Ballad of the Fleet: The Apprentice

Summary:
March 3rd, 2015: Namor visits his 'seer' the Logomancer and requests aid, Eztli the Logomancer's Apprentice is re-assigned.

Cayman Trough, Atlantic Ocean

Hidden location undersea.


Characters

NPCs

  • Logomancer

Mood Music:
[*<http://insert.video.or.music.link.here>]


Somewhere in the Oceanic Trench just north of the Cayman Trough in the Caribbean is host to the hidden South Atlantean Fleet. The Septe Flotilla, Sub-Mariner's personal brigade guards the area vigilantly. The place is kept safe from the surface by nature itself in by means of it's very depths and the hypothermic vents that obscure the sea floor. In some location these vents exceed degrees of 450 °C, some of the hottest undersea vents the world has to offer. The ocean floor is dotted heavily by both black and white smokers and considered a hadal zone, named after the realm of Hades in Greek mythology one of the Abyssal Plains of the Atlantic.

Portions of it are so dark not even Atlantean eyes can pierce the depths. Which is an issue the Logomancer's Apprentice is being forced to deal with right now.

"No, Eztli do not use the headgear nor your spells. Trust in your senses, 'feel' the presence and dig in." The Logomancer chides as he floats there, white hair trailing behind him, his bio-luminescent tattoo markings visible to Namor's eyes as he draws nearer to a lazy drift beside the man, spectating. "My liege."

"Logomancer, I come seeking guidance and your aid… what transpires?"

"My apprentice is performing a task. One she should be more than capable of but chooses to bicker with me."

The Southern Tribe Monarch tips his head in a quizzical fashion and in response the Logomancer motions to the rocky outcropping of a trench cleft, black sponge bodied creatures crawl amass a sprawl of undulating vein covered worms, whatever they lie upon they seem to be fighting for space and underwater, the augmented senses of the Atlanteans can smell the dead flesh, a carcass, a massive one of a beast that is unidentifiable beyond a mass of rotten bone and chewed upon meat.

"Get in there and get them Eztli!" The Logomancer demands.

Namor folds his arms over his chest and watches with a grin. Not surprised the Logomancer is being contrary himself and using a headgear of Atlantean tech. A lesson no doubt.


The disdain is obvious, it twists Eztli's face, darkening areas of indigo flesh as eyes flash, the reflection amongst the lack of light eerily incandescent as magic whirls below the surface but does not get tapped, halcyon iris' swirling mu;to-hued and metallic, unlike the fractal hair that billows around her face. A frame for the wrinkled nose, twisted lips and narrowed eyes as a hand extends and picks up a piece of rotting and eroding 'meat' betwixt two fingers and gives it a 'boost' the Logomancers way.

"Easy for you to say, for me to dig in. I will smell like shark entree and all for a simple stone buried in two stomachs. What's 10 decades? we'll find another."

Eztli knows the pearls are produced at a slow rate, especially the black ones, a harvest field made for monitoring the occurrence having been raided by a smaller predator and then swallowed whole by this larger one which in doing so met its demise.

Even the small things in the ocean pack a punch at this depth and its secreted venom took to work, decaying the large monolith from the inside out, slowly killing it while it digests and now…

"Let me borrow a trident, I'd rather not…" Her words holding the obvious distaste.


"Not soon enough, Eztli." The Logomancer responds, "Besides, this one is now seasoned, a Haika shark of all things! When was the last anyone has seen one of these. Let me give you a hint… not since I was a boy. It will add to the essence of the pearls."

"Essence of the pe- nevermind." Namor cuts himself off, he cares not for these things this talk is for those of a mind and the son of Fenn is very much the sort to just take it as is. To Atlateans magic and technology are almost essentially the same thing and viewed with that very same acceptence. The Avenging son is not a technical individual.

"No trident, Ez. It remains in the throne room. You afraid to get your hands a little dirty? You had no such compunctions when you bathed in Nazi blood decades ago and you cannot handle a rotting carcass or sea parasites?" Though, things this close to the Abyssal floors of the ocean were always 'different'. These creatures no exception. They could even be harmful yet the Logomancer doesn't seem too concerned so perhaps not.
"Listen now, Eztli, my forever headache, even our patron is taunting you! You bring me a great dishonor." She will know he is joking of course and just taunting her to get under her skin. The man is never serious or cross with her in any form.


The snap of her head around loses it's effect when the water keeps her hair billowing slowly in place around her. But her glare between the two men. Indignant. The purse of her lips - Ego. Blown.

"I don't see either of you /heroes/ jumping in to frolic in the decaying remains of such a ~precious find~!" When she says the two final words in a sing song tone she claps her hands together, places them by her cheek and sways like a child just given her favorite toy, or told she was the best-est.

Hands flail out, exasperated and the bubbles that come from lips at the escaped huff make it seem like the water around her could come to a boil. Fingers heft into her skirt strips that flow around her like seaweed limbs, slowly tying them up to heft the length from touching the mire of decaying oceanic flesh, peeling off her reef and bone sandals and setting them aside with the bracers that strap around her wrists to forearms like exo skeletons. "Eztli, get the trove. Eztli fetch me the - let me not tell you it stings - aural sea nymph. How about that tome… Oh and later knee deep in the oceans sewage I want you to find a black pearl in an abyssal whalestack. But the whale is RARE!" Pant. "Excuse me for my lack of exceptional enthusiasm." A snap of gaze to Namor. She lost her composure.

Bow with the extending of one arm to the side in a snappy emphasis, before the grotesque squish of rotten visceral bits is heard with her trudging through and blindly ripping its side further agape and reaching in with a *squish*.

Better???


"I have an apprentice for such things." The Logomancer counters.

"And I have subjects for such things." The King replies.

Both men's faces contort as she steps through the murk and refuse, the plumes of matter uprising from it only add to the stench. "Neptune's Beard… " Namor gasps before reeling backwards.

A rippling laughter that turns in to a bubbly chortle comes from the aged Atlantean techno-wizard. He is drifting slowly from the'stank' clouds the water is now covered in that will ultimately be dispersed by the smoker vents but it's present enough to have them visibly dodging it.

"Have you found them yet?" The Logomancer questions.


"I am already losing the emotion of regret." A pointed few words as the Logomancer comes closer to ask for immediate results. Withdrawing her hand she holds the clumps of hole filled decay already riddled with worming bottom feeding children to up-end her hand and drop it at his floating feet where the cloud spreads.

"That was in the way." Smile, bat of lashes. When she turns back to the carcass and digs in to her shoulder she is holding her head back like a child refusing to eat its plankton. Uh-uh. Nope. Even her head turns from side to side before she exhales, hold her breath and -smears- her cheek against the peeling hide and /reaches/.

"I did not sign up for -this-. I am no subject." Gag, heave, her whole body shudders and her arm withdraws in a fist to step out, her other hand trying to slap her hair out of her face without touching.

A fistful of worming meat releasing a green plume is plopped in the Logomancers thin boned hand while her throat still works back an urge to vomit. "I want a subject to come scour beneath my nails for this." She says as she holds up her hand and thrusts it towards Namor to show the clogged cuticles. "So not pretty. Nazis are disgusting, but this…" Urp.


"All Atlanteans are subject to Namor." The hybrid taunts her as she immerses her face in dead shark infested worm meat. His own stomach turns a little and his composure falls again as he forces himself to look away.

The Logomancer actually prods his finger through the gunk she let float a container produced to scoop some of it up. Yeah, he is weird like that. "One day when you are the Logomancer you will have your own apprentice." He states all matter of factually, "Then you can have your fun."
"Are we done here yet? I wish to speak and not lose what I have eaten this day." The monarch's impatience shining forth.

Urp is right.


"I… will…go clean up.." Eztli sates as she plucks a piece from her hair and her gaze falls half lidded. She's fighting the urge to lose breakfast but maintaining a decent composure. One of ire instead of utter illness.

Picking up her bracers and sandals carefully she moves off through the waters to go to a nearby cleansing pool (made by an underground geyser because there is no better way to clean this off then to /burn/ it off) already loosing the pieces of her skirt from the tie around thighs and waist, removing it and folding it over her arm. Though she pauses and looks over her shoulder to them both.

"As long as I am not to be digging in foul remains again today?" A perked brow as gaze shifts from Namor to the Logomancer.

The two men were left to their own devices long enough, it likely was about an hour before Eztli joined them again, her attire changed, skin still a darker hue of purple blue from the heat to which she subjected herself to remove any stench and remains from her, still inspecting beneath her nails while she silently approaches, a bit of white fabric held around her waist by stone and malleable silver metal belt, leaving a glimpse of one leg from hip to bare ankle. Abdomen is bare and chest is covered by a similar silver metal, shining a silver opalescent hue in a shell like cusp bearing spires over the heave of her chest. Upon her brow the circlet is present, one silver horn extending from the center of brow where a black opal stone seats itself within the metal at the base of protrusion where a 'third eye' would be present for those who bear such a gift.

Eztli is no exclusion, not anymore, her abilities having surfaced in the last years after the wars when all was thought to be lost…

No haste here.


"It took you an hour to put on a shred of clothing?" The Atlantean King scoffs.

Her mentor the Logomancer only chuckles again with that familiar amusement, "Come now, your majesty is fully aware of the nuances involved where females are concerned. You think my apprentice being what she is has become something other than?"

Namor looks reluctant not to say another word and just waves a hand through the space between them, "Enough, we have tallied enough, inform your pupil of what shall be transpiring so we can make preparations."

"Yes, sire." A drift through the small ship towards the back portion of it and the man comes back out holding a 'viewer' between his hands, the mirrored surface of it vaguely reflective but covered in mars and misting from age.

"What is this?" The mutant noble inquires once more.

"Oh this? This is just my surface viewer, I watch their broadcasts through it. You ever seen Hogan's Heroes?"

A sound escapes Sub-Mariner and his hand roughly rakes through his own hair, fingers tightening in and releasing as his chest rises and falls.
"Also there is a wonderful comedy they aired the other day Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea starring a Richard Basehart…. "

Namor under his breath whispers, "Insufferable…"


"No, it took me an hour to smell Atlantean again and get the rotting intestine from beneath my nails." Eztli states as she passes Namor, casting him a sidelong glance and holding her hand up to show she was /squeaky/ clean now. Even buffed to a nice lustre.

The relationship between the Logomancer and apprentice seems tense, at least on the surface, but if you watched carefully the look Etzli follows the ma with as he goes to get the viewer, is a fondness of a grand-daughter to the old story telling patriarch. Though, once he turned around and was returning her look went right back to an idle acknowledgement of a reluctant adolescent. Neither of which she was in reality, but its prefect.

"For whatever reason he likes watching the humans. Though they do exist for amusement I cannot stomach more then 2 breaths." Etzli leans against a shelf and folds her arms across her chest, waiting.


"Toxic." Namor's self-loathing evident enough at times. "Shall I fill her in or are you going to?"

The Logomancer looks up from the viewer and waves a hand, "By all means, my Princ… my King, you may."
Another of those prolonged glares and the Sub-Mariner looks from the aged Atlantean who is now engrossed with Bewitched."

Distorted Human Female Voice: "I'm not a bad witch! I'm a good witch!"
Distorted Human Male Voice: "Her mother's the bad witch."

A chortle escapes the elderly sorcerer as his eyes remain fixated on the view and the voices it transmits. The object a combination of science and magic and an utter waste of time in Namor's opinion.

"When you built that you told me it was for intelligence gathering purposes… I see clearly now it was for your own demented amusements." No response. The man is in the zone.

What is the equivalent of a sign passes from the man and he stares at Eztli, "He tells me you are capable enough to venture out on your own and act in his stead in royal matters. I need your assistance now in ongoing activities. Atlantis is in turmoil and not just our own, the balance is striken askew and not just the material realm of matters I am told. I will have need of your expertise in Atlantean magics and science and as such I am assigning you to the Dako." His Majesty's flagship, the new one, after the destruction of Numenor's Wrath. "I have had a quarters set up for you in privacy, it comes with attached lab. You will need to gather belongings you require for your…" A motion off towards the clutter along the walls, the relics, artifacts, torn apart surface tech, hobbled together junk in the Sub-Mariner's eyes but he knows it serves other functions. Delve not in to the mind of magicians and scientists.


Eztli's brows dip mid-brow as the seeming scowl goes from the viewer to that of Namor, the creases remaining as he explains and the more he talks the more realization dawns and the look goes from mild annoyance to placidity in a blink, not even the interruption of a scowl comes.

"So… Wait. You want me to dabble in the affairs of mammals?" In emphasis she gestures to the Logomancer's viewer. If she hears the Golden Girls theme, she's out. Humans don't age gracefully and their affairs irk her. So idle.

She does not know what this means set aside from she is being taken from the Logomancer's care and now in the hands of a warriors and their king. Warriors. She missed it. The fights, the spars, the training, the harshness…

A spark of excitement that fades when she looks at the Logomancer and opens her mouth to speak in protest and her desire to stay when that gesture the old man gave the King comes to her.

"Don't lie," He says with amusement you cannot tell is either on the old black and white show or them. "You want to go. I can handle this."

Lips clamp shut to a thin line and she looks back at Namor and nods crisply to him. A small show of her training years ago, that hide well beneath the surface of a magical scientist. "How long will I be gone?"


"Yes, once again you are required to deal with surfacers." Namor cleans up his language a little in that response and has all but forgotten about the Logomancer for now, the man is difficult at times but brilliant, it is best to deal with those sorts on their own terms. The man's focus for now is on his contraption.
"For as long as I shall need." Just a matter of fact reply from the Scion of the Seven Seas. "I would suggest gathering your essentials and little more." The portal back out in to the ocean slides open and Namor makes his way towards it, pausing only to look over his shoulder with a grin, "You should be excited Ez of House Ichtaca, it is unlikely I will have you knee deep in corpses unless they are those you have slain by your own hand."


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