Fantasy The Dread Wastes [IC]

[Infab]

"And an utmost pleasure to make your association as well, good sir of the great frontier!" she remarked in a grand manner. "Quite a unique honor to meet a very proper explorer! I'll have to show you my revolver juggling sometime, the Alleghanians I've met always love that one."

She's certainly dramatic, but we've met her type before, haven't we? Let her play her role, and react accordingly.

"Ah, I'd love ta see that at some point. If ya have any talent at shootin' 'em, too, then that'd be a pleasure ta see as well." he responded, "Knew a lady that was part of a travelin' show that could shoot th' wings off a buzzard at 'round a hundred meters with a forty-four."

He then glanced to Liandri as she and the newcomer spoke.

"...Jes don’t ask me to play standen when you put on a play the galley to alleviate the boredom of our collection of cowboys."

"'ey, ya might have a knack for it." he said, smirking. "Honestly never seen a play, but I've heard 'bout 'em. Would be a nice change of pace from gun cleanin' and playin cards. Though, we ain't all cowboys from Alleghania. I'd say 'bout half ta two-thirds are business types."

Kozlova soon arrived, speaking to the newcomers as well. Clyde had seen watched her depart for a walk around the town alone. Really, it made him wonder a few things about her, but actually talking to her would probably prove difficult. She seemed to be... well, all business. Focused. "Hope ya enjoyed yer walk, Miss Kozlova." he said politely.

Then the surgeon showed up. He must have woke up on the wrong side of the cot in sick bay. As he and the newcomer spoke, the newcomer began to practically sell her small group to them. The grizzled explorer behind her reminded Clyde of some of the Sokrovians that would venture to the frontier in Alleghania. The girl, according to Kristina, was an excellent swimmer. That'd be plenty useful out here. Hopefully nothing in the water would grab her, though. The boy looked... young. He was curious as to how old this young man was, because he certainly didn't look much older than maybe thirteen or fourteen.

“Je, don’t heff to go an sell your troupe to us. You’ve already been hired on je?! Jes more for me to watch and see, I’d love to semple or witness them, distill that down and make the whole crew heff as impressive.”

"Hope you'd give a little warnin' before ya went ta stickin' people." commented Clyde, with a chuckle. "Me 'n needles ain't the best of friends. Got stuck with a bunch o' 'em back home."

We also stuck others with them. For better or worse. Fun times.

Soon enough, the first mate arrived. Llewelyn’s Trail? The straight shot to the next region. Of course, its the safer option. "Gotcha." said Clyde as he glanced to the First Officer, "Hope we don' have ta detour or somethin'."

It wasn't long before he noticed the navigator next to Isaac. Clyde simply gave her a polite wave.

Interaction: Emperor Sagan , Teh Frixz , K0mori dikdik
Mentioned: joshuadim , AriAriAbabwa

 

[K0mori]

"Indeed we are, and a pleasure to meet you, Doctor. I, the fantastical Kristina Lambe, may be no doctor nor biologist myself, but I can assure you I know the hearts and minds of mankind better than most! Not yourself, of course. But most, I'm sure, if you've ever visted Allegh- ah... Allegaston! Haha, oh my, those funny folks in those... stony little villages of theirs. Excellent goat milk, though."

Kozlova barely reacted to the strange response. She wasn't even sure what point Kristina was going to make, other than that she was worldly and sociable, and that this somehow put her on par with the doctors and biologists aboard the ship. "I... hope you find opportunities to employ your insights on the voyage ahead," she replied, blankly. Not a single living soul could detect her sarcasm. It instead went into the ground and resonated with the primordial bones of her ancestors, many horizons away, and they would have a chuckle amidst the mountains of their achievements which led to the current moment and the expedition. Like most things, even if her present company could detect it, they simply wouldn't understand.

"Hope ya enjoyed yer walk, Miss Kozlova." he said politely.

She nodded. "I met a young scholar along the way. It was nice."

"Hope you'd give a little warnin' before ya went ta stickin' people." commented Clyde, with a chuckle. "Me 'n needles ain't the best of friends. Got stuck with a bunch o' 'em back home."

"...Needles?" Kozlova repeated. "Cacti, I'm assuming?"

 

[Infab]

"...Needles?" Kozlova repeated. "Cacti, I'm assuming?"

"Mostly from cactuses, yeah. There were a few o' those syringes too, but those were by th' some folks in medicine. I volunteered for a few studies on blood 'n 'blood transfusions'." responded Clyde, "Folks apparently are startin' ta think our blood ain't the same between each o' us, so we can't just share it 'round all willy nilly when someone goes ta bleedin' bad. Somethin' about blood clumpin' up like a sludge when two people's blood mix that ain't alike."

"...Also, can't stand leeches." he said afterwards, though a bit softer. "Nasty little things."

Interactions: K0mori

 

[Vexumin]

Naileen listens as Fontaine speaks. She could understand. It’s not like she had planned to go on this big expedition either, but just like him, she was going to make the most of this situation. She had some plans though. Some idea of what she wanted to find on this journey.

The woman clears her throat, adjusting the hat on her head.

“Well, I have a feeling that there is more to the Dread Wastes than just death and inhospitable lands. If there are natives, then I hope that there is more to their history than just villages for generations past. Perhaps a kingdom, or at least the ruins of one, lie in the dust of that place.“

The anthropologist places a finger on her lips.

“So long we have spent disconnected from those lands. There has to have been civilizations that have graced them at some point. Humans find a way after all.”

---

Breadman

 

[Breadman]

She was very hopeful for this expedition it seemed. Fontaine noted that down before he took a quick look across the street thinking something of interest might have happened. Sadly it was just the locals bickering.

"Feel free to accompany us." He motioned with his hand and turned towards the road he had been following before Naileen showed up. "The town square is just up ahead if I read those signs right. Maybe something of note or at least worth a passing mention will be there." The two men began to walk and Naileen wasn't far behind. Good, she could provide some more material. "Top anthropologist in your university and on an expedition to the unknown. Many adventure novels start off the same way. Will you end up in the same company as Joseph Creed and Lars Samson? Men who's discoveries have turned a profit for anyone looking to write about them with plenty of embellishment. Todd Howardski has been making a living exaggerating and fabricating the stories about those expeditions for the past 20 years now." Fontaine masked the admiration of the simple formula. If only his publisher wasnt so adamant about their percieved quality control.

 

[joshuadim]

"Ah, Boots here just needed a bit of shore leave like the rest of us, can’t blame him for wanting a break. How’re the readings looking? Seas treating us real nice right now, too much so."

Wolf glanced over to where Isaac was as he announced to everyone in earshot as to their destination, and nodded his head towards the man: "As the First Mate said. we're keeping course for Llewelyn's Trail. The storm should dissipate by the time we truly venture out there, from what I understand. Though we'll be hitting its outermost edges on approach, so we can expect rough waters for that day." The Lieutenant took another look at Boots, who by now was comfortably snug in Rahmer's lap, and chuckled: "Make sure not to forget him ashore. Bad luck to lose a sea cat without even sailing for deep waters." Wolf then left Rahmer be as he went to observe both the newcomers joining them as well as to take stock of the crew's work in bringing aboard, but was evidently more interested in the former.

With arms crossed behind his back, he took stock of Kristina and her company she had taken with her for this trip; already a mental note was made with regards to their eccentricities, and was already inclined to believe that they were far out of their depth. But there was always the chance for a surprise, as people in the past had done more in worse situations. But they would have to prove themselves in that manner: "Glad to have you lot aboard. I'm Lieutenant Wolf, of His Majesty's 22nd Royal Marines assigned to the Dawnbreaker." he introduced himself, shaking hands with the photographers. "Feels like it's only a few years ago we were scratching images onto silver plates, these gadgets change fast don't they?" he commented rhetorically, which prompted a scoff from Lonstray.

"You could show anything to an ape and it would seem like magic." the surgeon commented, prompting Wolf to turn with a stern gaze.

"Just as it so happens, this ape is the one keeping you safe aboard as well." the Lieutenant stated plainly, making his point not-so-subtly which made Lonstray back off.

"...I still require medical records and details from these newcomers." Lonstray muttered before skulking away to head below deck once more.

Wolf then returned his attention to Kristina and the others: "I trust you understand the risks of coming aboard, yes? The Wastes are not simply a sightseeing tour."

Emperor Sagan turtwigwins

 

[Emperor Sagan]

“Je, good to know. Even better to know je can synthesize it. New process though, enemel end proofing? I’ll hef to watch, je? Best part of the whole process, the synthesis, turning one thing into the next, collecting resultents a finding use for runoff, especially in a neew way? Worth heeving your troupe around jes for thet, pretty pictures of us conquering the Wastes be a nice ancellary benefit je? Jes don’t ask me to play standen when you put on a play the galley to alleviate the boredom of our collection of cowboys.”

"Je, don’t heff to go an sell your troupe to us. You’ve already been hired on je?! Jes more for me to watch and see, I’d love to semple or witness them, distill that down and make the whole crew heff as impressive.” She broke into a chuckle, half joking about enhancing the crew of the Dawnbreaker.

"New processes, indeed," Kristina Lambe said, smiling like a pleased cat. The methods they had worked on at the university were perhaps the better aspects of her career, or at least those with the potential to be longer lasting considering those bitches who were now on stage. She could put out more photographs - better photographs - than any so-called professional in the southern lands. "But, alas, one must keep some secrets, darling. And we have quite the wondrous assortment to show off!"

The woman's smile held at the peculiar compliment from the foreign chemist. "Oh, there will be plenty sampling! And witnessing! Whether anyone can be as impressive as we, however, well, that remains to be seen. For as artists of the soul, body, and mind, not just anyone can... can capture the essence of the heart and replay if for the world to see!"

“Welcome aboard the illustrious Dawnbreaker, and welcome to her absolutely, gloriously capable crew!” What? It was a good line; quite deserving of a repeat, if you asked Izzy. “There’re four of you, aren’t there? Oh, how wonderful to travel with friends, new and old! We’ve had your quarters made up already. Once we’re all aboard, I’d be more than glad to get you settled in.” He was entirely too sober for this.

Kristina bowed and pretended to doff her pinned cap. "How gracious of you, herr offiser! We have traveled so far and so long without the good comforts of society and civilization that I am positively looking forward to the hospitality of our dearest friends from the Isles. I need only ask," she said, lowering her voice only slightly, "you have all received our advance shipments, yes? Just a few small crates that had been ordered ahead of our arrival. Supplies and... special materials, and what not. Very important equipment." She didn't know what she would do if the wine she had ordered on the credit of the university hadn't gone through. On one hand, it wasn't her money. On the other, no wine. And a voyage into the great beyond without wine would be as entertaining as a gutter play put on by those bastards at the Feodor Playwright's House.

In the meantime, she figured this a chance to answer one of her new curiosities. Angela tugged on Isaac's sleeve. "Excuse me, First Mate? I have a question." She pointed at Sasja. "Is he pretter than God?"

"Well, I'm not sure..." Why. Angela. Why. "So..." How does one explain the non-existence of an all-powerful, beautiful face in the sky to a child? "I don't think God would make anyone prettier than himself, if he's even out there to begin with. I think he rather enjoys being the center of attention and wouldn't want to split the spotlight." Isaac continued his laughter. Joyfully? The fuck was that about?

Eleanor and Sasja exchanged a surprised glance at the child's question, with only Wendel unable to understand the language fully. The older man gabbled with the pair before chuckling to himself. The young man, Sasja, proudly smiled and stood in a languid yet stoic pose as one may expect for a photography or painting subject.

Kristina - Kristina smiled. She smiled so wide that her eyes lit like fire as her face blushed even more than the rose-tinted cheeks of Sasja. The woman snapped her fingers and hurriedly stepped around towards Sasja, standing behind the boy and grasping his shoulders as she shook him in an almost violent manner. "Why, my little darling, Sasja is the most beautiful angel to fall from the heavens among all the fjords and fields of Zelenheim! Why, my little darling, I cried the moment I first laid eyes upon him, and wept for a whole night afterwards!" Kristina laid the back of her hand over her eyes as if she were about to faint, her demeanor shifting. "Even now his spirit is too much for my humble heart to withstand. How blessed am I - how blessed are we! - to have such a darling in our midst to carry our souls to even greater heights, soaring! until the very light of the sun is the ground we tread upon as me make the heavenly clouds our kingdom!"

Sasja knew the song and dance well enough. He flicked his hair back over his shoulders in a subtle way to showcase his golden blonde ambiance, and shifted his weight to fall into the arms of Kristina who embraced and hoisted him up just enough that his feet were off the ground, almost in a traditional - and very theatrical - carry of a bride.

Of course, there was no show to sell. This was no circus acrobatic act. They weren't taking a photograph nor attempting to sell a very profitable and very private evening at a hotel. Granted, perhaps some of the officers could fall into their pocket if they managed to entrance them, but they had hardly been here for ten minutes and didn't even have their cabins set yet.

Clearing her throat, Kristina placed Sasja back down and planted her hands on his shoulders again. "Needless to say, my darlings, my beauties, we are very happy to be here, and we shall be the inferno to warm everyone's hearts no matter what frost or blizzard or ice comes our way!"

"Ah, I'd love ta see that at some point. If ya have any talent at shootin' 'em, too, then that'd be a pleasure ta see as well." he responded, "Knew a lady that was part of a travelin' show that could shoot th' wings off a buzzard at 'round a hundred meters with a forty-four."

"'ey, ya might have a knack for it." he said, smirking. "Honestly never seen a play, but I've heard 'bout 'em. Would be a nice change of pace from gun cleanin' and playin cards. Though, we ain't all cowboys from Alleghania. I'd say 'bout half ta two-thirds are business types."

As always, Kristina had a talent to pivot and move swiftly, never dallying for too long even after the display she put on seconds ago.

"Shooting! Haha, of course, my dear! Why, I can juggle three loaded revolvers and take the hat off just as many gentlemen watching!" Naturally, such rounds were blanks and the hats in question had very fine and thin fishing line attached to them to be yanked from the heads of patrons who agreed to a few coins and beer to assist with the act, but that didn't need to be said. "In my time in your beautiful lands, I once met a woman who could shoot a rifle over her shoulder one handed, using only a mirror to aim! I learned from the best!"

And these big dumb cowboys never guess the trick! Haha!

Kozlova barely reacted to the strange response. She wasn't even sure what point Kristina was going to make, other than that she was worldly and sociable, and that this somehow put her on par with the doctors and biologists aboard the ship. "I... hope you find opportunities to employ your insights on the voyage ahead," she replied, blankly. Not a single living soul could detect her sarcasm. It instead went into the ground and resonated with the primordial bones of her ancestors, many horizons away, and they would have a chuckle amidst the mountains of their achievements which led to the current moment and the expedition. Like most things, even if her present company could detect it, they simply wouldn't understand.

Kristina smiled, straightening up in a polite manner and perfect posture. "Of course, my good madam doctor. I forsee such bountiful oppurtunities ahead for all of us, I dare say. For I have quite the experience with prophecy, my darling, and I am attuned to attracting good fortune and avoiding the bad. Would you perhaps care to have your fortune read by the wonderous fortitude of a pure crystal ball, perchance? I travel nowhere without this item, for it is blessed by the very terra magnus Herself!"

If Kozlova felt exasperated at the elder woman's theatrics, her expression and energy was evidently mirrored by Eleanor, the young woman and chief photographer in the black dress that merely stared back with an expression so blank that it could have been chiseled from stone. If she were to meet Eleanor's gaze, it would be akin to two glaciers staring each other down from across a gorge.

"Glad to have you lot aboard. I'm Lieutenant Wolf, of His Majesty's 22nd Royal Marines assigned to the Dawnbreaker." he introduced himself, shaking hands with the photographers. "Feels like it's only a few years ago we were scratching images onto silver plates, these gadgets change fast don't they?" he commented rhetorically, which prompted a scoff from Lonstray.

Wolf then returned his attention to Kristina and the others: "I trust you understand the risks of coming aboard, yes? The Wastes are not simply a sightseeing tour."

The party shook hands with the lieutenant, the firmest shake coming from old Wendel, who likewise had been a soldier in his youthful days.

"We live in a time of brilliant minds," Kristina said, no doubt speaking about herself and her party. "Given enough time, I dare say, what is dream and reality may be hard to distinguish!"

"As for any risks, hah! We are professionals, Herr Løytnant!" Kristina said, placing a hand over her chest. "We are all born and raised in the great and mightly realm of Zelenheim. We have survived winters without end, when the snow threatened to overtake you like a great wave upon the ocean shore. In our youth, we could dive naked into any ice-ridden pond and come out and lounge in the sun, feeling only the slightest chill. You need not worry about our strength to survive, sir. We are expeditionary photographers! Documentarians! We go where hell awaits and emerge unscathed!"

 

[joshuadim]

Some minutes earlier...

"You should return home."

Dobbs was quiet as he listened to the mayor's concerns, who himself had already been privy to the information at hand. But unlike the Captain, the magistrate was visibly terrified - a bead of sweat rolling down his brow - as he stared straight ahead towards the leader of the expedition. The man was somewhat portly, but kept a dignified appearance with pride as his pin held the symbol of the Albionian governance for this remote region. Terrified as he was, he was also intent on preventing any blood from being on his conscience if he could prevent it. But Dobbs did not share the same fear, as he crossed his arms: "Why? Because of the weather? My ship is - as I can assure you - the first of its kind, made specifically to brave the worst sea conditions one can imagine."

"Steel and will can only do so much." the mayor explained, shaking his head. "There have been terrible, terrible signs. Normally I'm not a superstitious type, but everything seems to have been going wrong as of late. The Leviathans have grown more aggressive, the winds carry a foul smell... the fish guts, so say the fishmongers, tell terrible omens in them!"

Dobbs only scoffed: "Albion prides itself on rationality, and here you are talking about everything but."

"I tell you, save your men and yourself! Head back south!" the mayor shouted in protest, slamming a fist into his desk. An old cup of tea rattled from the impact, leaving the room in silence for a few moments as Dobbs maintained a hard gaze towards the man. It was only after he scoffed again that he gritted his teeth: "And dishonour my country in such a manner? No expedition has ever returned home before even touching the ice. I have my own reputation, and the reputation of my country, to consider for the Concert's expectations." He then furrowed his brow, "I hereby order the requisitioning of additional supplies for the expedition, under the authority vested in me by the Crown through the Mariner Act and by the Concert's appointment as leader of the expedition. If you refuse, I will have you shot."

The words came out like a cold breath, leaving the magistrate in shock with his mouth agape. More sweat trailed down his face as he stood up, voice croaking as he attempted to muster a protest. But he was quick to capitulate as Dobbs maintained an icy gaze, sitting down and slumping in his seat. "Very well... I'll see what we can afford to spare... what are your essentials?"

...

Captain Dobbs would soon return to the Dawnbreaker at the tail end of the conversations taking place, following by a retinue of local townsfolk carting various supplies and goods towards the vessel that had been requisitioned by his command. As the workers began to deliver items to the sailors, many of which included addition rigging and ropes as well as boots and overcoats, Dobbs approached the newcomers to the expedition and nodded as he stood next to Lieutenant Wolf. "I'm Captain Dobbs, welcome aboard Ms. Lambe and your company as well. Apologies for my delay, but we now have additional supplies for our expedition as provided by the mayor."

"Ah, what's the magistrate provided for us?" Wolf asked curiously, to which he was given a small dossier bundled together with string.

"Everything on these listings here. Mainly boots and coats, but also additional ship materials that will come in handy. Just in case we need to make repairs at some point."

It was then that Dobbs walked over to a large crate and climbed atop, garnering the attention of sailors and others nearby. "We will set sail shortly!" he yelled out to announce, "And we will venture out towards the most inhospitable environment known to man. The journey will be harsh, and it will be a test of our mettle and wills. But we will make it, because we must. Not only do our lives depend on it, but so do our countries! The world waits with abated breath upon news of our exploration and discoveries, and we shall not disappoint!" Sailors of Albion clapped and cheered as Dobbs riled them on, before he continued: "Aboard are not just the finest men sailing under His Majesty's colors, but the finest sailors, thinkers, and pioneers one could ask for on such a venture. Together, as a united front, we go forward with more advantages than ever! And there is little that can't be accomplished in our position!"

The captain then pointed towards the helm, where one of the windows were slightly open for the helmsman to listen out of. "Mr. Jones! Get our bearings and set sail!"

---

22 July 1857 - The Flats, The Dread Wastes
Captain's Log​

The first five days of travel offered amicable travels, though at the tail end of this period the weather soured; despite the rougher waters and the snowfall, Mr. Jones was capable of keeping us on track towards Llewelyn's Trail, with additional help from Angela. A few men have reported seasickness, to which they were promptly treated by Dr. Lonstray. The past two days, weather has been the true first test of the ship's mettle, and Mr. Wagne reports no issues with hull integrity nor issues with any other part of the ship. The rough waters and stormy weather do little against steel.

Some of the scientists aboard have taken to taking readings before reaching the wastes proper in order to have a control to measure against, which will provide a foundational dataset for any sort of measurements taken further along our journey. Lieutenant Wolf has done an admirable job of keeping discipline, with the help of the other officers aboard, and seems to work well with my First Mate.

Nothing else to report.

---

Chapter 1 - The Approach​

"Halt the ship!" Jones shouted in a panic, which in turn brough the ship to a halt. "Drop the anchor!"

"What's the matter Mr. Jones?" Dobbs quickly asked, shooting out of his seat while the heavy iron dropped to the waters depths below.

Mr. Jones looked through a spyglass for the third time as he observed the Dawnbreaker's surroundings for any indication of their trail, but to no avail. A look of worry had overtaken him as he set down the tool and let out a frustrated sigh. "I'm positively certain we had the correct bearing. But... Llewelyn's Trail is gone." he stated ardently, maintaining his composure as the rest of the bridge scurried to figure out what was going on. The ice by now had grown considerably on their surroundings, but gone was the warm-stream that they had been following - as if it had simply disappeared from the face of the earth - and instead was replaced with a vast empty plain of white. Dobbs himself observed and gritted his teeth in frustration.

"Gone? What do you mean-"

"I mean gone, Captain. I can't see anything that shows we're even in the right place."

"Damn it all... this must be the storm's doing." Dobbs replied, squelching the leather of his gloves. "What are our options?"

"Either we press on, and hope we don't enter Leviathan territory... or we turn around and try another bearing?"

Dobbs was quiet for a moment, before shaking his head: "I will need to think. For the meantime," he said, turning to Angela, "You're dismissed for now, young miss."

Outside on deck, Lieutenant Wolf leaned against the railing of the ship to observe the empty and cold desolation that was the very furthest reaches of the Wastes. Save for a few outcroppings of wickedly jagged rocks, the Flats seemingly went on forever in a uniform manner. He, like the others, was wrapped in heavy winter clothing and nursed a cigarette in between his lips. Smoke and hot air escaped his mouth and nose like as if he were a dragon, while others above deck kept themselves busy either by keeping watch or simply chatting. There was not too much to do while they waited their next orders, as the anchor kept them stll.

"There's a certain serenity to all this." Wolf mused aloud to no one in particular, "Surrounded by nothing but a reflective gaze of man's folly."

"Getting into poetry now are you?" Wagne responded, taking his spot next to Wolf and pulling out a cigarette of his own. "Got a light?"

Wordlessly, Wolf flicked open his lighter and allowed Wagne to set his smoke before putting it back in his coat pocket. A moment of silence passed between the two, interrupted only by nearby conversations and rabble from the other sailors and crew members aboard, before Wolf spoke up again: "Have to wonder, what are the odds we even reach the Expanse? Most expeditions don't even make it past the Flats."

"The engine's stronger than an ox for a ship her size. We can break through the ice with ease-"

"And the Leviathans?"

"Well, we'll find out in that case if we do come across one."

Wolf took another drag of his smoke before flicking it overboard, content with the answer for the time being. "I suppose we'll see." he said before spotting Boots dashing above deck, having spotted a vermin skittering about in between the ropes and cargo. "If anything, Boots will be there to give them the ol' one-two." Wagne chuckled, before taking another drag of his own smoke.

Infab K0mori Emperor Sagan AriAriAbabwa turtwigwins DG-117 Vexumin Teh Frixz dikdik Breadman Sistros

 

[K0mori]

The prior five days, Kozlova and her team had very little to do aside from diligently recording the weather, as well as the appearance and characteristics of their surroundings. They had not yet entered the true frontier, as the Flats offered little new to study, at least from the deck of a ship. Instead, they spent much of their time interacting in their ubiquitously stilted manner with anyone who would put up with their dull company - and in the process, they catalogued their crew mates into categories of competence and incompetence, heartiness and frailty, amicability and inhospitality, sobriety and indulgence, sanity and irrationality, and so on and so forth.

These impressions, they were loath to leave records of, especially in ways which could easily be found and cause offense. For that reason, it was up to Maksimova to keep all of them within a notebook which was written partially in code. Names, for example, were obscured in the following fashion: two letters denoting nationality, M, F, or U for gender, and first and last initial. The Captain, then, was ABMJD, while Kozlova would be expressed as SKFNK. Traits were recorded as if describing substances, rather than people. Competence and it's opposite became "applicable" and "non-applicable." Health was described as "durable" or "brittle," friendliness as "inert" or "volatile," sobriety as "high-purity" or "low-purity," and finally, mental health as "stable" or "unstable."

Although a weak code, the Sokrovians hoped that it would prevent any nosy fellows aboard the ship from accidentally discovering a treasure trove of gossip.

As the ship came to a halt in the midst of the icy plains, Kozlova was sitting on the deck drinking from a heated bottle of water. She appeared healthy and unbothered by the elements, although she was attentive to the movements of her colleagues. She seemed to know something was amiss, but couldn't identify it yet.

 

[Breadman]

Five days of this. Five days of nothing of interest. There were brief moments that sparked his interest, as some crew members knocked on Fontaine's door willing to share their story. Half of them he was ready to reject outright, but he couldn't afford it. Not now. Sailors, engineers and explorers. All of them thinking they had a unique story to tell the world. All of them prattling some form of 'when I was a wee boy, I always wanted to be on a boat' like drunks. He was sure that most of them were.

Reginald crumpled another paged in frustration as he failed to make any of this sound remotely interesting. If it wasn't for Naileen, he wouldn't have anything but a prologue and some loose scattered and barely held together thoughts about the expedition. His own journal was far less gracious to those he interviewed. If anyone were to take a peek inside they would find descriptions that would have the public relations agents flush with panic and anxiety. Words that would warrant uncomfortable meetings with a publicist. He had to stop talking with the common sailors on this vessel before he did anything regrettable.

The ship's hull made a noise akin to a large beast rumbling in its sleep and the anchor dropped soon after. Something had forced them to stop it seems. Fontaine got up from his chair and reached for his coat.

"Are we going out, boss?"

"No need to accompany me, Graves." Reginald opened the door, letting the cold salty air wash over him. The white fields surrounding the ship were almost blinding. "If I need your services, I'll call for you." Fontaine left the warm comfort of his cabin and started to walk the deck, trailing after the men and women that started to run to complete their tasks for the sudden stop. It was hard to make out anything other than confusion and frustration the commoners felt from their superiors giving orders to be followed. He scanned for anyone who might know something about the situation and found the Sokrovian woman on deck. Perhaps the weather was at fault? "Good day, Kozlova! Any idea who is to blame for our sudden stop?"

 

[K0mori]

He scanned for anyone who might know something about the situation and found the Sokrovian woman on deck. Perhaps the weather was at fault? "Good day, Kozlova! Any idea who is to blame for our sudden stop?"

Kozlova stepped closer to the railing at the edge of the ship and looked over the edge, her eyes tracing a line from the stern of the ship to the bow, where they lingered a while. "Presumably, the helmsman called for a full stop," she says, blankly. For a moment, she squints as she looks ahead, harder, a bit of confusion settling on her brow. "...If there's a warmer current under this ice that we're following, then it takes better-trained eyes than mine to spot it," she mutters before glancing back to Reginald. While her calm demeanor wouldn't suggest it, her words had a strong implication: I think we're off course.

 

[Infab]

Snow. The feel of it as it lands on the skin, the sound of it crushing under boot. The beauty of a blanket of soft, pure white... gently settling across the landscape. Honestly quite nice, isn't it?

Clyde sighed, his eyes opening and gazing up at the roof above his cot. A glance towards the porthole gave him a view of a cluster of snow built up at the base of the porthole. Obscuring the window on the outside so that he could only see half of the view. Past that, however, he could see a few jagged masses of ice poking upwards into the dull grey sky.

Ice, though... That's a different story. Ice is unforgiving. Hard, slick... a nice, thick shard of ice could kill a man. Especially moving at high speed. Falling... swinging... thrusting...

You talk too much.

You like when I talk. It reminds you of what you were. Really... what you still are.

I ain't like that anymore.

...You and I both know that's bullshit.

Eventually, Clyde swung his legs off the cot. He sat up, running a hand through his hair as he stared down at the floor. He needed to get out and talk to people more. It wasn't healthy for a man to be off to himself too long on these kinds of ventures.

Certainly.

--- --- --- ---
​

Once Clyde was dressed appropriately for the climate outside, he emerged from the bowels of the ship out onto the deck. A few sailors were moving about, likely doing whatever it was that the captain or his direct subordinates had instructed them to do. Soon enough, however, Clyde noticed that the ship wasn't moving. Sure, some ice was floating by, broken off from the vast frozen wastes around them, but the ship itself was lodged in place. A glance towards the bow allowed Clyde to see a long length of chain stretching down into the cold waters below.

They've dropped anchor. Do you mind if I venture a guess or two as to why?

...Shoot.

We're a tad lost. That or... the Trail we were intending to follow isn't here. I wonder what the captain will do?

Plow right on through th' ice, more 'n likely. Don't see 'em turnin' the boat 'round to find a detour.

Quite a risky and aggressive option, yes.

Clyde walked along the deck, carefully making his way towards the front of the ship. As he walked, he soon spotted Fontaine and Kozlova talking. Not the best of pairs to speak with.

A business man, who went from baseball bat beatings in back alleys to corporate muggings in boardrooms. A woman of science, who's drier and duller than a desert ravine. Quite unappealing, wouldn't you say?

Maybe someone else might come 'long ta talk to?

One can only hope.

Clyde decided to stop nearby, choosing to not interact with the pair just yet. Instead, he peered over the side of the ship again. He'd wait, of course. Wait, and listen in the event the pair nearby dragged him into a conversation. He rested his elbows on the railing, blowing warm air into his hands to warm them up a little.

Mentioned: Breadman , K0mori

 

[Breadman]

"I see." Fontaine's answer came out short as he looked into the frozen wastes again. Kozlova didn't mention it of course, probably with the intent not to panic him or anyone eavesdropping, but she was giving her thoughts away anyway. They we're off course. "This sort of thing was expected I suppose, but I hoped it would come further and deeper into the actual uncharted waters or even see land before that." The frozen air swirled as it escaped from his mouth from his sigh. He noticed Clyde nearby. Probably left his cabin for the same reason as them. To see what had frozen their journey.

"Despite this incident, what do you make of this expedition, Kozlova?" Short of asking for an interview directly, this was likely a good time to get an opinion from an expert of something that wasn't cleaning bird shit from the deck "You've already come a long way from Sorkovia. Is there something you expect to find?"

 

[K0mori]

"Despite this incident, what do you make of this expedition, Kozlova?" Short of asking for an interview directly, this was likely a good time to get an opinion from an expert of something that wasn't cleaning bird shit from the deck "You've already come a long way from Sorkovia. Is there something you expect to find?"

Reginald's contempt was easily detectable. Kozlova's reaction, however, wasn't - as he repeatedly referred to her not as "Dr. Kozlova," but simply "Kozlova," and the way he mispronounced the name of her country as if it wasn't worth knowing - she simply stated back, glassy-eyed and unimpressed.

"I expect icy conditions, difficult travel, physical exertion, and tension among colleagues - as well as the unexpected," she dryly lists before a flicker of hopefulness appears in her expression. "By that... I mean that I expect to find things which have not been discovered by the outside world. Whether or not it proves to be something others will seek out, fight or die for, is outside the scope of my research. I only wish to be recognized for the act of discovery."

Then, whatever spark of energy had appeared in her stoney face subsided. "As for what I think of the expedition so far, there's little to say at this stage except: never before has such a difficult endeavor been undertaken by such an assortment of talent."

Sarcasm. Audible sarcasm.

She then turned to Clyde and addressed him respectfully, remembering his preference for his given name. "Hello, Clyde. How are you faring?" she asked, before looking back to Reginald. "How are you both fairing?"

She rarely interacted with the Alleghenians after leaving port, and so this was as good a time as any to check on the health and readiness of her colleagues.

 

[Infab]

"Hello, Clyde. How are you faring?... How are you both fairing?"

That didn't take long at all.

"Hey there, Doctor Kozlova." replied Clyde, "Doin' fine. Used to th' cold weather back home, up in the mountains. Mainly just lookin' for stuff ta do or people ta talk to. Th' card games get a lil dull after a while... Might pick sketchin' back up at some point." He flashed her a smile afterwards, before glancing to Fontaine and giving him a two-fingered wave. "Howdy, Mister Fontaine."

Afterwards, Clyde pointed over the side at the chain decending into the water. "They dropped anchor, so guess we're gonna be sittin' 'here a bit till they're done figurin' out what they're gonna do." he said, gazing down at the chain again for a moment. "...Thinkin' either we're in the wrong spot, or that Trail that the Cap'n was talkin' 'bout is gone. As for what I think he's gonna do... Bet he decides on plowin' on through th' ice. Don't think he's the type ta back up and look for 'nother route. Especially since this boat can probably handle the rough stuff."

 

[Breadman]

Fontaine nodded when Clyde greeted him. One polite gesture deserves another. He had his own idea on what was happening, but was similar enough to their own. If the captain decided to just plough through the ice, it would likely leave them stuck somewhere. Something he doubts was on the table. Dobbs wasn't the type of man to arrogantly push through in a blind directing. At least Fontaine thought so.

Kozlova was not impressed by everyone else, judging by the sarcasm in her voice. Its thickness in direct competition with her accent. Still she did ask an important question in regards to their health. Somebody had to.

"I am fine. A little agitated by the weather, but who isn't? My entourage haven't complained in the past several days besides a few off comments about the cold. Rather pleased with them, I have to admit. Usually at least a third would have started moaning or complaining about some ache or another." New Yarktown makes hard men, but they're only hard in the streets. Take them out of the element and they...fold. "Company assured me that they send their best this time around and I wonder if they will stand the harsher tests."

"What about you?" He addressed both "How are your crews fairing?"

 

[turtwigwins]

Rahmer adjusted his lantern as he poured over the maps in his quarters, the shifting of papers sounding against the crashing of waves against the hull. As soon as they had stopped he had went to confer on his maps. The results were not hopeful. Across from him sat Hans, his brows furrowed in concentration as he looked upon the map together.

“Anything?” Rahmer asked without looking up, his finger tracing what should be there path.

Hans let out a heavy sigh. “Nothing out of place,” he replied, his voice clipped with tension. “Currents were steady before the storm. The calculations match the charts. We should be right on top of Llewelyn’s Trail.”

“Well, it’s not here,” Rahmer muttered, straightening up from his slouching in a chair. “A trail doesn't just vanish into thin air. If we were knocked us off course, we should’ve caught it in the readings by now.”

Hans leaned back, his arms crossed. “Unless…”

Rahmer raised an eyebrow. “Unless what?”

Hans hesitated, then shook his head. “It’s nothing. You said Dobbs had said that the land shifts here though, perhaps it closed down Lewelyn's.”

Rahmer let out a short laugh, devoid of humor. “Aye, but we have to rely on the knowledge of the past. Perhaps its only the entrance.”

He stood abruptly, gathering the maps and tucking them under his arm. “I’m going to check with the helmsman. If something’s changed in the environment, they might’ve picked up on it. You coming?”

Hans hesitated for a moment, then nodded, grabbing his coat from the back of the chair. “Might as well. Two heads are better than one.”

The two men stepped out onto the deck, the icy wind biting at their faces as they made their way toward the bridge. Rahmer could see Wolf and Wagne sharing a smoke near the railing, their conversation a faint murmur against the howling wind.

His boots marched by both them and the emerging conversation between Fontaine, Cylde, and Kozlova focusing on finding the Helmsman.

“Mr. Jones." Rahmer began, stepping up to him with Hans close behind. They seemed to acknowledge Angela if she was still nearby, but not address her directly. “Llewelyn’s Trail is gone—isn't it? We aren't just off course.”

AriAriAbabwa joshuadim

 

[AriAriAbabwa]

Angela
Interactions: dikdik Emperor Sagan joshuadim turtwigwins

​

So Angela wasn't crazy. If Isaac, the bravely young and stable-minded First Mate, thought similarly, then was Kristina lying about him? That didn't make sense. Why would someone lie to make themselves look better? There had to be something more to this!

Fortunately, or unfortunately, the troupe had heard her plight and chipped in. With a... almost theatrical display. Apprently he was an angel? And-and; Angela could hardly keep up. He... came from a kingdom in the clouds?! And his presence had that kind of effect on the self-proclaimed Iron Woman?!

That... could not have been true, surely? Do people really lie to look better? Isn't it easier to be your sincere self? Unless they were telling the truth?! But if that was the case...

How come she felt absolutely nothing towards him?

After a momentary pause, cogs slowly turning in her head, Angela's dumbfounded look morphed into her usual, bubbly demeanor. "That's nice!" Seeing as they'd set off soon, she scurried away, eager to get to work...

***

​

If Angela had heard her dismissal, she didn't care to acknowledge it. She sat at a desk with a mess of her papers, flipping through her nautical almanac and comparing them with old portolan charts—which, though were outdated, made for good reference. During the recent hours, she'd run down to the stern to check the log line, ensuring their speed matched and did not falter.

And while the adults expressed dismay, her energy never wavered. So she stuck inside, engrossed in her papers and readings. If only the stars were visible. Then she'd know for certain.

Right now, she thought it important to reassure the helmsman. Despite the absence of Llewelyn's Trail. Angela found them at the railing, just as Rahmer and Hans approached. Although he asked Mr. Jones, Angela answered. "That seems to be the case!" she said with an unmarred smile. "We've been traveling at this many knots with little deviation in speed or direction since. I've five-times checked over our bearing myself! I believe we're on the right path!"

Angela looked out into the empty ocean. There was no solid answer for Llewelyn's Trail, but speculation never hurt. "Could it have sunk?" she pondered sincerely. "I read about that happening to an ancient city."