[hider=The Ferryman]
[centre][b]The Ferryman[/b][/centre]

[b]Base Form:[/b]
The Ferryman’s base form is difficult to put into words. Well, the form - or the shape - comes fairly obvious to those with human eyesight: He, she, they appear as a lanky, bald humanoid in some sort of robed attire - a shepherd’s gown, perhaps? His, her, their hands reveal only a collection of skinny digits and an indication of long nails. The rest of the body hides within the folds and shadows of the gown, showing no further detail beyond the implication of a body.

Facial details appear unclear to onlookers - to some, they are sick and bony; to others, full and fair. No matter who looks, the face is either way always overshadowed by an obfuscating shade, perplexing onlookers further. That being said, the Ferryman can be perceived perfectly fine - he, she, they may just come off as somewhat off-putting.


[centre][img]https://cdna.artstation.com/p/assets/images/images/032/530/456/large/369-roofusman-q-c0n0mhf5m.jpg?1606734930[/img][/centre]


[b]Aspect: Death (Ferryman of Incorporeal Souls)[/b]
The Ferryman is a god of death, though not necessarily THE god of death. Death is a natural process, no less natural than being born and living - things are born, they live, they die. Everything from stone to mortal understands this cycle. Yet where the souls go after that? That is not necessarily a natural process. How do souls know how to get to the afterlife? What if there is no afterlife at all, but a reincarnation process instead? Hell, what if the souls don’t even realise that they’re dead?! Well, someone’s got to tell them and take them where they’re supposed to go, whether it be to some infinite field of reeds or inside some pregnant lady’s belly. 

The bottom line is that souls, like people, need infrastructure. The Ferryman exists to meet that demand. This gives the Ferryman power to transport souls, as well as a natural affinity for finding, seeing and speaking with the dead. His, her, their powers are split between the self and the vessel (to be constructed IC): The small ferry known as Wellington can traverse air, land and water and carry several more souls than it should seemingly have space for. To make sure souls cannot escape, Wellington's passengers are, uh, [i]protected[/i] by a barrier meant to keep the rowdy spirits in and, uh... Well, it doesn't protect against outside threats, so it's more of a seatbelt or a straightjacket for those extra fearful of the life beyond death. 

[b]Persona:[/b]
Despite being a god of the dead, the Ferryman is far from dreary. After all, one can’t be wearing a sullen mug when everyone’s dying to meet you! As death gets the reputation it gets, the Ferryman makes great efforts to ensure that the passing into the afterlife becomes an interesting - if not fun - journey for all parties. He, she, they are quick with a joke and even more interested in hearing the stories of the many dead - as well as sharing stories they’ve picked up along the route. 

Alone, of course, the Ferryman understands that life is not all sunshine and rainbows. He, she, they take time to sit quietly on the eternal sea of existence, contemplating the meaning of life, death and everything in between. They fashion themself somewhat of a philosopher, and will gladly sit for hours discussing.

[hider=Myth]
Raff had done it. He had sworn he had done it. It, it had been right there in his hand, right? He, he had surely felt it being there, then in his neck pouch. The earl’s ring! He had had the earl’s ring - he had seen it; he had felt it; for crying out loud, he had even smelt the sweaty gold stink coming off of it! So why… Why hadn’t he had it when he was supposed to turn it over to Hawaldr? What had gone so wrong?!

Slowly, the boy felt a strange cold squeeze at his extremities. The pooling blood underneath his run-through torso began to seep between the planks on the floor. Above him, he saw the giant of a man, Hawaldr, the earl’s disinherited brother, wiped clean his sword with a sorry, deflated woolen cap - Raff’s cap. His muscles twitched briefly and he tried to say something - a bloody ball of phlegm was all he could muster. He heard some response from Hawaldr, but his ears felt numb and stuffed - all he heard was a rumbling voice that slowly, yet faster and faster, ebbed out into nothingness. His vision blurred over; he lost control of his limbs, his tongue, his neck. Whatever nerves still lived reported a pressure point coming from the shoulder area - Hawaldr had surely kicked him. Yet Raff could do nothing to retaliate. The last sparks of life faded from his eyes and so did the breath from his lungs. Raff, son of Rudol, was dead.

Just as the fact of death was established, something else was born. Or, well, to say that it was born would be to gloss over its already seventeen year long existence. It was just that now, upon its second birth (perhaps a better term), the soul of Raff had to go on without a body. Only, he hadn’t realised this just yet. The vengeful emotions within the boy boiled over and in a burst of rage, he pushed himself to his feet and stabbed a finger in Hawaldr’s direction. 

“THIS IS UNFAIR! I HAD IT IN MY HAND! I SWEAR IT!”

Hawaldr did not reply. In fact, he slowly turned away and mumbled to one of his cronies, “Get rid of him… And have Kraca bring a mop!”

Raff blinked ethereally. “H-hey!”

“Woof! Rough day, huh?”

Raff spun around and beheld a man (or possibly woman, or maybe something in between - its voice gave no clues) leaning over a boathead snaking upwards. Raff followed the humanoid’s puzzlingly featureless (yet also fairly featurefull) face down along a pair of gowned shoulders leading to two slinky arms, fingers interlaced on the tall wooden head of a small dory with an equally long tail. Raff took a moment to rub his eyes as he noticed that, within the warm, cushy longhouse of Hawaldr’s farm, there was now an iridescent river flowing in from nowhere and out into nowhere. Upon this river rested the little boat and its grinning master. The Ferryman shot a glance down and clicked its figurative tongue.

“The ol’ belly shank, huh? Not the best way to go. Usually pretty slow, but you got lucky - he cut into your liver, so you bled out pretty quickly.” There was a small pause. “Hey, look on the bright side - at least he didn’t stab you in the back!”

“B-bled out, wha–?” Raff cast a look down, then slightly sideways to follow his corpse-prison with his gaze as it was being dragged away, leaving a trail of red behind it. He heard Hawaldr yell furiously: “No-no-no! Did your mothers drop you on your heads?! You’re getting blood all over my floor!” Raff felt another sting of rage and clenched his incorporeal fists hard.

“Damn, what an ass, huh?” the Ferryman added supportively. 

“I had it. I had the ring. How, why was it not in my pouch?” He patted at the spiritual representation of his clothing and grabbed his pouch. With a deft squeeze, it gaped and revealed its contents - a copper coin and some pretty shells, but nothing else. “Why?!” 

The Ferryman shrugged. “Couldn’t say, mister. I usually only show up a minute or two before a passing - must’a lost it before that.”

Raff paced around briefly. “The, the mud pools! The mud pools under the earl’s fence! I had to crawl through to escape the fort and, and…” He grit his teeth and kicked at a nearby chair - his incorporeal leg phased right through. “Damn it!”

The Ferryman’s grin faded somewhat and she rubbed her cheekbone slightly. “Well, if it’s any consolation, mister, I picked up his cousin a few years back, and he had gotten the axe merely for spilling water on this guy in the presence of the earl. To put it bluntly, he’s not the forgiving type.”

Raff deflated. “How is that any consolation at all?”

The Ferryman shrugged. “I guess we can establish that it wasn’t personal?”

“Just… I don’t need to be consoled right now. This is it. My life is over…”

The Ferryman’s grin returned in full and they sat down in the boat with a small chuckle. Raff spun angrily. “What, are you laughing at me?!”

“Oh, oh no, mister!” the Ferryman replied gleefully. “It’s just that your life, well, it’s only just begun.”

Raff blinked and walked towards the boat. “Y-yeah?”

“Oh yeah,” said the Ferryman with a nod. “Consider that whole “living” business the trial package; now the real thing starts.”

Raff swallowed and took a nervous step into the boat. He hadn’t been much of a sailor in his living days, but oddly enough, this little dory felt steadier and safer than the largest longship he had ever been in. He made himself comfortable and the Ferryman gripped a long stick from inside the vessel and stuck it in the (for the lack of a better term) river. The scene of Hawaldr’s house quickly faded into nothing as the boat phased through the wall and soared into the heavens, sailing the ether of souls. Raff sat agape and took in the sights of the world below.

“By the gods…”

“Yeah, it’s a sight, isn’t it? Doesn’t get much better than this.”

Raff swallowed again and sheepishly tucked his hands between his legs as he looked down at the floor. “So… What’s our destination?”

The Ferryman hummed in thought. “Well, I hate to break it to ya, mister, but we’re going to Aldion.”

“ALDION?!” Raff squealed in fear.

“Yup.”

“Y-you’re sure it’s, it’s Him, right?” Raff mimicked horns on his head with his fingers.

“Yap.”

For a brief moment, Raff sat still in shock. Then, with the vigour of a spooked rabbit, he shot up and tried to jump ship. However, before the Ferryman could warn him, the ghost hit the invisible wall at the vessel’s edge and bounced back dazed into his seat. The Ferryman sighed.

“Are you okay, mister?”

Raff quickly regained his senses and pushed himself to a stand once again. “Why?! Why am I being sent to Hell?! Explain it to me - WHY?!”

The Ferryman pursed his lips and pulled out a small scroll from the inside of his gown. “Let’s see here, Raff Rudolson… Well, I’m happy to tell you that your atonement, Mr. Rudolson, will likely be a short one. Theft, while a crime, is not at the top of Aldion’s naughty list. You should be out of there in no time– oh… Oh, oh, wait, wait, wait… Brokeoathto… Huh… Uh-huh…”

Raff furrowed his brow. “What? What?! Spit it out, man - am I just dropping by or…?”

The Ferryman frowned sympathetically and flipped the scroll so he could read it. “Yeah, no - see, your theft was at the top there, so I read that first - my bad. Says here, though, that you’ve been in the earl’s service for a good while - your whole life, it seems. Your father was a huscarl, right?”

Raff rolled his eyes. “More of a steward, that old geezer, but yeah…”

“Mhm, making you a serviceman by blood - you were a servant at court too, no?”

“I guess. Why?”

The Ferryman tapped the sentence under. “Looks here like you swore an oath of service to him at some point. Last year, was it? Stealing from your master, well… Aldion might not care all that much about theft, but breach of loyalty - hoo boy…”

What colour remained in Raff’s face drained. The Ferryman re-furled the scroll and put it back inside her gown. A half hour passed without a word before Raff whispered, “I… I thought I would have time to make up for it…”

“Mhm. Lotta mortals seem to think that way.”

“It… It wasn’t supposed to end like this.”

“It never is, is it?”

Another pause, this one shorter. The Ferryman eventually offered Raff a smile and said, “Actually, I had this other passenger whose story reminds me a lot of yours!”

“Please, I appreciate it, but…”

“No, no, no, you’ll love it. Now this guy, hoo boy… See, about a century back…”
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[hider=Musical Theme]
[youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z-1lG8z_2t4[/youtube]
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