Scene #6611: A Dark Place

Owner	Pose
Midway	There are many low-key installations that feed the Abyssal war machine of the Black Fleet. This waystation is one of them. While on the edge of Human-controlled territory, its small size means it is easily hidden when patrols draw near and, thus far, it is often overlooked. With no enemy on the horizon, the depot is in full operation. Cetacean-like destroyers trot back and forth along a narrow sandbar, carrying bundles of resources in their teeth. Going from the rotund round hulks of the Wa-class transports to the water on the far side where they dive right in and disappear. Overseeing this is a tall, willowy woman with skin as white as alabaster stone, snowy hair fluttering on the seabreeze just as the hem of her dress does. The majority of her face blocked by a nightmarish black spiked collar. Scarlet eyes observe the proceedings, her arms folded loosely. Various other humanoid figures avoid her if at all possible, armored in corroded black metal, with similar pale skin and eyes of blue or gold. But clearly none bold enough to approach the Princess of Progress.
Bloody Revelations	Ship ghosts. The actually ghostly kind, risen from the depths from death and unfinished business, on determination and lingering feelings from life. Not the harem of cute girls kind. That means, finally, the right location. Even if it's just a tiny, missable outpost, far out on the fringes of the North Pacific Abyssal Navy network, it's a point of contact. The way by which the Exalted arrives is ironically not out of place. A section of shore dims to a dull, heavy, waiting-storm grey, as creeping shade blots the rocks in defiance of the sun's position. Cold, humid, lifeless air sinks from it and rolls across the ground as a visible dark vapour. Black water trickles from a single point, staining the sand as if with ink, and then someone slowly materializes striding out from the borders, which begin to shrink back in on themselves and close up for a minute later. Its a woman with her own sort of deathly pallor, though more within the realm achievable by an ancient feudal princess rather than bleached bones. Long black hair is carried faintly on the sea breeze, wearing clothes an even darker shade of obsidian, comprised of a short cheongsam, long thigh boots and elbow gloves, and a scarlet tied sash, the former of which seem to gradually and wildly unravel as they travel up her arms and legs, and the latter bristling with vials and cases and fastened occultic implements. She has a sword with her, on the back of her hips, with a 'neutral spine' formation of red caligraphic runes, but doesn't seem to feel any need to draw it. The air around her is charged with a shockingly intense sort of tingling, sterile cold, and a low undercurrent of almost tangible malice, though where it'd be disorienting and nauseating for the living, it's sort of rejuvenating for the dead. "Finally." she says, in a smokey sort of voice like a tiger at rest with blood drenched fur. "You're the cute little ship ghost's boss, aren't you? Surprisingly difficult to find." she continues. Obviously, that's the point. This being a military base and all. "Your adorable little, ah, what was it, Ne-Class? Was just so refreshingly helpful, that I had to take a moment out and come to see the place which has such wonderful taste in ghosts. You can imagine how disappointed I was when she went 'back to normal'."
Midway	When this haunting figure appears, the response is... well. The destroyers unloading the transports don't seem to notice Bloody Revelations at all. She looks so much like another Abyssal capital ship that they just associate her with one of their own. The ghastly aura she gives off helps with that, though it's a different sort of flavor compared to the raw hate that comprises the typical Princess. The more human-shaped warships present regard the visitor warily, as if uncertain this is one of their own or an unwanted intruder. The single glowing eye of a Chi-class cruiser's helmet swivels towards the alabaster-skinned woman for guidance. Midway raises a hand in a dismissive gesture, and the cruisers warily return to their duties. But, much like the way they behave around their master, these Abyssal shipgirls keep their distance from the Deathknight as well. There is an aura eminating from Midway. It's not malice or murderous intent. Those are certainly present, but what Revelations might feel is instead a subtle goosebump-inducing vibration in the air, the second she's manifested enough from her teleport to sense such sensations. The Princess' radar is immediately fixated on her, in sharp contrast to Midway's more gracile movements. The white-clad woman turns slowly on the water, for she has no reason to do so quickly. This intruder in her midst is regarded with eyes that glow scarlet beneath the shadow of her bangs, above the spines of her collar that serves to conceal half the emotion her face could possibly convey. Oh. THERE'S the murderous intent. Midway keeps it carefully in check, though the restrained fury is clear in her eyes, "I am aware of the current situation regarding the Ne-class heavy cruiser. However, this site is not open to tourism. Perhaps the Battleship Princess has opened a gift shop in Ironbottom Sound for such wastes of time."
Bloody Revelations	"Oooh, there it is~!" trills the Deathknight at the o m i n o u s air that radiates from Midway, rubbing her bare upper arms. "That's the feeling of a high class ghost. A real envoy of death. I see, I see. So you must be the one with the eye for this. That makes things easier." "I'll have the pass on the rest. I'm not given to the sea air, and this is a dreary place to tour around. No tea, no 'tea', no liquor, no music, no entertainment, the only smoke smells like oil, and . . ." she trails off for a second, just to look Midway up and down. "Well, I suppose there's something nice to look at." she says, tapping her chin with a gloved finger. "Oh well. I'm actually here for the purpose of that Ne-class. Specifically . . ." "I'd like to know how to turn her back. I'd like to know a lot more about it. I want more of it. More ghost girls like her, willing and able to fight and destroy and set fire to the earth, as I please. Necromancy and magitechnology together --two of my favourite things. Maybe I just love your work? I'm sure we can think of an exchange."
Midway	"Mm," A noncomittal, thoughtful noise eminates from the Abyssal Princess. The prickly sensation of her radar array fades as she ceases focusing it. A hand unfurls and she gestures to the operation taking place scant meters away. As if on cue, a destroyer scuttles right between Revelations' feet, carrying a crate in its teeth, leaving little footprints from its stubby little nub legs. "Such frivolties are irrelevant to an engine of war such as these," Midway utters, her voice even, "What surrounds you is long-unquenched rage and hatred. Each ship you see is an avatar of a ship who fought, killed, and died in combat. What surrounds you is not the ghosts of humans, but human weapons." Her hand lowers, both now resting at her side which allows her to rear back, regarding the Deathknight from her full height. "Returning the Ne-Class cruiser to her abyssal state shall be simple. Just sink it. They are two sides of the same coin, linked through their own violent end. Although it does not always work. This is likely how her 'allies' returned her to the state of a kanmusu. By murdering her. Because her purity threatened them." The Princess' arms lift, and she gestures, "You approach me boldly and without fear. This is more than I expect from the typical surface-dweller. You speak with Midway, the Princess of Progress, admiral of the Black Fleet-- State your name."
Bloody Revelations	"All kinds of frivolities are useless to ghosts. It doesn't stop them from clinging to them anyways. Coveting them, even." the Deathknight responds to Midway's stoicism a little offhandedly. Far from seeming offput or repulsed by the destroyer-type, she seems enthralled by its design, kneeling down to behold it with the same kind of air of seeing a home owner's dog come up to them and present them with slippers. She pops the top of the crate open with . . . just her thumbs actually, peering inside. "Ghosts of weapons hm? Now that is interesting." she continues, looking back up from the crate. "With human higher souls? Or something close to them. Object gods can become something like that, but then they can't die, and I could tell that girl was dead. A shade. A revenant. Something from the grave, looking to drag someone else back into it. Not a pretty little gilded spirit with pretensions of transcending mortality." Her own eyes glance up to meet Midway's with a darkening shade of silent, intense deliberation, with the sort of semi-suspicious stare of one who is weighing whether or not they believe the person they're talking to is capable of trying to deceive them. "Sinking. Specifically, different from just killing? The water, then?" she half-asks, half-mutters. "Allies that kill her? For the sake of prettying her up. Ridiculous. Clearly she doesn't need any more allies then. She was fine the way she was before. Almost perfect. I'll have to remove her from anyone like that. Or just remove them." she continues in that partially-talking-to-herself tone. Straightening back up, her lips twist into a sudden, intensely amused smile. "Surface dweller? Now that's one I hadn't ever expected to hear! No no~ I wouldn't consider myself one of those anymore." Her finger turns several times around, before she points it straight down. "My desires aren't to be found under the sun. I tread deep, deep, deep down. Down to those places where only death --violent death, filled with fear and rage-- can open the way. Down to the threshold of Oblivion, where lesser souls cannot go." She then runs her fingers through her hair, pushing it back over her shoulder, and brushing the spider lily pinned in it, before pressing her fingertips to her chest, still grinning under a smouldering, deep crimson stare. "I am called Bloody Revelations Spilled from the Nightmare. You may use the first half, for experience's sake. Or Lady Vermilion. A pen name. I'm pleased to meet with a real craftsman~ The first one of you I've seen so far out here, with an understanding of what's important."
Bloody Revelations	"Rage and hatred . . . Mmmm, those work for me just fine~ They're good feelings. They cast off unnecessary attachments, and focus you on what's important. On some level, you have to hate the world to correct it. You have to feel that spite so you can burn everything and everyone wrong with it to the ground. Softer emotions won't get you anywhere." Bloody Revelations gestures around wide, slowly completing a full rotation where she points, before gradually starting to approach Midway. "Weapons! Spirits! Manifest hate! The tools of those with vision! The sacred prerogative of those who've already died once, and feel no more mystery in it. No more fear of it. Those like the Ne-class." She thrusts her hand to her breast again. "Like us! It's exactly what I was hoping for~" She stops only at the very edge of the water line. "Tell me, dear Princess, what is it that you hate so~? Who is it that you want to see suffer for their transgressions? What is it that you want to burn and make anew? It's my calling, after all, to hear out perfect spirits like yours. The true vocation of high Necromancy. It's the right of the dead, who aren't so weak as to blithely pass on, running from their suffering and hoping for better in a new life, to decide the consequences for the living who hoped to leave the responsibility for their actions in the grave." Bloody Revelations allows her hand to drift out to her side, extending her arm at the level of her shoulder, and twitching her fingers as if dragging something up by its strings. A swirling blob of blackness streaked with molten colours resolves in the air beneath them, growing and solidifying into a floating shell of weathered obsidian, in the shape of a moderately oversized human skull, replete with segmented horns that curl forwards around its head in Satanic fashion. Its eye sockets are dead and cold, but red-orange furnace light and heat radiates from its open maw, a shimmering fog trailing from between its teeth, matching a blazing rune set into where the peak of its spine would be. It hovers obediently in the appointed space, like a missile waiting to be fired.
Midway	The crate contains metal ingots. When the top is popped off, the destroyer hisses in surprise. It hadn't apparently intended to present its cargo as a gift, but in its panic the creature drops what it's carrying and slithers into the water. Midway's gaze shifts to follow it, a flare of anger welling up in those intense eyes of hers for a moment, before her attention returns to the Deathknight. "Bloody Revelations Spilled from the Nightmare. Very well, then." Her gaze lowers, casting her eyes in a deeper shadow, "I do not speak in a metaphysical sense. The depths from which I originate would rapidly kill any human who lacks special equipment or powers. It is a literal designation." Hands lowering, she folds one while gesturing with the other, "In regards to the Ne-Class. Yes. Sinking. It is rather difficult to sink a ship on land." It kind of sounds obvious when she puts it that way. The woman retracts her hand, then, giving the Deathknight one of those silent, withering stares. This one is very ... dramatic. A stark contrast to the Princess' logic-driven demeanor. She briefly considers wording her responses in ways that would dissuade such tirades. After a moment, she determines this wouldn't make a difference. The likely waste of effort is therefore discarded. "I am not a warship, as the vessels you see around you," Midway states evenly, "I am no singular ghost or object. I do not hate. I am the battlefield itself made manifest." She takes one slow step forward, walking upon the sea's surface, "I am Hate. I am War." One hand raises, the black metal lining her fingers gleaming in the light-- talons pointed to the sky, "My existence is punishment for those whose cruelty and hatred resulted in my creation. The humans whose petty quarrels lead to war, these are the societal cancers that must be burned away." She comes to a stop, just shy of the shoreline, looming over the Deathknight with glowing red eyes cast in shadow, "I am not a dead spirit, Bloody Revelations Spilled from the Nightmare. I am an avatar of destruction. And it is this hateful, apathetic surface world that I shall destroy. A ceaseless, ever-spreading wave of fire and pain that consumes everything which dares to oppose it. So long as humans turn to violence out of greed and spite and hatred, so long as the sea runs red, I will exist." Whether that's actually true or not, she certainly believes what she's saying.
Bloody Revelations	Since it's clear the crate is just full of industrial metal, Bloody Revelations leaves it behind without taking anything. "Oh I'm aware. Bottom of the ocean and all." she replies to the pure literalism. "You're not much of a romantic thinker, are you? But the surface entails more than just being above water. The sun. The sky. Easy living, and the ability to take it all for granted and ruin it anyways. Those are the things afforded to a 'surface dweller', right?" And still, after the full description, she just ends up chewing her thumb, ostensibly in excitement. "Is that supposed to dissuade me?" she asks, rhetorically. "Because I think that just makes me like you even more~" She waves, and sends the nightmare skull thing flying off over around the island on its own. "Setting the world ablaze to burn out its decadence and malice and apathy, cutting down the people responsible for your creation in droves --I like it a lot. You're just the kind of role model that Ne-class needs. Exactly who she should look up to." Finally, she claps her hands together, and the borderline girlish glee falls off her face, replaced too quickly to feel entirely natural with a more calculating and serious look, swinging between moods in the blink of an eye. "Let's get serious then. I'm about to fight a war, in the near future. The last war. A crusade against an entire world of liars and betrayers, warmongers and slavemasters, degenerates and lunatics, and all those whose every whim makes the world bleed, its foundations crumble away, and wipes out life and free will for their own amusement. I intend to kill every single one of them, for making everything their stage to play out their delusional fantasies and petty tantrums, smashing together people and places like toys, and in doing so, bring about an ultimate, indefinite peace." "I want more like the Ne-class. What you're creating is worthy of that last of wars. Trying to track down these . . ." she waves her hand vaguely in trying to remember the term 'kanmasu'. "Boat-themed harem girls and sink them over and over until it sticks sounds far too time-consuming. I think there are better ways. Ways to dredge them up from the bottom, to proliferate, and more importantly, to purify those fakes of their demented clinging to humanity and return them to what they really are. Much quicker, more efficient ways. There are weapons, too, which might interest you. Ultimately though, whether I have to borrow or copy or simply take inspiration, I have no means by which to exert that final peace upon the seas, and I need them. Yours is the highest quality work I've seen along those lines by far."
Midway	"Petty intimidation is not my intention," Midway states evenly. Her posture does not change, "I merely wish to make it clear precisely what you are dealing with. Your lack of fear is impressive. Your enthusiasm likewise so." Those scarlet eyes narrow slightly, "I am not 'romantic', no. Your flair for the dramatic, however, is thoroughly documented by now." Her gaze shifts, observing the floating skull's travels. As it floats about, it is soon joined by a quartet of white spheres, each marked with ragged teeth. Hellcat fighters. These dog the skull as it floats, but don't fire on it. Once it's determined to not be a threat, the squadron breaks off into a higher altitude holding pattern. "I have little care for 'tearing it down to build it again'. The surface world will burn. What happens to it afterwards is of little concern to me." Turning slightly, she fixes that gaze on the Deathknight once more, "Your war needs hardware. This hardware may be provided, but I shall need resources. A navy is only as good as its logistical support. Steel. Oil. Brass. Cordite. Bauxite. A supply depot will need to be established. Provide for me the needed region and I will establish the necessary infrastructure my force will require." When the subject changes to alternative ways to create abyssals, Midway pauses, then closes her eyes. There's a noise that might be a laugh, short and bitter, "Yes. I am familiar with the necessary techniques. I have raised Abyssal demons from sunken vessels in the past." Eyes opening once more, she lifts a hand in a less threatening gesture, "The operation was ultimately a failure, however, I gained valuable insights from the experience. Progress on my own projects has been proceeding steadily since. I will begin construction of an appropriate Water Demon to flagship this operation." When Midway says this, the various capital ships milling about take notice. They start putting distance between themselves and the Princess while trying not to look like that's what they're doing.
Bloody Revelations	"Steel, oil, brass, . . . not familiar with cordite, but I'm certain I can figure it out. These sound simple enough. Far simpler than the panoply of esoteric ingredients anything of this kind usually requires." replies the Deathknight, obviously a little bit intrigued. "And I can guarantee you won't see them constantly raided by grubby little self-righteous fingers every other day as well." she then says, with surprising, dead drop dryness. Apparently she is at least somewhat aware of the sheer frequency with which the Kanmasu seem to obsess with supply raids, secondhand. "Of course I would have assumed you'd have tried by now. It's the obvious choice, right? As far as those things go, however, I am the most qualified there is. It might not mean much to hear it, but as a Necromancer of the Obsidian Circle of the Void, nothing to do with death and lingering spirits is outside my power. I'm sure you'll see~" she says. "Especially if I just so happen to get my hands on one of those other girls. Then we'll really see. I'm sure you'll be very surprise. Maybe glad? Relieved, even?" she begins musing to herself. "No matter. It turns out, I happen to have the perfect place for you and yours to set up, since a certain faction has come into the possession of some certain islands that used to belong to a certain idiot 'surface dweller' would-be conquerer and admiral. It is, by its nature, possibly the most difficult place in the world for anyone to find. I'd be glad to show you it~"