by Dr. Paine » Sat Sep 14, 2013 10:32 pm
Note: If/when Basil is bred, I would like the first child (or one, if the result is twins) to go to Sloth-. Only exception will be if the first child fits my hope for my final bean.
name:
I am Basil Howard Elton, keeper of the Pharos Pole lighthouse. As of August 10th, 2013, I am twenty years of age... and seem to have had my horns develop a bit early. I have lived here all my life, and was raised by the previous keepers-- Lea and Eustace Merimen-- after I washed up on the beach after a storm, when I was very young. My life has been a simple one. They educated me here, taught me to read and write; taught me to read the sky and stars and waves so I would never be caught unaware. I need no compass to find my way; no clock to tell time, so long as I have the sun, moon and stars.
(Basil's name comes from one of my favorite stories, The White Ship, by Howard Phillips (usually shortened to H.P.) Lovecraft. Basil Elton was the protagonist of The White Ship, while Howard... well, obviously comes from the author xD)
gender:
Male.
History:
I have been the sole keeper of Pharos Pole for two years, since I was seventeen years old. My parents had been... unsure, if I could take over after them; but they never hesitated in teaching my how to operate the lighthouse anyway. I am quite proud to say that I can do it all on my own now-- I clean the glass and mirrors, keep the wick trimmed and oil level (Pharos is a historic monument, and as long as there's someone inside, it runs the old-fashioned way), keep the storm bell's gears running smoothly. In their fifty years running Pharos, my parents never once let the light go out, no ship ever crashed on these rocks, and they saved a great many lives. You see all sorts come in after the storms-- sailors clinging to debris, injured birds and sea beasts... and, well, perhaps even a little dragon, eh?
I do not know how long I will be in charge of the light, but I dearly pray that I will be able to match their success. I have done well enough so far, but... you see... well, the two years I have been doing this have been... trying. I was never a good sleeper to start with, but lately? I've been having very strange dreams. Waking up paralyzed. I've found myself nodding off at dangerous times, but... I'm sure it's nothing. A little more time and I will be used to the loneliness, I will be just fine.
However, Basil is not currently aware of this. A devastating storm pulled Basil into the ocean and brought the lighthouse down. Basil eventually washed up on the shore of a distant, rather lively coastal city. He is suffering some major memory loss, only retaining his name and faint memories of a lighthouse. He's still trying to work through that, but is more concerned with keeping up a good life on the coast. His current job is as a deckhand on a fishing boat.
Item ideas:
Oh? You're curious as to my personal belongings? I don't keep much on me.
I always carry my ledger and pen with me, but those are usually in my pouch. I need to keep them handy, there's always something to mark down-- a cracked mirror, a shortage of oil, rats getting to food and spoiling most of it, signatures of people who have stopped by; that kind of thing. There is also my personal journal; a simple old leather-bound thing of blank pages. Sometimes I sketch in it. Often, I just write my dreams.
I do like to wear some trinkets. I have a little vial around my neck, filled up with sea glass and sand, corked and wax-sealed. I've found a great deal of glass over the years, all colors of the rainbow too-- even the rarest sorts will appear, if you wait long enough. And while I hear many who live on or near the sea wear anchors... I refuse to do so (and it's not just because my fur is already marked with one). An anchor doesn't mean hope, it means you're stuck, rooted and can't be free unless you're tossed away by strife and storm or forced up by others. I prefer to wear a lighthouse-- mine is a crude little necklace I suppose, flat copper stamped with a tower on a rocky shore with boiling waves, but it is hope. The lighthouse stands when everything else falls, guides the lost and gives shelter to those who might not have had any chance when their ships and anchors fail.
I also keep a dvoyanka on me. My father was proficient with the banjo, while my mother was a lovely singer... and I had skill with neither. But one day an old sailor stopped by to rest, and brought out the instrument to play for us. I was young at the time, seven or eight, and oh how I loved it! So lively and sharp, just like the ocean wind. I danced to it, and when he was done the old sailor laughed, and asked if I would want to learn how to play it as well. I've become rather skilled since then, if I may say so myself.
Lastly... oh, I like to have little things. Strings of shells around my ankles and wrists, bells; little clinking-jingling things to keep me from being overwhelmed from the expanses of sky and sea. It... takes a bit of a toll on the mind, if you live with it too long; you start becoming convinced that anything could be living up beyond the clouds or below the waves.
Friendships/Romantic info:
Friends:
Nautilis.
Always looking for more friends!
Significant Other:
(Note: Basil does not adhere to any particular orientation label, though if he had to be fitted with one, it'd be demisexual-- he doesn't really find anyone attractive right off the bat, but that can change after starting to develop romantic feelings towards another. Gender is not a deciding factor, this can happen with a male or female dragon ^^)
None right now; not actively looking.
Extra 1-- The Commander's Visit:
The sky was gray and stormy, the wind whipping the waves into froth and clink-clanging through the shells and beads I wore when the Dagon docked. I went to greet the ship-- the fifteenth of every month is the supply run, and I wanted to be sure everything was in order. A barrel of oatmeal. A barrel of apples. Five bags each of flour, sugar (white and brown), tea leaves, pecans, salt, and peanuts. Three hundred-gallon drums of fresh water.
"Fancy coming inside?" I asked the Commander. She did not smile as she nodded; merely turned her head and gave the crew orders before following me into the house.
This... was troubling. The Commander is a severe woman, true; but she always spared me a smile or two during her visits. Still, I had to be a good host; so I set the kettle going and measured the tea leaves.
"Nothing much to report," I said after a few moments of silence. I glanced back and met her eyes, which seemed as cold and hard as the stones the tower was built on. I swallowed and continued. "No visitors. Supplies are fine. Upkeep also fine. Weather is... projected storms through the rest of today and tonight, likely breaking up sometime around tomorrow afternoon. Pattern will continue... likely for a week or so as the front moves through."
The kettle whistled, the wind howled; the waves crashed and rock crumbled into the sea. My tail twitched, the shells and sticks clinking hollowly as I sat a cup of tea before the Commander and took my seat, paws wrapped around my own steaming mug.
"They're talking about... modernizing this lighthouse."
It wasn't until I felt the scalding liquid on my paws that I realized I'd shattered my cup.
"They can't," I said. I felt outside myself, even my voice was hollow.
"They can. They probably will."
The Commander stood then, buttoning her coat and securing her cap. "They will decide once spring arrives."
I stared at her, my paws trembling as she hesitated in the doorway. The rain was harder, thunder cracking and rumbling without rest, but it all seemed muffled. Everything was muffled, except her voice.
"I am doing all I can to stop it," she said. "I... this tower means as much to me as it does to you. I've seen enough torn down, I'd like the Pharos to stand. I wish you the best of luck, Basil."
She tipped her hat and left.
The door slammed open and shut with the wind. Rain soaked the front room rug. The sky was swirling black, a sea above the sea; I knew I had to set the light and storm bells.
But I couldn't move. I could only sit there and stare at the shards of porcelain that littered my side of the table, and the still-steaming cup on the opposite side as the storm raged on outside."
Extra 2-- Strange Dreams and Strange Sails:
"I fell into the ocean.
I didn't sink. I wasn't blinded by the saltwater. The algae and seaweed were almost luminous; pale shining green things in the black--
and yet, it wasn't black. I looked up and saw the moon, huge and blazing full above me; the sky studded with billions of twinkling little stars. To the far north, sitting just on the water's edge, was the blue orb of Neptune. The night was bright, a strange dark-bright that despite all appearances, came not from the heavenly bodies above, but water itself.
I wove through kelp forests teeming with lightning-bright fishes no bigger than my claw, until they came to an abrupt end when the coastal shelf opened to the abyss below. I dove deeper, past the surface to the aphotic zone and its inhabitants, lower and lower to the freezing hadal region.
And I was not alone.
I know what exists this far below the surface. Nothing but strange clumping creatures, single-celled organisms of gigantic proportion.
These creatures...
Skittering legs on a ribbon-thin form dancing the sluggish currents, eyes larger than my whole body peering up from under the sand, titanic whales half-rotted with tendrils of flesh trailing from their ribs. I peered over into a trench even the bizarre light could not fully penetrate, and made out a hideous figure; gigantic even in its curled state, scaled and finned with a maw of spear-sharp teeth.
And it occurs to me--
I struggle to swim, praying I was going up through the freezing black. My lungs were flooded, body seizing up, I was done for.
And then my paw brushed metal and I clung on as I was lifted up out of the black, up into the shining night. The planets were gone and the moon but a crescent, casting dim light over the shining white hull of the ship.
Shadowed hands (paws? they seemed both) grasped me, pulled me up onto deck; a crew of shadow figures somewhere between human and dragon, wisps that seemed to fade as I looked at them. The ship glided along, so fast the wind stabbed by skin but when I looked down, there was no wake. The lighthouse was a distant memory; days passed, a week or more before there was a hint of land. The shadows never spoke, but my heart raced as we neared shore. A piece of me knew this place, somewhere I needed to be. I could see spires, buildings as tall as Pharos. The wind was a soft, warm breeze, the waters calm and clear against soft white sand--
and I awoke.
I could barely even see the rocks below the tower for the fog... but I could make out enough, to see the remains of a ship scattered on the shore.
It was then that I realized the morning was silent, and the light was out."
(466 words)
Extra 3-- In Every Moment:
'The mist is thick today. I can barely see the beach; the water and clouds only differentiated by the darkness of the latter. The air is wet, soaking my fur even though I'm still inside. It's cold, too. I've been shivering and shaking since I woke up, and it's too humid to start a fire. Even my own sputters and steams, refusing to come alive. So I shamble up the stairs half-frozen, fumble with the gears to get the bell running.
It occurs to me-- there will be no light today.
Outside the wind is howling, waves crash against the rocky shore and rocks crumble away into the sea, cracksnapcrumblecrash and it chills me more than the morning mist. But the point has held strong for years beyond memory, and my life will not be the one to see the Pole fall.
There is no light today, and that includes a cookfire. The pecans are all gone, but a pawful of peanuts remain. I scoop them up, along with an apple; a meager breakfast to be sure, but what choice do I have? I take a glass of water as well, though to be frank, I would rather dehydrate than force more of the stuff into my body. Water water everywhere, so much I can barely even drink.
I am fairly certain that isn't how the poem goes.
For an instant, I envy the Mariner.
For an instant, I feel I am the Mariner.
The mist is thick today, in the air. And, it seems, in my mind.
The laugh to myself, but the sound is swallowed up by crashrumblecracksnaps and the tolling fogbell, by breaking waves and hollow wind and the distant screaming of gulls.
There is no light today.
The world is white when I step out for my walk-- morning, afternoon, do they exist today? There is only the white-on-grey of mist, cloud and sea. I wrap my scarf more securely around my neck, desperate to filter out some of the damp before it settles into my lungs and rots them from within like it did to my father.
A lonely job, he called it. Lonely and maddening, and liable to take you back to the sea if you stuck it out too long alone.
But I can make it.
The sand shifts beneath my paws, clumping in my fur as I dig for fresh shells to replace the shattered ones on my strings. From here, the deep rumblesnapcrumblegrowlcrack sounds almost... pleasant. The waves not so much a crash as a soothing whoosh, like when you hold a shell to your ear. I close my eyes and smile-- surely the fear I felt before was just from last night's dream, a pointless worry...
I open my eyes.
There is a flash of light.
A sharp crack that fades to a rumbling growl.
The wave rears up before I can run, and the world goes black.'
(476 words)
Extra 4-- The Storm:
'Lightning split the sky, followed almost instantly by a crack of thunder that put the crumbling rocks back on shore to shame.
I dug my claws deeper into the spar of wood that had become my entire world, the only thing keeping me afloat in the froth. It wasn't even a matter of getting back to shore when I kicked and spluttered, trying to keep my lungs clear from the waters above and below. I had gone numb all over, but I could still feel a burning sting on my thigh where something had sliced my skin. I looked up to see lightning above me again, and my heart skipped a beat when the thunder rolled. I was in the sea, in the sea in a storm, what kind of a chance did I think I had? If lightning didn't strike me dead here and now I would be swept under, my spar would break or be thrust against my head and knock me out so I couldn't hold on...
'Why', I wanted to say; to scream so loud it would still the thunder and wind and sea itself. I had been on land, I had stepped out for but a moment to find shells and to clear my head, what had I done to deserve this?
The water rolled and bucked, overtaking my spar and dragging me down with it. I kicked and fought my way up, muscles half-locked from cold and exhaustion, but my snout broke the surface enough to let me draw breath before the water drags me down once more.
I kick again, and my hind leg brushes something solid. I reach and cling to it, thrashing until I break the water again, spluttering and shaking, coughing and clinging for dear life to the white plank of wood under my claws. I bow my head to the wind, trying to shield myself from the stinging bullets of rain. I'm not sure if it works, though-- I can still feel drops on my face, though these are hot, burning instead of freezing.
Behind my eyelids, I can still see the flash of lightning. One-two-three-four, the thunder comes... though it is less a crack, less a roar than a low growl now. The sea still churns, but the waves are smaller, gentler; the rain not so hard and then it's not there at all.
I open my eyes and look up. Clouds still cover the sky, but there are seams of starry sky, sometimes even the dim globe of the moon.
Water, water everywhere. Thank god the board won't sink.
The sky clears, the moon shines, it and the stars the only light as far as I can see. No sound but the sea.
I cling to the board, but my paws are numb. I have no strength left to kick, and I can feel my claws slipping.
'We came from the sea, and it's to the sea we return', my father had once said.
I close my eyes, and let the board slip away.'
(499 words)Extra 5-- I Let The Water Take Me:
Note: This story is going to be re-written.
'I am Basil Howard Elton... or, at least, I think I am. That is the name written in a book in my pouch and engraved on a pendant around my neck. I help fish and gather seaweed, living in a small hut on the white-sand beach. I have lived here for two weeks, since I was pulled up from the water by a fishing boat-- at least, that's what I've been told. My own memories are... fuzzy. Sometimes I dream of a lighthouse, an ancient old thing still running on oil lamps; a raging wind and storm... but, then again, there are nights when I dream of indescribable, awful beasts rising up out of the water and destroying all I hold dear, and some nights I dream of turnips. There's no sense putting much stock in dreams.
I enjoy my life here. The days are long, warm and bright, heavy with the scent of flowers and sea air and the smiles of humans and dragons alike. The nights are full of moonlight reflecting off the city's spires, and often full of light and laughter from bonfires on the shore.
I may be Basil Howard Elton. I may be someone else. All I know is that I am content.
Playlist:
The Cave
Thistle and Weeds
Jolene
Vangelis: Oceanic (yes the full album)
Dulaman
What The Water Gave Me
Torvus Bog Submerged Temple
The Enemy
Little Sister
Death and the Spaceship
Little Lion Man (language warning)
Island SongArt/Credits:
Fontmeme for side quotes.
Lighthouse (old piece by me.)
Night Clouds (old piece by me.)
Gift art, by Marmoset
Pharos Pole, by me
#553, by Rain.
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(A major thank you Kiwi In A Bottle for letting me keep their form art; and to the original artists for making it ^^ If any of the original artists don't want me using this though, let me know and I will take it down.)
By HonorableChickenSoup
By HonorableChickenSoup
By Nutheart
By Nutheart
By Nutheart
By Nutheart
By Sir Swift
By DaringAsh
By DaringAsh
By Nyx.
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(Thank you to Casey for letting me use the art in their form 
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By Casey
By Casey
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(Thank you to Diddlebug for letting me use the art in their form )
By Diddlebug
By Diddlebug.
Last edited by
Dr. Paine on Sun Mar 30, 2014 1:29 am, edited 1 time in total.
