[color=gray][i]Tell her this 
And more--
That the king of the seas
Weeps too, old, helpless man.
The bustling fates 
Heap his hands with corpses
Until he stands like a child 
With a surplus of toys.” [/i][/color] 
	-Stephen Crane, [i]The Ocean Said To Me Once[/i] 

[color=gray][i]It is said that no one knows when the Mother Ocean took her anger upon mankind. And yet, our calendar tells us it has been over 1600 years After the Flood. Who decided when the year after the flood was? Do we even know how ancient these cities below us are? We all are raised hearing stories of the ancient world, of Gaea and it’s immeasurable wealth of power and knowledge. But even the ancients were swallowed by the sea. And yet we are told, as children are always told, that still the city lies hidden inside the bosom of the ocean, waiting for the brave boy or girl to find it and uncover its secrets. Secrets to raise land, to cheat death and to rule the world. These are simply stories for children, and yet every diver, every soldier, every monarch dreams of finding this lost city and grasping the power to change the world in their hands. I sit and wonder, is this dream of a city [i]truly[/i] real, or is it simply a story meant to cow our minds into pressing on further, as the land continues to run out and the waters continue to rise.[/i][/color]
	-From the Journals of Kelman Vallis, 1640 AF. 

[center][h1]In Search of Gaea
[color=gray]Act 1: The Storm on the Rock[/color][/h1]
[hr][img]https://i.ytimg.com/vi/L2Ct4roDXJI/maxresdefault.jpg[/img][hr][/center]
[center][h1][u]Praetor Jorrus[/u][/h1][hr]• The Floating Palace, Galma. Imperial Seas •  [hr][/center] 
[indent]The reflection of the sun’s light cast countless rays amid the silvered halls of the floating palace as Jorrus Faultspire, 2nd Praetor to his Majesty Emperor Gaius Starwind walked across the smooth stone floors of the floating palace towards the Consol room. Jorrus was pushing forty, with tinges of grey flecking both sides of his hair and his beard, which was immaculately groomed as any high ranking officer under his Majesty’s Service would keep it. His metal backed boots clacked loudly against the stones as he rapped the wood and iron door that led into the chamber of the Consol. The floating capital city of Galma was exquisite in its own right, but the size and immaculate detail of the Floating Palace stretched beyond the city as well. High aqueduct walls surrounded the palace, water rushing up and down the thick stone walls, creating a neverending cascade of mist and rainbows around the white walls of the palace. The halls were less grandiose, especially in the small chambers where the Consol met. These were halls for important business, not grandstanding and fancy feasts. A place where the real diplomacy happened. 

“Come in Praetor,” a gravely old voice from beyond the wood called, slightly muffled by the thick door. Jorrus, always a dog of the Empire, did as he was told. 

“My lordships,” he began, as he stepped into the center of the room; face to face with a large arched table with seven figures sitting at it. He knelt down to one knee, his red cape dragging against the dusty floor and he lowered his head, removing his silvered helm and caressing it against his chest. 

“Rise, Praetor. We have much to discuss with you.” The man sitting in the middle, the oldest member of the Consol and the emperor’s uncle, Delphus Starwind stared at Jorrus with wizened grey eyes. “We have heard your expedition into the Lost Sea was successful. And yet you have brought no treasure or key with you.” The elderly man crossed his gnarled hands together. “What did you find in the cursed locker?” 

“Only riddles, my lordship. But riddles which speak about the lost city, and its treasures beyond.” 

“Riddles need answers, Praetor. We pray that you have some.” 

“With time, I belie-” 

“We do [i]not[/i] have the luxury of time, Praetor!” The old man rose in his chair, shaking with the rise of his voice. He slammed his ancient fist against the wooden table, shocking some of the younger members of the Consol. “Right now endless Divers search for Gaea, aiming to be the ones who will plunder its secrets and treasures. The man who finds the lost city will have the power of the gods, as the old texts say.” 

“Yes your lordsh-”

“I am not [i]finished,[/i] Praetor.” The old man sat back down. “Secrets weapons to destroy any army. The power to harness the sun and moon. The power to staunch even death itself…” Delphus starred Jorrus down, and in that moment the Praetor who had fought in countless battles, seen the most horrifying monsters of the deep, and had led countless men to their deaths suddenly felt very [i]afraid[/i]. 

“You will answer these riddles, or we shall find a Praetor worth more than war medals. After all, Praetor Alexia has not failed us in her investigations of the North.” 

“Y-yes my lordship.” Jorrus tightened his eyes and tried not to feel the heavy burden of shame now cresting above his shoulders. He was beginning to understand his father’s words when he had become a member of the Palace Guard fifteen years ago. [i]The burden of duty may one day become a noose around your neck, my son. Be careful you do not let it become too tight, nor lose your footing.[/i] He was now feeling as if he was on a precarious ledge, and this noose of duty was squeezing too tight for him to breathe. [/indent]

[center][h1][u]Marlowe Vallis[/u][/h1][hr]• Windward Island, Palm Grove. Southern Seas • [hr][/center]
[indent]“You don’t have a chance against me, foul beast!” The young man spun a large, awkward blade around in his hands, facing off against a foul, three headed creature. The blade shone with a bright light against the hot sun, reflecting off its carefully crafted metal. The thin blade curved upwards, like a normal saber, but the [i]tip[/i] of the blade was different. Instead of a solid tip, it curved back into a sharp tip like a harpoon’s. The blade itself seemed to be an oversized fish-hook, albeit one with quite the sharp edge. The man charged forward, his mop of shaggy brown head blowing back as he spun the blade in a wide slash; carving off one “head” of the beast. 

A thick brown coconut head flew into the air, and was then pierced by the tip of the blade. “Ha!” The man bellowed, grasping the fruit and pulling it from the blade. He took a swig of the bitter milk, then smiling, turned to his young onlookers, grinning like a madman. “See? I [i]TOLD[/i] you I could do it!” 

Mala, a young dark-haired boy laughed. “Wow Mar!” He said. “You were like the old heroes from Chief Talu’s legends!” 

“Oh, i’ll be better than a bunch of dusty old heroes!” Marlowe turned back to the now two-headed coconut beast, running towards it. “It’s time for my finishing move!” He bellowed, before tripping on an outstretched vine, sending him careening through the air and into the dirt, at the straw “feet” of his beast. His sword landed with a loud clang near him. 

“Annnd Mar is killed by the beast.” Mala muttered, shaking his head. “You always screw up your moves by yelling them out!” 

“Thanks Mala,” Marlowe muttered with thick embarrassment in his voice as he pushed himself off of the sandy ground. He brushed off flecks of thin grass, dirt and sand from his blue shirt, and knelt down to pick up the fisherman’s saber, placing it firmly back in its leather sheath. 

“Why do you practice all the time anyways? Do you want to be a Diver or somethin’? There’s nothing worth Diving for in the southern seas, that’s what Chief Talu says!” 

“I don’t care about what’s in the Southern Seas,” Marlowe muttered, picking up one of the coconut “heads” from his false-monster. “There’s a huge world out there, ready to be explored!” 

“But...doesn’t everyone already know what’s in the seven seas?” 

“No! That’s the exciting part. We’ve lived on the seas for thousands of years, right? But there’s still so much that’s unknown to people!” 

“How can people NOT kno-” a loud boom erupted over the island, and a huge gust of wind nearly blew the children off their feet. This was not the first or second big explosion they had experienced this week. Ever since the huge storms appeared over Gullspire Rock, every day large thunder claps, accompanied by gusts of wind and even minor earthquakes shaking the small island. The children on the island were terrified of the once quiet rock in the far distance now creating such a cacophonous display; any many of the village elders moaned that a new calamity was coming; that Mother Ocean was unhappy with their sacrifices to her name and she would now destroy their peaceful home. 

During the first week, Chief Talu was calm. “It’s fine,” he began, talking to many of the frightened people at a Chief-meet. “It is simply a storm, it will blow over as soon as the breezes come.” But many breezes had followed in the days thereafter, and the storm continued to circle around the rock. Windward Island was a moderately sized island in the Southern Seas, and they were known in the local islands as a wonderful place for Krayfish spearing and for their various fruits. Every year they even hosted a Krayfish Spearing contest; something that Talu had told Marlowe of when he was younger. His mother had been a champion in the contest for many years before meeting his father, and the necklace he wore was a symbol of her skill. The island itself was roughly fifteen miles in acreage, and the village was built around the natural curved bay of the island, where their “port” was found. The port was small like many of the village ports, big enough to handle a monthly visit of skiffs and barges from the other island and the occasional merchant vessel, but nothing so grand to bring in visitors from too far. 

“Let me take a small skiff out there, Talu!” Marlowe had fussed in the days after. “If it’s too dangerous, I can turn around. But there could be [i]something[/i] there causing this storm!” Marlowe had spent much of his youth sailing a small skiff, and he’d traveled around Gullspire Rock countless times. But now it seemed to an alien; the font of a grand adventure wrapped around a dangerous cloak of a storm. 

“Don’t be suicidal, boy,” Talu muttered incredulously. “Even our sturdiest fishing boats would be torn apart in a storm like that. After a few more days of no changes, Talu sent a gull with a request to Sun’s Rest, the largest island in the southern sea and the home of the local Diver’s guild. 

[i]An odd storm has appeared near Windward Island. It is unnatural and may be caused by some ancient device. Windward Island hereby requests any divers brave enough to travel to Gullspire Rock and to end this unnatural storm. Payment: 500 shelma, plus any artifacts found...[/i] It was a pittance of a job. In the Imperial Sea, 500 shelma was the reward for slaying three Razorshark or finding some trifle in a dive. And the southern sea was not a place well known for its treasures. This was the most shallow of all the seven seas; the only sea without an immortal [i]Leviathan[/i] stalking its waters for unwary divers.  Talu knew they would not get many who would brave the trip. 

Still, on the 3rd day of the season of Meera, the small port of Windward Island was full of ships. People of the village were standing shoulder to shoulder to see who would step out onto one of the port’s four docks; which already seemed crowded and crushed together due to the different ships. Marlowe found himself behind those much taller and those even older than he; and realized with a sigh that he would [i]not[/i] have a chance to see who was coming to explore the tall rock that he had sailed around in a skiff in his younger years. He still could see the ships from his position: none were ironclads, of course. Some were transport and merchant ships, others were diver ships, ran by rookies or by old fools, or simply those who thought they could find an easy job with a chance at nice salvage. A reward allowing [i]all[/i] artifacts to be kept was always a boon. Most cities demanded 40 to even 60% of the salvage, arguing that they were entitled to it through their contracts. Towns would feed, sell gear at cost, and give places of rest to divers. The salvage was their take, of course. 

Marlowe was busy rubbing his shins, wiping of the dirt and sand from his fall. He didn’t need Marea seeing he’d hurt himself again. He felt bad, as if he was always worrying her due to his antics. He was, after all, older than her. He should be the one worrying, the one responsible. And yet, Talu always left her in charge, always put his trust in her. 

[i]She wasn’t born cursed.[/i] Marlowe let the younger children run by him as they made towards the docks to see who had come to the island, hoping to see heroic divers, merchants peddling wares from the far-off dragon sea, and as they ran, Marlowe could see the small marks on their upper shoulders. Blue and orange, marking of the sun and the moon. And in that moment he felt naked in the knowledge that he would never have such a mark. After all, when he was born, there was no sun or moon. Mother Ocean had not blessed him. 

He sighed and continued on, running faster to push the dark thoughts from his mind. Now was the time to see who had come to the island, and who would end these storms. [/indent]