15, Septem

You'll have to excuse the spots of chicken grease on today's entry. I'm enjoying a particularly nice cold meal while I write and every so often I get my quill hand mixed up with the drumstick and end up smearing fat onto the parchment.

Not more than twenty four hours outside of Westmarche, a tremendous storm was sailed into. Minimal damage occurred, but we lost three men to the brunt during midnight watch. Clancy, the eldest of the trio was a well suited gunner?s mate, as was Gerald. Joey, the youngest of the crew, this was his first season and he proved himself well, even though he was still green.

There is a heavy, solemn filled shadow over the crew this night, even the song?s of Marshall and the flow of rum has failed to elevate such a loss. Word will be sent to their families.

For now, due course is to the East. Second star to the right and straight on till morning.

18, Septem

This day proved the adage in spades, that old habit's die hard. While I am in a state of limbo retirement, my blood was set to boiling and my pulse to race as that idiot Spaniards' sails were in plain view earlier this morning, before the sun ever went to rise. Something's, never fade.

The crew aboard The Baetylus was caught off guard, never knowing what hit them. There was no pillaging, no sinking of their treasured and ill run Galleon. There was just a point made and it was made by way of splintered wood, maimed sails and the sweet scent of burnt powder.

Their Captain Alejandro Barcelo a furious and spitting entity, well seen via my glass, brought a smile to my lips. Right handsome fellah he is, a pity such a thing to be wasted.

Another day perhaps, we're already running two day's behind to Rhydin. He deemed himself to Minniver, a gentleman back in Westmarche. That's rich and like calling me a Lady.

22, Septem

Atlantic Ocean, 20 Degrees North, 72 Degrees West, Tortuga

Moored in Tortuga, it seemed fitting to spend a couple of day's before we venture to our final destination of Rhydin. Fair enough to give the men a break, not to mention myself.

As I write this, my hand's are shaking and I can hear the boom of life ashore. I will not deny, the tinge of scotch is not dulling my senses, as I would like. A large share of restraint has been taken not to partake in one of the den's. While I know it would end in disaster, the ache kept at bay is ebbing and threatening every sense of reason.

Tortuga has always been a second home to the fleet, a pity we aren't altogether. I should go out and check on Maemo, Sinclaire must have delivered her home by now. A fair chance, he's still here. I'm not seeing the ship, but that matter's little considering the many coves and inlets.

Little ever change's.in Tortuga. Men drink themselves silly, whores flit about and the smell....its a combination of liquor, smoke, dirt and sweat. In a word it, stinks....but I cannot help myself from breathing it in deeply.

A blood thirsty melee unfolded as we walked into The Drunken Tortoise, a zigzag path didn't avoid it as two fell into the street to continue their mayhem. A right fine looking time-piece fell from one of the rolling drunks pocket and it was plucked up from the ground. By the time it was missed, it would be too late. By the looks of it, it's gold and not surprising....Spanish in fact.

Blaine was found quite easily, the merchant always grumbling about this and that, he was easily waved off and business tended to. I have no time to stroke his aging ego, the harlots can take care of that quite easily. Coin exchanged, the loading of The Handmaiden will commence at dawn tomorrow. Food and supplies to last through the winter, also several crates of precious cargo to be delivered.

Summer is drawing to a close, the days are becoming shorter and the sun less focused on melting everything it touches. We won't dally here too awful long, I cannot deny the urges clouding my mental vision and the distraction is a harsh one.

Nereid and Layla are asleep in the next room, my bed has become their constant. I think I'm not ready to close my eyes and will go ashore. Maybe I'll take Jon with me, or simply go alone.

26, Septem

Atlantic Ocean,14 degrees North, 80 degrees West, Caribbean Sea


An unidentified ship was spotted early this morning. Dutch from the looks of it. It's unfortunate that we are just sailing into the Trade Straits and it would be leaving us as sitting ducks, mostly.

Regardless, the foreign colors of the Dutch were hoisted and our gun ports were camouflaged. For the now, the men were ordered to leave our sails unaltered. Too early to tell how high the ship is floating in the water, but it looks pretty low. Given the chart's, she probably came out of Nombre de Dios for their final run of the season and would be carrying silver.

Dammit to Hades and further damn the Dutch. While Donatien's head was delivered to me, his predecessor's are still roaming and have not shown their faces in several year's. This may just be ripe for the plucking, but it won't be today.

This is why I loathe sailing the coastal's without the fleet. It's a no win volley if shot's are exchanged, as the Dutch are notorious for their lookout's. I ain't gonna take the chance with the bairn's aboard.

The cables and mattresses over the side of The Handmaiden, will be left in place till the morrow, slowing us down a wee bit as the wind is rushing us too fast towards her broadside. I'll alter course come the midnight hour and further stalking will be abandoned. There is just too much at stake.

01, Octo


Well, we made it. Not so safe and sound, but we did make it. The hull of The Handmaiden is in dire need of repair. It's my understanding that Keifer is already present in the realm, we will drop anchor near the dry dock's and he can take a gander at the damage.

I can only say next time, the dumb ass Dutchman sailing that ship best check his sights before turning leaves via the trade routes. A good thing we were as close to the swirl of the familiar as we were, or we would have been dead in the water.

His gunner's are nothing more than a folly, earning himself quite the flogging. His shrieks were dreadful, but amusing to me, as if holy angels were going to save him. He got what he deserved as we had ceased in pursuing his ship.

I'm sure by now, he's been cut down by his remaining crew. Perhaps they will stage a mutiny, setting him ablaze at the main mast. We left her hull's as full as they originally were.

I must remember to send word back to Westmarche, before rumors begin and it's thought we are strung up elsewhere, much off the beaten course.

Now it's time to get things in order and set foot on land, regardless of how much I loathe the city.

11, Octo

It's been strangely quiet the last few day's. The city of Rhydin is of course getting ready for all hallows eve, and even the harbor district has been vamping up for it as well, but something is....off. It could be a case of paranoia, not that I would ever admit to such. It is possible though.

Nereid returned after spending some time with Devin and his wife. There has been no sign or word from the Tarsos, or their father. It's still fairly early in the month, Rique is probably tying up business through the end of the year and will join us soon.

Last night, during dinner with Layla, several of the men were talking and had a fair tale to tell. The lass sat there, mouth open with her fork hovering nearby until I gave her a nudge. Such a wild imagination they are instilling within her. George was quite animated and the other's were just as rich to egg it on.

"When Bordeaux and his men attempted to capture Gibraltar, a Portuguese man endured several forms of torture once he told them he only possessed 100 pieces of eight. The pirates did not believe him, so they stretched him on the rack until they broke both his arms. Still he didn't change his story!"

"They tied him with small cords by his two thumbs and great-toes unto four stakes that were fixed in the ground at a convenient distance, the whole weight of his body being pendent in the air upon those cords. Then they thrashed upon the cords with great sticks and all their strength, so that the body of this miserable man was ready to perish at every stroke, under the severity of those horrible pains. Not satisfied as yet with this cruel torture, they took a stone which weighed above 200 pound, and laid it upon his belly, as if they intended to press him to death. At which time they also kindled palm-leaves, and applied the flame unto the face of this unfortunate Portuguese, burning with them the whole skin, beard, and hair! Even then, the man didn't confess and endured additional beatings and insufficient nourishment. Eventually, he and the pirates agreed on a ransom of 1,000 pieces of eight, which he paid."

I will have a talk with him this evening, such stories are clouding the child's attention as she repeats them to the tutor instead of tending to her lesson's.

The repair's have begun to The Handmaiden, hopefully it's finished by first snow. If not, it will mean we linger in this damned port two weeks further into the spring. Not that the Saint's have lost anything without my bowing to their feet, but I certainly would not dismiss a favor or two.

03, Novem

I received word from Westmarche; Ranulfsson is escalating the letter of Marque to include the western provinces of Pryholt and Erimoor. This should prove interesting as their trade includes that of a more risqu? nature. While I have no desire to dabble in such things at this point, the coin offered via the contract is more than just a taunting to these greedy fingers. Pickup and delivery only, I will return to Westmarche in late winter and divvy out the fleet to complete this with little fuss or muss.

An interloper was hand delivered to the Watch last evening by Moctez. When I came upon the incident, the male was screaming and taunting about the righteousness of his God and that we were all confirmed sinners. Nothing like stating the obvious. The curious thing was he blathered names and incidences that several of us recognized.

This trip needs to be kept as low key as possible, these things are clearly not falling into that realm. If there had not been so many witnesses, the old sot would have taken an unhealthy drink of the harbor. Blasted fool.

Keifer passed word that the Handmaiden would be back in the water within a week or so. The repairs have gone well and she is worthy once again.

Still no sign of Rique. Why am I not surprised? If something had happened, I would have known of it by now. But nothing. Absolutely nothing. I have sent a missive to the Tarsos and if I don?t hear anything soon, we?ll pull anchor and head that way blizzard or not.

Nereid and Layla are thriving, both are spending time out at Brantee and Devin?s.

05, December



Time splinters at it's own hand. There is not a sense of logic or purpose in this as it simply carries on and flutters from one direction into another, seamlessly.

The men grow impatient with the weather, each pissing and moaning that we should have gone straight back to Westmarche from Oro Negro. The winter is different in this realm, it always has been. It is much more than bitter and foreboding. It is near violent byway of ice and rain. The sleet enough to pierce to the bone, it's unforgiving and leaves it crimson mark upon the flesh of most.

Nereid and Layla are still sleeping in my quarter's, it is much easier to have them there, then to run back and forth during the night when Nereid starts to dream. They have become intense again. At times, there is no consoling her or an ebb of them to cease. She cries out in the night, ancient tongues whisping away her voice, her solidity. This too shall pass, and if it does not, I will seek out Gaston once again to smooth the edges and bring her peace.

Layla speaks of Rique near constant these days, wondering when he will show himself and under what guise. Her faith is as solid as the rest of us, for this too will resolve itself. It does not change the fact that he is greatly missed and loved beyond comprehension.

Lucas, how I miss his sticky kisses and infectious laughter. Dear Saint's, keep him safe with his father. Do not allow him to be sucked in beyond repair. His innocence is at stake.

I do wonder to what end it will be.

I have sought out Ella, to no avail. I am quite positive a wicked means is to follow or reveal itself. How the woman maintains what little fragments of reality remains a mystery to me, even after so many year's with her embedded in our lives. Helpless to a fault, there is no whisking her away into peaceful circumstance, as the shadows follow her and rape her merciless. If only.

We will remain steadfast as long as we dare here. For even in this city, there is great unrest and turmoil. It reeks of festering wounds and sores, destined to trap those that dare to reach farther than they should.

15, October

There is a shift, I am not certain where it lies and where it comes from, but there is a shift in the breeze, in the breath of all aboard. An unrest that continues in it's evolution around and through us all.

Some of the crew jokingly refer to a mutiny. Those displaying such met the hand of Moctez and have been made an example of. It infuriates me to a degree that lacks appeal and borders the fringe of yester.

Nereid is at the center of this shifting. She has grown further within herself, her dreams and wakeful times unpleasant.

A few more day's is the only amount of time that will be allowed. Rique agrees....as much as he can dare.

09, Ut

In all of my year's on the sea, this voyage has been the most ghastly. The month's don't seem to end.

The seas have been calm for fifteen long days now. The sails hang slack with nary a hint of a breeze to stir the canvas. The Sargasso, which floats around us and seems to spread in every direction as far as the eye can see, nestles against the hull and an odd sucking sound can be heard in those rare moments when the ship moves. Curious stuff when first we beheld it but time breeds a weary contempt for the novelty of the thing. And the sun is relentless. Saint's, how I've grown to loathe it. It saps the very strength out of you. The humidity is thick, cloying and the linen sticks to my sweat-drenched body like a lover. Only at night after I've retired can I rid myself of these tiresome clothes. I lie in the dark like a beached whale, my very breath an abomination in an airless cabin.

Faint on the horizon, the ship to port is caught as are we. Its proximity seems to mock us and, when they aren't gambling, the men take delight in hatching outlandish stories as to the ship's origin and purpose. We know it's not a privateer as it flies the British flag though that's not always a guarantee of safety. I look at these men and wonder just how deep their loyalty goes. I wouldn't want to put it to the test...not today, not after this endless journey to nowhere.

'Eight bells and all's well' sounds the call of the watch and I realize it's midnight. Time for sleeping, if sleep there be.

01, Augustus

Our time in T'sel has been extended. The children are delirious in this. I, on the other hand, have not regained my footing.

Thing's are unknown in Westmarche. A licking of wound's, seems to have unfolded in a huge display. While my intention's were purely business, it would seem the human element has reared it's head.

So be it.

The fight is gone, I am weary to it....finally.

05 Novem,

Like leaves tired of a tree, words mimic sentences that make no sense.

Undressed, memory is blank, chaotic, pale. I think of a broken pearl necklace that?s spilled into every corner. An animal that?s sloughed its skin.

Time will pass.

It will shape me again.

Which brings me to the ghastliness of hope: which for some like myself used to abide in memory, or in amulets, or in the faces of others, arms of others, tales of their past and future others brought to me, and I listened.

But hope was a wish somehow strangely avoiding any abiding in the present?at bay out there, true abeyance, adrift, off the coast.

I can feel the current of desire to go to that place as just such a ghastly hope.

And the ghosts there?of course.