[HR] Untitled Ship Story - Experimenting a bit with writing styles, and its been too long since I've released anything I've written.

Day 18

Saw strange creature breach the surface today. Port side of ship, less than 200 yards out. Jagged dorsal spikes protruding from scaly hide. Sailors whispering of bad omens and demons watching the ship from beneath the waves. Did best to alleviate fear. Forbade speak of such superstition. Our mission is too important to fail to weak hearts.

Day 20

Glimpsed coast in distance. Ordered turn starboard, taking us further to sea. Too far south now, mainland is hostile territory. Can't risk us being seen. Food reserves remain acceptable, but ordered nets cast to catch fresh food, save what we can preserve. Nets drew nothing.

Day 21

Smell of the sea foul this morning. Salt stinging in nostrils and slight whiff of rot. Sky cloudless and horizon an endless flat plane. Winds unfavourable, refusing to carry scent from us, or us from it. Sun beats down constantly. One of the sailors didn't hydrate, had heatstroke. He'll be dead before we make next port. Dredged piece of flotsam, gunpowder crate, waterlogged and useless. Stamped with flag of the enemy and scrawling in heathen tongue.

Day 22

Strange sight today. Passed wreck of ship, still floating, being battered slowly to pieces by waves. Carcass of whale smashed through hull, as if the beast had deliberately dashed itself upon the vessel, in order that both should be destroyed. Carcass was split open, guts rotting in the sun. Stomach burst. Human corpses inside. Sailors crossed themselves, said prayers for lost souls. Ship was likely source of yesterday's flotsam.

Day 25

Crewman came to me, name of Hamish. Said food stores were dwindling. I ordered nets casted. Pulled up large bounty of fish. Little meat and lacking in nutrition. Will hold sailors over for the day, saving food stores. Crewman who suffered heatstroke passed today, weeping and calling the name of his wife. Four days until Port Fellcrag.

Day 29

Port Fellcrag flies imperial flag, but nonetheless filled with scum, heathens, and spies. Bought food stores from loathsome supplier, at extortionate rate. Crew enjoyed shore leave, flocking to pub and whorehouse. Strict orders to not speak of mission. One can feel the enemy is listening here, searching for secrets on the tongues of visiting sailors. The port's obvious corruption is its salvation. Were the denizens of this festering pit not so willing to sell what they've heard, the enemy would burn their homes, and cast them all into the sea. The empire would lose not one loyal citizen.

Day 30

Cast off behind schedule. Two crew unaccounted for, and had to be sought out. Itched to leave this lecherous place. Found one crewman in pub, hadn't slept, still drinking. Brought back to ship. Put to work scrubbing deck. Considered ordering him to scrape barnacles off the hull. Other crewman found dead, behind whorehouse. Throat cut down to bone. Missing any garments below waist. Left port at two hours before noon. Crew compliment down to 10, plus myself. Few words of mourning passed around. We look forward towards the mission.

Day 32

Compass moving oddly. Map and stars confirm we are heading in right direction.

Day 33

Spotted small trading ship. Considered ordering it sunk. These waters are making me paranoid. Ship waved white flag. Independent, not the enemy. Came about and rendezvoused. Carrying cargo of foreign trinkets and spices. Nothing of value for the reserves, but the men buy some personal items. Spotted Hamish selling his Bible. Perturbing. Asked captain of trade ship to keep our meeting secret from the enemy. No telling if he will.

Day 35

Halfway point to our first destination. Food stores bought from Fellcrag showing signs of rot. Supplier skimped on preservatives. Should return and have his head when mission is complete. Morale still strained from men lost, but doing better than expected, and improving. Good winds today.

Day 36

Accident occurred today during maintenance of port-side cannon. Shift in seas caused the gun to slip from the crew's grasps, and slide off the slick wood of the railing and into the sea. A chain which had been attached managed to wrap around a crewman's ankle. He was pulled overboard and gone from sight beneath the surface in a heartbeat. Ordered the ship stopped and waited an hour for him to surface again. He did not.

Day 37

Rumours whispered between the men about the man we lost yesterday. His name had been Payton, and he was friend to few for his selfish and often deviant ways. Caught one man calling his abrupt end an act of divine retribution for his sins. Immediately and before the rest of the crew ordered this man to an extra ten hours of swabbing below decks. We must not celebrate the deaths of our comrades.

Day 38

First Officer Benson noted to me that Hamish has borrowed his Bible every night since our rendezvous with the trade ship. I found this odd, and asked Hamish what the purpose of selling his own Bible was. Hamish explained his proclivity for selling Bibles when travelling to foreign lands, in the hope that God's Word may be of influence to someone among the heathens. Asked why he did not then bring a spare for himself, and he told me he'd given his spare as a gift to one of the girls at the whorehouse in Fellcrag. He's a good kid.

Day 40

Today I am farther south than I have ever travelled. Not the furthest I have ever been from home, as in my youth I served on a ship as it sailed West a considerable distance. Commemorated the occasion with glass of ten year old scotch. Decided to treat the crew to a doubling of daily rations, including some wine and spirits. Morale was in need of a boost.

Day 42

Storm ahead of us, coming in too fast to avoid. Compass behaving erratically, seems drawn to the storm. Raising sails.

Day 42 (night)

Storm strikes ship like a man possessed of madness beating on a wall. Desk rocks as I attempt to steady my pen. Nothing to be done but wait until the waves tire of their siege. The hull shall hold, providing we don't capsize. At the end of every dark tunnel there is a light.

Day 43

Storm ended. Damage to gaff sail rigging. Mobility hindered, but not ceased. We've been taken off-course some distance. Compass continues to be unreliable. Using sun to keep ourselves moving south.

Day 44

We have been lead into uncharted waters, far from intended path. No storm I have seen in all my years of sailing, whether as deckhand or captain, could have carried us this far. There is great unease in the air, and malice from beneath the waves.

Day 46

Compass useless. Clouds fill sky at night, hiding stars. We are lost. Food rations good for some time. Will attempt to find our bearings once again, and continue.

Day 50

Cannot see land. Should see land. Cannot.

Day 52

Passed ship today. Flying burned remains of flag of our enemy. All crew were on deck. They were dead. Sent lifeboat to get closer look. They came back, deathly pale and whispering prayers for deliverance. They reported that the crew had all been tied to the deck in prostration, such that they might remain in that position even after death. They had all starved to death. One of the away team, experienced in the art of knot-tying, claimed that the knots appeared as if the men had tied them about their own hands. Whispers among crew of curses. I order us taken further from the wretched vessel of death and had it sunk with cannon fire.

Day 53

Smell of rot in air. Dead fish.

Day 54

A saboteur is among us! Found my map burned on the deck. They wanted my crew and myself to see it destroyed, rather than simply casting it into the sea. I ordered the crew to press on. Will find the coast. Will find saboteur. Will have him hanged, or shoot him through the heart myself. Haven't decided.

Day 57

Saw something in the night, while I was alone on deck. Large mass protruding from sea. A small island. Water frothing and white around it. As I watched, it undulated strangely, then sank beneath the waves. Will not tell crew. Morale running low. Men fearful. No progress in rooting out saboteur. Food supplies dwindle.

Day 58

Casting nets. Bringing in nothing.

Day 59

Strange creature crawled over side of ship this morning. Size of a cod. Blob-like and slimy, like sea slug. Toothy maw with several tongues. Sailors declared it should be destroyed. Had it tossed back overboard.

Day 60

Food supplies desperate. Men at 3/4 rations. Myself at half. Travelling due east now. How can we still not find the coast?

Day 61

Two crew lost today. Argument broke out on deck, between Hamish and Werner. Werner accused Hamish of stealing his rations. Hamish insisted on his innocence, even offered to share his own ration with Werner. Werner drew his knife and gutted Hamish, in view of crew and myself. Intestines spilled onto deck. Werner looked at me, as shocked as any of us at what he'd done. I shot him between the eyes. Buried both at sea. Held small ceremony for Hamish.

Day 63

Lifeboat drifted past ship. Examined it through spyglass, and saw no supplies worth salvaging. Single body on board. Bound hand and foot, and tied into boat in prostration.

Day 64

Supplies nearly gone. If we do not find food within a week, we will be dead.

Day 66

What I have seen this night, I must record in detail. I have been a man of God all my life, and to believe in God is to also believe in the Devil. Folklore of mischievous demons and witches hiding in the forest I know to be superstition; all dark forces of this world serve Satan, and all of his works are to empower the enemies of the Empire. I have never partaken in nor tolerated sailors' stories of eldritch horrors beneath the sea which care not for man. And yet my encounter on the deck of the ship this night has filled me with dread at an evil unlike any Satanic influence I have ever encountered. This was no emissary of the Devil, but of something else, perhaps something worse. I had wandered, sleepless from my quarters, in part to ward off my gnawing hunger, and in hope of the sky clearing and revealing stars by which to navigate a way to land. Alas, the sky was as clouded as ever before, nature itself conspiring to keep us lost. As I emerged on deck, I saw a figure standing on near the bow. In the darkness, I took it to be one of the crew, similarly wandering without aim. I looked over the side of the ship, down at the pitch black water. The sight of small waves lapping against the hull, pushed by the same chill wind that threatened to blow out my candle, filled me with a discomfort unlike anything I'd ever felt. All my life I have loved the sea. This is perhaps the first time I have feared ending up on the bottom of it. Or dying of exposure and madness in a lifeboat. The crew surely must be considering mutiny by now. As I looked down into the waters, something caught my eye. It almost appeared I could see the ocean floor, not 5 yards beneath the surface. The texture of the undeniably solid surface was strange. Cracks, wrinkles, and odd pustules dotted every inch. To my shock, I realized it was moving- sliding beneath the ship at considerable speed. Some enormous mass was moving directly beneath the surface, with the water giving barely a ripple in reply. It must have been unimaginably large- perhaps the same mysterious mass I had mistook for an island, some time ago. What dreaded leviathan is stalking this ship? I was so stunned by this sight that I did not realize for some time that the figure I shared the deck with was now standing directly beside me. I turned and raised my candle to illuminate his face, and was taken aback with a terror I cannot describe. Before me stood Hamish, the man I buried at sea almost a week previous. His skin was bloated, and starting to rot. One side of his mouth was stretched into a monstrous grin by a tear in the flesh of his cheek. His intestines still hung out of the gaping hole in his gut, and it was clear they had been partially devoured by sea life. He looked me in the eye with a tranquil hatred I had never seen from him in life. My voice catching in my throat, I asked Hamish how he could be alive. He laughed, the torn flesh on his face quivering, and told me he was very much dead. I asked by what means he could be standing before me, and he answered.

I come from He Beneath The Waves. I am to deliver a message to you and your doomed crew, to help ease your transition into his service. Those who are lost to the sea must serve He Beneath The Waves, and now, so shall you. Cast all that remains of your food into the waters. When death has weened you off your love of land-food, He Beneath The Waves will claim you. If you will not serve him, he will devour you.

I drew my pistol and shot Hamish in the left eye. The back of his head was splattered on the deck. His cold stare did not waver. I called on the name of God, and demanded that the unholy revenant remove himself from my ship. He told me his message was delivered, and it was upon me to accept or reject his master's offer. He grinned, and leaned in towards me. He whispered that some of my men had already accepted. Then, without hesitation, he threw himself over the edge of the ship and tumbled into the sea.

Day 67

Did not sleep last night. Hoped what I saw was a dream. Bits of Hamish's brains still lay on the deck. I summoned the crew. Remember hearing whispered rumours two days ago that Grant had been spotted tossing his rations into the sea. I drew my pistol before the crew and demanded to know who had accepted Hamish's offer. The mutinous bastards feigned ignorance, saying they'd all seen Hamish die a week ago. I repeated my order, this time directed at Grant. He swore he knew nothing of what I was saying. I drew a small brick of hardtack and shoved it into his hands. I demanded he eat it. The rest of the crew looked at me like I had gone mad. Grant looked at the hardtack as if he were afraid of it. I demanded he eat his ration. He burst into tears, and told me that Hamish had said whoever rejected an offer from He Beneath The Waves would rot in his belly for all eternity. I shot him between the eyes. I declared to the crew that any who would not eat would be executed as a traitor. They all looked at me in terror. Henderson was the first to act. He drew his knife and threw it right at my head. I brought my arm up to block the attack and the blade plunged itself into my forearm. The deck became chaos. Everybody attacking each other blindly, each man demanding to know each other's affiliation. I dropped my empty pistol and reached for the back of my belt. Henderson tackled me, knocking me to the ground. He clawed and flailed at my face like a deranged animal. With one hand, I grabbed him by the face and pushed him back. With the other, I pulled his knife from my arm and thrust it between his ribs. I followed with a stab to his throat, then his left temple. I stood, and drew my backup pistol from its holster on my back. I screamed for order. I screamed that I would kill the next person who struck a crewmate. Silence fell over the deck. Most of the crew was injured. Some lay with split bellies and slit throats on the blood-slicked wood. Benson stood on the railing of the ship, grasping the rigging to steady himself. With his other hand, he aimed his own pistol at the crew. I told him to lower his weapon. He told me he could not. Stammering, he told the crew that there was but a single way to escape this accursed sea. He put his pistol to his chin and shot himself. His body tumbled backwards into the sea. In an instant, the deck was in chaos once more.

Day 67

In my quarters. Crew barricaded me in. They say my punishment for rejecting He Beneath The Waves will come. Some of the crew who were injured in the fight are still alive. They are being sacrificed. I have my bottle of scotch, and when I am done with that, I have a shot left in my pistol. My mind wanders as I drink. I think back to the broken carcass of the whale, smashed through the side of the sinking ship. Its stomach had swelled and split open in the sun, exposing the human bodies it had gorged itself on. There were two bodies in particular that had caught my attention that day. They were embracing each other.

Hamish is back on deck now, and Benson is with him. Hamish's intestines hang from his gut, wrapped about his legs. Benson's tongue hangs down from the mess of his destroyed jaw. They are guiding the men in tying themselves to the deck, in positions of prostration. If such an end is their reward for subservience, what awaits me for my refusal?

The gunpowder stores are below deck. They happen to be situated directly beneath my quarters. If I can pry some of these boards free, I can reduce this damned ship to burning wreckage. It may not be enough to spare my soul, but I shall spit my last breath at He Beneath The Waves before I enter Hell.

The hole is ready. I can see the gunpowder below. I am preparing. I will put these pages of my journal into my empty whiskey bottle, and cast it out my window before I light the powder. The only hope I am still foolish enough to muster is that someone, somewhere, will learn of the evil we have encountered. Hamish is knocking on the door to my quarters now. I must hurry.

~~ ~~

Mathis lounged on the beach, soft waves lapping at his bare feet. Beside him, opposite their small fire, was Adreana. She sat, legs curled, poking at the fire with a stick. She swished her glass of wine about and took a sip. The sun was just setting on the horizon, colouring the water a beautiful orange. It was a wonderful way to spend the evening together, if not for a faint whiff of rotten fish coming from the sea.

“What's that in the water, love?” Adreana asked.

There were small pieces of burned wood drifting back and forth in the sea foam at the water's edge. They were quite clearly not from the campfire of brush and twigs between the two of them. Mathis stood, scratching his chin. Looking at the bits of debris, something caught his eye. A glass bottle, sealed with wax, bobbing in the water. There looked to be something inside; some sort of paper. Mathis stepped out to ankle depth and grabbed the bottle. He turned it over in his hands in curiousity. He glanced out to the vast ocean, wondering where it could have come from, when something caught his eye. A sea creature of some sort, breaching the surface, less than 200 meters away. The orange evening light illuminated its slimy scales, and jagged dorsal spikes. As soon as it had appeared, it slipped back beneath the surface and was gone. Mathis walked back to the fire, prying at the wax seal on the bottle with his fingers. He managed to pull it off as he sat back down next to Adreana. She looked over his shoulder in curiousity as he pulled the mysterious pages out of the bottle. He turned them over in his hands, revealing scribbled lettering in the language of the Empire.

“My word,” Adreana whispered.

“Hmm,” Mathis grunted, “I wish I could read it.”

“It is the writing of devils and tyrants,” Adreana said, “I'm happy not knowing what lies it speaks.”

“Perhaps I could find someone in the city who can translate Imperial,” Mathis mused, “It may be an important message that can be used against the Empire.”

“Travelling whilst carrying pages of Imperial writing?” Adreana asked, “Love, you would be assumed to be a spy and executed.”

“Fair point,” Mathis said, “It is likely nothing important enough to be bothered with, anyhow.”

Mathis tossed the empty bottle back into the sea. It hit with a dull splash. Without another glance at the illegible writing, he tossed the pages into the fire.