Every old salt knows a song to sing

[foxsays]

WHO: Araceli Bonaventura, Simon Ashlock, James Norrington, Helena, Rey, Korrin Ataash
WHAT: Exploring an eerie shipwreck locals have complained about that absolutely goes according to plan. Until it doesn't. Because of the ghost pirates.
WHEN: Mid-Bloomingtide; pre-Tourney, vaguely around the phylactery uproar
WHERE: Somewhere off the Kirkwall coastline
NOTES: ooc post, will warn if anything comes up but since we're doing puzzles I'm going to go ahead and say language, feel free to make your own starters for any travel shenanigans that you'd like if you'd like that

A small vessel takes them out of Kirkwall early in the morning, six of them packed in headed for where he reports came from; no sailors were willing to volunteer so it's this team themselves, and well, it's fortunate that half of them are from Naval Presence isn't it? A short trip, fair winds on the way there as Araceli explains what awaits them from the reports gathered from chatter about the docks or sent to her office:

Strange unnatural lights. Boats and ships crashing. Sailors not returning. Demons suspected of course.

Only that's when the fog rolls in once they're getting to where it's been reported on the maps by islands so small they don't even merit being on the big maps, only navigational charts to be steered about. Light through a fog could explain many things but there's something else, something that seems to whisper to each and every person on the boat.

And that's when they cut through the fog and the island itself - and something much larger - rise up out of the water.



No rift. No demons. But something that beckons all to come venture inside. Tie up the boat, you'll be needing that later after all, this one certainly isn't going anywhere.

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ᴡᴏʀᴋsʜᴏᴘ; ᴀʀᴀᴄᴇʟɪ, ʀᴇʏ & sɪᴍᴏɴ

[foxsays]

"You three," one of the crew calls as another leads Korrin, Helena, and Norrington away to somewhere deeper into the ship, "I have something for you, something exciting."

There's not much choice to it, is there? No way off the ship, the spirits of the crew to be dealt with, and this the only way to do it; spirits wish for something and they aren't demons at least. So time it is to go to a cluttered, disorganised space with papers scattered everywhere. Books burst at the spines. More water damage coming from somewhere to rust the tools, warp the wood of the workbenches; here they find themselves in the workshop with a strange arrangement of plinths dotted throughout the room some with a hammer or sacks with rusted points (caltrops? Nails?) sticking out.

The spirit doesn't follow them in, lingering at the doorway. "Our captain left something behind in here but we can't get to it. You can. If you can work it out." Another sigh, this one of frustration. "He was a master. And an utterly paranoid bastard."