Out of the Depths

I have begun to plan my journey north into the ice.  This requires a submersible and a ship to travel above and below. 

No journey can evade the depths.

I have begun examining the plans of the French submersible team that never returned.  Whether they succumbed to a cephalopod attack or were crushed by cold and pressure, no one knows.  This design must be improved.

Alongside of the plans I discovered this latin phrase:

De profundis clamavi ad te, Domine;
Domine, exaudi vocem meam. Fiant aures tuæ intendentes
in vocem deprecationis meæ.

But how could one call from the depths?  Who would hear in that realm of silence, where no steam and so no Spirit can flow?  It is all water, yes, but how can it but drown all communication?

My journey must explore this phrase.

The Loss of Endurance to Ice

As Magus of the North, I observe how the cold slows all things down.

It draws rushing water into ice.

Of late, I lament the expedition of Sir Ernest Henry Shakleton, whose venture to the North Pole ended in ice.

 

Frozen and lost, he and his men bravely attempted to return.  They were lost at sea and ice and only found solid ground several hundred days after their ship, the Endurance, sank.

I know much of steam, of Geist and Spirit, of water.

But of ice, which surrounds me, the cold that flows in and around my life, I know little.  Can the steam on which we depend also be found in the ice?  Or is it lost there forever?

What Spirit of Ice?

 

we must protect the littlest among us