Post

Kalquen wrote:

August 2nd, 1911

Middle Ossaran Sea

Duke Franz Krallemann lay half-asleep in his lavish bed, dark stormclouds rolling in across the night sky visible through the porthole. The hull of the SMS Eisenhaut cut violently through the choppy waves, sloshing the half-empty cup of wine sitting atop the Duke’s dresser. His mind wandered between twisted wishes and fantasies, permeating his mind and filling his heart with excitement. Visions of the days to come danced before him, bringing him to a point of almost childlike joy.

Bloodlust and Opulence filled the air equally, mingling within and around the Duke’s every breath. He could only imagine what lay below him, his imported game, his prey, his toys. He knew that beneath his lavish personal quarters lay the holding cells, the dingy, dark and rat-infested metal cells, filled to the brim with prisoners long forgotten by their homeland. How greatly he wished to hold each by the throat, to watch their eyes bulge and their mouths gasp for air. His lip curled into a grin, his eyes drifting slowly downwards, ever the more heavy as the seconds passed.

Just as he began to be firmly gripped by the claws of sleep, a youthful voice piped up.

“Duke Krallemann, Sir! The Captain told me to let you know that we can see land on the horizon!” spoke the young deckhand who had rudely interrupted the Duke’s thoughts.

Krallemann snarled, snapping his eyes open and shooting into an upwards position, his fine pyjamas ruffling out around him in a silken storm.

“Boy!” he spat, “You must never enter this chamber unannounced! You awoke me from my slumber, you wretch!”

The Duke moved out of his bed in a flurry of motion, startling the young deckhand into topping sideways, knocking into the dresser and spilling the precariously placed glass of red wine onto the floor.

“No! Sir! I-” stammered the deckhand, looking in horror at the mess he had created, the Duke staring down at him with a face gradually mirroring the tone of the now spilled Zinfandel.

Krallemann clenched his fist, shaking it violently as the surprise and anger began to boil off. He looked into the scared eyes of the boy, his snarl gradually turning into a placid grin over the course of a silent minute.

“Don’t fret, boy. Please… clean this mess. I did not intend to lose my… temper…” said the Duke, his sharp words now dulled and smooth like honey. The deckhand looked back at him with the same expression of fear, now beginning to mix with confusion.

Without another word, the Duke turned to the opened doorway into the main corridor of his quarters, reaching for a thick Mosainian wool coat hanging on an antique rack beside the door, swiftly fitting his arms through the sleeves. He then began the short walk from his bedroom, through the wood-furnished lounge and foyer, and onto the main spiral staircase, travelling upwards in a cramped helix of wrought-iron, the sounds of wind, rain, and thunder becoming clearer the closer Krallemann came to the top, the small metal door leading onto the deck of the Eisenhaut standing ajar, letting a small smattering of rainfall patter against the metal landing of the staircase.

Krallemann tightened the coat over his body, covering his smooth, silken pyjamas from the rain as he opened the metal door fully. The sky above the ship was an angry roiling tropical storm, the black and grey clouds swirling above and dropping a torrent of watery knives onto the sailors running about below. Krallemann looked around amidst the din of thunder and wind, his eyes flicking around at the uniformed ants before settling on a man in dressed in a black greatcoat, Captain Hermann Sturnheld.

Sturnheld was an older man, short, military cut grey hair ringing his slim head. His green eyes widened in surprise as he saw the Duke walking towards him.

“Your Grace! I did not expect you to come out in the storm! My apologies!” yelled Sturnheld, over the wailing gales.

Krallemann squinted his eyes as the rain buffeted his exposed face, the streaming trails of water pouring across his field of vision. He yelled back towards the Captain, water coating his brown beard.

“Captain Sturnheld, where is the island?!”

“Due West, your Grace!” replied Sturnheld, pointing a finger outwards into the direction of the ship’s bow.

Without another word, Krallemann pushed past the Captain, slipping across the deck and catching himself at the bow’s railing. In the distance, a small dark lump rose from the choppy waves. The amorphous specks of a jungle canopy barely visible moving in the wind.

It was perfect, perfect. Krallemann could already feel the mud under his boots, the smell of wet bark and ferns filling the air. His lust of excited adventure soon to be satiated. He let out a strained exhale fell from his lips, being carried away in the tempest surrounding him. Soon, the enemies of his great nation would find out how their insulting existence would be remedied. Soon, Krallemann would get his fix. His blue eyes glinted with a sadistic excitement.

The Duke turned after a few moments of gazing longingly towards the island, marching back towards the door from which he came. The Captain called out to him as he went, yet the hollered sentences lay lost on the wind. All Krallemann could think of was what the next day had to bring. The warm interior of the ship welcomed him back in, the heavy metal door slamming shut behind him. His feet retraced the path back to his quarter, a dim light leaking out from the prison floor at the base of the stairs as he stepped out onto the landing of the second floor.

Passing back through the wood paneled hallway, visions of jungle fronds danced through his head, figures passing across the shadows behind them. Before he knew it, the Duke was crawling back into his four postered bed, silk sheets falling across his skin like puffy white clouds. His body fell into a deep relaxation, his mind following suit the closer the ship drew to the shores of the tropical paradise before them.

~~~

Below the softly slumbering Duke, men lay wide awake, damp steel bars surrounding them, rats squealing from unreachable corners, guards patrolling with blood-caked batons. They did not know it now, but these conditions were but a small taste of the depravity soon to come.

~~~

Notice: Welcome to the second story event of the Celestial Empire!

You sorry souls all now have found yourselves trapped in the bowels of a Reichskrieger prison ship, and you will soon discover just how horrid your fate will be.

In order to participate in the event, reply to this post with a post of your own, introducing your character, their unique quirks, and how they were captured for being a part of the Elodian resistance (will be a resistance volunteer from your own province, of course, but if you want to have a slightly different backstory, just let me know and I can try to help you fit it in as well as possible). Once we have our event members, another post will follow, detailing how the ship lands on the shores of Black Island, and the regulations of the event.

Please DM me on discord for further questions, I am stoked to be running this for you all.