A thick gust of wind billows out over the sandy shores of the frosty isle. It's arid touch biting at my nose and hands, like a rabid wolf. Out before me lay the stones I meticulously layed out, praying for the gods to see my call for aid.. Alas, the only answer I had recieved was Nidda's Wrath.
Captains log.. Day 63
Two months I spent on those shores.. Two months doesn't seem like a long time but once you live through
the worst of what life can give ya, you'll agree that two months is longer than any god's been around. At
the very least you'll sympathize with what I mean. I thought they'd be alive too ya know. Each and every
one of them looked fresh as can be. Some even with drunken smiles plastered onto their faces as I dragged
them ashore. Two months I hauled those men and women to shore. One by one. Never allowing them to
touch one another as that wouldn't've been proper. Part of me believes that I knew they were dead the
moment that storm struck us. Part of me thinks I figured it out while I was hauling them all to land. But all
of me knows that had I not let them relax and have a drink that they'd still be here with me.
I look back out to those stones once more as I finish penning down the last of my thoughts. My eyes narrow against the sudden torrent of wind that nearly cause the tavern porch to falter. Though as my eyes ease along with the storm, I remain staring at the graves of my crew. Of my friends. Of my family. I look down to my logbook, worn and chipped at by the scourge of the sea and with all my might I note down my final log of these trecherous months.
I'll name a drink after ya lads. Nidda knows I'm not drinking anymore. This is former
Captain Moortal, stepping away...
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