Post

The Hunt of Black Island I

Kalquen wrote:

”The Hunt of Black Island I”

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.

~~~

The Hunt of Black Island II

August 3rd, 1911

The Shores of Black Island
The sky was the colour of trickling amber, falling upwards from the horizon and into the clouded heavens above. The smell of poached eggs and meat filled the air of Krallemann’s quarters, the scent wafting into the Duke’s nose and dragging him from his perverse dreams. He rubbed sleep from his eyes, a yawn setting his face from exhaustion to glee. The joy of a child poised to open a neatly wrapped gift filled his eyes.

”Today! Today! Today! Finally! FINALLY!!!” thought the Duke as he threw off his own soft, silken sheets. The boat rocked indifferently as he moved, his pale feet shuffling quietly over his tiger skin rug. He wandered over to his wardrobe, a brisk skip in his step as he went, reaching out to the large wooden doors and opening them to reveal his carefully prepared outfit.

Before him lay a beige pith helmet, and a set of khaki clothes, adorned with badges and patches depicting the Duke’s escapades across the world. Each outstretched desert, every lush jungle. His eyes twinkled as he brought the clothes towards himself, knowing he would soon add one more pin to the garment. A few peaceful moments passed as he slipped into the pristine fabric, tightening every brass buckle and strap. He was ready.

The Duke exited his room, traipsing down the hallway outside until he reached his common room, a plate of food waiting for him patiently on a large mahogany desk bolted to the ship’s wall. He would need energy, for such a valiant day…

And so he sat, chewing his food with gusto, washing each bite down with a sip of imported coffee, the whole time spent with half of his mind locked onto the prospects of the morning.

A sound of scuffling feet broke the silence of the room, a muffled sound of boots gracing the carpeted floor. The Duke’s eyes turned quickly, like a bird of prey locking onto a squeaking mouse. Across the room, just past the door, Deckhand screamed as the Duke’s gaze reached his eyes, the young boy promptly falling down onto the ground.

“I’M SORRY, SIR, I’M SORRY!” pleaded the boy as Krallemann stood, thundering over to where he lay prone.

“BOY, WRETCH! WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?! WHY MUST YOU DISTURB ME ONCE AGAIN?!” spat the Duke, reaching a hand into the air as if to strike the Deckhand down with the wrath of Reichskrieg itself.

“I-I am so sorry, sir, the Captain, he… he said we are r-ready” stammed the boy, tears welling in his averted eyes.

Krallemann seethed, sucking air in past gritted teeth, his eyes blazed with anger. His fist clenched, then unclenched, over and over. The anger at the interruptive worm wriggling before him slowly subsided as the situation began to set in. When he spoke, his words fell like bricks.

“Get up. Up, boy. You’re going to help me”

The Duke grabbed the boy’s collar, pulling him upwards with a surprising strength. Trusting open the door, he dragged the Deckhand into the stairwell beyond the frame. The men descended down the wrought iron spiral, traveling deeper and deeper into the bowels of the SMS Eisenhaut. The smell of excrement and putrid rot filled the air as they went, down into the disgusting purgatory below. As Krallemann and the Deckhand reached the bottom landing, the holding cells came into view. Cages, cells, coffins, lining either side of the short hall running down the centre of the ship. Behind each cage, the eyes of wild beasts shone, figures caked in blood and filth, their own bodies lying in sorrow, fed on by vermin.

Krallemann’s gleeful smile glinted in the dim lantern light of the hallway, one of the guards looking to him and the Deckhand with a curt nod. Krallemann could feel it, the joyous smell of fear and anguish. Here lay his deer, his captives, his prey.

The Duke turned his wild eyes to the guard, words spilling out of his mouth in a psychotic rush.

“YOU! GUARD! See to it that these fools are taken outside at once! We are ready!”

The guard looked to him hesitantly, yet, after a second, nodded in agreement. He did not speak a word as he turned to the cells, motioning for the other guards to begin opening them.

Krallemann turned back to the stairs, still gripping the Deckhand’s collar with white knuckles. He rushed up the spiral once more, feet pounding out like the drums of hell, the light of the deck above shining upwards in a bright pillar. The Deckhand slipped behind him, struggling to match the mad Duke’s pace.

As the two made it out of the open door of the deck, the sight of green trees met their eyes. Before them, only a few dozen metres away, lay the treeline of a luscious jungle, the sounds of birds and monkeys echoing out through the tepid air. It was beautiful, a garden of Eden awash with holy light, a marvel of nature's fertile gift.

A voice piped up the Duke, as he stared off into his playground.

“Your Grace, we’ve lowered the gangplank. We’ll have anything you could possibly need on board… I…” said Captain Sturnheld, trailing off for a moment as he looked to the doors behind Krallemann, scrawny figures being thrust out of it at gunpoint.

“Captain, my good friend. Might I comendeer this Deckhand here? I could use a caddie of sorts” replied Krallemann, his eyes and mind both still fixated on the jungle. The young man he still gripped began to squirm as he spoke.

“Jakob? Your Grace… Thi-” started Sturnheld, his words being interrupted by Krallemann once more.

“Perfect. Caddie, go fetch my tools. They should be in the bridge”

After speaking, Krallemann let go of the Deckhand, watching him scurry off toward the opposite end of the ship. Yet, his eyes soon drifted to the group of prisoners, all now lined up by the stairs into the Eisenhaut’s lower levels. Under the sparse sunlight, the group looked perfect. Eight men, each of varied background and stature, each an individual challenge, each a unique experience.

Krallemann slowly and subtly licked his teeth, his heart beginning to skip beats as he pictured the euphoria soon to come. He smiled at the men, then spoke, his Reichskrieger accent smooth as honey on each word.

“Gentlemen. Prisoners, fools. You have been led down many wrong turns, fruitless paths, brutal falls. Your pitiful lives have brought the world no meaning, no joy, not until today. For your crimes against Reichskrieg, you will pay the ultimate price”

He walked a few paces closer to the prisoners, sizing each up like a farm animal as he walked from left to right.

“In just a few moments, you will each be freed onto the shores of Black Island. You will run, you will hide, you will flee. I will soon follow, and I will exact judgement upon you. If you run, if you survive, you may be spared” he continued, coming even closer to the men, close enough to smell the putrid air they exhaled.

“Oh! I almost forgot. I’ve scattered toys around the island, I hope they will make everything more interesting!”

Krallemann smiled as he spoke. Let them have hope. They’ll go down with more of a fight, he thought, as he began to walk backwards from the group. He then turned to the guards, then back to the prisoners. It was time.

“Go now, dogs! Shoo! Shoo!” Krallemann cackled, as the guards began thrusting each prisoner off to the front of the ship, where the gangplank waited.

The mad Duke watched them run. Now, the game may begin. It will be glorious.

~~~~

Alrighty, you sorry souls. Duke Krallemann has let you loose on the island!

Please refer to the discord for rules on how to play the event, and when you are making your event post, reply to this one to let me know you have. You will each be given one turn to move about the island and search/do something after each event post, however, sometimes you will be granted more actions.

This turn, Krallemann will be waiting on the boat to give you a head start. Good luck, the odds are very much not in your favour.