Fantasy The Devil's Meridian (Closed)

[Radley]

Flint remained silent for a moment, as he was wanton to do, before responding to Lonstray, "As gruesome as this might be, I'll keep it in mind".
When the gunshots sounded off in the distance, Flint flicked open his piston holster and his perimeter guards aimed their rifles in the same direction. "I think we'll have to speak about this at lenght some other time, Doctor." he said quickly as he basically dismissed Lonstray in favor of keeping vigilant about the earlier disturbance.

 

[joshuadim]

"Very well." Lonstray responded as he took his leave and returned to the Albionian tents. A few of the sailors from the Prophet were sitting around their campfire and talking amongst each other, and the research team had already settled in the tent assigned to them. Lonstray however, had his own tent to himself as he was of seniority when compared to the others and thus settled in for the night in relative comfort.

 

[Infab]

After the brief gunfire and shouting from the Commodore, Warner's group turned in for the night (with only those assigned for watch or patrols remaining out and about.) Riddle's group returned not long after everyone turned in, Riddle making a stop at Slater's tent to hand over the charcoal sketch. Slater would have to hand it over to the captain in the morning, but what she gathered (and copied) from it, it looked rather interesting. Regardless, they all needed rest for the morning.

 

[Radley]

After remaining vigilant for some time after the incident, the camp gradually became more at ease as nothing but the winds occasional howling and the crackling of bonfires could be heard.
When Lonstray had gone away, Flint spent some more time speaking to Rourke, mostly about guard schedules and the up-coming hike tomorrow. Flint knew that the crew he had brought along were all capable men, but after Rochesters mysterious heart-attack he didn't know what other ailments could be expected on these foreboding seas. On the subject of Rochester, Flint had decided not to tell Dos Santos about it, at least not this evening. Doctor Lonstray had already devised some theories about the incident, and he could convey such information to Dos Santos far better than Flint could.
Dismissing Rourke for the night, Flint went into his own tent to get some sleep, but not before writing a compacted account of the days events in his log-book. When he lay on the tent bed he listened to the winds gusting in the dark night. The sounds were something he usually enjoyed, but on this island they seemed to instill a sense of dread in him. Sleep came to Flint eventually.

 

[K0mori]

With the matter of the howlers settled, those who were still awake retreated to their tents and did their best to get a decent night's sleep. It was almost midnight by that point, and, unbeknownst to the non-veterans of the Meridian, the collected adventurers were about to experience dreams like nothing before. The sea played many tricks on the waking mind, but a sleeping mind was a captive audience to far more artistic energy.

Meinhardt​

Settling into his bedroll, Meinhardt felt a sense of relief. With all the others accounted for, he was able to relax, finally. After a few minutes of quiet, his eyes flitted closed and he was out.

There was a loud thump as the howler crashed out of the ruins of Castle Island's peak. The Commodore lowered the barrel of his SMG as the creature rolled, whining in agony as its life quickly faded, down the ancient stone steps and practically to the tips of his boots. Oddly, he didn't feel motivated to document its appearance, as he had always intended. In fact, its form seemed almost too familiar, too mundane to be bothered with. The captains gathered around, watching him work, now, getting down on his knee and drawing his knife. It seemed so obvious, like common sense: he made the first incision from the howler's jaw, down the front, beneath the tongue, ripping through cartilage until the blade was free again, and then he peeled the two halves apart so that the tongue hung lazily from the opening.

Next, now that he had the angle to do it properly, he carved into the gum tissue and calmly extracted around a dozen razor-sharp teeth. He stood and turned to Ensign Kuromaki, whose eyes were the deepest shade of hellish red, redder than the blood dripping from his hands, and yet, he didn't fear her. Her eyes could see further than his own, and while she gave him a smirk that was overflowing with contempt, he knew he needed to trust her. He placed the dislodged fangs into her outstretched hand.

"[It'll be freed from its binding, for sure. But you can't cleanse them all, can you?]" She asked in an otherworldly voice as she walked in a loose circle around him, and he suddenly felt quite alone, as if there were nothing else but himself, the Shinjuku officer, and the corpse of the howler in front of him.

"[I have to try, don't I?]" Meinhardt replied, grimly, as a feeling of hopelessness descended upon him.

Kuromaki laughed coldly, a spaded tail swishing idly behind her. "[Always making the same mistakes... Oh well, as long as you stay out of my way, one day I'll have what I want. For now, here's your prize,]" she said, dropping an ancient coin at Meinhardt's feet which appeared to be made of rose-colored gold. The words, always making the same mistakes, they echoed in his ears. He looked away from the coin and found that the dead howler was gone, and instead, there lied the desecrated corpse of Grand Captain Kortova, whose face was mutilated in exactly the way Meinhardt had dragged his knife. The ground around her shifted and sank, and the body was soon swallowed entirely by the earth.

Meinhardt stumbled backwards in horror, suddenly feeling like nothing more than an impostor and surrounded by enemies. Kuromaki was gone, but her laughter seemed to hang in the air as the other captains reappeared, their expressions grim and vengeful. As they closed in, he dove for the old coin as if it were the most important object he had ever laid eyes upon. As soon as the gold touched his skin, however, he awoke with a start, retching at the lingering sight of the Grand Captain's split and toothless face, and his hand was positively burning where it had touched the medallion. The air in and around his tent was brisk and cold, and from the light piercing the seams in the fabric, he knew that the sun was out.

He ran his fingers through his hair, thinking of what he had seen. Most of it seemed meaningless, and even if it wasn't, he would pretend that it was in order to preserve his working relationship with both the political officer and the Sokrovian captain. Still, the exchange with the demonic woman lingered in his mind. Why did she give him a coin for the howler's fangs? And why did he want it so badly when the others turned on him? He decided that he would need to set some time aside while still on Castle Island to kill a howler, just to put his mind at ease.

---

Dobbs
​

Comfortably nestled in his private tent, Dobbs drifted off to sleep to the sound of a few of his men conversing around the fire in their nighttime watch, the bonfire crackling with warmth in the chilly night air.

​

Dobbs was seated in a comfortable chair in his family's library, an old book sitting in his lap. He rubbed his eyes clear and felt the smoothness of his own face. When had he shaved his beard? As he stood, it seemed strangely... easy to rise to his feet, and all at once he came to the startling realization that he was not the 30 year old sea captain he had just believed himself to be. He was only half that age, and merely a student. He picked up the old tome he had apparently been reading and looked at the picture embossed on the cover of an old sailing ship, its captain heroically standing at the wheel. Dobbs chuckled to himself. Perhaps he had been in someone else's shoes in the dream he just awoke from.

He set the book on a nearby table and looked out the window at the country estate's grounds, and thought about what he might do for the day. He could take his horse out for a ride, or head to the studio upstairs to practice his fencing technique against a dummy. He decided on the latter, and briskly exited the room. For whatever reason, the familiar sights and sounds of his home made him feel nostalgic as he moved to the stairs, savoring one more glance over his shoulder before trotting up to the second floor in hopes of seeing a family member, just to say hello.

When he reached the studio, he found his gear exactly as he left it, aside from the most important piece of all. His sword, a foil, was missing entirely. His adolescent ardor briefly snuffed, he set about trying to find it, but his annoyance grew as he began suspecting more and more that the item was hidden by one of his brothers. Just as he was about to storm back down the stairs, he looked back to his gear and noticed that, miraculously, a sword had appeared. The problem was that it was not the foil he was used to practicing with. In fact, it was nothing he had ever seen in the house before. With its slight curve and wrapped handle, it resembled something he had seen in a book about some far-off land, and when he picked it up and removed it from its scabbard, he was shocked to find that it was a real blade and that it was extremely sharp at the edge.

I could easily kill someone with this...

The thought ran through his mind, not as a suggestion, but out of deep concern. He shoved the blade back into its sheath and placed it back where he found it. Frightened by its sudden appearance, he left the studio and rushed to go downstairs, to find someone to tell. But as he reached the middle of the steps, and thought about the mundane life he was leading, he began to consider the possibility that this blade was some kind of calling, a destiny he had always been hoping for. He turned and looked up the stairs, and there was a towering, muscular figure whose face was difficult to discern. It was a man he had never seen before, and yet he felt a feeling of familial trust. Was he the owner of the blade? He beckoned Dobbs to return to the studio to begin his training.

Dobbs stirred in his bed. It was morning on Castle Island.

---

Dos Santos
​

The doctor had already fallen asleep by the time the commotion began at the edge of camp, and while she was briefly awoken and confused when the SMG had been used, the lack of further alarm allowed her to fall back asleep, her mind preoccupied by what the following day might hold.

Later in the night, she was awoken again. This time, it was the sound of someone pulling at the zipper which held the door of her tent closed. She sat bolt upright as the flap came open, and was greeted by a very strange-looking Platense sailor of indeterminate gender. In fact, the harder Dos Santos tried to identify them, the stranger they appeared in the dim light. They held a single finger up to their lips as if to say "be quiet," and then, without warning, they snatched up the doctor's hand and pulled.

Dos Santos couldn't understand what was happening. The feeling of the sailor's hand in her own was just as ambiguous as the sight of the stranger's face. In fact, it felt like she had somehow been gripped by a dog's paw. She tumbled out of the tent and into the thin layer of slow outside to find that the fire had gone out during the night somehow, leaving the entire camp in darkness. Fearfully, she tried to scramble to her feet, only to find that she couldn't for some unknown reason. Her clothes felt like a huge fishing net on top of her, too heavy and restricting, and when she was finally able to come up for air she found herself contorted in some way.

Only now did she look at herself and realized that she was no longer a human being.

Stepping out of the pile of clothing she had been wearing before, Dos Santos found herself shrinking and changing into some kind of small, furry animal. She tried calling for help, only to find her voice replaced by an irritating high-pitched squeak, and she stopped herself as soon as she began. The strange officer from before then snatched her off the ground and carried her out of camp and toward the beach. She wanted to get loose, and she tried jerking this way and that, but the stranger easily held onto her and spoke in an oddly serene, melodic voice. What she was saying, however, was a complete mystery.

As they reached the water's edge, Dos Santos could only watch and wait as her body was rocked, swung, and then tossed entirely into the ice-cold sea, but as she hit the water she found it not at all unpleasant. Her small size made the shallow water more like a swimming pool, and despite herself she found it more than a little fun to kick around with webbed feet and a thick, rudder-like tail. She was an otter. There was no explanation for such a thing, but now thoroughly engrossed in her swimming, Dos Santos couldn't even find the energy to question it.

There was a loud splash as the stranger dove into the water as well. The doctor swam up, finding that she somehow had an easier time viewing her companion than ever before. They now appeared almost like a mermaid, with a long, fish-like lower body, but also possessed a strangely inhuman upper body and face, although Dos Santos finally recognized them as feminine. She beckoned at the scientist to follower her into the deeper water, beneath where the ships were anchored off the shore. There were a few shipwrecks deep below the surface in murky, dark waters. The stranger held up a finger before diving deep into the shadows and disappearing.

Dos Santos could feel herself needing air, but also transfixed on what was happening. She wanted to swim away, and yet knew somehow she shouldn't. Then, finally, the mermaid reappeared and reached out, and into the doctor's once again human hand, she shoved a small stone...

She woke up in her tent. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the light, during which she simply thought about the wild dream she had experienced. As she went to stretch, however, she felt something in her hand. With eyes wide, she slowly opened her clenched fist to reveal the stone from her dream, a piece of what appeared to be a piece of aetherine glass with a cross-shaped symbol etched into it. It felt warm in her hand. As she spread out her fingers, she found them slightly webbed and claw-like.

---

Flint
​

Having finished his journal entry, Flint was awake a bit later than most, a sense of uneasiness keeping him alert until exhaustion finally took him.

He lifted himself off the barren ground, having been face-down. All around him, the smell of death lingered in the air. The battle had been extensive, and the war seemed to drag on infinitely. But after taking stock of his own wounds, Flint knew that he wouldn't die today, and even if he did, he still wouldn't know peace. He picked his rifle off the ground and kept moving, smoldering ruins all around. It was hard to believe that Alleghenia was truly gone...

Another soldier climbed up to his hands and knees in the distance. Flint couldn't help but raise his rifle and take aim, but the young man waved his hands defensively. "Don't shoot!" he called out, desperately. "I'm only wounded, I'm not one of them!"

Flint held his fire as he limped over to him, but didn't let his guard down. "Let me see it," he ordered him. He watched and waited a short distance away as the young man reached into his collar and pulled out a necklace with a small shard of aetherine glass, but it had changed color to a pitch black.

"Oh, well would you look at that," the young man said, almost serenely. He then bolted to his feet and charged screaming at Flint, who fired a round directly into his chest. The boy was knocked backwards, black blood flying out of the exit wound, but he caught himself and charged again, crashing into the Captain while trying to bite him with gnashing, yellowed teeth. Flint over powered him, knocking him back to the ground before cocking another round and firing into his neck. The living corpse stopped fighting as more black humors flowed from its wounds and mouth, followed by all manner of worms and maggots.

Shaking his head, Flint staggered away from the scene. It would have bothered him more if he hadn't seen it so much lately. He wasn't sure where he was going or what he was trying to do anymore, but nonetheless he kept walking in search of something. An ending, he thought as he searched the horizon. There has to be an end to this.

Behind him, he could hear the galloping hooves of cavalry. He turned and saw the pale horse of death, chasing him, closing in, and he smiled. Could true death have finally returned? But he looked more carefully, and with a growing, almost overwhelming rage, he recognized the skull and uniform, somehow. This impostor masquerading as death was none other than Commander Warren.

Flint awoke in his tent, eyes bloodshot with fury. But seconds later, he had calmed himself, and was trying to make sense of what he had dreamed.

---

Kortova
​

It took a while before the Grand Captain could relax after the incident. Although she was comfortable in her tent, the thought that her guards had allowed... whatever that was to get so close before the camera flash scared it away bothered her. She eventually drifted uneasily into sleep.

She awoke in a large, luxurious bed that was piled high with silk sheets and pillows. Stretching lazily, she looked around at the unfamiliar, yet familiar surroundings of her massive personal chamber. On three sides, the walls were nothing but windows covered in white drapes which gave privacy while letting the light in, and small crystals woven into the seams caused them to sparkle in a whimsical way. The floors were made of natural Sokrovian granite, and polished so perfectly that it formed a mirror-like reflection of the entire room. Her family's crest was mounted on the headboard of the bed.

There was a small table next to her with the day's newspaper neatly folded on it next to a little silver bell. First she took up and unfurled the paper, smiling at the absolutely brilliant photo of herself, in full royal regalia, greeting the Ruthenian foreign minister. The man was kissing her on the hand while bowing very deeply, showing the sort of respect a powerful monarch like herself was due. Feeling energized by her success, she took up the bell and rang it, summoning her servants into the chamber almost instantly.

"[Good morning, Your Majesty!,]" the head servant beamed as he swept into the room, a tray of warm breakfast on his shoulder. Behind him, a pair of young ladies tip-toed into the princess's chamber, agog with admiration for Anastasia as they awaited her near the wardrobe. They stood at attention and waited patiently so that they may have the privilege of helping their leader dress her best on this beautiful morning. While she took in a breakfast that mainly consisted of sweet, baked treats, the head servant discussed the daily news with her, keeping her fully up to date on all issues concerning the crown. The Allaghenian president had requested an audience with her once again, in hopes of discussing a peace treaty, but until her demands were met her loyal soldiers would continue their relentless march southward.

She stepped out of bed into her slippers and walked gracefully to the mirrors and wardrobe at the front of the chamber. Despite having ruled for fifty years, she didn't look a day over 20, and her timeless beauty was yet another reason why none remained who would question her leadership. Once fully dressed, she proceeded through the royal palace, its grand halls decorated with crystal chandeliers, silken banners, and spotless mirrors of the finest craftsmanship, followed by a veritable mob of servants, government ministers, and various clinger-ons who wished to curry favor with her. She had no time for them, as today was a very special day. Each decade which passed brought about a new royal portrait, and today, beautiful today, was the day on which her most recent and most magnificent portrait yet was to be placed in the palace gallery for all to see.

As she reached the entrance to the gallery hall, a huge set of mahogany double doors framed by two stout guards in bearskin hats, she turned to the crowd behind her and began to address them on the momentous occasion. It was at that moment that there was a shout, and she felt herself being pulled aside by one of the guards, who put himself in front of her just in time- there was a loud bang, and then two more, and when she could see again the whole crowd was piling onto a single man and subduing him, a small revolver ripped from his hand lying several feet away. The guard who had stepped in now collapsed onto the ground in pain, blood pooling beneath him from the first bullet. The other two had missed them both, embedding themselves instead in the finally carved gallery doors.

"[Leave him to me!]" the princess ordered, and the crowd parted instantly, leaving a pitiful-looking man, an Alleghenian agent, no doubt, crouched and pitiful on the polished floor in front of her. There was no need for an arrest or trial. Attacking the sovereign was a crime which held only one sentence, and she would carry it out with prejudice. Lifting her hand, she watched the would-be assassin cry out in horror as a silver ring of fire sprung from the stone around him and closed in, engulfing him in a silver death shroud which rippled like the silk curtains. The onlookers stood in silence as he was purged from the Earth, his cries echoing through the palatial halls until there remained nothing aside from his charred, skeletal remains.

Finally lowering her hand, the Princess smiled as her followers broke down into almost religious praise for her and the holy cleansing she had just performed. Despite the interruption, her mood recovered, and she smiled at her loyal subjects. "[Save this man,]" she ordered, and they rushed to assist the wounded guard at her feet. She turned and pushed open the doors to her gallery. She would not allow the distraction to prevent her from enjoying the reveal of her latest portrait, and as soon as she laid eyes upon it, she was in love. There, at the far end of the room, was a massive mural of the Invincible Princess Anastasia, depicted with a burning silver halo above he head and shimmering, angelic silver wings.

She turned around and beckoned those who remained outside in the hall to enter, and they sheepishly obliged. Behind them, in the mirror which graced the opposite wall, Kortova saw herself, and the figure of another woman behind her, every bit as glorious as herself, if not more so, as her angelic features were gold instead. A hand landed on her shoulder as her guiding spirit returned her smile.

Kortova awoke in her tent, tingling all over. Was it all merely a pleasant fantasy? Or could it be a premonition? Her mind reeled.

---

Warren
​

Warren was able to fall asleep rather quickly and slept comfortably.

He was on the deck of the Jackal, staring into the vast gray ocean ahead of him. There were no more islands now, no more fleet, no more countries. Just him, his crew, and the sea. They had argued with him, of course, when he decided they would strike out on their own, but Warren knew that this was for the best. This wasn't about exploration anymore. This was about freedom. This was about choosing his own fate. The skies above were roiling and dark, promising a terrible downpour, but he no longer feared it. Somewhere, out here, he would meet his end, it was true, but each ending is the beginning of something new, it's said, and he was prepared for anything.

There was a great rise in the water, as if the ocean were taking in a large breath, before a giant, indigo creature with yellow eyes broke through the surface, cradling the Jackal in its huge tentacles. It let out a bellow which reverberated in Warren's very soul. He walked to the front of the vessel so that he was as close as he could get to the monster, and, reaching into his pocket, he pulled out an unusual blue lotus flower. He held it up to the creature's eyes and watched as the large sacks swiveled in their sockets, focusing on the blue of the flower. Then, after a long pause, the creature tightened its grip on the vessel and began to drag it downward.

Others on the Jackal began to panic, but Warren remained steadfast and proud even as the water topped the deck and pooled around his ankles. He had finally reached his new home.

He awoke with a start in his tent moments later.

---
October 2nd, 1919​

The weather was very cold the following morning, but most of the snow which had fallen during the night was already melted. The various crews collected themselves on the beach for some morning breakfast and a few updates to and from the ships at anchor. Meinhardt met them there with a cup of coffee in his hand. Kuromaki stood behind him, looking rather bedraggled by a poor night of sleep, and both were keeping their distance from each other. "So," Meinhardt said. "You all may have experienced unusually vivid dreams last night. That's normal, I assure you. But... there is something I've yet to explain. Some of the previous fleet which have entered this sea have recorded dreams and nightmares which have served as premonitions or spiritual awakenings, things of that nature. If you have anything to say or ask about what you dreamed about last night, I'd recommend doing so now, before we get underway."

 

[joshuadim]

As Dobbs awoke to his surroundings, he was somewhat confused as he laid in bed for a few moments. It was all so vivid what he had just experienced, as if it was almost like a real memory from his younger days. And then the man remembered where he was and realized it could be just this... place, playing tricks on his mind as he slept. Nonetheless, the Captain took a nearby pen and a small notepad and began to recount as many details as he could from his dream.

My family's estate... Searching for my foil... Found exotic sword... Man on the stairs...

That last bit caused Dobbs to still his writing and to think for a moment. Just who was that? He couldn't recount the man's face. Nor anything significant about him, only that he wanted to teach Dobbs... to continue training. The sword itself wasn't for fencing... but the man beckoned him to continue honing his skills. But for what?

By this point, Dobbs had more questions than answers and did not know whom to speak to regarding this. So he resigned to write down as much as he could before dressing and exiting his tent. Some of the sailors were already cooking bangers and mash, and Dobbs sat next to them to join in on the conversation they were having. After finishing his meal, he would then head towards and listen to the Commodore. It was relieving to Dobbs that the Commodore seemed well versed in these types of dreams, and opted to speak up: "Are these dreams all unique to individuals or are there common themes among what is experienced?"

 

[K0mori]

"That's something that I've had questions about myself," Meinhardt replied to Dobbs. "During my last expedition, I ordered my ship's physicians to record any anecdotes they received from the crew about their dreams, as we had an account from the 1874 and 1879 Gehrig Expeditions about the types of dreams he and his captains encountered. There are, in fact, a few common themes, and while I don't want to alarm anyone, there are some... let's call them 'images,' which seem to predict physical illness or mental un-wellness. You will know if you're at risk from repeated instances of the same images." There were some mutterings among the gathered crews as they listened to the Commodore's speech, some fearful and others skeptical.

"As you may already know," he continued, "this island and many others located within the Zone were once populated by a culture which was not isolated from the world. Some ancient historians noted a land here called Altanis, and that is where we get the name for this ocean. But more importantly, our best researchers back home have been trying to determine how much of our modern culture and history is linked to this lost civilization. We know that they had a pantheon of gods, and that each god was linked to numerous archetypes that were continuously referenced in Altanic monuments, artworks, and artifacts. The four gods we've been able to identify with certainty are Wulfera, Halja, Astrius, and Nemuro, but there were others. As strange as it seems, even those who are totally ignorant to these gods and their roles in Ancient Altanis seem to encounter their archetypes in their sleep.

"Now I'll get to the point," he added. "Images of the gods are quite common, but each person is likely to encounter only a single god or two during their entire voyage. We're not sure why this happens, but it seems that some people are just more likely to see Wulfera, and some are more likely to see Astrius, and so on. They will often lead you in your dreams, beckoning and such, but if they start speaking directly to you then you may want to seek help. I've read that some of Gehrig's sailors began to hear voices or experience impulses during the daytime. Admiral Stock, in fact, is said to have developed dementia at an untimely age. I find it possible that it originated from his repeated encounters with Nemuro, which he documented in his own journal.

"Images of sea monsters, undeath, and even hell itself have been reported, and these are some of the most alarming ones as they seem associated with an unknown 'enemy' in Ancient Altanic culture- probably some god or devil that the people were uncomfortable recording in their writing and architecture. Those who get a glimpse of the afterlife are, for whatever reason, drawn to it thereafter."

 

[EdwardDewey98]

"Wh...what was..." muttered Dos Santos, as she gently stroked her slightly mutated hand. She was not as prepared as she would have wanted to be for her surreal dream. But she was not scared of it, she actually felt captivated by the small and bizarre adventure she experienced as she looked at the marked aetherine stone. Was it all real? The stone in her hand and her mutation seemed to hint that. Was she led by a beautiful creature to this stone? And who was that? Tales of beautiful sirens and mermaids were common among sailors in previous eras. Even to this day stories of mermaids singing their songs to trap sailors are still heard from time to time.

Did she really encounter a mythical being? She then thought about it further. She wasn't wet, and the rest of her body looked perfectly fine. Her mind was going wild with possible theories, but then she realized one grievous thing. Her mutation could be a spreading condition, and that could send her people on the edge. "...g-great" she whispered, before getting up and dressing again. She needed to talk with the commodore first, not wanting to alarm the Platense sailors who'd see this as a bad omen.

Outside the tent, Captain Alvarado and his sailors were drinking some mate and enjoying a piece of Platense medialuna. Platine people were not known for having large breakfasts, so the men looked satisfied with the sweet snack and sour drink. As they usually did, the men began to sing a few songs. Probably to the annoyance of the other crews. Alvarado sang along until the Commodore approached them. Everyone in the Platine crew stopped singing, but the Platine sailors seemed uninterested in Meinhardt. In fact some were even joking about his appearance as he spoke. But Alvarado listened carefully, as he respected his superior. His attention shifted towards the Platense research tent, when he noticed Dos Santos getting out of her tent while hiding one of her hands. The captain raised a brow, curious why she didn't even say hello, but decided to not say anything about it.

Ana Maria continued walking past some of the other captains and tried to talk with Meinhardt, but Captain Dobbs of the Albion crew asked a question first. She allowed the Commodore to give an answer while she stayed nearby. In those few moments while the captain of the Prophet asked his question, she realized there was no way to hide her state to her crew. She wondered if the crew would look for an excuse to get rid of her not only for being Mazonian but now having a 'curse' on her. She then snapped out of her growing paranoia. She was overthinking it again.

She then looked at Meinhardt as he finished explaining about the ancient civilization that existed in the Meridian and their Gods and asked her question. "Commodore, I have something to show you but I must ask you... were there any reported physical manifestations of dreamt objects among your crew? And... any slight or drastic physical changes? I..." she looked rather nervous, before pulling her hand out of her pocket. Revealing its state, but then showing the marked aetherine stone resting in her palm. "In my dream... I was... guided by a mysterious creature, similar to a mythical... mermaid. To this aetherine stone. In my dream I seemed to change form to a mammal capable of swimming... I believe I was an otter!" That last part she said with a smile, before continuing in a more serious way. "I woke up with these slight changes to my hand... I... don't think it is a spreading condition but... should it be, I will record it in my notes."

 

[Radley]

Flint sprung into a sitting position in his bed, his eyes scanning the tent in a furious haze. The anger, however, subsided shortly after he realized it had been a dream. Regardless of if it were a dream or not, Flint felt positively perplexed about the whole ordeal. He had never been a heavy dreamer, but the events of his nightly visions had felt so real and his emotions so sincere. As Flint pondered the experience further as he got dressed, he found that he became increasingly frustrated by his inability to comprehend it. Everything in the dream had felt so natural and certain, even though he knew the events were definitely not. The sea was definitely affecting him in some ways. Ways the Commodore had conveniently chosen to not mention. Buttoning up his coat and strapping his gun belt on, he sat down and took out his journal. In the footer of the previous days entry, he began writing notes of the dream.

Alleghenia, lost?
Black aetherine?
Warner?

As he jotted down these descriptors, he found himself pausing as he replayed the dream over and over in his head as his brow furrowed and his hand trembled slightly.

Finality?

Flint then sat quiet for a moment, studying his own notes. He was interrupted in his thoughts when Rourke entered the tent and found his captain looking quite stern. "Strange dreams this night, Sir?" he began with a serious expression on his face, sharing his captains confusion and discontent. "Yes." Flint replied unceremoniously, to which Rourke simply nodded in agreement. "I suspect the Commodore will have some insight into this."

Flint and Rourke arrived a bit later than the rest of the expedition, joining the conversation when Meinhardt began explaining the findings of ancient Altanis and their various deities. The part about how these gods could manifest themselves in dreams had him intrigued, but he did not show it. He kept a serious look on his face and remained quiet, and although he wanted to know more about these occurrences, he knew that he would do very little with this information if he could not decipher his own dreams first. When Dos Santos revealed the stone, however, his cold expression changed from it's earlier coldness to curiosity. He looked from the stone, to the doctor and then to Meinhardt, hoping he would be able to provide some explanation to this phenomenon.

 

[Infab]

Warren arrived and stood nearby the group, Slater at his side whom had a cup of hot coffee in her hands. Warren hadn't exactly slept well after the dream he himself had, having spent most of the night contemplating just what it meant. What had caused him to break away from the fleet? What did the blue lotus flower mean? And why had he been so willing to go to his death? Meinhardt's explanation of the known local gods and potential natives intrigued him, but at the moment, he was too preoccupied with his own thoughts to focus on Meinhardt's details. He rubbed his eyes, as Dos Santos began to speak to the Commodore, and eventually looked to Slater next to him. Slater appeared to be preoccupied with Dos Santos' hand as she showed it to Meinhardt, which drew Warren's attention afterwards. "...How the hell..." he muttered softly.

Her hand was webbed! And somehow she came into possession of one of those stones. He glanced to the other captains, then looked back to Meinhardt, waiting for a reply from the Commodore. He needed to ask the man about the blue lotus flower, to see if it had any meaning, but Dos Santos' revelation was a more pressing matter at the moment.

 

[joshuadim]

Dobbs listened intently on Meinhardt's explanation, as well as information about these 'images' as well. Could the man I saw be... Dobbs thought for a brief moment before seeing Dos Santos' hand. His mouth opened in disbelief at what he was seeing and stayed quiet, but someone else didn't. Lonstray had joined in on this meeting and upon seeing the other scientists' hand, he immediately strode up to her to get a closer look at it.

"Fascinating..." the doctor muttered as he let his visage take in the details. "You didn't feel this change occur I suppose?"

 

[EdwardDewey98]

Dos Santos felt a bit uncomfortable, having everyone present look at her that way. She didn't exactly enjoy being the center of attention, but when Doctor Lonstray asked about her transformation, she smiled and began to explain her sensation to both Lonstray and Meinhardt. "I am afraid not, Doctor, and surprisingly I do not feel its changes either."

She began to show her hands motor skills. "Moving my fingers still feels natural despite the web between them, and the claws that have replaced my nails are barely noticeable." She looked at her hand for a moment. The thought of the Alamannian sailor that had mutated into an creature with octopus traits concerned her a bit. "I do hope it is not some type of slow transformation. As... pleasant as my otter state was in my dream, I wouldn't really want to transform into one. However, should I notice other changes I'll make sure to let everyone know."

The crew of the Correntino looked at Alvarado, who seemed to be slightly concerned. His crew however, were already whispering things about the scientist. "...es una bruja, I am telling you." said one the sailors as low as possible. The talks about the doctor being cursed started to spread among the crew until the captain told them to shut up and let the commodore speak.

 

[Emperor Sagan]

Anastasia Kortova woke up giggling, one hand clasped to her soft face as she writhed about slightly. The covers were delightful, but rather stiff for a stately bed, and her eyes slowly fluttered open. Above her was not the vaulted silken canopy of a prestigious bedchamber, but merely a low, rough canvas cover. She was inside of a tent. And she was sleeping on the ground. Oh.

Her bliss quickly evaporated as her limbs grew numb, the smile on her sleepy face curling into a bleak frown. Her hand drifted from her face and back into the warmth of the blanket. She let out something between a hiss and a groan. A dream. It was only a dream. Here she was on some miserable ridiculous island in the middle of no where surrounded by commoners and not back home, ruling as she was meant to do. It took her several minutes to even make up her mind on getting out of bed, though she found her thoughts on the dream to remain remarkably vivid. As if it was something of a memory, in a way, for it resonated far deeper than any half-forgotten dream of power and pleasure before. She had never paid much attention to dreams outside collecting some novelty native dream-catchers, but this one... this one seemed very different. Kortova undid her ponytail that she slept in to keep her hair from getting tangled in the night, and she launched into her slow and methodical morning ritual of bringing herself up to near perfection. Careful, slow brushing of the hair. A light cloth lathered in warm soapy water for her face. Another careful and slow brushing gesture, but this time done on her uniform to remove any lint and dust that had accumulated over night. It was nearly an hour before she finally left her tent where everyone else was already up and about.

A guard was sat outside her tent whittling away on some wood, and he straightened up when the Grand Captain appeared. "Good morning, Captain Kortova. Lieutenant Williams is with the others with breakfast. Yours is hot and ready." She nodded and carried on towards the Sokrovian delegation, sat around a few campfires in the morning light. The crew seemed in fair spirits again as they chattered diligently. A few words caught her ears and she realized that they were discussing their dreams, and then her eyes settled upon a couple of the northern natives binding cargo and fishing nets into... dream-catchers. For some reason that startled her, but Williams was already up and moving towards her. He had a second cup of steaming tea in his hand and gave it to her, which she took mindlessly. Why was everyone talking about dreams?

Lieutenant Williams filled her in on some details concerning the crew as she sipped idly at her tea, unable to shake the fog surrounding her from her dream. She felt simultaneously elated but subdued. Hopeful, but depressed. Perfection had been shown to her and she was so far from it that she wasn't sure if the pain she felt was physical or imagined. So far it seemed she was not the only one who had dreamed such wondrous things, as Meinhardt appeared and they stepped up to listen to what he had to say.

"Some of the previous fleet which have entered this sea have recorded dreams and nightmares which have served as premonitions or spiritual awakenings, things of that nature...."

Premonition.

Premonition.

Kortova twitched, almost spilling her tea, which she quickly brought up to her lips and drank greedily at, ignoring the almost scalding temperature as she gulped it down. Premonition. That explains it. It has to. That was no dream... but a premonition! Yet as the excitement coursed through her, reason counterattacked. How could she have ruled fifty years and look her current age? How could she engulf a man in fire at will? How could she see an angel in a mirror? Perhaps... perhaps those were merely the more dream-like manifestations in an otherwise normal vision of things to come. It was still a dream, after all. Her eyes were wide and she stared intently at Meinhardt as he explained some more on the situation. Lost civilization, images of old gods... what incredible things.

She felt almost giddy and she ignored the curious side-eye Lieutenant Williams was giving her. They both listened in and were, naturally, taken aback at Dos Santos' slightly transformed hand. Kortova found such a thing alarming, but if this could occur from a dream, then perhaps there was truly more concrete results that could occur from these visions. Meinhardt had said as much, but to actually see it in person and not by word or photograph....

When she had a moment to speak, she did. "Ah, Commodore Meinhardt, these Altanis people. Do angels mean anything to them? You know, wings, halos, and the like? With... with gold and silver upon them?" She asked neutrally, holding her teacup with both hands to arrest the slight tremor of excitement. He had spoken of dark things being seen by others, but she saw nothing but eternal, absolute joy and perfection. That said, she didn't wish to dive too deeply into such a personal thing, for perhaps they would be jealous.

 

[K0mori]

Until now, Meinhardt had appeared fully composed, as if there was little in this sea that could surprise him. But the moment Dos Santos revealed her hand to him, his expression changed to genuine shock. "That's... concerning," he finally said as she demonstrated to the others that the affliction hadn't hindered her coordination. "You woke up with that stone in that hand? And you're still carrying it...?" The Commodore was asking rhetorical questions, which embarrassed Dos Santos a bit as she wondered whether the stone itself was causing the changes. Meinhardt sighed, as all the attention the doctor's mutation was getting made it impossible to discuss the implications privately.

"Let's start with your first question," he said, "about objects manifesting themselves. There were plenty of claims to that effect during the early voyages into the Zone, but in more recent attempts, it hasn't been seen. In fact, I regarded it as dubious until... Well, this will be the first time I've had it happen to anyone under my command. Second, as for the physical changes: that's somewhat more common, believe it or not. Changes are almost always minor, but," he paused, looking very frustrated, "usually these sorts of things don't happen until we're much deeper into the Meridian. This mutation might have been accelerated by that stone you're carrying... but I just don't know, this is all so strange.

"One thing that really concerns me," he continued, growing even more serious, "is that there's no real way of telling if this is a spreading infection or not. Any time this has happened on previous voyages, the typical response is to amputate and hope for the best. Sometimes, that halts it, and sometimes, you lose a hand for nothing, or a foot, or an ear... I'm frankly surprised that you aren't more alarmed by this. Let me see that stone again, by the way..."

The doctor showed him the aetherine glass again, and Meinhardt took note of the etched cross symbol. He nodded. "Ah, that helps explain it. This symbol appears all over the Uncharted Zone because it's the icon of Halja. We believe she's one of the lesser gods of Ancient Altanis, because even though she has plenty of shrines, there aren't any major monuments in her honor. From what we've documented though, she was a fertility and harvest god, and more importantly, she took many different forms. And you say that it was a pleasant dream? If that's the case, then maybe it might revert on its own..." he trailed off, not wanting to speculate too much. "Watch yourself, and report anything else that happens, just like you said."

Kortova was the next to speak, and her question was much easier to answer. "Did your dream involve fire as well?" he asked, just to confirm. The young woman's increasingly excited expression told him the answer before she could even confirm it. "That would be Wulfera. We believe that she was chief among the Altanic gods, and is typically associated with the sun itself."

 

[Infab]

As Meinhardt answered the other's questions, Warren finally spoke up after he finished with Kortova. "Does a blue lotus flower mean anything specific?" asked the captain, causing Slater to glance up at her superior.

 

[K0mori]

"I don't know," Meinhardt replied. "I'll have a researcher check the logbooks we brought on the Nixe."

 

[Emperor Sagan]

"Fire? Oh, well, I can't remember entirely...." Anastasia trailed off, though she remembered it very well and quite clearly. Burning a foolish assassin alive for daring to try and topple her. Regardless, Meinhardt had an answer to this query. Wulfera. A rather strong name. Somewhat majestic the more she thought about it. As should be expected, if she was apparently the lead of the other Altanic gods.

"How charming. A sun goddess. Rather novel, is it not? Would there happen to be any texts to read about them? I do enjoy a good read during the dull hours."

 

[Radley]

Flint took intricate mental notes as the commodore began explaining the phenomenon. For someone the old mariner had regarded as a young up-and-comer, Meinhardts experiences began instilling confidence in his abilities. As others began questioning the commodore about things in their own dreams, Flint remained reserved. Although Meinhardt was well versed in the symbolisms of various entities that appeared in these induced dreams, he did not want to reveal his own curiosities yet. The desolation that the captain had seen in his own visions, along with worrisome implications of Warren, convinced Flint that this matter was better left to a private consultation with the expeditions commander. He would prefer to keep his suspicions to himself and his trusted officers until further evidence could substantiate a real threat. Further more, by speaking directly and only with the commodore, the expeditions cohesion would be preserved. The last thing they needed was to quarrel with each other, but if it came to that, Captain Nathaniel James Flint would be both willing and ready.

 

[joshuadim]

Dobbs opted to stay quiet for the most part and not divulge details regarding what he had experienced, for he wanted to learn more about what he had saw before bringing it up to anyone in particular. Specifically, he hoped he could come across said dream once more or maybe even continue it. He wanted... no, needed to know who that man was in his dream. Lonstray meanwhile continued to observe Dos Santos' hand before speaking up again: "Would you be willing to give a sample of blood or tissue from your hand, doctor? I would much like to see it under a microscope."

 

[EdwardDewey98]

Dos Santos was fascinated by the revelations told by the Commodore. Had the University of San Marino done more research on the ancient Altanis civilization, she would have known the meaning of the symbol in the stone. She was so captivated by it she almost didn't hear the commodore answer the tiny lady from the northern crews. "Danke sehr Commodore!" She gave the man a friendly smile and then tried to walk away, only to be stopped by an interested Dr. Lonstray. Who asked for her blood and some tissue. She thought about it for a second before answering with an amicable smile. "Only if you allow me to see your notes and discoveries afterwards, Dr. Lonstray. Us people of science should cooperate more than ever in this expedition."

 

[joshuadim]

"Of course, of course..." Lonstray muttered as he continued to investigate Dos Santos' hand with an obsessive fashion. He continued eyeing it for a few moments before pulling out a small pocketbook and writing down something in a fierce manner. Afterwards, he closed his pocketbook and walked off back towards his own assistants and yelled at them to hasten their setup of the equipment brought ashore.

Dobbs meanwhile decided to speak up: "Commodore Meinhardt, are we looking for anything in particular on this island?"

 

[Infab]

Warren remained silent after the Commodore's response, but after the others had finished speaking, Slater spoke up. "Master Chief Riddle and some of our men found an inscription and carving nearby during a little scouting around last night. Prior to you ordering us to bed, sir." she stated, holding her coffee mug in one hand as she dug into her coat pocket and drew out a piece of rolled up parchment. She unrolled it to reveal the charcoal drawing they had found, before turning it about and showing it to Meinhardt and the others.

 

[K0mori]

The Commodore shook his head at Kortova's next question. "As much as I wish we had detailed first-hand accounts of the Altanic gods, all that we know about them has been the result of detailed literary research from secondhand sources and a bit of inductive reasoning. We know her name, and a few basic facts, but other than that it would be more productive to research previous expeditions' logbooks for dream accounts. Then again, we're set to go further and look harder for evidence than anyone before us. If there are surviving monuments out here and we're the first to find them, then maybe we could make history by translating the first texts about her into the modern world."

Following this response, Meinhardt turned his attention back to Dos Santos and cringed a bit at her rough Alamannian. The fact that she wasn't utterly terrified of her affliction made him worry about the soundness of her mind, but nonetheless he smiled at her spirit and hoped for the best. She was at least coordinating with the Albionian doctor, and that could lead her from mere observation to treatment options in case the affliction began to spread. Dobbs then asked what the crew was trying to accomplish on Castle Island.

"Ah, yes, we have been a little sidetracked by this discussion, haven't we? Our task for today is to climb the plateau and get up to those ruins. At the top, we'll find a large object on a pedestal which I suppose you could call a crystal ball, but it doesn't appear to be a naturally-occurring material. I've seen it before myself, of course, and it looks like it was made by pouring molten glass and other minerals into a mold and then manually sculpting afterwards into a near-round shape. It's quite beautiful, and it serves a purpose. There are a number of large stone tablets near the ball which can be manipulated, and depending on how they're arranged, the ball gives off a beam of light which can be seen for miles.

"That's how we're going to navigate this sea. We're not going to sweep it in a grid, like others have tried to unsuccessfully. There's a lot of reasons why that doesn't work, which I'm not going to get into right now. Instead, we're going to do this point-to-point by following the beams of light, which is how Admiral Stock completed the first voyage. Except, while Stock basically traveled in a straight line, we're going to travel to every point we can reach until we run low on supplies, and then just navigate our way out. This island is the starting point of basically every expedition that's ever gone right," he concluded. "We're going to get up there and decide which direction we'll go from here."

At that point, Slater stepped up with the charcoal rubbing of the stele Warren's men found the previous evening. "Oh!" Meinhardt said with a pleasant smile. "Grand Captain, come look at this," he added while beckoning to Kortova. "That's a depiction of Wulfera, all right, and I've seen it somewhere before. One of the earlier expeditions must have found that same engraving, although I don't believe they took a complete rubbing of the inscription below. We don't currently have a method to translate Ancient Altanic, either, but one of the goals of this expedition is to lay the groundwork for cracking that code. Great job, all of you. Perhaps if we keep our eyes peeled today, we'll spot other artifacts on our way up the hill. As for now, everyone gather up your things so we can take a crack at climbing that plateau."

---
​

By around 10AM, the Expedition had moved inland as well as to the far side of the island, where the shimmering beam of light Riddle and his men had seen the previous evening was now dimly visible against a blue sky. Here, the uplands weren't so steep as to render an ascent impossible, and a worn trail of slightly unnatural looking stone gave the impression that at some point many thousands of years ago, there had been a staircase leading all the way down to the base of the plateau. Meinhardt took a deep drink from his canteen as he sized up the trail. He then turned and gave an excited grin, and quickly revealed why:

"Everyone, out of the three trips I've taken to the Zone, this is the best weather I've seen at Castle. It's going to be an easier trek than I anticipated. I know some of you wanted to take some time to explore, and while this island has been better searched than the others, I'd still like to give you that choice today. You can either go with me to the top, or you can explore the lowlands and caves if you like. Either way, we'll all meet back up at this base camp at 4-o'-clock. Now, who's going where?"

 

[Infab]

Warren spoke up after a few moments. "We'll go with you, Commodore." He glanced to Slater and Riddle nearby, whom both nodded along with the men following them. Warren was eager to see the top of the plateau, and take in the view.

 

[Radley]

Flint had no desire to explore the island. Neither he nor anyone from his entourage were men of science. He was a bit disappointed when Warren came along, as he had wanted to ask the commodore about that in private. Never the less, before anything could be ascertained about Warrens involvement in his dream he needed to remind himself that the man had served with him in the navy for decades. Perhaps he was letting the dreams dictate his allegiance too early and swiftly. He would, however, ask Meinhardt about the black aetherine. The information of that could be beneficial for the whole expedition.
"We will come along with you as well." Flint finally spoke up, gesturing to Lieutenant Rourke and the six armed sailors they had brought along.