The Exarch has invited you on an Envoy Corps team building retreat aboard the Paonga Princess, a rented Nubian Yacht that is currently hovering over the largest ocean of Naboo, a few miles off the coast. The retreat hasn’t started yet and everyone is still arriving. The sun hangs low on the horizon as you mill about on the deck of the ship enjoying some drinks and Hors d'oeuvre waiting for more people to arrive. A few staff are milling about.
Cooking here was easier than a resturant.
It certainly helped they were over the ocean instead of some dry land. The pink-skinned female with soft and pale yellow splotches throughout her body approached the table where there was finger food of different kinds. From different cultures. The foods that involved vegetables and fruits, were easy. Others? It was a challenge and she can only hope she rose to the occasion considering she doesn’t eat them. If one looked at her carefully, the setting of the sun would reveal iridescent scales on her head tendrils.
Those that know of Feeorins and Khils, they could safely assume that she was a hybrid of both.
Inar checked over the food and a soft harmonious wheezed whistled from her hullepi. She looked like she approved of the set up. The staff did well to make sure to slay the appearance and kept it in certain categories. She made sure not to be in the way, so the tall hybrid moved about on the yacht after finally having time to look and explore around a bit.
The sun hung low on the horizon as a breeze swept over the deck of the Paonga Princess, the gentle murmur of conversation and laughter filling the air. Nora Olen, her cerise skin radiant in the fading light, strolled gracefully onto the deck. Her emerald green eyes took in the scene, the excitement of the upcoming retreat palpable.
Approaching the table of finger foods, Nora’s attention was drawn to a pink-skinned hybrid with pale yellow splotches. The setting sun revealed iridescent scales on her head tendrils, a mesmerizing sight against the backdrop of the ocean.
“Quite the spread they’ve put together, isn’t it?” Nora remarked with a warm smile as she joined the hybrid by the table, her fingers lightly tracing the rim of a crystal flute filled with a sparkling beverage.
The hybrid turned towards Nora, a soft harmonious wheeze escaping her. Nora took a sip, savoring the refreshing taste, and then extended her hand in a friendly gesture. “I’m Nora. Pleasure to meet you.”
“Okay, okay, be fine, r-right, be fine, just, fine.”
Grunt.
“Buyer sho-should show up any– anytime.”
Grunt.
Tittering laughter. The sound of the sea below. Engines.
Ugh.
Confirm.
“Soooo-so so so…how’s… your fiance?”
He is not my fiance, Foxen signed so hard that he very nearly punched the spindly Rodian right in the face.
“KARkokayokaysorry, karabast, man, okay, sorry–”
Octave achieved: too fraking high. The Nautolan sighed, pinching the bridge of his flat nose between unblinking red eyes.
Shut up, Heeks. He’s fine. We’re good.
“Right.”
Oh, but dealing with him over text was so much easier. And speaking of Flyndt: to be home, so much more wanted than some stupid party yacht on Naboo where the Brotherhood happened to be hosting team building exercises for one of their branches. Watching Sofila dress herself would almost be preferred to this.
But Heeks had wanted his back watched, and Foxen wasn’t going to leave his ask unanswered. The Rodian was a spineless moron, but he was Foxen’s spineless moron.
And still his best produce supplier/smuggler.
Heeks was standing still so fast it was giving him a migraine by proximity. Foxen huffed, then gently shoved the pirate towards the bar. At least he was dressed well, for once. As if Foxen would let him embarrass them otherwise.
Go get a drink for your nerves. ONE. Drink. Red eyes went to the other patrons.
He had to repeat his gestures and replace them, despite being slow, to get the message across, but after their nearly a decade of cooperation, Heeks knew enough to get it. He gulped and nodded feverishly, scurrying off for liquid nervous system depressant. Foxen followed him in lock step, a significantly larger and broader shadow exuding all the energy and poise of I Am Bodyguard Don’t Frak With This One.
A group of staff members are gathered around the buffet, chatting away as they check on the food, laughing and sharing stories. You overhear a young man telling a ghost story to his companions.
“You’ve never heard of the Lady Pungoas?!” the young man exclaimed. “Apparently, the Lady Pungoas was an ancient ship made of wood and relied on sales. Legend has it that three hundred years ago, this very night, the Lady Pungoas and its entire crew of off-wolders disappeared in these waters while celebrating the honeymoon of their captain Simon Reed.
“Nobody knows exactly what happened to the Lady Pungoas, but some say their ignorance of local superstitions led to their doom and that the ghost of Simon Reed still haunts the ship calling for his wife and capturing any who come aboard.” he paused for effect before laughing. The face of the young woman beside him had gone pale. “But nobody actually believes that! Now, we should get back to work.”
The group gathered up some dirty dishes and made their way below deck.
Inra heard a voice as she glanced over and did a slight nod of her head with a gentle melodious sound. It took her a while to figure out how to greet people without smiling, considering she did not have lips for it. The hand was extended and out of good social gesture, Inra returned the same and grasped Nora’s hand, slightly chaking it before retreating her hand.
“Inra, very nice to meet you.” She was nervous being approached and greeted by a stranger. She paused as her head turned towards the group as they spoke of a ghost story of Lady Pungoas and Simon Reed.
‘Nobody actually believes that!’
Then why is it still a story to tell? Inra mused to herself before turning back to look at Nora.
All is going well; everyone is having a good time. You then spot something in the distance… a large wooden ship floating towards you! It is a fabulous looking ship and you can hear the sounds of a celebration on board. The three of you gather at the side of the yacht, leaning against the railing, nobody but you seems to notice. As you get closer to the ship, a thick mist fills the air. You feel cold, your breath forming in front of you. Before your eyes the ship transforms from something majestic to a floating wreck. You start to feel woozy and before you pass out you see the name of the boat: The Lady Pungoas.
You wake up and know immediately that you are now on the ghost ship, but…something feels strange, wrong. You take a deep breath and reach out, extending your mind and…nothing! There’s something here blocking you from connecting with the Force. You begin to look around the deck and notice that everything here looks ancient. You see some lanterns by your feet. Amazingly they still have oil inside, but you don’t have anything to use to light it. You’ll just have to make do with the moonlight for now.
On the main deck area along the sides of the ship are cannons. Barrels of gunpowder and cannonballs lay on the ground beside the cannon on the port side closest to the bow; maybe you’ll have some fun with that later. In the middle floor is a trapdoor type thing on the floor – maybe used as a brig or storage? Turning towards the rear of the ship you see large doors to the captain’s quarters. On either side of the doors are two staircases that lead up to the helm. Here you find the ship’s steering wheel.
Out of the corner of your eye you keep seeing a blur, but when you go to look at it, it disappears. Maybe it’s the ghost of Simon Reed looking for his wife!
How unique. A different ship. Inra let out a hum of worry if this ship was going to crash into the yacht. There was sounds on board. Oh? They were celebrating something too? She glanced back to the people behind them… they didn’t notice or seem to care. Except for the other two. A Zeltron and a Nautolan. Immeditedly, the cold bothered her more than it should. She started to shiver, her hullepi crossing each other as if an attempt to keep warm. She felt so stiff and her joints hurt. Then she saw black.
Inra woke up shivering as she looked around some more. What… what was going on? She recognize the female Zeltron that she shook hands with earlier and a rather massive and tall Nautolan. By the jellyfish. How much does a being of his size eat per day? Before she could ask if they were okay, something shiny caught her eye and she turned to look at it.
A lantern?
How.. odd to see one here. She reached out, her hand trembling from the stupid cold, and grabbed the lantern for a closer inspection.
Inra’s fingers wrapped around handle of the lantern, raising it for closer inspection. This was an old lantern with a metal frame and glass windows on the sides. There was still oil inside but she’d need to find something to light the wick.
Nora wakes up on the ghost ship, her Zeltron senses tingling. The cerise-skinned adventurer’s eyes flicker open, greeted by the eerie moonlight casting shadows on the ancient deck. A feeling of unease washes over her as she instinctively reaches out to connect with the Force, only to encounter an unusual barrier.
She takes a deep breath and shifts her attention to the trap door on the middle floor. With a curious glance, Nora rises and approaches it.
You can’t open the trapdoor. It isn’t locked with a key or anything like that, but there is a hole and it looks like something needs to go in the hole in order to get the door open. The hole is about the size of a large coin.
The body awoke.
The Foxen has many thoughts and emotions about the current circumstances. The flavor varies in: anger, suspicion, panic, worry for Heeks, and a blaring FLYNDTFLYNDTFLYNDT in response to compromised safety. He sets them all to: ignore as being useless.
Standing, the Nautolan hybrid assessed the surroundings. No sightlines outside visual range limited by cold mist, approximately 15 m out. Water below. Apparition in periphery.
Five months ago he would have disagreed with Flyndt about likelihood of spirits. As of present, he’s shot ghosts in the fraking face. Thanks so much Ethereal Realm. Such a great time.
The Zeltron looks at the trapdoor. The other amphibian in the immediate area shivers and grabs a lantern. Moonlight grants: 34% visibility.
Silent, Foxen approached the doors and inspected visually in case of trap.
Foxen checks the handles on the door and find them locked, the doors themselves are made of a thick ornate wood that appears sturdy, as he pushes on the doors they don’t budge.
As the groups sense return it feels as if something supernatural is blocking you from both access to the Force and making them feel weak. It’s an uncomfortable feeling that they don’t like. They may need work together to figure out a way out of here.
Growling slightly, the Nautolan looked for some sort of keyhole, latch mechanism, or anything that could be used to dismantle the hinges.
Inra held the lantern gently, not wanting to break it. She’ll keep ahold of it until they find something to light it. She walked up by Nora and glanced at the trapdoor. She found it hard to talk with her hullepi shriveled and cold.
Her head tilted up to the steering wheel. Her hullepi unfold and uncurled for a moment, “Thiiiiiiink the steerrrrrriiiing peg fiiiiiit in that?”
<@585955949743964170> <@244244163002892288>
Nora examines the trapdoor, noticing the hole about the size of a large coin. Puzzled, she searches her surroundings for something that might fit. As Inra suggests the steering peg from the ship’s wheel, Nora raises an eyebrow, intrigued by the idea. “Could be worth a try,” she says, traveling up the stairs, her cerise hand reaching toward the steering wheel to investigate
Upon further inspection, Foxen notices a key hole just below one of the door handles. There doesn’t seem to be a key in it at the moment.
Foxen frowned at the keyhole, the grunted, listening to the females discuss. He stepped over and looked to what they were talking about, noting the trapdoor and a mechanism on the front. Then he looked up to the wheel.
He snapped his fingers at the Khil-something, and pointed at the lantern in her grip, grunting in question.
<@216702440140046336>
As Nora climbs the stairs she can see marking on each of the steps. As the Zeltron reached the upper deck of the ship, she approached the wheel.
It looked like a standard ship wheel. Large and sturdy, it was set on a wooden post, on the ground below the wheel she noticed… the skeleton of the long dead helmsman.
Inra was going to follow the Zeltron, until she heard the snapping of the fingers. She turned to look at Foxen and saw him pointed at the lantern.
She looked at the lantern.
“Oooooh. Ooookay.” She handed over the lantern, wondering what he had found.
Well. Sure.
Sighing silently to himself, the Nautolan took the lantern and inspected it. Oil, and it didn’t smell rotten. Likely lightable. But anything he had save his clothes, even his beskar, had been disappeared.
“Hrm,” he grunted, and offered it back. He pointed at his throat, then mouth, and shook his head at her with a significant look. Then he strode over to the cannon, inspecting it and testing its heft and that of the cannon balls, even as he felt weak.
<@379840612788076544>
As Foxen inspected the cannons he noted that there were four cannons on the deck. They all appeared to be identical: the front sticking out over the side of the boat they were on wheels so they could be rolled back. Currently though, they were being held in place with large bolts.
Beside the cannons were barrels of gunpowder and a pile of cannonballs ready to be loaded.
Nora, standing by the ship’s wheel, calls out to the others below. “Hey, Inra, Foxen! I found something up here.” She gestures toward the wheel and the skeletal remains of the long-dead helmsman.
While waiting for a reply from the others, Curiosity got the better of her, Nora crouched down to examine the skeletal remains by the ship’s wheel.
This skeleton looks like it has been here for a while. The bones are white and the clothes are nothing more than rags. The position of the skeleton suggests that he died face down. Searching what used to be his pants, you find a pocket watch. It’s a pretty nice heavy, silver pocket watch. It doesn’t run anymore, but you can still spin the dial to set the time.
The Nautolan looked up at the call, but didn’t immediately move to go see. Instead, he looked over the barrels more closely, again seeming to inspect for any trapping mechanism, then plunged his arm into one and began digging around in the gunpowder, searching for anything hidden– like door keys.
Dozen’s hands dug deep into the barrel, the fine black powder spilling out over the edge as he dug deeper and deeper. The search for keys appeared to be futile.
Grunting, Foxen shook his arm off carefully and turned away from the barrel. Loading the cannons could be inspected next. He went to see what the others had found.
As the group continued their inspection of the derelict ship, a soft moaning sound could be heard. Was it the groaning of the boat? The sound of the wind? Or was that…words?
Foxen paused on the steps up to the wheel to listen.
Inra took the lantern back and watched his gesture.
Oh.
OH kist. So he’s a mute. Okay. That was fine. She gave him a nod to show that she understood what he was telling her as Foxen left to investigate the gunpowder. That would be perfect for fire to light up the lantern… but there was still nothing to spark it. Inra heard Nora’s voice and followed as she grimaced at seeing the skeleton. Well, it couldn’t been that long. Skeletons on the ocean with this much humidity and exposure to the weather would be quicker to dissolve. While Nora was checking the skeleton, she did not want to disrespect the bones so she cautiously stepped away and went towards the canons. Maybe there would be something to light the lantern up. She checked outside and inside the canon, ignored her shivering while her hullepi stayed curled up.
As Inra inspected the cannons a little closer she noted that they looked clean and unused, but functional. If they could find some way to ignite the gunpowder, they could fire these cannons. Beside the cannons was a rack holding a half dozen cannon balls, there didn’t appear to be any markings or anything strange about them. Just regular cannonballs to defend the ship.
The sounds seemed to fade away as the Naulolen paused to listen, his feet resting on the scratched wooden surface of the stairs.
Foxen huffed in irritation, looking over his shoulder to see the Khil hybrid inspecting the cannons also. Good. He finished climbing up and regarded the skeleton and the Zeltron, cocking his head at her. He pointed at the watch she held. <@585955949743964170>
Inra let out a small sound that sounded like she was uncertain.
“Wait.” She stumbled as she ran to Foxen and looked a the stairs. Placed the lantern safely aside, she started to inspect the stairs. Why would they be scratched up?
As Inra inspected the starboard side stairs Foxen stood on, she could see the stairs weren’t really scratched per se, they were…carved. Small, rough carvings, but carvings nonetheless. As she looked closer she could see that there were symbols on each of the five steps.
Inra let out a small concern hum as she leaned back and was kneeling. She rested on her legs. Her head rose and she realized she … was alone. Foxen and Nora was upstairs. Another shiver.
Her arms crossed as she unfurled her hullepi and called out to the two others, “I found something. I.. I’m not smart for this.”
Foxen turned back, then frowned at the self-assessment. If correct: unhelpful to this endeavor. If incorrect: unreliable narrator asset.
Hrm.
Turning back, he crouched beside her and examined the hieroglyphs.
“Hrm.”
He began to trace over them, pointing at the individual marks of mathematics functions, and drawing lines to try and show dividing each set and pairing it up.
It was a difficult time to be unable to talk.
Intrigued by the discovery of the pocket watch, Nora delicately spins the dial, half expecting it to be frozen with time like the rest of the ghostly ship. As the silver hands of the watch move, she watches intently, wondering if there might be a hidden mechanism or a clue that could shed light on the mysterious circumstances surrounding the helmsman’s demise.
The hands of the dial spun with ease making slight clicks as the hands spun past the marks at the edge of the face counting time, like the sounds of gears spinning against each other.
Foxen stood again with a grunt and gesture to the Khil, trying to convey he was thinking on the marks, and then went past Nora to the skeleton for an extremely thorough inspection.
Trying to break free the bones that might fit into a trapdoor hole, for instance.
Inra and Foxen worked together for a bit before he went back to Nora. Her head turned to the stairs and…. hmm. Maybe the other stairs will have more helpful clue. Grabbed the lantern, she made her way to the other set of stairs. The hybrid knelt back down and inspected the stairs, her hands ached from the cold.
The bones of the skeleton seemed to fall apart as Foxen searched through for a bone small enough to open the trapdoor. Skull, femur, collar…toes? All the bones seemed either too wide to fit into the hole or too short to do anything.
Making her way over to the port side stairs, Inra knew what she was looking for. Peering down, studying the wood of the stairs revealed more carvings.
Foxen growled as if the skeleton had personally offended him by being useless.
Inra’s eyes widen at seeing the carvings.
“Nora! Foxen! I found something for that watch!”
Foxen pulverized the skull with a flex and stood up, going over to examine with the females.
Nora, intrigued by Inra’s discovery, swiftly joins her at the port side stairs. Her emerald eyes focus on the intricate carvings of clocks with specific times. As Inra points to a larger one, Nora’s gaze narrows in determination.
She takes the heavy silver pocket watch and spins the dial, aligning the hands with the depicted times on the carvings.
As Nora’s finger spins the hour and minute hands to match the carvings on the stairs she can feel the gentle clicking. One at a time she sets the times until she reaches the final carving and….
The watch face pops open revealing a small golden key hidden inside.
Inra let out a sigh of relief. It was… something.
“T-to that door? Do you think?” Inra suggested to the doors that Foxen had tried earlier. Maybe there would be something in there that looks like a bell that would help them figure out the other stairs riddle.
<@244244163002892288> <@585955949743964170>
Foxen grunted and nodded, then eyed the shriveled Khil-something. A silent huff. Shifting, he unbuttoned his suit jacket and pulled his arms out, holding it out to the female amphibian that would probably fall over in a stiff wind.
Nora’s eyes widen as the watch face pops open, revealing a small golden key hidden inside. She carefully retrieves the key, examining its intricate design.
Inra’s suggestion about the locked doors sparks a sense of hope in Nora. “Good catch,” she says, her cerise fingers holding the golden key. “Let’s check those doors. Maybe this key will open a path to more answers.” With purposeful steps, she heads toward the captain’s quarters
After handing over his jacket, the Nautolan tromped down the steps, waiting to see into the cabin, the other puzzle still fixed in file:memory in his mind’s eye.
Inar was surprised and excited, musical tones emitted from her. It almost sound a rapid and upbeat piano keys. Then followed by a low beat, she was concerned.
“Are you sure?” Inar asked. When he confirmed, Inar took it carefully and quickly wrapped it around her. She was tall but Foxen was by far, bigger than her and it fit her like a heavy blanket. A soft harmonious flute like sound was heard as she was moving her arms, flappy sleeves aglore.
She was laughing.
Then she realized they should focus back at the task of hand. She followed them to the doors while still thinking about the other staircase puzzle.
As the group approached the door, key in hand, the wind picked up for just a moment.
“Wheee…..ree,” it whispered.
The key fit snugly into the lock, twisting it gave a nice satisfying click and the door creaked open revealing a small room. Though there wasn’t a lot of stuff, definitely much nicer than the quarters of the rest of the crew. To the left was a large bookcase and beside that was a secretary desk with a modest chair tucked in. On the far side of the room was a bed with a large trunk sitting at its foot.
<@585955949743964170> <@244244163002892288> <@216702440140046336>
Nora, her emerald eyes reflecting the curiosity that stirred within her, steps into the small room revealed by the now-unlocked door. The scent of aged wood and faint whispers of the ship’s history surround her. She glances around, taking in the modest but well-kept furnishings.
Her gaze first falls upon the large bookcase
Inra had glanced around in the room. It felt a bit crowded with the three of them but they needed to work together to get out of whatever ghastly curse this was. She made her way to the trunk and looked around it as well attempted to open it.
Foxen moved for the desk and began searching for any papers, locked drawers, or hidden compartments.
Nora approached the large bookshelf, the captain must have been an avid reader! The bookcase was so tall it almost reached the ceiling and it was completely packed with books from all over the galaxy, some she was familiar with, some she wasn’t. The years and salty air hadn’t been good for the book covers, but some titles were still legible, though the thought occurred to Nora that she may want to figure out what she was looking for before digging through the books.
Inra found herself looking at a large trunk locked with yet another key. The outside was very ornate and must have been very beautiful back in the day. It was probably used to transport and hold clothing and other belongings, but it didn’t seem like it would open without the key.
Nora’s fingers trace the spines of the worn volumes. “Quite the collection,” she muses softly.
Foxen wandered over to the desk, this must have been where the captain sat to do his work. The desk itself was bare, with a single wide drawer underneath. Opening the drawer revealed an old leather logbook with a four number combination lock holding it closed and a ceramic match tin. On the lid of the match tin there was an engraving “If our eyes are to never close, the darkness still seeps, even in eternal light”. You open the box and find some surprisingly dry matches.
“It’s locked.” Inar sighed as she glanced over to Nora.
“Anything on the books or the shelves that can help us solve the carvings on the first stairs?”
The Nautolan snapped his fingers, drawing attention to the discovery. He offered the box of matches to the Khil who held the lantern, then turned to approach the bookshelf, reading over the titles with the journal under an arm.
“Oh! Thank you.” She took the matchbox from Foxen and frowned at the poem? Riddle? She was worried about unleashing something if she lights the lantern. Well.
Here goes.
She carefully opened the door and lit the lantern.
The tip of the match sparked to life as it was dragged across the provided strip. Carefully, Irna held it against the wick until the lantern began to glow offering a touch of warmth and illuminating the room.
Red eyes skimmed over the visible text on spines. Memory of text and sound slotted together, computing extrapolation.
He reached for one called Gulliver’s Travels and pulled it out.
Foxen gently pulled the book from the shelf, opening the cover and flipping through the pages. Tucked into the book was a thin piece of purple glass, about the same size as a pane from the lantern.
Glass? Tucked into a book?
Talk about setting oneself up for injury.
The idiocy of undead captains and their secrets aside, Foxen turned about and showed the pane to both women, then gestured Inar closer. <@216702440140046336> <@585955949743964170>
Inar looked at the pretty purple pane and her eyes slightly squinted at it. She remembered what hte matchbox said. Can this be a hint? The hybrid approached Foxen and carefully handed the lit latnern over to him, wondering what he had in mind.
She had something in her mind, maybe have the purple glass panel up to eye level along with the light and see if something would be revealed?
Installing the purple glass, Foxen then shone the lantern around the room, directionally, aiming the purple light specifically about to see if it showed anything different, not unlike a black light.
Ugh.
With the purple glass installed in the lantern, a deep violet light bathed the room. Glancing around it seems like this room was kept fairly clean, but a thought occurred, maybe there was somewhere else a little less clean on the ship.
While Foxen was busy with that, Inar started to check the bed. The bed frame, under the mattress, under the pillow, inside the pillow case, even picked up the sheets and blankets in case there was some papers between there, under the bed, etc etc.
Inar tore apart the bed with frightening speed, tearing the old and worn sheet and pillows from the small cot. Once the linens were cleared off she lifted up the mattress to find a picture frame. It appeared to be a picture of the captain and his wife on their wedding day surrounded by members of the crew.
On the back it said “Congratulations Captain! From the crew:, Alexander Matthews, John Rivers, William O’Toole, Derrick Borton, Patrick Kerfoot.” For some reason, all the names had a strike through them. Maybe that’s just how people signed their names back then?
Inar blinked at the picture frame and the names on the back.
“Was this a hit list?” Inar thought outloud.
Foxen looked over her shoulder, then grunted, a nod.
Seemed logical.
Without much more to be seen in this room, or so it seemed, Foxen turned and carried their now purple light back out into the main deck, shining it around.
Walking back across the deck of the ship, Foxen swung the lantern back and forth bathing the area in the purple light. Past the trapdoor and cannons, both sets of stairs and up to the ship’s wheel. As the light swept across the wheel a handprint could be seen on a peg at the right hand side of the wheel.
At his feet concentrated around the where the skull of the helmsman’s body once sat was the remnants of a pool of blood. It looked like the man had bled heavily from his head. Over by the skeleton’s hand you Foxen noticed a blood stain that didn’t look natural, it seemed like a bunch of squiggly lines drawn by the helmsman’s finger in his dying moments.
Foxen squinted at the squiggles.
What the frak was this.
Red eyes glared at the pulverized skull, which he wished to make smaller, finer grains.
Do better, he thought with a disgusted noise for the corpse. Some clue to your murder you left, pal. Squiggles and glass in books and hidden keys. You know who sets up clues to their own deaths? Egomaniacal narcissistic sadists.
Though the ranting internally continued, of course he made no sound. The Nautolan once again snapped his fingers loudly for attention, pointing downward at the marks and at the wheel.
<@585955949743964170> <@216702440140046336>
Inar grimaced at the sudden darkness that engulfed the room when Foxen took away the lantern. She glanced over to Nora for a moment. Before she could explore more, the unmistakable snapping of his fingers was heard as she paused for a moment and decided to make her way over.
“What is it?” Inar asked softly and watched him pointed downward. Oh. … What?
“That… doesn’t make sense.” Inar brows furrowed. Okay. They had a watch but that was done. This had nothing to do with the trapdoor. And she doesn’t remember seeing anything in the trunk about this.
“Nora?” Inar called out to her, “the lock on the journal what is it like? Numbers? Letters?”
Foxen took the journal from under his arm and showed it to the two women. The dial had four numerical places.
“Oh.” Inar grinned sheepishly as she cleared her throat. Whoops. So… that can’t be it.
“It’s not a name or anything. Doesn’t look like a map. Why would someone write that when they are dying? Instead of… the killer’s name?” She frowned as she glanced up back to the wheel where there was more blood.
“I don’t even know.”
The Nautolan snorted and rolled his eyes in derisive agreement.
Taking out some paper and pencil he’d obtained from the desk, Foxen began to write at length. Eventually he presented the other two with a long list in mercilessly elegant script:
While the rest of the gang is inspecting other things, Nora takes a further look at the huge bookshelf
Nora looked over the massive bookshelf once again. The shelves filled with all sorts of books and an empty spot where Gulliver’s Travels once sat. As she looked at the shelf a thought occurred to her, she reached her hand up as high as she could, standing on the tips of her toes, fingers reaching for the gap between shelf and ceiling. She let out a sound of frustration, her finger barely able to reach the lip of the shelf.
Looking around she spotted the old chair tucked under the desk. With ease, and a little scrapping, she dragged the chair over to the shelf and stood on it, now easily able to reach up. Her hand felt across the top of the shelf and stopped as she found a large metal object. Pulling it out revealed an old rusty, yet usable wrench.
Nora’s cerise fingers wrap around the old, rusty wrench hidden atop the bookshelf. With a sense of triumph, she carefully descends from the chair, the weight of the discovery heavy in her hand. A faint smile plays on her lips.
Nora called out to the others, her voice carrying through the room. “Hey, Inra, Foxen, look what I found!” She holds up the old, rusty wrench, its metal gleaming faintly in the dim light.
Foxen looked down from where they stood to see Nora holding a wrench. He quickly added that to their inventory list before deciding to try turning to wheel along the path the blood drawing made.
Inar sighed with relief as he found paper and pen. Damn. His memory was impecable. Her head turned at the calling of Nora as she made a small happy sound. “Let’s go check out the canons then.”
“Sure thing,“ Nora replies with a nod, her dark blue hair swaying slightly as she follows Inra towards the cannons, the weight of the wrench a reassuring presence at her side.
Foxen cautiously lifted his hand to the wheel, wrapping his fingers around one of the pegs circled around the big wooden circle. Taking a deep breath he pulled down on the wheel as if the turn the ship to the left, and nothing happened. Letting out a growl of frustration he grabbed the handle and threw it in the opposite direction as if he were a contestant on the old holo show “The Credits Are Adequate!”.
The wheel spun around once, twice, three times before hearing a thunk and seeing a compartment had opened up on the wheel post.
Inar nodded as she made way at the canons and waited for Nora to see what she needed help with or if… there was anything she could do.
Reaching into the compartment Foxen pulled out a piece of paper. Inside it has a set of hand written directions.
It read: Head south out of the port until the last of the fishing boats are behind you. Turn south west until the kink in the channel at which you’ll follow it to head west. Once you reach the lighthouse with the pink and orange roof, go south. Follow this path until dusk and then head towards the sun. When it is no longer there to follow, go south until you spot the flag of the port.
If he’d had eyelids, the Nautolan might have blinked at the directions. As it was, he just growled again.
He had no signed up to steer a fraking boat today in a port channel that didn’t even exist–
And ‘go until dusk?’ What kind of directions were these? Time was not a measure of distance! It was inefficient and didn’t account for the speed of the vehicle or other confounding conditions–
Foxen exhaled and set all his internal ranting to ignore again. Wrote down: hidden directions on his paper. Then tried one more time to move the wheel, in case it was somehow unlocked now.
The wheel spun freely now, but now matter how much Foxen threw it from side to side nothing changed. It was strange the group realized the boat hadn’t rocked or changed direction since their boarding.
“Wheeeerreee is sheeeee?” the ghostly voice called out. It seemed the longer the group stayed in the ship, the stronger that voice became.
Inar yelped as she jumped and clung to Nora’s arm, her arms wrapping around her.
“I hate ghosts-” Inar started as she trembled a bit.
Nora gently pats Inar’s arm, offering reassurance. “It’s alright, Inar. We’ll figure this out together,” she says, her voice steady despite the eerie atmosphere surrounding them.
Feeling a sense of urgency, Nora nods toward the cannons. “Let’s focus on these cannons. Maybe there’s something there that can help us,” she suggests, her emerald eyes scanning the deck as she moves toward the nearest cannon.
Reaching for the cannons, her fingers tracing the bolts as she attempts to loosen them, hoping they might reveal clues or provide a means of defense against the growing unease aboard the ghostly vessel.
The wrench fit snugly around the bolts locking the cannons in place, in a matter of moments Nora had them loosed off and removed the bolts. Pushing on the now free heavy cannons barely nudged them from their resting place on the deck, something with a lot more force was going to be needed to move them.
Foxen merely rolled his eyes.
Fraking ghosts.
He stomped down to join the females, seeing as the ship wasn’t moving and they had shitty directions to analyze. Upon arriving and seeing them struggling with the cannons, he attempted to heave himself.
Foxen added his weight to the effort, the cannon felt like it wanted to move, but 300 years of sitting stationary seemed to seize the axles.
“Do you think lightning it will help it move?” Inar inquired.
Foxen nodded firmly, then flipped a page and wrote:
Firing any combustible untethered or grounded will cause the object itself to move, not merely the projectile. This thing will be like a crashing vehicle at max speed. I’ll light it, but you should both get well clear. It will likely move several meters in the opposite direction it fires.
Nora considers Inar’s suggestion for a moment, her dark blue brows furrowing in thought. “It might be worth a try,”
Inar read as she nodded. If the massive natuloan was fine possibly putting himself in harm’s way, that was his choice. With that, she moved to the stairs and kept watch from the stairs and ready to move at a moment’s notice.
Once the others had moved back, Inar on the stairs, Foxen carefully went through loading and preparing the cannon, then took a match, arranged himself to be clear of the path, and lit the gun.
The wick hissed as the flame burnt it shorter and shorter. All went silent on the deck as the fuse disappeared inside the large metal cylinder, then suddenly a thunderous crack filled their air as the cannon ball launched out across the water.
Flakes of rust shook loose from the wheels of the cannon as the force of the small explosion launched it backwards, rolling into the rail on the opposite side of the ship and coming to a halt.
Foxen removed his hands from their place protecting his ears and looked down at the floor where the cannon had just been. Laying there was what looked like a loose belaying pin, something sailors used to secure ropes in old ships, it was about a foot long and thin.
The Nautolan stooped and picked up the pin, examining it, pulled the lantern back up and shone the purple light around the space, to be certain.
Inar approached Foxen but her ears were still ringing a bit.
“It’s thin, is it thin enough for trapdoor?”
Underneath the purple glow the pin gave off traces of old, dried blood in no particular pattern. Looking at the ground revealed only dust, dirt and flakes of rust. The sound of humming rose on the air, it sounded like someone was asking…mmmm why? It faded, tapering off on that y.
Foxen rolled his eyes. The ghost asking where and why were not something he cared to discover, and yet here they were.
The Nautolan nodded to Inar, then turned for the trapdoor, offering her the peg and gesturing to it. He wanted to write more down.
On his paper started another section of notes:
Where: cabin Where: “is she?” Wife? Why: belaying pin ???
Inar took the pin with a nod. She made her way over to the trapdoor as she knelt down on the floor and see if the belaying pin would work on the trap door.
Inar knelt down, the belaying pin in hand. It looked like it was a perfect fit for the hole of the trapdoor. The pin slid in a ways before encountering a bit of pressure. With an extra push, Inar heard a click as the trap door popped open.
Inside was a shallow hole filled with fishing gear – rods and nets, though strangely, no fishing line or hooks. Maybe they were in the box at the bottom of the hole? Carefully Inar removed the box. Another lock? This one seemed to be locked with a 7 letter combination. The combination was set to “newness” but that didn’t seem to work.
Inar felt elated. Finally! The faster they can get out of this boat, the better. She hates ghosts. She let out a soft low bass sound of disappointment when only seeing the fishing gears. Rods. Nets. She wanted to burn those. Oh. Wait. Was that a box? Carefully, she took it out.
“Another lock. No old ruins with traps was this difficult.”
Foxen clicked his tongue in irritation. He gestured for the box, wanting to try and open it.
Consulting his notes, the Nautolan began trying different seven letter names and titles:
Pungoas
Captain
Patrick
As Foxen spun the lettered dials one after another, around and around his confusion started to grow. There were only four options on each dial, the same each time. An N, an E, a W and an S.
Foxen scowled at the box, then turned and consulted his notes again.
NESW would be compass directions, and that ridiculous set of sailing notes had had directions.
South Southwest West South Towards the sun at dusk– west South again.
SSWWSWS
Holy kriff.
Who knew that he was so smart? All muscles and brain. Hmm. She would have to ask if he’s taken later.
As the last dial spun around to to the S position the lock clicked open. Foxen lifted the lid of the box to reveal a collection of fishing lines, hooks and lures.
Inar blinked at the items. She hummed a bit, which sounded like a harmonica.
“Didn’t we find fishing rods without lines…” Inar pondered. If those doesn’t work, maybe they can use the hooks to try to lock pick the trunk’s lock.
The Nautolan frowned at the lackadaisical contents of the box, then looked to Inar and grunted an affirmative. He set the box down at their feet then wrote some more on his paper.
We’re missing a key. In the journal? Referenced in the blood or inscription? Possible we could dredge up or fish out a key from somewhere, or another body. Still have the question of the Captain’s wife. Ghost asked where is she. Maybe her corpse in the trunk, or went overboard. Maybe one of the crew did it, or she drowned herself.
Inar let out a small harmonious hrmph.
“Let’s go fishing I guess….” She gathered the rods and started putting the lines together.
“I… would hope her corpse is not in the trunk” She had seen enough mummies to know how that might look or smell when they open that trunk if the body was indeed, there. Once done, she passed them the rods and flicked her line over the board and into the icy cold waters below.
Inar put together the fishing pole, winding the fishing line and casting it over the edge. She could feel the hook snag on something and quickly began reeling it in. It was pretty heavy but with the help of her team she managed to pull it up on the deck of the ship. A mass of tangled nets that must have gotten caught on the underside of the boat now lay in a heap. Trapped within the ropes of the net there were two skeletons, one of which had a key on a chain around their neck.
“What the-” Inar stopped herself as she stared at the skeletons. Okay. Skeletons she can handle. Ghosts? Nope. She started to remove the key from the skeleton’s neck.
After finishing assisting hauling the net up, Foxen observed the skeletons, assessing. Once Inar got the key, there remained just the journal lock, the inscription, and whatever was in that trunk.
Also the damn blood drawing…
Wait.
It had looked like a channel or river, if a poorly drawn one. Perhaps John Rivers was involved?
He wrote that down, then showed the women.
The skeletons had been decaying for the past 300 years, so they were pretty clean. The one wearing the chain seemed to have some remnants of faded lacy cloth and the chain itself was comprised of small loops in a more traditionally feminine style. The other skeleton looked a bit larger and had a smattering of poorly healed broken bones, possibly from a history of drunken fights.
<@244244163002892288>
Inar thought about getting the photo and see if any of the males looked like the skeleton they were seeing but she had other goals. The key.
“I’ll go check the trunk.” With that, she got up and made her way to the captain quarters. Double checking to make sure it wasn’t a booby trap, she inserted the key into the lock.
Foxen felt relatively confident this was the wife, and maybe the Captain – or another crew mate, if only due to extremely stereotypical gender heuristics he hated to assume by.
He followed after Inar, intent on seeing what was within.
As the key from the skeleton turned in the lock, the trunk opened. Inside they found carefully folded women’s clothing and a gold locket with yet another inscription. On the underside of the lid were a series of lines carved into the wood.
(Message deleted)
The words on the locket read “In the name of my love, I whisper”
Inar sighed as she started to think of different names and made sure to whisper.
“Anne Ha, Amie Ha, Amlie Ha, Amie Ho, Anne Ho, Amie Hd, Anne Hd…”
Foxen grunted in annoyance.
One of you going to have to whisper, he pointed out, then, looks incomplete. Could be wife’s name? Anne or Annie Reed? Ilu text speak for I love you?
Foxen considered again. Perhaps it wasn’t that John Rivers was the killer but that the lines could complete a shape here. Or perhaps not. Inar was already whispering before he could finish writing, so he crossed that part out and started again.
Still have the inscription. ‘Eyes closed, darkness, eternal light’. Perhaps we need darkness to see something that will glow? He himself could bioluminesce, so it wasn’t the oddest thing.
“Anne Reed, Annie Reed.” Inar added to see if anything happens. Oh.
Well.
This felt odd. She didn’t want to say I love you outloud… that seemed personal. She looked over to the Zeltron.
“You say it. I don’t say those three words.”
Foxen lifted a brow.
Nora watched them, a mix of curiosity and apprehension flickering in her eyes. “Alright, I’ll do it,” she said, her voice low but steady. She glanced at Foxen, who was still deep in thought, then turned her attention back to the inscription. “I love you.”
Nora whispered the words. The group fell silent, anticipation rising. After a moment, they realized that nothing had happened.
The Nautolan grunted, annoyed. He motioned for the journal, then took it and tried entering Anne’s name in basic numeric code.
1 2 2 5
The numbers on the lock spun around. As Foxen reached the final number, a 5, he tried to open the journal, sure of his deduction. Unfortunately, the journal remained locked.
Exhaling through his nostrils, Foxen shook his head and copied down the lines just as they were instead from the trunk. Then he took his earlier sketch of the river, just in case, and layered it overtop those lines below. He crouched on the floor and spread out his pages of notes, clearly puzzling over the lot of their information. He tried shining the light with the purple pane at the trunk interior, and then tried covering the light with his hands, to test his darkness theory if that revealed nothing.
Foxen tried pouring over his notes, comparing bits of information. Laying the drawing of the blood over top of the scratches from the trunk lid didn’t appear to reveal any new information, but he did feel like he was on the right track.
The Nautolan spun another combination of numbers, considering the message on the chest. Anne I love you, one possible interpretation, and the respective number of letters.
4 1 4 3
The numbers clicked into place, but the journal still remained locked. Maybe there was a different place to find numbers?
Inar pondered for a moment, her hullepi moving very slightly from her deep breaths. Hmm.
She knelt down by the trunk once more and started to gently take out hte items one by one, inspecting them along with the trunk.
Inar carefully and methodically pulled the contents of the trunk out, inspecting them one at a time and laying them down in the bed beside her. It was a collection of ladies clothing, fine dresses and undergarments. I looked to be enough for a week or two out on the water. Unfortunately, nothing stood out to her as important.
Once every thing was removed, Inar noted that there didn’t appear to be anything special about the trunk, it was plain wood on the inside with no lining, no other scratches, marks or even room for a hidden compartment.
Foxen observed Inar’s progress and Nora’s thoughtful suggestions, stare boring holes back into his papers. He rewrote the inscription then began trying to apply different ciphers he knew from…eclectic experience. Looked at the drawing again. Examined the markings in the chest. Wrote down the inscription on the locket. Checked names once more.
Stared harder.
Anne Ha? Angle? Something inside the name, due to ‘in the name of my love?’ Could Anne Reed be a cipher key?
Or perhaps the wife’s love wasn’t the captain, but another crew mate, and one of their names could be the cipher key?
John Rivers? Simon Reed?
He hrm’d.
Inar placed the stuff back into the trunk as she stared at the trunk scratches. It had to be her name because it was her trunk.
“Maybe try to say John Rivers and uh.. those three words?” She glanced over to Nora. <@585955949743964170>
Nora nods her head. “John Rivers, I love you.”
The words left Nora’s lips and the air stirred, bringing with it a sense of…confusion.
“Did John Rivers kill you?” Inar asked. Her hullepi curled inwards. She hated Ghosts. The quicker they get out, the better.
No response came.
Annoyed by the lack of progress, Foxen tried another combination, 4 5 4 2.
Foxen tried another combination that unfortunately did not work to unlock the journal.
Inar glanced to Nora. “Try saying the locket out loud?”
Glancing at the locket, Nora’s emerald eyes focused on the inscription, before reading it out loud. “In the name of my love, I whisper”
“Let’s close our eyes too.” Inar closed her eyelids and felt insanely vulnerable and uncomfortable.
Our father who art in Heaven
You have been an adequate mouthpiece, Foxen thought to himself of the ladies, and sighed silently, getting up to go put the lantern down outside – because they only had so many matches and he wasn’t snuffing it – and then close the doors again, shutting them in darkness.
And then close his eyes.
The group was now surrounded not only by silence, but darkness as well.
Despite his muteness, the Nautolan could certainly make irritated noises. He growled and opened the door again, returning the light, and sat back down with his notes, comparing the written out inscription and the carved lines again.
Recalling because his memory was perfect the location of the picture, Foxen stood and went to the ransacked bed, then laid on it, searching the ceiling from that perspective for anything?
The bed wasn’t entirely uncomfortable, and it was a tad tempting to take a nap. But the new perspective didn’t reveal any new information.
Looking at nothing, the Nautolan croaked the barest whisper, likely not even audible to the others, “Annette? Annetta?”
“Annetta!”
Foxen sat up and started spinning dials again, retrying his earlier attempt, letters converted to numbers.
I love you, Annette/a.
1 4 3 8
As the name was spoken, Annetta, the locket popped open and inside was small photo of the couple they had found earlier. A folded up piece of paper fell to the ground, carefully unfolding it revealed what appeared to be a diary entry.
“I fear the first mate has grown too fond of me. I have tried to halt his advances but he seems to see it as some sort of game, that I am toying with him and leading him on. I am afraid to tell my husband, I do not know how he would react and we are on this boat together for another week. I will speak with the first mate tonight, while everyone else is below deck and put an end to this madness.”
The Nautolan’s hands flew so fast and hard he nearly toppled the bed and threw the journal, signing largely even though no one could goddamn understand him.
LADY YOU’RE TELLING ME YOU DIDN’T ANSWER TO ANNE?!
Relief washed over Inar when the locket finally opened. She took the paper to start to read it but then Foxen’s reaction caught her off guard. The hybrid took 4 steps back as she stared at Foxen. She had no idea what he said but that seemed aggressive. Was he… annoyed? She thought he would be relieved with the locket finally opening.
Slowly and carefully, she looked back to the paper and started to read out loud for Nora and Foxen.
“I wonder if the husband thought they were together and killed them both or did the first mate out of anger killed them both and the crew? Who was the first mate?” The squiggly lines.
“Rivers?”
Foxen grunted his agreement, getting himself back under control after noticing Inar’s retreat. It had made sense.
Inar frowned as she glanced at the matchbox.
“Try 0 9 5 4 or 9 5 4 0?” <@244244163002892288>
“Remove the spaces?” Nora suggested.
Inar gasped loudly at Nora’s suggestion.
“4 1 7 9?”
Foxen entered the suggested numbers.
Entering 4179 into the lock the journal opened! There was only one entry inside.
“The first day of the honeymoon voyage is going well, the whole crew is in good spirits. They are all currently below deck celebrating (other than the helmsman, of course) and I will join them shortly. It sounds like they are all having a great time, but I’ve had a sneaking suspicion for a while now that one of my crew is getting too close to my wife. I will have to keep an eye on him. It should be an easy journey; the only concerning area would be when we pass by the Otag Cliffs this evening, they are known for wrecking hundreds of ships already who have traveled too close. But Kerfoot is the best helmsman I know. As long as he is at the wheel, we have nothing to worry about.”
<@244244163002892288> <@216702440140046336> <@585955949743964170>
After they all got a chance to read, Foxen took his paper out one more time, writing.
Supposition: Kerfoot murdered by Rivers, and ship was lost in these cliffs overnight. Possible also Simon and Annetta Reed killed by him and thrown overboard, or Rivers took her with him.
Inar read what Foxen wrote as she felt disgusted.
“We figured it out but…” She looked around nervously. “We’re still here.”
A figure filled the door to the cabin, giving off a faint blue glow. The figure looked strikingly like the captain from the photos. His long hair disheveled, he looked soaked, as if he had been treading water while fully clothed.
“Wh…where is my wife? What has happened?” he stammered, a deep look of pain and sorrow in his eyes. He seemed exhausted as he slumped against the frame of the door, pleading with the group assembled before him for any information about his love.
The ghost of the captain collapsed to his knees, a tear streaked down his translucent cheek.
“Annetta, my love…I’m sorry,” he croaked before lifting his face from the floor. He looked each member of the group in the eyes, finally resting on Inar hiding behind the bed. “Thank you,” he whispered. “I can rest now knowing what happened.”
The captain stood on shaking feet and turned, resting his hand on the doorframe before slowly stepping out onto the deck of the ship. As he got further from the group, the light seemed to fade more and more, the room beginning to fill with a fog.
Each of the group blinked their eyes, in one moment they were standing in the fading light of the captains quarters, in the next they were standing back on the deck of the Nubian yacht. The three stood side by side looking out over the empty ocean before them, no sign of the ghost ship. Looking around it appeared as if they had been gone mere seconds.
Foxen immediately turned, looking around until his eyes landed on Heeks, not dead and still at the bar with his one drink. When he saw the Rodian, he sighed in relief, and then checked his person.
Back in his suit, with the armor weave underneath. All his weapons. His tech.
Flyndt.
The Nautolan immediately seized his datapad and pulled up his beloved contact, typing.
🦈: Just kidnapped by a ghost but back now are you okay?
It seemed Inar and Nora were forgotten.
Inar felt sad but then her hullepi curled in nervousness when the ghost’s eyes rested on her, thanking her. She quickly nodded.
Then she blinked. They were over the ocean. The warm air was a blessing. But she still felt sad. All those centuries, he didn’t know what happened to her. Then she felt angry, that Rivers was a karking asshole and took her down with him.
It felt hot. Oh. She was wearing Foxen’s jacket. Slowly and carefully, she removed it from her person and handed it oven to Foxen.
“Thank you.”
It was a moment before Foxen even acknowledged her existence, texting with his home as he was. Only when he finished his messages – Flyndt replying he was O.K. and asking if Foxen was, confirm – did he pause and look at her still-extended arm, left hanging for a solid 62.4 seconds.
He took his jacket back. Assessed it for dry cleaning-necessary damages or fluids from fluttering hullepi. Hmm.
And then went back to typing. He held up one finger in her face without looking up in a universal wait gesture.
Then the screen was turned towards her.
You are welcome. You were an adequate asset and mouthpiece. Well done. Your proficiency is appreciated.