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Fantasy The Devil's Meridian (Closed)

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"It will take more than a handshake and honeyed words to convince me," Kortova replied without blinking. "I'll deal with, or live with, these horns. They hardly bother me and I'll be quite alright." She was sick of these people attacking her so baselessly, and while Dos Santos seemed... genuine enough, she still wasn't sure how much she even trusted her, especially after the Platine behavior at the meeting. Kortova wasn't going to forget any of that soon. And, of course, she had no intention of reverting these mutations. There was almost a checklist in her mind, using everything she could until, inevitably, as much as she did not want to reach that point, she would have to reach the truth and simply admit that she wanted the horns.
 
Lonstray simply rolled his eyes and left promptly back to the skiffs after Kortova's new outburst of anger. Another blue blooded brat. As if we didn't have enough of those back in Albion. Lonstray remarked internally as he entered one of the skiffs that was ready to embark back to the Prophet. At least Captain Dobbs has good character... for a nobleman.
 
Walkenhorst finally noticed Kortova and her new horns, and while others bickered over the Grand Captain's refusal to provide blood samples, the Nixe's captain hung his head for a moment and bit his tongue. He couldn't identify what exactly he was feeling, but it certainly wasn't animosity. To a certain degree, he felt a bit outraged that others were judging her so harshly; Maybe Kortova was ashamed of her condition and was overcompensating with false pride? Then again, Ensign Kuromaki had learned to speak some sort of universal language thanks to her exposure to whatever "Ishra" was, so perhaps there were unseen benefits to Kortova's affliction. He felt as if he should defend her decision.

But there was more to it than that.

Walkenhorst already considered Kortova to be a beautiful young woman, and although her new features were exotic if not frightfully alien, he couldn't help but admire her fierce independence and sovereignty. He then realized that he was slightly jealous, not just of the officers of the Archangel, but of the officers of any of the other ships which were more prone to risk and reward. The Commmodore rarely took risks and sharply criticized anyone who wished to explore beyond the scope of his own ambition.

Kortova, meanwhile, could sense his admiration as she walked by him on her way to the Archangel's skiff. She glanced at him and he got chills, and turned away quickly.

The skiffs were soon fully loaded and began to putter their way back toward the fleet. The bay was beginning to freeze over, and so it was a great relief that they had found a method of escape at such a convenient moment. Walkenhorst headed for the bridge while discussing Captain Flint's find with Lieutenant Detlev, and once the two had come to an agreement that this was their best chance at surviving the expedition, they entered the room together to brief the Commodore on the situation.

---​

"...And you gave the device back to Captain Flint?" Meinhardt asked.

Walkenhorst was surprised by the question. "Wouldn't you have done the same? It is treasure, after all-"

"Yes," the Commodore snapped, "but that doesn't mean we can't borrow it for the purpose of navigating the fleet out of this sea. Given Mr. Flint's propensity for risking the lives of others, I'm concerned he'll find reason to take us elsewhere in the Meridian when there could be a safe passage out."

Even Detlev balked at the comment. "Sir... are you suggesting we can't trust Captain Flint?"

"I am suggesting that fleet navigation is the responsibility of the Nixe, and I object to the Captain's decision to cede that authority to another ship without my input. You saw how close we came to unraveling at the Ossuary Islands thanks to that argument over the Sokrovian situation."

"Speaking of which, sir-" Detlev began to say when a sailor burst into the room.

"Gentlemen, you should come take a look at this!"

---
​
Across the fleet, those who were still awake aboard the various ships came to the top deck as their scouts all reported the same thing. The mysterious island, known only to Grand Captain Kortova and Captain Flint as Valyth, was being consumed by what initially was assumed to be ice, but was too clear, too pure, to be natural. Ever larger crystals formed out of every exposed surface, even the water at the coastline, spreading out slowly toward the true ice on the ocean's surface. Then, there was a sound like thunder originating at the center of the landmass. An eerie silence followed as the wind stopped howling and the snow suddenly ceased falling.

And then, the onlookers watched in horror as the ridges and hills visible to the naked eye began to sink toward the horizon, the sound of a landslide combined with the shattering of glass on a scale unlike anything they had ever experience echoing through the night air. The island had collapsed in on itself, falling through the gaping hole the expedition had witnessed and Flint had walked so close to. The waters below the ships of the fleet changed in their currents, all sucking toward the falling landmass. Panicked officers screamed their orders, demanding full power to the turbines as they fought against the catastrophe.

For half an hour, they maintained this perilous struggle, the fleet on the verge of being lost in the largest whirlpool witnessed by any living member of the human race. Through incredible effort and perhaps luck, they escaped its pull, one by one, until the Correntino and Archangel brought up the rear of the fleet and arrived safely behind the others. Having averted disaster, the Captains took stock of their miraculous survival. The Commodore, shaking with anxiety as calm resumed itself aboard the Nixe, gave the order to follow the Terror to their next destination, and then retired immediately to his cabin.

Captain Flint, who had been roused to deal with the situation only minutes after he had initially gone to bed, now returned to it with a disturbing thought on his mind. Elsewhere, Kortova had the same realization: they now understood what Wulfera had meant when she said that Valyth was crumbling away because it lacked the energy to sustain itself. The island hadn't formed through plate tectonics or volcanic eruptions, like the land masses of the rest of the world; it had been created by mages, using aetherial magic. And now that the Altanic civilization was gone and could no longer maintain what it had birthed, the island had withered and died. This also explained why ordinary navigation did not work in the Devil's Meridian, why one could sail for weeks or even months in the same direction without escaping its waters. The Ley Lines were like temporary magical connections between locations through a sea of unreality.

The islands, the currents, the weather... it was a mosaic of real, natural features, mixed with ancient magics. It was a delicate machine whose masters had long since abandoned, leaving it to churn away uncontrolled for centuries. They were not yet aware of Lonstray's measurements from the ruins at the coast, but perhaps they wouldn't be surprised to learn that he could find no evidence of wind or atmospheric pressure. They had gone to a place that did not exist, which could not exist, and breathed air which in fact was not there. Wulfera had told them that their presence was accelerating the island's demise. Perhaps it was because the very last energy which kept it tethered to the physical world was expended protecting all of them from suffocation.

---

Meinhardt
​
The Commodore couldn't properly relax in the immediate aftermath of their unexpected stopover on the edge of the All-Abyss. When he did finally sleep, it was a shallow, restless one, and he was frequently awoken by changes in the ship's course. As it turned out, the wayfinder did not maintain a single heading, but led the Terror, and therefore the entire fleet, on a zig-zagging path through the Uncharted Zone, perhaps to follow some unseen magical pathway between the nowhere they had come from, and the somewhere they were going. At last, he was able to relax as no more trouble was coming to them.

The guests were on their way, and dinner was not yet ready. Meinhardt had promised them a range of dishes, enticing them with his assurances that they had never eaten an amateur's cooking that was as refined as his, and yet he now felt the crushing weight of such exaggerations. He barely knew how to cook, in fact, and was struggling to keep all of his dishes in order without burning anything. But now, his heart was racing, as there was a good chance, even if he didn't ruin the food, that it wouldn't be finished before their arrival, and they would witness his lack of nerve, his inability to deliver what they had assumed would be easy for him.

With only minutes to spare, he openly groaned his frustration as he checked and found that the meat still hadn't cooked all the way through. He needed help, or at least an extra set of hands, and suddenly, they appeared- not his guests, but allies: Walkenhorst, and, of all people, Kuromaki, who each took up places in the kitchen to save their flagging leader.

"Yes, that's it!" Meinhardt shouted as the dishes began to come together. While Kuromaki prepared a rabbit stew, Walkenhorst finished cooking a brilliant lobster dish. Meinhardt himself prepared the sides: potatoes, carrots, and toasted breads, as well as an arrangement of drinks. They had just set the table when the guests arrived - nobles and military officers of the caliber which commanded the utmost respect, who seated themselves around Meinhardt's humble table in high expectation. Just how he had come in contact with such important Alamannian figures was a mystery that Meinhardt had just begun to confront when they took their first bites of the extravagant meal.

All was well! Meinhardt could feel the stress melting away as he sat among them, easing into their conversations, basking in the warmth of such a jovial social gathering. But then, as he was in the midst of telling a joke to one of the Kingdom's lesser princes, there was a crash from the other side of the table and a round of shouting. "Murder!" someone yelled in horror. Meinhardt snapped to his feet, and found himself staring at an admiral's swollen, purple face, as he had just ingested a fast-acting poison. Soon, another guest doubled over in pain, as she too had eaten the stew Kuromaki had prepared, and then another...

Before the accusations could begin, Meinhardt took up a knife and rushed into the kitchen, where the two officers were still relaxing.

"Oh, Commodore," Kuromaki commented, looking rather smug. "You look angry. Did I do something wrong?"

"You poisoned that stew, you devil!" Meinhardt screamed. "Walkenhorst, help me, she's a murderer!"

Walkenhorst chuckled. "Commodore, I think you have bigger things to worry about. Say hello to our maker when you get the chance."

Meinhardt was shocked by the betrayal. "I didn't have any of the stew... you... you both-"

"I poisoned the lobster, too, Werner. You're going to die," Walkenhorst said calmly as he took out a cigarette and a match. After lighting it, he smiled and shook his head. "The funny thing is, those people out there trusted you, but you trusted us. Even if you had no idea the meal was tainted, this is still your fault." The comment made Kuromaki snicker as she took a sip of wine.

Meinhardt could feel his stomach twisting into a knot, and his hand was trembling of its own accord. His strength was leaving him and he involuntarily dropped the knife. "W-why...?" was all he could ask as he collapsed to the ground.

Kuromaki stepped over to him and gleefully kicked him before answering. "Because you're weak, and you stand in the way of forces you can't possibly hope to control! The whole world is weak and deserves what's coming to it!"

Her voice was still echoing in his ear when he awoke in his bed, clutching his sick stomach. Something he had eaten before bed had disagreed with him, but as disturbing as the nightmare had been, he was relieved to find himself back on the Nixe, even if it was headed in the wrong direction.

---

Dos Santos
​
After all the terrifying, unexplained events which had occurred during the night, the doctor was ready for sleep, and she found it rather quickly as she promised herself she would awaken to far more normal circumstances. However, she would not be quite so lucky in the meantime.

She was at home, sitting at her desk in front of a typewriter. Just what she was writing about, she couldn't remember, and so she looked at the paper and began to read what she had apparently already prepared.

I hear music everywhere. The music never ceases. It is the song of the dead, calling me back to the sea, calling me to finish what the Great Teacher started. I am a witness. I am charged. I must help the heir restore the Queen, or else the music will never cease. It is driving me mad, but I am content with the madness. I will I will I will I will I will-

Dos Santos realized that she was typing the phrase involuntarily over and over into the typewriter, her hands refusing to follow her will to stop. And now, she could hear the music the disturbing note mentioned. It was loud and disharmonious, crying injustice to her. Crying horror. She began to scream as she couldn't pull herself away, until all at once she exploded out of her chair and fell over backwards, landing hard on the wooden floor. The music was deafeningly loud, she couldn't possibly think rationally as it pounded in her ears, and she gripped her head, stuffing her fingers into the openings to try to blot out the sound.

It was no use. The music was in her head. It was a part of her. Crying, inconsolably helpless, she writhed around on the floor, until the weight became too great to bear, and she rose to her feet in a frenzy. Out the door, she ran down the road, and continued to run, until time passed in a blur around her. When the music finally subsided, she was at the end of a dock, looking out over the ocean, the one she had just returned from on the Meinhardt Expedition. Now she understood. The madness would consume her entire life unless she went back to that forsaken place and satisfied whatever horrible thing had taken residence in her head.

Laughter filled her ears now, and she found that it was her own as she stepped into a tiny wooden boat without an engine that was moored at the dock. Taking up the oars, she pushed herself out into the open ocean without food, without water, without any idea as to where she was going. It didn't matter to her. She had all eternity to find her way. She placed her hand around the black aetherine hanging from her neck. Not even death could stop her.

She awoke back on the Correntino, and dearly hoped that this dream was not a premonition of things to come.

---

Kortova
​
Kortova had no trouble sleeping after the fleet's escape from Valyth's implosion. All things considered, the night had been a great success for her, as her crew seemed united around her, and even with Wulfera's contempt, it was implied that she was a de facto ally of the fallen chief goddess and could therefore be trusted, to an extent, by Captain Flint. That remained to be seen, but at least the man did not seem interested in confrontation. The two would likely need to have a private chat once they reached the capital of Altanis, whatever it was called. She let out a long, leisurely yawn as she curled up in bed. The horns exerted a strange pressure on her head as she placed a bit of weight on them, but it felt natural to her, as if she had always had them.

There was a slight bump in the cabin as her motorcar rumbled down a major road in Constantine. Looking about, through the windows she could see that the city looked exactly as it did before she departed with the Meinhardt Expedition. Her memory was hazy, but she was confident that she had just returned triumphantly home after a short stay in Albion, in which her ascended appearance and abilities had created a worldwide sensation. Far more than Dr. Lonstray with his successful decoding of the Ancient Altanic language, Kortova and Kuromaki had become the star of every front page news article: a Sokrovian daughter with royal blood who could read the thoughts of others and move objects with her mind, and to a lesser extent, a Shinjuku commissar who could speak a universal tongue, had captured the imagination of the entire world.

But there was a problem eating at her from within. In order to create her new empire, she had to ensure that she wouldn't be upstaged by any of the accursed deities that occupied the Devil's Meridian, but Wulfera had tasked her with freeing her from the Ashes, creating a direct conflict of interest. Of course, Kortova couldn't simply leave her imprisoned, as the Goddess had promised to kill her if she wasn't loyal. Trying to call that bluff would mean giving up on ever returning to the Ashes. It might have also led to Wulfera finally purging the demon race once and for all. For their sake as well as her own, Kortova did what she was told.

So now that Wulfera was free, what would happen to the world? It wasn't clear. It had been months since the Expedition came to its end, and no one had spotted Wulfera since. More concerning, Kortova hadn't dreamed of the Ashes since leaving the Meridian, either. Tepidly, she would continue with her plans. If Wulfera had allowed a demonic kingdom to exist in the Ashes under her watch, then perhaps she would allow one in the human realm as long as it remained loyal? Resentment welled up inside of her. Would she be forced to defer to this woman for the rest of her eternal life?

The motorcar came to a stop in front of her destination: a nexus between the two realms through which only demons could pass. It was an elaborate, ritualistic construction, financed by and built to Kortova's exact specifications. She had been wealthy before departing for the Meridian, but she had become unfathomably rich since departing it- Gedra's blessing had helped a great deal with that. She walked into the expansive, cathedral-like building as a crowd of onlookers gathered nearby, blocked by her personal security, and set her eyes on the mechanism which would open the portal to the Ashes.

"It is exactly as you requested, madam," the chief architect assured her as he spotted her from the back of the room. "I still don't understand it. Is it supposed to do something?"

Kortova nodded. "You did a fine job. But the next step requires my involvement." She lifted her hand, eyes glowing bright with neatherine power, channeling the corrupted energy through the gateway until the space behind it began to distort, and reality began to unravel. Kortova grinned as she began to see the towers of the Ashes take shape on the other side, but her grin disappeared immediately as she witnessed the carnage that awaited her. "NO!" she yelled as she sprinted through the open portal and into the Ashes, where hundreds of demonic corpses were charred and piled high.

She felt precisely one presence in the air above her, and her blood ran cold as it set down behind her.

The world has no more use for demons than it did the undead, Anastasia.

She wished she hadn't read Wulfera's thoughts, as now, the sword plunging through her torso and splitting her heart in two was no longer a surprise to her, but simply something she was unable to prevent. Wulfera kicked Kortova from behind, freeing her from the blade, and as Kortova laid dying on the ground, a fire within her body was growing and burning her from the inside out. "I knew you couldn't be trusted, you and all your kin," Wulfera spat. "How dare you try to defile MY WORLD with your FILTH. If the human race has forgotten my power, I will remind them." She turned and walked through the open portal, directly into Constantine.

"I will purge this land of ALL evil!" Wulfera proclaimed, and as she lifted her sword into the air, her entire body erupted into flames which spread throughout the freshly completed nexus and killed the architect where he stood, before blowing the large double doors open into the streets and washing over the gathered crowd. Kortova watched in her dying moments as the Goddess unflinchingly laid waste to her home.

And then she awoke on the Archangel.

---

7th of October, 1919
​
That morning, the ships had still not reached their destination. Breakfast would be served at sea as the Captains re-evaluated their situation. It appeared that their fleet would be spending more time in the Meridian, and that meant that research would continue, and each vessel was likely to choose its own priorities along the way. On the Nixe, Kuromaki awoke in her cabin after a peaceful sleep, totally unaware of the previous night's events beyond their arrival at the unknown island. Stepping out of bed, she immediately sensed the strangeness of her body, as her affliction had of course progressed while she slept. She was smaller and quite frail all over, while also feeling extremely light on her feet. Looking in the mirror, her face had now formed a complete muzzle with an upturned nose that came to a sharp point, and her ears were drawn back and pointed like a wolf's. The fur which had covered her arms the previous day had spread up her neck all the way to her hairline, where it seamlessly stitched together with her original hair, which had also taken on a purple, speckled pattern.

But the thing which surprised her most of all was dangling behind her. A new spaded tail, just like Ishra's dangled behind her. Once again, she felt a jolt run through her mind, as if some portion of it was trying to awaken, trying to ring bells of alarm, but it was immediately followed by a cooling rush. Whatever part of her that was afraid of these changes had been hushed asleep by Ishra's magic. Kuromaki breathed a sigh of relief, and then set about trying to move objects with her mind, as Kortova had done. She held out her claw towards the fur-lined cap on top of her wardrobe and focused, and finally, the cap slid forward and into the air, landing directly in the commissar's hand. She let out a joyous laugh and then began to dress herself.
 
The morning of October 7th was a quiet one aboard the Jackal, as they moved along among the rest of the fleet towards whatever location their fellow Alleghenian vessel was leading them to. The disaster that befell the island they had just left spooked the crew, and Riddle spent most of the night helping the crew move the vessel towards a more combat ready status. They needed to be prepared for anything. Warren spent most of his time, after his awakening at dawn, in his quarters. Writing down all he knew and making a list of those in the fleet that he didn't particularly trust. At the top of the list, the entire Sokrovian crew, and just below it was the commissar aboard the Nixe.

"She looks like a damn demon, Slater." said Warren, glancing to Slater as she stood nearby. She had been going over the Jackal's logbook, making sure to record their daily activities and status. "That or Ishra thought it'd be funny to curse her to look like a goat."

Slater chuckled. "Well, we'll know if she develops an intense craving for tin cans and other trash."

Warren glanced up to his first officer, giving her a look. "I wonder if the commissar's changed any?" Slater shrugged in response. "We'll know soon enough, I guess."

Eventually, Warren sighed and stood from the wooden chair at his desk. His quarters were standard Alleghenian officer quarters. A cot, small metal desk, a simple chair, and various shelves scattered about the small room. Not really must different compared to the other quarters aboard the destroyer, really, beyond there being only one bed instead of four lining the walls to the sides. Slater was standing perhaps two feet from the captain, and she stepped out into the hallway to move out of the captain's way. "Lets move to the bridge." said Warren, motioning for his first officer to follow.
 
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Lieutenant Williams had not slept particularly well over the night, and that was thanks to the collapse of the island. The fathomless pit in the middle had already disturbed him, and when the island went with it as they left, creating possibly the largest vortex seen by man - certainly by his own eyes, as he had seen a lot of curious sea anomalies in the dark, brooding oceans around Sokrovy - he had been more scared for his life than ever before. And that was counting his war service and island campaigns. The Archangel had remained almost frozen in place during the whirlpool event, as the ship had the power but not the speed to initially escape the rushing waters, leaving them stationary until the boilers could be safely warmed up to force them away. One of the ensigns had commented that he felt like those few hours had shaved a few years off their lives from the stress alone, and Williams believed it. His difficulty falling asleep had been plagued with thoughts of if that whirlpool would remain forever and possibly suck in all the world's water. Was that even possible? Who knew. This place didn't care for normal rules.

An additional rum ration was passed around that morning for breakfast. The stress of escaping the collapsed island wasn't unique to just the bridge crew and Williams. Once word had gotten around, there was all sorts of panic, and a fight nearly broke out when some sailors had attempted to throw furniture overboard to lighten the load on the ship. Fortunately, no one and nothing was lost, aside from more coal. Some sailors had a short trip to the infirmary to examine bruises from the momentary mayhem, but all had settled. Rum would be the cure for today and the grumbling from their throats was washed back down by a stiff drink.

In her cabin, Grand Captain Kortova was staring unhappily up at her ceiling, a few stuffed animals - two Sokrovian bears with little red hats, a hound with a great blue bow, and a white rabbit in a checkered sundress - gathered around her like a silent audience as she recovered from a most dreadful dream. She had used her telekinesis powers to bring them and her hairbrush to her without having to leave the covers, and she simply grasped the brush in both hands like a holy crosier. Wulfera. What a terrible woman. The dream was, of course, a dream, and she had learned rather quickly not to put too much faith in what they showed her, despite some granting her objects, like her compass. Yet this one seemed... it was hard to say. Prudent, perhaps. Wulfera wasn't the nice sort and a betrayal from her seemed not entirely unexpected. She couldn't openly defy her because of her strength, but compliance could ultimately only delay the inevitable. What if she was truly put to the task of doing what she had done in her dream, and let Wulfera into this land? That would be scary. How would she know if the demons were being slaughtered while she labored towards her demise?

She would probably need a formal contact with the Great Family. An easy way of being informed of what occurred in the Ashes. At the very least... perhaps she should tell Ishra, even if she could be... overbearing, to say the least.

Kortova summoned a little tiara off of the bookshelf and carefully floated it over and onto her head as she sat up in the bed. It had a few real, precious gems studded into the front of the crown, such as rubies, sapphires, and emeralds. Most important, it was wired and stenciled in real silver. She was already scared to bring it too close, but since she didn't have to actually touch it, she let it sit very carefully on the top of her head. Really, only the front had any silver on it as the main structure was tusk ivory, so touching it wouldn't, or at least shouldn't, have been painful or harmful. The point of this little dress up was to keep Ishra from possessing her like she had last time. Too uncomfortable and no way to have a proper conversation.

Instead... Kortova floated the rabbit and the hound down to the center of the bed, so that her little audience circle was complete. Her sitting up against her pillows, flanked by two strong bears (who were, most assuredly, not very soft, fuzzy, and cute with their golden fur and button noses) facing the other two stuffed animals, the hound with the bow and rabbit in the dress (also, most assuredly, not cute or fabulous as they smiled and waved back). It was all a very serious ordeal.

Clearing her throat, and holding her brush like a royal staff now, Kortova eyed the bunny and the hound. "Ishra? Darling? I know you can probably hear me. We should have a talk. Some things have happened. I met Wulfera," she said openly to the air, and she felt a little foolish. Still, she gestured at the bunny and the hound. "If you can take over me, you can take over one of those little fellows, can't you? I gave you some options. The dog is rather fetching with her blue bonnet and bow, though the bunny has a pleasant dress, with pockets."

Of course, there was the chance Ishra could just... show up normally, potentially, which would spoil her assembled audience and the image of the meeting. She sighed again and waited. Ishra may even be a no show.
 
Kortova watched and waited in silence, and eventually felt like an utter fool. Perhaps her ghostly mentor was busy? Or maybe Ishra was tethered to her island in some way. Whatever the case may be, Ishra didn't appear. Kortova would need to find another chance to contact the naetherial world.
 
Kortova twirled her hairbrush a little in thought. Well, this was embarrassing. Or it would be if someone was watching, which evidently it seemed like there wasn't. She hand an inkling that perhaps these dolls were a little too lifeless to be usable. Considering this, and certainly not wanting to let Ishra take her own body over again, Kortova floated over a small pair of scissors. Carefully, she pricked her finger and dabbed some of the blood on the bunny and hound doll, right on their heads. She really had no idea what she was doing, but a scary ritual with demons and blood crosses seemed... theatrically fitting, at least.

"Ishra? If this isn't working I'm going to be mighty upset that I have to wash these dolls. Again."
 
There were few words that could describe the incredible feeling of dread that Dos Santos woke up with that morning. She spent a few hours, curled up in her bed. Sometimes sobbing, other times simply thinking of what was going to happen to her future. Was she now trapped in Halja's puzzle? Her first impression of the creature was that she sounded rather wise and benevolent, but what if Dos Santos was wrong? What if she was now trapped in Halja's little game?

These questions were eating at her. She wanted to go back to sleep, but she couldn't stop moving on her bed. These damn doubts and... the damn music! She could hear the crew nearby. Someone was playing the guitar to keep their spirits up, but she couldn't stand it. Everything sounded similar to that cursed tune! She got off her bed wearing only a long shit, and burst into the break room. Shouting at the top of her lungs for them to stop. It certainly shocked everyone in the room. And without saying a word, she went back to her room and locked herself in. Crawling onto her bed with her doubts and questions.

Half an hour later, Mancinelli was outside her room. Knocking on the door while looking rather annoyed. ["Doctor, open this damn door right now! You can't just shout at the crew like that!"] He continued knocking for a minute or two, before forcing the hatch door open. Inside, Mancinelli looked a bit surprise as Dos Santos was sitting on her bed with raw aetherine stone in her hand. She looked... lost in a trance.

["W-what the fuck..."] he asked, before approaching Dos Santos and grabbing her by the shoulder. ["Hey! Hey! What are you doing doctor?!"] He began to shake her until she snapped out of it. Dos Santos gasped and quickly pushed Mancinelli away while covering her legs with her bed sheet. ["How dare you to walk into my room when I am... trying to learn how to use these damn things?!"]

Mancinelli looked a bit surprised and concerned as the doctor screamed at him. He wanted to say something but he was lost for words. ["I... just don't scream at the crew like that! Everyone's been miserable since we lost Alvarado. You can't just shout like that when they are trying to keep a bit of hope!"] Dos Santos gave him an angry glare, almost like she was staring directly into Mancinelli's soul. ["The hope you destroyed with your hubris?"] she said sharply, like a dagger straight into the sailor's chest. Mancinelli didn't take it well, but instead of fighting and raising his voice, he just looked down in shame. Dos Santos realized what she just said and quickly tried to apologize for her words. ["I... I am sorry, Mancinelli. I didn't mean that... I... this place is starting to get to me."]

Mancinelli looked up at Dos Santos, and simply gave her a nod before walking out of her room. Closing the door behind him, and leaving the scientist alone with her thoughts and doubts once more. This place was really starting to get to her. After a few minutes alone, Dos Santos left her quiet room. Heading to her laboratory while looking at the raw aetherite stone on her hand. In her lab, she closed and locked the door once more, before sitting down on the ground. Meditating while looking at the stone, and pondering if she could make this into pure aetherine... only one way to know.
 
Flint sat at the desk in his cabin in deep thought. The ship creaked around him and he could hear the waves slapping against the hull as the Terror forged onward at the head of the convoy. Although he had slept soundly during the night, a feeling of restlessness gripped him. Open before him on the desk lay his journal, whose written notes he read to himself over and over again. Everything was noted in short, accurate detail, yet he felt unable to fathom it. How any man could face the events he had and tell of it in such a dull way surprised even himself. He had witnessed things people would scarcely believe in the outside world. Conversing with a goddess, possessing magical powers and artifacts and seeing what was basically a false land mass being swallowed by a abyss that seemed to be taken out of holy, ancient scriptures. And yet, he also felt assured that what he had experienced was not only real, but a fact of life in this forgotten corner of their world.

Flint would have never described himself as a brave man, nor very emotional. If anything, Nathaniel Flint was strictly a man of principles and action. While the world they had left on the outside bickered about ideologies and beliefs, Flint had begun feel a sort of comfort in these oceans. As if he was meant to be here, entrusted with the task he had been given by Wulfera. Although he was still fairly capable and strong for his age, he knew that the Alleghenia he had known was slowly fading in a world thrust into a world of technology and rabid progress. In time he too, opposed as he was to the changing ways, would fade into the ages past. A strange realization, as he had had no such thoughts when the fleet had turned back from their expedition.

He had also dwelt on what Wulfera had said to him and Kortova. The promise of immortality in her kingdom should they aid her. Memories of his god-fearing mother appeared before him, bringing to mind the gospel that the lord almighty cherished all his children upon the green earth. Through his miserable youth, and naval adulthood, Captain Nathaniel Flint had dispelled all such notions of divine protection. The only thing that mattered in life was a mans spirit to persevere and transform obstacles into frontiers. He had seen how the rampant greed had twisted peoples and nations to turn on themselves and others, and wished to have no part in it.

It had become clear to him. Should these so called petty gods, demons or wulfera herself emerged into the outside world, their very nature of all powerful gods would break humanity asunder. He did not need convincing in that matter. The ruins of Altanis were proof enough that such power, while unfathomably magnificent, came at such a cosmic price that no soul would ever be ably to pay it.

He would forge onward. Not to rid Altanis of their failed masters, appease demonic entities or restore Wulfera to the throne.

He would bring this whole rotted pantheon down.


After breakfast, Flint took his place on the bridge to oversee the voyage. No telegram or light signals were sent to the other ships. He knew what he needed to do, but not just if the could trust any one of the others to aid him.
 
An uneventful night was quite relaxing and refreshing for Dobbs as he awoke in his cabin the next morning, streching his arms as he sat at the edge of his bed. Night after night he had experienced such strange dreams that now he felt relieved at having a night's calm rest for once since entering these strange waters. As the captain went through his morning routine and headed for the bridge, he noticed there wasn't anything in particular either happening or going on at the moment. It would perhaps take some time before reaching the next island, so these moments of calm would help to keep moral up on the ship as sailors on board kept themselves busy either through card games or other means.

The mess hall was particularly lively aboard the Prophet, as a few games of poker and bridge were going on at the same time. One of the poker matches was even doing small bets with makeshift chips serving as imaginary cash for use in the game. A few sailors were eating as well, while a few others were reading small literature. At the far corner of the mess, a knife game was being played on top of a wooden barrel as a few men sought to be the fastest without cutting themselves by accident. Although, this more often than not led to more short yelps of pain from some of those who played as they accidentally hit the sides of their fingers with the small blade. Lieutenant Reid was observing one of his pals play the knife game and cheered him on as he went about jamming the knife faster and faster between his fingers. He didn't last very long though as eventually he cut his thumb and stepped back to shake the pain off.

Lonstray in the meantime was busy in the research section of the vessel along with his researchers, slowly focusing on their work to uncover whatever other secrets might lie within the writings and books they had retrieved from Constellar Isle. The pace was slow, but that could be expected as they were dealing with not only an entirely new language but also with whatever they had to translate and figure out in the pages of said books. Still, Lonstray was in a decent mood at the moment as he expected to uncover something new soon.
 
On board the Nixe, Kuromaki had barely made it ten feet out of her cabin when a pair of marines approached her. They curled their lips in disgust at her monstrous appearance and revealed they had been sent by the Commodore to retrieve her. "You are going to be questioned, commissar," one of them said, darkly.

"About time," remarked the other, whom had been sent to the unknown island the previous night. "You and that bratty Cap'n Kortova..."

Kortova flashed a grin that was full of fangs. "What about us, officer?"

"You're a couple of freaks, that's what-" the man replied, when the other marine held out a hand to warn him not to overstep. "...But that's just my opinion, ma'am," he added sarcastically.

Kuromaki thought nothing of the insult as she was led through the ship to the officers' meeting room, a small room with a table large enough for six or so people. At the far end, Commodore Meinhardt sat with Captain Walkenhorst and Lieutenant Detlev, all of them looking somewhat grim. But it was Meinhardt who seemed the worst of the three, with a grayness in his skin and bristling whiskers on his sunken cheeks. He looked as if he had aged five to ten years since the expedition's beginning. "Have a seat, Ensign," he said to her. "You two can leave."

The marines gave a quick salute and departed the room, while Kuromaki sat awkwardly at the chair on her side of the table. The three men grimaced as they noticed how difficult it was for the commissar to locate a comfortable position for her new tail. Once seated, she cleared her throat. "Gentlemen?" she asked, welcoming them to tell her what this interrogation was about, despite already knowing.

They humored her. "Last night, the Grand Captain of the Archangel grew a fresh set of horns. You grew a tail, we see," Meinhardt explained with barely-intact restraint. "Miss Kortova refused to provide doctors with a blood sample. You already refused one, but we are asking you again."

Kuromaki shook her head. "I don't consent, Commodore. My body is my own."

"And you like what you're becoming?" Walkenhorst asked.

Kuromaki smiled. "I didn't say that. But I do accept it, and you will not hear me beg you all for a 'swift and merciful end.' If I end this journey as something inhuman, fit only to live in isolation, then so be it. It's preferable to becoming someone's lab rat."

Detlev glared at her. "Is that what you think this is about? That we want to exploit you? Ma'am, we are not only trying to find a cure for you, but we are trying to prevent similar afflictions from harming the crew."

"On the contrary. I believe it's your crew that wants to harm me. Your marines called me and the Grand Captain 'freaks' as they escorted me to this room. They seem to believe I'm a threat," Kuromaki said.

"That was true before the affliction," Meinhardt countered. "You never tried to integrate with our crew. The way you carried yourself, always taking fervent notes on us officers when we spoke. You made no attempt not to demean us and the Kaiser's Navy whenever the situation arose, and when you had an opportunity to ask us for assistance at the Ossuary Islands, you instead invoked Imperial Authority, as if we would need to be forced to help you. Those are not behaviors befitting an ally."

"If you wish to be rid of me, then I'll happily go," Kuromaki answered, hotly.

Meinhardt sneered. Detlev gave her a baffled look. "Go where?" the latter asked.

"To the Archangel?" Walkenhorst asked.

Kuromaki straightened up and looked the Captain in the eyes. "Precisely."

---
​
Kortova watched carefully, having dabbed blood on the head of two stuffed animals. There was the slightest twinkle or shimmer in the blood, but no life came to the dolls. Within a near instant, whatever it was that appeared special about her blood disappeared, leaving her with nothing but a pair of dark stains. Perhaps more blood was the answer, but Kortova had a strong feeling she was simply making a mess.

There was a knock at her cabin door. "Grand Captain," a messenger spoke. "We have a telegram from the Nixe."

Meinhardt to Grd Cpn Kortova STOP
Ens Kuromaki requesting reassignment STOP
Station permanent Archangel FULL STOP

---
​
Dos Santos focused hard on the Aetherite, and on the wispy blue aura it gave off. She now knew it was the energy of life, and somehow, it could be channeled into an aetherine glass stone. If her theory was correct, then creating such a thing wouldn't require other materials or some special ritual; it was merely a matter of will, if only she could just focus hard enough on it. More and more of the stone's power channeled into her hand as she pushed herself to bend the aether to her will, and soon she began to feel a heat within her hand which began to spread up her arm. She could almost feel a solid object within her fingers, or maybe it was only her imagination. Whatever the case, she continued to press harder and harder, until she felt the heat become a burning sensation and she finally broke concentration.

She opened her hand just in time; a fireball exploded out of her palm and singed her hair, and if she had been holding onto it, it probably would have blown her fingers off. As it was, the skin on her palm and fingers was slightly burnt. While fascinating, it appeared her theory was incorrect.

---
​
Lonstray and his team were already hard at work in their library, trying to decode the ancient texts, but it was a daunting task without linkages to modern language. Eventually, they thought up a new strategy for tackling the question of phonics: each researcher on the team worked with an alternate "cipher" of the language to letters of the Albionian alphabet. They then applied these ciphers to more than a hundred words associated within the texts with images and diagrams with identifiable meanings, in hopes of discovering a link to ancient language. Most of the team shared a hunch that if Altanic resembled any language, that it would resemble the ancient languages still spoken by native tribes in the Platine Republic and neighboring countries. This hunch had been formed before the Prophet departed for the Meridian, and therefore the researchers had access to a small collection of reference books on these languages.

On the morning of the 7th, one of the researchers chanced on a connection between what was presumed to be the word for "island" in Altanic and the mainland native word, using "cipher no. 5." When the team began running other words through the same cipher, they found more connections, and while not every word was the same, there were enough that, by lunch time, they were confident that they had begun to understand the phonics of the Altanic alphabet. With this breakthrough, they began to set more ambitious goals- they could translate an unknown word into the native alphabet, and then attempt to locate that word in dictionary of native language. If they could find a reasonably close word, then they could potentially translate the unknown word. Even better, the implication that the languages were cousins meant that the Albionians had a realistic chance of cracking the grammar structure of the Altanic language much faster than they originally thought.

However, despite all the excitement, all they had achieved for certain is the discovery of a handful of common words. Deep down, Lonstray feared how embarrassing it would be to announce the Altanic language as a sister to the mainland native languages, only to discover that the "cognates" were really just ancient loan words, and the languages differed as much as Alamannian and Ruthenian. He ordered his researchers to remain quiet about their discovery and continue working until more could be ascertained.
 
The implication of such a finding indeed would be embarrassing for a research of such renown if Lonstray did not further explore if there were any actual connections between Altanic and Albionian apart from what had been discovered from their cipher thus far. Truth be told, Lonstray was more worried about his reputation than anything with the discoveries from this expedition coming second to that. While his team had made progress, it was far from ready to be announced to the rest of the world and only doing so at this point if they were to return to normal shores would cast ridicule and doubt onto not only the researcher himself, but also his research methods. That could not be allowed to happen. And so, Lonstray double his owned efforts to continue the research on the books in an almost manic fashion which caused a few odd looks from his assistants as he scrambled about from page to page from a particularly illustrated tome.

In the meantime, all was quiet on the bridge of the Prophet and so Dobbs resigned himself to return back to his quarters and left the helm to his capable officer, Miller, to take over proceedings until something came up. As Dobbs shut himself back into his quarters, he sat on the edge of his bed again in a cross-legged position and focused on trying to improve whatever gift Astrius had given him and hone his ability to do whatever it is he is capable of.
 
The deck crew of the Jackal moved about, tending to their usual duties aboard the Jackal as the destroyer cut through the waves. Most saluted the pair of Warren and Slater, if they weren't too busy with their activites. Eventually, the pair arrived at the bridge. Once inside, Warren immediately looked to the comms officer. "Nothing to report, sir. Quiet morning." said the officer, a man named Harris. Usually a quiet man, focused more on his work than socializing. Warren gave him a nod, before looking back to Slater. Slater had moved over to her usual position, just to the left of the officer at the helm. A blonde woman by the name of Galloway.

Warren would assume his own position, sitting at the back of the bridge in a metal chair. Really, it was more like a bar stool with no cushion. Breakfast would be soon arriving, as they had paused at the mass to check on things. Warren only getting a cup of coffee, while Slater opted for that along with some toast. As he waited, Warren glanced towards the window in the direction of Flint's vessel. He still pondered why Flint hadn't reacted to Kortova's sudden horn growths. It was as if just didn't care. That or she had lied to him to cover up her first lie, and he accepted it. The only other ones in the fleet with sense apparently were Meinhardt, to an extent, and Mancinelli. As he pondered things related to Kortova, there was a knock on the bridge door. In stepped a sailor, carrying two cups of coffee and Slater's toast.

As the coffee was handed to Warren, and he took a sip from it, he began to ponder the other things that had happened since their arrival into the Meridian. Specifically, his thoughts traced back to the relic his sailors had discovered and that he had ordered brought aboard the vessel. The monolith with the large blue hunk of aetherine on it. They had moved it below deck to the cargo hold, as to keep it out of the elements. Perhaps it was time to go look at it again. Maybe the old goddess of the sea, Merphrau, might speak to him again and shed some light on a few things. He had plenty of questions, and every dream he's had since the encounter with the aetherine have left him ever more confused.

"Slater, I'll return shortly. You have the bridge for now." he stated, standing up and drinking from his coffee as he walked. "Aye, sir." she responded. And soon enough, Warren stepped out of the bridge. On the way to the cargo hold.
 
An order was put it to have her stuffed dolls washed. Not an uncommon order, for she preferred to keep her surroundings clean and elegant, but she simply hoped that whoever had the task would not ask why two of the dolls had little spots of blood dabbed on their heads. There were few explanations that would sound good, and so she ignored the matter. For now, she had that telegram to focus on, and she reread it again while on the bridge, dressed and ready for another day of being a captain. Kuromaki wanted to come here, it seemed. That or she was being forced off her original ship and they wanted to keep the ones they didn't like all in one neat place. She couldn't help but stick her nose up at the thought of that. The was as much arrogance among this fleet as their was water around them. She directed the communications officer on duty to relay her response, and it was a simple one -

Request Granted STOP
Prepared to receive party by small craft FULL STOP​

The Archangel would cut its speed so that the Nixe could near and launch a dingy their way to deliver Kuromaki. She had no reason to deny the request, and perhaps the woman could keep her company on the... other matters. While her crew had a strong few dozen aware of the demonic situation from their experience on the vanguard force, it was not enough experience that she could openly talk to any of them about all of it, except for Williams. Who happened to be looking directly at her as he had just spoken and she missed it.

"Could you repeat that, lieutenant?" She blinked. Williams bowed his head slightly. "A senior deckhand has requested a... visitation, captain. His words. He wanted to see your horns for himself." Kortova rolled her eyes and leaned back into her seat, padded with additional cushions that she had directed an engineer to add early into the journey. "I don't think the crew should be entertaining notions of a peep show with their superior," she said, raising her teacup to take a sip. Williams nodded at the joke, expressionless, and went on. "Some of the crew are calling you a skinwalker."

She nearly spat out the warm, exotic tea, and had to force herself to swallow with watery eyes. "I beg your pardon? What... whatever for? Is it the horns?" The lieutenant nodded again. "Yes, I believe so, captain. The fables of our homeland and your transformation have exacerbated the imagination of some of our more creatively minded personnel. I know you are well aware of the legends. I... must admit that, to those not within our circle of knowledge, there could be room for misinterpretation." Grand Captain Kortova stared down into her tea, the surface rippling slightly from the ship's vibrations. She couldn't see her reflection very well in it, but there was a vague outline of her head. If a crewman was so bold to ask an audience like this on such a whimsical request, then that could mean a few things. Either they were in awe, or in fear. And there was little to be awed about when it came to the dark creatures of legend back home. The more she considered it, she found it flattering in a way. If they were comparing her to the pinnacle of danger in myth, there had to be some degree of reverence in there, or so she hoped. Otherwise this deckhand might just want to shoot her before she brings down some curse on them all. Ech.

Fortunately, that did not happen. Williams called in Able Seaman Kalayan, a dark haired, dark skinned native of great Sokrovy. It was no great surprise to her that a man of the tribes had stepped up as some sort of representative to witness her transformation, given that the legends originated with his people and those like him. While so much folklore had changed and evolved over the past centuries, much still had roots in the art of the original people who lived there before the mixture of old Ruthenians and Alleghenians arrived. At first, Kortova was worried the man was going to start a terrible scene on the bridge, but he remained calm and placid. Startlingly like Williams, in some ways, as he kept his face neutral and strong.

"Captain, so it is true," Kalayan said. "Many of us were uncertain of the rumor. I am happy that you have allowed me to see for myself."

"Yes, well, so am I, I suppose. That said, I can assure you that I am nothing like the creatures of the old lore. I'm no shaman, nor have I eaten the hearts of any animals or fellow man," she explained quite levelly, intending some of it as a jest. Kalayan must have been a very direct and serious man, for he responded immediately to the missing third criteria - "Then you have made a pact with dark spirits?"

"I... would not go so far to say that, sailor. It is true that our business had brought us into contact with... spirits, of a sort, but they are not dark in the manner that they are hostile or evil. They are... ancestor spirits of the people who once lived here, long, long ago. My conduct with one in particular has led to these changes."

Kalayan seemed to consider this. "You must understand, captain, that you bear much resemblance to the creatures we shouldn't name."

Kortova wanted to inform the man that such things were, naturally, myth and legend, stories and fairy tales. Camp fire stories. She then remembered where she was, what she had just said prior to him, and that she also had horns. So much for the rational response she had envisioned. Instead, she shrugged. "Alright, so I am, then." The bridge went very quiet and Kalayan likely would have paled, had his complexion allowed it. How taboo of a thing she had just said, and she knew it the moment the last word was spoken. It was bad enough, supposedly, to speak of such things, and here she was claiming the moniker.

"That said," she hastily added, wracking her mind for the lore of these native creatures, "they don't hurt their own people, right? Of course not. In fact, if I recall from the Tale of Yaktatuk, there was one that was remarkably helpful to his tribe. That's me, in a metaphorical sense." She left out the other details that could compromise her words, all the parts about the evil curses, cannibalism, and grisly killings. But that all happened to other tribe in the story so perhaps not. "There is nothing more important to me than the safety of this crew and the honor and welfare of our people. Believe me to be whatever you want, sailor, but I am not bad."

Able Seaman Kalayan, bewildered, bowed stiffly and took his leave when allowed.

Kortova let out a lengthy sigh. "Oh, I do hope that won't end poorly."
 
Heat... heat... heat? HEAT!

Dos Santos let out a loud shriek when she felt the fireball rising in temperature. She was lucky it didn't just blow her hand off. And luckily she came out of it with just some minor burns. Nothing some aloe couldn't fix. Still, as fascinating as that experiment was, she was disappointed by the results. This was her first experiment, yet she was starting to think she might not be smart enough for Halja's trial. She quickly shrugged those feelings off. Discoveries in Science were made through trial and error. A little bump in her research shouldn't stop her from continuing her studies into Aetherite and Aetherine.

She stopped a moment to check herself in the bathroom, praying to whatever God that existed out there that the fire didn't burn her eyebrows. After a few minutes, she was back in her research gear. But this time to finish her research into that 'evil plant'. As much as she wanted to continue her research into the crystals, those samples would become useless if she keeps them in the fridge for long. Hopefully she'll make a breakthrough before she was needed by the other crews or needed in a meeting.
 
The Archangel and the Nixe narrowed in distance until the two ships could communicate properly using signals visible to the naked eye. Kuromaki, now dressed in a borrowed Alamannian greatcoat, looked vaguely human as she sat hunched in the back of the skiff which was launched to meet the Sokrovian vessel. Soon, they arrived alongside the Archangel and the commissar was brought aboard. The marines who delivered her did their best to hide their relief at having gotten rid of a bad omen personified.

---
​
Lonstray would continue at a feverish pace throughout the late morning, finding several more connections between Ancient Altanic and the native languages of the mainland, but fell far short of the breakthrough he was looking for. When at last he began to have a splitting headache from his concentration, he was forced to concede that his reckless pace might actually hamper his work rather than accelerate it if he continued to push like this. A break was in order, and he could return to the puzzle later in the day.

Captain Dobbs, meanwhile, was still trying to crack a riddle of his own: what was Astrius' gift, and how could he learn to use it? He had experienced some success earlier on through meditation, and so he attempted to do so again. He had to remind himself that this process could not be rushed; the first step was to clear his mind of all other thoughts, and simply exist in the world without trying to disassemble it. For a while, he sat in his cabin and counted his breathing. After an unknown length of time, the room began to appear to him in his mind's eye once more. The specks of light he had encountered returned, seemingly more quickly than they had the first time. Instead of reaching for one, he allowed them to trickle and flutter like snowflakes.

They soon began to accumulate. More and more appeared, until the room was swirling with the luminescent particles, and Dobbs remained a silent observer in an increasingly vivid world. Yet deep within, he felt a stirring within himself, as if maintaining this focus was physically taxing to him. He finally decided to reach out, and at once they changed their random motion and become a vortex, pulling their bluish aura into his hand. He closed his fingers around them, opened his eyes, and then released them.

There was a bolt of electricity which leaped from his hand and struck the wall of his cabin, several feet away. Despite the surprise, Dobbs felt very tired after doing this, and had to lie down on his bed to process what he had just done. During each of these meditations, he had fatigued himself pulling energy out of thin air. Was it the work of moving this energy that was taxing? Or maybe he didn't understand it at all; maybe he was the source of the particles, and the longer meditation session had resulted in a larger release. Whatever the case may be, he knew he wouldn't be able to do it again until he had regained his stamina.

That gave him plenty of time to consider the incredible notion that he, a common, mortal man, had just thrown a bolt of lightning.

---
​
Captain Warren stepped down the stairs into the cargo hold of the Jackal, which, while certainly not small, was tightly-packed with supplies for what was intended to be a long journey. He walked down the narrow, winding passage between the crates and shelves until he reached the cargo elevator on the opposite end of the room, which was connected to the top deck and allowed for heavy items to easily pass up and down to storage. Near the elevator was a small space reserved for recovered artifacts, and of course, the shrine to Merphrau. To Warren's great surprise, there were already a few odd trinkets scattered around the base of the stone. Some of his crew had already visited and paid their respects to the goddess at some point during the night.

Having no real idea of how to contact the goddess, he did the only thing that seemed natural at the moment, and knelt before the stone, uttering a skeptical greeting to the deceased goddess. He received no answer.

---
​
The plant materials in Dr. Dos Santos' possession were nearly useless by this point, having degraded a great deal since their arrival aboard the Correntino. At first, she began to pick up her experiments from where she left off, but after a sense of futility passed through her, she decided to look at the flower from a different angle. If aether had the power to alter the flesh, as Halja had so easily demonstrated, then perhaps the mutated and alien wildlife of the Meridian were simply altered versions of mundane creatures. To test this theory, she began to focus on the faint, almost lost aura of the so-called evil plant.

It would be difficult to explain the sensation she received, but one might imagine encountering a series of geometric shapes carved into a tree trunk: the entire object being made of wood and therefore natural, but also indelibly shaped by human hands away from its natural form, and in a way which is immediately recognizable. If one could remove the inscription, it would revert to an ordinary tree, like any other. Dos Santos sat for the greater part of half an hour, probing at this weak aura and trying to mentally "grip" the inscription entangled within the flesh of the plant. At last, she felt it, and with a powerful surge of determination, pulled as hard as she could until a thin red stream of aetherine power snaked out of the crumbling plant and into her hand. When there was nothing left to pull on, she mentally released it, although nothing came out of her hand.

The dry, dead, plant flesh began to curl and twist with an eerie motion, causing Dos Santos to stand and take a step back. But at the same time, she felt her skin crawling and itching, especially around her dominant hand. At the same time the flower began to appear more and more mundane, like a common flower from the mainland, the more powerful the sensation of otherness became in her own body, until a large lump began to form in the center of her palm. Growths on the back of her hand sprouted into colorful flower pedals which tingled with every movement, and new muscles began to tug, twitch and pull under the surface of her skin until a slit appeared from the wrist all the way to the base of her middle and ring fingers.

Feeling dizzy, Dos Santos nearly fainted as the slit opened to reveal a freshly-grown, yellow eye in the middle of her palm, just like the one that had been in the middle of the evil plant's flower. She could see out of it, and was looking at her face through her hand at the same time she looked at her hand through her face.

---
​
At around noon, the lookouts aboard the Terror reported the first sighting of their destination, a very large landmass in the distance. This was no small island that would be easily explored within a day, or even three. It was as if they had returned to the mainland, but they knew better than to be so hopeful. The fleet sailed onward, until they began to see an absolutely massive city, and shockingly well-preserved at that. While there were great stone and wooden constructions, it was the vividness of the colors that alerted them to the fact that they had found something amazing. A painted wall would have been weathered by centuries of exposure, but these looked as if they had been very recently maintained.

As they came closer, more and more signs of life surprised them, until they saw all but confirmation that the island was still occupied. There was a clothesline visible on a high cliff near a makeshift hut, with a few garments fluttering in the breeze.
 
Dos Santos felt terrible about wasting the good samples that Alvarado had gathered for her. She felt stupid for concentrating her research on these Aetherite samples, rather than the organic ones. But while she studied the parts of the 'evil flower', an idea popped up in the back of her head as she looked at the piece of raw Aetherite she was holding before. Could it be that the creatures of the Meridian are just irregular mutations created by others, rather than just creatures that have taken bizarre evolutionary paths? There was only one way she could test this theory at the moment, and this plant sample would prove to be an excellent test.

She concentrated on the dead plant matter for several minutes. It was hard to describe what she felt during most of that time. The more she studied it, the more plausible it was that this flower was altered by somebody else at some point on time. When the dry and dead plant flesh began to curl and twist with an eerie motion, Dos Santos got up and took a few steps backwards while she began feeling something strange on her left hand. While she held her hand, she noticed the flower reverted back to a relative similar flower from the mainland. But that quickly lost her attention as she felt an unnatural pain coming from her hand.

"W-what th...the fuck?" she said, feeling something growing in her flesh. Beautiful flower petals began to appear on her arm, and then a slit appeared from the wrist all the way to the base of her middle and ring fingers. What she saw shocked her beyond belief. She saw herself... from her own hand. There was a large, rather unnerving yellow eye on her hand.

The strangest thing was the fact she could see through this eye as well, and this helped her to temporarily ignore the pain of this transformation. Her scientific and curious mind saw endless possibilities out of this, as she began to look around using this new 'third' eye. She placed her left hand over her shoulder to look at her back. As unnerving and bizarre as this eye is, this was a fantastic addition she could actually have a lot of use for!

Then it dawned on her as to how powerful Aetherine really is. She managed to create fire from her own hands and mutated her own body. She could feel the souls of others. She felt like a sorcerer! It was silly to even thinking about it that way, but she felt young again. Revitalized! That was until she realized that she had a freakish mutation that nearly torn her hand apart. Hopefully she'll learn ways to ease the pain, or simply ignore it in the future. For now, her priority was to revert her hand back to normal. But how could she do that?

She walked around her laboratory for a while, looking at herself through her hew new eye while thinking. Was it even possible to revert this? She remembered that she couldn't even find a way to revert her otter-like mutations, and had to beg the Goddess to revert her changes. But if Halja did it, then there must be a way for her to do so as well. An idea quickly appeared in her mind, as she remembered Halja's crystal die. She still had it in her pocket, inside its small box. She drew it out and looked at it for a while, before looking at the raw Aetherine samples on her desk. Could she find a way to store these new properties in the blank crystal? There was only one way to find out. She sat it on her desk and grabbed a piece of blank Aetherine. "Sorry little hand eye..." she said, while holding the crystal as tight as she could in her left hand. She hoped this work.
 
Kuromaki was directed to a small cabin near the Grand Captain's, a room for an ensign or junior officer that could be spared with a simple cot, writing desk, and bathroom that was closer in size and dimension to a closet than anything else. It afforded privacy, however, which Kortova recognized as an utmost important factor for anyone with status, and in Kuromaki's case, it was unlikely she nor anyone else would put up with her in a dormitory bunk with other juniors. One glance at her new transformations was more than enough to demonstrate that to her. It was distinctly... lupine. Whereas Kortova fancied herself some magnificent buck with a golden antler rack, the commissar was more the shadowed wolf, unappreciated in appearance but the most dangerous at all. Once settled, Kortova returned to the bridge following an ensign summoning her. They had reached land.

"It's.... it's inhabited?" She asked as she took her seat on the bridge. Lookouts with massive, bulbous binoculars were at every window, examining the landscape as they sailed closer. This was a remarkable find by itself, but another question struck her very quickly - inhabited by who? Lost souls from sunken ships, like that old Ruthenian they had on board? Ancient natives who had survived to the modern day? Or... members of the Great Family, perhaps?

"We are not certain but we see signs of habitation from here," an officer explained. Binoculars were passed to her and she could see the city, grand and magnificent. She strained her eyes to make out smaller details to see if there could have been people out and about, but that was difficult at this range.

"We should, uhm... ready the ship," the Grand Captain said. A few glances came her way, wondering if that was an order or a suggestion. Lieutenant Williams cleared his throat. "I believe the captain is thinking what we all are. This sea has proven itself to be remarkable and dangerous. We should be prepared for anything. General quarters!" The alarm went out, bells ringing and whistles whirring. Gun crews ran to their gantries and armored bastions, runners took up positions in the munition stores, the medical orderlies assembled their tools and prepared beds, marines armed themselves for disembarkation or to repel boarders, stokers were on standby to feed the indomitable hunger of the furnace, watchmen gathered at their posts. From the bridge, Kortova could see the two bow guns turn towards the island, the gunners crowded behind the blast shield.

"The lieutenant is right, naturally. I also believe this is an important location for resupply," Kortova asserted, mustering up her authority. "For food and fuel."

Lieutenant Williams nodded again. "Yes, I had thought as much, captain. These people may not have coal and we aren't prepared to mine it, but wood could be a substitute. And food... is hopefully just like food anywhere else."

To the other ships in the fleet, they would be able to see the larger sailing flag of the Archangel be pulled down and replaced with the sleek, smaller battle flag.
 
Dobbs was only able to rest for a certain amount of time before a frantic knock on his door stirred him from his relaxation. "What is it?" he asked in a somewhat groggy manner as he looked towards the door. "Sir! We've spotted land and... and what appears to be a city!" the ensign on the other side yelled aloud in excitement. Such news quickly brought Dobbs up onto his feet, although still a bit weak from his encounter with lightning conjuring, and he made his way with haste to the bridge to observe. Indeed, the landmass before them was much larger than what one could assume to be an island... and there seemed to be something living there. Dobbs was both intrigued and worried as he pondered as to what this implied should the Commodore order an expedition onto the island. Would the natives be hostile, or friendly? Or perhaps they would try to avoid them entirely out of fear of the unknown?

Such a find would also be intriguing to Lonstray as he soon after entered the bridge of the Prophet to observe what the fleet had come across. "Fascinating..." Lonstray remarked as he took a pair of binoculars from a nearby ensign and used them for his own watch. "Perhaps... if there are any Altanic natives alive we can learn their language from a first-hand source." he stated aloud, making his intentions clear to Dobbs should an expedition be launched onto the landmass. What Dobbs didn't know however, is how Lonstray wanted to obtain said source. They will either help, or be forced to help. the scientist thought to himself as he gave off a smug smirk of sorts.

The radio on deck then crackled to life from the ship's watchtower: "Captain! The Archangel is raising another flag!" the ensign on the radio yelled aloud, which prompted Dobbs to move his sights over to the Sokrovian vessel and onto its top. Upon seeing it, his eyes widened in shock as he realized what it was. "Move, move!" he stated as he went onto the telegram to send his message as quickly as he could over to the Sokrovians:

PROPHET TO ARCHANGEL STOP
NO ORDERS TO ENGAGE STOP
CEASE IMMEDIATELY STOP​
 
"It's inhabited"

Flint slowly lowered the binoculars and handed them to Bates, who in turn scanned the large city as it came ever closer. Rourke, another officer and the helmsmen looked to their captain with disbelief.
"It's far to proper to have been left to rot like the ruins we've seen so far. There are even clothes drying in the wind." He said as he returned their looks. The ensemble on the bridge turned too look out of the window. There was a silence as everybody knew what the others were thinking, but no one had a clear answer. Inhabited by who? Flint pondered it could very well be native altanians, rather than lost explorers. If this was their capital, the pretender gods wouldn't have had any problem maintaining the vast powers that surely radiated from this epicenter of their civilization. The outposts they had seen lay in ruin, so it would be logical that the altanians would focus on maintaining the capital and let all else decay, if the events that Wulfera revealed had indeed transpired. Of course, there could be lost explorers among them, or perhaps descendants of such mariners. But for all they knew, this was it.

The Heart of Altanis.

Suddenly there came sounds from the outside, breaking the bridge out of their awe. Flint, accompanied by Rourke and Bates stepped out onto the balcony to ascertain the commotion.
"The Archangel, Captain! She's preparing to engage, bearing guns and colors!" the look-out shouted down from the crows nest. Taking the binoculars from Bates, Flint inspected the Archangel. Battle colors and pointed guns. Rourke seemed more confused than angered, finding the situation difficult to decipher. Flint frowned deeply while Bates muttered something under his breath.
Flint handed the binoculars to Rourke and headed inside the bridge were some officers were waiting. "Helmsman, half ahead. Steer us to the side and approach the city at an angle." he ordered before turning to the officers, "Signal the Jackal to evade in our formation. If that sokrovian child wants to play war, she's most welcome to." The officer saluted and ran out to carry out their directives.

The low horn of the Terror blew a long signal, it's smokestacks slightly puttering as the ship decreased it's speed and veered to starboard. An ensign at the back of the ship waved flags to signal to the Jackal to follow. The low horn had also signaled the crew to assume their stations. The gunners made all their preparations, but did ready their guns to fire. Soldiers grabbed their armaments and took positions. They were uncertain if anything was actually happening, but as their captain commanded it was usually not for naught.
 
Dos Santos held the dull aetherine glass, concentrating hard on auras, just as Halja had demonstrated. If she could move the sorcery from the plant into herself, she should also be able to move it from herself into the glass, storing it in the same manner the otter-like affliction had been stored in the first glass stone she had received in her dreams- which now felt quite a ways in the past, now that she thought about it. As it would turn out, deciphering her own aura was much, much more difficult than that of the flower, and while the latter had only taken a minute or two of concentration, Dos Santos was unable to grasp the mutation from within for nearly ten minutes, breaking into a sweat and becoming exhausted in the process.

But then, she found it. The same vivid "inscription" as it were was written upon her soul, and with fierce determination, she pushed it away from herself, and into the dull crystal she was holding. The glass flickered to life, glowing a dull, sanguine red before turning fiery and bright, and when Dos Santos placed it down upon her desk, she marveled at her once again fully-healed hands. There was a growing commotion on the ship outside her door, and as she dabbed away the sweat from her forehead, she correctly assumed that they must be approaching land.

---​

Lookouts aboard the Nixe immediately noted the Archangel's preparations and relayed the information to the Commodore, who had just rushed to the bridge to see for himself the signs of life along the approaching shoreline. "Verdammt Mädchen! She better not..." he grumbled, turning to his communications officer. "Send word to the whole fleet, now!"

DO NOT INITIATE HOSTILITIES STOP
LOCAL CULTURE UNKNOWN STOP
MORE INFORMATION NEEDED FULL STOP​

The message was hammered into the telegraph, but the radio operator pulled away his headphones and shook his head. "Is something's wrong with the connection?" he asked the telegrapher. "I'm getting nonsense."

"We've got crosstalk!" the telegrapher replied. "Shut up, I'm sending again!"

Meinhardt turned to a petty officer. "Use visual signals, move!"

The young man saluted and dashed out of the bridge. The Commodore knew that it was unlikely that Kortova would actually fire upon an unknown people, unless she actually knew something that the rest of the fleet did not. However, the seasoned captain doubted this and assumed that Kortova was simply over-reacting, and it was causing a minor panic throughout the fleet that he wanted to quash immediately.

As the ships approached the city, the dilapidated but still inhabited buildings took on more and more of a defined shape. It became increasingly clear that this was not the capital of a functioning empire, but rather something more humble. One might call it post-apocalyptic. Despite the momentary alarm throughout the fleet, Meinhardt was still transfixed on the shoreline with his binoculars, looking not just for signs of life, but for movement. Would the people be Altanic natives? Surely they had to be, as even if some ship had wrecked on this shore in the centuries of attempted explorations within the Meridian, no crew, no matter how large, would have been able to populate and maintain the city to the degree that they see. Even with the evident decay of time, the city was clearly large enough to house thousands of residents.

Then, he spotted them: they appeared as nothing more than blurred shadows through his lenses, but the way they bobbed and moved, Meinhardt knew that they must be human, or at least humanoid, and that they were gathering along the crumbling outer wall to observe the approaching iron hulks. The ships rounded what appeared to be a naval fortress of some past era and arrived at a long inlet which gave way to a harbor at the very heart of the ancient metropolis. Now, they could see small fishing boats scattered about the shorelines, their off-white sails shimmering in the sun, and a few wooden craft churning their way out of the harbor apparently under their own power.

There was a channel deep enough to accommodate the fleet. In fact, somewhat unnervingly, Meinhardt realized that a dreadnought could probably prowl through these waters with room to spare. He directed Walkenhorst to ease the ship closer to the channel wall, so that a gangplank could be deployed.

Then, it hit him:

The "people" who had gathered along the harbor wall weren't all human, nor were they all alike. Some appeared strange and monstrous, and others vaguely resembled animals, like Kuromaki and her unfortunate affliction. Some had horns, like Kortova. But equally-surprising, some were holding something Meinhardt would never have expected at all. Men and women, and others who could be neither or both, standing tall in decorated uniforms of their own, held at their shoulders what could only be described as bayoneted rifles- just like on the mainland.
 
"Idiots, the lot of them," Kortova sniffed as she read off the incoming telegraphs, putting more emphasis on the Albion telegraph than the general fleet telegraph that came in shortly after it. "They called me inexperienced, but I'm the only one acting to protocol. I read the manual, after all, and studied it well. Not that it is a substitute for experience, naturally," she added with a glance towards Lieutenant Williams. As impassive as ever, he nodded. "Your scholarly drive suits you, captain, as does your commitment to the welfare of this vessel." In truth, the lieutenant was somewhat surprised at the first telegraph as he looked it over. Kortova may or may not have realized it, but to him it indicated how little faith the others had in them and in Kortova, which by extension went to the crew, his chief responsibility. He didn't think even the most gallivanting of old world imperials would fire upon an unknown native settlement for no reason. The Grand Captain may indeed be inexperienced, but even he figured she wouldn't do something so... ignorantly bold.

"Let them squawk," she went on. "If dragons and wizards and fairies come at us, at least we'll be ready."

Lieutenant Williams eyed the approaching shore with his binoculars. Or cannons, he thought. Roundshot wouldn't pierce their hull but the masts, bridge, and some of the smaller gunports could be at risk to cannons. A people of this once great land, who had mastery over sorcery and apparently death, in some ways, could, to his humble mind, be capable of making saltpeter and expelling lead from a barrel. After having witnessed an island collapse into a bottomless pit and the ocean rush into it, he found himself a little more open to strange circumstances than he once thought. His captain, for example, was turning herself into a demon or something along those lines. Horns. Who could believe it?

Many eyes were on the old, apparent naval fortress that they sailed past. Williams didn't like their odds going against a full battery or more, though he was confident that, even with the limited guns they could bring to bear, their superior shells and rifled guns could put holes into the brickwork outside the effective range of any smoothbore cannon. It was like the turn of the century all over again, the starforts of ages past becoming obsolete to shaped shells just like castles to the cannon.

The Archangel followed the other vessels in along the channel. He was watching the approaching harbor closely as the crowd there began to fill in with some detail. His mouth drew into a thin line. Not all of them were human. Not a problem by itself, but given that there was already likely a gulf of difference between the crews and these people, unfamiliarity of basic physiology could exacerbate problems. However, there was Kortova with her new additions. He didn't know if that would smooth things over or make them worse. The fleet already made it clear how they acted in regards to someone with mutations - how would these ancient people react to distant foreigners? Some did look human, but you never could tell. And the weapons....

"Blackpowder?" Someone asked. "I can't tell, could be. Those aren't spears?" Another responded, interrupted by a third. "How could they have developed bolt actions out here?"

"Same way we did," Williams said. "Don't worry too much about the small arms. Scan the city. Spot any batteries, battlements, or hidden gunports. It's not the guns I'm worried about, its the artillery, if they have any."

At the window now, Kortova looked over the strange new people and noted, to her private delight, some did in fact possess special features. She couldn't hold back a giggle at that. She dearly hoped they were friendly. After all, if she could endear herself to these natives, then that surely put a leg up on the rude and addled minded others in the fleet.

Down in the interior of the ship, in the mess hall, a location marked as a gathering point for marines on standby, stood a dozen or so marines and was shared with a medical orderly who was on station to utilize the room for overflow if the medical gallery took in too many casualties. The orderly was waiting patiently by the door like a bellhop while the marines lounged at the tight, stout tables. Weapons and equipment were lain out and assembled, though even among this group of surely looking soldiers, there was a smaller, third party of men at the far end of the mess hall who got a few charged looks from the other marines. The assault pioneers. A single squad of men with more experience and training than the others, who boasted some steel plated body armor and improved weapons. Submachine guns, foreign imported guns as great Sokrovy offered none to her valiant exploratory crew, rifles, shotguns, trench clubs, blades, grenades, and pistols.

"Well, well," Private Ershov, the flame specialist, said with a long drag on his cigarette. Bundled at his feet was his tank, canister, and the long stave of the flamethrower, rendered inert by a series of valves and failsafes. Even then, the other pioneers sat just a seat further away, as if that would help if the tank went up miraculously because of a cigarette. "Not everyday they get the family together, eh?" The other pioneers responded with a grim laugh that trickled over to the regular marines, which in turn drew a frown from the lone medical orderly.

"Word of advice," Ershov continued, taking another puff. "If shit goes down - don't open any boxes. Trust me."
 
A relieved Dos Santos sighed at the sight of her healed hand. Truly she was starting to make some breakthroughs with her research. Not only on Aetherine and its amazing properties, but also on her own abilities. Could it be that humans have these hidden abilities and they can only be awaken through the regular usage of Aetherine? This is something she'd have to test with a willing test subject. But before she could prepare any further research, she heard commotion outside. She figured out that they must have located new islands to explore. But when she emerged, she was surprised to hear a sailor shout "Natives!" to another sailor down the hall. Her eyes opened wide, and quickly she rushed past the sailors into the bridge.

Everyone was on the move. Mancinelli looked at the island ahead a bit surprised. He never expected the crew to actually find any other human life other than the rare castaway. "I c-can't believe it!" said Dos Santos as she pressed her face on the window, tears falling down her face. "O-Oh dear goodness, this is what I wanted ever since I started my research into the Meridian." Mancinelli and the rest of the crew got quiet, looking at each other confused as the scientist cried. "I cannot wait! I c-... w-what is the Archangel doing?" Mancinelli looked over with his binoculars. "...Preparing guns."

"WHAT!?" shouted Dos Santos while pulling the binoculars from the shocked first mate. She couldn't believe it that they would ready weapons on natives! She was fuming, shoving the binoculars into Mancinelli while looking at the communications officer. "Send a telegram immediately to the Archangel to stop!" The communications officer nodded, but she looked back at the doctor a bit nervous. "W-we can't, doctor...Something's wrong, I think?" Dos Santos looked desperate for a moment. "F-flares... w-where are the flares? We have to stop them!"

"Maybe we shouldn't..." said Mancinelli as he looked through his binoculars again. He looked at Dos Santos while offering her the binoculars, which she quickly grabbed to look back on the island. She could see them, all of the natives. All of them had irregular shapes and body builds. Some looked more like monsters than humans, yet that somehow did not strip the sense of wonder from Dos Santos. It only made her even more curious about these strange men and women, and gave her more reason to stop the Grand Admiral from making a terrible mistake.

"So what if they are armed?! What if they misunderstand us because of that little brat playing as an imperialist conqueror?! We have to stop them!" Mancinelli nodded. He actually agreed but he didn't know of any way to stop the Archangel. "I don't know doctor...We are too far from them to actually do anything." said Mancinelli, while giving the rest of the crew a defeated look.

One of the sailor raised his hand, a man from city named Luigi. "Pardon me, doctor. Clearly this means a lot to you but... what if these natives are hostile?" Dos Santos glared at the man. "There's always a way to establish peaceful relations and negotiate terms. We cannot just go there brandishing weapons and cannons, and then expect them to trust us!" Dos Santos then looked at the communications officer with a new idea on her mind. "Ask the Commodore to let the Correntino go ahead. I want to go to the island unarmed!"

"What?!" Soon the crew began to protest, specially Mancinelli. "I can't just tell the men we going there unarmed to some unkno-" Dos Santos quickly shut everyone off, raising her hands. "I want to go alone!" Everyone looked at each other confused. "Doctor, they could kill you in an instant!" Dos Santos refused to believe that. She shook her head while looking at the communications officer, who looked at the first mate. Unsure what to do. Mancinelli sighed in frustration before giving the communications officer a nod. "...But remember Dos Santos, the word of the Commodore is rule. If he says no...then you are not going, Doctor." Dos Santos looked down for a moment, but eventually she agreed.

DOCTOR DS WISHES TO LAND ALONE STOP

ESTABLISH PEACEFUL COMMUNICATION WITH NATIVES STOP

REQUESTING APPROVAL FULL STOP
 
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Warren stared up at the shrine after uttering his greeting, waiting for any kind of answer. And none came. He frowned. She was dead, so he honestly wasn't expecting much of anything beyond maybe some sort of hallucination or vision. Instead, however, he got total silence. He shook his head, climbing back to his feet. "...Why do I bother? You're gone, and all that's left of you is visions, lingering magic, nightmares, and relics. None of what has been shown to me makes any sense, and its to the point where I don't think I'll ever find answers to the plethora of questions I have. Instead, I'll just find more questions, and potential threats." he said, looking down at the shrine's base. "I still don't even know what you did to me. And at the moment, I don't have the time to figure it out. I have to make sure my men and women leave this place alive. And I have to make sure that Kortova and her ilk don't do something that will get killed...or worse."

He glanced up to the blue aetherine, watching the flames flicker as usual around the stone. He eyed them for a few moments, before sighing. "...I need actual answers. Who is the veiled woman in the garden and why is she dead? Is her master Wulfera? Why are your followers trying to get me to find someone to continue a necromancer's legacy? And why necromancy, a vile, black art? Who the hell is Ishra, and what the hell did she do to Kuromaki and Kortova?" There was growing frustration in his voice as he continued to speak, directing everything at the stone.

He paused, trying to calm himself. "...I refuse to do anything else till I get some form of answer. An actual answer. I will not be lead about on a leash as a pawn in a madness-inducing vendetta between gods." he said finally, before turning about and walking off. Leaving the shrine and cargo bay.


---
​
Hours later...

"What the hell is Kortova doing?" said Warren, peering through his binoculars at the Archangel. "They seem to be readying for combat." stated Slater, glancing to her commander before looking to the comms officer. He seemed to be busy trying to receive incoming transmissions from the Nixe. It seemed garbled, as if there was interference. Someone from the deck crew then came bursting into the bridge. "The Terror seems to want us to follow them in formation, sir!" said the young man. Warren looked to him, before nodding. "Alright, follow the Terror. But I want torpedoes ready." said Warren, looking to the helmsman.

Slater cut him a look. "Torpedoes, sir?" she asked, confusion in her voice. He looked to his first officer, bearing a serious expression. "If the Archangel starts to fire on the natives without provocation, I want two torpedoes put through the Archangel. I will not allow that brat and her loyalist crew to massacre these people." he responded. Slater's eyes widened. "Sir, that's a bit extreme." she said, stepping closer.

"It wasn't a request, Slater. Ready the torpedoes." he said, a hint of anger in his voice. Slater eyed her commander, before nodding. "Yes, sir." Minutes later, the Jackal was following in formation behind the Terror. With torpedo launchers loaded and aimed in the Archangel's direction.
 
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Williams' brow furrowed as a frown crossed his face. He was leaning in towards the crackling intercom speaker, a brass horn still wrapped around the emitter from many years ago when there used to be no electronics at all involved when it was nothing more than an actual speaking tube. The voice of the man at watch on the stern was speaking rapidly through it. Williams requested a third confirmation, and received it, which prompted him to head for the balcony door with a pair of binoculars. Everyone watched him closely, confused, until he returned a minute later.

"The Jackal has affixed us in their sights," he reported. "Secondary armament, torpedo launch tubes." There was a momentary hush on the bridge, then a louder murmur. "But... why?" Kortova asked amid the small clamor. "Are you certain?" Williams strode over to the weapons officer and consulted a panel, and he glanced back at her. "Yes, captain. It is a threat. A threat of death. Torpedoes are not in the same class as deck guns. They may be labeled secondary as our armament, even tertiary, but they have the potential to do the most damage. You don't sink a battleship with deck guns, my captain, you sink them with torpedoes."

Kortova pursed her lips in thought. It was true she didn't know all of the details of this navy stuff or their weapons, but she knew enough, and the implied threat was concerning. Warren must have lost his mind. He was clearly unhinged, ever since that meeting that he and everyone else were only present for to stab at her. Maybe even before that. Was it a national feud? Was he jealous of her? Or was he simply a mad man?

"Don't we have torpedoes, too?"

"Yes. However, they have us at a supreme disadvantage. Our back is to them, captain. We are a prow gunboat. Our armaments are forward stacked, except for our light guns and the stern gun. At our angle our portside cannon can traverse backwards. It is all we can do. Our tube is affixed to the bow," Williams responded. "Well - tell the gunners to aim at them, then!" Kortova said hastily. And so the order was sent down. She got up to look out the window as the gun crew received the message. The men worked the wheels and levers and spun the eight inch gun into position. Their twin, the second and remaining eight inch, remained pointed towards the harbor but without any specific target.

The portside cannon was now aimed and tracking the Jackal.

"What do we do if they shoot at us? Can we get them?" Kortova asked. Williams considered it. "Captain, at this distance, we cannot outrun torpedoes, nor do I believe we could out maneuver them. Even an ice breaking hull will not stop a torpedo. Our portside gun will, if necessary, retaliate. I estimate that we can put off three or four shots before the torpedoes reach us. We could harm them, but they would kill us."

"Then send a message! Tell them to shape up! And have the signalers do the same!"

On the stern, a sailor with flags and a sailor with a flash lamp sent a message towards the Jackal indicating that their line of fire was marking a friendly ship, though other vessels would also be able to see t he flag waving. Likewise, a telegraph was sent, terse and professional from Williams to the Jackal.

Adjust line of fire STOP
Tubes are flagging Archangel FULL STOP​
 
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