Fantasy The Devil's Meridian (Closed)

[K0mori]

Character Sheets and Additional Information: Link

Thanks to Emperor Sagan for the map.

Prologue
30th of September, 1919.
​

The world has entered a new era of industrial progress, harnessing the power of ancient fuels to drive machines which defy the normal limitations of man- sleepless things which can churn out a multitude of goods at a rate never imagined by civilizations past. As the factories rise, billowing their acrid smoke into the air with reckless abandon, the seas are sparkling with the ironclad bodies of new ships which sail against the winds and currents. They, too, rise ever higher above the water line, bristling with guns and radio masts, like cities upon the ocean, battering the waves into submission with their incredible mass. Yes, it seems that mankind's greatest achievements are now the only source of their nightmares, in times of war. No longer do sailors fear the storm or the rogue wave as they set forth for new horizons, unless, of course, they are headed near the Devil's Meridian.

Since the ancient eras of history, there are tales of the southern reaches of the Altanic Ocean. They are frightening tales, dire warnings. Those who sail into the roughly triangular region are said to experience things which cannot be explained by science. Ships with accurate equipment fall hundreds of miles off course or disappear entirely when they enter that accursed sea. The clouds are said to roil and rage in a dark gray front which stretches from horizon to horizon, like a sinister shroud over half the sky. Impenetrable walls of fog conceal islands which seem to come and go, thwarting all efforts to chart it. Strangest of all, the waters themselves seem to shift at random, and horrid monsters are said to lurk below the waves.

It was only a century ago that the first documented crossing succeeded. Earlier voyages had darted in and out, gathering what information they could, but as the sailors of that expedition could attest, almost none of the previously gathered logbooks offered any insights into the challenges of the Uncharted Zone within the Devil's Meridian. They were traumatized by what they had seen and experienced, stammering out otherworldly stories of the supernatural which could not be believed by the public. Despite the unreliability of their claims, they were regarded as heroes, Admiral Stock and his men from Albion...

And so, on this fateful day in late September, as the World's Exposition takes place in the coastal city of San Marino in the Platine Republic, a nation whose long coastline nearly straddles those accursed waters, a gallery of vessels from around the world have gathered in the harbor on a solemn mission to carry on the work of fully mapping and documenting the Devil's Meridian once and for all. The captains of said ships made their way into the city, to El Palacio de Cristal, the convention center at the heart of the World's Exposition where all manner of arts, engineering, and philosophical displays have been erected for the appreciation of the world's educated observers. In one of the many ballrooms of this exquisite setting, a number of large tables for different gatherings of important figures from around the world were set with reserved seats beneath shimmering crystal chandeliers.

As they entered, the captains were directed by ushers to their large, round table, where two figures sat in what appeared to be an uncomfortable silence. One, a square-jawed blond man in a dark pea coat, Commodore Werner Meinhardt, and the other, a mysterious-looking, stately and overdressed Shinjuku woman who was undoubtedly a political officer. Ever since the Alamannians lost their war with the Shinjuku Empire, officers of import in all branches of the once-esteemed reich's military were often seen accompanied by these sorts of handlers, whose job was to simply observe, document, and report on the activities within their posts. It was considered a great humiliation, and there were rumblings of dissatisfaction within Alamannia with the Kaiser ever since he agreed to it. Ironically, the Kaiser was now reliant on these same Shinjuku officers to ensure loyalty among his own commanders.

As this would be their first meeting, there would no doubt be trouble with communication. The Commodore could speak both his native Alamannian as well as some Albionian, but that might prove insufficient. He stood awkwardly and extended a hand to the first captain to approach.

 

[Emperor Sagan]

Shortly Before the Meeting....

For the best part of the past hour, Grand Captain Anastasia Kortova meticulously assembled her full uniform to the height of acceptable opulence. The typical adornments were often left off while on-duty, as a dazzling array of ribbons, cords, and medals were a pain to clean and prepare daily, and almost always would get in the way for most daily activities. While on board she found her jacket, pants, boots, and hat to be suitable - if not a little dreary - in the bare format, but she would not step foot on land in public, for a meeting of expedition leaders no less, without the maximum extent of ornamentation. Image was everything, after all. She was no mere commoner captain content to stew in bland fatigues. It wasn't like she was supposed to crawl around in the coal pits or engine room or anything. The captain was the face and intelligence of the crew, naturally.

There was a moderate knock on the door to her cabin. She had wished to select a hotel to stay in while at port, but Aleksey had pressed for staying on the ship. He was handsome, but a bore. Too militaristic. He'd spent too much time around boats.

"Captain... erm, Grand Captain, we will be late if we do not depart shortly," Flag Lieutenant Aleksey Williams said through the door. "Your honor guard is assembled on deck and is awaiting on your command."

"Tell them to wait a little longer, I'm almost finished!" She called back. Indeed, she was already dressed, but there were still some finishing touches to be applied. She had combed the uniform over with a roller but it seems there was another smattering of lint on the sleeve. Her rich silver hair, a familial trait in her lineage, looked best when down; however, then that risked leaving some stray hairs along the collar. Dreadful. "And besides, I did request a few maids to be brought along. Its slower if I have to do this by myself."

"I'll assign you a female crewman if it pleases you, ma'am. Will that speed this up?"

Anastasia frowned at herself in the mirror as she adjusted the positioning of her cords. Her straight-saber was already on her hip, her boots shined, her ribbons impeccably lined alongside her medals. She had room for a few more, but father was convincing enough that those would be sweeter if awarded after a little bit of service. There would be plenty to collect when she got home, undoubtedly. She turned about and marched across the cabin to the door, flinging it open to find Aleksey Williams already about to knock again. He stepped back quickly as her towering fur hat nearly pummeled him in the face.

"Now I am ready. Please escort me to my men, Flag Lieutenant."

---

"Its a tad warm out," Anastasia noted with a sense of distaste, removing her white gloves, folding them, and pocketing them. She, Aleksey, and six sailors in dress attire with rifles made their way through the streets on foot towards the exposition center. "I thought fall would be colder."

"Its spring here, Grand Captain. The tilt of the globe," Aleksey responded politely. "Regardless, I am not certain there are many places that will be as cool as home. Its warm everywhere. Fortunately, we have tropical uniforms if we need them. And I can carry your hat if you need me to, ma'am." While the headgear was clearly tailored to her small stature, its height and design were archaic even by his father's time in the service.

"I could never remove the pride of my house. The hat shall remain, Flag Lieutenant. It is my natural duty to represent the noble blood that runs through my veins." There was a small snicker from one of the troops in the guard, who expertly disguised it as a short cough. The captain was too far into her grumbling to even notice. Aleksey gave the man a warning glance, but he knew their feelings well enough. They didn't have aristocracy or even a monarchy in Sokrovy. While the girl was indeed born to a native mother, her family's obsession with the past was somewhere between amusing and exhausting.

It was not long before they arrived. Aleksey felt even more like a chaperone than usual as he guided the girl through the halls and to their designated place in the ballroom. He glanced about and felt a great sense of relief that they were the first ones, which would spare them any embarrassment if Anastasia appeared too clueless or pretended she was a queen.

Aleksey leaned in and whispered into Anastasia's ear. "[That would be Commodore Werner Meinhardt. I do not know the Shinjuku woman. Either an officer or a political officer. Don't worry on that. If its important, we'll be told. We'll be over there by that table if you need us. They should speak Albionian, I pray.]" Anastasia nodded, held her chin and head up high to her not particularly impressive height, and marched her way towards the table.

"Good day, Commodore," Anastasia said in fluent Albionian, as Sokrovy was a nation that spoke both it and Ruthenian together. Proximity to Alleghenia and the large influx of settlers over years from those southern lands accounted for a large population of native speakers. However, isolated from the rest of the world, they spoke little of anything else.

"I am Anastasia Graznya Kortova, Grand Captain of the Archangel, representing beautiful Sokrovy. You may address me as Grand Captain Kortova if it pleases you." She eyed his extended hand somewhat uncertainly, not happy with such a low form of greeting. Still, she shook it lightly, and then offered a short, stately bow.

 

[K0mori]

"I know who you are," the Commodore replied with a smile, "or at least I could have surmised from your attire. You represent yourself and your nation impressively." His speech was easily understood, although he spoke with a very thick accent and proceeded as if he were slightly uncomfortable with the Albionian language. As they shook hands, his expression soured a bit from her reluctance, and he was left with the impression that she might consider him an inferior if not for his rank. Internally, he conceded that if this were a wartime exercise, then His Majesty's Navy would have been able to find older and more experienced men to command ships as commodores, but given that he had been to the Uncharted Zone twice already in the same ship, there were few in the world who could garner the same respect in his current role.

He gestured to a nearby seat at the large, round table. There was a full place setting there, and on the plate was a paper placard with Kortova's name and title, scripted beautifully in pen by someone who was obviously quite skilled with calligraphy. The kitchen and wait staff had, in fact, been hired from one of the capital's most renowned hotels, and that influence could be seen in innumerable small details throughout the ballroom. "Please have a seat, madam, so we can wait for the others to arrive."

As Grand Captain Kortova took her seat, the Shinjuku officer aside the Commodore straightened up in her seat and eyed her carefully, as if to size her up, but she did not introduce herself. Instead, she politely waited for Meinhardt to do so. "This is Ensign Kuromaki, by the way," he said. "As per the agreement between Alamannia and the Shinju Empire, we must welcome her aboard our ship. I'm sure you're aware of the policy," he explained, a slight bitterness in his voice. He then turned and summarized what he had said quickly in Alamannian, and Kuromaki nodded approvingly. It was clear, then, that she did not speak Albionian as the other officers did.

"Please tell me about the Archangel," Meinhardt inquired. "How does the crew feel about this voyage? Do you have any material needs that we can satisfy before we embark?"

 

[Radley]

In one of the halls, featuring international pieces of artwork for the ongoing Exposition, there was a gargantuan painting on the central wall of the room depicting two ships from different eras battling a storm. The whole thing was painted with meticulous realism, an emerging artstyle coming out of the Ruthenian Empire.

In front of the painting stood Captain Nathaniel Flint, a bearded man with a face that was either aged or weather-beaten, perhaps both. He wore a dark blue uniform with gold buttons accompanied with a waistcoat of the same color. He wore his pants tucked into modestly high, sturdy leather boots. Even if his spartan attire didn't evoke any national uniform or his chest was not strapped with medals, Captain Flint certainly gave off the air of a seasoned mariner. If one were to compare him to the painting he was examining, one would have trouble saying which of the eras of ships he represented. Thinking he had gazed upon the artwork long enough, Flint fished out a silver pocket watch from his vest. It was time to meet the commodore.

Captain Flint and his crew had arrived some days earlier in San Marino, upon which his commander, Howard Bates, had noted the Alamannian ship belonging to Commodore Meinhardt was docked in the harbour. Not in any particular hurry to meet his younger superior, he stayed on-board his own vessel and went through the expedition dossiers more thoroughly. The next day he made his way to the Crystal Palace unaccompanied. He usually conducted these formal occasions alone and his officers knew that their captain would not withhold details from them. Arriving at the palace he had made sure he was ahead of schedule and then located the dining hall, after which he promptly turned around and went to the art exhibit instead. Not a fan of formal dinners, especially where he would have to sit with some of those participating in the expedition, he would rather arrive no earlier than he was designated to. And now was the time.

Entering the dinning hall, he walked over to the table the commodore was sitting at. He had inquired about it's location earlier that day so he would not have to look for it and give of the wrong impression to his new superior. Arriving at the table he was relieved only one of them would be his commander, as he gave a subtle glare to the Grand Captain that was currently speaking to Meinhardt. He put his arms behind his back and waited for the commodore to adress him, not wanting to interrupt the ongoing conversation.

 

[Emperor Sagan]

Anastasia listened closely to the Commodore, offering a well-practiced smile in return to his words before she took her designated seat. Only then, once she was sitting, did she remove her hat and sit it upon her lap. She politely crossed her hands over it as she looked from Meinhardt to Kuromaki once she was introduced. Anastasia offered another well-practiced smile, though one that was a little less believable. She did her best to keep well-informed on global politics - after all, any good monarchist would be well aware of the world affairs - and she was quite aware of the Shinjuku policy levied upon Alamannia. To the victor went the spoils, naturally, but she knew that political officers had a habit of warring with their charges. A clean and distinct chain-of-command appealed most to her refined senses, and an anomalous role such as the one the ensign held muddied that. The Shinjuku should have asserted their dominance more or not at all if they were going to rely on half-baked positions.

There was also, of course, the mild animosity between another country that could rival Sokrovy. The northern nation's influence was almost entirely on two fronts: economic resources, which they did their best to refine within their borders to then sell abroad, and their long standing navy that had a history of prowling the great ocean. The core old countries such as Alamannia were shielded from Sokrovy by giant, bloated Ruthenia, but Shinju was just across the water from them. There were few countries at this point that hadn't had a minor spat or two with Sokrovian ships haunting any islands within their reach. While neither a large nor exceptionally strong navy, tradition and experience were plentiful, and their ships and crews received more budgeting and attention than that national army.

Once the conversation turned back to herself and the ship, she paused slightly to think. What did the crew think about the expedition? Did they need anything? How am I supposed to know that? Her eyes glanced slightly across the room towards Aleksey who nodded quickly in return, as he had been watching her intently.

"Ah, yes, the crew is rather delighted to take part on this historic journey," Anastasia said. "Sokrovy is, of course, a premier naval power and will undoubtedly be a great boon to this assembly in all things. As for any needs of the ship... we have prepared ourselves well. We will replenish our food, cool, and oil before we leave port."

She heard the approach of some footsteps nearby and glanced aside to see the new arrival, Nathaniel Flint. Her expression didn't change as she simply looked away and back towards Meinhardt. A boring old man. Hopefully there will be few of those.

 

[Infab]

"Quickly, Lieutenant Slater. I wish to be on time. Not late." exhaled the middle-aged Alleghenian naval captain known as Bishop Warner, adjusting his black coat as the pair strolled through the halls of the convention center. The lieutenant following closely behind, adjusting her peaked cap, cut her captain a look. "My apologies, sir. I didn't realize we would have to deal with imbeciles when it came time to park our car." The captain smirked slightly. "It happens, lieutenant. Just keep up." he stated. He was easily outpacing her, as well as the small group of sailors clad in dress uniforms with them.

They eventually emerged into the ballroom in which the group was to gather to meet their expedition's leader, and Warner found himself pausing at the entrance to look about. There were several other people here, scattered about at the various other tables around the room beneath beautiful crystal chandeliers. A lovely room, really, but there matters at hand to tend to.

"Over there, sir." said the lieutenant, pointing out the table where their Commodore and a few others were. Warner motioned to the sailors to stand by, before quickly making his way through the tables and people. Once he arrived, he immediately recognized one man. Flint, a fellow Alleghenian. "Flint. I knew I saw your ship out in the harbor. I'm surprised its still floating." he remarked as he stepped up.

He the turned his attention to the extravagantly dressed woman at the table as his lieutenant arrived beside him. He glanced to his lieutenant, then to the Commodore himself. This girl looked far too young to be here, or even be a captain. Had the Sokrovians decided to let children command ships now? His expression turned to one of confusion, as he raised an eyebrow.

 

[K0mori]

A waiter swept by the table, offering water to any of the officers who requested it. Meinhardt glanced up at Flint as Kortova gave her reply, which held little substance. There was no harm, as Meinhardt hadn't expected anything surprising. It was simply a method to move the conversation away from the subject of his unwanted companion. "That is good to hear," the Commodore remarked, "about your crew, I mean. Let's hope that their experience serves them well out there. This sea is nothing to take lightly." He then turned his attention to the newcomer. "Captain Flint, willkommen," Meinhardt greeted him respectfully having surmised his identity from his uniform and his seat at the table, and right then a second Alleghenian approached. "Ah, and Captain Warren, it is good to meet you both. Please, both of you, sit down and join us."

The Commodore didn't want to pretend that he hadn't overheard Warren's comment moments earlier. "I may be assuming here, but it sounds like you two already know each other. Should I be concerned about Captain Flint's vessel, Mister Warren?"

 

[Infab]

Warner shook his head, as the Commadore addressed him. "No, Commodore. Captain Flint is just in command of an older vessel in the Alleghenian fleet. I'm sure its in exceptional shape, and ready for anything this endeavor may throw at it." he replied. He then glanced to the Sokrovian, and slightly leaned forward and tilted his head. His version of a bow to the young woman. "Commander Bishop Gabriel Warner, of the Alleghenian Federation Navy." he said, before straightening up and motioning to his lieutenant. "First Lieutenant Regina Slater, my executive officer."

The woman removed her hat for a moment, bowing slightly, before looking to the Commodore. "Guten tag, Commodore Meinhardt." she said, choosing to speak in his native tongue. Both soon took their seats at the table, Slater letting her hat rest upon it as she sat.

 

[EdwardDewey98]

A few hours before the meeting...

It was a beautiful day in San Marino, as the streets were buzzing with life. A bus stopped in the Plaza de los Laureles, a beautiful park in front of the enigmatic Palacio de Cristal. A young lady walked off of the bus, dressed in a formal shirt and a fine but modest long skirt. She looked around the street nervously, trying to find her way to the location she was supposed to meet the man in charge of the vessel she was going to be boarding. The one taking her to a better life. She never thought she'd be given such an honor in her life. She was going to be part of history as a famous scholar...or remembered for her death. Very few people had ever returned from the Devil's Meridian. But she didn't care about the risks, as this is far more important than anything she's ever done in her life as biologist.

After a bit of wandering around the plaza, she finally located where she was supposed to meet the Captain. It was a tavern a few streets down from the palace of Northern Platense style. When she walked into the building, she wasn't expecting to see several uniformed men and women dancing to the sound of Chamame. Music typical of the Northern shorelines and countryside. Among these colorful sailors was the Captain. While he looked like a true captain, he was enjoying the revelry alongside his men and women while playing an acoustic guitar.



After a few minutes, the elderly captain noticed the Mazonian scientist and decided to put down the guitar to speak with her. "Buen dia señorita! You must the scientist, correct?" said the captain, while offering his hand. "Capitan Hernesto O'Hara Alvarado. A pleasure to speak with you... miss?" he asked politely while the scientist cautiously took his hand. "D...Doctor Ana Maria Dos Santos." The mention of her last name was enough to make some of the sailors look at her. Some curious while others were seemingly judging her. Even the captain raised an eyebrow while looking at the doctor. "...Mazonian?" he asked cautiously. Ana Maria looked around nervously. She had faced such looks before, but never knew how to react to it. She nervously shook her head. "N...no, my parents are from Sao Mauro, but I was born here in San Marino."

The captain, seemingly noticing the nerveous attitude of the scientist, tried to give her a reassuring smile and pat on the shoulder. "Never fear, miss. I am not the kind to discriminate, I was just curious." While that did not take this paranoid feeling off of Ana's heart, she felt a bit more comfortable due to the captain's more sincere tone. "Are you ready for this voyage?" he asked, while sitting down near a table. Abar maid quickly gave him a mug full of wine and offered one to Ana, who politely refused. "...I... I... y-yes, I am very excited for this expedition! it's an honor to be part of it." There was something child-like in the tone the scientist was using. Something the captain took notice of. "Well, I am glad someone in the crew is happy. Even your fellow scientists in the palace are not as excited as you are. Some in my crew believe this is suicide, believing in the ol' stories of the Cursed Ocean... others, including your science friends, think it is just a waste of time." The captain then took a sip of his wine, while Ana Maria looked a bit disheartened at the fact the others might not share her same level of excitement for this expedition. But she noticed the captain did not give his opinion on the matter. "I see, what about you, Mr. Alvarado? What is your opinion on this expedition?" she asked politely. The old captain looked at her, and gave her a smile. "I've been sailing the seas for years. Always wanted to see what is behind that forbidden line... I heard that the man leading us is but a child . And that does worry me a bit but... otherwise, I share your excitement Ms. Dos Santos."

The scientist smiled, glad that the captain seemed to be a man of vision. After a few sips of his wine, the captain ordered every member of the crew to head to Puerto Leon and get to work on the last few preparations on the ARA Correntino. It was time to attend the meeting. Since Dr. Ana Maria was leading the Platine research team, she needed to be alongside the captain at all times. Or so he was told by his superiors.

In the meeting...

Ana Maria looked at every uniformed captain nervously, avoiding eye contact when possible and trying to not talk. Unlike Captain Alvarado who seemed to be looking at everyone in the room. He seemed rather surprised that the northern peoples, the ones with strange names, would send a child to be the captain of their fleets. But he did not judge, as he started in the navy at a young age. Eventually he waited for the opportunity and introduced himself. "A pleasure to meet every single one of you. I am Captain Hernesto Alvarado." And then seemed to move Dr. Dos Santos a bit further. She was a bit surprised by that, and nervously introduced herself. "...D...Doctor Ana Maria Dos Santos. A pleasure as well." She felt out of place. But according to the officials, she was supposed to be alongside the captain when making important decisions and meetings.

 

[Emperor Sagan]

The appearance of another Alleghenian caused Anastasia to wrinkle her nose ever so slightly. The Federation just to their southeast was something of a paradox, both a natural friend and natural enemy. Economic ties were strong, but there had been some skirmishes in the past. It had long been a fear and assumption that should an invasion reach Sokrovy, it would come from the eastern mountains. Those passes were grim, cold, and not for casual travelers. It had taken a long time to get the railroads properly working across the border. At least the one named Bishop had the polite inclination to acknowledge her properly, as she should be.

Two people from apparently Platine appeared shortly afterwards and introduced themselves, one a nervous young lady and the other another old man. A very old man, to her eye. It was clearly up to the brighter and younger minds of the assembly to handle the expedition.

"Grand Captain Anastasia Graznya Kortova," she introduced herself back to the others when a moment appeared. "Grand Captain of the Sokrovian Archangel. I'm certain you all noticed her in harbor." She knew a sturdy and beautiful Sokrovian ship would speak for itself without her needing to heap lavish praise upon it, unless the others were dullards.

 

[joshuadim]

Two people walked about the floors of the World Exposition as they made their way towards the meeting, passing through the crowds but not in any particular hurry. If the time on his pocketwatch was right, the senior of the two surmised that they still had some time before the meeting began in earnest. The superior, dressed in his officer's blues and carried his sword along with him, was a man of medium height and had a fair complexion along with slightly reddish hair. His entourage was a young woman practically fresh out of officer's school, and 12 years Dobbs' junior. Emilia Miller was also dressed in officer's blues, but had less trimmings on it and did not carry a decorative sword with her to signify her role on the ship. There was another man that had joined them from the ship, but he had disappeared off to the exposition much to Dobbs' annoyance. "Where is Dr. Lonstray, Miller?" he asked his Chief Mate with a tone of slight anger.

"I believe he mentioned to me that he was going off to debate the 'hacks who spout Essovism'." Miller replied somewhat cautiously. "He did say he would be back soon."

"Well he bloody better be..." Dobbs muttered in response. "This meeting is important after all."

A few more minutes of walking took place before the two found themselves where they needed to be. As they entered the ballroom, they were directed by the ushers to the table they were needed at. Dobbs saw that the captains had already arrived but it seemed that only formalities had taken place so far. A good thing we aren't truly late. Dobbs remarked to himself before he and Miller approached.

As the two took their seats, Miller noticeably looked a little nervous and Dobbs gave her a nudge with his elbow. "It's fine if you only want to listen. I can deal with the talking." Dobbs whispered to her. To which she only responded with a quick nod. With that in mind, Dobbs took a quick glance around to take in the people already seated before speaking up: "Captain Jonathan Dobbs of the HMS Prophet. Accompanying me is Chief Officer Emilia Miller. A pleasure to meet all of you."

 

[Radley]

Flint smirked slightly as Warner mentioned his ship and then sat down. He listened to Meinhardt adress them and then cut into the conversation after Warner was finished, "I assure you, Commodore, Commander Warner is quite the jokester. Even as a fan of LeMonyene beef jerkey I find his jests too dry to swallow sometimes." He said as he gave Bishop a friendly glance. His voice was characterized by older accent, common in the south-western states of the federation, but his speech was still refined. "Another assurance I can also give you is the condition of my ship." he continued, "The Terror is as ready for this journey as she'll ever be, although we are conducting some final repairs on the newly installed electrical circuit. Another thing I've been wanting to mention..."

He was interrupted as two Platine individuals introduced themselves. He recognized the young colored woman as Doctor Dos Santos and shortly had it confirmed that her companion was Captain Alvarado. He was reminded of his confusion, as to why the dossier focused on the Doctor, with only the captain as a brief mention. A mystery for later. He signalled with a small nod and a hand gesture to Meinhardt that what ever he was going to mention could wait until a more opportune occasion.

As Dobbs introduced himself, Flint gave the captain a respectful, small nod. Albions navy had always been a great force to be reckoned with, even as an ally or opponent to the federation. He had heard tell of Dobbs' exploits, and was glad the roster for the expedition was stacked with talent. Well, except for one. The Sokrovian Grand Captain would have to prove herself before he could give it any way, but the flashy uniform, extravagant manners and medals on such a young person did not instill confidence in him.

 

[K0mori]

Now there were several more new faces which filled the remaining spots at the table. With everyone now in attendance, the Commodore stood and shook hands with the final newcomers and introduced himself, and once all the introductions were through, he sat back down. "Now then," he said with an air of excitement, "now that we have everyone, there are a few things that I would like to introduce you to, before we set off on this grand voyage." He opened a small wooden box and retrieved a few small items from the inside. There was an odd, reddish-colored stone that looked like a piece of polished glass. There was a faint light from inside, as if it were glowing, but the gathered captains might have assumed it was merely a reflection from all the other light sources in the room. There was also a brass tube that was roughly the size of a cigar.

"This," the Commodore said as he held up the red stone, "is aetherine glass. It is a substance that cannot be found in sizable quantities anywhere in the world, except within the Uncharted Zone, where it is abundant. Whether it is naturally occurring, or man-made, we aren't sure. But we do know that there was an ancient civilization that thrived somewhere in the Devil's Meridian, thousands of years ago, and this material was central to their culture. One previous forays into the Zone, I've seen evidence of their existence myself- engravings, mainly, but sometimes artifacts like this, too, and the most exciting thing is that we don't know the half of what these people were capable of.

"What I can tell you," he continued, his eyes narrowing, "is that they were privy to a different sort of knowledge than any of our scientists today." Then, as if to respond to the skepticism of the table, he slipped the stone into the brass tube and handed it over to the captain sitting next to him, who happened to be Warner. "Look through the tube, Commander, and tell us what you see."

 

[Infab]

Warner examined the tube for a moment, looking over the craftsmanship, before holding it up and gazing through the opening. Once it reached his eye, he saw the strangest thing as he moved it about. Around him, he could see humanoid shapes in the form of flickering orange flames, in the places of the other captains and nearest guests. The flames danced about as he gazed at the shapes, but all retained their humanish form as they moved. The 'face' of each of these shapes was remarkably skull like. Behind the flaming shapes, some twenty feet away, things began to blur...before fading entirely into a deep red fog. He could only see a limited distance with the object, apparently. Still, it was quite interesting.

He lowered the tube a moment later, an eyebrow raised. "Everyone looks like human sized masses of orange flames with skull faces...in front of a deep red fog." he stated, before handing the tube back to the Commodore.

 

[joshuadim]

"If only Lonstray were actually here." Dobbs complained to Miller in a hushed tone once more before returning his attention to the conversation at hand about this mysterious substance and whatever lies within the Uncharted Zone. Even during his time in Officer School did he hear tales of this mysterious region and had always been warned about ever thinking about venturing into those supposedly accursed waters. And now he was here to sail headfirst into them, his old superiors would be rolling in their graves should they have ever heard of this.

---
Elsewhere in the Exposition

A well dressed man hurried along the floors and exhibits of the area, seemingly as if he was trying to avoid running into someone. Indeed, he had angered a few of the natural philosophers after practically getting into a shouting match over the validity of Essovism as a field of thought. Obviously, they were never capable of debating a man of his stature and genius, but he was in no position to fight back in any such way when they threatened to come after him with canes. And so, he had made his exit rather ungraciously and looked to try to find his way to the ballroom where he was needed. He predicted that the captain would be annoyed at his rather abrupt departure from the entourage but he assured himself that the man would understand his need to prove someone else that their opinions were, in fact, wrong.

Lonstray was in such a hurry in fact, that he kept crashing into people by accident as he continually looked over his shoulder. In the distance he could see a few of the philosophers he had angered searching for him with their canes. They were indeed thoroughly angered if they had continued to chase him at this point. By now he was making his way through the engineering exhibits and took shelter behind one of the exhibit stands, much to the dismay of a group of engineers from Jaille that were showing off their new bridge design. "Sors d'ici!" one of them yelled out. "Ceci est réservé au personnel autorisé!". Before long, the head engineer walked up to Lonstray and tried to motion him to leave the area. The scientist would not have any of it and pushed back with his own gestures.

"You speak Albionian, yes?" he asked somewhat desperately to the chief engineer, to which the response was a 'yes' with a curt nod. "Let me stay here for a bit, and I'll tell you what flaws you have in that bridge design in that model you're showing." The claim was shocking to most of the engineers at the exhibit, but the chief engineer took a look at his bridge for a moment before looking back at the man. "What is wrong with my bridge then, Albionian?"

"Well, for starters..."

A few moments later...

The engineers looked over their designs in dismay and clearly found faults in the support beams in their capability to load bear oncoming traffic as well as faults in calculations of the suspensions. While they fawned over these new revelations, Lonstray shook hands with the chief engineer and made his way out seeing as the coast was now quite clear. His path to the ballroom where the meeting was would only be a few minutes away now.

 

[Radley]

Flint looked at Warner as he used the device that Meinhardt had presented. As the commander returned it and explained it's properties, Flint was skeptical of there being anything supernatural about it.
"Perhaps it's merely a trick of the light? Like some sort of kaleidoscope?" he said as he turned to Dos Santos, "Perhaps the good doctor could offer any insight into this?"

 

[EdwardDewey98]

Dos Santos could hardly contain her emotions, as Commodore Meinhardt talked of the successful expedition that took place a hundred years ago which brought relics from an unknown realm hidden in the Meridian. When he revealed the aetherine glass, the whole room probably heard the doctor squeal a bit in excitement. She watched as Commander Warner of the Alleghenian fleets looked through the stone, revealing some of its strange properties. Then Captain Flint suggested that she should take a look at the relic, which made her smile. "I...it'd be a pleasure! Thank you Mr. Flint." She then stood up and approached Warner while speaking about what she knew. "I always envied Alammanian researchers, having such amazing relics for study! I have read every single work on the topic, from the likes of Dr. Volker Lechner to my heroine Dr. Elena Teichmüller!" She clasped both her hands and looked at everyone in the room. "Now, of course, there are many properties of the aetherine glass we don't know of. Basic research has revealed some of its composition, but we are still unsure how it is made. Like the Commodore just said, we don't even know if it is a true naturally occurring glass or if it is man-made. I theorized it is a natural one, perhaps formed by extrusive igneous rock! If it It is man-made, I must admit I'd be at a loss, it is nothing like our own glass which is an amorphous solid." She stopped herself a moment, realizing she was probably rambling about unimportant stuff. "S...sorry I get carried away with this sort of stuff... Mr. Werner, Mr. Meinhardt do you mind if I have a look?"

 

[K0mori]

"Certainly," Meinhardt replied as he passed the brass tube over to the doctor, "although I should inform you that this particular fragment wasn't recovered on Admiral Stock's expedition. Anything left of that voyage is either in a museum or in the hands of scholars, as you said. This one is mine- I found it during my second foray into the Uncharted Zone just six months ago. And, before anyone asks, if you see skulls, or maybe the bones of your own hand when you look through a device like this, it is not the work of x-rays. Scientists in Jaille searched for a link between the two for nearly a decade, but they were forced to conclude that aetherine glass doesn't react to x-rays at all, nor does it emit any. This is something else entirely..."

At that moment, a waiter arrived with soups and other appetizers on a wide tray. The captains would be treated to either steak or chicken according to their preference. It would be a somewhat light portion, as it was still the middle of the day. Next, the Commodore reached into the box and pulled out a number of photographs, which he handed to Warren so that the latter could examine them and then pass them on. "Unfortunately, as much as I would like to show you live samples of some of the other interesting finds from these expeditions, they are just too dangerous to carry along in a box like this."

Some of the photos were actually quite gruesome. As Commander Warren flipped through them, he was both disgusted and morbidly fascinated by an image of a man's hand which had greatly deformed, the fingers hanging long and limp with hundreds of small spots, as if the entire appendage were becoming an octopus. Another image depicted a woman resting in a hospital bed, her eyes burned shut and blackened. Yet another photo revealed the insane writing of a ship's engineer on a bulkhead deep within a ship's belly, presumably the Nixe- the Commodore's light cruiser.

Meinhardt waited calmly for the photos to circulate back to him. "Here is where I warn you of the most terrible danger I know of in these accursed waters," he said, growing more solemn as he spoke. "That poor young man with the... 'hand problem,' that was our only fatality during the last expedition. His arm was amputated at the elbow in an attempt to save his life, but soon after the operation he began to develop deformities elsewhere on his body, and so he requested a merciful end. His only mistake was this: he picked something up which you cannot handle with bare hands."

The Commodore reached into the case one final time and pulled out a corked vial containing a single droplet of a black fluid, which he tipped back and forth to show to the captains its adhesiveness. It rolled like a ball from one end of the tube to another, rather than flowing like water, and yet it was obviously a fluid. "This is what we refer to as 'shadow mass.' We don't know what it is, I'll be very honest with you. But we do know that it tends to collect on things out there, and that the deeper you go into the Devil's Meridian, the more of it you'll find. That boy... he found a portion of wreckage from some previous attempt to probe the UZ and carried it all the way to my chief science officer, not realizing that it was speckled with shadow mass and not mildew as he thought.

"It takes time for shadow mass to absorb into the skin. If you're exposed to it, wash it off immediately and you should be safe. I've accidentally touched it a few times myself, and I'm still here talking to you. But the young man carried around the tainted scrap for almost fifteen minutes and lost his life as a result." He set the vial back down into the box, gently. "There are other dangers as well... the woman who lost her eyes had been investigating what appeared to be a large pearl at first, but which obviously wasn't... And we're not really sure what happened to the engineer. If you're ready for these risks, then we'll depart in the morning."

 

[EdwardDewey98]

"I'm well aware of the dangers that lay in the Devils Meridian, Commodore." said Ana, while looking through the brass tube. She had heard so many things about these stones, many legends around them and the Meridian itself that have hundreds of years. "While the university of San Marino might not have very detailed records of the expedition by Admiral Stocks, we do have other texts from other less known sources." She then handed the brass tube to the Commodore while giving him a polite nod and smile.

"Indeed. Take for example the failed expedition of Mansa Dodou Janneh of the Wolof Empire hundreds of years ago. When the intrepid emperor decided to explore the oceans and find a new world with a fleet that would match Albion in this day and age! And its only survivors were a lone vessel full of half-crazed men, insisting that the Mansa and the majority of the fleet had gone insane in an island deep in the Meridian... O-or so the stories of the Wolof people say."

She then looked at the other people in the room. "The Förbannad-hav Saga talks of the ancient northern raiders under the command of Jarl Ospak Biorsson. It tells of a more 'successful' sail into the forbidden oceans, and by that I mean that most of the crew survived. But they have seen their fair share of horrors as the Commodore described, as well such things as creatures of great, unimaginable size... Swimming through the dark oceans... There's a lot of history that us in the modern age consider mythical fables of primitive minds. But in my case, I never disregard such things, as outlandish as they might seem and sound. There's always an explanation for them. That's why I want to go! To explain the strange things that happen in the Meridian."

The doctor then looked at Alvarado, who seemed to be utterly confused by the doctor's little speech. But otherwise he just nodded. "I... uh... agree with the doctor. I have always wanted to explore those oceans. You'll find me in the port tomorrow morning. Ready to follow your commands, sir."

 

[joshuadim]

Dobbs listened intently to the inherent dangers present within the Uncharted Zone and found himself doubting the more superstitious aboard his vessel willing to sail into the region itself. But before he could speak up about his concerns, he noticed from the corner of his eye that Lonstray had finally arrived and was walking right towards the table, which gave the captain a sense of relief.

"I do apoligize for my associate's tardiness-" Dobbs started before being interrupted by the man.

"Dr. Michael Lonstray of the University of Cavendish, I will be working aboard the HMS Prophet with my research team." he announced as he took his seat quickly and turned his attention to the Commodore. "In regards to these deformities aforementioned, were you able to save any samples of these?"

 

[Emperor Sagan]

Anastasia was interested in the kaleidoscope device, wanting to see what images it could produce, but didn't get a chance before some food was brought out for them all. Appetizers before the main course, it appeared, and she selected a gazpacho that seemed to be of a local blend, as well as selecting chicken for her later course. She had a delicate disposition and the harder meats did not make her feel well. Much of Sokrovy's beef had to be imported from the south, regardless, as only the climate near the southern coast of the nation was good enough for allowing cattle to graze.

The Grand Captain eagerly ate her soup in the most polite manner possible. She was rather hungry, and when the photos were passed around to her, she held them carefully. It was difficult not to grimace at the disgusting scenes being presented - while they were eating, nonetheless - and she quickly passed them on after a glance. It looked like the Commodore had rounded up some circus freaks, asylum lunatics, and hospital ward victims to take photos of. And the worst of it had happened by touching some black ink? Everyone knew the fables of the Devil's Meridian, and Sokrovy had its fair share of northern nautical myths being so closely connected to the native people and those dark waters, but this was beyond what she had expected. Actual proof of strange happenings? Sure, ships went missing, but there were hundreds of more logical reasons for that. Even in Sokrovy, when the natives liked to point out the angering of spirits and all manner of strange things.

Doctor Dos Santos reminded her of one of her overly enthusiastic school teachers, and she wondered if she was going to be surrounded by too many of these boring types. Old men, teachers, what a bore. Where were all the young and dashing officers? The Albion captain seemed to have some noble air to him, but his subordinate ended up being late, while also being another academic weirdo. Anastasia sighed, but disguised it as blowing on her soup.

"The Sokrovian delegation stands ready for anything. We have both seasoned sailors, men of reason, and several northern natives on board - Nutka and Eniu - that are familiar with the, um... more lofty, spiritual side of things, I suppose one could say. Some tribes say the ocean is the resting place for the souls of the dead and all that mythical nonsense. Great for bed time reading. Regardless, Sokrovy never backs down from a challenge or strange happenstances. Natural, man-made, or something else, we'll handle it. A little bit of scary glass and pen ink won't slow us down. And we have plenty of guns for the animals, no matter how big. We Sokrovian's know how to handle whales and walruses."

 

[Infab]

Warner and Slater were both rather intrigued by the photographs as well as the black mass inside the vial. For different reasons, of course. Slater was interested from the scientific standpoint, while Warner was more interested from the adventurer's standpoint. It was a mostly unknown region of the world, and the idea of strange and wonderous things pulled at him. Moreso than at Slater, whom was more cautious. They listened as Dos Santos spoke, the woman facinated and apparently excited over such an endeavor. Once she finished, warner responded to the Commodore.

"The Jackal will be ready, Commodore." stated Warner, giving him a nod before carefully carving into his piece of steak with a knife. Slater nodded as well, but didn't touch her food just yet. Instead, she glanced to the political officer with the Commodore. Just what was Shinju getting out of all this? The Alleghenian Federation had been at odds with Shinju for quite some time now, especially after the defeat of Alamannia (whom the Federation traded often with and supported.) It was likely that this political officer would dictate over the Commodore for most of the expedition, and likely rat anything they did out to her own superiors. Slater eventually sighed, sipping some of her water before lightly shredding and eating the chicken before her on her plate. Both, however, looked up when the Albionian doctor arrived and spoke.

 

[Radley]

After viewing the photos, Flint calmly finished his soup and moved on to the steak. Although he did not like formal dinners, one could not argue that the food was usually worlds apart from the conservatives and simple meals prepared during seafaring. Not that Flint was one who disliked simple cuisine either, but with a undoubtedly long journey ahead of them, it was best to savour the gifts of land before setting out.

As he was cutting his steak, he listened as the others gave the assurances of their crews and ships. "The crew of the Terror are veteran mariners and well suited for this journey, Commodore." He began, "There is not a superstitious person among them, I've seen to that personally".

He punctuated the sentence by eating a small piece of stake. As he chewed he pointed his fork slightly in Dos Santos direction before continuing, "As the doctor has pointed out, most of the records are the tellings of ancient peoples or the ramblings of madmen. I tend to not put much faith into either. I would consider them no more than a warning of things, which you certainly has convinced me is more than real. A fortified mind and disciplined expedition ought to be enough to stand against these mysteries." He concluded, slightly raising the glass of water towards Meinhardt as a brisk toast.

 

[K0mori]

"That's the heart of it," Meinhardt agreed as Flint finished speaking. "While these things aren't understood, they aren't beyond understanding. We can't fall victim to superstition or else it will overwhelm us. On that regard, Doctor Dos Santos is also correct. To answer your question, Doctor," he said with a nod in Lonstray's direction, "- and I do apologize for not introducing myself sooner - the answer is no. The young man's body was turned over to a team back in Alamannia when we returned to port. I hope the autopsy leads to something, but as of yet..." he shook his head. "Let's both hope that we don't have a second opportunity. He had a mother, you know," Meinhardt added, not with any particular judgement on Lonstray's behalf, but rather to remind everyone that crew safety was paramount. "Maybe we could conduct a similar experiment on an animal test subject," he proposed.

Ensign Kuromaki ate in silence, occasionally glancing at the ongoing conversation and jotting down notes in a pocket journal. The writing, of course, was in the dense Shinjuku language, impossible for anyone else at the table to decode- not that it would matter, as her initial impressions of the fleet's captains were almost certainly benign. However, in one fleeting moment, she locked eyes with Lt. Slater, and must have perceived her judgement. She looked away, cocking a half-smirk, and quickly crossed something out on her notepad before writing something else in the margin. She then set her pen down, took up her chopsticks (a metal pair which she had pulled out of her coat when the food arrived), and continued eating with a more genuine smile.

The Commodore had gotten a full impression of the fleet at this dinner. Of all the captains, his greatest doubts were on Grand Captain Kortova, whose brash attitude toward the dangers ahead, especially her casual dismissal of the nightmarish shadow mass, gave him concern for her crew. However, the Sokrovians were indeed known as hearty sailors, and he hoped that their prowess would guide the Archangel to safety in the end. Captain Alvarado was just the opposite. The man seemed eager to please, and allowed Dr. Dos Santos do most of the talking for him. In a pinch, he might lack the leadership to keep his ship out of harm's way. Warren, Flint, and Dobbs all seemed like worthy and reliable leaders.

He sighed. He felt a bit too young to be giving orders to them. He imagined that there would come a time during the expedition in which the depth of his experience with the Uncharted Zone will be reached, after which one of them would be more suitable. He also felt for his own crew, and said a silent prayer that he wouldn't let them down. His two past successes meant nothing if all it bought him was a ticket to the deep blue abyss.

---

Outset
1st of October, 1919.
​

The following day brought in a light fog after some unseasonably chilly wind and rain. The sun broke through at roughly 11AM, and by that time, the ships of the Meinhardt Expedition were already well on their way to the Devil's Meridian. Their departure had been quite ceremonious despite the weather, and a crowd of several hundred onlookers waved banners at the ships from the docks. The Alamannian ambassador had also been in attendance to commemorate the occasion, but beyond a few group photographs of the fleet's commanders before their leaving, there was little which could be said or done which hadn't already occurred. News of the Expedition had been a sidebar in most of the world's newspapers for around a week by now, and any uniqueness of the story had already dried up for now. The media would simply have to wait along with everyone else, now, for the fleet to emerge on the eastern side of the Uncharted Zone.

The high seas were calm as the heavy former warships cruised along, until a sizable wall of foreboding clouds appeared on the horizon. A telegram arrived across the entire fleet as they neared, warning the ships that they must cross at a particular latitude and with a carefully-calculated heading. Each of the ships' navigators had already been given these numbers, but nonetheless, a precaution was taken to ensure that no mistakes would be made upon entry. As the waves became choppier, the vessels formed a long line behind the Nixe. The skies darkened. Another telegram arrived:

Caution illness likely STOP
barrier in view STOP
hallucinations possible STOP
Brace for impact STOP​

From behind, the Nixe appeared to lurch forward hard into the water at the same moment a dark cloud descended upon it. It was such a sudden change that the light bulbs mounted on the stern mast seemed to go out. One by one, the ships crossed this same "barrier," each experiencing a phantom "impact" which rocked the ship hard and made even experienced mariners' stomachs turn. The darkness seemed to pervade the interiors of the vessels as well, cloaking electric lighting in an eerie shadow momentarily before gradually letting up. Regardless, the sea began to smooth again once they were on the other side, at which point the Nixe began to slow down.

On the other side of the cloud bank was a seemingly endless gray sky of a medium shade. They were too light for storm clouds and yet too dark for an ordinary, overcast day. The ocean was similarly gray but also much darker, like the scales of a shark, shimmering as the water rolled at the surface. There were no landmasses in sight as of yet, nor was that currently a priority. First, the Commodore ordered for communications to be re-established with all ships, and for stock to be taken of any damages or injuries.

 

[Radley]

As the convoy approached the wall, Flint and his second in command, Commander Howard Bates, stood on the bridge and observed the phenomenon.
"Quite fascinating, is it not Captain?" Bates asked without shifting his look. "Indeed" Flint replied "Even though the tales of this sea may be complete fiction, one can not deny that something very real has to lurk behind those ominous lines on the map". Flint looked down upon a map that was lying on a adjacent table, where a thick red line marked the famed meridian.
When the telegram came through, Flint looked to the helmsmen, which gave a simple, reassuring nod as a reply. But, when they crossed the phantom wall, Flint felt as if the light and color was vanishing from his sight. He felt light headed and it seemed as if his perception was getting narrower. As Flint battled this mysterious onslaught, the helmsmen tried to steady himself but ultimately collapsed and let go of the wheel. Bates staggered over to regain control and almost fell, but managed to grab the wheel and keep the ship on course. After a brief moment he vomited slightly and muttered something for himself.

As Flint regained his senses, he checked on Bates, whom assured his captain that he was fine. Another young officer opened the door to the bridge and informed them that similar things had occurred on the ship at the same moment. With this information at hand, Flint ordered that contact be re-established to Meinhardt and the following message sent:

Illness affects crew STOP
Captain in control STOP
Full report to follow STOP​