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Calder Muireadach

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35 Showing Real Promise

About Calder Muireadach

  • Rank
    Feet Wet


    Ben Dahlhaus
  • RACE
    Veil Crosser, Outworlder
  • JOB
    Freight Transport - NY
  • 'SHIP:
    None at this time
    New York, NY
    Close to six foot, Calder is lean but all muscle. Long dark blonde hair is often pulled in a ponytail, braided in a plait or pulled up into a topknot. He sports a scruff beard, growing it out a bit longer during winter months but always meticulously kept. Expressive eyes are unusually light, matching his moods and picking up the color of whatever he’s wearing; they can shift anywhere from greens, to blues and grays.

    Clothing is utilitarian, button ups over sleeveless shirts in the summer, Navy pea coats, henleys and Irish sweaters in the winter. Every once and a while he can be in a tee shirt, jeans and barefoot on his houseboat. On the rare occasion he does dress up, it suits him; manners so refined they seem to contradict a well-kept blue collar appearance.

    He has several tattoos earned from various events in his life, and often wears talismans on cords that he finds interesting and remind him of his former life.
    Compressed, intense, yet oddly easy going.

    Calder is a formidable warrior and magic wielder, and with that came fierce confidence and presence. He commanded the power of water, and was unbeaten in the raging wars that were tearing his world apart. Through storms and vicious ocean, he controlled his fate on any ship, any high sea. Wind, rain, hurricane, he could rip the storm clouds from the sky to fill his sails. Any ship, any distance, he always seemed to know the way.

    Now, the skill of his hands is all he possesses and he is lost. Still unmatched in as many forms of fighting styles as he can collect, anger pushes him forward; searching for a way back to finish the wars he could not afford to lose. He knows the people in this world are not to blame, he treats them with as much kindness as he can muster. Still, he is reluctant to build relationships in case there is a chance he discovers a way to return home.

    Hiding who and what he is, there is an inkling of his old ways; playing with the rim of his glass and making the water move, parting raindrops in his path, it's still an embarrassing demotion to who he was before. He focuses on his physical skill in hopes when he returns there will be a fight in his hands no one has ever seen before.

    He at the core has a good heart, but has no problem rising to the occasion of violence when something he deems just is threatened.
    Collection of master swords and fighting weapons from various cultures.

    The native clothes, weapons and leather armor he was wearing when ripped through the Nevus.

    Modern small freight vessel (with human npc crew) capable of making coastline and small gulf trips. It was moored in the same dock where he worked, later convincing his 'boss' to allow him to return it to service and eventually purchased the smaller vessel through his work. When the 'company' went belly up, he retained it and now works freelance.

    Modern houseboat docked in the 79th Street Boat Basin.

    "Draugr Atgeirr", the Ghost Spear, his Outworlder ship that passed through with him. It is made from traditional wood of his realm, a beast of an "evergreen" only growing in the northern realms similar in size to the Earthen Sequoia. Enchanted by the properties of the tree, it is able to reflect the water once polished and made watertight into the longship hulls- giving it an invisible appearance until it nears land and hits shore. After breaking the Veil, it seemed to retain the ability regardless of where it was; it grew stronger as he had grown weaker. It is essentially a ghost ship, taking its namesake to heart. It is moored on a beach just north of the city.
    Since the onslaught of Outworlder hate, Calder has become a ferryman of sorts for those that refuse to conform and be branded. He discretely collects, protects and relocates any that come to him seeking help.

    Logically, he has close ties to any underground "smuggling" operations, ear to the ground with great ease to move things and not be seen because of his shipping capability. The open water has no rules, even in the budding rebirth of law and order.


    Appearing around thirty years old, he is much older. At his entry into this world, he was fifty two, roughly twice his appearance. He has come to the reasonable assumption he ages in that ratio.

    Once possessed substantial water manipulation skills, now they have been muted by the rift he was yanked through with no hope of return. On a good day, he can move rain drops around him in gentle patterns or play with water in a glass. Parlor tricks. It takes intense focus but most of the time there is nothing.

    He can hold his breath for an extraordinary amount of time underwater, a physical characteristic of his mariner "species". For a little over a half hour, he can dive freely- which he finds useful for repairs on his boats. Never having "found out" why, he assumes from studying this world that his lungs are larger than Earth's human species or that the rate of his oxygen replacement upon inhale or exhale is larger. After inadvertently finding out humans didn't have this skill, he is very guarded about who and how he asks/researches.

    Extreme tolerance to cold, a characteristic of his Outworlder race- mostly for water or swimming purposes but it transfers to weather related temperature as well. In contrast, he has low tolerance of extreme heat.

    Incredible swimmer. Strong, agile and fast- it's also a physical characteristic of his Veil Crosser "species". No frills or magic, just the power of an Olympic swimmer or Navy free diver. It's not endless, tiring just as any physical ability would.

    Unassisted deep diver. His physiology is resistant to the water pressure that causes normal humans' buildup of gasses in the tissue and blood, allowing the descent to deeper depths with no decompression needed to return to the surface. He is able to swim freely within the one to two hundred foot human threshold with no consequences. Below that, he will develop the same toxicities if he remains down for the capacity of his breath, so on and so forth. Currently, he doesn't know how deep that may be and could conceivably go much deeper than a human with "weight-sled" or ballast dive assistance, but considering the length of time he can hold his breath the results could be catastrophic. As a child he became fluent in understanding where his limitations lie, just like a normal human learning how much weight they can lift or fast they can run without consequence. He has never attempted a weight assisted deep dive to test his limitations, and given the inequitable nature of the length of time he can hold his breath versus speed of weighted descent, he most likely never will. It seems an arrogant flirt with certain death.
    Mechanical/engine maintenance knowledge developed over his time in New York working the docks.

    High IQ, was able to learn English fairly easily. He still has a significant accent which seems to be diminishing over time- sounding similar to the Earthen Danish or Dutch.

    Can navigate and pilot any sailing vessel, larger ships require crew and he is able to captain with immeasurable experience. Has an acquired large working knowledge of engine driven boats, and is able to learn as he goes.

    Combat. Any. Sword, knives, axes, blades of any kind, bows. Physical hand to hand, random objects. Firearms are a growing knowledge base, still limited but gaining skill. He was most skilled in hand to hand, knives and bows before crossing through the Veil. Since arriving he has developed an affinity specifically for the katana and wakizashi. A sharp contrast to the Viking-like brute force he was raised on. He finds them elegant and effective.

    It was all the blood that made the Haugbui warrior pause. Cleaved armor shed halfway through the battlefield, torn shirt filled with the scent of salty battle blood and seawater. The pause brought a heaving chest and the creaking grip across a metal wrapped hilt. Field had been razed in an exquisite dance of battle skills and magic, the synthesized expertise an art. Water still receded from the field, some of the fallen enemy with it to be swallowed by the sea. Terrible, terrible talent. But this, the dead in the tree. It was at that moment he realized his reputation preceded him. Another blood sacrifice, this time hanging by their feet from the branches high front of him. It wasn’t a warning, it was an offering. The army just decimated by himself and his kin had beaten and held this city. He’d taken it back. His city, and they were with him. He’d seen it before on his hammerfist sweep of his father’s coastline to pull it back from the jaws of the Grosugr southern kingdoms again. Sacrifices, to his father, now him. First criminals hung from the trees, now this. These were not criminals. This was not acceptable, and this was not respect. This was fear. Ghosts. They called his kind the undead, never seen coming. Appearing from the sea only to disappear into it again. They were worshipping a false god. He was not a god. He was just a man with terrible power, a passion for his people, and an absent father that pointed to the next battle from on high instead of picking up a sword.

    Regardless, he kept pushing south, rekindling the already hot blood feuds that had raged for centuries.

    Borders moved back and forth, villages and cities caught in the raging lines being broken and retaken. It was all barreling toward a horrible end and a new beginning. The ice storms not far off, the Otherworld was a trail of ash and blood. So close, so close to retaking their homeland. Storms came early, the sea raged and with them the tolerance that the southern tribes couldn’t withstand. Victories came swifter, the storms fiercer, until a blizzard so dark the skies turned purple. Even the water mage couldn’t hold back the tide of lavender that seemed to blur the horizon and become the water.

    Then silence.


    The man thought he was dead, lying alone on the deck of the ship that had carried him halfway around his world in battle. Consistent bumping opened his eyes. His hull was rocking against something, bringing his consciousness around. A half sunken modern steel goliath towered above his own ship, groaning with warning every time Draugr Atgeirr's side was bumped against it by the ice chunked waves. It's frayed bowlines and shredded square sail were tangled in the ugly beast's slack anchor chain, and the weight of his longship was pushing at its rusted hull's tolerance.

    The bow was threatening to collapse on top of both of them. For once there was fear, not from death or perceived defeat, but the sheer size of the thing that towered over him. It brought a bruised body to its feet, a hand to toward the waves to tell them to move, and a brow downward when nothing happened.

    Nothing. Quivered breath tried again. Again nothing. Fatigue? Pulling a knife from his belt he scaled the mast, spending near an hour cutting themselves free, all the while telling the waves to push them off... then asking... then begging.

    Alone, powerless.

    After substantial effort, he beached the longship, swimming back out to the dying freighter to climb its height- skyscrapers of New York visible in the distance, and a livelihood on the docks and harbor waiting for the stranger from another world.

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    In the silence of her garage, all she could hear was noise. It was all noise, the sound like a hurricane crushing at her skull. Jacob was right on her tail, speaking to her, glitter of perspiration in his peppered high and tight… his words warped and unintelligible. Stepping off the ramp, she heard her name shouted before she fell, the sound of pounding military boots toward the ramp safely out of view of the crowd back in their personal prep garage.

    “Reid!” Gav scooped her up, the completely limp woman’s eyes flickering under her hummingbird’s lashes. “Jacob! Doctor now!”

    “No, no!” the large man was old but he could move, trotting down the ramp after her from above, “no doctor.”

    “What?!” Gav’s normally gentle voice was incredulous, turning back to Reid as he patted her cheeks. “C’mon, Reid… wake up… why are we not getting a doctor?!”

    Jacob hurried past him, brushing through to the workbench to pick up her mouth guard and making it back in record time. Stuffing it in her mouth, he reached behind her ear, flicking the iridescent buttons hard with his fingernails. Her surge was painful, enough to make Gav jump, back arching as her gloved fingers clutched his biceps enough to leave bruises.

    “Let her go,” Jacob stood, pulling the stunned Sergeant back away from the seizing woman, “or she’ll rip your skin off…”

    Gav's light eyes furled in horror and disbelief, tearing off his fatigue green battered jacket and rolling it up to place under her head to protect her skull from the seizure. Flail sent him backward, her gloved fingers locked on the railing of the ramp, clutch so hard her body trembled.

    “That would have been you…” Jacob said under his breath.

    “What’s happening?”

    “Reboot,” Jacob’s cigarette bobbed in his lips, “happens sometimes. Usually not after a hard shut down like tonight was.”

    Brow downward, Gav knelt next to her, holding her head until the muscles spasms passed and pulled her hair back when palm hit the metal grate to push up the battered body and wretch nothing over the side of the ramp, the mouth guard clinking on the floor.

    “Is this what happens after fights in the dressing room?”

    “Not usually this bad,” Jacob nodded once before his footfalls clanged slowly downward to fetch her some water. “She doesn’t want anyone to see it.”

    Gav pulled her up, holding her head up as he checked her pupils.

    “You can’t get me dressed after a fight… you’ll look at my ass,” she murmured.

    His smile was tepid, exhale relieved. Her large pupils still worried him, they usually were almost normal by now. Helping her up, she drank the entire glass of water, holding it out to Jacob for another as he walked with her down the ramp to a bench.

    Thirst was insatiable.

    “I need that cheeseburger now,” she mumbled.
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  1. Calder Muireadach

    The Great Ocean Escape

    mmm….. sort of? Brow cocked. You either are or you aren’t. He wasn’t fazed, that was certain. Good grief, he didn’t know how she’d survived this long with her soft voice and averting gaze. Himself, sure he hid his dragonboat and didn’t go about broadcasting himself to the world. When it came down to it though, if he was confronted he’d rather die than live crushed. I’m not a shifter, my body is just different than humans. If you change, you’re a shifter. All sorts, Outworlder just implies you’re not from this world. The basic description still applies in my book. Good to know though. If you’re something that might sink this boat when you shift, warn me first. Especially if it was something that might sink his boat. He didn’t like surprises. You know….the more you are bitter and angry with these waters…. the more strongly they will ignore your call. Eyes snapped to her briefly. You have no idea what I’m feeling. It was abrupt. His explanation apparently not settling the subject. He wasn’t used to his words being argued with or questioned. You are wrong. These waters are powerful and wild…but coy as well. They have not had those that could call it. Now that they do, they can be stubborn in answering when they don’t like the tone of askance. They don’t understand the way the ours did what it is to be in unison. Resisting the urge to pull his hand back, he watched her little trick, apparently expected like some savant to take over. It never did anything, ever, except seem to spit back at him with some sort of contempt. Humoring her, the markings on his arms could be seen to light up through the weave of his shirt. He did truly try, at least just to humor her efforts. Of course, it did nothing, settling so still it seemed to almost become clear as a marble. Blink was slow and he looked back at her before picking up the binoculars again, as he did it thrummed like being peppered by rain, the same sound washing around the boat as if a downpour had suddenly started and stopped as quickly as it began. It always does that. Lesson was clearly over by the sound of his tone, and he left it where it lay, making his observations about the lighthouse. Siren?... tlhu'moH bIqDep?......a umm…. ….. um…. seduction witch…? He nodded, gearing up. Something still didn’t feel right. The darkness of the water from before, like tendrils of shadows pulling at him. Was it finally talking to him? He knew better than to ignore his gut. Instead of looking at the horizon, he studied the water. Ripples. Tide. It didn’t look right for what the charts said. Were his calculations wrong? He was never wrong, but his gut said otherwise. The surface was not moving like water at this depth should. Shit! The curse was dark. Fist slammed on the ceiling above him and he started moving. Hold on to something. Stay here! Engines suddenly gunned in reverse, despite the sudden surge, he deftly moved up the stairs. Items that normally were secure rolled off and clinked on the floor at the severe shift. He was in the pilothouse within seconds, depending on a massive machine of steel to stop a boat that he was pretty sure was going to hit something. *npc* Drop anchor?! No, if it’s not ground we’ll lose it. This was a clusterfuck. Same as fucking New York… Ireland. Fucking rogues sinking shit like landmines. We’re in a debris field. The sound of the hull scraping something lightly made Avi’s eyes snap to him and widen. They were almost to a stop, turning slightly to the side and drifting gently. The water had warned him. What the fuck? Talk to him, but not do what he wanted… The boat undulated lazily, on no particular path as the captain leaned over the rail and scanned the water, already pulling off his clothes and shoes. There was no hesitation. I’m going in to see if we can drop anchor. We might have to wait until it’s light to maneuver out of here, but I don't thin we have that long. We’re right where someone wants us to be. If something moves out there, shoot it. He left the lifeline off for now. Too much risk getting tangled. As soon as he touched the water, he knew. The sound was there… hum of something that wasn’t his boat. A motor, far off. Slow. This was a big fucking spiderweb and they hadn't wiggled enough to catch its attention yet. He came back up, Avi trotting over. We have company. I’m not sure if it’s a lighter boat that can skim across the top of this shit and beeline to us or if they have deerpaths like we need to find, but I need you at the helm. Turn the ship and I’m gonna lead us out of here back to open water. If they catch up, at least we'll have the advantage of maneuvering. I’m assuming St.John’s been compromised. When I hit the water, I need you to follow, keep the bow centered on me. Get the Irish girl up in the pilothouse with you, she has a good spotter eye. Don’t run my ass over, I can swim fast, but not that fast. Would she agree to spot for them? He wasn’t sure, but if she could watch their backs while his crew made sure they kept an eye on him and didn’t run him over- it would be helpful. He monkey barred to the front of the ship, hooking his lifeline on the bow, dropping back into the water. Shit. It was everywhere, shadows looming and the vibrations of decaying hulls throbbing in the water. Listening to the ships engine’s start to turn and he started moving, the line snapping taught as paused for a moment under the surface and centered a moment before he surfaced again. If you can hear me, now would be a good time to finally start talking to me, he murmured and started moving. They hadn’t gone in far, but enough to slow them down and get their asses sniped by skimmer boats looking for a take down. It could be a tense trip, but not by much more.
  2. Calder Muireadach

    Fae Fury is coming......

    Two miles inland is the halfway house. A stop over for a big meal and to learn of their options, which are two from there. He simply watched; expression uninviting. It never really was anything but, he rarely smiled before this world and even less so now. Well fed they may take the bus down to Rio. The city is dominated by outworlders. A bit noisy and too much….concrete…. for my taste…. One New York for another, only filled with those of their kind or those at least sympathetic to their kind. It might be a good place for some. Then again, the elf could be lying his ass off. …. but they can look for work there and set up a life there if that is how they want to go. No guarantee of an easy transition but at least a guarantee that they are not hunted there… not reviled. The other option is they take the truck the rest of the way into my lands deep in the jungle. There they are guaranteed a home for each family and a job to get them on their feet. It is community living… they find a role to provide to the community in addition to working for the company. There it was, gaze sliding to the verge beyond and back to him. Tending the garden….the animals… something of that nature. Mind wandered off for a moment. Best intentions, for a cost. Stay a week…. a year… a lifetime…. choice is theirs. “Is it really?” question was quiet, deeply mistrustful. He’d used people, because that’s what royalty did. Everyone lived for the rulers’ right to live comfortably, and in turn they provided protection with the expectation they would lay down their lives if they asked them to. This was the best of situations, but deep down he knew he was delivering them to something that benefitted the elf in the end. They just needed to know it that before they made the decision to stay. I get help that can be trusted not to blow up my home…. they get a chance to get on their feet in a place where they are safe from the outside world…. “I don’t vet anyone before I bring them here, so what they do here is on you.” Satisfied? “No, but it’s not my choice.” He nodded slightly to Avi and the man broke from point to head down to bring up the weary travelers. Light footsteps brought him back onto the rail of the boat, where he balanced until they all had emerged. “We’re going to get on a caravan to get something to eat, then you can choose to go to Rio or you can go further in with Mr. Caranthir and work for him. Both options have pros and cons, but the decision is yours. Know though, that I will not leave without any of you that want to return with me. I will not leave you here if you don’t want to stay.” There were nods and murmurs of the half dozen tired and hot passengers. He unpinned the gangplank with the aid of his crew and secured it to the dock, stepping to the side to let them begin to make their choices. Leaving them to it for a moment, he went to his quarters and found a gray t-shirt and peeled it over his torso, abandoning his larger blade for small utility-looking ones that were in leather sheaths at the base of his spine. T-shirt would be soaked through in a matter of moments. He simply was not of this climate- it seriously took him off his game; he just didn’t have the physiology to deal with it. Shoes were somewhere, sliding on a pair of worn skipper shoes. He was going with to check out the locations. “Keep sharp, leave if there’s any trouble. Half mile out, I’ll find you. If it’s safe we’ll rotate shifts to go up the road and get things we need.” They nodded and he took the gangplank for once. “I’m going with. Not that I don’t trust you, I don’t trust anyone until I see it with my own eyes.”
  3. Calder Muireadach

    Fae Fury is coming......

    The outworlder was stoic, long after he’d spoken his last words. He knew those in the rooms of his larger ship were hot, and tired, anxious… scared, but there was no way in hell he would just dump them off and leave them to wolves that may be in sheep's clothing. Words were spoken in New York that were all bright and shiny, full of hope. Reality was rarely so. Muireadach…. Eyes left the Avian to blink and refocus on the elf. Pants and a turtleneck. Cripes on a crutch, did people really deal with this heat that well? I was not sure I would see you down this way. He left it unanswered for a moment. NPC: Vehicles are on their way Durion… Thanks Kahird. Vehicles to…. of course, take “possession” of his charges. Have food and drink for you and your crew as well as those you carry. I have a few questions about the northern territories I would like to ask you. My crew is fine, you need to explain exactly what is going to happen here and I will transfer that information to my passengers before one person steps off my ship. After they’ve settled in, I will check in with each and make sure they want to stay or return with me. It was business, and he didn’t budge from his position. One businessman an elegantly dressed host, the other half naked, barefoot and strapped with a deadly elegant weapon. Arms remained crossed, and he waited for a run down.
  4. Calder Muireadach

    The Great Ocean Escape

    …yes….. but fear often drives people to act like children. That was a given. Fear made people act in a lot of ways, and it ultimately bared souls. “It also tells you everything you need to know about anyone.” It was said particularly to himself. He didn’t have a read on her. She was running, she’d huddled in a corner in his ship even after he’d done nothing to warrant that behavior from her. She hadn’t trusted him. Even so, it was a boat that offered passage and if you were going to accept the ride, cowering would only lead to being taken advantage of with the wrong person. You fought for yourself. You showed the world where you stood… he too often forgot that his world didn’t work as his. Now though she obviously didn’t give two shits putting her hands on someone that obviously was comfortable stabbing people in the face that threatened him. She was hard to read. More than eighty percent of mine was blanketed in water….. we had only a handful of land dweller tribes. Interesting way to put it, eyes casting slightly to the side and down at her as she stood next to him. Land dweller tribes. That’s what he would be called he supposed. I was a…um….two worlder?.... I passed between water and land…..to keep the peace…. Two worlder? “You’re a shifter,” he said matter-of-factly, scanning the horizon again as he filled in the blanks. It was simple logic. There was really nothing about her stature that gave any indication it could pass in water to do what she was implying. She was avoiding above deck. Logic. She was a shifter, unless she was lying. “Is that what you’re telling me?” The lighthouse was definitely more on his mind, his world had shifters. Not many, but they were there as they were here. Other worlds had to have the same. He’d fought with shifters, he’d killed shifters. That distance… that bright.....more likely to be some magic? She brought his thought process back to the present. You know….the more you are bitter and angry with these waters…. the more strongly they will ignore your call. ….and then not. She was looking at him again, the stoic distance normally calm… starting to hint of grouchy. The soft knocking above his head questioned shifting their heading, brain once again back on their growing predicament. If the hull wasn’t in the shape it was in, they would have definitely kept going. Sigh was soft, brow furrowing as he pulled out another chart, spreading it out on the table and clicking the light on for a moment. A thick glass magnifier slid across it slowly, fingertip tapping the map and then checking their position. “The waters here are apparently too weak to do what I tell them,” voice was calm, decided. The thought had occurred to him often he wasn't strong enough to control it. It simply couldn't be. “A lot of things in this world are disappointing.” He “hm’d” to himself as he looked again at the map. That was genius, and dangerous… it was either a good or bad thing. Usually bad from his experience. “The lighthouse is a Siren. It’s tricking people in that direction that really don’t know the exact location. Runs straight into shoals. They’re trying to ground incoming ships.” He knocked on the ceiling for Avi to stay on course. “The ‘lighthouse’ is purposely drawing boats into shoals. I know our heading is correct. Question is… are they keeping travelers and themselves safe by only having people that know the exact location safe, vice versa... may have been taken over and now pulling those that know where it is in to return to Ireland, or worse.” Light clicked off, they were going to run as silent as possible. Coming in at night was safer because they couldn’t be seen, but it was harder to see what they were running into. Knock on the ceiling called the entire crew to “quarters”. Guns were coming out, spotters were going on the rails, himself choosing a matching pair of knives from his wall and pulled up his sleeves to strap them to his forearms. When they got closer he would go investigate if he had to. “We’ll know when we get there.”
  5. Calder Muireadach

    Fae Fury is coming......

    The avian was unexpected, but logically expected just the same. He nodded to Jerry and Avi, and they tossed the ropes to the dock. The captain ducked below deck to find the restless passengers trying to peer out. “You’re going to stay below deck until I speak with who’s in charge. I didn’t bring you halfway across the world not to make sure you’re all safe first.” There were nods, but eyes were still on the light that filtered from the stairs. He trotted back up the steps. Still barefoot, he slipped below the bridge and laced an elegant, exotic scabbard across his back. Long strides brought him to the edge and he hopped off his boat to wordlessly greet the dockmaster, black corded necklace with sea-glass pendants twinkling as he landed. Eyes scanned their surroundings from the new vantage point and he nodded to those of his crew that were still guarding the corners of the small vessel. They had orders to shoot in the the face and ask questions later if they were threatened before he spoke to the elf. Well… with only being threatened. Shoot first, ask questions later. This was the way he always had worked. Bargains were struck, you broke the bargain or tried to play him, the consequences were immediate. “They don’t go anywhere until I talk to your boss.” Voice was quiet, arms crossing, a defiant guardian as he stood between the greener pastures and his boat. If something was going to happen, they had to get through him first. “…and I will stay docked here until they’ve all gotten to see whether or not they want to stay or go.”
  6. Calder Muireadach

    The Great Ocean Escape

    ….that is the problem…. ….I can slaughter them back. Lower lids tightened slightly, looking like a squint as he studied the chart… the words he was thinking were right on the tip of his tongue. There was a little self-control for a moment, but as he moved he felt he had to say something. “Problems are subjective... I don't see your issue, as a problem.” It was all he offered. He truly didn’t see it as a problem. Defending yourself was never an issue, and his words spoke volumes of it. He wasn’t a stranger to violence, though being here had reduced it to a considerably rare event. He looked somewhat warm and fuzzy, but there was a distance that had a lingering feel of arrogance... or lethal brutality. …. I don’t….pass….…… not always….. His own eyes adjusted just as hers did when he turned out the light, a silvery sheen very reminiscent of reflective cat eyes was brief as he glanced at her. “Some more than others seems to be the way of it." Arms crossed as he studied the horizon, still holding on to the binoculars. “It’s not up to us to make others comfortable with what we are. To lash out at those who are different is to act like a spoiled child that doesn’t want to share their toys.” He realized intimately that he was chiding himself. Maybe he’d grown up a bit in his ten years away from home. …. mine didn’t have so much land…. The glance over to her was a little longer this time. He’d put that together. The kind of control she seemed to have over it, there was definitely a water element there. Outworlder, clearly distressed and introverted, her small comments about her appearance... he'd connected it all. “Mine was about sixty forty… in favor of water,” he commented, bringing the glasses up to look again. Soft taps erupted quietly from above his head. “Yah… I see it too…” he said absently, tapping in response with the glasses still in place as he stared at the horizon. A light flickered wanly, barely visible even through the glasses. It was so faint he’d almost missed it. This far out, it had to be something bright. “I controlled most of it. Lot of fighting, on land… on water. A lot of fighting,” he got back on subject. “There was no difference for me between the two battlefields. Now I have a boat. Just a boat." There was sarcasm in his last sentence. Sigh was long. As long as they were spilling secrets, he wasn’t going to lie and say he was a good person. He needed to get off it and back to the issue at hand. “Our destination port doesn’t run lights at night. You have to know what you’re looking for to find it. That looks like a lighthouse to me…” he turned fluidly, scanning the circumference of glass around him, they lowered and he went for the radio. Channels were still all dark, eyes narrowed as he checked their position. He knew he was right, but the light was slightly off course. Had he made a mistake in his navigation? They were missing something, but he was going to stay on course.
  7. Calder Muireadach

    Fae Fury is coming......

    He sat in the pilot house... cold towel on the back of his neck, literally half naked; no shoes, no shirt, boat shorts barely on his hips, hair in Mohawk twist and off his neck. This heat, was killing him. He would have been below deck, but it was worse there. Stifling. Humid. He could barely breathe, questioning his entire decision to do this. The sun though... the sun was the bastard that needed to die. They were early. Really early. The storm that had been predicted to batter what was once Florida and threaten to halt them in Georgia for a week minimum had taken a sharp turn into the gulf, enabling him to ride right behind it. Daring, but that's what he did. It was odd for a storm to take such a drastic turn, something was up with the weather, he could feel a cold nipping at their heels- but for now he was in tropical hell, still unaware the same storm that let them arrive quicker had burst into snow in the gulf and was battering the entire central land mass with flurries and white-outs. There was also talk of someone on his tail, and he wanted to lose their asses. He would deal with them on the return when he didn't have a boatload of terrified Outworlders. Word traveled fast, and not in a good way sometimes; he'd almost had to leave a few behind. They were restless, his insistence on them staying below deck and out of sight was a firm one. It was uncomfortable, not ideal, but it kept them safe from whatever they may still encounter. They were on the coast and coast meant they could be seen unlike on open water. He didn't come this far to lose them now. He also didn't come this far to die of heat exhaustion either. This would be the make or break moment, learning as much about where and who he was dropping them off to as the fae seemed to know about him. It still reeked of servitude. Hopefully, it wasn't. Head perked up slightly, watching the mouth of the river. Bare feet on the bridge, he stood quietly from his chair and put the boat at full stop to kill the engines, coasting quietly into the mouth of the river. High trees and a few ridges on either side as far as the eye could see. He didn't like the vulnerable position, but they really had no choice. The dock was less than a half mile in- at the point where his boat could go no further. They would be trapped, and alone. His crew were stationed at key points, armed, and waiting for a hint of something to shoot. He hated guns, but they were necessary in certain situations. This was one of them. Boat was completely silent save for the lap of the water on the hull. An occasional screech from an exotic bird that didn't heed the instinctual silence from the rest at the strangers' trespassing brought muzzles up and his eyes toward the fluttering green foliage. Barely anyone breathed as he steered to a coast with precision, looking for someone on the dock ready to throw a line. Do or die time.
  8. Calder Muireadach

    The Great Ocean Escape

    Not the water….. Pressed lips didn’t betray the inner seethe. ….the people of this world….ten years and they still slaughter what they do not recognize…… Jaw set slightly. It nicked a little too close to the bone. Would he have been as tolerant if others had slid into his world? No. The answer was immediate. He would not have. He would have slaughtered anyone he did not recognize… and this was his hell for it. The ocean was lost to him. His family, his kingdom. He was being punished. And now? He was ferrying the very same people he would have gutted if they had set foot on his own lands. ….acquaintance….. Quiet eyes blinked himself back into the present, watching his own fingers trace across the map as if he was assuring himself this life would make up for the last. He was being watched. He didn’t like being watched, the loose, still-damp cascade of hair was pulled high on his skull and secured into a topknot with some technic lost on this planet. That is all they care about isn't it….. Blink again at her was slow, his finger tapping once on South America before reaching to adjust the volume on the radio. It was silent. Just as it should be. No chatter. No ships. I don’t care what they care about. It doesn’t matter the horrific power one might wield…. just that they can "pass"… He rolled up one map, sliding it into the shelf under the table as he pulled out another; a much more detailed version of where they were currently traveling. Nothing was said for a moment, plotting their position quietly. Again the nip at his throat. She wasn’t doing it on purpose; there was no way she could have known. It matters. It matters if it makes money, or secures power. Ireland wants its little corner of normal and screw everyone else. New York swallows Outworlders... and altered. Someone can be L-infected and fight in the middle of a cage in front of thousands of people and be cheered on by the masses. Or, an unusual magus can be sought for hire as a bodyguard…horrific powers and all. New York embraces the different if there’s something to be made from it. Voice was quiet, intent on his work but circling back to something she’d said earlier as he checked their course. If the people of this world… are intent on slaughtering you… then you slaughter them back. Eyes flicked up at her a moment, clearly incensed at this world's insistence on playing nice before turning to scan the channels on the radio. They were all silent. A few more hours and he would radio in to the port. If there was chatter he would have to investigate first before coming in. I can pass but I refuse to allow those that can't to be terrorized. If anyone threatens my passengers they will die… regardless of any horrific powers. Anyone attacks my passengers and crew, they will die. Matter of fact and without any sign of apprehension, the dark words remained quiet... as easy as breathing. He reached up and turned off one of the main overhead lights, much less harsh now that he didn’t need it to read the chart. It also helped keep the ship less visible in case of any other travelers. Rare and unlikely, but flirting with fate never ended well. Not my place to judge, only protect. That’s what Mr. Caranthir sought me out for. Sometimes the most passable have the worst secrets. Like himself, he finally divulged. He drew in a long breath, realizing he’d crossed his arms and was staring aimlessly at the invisible horizon in the direction they were headed. Picking up a set of glasses, he scanned the horizon. Coming in always put everyone on high alert. They were still in no-man’s land. If you’re restless, I could use another set of eyes on the horizon. St. John has been safe in the past, but things change. He nodded toward another set of glasses on the shelf near the door, clicking through the channels again and rapping a pattern on the ceiling to communicate with his first mate up in the captain’s chair. No unnecessary radio this close to land. Morse code. Another weird little thing he’d learned in this world…
  9. Calder Muireadach

    The Great Ocean Escape

    The once upon a time prince was an intuitive one. He had to be, nuances caught in the tone of her words. Had she expected he’d understand her language? No. She’d hoped he would. He knew what it felt like. Being an outworlder was disorienting and cruel, but most often lonely. He didn’t know how to fix that, for himself or anyone. She looked at the water the way he did, but could control it… still shielding herself from it as if it was poison. He’d never heard of such a thing, eyes narrowing slightly and pausing partially into his descent, watching her wipe more water away. I don’t get wet…… The melancholy had pushed aside for a moment, replaced with a cautious curiosity. “Why?” he asked quietly, hand paused on the overhead before he was going to duck under into his hidey-hole chart room. It was the eyes that finally made him put all the pieces together. Humanoids on his world didn’t have eyes like that, and this wasn’t his first rodeo with people that had an affinity for water. There were all kinds, and all shapes, and all types of powers. Terrible and mystical. Brow cocked slightly, “seems like the water controls you, because you think too much.” The statement wasn’t a question, it was a fact delivered with a nonchalance she may not have been used to. Observation turned back to business. “Got a towel for you, the others below deck aren’t dry yet from cleaning your friend’s last round of festivities.” He descended the few steps after ducking the edge of the bridge, clicking on a radio and turning the volume lower, pulling several towels out from a footlocker in the corner and tossing them on the bench near the stairs if she chose to partake. He kept a steady supply to wipe the windows when they fogged on the inside during this weather. Light was clicked on over his workspace, eyes wandering over the chart a moment. Morning. They’d be there by morning. St. John was a safe place, but they hadn’t been there in a while. Less stops meant a faster run, less gas, less chance to be followed or tracked. Staying hidden in open ocean was easy. Hopping ports was predictable. He wouldn’t have done it unless it was necessary. “St. John,” he put his finger on the chart. “Quiet, sympathetic friends there.” Finger slid back to the coast of Ireland. “Cruise ship sank right here, I buoyed it on my last run. It shifted during the time I was gone and the buoy moved, tore the hull on the stack. We were anchored for a few days while I fixed it, that’s why we were late. Docked in St. John instead of open water and I can do it properly.” Hand brushed over New York. “We stop here, this is where I live. I wait for enough that want to go south and then I make this run,” he traced down to South America. “A lot stay in New York, they can blend in with the magus. The more physically unique usually decide to seek refuge with the Fanya Niasa, Durion Caranthir has a particular protective nature. It’s isolated, and he is able to find ways for them to live comfortably and make a life.” Eyes moved over his blades on the wall behind the small seats and went back to the charts. “I can pass, so I do what I can to get people where they need to go. I'll get you where you need to go.” The implication was ominous. He didn't just 'do what he could', he did whatever was necessary, without question- and most of the time it included clearing the way, in a bloody fashion.
  10. Calder Muireadach

    The Great Ocean Escape

    SoH 'Iv? Eyes narrowed, one hand snatched by the passenger but the other low on his back with a blade already out and inverted against the inside of his wrist. He somehow knew she’d be strong, the little things always were. Calm ones, quiet ones; they were always those with the most bite. veHHeHDaj DaSov'a'? The language was lost on him, and when she let go the blade was placed none-the-wiser back into its sheath under his sweater. She probably would have no idea how close she’d come to becoming a Pez dispenser. People didn’t touch him. He didn’t like to be touched if he didn't know someone. It was the only outward sign he couldn’t control that he wasn’t "normal". Skin, much cooler than a human and couldn’t be explained away. To her though, he’d not divulged a thing. For all she knew he was a magus. ….you think too much….. That brought an uncharacteristic scowl from his features. Bullshit. HoS lughoStaHvIS… He didn’t watch the water, he watched her. He’d seen waves, storms, the heave of water off the beach out to sea as he’d pulled a wave in so severe it’d decimated cities. His fist, his fury. He used it to conquer the world. It wasn’t new to him. What was, was that he wasn’t doing it. The impotence was wearing him thin. Eyes closed to shield off the waterfall, peering upward through wet lashes, the seethed sigh annoyed as he glowered back at her. ..this water doesn’t like lots of thinking….. “This water needs to start doing what it’s told,” the grumble was under his breath. “Jhuh xeinv ftuh ih’j hej…” His smooth, yet percussive language was cast toward the dark waters with a spite he wasn’t going to explain. “Be dark soon, it’s going to get colder, we’re shifting north slightly. Might want to find some more warm layers if you’re going to be out here.” A calm had come again over his countenance, moving to retreat to the room under the bridge. He could still see everything the first mate saw from the bridge, its recess underneath just gave him a place to eat on his own, and his personal items were there. An apartment so to speak, but it wasn't where he slept. He relished it there when his crew was asleep, only a few tending to the job and an insane silence over the black water except for the hum of the engine. It was also the home of his toys when he didn’t feel like playing with anyone. These two were going to annoy him until the end, if not from anything else but pure jealousy. He wanted more of his hot chocolate too, but in all honesty... he was just too melancholy to deal with anyone at the moment.
  11. Calder Muireadach

    The Great Ocean Escape

    Eyes narrowed as she pushed past him and he followed her, hand low on his spine under his sweater to flick the lock clip on the knife there. This was a first; a first for a charge to beat the hell out of his boat and seemingly attempt to do it again, or whatever she was trying to do. He was trusted by Durion, but even Durion would understand if he had to make a horrific decision for the greater good. He would not let his vessel and his crew be sunk by anyone he deemed a threat. Hand returned to his side calmly before she glared back at him. Not sinking….. putting ocean back in place…. She could move the water. Bated breath made him pause a moment as he watched her disappear onto the deck before taking the stairs two at a time after her in time to see the exchange. Chid jey …. CHID JEY! His world had no words. It was his will that forced the water to move… absolute control over every molecule, but where was he in the line of generations of water warriors?? Hundreds, if not thousands… had there ever been words? Was there ever a time when his people had to… ….was misbehaving…. …train the water. He’d stopped breathing at some point, watching the water do exactly what he’d assumed she’d told it to do. It was a beautiful thing. Eyes finally flicked to hers, narrowing in thought. He’d inherited a world where its greatest weapon was already a trained monster, reins were easy to take. This world wasn’t his, from what he’d gathered nothing moved water like he did before the Resonance. It was unruly, and vast. He had to train the water. How the hell was he supposed to train the water? Blue flicked back to the sluicing surface. There was nothing more he wanted to do than repeat the words she’d said. Sleeves were pushed up, exposing the seafoam colored script that started on his forearms and twisted upward where it disappeared under the sweater again; it pulsed once as long strides closed the distance to the railing where he leapt up and balanced nimbly even with the slick metal under his boots. Muscles moved as the ship did, keeping his balance. “Can you understand me…?” he said, the dark vocal chords speaking to it like an equal, extending fingers toward the water. It was not his equal, it was his servant. His weapon. He’d never spoken to the water before, flick outward of fingertips sending a thrum across the surface of the water like a swirl of rain. Then, nothing. Brow came down. It was all he was ever able to do. Seethed exhale calmed before he jumped down. “It doesn't work. It can’t be tamed. I've tried." Comment was dark as it was his turn to push past her toward the small cabin directly below the bridge. “There’s more food if you need it, what’s ours is yours,” he finished over his shoulder. The melancholy that was always there had returned after the brief moment of hope. Nod to Aki was slight and the man took the bridge, the captain retreating to his own space underneath to lick his wounds.
  12. Calder Muireadach

    The Great Ocean Escape

    Thoughts were a mile away, pausing on the redhead in his galley before he padded back to his own quarters. It took him a while to get dressed, sitting on the side of his bunk, elbows on his knees and drinking his hot chocolate slowly. He was angry. Every once in a while the warrior bubbled to the surface, reminding him of his inadequacies and putting him into a broody lull. Eventually he changed back to his regular attire, cargos, loose and worn gray cable knit sweater, scarf and such. The perfect boat captain. Galley empty as he passed, the sullen mood continued with his first step up the stairs to the deck. No sooner had he checked his watch, the clang of it hitting the railing preceded a seethe when his arm slammed against metal. It was quickly followed by the squeegee sound of his hand grabbing and slipping off the railing before he landed flat on his back at the bottom of the stairs. Head bounced once off the floor, a shooting array of stars through his vision as he groaned and leaned up, rubbing it. The boat hit something. The boat hit something! He rolled forward and launched up the stairs, met with… nothing. Small crew was peering over the deck on each side, reporting nothing. Nothing? He walked completely around the perimeter. Nothing. Nothing but new passengers. Second time in as many hours. Trot down the steps held purpose, twice banging on the door with the side of his fist where the more conscious of the two was most likely hiding. "Is that you? If you're going to sink my boat we need to talk." It wasn't angry, but it wasn't kind either. Already being irritated didn't help the tone. Upset his boat was getting tossed like a toy. Jealous maybe? If there was a rogue something on this ship that couldn’t control jack shit, they were getting off at St. John. He knew he had a job, but he also wasn’t going to watch his boat get pulled apart in the process. St. John was a helluva lot safer than Ireland at the moment, and he already wanted one off his boat. Might now be two.
  13. Calder Muireadach

    The Great Ocean Escape

    Brow flinched slightly in concentration as he continued his search for supplies in his toolkit to return to the water. He never looked angry, but inside he was seething. He could ask one of his charges to keep the boat from taking on water until they reached St. John's, but it was an unfair request of someone newly out of danger... and his pride couldn't take it. Gaze turned to rest on the waves a moment, the pull of the vast nearly black water catching his attention. Expression became blank, then curious as it seemed it'd started speaking to him. Whispering its native tongue to tickle his ears.... hands pausing their busy flurry as it taunted. Lips parted, it had never said a word to him until now. Over a decade. So silent, so foreboding. Heavy, hateful, aggressive. To him it was a living thing, but in this world it felt sick, spiteful. Last item was hastily shoved into the kit and he set it down, easily pulling himself onto the railing of the boat to watch the water, keeping his balance with an effortless grace as the vessel undulated. Aki squinted up at him against the wind, pulling the zipper up on his coat. They all knew the captain was an Outworlder, understood he relished the cold when other's tolerance reached its limits, as evidence by the fact he was barefoot and shirtless in a pair of khakis in near freezing temperatures... but, he was being odd. He could hear Aki begin to speak to him, but the depths were louder, his concentration on the world that was his everything- hoping that for an instant when he opened the hand at his side to the waters it would do what he asked. Instead, met with a rather fierce rock of the boat and an uncharacteristic loss of balance that sent him straight into the drink with no safety tether. *npc* "Captain overboard!" It took a second for the small crew to register what was happening. The Captain was always overboard, but he wasn't moving, hitting the water with a painful slap to his back, floating silently in the dark ocean that was threatening to swallow him. The Outworlder could feel the water, but not himself, brain lost in the depths like a dark cloud had descended into his thoughts. Paralyzing and ovehelming. A fierce sting brought him out of the pit, Aki's near perfect aim landing the lifeline across his chest like a whip. He jerked almost instantly, the darkness in his head tearing away like something had ripped at his eye sockets. Fleeing back into the depths, stealing away. Arm wound the line around his forearm and he bobbed there a moment, making a decision and pulling himself back on the boat. "If we take on more water, run the pumps, otherwise get us on course for St. John's. Leave them off." He tossed the line on the deck. *npc* "Aren't you going to fix the hull?" Aki's surprise was expecting of some kind of explanation. "No, get on it." He secured the kit, squeezed water from his hair and took the towel from Aki, slicking off his limbs. Feet padded below deck silently as he tossed the towel over his shoulder. Step into the galley was unexpected, removing his mug from the sink and taking a drink, long look at her in silence before he stole away to change and get back to his chair. "Docking before morning to repair the boat," he said quietly as he left with his mug. He wanted the boat to take on water again... he wanted to provoke the ocean to recognize his presence again. More than anything. He wanted to face down that dark monster something had provoked... so he could grab it by the throat and take back his world.
  14. Calder Muireadach

    The Great Ocean Escape

    His world was cold and vast, drifting a bit away from the boat as the propellers came to a stop and the boat started to move with the sway of the ocean. Swimming back to his charge, hands first went to the in-water patch he’d delivered less than a week ago. Fingers wandered over the work. It was solid. He hovered a moment, braid tickling across his shoulders as it floated in his own version of weightlessness. It felt like a battery at first, a shiver of water that slithered across his skin. Taunting, a sensation he hadn’t felt in over a decade. Except it wasn’t him. It wasn’t any of his crew. Rush of water was like a jet, eyes narrowing as they followed the bubbles. It was a sliver, a miniscule gap between plates that would push shut against the waves and gap when there was no pressure… the constant shiver was what was vibrating the hull and caught his attention. It was emergent enough to not be a concern, but sneaky enough to be have gone undetected and be deadly if they’d not been closer to St. John’s. He could patch it, but that wasn’t what had caught his attention. Breath could be seen as he broke the surface, lithe muscles pulling him up his safety line and back onto the deck. Expression was extremely displeased, not that he’d missed the separation in the hull- it would have been a needle in a haystack until out at sea anyway, it was the in-his-face reminder of his shortcomings. Skin steamed, the sun hitting the cool of the water still over his form. Squeezing out his braid, he tossed it over his shoulder. “It’s fine,” he said as he unclipped his “leash” and wound it to hang on a cleat. “More damage from the snag. Nothing major. We’ll get to St. John’s and dock for a day. Might have to dry dock it in New York, but it will get us there.” Strides were quick to the tool kit on the deck storage. Eyes rested darkly on the hatch to below deck as he prepped his kit to go back under. It was a hot jealousy, a constant reminder he was weak, one he would have to watch until he dropped off this duo.
  15. Calder Muireadach

    The Great Ocean Escape

    Not really….a friend… Understandable. Seemed they might not have even known each other before that night. Rhyse…. “Nobody is on your tail here Rhyse,” he responded quietly to the skittish behavior as he finished the food. He got it, he did. The first few years on this rock had left him looking over his shoulder and out of sorts. Aggressive almost, as he figured out who was friend or enemy. He unfortunately didn’t have anyone to tell him otherwise. “Ain’t no one close enough to catch us, nobody deft enough to find us. Just you and your not-friend made it on this trip, and my crew are all here to help you.” Voice was soft, but always licked with a personality beneath that was no bullshit and easy to smile. …be even better if added some allspice and sweet ancho peppers…… Brow cocked slightly, no idea what the hell she was talking about. More of the weird things he’d never heard of. His relationship with food had been a precarious one. After several virulent experiences with seemingly mundane dishes early in his time on this rock, he’d been extremely careful… developed a bland palate almost. … cinnamon is very good too. “Abuelita… it’s called I think. Traded for it in the Gulf of Mexico a while back. No clue what it is, but it tastes good.” Didn’t used to be hiding…. I um….. wore contacts…. lost those….. but that was it….. I mean…. I had my own shop and people didn’t seem to….…. “Hiding is hiding,” he stopped and instead turned back into the galley. It wasn’t condemning her, just being truthful as he leaned on the counter and sipped from his mug a moment, hand was on the edge of the counter next to his hip. He could feel the waves hit the hull; it was vibrating the entire boat. Something didn't feel right. Eyes narrowed slightly, setting down the mug in the sink and picking up his food and the push to talk that was mounted on the wall near the door. “Talk to me Aki,” he said quietly, taking another spoonful as the black spiral cord bobbed with the sway of the small cargo boat. He waited another moment, turning off the stove and setting the pot and his bowl into the sink. *npc* We need you up here. “Roger that,” push-to-talk was snapped back on its cradle. “Sit tight, I’ll be back.” Long legs took the stairs a few at a time, door opened and onto the deck. Sun was finally peering out; the sea itself was starting to become relatively calm, chilly, but calm in the growing evening. Tonight would be a saturating dark with no moon. A change from the roughness of the last few days, but just as necessary to stay on point. Aki and another were leaning over the port railing. He knew what it was even before he had to ask. It had something to do with the patch. *npc* Bilge is running hard. We’re taking on more water than we should. Maybe not the patch, another hole somewhere? He’d gone over the whole thing. “We’ll dock in St. John’s. Full stop, I’m going in.” He went below deck again, the upper half of his clothes already off as he passed the galley to his quarters. Boots, everything except for his khakis came off, leather harness on his waist, a toolkit clipped to it, knife strapped on his bicep, padding barefoot back out and braiding his hair as he went. Hiding had never been his thing. “Keep my hot chocolate warm,” he said quietly as he passed the galley and took the stairs again several at a time. The small cargo ship could be felt slowing, and he wasted no time snapping on his safety line, stepping up onto the railing in one motion and disappearing over the side.


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