It has been several months since our last trip, and I had set up a small livelihood in New Madrid. Things were calm and pleasant, yet I knew the ocean level was still rising, undetectably slowly but steadily. I had only casually followed the construction of the new ship, unwittingly financed by one Barton Grey, but as the work neared completion, a message from our former Captain reached me, summoning me to a meeting with the others. Our previous voyage had certainly not always been a pleasure, but somehow I missed life at sea, at least a bit, also I felt that I had a responsibility to provide a voice of reason. So I decided to pick up this small journal again, and I went.
Captain Cortés, or Grip, as he now called himself, had convincingly adjusted to his new body, but what else could he have done, given the situation. The others were more apparently their old selves, for better or for worse, as I would learn during the conversation. The new ship was ready, and this time, Master Krastus established that there would be a secret compartment installed from the start. He also established that he still didn't hold non-scurillian life in high regard, and several of his other suggestions had to be turned down for ethical reasons. The crew asked me to provide a route for our maiden voyage and, together with Equias, purchase suitable supplies and cargo. On this, I had a slight disagreement with Sira, who insisted that we stocked enough ammunition and powder to wage at least a decade of uninterrupted naval warfare.
Another issue was the name of the new ship. There were several suggestions thrown about, too many of which involved one of Carlton's relatives, or favourite animals, but in the end we agreed to call our new brigantine the "Windseeker", a name acceptable to everyone. We agreed to make our individual preparations to leave port shortly, and I hustled to make the necessary purchases, both wholesale and private.
Soon, the time had come, and carrying my few belongings, I boarded the ship for the first time. Old and seaworn vessels may have a soul of their own, as they say, but a brand new ship, carrying the odour of fresh, radiantly bright wood, bears a different kind of fascination. With a crew assembled by our Captain, mostly old friends and acquaintances, but also some fresh faces, we left the harbour and turned south towards Taratos. The new ship was swift and expertly designed, and it was a pleasure to sail on it, especially when the voyage was uneventful and blessed with marvelous weather. Indeed, the next two days we could enjoy the best parts of seafaring, mostly free from legitimate worries, at least until we spotted the island.
The island I'm referring to was a small place, off the coast of Taratos, a place you would normally keep your distance from, as an uninviting, shark-infested offshore reef, with rocks sticking out of the sea, and many more lurking beneath the surface, waiting for the opportunity to cut open an unwary ship's hull. In fact, they had apparently claimed a victim, as the shattered remains of a longboat demonstrated. On the island proper, we could spot figures waving at us, as it in distress. After short consideration, we found that although we had not always been properly rewarded for our helpfulness, a majority was still in favour of rendering aid to any soul in need. As we didn't want to endanger our ship, we anchored rather far off, and climbed into our rowboat.
My companions manned the oars, while my job was to take the tiller, and we rowed towards the island, across those treacherous rocks. For the most part, navigating the reef seemed challenging, yet doable, but then the sharks decided to attack our boat, with much more coordination and aggressiveness than we had planned for. They were huge, darting out of the water, and had little reservation against lunging halfway on deck and biting at people, furiously. At the aft, I was in an exposed position, and soon I had three of the beasts snapping at me, and found it increasingly hard to spot the reefs and keep the boat on course. The others, themselves, were beset by sharks, although by fewer ones, relatively speaking.
I hoped that aid would come, but this wasn't the case. The situation on board was confusing, and through the chaos, I thought I spotted Master Krastus and Carlton quarrelling, at such an opportune time. And was this a new axe our Archmage clutched, one that dripped blood just like the cursed one we had barely gotten rid of half a year ago?
I got grabbed and torn to the side by one of the sharks, and since there was no one to support me otherwise, I had no other choice than to summon my water effigy, to help me defend against the onslaught. But it was too late, as we had already veered off course, and our boat hit a rock rather violently, ejecting most of its passengers, including me. Already bleeding enticingly, I was immediately surrounded by several of the beasts. While the others had swum to the shore, the Captain rushed to my aid, grabbed me and dragged me ashore. Exhausted, shaken and wounded, and with the rush of battle subsiding, I collapsed on the beach. One thing I noticed, though, is that it was eerily silent here, and there was no sound of the shipwrecked sailors we had spotted earlier, nor any trace of their wrecked boat.
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