Fantasy The Dread Wastes [IC]

[Darling_Canines]

'JEAN', QUARTERMASTER


As the dock's gangway creaked under a newcomer's weight, Jean's hulking figure loomed near the Dawnbreaker's threshold. Jean dwarfs the men, women and bastards around them, casting a faint shadow upon the four women behind them carrying two heavy looking crates: Their contents clear to anyone with ears and an alcoholic streak...

You see Jean easily, two meters tall of what seems to be pure fat and muscle hidden behind a thick layer of leather and scales covering the monstrous human from head to toe. Their face hidden behind a protective mask with the only hint of their flesh being their wild mane of coily hair sprouting hapazardly from its confines. Their presence is commanding, the air around Jean thickening with anticipation from the curious eyes around them.

Jean took a single step on board, the floorboards ominously creaking as the quartermaster made a quick scan of the people around them: It looked like almost everyone was already there, or at least the most 'important' ones were. Though Jean did curiously tilt their head to the side at the sight of a child onboard...Ah whatever, they had worked with stranger people yet. Jean also came to the realization that they were in fact late. But that didn't matter, it just meant they could introduce themself once and be done with it. Jean's head turned towards Dobbs, and bowed their head as a silent greeting. Possibly the first and last time Jean will do something so quietly on board, subtlety wasn't something they were very fond of doing.

CRASH
​

The hulk of a human let the large, heavy crate they were singlehandedly carrying drop unceremoniously on the ship's floorboards, if their unusual build didn't garner the attention of everyone present already, the sound of the crashing crate most probably did. Though this one didn't sound like there was booze like the other two, this one sounded like metallic bits. With a voice like thunder, Jean spoke ''Ah good, so it doesn't just LOOK solid, BAHAHA!!'' Jean let out a hearty laugh as their hand came slapping down onto one of the crate carrying women passing by. The woman stumbled, loosing her footing as the crate she was carrying with her partner started slipping out of her grasp. But before the precious alcohol crate fell, Jean easily caught it with one hand and held it while the two shorter women regained their footing. Jean nodded their approval before resting their hands on their hips, their frame taking up even more space than necessary.

''Listen, because I will not waste more time introducing myself...Greetings! I am Jean, and that is how you will refer to me. I will be your quartermaster for this expedition. Play nice, and if you are a good enough boygirl...you might get a reward from the non-essentials HAHA''

Jean's voice boomed across the deck as they heartily slapped the second booze filled crate, their contents cheekily clinking upon Jean's impact. Despite the protective mask covering every inch of their face and neck, some could decipher a wink in the quartermaster's tone.

 

[joshuadim]

As those who were to join the expedition got settled aboard, the crew continued their work to prepare for departure at a steady and reliable pace. Spurred on by the Captain's recent intervention in the squabble earlier as well as the continued presence of the First Mate, all seemed to be well as all the newcomers got acquainted with one another or otherwise introduced themselves to those that had already boarded prior. It was then that an ensign emerged from where Dobbs had left to, and cupped at the sides of his mouth to shout an announcement above deck: "All those who are joining from abroad and at home, the captain requests your presence in his quarters!" He held the doors open as those individuals who were assigned to the Dawnbreaker or were leading their own foreign contingents entered the rear of the vessel through the double doors.

Passing through some rooms for the officers aboard, as well as an extra supply room and even a separate dining hall for officers, another set of double doors were already open to invite everyone inside into Dobbs' quarters. His quarters were of two rooms, the first being a larger office with both a writing table as well as a larger table with maps strewn about its length. Another door at the far end of the room was shut, and led to his private bedroom aboard. Dobbs stood at one end of the larger table, looking up to see everyone's arrival and nodded to them as they took their places wherever they sought fit. The maps below were of both old and new make, acting as a composite of all the known information of where they would be traveling to thus far along with additional maps for informations such as charted routes and currents, but the most important was the one that sat atop all the rest to show both the outline of Albion's main islands in great detail as well as the northern waters that preceded the Wastes themselves.

"Consider this our first official briefing for the expedition, as both an insight into what route we will be taking to get there in the first place as well as to answer any questions that should arise." the Captain spoke, standing up straight. He looked over to those that had joined a bit later and nodded towards them, recognizing their faces - or general presence - from his dossier: "A pleasure to have you with us. Would have been a shame to leave you behind. Now..."

He pointed towards the farthest edge of the map most prominent on the table, where it only just began to chart the wastes with large land formations and visible waterways. "Before I speak further, I would like to issue another final warning. Where we will be traveling... it will be the most inhospitable place on this world. It is not for the faint of heart, nor the lesser of will, and I will not blame you if you decide to leave now. I will put in my report that you came down with a sickness, or some other excuse, so as to not put shame on your names. You can leave now without having to risk your lives or wellbeings as many others have in the past." He took a moment to survey the faces that had gathered in his quarters, gauging any specific reactions to his words before continuing on.

"If your minds are made and settled, then I will explain our path forward." Dobbs stated, returning his attention to the maps below. "But if you have concerns in general, I will try to alleviate them as best as I can."

 

[Teh Frixz]

Liandri
The spent cigarette followed the arc left by the outdoorsman's match down to the swells between ship and dock. Unable to even dent the tension of the roiling sea below, it clung to the surface of the water briefly before being swept under. Liandri pondered this for a moment, hoping greatly that it wasn't some sort of omen to pass for her. Drowning was not an experience she'd live to see. Her father used to drown rats in his lab, the failed byproducts of chemical engineering. Even the ones that weren't cognizant of what was happening, their brains fried from the mixture of cocktails he injected into them and documented, even they reacted to drowning. Their bodies floating until the inevitable, slipping below the surface. They struggled if they could, then the body began to reject the water, twitching and screaming as the bubbles lessened. She imagined the pressure on their little ears, thousands of tons of water pressing against thin membranes before tearing. The last gasps of oxygen as your body struggled to process the invasive water. The constrictive pain...

She shuddered, fingers toying with the necklace under her collar. An emergency pill, instant death held at bay by a thin layer of gelatin and cellulose. No, she'd never experience drowning. A tailor-made death awaited her instead, hesitation free. Better an instant euphoric release versus becoming one of the lab rats that died in the pursuit of something greater.

Turning on her heel and bidding her companions adieu, she skirted the impressive bulk of the indeterminate figure coming aboard before scurrying off to her own room. That being would be identified later when she began lab work on the crew as blood would always out. Mind racing as she moved through the bowels of the ship to her own quarters, there was enough of her mind free to note that the Dawnbreaker, while obviously a utilitarian vessel, had enough money pumped into it to make concessions in the sense of modernity and convenience. Unlike most ships, power was run through the vessel, lighting otherwise dark metal corridors which had been painted a calming colorset rather than left a bare metal. The materials used in her construction were all of the most premium choice, quality and quantity at play. Even in her quarters, which she assumed were chosen based on the proximity to the infirmary, must have been designed with thought into who might be inhabiting them rather than being a catch all. There was ample, if cramped workspace, secure lockers for some of her more dangerous chemicals, a full set of scaled down lab equipment and even a rather curious desk, set against an ingenious device that remained level even as the ship bobbed. Perhaps it was what she'd read about, a gyroscopic device? My my my, Albion had gone all in on this expedition.

Maybe she was wrong in thinking they'd be the problematic ones, considering how much money had been wagered. More data always begged for more questions. Liandri sighed as she unpacked and changed, slipping into a bleached white set of garments, akin to a doctor or nurse, only with a customary black heavy leather apron holding a myriad of vials and tools. Always on the job, she'd hate to be caught off guard if an opportunity presented itself.

Seeing as everything was in order, she locked her quarters behind her and made way to the upper decks to visit and hear the customary speech to scare off the hesitant and inspire the bold. She had been among the first to arrive, taking a comfortable position in the rear while the Captain began. Her fingers drumming rapidly on the desk throughout the speech before stopping in synch with his last words.

For once, she had nothing to add. It was a basic speech and stepping in to cause controversy by asking for blood samples might be seen in poor taste. There was always time later. For now, she smiled and nodded, putting on a flippant and brave sort of face to set against the unknown the Captain spoke of.

 

[AriAriAbabwa]

Angela
Tags: joshuadim​

Angela spent the rest of her time spectating the workings of the ship, hanging out around the railings. She watched on the drama between the sailors and the First Mate, as well as the additions of a few more distinct adventurers. The sight of a man of God boarding brought her some relief. Having grown up in the orphanage, people of faith brought some form of familiarity, no matter how marginal it was. There was also some 'professor' coming aboard. Angela wondered if she was going to end up in one of many stories bound to come of this adventure. Then the Quartermaster... she already wanted to avoid him, feeling a shiver just by the look of his attire.

It wasn't long, though, before the Captain ordered a meeting in his quarters. Suddenly feeling nervous again, Angela hefted her belongings and followed the crowd inside.

She'd be lying if she said she didn't feel out of place. The feeling was present on about every vessel, of course, but none more so than standing amid them all in one's quarters. Angela squeezed between a few others and tried to make herself scarce. With that, she listened intently to every word of Captain Dobb's.

It would be another lie to say that she felt no fear. The Dread Wastes have always been a fascination for her. An uncharted piece of sea—the unknown, and a place where nobody has seen the stars from. But there were tales a plenty of those who tried and failed, some never returning to port. Then there was her, a 15-year-old child whose prowess has only been bragged of by old merchants and local captains.

Was she really meant for this expedition?

She saw no reason she shouldn't be.

"I will remain here! To the Dread Wastes and back!" Angela shouted, the loudest she's been today.

 

[Sistros]

Preacher Ross
Captain’s Quarters, Aboard the Dawnbreaker, The Port of Lindwen​

The hoots and jeers of the crew weren’t entirely unexpected; many people scoffed at what they didn’t understand, particularly when the concept seemed fanciful in nature. Religion, even in this day and age, was certainly one of those aspects. However, Ross knew it wasn’t entirely due to skepticism in this instance. They were laughing at his expense. And really, why wouldn’t they? He would be the first to admit that he had made a fool of himself and fully deserved it. First impressions were everything around a rowdy crowd like this, and he had undoubtedly squandered that opportunity when he confused the First Mate, Lieutenant McGuire, for Captain Dobbs.

Fortunately, Ross was the type to always look for the silver lining in any situation. For example, his blunder had brought unity to the crew in this particular case. They were now carrying out their duties as one cohesive group, their previous disagreements forgotten in light of the ‘bumbling priest’ in their midst.

Nevertheless, when Captain Dobbs summoned them to his quarters for orientation, Ross was grateful for the distraction. Not only would he finally meet the elusive Captain, but it was a reprieve from his embarrassment. The only disadvantage was that he could not further converse with Lieutenant McGuire; he would’ve loved to pick the man’s brain about his sea-faring adventures. Still, he figured there would be plenty of opportunities to do so once they departed from the port.

Upon entering the Captain’s domain, Ross immediately sought out the stately man’s gaze and offered his respects through a silent nod. The man returned the gesture, acknowledging the newcomers, before delving into his speech.

As Ross listened to the presentation, he discreetly moved to a corner of the room and crossed his arms over his chest to observe the proceedings. From this vantage point, he finally took note of the two new parties who had boarded the vessel in his wake: a studious young woman and a large, hulking figure clad in a suit of heavy armor. From what he could recall, the latter had introduced themselves as the Quartermaster. If he was honest, he found the configuration rather strange, though he did not voice his concerns. Again, who was he to judge others for their peculiarities? Especially when he had several of his own? An ordained priest committed to the mysteries of the occult was hardly orthodox.

He stifled a grin at that thought and leaned his back against the wall, only raising his brow when Dobbs presented the gathered assembly with an ultimatum—anyone who had qualms or felt reluctant about the upcoming journey could forfeit their spot without penalty. Ross knew he was obligated to raise the subject as a liability; to rule out those who would potentially compromise the campaign out of fear. Even so, it was a surprise to hear it said so explicitly.

As a result, he self-consciously thought he felt eyes shift in his direction. It was likely his imagination, but it fit the narrative to suspect the priest of cowardice. He had witnessed such behavior before. How eloquent it would be when they discovered that Ross was different. His motivations revolved around the search for truth. The unknown intrigued him: the transcendent, spiritual, supernatural, and the weird. After years of extensive research, it had culminated in this moment. Only an act of God could prevent him from carrying on with this mission and achieving his objective.

As if reading his thoughts, the young girl announced her commitment with an enthusiastic shout. Her passion was contagious as Ross inclined his chin and smiled warmly. “Hear, hear,” he uttered in agreement.

 

[K0mori]

"If your minds are made and settled, then I will explain our path forward." Dobbs stated, returning his attention to the maps below. "But if you have concerns in general, I will try to alleviate them as best as I can."

"We're here for a challenge," Kozlova replied with such mundanity that it almost felt like a dare. "...however, I do have a request for all of you. We intend to conduct a thorough study of the effects of the Wastes on human health - physical and mental, and while I am not a doctor of medicine, there is one aboard this ship. I request that all of you seek him for an examination prior to anything which might induce a significant change in your constitution. If we only seek help once there's a problem, we will miss a valuable opportunity to chart the cause and onset of the symptoms."

 

[Infab]

"Yeah, quick way t' end a trip is for all of us t' get sick or somethin'." said Clyde, glancing to Kozlova. "Make sure to keep warm when the temps start droppin', too. Freezin' ta death ain't a good way to go out... drownin' either, honestly, but that's a different sort o' deal."

"As for keepin' yer head right... talk to people. Find somethin' t' do. Hobbies, work... that sorta stuff. Stops the mind from wanderin' to places it shouldn't... Trust me, it helps." he then said, before glancing back to Kozlova. "Don't need anyone losin' their marbles."

He then looked back to the captain. "In it for the long haul, Cap'n. Lemme know if ya need me for anythin', since I'm just... lookin' for somethin' to do for the time bein'."

 

[Vexumin]

Right off the bat she had noticed she was being sized up by a few people. She was sort of used to the feeling. When folk regard her as a professor, they might not think of too much. Some book-bound scholar, having gotten most of her experience from what is written in texts. No, she's cut from a different cloth. She is more than most would imagine. She also knew how it was to be given cold and calculating stares. The key to that? Don't give a damn.

She continued across the ship, helping the crew where she could to prepare for departure. She wanted to make an impression, good or bad, preferring good. Hopefully good with the crew at the very least. The others? She'd get to that soon enough.

Naileen reported in when people were called to join the captain in his quarters. As she entered with the line of other folk, she couldn't help but try to get a good look around. It was a nice space for a ship. Roomy, but that wasn't too much of a surprise considering the size of the ship. When her eyes find the maps, she hops about folk before finding a nice spot along the table, looking over the different rolled out entries of the world, especially what has been drawn up of the Dread Wastes.

"Before I speak further, I would like to issue another final warning. Where we will be traveling... it will be the most inhospitable place on this world. It is not for the faint of heart, nor the lesser of will, and I will not blame you if you decide to leave now. I will put in my report that you came down with a sickness, or some other excuse, so as to not put shame on your names. You can leave now without having to risk your lives or wellbeings as many others have in the past."

The anthropologist actually cringes at the idea of turning tail now, her face creasing with disbelief at the mere suggestion. She might be high off of nerves at the moment, but she knew her answer to that offer immediately.

"I've come this far to fulfill my dream. I'll be damned if I back out now."

Her eyes find the navigator, the youngest of the crew, and found a kinship in their determination to go forward, at the very least. Naileen couldn't help but smile a bit. If she'd had her way growing up, she might very well have been Angela's age when she set out on her first, and probably last expedition venturing into the dread wastes.

We intend to conduct a thorough study of the effects of the Wastes on human health - physical and mental, and while I am not a doctor of medicine, there is one aboard this ship. I request that all of you seek him for an examination prior to anything which might induce a significant change in your constitution.

"As for keepin' yer head right... talk to people. Find somethin' t' do. Hobbies, work... that sorta stuff. Stops the mind from wanderin' to places it shouldn't... Trust me, it helps." he then said, before glancing back to Kozlova. "Don't need anyone losin' their marbles."

"Didn't even think of strange maladies that could be caught out in the Dread Wastes, definitely keeping it in mind for later," she says, her eyes focusing on the maps laid out before them all. She definitely wasn't too worried about losing it on a trip like this though. If there was one thing she was good at, it's blending in, making connections. And yes, talking.

---

joshuadim AriAriAbabwa K0mori Infab

 

[Breadman]

Fontaine made note of the other late arrival that made it to the expedition so close to its departure. One of them was a mass on unidentifiable features under a mask. They were the ship's quartermaster if the loud booming was correct. The organization better surpass the punctuality. As for the priest, there was always one on board on every expedition to tend to a crew's needs. Best to keep in good relations with him for the sake of consistency. In private an atheist, but in public a god fearing citizen just like any other.

Once the call to meet the captain came, he left his entourage to navigate to their lodgings for the trip. As for him, he would make his way to the captain's quarters where the meeting was to take place. He picked out a seat that was halfway to the captain. Close enough to hear and far enough not to draw much attention to himself.

They were given a chance to back out and not partake in this deadly trip. Something that was tempting, but not an option. Even with a fake story, he wouldn't escape the consequences of cowardice right now. His reputation was at stake and with it, his hold and influence. No, he'd have to see it through. "I have already come all this way and don't intend to turn around. As for occupation of my mind, I have a side project I was tasked with by my publisher. A memoir of the expedition would be very popular once we return and I need to fill those pages with actual people's thoughts as we go. If the captain permits it of course."

 

[dikdik]

Isaac McGuire
Interaction: Breadman
Mention: joshuadim Darling_Canines ​

World needs more folks with a spirit like yours. Byrne had said that to Isaac the first week he was aboard Vaxis. Who was he? Was he seriously becoming that old, grimy devil? Surely not, surely not. But, you know what they say. “Your fate’s tied to the first one you-” Oh, just let him die already. Just let me forget, yeah?

Pacing away from the lad, Arthur Peck, before they had the chance for any amount of rich conversation seemed the most proper choice at the moment. He’d have time to catch up later. For now, it was “furl the sails, secure the rigging, oh look at that behemoth of a human being lumbering about claiming the title of quartermaster and sloshing around gigantic crates of booze”. Itching inside his jacket pocket, the flask made its way to his lips for a quick swig. Not long enough to draw attention, not short enough to have no effect in give-or-take a half hour. Upon returning it to its tight little pocket on the inside of the jacket that hung open despite its buttons begging to clasp together and hold it stiffer against his chest, Izzy ran his hands through his hair with a deep breath, tugging it back to lay over itself on the top of his head, in the swirl of the latest arrivals. How lucky they were that they hadn’t cast off yet! He couldn’t fault them for their tardiness, he was too after all. But lucky, lucky, lucky…

I was lucky, lucky, lucky, too, I’ll have you know. For just the shortest of moments, the envy returned. He’d worked his way to Vaxis’ captain and here he was again, serving under some high-born fucker that was handed everything he’d ever needed. Didn’t have to fight, drowning, trudging up the current to find his place in the world against the odds. Didn’t have to sacrifice who he was and what he thought was important and good and holy to avoid starving to death and rotting in some dark alley-

An ensign’s voice cracked against the din of the decks, summoning all those now aboard to a meeting in his quarters. Izzy obliged, pacing across the decks, not paying any mind to the others descending on the rooms beyond the door. Stalking past the man holding the doors open with a quick smile, Izzy pressed both hands on the tabletop, leaning into them just slightly, directly across the table from Dobbs. He absently gazed through the maps. He’d seen them all before on various missions, in various briefings. Worth catching up on at some point, but not now. There wasn’t a single chair. How… How unprofessional of such a meeting, not to have any chairs or snacks! Bah, what an elitist thought of him. That wasn’t genuine. It never was. He couldn’t be like these people. He wouldn’t. He held station, sure, but he’d be better than them. He always was better than them. He knew what he had, but he remembered where he came from. He was better.

Once the room had filled, Dobbs began to speak. The words felt like they went in one of Izzy’s ears and out the other, leaking out with being collected and processed. Izzy straightened with the captain’s warning, buttoning up his jacket and sucking in a deep breath. He didn’t have the luxury of choice that the others would. This was his assignment. If he left, or implied his intent to, he’d be hanged for desertion or beaten for insubordination, surely. He wasn’t lucky. Not here.

Izzy made note of each reaction to Dobbs’ little speech that the other gave. From indifference to excitement to simple acknowledgment. Some talk broke out amongst the others about sickness and staying warm against the nasty cold. The cold was nasty, nasty indeed. It was so cold. So cold. I was so cold.

Isaac was frozen fucking solid. The wind whipped violently against the sails, which hadn’t been drawn up in time for the wall of water and wind to avoid ripping them off their rigs. Icy rain pelted Isaac’s face, flushed red in exhaustion and rage. Bright red flashes in the darkness of the storm preceded red-hot balls of lead ripping limbs from their bodies before crashing through the wooden decks and hull. Isaac’s throat was raw from screaming orders at men panicking to return fire at the black mass in the gloom. Someone else was screaming. Screaming bloody murder, pain, not anything useful. But Isaac recognized the voice. Byrne. It was Captain Byrne. Isaac whipped his head towards the man, body following instinctively, Byrne now floundering on the deck of the ship, blood mixing with water and running down the steps in gray-scale against the night. Isaac ran to the man. Gushing red from his lower leg in a few places, shrapnel and wood buried in him. One piece had found his thigh. Some had splintered into his chest. Isaac sat him up. Byrne was dazed, but he’d likely survive. He had to survive, now wasn’t the time. Heaving Byrne upwards, Isaac pulled an arm over his shoulder and helped the man into his quarters below decks. Surely that was the safest place for him. Surely. It had to be. But what if it wasn't?

Izzy shook his head, rubbing his eyes for a split second, snapping back into his present just as quickly as he’d left. The voice he heard first once returning to the meeting room was that of the fool Fontaine. Writing a book? A memoir? Like anyone’d want to read what that jackass had to say. “I for one, think that’s a grand idea, my good sir, Fontaine!” Izzy perked up, fastening a smile to his face. His hands found themselves popping off the table and gesturing in feigned excitement while Izzy's burnt brown eyes found the bastard’s own with a glimmer of something golden in 'em. “Our admirable Captain Dobbs permitting, I would be more than thrilled to take part in such an esteemed and important project!”

Whether to disarm the fucker, to piss him off, or just get a word in? Oh, it was all three. Izzy wasn’t particularly skilled in the politicking that people like Fontaine were always curled up in bed with, but he sure as the Nine Circles of Hell would pretend to stroke this man’s ego simply for the sake of silently aggravating him.

 

[joshuadim]

Everyone seemed to be on the same page with regards to attitudes and commitment to the expedition, which was both a source of relief - given the manpower shortage it would create if people started to leave en masse - as well as continued anxiety; he would still be ultimately responsible for everyone's well-being, and as pointed out by Sokrovian scientist that the terrain itself would prove treacherous to human health. On that point, Dobbs nodded to Kozlova: "Dr. Lonstray is more than qualified and capable, from what I have read of his background." he commented, giving the doctor his confidence vocally to the others. "As Dr. Kozlova has said, seek out help on any onset of illness. I will instruct my crew to do much the same to that end. We have ample medicines, laudanums and equipment-"

"That is more than even a hospital can ask for." Dr. Lonstray then chimed in, making his presence known in the quarters as he snaked his way in between the various bodies in the room before making way to a part of the greater table that was vacant. He stroked his beard as he looked over to Kozlova and acknowledged her inquiry with a nod: "I will have a detailed log book to report symptoms and treatments. The biggest concerns upon these tpyes of expeditions are dysentery, tuberculosis, and scurvy... though on a ship like this with its systems, dysentery risk is minimized and we have ample foodstuffs to prevent scurvy."

"Yes, we have enough food for two years of voyage - all of which has been inspected and canned properly." Dobbs then stated, "With a good variety."

He then turned his attention back to the maps and let out a sigh: "Very well. I will illuminate our plans of travel." the Captain stated as he pointed to their current position, which was a western peninsula on the isle of Albion, which was immaculately detailed with various rivers and tributaries feeding into a great urban expanse that was written as Lindwen. Dobbs then began to trace his finger upwards through the ocean. "Our route will be routine, using Leopold's Current as our main ocean-stream to propel ourselves north-bound." His finger then stopped on a small island, surrounded by smaller rocky islets that seemed to be uninhabited considering the only marked point was on the main land body itself.

"We will be first making a routine stop towards Edwin's Point, for both meteorological reports so as to indicate our point of entry to the Wastes itself, as well as for additional supply loading. And, to my understanding, allow additional bodies aboard due to tardiness of travel to Albion. They've been redirected to the isle so as to link up with us." Dobbs explained before moving his finger further northwards to appraoch the expanse on the map that was simply labeled as 'The Wastes'. "Here is where things will get tricky... our first obstacle is the sudden drop in temperatures. Ice floes, sharp islets and barren islands make up this region, though three reliable routes have been charted over the past few decades. Our first and best choice is Llewelyns's Trail, which is a warmer current of water that has managed to carve a path through the floes. If all goes well, it's a fairly straightforward trip towards the second known region. Otherwise, we will have to consider perhaps more treacherous options."

Dobbs traced his finger almost to the very edge of the map, where the charted waterways and ice made way to the outlines of frozen landmasses. "Here is the region known as the Expanse. There are reports of some native peoples living here, though contact has been limited to my understanding. They are reclusive and avoid outsiders, and I doubt they will be of any issue. The land itself is rocky, and sports some small mountain ranges. But charting a waterway through has been difficult. It seems that the land has a tendency to... shift." The word comes with an audible tone of concern, as he observes what little information is available. He then returns his attention back to the gathered crew, and speaks again.

"Our objectives for this Expedition are as follows: first and foremost, it is to chart a course through the Wastes with its path recorded and returned. Second is to chart the major landmasses for anything of note to establish as landmarks and geography for reference." A slight pause then followed before Dobbs spoke again: "And third, is to determine the fate of the RAS Tempest and its sister ship the RAS Prophet."

This garnered a look of confusion from Lt. Wolf, who had thus far been silent and relegated to the background at the far end of the room behind Dobbs. Yet, he said nothing as the words settled onto the crew and stayed his tongue. "Any questions?" the Captain then asked, opening the floor to inquiries.

 

[Teh Frixz]

Liandri

“Je. I’m sure we’all genna hef questions regarding this en thet. They’ll jes wait an ‘pop’ right up ento our heads as we sleep tonight. Bet right now?” Liandri stepped up, clearing the viscous chemical residue from the back of her throat and adjusting her glasses.

“Thes ship, from the few hours or sew I’ve hed settling en. Ets navel officers and Albion kings en the money men behind em trying teh account for any and all possibility. Extended foodstore, guns, je, yeh should see the extensive collection of chemicals provided en the Infirmary. But none of et seems teh account for this Tempest end Prophet. You aren’t expecten survivors? Jes want teh clarify. This isn’t some rescue mission in disguise es et? The Pride of the Albion Navy latching bonds with the best of the beest across the world to hunt down lost men? What were those ships up to?”

She grinned as she spoke, starting serious but slipping into a smile out of habit. It was a curse and a byproduct of the stimulants she regularly imbibed. Accelerated heartbeat, sweating, nervous habits. She’d have to tweak the formula, her age and the other….concoctions she took needed constant monitoring and adjustment to stay in balance. She’d gone as a girl with her parents once to the Theater in the capital. By most civilized standards, it was a rugged little theater, ugly and petite but the quality of the show stuck with her. A juggler and plate spinner, she marveled at the physicality of the man, playing his craft in time with the upbeat, comical music. That was her now. Balancing heart rate, chemical balances, plateauing muscular growth, nervous tics. A hundred plates spinning inside her body while she could only attend to the wobbly ones just in the nick of time.

Her foot tapped rapidly as she delivered her semi-accusatory question. The parameters of the mission needed to be properly defined for everyone. God, they didn’t even know the contents of the lost ship and their last transmissions. She didn’t want to be the next ball to get stuck in the tree in an attempt to dislodge the others.

“No offense je? Jes need some sort of trensperency for the ship and our own peace of mind. I couldn’t live with meself ef I went en burned through our supply of sedatives before even reaching the wastes.”

 

[turtwigwins]

Wolfgang Rahmer cleared his throat, stepping forward after Liandri’s pointed question, sensing the tension in the room as the crew processed the implications of searching for the Tempest and Prophet.

“Captain,” Rahmer began, nodding toward Dobbs, “I commend the initiative to look into the fate of the two lost ships. There’s a lot we can learn from what happened to them, especially when it comes to surviving in the Wastes. Even if we don’t find survivors, their final resting places could offer us lessons—supplies, gear, or even journals that detail their challenges.”

He paused, glancing at the map again, tracing the paths with his eyes before he continued, “And there may still be some of them alive. When I was younger I was out charting desert territories in the East, and a sandstorm hit. Part of our group was separated, and we thought them lost to the dunes. A year later, we returned to the same region and found one of our men alive, having been taken in by a local tribe, and he had incredible insights. If anyone survived from the Tempest or Prophet, they could hold those same valuable insights on how to live out there in the Wastes. More than any map or plan, those kinds of lessons are key.”

He allowed the weight of his words to hang for a moment, before pointing to the charted expanse at the edge of the map.

“One thing I am curious about, though,” Wolfgang continued, his brow furrowing in thought. “You mentioned that the land up there tends to shift. From what I’ve learned in my years of cartography, land doesn’t just… move. What exactly do we know about these shifts? Is there any record or explanation for how or why that happens?”

Internally, Wolfgang wrestled with the idea. Land should be stable. Mountains don’t suddenly rearrange themselves, islands don’t drift without a reason. He knew of shifting sand dunes and glacial ice, but this was something else. If the land truly moved, then navigating the Wastes would be a perilous task for a kid to manage.

 

[K0mori]

"I will have a detailed log book to report symptoms and treatments. The biggest concerns upon these types of expeditions are dysentery, tuberculosis, and scurvy... though on a ship like this with its systems, dysentery risk is minimized and we have ample foodstuffs to prevent scurvy."

Kozlova nodded with a smile. She appreciated the professionalism of the physician, especially his ready willingness to track and report symptoms found among the crew. However, the smile quickly disappears as she realizes that her colleague is neglecting the mental demands of such a voyage. She made a mental note to introduce Lonstray to Maksimova at some other time.

Dobbs traced his finger almost to the very edge of the map, where the charted waterways and ice made way to the outlines of frozen landmasses. "Here is the region known as the Expanse. There are reports of some native peoples living here, though contact has been limited to my understanding. They are reclusive and avoid outsiders, and I doubt they will be of any issue. The land itself is rocky, and sports some small mountain ranges. But charting a waterway through has been difficult. It seems that the land has a tendency to... shift." The word comes with an audible tone of concern, as he observes what little information is available. He then returns his attention back to the gathered crew, and speaks again.

The strangeness of the Captain's assertion led Kozlova to raise an eyebrow. Her first suspicion was that prior expeditions may have experienced conditions which hindered their ability to accurately record their surroundings. She had heard of the various illnesses suffered by miners and sailors due to the effects of damps, such as blackdamp. Perhaps there's a physical element within the Expanse which suppresses the mental faculties of those unacclimated.

"Our objectives for this Expedition are as follows: first and foremost, it is to chart a course through the Wastes with its path recorded and returned. Second is to chart the major landmasses for anything of note to establish as landmarks and geography for reference." A slight pause then followed before Dobbs spoke again: "And third, is to determine the fate of the RAS Tempest and its sister ship the RAS Prophet."

Kozlova's attention was piqued by the mention of a prior, lost expedition to the Wastes. It seemed highly likely that if they could locate their forerunners' vessels, they'd gather valuable insights immediately - most importantly, the logs which documented their failures, as they would reveal the steps which had already been taken and the end results of each, greatly reducing the amount of trial and error that would be required by the crew of the Dawnbreaker. "...While I can't say that it would be wise to depart from our course to follow in the footsteps of others who met their doom, if we should happen to find them, it would be a great boon to our efforts to gather data and physical evidence," she explained, dryly.

“Thes ship, from the few hours or sew I’ve hed settling en. Ets navel officers and Albion kings en the money men behind em trying teh account for any and all possibility. Extended foodstore, guns, je, yeh should see the extensive collection of chemicals provided en the Infirmary. But none of et seems teh account for this Tempest end Prophet. You aren’t expecten survivors? Jes want teh clarify. This isn’t some rescue mission in disguise es et? The Pride of the Albion Navy latching bonds with the best of the beest across the world to hunt down lost men? What were those ships up to?”

This she did not condone. The ship had not even left port, and already Liandri was suggesting that the Albionians held ulterior motives for sending them to the Wastes. Of course they would seek to learn the fates of their lost comrades and loved ones, and to carry on the work they left behind. They are not forgotten simply because they ultimately failed. Kozlova hid her disapproval under a stern gaze, however, and let her colleague speak freely. She did have a point, in that any survivors which might be found from the prior voyage would shorten the supply of survival goods, and lessening the chance of the entire crew's survival to the opposite side.

“Captain,” Rahmer began, nodding toward Dobbs, “I commend the initiative to look into the fate of the two lost ships. There’s a lot we can learn from what happened to them, especially when it comes to surviving in the Wastes. Even if we don’t find survivors, their final resting places could offer us lessons—supplies, gear, or even journals that detail their challenges.”

Rahmer would go on to describe his own experiences which painted a more hopeful picture for the crews of the Tempest and Prophet. While Kozlova was loath to place any emotional energy into thinking of those men and women's struggles, she nonetheless realized that the opposite of Liandri's concern may also be at play: as the crews of those doomed ships died off, the survivors would inherit a greater share of the remaining supplies. It's possible, should their end have come quickly enough, that a few remainders could have been left with years of excess goods, medicine, and gear with which to survive and wait for rescue.

"I agree. Should we find survivors, their material costs are negligible in the face of their lived experiences," she said.

 

[AriAriAbabwa]

Angela
Tags: joshuadim dikdik Breadman Teh Frixz​

Angela settled down afterward, shy from her sudden volume. Hearing everyone stick around gave her much needed confidence. She perked up, though, as the kindly Fontaine mentioned a side project of his. Angela had never even considered that there'd be written accounts of her! She could imagine it already: a thrililng journal of the brave expeditioners into the Dread Waste, led by Captain Dobbs, his First Mate Isaac, and little Angela helping navigate. Shyly, she interjected after Isaac, "I, too, would not mind being featured in a written account..." completely oblivious to the First Mate's undertone.

Captain Dobbs continued, explaining the initial charter to which Angela nodded along. She giggled in her mind, proud of herself for knowing every location he listed. Could the natives of the Expanse have their own knowledge of the stars? What if they knew something nobody else in the world did? So exciting! Angela, feeling ready to take on the world, didn't bat even an eye at the third objective. Not until the others raised question about it.

Angela didn't realize it, but a somewhat tense air drifted over them. Liandri expressed concern over their supplies and how potential survivors could affect that, along with some implications about the true purpose of the trek. Angela thought about it for a moment, then her mind went back to stars and the Expanse's natives, then back to Liandri, and confused herself what the topic was about. But she understood the gist of it! With a childishly innocent smile, she said, "Isn't it natural to help people? The Sisters taught me that."

After that, she looked at the Dobbs. "Captain, won't the natives in the Expanse know all about the lands? If we ask them, maybe we'll find a path just like that!" Definitely easier said than done, not that it occurred to Angela.

 

[dikdik]

Isaac McGuire
Mentions: Breadman Teh Frixz AriAriAbabwa joshuadim turtwigwins ​

It was the absence of any sort of response that threw Izzy for a bit of a loop. He was hilarious. Absolutely fucking hilarious. Hadn’t any of these land-legged blige rats heard what he’d said? Surely Fontaine picked it up, even the venom that came with the promise of lending time and words for his absolutely ridiculous attempt at literature. But no. But no!

Fucking knaves, all of ‘em. Izzy crossed his arms with a bit of a huff before shifting weight to one foot and leaning his hip against the edge of the long table. Dobbs’ droning, though really quite professional, was but droning. Describing the route, the stops, picking up other passengers. Blah, blah-

What was all of this, anyways? One little slip and slide down Memory Lane and he Izzy was all bothered. He’d need to cool it. Settle down the ridiculous reactions he was having to this nonsense. That’s all it was, anyways. Nonsense. What had started it, anyways? Dobbs’ pause tugged Izzy back into the meeting room, a smile cracking at his lips again as he unfolded his arms, pressing hands back into the table and leaning into it. A mystery, hmm? Izzy loved a good mystery. About as much as he loved being one. And he’d need to continue being one if he was to exert any amount of order or control over the men of the crew just outside the door. Or garner any respect from those inside.

That black haired, glasses wearing lady seemed to be a bit bothered, more obviously than Izzy had been a moment before, as she started talking almost incessantly. Something wasn’t quite screwed in with that one. He’d watch her. Figure out what it was. Maybe it was useful. Maybe she was insane. The older, burly fella started blabbering on about some “when I was young” story after expressing appreciation for Dobbs’ commitment to the missing ships and their crews. They were all dead, no doubt. Swallowed whole by the ocean but perhaps it was worth the effort.

Dominick pressed through the door and Isaac whipped his head around to meet those piercing, cold eyes. Had Isaac screamed? Had the corpse? The blood was still gushing and squelching out of a hole in Captain Byrne’s chest. It was still pitter-pattering on the boards under Isaac’s feet, seeping through the cracks and grooves of worn wood. There was a lot of it. Too much of it. Tears swelling into Isaac’s eyes, Dominick’s widened.

“Izzy, what happened?” The man approached, hands outstretched, nearly timid.

With a sharp inhale, Isaac began to sob and sank into Dominick’s arms, gripping the taller man in a tight squeeze. “Dom, I couldn’t do it I couldn’t. I couldn’t do it, and he’s dead. He’s dead.”

Dominick’s cheek pressed the top of Izzy’s head in an embrace that tightened, anchoring Izzy as he continued to weep, panic replacing jealousy. This wasn’t real, was it? Was it? It was. It had to be.

Oh, that’s what it was! All the change of scenery, the glorious irony, the absolutely wild cast of characters on this godsforsaken ship, and it was that little twinge of jealously that started it all. Deep breath, deep breath iiiiiiin. Ok, good.

Oh, it was sweet and precious little Angelica, no Angela. It was Angela that heard him first. His nasty tone meant to bother Fontaine had slipped right through her. What an innocent thing, she was. Oh, she was part of it too, wasn’t she? A reflection. A perfect reflection.

 

[Infab]

Clyde folded his arms, quietly listening to the others as they spoke in regards to the Captain's own statements. Locate the two missing ships? Survivors? It sure sounded like a rescue operation instead of an exploratory expedition. Depending on what happened to the ships, they might not even find them. They could be at the bottom of the ocean. As for survivors, depending how long ago these trips were, the survivors may be long gone as well. It'd be a waste of time and energy... and sanity.

He was inclined to agree with Liandri's statements on the matter.

He didn't comment on things, however. Instead, he glanced towards Fontaine. So the man was writing a memoir? Clyde cocked an eyebrow as Angela commented on wanting to be interviewed as well. Deep down, Clyde was... hesitant, to put it simply. He wasn't one for doing interviews. The questions were often too direct. Too personal. Some things he liked keeping to himself.

Besides, he wanted to write something himself after the expedition. Why would he give someone else the material he intended to use?

 

[Breadman]

As Dobbs talked about their plans for the expedition, Fontaine took a step back in the inquiries. His business was to represent the interest of his employers and they speculated that the three objectives would be as the captain laid them out. The old crone leading the board had once again proved herself useful in her guesswork, raising a suspicion in him that she would have an insider among those who organized this venture. The other shipmates had their questions and ideas on how they should proceed of course. Some showing complete confusion that they would be searching for the previous ships. Reginald had a different view. Of course picking up any survivors would be a challenge for their work and logistics, but the trade off would be any knowledge gained from their time in the wastes. Assuming that they havent gone mad of course. Then there was the boon to their public image. Daring expedition turned saviors of marooned sailors. Papers write themselves.

Speaking of writing, there was a minimal reaction to the suggestion of memoirs as expected. These were not exactly people who would want someone else to tell their story. Not that it would stop him. For any lack of detail provided by them, he would have to add himself to appease the publisher's hunger for melodrama and suspense. Why did they ever elevate that gossip monger into a respectable proffession?

Issac seemed eager to participate and mock. Does that idiot think he's clever? Men like him come and go and one is best to ignore them unless you absolutely have to deal with them. That interview was going to be dreadful, but a circus needs its clowns. Angela would be the other problem, but Reginald will just have to swallow his distaste and bear it for a short time. She seemed well mannered enough.

As for the others? He would bring it up individually with them if he has the time, but will they divulge anything? Talking to their subordinates was always a plan B to fall back on.

 

[joshuadim]

Liandri's inquiry was the first time that Dobbs' face showed any anger, even if muted, as he looked at the woman with a silent glare and a furrowed brow as if to contemplate his following choice of words. Knowing his Captain, Lieutenant Wolf quickly stepped in to answer in a rather curt manner in place of his superior: "What those ships were 'up to' was the very same mission as we are to embark upon: to chart the Dread Wastes. It is our people who were aboard those vessels, and it is our duty to determine their fates so as to give families of those souls aboard closure." the Marine spoke, "If we find survivors, all the better, but it has been three years..." He turned to Dobbs, who had by now managed to take a deep breath and took over the conversation.

"We aren't holding hope for survivors." the Captain put it bluntly, and with a noticeable bitterness as he continued to speak. "As much as we all would like to recover even a single man, the odds are stacked in favour of the elements. It will be enough to simply find signs and remnants of the ships." His feelings were tempered when Kozlova and Rahmer made their opinions known in favour of the objective at hand, which left the captain to relax the tension in his shoulders and back as he continued to the next line of inquiry.

“You mentioned that the land up there tends to shift. From what I’ve learned in my years of cartography, land doesn’t just… move. What exactly do we know about these shifts? Is there any record or explanation for how or why that happens?”

"From what I understood in my own briefing from the Admirality and the Academy, the land has unusual tectonic and geological properties. Properties that have yet to be properly explained or examined due to the lack of available testimony and information. Few expeditions have made it to the Expanse, hence the scarcity of what is available." Dobbs explained to the best of his ability. "We can consider observation and data gathering of said activity to be a sub-directive for our secondary objective then."

"Captain, won't the natives in the Expanse know all about the lands? If we ask them, maybe we'll find a path just like that!"

"If only it were so easy lass. We'd've crossed the wastes already if so." Wolf spoke up jokingly, which was followed by Dobbs' more serious answer.

"As I said before young Miss, the natives are reclusive by nature. Where we will be heading is there territory, and if they don't want to be found then we won't ever find them." Dobbs then scratched his chin, pondering the possibility a bit further. "...perhaps we will be lucky, but I wouldn't hedge my bets. Still, we could send a small party to see if we can establish contact and garner information. But that is lower on our priorities compared to everything else at hand."

 

[dikdik]

It had taken so long, really a good long time, for Izzy to find himself right back here, staring at reflections until they made him bleed. One could say years! Unless, of course, that was a lie. He’d finally found some stability, right? Just enough as Vaxis’ captain to feel perhaps unbreakable, unmovable. Worth something, for once. And here he was, on this reassignment that seemed to be as good as a death sentence, once he started really listening and pondering everything about the conversation he’d been ignoring for a moment.

Observing the continuing conversation, Izzy noticed Dobbs’ expression shift to something irritable, even angry, as Lieutenant Wolf spoke in the Captain’s stead. That was really quite interesting wasn’t it? The exchange was nearly seamless, and Izzy pondered how long they must have been working together, how well they knew each other, to shift so harmoniously. Another tidbit of interest? Dear Captain Dobbs had a temper. His confirmation of the missing ships being more of a recovery and investigative component slid Izzy’s smile right back to his face. Was he happy or excited that those sailors had died? Oh, no, certainly not. Was he satisfied that he was correct they’d likely been consumed by the Wastes? Oh, of course!

But back to the mystery, hm? Unusual tectonic and geological properties, hm? Well, that sure would be interesting! If the land itself was shifting and changing, mountains forming and failing, ocean currents waning, it would surely be one hell of a job for Angela to try and move them through the Wastes. And speak of Angela! Lieutenant Wolf’s jab at her sparked an almost protective feeling in him, and her questions about meeting and communicating with native peoples, and Dobbs’ answer for her, had Izzy both curious and a bit worried. Perhaps her innocence would make things a bit difficult for them. Careless, unintentional mistakes… They had a cost. He knew it, too. And if Izzy had any say in the matter whatsoever, he sure as the Nine Circles of Hell would not want to meet absolutely anyone or absolutely anything that called the Dread Wastes home. Surely, they’d be all purple, frostbitten, impossibly tall, wantonly violent or something weird.

The other thing wantonly violent was the tumult in the pit of Izzy’s stomach. He watched the group to see if anyone had noticed such an embarrassing little incident. Gods, was he hungry. He’d half-expected to have eaten by now, though it was his own fault for spending a bit too long in the velvety palace and not enough time preparing for this journey. He absently wondered when meal time might be aboard the Dawnbreaker as he hadn’t the slightest clue of what time it was exactly. This briefing felt stretched out entirely too long. Did Izzy’s, when he ran them? No, surely not. He was always concise, intentional. Unless, of course, that was a lie. Gods, he needed a drink, but the flask would stay buttoned into its pocket for now. Until at least meal time, lest his irritated stomach become a bit more furious with his decisions of the day.

Uncertainty was a nasty little feeling, wasn’t it? Though he’d met Dobbs before, he’d never worked with the man and he couldn’t quite tell when he was supposed to say something, if anything at all. Oh, great, genius Captain, I would oblige a walk out onto the shifting fucking mountains in the Wastes to bring you back such sought after information as the condition of native settlements, if you so requested it of me. Oh, absolutely honorable and capable Captain, whenever shall we move from this useless meeting on to dinner? Oh, fantastically esteemed dear Captain, did you get your knickers in a twist this morning; is that why you’re so bothered at precisely every moment? Oh, incredible Mr. Captain Dobbs, sir, if we’re to achieve much of anything on this journey, we’d best actually start it.

“If we do encounter any folk living out in the Wastes, perhaps they’d be a source of information regarding the fate of our missing comrades. I do agree with our esteemed Captain, that we shouldn’t become overly confident about their knowledge, if we do encounter them. Though, on the chance you believe it’d be worth our efforts, I would be more than willing to join any party venturing to contact them, Captain.”

Oh, absolutely, marvelously, monumentally stupid and ridiculous Isaac McGuire, you’ve fucking said something outloud, haven’t you?

 

[DG-117]

For most of the discussion, Zdenka had been oddly absent, and their sightings on the Dawnbreaker were scarce besides the occasional eye-pricing sneezing that echoed throughout the vessel's corridors. It almost seemed like Zdenka and her goons almost entirely vanished. Some may even have thought they had gotten cold feet and left as soon as they all came.

Yet, within the confines of engineering, Zdenka had been personally overseeing the establishment of a small workshop down within the bowels of the ship for herself, deep in the holds. While it was quite small, Zdenka had barely managed to fit everything she needed down there to begin thinking. Much to his dismay, most of the space savings came by throwing the surplus items inside Gruber's quarters.

But once, the Captain had begun the call for a meeting within quarters, Zdenka was one of the first to arrive but was perhaps the most quiet and still of the group. She left the bastard known as Coslovich down there to keep his men in line while Mr. Giordano, Zdenka's number-one grease monkey, was in charge of the shop in her absence.

Zdenka stood to look over the map, her arm leaning on the table as her eyes were absolutely focused on the maps and the details laid before her, briefly twitching to glance at Dobbs as he spoke but almost always back onto the maps, scanning them closely. She knew the risks were grave, but something, something deep inside her mind drove her lifelong curiosities about the Wastes from a small-time passion into a total obsession that has almost completely consumed her this past year

She had spent days, weeks, months, studying everything ever written and said upon the Wastes, from officially published books from the topmost colleges and professors to raving madmen who were said to have lost everything but their lives there, even tombs written in dead languages said to have originated from the lost tribes in the expanse were thoroughly studied. Even self-proclaimed mystics and far-away hermits who could have only been reached by traveling to the edges of the known worlds were found by Zdenka personally traveling to such locations herself.

Yet, it was never enough to satisfy this compulsion, this absolute obsession that lingered deep within her mind... One that couldn't be suppressed with whatever drugs her doctors could offer, not to mention what terrible nightmares it brought...

Once Dobbs opened his mouth to ask the guests for any questions on the debriefing, Zdenka graze was momentarily broken and thus she immediately assumed her usual posture of a self-absorbed aristocrat to the others in the room. Only pausing to wipe the sweat off her brow with a handkerchief. Taking the next few seconds to swiftly recompose herself.

She took a moment to let out a deep breath and began to slowly scan over the room. Taking a short moment to look over her so-called colleagues for this hopefully not ill-fated expedition.

Firstly, there was Dobbs, and his lieutenants, Dobbs himself was most likely the last choice the Ablion Naval elite had wanted. His first mate though, what dossiers she managed to pry from the Ablion officers were quite the interesting read....

“If we do encounter any folk living out in the Wastes, perhaps they’d be a source of information regarding the fate of our missing comrades. I do agree with our esteemed Captain, that we shouldn’t become overly confident about their knowledge, if we do encounter them. Though, on the chance you believe it’d be worth our efforts, I would be more than willing to join any party venturing to contact them, Captain.”

"Well..." Zdenka muttered, taking a second to clear her throat. "I wouldn't be too far from joining such a little landing party then, we must capitalize on such endeavors if we are to make the most of this historical expedition, especially in the matter of introducing the beauty of civilization to these noble, stalwart natives who brave these far-off lands."

"And thankfully, we have such courageous gentlemen here to lead us." She said with a slight smile towards the men in the room.

 

[Vexumin]

Naileen, for the most part, had been lost in thought during most of the conversation. It was almost alarming how little attention she gave in regard to those missing in the expedition. Her mind was completely upon what could be found in the wastes that she had almost completely forgotten about the fact that other people have made the journey and none have returned.

When natives were mentioned though, she snapped back into the conversation.

"Yes! If we do encounter locals, I would love to be one of the first to make contact! I wish for nothing more than to try to meet with these long lost people. Who knows just what sort of insight they may have on the lands they call home. What cultures might have been developed in such a treacherous place, and most importantly, what means they have adapted to survive."

That was it. It was everything she wanted from this expedition. The exploration of a new land and potentially new insights into civilizations unknown. It is an aspect of their world that has nearly driven Naileen mad on more than one occasion. Many civilizations of the past have made mention of the Dread Wastes, mentioned those lands in almost all of their histories, yet there were no clear details to be had

It was like after so many years not a single attempt to reach those lands has been successful. Various aspects about the Wastes have been made to seem like fairytale in what records have been recovered and restored. People would venture out only to never be seen again or to return with stories as horrific and fanciful as could be.

A land of incredible things protected by the fiercest of creatures. And just what sort of tribes, maybe even kingdoms, have risen and fallen in the dust of that ancient place.

"If there is one thing that any or all of you can count on from me, it's that I don't give up, especially when it comes to learning about people or a new culture. I will be tireless in my efforts, I promise."

Then she hums, looking to the Captain for a moment before raising her hand slightly.

"Question. Do we know for sure that there are natives, living natives that is, in the Dread Wastes? It sounds like you suggest that there have already been signs of them. Where did this information come from, and can I get a chance to study it?"

 

[Teh Frixz]

Liandri
Liandri felt her heart skip a beat, either a reaction to the cocktail of self administered chemicals or a more natural reaction to realizing that applying practicality to some of the crew left a bad taste in their mouths. She grinned wide, a nervous response she wasn't totally conscious of, looking from face to face to gauge their reactions. "Ef you need something for ye nerves, I've plenty en the infirmary. By nu means wid I suggest abandoning your countrymen, but I am not a proponent ef supplenten our primary reasoning for the journey thet's claimed, what be et? Two other expeditions frem Albion alone? God knows how many from other countries that din't make the papers. Rescue, ef needed, I'm the ferst one to give a hend." She drummed her fingers on the nearest surface before moving, unable to sit still for long. "Bet Primary mission is primary for a reason. We shed be charting for exploration en discovery, our supplies, my supplies, our outfitting, this ship? It's a ship of united discovery. Not a search en rescue vessel. I jes want word that em net bein shanghaied under false pretense. Exploration en discovery first?"

She broke her grin, completely serious. It was a facet of duty the man should have been aware of. The noble deed of searching out his kinsmen was undoubtedly brave and well meaning but she didn't sign up to be brave and well meaning. A rescue mission under pretense of international exploration was insulting and she was fairly certain at some level it would be something akin to an international incident certain to sour relations if it got out.

"Bet with thet beehind us, I don't think a sampling of natives so close to the wastes would be a problem at all. There isn't much en record ef these natives and they may heeve some sort of resistence to the wastes themselves, being able to survive so close."

 

[joshuadim]

The general consensus around the natives - that being of general interest towards the natives of the wastes - didn't evoke any strong reaction from Dobbs, but he nodded to everyone that commented on their own wishes and desires on participating in a potential search. The Captain then turned his attention towards Naileen's inquiry, as well as the comment that preceded it; having thumbed through the dossier from before he did remember that this was within her area of expertise, and thus made her the most prime candidate for studying *people*. If they were to make contact with the natives, her insights and studies would be more than useful in charting how humans can survive in such a hostile environment as well as open up inquiries into their culture, their history... then again, that was entirely reliant on the sheer luck of such a scenario. Few expeditions had even sighted the natives, let alone spoke to them.

"Question. Do we know for sure that there are natives, living natives that is, in the Dread Wastes? It sounds like you suggest that there have already been signs of them. Where did this information come from, and can I get a chance to study it?"

"This information comes from the scant few reports from the past century of attempts to chart the Wastes. A total of seven sightings all in all, as well as one confirmed account of basic trade from an old Ruthenian expedition where they traded some items of unimportance for cloaks and clothes." the Captain explained, "The last confirmed sighting was some twenty years past, when an expedition from Izaara - before having to turn back - spotted a hunting party in the distance."

"They haven't been hostile to any expedition, from what we can tell." Wolf then chimed in, nodding to Dobbs. "If we are to make contact, we ought to establish proper rules of engagement to that end so we don't end up causing them to hate all outsiders."

Dobbs nodded in returned: "I agree. I therefore establish as Captain that you are not to fire upon the natives unless attacked first, and that any and all unwarranted aggression to any natives we come across will be met with reprisals." With the matter of the natives

"Exploration en discovery first?"

Dobbs' gaze fell upon Liandri again, though was considerably less cold than the last time as she clarified her position. He still held a tinge of annoyance in his voice as he spoke up again: "Aye. There's a reason why the search was our third and lowest directive of the expedition." Dobbs shifted in place, before sighing: "You're all dismissed for now, we will take off from port momentarily and make our way over to Edwin's Point." As everyone dispersed, they would find themselves above deck to witness the crowds from afar cheering on their departure for the start of the expedition. A bottle was dropped onto the side of the vessel, which burst open as a sign of good luck before the ropes were cast off and the anchor was brought up. From there, the engines rumbled as the smokestacks above billowed black smoke. The beast below chugged away at its feast, consuming the Leviathan oil it was made for and began to propel the ship away from the docks.

People grew smaller, as did the city itself, as the Dawnbreaker manuevered itself first to get into the channel before moving ahead towards the mouth of the bay. Dobbs stood at the helm of the ship along with a few of the officers that were manning certain stations along with Angela - there, he introduced her to the most important man on the ship at this time. A man with an impressive mustache that covered his mouth and lips turned to salute the captain before the latter spoke: "At ease sailor. Angela, this here is Mr. Jones, my trusted helmsman. He also serves as a navigator himself, and so I will have him take you under his wing so as to learn."

"Pleasure to have you with us little Miss." said Mr. Jones with a hearty chuckle, "I hear you're quite the keen mind."

"Keen indeed, according to the dossier." Dobbs said, before looking out towards the waters ahead. A creeping anxiety grew in his stomach, as the reality began to hit that this was actually happening. But every mile that they sailed, he grew one mile closer towards something he had wanted for nearly three years by this point. The anticipation itself merged with his turmoil, creating both expectations and terrors in his mind, both of which he swallowed and spoke: "Take us out to sea, Mr. Jones."

---

15 July 1857 - Edwin's Point, Kingdom of Albion Territory
Captain's Log​

Three days of travel Northwards to Edwin's Point was largely uneventful, little to report save for crew doings. Mr. Jones has been tutoring from his own experiences to Angela of official military navigation protocols as well as of his general knowledge. She seems to be a bright one, as Mr. Jones has confided in me that she learns quickly. The weather being fair and kind to the Dawnbreaker has also provided for easy learning opportunities. Dr. Lonstray has been spending time with Dr. Kozlova and her team, as well as with the other researchers aboard; to my understanding, they have simply discussed academic topics between one another, which is beyond my purview and grasp. Aside from the spat that had occurred before departure, the crew seems to be in harmony and working well thus far.

No issues to report with the engine and boilers, Mr. Wagne has stated that he doesn't expect any issues in the near-future. No issues to report with the foodstocks and supplies, Boots has yet to catch any mice though has been on the prowl in the lower decks. Spirits are high in general, Lieutenant Wolf has done well to rally his marines in the mess with games and other activities.

Nothing else to report.

---

On arriving to Edwin's Point, the weather remained fair as it had on the three days journey to this destination; a few clouds speckled the skies above as the small islet town went about most of its business, save for the gathered crowd of the locals observing the massive vessel in their port with a mixture of awe and surprise. For the past four hours, many of the sailors were loading more supplies aboard as well as loitering around when they had no tasks to do. They mingled with the locals, and the rest of the crew - including those from abroad - went about their own business as they waited to leave port. Dobbs, Isaac and Wolf however had traveled towards the town hall which doubled as a meteorological outpost, where the former was looking over charts and observations given to him by the island's observation team of two.

"The air currents have shown strong patterns." stated a woman with short, curly hair and spectcacles, pointing over a chart for the trio to see. "There's likely a severe storm raging there right now, but it will clear up by the time you get there most likely."

"What is worrying however..." then spoke her partner, a man with a thinning hairline and an even thinner mustache spoke up with audible concern, "Are these readings we've gotten from the currents... the pressure readings are off the charts! I haven't seen anything like it in over a decade." His excitement then turns more serious when he realizes who he is takling to and clears his throat: "Sorry. These pressure readings mean that there is a severe cold snap in the region, meaning that it will be even colder than usual during the storm. You can expect severe ice floes."

Dobbs remains silent for a moment, while Wolf is more eager to speak up: "What does this mean for the passages?"

The two scientists look to one another in concern before the woman speaks up again: "Honestly? I'm not sure, but I would bet on issues on all three."

Dobbs crosses his arms before turning to Isaac: "Do you have thoughts on which route we should take?"

 

[Teh Frixz]

Liandri
Sodium, potassium, calcium, magnesium, hydrogen, oxygen, zinc, copper, iron, chromium, nickel, and lead.

A conglomeration of elements, mixed and bonded in such a way to leak down the back of her neck from her eccrine and apocrine glands, forming into a combination of water, minerals, and various metabolites. Primarily urea, lactate and ammonia. The basic makeup of the sweat dripping from her skin and hair as Liandri continued to pull herself up on the low hanging pipe that contained the cold water supply for her half of the infirmary.

Hairs sprung loose from the tightly bound bun and her glasses were fogged over as she continued through her regimented motion. Up and down, chin over bar, full release, back up and back down. Slow, controlled, excruciating but she couldn’t feel it. Just the rhythm of the Litvinovsky coming out of the small victrola she’d packed and the itch of expanded blood vessels. No true pain could be felt, she dulled that away to push her body to its breaking point, more than confident in her ability to heal it back. It was just a matter of proportion and balance. So far, so good.

And good it was.

Feeling her hands shake as the muscles in forearms began to fail, she released the pipe and fell to her feet with a soft thump. Her thickly padded socks absorbing the impact, even as muscled as she was, wasn’t much.

Her arms shook as she raised them to her face, almost violently quivering as she forced them to take her lenses and wipe the condensation, repeating the wiping process on the mirror bolted to a bulkhead. She had to admire her physique, a sculpted rock of a body, not unlike the carved forms she’d seen as a child in Vienza, yet retaining her feminine form, the artistic play of her hips and legs. Even under the layers of fabric she wore to preserve modesty, she could see and it evoked a slight puff of pride as she smiled wryly to herself before collapsing.

It might have been a moment, it might have been hours, Liandri scrambling for her glasses as consciousness returned to her. The sudden drop in exertion must have caused her blood pressures to drop. The sweat on her body had cooled to a tacky layer of salt, even going as far as to make a line across her neck as if the tide had gone out.

Shameful. She’d have to reevaluate her dosages. The barest hint of concern over what she was doing crossed her mind, forcing her to pause while she collected herself. It didn’t last long however, as her mind shifted gears back to more pressing matters than occasional blackouts.

A nautical hour or so later, which she had recently learned after speaking with the crew was exactly the same as a regular hour, a showered and clean Liandri flung open her porthole, flooding the empty infirmary with cold air as she stuck her head out. The wind pressed her glasses to her face, her wide smile allowing the taste of the sea on her tongue.

She enjoyed being at sea more than she’d anticipated. The regimented life of the crew and the freedom of being an independent operator of sorts suited her. Rules for thee, not for me, as her mother often jested. Liandri having a penchant for not following any process other than her own. Either way, it was lovely. The fair weather quite the change from her home in Sudenland, a normally quite balmy place, the chilly sea air was invigorating and removed any lingering fears about her loss of consciousness.

Shutting the porthole with flourish, Liandri pulled back inside and hurried about, readying herself for arrival at port. Moments later, she found herself watching the Dawnbreaker settle in at dock and herself setting foot further north than she’d ever traveled before. In high spirits, Liandri left the ship and perched herself at the docks. Keeping track of comings and going’s, she lit a customary cigarette and just simply immersed herself in the hustle and bustle