Abyssal Plains that aren’t so plain.

Abyssal plains cover around a third of the whole planet, about as much as dry land combined. Off the coast of northwest Africa, the flat plain of mud and sand has the marks of a cataclysmic event way back in history. A submarine flow that happened about 60,000 years ago deposited sand and mud on the ocean floor. That flow, an underwater sand storm was on a scale that’s hard to imagine. In just a few hours, it moved more sediment than all the rivers of the world carry in a year.

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I was taggaed by acid-spit-bitch, cultoftheundead and and-the-earth-becomes-my-throne, thank you all kindly for your consideration 

here’s me looks like hammered shit after a heavy weekend.

i’m to tag 20 people but i probably wont tag that many : ek-fellr, astafreyasdottir, wanderingheathen, pleasurepalace, katarina-von-abyss, scentofmoss, nordland-nidstang, dur-undume, pyromanticeyes, velvetnightshade, incompleteicarus, cinder-and-ashes, valkyrie-of-the-north, rafnhildr

I... I feel incredibly guilty.

abyssal-regency kwajaleinrevived kakokai broken-universes mechanicaldaughter uss-iowa patororu hmshood51

Mainly because I’m the one at fault for BOTH huge waves of Abyssalfication.

This one, because Mo drank tea and therefore DD-hime,

and the original, because Mo was so bitter about the Navy’s admirals due to being decommissioned in 1992, that a lot of the other muns, when they were starting out, took Mo’s words at face value and the American Admiralty became viewed in the same light as Hannibal Lecter.

After hearing so much about pathopharmacology‘s adventures in Sunless Sea I just had to try it for myself, since a Lovecraftian/Victorian Gothic adventure exploration game is kiiiiiind of right up my alley, so I got it a couple days ago and have been playing it ever since. So far I’m only on my second captain, although Captain #2 actually died and then the game mysteriously glitched and restored me to a previous port, still intact; I took this as a Salten omen that my work was not yet finished and, thereafter, avoided provoking jillyfleurs -_-;;;

My first captain, natural-philosopher-turned-mariner Captain Walter Pittman, struck out into the abyssal dark in search of ADVENTURE and EXPLORATION and REALLY GREAT STORIES TO TELL BACK AT HOME to prove all his colleagues WRONG, SO VERY WRONG. Unfortunately a run of bad luck and close calls that left him near-broke prompted him to take, in desperation, some less-than-legal contracts, and this skulduggery inevitably culminated in a business disagreement that ended in violence and his body sinking slowly into the harbor waters. Fortunately he had, in a backhanded compliment, willed his new weapon to his rival, CITIZEN POET-ADVENTURER ALETHEIA FREEWING SALTSDAUGHTER BRAVEHEART (she changed her name) who, having forsworn all violence in her newfound understanding of the intricate interconnectedness of all living things for are we not all children of the same mother, that mother being the vasty dark that yawns beneath existence and waits to welcome home her wandering children, took said cannon in the spirit it was intended, to whit, “fuck you.” However Aletheia took this as a sign that she was meant to put to zee, and she would dishonor and frustrate the spirit of her rival, who had insisted on mocking her deeply-fathomed truths, by mounting his gun on the deck of her ship and blasting the hell out of anything that came near, which she has so far done. 

Her only companions in this endeavor were, initially, her sly “friend” who definitely knew how to navigate a ship, or at least had read a book about it once but was certain he could handle it; who, when asked by his own friends why he would put to see with a poet who had her mind on immediate reality perhaps three times out of ten, replied with a malicious grin that that was exactly why, and no one particularly cared to inquire further into his designs. However, much to the surprise of many (though not to herself, for had she not, in the throes of creative meditation, divined that her true name was to be Saltsdaughter, child of the endless horizon, and also Braveheart, because she was so terribly brave), Aletheia proved a highly competent captain who managed to not only survive but begin to turn a modest profit, venturing as far south as Grand Geode and undertaking Admiralty commissions with a rigor and effectiveness that earned her tremendously high standing with that august body (16 favor, to be precise). She owed her success in these ventures in no small part to a tremendous occurrence that transpired on her initial sojourns in the frigid north, where her clever friend demanded, quite suddenly and vociferously, to be taken before the eldritch citadel of Frostfound, whereupon - as Aletheia related in astonishment - he approached the walls and simply vanished, into thin air, without another trace, leaving behind only his bereft captain and an heirloom navigatory chart that proved to be, when she stifled her sobs long enough to have it appraised, remarkably valuable. Having since brought on a competent yet taciturn Carnelian first officer, a diligent engineer, a brilliant (if slightly incautious) gunner, and a doctor with an almost-legitimate claim to the title, she prowls the Unterzee to the bark of her dear departed adversary’s last bequest, sounding out new harbors and occasionally running (for now, but only for now) from pirates and less human things.

But lately she has begun to feel the song of the restless soul. Her funds grow thin, and the Admiralty has no interest in paying for the same old sights; so, with her hold stocked full and a sleek new engine (well, perhaps not new, but new to her, and blessed with saltwater and blood) she looks towards the East, and ponders…