The North Turrican Ocean has always been more than a body of water. It is a vast, cold expanse that divides Anarkand not merely by geography, but by history, ambition, and loss. Together with the South Turrican Ocean, it forms the great maritime barrier separating the central core of Anarkand from both the Eastern and Western continents. For much of recorded history, the North Turrican was regarded as a frontier rather than a route, a place crossed only when necessity outweighed fear.


In the earliest eras, before advanced navigation and Red Hex stabilisation, the North Turrican was largely unmapped. Its currents were violent and unpredictable, shaped by atmospheric collisions between northern and central weather systems. Entire coastlines were lost to sudden surges, and early seafarers spoke of waters that shifted colour, temperature, and depth within hours. These tales were often dismissed as superstition until shipwrecks began to accumulate along the ocean’s margins, their remains carried ashore hundreds of miles from their last known positions.


One of the earliest recorded tragedies was the First Crossing Disaster of the Second Era. A coalition fleet from the central core attempted a mass migration eastward, believing the ocean narrower than it truly was. Over two hundred vessels departed within a single week. Fewer than thirty arrived. The rest vanished into violent cyclonic systems that had not been predicted, their crews lost without trace. This disaster halted transcontinental maritime expansion for nearly an entire era and cemented the North Turrican’s reputation as a devourer of fleets.


As shipbuilding improved, the ocean became a vital but dangerous trade corridor. The Fifth and Sixth Eras saw a rise in commercial traffic between nations such as Murdu, Natnimya, and the central states. With this came new tragedies. The Shattered Convoy of Murdu, a fleet carrying cultural artefacts and dignitaries to the eastern continent, was caught in a prolonged storm system that lasted twelve days. Survivors later reported waves tall enough to obscure the sky and electrical phenomena that interfered with all navigation. Only one ship returned, its crew deeply traumatised and unable to account for the fate of the others.


The North Turrican also became a theatre of war. During the Fifth Era conflict between Murdu and Natnimya, naval engagements spilled into the ocean’s island chains and open waters. Battles fought in poor visibility resulted in friendly fire incidents, mass drownings, and the loss of entire squadrons. Wreckage from these clashes still lies beneath the surface, forming artificial reefs that are both biologically rich and dangerously unstable. Divers who venture too deep report strange echoes and shifting debris fields that suggest the seabed itself is unsettled.


Perhaps the most haunting tragedy occurred in the Seventh Era during the unknown planetary attack that damaged multiple Red Hexes across Anarkand. The North Turrican Ocean reacted violently. Weather patterns collapsed, tides surged far beyond predicted limits, and several floating cities and sea-based research platforms were destroyed within hours. One such platform, tasked with monitoring cosmic debris, was torn apart by simultaneous wave convergence from opposing directions. No distress signal was ever completed.


In more recent eras, the ocean has continued to claim lives through subtler means. Refugee movements, particularly during conflicts such as the War of Iola, saw thousands attempt to cross the North Turrican in overloaded airships and sea vessels. While many were aided by the Temple of Anark and allied nations, countless others were lost to mechanical failure, sudden storms, or navigational collapse. Entire families vanished between continents, their names preserved only in memorial registries maintained in Kanesh and Freemor.


The ocean is also feared for what lives beneath it. The North Turrican is home to massive, poorly understood marine species, some of which have been known to attack vessels or interfere with propulsion systems. Whether these creatures are natural, mutated by Red Hex fluctuations, or remnants of ancient evolutionary lines remains contested. What is certain is that their presence has contributed to the ocean’s long history of disaster.


Today, the North Turrican Ocean is heavily monitored, yet never fully trusted. Advanced spaceports and sky-bridging technologies have reduced reliance on open-water crossings, but trade and migration still depend upon it. Memorial beacons float above major wreck sites, and most captains perform ritual observances before departure, regardless of their beliefs.


The North Turrican does not simply separate continents. It remembers them. Every crossing is a negotiation with a force that has never forgotten the blood, steel, and silence poured into its depths.