Private ✪ Stokbon Abyssal Tales

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Since separating from Lucia, there would be many different possible avenues of researching the story she left behind for Chrys. Each one with varying degrees of certification and authenticity.



The official story found in written history tells the tale of Luthor Harken a mad pirate from a few centuries ago. Written almost as a ghost story the tale documents many disastrous raids and the suffering caused by the man's cursed ship named the 'Dreadnoughtilus' from the dread it caused every time it appeared. Literature described the ship as being forged from dark magic and cursed to remain unsinkable so long as it's monstrous captain drew breath. It took a local Governor, an Admiral, another infamous Pirate and a charitable merchant pooling their resources and launching an offensive that finally brought the ship's captain down.

The written history however don't stop there, as the story continues with a tragic detailing of the damages left behind along the coast following Luthor Harken's death. His ship was reportedly seen riding a tidal wave into an innocent village wiping it out and destroying the Governor's villa in the process. In the records it states there were no survivors and the curse of the Dreadnoughtilus is said to be the cause of various tidal based disasters and incidents since.



There was however another more detailed version of the tale that could only be found by the occasional tavern bard or elder in small coastal villages of Stokbon. It was a more tender story that told the tale of a family man Luthor Harken who had been a brave naval officer who lost his wife and daughter in a disaster while serving. In the tale, the devastated Captain quits the Navy and instead retires to watch over the village where his family was buried until a new trouble struck. A corrupt official given their post by a noble seeking to gain a little more profit began hiking taxes and troubling the locals with increasingly outrageous demands after the fishing industry collapsed.

Rather then suffer in silence the people wanted to rise up but Luthor talked them down, instead bringing them to an island out in Stokbon's bay area where the waters were too shallow for large monsters but deep enough to deter the officials from chasing them. There Captain Luthor Harken took on the mantle as a man of the sea once more, this time, with a ship blessed by the Sirens of the seas after seeing him go through the trouble of exhuming his family to make sure they weren't separated from the villagers they loved. From that moment on, Luthor became a man not lured to the rocks by sirens but cheered on and encouraged by them as he set out to sea fighting for the village's future.

Able bodied men and women of all ages joined him at sea, at first in a humble craft but as time passed, their humble ship had developed and grown into a behemoth of a combat vessel to put food on the table. Luthor struck a deal with a merchant from the mainland, in exchange for food and resources, he would raid the merchant's competition only and harass the pirates to keep them at bay. For a time, this life was perfect for Luthor, even old and gray he remained every bit the legendary officer as he led battles personally cleaving through waves of enemies and heroically baring the brunt of the enemy's counter attacks to protect the crew that had become his new family.

It was only when the Merchant that Luthor once trusted to keep his end of the deal, had betrayed him that disaster struck. Now rich from Luthor's efforts, the merchant became greedy, looking to leverage Luthor's capture for a political position of his own when the Governor retired. The Governor himself wanted to end Harken for all the headaches he'd caused, while the Navy admiral was full of rage for the man haunting his ships like a ghost and the local pirates were fed up of the privateer limiting their operations. The four joined hands and ambushed Luthor during his normal supply run.

The ambush wasn't heroic, there were no grand charges or passionate exchanges of blows. It was quiet and solemn as Captain Luthor Harken surrendered the moment he realized the odds were against them. After losing his wife and daughter, he didn't want to lose his crew as well and agreed to go without struggling as long as his crew were spared. The agreement was easily accepted, Luthor Harken was such a figure that the only way they could finish him was by convincing him to die for the sake of his family and he was quickly hanged somewhere far from the water's edge to prevent the Sirens from interfering.

The story didn't stop there though, so enraged were the Sirens that the ship Luthor Harken once Captained refused to give up. His crew he died to protect swore an oath on it's deck, that they would not rest until they got revenge for the man who was like a second father for him.

They swore they would not stop until they had revenge.

The first battle occurred in the pirate's nest and continued without pause into Stockbon's bay. Blasting pirate ships and naval ships alike to the bottom of the sea it was in these chaotic skirmishes that the Ship's Cannoneers died one by one, refusing to leave their posts with bloodshot eyes they kept firing as the ship burned around them even as their bodies burned. The powder monkeys soon followed, in an explosive end as they refused to stop dropping depth charges to slow their pursuers until one shot happened to ignite their barrels.

The combat didn't stop even in the bay. As they neared the city the Shipwrights died below deck, hammering nails and planks down furiously refusing to quit even as the water kept pouring in. Even when they ran out of boards they used each other's bodies gritting their teeth as they tried to use every ounce of strength to keep the waters at bay until they finally drowned. As the ship was falling apart, the 1st mate refused to slow the ship crashing it through the dock and running the ship aground until he died from the ship falling apart and the deck and mast falling around him to ensure no one could stop it from reaching it's destination.

From there, the tale continued with the Ship hands fleeing the wreckage with weapons and hoarse screams as they ran aground attacking the few officers who weren't on ships. They died fighting their way up to the Governor's villa as the miscellaneous workers charged through the gates. Even in their final moments, the Navigator himself thrust one of his sharp cartographer's tools into the governor's neck as he himself bled out from his own injuries while the Quartermaster perished with the Admiral trading blow for blow before dying with dozens of weapons buried in his body.

The tale says that everything was covered up, a secret shame hidden by the local aristocracy because it stained their honor for a single ship to have caused as much devastation as it did, it was easier to write it off as black magic wiping out a town and villa. The stories always hint at the end though that even with the crew dead, their oath remains just as strong as it was the day they made it. That the ship, the 'Dreadnoughtilus' can still from time to time be seen out in the bay like a ghost on foggy nights circling the coast... searching... waiting... because the Ship refused to sink to the afterlife without the entire crew on it's back to greet their loved Captain on the other side.



The deeper one dove, the more one could uncover. From which island they all called home after fleeing to the sandy wasteland that was the governor's city where his villa once stood. There were numerous sightings of the 'Dreadnoughtilus' on particularly foggy nights and from time to time there was an occasional story about how the ship would appear and battle creatures from the deep that got brave enough to stretch their tendrils into the bay areas.

Among the many smaller points of info one could uncover was a passenger manifesto from the time it was a Privateering vessel. Among them the Captain's name 'Luthor Harken' was written every bit as boldly as the man spoken of in the story. Towards the bottom of the manifest though, almost inconsequentially was another name that was easy to write off if you weren't specifically looking for it. A small note of a Cabin Boy named 'Emerson Hope'.

@Chrys
 
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WICKED’S REST
Tavern and Funeral Parlor

《⋯《 ⋯ ❖ ⋯ 》⋯》
Adventurers Guild

Wicked's Rest Tavern (and Funeral Parlor)
Chrys heaved a sigh, his amber eyes drifting toward the wisps of smoke that were blown off from the cup of tea that he had forgotten was still held in his one hand. That’ll do, I suppose.

He felt the warmth emanate from the drink, as if reminding him that his mind needed to come home for now. Enough wandering. Rest yourself. And all that stuff.

❝ So, you know what to do, right? ❞



The geomancer gently placed his lips on the rim of his teacup, slowly savoring the heat of the leaf-infused liquid within. One quick taste was all he needed, and he felt much-needed calm wash over his entire body, from his head to his toes. That’s the spot...

Chrys took several seconds more to relish in the taste, the bitterness and the sweet that followed, before turning toward the only other person in his establishment.

❝ ‘Course. You know how much I need, yeah? ❞



The happy-go-lucky faerin gave him a bright smile as barely noticeable tiny things fluttered around his tiny head. Like a crown of bees, only these weren’t bees. They were smaller, hard to actually see. A well-coordinated swarm that gave him a moving halo, one that Chrys found hard to resist swatting. But resist, he did.

❝ Always. I appreciate the help. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be able to cover the entirety of Stokbon on all my own. ❞


❝ Yeah, yeah… You’re lucky I got bored and came back. I’m off, Rocky. ❞


❝ Don’t get stepped on, bug boy. ❞



The faerin shook his head, letting out a chuckle, and turned around to leave. With a hand waved in the air, he was soon gone.

All alone, Chrys continued sipping his tea, his eyes never leaving the door from where the faerin disappeared. Hmm, I hope those things don’t bite.


The Swarmkeeper
Astra Alpha

Alderein entered yet another tavern, hoping this time would be his last. How many taverns has he visited, how many villages in the coasts around Stokbon has he ventured into, only to come up empty handed?

Whoever Luthor Harken was, whatever the Dreadnoughtilus was, the information Chrys wanted seemed to elude him.

Fortunately for the geomancer, and Alderein himself, he was enjoying the role of a detective.

❝ Greetings, my friends! I am looking for anyone with a tale to share regarding a man of the seas and his ship! Has anyone hearken a Harken? ❞


The faerin let out a chuckle. He thought he was being funny.

He thought wrong. No one, aside from him that is, laughed. Most of them just stared at him while the rest didn’t even pay him any attention. Was it because he was tiny?

Nah, it must be because of his crowd work. Rather, it must be because these seaside stinkers have no sense of humor. Yikes, tough freaking crowd, eh?
@Lucia
 
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The bar mostly kept to itself, all grizzled and salty folks who usually kept to themselves. It was difficult to really get them to open up as an outsider. They'd largely rather just keep drinking away whatever surplus they earned out fishing.

After a few asks though the one that stood out would be a nearby card player, an older man who no doubt spent most of his day in the tavern just enjoying his elder years chatting with others. Harken was a name that rang in his ears clearly.

"I remember tales of a Harken. Musta been back as a little one hearing stories from my Grandad before me."

All it took was the dam breaking for another to chime in with a small laugh.

"Ah, the ghost stories for kids huh? Nobody's hauling away naughty children for not doing chores though."
"Aye, ain't the same for us fishermen tho dealing with the Maelstrom though."
"Not like it'll fall you into the day, do your fishing in the mornin and you won't find any trouble."


A debate naturally formed. The bartender's eyes rolled as things got rowdier over time. These things happened regularly, the Dreadnoughtilus would come up somehow or someone would complain and the ship would eventually find it's way into the conversation somehow.

Some shared stories their families talked about, stories of the individual crew members and their final moments, others cut in with epics about the final battle and fighting against a navy and pirate fleet alone. It was a topic that once it started would revolve and roil like stormy waters until all of the folktales were out in the open.

It was only once everyone's complaining died down that the fishermen would gradually raise heavier protests.

"Someone should do something. If it weren't for the ship we'd be able to fish later at night."
"And get eaten by something bigger that it's keeping outta the bay."
"Bah, what do you know, monsters could be in league with one another."
"And what, you think you're just going to boat out there during the witching hour and tell them to leave?"


There were rounds of laughter and mockery but no one was really willing to head out there to confront the ship alone with all of the stories and tales.

Even the landing where all of the battles happened, the ruines of the Governor's villa and the small village it was relegated to being a taboo and cursed area. Cursed by the public reports who said it was destroyed by black magic, but taboo because the grudge of the crew still remains due to Luthor Harken's hanging in the town square.

In the zeal and heat of the discussions Alderein would be able to come to the conclusion there were 2 good options for finding out more, either the ruins of the town, or the Dreadnoughtilus itself.
 
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The Swarmkeeper
Astra Alpha

Alderein’s bug-like eyes zeroed in on the old man, as his swarming halo skittered and buzzed all over his head. An ecstatic smile found its way to his lips, relieved that he had finally found someone who knew something.

It had been a long and arduous journey. Now it is finally over. All he had to do was— Ghost stories?

Realizing he might’ve spoken all too soon, the faerin turned toward the interjector, a little deflated.

Wait, hauling naughty children away? That bit made him think. Chrys had been scarce with details but wouldn’t that be something that would wet his rocky whistle? Diddly-finite-diddly!

He had just taken a step toward that man’s direction when the entire tavern suddenly erupted with different accounts, some more interesting than others, though most were ultimately disproving.

Was Alderein actually on a wild goose chase? Would be a weird way for that guy to spend his remaining gold! Surely, Chrys would find better ways to lose all his money. But maybe Alderein just found a better way to gain more money!

Without even thinking about it, he raised his hand in the air, an instinct he had developed through the years dealing with taller creatures as a faerin himself.

❝ I could do something about it! ❞



The faerin let out a chuckle, though this time, it was out of nervousness. What the hell was he doing? He was one guy. If these fishermen wouldn’t rise up against a monster, what chances did he have, smol as he is.

❝ I mean, if I had a crew? ❞



❝ And anyone else who could enlighten me as to what I would be facing and stuff? ❞



❝ I just have a few more questions, but I am an adventurer, and I am very good at what I do! ❞


He beamed.

To his credit, he was good enough. But was he good enough to get this specific job done, to face this monstrosity and help the fishermen, all so he could get the information he was hired to do?

Maybe the ruins would be a much better option. It might be boring, but no one ever got mauled doing something boring. Eh, I’d rather not be that one guy who expired on the potty.
@Lucia
 
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The moment he offered to do something, the bar immediately beamed. They were mostly visibly thrilled and eager that someone would finally do something about that ship. Unfortunately the follow up about the crew caused them to immediately dodge his eyes if he happened to look across the tavern for help.

Most would find it hard to blame them. They wanted help with these horrors sure, but few were willing to stick their own neck into the guillotine. The reason being that they were raised amidst it's terror, Luthor Harken was their boogie man, their monster that went bump in the night. The things associated with him might as well be some type of eldritch nightmare it was so beyond their scope.

It was only those who were too old to really be of any help or too old to have any hope of travel that did speak up in an effort to explain.

"You'll find... In the ruins durin the day's not so bad. Just a broken and burnt up town, if'n you seen war, you've seen it 'fore."

As the older fisherman explained the others nodded along a bit more relieved. If it was during the day when there was no danger, that was a bit less frightening, as eerie as the place was during the day at least the terrors couldn't reach them.

"If you plan to be there between 12 and 3 though... You'll find... well--"

The old man spoke, hesitating, stammering but he wasn't alone.

The bar grew quiet briefly as spectators gulped and others tried to pretend to be drinking to fill the silence. The sweat on most of the seafarer's brows was visible as the old man chose his words carefully.

"The place ain't right boy. For us folk, that night ended same as any other, but... for them, that night's still happening during the witching hour. Every night, those poor souls relive that bloodbath."
"The Grudge of the Dreadnoughtilus won't let them rest, the Siren's curse still lingers."
"Everyday those stupid bastards fight for their lives against an outcome that's predetermined, unable to break the cycle and unable to stop Harken's crew."
"It's why nobody's trying to rebuild it, anyone in town during the night gets dragged into the madness."


The tavern goers spoke back and forth with Alderein but it was all forth or even fifth hand accounts. Now adays few tread through that ruin because of the stories brought out by others who ventured in in decades past. Those few survivors who did know intimate details were likely already too old to retell what they'd seen to fresh ears by now.

When it came to the ship though, their answers were even more evasive.

"Only one returned from the Dreadnoughtilus boy... Getting to close to it is already a nightmare with their pet creature in it lurking just out of sight."
"If'n you could make it past the 'Hermit' you might be able to board, ain't none but one made it back after--"
"Would need a blindingly fast boat, or to fly to make it... that beast might not be quick but it's big."


They tried warning him about the boat itself at sea. Much like the village it only seemed accessible during the hours between 12 and 3 but it was much more terrifying then the town. If asked about the survivor the group would laugh lightly.

"Strange girl she was, quite a bit older'n you. Had her face wrapped up in bandage, musta been burned pretty bad with the raspy voice she had."
"Eerie though, somethin not quite right with her either. Little unhinged but could throw back a bottle of the tough stuff like it was water."
"Been a while since she's been around though. As it was, didn't look like she had much longer to live with how shake-y she was on the peg leg. When she went we didn't think she'd come back but sure as shit, she came back lookin not worse for ware."


The group was still a little mystified by that particular anomaly. The dreadnoughtilus was anomalous to the point that if anything having to do with it did end up 'normal' that in and of itself would be bizarre.

That being said, the sailors and fishermen didn't try to dissuade Alderein from either course of action, whether it was the ship or the town, both were mostly public knowledge to the local sailors. Both equally disturbing even if the town was acknowledged as being the much safer of the two anomalies to explore.
 
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The Swarmkeeper
Astra Alpha

The faerin’s interest was piqued by the old man’s words, Alderein’s bug-like eyes steady on him as he spoke, clinging on every syllable that slipped out of that ancient mouth. He had seen towns post-war, all reduced to cinders and ash, but never personally. All that he had seen were secondhand images, from stories of other adventurers to images he’s scanned from the news and other such sources. 12 and 3?

The silence made Alderein frown, and as he looked throughout the bar, he could sense the shared awkwardness between the locals, especially the fishermen. Before he could think up on anything, the old man spoke again, and his bug-like eyes returned to him once more, like moths to a newly lit flame. G-g-g-ghosts?!

❝ I can fly! ❞



The faerin interrupted, the thought seemingly very important to him, though he quickly realized he needed more important information to truly prepare himself for the horrors that could await him.

❝ But you must tell me about this Hermit, and this pet creature, what are they like? What do they look like? What can they do in a fight? ❞



Alderein swallowed air, gulping at his own questions. He needed to be prepared, yes, but was he prepared to hear the answers to those questions? What manner of monstrosity had scared silly men like this, he could only imagine. What he didn’t need to imagine was the size of the supposed beast, as the old man made it clear to him that it was… ...dummy thicc!

Speaking of dummy thicc, Alderein questioned them about the survivor, hoping they might be able to help as well. But her being wrapped in bandages, as well as accounts of having been burned and not having long to live, did not inspire him that much. Still, he had to try. Well, he didn’t have to but he was already here, so what was the point of going back to that rockhead empty-handed?

❝ Does anyone know where Bandage Lady lives? I’d like to pay her a visit myself. Maybe find her a doctor or some such? ❞



Whatever doctor he could find, he knew would be of no help. Alderein just wanted to see for herself the bandaged lady, ask her some questions that may be of help to his cause, and if anything, share her answers to his patron for whatever use he may find them to be. Maybe Chrys can make more sense of all this than me…
@Lucia
 
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For a moment the group was so taken aback that the boy could fly it took a while for them to get over the surprise before exchanging looks. They were subtly trying to weigh whether or not it might actually be something that could make a difference, odds were good of at least making it to the Dreadnoughtilus if you could fly after all.

"Well... The Hermit is the creature kid, we don't really know much about it, is just what we been calling it seeing it freak out during the witching hour."
"If'n you get too close to that ship when it sails the bay, it suddenly lashes out."


They tried to explain the best they could but it was obvious they all had some kind of second hand account rather then any first hand experiences with it. The reason likely because the creature didn't let survivors make it that far. Most of the sightings were no doubt more from people who observed the devastation from afar unable or unwilling to fight off the creature.

"'s hard to say what it is really. Almost like it's made outta every kinda sea creature you could imagine all stuck together. Dunno how it got there or what it's connection is."
"Don't look right though, something off about it whatever kinda creature it might be."


There were conflicting explanations about the creature they called the hermit. Most described it as some kind of crab or crustacean with claws and sharpened points everywhere. Others spoke of it like some kind of giant squid like kraken with tentacles and and a mouth full of teeth. Despite arguing back and forth no one could really peg down just what type of beast it truly was.

Unfortunately bad news got worse though when asking about the bandaged woman the group hesitated. There was a moment of silence of one person looking at another in uncertainty. They were all locals but she was someone they weren't really sure about her origins or who she really was outside of how much she drank or her general appearance. In the end they could only wearily explain.

"I wish we could tell you..."
"Wasn't a local lady that's for sure."
 
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The Swarmkeeper
Astra Alpha

Well, that certainly makes more sense! Alderein nodded as he took the explanation in, his facial features akin to that of someone already thinking up of a master plan. Except Alderein did not have a master plan. At least not yet. What he had was the name of the creature and what not to do should he actually come across it. Do not touch the Hermit then.

It slowly dawned on him that for every information he learned from these folks, he would need to do some actual double checking. Their description of the Hermit was all over the place, making the damned thing a mishmash of this and/or that. Alderein could only imagine what it actually resembled. He had his ideas, being in tune with the arts in the other world. Every good run on the stage warranted a Frankenstein’s monster or two.

❝ Hmm, well, does anyone know when was the last time she was here? Or where she was going or had come from? ❞



It was bad. The Bandage Lady was a good idea. At least Alderein had hoped. But if no one knew anything about her, especially her condition, then the worst case scenario? She was probably already dead, only serving as a meal for maggots six feet under. The faerin scowled, disgusted at the image that came to mind. Ugh, that funeral parlor must be rubbing off on me.

❝ Maybe a familiar accent or some such? ❞



Alderein found himself losing hope in that aspect but he had to try. In his line of work, at least back out there in the real world, accents were a good way to determine someone’s past, their history, who they were in the grand scheme of things. Also they were fun and funny. Or completely useless in this regard. Nevertheless, it was worth a final shot.

❝ Well, I guess I’ll just go out there and find this Hermit all on my tiny lonesome! Auf wiedersehen! ❞



As he chuckled, not unlike the Pillsbury Doughboy, Alderein hoped someone in that tavern would offer him one last useful piece of information. Or some food or drink for his very dangerous adventure. Regardless, he was intent on leaving that place to finally see the Hermit for himself.

On one hand, he could just give that sad funeral parlor guy the information, so that his employer could do the rest of the work.

On the other? He was a world-traveling master troubadour! Surely, he had to see the damned thing for himself. Such a creature with such a story could be his next masterpiece. Or at least a very sustainable meal ticket for weeks and maybe even months to come. Hehehe. This is fine.
@Lucia
 
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