The Great Southern SeaA vast expanse of saltwater where man and creature fear to thread. It is thanks to the naval expertise of Albion and its neighboring isles that eyes, hands, and ears have finally begun to search an uncover the mysteries of this aquatic domain. But beyond the shores, beyond all that, the sea expands and deepens, and when miles become leagues, and when even the scantest scrap of land is but a dot in the horizon, even the light of the sun quakes and ceases to be.
Beyond the safety of the city, beyond civilization, even the sea takes a darker color. Strange aquatic creatures become monstrous beasts of the sea. Monstrous serpents, krakens and indescribable creatures roam the skies and seas, and mere relics become forgotten artifacts of old. Even the air turns vile, toxic and impossible to survive for normal living organisms without tools or special abilities to thread these unhospitable waters.
There is a great number of wreckages where man has tried and failed to thread. And yet, there is a promise and a lure of something grand, something greater than what anyone should hope to hold. Wonders from different worlds, different times, have sunk to the bottom of this sea. Great fallen temples and monuments of ancient civilization, now nothing more than nests for dark beasts.
But beware, adventurers. For sometimes, the sea is more than a refuge. It can be a prison. One that keeps the wariest of sailors trapped.
Or one that keeps the ones beneath the depths away.
The Curse Of the Southern Sea - A passage of an old adventurer's memoir:
"And I saw it... in all it's glory. In all it's terror. Aaaah! [REDACTED] Damn ye! Let Neptune strike ye dead, [REDACTED]!
Hark! Hark, Triton. Hark! Bellow, bid our father, the sea king, rise from the depths, full foul in his fury, black waves teeming with salt-foam, to smother this young mouth with pungent slime, to choke ye,
engorging your organs till ye turn blue and bloated with bilge, and brine, and can scream no more.
Only when, he, crowned in cockle shells, with slithering tentacled tail, and steaming beard, takes up his fell, be-finnèd arm,
his coral-tined trident screeches banshee-like in the tempest, and plunges right through your gullet, bursting ye, a bulging bladder no more,
but a blasted bloody film now, a nothing for the Harpies, and the souls of dead sailors to peck and claw and feed upon, only to be lapped up and swallowed by the infinite waters of the dread emperor himself.
Forgotten to any man, to any time, forgotten to any god, or devil, forgotten even to the sea,
for any stuff, or part of you, even any scantling of your soul, is [REDACTED] no more, but is now itself the sea."