Wren Maw | Captain's Log

Captain’s Log, 10th of Orohi 1479 BF

I’ve had it. This city will be the death of me if I don’t escape its wretched claws soon. I can’t imagine spending even another month here. I will never grow beyond my father’s shadow if I don’t do something to make a name for myself. I can’t take the look in mother’s eyes when she looks at me. Like I’m a disappointment, a waste of space.

I won’t disappoint her, at least not here. Tonight, I will disappoint her at the Tavern. Rohnir mentioned a rumor about sunken ships filled with gold just off the coast of Ashal. At this point, I’d be happier heading to the docks than I would heading back home when I run out of drinking money.

Captain’s Log, 13th of Orohi, 1479 BF

Why did I do this? Why did I let myself be lulled into this fantasy? Sunken ships…filled with gold?? What a load of bullshit. Rohnir keeps telling me we’re a few days away from the treasure. All I can think about is how I would rather be home, enduring my mother’s disappointment, than I would one more moment of this agony at sea.

Captain’s Log, 21st of Orohi, 1479 BF

Rohnir is dead. Days ago we encountered a storm that has undoubtedly thrown us off course. What little hope I had that the sunken ships were real was dashed the moment the storm ensured I would never find them.

Our rations are nearly spent. Perhaps my mother was right.

Captain’s Log, 6th of Nors, 1479 BF

This land is strange. The air, the sand, the trees…it’s all…different. I don’t recognize what I’m seeing. The life here…I’ve never seen anything like it in Uskod. I tried an orange-colored fruit, and it tasted incredible. The skin was tough but the juices inside - I’ve never had anything more refreshing.

I don’t know what it is about this place, but I’m not sure I want to leave. Who am I kidding? I wouldn’t survive the trip back. Time to find a way to make a life here.

As I write this, the oddest looking Sparrow I’ve ever seen is resting on a branch not 6 feet to my left. I’d like to name him Charles.

Captain’s Log, 11th of Flipi, 1478 BF

I’ve spent nearly a year in this place. It’s odd - it reminds me of Uskod in winter, but it’s not nearly as cold and the fruit ripens all year long.

There’s a valley a few miles from where I made landfall. At the eastern edge, there is an exposed rock face with the most peculiar threads of silver embedded in the rock. I’ve mined a portion of it and purified the metals. It’s easily thrice as malleable as bronze or copper, but twice the strength of steel. I can’t make sense of it. A hundred pounds of this and I might be the richest man in Akihabora, and from what I can see, that hillside alone contains at least a thousand. A few more weeks of mining and I’ll finally have enough to return home without seeing that look on my mother’s face again.

Captain’s Log, 17th of Omaps, 1476 BF

Eighteen months now since I left that charming little island, and today I thought of Charles. The window in the commissary has a windowsill that seems to be the hottest spot in town for Akihabora’s chattiest birds. I must’ve been staring at them for over an hour; the guards had to jolt me out of my trance.

Charles was never chatty; in fact, he was a very quiet fellow. I loved watching him follow me around the island. He didn’t scare easily, always maintained a good distance, and even collected small stones for me as some kind of offering. I used to bore holes and thread leather strips through the stones to wear them as jewelry.

Now, a year and a half later, I’ve lost everything. I sailed back to Uskod with precious metals, new discoveries, and the promise of a land uncorrupted, untapped. My undoing? Who’s to say.

I admit, a part of me wants to believe that it was my parents that sealed my fate. As I sit in this prison cell for the crime of unpaid property taxes on a home bequeathed to me upon their death, though, my only regret is leaving just a few weeks before the plague took them.

I’d almost blame Rohnir for setting me on this journey in the first place, but he was just like me. Trying to find a way to claw his name into the sky. I just got lucky - well, for a little while at least.

The truth is - I am my own undoing. If I ever make it out of this cell, I won’t know what to do or where to start to make things right. But I do know one thing.

I miss Charles.

Captain’s Log, 4th of Repus, 1472 BF

I’ve two-dozen more meals in that commissary. Then, I am a free man. My parents are gone, my friends scattered to the wind. I’m not sure where I’ll go, but I know that there’s nothing for me here.

I still dream of that quaint little island. Of the beaches, the valleys, that peculiar metal, and of course, my good friend Charles. Perhaps that’s where I belong now, if only I could scrape together a ship.

Captain’s Log, 15th of Wraxuss, 1472 BF

Three weeks at sea, I can see land on the horizon. A much shorter trip than what I remember, but our first journey was riddled with obstacles. Just seeing this paradise again has put my soul at ease. Here, I am just a man. Not a disappointment, not a criminal, but a man.

Strange, how comforting it can be to reduce yourself to such a simple image.

Captain’s Log, 1st of Orohi, 1471 BF

I’ve searched for months; this island is not the paradise I discovered nearly a decade ago. The wildlife is entirely different. The trees here whistle with the wind, and the local birds have learned to sing the same tune. The fields have a warm yellow/orange color that reminds me of the desert plains to the East of Akihabora.

I have this gut feeling that I’m missing something here. I don’t trust my compass, I don’t trust my maps. Every route I plan is off by a few hundred yards at least, even after I triple check my work. If I didn’t know better, I’d say the islands were moving.

How badly I wish I had paid attention in all those astronomy courses - the stars seem to be the only constant in my life these days.

Captain’s Log, 6th of Nors, 1471 BF

I now sail for Akihabora. I have enough seeds, grains, and impure metals to scrounge together the cash for a small crew, but if I can’t navigate the islands, it won’t matter. I will seek out the College of Aaos - they may be able to help me work out my calculations, or at least understand some of the wildlife I’m seeing.

In truth, I fear that I won’t be able to return to the islands in the south, that I will meet my end before I see them again. My parents died penniless, with nothing to their names but the home that I absconded and paid the price for.

I must see my story to a better end. Uskod has nothing but toil and trouble for me. There is only one real end there. But the islands…they harbor so much possibility. So many ends to consider, it might be hard to pick just one. I might just have them all.

Captain’s Log, 17th of Gnant, 1471 BF

This college is a joke. So far, not one of the three-dozen elders I’ve reviewed my maps with can identify what I’m doing wrong. Of them, only half believe that I have discovered lands in the south, and of those that do, only a handful trust that I’m a capable enough sailor to actually understand what I’m looking at.

It’s demeaning; these old bastards stay cooped up in study all day and think that means they know more than those of us discovering all the information they covet so much. I will prove them wrong. I will find someone who will listen.

Captain’s Log, 25th of Gnant, 1470 BF

Eldridge is…a very strange man. I can see why the other Elders did their best not to associate with him. Though undoubtedly brilliant, I fear that he’s been kissed by madness.
Still, he is the only Elder who believes me. So much so that he is willing to return to the islands to the South to see for himself. He and I have nearly two more weeks until we arrive. For both our sakes, I hope he helps me find what I’m looking for.

Captain’s Log, 5th of Famols, 1469 BF

I can’t believe I ever doubted him. Six months with Eldridge and I’ve learned more about this realm than the last decade of stumbling around in the dark on my own.
He confirmed what I suspected - the islands are moving. They move slowly, but they are moving. Eldridge suspects the islands are being spun by the whirlpool at the center of the world. I always thought the whirlpool was simply a story told to children to prevent them from running off to a life at sea, but now I can’t think of any other explanation.
If what he says is true, then the whirlpool has been spinning The Ends for hundreds of years. Possibly since the Ice Age. I very well may be the first to leave Uskod, discover this land, and survive the trip back. And now, I’ve done it twice. Was it my destiny to find this land, or a fortuitous accident? I suppose I’ll never know.

Captain’s Log, 16th of Cyag, 1468 BF

Oh Charles, I will never be able to thank you properly.
Last week, Eldridge and I were hiking around the eastern edge of what we’re calling Mangrove Island. We were close to completing a full map when I saw a sparrow just off the coast, circling the water. The sparrow had to be the same species of bird as my beloved Charles. He was the spitting image. I knew it couldn’t be Charles himself, surely he would be long gone by now. But I hadn’t seen a sparrow in the last two years.
The moment I saw that bird, I knew that the island I first landed on nearly a decade ago couldn’t be far. Eldridge was more than willing to put his whirlpool rotation theory to the test, and ten days later, here I am, standing on the very beach that introduced me to this region.
Eldridge is beaming. He was right. And moreover, he all but knows there are more islands out there. And all it would take to find them, is to follow the current.
We’ve already discovered more in 10 years than most do in a lifetime. I can’t wait to see what we find next.

Captain’s Log, 7th of Wraxuss, 1465 BF

Save for a few aesthetic details, a complete map of Sparrow’s End and Whistler’s End is complete. The birds have been the key to unlocking this region in full. They travel from island to island frequently, but certain groups of birds tend to nest in the same archipelago.
Whistler birds like the Tongan, Mangrove, and Rufous Whistler are adept hunters. They mask their approach by traveling in the tree canopy and diving on their prey during gusts of wind. Their flight is nearly silent, and their attacks are deadly. The tall trees in Whistler’s End make this the perfect habitat for them.
Sparrows, conversely, are love birds. They subsist off of seeds, bark, and small arthropods. In fact, it seems bugs living on bark that has washed ashore are their favorite. Sparrow’s End has islands to the north, east, south, and western edge, leaving a series of small channels in the center, trapping debris and natural waste on the inner beaches. For the sparrows, it’s a buffet.
Eldridge and I are using the birds' flight paths to find the larger flocks, and the archipelagos take the names of the largest flocks we find in the region. It’s a charming system, and one that will make it easier for sailors to know where they are without a map. Given Eldridge and I currently possess the only maps charting this region for 300 miles in any direction, I’d imagine that’ll be quite important in the years to come.

Captain’s Log, 11th of Idam, 1461 BF

My dear friend Eldridge is dead. Our arrival in Heron’s End was no different from any other expedition we’d taken in years past. We restocked in Akihabora and hired a small crew before sailing southeast again to find the next archipelago.
Bittern Island was a breeze. The weather is strangely peaceful there, something about the high mountains protects the mainland from ocean storms and strong winds. Nankeen Island was small, and largely uneventful. We managed to chart the entire island in only two months.
Was it my pride that led us into Egret Island with our guard down? Why did I not sense that life had been drained from this land? I haven’t even seen a bird in weeks. I should’ve known evil was afoot.
We encountered a sorcerer in a crevasse on southern Egret. Who knows how long he’s been there, or where he came from? I didn’t even get a chance to speak to him, to explain who we were. He attacked, and we were unprepared. I and a few others barely made it out alive, but were it not for Eldridge, I’d most certainly be a corpse at the bottom of that crevasse right now.
Without him, I don’t know that I’d be much of anything at all. What will I do now?

Captain’s Log, 10th of Nors, 1459 BF

Why do my bones hurt?
Genuinely, why do my bones hurt? A few years ago I could’ve hiked from dawn to dusk without complaint, now it’s not even midday and my knees are weak. I can’t do this forever.
I sit now on the largest island I’ve encountered so far. Six months and I still have corners of this place left to catalog. It’s flat, biologically diverse, and has wide open spaces for farmland. Would be a wonderful place for a village, if only there were more people.
It’s clear some of the men have more energy than I do. Perhaps it’s time to give up this life of danger for a more quiet one, allow the next generation to complete what I started. That might not be so bad.

Captain’s Log, 13th of Frees, 1454 BF

I fear Sytheene is at risk. After years of calling travellers to join my fledgling community, I suppose it was only a matter of time before we were discovered by forces who meant to abuse us, do us harm.
This morning, I received word of debris washing up on our southern shores. Among the wreckage, my sigil. The symbol of the Order of the Wounded Dragon. Men I fought with, traveled with, cared for, sailed under that banner at my command. They gave me their names, their lives, their freedom, in exchange for a chance to be a part of my mission. My dream: to fully map The Ends and provide generations with the means to cross their world more safely than ever before.
Now, some of those men are dead. They knew the risks, and so did I when I started this journey. But that doesn’t make this feeling any less dreadful. Men I commanded are dead. Families I said I could protect are in fear.
I must act.

Type

Journal, Personal