From the Journal of M. Maelstorme Smythe
Captain of the Signet Ship "Seraph"
Captain's Log: Official Log, the Eleventh
Date: Taleus 4, 1806, Year of the Drake
We are mere days away from Salamandrius. The concerted hellsquid attack has crippled the Seraph's flying abilities temporarily. However, even with the current sailing state of the Seraph, the wind has been extremely favorable (thanks to our navigator), and we are only a few days behind schedule. Mr. DuBreens has been hard at work with a team of men, racing along the vessel and fixing what is broken - improving on structural weaknesses. The engineer seems to have taken it as a personal insult that the hellsquid were capable of the vast amount of damage that their attack wreaked upon "his ship".
The crew has been quiet...morale is low. I really can't blame them. Even from this distance, plumes of thick black smoke from the great isle of Salamandrius' thin volcano spires are visible on the horizon. Even this far out from the island, we are forced to carefully navigate through the treacherous "Fangs of Salamandrius", tall, sharp deposits of yellow rock that jut from the sea floor like ancient, weathered talons. It seems that both the sun and hope itself have abandoned this place.
The men avoid the doctor, who takes his meals privately now. I have pleaded with him (indeed, I even admit to commanding him) to at least dine with the officers, but he always finds an excuse of late to have his meals brought to his lab, where he has spent every waking hour preparing the ingredients that he has for the wolfsbane potion, as well as sending carrier hawks out to the Signet and acquaintances from past adventures who might be able to provide either the preventative potion's missing ingredients, or their whereabouts. He attempts to mask it around me, but it is apparent that he has settled into a severe malaise after the incident with the wolf several nights ago. I am concerned about his state of mind, especially as we near an unknown and almost certainly dangerous situation once we arrive at Salamandrius.
What concerns me more is why the hellsquid are suddenly attacking in packs, when they have previously acted only as solitary creatures. Most curious, indeed. I was made aware of this fact as I sat upright in bed, restlessly recuperating from my injuries. Dr. Dayafter was mauling me with clinical detachment in a game of chess as we discussed how best to approach the mysteries of Salamandrius.
"Check mate, Captain," said the doctor solemnly, cleaning his multi-lensed glasses.
"You cheated, you quack", I said, nicking the glasses and carefully examining the board. The doctor swiftly retrieved his glasses, barely containing a smile.
"Drink your rum, Captain. Then you can cry into the glass."
I was examining the devastation of my small wooden platoon (and, indeed, imbibing a healthy dose of rum) when the navigator, Mr. Thorne, knocked at the door. He entered tentatively, looking sweaty and distraught. This did not overly alarm me, as Mr. Thorne often appears sweaty and distraught. Mr. Thorne is quite an accomplished naturalist; an avid student of nature. He has been studying the hellsquid since his first encounter with them, and has never, on any vessel, experienced a group attack of hellsquid.
"It was almost as if..." the navigator began, then dismissed the thought, but I coaxed the rest of the thought from him, "...as if something were controlling them."
"Is that possible?" Dr. Dayafter asked, waking momentarily from his malaise.
"We've seen stranger things, gentlemen," Mr. Thorne replied, looking a bit peaked.
"Aye, and I'll wager we see even worse on this accursed isle," I groaned, laying back on my pillow. "I wonder if there's a connection between the hellsquid pack and Salamandrius."
We discussed a strategy, and continued the conversation with the other ship's officers at supper. It was the first night I was allowed to walk the decks again, and I dare say the men were actually glad to see me. I visited the Seraph's on-board tavern which serves as the crew's mess and recreational hall after a savory meal which seemed to contain all of my favorites (Chef Gregoe admitted later that this was no accident). After a bit of carousing, the officers and I (sans the doctor, of course) seemed to have gained the crew's good graces once again, at least for tonight. Several of the crewman retired as I arrived, apparently led by the surly Mr. Evander Jones. I'll be keeping both eyes on that one, just in case.
I retired to my chambers and picked up Morrigan's letter, smelling her perfume upon it. Even as I did, she was upon my shoulder, ruffling her feathers and nipping at my ear. I smiled at her. Cold black raven's eyes stared back, and she cawed. I can only suppose that my smile disappeared, as she immediately blinked and flew out of the nearest window. I looked back down at the letter and finished reading, a tear falling and transforming the careful, precise pen strokes into a small blot of grey. I folded the letter, placing it in a drawer with several others.
I retired then, extinguishing the lanterns. I know not where Morrigan goes during these times when we both grieve over her raven state and the separation that occurs between us, or what problems these fugues may bring in the future. I wonder sometimes if this was a mistake...this "star-crossed romance", as the bards say. If it merely appealed to the pirate in me and the courtier in her as a romantic literary notion...or if, perhaps, this is something more genuine.
It is not easy for a man like me to recognize love...to distinguish it from the countless random encounters and flings that I have had. For Axiom's sake, I used to bed foreign officials' wives merely to retrieve national secrets. Perhaps we're both merely tired of being a sexual novelty. Perhaps we'll never know.
I'm done waxing poetic for now. Perhaps I'll continue tomorrow (more likely, perhaps not). Either way, more later.
- Mael
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