Unknown Seas Mods / NPCs (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
bathymetric) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
unknownseas2021-02-06 01:03 am
bathymetric) wrote in unknownseas2021-02-06 01:03 am
FIRST TRIAL
[ Eventually, time seems to run out. Davy Jones takes a lap around the boat, rather tersely instructing everyone to gather in the theatre.
Once everyone is inside, he herds all of you onto the stage, which has been cleared save for the controls to the elaborate pipe organ built into the room. ]
Step lively, passengers! There's a long ride ahead of ye!
[ And once everyone is on that stage, Davy Jones sits at his organ and begins to play. It's not a familiar song to any of you, and it doesn't sound kind, but it does sound wildly complicated. Or it would be, for someone who can't play with his many tentacles.
As the piece begins, the stage begins to descend. Well, at least the part you're all on, as well as where Jones sits at the organ. And it keeps descending, at least through a few floors before long. The elevator shaft is dark, the music echoing until it fades, the controls apparently too far from the pipe organ above before long. Jones sits in silence as the cramped ride continues. Dull bulbs set into the wall provide just enough illumination to tell where you all are, but the walls are thick steel.
You have to have descended several floors, you imagine, when light starts to creep in at the edges of the platform, along with voices. They sound distant and distorted, but the first thing you hear when the platform breaks into the trial room is men singing, rough and distant.
You can also see the... surprisingly somber room, considering where you are. The walls and floor are all made of glass, allowing you a view of the sea as the ship you now stand on the very lowest deck of pushes through the water. Lights illuminate enough to tell that it is indeed water out there, but the water is perhaps not the most interesting thing out there in the dark.
Below the ship, illuminated by a ghostly aura, sails (for lack of a more fitting word) The Flying Dutchman. If you look closely, sailors more monster than anything else man the deck, and seem to be the source of the song. Davy Jones casts the ship a sad look, then stops a foot on the floor and the song quiets. ]
Take your places, passengers. Ye have this chance alone to find the killer among yer number.
[ In the center of the room stands a circle of sturdy metal podiums. Carmen's seems to be almost... decades older than the rest, coated in rust and barnacles. In the center hangs a circle of screens, currently switched off. ]
If there are questions, I am going anywhere no sooner than the lot of you.
[ Jones moves to look out the window, leaving you all to talk amongst yourselves.
Welcome to your first trial. ]
Once everyone is inside, he herds all of you onto the stage, which has been cleared save for the controls to the elaborate pipe organ built into the room. ]
Step lively, passengers! There's a long ride ahead of ye!
[ And once everyone is on that stage, Davy Jones sits at his organ and begins to play. It's not a familiar song to any of you, and it doesn't sound kind, but it does sound wildly complicated. Or it would be, for someone who can't play with his many tentacles.
As the piece begins, the stage begins to descend. Well, at least the part you're all on, as well as where Jones sits at the organ. And it keeps descending, at least through a few floors before long. The elevator shaft is dark, the music echoing until it fades, the controls apparently too far from the pipe organ above before long. Jones sits in silence as the cramped ride continues. Dull bulbs set into the wall provide just enough illumination to tell where you all are, but the walls are thick steel.
You have to have descended several floors, you imagine, when light starts to creep in at the edges of the platform, along with voices. They sound distant and distorted, but the first thing you hear when the platform breaks into the trial room is men singing, rough and distant.
You can also see the... surprisingly somber room, considering where you are. The walls and floor are all made of glass, allowing you a view of the sea as the ship you now stand on the very lowest deck of pushes through the water. Lights illuminate enough to tell that it is indeed water out there, but the water is perhaps not the most interesting thing out there in the dark.
Below the ship, illuminated by a ghostly aura, sails (for lack of a more fitting word) The Flying Dutchman. If you look closely, sailors more monster than anything else man the deck, and seem to be the source of the song. Davy Jones casts the ship a sad look, then stops a foot on the floor and the song quiets. ]
Take your places, passengers. Ye have this chance alone to find the killer among yer number.
[ In the center of the room stands a circle of sturdy metal podiums. Carmen's seems to be almost... decades older than the rest, coated in rust and barnacles. In the center hangs a circle of screens, currently switched off. ]
If there are questions, I am going anywhere no sooner than the lot of you.
[ Jones moves to look out the window, leaving you all to talk amongst yourselves.
Welcome to your first trial. ]
no subject
[She's going to get a couple kicks in, but her heart doesn't seem super in it after the first bit. She is using a decent amount of strength, though, because she's mad at everything.]
You're pretty strong, and this is the way you chose to go out? Just... knocking somebody overboard and then trying to kill the rest of us in a stupid way and not doing anything to try and stop what's actually happening?
Even if you wanted to screw the rest of us over, that's still pretty low!
no subject
[But- he does glance over in Davy's direction as she's kicking him.]
no subject
[Along with most of their motley little crew; nobody is exactly fond of their involuntary new home, but the important part is the destruction here. She states it matter-of-factly, like most other things she does when it comes to their situation, and she does stop her hits. Not any real meaning in it when he won't hit back.
That, and she sees that look. There's a curt nod.]
I don't agree with what you did, but I'll tell you something: nobody here has fists that are empty. Not you, or Data, or anyone else. Doesn't matter. We can tell, back home and here, when we exchange blows with somebody.
You didn't do this for nothing. So don't let it be for nothing, at least.