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The Boatman
Cursed for a lifetime of indifference, his punishment was both complex and seemingly cruel; stripped of the essence of his soul and damned to ferry those destined to leave the mortal to their destination, but never reach his own.
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The Infinite Void
a character in “The Multiverse”, as played by Twice-Crossed Star
Description
His form is fluid, like the River Between Realms, morphing and changing seemingly at random to fit a constantly updated design. In mixed company, his tends to be very bland in appearance, saving his more elaborate forms for private dealings and the passage to the beyond.
Personality
Stripped of his indifference as a means of punishment (in taking the cornerstone of his personality, the very essence of the man was destroyed), he became self-serving, finding value in his damnation in a way that was never anticipated. Rather than wallowing in his prison, he excelled, finding a great joy from what was intended to be his Hell.
He appears to have compassion, sympathy and understanding, but beyond all he aims to please himself. He collects trinkets and lives very much for the moment, as he is constantly at risk of being pulled back into his limbo when wandering the mortal world; summoned by his everlasting duty to the dead.
History
After a life of chronic indifference, he plunged into the River Between Realms upon death, but rather than drifting towards the afterlife, he found the current stilled. In life, he held no care for heaven and no fear of hell, in so doing slighting both.
His punishment had many levels.
He was stripped of his indifference, to take away his innermost self and force him to acknowledge and feel in his new existence. He was granted the knowledge of his punishment, but not of his crime; he knows only that he deserves exactly what he now has. His unlife is eternal, constantly ferrying souls along the River to a destination that he can never reach, coming scant inches away from a greater truth but never able to realise it himself. He is the Boatman; he transports souls forever, but is forever below them. He never gets to arrive, always returning for the next passenger before he has chance to pass on himself.
However, rather than seeing his existence as a curse, he could see nothing better than the life he had been granted by his former deeds. He lives for the moment and creates luxury for himself, easing the journey for those willing to pay him with some small trinket. When the whole of time is but a river, and he is the boatman, a small trinket can become ages old and worth the world in moments.
So begins...
The Boatman's Story
The Boatman entered without a sound, the door seemingly no obstacle despite standing unmoving in his path. He seemed to simply appear, though at the same time he clearly walked inside, taking a seat for himself at the back to the room and watching the occupants of the bar with a quiet (and ironic, though that was not for him to know) interest.
The Boatman became apparent, sitting at a table at the back of the room. It was unclear how long he had been sitting there; some would be certain that they had just seen him arrive, others certain that he had been there for hours, maybe even all night. He was smiling to himself as he watched the room.
The Boatman His attention was drawn to Nox Invictus and his reading; the book appeared to be deeply interesting, and he wondered just how much it was worth. What could such a book earn him in barter, he wondered, and where would it be best used... so many questions. His thoughts were as ironic as ever, but he was unaware as always. He simply watched, wondering what the fascinating man would do next.
The Boatman apparently entered the bar, though it was difficult to ascertain the exact time of his arrival. Some would say that he had been in the bar all evening, others that he had just come in; some, even, would swear that they had seen him materialise from the air and into his seat.
The Boatman watched Palithio, his eyes following the man even before he seemed to arrive. Maybe this was the one he was waiting for, he was not honestly sure yet, but it would become apparent in time. He could smell death, feel it in the air; it ran like stagnant water through his fingers, like a larva, gasping on the shore and crying to be returned to the water that it needed to survive. He smiled, knowing death, knowing will, and knowing that it was hopeless.
The Boatman lost interest with the dying man for the moment. He was dying, that was certain, but it wouldn't be today. Baravate cared little for impending death, though it was interesting to manipulate in the weak-willed. However, this particular creature was not lacking in willpower, not at all, and any attempt at coercion would be a misuse of his time. He stood, though it was impossible to actually see him stand; he was sitting, and then he was not. His eyes turned to Crepa in amusement.
The Boatman She was dying, was she? Baravate had to laugh, though he did so quietly and with proper decorum; not that he was really a man for such things, but there was a time and a place for everything. From his position at Crepa's side (he did not appear to have crossed the room, though clearly he had, or he wouldn't have been standing beside Crepa), he offered her a long brown hand. He wondered what her image of death would be, for so many fashioned him as a reaper, an angel or a devil... she would see him as her salvation, maybe, possibly as her damnation; it was all for the River to decide.
The Boatman flashed Crepa a fanged smile, taking a little of what Crepa knew of death into himself. Cannibalism, idealism, realism; he was the sharp teeth that tore out the jugular of life, he was the sadness, the tragedy that she didn't understand, didn't want to understand. He was ever should, would and could, he was a corpse with the teeth of a shark. "Are you dying?"
The Boatman smiled again, because total belief in death had been known to cause it, and he was hungry. "Yes, you are dead." There was no reason for her not to believe him, and no matter what way things went, he would make a profit. A new soul for the River would be pleasant, but he would settle for a trinket.
The Boatman chuckled, opening his arms for her. "Of course you can." She was- not an unattractive woman, but her attitude unnerved him a little too much to grant her passage on his gondola, though he couldn't say why. "Tell me, do you want to die now? If there was a choice, would you live?"
The Boatman She would stay with him? He would like nothing better, but it didn't work that way, and he would soon get bored. However... this could most certainly work in his favour. "If you wish to live, then I will grant you life, at a price." It was a cruel deal, because he was saving her from her own imaginings, but he had no conscience for such things.
The Boatman was finding the entire situation wonderfully entertaining; it was rare that he found one so fun to play with. "I have no need for your eyes," Not that he hadn't taken eyes as payment before. "I want something that's very easy to give, and costs you very little. You can give it again and again and never really feel its loss, I promise." His eyes glittered.
The Boatman She really was entertaining, and it had been too long since he had had the opportunity to enjoy himself; he was eternally thankful for the man who radiated death and yet refused to do the decent thing and die. It gave him plenty of lingering time in which to indulge his own wants. "Sleep with me. Just once."
The Boatman She was naive, it was refreshing. He leaned in then, already so close, and whispered into her ear. He could be seductive (he was death, in a sense, and there was none more seductive, truly) and this time he aimed to be exactly that. He told her his ideas, told her what he wanted; the price for her life? It seemed a pittance in exchange for her continued existence.
The Boatman could feel that he was being watched, though it was unclear how the woman was really seeing him. He turned just enough of his attention towards her to let her see him for what he appeared to be: death, in whatever form Carrickfergus chose to see it. He then focussed on Crepa once more. "I will teach you what you don't already know, and you will live. Do we have a deal?" Once made, a deal could not be unmade.
The Boatman would have laughed, but he suddenly couldn't muster the energy. She spoke so casually of Death, despite seeing him? She was not alive. The woman was little more than a construct of some child's imagination, improperly formed and left to fend for herself in a large, cruel world that she would never understand. He knew that he deserved his eternal punishment, but if he had been granted her fickle and pathetic existence? Now that would have been true torment.
The Boatman sealed the deal without a second thought, binding the contract with her joy. There would be no escape for her now, and he would be the victor of their little interaction. She would lose nothing, or at least, nothing that he classed as something, and he would be appeased. The total disregard of Carrickfergus was telling; his earlier thoughts had been quite correct. "Come."
The Boatman began leading Crepa towards the stairs, smiling all the while. "Come with me, and we will save your life." He had her hand in his own, he had never released it, and he gave it a gentle squeeze. "I will fix your face." He had no desire to sleep with an ugly woman, especially one leaking fluids of any form.
The Boatman was all too happy to lead Crepa up the stairs and away, though he did spare a though for the poor, pathetic creature he was leaving behind. He pitied her and her malformed thoughts; she wasn't broke, she had never been made with any real certainty. He was interested to hear her calling, and would arrive promptly when it came; he wanted to see how the River judged such a non-being.
The Boatman observed the room from his position beside the door; he appeared to have been there for some time, and some would even say they had seen him there hours before, others, however, would be certain that they had just seem him arrive. He was getting a little bothered by the constant chasing of one reluctant soul through the river shallows. It was getting increasingly annoying.