New Isra
Committed
Roleplay posts: 71
Biography: This account represents the NPCs and locations associated with New Isra!
Allegiances: Isra
Registered: Mar 16, 2021 22:30:20 GMT -5
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Post by New Isra on Mar 20, 2021 17:22:46 GMT -5
Located deep within the bowels of the ship, the sick bay is a dark, crowded room that stinks of medicinal herbs and death. Blood-soaked cot-like hammocks hang from the ceiling, their occupants either unconscious or groaning in pain. Sailors would do well to keep themselves out of here to the best of their ability.
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Dr. Indys Vulpin
Established
Roleplay posts: 43
Appearance: Few have seen Dr. Vulpin's face, which he generally keeps hidden behind a plain white mask. He alleges that it's for cleanliness purposes, but rumors abound that he uses it to hide a horribly scarred visage. His rather thin and lanky body is typically hidden by his voluminous dark red robes, colored strategically to hide the bloodstains from his work.
Skills and Abilities: Dr. Vulpin is known for his medical prowess: few can amputate a leg with such speed and enthusiasm. He's skilled with bonesaws, stitches, and scalpels and possesses a vast knowledge of ailments and medicines.
Biography: Nobody's quite sure where (or if) Dr. Vulpin actually studied medicine, but none can argue with the results. Most of his patients end up surviving, although they are frequently left with fewer limbs than they came in with. His medical skills have been invaluable on the long voyage, although his eccentricities and odd hobbies have made him rather unpopular among the crew and passengers.
Registered: Mar 20, 2021 16:43:45 GMT -5
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Post by Dr. Indys Vulpin on Mar 20, 2021 17:24:06 GMT -5
Candles flickered around Dr. Vulpin’s dinner table as the man contemplated his guest. The lovely Ms. Lucianne Starling seemed to grace him with her company more often than not these days, and he was certain that people would soon begin to talk. Of course, people always talked, and a little gossip had never bothered him. Still, it would be rather selfish of him to not be concerned about the lady’s reputation. It was improper for a woman of her age to be visiting a man so frequently, he knew. People might start to think that they did more than chat on these long evenings they spent together, and he certainly didn’t want to cause that sort of scandal. No need to have people snooping around more than they already did, that was for sure. Thus, he’d made up his mind the previous day. He’d done the proper thing and acquired a gold ring, but hadn’t been able to find a stone no matter how hard he’d tried. Money was no object, of course, but no amount of money could materialize a diamond out of thin air. The plain gold would have to do as a placeholder, but he was sure that Ms. Starling would be understanding.
“My dear Lucianne,” he said, sipping at his wine, “If I may be so bold, you’re looking positively stunning tonight.”
Ms. Starling said nothing, simply fixing him with those bright blue eyes and enchanting smile of hers. Taking this as a good sign, Dr. Vulpin went on.
“As I’m sure you know,” he said, “Your company has brightened my days more than any amount of sunlight ever could. I must confess that I’ve found myself quite taken with you, Lucianne. If perhaps you feel the same way, I’ve a question to ask of you…”
He reached into his pocket, but stopped as he heard the stomping of boots outside. A moment later, the door banged open, and several sailors rushed into the Depravity’s sick bay carrying a slumped, groaning figure between them. As their eyes adjusted to the dim light of the room, they paused, caught off-guard by the strange scene before them. The doctor was seated at one end of the operating table, carelessly enjoying a glass of red wine. At the other end of the table sat a life-size mannequin in the shape of a woman, its face sculpted skillfully out of wax. The lead sailor stared for a moment, then spat on the ground in disgust.
“Quit playing with your damn dolls, you lunatic,” he snarled, “and do your job. Perkins took a tumble from the rigging. Lucky he got his leg caught on a line on the way down or he would’ve cracked his head wide open.”
Vulpin sighed, draining his glass and standing up. He made a show of deliberately clearing off the operating table and placing the wine glasses in a cabinet. Picking up the mannequin carefully in his arms, he laid it gingerly in a corner and returned to the sailors.
“Who’s to say if he’s lucky or not?” asked Vulpin, gesturing for them to lay the man out on the table. “If he’d hit his head, he would have died instantly. No more pain. No more cold. Now he’s broken and lame and can’t climb the rigging to do his job anymore. Tsk.”
“I can hear you,” groaned the injured Mr. Perkins as he was placed upon the table. His leg was twisted at an unnatural angle, the bone clearly broken in multiple places. Blood seeped through his trousers where the bone shards had stabbed out through his skin. “And I didn’t fall. I swear to god. I was pushed. Pushed!”
“Shush,” said Vulpin, placing a finger against the young man’s lips. “No need for excuses. What happened, happened, and now your leg is destroyed beyond repair.”
Turning to the other sailors, he snapped his fingers sharply, as though calling a dog. Ignoring the growl of barely-contained rage, he addressed them in a voice as calm as if he were dictating a grocery list.
“Two of you, stay with me,” he said. “The rest, please gather up everybody who bore witness to this accident. Have them dictate their accounts to someone who can write and collect all the testimonies for the officer’s perusal. Also, somebody go find the captain and inform her that our dear friend Mr. Perkins is about to lose a leg.”
Perkins’ eyes widened in shock and he began to sputter in protest, but Vulpin shushed him once again. There was a cold glimmer of amusement in his eye as he pulled on a stained apron and retrieved a bonesaw and a bottle of brandy from the cupboard. Uncorking the bottle, he handed it to the terrified young man and twirled the saw playfully around his forefinger.
“Drink up, now,” he said. “As much as you can, as fast as you can. Don’t you worry, I work quickly.”
As the white-faced young man began guzzling the brandy as quickly as possible, he chuckled and began to lay out the rest of his tools alongside the table. The life of a ship’s surgeon was never dull, and the excitement was almost enough to make up for the awful overcrowding and atrocious quality of food. He’d have to make his confession to Lucianne another time, but he wasn’t in any rush. After all, it wasn’t as though his beloved was going anywhere. He’d find time.
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Wah Doobie
Established
Roleplay posts: 17
Age: Adolescent
Appearance: He's a Kobold with brown scales and seems like a girl with how he acts and dresses.
Equipment: Wah carries with him a mixed bag of various stones he has collected in his life from before the flood.
Skills and Abilities: Wah has great power within him and can control rock and earth in various ways. His first major feat came when he was a younger child and his powers manifested for the first time and he created a landslide that carried him miles away from his home.
Biography: Wah Doobie is a young Kobold who lives with his father and sister, they used to have another brother but he left home years ago and they haven't seen each other since.
For a while, Wah has been training with Ralf Valgard but Skarlet has come to bring him back to New Isra and recruit him for her plans.
Wah must now learn to use his powers in ways that he has never tried before.
Allegiances: Doobie Family, Dux Skarlet
Registered: Mar 21, 2021 15:41:20 GMT -5
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Post by Wah Doobie on Mar 21, 2021 16:22:19 GMT -5
Wah Doobie is nearby when the sailors bring the man into the sick bay. Being stuck on this ship he can only wander around in case something exciting happens. He looks down at his special bag of rocks and reminisces on when he could feel earth under his feet, he was so small back then. The Kobold was now an adolescent and though he was still dwarfed in height by the humans and other creatures, he was now as tall as his father.
"Hmm hmm hmm." Wah walks past the door and peeks in to see what's goin, but when he sees a saw get picked up he quickly moves along to avoid seeing something gruesome. "Yikers..."
Was there even any land left? They've been sailing for so long. At least Wah still had his sister and father with him.
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Norman Cleats
Established
Roleplay posts: 16
Appearance: Norman is a tall and strapping young lad. His hands are calloused and muscles toned from several years of hauling lines. He appears to be in his late 20s.
Equipment: 2 sets of sailing cloths
1 set of land clothes
1 rigging knife
1 razor
1 set of sewing and splicing gear
1 medium leather drybag
Skills and Abilities: During his time as a cleat makers apprentice Norman learned to carve, cast metals, and work a forge, though he only ever made one thing. Since taking to the seas he as worked on the decks and as a yardsman. He someday wishes to learn to chart maps and become an accomplished navigator.
Biography: Norman's father was a cleat maker. As was his father's father, as was his grandfather's father. So it was with some contention from his family that Norman because a sailor instead. While the making of cleats was a safe and dependable job, Norman had never understood how someone could be content with such a monotonous existence. Sure, there had been the occasional order for an ornate bit of carving or gilding, and there was some skill involved in casting or forging larger gear, but mostly they just made plain old wooden cleats.
Registered: Mar 21, 2021 15:13:41 GMT -5
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Post by Norman Cleats on Mar 21, 2021 17:40:21 GMT -5
Norman cringed inwardly as the Bosun spat. It was bad luck to disrespect the ship's surgeon no matter how crazy the doctor was. And that wasn't just superstition. Officers were like that though and it was even worse luck to disrespect an officer. Especially, the Bosun. Do that and you would find yourself scrubbing decks by day and standing watch at night. A sailor had a chance to avoid visiting the doctor. Still, though Dr. Vulpin wasn't the only person to talk to himself on the ship his flavor of crazy seemed to be a little more extravagant. The mask, talking to wax figures, drinking on duty, the winds only knew how he got away with it all.
Red faced but outranked, the bosun could only growl an acknowledgement as he took the yardsmen to record their statements. Norman, having seen nothing of the incident in the mist shrouded yards was given the unenviable task of assisting the doctor. He wished he could have some of that brandy as well, but Perkins would certainly need it more. Stepping up to the table he reluctantly asked, "Uh, what do you need me to do, sir?"
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Dr. Indys Vulpin
Established
Roleplay posts: 43
Appearance: Few have seen Dr. Vulpin's face, which he generally keeps hidden behind a plain white mask. He alleges that it's for cleanliness purposes, but rumors abound that he uses it to hide a horribly scarred visage. His rather thin and lanky body is typically hidden by his voluminous dark red robes, colored strategically to hide the bloodstains from his work.
Skills and Abilities: Dr. Vulpin is known for his medical prowess: few can amputate a leg with such speed and enthusiasm. He's skilled with bonesaws, stitches, and scalpels and possesses a vast knowledge of ailments and medicines.
Biography: Nobody's quite sure where (or if) Dr. Vulpin actually studied medicine, but none can argue with the results. Most of his patients end up surviving, although they are frequently left with fewer limbs than they came in with. His medical skills have been invaluable on the long voyage, although his eccentricities and odd hobbies have made him rather unpopular among the crew and passengers.
Registered: Mar 20, 2021 16:43:45 GMT -5
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Post by Dr. Indys Vulpin on Mar 21, 2021 18:40:55 GMT -5
Dr. Vulpin flicked and whirled the saw around his fingertip, tossing it into the air like a baton. The blade spun in the air, catching the candlelight and embedding itself in the the table mere inches from Perkins' shattered leg. The man flinched away, spilling a bit of the brandy. Chuckling, Dr. Vulpin reached out a gloved hand to pat the man's cheek, stroking the terrified sailor's face lovingly before swiping the half-empty bottle away. Perkins reached out desperately but Vulpin held it just out of his reach, wagging a finger in the man's face.
"Tut tut," he said. "Wouldn't want you to have too much of that, now. The surgery's liquor supplies are running awfully low, I might start having to start raiding the officer's spirit room soon. There are some excellent liquors in there, but I've heard rumors that even that is being depleted at an extraordinary rate. It's quite a shame, really. If we run out of spirits, what ever shall I give my patients before an operation? An amputation without anesthetic is never a pretty sight. My goodness, maybe you are a lucky one."
Pouring a bit of the brandy into a small crystal glass, he capped it and replaced it carefully in the medicine cabinet before locking it shut. Waving to Norman and the other sailor, he gestured to the stricken Perkins with a flourish of the hand.
"Why, my dear gentlemen," he said. "Isn't it obvious? I'll need the two of you to hold our friend Mr. Perkins down. He seems like quite a strapping young lad, and may struggle. I'd hate for my blade to slip because of an errant movement. Come along, now. Hold him tightly, I haven't all day. This won't take long at all, I keep my bonesaws quite sharp. Here, Mr. Perkins, bite down on this. I'd hate for your screaming to hurt our delicate ears, now. I'm quite fond of the opera, and would hate to go deaf because of all the yelling."
He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and stuffed it into Perkins' mouth, effectively gagging the man. Perkins' eyes opened wide as the severity of his situation sank in and the other sailors grabbed him, pinning him to the table. Nodding in satisfaction, Dr. Vulpin drained the glass of whiskey and and tied a tourniquet around the man's thigh. He pulled the saw from the table with a grunt of effort, checking his reflection in its polished blade.
"Alright, gentlemen," he said, flourishing the blade like a symphony conductor. "Are we ready? On the count of three, now. One, two, three, away we go!"
Despite the gag, Perkins' muffled screams echoed in the sailor's ears as Dr. Vulpin began to saw through his leg just below the knee. The sharp teeth of the serrated edge rasped and grated as it bit through the bone, sounding for all the world like a particularly wet piece of hardwood. The man struggled and thrashed as Vulpin did his grisly work, blood and gore splattering all over the two impromptu assistants.
"Now isn't this nice?" asked the doctor, his voice chipper and cheery behind his mask. "I believe you two can call yourselves nurses now. Look at you go, racking up that working experience. You might not always have to be sailors! Perhaps you'll find yourselves gainfully employed in a nice, useful business like medicine. Wouldn't that be nice? You wouldn't have to put yourselves through the dangers of seafaring any longer. Look where sailing got Mr. Perkins, after all."
He punctuated his point by sawing fully through the rest of the bone, severing the last sliver with a sickening crack. Setting the saw aside, he switched to a scalpel and began to carve through the flesh and muscle. He ignored the increasingly weak groans of his patient as he worked, severing the rest of the shattered limb with deft ease. His use of a hot iron to cauterize the arteries barely even produced a grunt of pain, and he stitched up the wound easily without any trouble. Pulling the handkerchief from the man's mouth, he patted the man's clammy forehead and checked his pulse.
"He'll live," he pronounced, nodding with satisfaction. "You lads, put him in that cot over there. Excellent work, you two. Perhaps I'll call you in to act as my assistants again some other time. I always could use a strong hand in here. Mine are rather delicate, you know."
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Norman Cleats
Established
Roleplay posts: 16
Appearance: Norman is a tall and strapping young lad. His hands are calloused and muscles toned from several years of hauling lines. He appears to be in his late 20s.
Equipment: 2 sets of sailing cloths
1 set of land clothes
1 rigging knife
1 razor
1 set of sewing and splicing gear
1 medium leather drybag
Skills and Abilities: During his time as a cleat makers apprentice Norman learned to carve, cast metals, and work a forge, though he only ever made one thing. Since taking to the seas he as worked on the decks and as a yardsman. He someday wishes to learn to chart maps and become an accomplished navigator.
Biography: Norman's father was a cleat maker. As was his father's father, as was his grandfather's father. So it was with some contention from his family that Norman because a sailor instead. While the making of cleats was a safe and dependable job, Norman had never understood how someone could be content with such a monotonous existence. Sure, there had been the occasional order for an ornate bit of carving or gilding, and there was some skill involved in casting or forging larger gear, but mostly they just made plain old wooden cleats.
Registered: Mar 21, 2021 15:13:41 GMT -5
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Post by Norman Cleats on Mar 21, 2021 23:52:44 GMT -5
Knowing what was to come, Norman pulled off his middy. No reason to ruin a good shirt. As he did so the other sailor smirked at the bare chested sailor and went to hold Perkins torso leaving Norman with the messy end. As shadows crept on the walls and hollowed eyed patients moaned from their cots thoughts of what caused Perkins’ fall were pushed away by a different kind of unease. The melancholy atmosphere of this place revealed feelings of morbidity and unfocused anger that Norman had repressed in order to keep from going sea crazy. How long had it been since they had seen land or even a sunny sky? The flickering candle light surely taunted those who were trapped in this cabin, yet it would be their only comfort. The dark was always more terrifying.
With these restless thoughts Norman began to appreciate Dr. Vulpin’s wayward demeanor. The man was a juxtaposition to his position, like a sailor who laughed in the face of a storm. His actions were a distraction from the brutal work that happened here, for the patients, and likely for himself as well. Indeed, Dr. Vulpin the Mad Hacker as some called him, had been the topic of much conversation around the mess halls. While none of the crew was quick to ridicule him, stories of odd behavior came with each new survivor of his treatment. A group of crippled sailors relegated to line repair had even begun calling a particularly fast splice a Vulpin. Such banter was a needed distraction from the more dangerous discussions that occurred after so long at sea. The botsun, after hearing an almost mutinous remark, had once threatened to have the doctor slice the man's tongue out, which quieted the crew. Thenceforth, all such talk was only ever exchanged in quiet whispers around the still secreted in an empty storeroom.
Norman’s musings came to an abrupt end as the sawing began.
When the procedure was complete the other sailor, who’s shirt had not been saved despite holding the body, quickly left the room with a pale face. Norman remained to rinse off the blood with a bucket of salt water that would be used to clear the deck, before putting his middy back on. Unfortunately his trousers were likely ruined.
“I can’t say I enjoyed that experience, Sir.” Unknowing of the commotion that was happening on deck he continued, “But who knows how long this voyage will continue. With Perkins lubbered that only means more time aloft for me and well… There are strange things in those mists. I swear I heard the beating of wings once, big one. The others told me it was a luffing sail, but I tell you there was no wind that day to luff the sails like that. I’d rather be a nurse than...” He glanced at Perkins, “Than spend the rest of the voyage in the rigging, sir.”
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Dr. Indys Vulpin
Established
Roleplay posts: 43
Appearance: Few have seen Dr. Vulpin's face, which he generally keeps hidden behind a plain white mask. He alleges that it's for cleanliness purposes, but rumors abound that he uses it to hide a horribly scarred visage. His rather thin and lanky body is typically hidden by his voluminous dark red robes, colored strategically to hide the bloodstains from his work.
Skills and Abilities: Dr. Vulpin is known for his medical prowess: few can amputate a leg with such speed and enthusiasm. He's skilled with bonesaws, stitches, and scalpels and possesses a vast knowledge of ailments and medicines.
Biography: Nobody's quite sure where (or if) Dr. Vulpin actually studied medicine, but none can argue with the results. Most of his patients end up surviving, although they are frequently left with fewer limbs than they came in with. His medical skills have been invaluable on the long voyage, although his eccentricities and odd hobbies have made him rather unpopular among the crew and passengers.
Registered: Mar 20, 2021 16:43:45 GMT -5
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Post by Dr. Indys Vulpin on Mar 22, 2021 1:02:13 GMT -5
Satisfied that his patient was secured in his bunk, Dr. Vulpin took the time to clean off his instruments. Dunking his saw and knives into the same bucket that Norman used to clean himself off, he chuckled, watching the bloodstains swirl into the water. The drains in the floor of the surgery lead directly off the side of the ship, he knew. Did it attract sharks? Vulpin occasionally wondered about this. He very much wanted to see a shark some day, but seldom found the time to venture abovedecks to look. Perhaps one of these days he would have one of the ship's boys rinse the blood off the floor while he watched from above, hoping to catch a glimpse of the distinctive fins and sleek, predatory bodies.
"You really must try your best to find joy in whatever it is you do, my lad," he said, eyeing Norman as he dried his blades off on a dirty towel. "The rigging really does seem like a more dangerous place as of late, doesn't it? It's a strange thing to hear of a sailor who doesn't want to be up on the ropes, though. Strange indeed. Most of you lads seem to relish the fresh air and the rush of wind in your faces as you ride the rigging...but I don't suppose that's anything I'd know much about. Of course, it's not as though being down here on the decks is much safer. Haven't you heard of the rat-fever problems, lad? I've never seen a man bitten by a rat while trimming the sails. Down here, though, it's quite a problem."
He gestured with the bonesaw, indicating a series of cots kept separate from the rest. Their occupants, chained down ankle and wrist, struggled and thrashed in an effort to escape. Like Perkins, their mouths had been stuffed with cloth. Even so, Norman would be able to see the unnatural lengthening of their faces and long, yellowed teeth. Their faces were turning into those of rats, and it seemed that their minds weren't far behind.
"An awful thing, rat-fever," said Dr. Vulpin, rubbing a bit of oil onto his bonesaw's blade. "Terrible. Once you start feeling the urge to gnaw on things, it's all over. See the tooth-marks on the bed-frames? I'd have the same marks on my arm if they weren't gagged. Poor sods ought to be tossed overboard, but too many people complained. I have to wait until they die before dumping them, and so they lie in their beds and groan and take up space. So very inconvenient, I can't ever seem to get a moment to myself here. Is the life of a nurse still for you, my dear sailor? Would you rather spend your days surrounded by blood and sickness instead of the freedom of the open seas? My doors are open, ever and always. As surgeon never sleeps, so they say. Some days, I think it might be true."
Flipping the saw into the air, he caught it by the blade and hung it up on its hook on the wall. The devilish instrument glinted cruelly in the candlelight, its jagged teeth a harsh reminder as to its purpose. This was a tool built to rend flesh and bone, severing limbs from bodies with as little effort as possible. Only a man as crazy as the Mad Hacker could treat such a thing as a toy, playing with it like a child's wooden sword as he removed body parts with unsettling glee.
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Keph
Established
Roleplay posts: 46
Age: 22
Appearance: Sporting odd, eye-catching, snow white hair is the one, the only self-proclaimed ‘Master Adventure’: Keph d’Avon!
With a seemingly pure, unending thirst for exploration and a well of eager energy to match it, this short, athletic young man often finds himself in unnecessarily precarious situations. Even so, with all the trouble he gets himself into, a slight smile is most often seen.
Despite being born a mute, most will find him of oddly many words. His soft face is home to a pair of clear, sky-blue eyes; soulful, expressive orbs that constantly complement his exaggerated and somewhat theatrical expressions.
Registered: Mar 21, 2021 14:10:27 GMT -5
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Post by Keph on Mar 22, 2021 13:33:30 GMT -5
BANG! One of the smaller, side, medical store rooms that had long been repurposed to instead carry another of the absurdly many patients the Depravity nowadays housed, had its door suddenly swung open. The rickety, rotting door splintered as it hit the harder, better maintained hull.
“Ah-ha!” yelled Keph. There was nothing to ‘ah-ha’. He had expected the door to reveal a vast sea of ‘baddies’ that the ‘master adventurer’ would need to vanquish. Instead, he was met with a far grimmer sight: cot after cot covered in bodies, suffering from every ailment imaginable.
While Keph was still incapable of remembering a hair of what had happened to him, he had been another of the many swimmers the Depravity had picked up, a few days ago, having remained in a comatose state until today.
The short sword was lowered, slipped back into its sheath, alongside the quill which he held in his dominant hand -- he performed a little, flashy spin trick with it, all for his own amusement and ego.
The young man grabbed his belt with both hands, walking about in an odd, slow manner with legs spread out a tad more than how a normal human would walk. Giving off a rather forced sheriffly, authoritative vibe as he explored the sizable room.
Eventually, he snapped his fingers. A stream of ink rose from the bottle that found itself tied to his satchel, forming words next to the man’s face: “hElLo? WhErE iS hE?!!!”
He went about poking at the various physicians, each far too busy caring for the sick and wounded to bother with the odd man, each shooing him away to the next. It took him a while to notice the blubbery, barely legible writing that hung next to him. Another oddity. He’d long practiced manipulating ink, to the point that a simple snap of the fingers should’ve created picturesque writing. It wasn’t. The letters were barely holding together, a few droplets of ink hanging just below, almost dipping to the ground. He furrowed his brow. Putting in a little effort and concentration, he twirled his fingers, adjusting the ink: “Hello? Where is he?!!!”
Much better.
The additional exclamation marks were kept, as if they would somehow attract more attention than the floating sign already did. There must be someone at the helm of this clown-ship.
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Norman Cleats
Established
Roleplay posts: 16
Appearance: Norman is a tall and strapping young lad. His hands are calloused and muscles toned from several years of hauling lines. He appears to be in his late 20s.
Equipment: 2 sets of sailing cloths
1 set of land clothes
1 rigging knife
1 razor
1 set of sewing and splicing gear
1 medium leather drybag
Skills and Abilities: During his time as a cleat makers apprentice Norman learned to carve, cast metals, and work a forge, though he only ever made one thing. Since taking to the seas he as worked on the decks and as a yardsman. He someday wishes to learn to chart maps and become an accomplished navigator.
Biography: Norman's father was a cleat maker. As was his father's father, as was his grandfather's father. So it was with some contention from his family that Norman because a sailor instead. While the making of cleats was a safe and dependable job, Norman had never understood how someone could be content with such a monotonous existence. Sure, there had been the occasional order for an ornate bit of carving or gilding, and there was some skill involved in casting or forging larger gear, but mostly they just made plain old wooden cleats.
Registered: Mar 21, 2021 15:13:41 GMT -5
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Post by Norman Cleats on Mar 22, 2021 15:22:59 GMT -5
Confronted by yet another horrifying sight, Norman jumped as the door banged open. Surprise subsided to curiosity as the new arrival began to seemingly search the cots. A crazy wizard by the looks of things, perhaps he was admitting himself? Strange, but strange was normal on the Depravity. Regardless, Norman was done with this place.
“I have heard of the rat-fever of course, but never seen it like this,” Norman scanned the decks as if a rat could pounce at any second. “Some of the crew were moved here as soon as the fever set in. I understand why now. I think I’ll take my chances in the rigging. Sir.” Norman saluted and left the Sick Bay.
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Dr. Indys Vulpin
Established
Roleplay posts: 43
Appearance: Few have seen Dr. Vulpin's face, which he generally keeps hidden behind a plain white mask. He alleges that it's for cleanliness purposes, but rumors abound that he uses it to hide a horribly scarred visage. His rather thin and lanky body is typically hidden by his voluminous dark red robes, colored strategically to hide the bloodstains from his work.
Skills and Abilities: Dr. Vulpin is known for his medical prowess: few can amputate a leg with such speed and enthusiasm. He's skilled with bonesaws, stitches, and scalpels and possesses a vast knowledge of ailments and medicines.
Biography: Nobody's quite sure where (or if) Dr. Vulpin actually studied medicine, but none can argue with the results. Most of his patients end up surviving, although they are frequently left with fewer limbs than they came in with. His medical skills have been invaluable on the long voyage, although his eccentricities and odd hobbies have made him rather unpopular among the crew and passengers.
Registered: Mar 20, 2021 16:43:45 GMT -5
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Post by Dr. Indys Vulpin on Mar 22, 2021 23:11:24 GMT -5
The crash of the door bursting open caught Vulpin's attention, the unexpected sound startlingly loud in such a quiet, confined space. He eyed the drowned man as he leapt from the makeshift "cabin" where he'd been convalescing, sword in hand. Why hadn't the orderlies taken it away while he was still unconscious? People coming out of comas were frequently confused, as the young man before him clearly demonstrated. Extra stab wounds to stitch up were the last thing he needed right now, as overworked as he was. His tensed shoulders relaxed as the lad put the sword away, eyeing him closely. They'd pulled the strange boy out of the sea some days ago and stuck him in the sick bay, much to Vulpin's consternation. Why were they even still fishing people out? Lord knew they had precious little food as it was.
"So, you're finally awake," he said, throwing the boy a flask of cheap whiskey. "Welcome back to the world of the living. Take a drink of that, you'll need it to build up your strength after all that time unconscious. We fished you out a while back, and you've been lying here being all soggy ever since. Now that you're back on your feet, go up abovedecks and make yourself useful."
The strange floating ink-letters gave him some pause, but he'd seen stranger things before. Some magic letters were far less unusual than the inexplicable number of live frogs he'd found in people's bodies during autopsies and vivisections. He waited patiently for Keph to finish "speaking," squinting at the blobby letters until the odd young lad carefully formed them into readable words.
"You are currently taking up valuable space in the sick bay of the Depravity, my dear damp friend," he said, gesturing with a wide sweep of the hand to the cramped room around him. "Have you any rat-fever? Perhaps you need a leg amputated? Are you possibly suffering from the effects of bone-rot? If not, I must ask that you leave. We've far too many drowning victims as it is."
Vulpin gave Norman a jaunty wave as the sailor fled from the sick bay, chuckling softly to himself. He had no doubt that he'd see the man again, although whether he'd be an assistant or a patient had yet to be seen. A sailor's life was a dangerous one, fraught with risks to life and limb. The numerous barrels lined up against the wall filled with salt and severed body parts were a testament to that.
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Keph
Established
Roleplay posts: 46
Age: 22
Appearance: Sporting odd, eye-catching, snow white hair is the one, the only self-proclaimed ‘Master Adventure’: Keph d’Avon!
With a seemingly pure, unending thirst for exploration and a well of eager energy to match it, this short, athletic young man often finds himself in unnecessarily precarious situations. Even so, with all the trouble he gets himself into, a slight smile is most often seen.
Despite being born a mute, most will find him of oddly many words. His soft face is home to a pair of clear, sky-blue eyes; soulful, expressive orbs that constantly complement his exaggerated and somewhat theatrical expressions.
Registered: Mar 21, 2021 14:10:27 GMT -5
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Post by Keph on Mar 23, 2021 16:24:02 GMT -5
No doubt having weapons anywhere in the sickbay was a horrible idea, but with all the bodies coming from sea-to-infirmary, mishaps were bound to happen. Luckily, it was Keph that had had blade in-hand and not some maniac.
The flask was snatched out of the air. His body still felt cramped, his legs wobbly, but he was starting to get a hang of moving, again. A quick sniff of the liquid within left Keph with a stuck-out tongue and a revulsed look. It was straight thrown back, not bothering with an easier-to-catch underhanded chuck.
While he had no qualms with alcohol, it was the last thing he wanted while his stomach was still spinning.
The Depravity… he knew that name! The odd, masked man’s request was given a dismissive wave. Arms crossed, fingers pinched and rubbed his chin. He adopted a thinker’s pose. He’d leave momentarily, but first he had t—that’s where he knew the name from! Naoki’s ship, wasn’t it?
He snapped his fingers, swelling with glee, despite this leaving him with more questions than answers. A pair of thankful pats were given to the Doctor’s shoulder, before the young man ran off, ink-letters collapsing into a stream, and slipping back into their bottle.
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Karen Lassenger
Established
Roleplay posts: 15
Age: 27
Appearance: Karen as she insists on being called, is a large plush constrictor lamia, with an upper human half that's almost elvish in appearance.
Her hair is a lovely light blonde, and there are hints of dyed pink at the ends from before the Event. Her face is typically always smiling and her eyes are a warm hazel.
She can typically be found wearing white nursing gear, and a she carries a plethora of medicine, medical gear, and plenty of needles.
Equipment: Karen carries a very large backpack, with the snake equivalent of cargo shorts on her tail. She carries all of her medical supplies on her person in her backpack and packages on her tail.
She doesn't carry around anything violent, but she has plenty of scalpels and needles that would do in a pinch if she had a violent bone in her body.
Skills and Abilities: Being a constrictor she is very strong in her tail, but she's not exactly the most fit in her upper body.
She does have two fangs in her mouth replacing her canines, but they're not poisonous and they do not do anything besides help eating seeing as she needs one full meal every month minimum.
Most of her vital organs are actually in her tail, which does help stab wounds, but thankfully that has yet to occur.
Biography: She's a traveling doctor and used to travel around the lands and do odd medical jobs in the villages she found while roaming in the outlands.
Registered: Mar 25, 2021 21:03:54 GMT -5
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Post by Karen Lassenger on Mar 26, 2021 15:09:11 GMT -5
It was going to be a long day. Bodies kept floating in, quite literally in fact. They were running out of room in the ship's medical bay for the vast amount of wounded that were now littering the outside of the halls.
There was a deficit of blankets already, and she was already having to prioritize. It was a good thing she only needed one meal every month so she wasn't using up stores. There was a pause as the plushy snake lass looked at one of her vials, it was getting to that month point however. She shook her head and sighed pocketing the vial into her pockets and taking out a large needle.
Her target was a young boy who needed a combination of sleep and pain medication. Mainly because he had broken his arm, thankfully she had been able to construct a splint out of some of the ship's wood, much to the dismay of the repair crew. She smoothly stuck him while he was busy crying, normally she'd be more comforting, but she was quite tired, and this would be good in a few minutes.
Karen turned around and shook her head as she glanced at rows of bundled up patients all with a cold, and a plethora of other issues due to the fact that their immune systems were shot to hell. She gave a hiss of a sigh and moved to bundle up a few more of the patients as they had decided to move out of the positions she'd placed them in. It would have been a lot more helpful if she could draft some helpers.
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Dr. Elijah P. Marks
Established
Roleplay posts: 37
Age: 33
Appearance: Dr. Marks just crests six feet tall, and is a solidly built man with the a series of slight wrinkles that belies the siren call of time beyond his years. His eyes are a light brown, almost amber in appearance, though they are dark beneath, belying a constant lack of sleep. His hair is messy and tied back most frequently so as not to get in the way of his work, and he has a trimmed beard of a similar blonde.
He bears the stature and holds himself with marks of a military man, though a game-leg is answer enough for why he no longer pursues such a career path.
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Equipment: Most frequently seen wearing a heavy overcoat loaded with pockets where he keeps any number of medical instruments. Beneath that, he dresses sparsely in a white shirt and black trousers/
He wears a pair of well-worn travel boots, and carries on his person most frequently a medical bag of supplies and a simple cane of mahogany, with a metal ball on top filled with led making it into a formidable weapon if the situation called for it.
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Skills and Abilities: Dr. Marks' primary skill and ability lie in his talent as a physician. Having initially served in the military as a field doctor, when he left due to his injury he practiced his talents on a journey of self discovery.
While his old war wound makes it difficult to go toe-to-toe with most, he does have the old trick up his sleeve, and the physical strength and endurance to put up at least some resistance when pressed though he would prefer to avoid harming another.
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Registered: Apr 12, 2021 16:46:21 GMT -5
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Post by Dr. Elijah P. Marks on Apr 12, 2021 18:55:41 GMT -5
Tick, tock, tick, tock
Minutes, hours, days. How long had it been? Did it matter? He should be out there. He should be helping people. A personal tragedy was no excuse to allow through complacency, the tragedies of others. He could hear the clock. That damnable clock. It might have even been enough to get him out of this cot, where it something he could touch. If it were anything but the venomous ghosts, playing over and over those moments before his life had ended. Funny now, to imagine how peaceful he'd thought it. Sitting in his study, bent over the papers he'd been searching for. If he could only find the reference he'd been thinking of. His newest patient was ill from an oversea trip, and without the gold to pay for magical healing, he'd been forced to come to the physician. Now if he could just find the newest publishing of foreign diseases, perhaps he could find some way to treat this malady.
Tick, tock, tick, tock
The night was clear. That was what repeated over and over in his head. Not a drop of rain for at least a week. No signs, no hints. No torrential downpour, hinting at end times. All he had, was a warm summer's night. The sound of crickets, the scratching of a quill on parchment as he transcribed what he was reading. Not particularly useful for this case, but something he meant to look back on. Night birds sung out in the woods around his small practice. His writing stopped, suddenly. Lifting his head, he looked out the window. Silence. He blinked in confusion. No crickets, no birds. It was as if the entire world had up and decided to throw its hands up about existence at so lonely an hour. Yet still...
Tick, tock, tick, tock
The clock went on. Unperturbed by this haunting hush, harrying him with its unrelenting medley of gears. Picking up his cane, he pushed himself to his feet, thankful for the warm, genial weather they had been having that allowed him to stay limber enough to move with relative ease. He picked up his bag, just in case. It could be a patient, on their way. Or perhaps something else, lurking out in those woods. His hand gripped the cane a little tighter, just below the head. Raising it, he pushed aside his curtain. The benefit of being on a hill was one he had considered when purchasing this property. Although it ached getting up it in the winter, the old soldier in him felt more comfortable on the high ground. It would do him no good tonight.
Tick, tock, tick, tock
His heart thudded. The world was mute, save for that incessant noise. How could it not know? How could it keep going, how could it continue...when the world was ending? The stars were blotted out. Embers drowned, as the edge of the world swept across the landscape in a wall. Water. The ocean...though he'd only been to it twice in his life, being so far inland. It seemed it was its turn to come visit. Each movement seemed defined by the seconds with which they happened. The turning, running for the door, the thought to his patients, to Mary. No longer could he hear the clock. Now it was the roar. More loathesome than any beast that could stalk these nights. A dull, constant, approaching crash that grew in volume until thought was all but impossible and he leapt under his desk in some ridiculous notion it might protect him from the forces of nature that had merely decided on a whim that his reality, his world, was no be no more than a drowned memory.
Tick, tock, tick, tock
He squeezed his eyes shut, bag over his head. He couldn't see the wave, only hear it. That, and the clock. He shouldn't have been able to. He would have heard the screams, the panic first. He might have heard the snapping of trees, the crushing of tons of water. There was no way he could hear the soft ticking of that clock. Yet hear it he did. Had the water been further away than he thought? Was this all some terrible dream? It felt as if he'd been beneath that desk for hours now. Each tick slicing away part of his life. Maybe he'd have had enough time to save someone. Maybe he could have flown to Mary's house, had her in his arms when-
The splintering of wood, the rush of warm water, and he was gone. Wiped fresh from this earth, and lost to a place even time could not touch. He was dead.
He started when he felt a hand on his shoulder. His gaze drifted dumbly to the young woman before him, just before she gave him a wringing slap across the face.
"You've been sitting there for three days, you daft fool!" she spat. "We work to live 'ere, and if I had my way you'd be back in the drink for wasting so much food and time! What are you supposed to be, anyways? Some kind of tramp?" the woman stood straight, crossing her arms as she glared daggers at the dumbstruck doctor.
He blinked a few times, aware of that stinging sensation that crept across his face. He had dim recollections of eating. Maybe drinking water. Was he dead? No, he doubted angels did much slapping. Perhaps devils, but she was conspicuously free of red skin, pointed horns or damning hellfire. No, this was a boat. He could hear it now, the creaking of woods, the passing of shipmates, shouting to one another above deck.
"I'm a doctor," he answered, a bit lamely he thought, and the woman's face instantly shifted from disgust to some semblance of hope.
"Oh thank Varafel, we have more than that old loon! I'm begging ya, there's a sick bay not but a few yards away, can't you do something?" Dr. Marks blinked, nodding with some dazed affirmation.
"Y-yes...yes of course. There are wounded?" with the explanation on her part, he rose to his feet, casting about. Thank goodness, he still had his bag. Had he stayed clutched to it so long, even after the water? And his cane? He picked up the tools of his trade, giving her a nod before heading on his way, limping a bit more severely after his long stillness. Descending into the hold, he was shocked to see the state these people were in...but not moreso than the butcher who had perched in the center of it like some masked vulture.
"Wh-what seems to be going on here?" he stammered, casting about and srinking from the lamia creature that seemed to be looming around as well. What kind of place was this?!
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