Starting Date and Time: 17th day of Ceruleo, 300 DM

Starting Location: Azure Strand

CS URL: Anataaoerki

A creak as boots press hard against the floorboards. A rustle of cloth as it slips against itself. A jingle of bells as they sway. A roar of laughter as the crowd watches on. A strum of an ever so slightly out of tune lyre as gloved fingers strike across the strings. A voice crying out as it speaks of glorious conquest and tragic downfalls. A quick tumble and roll as unamused onlookers attempt to interfere. An even quicker quip as they fail. An unbreakable will as stories and songs are rejected and booed. A set of skills that entertain as well as educate. A need to lie as a stage is set for those who believe.

A small grin unseen behind a white, expressionless mask.

Anataaoerki.

A jester.

"OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooooooooohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhHHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAA!" A joyful voice breaks through even the chatter and noise of a tavern. The Golden Scales, a good place for a feed and a drink if you don't mind a menu devoid of anything but fish. Mind you, if you're in Azure Strand and don't care much for seafood... Well... You're in the wrong place. The tavern is just next to the harbor, giving it plenty of business as sailors return home from their voyages with their pouches full of gold. The location and availability of alcohol also makes it perfect for any other individuals who would like to get their grubby paws on said gold. Like one particular jester.

The tavern is packed and the hour late. Festivities are abound and the band has just finished a song.

"Yes!" Anataaoerki leaps up onto a table that has four sailors on it, immediately hunching over slightly and strumming his lyre, not giving them too much of a chance to complain before he gets into a routine. Sailors. Sailors like stories about the sea, particularly stories of the great or terrible things that only the hardiest of sailors could possibly comprehend or know about. The crafty jester has one such tale in mind, especially effective due to the current time of day. Things can get spooky at night. He clears his throat obnoxiously loudly to claim any remaining attention that he may not already have. Judging by the look of the owner of the tavern's expression as he watches from behind the counter, he isn't exactly keen on some weirdo interrupting planned events.

His voice has an air of mystery about it while keeping a somewhat jovial tone, needing to draw them in as quickly as possible. His lyre lets out swift deep sounds, foreboding yet still with enough energy to remain captivating. He wants to interest them with a ghost story buy, believe it or not, he knows they're not complete idiots. No one actually believes these sort of stories. Unless they're drunk, which quite a few of the people here are.

"Now listen well as I tell a tale of a night I shook with fear!
We were sailing west on the open sea heading home from a long, long year.
I was standing watch all alone that night when I heard a wailing cry!"

His head jolts to the side as if to react from said cry happening from out the window and in the harbor, his knees shaking in mock fear.

"As I strained to see what the sound could be something flashed and caught my eye..."

He pauses for dramatic effect, sweeping his face from one side to the other, making sure all in front of him get a good look at his blank mask.

"And the cold wind blew."

He drops off of the table, his boots thudding loudly against the wood in order to regain the momentum of the tail, his lyre picking up in pace as he does so. He doesn't really have everyone's attention, but he still has almost all those in a close vicinity. And that's all he needs.

"'Twas then I spied off the starboard side a strange, mysterious sight."

His head turns once more to the window, prompting a few of the listeners to do the same before returning their attention to him.

"I froze with fear as it drifted near like a ghost in the dark of night.
I could see a sail on a broken mast and deserted decks below.
From all around came a mournful sound but..."

He stops playing the lyre for just a moment to put emphasis on what he says next.

"I saw not a living soul."

He pauses once more.

"And the cold wind blew."

He leaps up onto the bar counter, opening up his attention to the whole tavern as he plays. Unknown to the patrons and even the jester himself, a large object begins floating through the fog of the harbor, slowly creeping into view.

"Well, I held fast to the forward mast as the ship moved slowly on.
And I watched that way 'til the break of day when I knew it fin'lly had gone.
Oh, they laughed and joked as I told my tale to the captain and the men."

He strums once loudly to put emphasis on another line, now having the attention of the whole crowd. Who'd have thought that a tale of a ghost ship would be received well at night by drunk sailors that just got home from extended trips? Only a clairvoyant, that's who. Otherworldly help of sorts. Hah. Anyway, back to the song.

"But the stories true, I can promise you, and it's sure to happen again."

He manages to spot something through the window, the object becoming clearer. Eyes widen underneath the mask and he takes in a deep breath in shock. Did he just weave a boat into existence!? Sure as his eyes will allow him to, he sees a ship in a rather sorry state floating aimlessly through the foggy harbour. Crew or not, all he needs is for people to see it too and they'll come to the conclusion he knows they will. He thrusts his arm outwards, pointing at the window as he cries out.

"Yes, it's sure to happen again!!!"

Some people turn and are immediately shocked, some standing from their seats and others sloppily spilling their drinks. This then prompts the rest of those present to look as well, having the strange reactions. People begin shouting in confusion. Surely what the jester was saying wasn't actually true? It was clearly a tale designed to entertain! The crowd doesn't get to become too loud before they're silenced by the sound of the jester slamming his boot against the counter, getting their attention. Unsure of how to feel or react to the current situation, they listen quietly. Anataaoerki picks up an empty pint glass and balances it on his foot, holding it out.

He's determined to make money off of this. Especially with an opportunity as rare and unheard of as this. Who tells a fake tale, only to see it actually happen? It's a one in a million opportunity that will only get better if the ship is investigated and is actually abandoned or haunted. He can envision the fame he would gain from being the one who first saw the ship now... Oh the tales he could devise and songs he could sing in order to spread misinformation and earn gold...

His voice darkens, damn near menacing as he drives the last line home.

"And the cold wind blew."

For the most part all he gains as a reward for his performance is applause and getting to witness the expressions of shock, though a few patrons put one or two coins in the glass. When it looks like no one else is going to pay, he lifts his leg up, still balancing the glass, and takes it with one hand. If he didn't already look energetic before, he definitely is now. Nothing quite like filling one's pouch after a solid performance. He places the glass down and leaps off of the counter, rolling as he lands and skipping a few steps as he goes to leave. Both in his eagerness to investigate the ship and his eagerness to leave before anyone starts asking him questions. He has yet to plot out the grand lie and he would much rather not being painted into a corner. Or at least, not a corner full of drunk sailors.

Anataaoerki practically launches himself out the door and into the salty night air. As a testament to his tale, a chill wind washes over the area. He straps his lyre to his belt and runs to the edge of the closest pier. A small crowd has gathered already, watching the ghostly ship sail ever so slowly. He hops from foot to foot, anxious and excited by the series of events. It looks like it's going to crash into the docks soon, which is perfect. Maybe not for those that will have to repair it. But definitely for him as it saves him having to row out to it. He's always wanted to go on a ship. Why not have his first one be haunted? Oh how he hopes it's haunted.

The crash practically happens in slow motion as the wood of the ship collapses in the wood of one of the piers. The loud crack is crisp in the night air. People immediately start to move closer, but the jester gets ahead of them, practically sprinting. His feet stomp loudly as he rushes to it. Upon closer inspection it looks even more worse for wear. The mast is collapsed down onto the deck and some of the guardrails are cracked apart. It's a miracle that it managed to even make it anywhere. Suspicious indeed.

He makes a spectacle of himself as he swiftly leaps up and grabs onto the bowsprit without hesitation. He hefts himself up onto it and looks over the deck from his slightly elevated position. He's not an expert, his knowledge of these things exclusively from his stories and songs... But there was a massacre here. There are signs of combat littered across the deck in the form of gashes in the ground and walls. The destroyed mast and rails also make more sense now. Being a Boogeyman he is unable to detect the half washed but obvious blood splatters all over the ship, but he doesn't need to see them to know what's up. He shifts his feet and starts sliding down the wet bowsprit, leaping and landing on his feet smoothly.

People continue watching him as he begins walking across the ghastly vessel. It all seems fine to Anataaoerki up until he starts to hear shouting coming from the onlookers. A woman screams and a man yells at the jester to run away. His echolocation is unable to detect that which has no body. A collection of ghosts begin to materialize before him. Their unsettling visage causes those nearby to panic, starting to back away from that which they don't understand. He freezes still and listens closely to what they're saying. Ghosts? Excellent. He understands why he can't see them, but he's sure it won't be too much of a problem... So long as they're friendly. The same man is still telling him to run away. His body turns to the panicked audience and he snaps up straight, standing with his arms by his sides as he screeches out.

"BLOODY HELL! I'M POSSESSED! RUN BEFORE THEY GET YOU TOO!"

People scream and begin to flee. The nice taste of their fear sinks into the Boogeyman's skin and he can't help but grin underneath his mask. He knows it's a taste he shouldn't get too used to, but it's fine every now and then. When he detects no one nearby he stands properly and turns to where he assumes the ghosts are standing.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you out to be villains. But it was so fun I couldn't resist. Care to tell me what happened to this ship? It could make for a fine ballad."

His nonchalant attitude towards such an absurd and potentially dangerous situation serves to further highlight just how willing he is to do what it takes to gather tales to tell others. Though he definitely has fun lying about them, it would be nice to have some completely true ones up his sleeves. Especially when dealing with those pesky Katzheer.

A ghost stepped forward on his transparent legs, an orc man it seemed. His face was stern and grim, anything but amused. He materialized, now detectable by the boogeyman, for when a ghost chooses to become physical, he is bound by the physical laws of the world. He tensed up an arm, winding up, as if he were to strike the boogeyman in the face with a massive orc fist. But he held it, sighing.

"It doesn't matter does it? What can the dead do but terrorize and bother the living?"

He dematerialized in his gloomy manner, as a human woman ghost stepped forward, "Don't mind him, his wife didn't become a ghost when we all died. We're not sure why some of the crew became ghosts and why some didn't. We've been adrift for so many seasons now. You don't fear us? The other two cities we drifted near were sent screaming, and eventually towed us back out to sea."

She stepped forward, passing through the boogeyman, an invasive chill permeating his body, as she looked out over the town. "This isn't our original port either. Where are we? I don't know these stars. The stars haven't looked the same for a while now."

She turned to face the jester, materializing, a hand reaching out to touch his face. It felt solid, gentle, caressing his masked cheek, before slipping through the mask to touch his flesh. "I don't know what you are, but thank you for at least approaching us. Our people are split, the captain and first mate have been arguing for so long now."

She smiled sadly, "My name is Baileia, I was our navigator."

The jester remains still as the ghost materializes and goes to hit him, unfazed by what's happening. Ah, what a depressed statement. Excellent prose. When he hears the woman's voice he listens keenly, though his still and neutral body language would not suggest it. Ghost sound tastes... Different. Like someone left a blueberry pie on the windowsill to cool it down but forgot about it until the end of the day. Her mentioning how they have been adrift for some time inspires him with confidence, especially when she mentions that they have already been seen by two other towns. How very exciting!

There is no air of sympathy coming from him at all, even as the ghosts are given identities. When she walks through him he shudders and turns his body. He has never felt something similar to that before, though he's tempted to ask her to do it a few more times, that he may better describe it. But he doesn't for now, not deeming it appropriate. He tries to face where he assumes she is now that she has passed through him. All he has to go on regarding the nature of ghosts is stories, so he'll stick with what he knows for now.

The hand actually touching his skin comes as a surprise, but he remains still. His flesh feels rough in texture, firm due to the absence of muscles aside from those needed to move his mouth. A stark contrast to the gentle ethereal touch of the ghost. When she finishes introducing herself he takes a smooth step back and does an exaggerated bow. The bells on his hat jingle obnoxiously as his head tilts down and flips back up, his arms going out to the sides. His voice alters as he speaks, suddenly sounding overly pompous and regal.

"What a lovely name, ma'am~ I am Amrik, a bringer of joy, good tales, and good times. A jester, if you will. I figured it best to approach you before the common folk got too carried away with their silly superstition. This is the port of Azure Strand, I wouldn't get too comfortable in this place, the smell gets to you after a while. Not to mention the amount of pickpockets. Oh my, the pickpockets!"

He stands straight and rests his hands on his hips, a grin so wide it would split open the face of any other creature concealed under his mask. His posture is almost perfect as his chin tilts up. He maintains this stance for a few seconds before hunching slightly, holding his hands together and sliding what he once more assumes is closer, now sounding more devious and inquisitive, with the voice of a woman. Young and pleasant yet husky, as though she has spent the past few nights shouting at the tavern or arena. He often does this when he's excited. So get used to it.

"Would you care to tell me more about what happened to the crew of this ill fated ship? I would be glad to try and help a few lost souls find their way back home. You say you don't recognize the stars? Just how long have you been at sea?"

Baileia smiled slightly, "Pleasure to meet you Amrik. I've never heard of Azure Strand before, but I doubt the pickpockets here will find anything worthwhile on my person." At that, she began chuckling lightly. When he changed his voice, her eyes looked at him inquisitively. But he did say he was a jester, so she shrugged, listening intently. This man was quite the oddity it seemed, and she wouldn't be surprised if that simply scratched the surface.

"We left our port of Meskara on an exploratory mission. We'd heard from a dragon that there was an archipelago that wasn't on any of the world maps. Naturally, that piqued the interest of our benefactor. He was a great navigator, absolutely loved exploring the unknown, just as I do." She looked away sadly, her face looking as if she were crying silently, "We made our way to the rough location the dragon described, with little trouble. We met the locals there, many different types of winged peoples, mostly avien. We traded, partook of their customs, and learned much of their ways, before we departed. That was when the storm struck. It was one of the roughest squalls any of us had ever seen, and we were sure so many times that the Swift Lady would break in half.

In the distance we saw clear skies, no clouds at all, an oddity in the ocean. We thought maybe it was the center of the storm and would offer some sanctuary. We sailed through it and the seas were calm. We knew immediately that we'd sailed through a massive Summoning Portal to a world we didn't recognize. The stars were different, the air was hotter, there were too many moons. But of course, our captain pressed us onward, for our benefactor would want maps of this unknown world."

She turned now to face the jester again, "We traveled many years, meeting many differing peoples and creatures. The lands were all the same though. Barren, dry, wastelands. We lost some crew members and even gained some others. When we had charted all the coast lines we could find, we returned to the portal to our world, for everyone knew portals of that size would last centuries. But it was not there, and our Aurist was able to tell that it had closed, recently.

We were about to head back to one of our favorite ports, when we were attacked. We don't know what they were exactly, similar to dragons, but they didn't have physical bodies. Like we are now. But magic couldn't hurt them. They... drank our magic, every last bit, including the magic that grants life. So we all died, and a side effect of their magical draining was becoming ghosts. When we found we could still man the ship, we continued to do so, to hunt these creatures down.

So many years passed, until we found our old portal once more, and took the plunge, unsure of how long had passed. And now we find ourselves here. Or so we thought. But the stars are all wrong. The theory is that this isn't our world at all, but a completely different one. We don't know how long we've been at sea. What year is it now?"