The Albatross Overhead

[Wast]

Overhead, a lone albatross glides effortlessly through the clear sky, uncomprehending of the curious sight on the ocean's surface. An awkward tetrahedron cuts  through the waves, balanced precariously by some miracle of geometry. A triangular sail catches what little wind can be found and drives the small ship forward cautiously. On the ship's deck are three figures in varying states of anxiety and sickness. The first leans nervously against the mast, the second by the entryway to the ship's interior, and the third stands by the front of the ship, staring blankly into an infinite expanse of ocean.

It has been several minutes since any of the crew has spoken, and hours since any meaningful conversation. An implicit understanding of their errand's improbable logistics leaves them without much to say aside from brooding and regret.  

A muffled retching sound from the deck below breaks the silence.

"Could you at least do that overboard," calls the one by the door, weary and irritated. There is only groaning and incomprehensible muttering in response, not that he is listening for it anyway. Silence once again returns, bitterness hanging in the air.

The figure by the mast sighs. "Bernhard, stop scowling. Your bitterness is even more unbearable than their seasickness." She pronounces the name deliberately, as what was once only a transient appellation for a future citizen (to be christened again with the proper numerical name) has suddenly become permanent for these exiles.

Without relieving his grimacing countenance in the slightest, Bernhard turns and speaks coldly in return. "I have reason to be bitter, Sophie. But sickness does not justify that kind of pitiful whining." By this time, the sounds from the cabin have largely subsided, but for the occasional whimper. "Being locked in there is only worsening it anyway, so they have only themselves to blame."

"Did you not send them down there, though, so you would not have to hear it?"

"It was the least odious option. I would still prefer silence," he responds with a pointed glare. Their captain, for lack of a better word, turns from his post and nods meaningfully, waiting for the other two to turn away from each other before gazing again at the horizon. It is not the first time today a conversation has ended so abruptly.


A geometer's compass extends its spindly legs across the network of intersecting lines, tracking a path from a conspicuously triangular island to another larger, mass of land. The map is a meticulous copy of the original taken from Tritopea's foreign visitors, with Tritopea itself a tiny triangular speck. Lines of latitude and longitude have been replaced by the Tritopean three-parameter coordinates, forming a lattice of equilateral triangles. Leonhard, once poised to join the hallowed ranks of Tritopean mathematicians, is now reduced to applying his craft in a rudimentary, if useful manner.

He scribbles a few calculations on an adjacent piece of paper, and finding them satisfactory, leaves a relatively comfortable cabin for the ship's deck. "I have good news for you, Karl." Leonhard begins without waiting for Karl (still gazing into the horizon) to turn around. "I believe we are on course, and if all goes well, will arrive on foreign shores within a week."

"A week?" Karl turns, with a concerned look. "Then we can only hope there is no inclement weather. I doubt that either us or our ship could survive for that long. Is that all?"

"Yes. We are at least headed in the right direction." Leonhard looks around nervously, feeble optimism deflating quickly. He ducks into the cabin again without another word.


Night serves as both a navigational blessing (though that they are on the correct path is little consolation) and a cause for concern. No one has any desire to sleep with the sickening undulations of their boat, but they have little choice. It is an uncomfortable time for the makeshift Tritopean crew, and an ominous formation of clouds nearing their position (which appears fixed without appropriate point of reference in the sea) does nothing to allay their fears. Dimly wavering lanterns and opaquely screened moonlight through the clouds serve as poor sources of light for Karl, now the sole member to remain on deck. He paces worriedly as the five others attempt to sleep. As droplets of water spray across his face, Karl flinches, hoping it is not the beginning of rain - just foam ejected as his boat pushes through the waves. Do they grow larger, more aggressive, or is it a figment of his limited imagination?

[Eluvatar]

Karl's reverie is interrupted by the terrifically loud blaring of a horn coming from in front. In the twilight, he can just about make out some dark shape... which is growing, rapidly! Again he hears it, louder this time, and with a shudder he sees a light which seems brighter than the sun flashing from the strange shape. Again it blasts what would, on land, be an earthshattering sound.

[Wast]

Karl's quiet Tritopean childhood has not prepared him for crises of this kind. The impending doom is almost incomprehensible, and he does all that can be expected of him in the situation, fainting and falling onto an edge of the deck This would of concern for the now unnamed ship's collision course, but there is no-one aware enough to worry - at least no Tritopean. Those within the ship's tetrahedral shelter are now awake and confused (acutely so, now), and begin to scramble towards safety. Unfortunately, "safety" is an unknown, and so they instead scatter in a panic to various corners of their rooms. Leonhard, who had been unable to sleep and was desperately trying to soothe his nerves by idle calculations of latitude from the positioning of stars, decides it is important to consult Karl on their impending doom. Making his way to the deck, he is overwhelmed by the approaching light and immediately regrets making his certain death even more unpleasant.

The leading point of the ship's four tetrahedral vertices hurtles blindly forward towards the light, Leonard or anyone else powerless to stop it. The ship quakes violently, as much from its unstable design as the storm, throwing Leonhard off his feet. Karl is not so lucky, being flung from the edge into the turbulent waters. Leonhard does not see this, but expects it has already happened nonetheless. He can imagine the storm's circular pattern of vicious winds, an unholy force of nature sent to consume the exiles in its geometric impurity. He closes his eyes and waits, trying in vain to find some solace in the triangular deck that supports him.

Note: Assume Karl dies - there are five left, four inside and one on the deck, not having a good time. Will probably also faint.

[Wast]

OMG

As he regained consciousness, Leonhard found himself in an understandable state of confusion and panic. Had he also been in a calmer state of mind, he might have found the present numerical situation uncomfortable. Being alone, Leonhard would recognize the remainder of the crew, should they all have survived the ordeal, would find themselves in the most unpleasant number of four - or, in the unlikely miracle of Karl's survival, an equally undesirable five.

Reluctantly, Leonhard opened his eyes and turned his head - wincing a bit as his body reminded him of the battering he'd endured during the storm - to discover the rest of the surviving crew sitting by him in a cabin of cubical architecture, in varying states of awareness and despair. The overwhelmingly foreign room seemed to surround and entrap him, and for a moment Leonhard thought it might be the Cube (a Tritopean vision of Hell, in which the impure are sentenced to languish for eternity in cells). Perhaps the curiously dressed figure staring in his direction was here to torment Leonhard for whatever sins he must have committed. But the accommodations, geometry aside, were pleasant enough that it surely must have been otherwise. He could conclude, tentatively, that he had survived. Whether this was desirable or not remained to be seen. That question would certainly be answered soon enough, as the unknown figure took notice of Leonhard and began to speak.

[Eluvatar]

In heavily accented Inglish, the cleanly dressed figure spoke. "Ello. Eye aym Faramir Erumabar aynd eye aym ferom Eluvatar. Wehu ar yu aynd wer ar yu ferom?"

[Wast]

A rather awkward exchange followed between the confused Tritopeans and the Eluvataran, Faramir. Thankfully, the difficulty in communication was alleviated somewhat by the convenient coinciding of their languages - rather miraculously, Tritopean Inglish had diverged only in minor ways during their isolated existence. Despite having never heard a name even remotely similar, the Tritopeans found Faramir's name strangely familiar.

Leonhard became their spokesperson, having the misfortune of speaking first and giving the others reason to stay quiet. On being asked their names, Leonhard replied reflexively:

"We are Tritopeans - I am Leonhard, and this is Bernhard, Sophie, Emma and Leopold," he said, gesturing towards the others in turn, who nodded in acknowledgement.

During the pause that followed, he reflected that revealing their newly created names to the foreigner invoked a feeling of shame and regret, as  it admitted they were outcasts, being without numerical designation. That shame, of course, was taken as simple nervousness from Faramir. Leonhard tried to shake the feeling, reminding himself that they were appointed ambassadors doing an important duty for Tritopea.

Faramir found the collection of names odd, at the very least because they all lacked a second name. Further inquiry indicated that this was indeed the case, though Leonhard deliberately avoided mentioning how Tritopeans were usually distinguished.

The awkward silence resumed. "And where are you from?" he prompted again.

"We are ambassadors from the nation of Tritopea, sent to establish communication and trade with foreign entities," recited Leonhard, a line he had practiced for some time on the ship.

[Eluvatar]

The discovery of people who worshipped triangles to such an extent mystified Faramir. Clearly, however, there would be interest in them back home.

"Would you like to visit Romenna, the capital of my people?" he posed the question to the Tritopeans.

[Wast]

Am I a terrible person for copying this into a new post instead of editing to bump this thread?

"We would like to visit your capital so that we may be introduced to your nation," he responded.

The journey was uneventful, which gave ample time for the reticent Tritopeans to acclimate as best they could to their unpleasantly square surroundings. There was little conversation between the Tritopeans and their Eluvataran hosts during the trip. They requested three separate rooms in which three, one and one were allocated. Leonhard made an attempt to explain the importance of triangular alignment, but found it too difficult and resigned himself to silent brooding in his room. Unfortunately, the documents he had prepared as an introductory pamphlet of sorts had been lost in the wreckage - he spent most of his time attempting to reproduce them (cutting the unacceptably rectangular paper into a more appropriate triangle, and wishing he still had a [tetrahedral] pen).