#rogue traders (assorted)

[tuna-keyboard]

dear diary: unfortunately, i had work today, which means i could not passively think about my blorbos nor indulge in their medias. not to worry! i have instead taken all those thoughts and thought them all at once and made myself ill with the intensity of it.

i have also coped by animatedly teaching coworkers who did not ask what an omophagea is and why it is important. i have secured several new alliances this way.

[mothsandbees]

assorted rogue trader memes for your viewing pleasure

[numerous-knives]

An assortment of Rogue Trader characters as text posts (and other text): Part 2

Still more incoming. Why did I make so many of these?

Part 1

Part 3

[lordcaptains]

Orica gently tugged his hand, leading him towards her private rooms, and Heinrix followed without question, without hesitation. Right now, he couldn't imagine doing anything but following her wherever she led.

Steam rose from the enormous tub to fill the room, and the air was heavy and moist. An assortment of thick towels had been folded and placed alongside a tray of mirrored silver, which held lightly scented soaps, fresh sponges, a long-handled brush and a large pitcher, all laid out for the Rogue Trader's use. After their escape from Commorragh, Orica had dismissed the servants who'd once hovered about the room, waiting to attend to her ablutions, so the two of them were alone.

He'd been partially undressed by the medicae already, and Orica began to undo the remaining buttons on his shirt. The evening had been trying for her as well, and the task required her full concentration, her fingers trembling slightly as she worked. As she focused, Heinrix allowed himself to simply gaze at her, drinking in the sight of her before him as a man lost in a desert might finally slake his thirst.

Silence had fallen between them, and it reminded Heinrix of the quiet companionship they'd once shared over dinner in the officer's lounge. It was that same silence now, warm and comfortable, wrapping around them both. All the words that needed to be spoken between them that night had already been said. Now the quiet held only the sound of their hearts, beating together in unison.

The cold air lingered in the rooms beyond, remnants of his struggle to control the warp breach. As it met the humid warmth of the bath, the mist around them thickened until Heinrix could scarcely see the walls of the chamber in which they stood. All he could hear was the gentle splash of the water as it tumbled from the fountains, and Heinrix could almost imagine that that nothing else lay beyond the door - that this was their whole universe.

Orica finished unbuttoning the rest of his shirt and slipped it from his shoulders. Then she knelt before him, tugging the boots from his feet and peeling off the sodden socks beneath. Heinrix came back to himself suddenly, flushed with sudden shame.

"Orica, please, you don't need to - "

One look from her where she knelt at his feet silenced him. In the flickering glow of the candlelight, the look in her eyes seemed to dance between exasperation and fondness.

"Let me take care of you, Heinrix."

He let her.

Unfastening his belt, she helped him step out of his trousers, and then she stood and took his hand again, tugging him towards the warm water.

She'd left his rosette around his neck.

Heinrix had already made his decision, and it would not change. He was leaving the Inquisition to be with her, to serve her and stand by her side for as long as she would have him. He hoped it was forever.

He pulled the thin metal chain over his head. Held in the palm of his hand, still cold from the warp-ice, the weight of the rosette surprised him. In his mind, it had been much heavier.

He dropped it onto the pile of discarded clothes and followed her.

[oldschoolfrp]

Went to a con, played a bunch of games, and bought a lot of new miniatures this year, mostly historicals including a lot of plastics. But the Sunday flea market is the most anticipated moment of the weekend's shopping. After sorting through my haul some of the highlights include

A 1979 Ral Partha Evil Lord on Litter; I've already sourced his missing throne back.

A bag full of Rogue Trader era Citadel metal vehicles, including 4 complete dreadnoughts from 1987 and an assortment of marine and ork speeders, bikes, trax and buggies.

One metal Sister of Battle from the first 1997 release, ready to purge heretics with fire.

A bunch of 6mm sci-fi battlesuit infantry made for Ogre Miniatures in 1993, to (briefly) hold urban terrain areas against advancing cybertanks.

And a bag of Babylon 5 Wars/ACTA ships, including a shadow omega -- I believe that kit was from the early 2000s by Mongoose, using parts from Agents of Gaming's original 1990s omega and shadow vessel models.

Because no game is "dead" as long as you play it again, and because the recent flood of miniature-agnostic indie games shows no signs of slowing down.

[mangaka-neko-chan]

An assortment of my Rogue Trader in various fancy fashion. A blue ballgown I designed for her, an outfit put together by the lovely @holylustration and lastly her Rogue Trader Aurelia and my Wynnrun in 1998 Dior.

[ariaofsasha]

decided to make all our blorbos from assorted CRPGs we've played in FFXIV this morning [the consequence of waking up super early with a lot of energy]

in order, top to bottom:

Essence Evanne, Azata Tiefling Monk (Pathfinder: Wrath of the Righteous/Baldur's Gate 3)

Kilmula, Dwarven Wayfinder (Divinity Original Sin 2)

Seven Stubbs, Crime Lord (WH40K Rogue Trader/Necromunda Hired Gun)

Vandora, Demon Hunter (Diablo 3)

[tea-with-eleni]

This week in Barovia Darkon....

Compiled from like four maps, including the VRGTR one. I had a proper think, read three of the Ravenloft books that detail information on Darkon/Azalin, read the VRGTR chapter on the topic and discarded most of it, and read part of an AD&D adventure set in Darkon/Barovia and discarded a lot of that, too.

Anyway. A few towns have flipped which side of the river they're on and I'm not 100% sure I have ALL small settlements, but if you want a high resolution map of Darkon for your adventures, hit me up?

But I digress.

This week, my players headed to Tempe Falls and were shocked to find a relatively normal town. Like. Okay, it's boring, but that seemed to be the worst of it. There was way more racial diversity than they're used to (Barovia being almost entirely humans with the odd dusk elf for variety). The innkeeper cheerily sold them four rooms and they settled in to enjoy some decent dwarven alcohol.

(Their was a funny moment when everyone collectively realized that a: they have a TON of gold and jewels from the amber temple and b: they probably can't use the gold because it all has Strahd's face on it and all they know about Darkon is that it went to war with Barovia at some point in the past.)

There were some people in the inn: assorted traders, a clerk who appeared to be staying in town while doing some audits or paperwork or something, and a couple of guard/soldier types with some kind of chain denoting rank as part of their uniform. They also had a chat with a somewhat disoriented sorcerer, one Firan Zal'honen. He claims to have only emerged from the mists himself a few weeks ago. I'm sure he's nothing to worry about. It's fine.

Anyway.

The party traded gold for a carriage and two draft horses, on the grounds that they now have

the cleric

the rogue

the fighter

the artificer

the wizard

the bard

Ireena Kolyana

Ludmilla Vilisevic

Volenta Popofsky

and of those, the wizard, the artificer, and the two vampires have issues with sunlight. Oh, and Darkon has an excess of suns. It's fine.

They then decided that they ought to try and find a larger town. The innkeeper gave them the skinny and said that Corvia is a decently big place, but Il Aluk is an actual city. She also warned them to please, fucking PLEASE follow the laws or else they're likely to end up in a world of trouble. The party did briefly lose their minds when they noticed a piebald raven flying around town that headed back to the inn where they're staying. Again, it's fine.

Then they headed out of the Balinok mountains and into the foothills and the town of Mayvin. It's a gnomish town with a massive clocktower and patent hall; the artificer is delighted.

The local scuttlebut is that something really fucking bad happened in Il Aluk and the golden star in the sky overhead appeared shortly thereafter. So naturally my players are like, "WELL WE GOTTA GO THERE!" They also heard the name "Castle Avernus" and the fighter (originally and quite recently from the Forgotten Realms) started freaking out about Elturel. The players also noticed something really off about the (as yet unnamed) Kargat stationed in Mayvin. I ruled that they have no good way of knowing exactly what the Kargat are, though, since the concept of ghouled mortals is basically nonexistent in DnD. (I saw a sidebar in the Ravenloft Gazetteer and thought it was interesting enough to include it...)

My reading list for this week is the first half of The Neverending Story, because I feel like The Nothing is a decent analogue for what's happening, slowly, to Avernus while Firan is swanning about near the borders.

[sign-seeker]

Shas'La Pax'Fel, foul Xeno interloper, AKA my Wife's character in an ongoing Rogue Trader campaign. Slightly modified T'au Fire Warrior model, with an oversized marker light attachment that I'm pretty sure came from a much larger weapon, and the shoulder-pad sept-marking carefully sliced off and replaced with a clipped-down Imperial Aquila that I scrounged from amongst our assorted bitz. Scrappier paint job than I would have liked, but at the Wife's request I was modifying and painting a Fire Warrior she had already built, rather than painting on the sprue, but for all that I was painting at weird angles sometimes, I think she came out pretty well.

[mountainashfae]

a second brainworm for my rogue trader has appeared and it's that next to only going by assorted titles, they basically see and treat themself as a tool. But they choose who is allowed to use them that way. The God-Emperor and Rogue Trader are more than welcome to arm themselves with him, but trying to force it (like a certain bitch in the prologue) only breeds resistance.

[numerous-knives]

An assortment of Rogue Trader characters as text posts (and other text)

More to come. I made so many.

Part 2

Part 3

[fluffysminion]

Our Rogue Trader ship and various assorted craft are now available as tokens on roll20

[lorewarp]

5 - Dilemma

The assassin came for her just after dawn. He stumbled, giving himself away, swearing quietly under his breath. If the noise hadn’t alerted her, the blasting waves of guilty psychic energy would have. Liv had been sleeping on her stomach; she found the knife hidden under her pillow and turned, ready to jam it into the man’s neck, but found his throat already slit. A wide-eyed expression of shock lingered on his face as the blood gushed out of him, darkening and soaking the tattered scarf looped around his neck.

                A slender shape unfolded behind the dead man. Marazhai. He sighed and caught the assassin before he could fall, taking him by the collar and dragging him away. “One of Keykeross’s, without a doubt, driven to madness and murder by her design. It is no longer wise to linger here, Rogue Trader.”

                Liv rubbed the sleep out of her eyes, sitting up. “Where are you taking him?”

                “Does it matter? If I find anything interesting on the body, I’ll save it for you.”

                She crawled out of the sleeping bag and pulled on her boots, following Marazhai into the main room. What remained of the vagabonds who chose the Rogue Trader over the Commissar and Malice stood around gawking as the dark one disappeared into the shadows with his prize. The others in her retinue gathered near her, a ripple of surprised remarks chasing through the crowd as a wobbly blue outline of a Xenos drifted toward them from the entrance stairs. The shape resolved into Nocturne of Oblivion, the motley raiment garish and strange in the desolate gray gloom and chill of the Den.

                Abelard reached for his sidearm, but Livinia touched his wrist and went forward to greet the Harlequin. It was a brief exchange. Riddles and mysteries, obfuscating verses wrapped around nuggets of truth, like a dancer waving varicolored flags while their magician partner hid the trick. Behind her, Abelard grunted in confused frustration. But Livinia had been a quiet, lonely child, lonelier still when she was taken to the Scholastica Psykana. Books had been her comfort and her diversion, and while Nocturne wove his tapestry of misdirection, Livinia homed in on the truth.

                “A series of trials await us in the arena, and if we can survive them, the Harlequin will find us a path to the spires.” She turned and identified Yrliet standing off to the side, her face a mask of awe and fear at the Harlequin’s decision to come. “Our way home is a webway gate, can you activate it?”

                Yrliet’s eyes slid side to side as if she were reading a slate that only she could see, then she gave a single nod.

                Liv turned back to the Harlequin, who was already beginning to fade away. “We’ll make ourselves ready.”

                She gave the command for everyone—including the random assortment of Chasm survivors—to gather their things and prepare for a journey. Liv retired to her small room behind the Commissar’s “throne” and shoved what little she had accrued in the dark city into a torn duffle. She expected more dread. But she was rested, they had greater numbers now, and with a Harlequin on their side, success seemed almost guaranteed. She had always had a strange relationship with fate, chafing at the idea that her life was at all predetermined, but conscious of how her knotted path always seemed to straighten out when it mattered. A tall shadow grew against the wall before her, and she glanced over her shoulder as she stood and cinched her bag shut.

Yrliet watched her, tenting her gloved fingers primly.

It wasn’t hard to guess what she wanted to say. “Let’s have it,” Livinia muttered.

“Do not sigh at me, Elantach. We both know he must not survive the fight to come,” Yrliet told her in a deadly whisper. Her emerald eyes flashed into the corners of the room, but not finding Marazhai in any of them, she continued. “A stray shot from me will suffice if you do not have the stomach to do it yourself. The large one who eats flesh would also accept the assignment.”

                Liv pressed her lips together tightly; her friend instantly read the hesitation in her face.

                “We do not need him to escape this place; if the Harlequin requires us to live on, then we will survive.”

                “It’s more complicated than that.”

                “Only because you make it so.” Yrliet huffed out an impatient breath. It was the closest she ever came to a raised voice. “The longer you keep him at hand, the more chances he will have to lop yours off for trophies.”

                “I told you, it’s complicated. He…let me use my telepathy on him. More than once, Yrliet. I was in his mind. And I…well, I saw no immediate plans for betrayal.”

                “Setting aside your ill-advised willingness to do that, what possible motivation could he have for this? For one of his kind to allow such a thing is…unheard of. Alarming in a manner I cannot describe to you. I would never pretend to understand the dark ones and their machinations, their unpredictability is their strength, but this is…new. I do not like it. It is somehow worse than secrecy. Destroy him, now, before this scheme of his advances another step.”

                “Not yet, Yrliet. You have to trust me.”

                “How can I? When you refuse to see what is plainly before you--”

                “And when we leave here, when we are safely back aboard the Firstforged and my advisors are calling for your head, will you trust me then? Do you not see that his fate might be tied up in yours? My kind hate you, but they hate and fear him more.” Liv had spent the night going over it in her head. One Xenos was a target, two presented a conundrum. Or, at least, a longer discussion, if she could swing it and she was convincing herself she could. Yrliet had been backed into betraying her, but nobody on the Firstforged would be inclined to see it that way. Keeping Marazhai, if nothing else, would buy them time. He was a distraction, she told herself, nothing more.

                And when you do not kill either of the Xenos? What then? What will keep your people from justified mutiny? Heinrix will be forced to turn on you, and it will shatter him to pieces.

                The Warrant. The Warrant would be her shield.

                Yrliet withdrew, her tread soft and her voice softer. “I do not understand you, Elantach, but I hope someday that will change. For now, I will trust; you have kept us alive thus far.”

                While the others busied themselves, she worked up the courage to check on the Drukhari. He had not appeared to witness Nocturne’s speech, and she needed him ready for the arena. A pit widened in her stomach as she located him in a cramped room far removed from the chaos of the rotunda. He had evidently finished with his victim, cleaning his hands with a rag and, ominously, picking things out of his teeth with the claws of his gloves.

“You handled the Harlequin efficiently. Their timing is never accidental—our time in the dark city comes rapidly to an end.” He spoke before she could get in a word of greeting.

                “I didn’t know you were listening in.”

                He shrugged, tossing the rag aside. His alien, spiked pieces of armor had been piled near his cot, leaving him in nothing but a hugging pair of belted leather trousers and his gloves. Even his feet were bare; Livinia found herself glancing at his toes, finding the sight of them oddly intimate. He was more visibly muscular than she expected, the chiseled dunes of his chest tapering to an abdomen that rippled and flexed with even his smallest movements. Bluish, bruised marbling formed over the areas where the hooks of his armor had carved out permanent wounds. “If you’ve dissected one assassin, you’ve dissected them all. So yes, I listened. As you keep reminding me, our paths are intertwined. Thus. What next, Rogue Trader? Will you need me for your grand escape, or have you decided to throw your lot in with the wandering fool who led you straight into my trap?”

                “Is this your version of an offer to help?” Liv smirked, crossing her arms and pushing her hips to one side. Marazhai’s eyes tracked the movement with obvious interest.

                “We are in the tumult and terror of my kin’s realm, navigating the spires above will require knowledge none of you possess. I ask a simple favor in return for my assistance,” he said, still eyeing her midsection like a feline waiting for a dying mouse to twitch. “Well, two.”

                “I should have expected that.”

                “You should have, but we can discuss your deficiencies another time, pet,” he said, chuckling.

                “Stop calling me that.”

                “I will stop calling you pet when you order me to with anything resembling conviction.”

                Livinia narrowed her eyes. “We’re short on time. Everyone is packing. What are the favors?”

                “One, I will not be leaving the spires without first paying a visit to my sister. Her treachery cannot go unpunished, and I have a feeling her death will not distress you overmuch.” His gaze traveled slowly up her body until their eyes met. It continued to frighten her, how exciting it was each time that happened. “What does one more dead Xenos matter, mm?”

                “Sure,” Liv sighed, tapping her foot. “Dead sister. And the other favor?”

                Her cavalier attitude toward his first request delighted him, broadening his already lascivious smile. “There are a number of items of…sentimental value located in the spires. I want to acquire them before they can be stolen or tainted by unworthy hands.”

                She arched a brow, snorting. “You? Sentimental?”

                Marazhai’s smile vanished, a shadow passing over his face. “Do not mistake my willingness to bargain for permission to deploy any and all insults that bubble up in your woefully inadequate mind. My terms are stated, do you understand them?”

                It was her turn to smile. “What sort of items are we talking about? Heads in jars? Pickled fingernails? One-of-a-kind flaying knives?”

                His long stride ate up the ground between them. With a quick swipe he had grabbed hold of her jaw, squeezing it again with his clawed fingers and staring impassively down into her face.

                She went cold all over, perfectly still.

                “Fear,” he purred. “That’s good. That’s correct. But do not let fear stand in the way, pet. Search my mind again if you must, I will not try to stop you. Come inside, and I will show you what possessions I seek and exactly how I intend to use them.”

Livinia shook her head lightly. “I…why do you keep wanting me to do that?”

“Why would I hesitate to show you what is in my mind? If I wished you dead then I would not have stopped that assassin, though you might guess—accurately—that such an end would be far swifter and less agonizing than anything I would devise. You already know what I want with you. So. Be my guest, sift through the blood-soaked chambers of my thoughts, pet. Just be warned—you might be tempted to stay lost forever in that labyrinth of exquisite pain.” His nose skimmed the edge of her ear, and he inhaled her scent deeply. “There it is, beneath the smell of your terror, below the delicious perfume of your fear sweat, subtle but present, your arousal. It is uniquely your own. It grows stronger the harder I pinch.” He inhaled again, pushing his forehead into the side of her head. “Oh, but it is not subtle anymore. No, pet, you are practically in heat for me. Do not worry, I will give you what you crave, but not until you have earned it--”

Livinia tore herself out of his grasp, the points on his fingertips scoring scratches along her chin and jaw. Reflexively, she reached for the knife holstered at his waist. Marazhai let her take it, laughing uproariously, raising his hands above his head while she brandished the weapon, forcing him backward.

“Oh-ho, so you have come to kill me. I see.” His pose of surrender was replaced by defiance, his knuckles resting on his belt. “If you are certain that you do not need me for the coming battle, then dispose of me. Surely, it is that simple.” He stepped up to the dagger as she raised it to his throat. “Do it. But you can’t, can you?” He leaned forward, cutting his own neck with the sharp kiss of the blade, blood bubbling against the metal before racing toward the tang. His eyes seemed to glow brighter the deeper the blade dug. Her hand shook. Why couldn’t she make herself do it? He was infuriating, impossible to deal with. “You want to see where this goes as much as I do. Poor little pet, paralyzed with indecision. Here, let me do it for you.”

Marazhai artfully slipped the dagger out of her grasp, spinning it several times in his hand before showing her the stained flat of the blade. Closing in, he wrapped one arm around her, propping his clawed glove lightly against the small of her back, urging her forward. She braced against his touch, stiffening. Her hands flew to a natural resting place, perching on his chest. His heartbeat ground against the pads of her fingers. With skin like pale marble, she expected him to be like ice, but his body roared with heat. Bringing the blade between them, hovering it between their faces, he smiled.

                “When you take those fascinating trips into my head, the road runs both ways. Do not deceive yourself into thinking you are taking anything from me; on the contrary, I am learning everything I want to, feeling the infinitesimal shudders of your brain, the darksome gatherings of interest that come before your ultimate destiny…” His voice lowered as he went on, sliding to his point, making her lean in to hear him and make out every word. He shifted the blade until it was just in front of her chin. “Submission.”

                Livinia blinked slowly, sensing his command before he gave it.

                “Clean it, my pet. Not a drop wasted.”

                Her dignity warred with her body, but the desire he had so astutely pinpointed won out. She didn’t understand herself, but maybe she didn’t need to. Or worse, maybe he was right. Maybe she did resent the crushing weight of command; when she was rerouted and summoned to Theodora’s side, she had been on a transport to a frontier world, there to take her place in a regiment as their battle-psyker. That was a heavy responsibility in itself, but she had expected to be the one taking orders, not giving them. She didn’t even get the chance to meet the Commissar she had been assigned to in the regiment; something told her he wouldn’t have been anything like this.

                She was familiar with the taste of her own blood, but not another’s. Her eyes fluttered shut as her tongue searched along the blade, the still-warm liquor of his body tasting familiar, as if the blood had dripped from her own veins. His ragged breaths told the story of his satisfaction. When the blade was clean, Marazhai made a thoughtful sound in the back of his throat, lowering the weapon and pressing his thumb along the wound in his neck. Darting forward, he smeared the gathered blood across her mouth, then descended hungrily to kiss it away.

                Livinia’s eyes snapped open in surprise. His kiss was vicious, the sharp edges of his teeth stinging her lips as he took what he wanted. She had no time to respond, to shove him back or return the gesture. Marazhai craned back, holding her by the throat, examining her with unfettered curiosity. Then, he returned to the cot and set about hooking the pieces of armor into his flesh. Grinning to himself, he murmured, “How I long to devour you. The wait will be agony for us both.”

[ask-the-blade]

"Another Rogue Trader? I wonder, will you be an ally or a foe?"

“Why, captain. Direct and the the point - an important trait in those of our position to be sure, but you’ll have to let a lady keep some of her secrets. I’d start looking like everybody else if that wasn’t the case and there is hardly any fun in that, is there?”

[chronurgy]

If I had any ability to write in verse I would inflict a fic about the nocturne and rogue trader meeting again on Quetza Temer and having some sort of weird fling upon you all with zero hesitation. Malakai would speak back to the nocturne in verse, there would be steps and movements that everyone would think were bizarre until they realized they were all things actors would do on stage, instead of calling them "the" merchant/merchant vagabond the nocturne would refer to them as "my" merchant, literally everyone there (humans, aeldari, drukhari, assorted flora and fauna) would disapprove. It would be amazing.

So like...... anyone else getting fun flirty vibes between the nocturne of oblivion and the rogue trader?

[idanwyn-et-al]

The Free Trader Nixie

Serving as the base of operations for a motley assortment of folk, the Nixie is a highly-unusual galleon. Though much of her interior is lavish, the ship is known to sit lightly upon the waves. Rumor has it that the crystalline core, which completely surrounds the mainmast and is half-grown into the decking itself, is responsible for this uncommon buoyancy; a rumor that the captain and her crew neither confirm nor deny. Though the ship is nominally chartered out of Mealvaan’s Gate, she is a Free Trader, and thus enjoys special dispensation.

The Nixie’s dock house and gardens can be found in the southernmost part of Mist’s fourteenth ward, with ship’s home slip directly across from the dock house. When ashore, the crew often enjoys entertaining friends and prospective clients in the gardens and cafe; truly, a not-pirate paradise!

The former pirate ship is fitted throughout with ceruleum engines and cermet pipes; a more-recent addition to her still-present rune-embroidered sails. All of the Nixie’s systems, whether classic or modern, are tied into the crystalline core. This network allows the ship to endure long-haul voyages at great speeds, making her a sought-after vessel for cargo and passengers alike. 

Though the voyages are often faster than the norm, long stretches at sea are common, and the Nixie is outfitted with an entertainment deck featuring the Rogue Wave Stage. Guests will enjoy fine fare, often produced by the culinarian captain herself, as well as coveted musical and theater shows; being a Free Trader, the Nixie has been known to sail to neutral waters to allow more politically-charged performances to take place without legal repercussions. There is also a semi-hidden crew’s lounge on this deck where the crew have many of their less-formal meetings.

The main deck includes what many consider the ship’s second-greatest treasure, after the core itself; Hymlbyrta’s Legacy Library. Named after Idanwyn’s aunt who was the former captain of the Nixie, these books are collected from all over the star, their tales lovingly catalogued. Additionally, the core is at its thickest, here, and those who wish to delve into its mysteries are often asked to take a seat on the so-called Captain’s Chair carved within the luminous stone.

The bridge and chart room sit just beneath the weather deck, and include a number of shuttles to allow the crew to traverse topside as needed. The helm is most often manned by the first mate, while the rest of the crew tend to the modern displays and classic instruments throughout. Navigation is conducted through both mundane and magickal means, the ship’s primary navigator being a Sharlayan astrologian. 

There are numerous cabins and staterooms throughout the interior, including a clinic; the engine room; crew quarters; the brig; a film theatre; and more. Indeed, another curious aspect of this definitely-haunted vessel is that its cabins are known to shift places from time to time without warning. Either in spite of or due to the ship’s eccentricities, She serves Her crew well, leading them ever into Uncharted Territory.

The Nixie, home of the Uncharted Territory FC, can be found on Mateus, in Mist, Ward 14, plot 6! The ship’s current IC location is always listed in the welcome message of our guestbook. Please feel free to stop by! We are also recruiting, as well as looking for others who might want to RP with us and our ghost-soaked ship! The carrd needs a few touch-ups; that’s actually what inspired me to take these screenshots, among others, but the information is there. I solemnly swear I will make a proper recruitment post Someday :tm:.

OOC rambling: Though I have posted a few screenshots before, I’m continuing my apparent trend of touching up places I’ve decorated this month. Like everything else I decorate, the Nixie was done entirely by me on PS5, using the mouse to float furnishings when required. Rinh Relanah, our IC navigator, did help smooth the slanted skylights on the bridge into a nice arc, for which I am eternally grateful!