Fantasy The Devil's Meridian (Closed)

[K0mori]

"All of you," Meinhardt said, "speak as if you want to move on like proper officers and adults, but then pepper your words with... self-righteous attacks on each other. Always looking for the last word. I've heard enough of it. The things said here today show us that this is an incoherent unit, working in a half-dozen different directions... As the commanding officer of this fleet, it is my duty to ensure the safety of our sailors. That duty... supplants even our scientific calling." He stood up from the table with his crutches, shaking until he was fully upright. "You may think I am overreacting, but if all of this suspicion, all of these insults, came from what little evidence we've gathered in these first days... imagine what would happen if something truly divisive ever happened to us, if some disaster struck. What would we be then? A bunch of cutthroats, from the looks of things.

"...We set sail for Castle Island at once. We will return to San Marino via our original heading... and I will submit a complete report of my failure to the International Academy and the Kaiser's Admiralty. You have... left me no choice."

 

[Emperor Sagan]

Grand Captain Kortova hadn't imagined the the commodore would simply... halt the expedition. They had gotten such a tease of the wonders out here that to turn away now would be like taking only a single lick of ice cream and not finishing it - and Kortova considered herself a connoisseur of ice cream. That would mean no more Ishra, no more treasure. Would the crews even accept this? The Sokrovian crew was eager for treasure and to explore, but this... well, she could control it well enough. It wasn't her fault the commodore was calling things off. Lieutenant Williams was present and those that didn't listen to her, listened to him.

Kortova stood up, straight as could be, and adjusted her not funny hat to ensure she looked tall and regal.

"Well, I do hope everyone is happy. Half of you were falling over each other just to insult me. And now you've doomed this expedition," she said sourly to the others, but she didn't let her haughty expression break. "Do rest assured, Commodore Meinhardt, Sokrovy will not fault you for this. We were here and witnessed the true character of these thugs. Not that I expect the character assassination to stop at me - do watch your back. I'm sure these rats will be more than happy to see their blame passed to you."

And with that, she turned away and walked off, Lieutenant Williams gathering up their papers and following after her. She gestured at the small party of marines and sailors lingering some distance away to join them, and she carried on towards the beach where their rowboat was waiting, not far from the others, but far enough. For the moment, she didn't get in, and she turned to Lieutenant Williams.

Kortova seemed to deflate just a little bit, a hefty sigh crossing her lips and a flush lingering. She wanted to cry but she couldn't do so in front of the men. Plenty had taken jabs at her throughout her life, yet such a... a... ring of attacks like that had dug quite deep. Anger - righteous anger, it was - helped bolster her attitude, though that could only go so far.

"What a... mean group of people," she sniffed slightly, looking out over the water. "Even politics back home aren't so horrendously open."

Williams nodded, though he wasn't entirely certain on that front. "It was a very shameful display. I don't know if all of them are like that... or if whatever had happened to them on their islands made them that way... but the commodore isn't wrong - if anything worse came along, they would tear each other apart."

"And they all went after me," she sniffed again, pretending to scratch her eye when she was trying to wipe away some moisture. "Because I'm smaller...."

"I think," Williams said carefully, "perhaps, given your... inexperience, they perceive you as being weaker than themselves. There is some true arrogance in those hearts back there. You did nothing wrong in defending yourself. The Alleghenian's are always a surely bunch, that can be expected, but the Platine were very much out of line."

He was quiet for a moment as the men milled about, smoking and chatting.

"Whatever are we going to do now? Just go home? After dipping our toes in?" Kortova asked. The lieutenant shrugged. "I suppose we don't have much choice, though we do have the compass... I don't think its a good idea to go alone without the backing of a full fleet."

The Grand Captain considered this, taking her bloodied handkerchief and carefully wiping at her eyes, though it seemed her mind remained on other things. "Maybe I need taller shoes so people will stop being mean...."

 

[Infab]

"Okay. Let's go home, then." said Warren out loud as he stood up from the table. "We are in the realm of old gods and entities, forcing themselves into our dreams and nightmares. Mysterious objects appearing in the real world which were given to us in dreams. We have captains and crews encountering entities in the real world as well."

He paused for a moment, before continuing. "Do you honestly believe the next venture into the Meridian will be any different? The moment this place started delving into our minds and toying with us, for whatever the reason, trust quickly went out the window. Especially when our fellow captain and her new friend, your Commissar, mutate during an encounter with an entity and are perfectly alright with their physical changes. Especially after one of them was in sheer terror of mutation before, and now is barely looking human. Oh, but she can now speak a demonic dialect and is all healed up. That makes things okay, right?"

He stepped away from the table, as Slater quietly stood. "I have no fault with you, Commodore, but I feel it in my gut. They did something, and Williams covered their tracks. And your Commissar was an acomplice to it."

He then glanced to Riddle and motioned that they were heading back to the Jackal.

 

[joshuadim]

As the Commodore made his decision to end the expedition prematurely, both Dobbs and Lonstray were taken aback by such a move with the latter building an anger as he visibly twitched at the news. "W-what...?" was all Lonstray could get out as he tried to digest the fact that he would potentially be leaving so much discovery all over a spat between captains unrelated to the Prophet. Dobbs in the meantime was quiet as the captains began to depart and hanged his head down in a mix of both anger and disappointment. Goddamn Alleghanian cowboys. Dobbs thought to himself, Always mucking up things with their gun-ho attitudes.

The Albionian captain then lifted his gaze towards the commodore: "Then I suppose the Prophet's report is no longer needed, commodore?" he asked.

 

[K0mori]

Detlev addressed Dobbs on Meinhardt's behalf. "Sir, we still require your report for the completeness of our own, final records. Do you have it in writing, like the others? Or will we compile it later?"

His tone was somewhat clinical, as if he didn't expect much from the Albionians. After all, if they had made a major discovery, they'd have brought it up already, wouldn't they?

 

[joshuadim]

"We have much to report, although I admit we didn't have a full writing prepared on time. Nonetheless, I can state what we have found. Originally, the two islands we went for ourselves, Island IX and X, were not islands at all, but rather the remains of a giant sea monster and that of a Ruthenian vessel. Seemed as though a battle had occurred between the two and both sides ended each other. With the threat of shadow mass on the Ruthenian vessel, I decided it was in the best interest of myself and my men to not explore it and rather instead we moved on to Constellar and Vanguard Isles." Dobbs stated as he recounted the Prophet's days in these isles.

"From there we started our search with Constellar Isle, where we came across the well-intact remains of an academic institution. From there, we found a library with near a 120 pristine tomes, scrolls, and other literary works all in the native Altanic language. We secured every last one and Dr. Lonstray's research team is now making gains in attempting to decode the language and has made headways in doing so." Dobbs spoke as he looked towards his head researcher, who was not in a good mood and was pacing furiously back and forth now as he fumed to himself.

Dobbs returned his attention to Detlev and Meinhardt and continued to speak: "Lonstray also acquired a jar filled with a mixture of coal dust and ground aetherite the purpose of which is still unknown as far as I'm aware, while I headed an expedition to Vanguard Isle afterwards, where we found the ruins of a fortress city of sorts. We found a mural that depicted what seemed to be sabotage that killed off the city's inhabitants through salting of the earth. Along with that, we found fruits with interesting healing properties as it cured a nasty cramp in my stomach and we brought them back aboard the Prophet for cultivation and safeguarding."

 

[Radley]

As Meinhardt spoke up and called the expedition off, Rourke and Von Panning made a baffled expressions while Flint seemed as stone faced as ever. Beneath the surface, he processed the decision with somewhat conflicting emotions. On one hand, the commodore had taken a logical course of actions. If the fleet could not act as a coherent unit, there was no reason to continue. And although there were questions he would want the answers to, perhaps it was for the better they were left unresolved. After all, if all of them would be prevented to delve deeper into the mysteries of these oceans, terrible secrets could be left slumbering. A somewhat reassuring fact, considering the suspicious nature of Kortova and her followers. Whatever powers they had consorted with, he felt better if they were not allowed to continue down the path, even at the cost of abandoning potentially groundbreaking discoveries.

When Slater had mentioned Warrens encounter with a veiled woman in a garden, Flint took particular note. Even though his earlier dream had contained foreboding signs towards Warren, these new revelations made for a curious development. With the fleet split among different lines, it would seem the most trustworthy person he could turn to would be his long time naval colleague.

Gathering his two men and the copies of the reports, he walked off to intercept Warren before they could board the Jackal.
"Bishop!" Flint shouted as they approached the group. He gestured for his two companions to stay put while he walked to meet Warren. This was something he was familiar with, as it was something Flint would often do while they served in the navy together. Not because of Nathaniel Flint was a dishonest person, but rather because he would prefer to keep most information on a need to know basis. Warren signaled for his men to wait as he went to meet with Flint in the middle of the groups. When they eventually met in the middle, Flint jumped straight to the point and divulged the contents all of his dreams. From his early vision of Alleghenia in ruins and the black aetherine, to the garden, the veiled lady and the looking glass. He even mentioned the dream about the scroll, but he had not had time to act on that yet. "You can see the reasoning for my actions, I hope." Flint said, "But the forces of these seas are beyond our comprehension. And as the Sokrovian whelp is sure to get in over her head, I support the Commodores decision to pull out."

 

[Infab]

"I understand, Flint. You were always the more cautious one of us." replied Warren, folding his arms and nodding. "I support the decision too, only because I don't trust the Sokrovians or that woman appointed to be Meinhardt's commissar. Maybe the next expedition out here will fair better." Soon, he gave his comrade a nod, before turning about and heading towards the skiff where his men and officers were. There would be quite a lot of explaining to do to the Alleghenian upper brass, but he had a feeling they'd understand. Sokrovian and Alleghenian relations already weren't the best, and pointing out what the 'Grand Captain' had done would likely excuse the matter. Maybe Alleghenia would decide to build their own fleet to venture into the Meridian?

 

[EdwardDewey98]

Mancinelli stared at Kortova as she walked away, almost as if he hadn't heard what the Commodore had said. "What a little brat... unbelievable..." Dos Santos finally had enough,looking over at the first mate with a furious stare. She then began to talk loudly in their native language, with a tone of righteous anger. "[You absolute fucking IDIOT! Don't you understand what you just did?! You just fucked everything we were working towards! We will go back with nearly nothing but a few crates full of unpolished rocks! You just killed Alvarado's dream! Now I won't be able to talk with Halja, all because of a dumb Royal child that you should know can't be proven wrong because of their thick, pampered heads! How could you do this with complete disregard of your mentors dream?!]"

Mancinelli looked at her, as stunned as probably the rest of the crews still present in the meeting. At first, he wanted to shout back. Then, her words finally sank in. He had indeed destroyed Alvarado's dream to prove the Platine Republic was a respectful nation. He simply looked down, defeated, before walking away from the meeting. Dos Santos was trying her best to not cry out of frustration. She just looked at the others, and gave them an apologetic look before following after Mancinelli.

Everything she hoped to learn, now destroyed by a child's ego and a pair of men who couldn't keep their mouths shut. Damn the whole lot of them! She wanted to prove herself to be a great scientist. She wanted to accomplish at least a bit the dream of Alvarado. And most importantly, she wanted to be Halja's disciple. She wanted to learn the ways of the Goddess, and now all was gone. She'll go back to a miserable apartment in San Marino to look at the same butterfly collections, teach the same boring classes to students who disregarded everything she said, and talk to academics who either helplessly hit on her or resented her for being a woman and the child of foreigners.

 

[K0mori]

Detlev's expression slowly intensified as he listened to Dobbs' report. He had to ask for clarification when the library find was mentioned - "you said... a hundred and twenty?" - and became ecstatic as he learned of Lonstray's progress. "There's no doubt about it; Albion will get the glory for this. For such a major find on an aborted mission, you'll be hailed as a hero, and your man over there," he said, referring to the doctor, "he'll go down in history. I can't wait to get a letter in the mail with a stamp baring his face," he added shaking his head. It occurred to Captain Dobbs that Detlev was being a bit wistful, perhaps even envious.

He listened to the remainder of the report and nodded along, imagining the cultivation of the jungle fruit possibly bringing riches to the Albionians as well. "Maybe you should lead the next expedition," he conceded. With this final report submitted, he trudged off to speak with his fellow Alamannian researchers and the Commodore about what they had learned from their short stint in the Devil's Meridian.

Kuromaki, meanwhile, seemed almost completely lost in thought, her expression betraying a severe insecurity. She had been due to join in a grand plot with Kortova and the Great Family, and now the Commodore was pulling her out of the Uncharted Zone entirely. What would become of her now? Would she simply become a lone monster in a world which would reject her? Would she never see her benefactors again? She wanted to plead with him, but she could not think of an argument which would persuade him; in fact, the very act of arguing for their persistence might reveal an ulterior motive. She would need to spend time thinking over it.

The crews began to disperse back to their vessels and make their preparations as the weather remained tense, but never quite broke into storm.

---

The Useful Innocents
6th of October, 1919​

The fleet set sail shortly after the ill-fated meeting at the short of Ossuary Island. The sea was choppy but the winds were relatively mild for the next few hours as they headed along the ley line back towards Castle Island. As they were sailing during the day, there was plenty of time to do nothing except talk about the reports from the Captains and the implications of the historical evidence they discovered.

Mr. Detlev presented his summary findings to Commodore Meinhardt around 5PM, as dinner was nearing. First, he explained that there was a vague timeline which had been surmised from the artifacts. Altanis was once a subcontinent that flourished with civilization. In the beginning, these people discovered the blue mineral Aetherite, unique to the region. Thanks to multiple reports, it was now understood that Aetherite and its refined form, Aetherine, contained an energy which could be considered the very essence of life itself. When the Altanic people learned how to harness this energy, they used it to create a society governed by what could accurately be described as sorcery.

The Altanic Calendar discovered by Captain Dobbs and Dr. Lonstray established that, around 2000 years before the common era, there had been a major war which disrupted the region. Altanis had existed for roughly 800 years, when two powerful sorcerers, known since as Ancient Altanic deities, vied for control over the region: Wulfera and Merphrau. The latter had apparently led a race of undersea humanoids against the land-dwellers, but had been driven back when Wulfera had employed powerful mages to practice necromancy against her foe. Marks of this war were still evident on the landscape and indicated that perhaps Altanis never fully recovered from the calamity.

According to the Calendar, over the next several hundred years, civilization was transformed. Having won the war, evidence suggests that Wulfera then attempted to do away with necromancy. The pyramid tomb on Ossuary Island was decorated with images of the event, and Captain Flint's trials within its maze-like passages indicated that something very sinister was buried there. The unopened sarcophagus remained a mystery, but experimentation with black aetherine indicated its intimate connection to both the sarcophagus's occupant, and to death itself, like an inverse of the glittering blue aetherite Altanis was built upon.

At around this time, another deity rose to prominence. Astrius, associated with the academy found on Consteller Isle, may have been a contemporary of Wulfera, but from the absence of depictions of the latter on Vanguard Isle, and the seeming elevation of Astrius on the corroded bell found in the ruins there, may have outlived her, or became her direct successor. Detailed reports from the Prophet also indicated a conflict between the people of Vanguard Isle and a monstrous foe. Without much evidence, Captain Dobbs theorized that Vanguard Isle had been beset by "demons" and had been brought down from within, due to treachery.

Reluctantly, it seemed, Ms. Kuromaki provided details of the strange ruins on the island she visited. From her explanation, Detlev concluded that she had visited a religious landmark belonging to people of a later era. Her description of "Ishra" painted the latter not as a deity, but as an almost alien sort of force which had further transformed her body quite alarmed him, causing him to submit a central question in his final report, rather than a conclusion: Had the Altanic people simply lost control of the forces they once tried to master? If Captain Dobbs were right, then perhaps heavily-mutated "demons" had destroyed Altanis completely by around 600 or 700 years following Wulfera and Merphrau's war.

However, when taking the dreams of Captain Warren and others into account, Detlev felt the answer would not be so simple, and, sadly, consigned this question to be answered by a future expedition.

It was nearing dinner time, and the fleet was expected to reach Castle Island shortly thereafter. The weather had begun to pick up in severity and the temperature was rapidly falling, leading to flurries of snowflakes and sleet mixed in with warm, tropical rains. The decks of the ships began to steam from the illogical mixture of elements. At 5:13, however, things turned considerably more dangerous.

A cry rang out from the lookout post of the Nixe. "I can't see the ley line anymore!" a scout called out. Other took out binoculars and searched the sky, and within minutes the same scene was playing out among the crews of the other vessels. Commodore Meinhardt returned to the bridge to find that Captain Walkenhorst had not taken any action, as he assumed that it was simply cloud cover interrupting their view.

"Full stop!" Meinhardt called out. "Tell the fleet to stop, all of them!"

"What are you talking about?" Walkenhorst asked. "It's a straight line, sir. We already know our heading."

Meinhardt grabbed the throttle and threw the lever himself. "Do you want to kill us all?" he demanded. "There are no points of reference in this sea. We aren't the first to... lose sight of the ley lines, Captain!" he gripped his chest in pain. "We'd better hope they come back."

"But sir," Walkenhorst said, "if there's a current underwater dragging us off course, it would be better to press on, or else when the line comes back we might be badly off course."

"Are you not listening?" Meinhardt barked. "This is not a normal ocean, Captain. There is no such thing as "on course" or "off course" if we don't have a ley line. For all we know, the islands... move around out here."

Walkenhorst laughed, but stopped when he realized that the Captain wasn't joking. "Sir, if I could speak freely... are you in any way affected by the pain medication you've been taking?" he asked quietly.

"Captain, I am relieving you for tonight... Leave the bridge at once."

"What!" Walkenhorst exclaimed. "But you-"

Meinhardt wheezed. "Now, sir, go!"

Walkenhorst hesitated a moment, looking very offended, but eventually saluted and left the bridge without a word. A moment, later, there was a loud bang that echoed through the ship, much like the one which occurred when the fleet entered the Devil's Meridian. There were several more, and a feeling like the Nixe was listing hard to starboard. The other ships of the fleet felt it as well, and within moments, observers on the top decks of the ships now watched as thin sheets of ice forming on the ocean's surface were now shattering along one side of the vessels, as if they were moving sideways through the water, dragged by some unseen force.

There was no fighting it, Meinhardt knew, from the recovered journals of previous expeditions. They would go where the waters took them, and then try to navigate back to safety from their new location. This message of helplessness was communicated directly to the captains of the other ships, until finally, the strange forces began to calm and they found themselves in the vicinity of an unknown, snow-covered island in the distance. The Nixe then gave out the order to proceed to this mysterious landmass so that the Captains could meet again and address this development.

 

[Emperor Sagan]

"Hmph... that should about do it," Kortova muttered, closing her journal and latching it up. She needed to get her thoughts down from the meeting earlier in the day and there was a lot to say. Not just about the incredibly rude behavior from all the others, but the nature of them now leaving these waters to return home. No more Ishra. No more hopes of treasure and power. One could suggest it was adventure they would be missing out on, but even she knew that was a slight juvenile take to this expedition. It was far too dangerous to be mere adventure. A journey, perhaps. Like one the pioneers took across the rugged mountains and snowy plains. And here were the sons and daughters of those pioneers being turned away from a journey not because they lacked the skill or mindset, but because others were willfully trying to sabotage them. Those filthy Platine sailors, for one. And the Alleghenian cowboys.

There was a rapid knock at her door. That must have been a report from Mr. and Mrs. Alenko, the professors on board. She had put them to the task of trying to decipher the books they had recovered and they had been at it nonstop. Instead... "Grand captain? The lieutenant needs you on the bridge immediately. We have a situation," a sailor called out through the door. Situation? What did she know of 'situations' that Williams' didn't? Putting her journal back into her desk, she hopped up and grabbed her hat - by her newfound power, gesturing at it from across the room so it flew to her hand - and she settled it on her head before leaving and following the sailor up to the bridge. Things looked... a little tense, with several people with binoculars looking at the windows.

"We lost sight of the leylines," Williams explained. Kortova could see a hellish mix of rain and snow outside the window, with hot steam billowing up from the deck. How was it doing both at the same time? This wasn't merely sleet, but some strange quirk of the zone. "We'll stay the course until we can see it again, but... perhaps we should examine that compass of yours more closely. Would you please fetch it, Grand Captain?" Kortova nodded and hurried off to her cabin, collecting the demonic compass and returning with it. She hadn't studied it much at all, but now seemed like a good chance, and she and Williams examined it for all of few minutes to get a good idea of what it was doing before a startled cry went out.

"Ice! Ice! Large flow coming from starboard, fast!" There was a moments hesitation on the bridge. That was a report you'd hear in Sokrovy, not down here in the warm waters. Hell, they were still in the middle of the sea, where could it even be coming from? Williams crossed the bridge in what felt like a single step as he raised his binoculars to the glass. Ice sheets, thin but fast forming, were churning through the water perpendicular to their course. Like there was a separate current forcing the ice towards them from beneath the waves. He could see in some places the sheets pucker and snap from the tension, with more ice appearing elsewhere. He'd never seen a flow like this in all his life. It was unnatural.

"Collision alarm! Get our bow facing that flow! We can't let it hit our flank!" Little alarms began to ring, some gradually louder. A bell rang incessantly on the bridge and someone was yelling down a speaking tube to the engineering room. The entire ship shuddered as the engines were fully engaged, steam levels locked off to boost the pressure so it would raise considerably. The needles on the panels wobbled higher and higher, and immediately the ship began to turn hard to starboard. Most Sokrovian ships had firm prows to punch through ice. The entire north sea above them was nothing but dangerous pack ice and many ships over the centuries had been lost to those waters. The Archangel was not a fast ship, but she had an armored frontside and engine built for pushing, not speed, and they could chug through the ice and break it around them. Pack ice hitting them on the side would carry them and threaten to dash them up against ice that could form on the other side of the ship, effectively crushing them. A death sentence for a wooden ship, but Williams wasn't going to test that on his. Or, rather, the Grand Captain's.

Of course, this was all standard procedure. Sokrovian sailors rightfully feared and respected the ice. They knew its tricks and behaviors. And this was no Sokrovian ice. They had barely made it thirty degrees into their turn before the ice met their starboard side, sending a shudder through the ship. Thick smoke billowed out from the stack as the engineers fed a strong, steady diet of coal into the furnace to keep those boilers in top shape. The heat was so immense that these men had stripped away most of their attire, their bodies slick with sweat as they practically baked away.

Kortova held onto her chair with both arms as the ship continued to shake, the ice outside screeching as it met metal or shattered against its own tension before stronger sheets overcame the weaker ice, sinking it beneath the waves. Lieutenant Williams studied the ice closely as it came at them like a tidal wave. The only good news was that there wasn't ice to portside. This was like a one directional flow. It reminded him of the ash and mudslides from a volcanic eruption. Within minutes of being at the mercy of the ice, they had to cut the engines and let it take them. The wireless telegraph chattered a similar report from the commodore, and Williams was at least satisfied to know that he wasn't dealing with an amateur. It was too late to fight the ice now.

Some time passed before a snowy island appeared. Another message had come through that they were to make way for it immediately, and the engines were reengaged and they steamed ahead away from the slowing ice.

"Get us on the other side of the island. Right?" Kortova said, looking at Williams. He nodded. "Yes, exactly. If that ice keeps moving it'll push up onto the shore and any fool anchored on the wrong side will be forced to contend with that. At worst they'll be beached, and at best, locked into the pack." This much was also communicated to the other ships via the wireless, the Archangel making the note that the ice was not to be underestimated. They sailed to a spot deemed safe before Kortova, Williams, and some marines rowed to shore to meet up with the others.

"Well... at least the weather is nice," she murmured. The snow and chill was just like home.

 

[Radley]

Flint had sat at his desk in the bridge, studying the reports of the rest of the fleet. He was a bit discontent, as it seemed the rest of the expedition had made great discoveries which could be brought back to the outside world. Knowledge about the Altanic civilization through ruins and books, marvelous fruits and insight into the nature of aetherine and it's base material. While his crew had to delve into a dark pit only to seemingly discover terrible secrets even the Altanians had tried to hide away. The experience had left a jaded impression, a fact that was not lost on him. And while he would have been reluctant to continue the expedition in the light of his own discoveries, it seemed a shame not to explore the other avenues of this mysterious ocean.

"You better come and have a look at this." Bates said, snapping Flint out of his thoughts. Voices were coming down from the lookout, and both ensigns and the helmsmen looked frantically about the horizon. "They ley line has disappeared." he continued in a serious tone. Flint knew the implications of this, having read the Commodores instructions before they departed on the expedition. Then as the temperature dropped and their view became obscured by rising steam, rain and snow it confirmed his suspicions. The sea had changed.

"ICE FLOW! APPROACHING FROM OUR STARBOARD SIDE!" came a shout from the lookout. The people on the bridge looked directly to their right and saw what seemed like a wave of ice coming towards them. It flowed with great speed, and more ice seemed to form around it in a unnatural way. "Hard to starboard! turn us into the ice!" Bates commanded the helmsman. But, like the Sokrovians in front of them in the convoy, they could not turn fast enough. Having only turned a roughly 20 degrees from their original course, they were struck by the flow. The ship rocked and creaked as the ice pushed and shattered against the armored hull of the Terror. They trudged along for a brief moment until a small bell rang, signaling the bridge the the engines could not be sustained much longer. Bates noted the arrow on the engine room telegraph and pulled the lever to FULL STOP. Flint did not interfere when Bates took command of the situation. Having served almost half his naval career in the northern fleet, Howard Bates was well familiar with operating ships in arctic conditions. He then turned and looked out towards the Archangel, and the Jackal in front of that in the line of ships. It was an eerie sight, as the mighty warships bellowed smoke like furious oxen at a cart in midwinter, yet were pushed easily out line by the strange ice. With a frown he watched the scene, knowing deep down they had stumbled upon a force that would not let them leave.

As they appeared at the snowy island, the bridge was quiet as the ice flow suddenly stopped. They all looked out over their new destination, trading glances with each other as snow slowly fell outside. The Terror roared to life, sending thick, black plumes from its smokestacks as it easily powered itself free from the ice and followed the Archangel to the safe bay on the other side of the island. the crew of the terror worked to prepare the ship for current climate under the direction of Commander Bates. Flint, Rourke and 6 marines, dressed up for the climate with the warmest clothes they could find, rowed ashore to await the rest of the fleet.

 

[Infab]

Snow, warm rain, steam, and soon chunks of ice across the waters. A very interesting, and very strange, sight as Warren looked out across the deck. His men were scrambling to do their assigned tasks. Turning hard into the ice, and stopping the engines. Once the message had been received to move towards a newly sighted landmass, the engines were fired back up. The Jackal turned about, the destroyer quickly moving towards the island. Following after the other ships that were on the move.

Once they had arrived at the island, they moved around to the opposite side to anchor. Afterwards, Warren, Slater, Riddle, and a platoon of sailors soon departed towards the shore via skiff. Clad in several layers of clothes, they attempted to fend off the cold weather. The Alleghenians were no strangers to the cold, as the northern parts of the country would often get coated in layers of snow and ice, but they were a little ill prepared for it here.

 

[K0mori]

Across the fleet, sailors and officers grabbed onto whatever they could to steady themselves as their ships fought back against the elements, ferrying them steadily onward toward what appeared to be safety. The Archangel, despite having been positioned near the back of the fleet, now took point as its experienced crew and sturdy construction lent it a significant navigational advantage. The Nixe, by contrast, fell nearly to the rear of the pack, as its long and slender shape became a liability. Still, all vessels were able to follow the former around to the rear side, where the waters were calm comparatively, and they entered a long and narrow inlet with rocky beaches on both sides.

In the twilight gloom, the landmass greeted them with a forlorn winter vista of gray and white, dead trees and jagged rocks. Some very careful measurements were taken to avoid running any of the ships aground, until they were all anchored within its unloving embrace. No signs of ancient civilization adorned its high slopes and cliff faces, only yet more ice and snow. Now that the emergency had concluded, a telegram was sent to the fleet from the Nixe:

FLEET IS CLEARLY OFF COURSE STOP
LOCATION UNKNOWN STOP
PROMPT EXPLORATION NEEDED STOP
BY NIGHT IF NEEDED FULL STOP
​

As the message arrived, dread began to settle on each ship, along with something far more concerning: the strange fading of all color, a sensation experienced by the fleet as it entered the Uncharted Zone days earlier, had returned. Now it was not just the island which looked pallid and cold. Efforts were sprung immediately to get teams onto the shoreline, and while the Commodore wished to lead the effort, doctors recommended he allow a more able-bodied leader to climb the jagged terrain. Despite their argument less than an hour earlier, Meinhardt selected Captain Walkenhorst to lead the exploration of the unknown island. Detlev also went to shore, but his job was to remain at camp and provide oversight and advice. Kuromaki, meanwhile, was not granted permission to go ashore, much to her displeasure.

"Listen to me, all of you," Walkenhorst barked as the captains arrived. "We don't know how long these conditions will last. We could be hit by blizzard, or the ice might melt under a midnight sun. There's no telling, according to the Commodore. So we're here to look for a ley line tower, or some kind of navigational tool which might guide us back to where we need to be, before something truly disastrous happens to us. Like the telegram said, Commodore Meinhardt has recommended we explore under the moonlight, even if it might mean some extra risks, because he feels that time is our greatest enemy as of now. I am not your commander, obviously, but a peer. We will need to work together and make decisions together if we want to survive."

Detlev had been looking through a spyglass the entire time, surveying what he could see in the steadily encroaching darkness. "There seems to be a flat line alongside that hill," he said while pointing his whole arm in the direction of a particular ridge. "It doesn't quite look natural, but it might have been carved by a small glacier. I recommend we go there, first, and if it's natural, then at least we get a good vantage point of the whole northern side of the island."

Walkenhorst nodded. "Do we have any other ideas, or suggestions before we go?" he asked, impatiently.

 

[Emperor Sagan]

The Sokrovian's had a particular calm about them as they joined up with the others. While the situation was tense and their prospects uncertain, this cold, dark landscape was much like home for many of them. While the specific terrain was alien, the backdrop had a taste of familiarity that brokered confidence. It was a hell of a lot better than the other day that was sweltering back at Ishra's Isle. Bring on the cold snaps and blizzards, Kortova thought. They could handle that easy. That said, the dozen or so Sokrovian's were clad in long jackets, gloves, and furred caps that covered the ears with long flaps. Even Kortova's tall bearskin hat had little inner folds that she pulled out, like earmuffs, that protected the sides of her face from the chill. She and Williams were both on shore with a marine and sailor team, and looked the landscape over as they gathered with the others.

Following Detlev and Walkenhorst's brief, Kortova immediately spoke up, her hands bundled up in stylish mittens. "Lanterns. If it gets really dark, or there is an approaching blizzard, we need lanterns. You don't fumble about in this land without light to keep track of each other. If it gets even worse, then ropes. Tied about our waists and to the next man and so on. It is very easy to lose someone in the dark and snow."

Williams nodded, but turned his attention to the Sokrovian's behind them. ["Don't feel too easy about this place. It may feel like an unfamiliar part of home, but it is as alien as the deepest of deserts and rain forests. Think back to when you were young, and the long nights are upon us and your father tells you to fetch wood outside, or for you very rural lads, you make a trip to the privy. Remember that crushing darkness? The silence? The sinister feeling of that snow when you hear the wolves calling? Take that mindset and hold on to it,"] he explained, pausing. ["You all know the stories of the Skinwalkers. Watching. Following. Pretend that they could be out here and you will be ready for anything."] That earned a few nervous chuckles from the men, and a few uncomfortable shuffling. The native legends had thoroughly melded into the Sokrovian culture and there was no greater terror than the shapeshifting, evil shamans that were the Skinwalkers.

 

[Infab]

It seemed as though everyone had made it to shore safely, after the strange changes in weather. The loss of the ley lines were certainly troubling, as well as the shifting weather. The snow covered island, dead trees, and jagged rocks, however, were a little less troubling. Alleghenia had its own terrain similar to this, in the northern states as well as near the Sokrovian border. The scouts that Warren had brought were particularly trained to operate in such terrain, having been provided by the Alleghenian army for this expedition.

"I can have my scouts set out to search for anything interesting." said Warren. "The ropes are a good idea. We can set up paths and drive stakes towards any interesting things we find. Rope can be attached to the stakes, so people can tie themselves off to the rope and move along the paths in the event of a blizzard. Flare guns can be issued out as well for emergencies."

Riddle was nearby, speaking to the men they had brought. Mainly boosting morale, saying that this was just a simple setback. Slater, however, was nearby. Nose in her small journal as she listed what had happened. She also appeared to be sketching out a simple drawing of the landscape.

 

[K0mori]

"Lanterns, ropes, stakes... flare guns..." Walkenhorst repeated. "We brought along our winter survival kit, so we should have all that, right?" he asked of a nearby marine scout. The young woman replied in the affirmative and motioned at a wooden crate that had been brought along in the Nixe's skiff. "Good. Get it unloaded; just because the weather is mild now doesn't mean we should leave these things at camp, that's good thinking," he added.

Another man pulled a metal container out of the skiff and set it down on the shore. Unbuckling its lid, he opened it and turned it so that the gathered Captains could see the contents- a set of four rifles and one of the Nixe's ten sub-machine guns. The Alamannians had sent a total of eight crew members to the shore, three of which were researchers, including Detlev. Each of the four marines took a rifle, and Walkenhorst of course took the valuable automatic weapon, after which they distributed sacks of ammunition for the team that jangled heavily from their belts. This was a different side of the Nixe that the other crews had yet to see. Until now, they had appeared mainly as clumsy researchers, or half-competent scouts, but now their military tradition began to show.

"We've chosen to go in heavily armed, and I recommend you do the same," Walkenhorst explained. "I know some of you are fond of dynamite, from what I've heard, but if anyone's got any real grenades, they might actually come in handy. We don't have any on the Nixe... they were deemed unnecessary during the planning stages of this operation."

 

[Infab]

Warren glanced back to Riddle, before speaking aloud. "Master Chief! Did we bring that crate of grenades?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. Riddle perked up, turning about. "Yes, sir! Remember, I pestered you about potentially needing them for something, and you eventually caved and said to bring them?" Warren paused for a moment, glancing back to Walkenhorst, before nodding. "Have them brought down from the ship, and issue out the repeaters. And bring your Annihilator. Full kit."

Riddle saluted, before ordering some of the sailors to get moving. He turned back to Walkenhorst. "You can have as many grenades as you need. Same goes for the other captains. I hope you're fine with our pineapple grenades. Bit different from those potato mashers you Alamannians use." he said, with a chuckle.

While some of the sailors retrieved the grenades and rifles from the ship, as well as Riddle's Annihilator, the other sailors prepared their own camp. Tents were set up, along with fortifications in the event they had to defend the campsite.

 

[K0mori]

"Danke," Walkenhorst replied, stepping over to take one of the Alleghenian bombs. When a marine started to follow, however, the Captain waved him off. "[I'm taking one, and only for an emergency,]" he explained in his native language. "[We'll leave the rest in the hands of those who are trained to use them properly.]" Clipping the grenade safely onto his belt, he gave another nod to the Alleghenians in thanks before taking a long, uneasy look at the ridge above. "Let's move," he finally spoke, switching back to Albionian.

 

[EdwardDewey98]

Silence. Pure and utter silence. Not a single sound or word came from the mouths of the sailors of the Correntino. Whatever hopes they had after burying Alvarado were shattered, thanks to Mancinelli. Whom looked even worse than before. He looked sick, pale, and his eyes were watering. As if he were holding back the tears in front of his companions. Dos Santos had locked herself in her lab. She didn't even let the other members of the science team in, insisting she needed time alone.

She had such high hopes, coming to these unexplored lands. Full of vitality and trying her best to learn more. But everything was terrible. Every obstacle she faced broke her more. While she didn't have to face her crewmates' xenophobia any longer, she was now forced to throw her research away all thanks to a loud group of people. How could this happen? Who was even to blame? She wanted to blame it all on Kortova, but she couldn't. And she didn't feel the Alleghenians were in the wrong either. Mancinelli was loud and clearly caused a lot of harm at the meeting, but she couldn't blame him either. She didn't know what to think, or even say.

The silence from the crew was rather peaceful to her. Some would find the lack of human sound unsettling, but she enjoyed it. The only noises coming from the ocean and ship around her...but then she could hear running upstairs. She emerged from her lab, walking quickly to the bridge. She could now hear the sound of men stomping all over, talking loudly. The noises buzzing in the back of her skull. She continued to the bridge to see Mancinelli looking towards the comms officer. The young lady fixed her glasses, and began writing down the message from the Nixe.

"What the hell is going on...?" asked Mancinelli, still trying to keep track of the other vessels. The rest of the crew didn't know what to say. Dos Santos looked out through one of the bridge windows, and could see the strong weather that felt illogical and unnatural to her. Minutes passed, and they began to feel the cold. Soon, ice was spotted closing in on the ship. "Where are we? How is this possible? We were on tropical islands...just hours ago! Doctor?" Mancinelli looked over his shoulder at Dos Santos, whom simply shook her head. "I don't think...I...don't know...Its not possible, but...you already know these seas defy all logic."

The crew began to dress up accordingly, but Pletenses were not used to extreme heat or the extreme cold. Many were shivering under their heavy coats, and pressing their bodies against anything hot or warm. Dos Santos suffered it the worst, now wearing several coats. She looked like a human sized stuff bear rather than a person. There was an island ahead, and no news from the other crews until another telegram from the Nixe came. They wanted to explore the frozen island they had been pushed towards by the ice. While many among the Correntino were afraid of what dangers the island possessed, Dos Santos and Mancinelli had no doubts in their heads. Soon, when it was safe enough, they took a rowboat to the island with a few other sailors.

On the shore of the frozen island, Dos Santos looked rather concerned at the colorless landscape. She never thought she'd see something like this in her life. Soon, they joined the other captains, and Mancinelli had nothing to say when Walkenhorst asked if anyone had suggestions. After all, Platenses were men of the plains, not of mountains and snow. Thankfully, the government was kind enough to send winter survival kits. But sadly, the crew of the Correntino were not heavily armed. They only had bolt action rifles and pistols. Enough to fend off creatures, but not anything large.

Riddle and Warren had brought grenades, in a large crate. The Platenses were more used to the Alemannian types of grenades, thanks to one of the good arms deals that had survived both Mazonian wars. But Mancinelli grabbed a few. He studied them for a few seconds, before securing them on his belt. Mancinelli gave both a friendly nod. "Thanks. You Alleghenians aren't so bad." Dos Santos didn't say anything. She simply continued to study the cold landscape without a word, and only moved when Walkenhorst ordered it.

 

[joshuadim]

While the expedition had indeed been cut short, the crew of the Prophet couldn't help but keep their heads high at what they had managed to achieve thus far throughout this journey. Dobbs felt a sense of pride in bringing honor to Albion and was content as he overlooked the ship's main deck on the bridge. Yet he couldn't help but feel a bit saddened as he felt he would be left with questions that would linger for the years to come should he never return here. Lonstray in the meantime was torn between anger over having to cut the expedition short and a near constant nurturing his own ego. Indeed, he would have glory and fame over the research materials brought back in what would be the largest treasure trove of written knowledge from the Altanic civilization. The past few hours were alternating between dreadful and pleasant for the scientist's assistants as the Prophet made its way back.

All seemed to be going well... until the ley line disappeared. With orders from the Nixe, the ship was brought to a full halt on its engines. "What the bloody hell is going on?" Dobbs spoke aloud, but before he could follow up a scout from the main deck: "Ice! Ice in the waters!", which sent a quick chill down the captain's spine but quickly recomposed himself. He took a quick look around to see the thin sheets of ice forming on the surface of these treacherous waters. They were approaching fast, and Dobbs decided that he would rather not gamble on the strength of his hull and quickly motioned to his helmsman: "Mr. Jones, change our bearing to our starboard side! Make it so quickly before we are struck!"

The man on the helm tried as hard as he could to reorient the ship to go with the flow, so as for the ice to simply stream along the ship rather than straight up charge into the hull. Yet, it was not fast enough to prevent two impacts from rattling the ship momentarily before things calmed down. These strange currents now dragged the Prophet along with the rest of the fleet to what seemed to be their new destination: a snow-covered island. "I want an immediate damage assessment on our hull." Dobbs ordered his First Officer, Miller. She quickly saluted and rushed off to find the engineers while Dobbs stayed on the bridge to await any telegrams.

Once receiving the message from the Nixe upon getting closer to the island, Dobbs went with the team he had went with on Vanguard Isle from before along with Lonstray and two of his assistants. Lt. Reid and company armed themselves as well as brought the necessary equipment and supplies for the onshore encampment. Lt. Reid and a few of the sailors with him took some the provided pineapple grenades from the Alleghenian's before moving along with Dobbs to follow Walkenhorst. "So, what's changed? The ley line disappeared all of a sudden and now we find ourselves swept out here." Dobbs spoke up as the expeditionary group moved about, "A stroke of fate? Or one of bad luck?"

 

[K0mori]

"I heard the Commodore and Mr. Detlev discussing it earlier," Walkenhorst answered as the teams began ascending the steep slope of the ridge. "It's Mr. Detlev's opinion that something has disturbed the placement of the stones in either Castle or Ossuary Island's ley line tower. I don't know exactly what he meant by that, but you were there with the Commodore before we set out so I suppose you might understand it better than I do. Right now, we're going to assume that the line isn't coming back, so we need to find a way or orienting ourselves so we can go home. Personally, I don't think this island was ever inhabited... Who would want to live here, anyway?"

As the teams neared the flat point midway up the ridge, they began to see signs of cut stone. Even after centuries of neglect, the tool marks were still visible- striations in the exposed rock proved that whether anyone ever lived on this island, there were people who once worked here. "I suppose I'm glad I was wrong," Walkenhorst admitted. He took up a pair of binoculars and looked up and down the quarry, trying to discern if there was a purpose for this labor. "If this were a road, it would have run to the beach. The workers had to come up from somewhere. And if the stones weren't carried away by boat - and why would they? - they must have been carried up and over the ridge to the interior of the island."

From their new vantage point, the explorers could view the northern coastline of the unknown land. Sadly, there was little to see, and as they glumly looked over the rocky, forgotten shoreline in silence, snow began to fall more heavily upon them. The pathway continued downhill to the west, but turned sharply to the south at some point, as did the uphill side. "We can either go down there and see if there are remains of a settlement that we couldn't see from the water, or we can go up and see if whatever they were trying to build is still there," he remarked.

 

[EdwardDewey98]

Although she was depressed, Dos Santos couldn't help but look at her surroundings with scientific curiosity. As if driven by instinct. It became clear that the island had inhabited, but not for some time. Walkenhorst noticed tool marks on the stone, and it was determined that this might have been a quarry or mine of some kind. Walkenhorst then suggested two courses of action: going down the path to see if there was any remains of a settlement, or go up and see if they were attempting to construct something. "I think we should go down and see if there's any remains of a settlement. If the buildings are in good condition, we could use them as a shelter. It would also give us insight into the life of the workers that were here."

 

[Infab]

Warren glanced to Dos Santos, before looking back to Walkenhorst. "I agree with Dos Santos. Solid structures would prove rather useful if a blizzard hits. And we might find some interesting relics. If we do find some buildings to use, we can set up a forward outpost there, then use it as a launch point for any investigations into whatever is up there." he said, pointing up towards the top of the hill as he finished.

 

[Radley]

During the trek up the hill, Flint had conversed conversed briefly with Walkenhorst. As the latter was under the impression that the Commodore had told the other captains what was going on, Flint had replied that while Meinhardt had indeed divulged some information, it seemed like he knew more than he was letting on. Walkenhorst had nodded with a affirmative grunt, but Flint could not distinguish if he actually agreed with it or if it was simply a way to defuse such discussions.

As the rain seized and gave way for heavier snowfall, Flint and his marines began feeling better. It was preferable to have only the snow and cold, rather than being drenched by rain and then chilled by cold winds. Flint had only brought along six marines, one of them being Rask. Five of them were from northern Alleghenia, and thus more comfortable with the climate, while Rask hailed from the island nations north of Albion. While the group stopped to inspect the quarry and debated their next move, Flint remained quiet. He wanted to agree with Dos Santos and Warren, but he had an intuition that Kortova would want to inspect whatever was being built across the ridge. If that was the case, he would go with the Sokrovians. Both because they would be more useful if the weather worsened, but also for the fact that he could keep an eye on their upstart captain.

As the heavy snow fell, Flint simply watched the ancient work site while a few of his men smoked cigarettes a short distance away. They knew not to do it close to Rask, as his backpack contained a few sticks of dynamite and blasting equipment along with a few grenades he had picked up from Warrens crew.

---

Meanwhile, on the Terror, Rourke sat in the part of the cargo hold that had been converted to a research station. Following his captains instructions, he had rolled the scroll out onto a table to examine it. Illuminated by the warm light of a lantern, he took out the looking glass. Like his captain before him, he was both intrigued by the items seemingly mundane appearance, while it also hinted to a more grand purpose. As instructed, he tilted the mirror so that he could look through it and simultaneously read the scroll, hoping the mysterious nature of the looking glass could reveal something the Alamannian scientists had failed to do.