she can bring the heart to him," he suggests over his shoulder. A flickering black flag is crawling up the mast of one of the ships a ways off the starboard bow, distracting Merri at that point. He waves to it, offering some clear hand signals to the spyglass watcher on board, and continues on his way below with Brigsby.

Maggie notes the black flag being hoisted by one of the nearby ships. She inhales deeply, then releases it as she turns away from the flag to face the mainland. There are storms in her eyes, though the do not seem to be as focused as those in the wall of weather around the islands. Looking up, she watches Robert's bird sail down to deliver that message to Quinlan, "Now... that is a pretty bird." Hearing the results of Robert's investigation, she frowns, "Huh. Well. Would you let him know that one of us will be glad to put him in touch with Ryika? The heart is with her. Or, I can trump and let him..." But, she gets that distracted look of someone being trumped, "Uh. Just a sec. Hello?" Listening, she lifts a brow, then holds up a hand, "One sec..." Without losing the connection, she adds, "Quin? I need to go deal with this. Will you please let Kerf know that I will be back, please?" Then back to the conversation with the air, "No. I will come through." Glancing over her shoulder, she looks as though she would rather head downstairs than go through the connection. But, duty, of a sort, calls. "Uh..." She makes a silent vow that words left unspoken due to necessity will find voice another day. "See you all soon." And then she accepts the transfer and is gone in a shimer of rainbow sparkles, two-dimensional transition and folding of space and time.