Sunless Sea Captain's Log - Entry 3
Originally published March 2016Due to my recent obsession with the rogue-lite, story-focused, H.P. Lovecraft sailing simulator, Sunless Sea, I decided to make my playthrough more personally interesting by sharing the adventures of my second ship captain from his journal. Sadly, my first was lost in the great computer upgrade.
If you haven't read the other entries:
North of Venderbight - September 9, 1880
If I was any bit a coward as people expected a poet to be, we may not have made it this far in one piece. We certainly would not have made it if I was a fool at navigating our vessel for it surely would have been wrecked by the creatures that infest these waters.
"Lifebergs" the zailors call them. From a distance, they look like any other mountainous chunk of ice drifting in the zee, but it doesn't take long to notice that it isn't drifting, but traveling at a speed of 20 knots or more. The Brisk Campaigner said that she had seen these creatures before. She saw first-hand on one of her adventures what the monsters could do to an unsuspecting ship. She didn't care much to elaborate on the experience but said that she watched one of the convoys she was escorting get rammed by a lifeberg that doubled its speed when it saw them.
Lifebergs apparently have rather poor eyesight. In fact, I'm not sure they have eyes. Regardless, they didn't notice us creep past, and from the sound of things, it's good we decided to use stealth instead of violence.
Once zailor claimed there was one in the far northeast that even dwarfed these beasts. The legend of Mt. Nomad claims that there is a lifeberg made of obsidian and amethyst. A black mountain radiating violet in the open water. While I'm skeptical of seeing anything of that size in our travels, I believe anything is possible in the dark.
Whither - September 10, 1880
The zailors shiver and huddle around the stacks for warmth from the engines below as we near port in the icy town of Whither. I can see how it got the name, as can the crew. The next time we come this far north, we'll be more prepared with warmer clothes and better knowledge of how to handle the zee currents.
I've heard talk of a temple etched into the ice and stone near here that worships the gods of the zee. Perhaps I can learn more about them here and what interest a god might have in a captain such as myself. First, I want to stop in and get something to eat that isn't from our rations box. I hope they serve shrimp.
Whither - September 11, 1880
While the food offered here was very satisfying and filling, I can't say I like Whither much. The people here are far less inviting than the corpses of Venderbight, which I'm sure would be an insult if I were to utter the statement aloud. Everyone I've met so far has only offered us a greeting with tight lips, as though everyone here holds a secret. They're willing to trade some interesting trinkets, but their prices are something I can't quite meet yet, as they all ask for payments in stories. The stories I shared in Venderbight will do me no good as they are all tales from London. Some ask for tales from distant shores, some ask for tales of events at zee, and others ask for tales of terror.
I'll have to make sure to remember these tales of our adventures so I may use them as a valuable commodity. Who knows how many other places we may visit use folklore as currency?
A few of the zailors came with me to the temple. There were some monks who seemed just as tight-lipped and greedy as the rest of the people here. They mentioned legends and stories that could prove insightful and useful for my song of the zee, but they demanded payment that I could not afford. The struggles of a starving poet are exacerbated out at zee with the threat of starvation very real and the hunger for knowledge even more voracious.
We ship out tomorrow for an island to the east. There's an eerie red glow to some of its surrounding rocks, so hopefully it will prove interesting. At the very least, if it's just as boring as Whither, let the inhabitants be interesting...
Codex - September 12, 1880
The inhabitants of this mysterious island are even more tight-lipped than those at Whither. At least these people have an excuse though. Whatever form of man one might call these creatures is either blind, mute, or both. Shrouded in hooded cloaks, often blindfolded, they march in line every hour through the caverns lit with candles.
Most of the zailors preferred to wait out with the ship than tread the "unholy" ground these exiles walk. This place is enveloped in mystery, though I'm not sure I have the mental will and capacity to solve any riddles there might be in this place. I can sense that I shall return here for one reason or another.
I can only hope that it will be for the treatment of someone else's madness and not my own.