What Lies Beneath (ATTN: Vapor)

by **Maashinia** » Mon Mar 03, 2014 9:48 pm

Imogen Ocean
Off the coast of Amplecator, April 15th, 1900

From deep below the water’s surface, hundreds of bubbles raced each other upwards, the tiny spheres of air making a bid to break free back into the open sky so far above them; a daring journey of escape from the Imogen Ocean’s permanent grip. While to them, the open sky above was paramount, but to the people of the world, it was their origin that had gained the utmost importance. For their source was a vessel, a vessel nestled deep into the mud and sand of the ocean’s bottom, and within that vessel an item, an item worth more to its owners than the ship itself; an item worth more than the sky above. An item that would cause these people to forgo the excess of air and the freedom of the sky in exchange for the ocean’s dark, watery depths.

*************************

The Royal Palace
Caledor, in the state of Caledorea

The King stood with his hands held tightly together behind his back, staring out upon the sea that was as black as the night that enveloped it, the moon's pale reflection the only light upon its ebony surface; the same peaceful looking sea that so many miles away had claimed a vessel that was not the water’s to take. There was a time when the King felt that nothing could ever break the serenity that he felt when he stood upon the stone balcony he stood on now; but like the vast sea that expanded out before him, time changes with every moment and every wave. He had spent enough time on the waves to know that no wave was ever truly exactly the same.

“I wish I was arriving on more fortunate tides, my King,” came a voice from behind the King, cool and confident, but cautious and purposeful.

“On more fortunate tides… yes, yes I pray for more fortunate tides,” came the King’s reply that seemed more directed at himself, or perhaps to nobody at all, but certainly not to the man behind him.

“I believe that we all pray for that; however, we must ride the tide we are on.” The man spoke with a strange accent; the accent of a man that had learned too many languages at the same time, with the words and enunciations of different languages melding themselves together to form an intriguing blend.

“Is it as we feared? Has the Iris truly sunk?” The King asked, his voice quiet and distant.

“It is as we feared; the Iris truly has been claimed by the sea.”

“Then we are left with little choice. Make all the necessary preparations.”

“As I shall. What should I tell the other nations?”

“Only what you have to.”

“It will be done, my King,” the man said as he slowly lowered his head in a bow. While his voice was somber, his eyes were alight with fire; these were the moments he lived for. As he began to turn away the King spoke once more.

“Raul,” said the King.

“Yes?”

“Do be careful.”

“Certainly.”

As Raul Jimenez, Ambassador to the Throne, began to walk away, his heart thundered from within his chest, it seemed that this ambassador was soon to become well versed in the art of underwater diving; yes, his heart thundered at the prospect. He could almost feel his heart beating against the royal telegrams in his pocket; he had written the messages that were to be sent out to the nations of the world before meeting with the King. He had already known what the King’s decision would be, for there was really no choice to be made. It was either make contact with the world after so many years, or leave the Iris and her cargo to the ocean’s clutches, something the Throne couldn’t allow itself to do. The Ambassador’s mind drifted towards the letters he had penned in the name of the King only a few hours ago…

Dear Peoples and Leaders of the World,

It would seem that fate at last would bring our fair nations together after so many years of separation. While the circumstances of this meeting may not be ideal, or how either of us perhaps had wished to make acquaintances, they are, alas, the circumstances that we find ourself thrust into. It is quite possible that a majority of the world is unaware of our existence, we are but a small island isolated between Amplecator, Promethia, and uncharted lands to the south, or perhaps you’ve heard whispers of us from conversations spoken from lips of sailors. Either way, it makes for little importance currently, as it is us that are coming to you. For while it is my hope that our meeting brings about joy and prosperity for all involved, it is upon grave tidings that this telegram has been penned.

During a routine voyage, a trio of our vessels were caught in a violent storm, and it was with great sadness and misfortune that one of our beloved vessels, the RMS Iris, sunk off the coast of Amplecator. While we were greatly relieved to discover that a majority of the RMS Iris’s crew was rescued by her accompanying ships, not all that we wished to be saved was rescued. It is because of this situation that we, the Union of Maashinian States, implore the assistance of our fellow nations of the world with aiding in the recovery of delicate pieces of the RMS Iris’s cargo. We do possess experience and equipment necessary for underwater diving, our resources are, unfortunately, not currently state-of-the-art; however, we have reason to believe that other nations may possess the equipment necessary for such a feat. It is for that reason that we come, humbly asking for support. Of course, compensation will most certainly be negotiated and settled upon; we ensure our debts can be paid. Now, I, King Duarte Cardozo, Leader of the Maashinian Union, ask for all of us in Maashinia, that you reflect upon yourselves to make a decision to help fellow persons in need.

We eagerly await your nation’s response to our predicament, and only can hope you choose to lend support to us. Shall you choose to do so, send delegation or word to the vessel from which this letter was received, and they will guide you to the Iris’s location. May we all meet soon.

Sincerely, your dearest friend,

Duarte Cardozo, King of Maashinia

In the distant ports below, Maashinian vessels were preparing to sail, set to make contact with the very foreign powers they had strived for so long to avoid. In a matter of weeks, perhaps even days, Maashinia would be known to nations around the world.

From upon the King’s stoney palace balcony high above, the sea looked so calm, so soft, and so controllable. The sea had always been a mercurial mistress, but this time she had gone too far; this time she had changed everything.

by **Servoth** » Sun Mar 09, 2014 8:09 pm

Reich-befehl Building, Imperia, Servoth
April 16th, 1900
13:09 RMT -2

Admiral Droffer (Fraz, Age 42), was the commander of the Servothian Imperial Navy, and the only man to stand above him was Kaiser Heinz. In all respects, Droffer was a meek but rather tall man, who loved boats and sailing in general, but had never seen any physical action at sea, and only rose to the position of Grand Admiral of the Servothian Imperial Fleet of the Sea through his obedience and hard work.

On this day, Droffer sat in his office, painted navy blue, typing on his naval-style engraved typewriter. And at recent, he had received a letter from his good friend, General Harsch, to which he was replying to at a rate which he was completely oblivious to the outside world.

Standing directly in front of Droffer's desk, directly in front of Droffer's typewriter, was General Admiral (the position directly below Grand Admiral) Borstein, who had been waiting for approximate of 26 minutes. Borstein was under orders not to disturb Droffer, even if he held a message directly from the Kaiser. Borstein entering into the very last stages of boredom, removed his electrum electroplated Lischer-85 from its holster, aimed at his foot, and wondered to himself, How bored am I?
Borstein fired, and he had answer, Very. However the shot did rip Droffer from writing his reply, Borstein quickly shoved the Kaiser's orders in Droffer's face and quickly limped out of the officer leaving a trail of blood on the blue carpet.

In less than a few hour a command would be sent to Sollosk, the most famous port city of Servoth, and the closest to Maashinia, ordering a salvage crew and ship to make the voyage. So marking the begin of the Servothian effort to help the King of the lone island nation just south of the State.

by **Maashinia** » Mon Mar 17, 2014 2:06 pm

April 18th, 1900
Imogen Ocean
Aboard the RMS Golden Arm approximately where the RMS Iris sank

Ambassador Raul Jimenez’s fingers absentmindedly handwound the golden pocket watch he clutched tightly in his olive skinned hand, its soft ticking indecipherable over the sound of the wind and the waves, while his dark eyes stared distantly across the sea. Even so, Raul felt as if he could feel the watch’s ticking throughout his body, the feeling only adding to his growing anticipation. For years, Raul had striven to encourage the Throne to forgo its isolationism and venture forth once more into the world, and now that time had finally come.

Word had been received late the following night, or perhaps early this morning depending on who you asked, by a small vessel that had departed as soon as a response was received that so far, at least one nation had replied to Maashinia’s request for aid and would hopefully soon be arriving. And so Raul waited on the deck of the Golden Arm, eyes straining against the brightness of the sun’s reflection upon the water, waiting to catch a glimpse of these strangers out of Servoth, and what exactly their acquaintance might mean for Maashinia’s future.

The smell of saltwater burned in the Ambassador’s nose. While Raul may have been born and raised on the island nation, he was hardly a fan of sailing, and he felt much more comfortable conducting his business from inside places than on top of ship decks. Yet here Ambassador Jimenez found himself, standing on the deck of the Golden Arm while heat caused beads of sweat to rush from his dark black hair, down his neck, and catching on the collar of his white undershirt. His jacket, a bright red emblazoned with gold trim, and traditional green colored trousers did little to repel the warmth of the sun, but Raul refused to dress informally on the chance that someone arrived unexpectedly.

Turning away from the direction that it was believed the Servothian assistance would be arriving from, Raul instead moved to view the south. More Maashinian vessels would be arriving within the following day or two as part of the recovery effort for the Iris; they would be carrying some of the more delicate equipment that had taken longer to prepare, and the teams of people with diving experience that would carry out the mission. Raul was told to expect another vessel, maybe two if it was necessary, to arrive from Maashinia, while the ship that had remained behind to mark the location of where the Iris had sank had been told to return to port back in Caledor once the Golden Arm and her guide had arrived. The guide ship was also ordered to accompany her counterpart back to Maashinia as well; Raul didn’t want the area to become so crowded that the operation was made more difficult.

Pacing back and forth across the deck, the Ambassador realized he was letting his impatience show through his typically composed composure. Taking a deep breath, he looked around until he spotted a crate that looked unimportant, then walked over to the crate and sat down. Removing a pipe from his pocket, Raul began to fill it with tobacco before lighting a match. A few small tokes and the tobacco caught, causing small wisps of smoke floating into the air while that tobacco smell wafted around the Ambassador. While doing nothing was hardly within his nature, Raul realized he had little other options until aid began to arrive, and why not try to enjoy one’s self while one can. Taking a deep drag of his pipe, Raul began to blow small smoke rings in front of him. Yes, he thought comfortably, life is too short not to enjoy the little things.

And so he waited.

by **Servoth** » Mon Mar 17, 2014 2:59 pm

The Imogen Ocean
April 18th, 1900
8:46 RMT -1

The red flag of the State fluttered in the wind as the lead scout ship pushed ahead of the Servothian entourage of ships. There were four ships, three scouts and a larger flat bottomed one with a rectangular section cut out of the middle of the ship, it was the recovery model.

The Scout (the Hamburg which was head, Munich, and Berlin) were lightly armored; a half-dozen small cannons, a trio of harpoon guns, and a dozen heavy machine guns loaded on each one. The fourth ship, the recovery ship (the Dreitmach), had a deck filled high with pumping machinery and mechanized winches and cranes. The Dreitmach was several decks lower than that of the Scouts, and was just one above the ocean itself.

A man standing at the bow of the Hamburg flag signaled that the commanding officer wished to come aboard the Golden Arm to talk about the situation. The Servothians awaited the reply of the Maashinians.

by **Maashinia** » Tue Mar 18, 2014 10:18 pm

Imogen Ocean
April 18th, 1900

The Servothian ships had been spotted in the horizon off the portside bow, the vessels slicing through the water as easily as sharpened blades through unarmored flesh, the brightness of their red flag piercing the skyline even so far in the distance. Bells were being rung throughout the Golden Arm to indicate the Servothians were within sight and all across the vessel the crew sprang to life.

“What’s the word?” An excited Raul Jimenez shouted towards a man holding a spyglass as he quickly pulled his red and gold jacket back on.

“Looks as if it’s our own guide ship leading four other ships straight for us Ambassador,” the man shouted back to Raul.

“How long before they reach us?”

“Hard to say, but I’d estimate within the hour.”

Raul smiled at the news, his narrow, dark face curling with his lips, a few days growth of stubble had created the appearance of a shadowy beard across his face. Typically Raul made it a point always to be pristine and clean shaven, but out at sea certain sacrifices had to be made - of course there was also the part where despite his many talents, Raul had yet to master the art of shaving on a moving ship, and did not want to cut himself now.

It had hardly felt as if any time had passed before the Servothian vessels had arrived alongside the Golden Arm. While three of the Servothian ships looks vaguely similar to the Maashinian vessel, although much more heavily armed, the fourth ship was something unlike any of the Maashinians had seen before. It was almost as if a giant, mechanized factory was floating towards them on a giant sheet of buoyant metal in a way that somehow defied the sea.

“Ambassador, they are asking permission to come aboard,” the captain of the Golden Arm, Martin Corasco, had slipped next to Raul without him noticing. The captain was wearing the traditional Maashinian naval dress uniform of white with green trim around the cuffs of the sleeves, shoulders, collar, and pants, while small golden tassels were sewn around the green shoulder patches. The white naval dress pants were held firmly in place by a red belt fitted with a golden buckle, and the insignia denoting the man as Captain was stitched in red on both upper arms and lower sleeves. Raul’s brow furrowed slightly, I see this scoundrel has somehow mastered shaving perfectly at sea.

“Ah yes, yes, see to it that they are welcomed aboard Captain Carasco,” Raul replied softly.

“Certainly, Ambassador Jimenez.” Captain Carasco turned and shouted orders out in Spanish, his deep, rough voice cutting through the noise of the wind with ease. Within moments a ramp was being extended to reach over to the Servothian vessels. As the Servothian party made their way onto the Golden Arm, Raul gave the traditional deep Maashinian bow of respect to his guests.

“Greetings friends and welcome aboard the RMS Golden Arm,” Raul preceded in English while still bowing, “what an honor it is to finally make your acquaintance. Please, is there anything we can provide to you after your long journey?”

Raul looked up slightly, but held his bow as was Maashinian custom until the addressed person spoke. While the Ambassador’s head may have been lowered in respect and duty, his eyes were alight with fire.

by **Fanaglia** » Mon Mar 24, 2014 3:26 pm

Palace Evander
Kraftenberg, Fanaglia
16 April, 1900
11:10 Local Time

"Bollocks," Miss Alans muttered as she scanned the message the courier has just given her. She had to tell Her Majesty straight away. She found her relaxing with her protege, Alice, on one of the palace's many balconies which granted splendid vistas of the sprawling city below. The ladies' attention, however, was on the distant flicker of silent lightning on the darkened horizon to the south.

"I just love a good thunderstorm, don't you, Miss Alans?" The queen asked, taking a sip of scotch as her dear friend and adviser stepped out into the balmy midday air.

"Yes, m'lady," Miss Alans agreed distractedly.

"Whatever is the matter?"

"We just received a letter from the king of Maashinia."

"Maashinia? Those odd Imogen islanders to the south?" asked Alice.

"The same," Miss Alans nodded. The Maashinians were indeed a bit odd. It was once (and many claimed still was) a haven for pirates and smugglers, much like the Black Isles, but had gradually withdrawn from public scrutiny into a quiet existence of minding its own business. Tucked away in the crook of an odd ocean current and maintaining a largely self-sufficient economy, it was often regarded as little more than an obscure geographical footnote if it was not forgotten entirely. Even Lucy Alans, with her encyclopedic knowledge of Gaia Atlia's nations and their peoples and leaders, was unsure of which bits of what little she knew of the country was rumor and which were true.

"What did he have to say?" The queen asked.

"Seems a ship of theirs carrying some sort of precious cargo has gone under in some deep waters off the coast of the mainland. They are offering to pay handsomely for anyone who can offer assistance recovering the lost cargo."

Queen Autumn couldn't have cared less about the cargo or the reward; what caught her attention was the enigmatic nation's reaching out to her and asking for help. A firm believer in that one can never have too many friends in politics, as well as believing that the fewer allies rival nations such as Servoth and Vjiay had in their circle, the better, she saw this as a golden opportunity -- one she had to seize before the sneaky western Amplectorians could stick their fingers in the pie. She knew that; Miss Alans knew it even better. "Of course we can help! Send down a couple of RAS ships and one of our deep-sea recovery vessels." Miss Alans' face looked grim. "What's the matter?"

"I've received word that Alonso Tagan received the same message shortly before we did. He's already sent orders to Ticciano to muster his men for the retrieval."

"Truly? Bollocks!" Mr. Tagan was a well-respected and incredibly wealthy industrialist, responsible for giving the people of Fanaglia and the world Fanaglian Central Textiles and all of the hundreds of useful and quality products they often take for granted, most notably airships and clothing. The very dress she was wearing then was FCT haute couture. But, despite his legacy, Alonso Tagan was a pig. A charming pig, to be sure, but a pig nonetheless. For him to be in such a prestigious representative position was unacceptable. Someone else in a more "official" position would have to be sent to accompany him. "Is Captain Gonzalo back from his leave, yet?"

"He just arrived from Patisserie-Goulash yesterday." Captain Peter Gonzalo, Captain of the Queen's Guard, had married Autumn's friend, Empress Analise Verouche of Patisserie-Goulash some five years prior. His status as Captain of the Guard had been largely reduced to a symbolic figurehead as of late, with his need to share more time with his new wife, but he was still a closely trusted friend of the queen and still held a position of great honor and respect in her court.

"Excellent. I think we should send him."

"Good idea, milady. I shall contact him at once."

Airspace over the area of the last known location of the RMS Iris
Imogen Ocean
18 April, 1911
09:02 Local Time

Captain Gonzalo, standing beside the controversial industrialist on the bridge, was amazed at how quickly he, Tagan, and his men (more like a small air force) arrived at their first waypoint, over the ocean nearing the coordinates of the last known location of the Iris. The search party was made up of seven FCT R-1 airships, which, with their long, sleek, aerodynamic envelope styles and cutting-edge internal combustion engines propelled them across the sea at speeds he would otherwise have thought unimaginable; a recovery vessel, the RMS Prospero, leased from the Royal Navy followed them and would arrive shortly after they did.

The ships flew in a loose, very organized sort of staggered triple-echelon formation, with Tagan's ship, the Maîtresse d'Chanvre, leading two others in a right-echelon formation at 150 meters above the waves, with one pair behind and to starboard at an altitude of 50 meters, and one pair behind and to port at 300 meters, each ship granted a different line of sight down to the great blue ocean.

"Aside from a slight crosswind, weather conditions couldn't be more hospitable, Captain," Tagan said through his teeth, which held a cigar in his mouth as he piloted the magnificent craft with his cap pulled low over his brow, his feet bare, and his silk shirt unbuttoned, exposing his tanned, wrinkled chest, which was adorned in a thick coat of curly white hair. "Clear skies, far as the eye can see, mate."

"Don't you think we're flying a little fast? I don't see how you guys can expect to find anything like this."

"Son, when was the last time you flew a recovery mission at sea?" Gonzalo hesitated, not entirely sure whether Tagan had figured out what the "lost treasure" really was. "Well, I've been running fortune-hunting expeditions like this one since before the Coup. Trust me," he said with a yellow-toothed grin. "That ship's as good as found."

"If you say so, sir." Maybe this wasn't such a good idea, letting him come along at all. Still, few were more qualified or more likely to succeed in such an endeavor.

Several hours passed without event. Just as Gonzalo was about to give up hope, however, one of the lower-altitude ships to the starboard side shot ahead from the rear.

"Ah, it seems he's seen something already!" Tagan shouted excitedly as he threw the throttle forward, the ship lurching forward as the engines responded instantly and automatically. "Looks like we've got company," he said when the shapes of five seafaring ships holding stationary positions near each other came into view. Tagan placed a spyglass to his eye while Gonzalo likewise did the same with his own; they were both disappointed to discover that four of the five ships were flying the crimson flag of those unsavory Servothians from the east. The fifth ship was flying unfamiliar colors, which they assumed must be the banner of Maashinia. Cursing under his breath, Tagan whipped out a pencil and paper pad from his back pocket and began scribbling a note. Making a few adjustments, he nodded once he was satisfied with what he had written and pulled a chain which rang a bell. A young ensign quickly and obediently appeared on the bridge behind them. "Give these instructions to the heliographer. We're gonna have a little fun with these bastards."

"Yes, sir!" The ensign saluted, snatched the note, and dashed towards the heliographer's position at midship.

"Mr. Tagan, just what are you planning to do?" Gonzalo demanded.

"Piss off those Servothian dogs. What else?" was his matter-of-fact response.

"Mr. Tagan, we are here representing the first diplomatic contact between Fanaglia and Maashinia in decades! We must be professional!"

"Last time I checked, Captain, I was a professional."

"Mr. Tagan, what are you planning to do?" Gonzalo growled.

"This is my ship, Captain. I'll do whatever I damned well please."

Quivering with rage, Gonzalo drew his sidearm and leveled it on the infuriating old man's head. "Mr. Tagan, under the authority of Her Majesty, Autumn, Queen of Fanaglia by the Grace of God, I order you to tell me exactly what it is you plan to do, or turn over control of your ship to me! To do otherwise is treason, which, as you know, is punishable by death."

"If you must know," Tagan replied calmly, "You need only to wait and see. You won't kill me. To do so would be quite ungentlemanly of you; such a murder during the first diplomatic relations between Fanaglia and Maashinia in decades would not look well for Her Majesty, especially when all of my men are mutinying against the man who murdered their employer in cold blood." With a lightning speed so surprising from such an old man, he suddenly reached out and grabbed Gonzalo's wrist with his right hand and pushed the barrel away from his face, while at the same time wrenching the gun from his grasp with his other hand before turning it back on the captain. "Do please relax, Captain," he said condescendingly as he kept the gun trained on Gonzalo. The disarmed man was speechless. With a smirk, Tagan cracked open the revolver, emptied the rounds onto the floor with a jangle, snapped it back shut, and handed it back to the captain. "No hard feelings, eh, mate?"

Gonzalo snatched the gun back bitterly. "You had better not botch this, Tagan, or Her Majesty will have your head."

"This head is too charming to separate from these lovely shoulders." He went back to surveying the sea below with a great grin spread across his face as the ship began descending rapidly, the kshhhhhhh! sound of valving gas emanating from behind them.

Airspace over the area of the last known location of the RMS Iris
Imogen Ocean
18 April, 1911
09:09 Local Time

The seven Tagan ships came swiftly down out of the thin cloud cover of the bright day and barreled at breakneck speed through the turbulent air a mere twenty meters above the crests of the ocean waves, directly toward the seafaring vessels gathered together just ahead. They bore directly towards one of the larger ships -- a great, menacing Servothian warship. They could see men on the decks below scrambling as the great airships lumbered so close overhead their wind rustled the rigging and blew sailor's covers from their heads and into the sea. One by one, they buzzed the ships before circling around above, all heliographing the same message to the ships below: GREETINGS NEW FRIENDS AND OLD. ALONSO TAGAN AND FRIENDS. FCT. FANAGLIA. PLEASURE TO HELP FIND IRIS.

by **Maashinia** » Fri Mar 28, 2014 12:35 pm

Imogen Ocean
April 18th, 1900
11:10am Local Time

“Capitán! Airships incoming!” The shout of the sailor pierced through the air as the man frantically waved his hands above his head and pointed in the direction of the airships streaking through the sky like large silver bullets.

Captain Corasco swiftly pulled out a gold plated spyglass from his pocket and brought it up to his eye, while Ambassador Jimenez looked on beside him, the Ambassador squinting and shading his eyes. “The markings appear to be Fanaglian based on the reports we’ve received recently, but we haven’t had any response that they wished to provide assistance Ambassador.”

“If they’re traveling by airship, it’s possible they outpaced our vessel,” Raul replied.

“They’re coming in awfully fast,” Corasco paused, held the spyglass up to his eye again, and then continued, “and rapidly losing altitude. What the hell are they doing?”

The Maashians watched stunned and unable to do much of anything as the airships skimmed above the Servothian vessels, sending the ships into chaos.

“Ambassador,” the Captain said calmly and collectedly, “I would suggest lowering your head.”

“Why would I -” Raul began before his eyes widened as he saw the seven flying silver beasts turn once more, their hungry sights set on the Golden Arm; Corasco didn’t wait for the Ambassador’s permission as he pulled Raul to the ground. Sailors all across the ship began to scramble and dive for cover as the airships sliced over their heads, whipping around caps and loose objects in their wakes while the sailors cursed and yelled.

Code: Select all: GREETINGS NEW FRIENDS AND OLD. ALONSO TAGAN AND FRIENDS. FCT. FANAGLIA. PLEASURE TO HELP FIND IRIS.

“Well,” Raul said, brushing off his pants and jacket as he stood back up, “they certainly are a lively folk aren’t they? Shall we invite them aboard?”

Captain Corasco nodded his head, but the look of displeasure was apparent on his face. It would be hard for any captain not to feel slighted by the actions taken toward his ship, but he was a dutiful man and knew when to hold his tongue. Instead, he began shouting orders in his thick, rough accent to make preparations for the Fanaglians.

by **Servoth** » Fri Mar 28, 2014 3:11 pm

Imogen Ocean
April 18th, 1900
9:10 RMT -1

Kapitän Vitelhim, Flottenmeister Brecken, and ReichsBeauftragten Hilmer stood in perfect alignment with each other, each exactly six inches apart from the others. Hilmer looked on as the insane Fanaglian airships terrorized the men and ships under Vitelhim and Brecken. Hilmer, in his Black military jacket and pickelhaube (which itself had a golden Servothian double-eagle figurine mounted on top), sighed. The ReichsBeauftragten reached into his jacket, looking for that special pocket. Finding it, he removed a small tin case, which (like much Servothian military equipment) had the Servothian eagle painted on. Opening the case Hilmer removed a short cigarette holder, prerolled cigarette, the man placed one of the coffin nails into the holder, lit, and smoked.

After a few short puffs, and a near trimming by an annoying low flying airship, finally acknowledged the presence of them. Hilmer turned his head, his sea-green eyes locking onto the side of Vitelhim's and Brecken's heads. "Signal your men to launch a few flares at the Drunkàrds' airships, aim not to hit, but to warn as intended. Should one catch fire, those childish idiots will be taught a lesson on how not to provoke armed military vessels of our State."

Brecken stepped forward, about a foot and a half ahead of Vitelhim and Hilmer, taken a whistle that had been hanging around his neck to his mouth, he blew. Chirping out a few high pitched bars of the Servothian Naval March, then dropped the whistle and pointed to the airships, then made a motion with his hands like a firework had exploded in the air.

A few short moments later, bright red sparks exploded around the Fanaglian airships, close to the flying idiots, but not close enough to burn the horrid things, even if that was what was truly desired.

by **Fanaglia** » Fri Apr 04, 2014 11:55 am

Airspace over the area of the last known location of the RMS Iris
Imogen Ocean
18 April, 1900
09:10 Local Time

"Jesus Christ Almighty!" Shouted Tagan from where he stood at the window from the bridge. "They're shooting at us!"

"Well, what did you expect, you silly wanker!?" Gonzalo cried. "You just buzzed several warships on a high-value salvage operation! Servothian warships, at that!"

"What should I do, sir?" The nervous helmsman asked from behind them. "Surely, we can't return fire!"

"Christ, no -- don't return fire!" Gonzalo ordered.

"Captain, if you please, this is my bloody ship," Tagan spat. "Don't return fire!"

"Retreat?" The helmsman asked weakly.

"No, don't retreat," Tagan muttered as he scribbled another note in his pad before tearing it out and handing it to the other messenger standing at the top of the stairs, who nodded with assent and dashed off to the heliographer at midship. "If they wanted to knock us out of the sky, they could have done it already. They're just using flares to show us that they're pissed off. No sense of bloody humor, those Servothians." He stood with his hands on his hips, shaking his head like a disapproving mother in a "boys will be boys" way.

"But Mr. Tagan, there is no protective layer of Hembacon on these ships, is there?" Gonzalo asked.

"No sir, Captain. These are not military ships." As he said this, Gonzalo sensed the ship losing altitude. "They're built for speed and cargo capacity. Had one of those flares come a little closer..." he made a gesture with his hands like a ball of something exploding and made a "Kshh!" sound with his mouth. "It was awfully reckless of them."

"I don't think you're in any position to determine anyone's degree of recklessness, Mr. Tagan."

The old man shrugged. "Come. We're off to meet these bastards face-to-face," he said as he led the way back to midship.

As the ship dropped in altitude, the following was heliographed to the ships below, first from the Maîtresse d'Chanvre, then was picked up by the others and sent simultaneously: WARMER WELCOME THAN EXPECTED. SORRY. JUST FANAGLIAN HUMOR. COMING DOWN TO MEET YOU.

A large, inflatable rubber dinghy was being manipulated onto a winch hanging just outside the main cargo doors at the side of the midship deck when Tagan and Gonzalo arrived from the bridge. Four of Tagan's men, dressed in their sharp blue linen airmen's uniforms, were climbing aboard and taking their positions. By then, the ship was hovering some five meters above the level of the sea. Gonzalo had done many of these drops in his younger days, but it had been over ten years since his last one and he was never terribly fond even then. He wasn't looking forward to doing another dinghy drop. "After you, Captain," Tagan gestured with a forced cordiality. Gonzalo stepped in on unsteady legs and took his position alongside the Tagan airmen. "Adieu, Captain!" He called.

"What? Aren't you coming?"

"I'm too unstable, Captain! I'm a madman! You take care of the boring drivel while I go off in search of treasure and glory! Hahahaha!" Before the word "glory" had passed the old man's lips, Gonzalo heard the clink! of the dinghy's winch cable being released; the sound of Tagan's maniac laugh faded into the sound of the air rushing past the old captain's ears as they plunged into the sea, which they met with a harsh jolt and a great splash.

Gonzalo looked back up at the ship with his mouth agape. "That's our captain," beamed one of the airmen as he took an oar and began paddling towards the Servothians and Maashinians, two oarmen on either side. The Maîtresse d'Chanvre remained in position only a minute or so longer before lurching forward and setting off away from the gathering of ships and Gonzalo's dinghy, followed by five of the other six ships, leaving only one remaining behind in the area. Gonzalo grumbled as he watched them go, but, as they approached the Golden Arm, he turned his attention to the ship, straightening his cover and smoothing out the front of his jacket.

by **Inoroth** » Thu Oct 30, 2014 8:25 pm

20 miles from the Last Known Location of the RMS Iris
Imogen Ocean
18 April, 1900
06:58

The ships cut as fast as they could through the waters, Inorothian colors flying excitedly in the brisk wind. They had been deployed by the Inorothian government to the nation of Maashinia in the recovery of a lost ship. One of the vessels, the research ship I.S.V. Fontina, was equipped with several diving bells and undersea suits that had hoses attached to giant pumps onboard the ship. Then there was the medium cruiser I.S.V. Coraggiosa, providing escort for the unarmed civilian vessel, as well as towing a small, oddly shaped craft in her wake. This was in fact a newly completed experimental submarine, able to sail underwater at a speed of up to six knots and designed to aid in recovery of submerged objects in Inorothian harbors, especially to help salvage wrecks. These three ships had started out rather near the Fanaglian contingent, and for some time had just just barely been able to see the airships above, before they floated over the horizon, able to achieve faster speeds than the heavy-landen Inorothian vessels.

The weather could not be better for sailing, and not a cloud could be seen in the sky. Now nearing the rendevous point, it was decided to have a bit of fun at the other's expense; the Submarine Avventura Sottomarino was detached and began sinking below the waves, while the other two ships turned 90 degrees, planning to stay out of sight of any foreign ships for the next few hours before turning back to join in the search... but allowing enough time for the searchers to enjoy a little surprise first.

Last known location of the RMS Iris
Imogen Ocean
18 April, 1900
09:12

The small little craft had been chugging silently below the water for over two hours now, on course to arrive just under where they had been told to meet the the Maashinians, and according to the navigator, they were about there. The captain stooped over the controls, not because he wished to, but because there was not room enough to stand. In fact, the crew of seven men were becoming increasingly cramped in the small confines of the craft, and eager to pop out in the fresh air again. Though the ship had battery power enough for up to seven hours before needing to run the diesel engine on the surface, the crew would likely not be able to match the endurance of the ship. Suddenly, the navigator announced that he calculated they were within forty feet of the coordinates, and the captain gave the exciting order:

"Periscope depth, helmsman, and reduce speed to a quarter -- we don't want to hit anything up there!"

Quickly, the men could feel the craft rising while her speed slowed, and the seconds passed, with the navigator calling out depths in increments of ten, the space between each call growing slightly faster each time:

"sixty feet, sir...
fifty feet sir...
forty feet sir...
thirty feet sir...
twenty feet sir..."

Suddenly, the captain bellowed again:

"Slow our ascent and begin leveling off."

The next two depth readings took longer:

"ten feet sir...
periscope depth reached, sir..."

Without saying a word, the captain flipped the mechanism, and the viewing port dropped down on well oiled fittings. Sticking his face to the eye holes, he did a quick 360 of the area, signaled an 'all clear', and ordered the submarine to surface all the way. He then made his way to the hatch atop the craft, and opened it, clambering outside. He was followed by four men (the navigator and helmsman stayed below), and they all began waving, jeering, and harassing the no doubt startled crews of the nearby ships, some as close as forty feet away.

by **Maashinia** » Tue Nov 04, 2014 11:27 pm

Watching from the deck of the Golden Arm, Raul, Corasco, and the other Maashinians prepared for the arrival of the Fanaglians’ dinghy alongside their vessel. The captain and the crew deftly ensuring that the Golden Arm was being properly maneuvered on the calm but always moving waters. Along the starboard side, a few sailors quickly made the necessary adjustments to allow the Fanaglians to come aboard as smoothly as was possible at sea.

Having seemingly recovered from the Fanaglians unexpectedly low entrance, activity across the deck had returned to normal for the crew with the exception of a few haughty mumblings here and there. As the Fanaglians’ approach drew nearer shouts began to ring out across the Golden Arm until one pierced through through the deck.

“¡Capitán, mira el agua!”

Seemingly as one, both the Ambassador and the Captain gazed out into the ocean just as the submarine surfaced, once again startling the crew and causing shouts in Spanish and Portuguese back and forth among the men. Raul found himself thinking that perhaps he should’ve requested a more modern Maashinian vessel that possessed more capable detection technology. Although Captain Corasco maintained a stoic facade Raul saw the darkening of the Captain’s already dark eyes. Once again, Raul could tell Corasco felt slighted, but he was a man loyal to his duty, and his duty required his composure.

The Captain is a good sailor and loyal to his king and country, Raul thought, still, were this under different terms amongst different company, he may not give such a welcoming response.

Slipping into Spanish, Raul muttered lightly to the Captain, “These Amplecatorians certainly do enjoy their showy entrances. I have a sense of humor as much as any man, but these surprises are becoming most taxing. Regardless, I’ll be much relieved when everyone is aboard and we can commence the real reason why we came. Do we know from where these new arrivals hail?”

The Captain shifted slightly on his feet, his eyes squinting towards the submarine. “I cannot be certain, but estimating by the fact that they are arriving alongside the Fanaglians the most logical answer would seem to be that they are from Inoroth.”

“Very well, it is nice to see such a response, I was worried our King’s call would go unanswered. And such vast displays of technology as well, we will have much to report back to the throne. I presume you have your men taking as much of information in as they can?”

“Yes, of course, I have engineers deducing as much as they can from what they see, while both the bosun and a deck cadet are observing these foreigners’ vessels activities.”

“Muy bien, Capitán. Ensure that all the necessities in the cabin are prepared, it is likely we will begin soon.”

Corasco nodded and signaled over one of the seamen, ordering him to make certain that the cabin was meticulously cleaned and in order, and also to inform the chief steward that the planned meal should be ready to be served immediately.

It would not do for the Maashians to make a poor first impression by being unprepared to host the very people providing them aid.

What Lies Beneath (ATTN: Vapor)

What Lies Beneath (ATTN: Vapor)

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