The Basal Lake - Out of the Boiling Pot
Anguis Trigon, Phase Three
The island had no name, and where it appeared at all on naval maps, it was easily brushed off as an errant drop of ink. A jutting spire of rock, the peak of some long-sunken mountain, made up most of the tiny island, with a small lagoon cradled in crescent arms of stone. Thin patches of palms grew in the sand around the sheltered water where the life boats and wreckage from the Arsenic had ended up.
For three days and nights, the survivors tried to piece together what had actually happened and what to do next. Horan, one of the experienced crew members, did his best to explain, but for many, the idea of the wild magics he described were unheard of. A spell which could command the actions of another, from halfway around the world? There was no such power taught in any of the schools of the Vis. The power to summon massive storms that could destroy a masterfully engineered vessel, to chase that vessel like a hound to a fox... "More likely a traitor," one man argued. "There were whispers of sabotage before we'd even boarded the ship."
The suspicions lingered there, taunting, poking. With everyone on edge, cooperation was in short supply, along with all the traditional supplies. A small group, led by the demvir investigator, spent the days salvaging equipment. Thanks to the relative tirelessness of his machina body, Laermont worked through the blistering heat of the day and through the night, ripping machines apart, lashing pieces together, grinding gears and regia until they meshed.
Early into the fourth morning, the demvir and a handful of the others looked at the makeshift beacon. It was a box, of sorts, with a ramshackle and wobbling antenna affixed with some kind of bulb near the top. Looking to the others, the machina finally nodded and jammed the last wire into a box with a cracked rod of dahlitium inside.
Immediately, the group felt a pulse of energy pass through them. There was no sound, but it was definitely there. The light at the end of the antenna blinked, barely visible in the sunlight. The machine pulsed again a few seconds later, starting up a regular pattern. Leaves and sand rippled with each pulse.
"Now... we wait," the investigator said after several long moments. Despite being mechanical, himself, he was no expert, and had no way of knowing just how far the signal would reach, if anyone would pick it up. The alternative, doing nothing, wasn't even an option, though.
They didn't have to wait long. Through a combination of the dying efforts of the Arsenic's helmsman and the timely tip-off from an outpost far to the south, ships were already in the area. Ships equipped with radar picked up on the mysterious blips and changed course. Two arrived by mid-day: the first was an imperial cruiser, the Orca, shaped like its namesake; the second was a merchant vessel, bound from Prendere to Terminus, the White Wind. Within a few hours, the survivors on the island and in the surrounding waters had been rescued.
Gathered together on the upper deck of the Orca, together with some of the White Wind's crew, the survivors now had a choice to face.
"I have to commend you, all of you, for enduring and surviving. We never expected that you would be put to the test before even reaching the battlegrounds. However, while you have survived this battle, there is still a war to be fought. The Orca is bound southward, toward Cautes Petram to destroy the ophidian presence in Flumen. It's a lot to ask after what you've just gone through, but will you join us, lend us your strength?" The captain speaking was younger than Garus, with orange skin a few shades lighter, and no obvious scars. He held the same no-nonsense attitude, without as much bite to his words. Driweus was experienced but not yet hardened.
"Those of you who'd rather leave, I've room aboard my ship. No charge, no strings, I'll get you back to Terminus. Or at least as far as Avelyn. Despite the name, she's not much good out of the water." The captain of the White Wind was a tall laicar woman with black hair turning to grey. Her skin was wrinkled and tough after years in the sun and salty air. She had a warm smile, though, matched by the bright yellow silk scarf covering her drab gray naval uniform. "Castus only knows how I'd choose, if I were in your shoes."
While the two captains spoke, members of the imperial navy were passing out rations and fresh water. The lieutenant had pulled some aside to press for more details on the attack.
"Well, what's your decision? Will you continue on? Or return?"
[800/800]
Timeline-wise, you are now a day after the current events in Emperor's Pleasure.
If anyone wants to join in, you can either have been one of the survivors on the island (there were hundreds of them), or come along aboard the White Wind and choose to jump into the war. Anyone who wants out of the plot can take the offer to go aboard the White Wind and return to Hiemis. I promise it won't explode on the way. In fact, I'll spoil you a bit now and say, "If you go with the Orca your next real scene will be at the Basal Lake." Can't have this title be for nothing, right?
You're welcome to continue working on chapters for what happened on the island/in the open water. If anything I've written here contradicts what you've got going, let me know what to edit.
If anyone wants to join in, you can either have been one of the survivors on the island (there were hundreds of them), or come along aboard the White Wind and choose to jump into the war. Anyone who wants out of the plot can take the offer to go aboard the White Wind and return to Hiemis. I promise it won't explode on the way. In fact, I'll spoil you a bit now and say, "If you go with the Orca your next real scene will be at the Basal Lake." Can't have this title be for nothing, right?
You're welcome to continue working on chapters for what happened on the island/in the open water. If anything I've written here contradicts what you've got going, let me know what to edit.