The two men made their way through the ship and up to the catwalks. As they traversed the halls, Dorian greeted every crewman they passed. When he encountered members of the security team, he paused to introduce to Vlad, though the meetings were usually rather brief and stiff. Well, at least he’s trying, Dorian thought. In terms of likability, Vladimir had a long way to go, but Dorian was confident he’d adjust to the role of defensive coordinator soon enough. When they finally reached the upper decks and exited onto the catwalk, Dorian found Integra speaking with a man who appeared to be a noble. He had a pressed, dark blue uniform, with more tassels and adornments than any mere mortal should possess, and was surrounded by half a dozen men who looked more like granite statues than humans. He seemed to be dominating the conversation and Integra nodded meekly along to every word he said. ‘Meek’ and ‘Integra’ did not belong in the same sentence, so Dorian was immediately on edge. Who is this pompous jerkass? Dorian thought as he rounded the final bend. But, when he caught sight of the man’s face, Dorian nearly choked on the unspoken insult. Emperor Kaim Asherton lifted his cold gray eyes from Integra to her captain and smiled… a smile that sent a slight chill down Dorian’s spine. “Ah, the man of the hour arrives,” the emperor said, extending his arms in an expansive gesture. He was an impressively-built man, in his late fifties, with hard features and gray streaks in his otherwise dark hair. The crow’s feet around his eyes only made his gaze even more intense. Dorian promptly straightened and saluted. “If I’m the man of the hour, that makes you the man of the year. No, man of the century,” he said, maintaining his easy-going nature, albeit with some difficulty. “And this,” the emperor said, turning his eyes to the Feyfalken’s glass cockpit, mere feet from the catwalk, “is the voyage of the millennium.” His gaze shifted to Vladimir. “Ah, I see you’ve met your defensive coordinator. I have such high hopes for this one. Though he is young, he comes with my personal recommendation.” “Aye, sir, and I know he will serve me well,” Dorian replied. “He will serve Aeternia well,” the emperor corrected. A lengthy, awkward silence descended upon them all. Dorian wished someone would drop a goddamned wrench or something! It was the emperor who finally moved things along. “Well, I have other matters to tend to,” the man said with a slight grin. “I just wanted to personally greet you all before the fanfare begins and to meet the man in charge.” Dorian noticed his eyes remained on Vladimir as he said this. Integra gave him a strange look as the emperor turned on his heels and departed, with the royal guard surrounding him on all sides, like a wall of meat, hawkishly watching everything around them. Integra stepped forward, with her papers tucked under her arm and adjusted her glasses. She appeared unfazed, though Dorian would not forget the look in her eyes a moment ago: fear. “All crewmen are aboard and accounted for,” she said to the captain. With a brief glance to Vladimir, she added, “I saw you enter through the cargo bay. Now that you and your men have arrived, we are ready to begin. Integra Lancaster, vice captain, chief of staff, and head researcher,” she said, offering her hand. “I know of your father’s work. Some aspects of this ship’s substructures are loosely based on the Stratos-Class airships your father designed to fend off the Arcanian excursions of-” “Yes, yes, you two can compare notes later,” Dorian said, gripping her narrow shoulders and steering her inside. “We have a ship to run, ladies and gentlemen." * * * * * The launch ceremony was even more boring than Dorian had anticipated. The stands filled quickly, mostly with nobles, politicians, and dignitaries, sitting on plush cushions, smoking pipes as they watched the proceedings. Holdenheim’s lower class citizens sat on hard uncomfortable chairs on the floor, but most simply stood. It was an impressive crowd for an even more impressive spectacle. There was an orchestra and flag-bearers and snore-inducing speeches from Emperor Asherton and Alexander Lancaster, the men who’d made this voyage a reality. Most of the crew were summoned onto the Feyfalken’s outer catwalks, so the crowd could see their smiling faces. Only a handful remained inside -- the laborers stoking coal into the boilers, a few engineers monitoring the stem pressure, Tessa at the helm, and Integra pacing the bridge, trying not to look nervous. Lastly, the hangar’s curved roof slid open, exposing the crowd to a light drizzle from the gray skies above. The emperor called upon Captain Cromwell to give a few last remarks, but the man’s only reply was, “I think we’ve said all that can be said. Godspeed.” The emperor frowned at the mention of ‘god’ -- a foolish Arcanian concept -- but the show went on without incident. “Yes, may the Design look favorably upon you,” he said as he accepted a bottle of vintage brandy from one of his attendants -- it was probably worth more than most men made in a year -- and shattered it against the ship’s hull, a tradition as old as shipbuilding. God? The Design? Whatever, it’s all the same, Dorian thought as he and the crew headed back inside to begin their voyage. * * * * * “How are we doing?” Dorian asked as he joined Integra and Tessa on the bridge. “Engines are within tolerances. Steam pressure is well within the green,” the vice captain said. “I had the engineers remove the prop-locks and prime the heat exchangers. Is everyone in position?” “Vladimir’s cracking the whip. They soon will be,” Dorian said dryly. Integra nodded. “Good. In my opinion, we are ready to lift off, captain.” “Well, in that case,” Dorian said, taking a deep breath before looking to Tessa, “let’s get out of here before someone gives another damned speech. The helm is yours, Miss Naaru. Take us up. Altitude 350. Heading, due east.” “350?” Integra said incredulously. “That’s impossible,” the navigator said aghast. “His majesty wants us low enough for the people to see us fly by,” Dorian said without humor. “At that altitude, we could clean the city’s chimneys and recalibrate the clocktower on our way out,” he sneered. “Remind me, is this an airship or a parade float? I sometimes forget.” Integra brushed the navigator aside, unfolded a map of Holdenheim, and placed it on the chart table. “Let this be the last time I hear the word ‘impossible’ on this ship,” she whispered sharply to the navigator as she pointed out a route on the map. “We can take Main Street. It runs approximately east-to-west and should be wide enough to accommodate us without rising above 400… assuming Miss Naaru knows what she’s doing.” Dorian snickered.
"What is wrong with you, man?" Yelled the bearded chef. "What do you think you are doing?" "I just hugged you. I think it was an appropriate greeting." Morgan smiled. "Typical lowlife. You think you can get away with anything. Luckily, there is still time to throw you off." The chef scolded. Obviously, he didn't yet know that Morgan was his boss. "I'm sorry. Anyhow, my name is Morgan Lieberman, head chef of the Feyfalken. What is yours?" Morgan fished out his ID, and his ticket, which showed his job. The chef sputtered, still fuming. "You little... Bah. My name is Theodore." "It's nice to meet you, Dory." Morgan grinned, showing a face full of yellow teeth. "You are ridiculous..." Dory rubbed his neck. "At least it'll be more fun than my last boss was, though." "That's the spirit!" Morgan kept grinning, then walked around the massive kitchen, meeting everyone he could.
It took 10 minutes for Christoph to compose himself and another 10 before he decided he looked fit to show his self to the rest of the crew. He may be carrying a lot of baggage but that wasn't something he intended on sharing with anyone just yet. His eyes flickered to the empty lower bunk in the cabin uneasily. It may have been foolish but he hadn't considered the fact that he might have a room mate. He was used to bunking with others from his military service but right now he didn't like the idea of someone seeing him behind closed doors. Despite the minimalist furnishings of the small room they had been treated to a full length mirror which he stood in front of as he dressed himself. He toyed with whether to do up the top button of his crisp white shirt and decided he would go for the presentable look for now He liked to keep his ears open and he had already heard grumblings in the corridors about Integra's comments on some of the crews attire. The top button served an extra function as well as it hid the non regulation pendants and cord necklaces hanging round his neck. Each had its own meaning or memory and helped ground him, remind him of the person he had become and how he needed to act. He slipped the boots on and admired their snug fit but already considering making adjustments to serve him for combat. A small knife holster perhaps or an addition of steel toe caps? Perhaps he could acquire a second pair from engineering, they would probably have those as standard issue. He clipped his belt on and ran his hand along the added holster for his serrated knife. The one amendment he had made to his uniform along with customising his old parachute to be more in line with his new post. He stepped out of his room head held high determined to be the person he was several months ago, not the person he had debased himself to. This was a new beginning, a chance to redeem himself. It was easy enough to find his way outside he just followed the steady traffic of other crew ready to witness the Feyfalken's first official flight. He found himself up on the outer catwalks, staff had a respectable amount of space but it still felt cramped. He ignored the normal proceedings of dry speeches and instead listened to the excited chatter of the crew around him and eyed up the patches on various crew members lapels to try and place what their posts were. One particular conversation caught his ear only two people across from him. "Did you see the pilot? "No?" "They only went and got that bloody Naaru woman. The one that went and got everyone killed on the Infinitum." "Your kidding, on top of the Captain as well? If they'd shared that information earlier I don't know if I would of agreed to this. Problem with people with power, doesn't matter how much they mess up and hurt others they just move on with their life." Christoph weaved past the crew next to him and tapped the two gossipers on the shoulder. "If you have a problem with our Captain or our pilot your more than welcome to get off now while you still have a chance." The two turned towards him slightly incredulous that someone had dared interrupt them or perhaps they were just surprised that their concern wasn't shared. "And who exactly made it any of your business?" The man, an engineer judging by his patch, stepped up to him trying to get in his face stupidly thinking the fact that he was taller would intimidate Christoph. A couple of options flashed through his head as he clenched his fists in annoyance. Just who was this punk who thought he could square up to him? He extended his hand clamping it on the mans shoulder and guiding him back slightly so his back was pressed against the catwalk railing and the man was just slightly over balanced on the edge. "Security and if you want to spread dissent on the ship you won't be staying on it much longer and next time I give you the offer to leave we won't be nearly as close to the ground." He flashed him a toothy smile and then stepped away before the engineer could think up some sort of witty response that he would have to follow through on.
“Captain’s log, day 66,” Dorian said as he paced in his chambers. “We are now two months into our journey and the Sands of Desolation are still living up to their name. Today’s forecast: sun, sand, and mind-numbing boredom. No enemy contacts to report. No developments of any scientific interest. I think it’s starting to get to the crew. No, redact that statement.” He paused. “It has already gotten to the crew. I believe something must be done soon to break the monotony before it breaks us.” Dorian walked over to his dresser and opened the top drawer, where Sheldon was napping atop a nest of trousers. He lifted the turtle out and cradled it in his arms while he fed tiny scraps of cabbage to it and he took a seat before the recorder. “The researchers have begun arguing about the most asinine things,” Dorian continued. “Being shut in the library all day with nothing new to study is driving them mad. Two members of the labor crew took a swing at one another yesterday -- that’s the third fight this week. Vladimir is running his men ragged just keeping order. Last night another member of the engineering crew reported hearing strange noises. I put him on reserve, but that’s the fifth man who has come to me saying the pipes are ‘singing.’ They say the song haunts them in their sleep, but Integra insists it its nothing.” Dorian stopped to crank the little handle on the side of the gramophone. Its needle etched thin lines on a vinyl-coated cylinder, storing the sound of his voice for later playback. “Anyway,” Dorian said, “I fear we will have to land soon. A romp in the sandbox is better than slowly watching my men lose their heads. Even Miss Naaru is irate with me. Apparently asking the best pilot in Aeternia to fly in a straight line for two months is an act of cruelty. I confess I have come to enjoy the times when she is off-duty and another helmsman is at the wheel. It is cruel to see our talents wasted like this. My only goal is to cross these sands as quickly as possible. There must be something out there, something more than this.” With a sigh, he stood and reached for the recorder. “Day 66. Captain Dorian Dyson Cromwell of the Feyfalken, signing off,” he said as he removed the needle and plucked the wax cylinder from the recording device. He stored it in a drawer with dozens of others just like it, laid his pet turtle to rest, and climbed into bed, alone. Act 2: THE EASTERN ENIGMA “You can’t keep ignoring this,” Integra said, shoving the small box into Dorian’s arms. “This is a serious issue and it is only going to get worse.” Dorian shoved it back at her. “For the millionth time, Reina, I don’t care if the crew grow a few ‘medicinal herbs’ in the ship’s hydroponic garden,” he said. "It doesn't matter." Integra scowled at him as she shut the lid on the small box of colorful mushrooms. It was only a small sample of what Vladimir’s men had discovered. “They need an outlet,” Dorian added as he casually leaned on the wall beside the door to the bridge. “It is imperative that they find a better one than this,” she said. While Dorian would not admit it, he silently agreed. “It’s bad enough you let Miss Trayburn host her damnable gambling ring-” “It’s just a card game.” “There is gambling involved,” Integra said coldly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dorian said, studying the rivets in the ceiling. “I deny all involvement or knowledge of this alleged gambling ring.” The rift between him and his vice captain seemed to be growing every day. The funny thing was, he was actually beginning to enjoy her company and perhaps even liked working with her… yet they seemed to argue increasingly often. Two or three times a day, they had to excuse themselves from the bridge, just so the flight crew wouldn’t be forced to watch them bicker. As chief of staff, Integra scheduled the shifts; lately, he noticed they were working alternating hours, with minimal overlap. Integra sighed. “My shift is over in twenty minutes,” she said with a brief glance at her pocket watch. Her tone made it quite clear ‘twenty minutes’ actually meant ‘now.’ “Do what you want, captain. That’s what you always do anyway. Unfortunately, all you want is nothing.” Just as she turned to leave, one of the bridge crew poked his head through the door. “Sir, ma’am, you may want to hear this,” he said, gesturing them back inside. They followed him onto the bridge. Tessa hadn’t moved from the helm, but everyone else had clustered around the ship’s ‘phone’ which was merely a series of acoustic pipes used to communicate between decks. “Excuse me, pardon me, make way,” Dorian said, weaving through the small crowd. “It’s one of the lookouts,” Vlad said as he handed the listening device to the captain. “He’s spotted something.” Dorian’s brows rose slightly as he spoke into the pipe. “This is Captain Cromwell. Identify yourself, crewman.” “Crewman Daniels, starboard lookout,” a voice said, muffled by the dozens of meters of brass pipes between his post and the bridge. “I see dark shapes. I think they’re trees, sir. Distance, unknown. Heading, one-o-clock, off the bow.” “Are you sure it’s not sand?” Dorian asked warily. “A shadow on the dunes could-” “With all due respect sir, I’ve seen enough sand to know what I’m talking about,” Daniels replied, with a hint of annoyance in his voice. Integra had already taken the more active response: she had moved to the viewport, with a pair of binoculars. She tucked her glasses into her breast pocket and peered out. “He’s right,” she said. “It’s a forest. But… it’s dead. The trees are blackened and bent.” “Yes, that’s sort of how it goes when trees stroll into the desert,” Dorian said. The real question is, how the hell did a forest grow out here in the first place? He turned to Vladimir: “ready an away team. A dozen of your best men. You'll go ahead, with wingsuits, and make sure it's safe to land.” He turned to another crewman: "gather some laborers for an excursion. Where there's a forest, there's wood. Where there's wood, there's fuel. Once the security team establishes a perimeter, we'll land and start gathering what we can." Integra had begun passing the binoculars around, since everyone on the bridge wanted a look. Without them, the ‘forest’ was little more than a blackened mass in the distance. Dorian stood beside his vice captain. “looks like your shift just got a little longer,” he said. “Get a few researchers together; we’re going down there.” "The captain should stay with his ship," she said, wiping her glasses with a handkerchief before returning them to her face. Dorian shrugged. "This captain does what he wants, remember."
The boredom was almost becoming too much. He hated to say it but with everyone else suffering and tensions running high it was finally doing him some good. Disputes to break up and drunk and disorderly staff were a blessing to be called out to rather than the drudgery of guard duty. Since they had entered the sands they hadn’t seen a single person apart from their crew, it made for rather dry conversation and meant there seemed to be little to actually be guarding. The real killer was the lack of sport. Never stopping meant he had gone the whole time without using his wing suit. Vlad had managed to keep him largely on the straight and narrow the introduction of sparring between security personal had kept him alert providing the reprieve he desperately needed. While he wasn’t experienced with swords, which had lead to a lot of witty comments about his name been Sabre, he had managed to prove that if anyone managed to let him get in close and past their guard he was a force to be reckoned with in hand to hand or with a dagger. The fights had brought him closer to Vlad’s team and had provided added incentive to remain sober. The third week in had been a dangerous time, the excitement of the journey had worn off while the monotony of guard duty had set in leaving his mind to wander onto darker thoughts and memories. He’d lapsed in judgement once and had woken to Wraith half drowning him in a shower to sober him up. He’d made sure not to repeat that mistake again and now only drank in the company of others. He hadn't confided in anyone else but he could of sworn that he had experiencing the ‘singing pipe’ phenomenon others had reported but he had dismissed it as the alcohol making a fool of him since it hadn't happened again. Christoph gazed out over the dining hall standing to attention inconspicuously at one of the doors. They had stepped up the number of guards around the kitchen lately, it was all very casual, conversing with the cooks, greeting staff as they entered but they were there to make sure that none of the tension flared up in a mass setting. It was very unlikely but precautions never hurt. Another security officer entered and approached him. "Sabre your relieved. Vlad wants you in your wingsuit and combat ready, report to the deck in 15 minutes ready to depart. Your actually getting off this ship!" Christoph almost hugged the man, finally! He thanked him and forced himself not to set off at a sprint out of the room, he gave in to the urge once he reached the living quarters and changed with equal haste and jogged up to the deck falling into formation with those that had already arrived. It was only as he slipped into the formation that he realised just how much of an honour this assignment first. He was going to be one of the first known Aeternian's to enter the sands. He pulled his goggles over his eyes protecting them from the sand that occasionally managed to whip over him the wind wasn't to strong at the moment but it still seemed to carry enough sand with it to be of an annoyance. He'd have to check over his wing suit on the return to make sure it didn't have any detrimental impact. No one was used to flying out here. It certainly was exposed. He squinted off into the distance at the clump of something he couldn't quite make out. Obviously whatever had prompted their call. "Finally. I was beginning to think my suit would have rotted away before we got out here!"
Tessa spotted the black mark on the sands. By her estimate it was about two miles out, bearing east by south east. Maybe. At that particular moment she was struggling to get a good view of it, as most of the crew on the bridge were gawking at it in front of her. She wasn’t exactly tall. To her annoyance even jumping onto her tip toes wasn’t enough. “Excuse me.” She cried out, but the wall of uniforms stood strong, abuzz with chatter and intrigue. “Erm… hello? “Well, I did warn you.” She muttered, pulling down on the wheel hard. The ship twisted down and starboard, groaning under the strain. Everyone lurched to the ground in a bundle of limbs. Tessa stayed upright; she’d been holding onto her wheel. And now that the view was clear she tweaked the ship back to normal with another lurch, sending those who were quick on their feet back to the ground once more. “Much better.” She hadn’t felt more alive on this trip than now. Nothing like a bit of danger from the flick of a wrist. There were a few outbursts made at her expense which she blissfully ignored. If they had listened she would never have needed to resort to that. “Terrible Tessa’s at it again.” One mutter from the leaving crowd caught her with a low blow. She slumped a little, unable to hide the pain the words had caused. Tessa struggled with a whimper lodged in her throat. “I-I… We are just coming up on the forest now.” Dorian grinned as the vice captain fell into his arms. He smiled down on her romantically, but she glared up at him with pure hatred in her eyes. It was one of those looks that said 'I know what you're thinking, you filthy dog. Unhand me, lest I rip your arms off and sodomize you with them.' At least that's what he imagined she was thinking. The truth was probably something far, far worse. Integra shoved away from him and briefly turned her wrath toward Tessa before straightening and deciding she had better things to do. "I need to go consult with my research team," she said and promptly marched from the bridge. Meanwhile, Dorian took a positon beside his helmswoman. Now that they were closer to the forest, he realized just how strange it all was. The trees formed a neat little circle, a mile or two in diameter. It looked... purposeful. Nature was never this tidy. But it was not the oasis he initially hoped it would be. The trees were clearly dead and sunburnt, as Integra had already pointed out. Their roots stuck out of the sand, like the limbs of corpses on a battlefield. There was clearly not a drop of water to be had. No leaves. Nothing green or alive. In a way, this was good: they would make excellent kindling, to burn in the ship's boilers. The onboard garden helped extend their food supply, but this voyage would be over in about a year unless they continued to hunt for fuel. Coal was better, but deadwood would suffice. Dorian's sense of time returned and he realized he was staring blankly at the trees, while Tessa awaited further orders. "Oh, ummm... circle around," he said, with a whirring gesture. "Once Vladimir and his team have deployed, we'll find a place to land." “Don’t you think it’s a little odd? Nature never grows in perfect circles.” Tessa started before pointing at the scorch marks, “Wildfire doesn’t go in straight lines Captain.” She stared at the deadwood with a sense of dread. Some of the scorch marks had sliced the trees in half and even the sand had burned black. Something was off. “I don’t feel right about this Dorian,” She cast a glance at him and spoke softly, “Please be careful out there.” Dorian tried to hide his frown as he turned to Tessa and forced a smile. "I will," he said, oddly pleased with her concern for his safety. "And I agree, none of this feels right... but, isn't that how the unknown is supposed to feel? We're explorers now," he said, proudly looking to the viewport. A sudden idea took him and he whipped around to face Tessa again. "Why don't you come with us, once we land? I rememeber your letters from the south. All that talk of slashing through jungles and whatnot. This is right up your alley." The invitation had completely caught Tessa off-guard. It sucker punched a smile right across her face. “Really? Don’t you think that Integra would disapprove?” She looked back at him knowingly with puppy dog eyes. If there was one thing she had learnt about Dorian on this trip, it was that he always did the opposite of his vice captain. If Tessa had to choose between imminent danger or flying boringly straight on this airship, she would pick imminent danger every time. "If you give her that same look you're giving me, how can she resist?" Dorian said.
“Vice captain, vice captain! Excuse me! Miss Lancaster.” Integra sighed. Had everyone forgotten how to properly address a superior officer? She tried not to look annoyed as a portly man in soot-stained overalls waddled up and placed himself between her and the library entrance. She recognized him from engineering. Based on his appearance, he’d just finished a long shift. “Ma’am,” he said with a hasty salute. “Are we landing? I felt the ship lurch a minute ago and it feels like we’ve changed heading. What’s going on, ma’am? Have we found something? Are we finally gonna head down there and-” When she realized he wasn’t going to stop talking and give her a chance to answer his million questions, Integra raised a hand and the man’s mouth snapped shut, though stemming the tide of words had not smothered his enthusiasm. With some mild surprise, she realized Dorian was actually right: these men were eager to do anything other than the day-to-day drudgery. The mere possibility that the ship might be landing or changing heading had lit a fire under this man’s ass. Even after a long day in the boiler room, he looked eager to help if it meant doing something different. “Yes, we’re landing,” Integra said. “We found something other than sand.” The man’s grimy face lit up and he began to ask another question, but she shushed him again. “That’s all I can tell you right now. Now, go to your quarters and make yourself presentable. Your uniform is a mess, engineer. See to it that this is promptly corrected.” The man was giddy as he quickly saluted and backed away. “Yes, ma’am!” he said. But, as he turned to leave, he paused and said, “ya know, you ain’t as bad as they say. I thought you was gonna tell me to piss off, but you ain’t so bad, vice cap’n.” She reflected on this for a moment, but had forgotten all about it by the time he turned the corner and disappeared.
Trixy held a carrot in her hand, nibbling on it as she took her daily walk around the ship. She'd decided to take a different route this time. One that took her into areas of the ship she'd never been before. As she walked, she passed by a door labeled library. Curious. I have to check this out. Considering there is nothing better to do. Trixy entered the room and looked around. There were dozens of books all talking about the Sands. Her eyes widened in excitement. The Father had a collection of books about the Sands but nothing this extensive. Some of these must have been one of a kind. She stepped inside and began running her hand along books on shelf, reading their bindings till she came to one talking about the Sands before they became the Sands. She pulled it out and immediately opened it up, flipping through the pages and hoping to catch a glimpse of what she was looking for. *** Geof rubbed his brow. It had taken nearly several weeks to get everything in the library in order. It was surprisingly comprehensive, even containing a wide variety of fiction, presumably for the crew. Despite a few exceptions though, Geof was the only one to have utilized the fiction section of the library, and he was already a third of the way through. Nothing terribly interesting had happened during his time on the ship. Two months had come and gone, and he had spent most of it in the library. Most of the books on the Sands he had already read, and he quickly worked his way through anything that he hadn't. There was surprisingly little known about the Sands, and what there was known was disturbingly enigmatic and incomplete, mostly conjecture or myth. The further back in the records one went, the more superstitions and legends were attributed to the Sands, but as Aeternia had grown as a nation and developed its ideas of The Design, it almost seemed as though interest in the Sands had faded, for a time. Geof almost wished that he had access to an Arcanian library, it seemed to him that they would probably have a deeper interest in the sands, and not have dismissed so many of the old myths and legends as superstition. Even if that was all that they were, there is always some truth behind every legend, Geof had learned. He looked out the library window at the expanse of sands, and made a new entry in his journal. He supposed that if the expedition was a success, he could compile his notes into a book, one that was more comprehensive that anything else yet published. But for now, his journal was filled mainly with entry's like the one he was currently writing. Day 66: "More sand." Just as he finished scratching that into his leather bound book, he heard someone enter the library, which he thought was rather unusual, unless it was one of the other researchers, which he doubted (and rather wished was not the case). Much to his surpise though, it was the quartermaster, in all her buxom glory. Geof immediately felt himself begin to panic. Women were not his strong point. He ducked around a stack and made like he was busily doing something as she walked past. He had seen her a few times during mess or in passing on the ship, but never really spoken to her. Frankly, he was intimidated, mainly by the amount of cleavage that she was willing to display. She continued to browse the books, until she got to the section devoted to the Sands. Timidly, Geof peeked out from a corner at her. Trixy heard a noise behind her and turned. A mousy man about her age, with pale skin was peering at her from behind a stack of books. This must be the librarian. She smiled mischievously at him. Trixy had seen him around the galley and passed him in the hallway, but he avoided her like the plague and she hadn't bothered chase him. "You don't have to leer." She crooned, tilting her hip and turning her chest his way. "Why don't you stop hiding already and help me find something." Geof stood stock still for a moment. Then finally said, "Oh... Um... Right. Yes. What were you looking for?" "Well," She set down the book she was currently holding and brushed her hair aside so her rose tattoo was showing. "You've read all the books in here, right? Know all the legends? Ever come across the name Carter Maximus?" Geof racked his mind for a moment. The name did sound familiar, and if he could get past the fact that there was a gorgeous young woman standing in front of him, he was sure it would come to him. "Wasn't he a warrior king or some such?" Geof said after a moment. "Fabulously wealthy, and there was a bit of lost gold..." he trailed off. Then he was moving. He hand along the book shelf, almost feeling for the right book. After a moment, his hand stopped, hovering over a book of folk tales and myths from the Sands. "In here," he said and started flipping. A moment later he stopped on a page that was illustrated with a picture of a dashing looking man of the desert standing on top of a pile of gold with a great spire rising behind him. "This your man?" he asked, showing the book to Trixy. "Wow." She breathed taking it in her hand. Her flirtatiousness was replaced by a serious eagerness. "This is incredible." She flipped through the pages like an eager school girl, interrupted only by the feeling of the ship shifting. She closed it up and held it close to her chest with a bright and real smile. "Can I keep this for a bit?" Geof literally felt like the wind was knocked out of his lungs as the girl smiled. "Um, I mean... Sure, yes... Just make sure to bring it back eventually..." he stammered. "I'm Geof by the way, Geoffrey Avrin." He wasn't sure what to do next, but then he felt a subtle change in the floor, and looked out the window. "Are we landing?" he asked, as the sand below seemed to be growing closer. "I don't know. I'll go..." She stopped mid-sentence as she nearly ran into the vice-captain. "Ah, Mistress Lancaster." Trixy says with a cheeky smile. "You look as cheerful as usual. Tell me, are you still sleeping alone? I have some good suggestions if you are."
"Okay boys this ship's coming down and we should have been on the ground ten minutes ago! Move! Wingsuits and binoculars are a must! I want six gunmen and six swords!" Vladimir yelled as he burst into the barracks, startling several men out of their sleep as he snatched on his own wing-suit and blades. His in particular was a different kind -bearing reflective materials on the back so he could signal the ship with a series of flashes using the sunlight. If there was a threat, three flashes, if it was all clear, one, and if something was off it was two. But by what he had seen below them, Vlad figured he didn't even need to use the two flashes. "The rest are to guard the ship. I want half of you standing in a wide circle around it, the other half at all exits. If I find out even one of you was out of place you are going to be stuck inside this ship for the rest of the trip." He had to add that, even if he got a few glares in turn. But at least they were doing something different. Vlad wasn't sure how long he would have been able to keep his own men from mutinying, let alone handling all the others on board. Zipping up his suit, Vlad clapped a hand down on a cloak and stuffed that into the small pack in the back. he could burn up himself in under five minutes with his complexion, and he didn't mean that for vanity. Sometimes being albino is more of a pain than it's worth.Gritting his teeth, Vladimir yelled again for the men to be ready then headed for the upper deck. Then he spied one of the others -Christoph Sabre he remembered. "Sabre, we'll be splitting into two teams in case of issues. I want you to lead the other half of the team." With that, he added one more man to make the teams even. Six men each -three swords three guns. Each was highly trained in their skill, and had remained sharp under his watch. Vladimir doubted that much could take out this unit, now that they knew each other as well and how to cover each other's weak points. "Let's go!" Christoph couldn't believe it. Vlad was actually entrusting him with his own unit on their first excursion. He had always assumed one of Vlad's original team would have that privilege. "Yes Sir!" Over the last month he'd earnt Vlad's respect and knew him on a first name basis but whilst on duty in front of others he insisted on keeping it formal. He stepped out from the ranks and turned to address his team. "Okay men remember what we discussed. This is new ground whatever you see call it out, I don't care how benign the wildlife looks we don't understand it and until we do we deem it as a possible threat. Watch out for any of the local fauna. Just because back in Aeteria it's harmless we shouldn't presume that applies here. Try to stay close on the descent but we're adopt a loose formation when we land." While their sources were unreliable on what exactly lurked in the sand his mind couldn't help but think of the stories of 15 foot sand worms that could spring out of the sand. As they lowered their altitude he tried to watch the sands for any sign of life or suspicious movements of sand. He was sure it would be fine, so far everything, with the exception of these trees, had just been sand. Boredom aside it was best for the team it stayed that way right now. Vladimir nodded in agreement with Christoph. Then he stabbed a hand skyward and spread the membrane of his wingsuit. The pull of the breeze nearly pulled him off the edge, but his feet remained planted, and then with a signal, every man lined up, wings spread. "Dive!" he yelled, and then cast himself into empty space. The hot wind burned his skin right off the bat, and Vladimir struggled to see clearly even despite the goggles. Glancing to his left, he caught sight of the rest of his team, and then Sabre's as they took off. All was going to plan at the moment at least. Looking back down, Vlad tilted to the right slightly and headed for the edge of the forest. They could group up there and then head inward, covering as much ground as possible in their search. But as he looked down upon it, something strange caught his eye. Dark mounds lay further from the edge of the forest -not within the circle and scattered about in an unorganized manner. He couldn't see clearly enough as to what they were, but they definetly weren't moving. "And if you find anything... strange, make sure you are the one who keeps it." the voice, echoing out of memory, made Vlad shiver. They were getting closer to the ground now, within parachute range. Vlad sucked in a breath to draw what courage he had left and dove for the nearest mound, pulling on the chute. But he hadn't anticipated the wind. As soon as the chute opened, he was jerked to one side as violently as a dog shaking a meat bone. He couldn't help the shout of alarm, and watched as a quicker member of his team dove dangerously close in an attempt to grab hold and right his flight-path, but the gale dragged him away and into the forest. "Land with Sabre! Land with Sabre!" he yelled. Christoph cursed under his breath as he watched Vlad shoot off course and one of the team nearly crash into him. Sand scratched the back of his throat and he immediately regretted opening his mouth. The wind seemed to have picked up and the sand swirled below them. He put himself into a steeper dive to try and reduce the distance between his group and Vlad's that was now left without direction. He hated leaving his commander out of the way on his own but he couldn't break ranks when he was leading a group. Any commands that had been given were lost over the wind but he hoped the others would pick up on what happened to Vlad and leave pulling their parachute to the last minute to try to minimize any disturbance to his flight path. He pulled earlier than he could of but didn't want any less skilled wingsuits trying to follow his more reckless example and injuring themselves. The wind caught him but the disturbance was minimal setting him down about five minutes walk from the woods. The impact with the ground was better than what he was used to, the sand resisted but had just enough give to ease some of the usual strain you put your body through. He quickly surveyed the area and set about storing his parachute as the rest of the team formed up or jogged over hugging their chutes. Three of Vlad's squad had already stashed their chutes and were looking to him for direction. "You two cover us while the others pack." He pointed to the third man "And you quickly help that guy over there. Call me over if he's injured." He pointed to one of the crew that had gotten tangled in his chute on landing and was trying to fight his way out of it. What the hell are you doing all the way over there Vlad, he wondered. That was more than just the winds fault wasn't it?
With a sigh of annoyance, Integra entered the library, where she hoped to find at least a few members of the research division. There were about half a dozen laboratories on board, but the library was sort of the de facto hang out spot for self-declared geniuses. To her disappointment, she found only Geof and --ugh-- the quartermaster. "Are we landing?" Geof asked Miss Trayburn. Neither seemed to notice Integra had entered yet. "I don't know. I'll go..." The other woman stopped mid-sentence as she turned and nearly collided with the vice-captain. Integra took a half step back, because standing chin-to-cleavage with the woman felt more than a little degrading. "Ah, Mistress Lancaster." Trixy said with a cheeky smile. "You look as cheerful as usual. Tell me, are you still sleeping alone? I have some good suggestions if you are." “I keep my own counsel,” Integra said calmly. “Your concern is duly noted, Miss Trayburn, but if I have any sleep-related issues, I will consult the ship’s physician, not the quartermaster.” Her gaze zeroed in on Trixy’s eyes; the look was far harsher than the tone she used. “Unless you’re implying you have some items in your inventory that can help in this capacity? No, of course not. That would be contraband.” She promptly turned to Geof and pretended Trixy no longer existed. “To answer your question, Mr. Avrin, yes, we are landing. I have need of you. Actually…” her eyes briefly shifted to Miss Trayburn, “I have need of you both.”
The Feyfalken soared majestically through the air, cutting the low clouds like butter. The black forest, as many of the crew were ominously calling it, sat in the distance on top of the Sands of Desolation; a stab wound its golden skin. The security team had wing-jumped off the catwalks safely and poured into sands surrounding the black forest, while the rest had prepped themselves in the cargo hold. Dorian waited with Tessa at the bridge as she brought the Feyfalken in to land. Tessa drove the ship low and swift, gliding it down smoothly along the wind. Sand swirled around it as the ship swept across the land, pouring the gold dust through the catwalks. Within moments Tessa had nestled it by the black forest, but was cautious; she kept the ship a good mile away from the edge of the burnt circle. “Ensign, take over.” She handed the controls to 2nd Helmsman George Pickers and made her way with Dorian to the cargo hold.
“To answer your question, Mr. Avrin, yes, we are landing. I have need of you. Actually…” her eyes briefly shifted to Miss Trayburn, “I have need of you both.” Geof's eyes lit up when he heard the vice-captain's words. "What can I do to be of service ma'am?" he asked. After the first month, he had lost his constant fear of the Vice-captain. She was cold and demanding, but he saw in her a desire for knowledge lacking in most. But he still respected her authority, and her capacity for anger. "We are landing to investigate some local flora. You will assist me. I came here with the intention of putting together a full-sized team of researchers, but, honesty, how many geniuses does it take to collect samples and scribble down a few notes?" Integra said. "The two of us will suffice. Unless, of course, you don't wish to accompany me. I will understand if you choose to remain aboard. "I, um... well. Flora is not my area of expertise, ma'am. But I will happily accompany you... I came on this expedition to see the Sands, and not only from above. What do I need?" Geof replied. Integra still had a lot to learn about her crewmates. His enthusiasm came as a surprise, though it didn’t show. Geof did not seem like the type of man who would ‘happily’ take part in field research. She thought he would be more at home in the library, where everything was neatly categorized and predictable. “Hmmm… I thought you were a shut-in, a man of theory, not practice. I see I misjudged you,” she confessed and immediately went straight back to business without missing a beat. “There are field research kits in the cargo bay with everything we need. They were never unpacked, on account of us having no need of them… until now.” The vice captain turned to the other woman: “As for you, Miss Trayburn, I have a special assignment, which caters to your unique… talents. I have noticed that, for some absurd reason, the males aboard this ship are unusually… how do I say this… unusually ‘responsive’ to your whims.” Her eyes gave Trixy a quick once over, from head to toe and back again. “Charisma is a valuable trait in times like these. If I could overlook your many other glaring shortcomings, I might actually consider you for a leadership position. But, alas, I cannot.” Integra adjusted her glasses and lightly cleared her throat before continuing: “Anyway, beneath us right now is a gold mine of dry deadwood, the kind that burns easily and can keep our boilers alight for weeks. I want at least half a ton of that wood on this ship within the hour and I want you to put together a labor force to do it. Gather as many men and axes as you can and set up an ad hoc logging operation. I trust you have the managerial experience and the social gravitas to properly execute this assignment. Do not disappoint me, Miss Trayburn.” Trixy smiled. "Oh I would never want to disappoint you, Madam." She curtsied and then trotted away to gather the men needed. Geof looked from Trixe to Integra, then gave a small smile. "I will go get ready as well. I appreciate the opportunity ma'am," he said. Then he slung his messenger bag over his shoulder, made sure he had a pen and his journal, and then left the library for the cargo bay.
Dorian strutted down the hall, with Tessa by his side. As usual, he had a pistol on one hip and his trusty rapier on the other. In Tessa’s hands was one of his old rifles, a personal favorite that he’d calibrated himself. He swore it could put a round between an ant’s antennae from a thousand yards away. Needless to say, she didn’t believe him, but it was still a good gun nonetheless. He’d taken her to his quarters to get a pistol for her from his collection, but she opted for the rifle instead. Personally, he doubted weapons would be necessary on this little excursion, but Tessa seemed to think otherwise. He knew she could shoot, so giving her a weapon didn’t bother him in the slightest. And maybe there was a small part of him that wanted to take her to his quarters, just to see how she looked in that setting. Contrary to some of the rumors floating around, Dorian’s bedchamber had been visited by very few people. He’d been a good boy thus far. Integra had been inside once or twice, usually to slap a report on his desk or tell him he was late for his shift, but she always hovered near the door, as if ready to flee at a moment’s notice. What a strange woman. Anyway, after presenting his rifle to Tessa, they headed to the cargo bay together. It was the single largest room on the ship, but the maze of shipping crates masked its true size. They descended a flight of iron steps and walked through rows and rows of numbered crates, arranged in a grid, until they reached the front of the cargo bay, where some empty space remained. Two small, steam-powered vehicles were parked there, with seating for about six. Integra once told him they were designed by one of her brothers and had “four wheel drive,” whatever that meant. Dorian didn’t care; even with a million-wheel-drive, neither of them would make it through that sand without getting stuck. A team of laborers were tugging at long chains to lower the cargo ramp. It came down slowly, with sand seeping around the edges. Once it was lowered, Dorian and Tessa peered out. Near the edge of the treeline, he saw men moving; the security team, he realized. It looked like they’d split up into small groups to survey the forest. Since no one was shooting, that meant it was safe to go, right? “After you, my dear,” he said with a gallant gesture for Tessa to go first. “If anything tries to kill you, let me know… so I can run.” He smiled. * * * * * Integra slowly descended the steps into the cargo bay, which was already open. Some laborers were milling around near the entrance, acting as if they’d never seen sand before. It’s the same as the sand back home, she thought, mildly annoyed by their behavior. They were picking up handfuls of it and watching it slip between their fingers, as if it had some magical properties. The only change in her attire was a thin white cloak and wide-brimmed hat, to keep the sun off her fair skin, and a pair of prescription goggles to keep the sand out of her eyes. Until needed, the goggles would remain on her head, but not her eyes. She also exchanged her light boots for something a little more substantial. The entire transformation look less than a minute. (Changing clothes became very efficient when one’s wardrobe is color-coordinated and indexed.) She’d intentionally come as quickly as possible, so she would not have to suffer the indignity of arriving after Mr. Avrin. Integra grabbed a crowbar from a pile of tools near the entrance and headed back into the sea of crates to find the field research kits she’d told him about. They were in crate #094231. She knew this without even checking the cargo manifest. When she found the crate, she began trying to pry it open, but that was easier said than done. For a woman whose presence struck fear into about a third of the crew, she was still only 5’1” and ninety pounds. But, never one to admit defeat, she kept at it. Integra would not demean herself by asking for help or surrendering to a damned wooden box.
Geof stepped into the cargo hold. He had changed from his normal clothes into a set of rougher field clothes. He hadn't had much use for them, and wasn't sure if he would when he had packed them, but now he was glad he had. Still his messenger bag was slung over his shoulder, with his journal and a few other supplies inside. The cargo bay was massive, filled with supplies and odd mechanisms that Geof recognized from his reading. He still was fascinated by the ship we was on, but was taking his time getting to know it. His first priority had been the library, and then to get settled into his research duties. Now, he was beginning to explore the ship a little more in his free time, and he had to say, it was magnificent. Scanning the cargo hold, he spotted Integra Lancaster struggling to pry open a crate with a crow bar. He quickly moved to her side and asked, "Do you need help getting that open ma'am?"
"Do you need help getting that open ma'am?" someone asked. Integra was too focused on the crate to see who'd spoken. Probably one of the laborers, she thought, though the voice sounded a little too soft-spoken and timid to be one of them. In any case, her only reply was an unnaturally calm, "No," as she poured everything she had into prying the lid off the crate. It came free rather suddenly, with a loud 'pop' as the nails pulled free of the wood and Integra fell backwards, crowbar in hand. She tumbled into Geof and they both fell backwards, thumping into a taller shipping crate behind him. There was a brief pause and silence; the span of time where any normal woman --no, any normal human being-- would either apologize to the man she'd slammed into or thank him for catching her. But Integra's disdain for human contact took over and she quickly pulled away. The fact that she didn't reprimand him for some reason or another was the closest he'd get to gratitude. She went straight back to the crate, which held the field research kits, packed in ample amounts of straw. They were about the size of a small briefcase. She flipped one open, quickly scanned the contents: brushes for dusting off finds, small picks and hammers for getting rock samples, tiny glass vials and swabs for collecting liquid samples, magnifying glasses and kits for chemical tests, and more. This will do, she thought as she snapped the case shut and tossed it to Geof before getting another one for herself. "Come on, you're late," she lied as she began walking away toward the ship's exit and the awaiting sand.
Why did this have to happen? Vladimir struggled to pull at the cords to his parachute in an attempt to steer it, but the wires sliced into his hands and he cursed. By then it was too late, and the wind pulled him into the grip of the trees. He didn't have much time to think before he wrapped his arms around his head and felt the first branch slice into his side, tearing his shirt and snapping off in a shower of black dust. Others followed suit as he was dragged into the boughs, the branches too weak to catch him but still strong enough to do damage. Vlad bit his tongue to keep from crying out as he felt several more tear into his clothes and into him, and when he finally hit the ground and blacked out he was almost thankful. * * * When he came to, Vlad groaned and uncovered his head, blinking away dust. Now where am I...? He looked down, unable to resist the urge to take in his appearance and instantly regretted it. His shirt was ruined -torn to tatters and smeared with red from several shallow cuts across his torso. The wounds stung, and bled somewhat, but if he re-used his shirt as bandages they would not be life threatening. However, the moment he looked over his shoulder he very nearly came close to fainting the moment he met the gaze of a shriveled and very dead human being. Heart thumping somewhere in his throat, Vlad scrambled away from the ghoul's embrace and stared about in increasing horror. Several bodies -preserved by the sands for decades by the look of them- lay scattered about a large circle of black glass, the center point of four straight lines of the same material spreading outward like the spokes of a wheel. Each one was charred on the side facing what must have been the source of the blast, and Vlad shivered as he imagined their end. Standing up, Vlad took a cautious step forward and examined them more closely. The expressions on their faces, even in death, had been preserved to a degree, and one was reaching out to something. Vlad knelt down and sifted through the sand, and when his fingers brushed something he carefully pulled it out. A map. Torn and faded, but it was definetly a map. Vlad squinted, trying to make sense of what few gylphs and runes he could see, but all he could make out was an arrow pointing west. They were... leaving the Sands of Desolation? But when he looked back at the bodies and gear scattered about, he had to correct himself. No. They must have been fleeing something. He walked over and stood in the center, on top of the glass. Whatever they had been running from, it must have been powerful. Very powerful.
Within two minutes the two teams had stashed their chutes and fallen into two loose formations that carefully watched their environments. So far there was no sign of trouble, he just hoped it stayed that way. The Feyfalken had just set down and even though it was at a greater distance that seems to have disturbed even more sand prompting the team to keep their googles on rather than removing them like they usually did. "Tyrone I want you to take point on Vlad's team until we get to him. We stick together till we get to the woods and then split off, not to far I want to be able to hear if either of us shouts or opens fire so we can high tail it to each other if it comes to it. I think it's better if we find Vlad fast though." Tyrone gave him a nod and both teams set off at a light jog closing the gap between them and the woods. They set a slow pace due to the heat and the nature of running on sand but it wasn't wise to move to fast in an unknown environment anyway. The closer they came to the woods the more unnatural it seemed. It didn't hold any sign of life and the sand was interspersed with specks of black ash that increased the deeper you looked into the small set of trees. It felt unnaturally dark despite the lack of leaves that allowed the sun to still beat down on the area. The murmurs of conversation stopped as they split into the two groups and spread out now walking through the woods. Twigs on the floor puffed into dust as they stepped on them and any low hanging branches that blocked their path broke off with barely any resistance. How had this place even with stood the winds? He heard movement up ahead and against his better judgement decided to call out, he might have sparred with these men but he had no experience with how they handled their weapons out on the field the last thing he wanted was someone jumpy shooting Vlad because they got surprised. "Albion? Sir?" It didn't feel right breaking the silence in this place. Almost as if it was taboo, who knew when this place had last heard a human voice. "You ok?"
Vlad turned when he heard Sabre. "Yes," he called back, "Although my clothes aren't. I have a few lacerations, but nothing serious." He couldn't help the tinge of fear that entered his voice then: "And you won't believe what I found..."
"Come on, you're late." Geof looked puzzled, then shook his head. Women were not something that he understood, one of the few exceptions to his extensive knowledge. Catching the research kit, he hefted it over his shoulder, dusted off his jacket, and then followed as Integra curtly led the way.
A white-knuckle grip on the research kit's handle was the only thing keeping Integra's hand from trembling. She kept her other hand in her vest pocket, fingering the loose change and lint in there. The thought that she and the crew of this ship were the first humans to venture this far into the Sands rested heavily on her narrow shoulders. Actually, maybe that wasn't true. There were tales that the Sands used to be inhabited by many civilizations. Maybe there was a whole new world out there, beyond the dunes. A second Aeternia. A second Arcania. A second war, she thought. The possibility troubled her, though she remained as stoic as ever. She didn't look back to see if Geof was following. The sound of his feet shuffling in the sand was enough. It was awkward. She had to lift her boots and step carefully, but she soon got used to the feeling. Far ahead, she saw Dorian walking with Tessa. They had such a sizable lead, they didn't seem to realize they were being followed, until Dorian turned and waved playfully, with a stupid grin on his face. Integra frowned and prayed he didn't wait up for her. She had a good idea why he'd chosen to go for a private stroll with Miss Naaru. He's getting far too fraternal with that woman, the vice captain thought. Actually, he was far too fraternal with everyone. Integra began to adjust her heading, veering off slightly to the left, so she wouldn't enter the forest in the same place as the captain and his helmswoman. By the time she reached the trees, Dorian and Tessa were long gone and many meters away. Whatever lecherous deeds he was up to, she didn't want bear witness to them. He probably meant no harm, but, to Integra's highly-tuned sense of propriety, something about a man and a woman going for a walk, alone, just didn't look right. It was improper. She paused, as if a little light had just gone off in her head, but promptly shook off the passing thought. Nonsense. Mr. Avrin and I are researchers. This is nothing like that. She rested her hand on the bark of the nearest tree. It was gnarled and black, as if the sun had beat down on it for eons. Integra knelt at the base of its trunk. "Look here," she said to Geof. "These roots are raised, as if to protect it from flooding." With her hands, she dug away some of the sand around the tree's base. She got nearly a foot deep before she stopped. There was no sign bedrock or soil, just sand, sand, and more sand. Integra stood and broke off a branch. It came away easily, made brittle by the dry the heat. 'This shouldn't be able to grow here," she said, showing Geof the vessels and channels inside the wood: channels for carrying water. "Trees like this only grow in swamps and on riverbanks. It's like…" she paused, to think, "it is as if this tree… no, this entire forest was plucked out of its natural habitat and deposited here. It didn't stand a chance."
Geof nodded, taking the branch from her hand and examining it. "Madurai aquatica," he said after a moment. "You're right, this shouldn't be here." Then he took a pen knife from his research lot and scraped some of the trees bark into a small bag. Then he kneeled examining the hole that she had dug. Probing the dirt a little. Is this sand or silt, he thought after a moment. "What if this entire region was once an oasis, or a river bed?" He said finally, as his thought solidified. "The flora remnants would seem to indicate that, but is like something happened, and all at once, that changed the biome..." He trailed off.
While Geof inspected the sand at the base of the tree, Integra began to wander, to do some investigating of her own. She opened her kit, took out a small brush, of the type used to dust for fossils on an archaeological dig, and began lightly brushing away the sand around the roots of another tree, for any signs of animal life. Tracks, claw marks, abrasions from animals moving --or swimming-- by. Madurai aquatica grew in shallow, slow-moving or stagnant freshwater, such as river banks or swamps. But the lack of organic deposits in the soil bothered her. There weren’t even small stones or pebbles, like the type that might settle on a riverbed. "What if this entire region was once an oasis, or a river bed?" Geof asked, confirming that his thoughts were headed in the same direction as hers. "The flora remnants would seem to indicate that, but is like something happened, and all at once, that changed the biome..." “That’s what bothers me. Such a drastic change would take centuries, if not longer. These specimens would be petrified or fossilized or gone entirely by then,” Integra replied as she gathered what appeared to be the remains of a fish, reduced to bleached bones. She didn’t recognize it and the way it came apart as she excavated it made identifying the species nearly impossible. She put the bones into a small box, to be reassembled later. A puzzle, to pass the time. “And then there’s the matter of the shape,” she said as she stood and began to walk further into the trees. “A perfect circle. A neat disk of trees, in a sea of shifting sand. The Arcanians, with all their silly superstitions, are quite enamored with circles. Something about the symmetry of it appeals to them. Circles, pentagrams, triangles. Their magical theories are riddled with symmetry and numerology. I can’t help but wonder what they would say if-” She stopped dead in her tracks. Integra stared curiously at the blackened line of scorched sand cutting across her path. It looked as if a fiery snake had slithered across the forest, leaving a narrow path of destruction in its wake, less than a meter wide. There were branches neatly severed and charred, a tree nearly split in two. The sand at her feet crunched as if it had been fused by the heat. No mere fire could do that. It took a well-fed furnace to melt sand into glass. And forest fires don’t slice things in two.
It was boiling hot. The sun was a furnace. Tessa wadded through the sand slowly, panting like an exhausted dog. Sweat glistened off her body and the blowing sands stuck to her skin like glue. Even the wind was hot and sharp. Tessa took sips from her canteen bottle every few steps, but the moment it left her lips she was in dire need of more. The black forest served as a stark reminder of what happened if she didn’t have a source of water to rely on. She attempted to break off part of a branch, but the moment she snapped it off the whole thing turned to dust and she watched it fall away in her sticky palms. No wonder everything was dead. It was then she realised that Dorian was not by her side. They had been walking together and now all of a sudden he had disappeared from view. Her eyes searched the sands. A twig snapped behind. She looked over her shoulder to see the Captain lagging through the sands – staring dreamily at her ass. The heat was making her irritable and this was not helping. “Jeez. For once in your life Dorian, could you not be such a pig?” She huffed, marching on into the forest. The heat must be getting to me, Dorian thought as he shook his head. Not that he ever needed an excuse to gawk at a woman. The Design had placed many wonders on this world. He could never quite understand why scientists spent so much time studying rocks and plants and animals and such when the greatest creation of all --woman-- was right in front of them. With a slight start, he remembered this was Tessa and, as much as he'd like to take her back to his "lab" and run some "tests," now was hardly the time or the place. Then again, isn't that what makes it so tempting? He thought. With a cavalier smile, Dorian pulled himself together. "Sorry, love, you had something on you," he said, pointing at her ass. "It was a big spider, with huge fangs, and… umm… stripes. Yes, stripes, like the poisonous ones. And hairy legs, too." He caught up with her and gestured wildly as he described the beast. "You should've seen the way it glared at me as it clung to your bum. I swear it said, 'she's mine, Cromwell, and you can't have her.' And that's when I drew my sword and said, 'not on your life, beast,' and charged in and… okay, I'm running out of ideas. I killed it and got the girl. The end." He grinned. “Got the girl?” She repeated with stinging attitude. “I think I would have preferred the spider – at least he could have put me out of my misery. I mean seriously Dorian don’t you have more important things to worry about than my ass?” She turned to him, cocked the rifle handle with a swift click and gave a wry smile, “I know it’s perfectly shaped but that doesn’t give you an invitation to ogle at it, let alone touch it.” Then she slapped him. “Oh sorry, love, there was something on you…” she slowly walked away, “it looked like a big spider…” "Touch it?" Dorian said with a smirk as he rubbed his reddened cheek. He'd developed the ability to take a slap long ago. In fact, he was beginning to enjoy them. "I think someone's imagination is getting the better of her. Or was that a request? I haven't touched you... yet. In your dreams, perhaps." He shoved his hands in his pockets and strolled on ahead of her, with that same easy-going swagger he had when roaming the halls of his ship. "Hate to break it to you, but I find narcissism rather off-putting in a woman," he said, idly kicking at some sand. "A proper lady never appraises her own arse." “If you are after a proper lady,” She said, “Then perhaps you should turn your attention to Integra…” It was at that moment Tessa realised they had walked into a clearing, where the Vice Captain and another researcher were deep in discussion. However Dorian and Tessa’s conversation seemed to get caught by the coat tails and the Ice Queen stared daggers at Tessa, freezing her to the spot. Dorian clapped a hand over his mouth to avoid laughing out loud. Even then, he nearly choked on his own chuckles as he watched Integra's eyes flicker from Tessa to him and back again. "He has. Many times, in fact," Integra said with a slow shake of her head. "You will find his attention turns as often as the wind... and you would do well to turn him away every chance you get." She seemed somewhat distracted, as if she were tempted to walk away, but unwilling to do so. "If it's not too much trouble, captain, perhaps you and Miss Naaru could turn your attention to this," she said, pointing to the trail of blackened sand cutting across the clearing. The trail she'd apparently been following when she crossed their path. "Look." Integra pointed to a cluster of fallen trees. The blackened limbs lay in a pile at the terminus of the scorch marks. Big deal, it's just some trees, Dorian thought but his chuckles faded rather quickly when he realized those weren't trees at all. They were bodies, so badly burned their color matched the dark wood of the dead forest. He counted about a dozen people. Time, heat, and the dry air had reduced them to emaciated caricatures of their former selves, frozen in death. Their empty eye sockets and gaping mouths spoke of an agonizing, but sudden, end.
It was a relief to hear Vlad's voice. Christoph weaved past the last few trees that obscured their view and was greeted by a rather disconcerting sight. He heard one of their men dry heaving as he took in the sight of the corpses, clearly the man was used to security gigs and hadn't seen the horrors of war. "Bartlet see what you can do for Albion's wounds. I can't imagine getting any cuts exposed in this environment is healthy." The field medic holstered his pistol and produced a field first aid kit. Christoph glanced at the broken branches scattered over the floor that had obviously tried to impede Vlad's fall into the woods. Looking up at the hole his fall had created he had to be thankful that the trees were in such a sorry state. A fall like that on anything more sturdy would surely have resulted in a couple of broken ribs or something worse. Reaching over his shoulder Christoph unclipped the two latches that kept his orange cloak fastened to his back and handed it over to Vlad. "You seem to have done quite a number on your uniform. Not sure what Integra would make of these non regulation bandages." He flashed a smile quickly before his expression darkened as he took in the sight. Vlad smiled ruefully -a rare moment when he wasn't following protocol. "She wouldn't, I am sure. But then if I had been on my own those 'non-regulation bandages' may have just kept me from bleeding out." eh winced when the medic dabbed at his wounds with a cloth soaked in ointment. "What is even capable of doing something like this?" Christoph questioned whilst bending down and digging out one of the pieces of glass. He carefully turned it over in his hand to look at the side that hadn't been directly exposed to the fire. "Reckon we should tell the researchers to hold back while we scour the rest of the woods? This may be old but this place doesn't seem as safe as they were probably hoping for." "As for the glass, I have no idea. Sand needs over three-thousand-two-hundred degrees just to melt. Whatever did this also seems to have had control over said heat, and what it affected. If they hadn't those lines wouldn't have been there -or at least not so neat as they are." he mumbled something under his breath and looked around. "That -to be honest- is what scares me. The Arcanians may have their usual explanation, but some sort of explosive projectile from a ship could have done this as well. Then again, there was only one blast... and why right in the middle of all these trees...?" "Why are the trees even here, this is the first thing we've seen in this barren landscape for weeks. Their state isn't just the strange part." Christoph hesitated for a second and looked up at the six men in his command. "And why hasn't Tyrone's squad regrouped here, they must have heard us just now." Vladimir shook his head. "I think it might be best for us to scour these woods more thoroughly before anyone else comes in. I'm getting the same feeling you are about-" Then his eyebrows rose. "Wait. You didn't tell them to search elsewhere?" "I told them to keep close proximity so we could respond to any disturbance since we didn't know the place. They should have regrouped when they heard me call out to you. It could be nothing, maybe they've found something else? Either way the Fayfalken had already set down before we entered the woods. I think they were as eager us to get off the ship. If we want any hope of stopping the others we need to send a signal out fast." Christoph strained his eyes looking deeper into the forest where Tyrone's squad would be.... should be. He returned his gaze to Vlad more concerned "Best get that signal out fast." Something hadn't felt right before, but this discovery set him totally on edge. He couldn't be responsible for any more deaths. He'd split those men off. If anything happened to them it was on his shoulders. His hand reflexively slipped to his neck palming one of the loose bits of shrapnel that hung from a pendant, the cloth of his uniform softening the biting edge on it.Not again. Please not again.
"I don't like this. Not one bit." An older handyman complained as he helped cut down a gnarled tree. "What don't you like now?" An engineer interjected. "The fresh air, the new scenery or the company?" A round of laughs from the men nearby followed the comment. "This place is cursed I tell you. We shouldn't be disturbing it. Not even for fuel." "Oh, stop complaining, Henry." Trixy crooned. "The sooner we obey the boss lady and load up this wood the sooner we'll be able to move on to nicer scenery." Though she chuckled right along with the men she'd acquired for the wood-gathering, she also felt the sense of unease of being in this place. It reminded her too much of the dark magic temple she'd snuck into years ago with a few of her friends. Only she had managed to make it out alive that day, and the same foreboding feeling of curses and warnings that had been in that place, also rested in this blackened forest. She wasn't much for superstition, but rumors about what had been found in here, had already reached some of the men. They put on brave faces, not wanting to look weak around her, but she could see that they were nervous as well. Trixy turned to the line of men she'd assembled. Some were chopping down trees. Other cutting the branches into manageable pieces and the rest were passing the wood along the make-shift assembly line back to the ship to be stored in cargo for future use. Henry kept muttering about curses while the men continued to tease him and one another. Trixy flirted to keep up moral but her hands had found a resting place on the pistols on her hips. If something attacked them here, she'd be ready.
