Minecraft Username: avemechanicus

Character Name: Yngiva Ti-ahi

Material Name: Whale Bone, fins, fat, oil, balleen, really anything that can be salvaged and
processed. From a Northern Gray Whale

Amount Collected- Various pots worth of oil, bone or fat. However much can be salvaged.
Viscera is also fine.

Location-Northern Waters off Anywnn and sailing to Fjalstad for full trying of the reagents.

A journey of tired hands that sought work and wallets a tip empty. The knarr was unlike
many, double decked upward with a hitched tryworks free to it’s side and a crew of dwarves,
beasts that walked as men and the orcs of colder climes. NOrthern tongues all under a
boatswain, his eldest daughter the captain. The lances and harpoons were cleaned and
checked to the hunt. Lighter pilot whales and simple quarry of seals ignored but to
supplement the rations and biscuits many needed, the rest to sail onward following the
wake path and subtle hides breaking the surface.

The great whales came slow into the morning, rising to bask as the knarr’s hanging lanterns
burned a little, just enough to light the water as the smaller aside ships, little more than
drifting coast chasers hung forth, and released with a resounding silent appraisal and ropes
checked four of nine times.The try was cooled as the launches lept to waves as iron. Wood
and sinew contesting sinew and the deep thalassia itself. They launched to the nearest
gargantuan, harpoons adocked to shoulders as the tiny whaler herself sat aside the seventh
seat apart, carrying her own lance and harpoon already.

The first ship closed with drifting calm, shadowed in the dark morning wake as little more
than a silhouette with barely an oarstrike, the rising breath and rest of the whale letting
them float close. May yet this one trusted man, may yet it’s mind aged or young to softness.
They didn’t care. They never would know. A word to damn it with a net long trawled, razored
with lead and corded rope left slightly to splinter, anchored to each side and hex with
hanging spikes of hard, hard whalebone. Almost a cannibalistic thing. Yet it fell, whale’s
teeth or man’s will, to what may have been a friend. Biting hard and fast over the fin and
fluke, just glancing to plug the blow hole with a crimson run.

In a moment of stillness after, when the net tensed and the beast began to thrash, did the
darts fall. A dozen harpoons of bonehaft and steel head falling with lilies of serrated thick
metal and heavy teeth almost comically vicious. The calls resounding not in words, but the
grunting cries of work crews trying not to tempt the devil around them. The darts fell and
tightened further, oxygen denied in the giant and blood running free as the few that missed
hooked the net and bit. The little whaler’s own dart lost near the port edge of the net and
hooked aside into the skin. The net began to pull as winches and capstans cried with the
force of man alone, slowly forcing back a beast now suffocating under its own mass.
Distant turning cries and the calls of an elven voice as knives gleamed and the lanced
withdrew. Short and hardy like a harpoon meant not to fly, roped the same, slung into hide
and flesh over and over, the little whaler actually astride her prey and double goughing each
harpoon hole. Viscera apump and crimson dawning the sea as the few oarsmen they bore
eased the caspans by fighting the thrashing calm, surely with muscles only the north could
breed . Muscles of honesty. And greed.

The beast screamed beneath the waves, it’s harsh moans drowned as the final burst of
crimson life left into the brine below, capstan hauling as the beast was hard draught onto
the work’s hooks. Now came the harder part, getting the money from the sea.

The tries relit with pots glowing quickly, crude metals heating poorly in bad allows and many
knives flicking into skin, breaching knives to break the hide and flense in narrow strips as
the sea lost it’s child. Blood collected to pour into rations and molds to burn into yet more
for the crew and markets, deeper bones removed with efforts and works as the little whaler
actively evacuated the mechanisms of life with a practiced, and brutal hand. A hellish time
but one of mirth, for the money’s scent hung in the air atop death. Pots boiling away with
sea water and oil, then down to salt and hardcut strips of fat and skin for oil, or dried and
greased out into flat jerky to sell, or yet more bottles of cruder oil for much more industrial
processes. Bones removed and baleen scourged for the market and the lucky crew the
dregs. Not a single piece wasted and even the waste boiled down into something useful to
burn in heaters or for mere alchemist’s woes. A beast old and powerful, rendered to mere
coin in days. Blood and unguents hung hard in the air as the crew stopped to aleve coasts
and refill rations about the coastal ports and clans, a mere hours set from the next, hard
waste to those that need it to burn. Yet even this fell aside, as the little whaler, already jaded,
casually saw not the majesty of nature, but a monster slain and money given. Where some
hear whale songs, she just hears a check being written. LIke her father

Back to the world of gentle, we found a whale, it won’t be going home.

(Faction name): Void Barbarian Clans "Whalers-Jorric Clans"

(Description)- Nanotech and gravitic savages in literal void trawling ships strewn with
nuclear steam and brutal genetic and mechanical engineering.

(Something special or a famous quote from them)- Hunters of anything edible, metal or not.
Biomechanical brutes that eternally wander the stars from atolls to atolls, across the
galaxies. Strange tech so innate to their biologies and nature that it's more akin to magic
than mere science, from collapsars to graviton projectors.