Admiral James Norrington (
abidinglaw) wrote2011-05-10 04:50 pm
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Alone on a wide wide sea.
[For some time now one node on the Journal network has been broadcasting an anonymous patch of sky broken only occasionally by the pacing back and forth of a quaking, sea-soaked man. His hair is matted and bedraggled, his arms are wrapped around his shoulders to conserve what little warmth he has. Occasionally there are sounds of a voice straining in physical exertion or cursing, or joyous laughter. Otherwise the sea dominates the audible side of the broadcast. Lapping, crashing, rushing water, rhythmic as a heart beat.
More rarely still, the man sits in the sand with the book at his feet, flicking through and reading. Throughout the day he makes his way through the guide, a selection of entries, a smattering of all that the curious book has to offer. It is a work of fiction, he knows this, but it is evidence of human life. It is a distraction from the cold.
By chance, however much he deviates, his journal always eventually ends up on the page required to broadcast video. It is by chance, too, that the journal picks up a selection of his musings - decisions on which tree along the beach would make the most suitable shelter, theories on the subject of nautical headings and snatches of naval protocol.
It is around mid-day that he addresses the journal directly. Sitting again with the book at his feet, he speaks out of a desire to hear the steady, authoritative tone of a voice in control.]
It was under the section on communication.. yes.. 'If you are reading this, then you have already discovered the journals.' Now, some superstitious nonsense, but ... Ah yes, 'if you want to set up meetings, pass a greeting or call for help.' Here we are. Now... No. As I expected. Nothing more than a string of ridiculous fantasies. Damn.
ooc: SO! Hi! Grab his attention at any time in his rambling failed-fire-building beach-stranding antics, or later at the bar post-retrieval. It's all fair game as far as I'm concerned.]
More rarely still, the man sits in the sand with the book at his feet, flicking through and reading. Throughout the day he makes his way through the guide, a selection of entries, a smattering of all that the curious book has to offer. It is a work of fiction, he knows this, but it is evidence of human life. It is a distraction from the cold.
By chance, however much he deviates, his journal always eventually ends up on the page required to broadcast video. It is by chance, too, that the journal picks up a selection of his musings - decisions on which tree along the beach would make the most suitable shelter, theories on the subject of nautical headings and snatches of naval protocol.
It is around mid-day that he addresses the journal directly. Sitting again with the book at his feet, he speaks out of a desire to hear the steady, authoritative tone of a voice in control.]
It was under the section on communication.. yes.. 'If you are reading this, then you have already discovered the journals.' Now, some superstitious nonsense, but ... Ah yes, 'if you want to set up meetings, pass a greeting or call for help.' Here we are. Now... No. As I expected. Nothing more than a string of ridiculous fantasies. Damn.
ooc: SO! Hi! Grab his attention at any time in his rambling failed-fire-building beach-stranding antics, or later at the bar post-retrieval. It's all fair game as far as I'm concerned.]
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Just how much of the nonsense in this book can I expect to encounter?
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[He says, in a tone that makes his ire all too transparent.]
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Well, if you deign to decide to ask for help, just ask. Til then, good luck.
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What manner of help are you offering?
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[Derek is not aware of the supposedly present teleportation device.]
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[Somewhere in the cliffs. Well, it's an improvement on his previous understanding of the matter - that he'd be hunting through the mountains for an anonymous cave.]
Well, I thank you all the same.
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Another thing occurs to the Admiral, too. While refusing to offer advice may relieve this man of responsibility should Norrington get lost -- the James Norrington is in no better position to direct his own feet than Derek would have been. He is back to square one, and the duration spent in conversation might have been better applied in seeking out the pirate's "magical" path.]
Understood.
I will look for this cave in the cliff-side at once.
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Look at the pages of your book. I'll draw you what I know.
[And soon enough, there is indeed a fairly detailed map of the oceanside and the cliff wall. Several points are circled, with notations made of what the landmarks look like at those points.]
If you can find any of those landmarks, you'll know where you are. From that point, just follow the cliffs towards the tunnel, which is here. That's about the best I can do for you.
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I...
I am in your debt.
[Relief seeps through the cracks in his hard exterior. His voice, typically monotonous, shifts momentarily in pitch to take on a tone of gratitude. However it was conveyed to him, he has no doubt that this map will be exceedingly helpful.]
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Take your time and stay out of the sun; there's not many fresh water sources on that side, and they're hard to find.