The Rift Expedition

*These audio logs and their transcriptions are property of the Millennium Society on loan to the University of Dreiton and shall not be unlawfully duplicated or distributed. Some parts of these recordings may be corrupted or otherwise damaged. Discretion is advised.*

Listen to the full playlist here.

#### I - "savetheworld"

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gnayKsWjVhE

The Rift. Nova Vulturia. The Farlands. The dark continent. This mysterious and dangerous continent which sits just off the charts has many names, though as far as the world is concerned the only reality of that beautiful and infernal land is that none who set out for it have ever returned. Tales most outrageous and haunting surround the Rift – Maelstroms of blood claiming merchant ships that venture too close, vengeful spirits from the Vulturian era emerging from the black waters and claiming the soul of any poor fool unfortunate enough to be spotted, brain-eating mites falling from the sky at random – the list goes on. A state expedition to its forsaken coasts would have been lunacy a matter of years ago, but charting the dark continent seems to be nothing less than a grave and exciting necessity as of this dusk.

When the Society’s lithostratigraphical corps re-calculated the composition of Aquila’s core taking into the account the new developments of the Incursion, we discovered something most concerning. If our calculations are correct, not only are natural deposits of the miracle Aetherium ore contained within the charted world incomprehensibly rare, but they account for less than 10% of its total distribution on Aquila. We were forced to come to terms with the unfortunate fact that a hundred generations of Dreitonian debtors exhuming the entire core of this shard and smelting every ore and fossil down to its base wouldn’t give us enough pure Aetherium to fill a single chest. The Commonwealth could mine enough diamonds and emeralds to purchase the Celestial Palace from the Khotani and the lives of every miserable Silurian, and our wealth would hardly measure up to a fraction of what it would cost to purchase a full block of this amazing substance which will one day elevate us beyond the gods. Our allies in Akhtamar are in the process of digging up the entire Ertdorian desert, and I don’t believe I would have the heart to tell them it’s a complete waste of their time. No: If the Commonwealth is to secure enough Aetherium for me to complete my Project, we will have to find it in either the northern or southern antipodes; we are more likely to conjure up the daemon-sultan himself by throwing an emerald into the River Dreiton and dancing a jig than to secure excavation rights in the burning hovel that is Khotan at the moment, and so the choice is clear: It is time for us to do what our ancestors could not and tame the untamable.

Attempts to cross the Aetherial sea by nether tunneling proved fruitless, as it appears that a similar barrier exists there, and we simply lack the funds to engage in a quantum meta-tunneling project comprehensive enough to cross it. The initial idea was to approach the Rift by military airship, but atmospheric activities beyond the Starfall are much too volatile to risk aerial travel with current technology. We decided that we would sail for the dark continent by steamship, manned by a select crew equal parts soldier and scientist. If we were going to do this right for the sake of the country – I was the first to say – we would need to summon nothing less than the most capable men and women in the Commonwealth. Our captain, the famous Khotani expat Zhang Windforth, is a capable and worldly woman who has more than proven herself in the nautical field, and so I trust her completely. Our lead navigator, however – I cannot help but feel he is to be this expedition’s weak link. Not that I believe in such superstition, but rumors of affiliation with certain occult elements surround the man, and I find myself averse to his unnaturally gaunt and awkward disposition. Still, for reasons that escape me, Jennings has it on good word that the man actually traveled to the Rift once and returned intact, which would, admittedly, make him the greatest authority on the dark continent in all Aquila by default. I shall keep my four eyes upon him nonetheless. The good gentleman and family friend who produced those fascinating interviews with veterans of the War, Messr. John Reed, shall also be accompanying us, insisting that if one man is to be trusted to write the official account of the expedition, the finest pressman in the greater Commonwealth should be the one to do so.

I myself shall be keeping this audiographical account as an additional primary source, mostly for personal reasons, but perhaps the University may have some use for it once all is done and said. We embark at first light tomorrow. I would ask the Martyr for safe passage, but I get the sense he isn't looking at the moment.

#### II - "unbrokenthread"

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ztPVaht0ZPk

4th dusk, Brightstar, 4851

First dawn at sea. I have never cared much for braving the untamed waves, but the crew seem to be adjusting well. I can certainly understand the appeal. A great venture into the unknown, surrounded only by your wits and the camaraderie of your brothers and sisters in voyage. I can remember my family’s long trek to the brave new world, seeing the yellow sands of Aphelion for the first time, the aroma of fresh malachite in the mist, the spray of the alien sea upon my young face. That was a different Dreiton. Before we fully understood the role it would play on our mission. And now we begin the next phase of our quest for salvation. The navigator has indicated that with our battery caliber and the relative calmness of the Starfall, we should approach the shores of the Rift within a week. We have supply enough for two. Either we establish a base camp on the dark continent and begin reaping its fruits – if indeed there are any – or we do never see the mighty walls of Castle Dreiton again. We’ve deemed it worth the risk. Earlier this evening, Captain Zhang and I settled in for tea to discuss the expedition. I must say, she is a fascinating woman. Perhaps even an exemplary for her… troubled peoples. We agreed upon the necessity of keeping the morale of the crew high, as well as the importance of keeping them at arm’s length to avoid the unwarranted dissemination of certain privileged details regarding our mission. Another interesting point of conversation was our navigator – that odd, pale, quiet man given to us by Jennings. Mme. Zhang agreed to share with me what little she did know of him.

The man was a faithful member of a certain blood cult which once operated from central Aphelion but has since fallen defunct, according to our knowledge. Rumor has that he was sent on some manner of spiritual journey, a rite of passage or some such nonsense, which brought him to the very interior of the Rift. Apparently he was a member of Dreitonian society, and used his good repute to purchase a humble sloop for passage to the dark continent. How he was able to cross the Starfall on such a modest and primitive vessel is largely a mystery, but the man has indicated, in one of his precious few concessions of concrete details, that he used his knowledge of naturally occurring leylines cross referenced with a Kazimiri starchart to guide himself through the safest possible route to the Rift. It sounds incredulous, I know, but such an esoteric practice isn’t without precedent. If the navigator indeed possessed knowledge and intuition keen enough to attune himself to the invisible threads of quintessence comprising the seams which hold Aquila together, then perhaps guiding our expedition to the Rift will only be the beginning of the Society’s use for him.

#### III - "tearsinrain"

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IqW2SsHEkW4

6th dusk, Brightstar, 4851

The third night. The expedition is proceeding as planned, though I confess it is beginning to take its toll on me. Last night as we passed by Moiros I was visited by that insufferable philistine Addison Mayfield in my nebulous state. Men like him have always tried my patience to no end; his brutality, his total lack of strategy, his utter disregard for the larger goal, only ever concerned with making Aquila a worse place in the present moment. And now the audacity to haunt me in my sleep as well! During my first wink of sleep in days, no less. Perhaps he was destined to die serving the whims of the board of directors. To his credit, it’s at least a sounder career strategy than throwing yourself into Jenning’s web of patriotic bureaucracy. At any rate, he is at the very least more valuable to us dead than he ever was alive.

Captain Zhang was held up by a meeting with the navigator, so I opted to continue my studies outside the engine room this evening. I think it’s a rather pleasant noise, though you may disagree. Hearing the gears turn and the subtle hiss of excited redstone churning out steam. I was joined by another man who was familiar to me, though I did not know his name. He introduced himself as Messr. John Reed, the journalist responsible for those fascinating interviews with veterans of the Aether war. I have always admired the man’s writings, but it had never occurred to me that I hadn’t met him yet. We traded amusing stories over shroom tea; I recounted the time my assistants and I attempted to retrieve fossil readings from a stretch of permafrost just outside some backwater Eletsyan village, and they spoke such gibberish that they couldn’t even understand basic Aquilan standard. His story, though, I think was more intellectually stimulating.

The tale went that he was spending an evening at Skull’s Thunder to observe the Dreitonian underclass in their natural state. Much to his surprise, he met another intellectual there, a Valencian, and the two began to discuss all manner of subjects from politics to technology to the ethics of preventing more Barsinans from entering the city until the terrorists are excised. Eventually, the Valencian asked him this: Would you rather stay in the Aquila you know, or be born in an Aquila in which the gods never existed. Reed considered this for a time and then responded that he would rather have been born in the alternate Aquila, so our kind could be freed from the shackles of the immortals and be the true masters of this world. The Valencian thought quite differently. He posited that without that Mad King, there would have been no Empire to unite the vassals after the Great Desynchronization and prevent Aquila from collapsing into anarchy. Without the petty squabbles between the Martyr and the Deceiver, there would be no organized religion with which to keep the unwashed masses in the backwater from rebelling.

Either choice would be fallacious, of course. Not because it’s a pointless theoretical question, as without the celestials there wouldn’t be an Aquila in the first place, but because soon, the choice won’t be necessary. We can create a world where neither the unity of faith nor the ingenuity of man need be sacrificed. The world we’ve worked so hard to bring about. The world towards which we are speeding at this very moment. Now that the gods are dead, nothing holds us back from exceeding the great standards they have set. We have developed weapons of war stronger than any bolt of lightning, libraries which store in the ground a thousand lifetimes of knowledge, and once we learn to defy Time as they have, that is when the true Gods are born. I can handle the nightmares. The nausea. Whatever unspeakable horrors await us. So long as we pierce the Asphodel shores, I will have served my purpose. That’s the best any mortal can hope for, isn’t it? Once my project is complete and Dreiton is safe, they will welcome us home as greater heroes than the Outlanders could have imagined. If only Clockwork could see me now. But once we find a way to stop the unmaking of Aquila, even his accomplishments will wash away in comparison like tears in rain.

#### IV - "watcher"

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cEq515PEt\_4

7th dusk, Brightstar, 4851

It’s currently the wee hours of the fourth day at sea. I suspect the rest of the Vigilant’s crew are sound asleep at so ghastly an hour, but after tossing and turning for longer than I would care to recall, I have accepted the fact that I shall now be three days sleepless. I couldn’t say what the cause is, whether it’s nerves, the rocking of the harsh waves, or maybe Emanation just hates me. Nevertheless, we have a job to do, and with so much at stake I won’t be defeated by a fit of insomnia, not when we’re so tantalizingly close. We’ve practically been supplied enough potion stimulants to fill Dr. Drodd’s laboratory, so I have confidence I’ll be able to stay alert for the expedition. I’m recording this audiograph because, despite dreams escaping me for some time, a very particular moment keeps replaying in my mind constantly, like a circuit caught in some superconductive loop with itself. I’ve… never experienced anything like it. It’s as if I’ve… traveled back to an earlier point in my with in a lucid state, aware of what was happening but unable to act, forced to live as mere spectator behind the prison of my own eyes. I may not be a trusting man, but I have learned to trust my own mind. If my unconscious self is trying to tell me something, then I have the responsibility to listen.

It’s 4845. Exactly six years ago, almost to the day. It’s hot, almost unbearingly so, but I still insist on taking my afternoon walk before tea. It’s quiet there for the first time in weeks. Most of the smoke has cleared. I feel the soft, dry breeze in my hair every now and then. It reminds me of home. As I stare out into the seemingly endless horizon with Antenora just barely visible, I hear footsteps approach me. It’s… a little boy. He couldn’t have been older than 7 or 8, and he had those some brutal dark eyes and curly hair that most of his people do. But I can tell he carries something else with him too. It’s subtle, a slight crinkle on the forehead and tired eyes which are forever stained with all too vivid images of… things which no one, much less a child, should ever have to see. All this without saying a word, simply staring at one another about two meters apart. I could see these things in him so easily because it was like staring into my own reflection.

howmightiserveyouthisafternoonmyfriendareyoufromdreitonnoactuallyicomefromzoshabutiliveindreitonnowidontlikedreitonesepeoplewhyisthatbecausewevebeenheresomuchlongerthanthembuttheypretendliketheyvebeenheretheirwholelivesbutmasaysweneedtobecarefulandbenicetothemisthatsocaniwalkwithyouidontseewhynotyoyoureamechanicarentyouyesacertainkindofmechanic**didyouhelpmakethosetankstheyusedtoblowupourhouse**whatyoudoworkwithredstonerightyesidohowcouldyoutellbecauseyoureyesaresobloodshotandyourhandsarealwaysshakingalittle

I had nothing to say. In just a few words, this child had made me question my very presence there. My purpose. My existence. He was right. The redstone was beginning to poison me. Just like it’s poisoned an entire generation of young men and women in the refineries, and they don’t even realize it yet. I couldn’t tell the boy then that I was trying so hard to make it stop. To find, something, anything else to change society’s technological trajectory. Because back then I thought it was too late. I helped the Council build those grand factories, and I drew up those designs for the weapons of war that destroyed that child’s life. I wasn’t concerned with quintessence, the Aether, the phantom energy which we knew would slowly cause the absolute temporal decay of Aquila. Because we didn’t care. I didn’t care. Not then. And that’s not the fault of the gods. I see now that it was my failure. I had buried the memory for so long because I wanted nothing more than to put Barsina and that poor child behind me. But I can’t bury it anymore. Because last night in the corner of my room as I lied awake, I saw those same dark, brutal eyes staring at me again. Reminding me. And now I carry those eyes with me. My failure.

#### V - "thingsfallapart"

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=16keToehQMg

8th dusk, Brightstar, 4851

Simply tranquil. It’s now the fourth afternoon of the expedition, and I would venture to say it is the most pleasant by far. The azure sky smiles upon us and the waves are calm as a tamed Daguo bunny rabbit. The crew are in high spirits as our ever reliable navigator has indicated that we may actually arrive at the Asphodel shores sooner than expected. This is excellent news. I feel like a new man. My first full night’s sleep in days has left me totally rejuvenated and eager to see this mission through to the end. I can practically smell the Aetherium. I should like to see Jennings’ face when the Vigilant arrives in the Dreiton harbor with a brig full of the miracle substance which shall propel the Commonwealth into the Platinum Age practically overnight! I couldn’t care less about his pathetic Council, I have everything I need to complete my project as master of military science. Those degenerate Khotani don’t know what’s in for them when they dare cross the Sea of Hamamitsu again.

All in good time, however. Captain Zhang is cautiously optimistic regarding the whole ordeal. She seems to almost think the waves are too quiet. In my opinion, it’s her old double agent days speaking, though I suppose her wariness is not without warrant. We are still several strides out from the Rift, so we must remain on our guard. One peculiar thing is it seems that this audiograph has one more entry than I remember leaving it with last, and unfortunately I won’t be able to safely rewind the tapes until I return to my office in the plant, which is slightly maddening. I’m certain it was simply Reed playing some infantile prank, as is his wont. Still, something about that extra audio log feels… most disconcerting to me, and I can’t quite place it despite my best efforts. Ah well. I’m expected at the officer’s briefing soon, which I’m sure will be completely productive and not a waste of my time at all. My guess is that Zhang will voic- What? What in Emanation was that? Something is happening on the deck. Phew. We prepared for this. I just need to

Turning and turning in the widening gyre

The falcon cannot hear the falconer;

Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;

Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,

The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere

The ceremony of innocence is drowned;

The best lack all conviction, while the worst

Are full of passionate intensity

Was and when, a god fell from the heavens

and so mesmerized by her beauty

the people sang songs of joy and praise

as they tore her limb from limb.

#### VI - "monsters"

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5-J5FsxqvP4

They fell upon us like starved rats. At first we thought they were just petty corsairs. Pirates who roamed uncharted waters on the hunt for stray merchant ships. But it was them. We fought with sound and fury against the raiders fighting for our very lives, for the mission, for Dreiton. We might have held them off long enough. But then… but then He came. That masked bastard whose very existence has been a blight on the Commonwealth for years. The Black Wolf. A fitting name. He tore us apart like an animal – like We were animals. I thought it was over. I was ready to consign myself to oblivion. And just as I closed my eyes to welcome the Void, the sea turned black as midnight. The moon crept past the dark clouds and bathed us in crimson red light. I couldn’t see my blood anymore. And then… as the waves roared and thrashed against the Vigilant, I watched as one foul swell collided with the hull and the million droplets of water began to writhe to live. Every one of them. Tiny, almost invisible parasites, hordes of them, with their savage predatory screams nearly drowning out our own. Immediately, all distinction between pirate and sailor was forgotten. Such things didn’t matter anymore. Before last night, we thought the ultimate struggle would be between man and man, contests of war and industry leaving only the strongest nation seizing power. But now, we see. The true eternal struggle is between man and monster, a war not for dominance but for survival. And now I think we’re losing. I’ve thought that way ever since I watched a dozen men be reduced to nothing but bone in but a few agonizing minutes.

Now is not the time to turn back. We are the true masters of this world, not these eldritch abominations, and I don’t care if I need to claw my way through every one of them and coat myself in their chthonic blood, this is my world. And these monsters are no longer welcome in it. I have defeated monsters before- - I CAME from one. Giuseppe Winslow came to Zosha and fucked that gypsy whore from Navarine, he thought it was just one of his conquests. Something to be brushed aside and forgotten. But I am not a man who is brushed aside nor forgotten. By the time he realized that, it was too late. He’d become the pariah of the Society, cast out and forced into exile in his own country. And while he wasted his time playing with his pathetic machines, I showed the Society that I was the future, I proved to them that using a machine to create a god was pointless. Instead, we must use the machine to become god. Whether they realize it or not, it doesn’t matter. We own the Council, the Mandate, governments, armies, the gods-damned Templars! All working towards one singular purpose. My purpose. I don’t fear monsters. I am the monster. We may have lost the Vigilant, but Hamm’s airship will more than suffice. The captain and I share the same survival instinct that the only scenario where either one of us even survive is one in which we make landfall as soon as possible. My remaining crew were hesitant, but it wasn’t their choice to make. Zhang is dead. I am the true leader of this expedition. I always have been. By the Black Wolf’s summations, we should reach the Asphodel shores within a day. We will arrive in a settlement called Nastrond and then go our separate ways. Maybe I’m a fool to trust him. But I know killing him would be a zero sum game, and I believe he knows that I am the type of man who can make barons out of criminals. That’s practically my second occupation, just behind making gods.

Tomorrow we’ll breach Nastrond and send every… Send every… Sen… No. It’s too soon. Our work isn’t completed yet. You were supp-- -pposed to… What was I supposed to do? What was I supposed to do? What do you want from me? WHY DO YOU EXIST? Why do we ex… ist. We? I don’t understand. What are you talking about? Who are you talking ab.. Did I ever tell you what happened after the mortals tore the goddess limb from limb? The blood they spilt ran across the land like a river, and it nourished their crops for thousands of generations. By the time they realized that her blood was poisoning them, drip by drip, over the countless centuries, it didn’t matter. They had already destroyed themselves. Nastrond awaits.