Fael's Descent

I've been on ships since I was little. My father was a navigator. He taught me to read. Read books, Read maps, Read the stars, Read everything.

Now the thought of returning to the sea fills me with dread. The nightmares continue.

When I was 12 I was on my first crew as a cabin boy. I would fetch items and report on things. I learned my way around the ship. Perfecting tying down the lines and such. And I would read every book I could. The captain stated once that if all the maps went overboard, I'd likely remember enough to get us to any port we desired.

I can't think about the waters. Not knowing what lurk benieth them. 

When I was 16 I'd started working as a proper sailor. Usually maintaining the boats and managing supply reprovisions. But I would also work wherever. When you work on a ship, you do what needs to be done. No questions.

Maybe we should have questioned more. Following the cultist's route was the biggest mistake I ever made.

When I was 18 I started my last voyage. Months later I look old and frail. My dreams are haunted and my life is one of constant fear. Not knowing is better than knowing.  Once you peek past the veil, there is no unlooking.

I must find something to distract me from the Truth. 

I move on. Looking for a less interesting adventure.

I had sailed a few times. I was young, but a little educated and very eager.

I was looking to head closer to home on my next trip, but the only ship going out was the Emma. She was going out to restock a midsea port and return here. My pockets were empty and my belly empty. 

I almost didn't get picked up to go. But when the captain was talking the group assembled, I was quick to mention that I was an adept map reader as well as good to work in the lines. It wasn't until later that I found out the captain did his own map reading because he didn't want to spend coin on a navigator. Since I would do the work AND navigate, his penny pinching brain saw the benefit of my hiring. I was one of a crew totalling 8.

When we set sail it was a normal run. It took 5 days to drop the supplies off. The winds were in our favor. But on the second day of the return we were approached by a ship. When we came along side, they attacked directly, no demands. They fought like madmen, but we bested them. Our ship was lost in the shuffle. 

The captain and I reviewed their maps and supplies. The were short supplies to be sure. We were closer to wherevev they were going then home, so we plotted the corse hoping to be able to resupply there.

The story that follows is too wild to believe. I dare not write it down. But after everything was told. I was found by another ship passed out on the deck next to the captain that no longer lived. I look much older than my true age now. Much, much older. 

When I recovered at port I did tell my stories to the authorities. Too many authorities. Some believed nothing. Some seemed indifferent. One took my words with careful detail. 

This was my last journey by ship. I move inland to try to escape the memories and dreams that haunt me. I felt something stiring in me. My sanity waned. I hold on to this day because of one voice in the chorus that tells me to fight it and live. Survive. Carry on. And keep moving. 

So many dark dreams. And the one voice that keeps me grasping as my sanity. Hoping to