In the Grand Line, a sea overrun with piracy, many islands had many ways to attempt to protect themselves from the threat of violent seafarers. Some islands never needed much, being naturally dangerous enough on their own. One such island is Meldion, known for its odd weather of extremes. In winter, the island is chilly and frozen. In autumn, winds whip up into tornadoes often. In the springtime, it becomes warm and humid. And currently, in summer, it is dry, making many plants wilt, areas near the shores being desertified. Somehow, animals, plants, and people have adapted to this lifestyle, the citizens of the island building a powerful Empire.

However, down in the dungeons under the capital city of Malodi, where more than a few pirates were being dealt with, yet another was joining them. Dressed in prison stripes was a broad man with platinum blond hair, tied back, hanging to the end of his neck. His eyes were covered by a pair of sunglasses, and shackles kept his wrists bound together as two guards escorted him, a four colored emblem displayed on their capes, wearing gray armor over their torso and white pants, helms covering their faces, swords and pistols at their hips. Finally reaching an open area with a number of trapdoors, they opened one, gesturing for the man to get in. He looked down, before being shoved in, crying out as he fell. Luckily he bounced, standing on his shaking knees, gritting his teeth as the trap door was shut and locked.

Gerolf Flannel fumed, “There’s nothing wrong with Sea King liver already! Seriously! It’s not that bad!” Grumbling, he plopped down looking around his cell. It was pretty featureless: there was a small, filthy hatch for relieving one’s self, and a barred grate in one of the stone walls. It looked like it had a door system that allowed guards walking by to give food to the prisoners, but it seemed to be connected to another cell.