9: (Mis)Adventure Part 3

Six elongated weeks passed on the open seas, travelling south with the coast of Africa left on the horizon, far away enough to ensure the masking of their presence. With winter falling upon Europe, Summer began to rise over southern Africa. Temperatures raised to unbearable heights once again, leaving the sailors to go about their work in a sluggish manner. Their tops left in their quarters in the attempt to cool down, but really exposing themselves to the sun even more, inducing the development of sunburn across their backs. The three explorers kept themselves in the shaded areas of the cabins, napping the long hot days away or talking amongst themselves about anything that came to mind. Anything to take their minds out of such a state of boredom, that was when a call from one of the sailors stated their arrival in Cape Town. Finally, they had reached land once again.

It was the same as before, the captain of the ship disappeared to negotiate prices for supplies from the local warehouses while the sailors jumped into action of performing maintenance on their ship, working has fast and hard as they could so they could retreat into the closest Inn they could find, alcohol and a bed was all they wanted now. At least this time, John decided to stick with the two explorers, following them over the gangplank and into the crowded streets of Cape Colony’s capital. There was a much more pleasing sight here than Gold Coast. The housing was more professionally built, hints of Dutch architecture standing out from the English control, attempting to take control of the Colony as before. The populace was much more civilised, garrisons were more lenient towards the people as every street screamed multiracial unity. The closest hotel proved to be promising, better beds, indoor bathrooms, proper running water. They could easily stay here for way more than the two nights than they planned.

Eventually, once the three had familiarised themselves with their rooms, they had decided to visit a local Inn for dinner and a few drinks, inviting Samuel to join them. It could be a good way to get on his good side, finally dispelling any tensions and hatred held between the two sides. There was no need to bring the spears, only small pistols carried by all four Englishmen. They had made it to the other side of the world now, there was no need to worry about any Spanish influence or attacks that could threaten the group, even crime would be quickly dealt with, especially due to the fact that the four were English. However… Continue reading “9: (Mis)Adventure Part 3”

8: (Mis)Adventure Part 2

The remnants of summer continued to flow throughout the atmosphere of the Crown Colony of Gold Coast. The sun beat down on the populace, reflecting off the stone constructions of housing and the massive fort that stood beside the sea as a blinding burst of white. Palm trees scattered around the area as the streets flourished with the sluggish citizens, each attempting to cope with working in such hot conditions. It had only been a few minutes since arriving at the colony, the sailors had quickly jumped into maintenance of their vessel while the Captain decided to visit the local warehouse in order to discuss prices of supplies.

Emerging from their quarters came the three troublesome explorers, longing for a decent room to sleep in for the next couple nights before leaving once again for South Africa. The view was amazing, Garth and Damien simply stood at the gangplank in awe of what they could see, if only they were born earlier in order to watch over the creation of the colony. The rolling hills, the palm trees, the giant fort. Everything that could be seen held a story in itself, a history, no matter how brutal it may be, it was beautiful. However, John was having second thoughts. Concern covered his face as his eyes slowly scanned over the area, watching the inner workings as if he knew it all.

“You two go ahead, I’ll stay on the boat.” John stated, his words wavered as he slowly turned to return to the cabin,

“Wait, why? We’ve got two nights here, so we might as well make use of our time.” Damien replied, questionably watching John’s worrisome actions.

“I’d rather not stay in the town. You know, bugs and shit.”

“You never objected to this in Mexico, and I think it was even worse because it was the height of summer.” Damien placed his hand on John’s shoulder with concern, attempting to convince the ex soldier to join the two. “Besides, we need to stay together at this time. Who knows what we’ll run in to.”

“Leave him, Damien.” Garth stated, his voice exhibited sympathy, “I doubt anyone would know we’re here.” The words incited a sigh of relief to be thrown from John’s mouth, shaking the hand from his shoulder before continuing back to the cabin.

“You were dispatched here before decommissioning, weren’t you.” Garth questioned, instantly stopping John in his tracks once more. A moment of silence fell over the three as the atmosphere fell low.

“Yeah.” A blunt reply given without turning to face his friends, John’s memories came back to haunt him as soon as he realised where he was. There was no way he could handle staying in the place which held nothing but a negative memory. He couldn’t question Garth’s assumption, he was a smart man, and the actions of an ex soldier such as this would definitely provide enough evidence of a previous dispatch. A dispatch which had scarred the man’s mind for the rest of his life.

“Let’s go and find a hotel for now, Damien.” Garth suggested, holding back the urge to press further into John’s past as he hopped onto the gangplank, returning to land once more. There was no means to find a hotel alone, no map, no signs. The only way to find one was through spoken word, asking the people to point the two in the direction of a hotel, or at least somewhere to sleep for the two nights they would be stuck in this sweltering area. Continue reading “8: (Mis)Adventure Part 2”

5: Truth

It was a silent journey back to England, not a single shanty was sung, not a single word was spoken. The whole atmosphere of the Expedite was filled with grieving at the loss of a good, innocent man, all for some strange artefacts. Garth had locked himself inside his cabin, sitting on the bed, his body leaning forward as his mind worked the hardest it ever could in the attempts of solving the mystery of the spears. All in vain. Damien and John simply stood on the top deck, leaning against the rails as they shared cigars, staring into the deep blue horizon of the sea. The simple month at sea felt far longer than it should before the English coast was sighted on the horizon, finally calling for an end of this painful adventure.

However, it was a calling for a new beginning.

Continue reading “5: Truth”

4: Escape

“I can’t believe we had to steal these,” John sighed to himself, disgusted at the acts he was forced to do in order to safely return to the ship. It was deemed the most safest way to escape without any violence as proposed by Damien, stealing robes from a stall in order to hide their clothing and faces from the police who roamed the streets. The three all wore similar robes of a dirty cream colour, stretching down to their knees to effectively hide their bodies. They kept to the high density crowds of the city, another act of hiding from the police, seeming to be casual workers as they carried their wrapped up spears, John also carried his rifle over his shoulder. The gear was hesitantly destroyed and hidden before they left the hotel in order to lighten the load, it would be impossible to carry such a large amount of luggage between three people without the help of a horse and cart. The fact that all of the gear was lost had left Garth in a sulking state, walking slightly slower than the rest of the group as he hung his head low in sadness. So much money wasted.

“You’re going to have to deal with it, John, we can’t afford to be recognised right now.” Damien replied, using one hand to pull his hood further over his head as a couple armed policemen walked past, ignoring the three’s presence as they stopped a random citizen to enquire.

“Come on, Garth, we need to hurry up.” John stated, attempting to keep his voice quiet while also grabbing the archaeologists attention, snapping him out of his sulking trance to bring him to his regular walking speed once again. Hoping the necessary sacrifice of his gear will prove to be useful later on in the three’s adventure.

It was out of pure luck that the streets of Merida were packed with it’s citizens, it was the height of the day after all, inciting the populace to leave their workplaces for a lunch break. Or bringing the housewives out of their homes to browse the market stalls that lined the streets. The police had a harder time with their search because of this, they had to become more selective with the people they question in order to efficiently continue their search with better results. Two policemen slowly walked close to a building, talking amongst themselves about their failures in finding information, complaining about how impossible it is to find a few Englishmen in a large city. It was just like looking for a needle in a haystack.

That was when they turned at a corner, passing the three explorers as they hid their faces. A true suspicious sight to one of the policemen as they quickly turned and called out to the three, stopping them in their tracks. Damien and John’s faces fell to a panic as sweat slowly slid down their foreheads, it was the end. They’ll be found out instantly. The Spanish words the policemen spoke seemed rushed, somewhat angry. As if they were commanding the three to come with them. There was no way they could pretend to be natives, they were European after all.  Continue reading “4: Escape”

3: Rivalry

3 days earlier…

Screams echoed through the simplistic build of the underground temple, each distinctively unique sound of pain and panic resonated between the stone walls of the hallway before escaping into the surrounding forested area. Within the main altar of the temple stood the remaining explorers and their translator, Ikal, who silently leaned against one of the three walls, his arms crossed while his eyes stayed fixated on the two foreigners. One Portuguese, the other Spanish, dressed in their respective national equipment which showed off their presence to be a government-funded one. Around the room lay the victims of the spears themselves, each showing the fates that accompanied the attempted wielding of a spear: Charred bodies, Hands covering the ears, or a look of all life being sucked from the body.

“You…” The Spaniard growled in his native language, holding a spear which held what seemed to be a bowl underneath the blade, water dripping over the edges of the bowl with the man’s movement as he stomped towards Ikal. “Why can’t they hold the last three? What did you do to them?”

“I didn’t do anything,” The Mayan replied calmly, “They just had no potential and couldn’t handle the power of the spears.”

“Then how come we can?” The Portuguese explorer questioned, holding a simplistic yet fully metallic spear, “And what happened to the other four? Did some people get here before us?”

“I don’t know. I’m not the only native here you know.”

The Spaniard spat on the ground in frustration, seeing his whole group become brutalised by three strange objects had hit him hard. There was a sense of uselessness within his mind, he would’ve stopped them before it happened. He could’ve told them to leave the spears after the first death. But why did he decide to keep trying?

“I want you to tell us how to find people with potential, I want those last three spears. And you are going to help us whether you like it or not, Savage.” He ordered, speaking his words through gritted teeth as anger slowly fuelled his mindset. “But first, we need to give these bodies a burial, they deserve it.”

“I suggest we also cover our tracks.” The Portuguese man added, “We will meet you in Merida next week, Ikal. Understand?”

“Of course,” Ikal sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose in the process as he straightened himself from the wall. “Let me give you a hand with the bodies.” Continue reading “3: Rivalry”

0: Prologue

“He who wields the power of song shall bring the end of the world. He who wields the flames of hell itself shall lead their people to prosperity…”

The summer sun beamed down on the lands of Mexico, not a cloud to be seen or a breeze to be felt. These conditions brought the native people from their stone and straw huts into their farms surrounding the island city of Tenochtitlan, slaving away in the intense sun in order to feed the populace for yet another year. Further beyond these farms stood the large forests, a natural defensive barrier while also a source of forage and game. The beams of light struggled to penetrate the large canopies to the dirt ground of the forest floor while nature itself continued it’s endless cycle without hesitation; birds sang to find a mate, plants harvested the energy of the sun in order to grow and reproduce, mammals and reptiles scurried through the trees or floor in the search for food. Everything lived in harmony.

That is, until the hastened stomps of bare human feet pushed against the floor, sprinting through the maze of nature in the search for the clearing of the nearby city. A long spear held in one hand, the end ignited as some eternal flame which danced with the movements of the wielder. A thin, brightly coloured poncho covered the body while a large metallic helmet, designed, coloured and decorated to give the form of a bird’s head was donned on the head of this individual. Muddy brown eyes fixed forward, watching through the wall of bark to figure out the next move to make while traversing such a natural terrain.

The sound of feet thudding against the floor was accompanied by another unnatural sound; the sound of tree branches experiencing more weight they were used to, leaves fluttered and rustled as the protruding branches slightly bent towards the ground, resisting the extra load of weight and the forces of gravity that accompanied it. This sound followed closely behind the person, moving closer and closer with every step before finally reaching above them. It was just moments before this predator struck down at it’s prey, using their knowledge of the forest as an advantage. Finally, the predator made it’s appearance, using it’s own spear as means to catch on to the thin trunk of a young tree, the six protrusions which formed a double triangle beneath the sharp edge of the main spear hooked around the the trunk. Wind chimes hung from each protrusion, giving off their own tune with each minuscule movement. For now, with fast and efficient hunting movements, the only sound these chimes made was the sound of danger. Mixing together as a myriad of conflicting notes, eventually leading to the formation of white noise as the sources came closer and closer to the prey. Finally, there was only one strategy left to survive this attack;

The hunted man pivoted on his heel, swinging his own spear and holding it with both hands above his head in order to catch the swing of the hunter’s spear, the white noise of the dangerous tunes quickly extinguished into silence while the eyes of both individuals locked. Brown versus green. The beak of the bird helmet slowly clanged against the helmet of the hunter, resembling that of a dragon head while the rest of the hunter’s attire seemed similar to the hunted, save the difference in some colours and patterns.


A few hours had passed since the skirmish had begun, the city of Tenochtitlan was left in high alert as strange white skinned people were noticed marching towards the city, accompanied by the people of enemy nations, this could only lead to one thing. War.

However, the concerns of Montezuma II was quickly grabbed as the dragon helmet man entered the city, his spear held over his shoulder as a certain head bearing the bird helmet hung from the end. The fires of the spear was extinguished as it was thrown to the ground, followed by the beheaded body of the bird helmet man. This grotesque, barbaric sight brought one thing, and one thing only, into the minds of the Aztec people. This one thought was quickly made audible through the mouth of Montezuma II himself;

“We’re doomed.”


“…So now that you have taken a year out, you’re trying to return back to the military?” The inquisitive voice of a reporter confirmed, sitting within the kitchen of an ex-soldier, a small notebook at hand with unintelligible scribbles littered across most of the pages as questions were asked and answered. “Now that is true devotion to the Empire.”

“I’m flattered,” the soldier replied after a small awkward laugh, his large hand rubbing against the back of his head nervously, “I’d probably be a bit rusty, so I’m going to start off with menial tasks, such as escorting. I do hope to return to the front lines as before.”

“Are you able to tell us what your first task will be?”

“I’ll be escorting some young graduates on an expedition, I can’t say where. But I hear it’s something big. I’ll be leaving next week.”

“Alright, thank you for allowing us to interview you, Captain Phage.” The reporter slammed his small notebook closed as he raised from the wooden chair situated at a small wooden table placed perfectly in the middle of the room, quickly finishing the slightly cold tea which was placed before him before preparing his coat to leave. “I hope you enjoy my article.”

The Captain followed, in the man’s movements, raising from his chair in the opposite position of the table, leading the reporter to the front door as a way to politely see him out. “I’m sure it’d be a great story, sir. Hopefully the best of 1880.”