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Chronicles of Atlantis - 001
"Fuck," I mutter to myself, coughing up seawater and feeling the harsh noonday sun against my skin. I rub my eyes and gaze up to the blue sky above - there isn't a cloud in the sky. I push myself off of the ground and sit up straight, feeling the soft sand under the palms of my hand. My eyes scan my surroundings - a quiet, calm beach, with the soft sounds of the ocean lapping up against the shores. I adjust my tattered and torn clothing before standing up to my feet and recollecting my memory. My mind feels hazy and I stumble a little as a result of my dizziness, but my mind slowly recuperates and my memories slowly return...
I am Donatello Perestrello. I explore the world and serve at the duty of his majesty, the King of Portugal, Antonio II. My head aches, and I struggle to conjure more memories about my identity and history. I rub my temples and locate some shade underneath a palm tree, sitting back down onto the soft, white sand. I fail to recall most of my past, but my mind returns to one man in particular - Miguel, my first mate. I close my eyes, lean against the trunk of the palm tree, and start to remember...
King Antonio II called me down to the royal palace one evening and presented a peculiar little artifact - an old, leather-bound book. He said one of his many spies stole the book from the captain's quarters of a Spanish vessel. The spy believed that the vessel was among a larger fleet poised to travel around Cape Horn to explore the unknown lands lying west of the New World. The King, of course, refused to allow the Spanish to claim more land than they had already acquired, and appointed me to lead the expedition. He allowed me full access to the book, upon which I learned a few interesting little facts...
The Spanish weren't aiming to claim new land, but to explore one of the most intriguing lost civilizations of our time - the Empire of Atlantis. I struggled to believe that the Spanish would invest such a large amount of time, energy, and money into a fruitless endeavor, as the exploration of the Atlantic had disproven the common beliefs about the ancient civilization. However, with the exploration and discovery of the New Wold, my mind pondered about the possibility - perhaps Atlantis is located in the Pacific, not the Atlantic. I delved deeper and deeper into my research and studied the book intensely, but the language appeared completely unintelligible to my eyes. I recognized some similarities to the languages of East Asia, but relied on the visual illustrations and rough maps outlined in the book's pages. I created a basic outline of the location of the lost civilization through the combination of various pieces of information scattered throughout the unreadable book. I wondered about the origin of the book and eventually believed that it originated from Atlantis itself. I presented my findings and my plan to the King and within a week of the Spanish departure, the Portuguese fleet embarked to discover the riches of the lost civilization. We traveled across the ocean for months and months, restocking our supplies in the Caribbean and Brazil. We brought prostitutes and whores, but our crew consisted of mainly men, and I formed a close bond with my first mate, Miguel. My heart aches at the thought of Miguel and his charming smile, and I find myself unable to believe that we may never find each other again. We spent countless nights together in the harsh, brutal seas as we followed the Spanish around Cape Horn and into the Pacific. We held each other in our arms as the rough seas turned into a fatal storm and destroyed our fleet, and I still remember the look on his face as the water filled our cabin... I open my eyes and sigh. I push myself off the ground and gaze around the beach - the white sand seems to stretch on for miles. I feel dryness in my mouth and I start walking, bound by the ocean on one side and a dense jungle on the other side. The sound of the water softly lapping against the shore calms my mind, and I wonder whether the rest of my crew survived the devastating storm. All seven of our vessels disappeared into the ocean and my heart aches at the thought of losing all ninety of my men. I close my eyes and clench my fists for a moment, shifting my thoughts to another topic to prevent myself from succumbing to my sorrow. I focus on the goal of our quest, Atlantis, and wonder whether we washed up on the shores of its Empire or on some pathetic island in the middle of the ocean. I rub my eyes and feel my body growing thirstier as the hot, harsh sun beats down against my skin. I squint into the distance and see a shining, glimmering light - a mirage, perhaps? My mind races at the possibilities, but my soul struggles to see anything more than a hallucination. I rub my eyes and feel my heart beating faster, when I notice th shape of a man standing around pieces of the broken wreckage of our ship. "Miguel?" I call out, increasing my pace - the man turns around. "Miguel!" I call out once more, my voice louder - I start to run towards him with my arms in the air, and my lips curl into a bright grin at the sight of his charming smile. Miguel steps forwards and immediately wraps his strong arms around my frame, lifting my body into the air. "Donatello!" Miguel says, his deep voice reverberating throughout my smaller frame. "I'm so glad you're safe," he says, as I nuzzle my face against his beefy, hairy chest. Miguel stands at a powerful 6'3" (1.91 m) and hails from the dunes of Morocco. He towers over my lightweight 5'8" (1.73 m) frame, but I enjoy the warmth of his strong, bear-like frame. "I never want to lose you like that again," I say, gazing up to his handsome face and smiling at the sensation of his large, hairy gut rumbling against my body. "Don't worry, you won't," he says, as he releases me from his grasp and scratches his rough, scraggly beard. "Are you okay? Are you hurt?" "I'm fine, Miggy," I respond, caressing his strong arm and noticing a few bruises on his side, hidden by the tattered, dirty scraps of clothes on his body. "Are you okay?" I ask, noticing his deep breathing and rough voice. "We need to find some fresh water. W - We need to find the others. D - Did you see anyone else?" Miguel sighs. "No, I didn't," he says, his voice slow and solemn. I gulp and turn around to face the dense jungle behind us. I pause for a moment and review my options. We can delve into the jungle and search for fresh water and edible fruits, or we can walk along the beach and search for more survivors of the storm. I turn back to Miguel. "I think we should find water," I say, my rough and craggy voice struggling without hydration. "You're the captain, Dona," he says, stepping forwards. "I think we could - " Miguel stops suddenly at the sound of the roar of a cannon. I turn back to face the jungle, stepping backwards. Miguel reaches forwards and places his hands on my shoulders, pulling myself back against his torso. "W - What was that?" I ask, feeling a sensation of nervousness and fear enveloping my body. I'm an explorer, I'm always fearless about exploring new lands, but I'm without my crew and without my equipment - I cannot survive. I hear deep voices shouting and yelling throughout the jungle. "T'xang ni! X'an diyin xari t'ang xyang!" The loud, masculine voices grew nearer and nearer, and the sound of booming footsteps shake the trees around them. I squint into the distance and gulp, noticing the dark outlines of men in the shadows. Miguel holds my body tighter in his arms. I clench my fists. We hear a tree trunk cracking and jolt backwards - a squadron of giant warriors emerges from the trees, towering over us. The warrior men are equipped with all types of weaponry, from spears and swords to crossbows and grenades. The ten warriors surround us on either side - they wear red robes with intricate designs, skin-tight around their strong, muscular frames. The men wear dark, circular sunglasses to hide their eyes and cover their mouths and noses with masks. They cover their arms and legs with black tattoos which contrast against their beautiful, golden brown skin. The leader of the squadron - the eleventh warrior - steps out in front of us and gazes down to us through his dark, smoky quartz sunglasses. He towers over us - Miguel barely reaches his abdomen - and raises an eyebrow. "Khun khux khir? Khun qalang x'a xari xyu ni din daen xaet laen xis?" I gulp and remain silent. The warrior's deep voice rumbles through the ground, but I fail to understand his language. He raises his swords, and for a moment, I believe I will die, but he returns his swords to the holsters on his back and runs his hand through his long, straight black hair. I breath deeply and sense the virile, potent musk emanating from the warriors. The leader dresses in all black, unlike the rest of his warriors, but he exposes more of his powerful, muscular body. "T'xa chan!" The leader's deep and thunderous voice booms across the beach - I fall to my knees and gaze up to his magnificent body, clasping my hands together. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" I beg, tears streaming down my face. I close my eyes and hold my head down, hearing a few of the warriors laughing. "Please! Don't hurt us!" The leader gazes down to my smaller frame - his lips curl into a slight smile and he laughs, before motioning to his fellow warriors. "Feng khea pen xu leng'xyu k'ax din daen si khaw," he says, and the warriors laugh some more. The leader brings his attention back to us and pulls out one of his swords, pointing it down to my face. I gulp. "You will come with us," he says, before motioning for his warriors to follow him. The larger men push us towards the direction of the jungle, and although Miguel attempts to fight back, the warriors simply laugh at him. He sighs and follows their orders, unable to resist. Miguel leans over to me as we enter the jungle. "Where are they taking us?" I sigh. "Atlantis."
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