Matiss_Veinbergs
Banned
When are they going to find Korenians, Gekushians, Kymerhs?
Diary of the New World - Completed 8/23/2015 - See Page 12 for latest updates
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Matiss_Veinbergs
Banned
Just few of my guys encounterings by passing by the new world.
Blackwater
Veteran
Never. They are never going to find any of those.
Matiss_Veinbergs
Banned
Ok, seems like my pseudo marco magelan journey will introduce people to them.
Blackwater
Veteran
Bleh, this one's a bit weak, but I've got a headache.
Blackwater
Veteran
And a new update!
At least this death of a Ferdinand didn't start a World War.
Blackwater
Veteran
Wait, wait, wait. So, I've had scenes of battle, disease, cannibalism, civil war, and slavery, and all of that's been completely fine. But apparently a jaguar mauling someone to death is going too far.
xP I kid. New post is up as well!
xP I kid. New post is up as well!
Matiss_Veinbergs
Banned
Oo, a famine. Somethings interesting happening.
Blackwater
Veteran
Part VI
April 14, 1420
When we first set foot on this newest island that we discovered, we knew right away that something was different about it. We arrived in the middle of the night, and the only mercy that was granted to us was the fact that there were no clouds, so the sea was lit by moonlight. Basim and the rest of the crew suggested to the captain that we wait until morning to explore the island, but the captain declined, stating that it was best that we land and set up camp instead. I... honestly have no idea what possessed him to do this, but the captain has slowly been degenerating as this voyage has continued. His uniform, once immaculate, is now tattered and stained, and it looks as though he hasn't bathed in a few days. Of course, baths are a rare commodity at sea, but the captain is an exception, as he's been able to at least enjoy saltwater baths to relieve him of some of the stench. Lately, though, it seems as though he's stopped taking them. He's unshaven, his hair is greasy, and his skin is sallow. But most telling are his eyes, which are haunted and sunken. It's almost as though his failure with Ferdinand has chipped away at his very spirit, and now the rest of us are beginning to suffer for it.
Reluctantly, we obeyed his orders and lowered our boats into the water to land on the island. The first thing that I noticed that unnerved me was the fact that there were few sounds. Earlier, I wrote about how most of the time, the jungle is a veritable symphony of bestial noise, with monkeys, birds, and insects singing together in a noisy chorus exalting the wild nature of the islands. However, this particular island is almost... tame. A few insects were crying, and once or twice I heard a monkey or a bird call out, but for the most part, the jungle was almost eerily quiet as we began to trek through it.
Naturally, traveling through an unfamiliar jungle in the middle of the night is a poor idea, even by torchlight. We decided to leave the lanterns on the island, along with the five men elected to stay behind as a skeleton crew, but we did bring some of the remaining torches with us for this expedition. At one point, one of the men nearly lit a tree on fire when he carelessly brushed it against the tree's trunk. Fortunately, the trunk was still damp, probably from a recent rain that we missed during our voyage, so all it resulted in was a gasp of fear as we realized just how close we had come to setting the jungle on fire. Santiagon, who had been following the guides with his head down to this point, suddenly seemed to flare to life and shouted down at the man about his stupidity. Fortunately, Basim was able to calm the captain down and point out that we had to keep quiet with predators lurking. Santiagon stumbled away from the man at this, whispering apologies. He seemed on teh brink of tears.
The most frightening part of the night, though, was when Khaden let out a gasp, pitched forward, and barely managed to right himself over what seemed like a perfectly normal patch of land. Hurrying forward, we saw by the light of his torch that he had narrowly avoided falling into a pit. This in particular sent fear racing through my body, as the pit was clearly man-made and had been purposefully covered with leaves to hide it. At the bottom were a number of sharpened spikes which would have certainly spelled serious injury for Khaden, if not death. After this incident, Basim made the decision to call the expedition to a halt and set up camp well away from the pit, since he did not want to venture further into the jungle with such dangers ahead. Personally, though, I'm more worried about what might catch us. The most terrifying thing about the pit was that it was recently made, as no trap so primitive would last long in the ever-changing jungle. We are not alone on this island, and I fear that the inhabitants of this island are smarter and more dangerous than any we have faced before.
April 15, 1420
We were captured in the middle of the night.
They came for us from out of the jungle, materializing like shadows while we slept. Ironically, I wasn't sleeping well because of the lack of noise in the jungle, and it was for this reason alone that I saw the first sentry fall to the ground by the light of the dying embers of the fire. He had an arrow sticking out of his neck. I instantly yelled for everyone to wake up, but by this point, it seemed that the natives of the jungle saw no point in continuing to hold their ambush, and they charged into our campsite, screaming in a savage, ululating language that I couldn't understand. But the point was very clear regardless. It was a cry of bloodlust.
Thanks to this, the other men awoke and began scrambling for their weapons, but unfortunately for many of us, we were caught off-guard by the natives, and they had us pinned down before we could rise. To my surprise, I noticed that they didn't seem intent on killing us. Those that were still on the ground the savages disarmed by kicking their weapons away before holding spears to their throats to ensure that they couldn't move. The captain, Basim, and nearly every man was unable to rise, save for myself and one other, a man by the name of Reddis. He was able to find his sword and began slashing at his captors, and he even managed to fell a couple of them. However, this proved to be a fatal mistake, as the rest simply surrounded him and impaled him with spears. He let out a soft grunt and fell to the ground, dead.
Likewise, I was able to get my hands on my sword, and when a few of the natives approached me, I attacked. The first one who approached me, I suddenly stepped in on and thrusted forward. To my surprise, he was able to dodge to the side, but I responded by twisting my wrist and slashing the man across the throat. The next one shoved a spear at me, but I was able to pull my arm back, parry it, and step in, piercing through this man's chest. By this point, I noticed others were closing in, so I decided not to try my luck. I fled.
In hindsight, I have no idea what possessed me to run. It was still pitch-black, and the dense canopy of the jungle ensured that not even moonlight was available to light my way. I stumbled through the underbrush for a bit, hacking at the foliage to try and clear a path for myself, and for a bit, I was able to clear a way until suddenly the jungle parted into a path. I ran forward onto it, but to my surprise, I suddenly pitched forward after a few steps and fell. Something slashed through my right arm and I screamed in pain before settling onto the ground. I found myself blinking up at the stars, lying in a deep hole. Unfortunately, I had stumbled into one of the pit traps that the natives had laid in the jungle, and a spear had left a deep gash through the upper half of my right arm. Still, I should count myself lucky; had I gone even one more step, I would have been impaled completely.
The savages found me quickly and hauled me out of the pit, holding blades to my throat to ensure I wouldn't struggle, and they took my sword from me before forcing me to march through the jungle back to the camp. There, they tied our hands with makeshift rope made of flexible vines and had us trek through the jungle until well past dawn. After several hours, we arrived at a village similar to the one we had encountered at the start of the journey. Here, they pushed us into wooden cages and tied them closed, before setting about their business. Fortunately, they didn't take my diary or inkpen, which is how I'm able to write now, and it's the only thing taking my mind off of whatever fate they have in store for us. I have, however, seen them starting to build fires, and tribal drums are starting to beat, while the people are beginning to chant and sing. Once again, my thoughts turn to the cannibalism we've witnessed. Never have I been so afraid in my life. Should I die, and by some miracle someone finds this diary, please return it to Kivana, if she's still alive. Tell her that I love her and that I'm sorry I was unable to return from this trip. Because it looks like I won't be coming home.
April 16, 1420
Aron was the first one that they took. After they had finished their ritual singing and chanting, they opened the cage, at which point we endeavored to escape. However, we were quickly deterred from this when the natives pointed spears at us through the bars of the cage, and they dragged out the nearest one to the entrance, which unfortunately was Aron. They closed the cage, and he began to scream as they dragged him to the central pit, which at this point was blazing. We could only watch in horror as they tied him to a spit and hoisted him over the fire. And then the drums stopped.
At this point, a man drenched in a red liquid I can only assume was blood stepped forward, clenching a stone knife. At his appearance, the natives began to pound their spears and feet against the ground, chanting as they did. As the red man approached Aron, his eyes went wide with fear, and the chanting picked up in pace and volume. He drew nearer and nearer, the chanting growing louder and louder, faster and faster, until it was ringing through the trees and making my eardrums pound. The red man seemed to savor the moment as he ran his tongue across the blade, then grabbed Aron by the hair and pulled his head back. Aron screamed as the chanting reached its peak, and then the man slashed his neck. The screaming stopped as the chanting gave way to cheering while the man in red opened his mouth to taste Aron's blood as it sprayed him from his severed throat. Aron then slumped, dead, as the natives cheered and the red man stepped away, motioning for the other savages to step forward.
When I blinked again, I found that a couple of the men had vomited. I was sweating and my hands were shaking, Basim had a grim look on his face, and the captain had gone pale. We couldn't bear to watch as they began turning Aron's corpse on the spit, roasting him as normal music once again resumed. It was only when there was a banging on the wood of the cage that I looked again.
One of the natives was offering strips of meat to us through the bars. Disgusted, another man named Varin knocked the tray from his hands, which seemed to surprise the native more than anger him. Shrugging, the man picked up a piece of flesh from the ground, dusted it off, and began gnawing on it absently as though nothing had happened. It was around this point that I stopped watching the feast and turned my attention instead to the jungle, trying to create strategies for escape.
This occupied most of my time as the sun slowly crawled across the sky, and still the feast continued. By dusk, though, most of the village had grown tired of the festivities and had gone back to normal work activities, while Aron's corpse was removed from the central fire pit and carried off somewhere. By this point, we were thoroughly miserable. I was sweaty, hungry, and the gash in my arm was throbbing horribly despite the fact that I had bound it with a strip of my tunic to keep it from bleeding. It seems that this cut is deeper than I thought, and it runs the length of my upper arm. I'm just glad that I don't have to swing a sword right now, because I can barely move it without feeling pain.
As dusk dissolved into night, the savages once again offered us meat, but I would rather starve than eat another person. Once again, the native just seemed confused by this, and then he surprised me by speaking in a language similar to that of Tlaxlcoatl's. He asked us why we did not wish to sup upon the flesh of a fallen warrior, when we could gain his strength and infuse ourselves with his spirit. I was shocked. That's the core of their belief system, that by consuming another person's flesh, you are making part of that person's strength your own. Despite how horrific it is, I suppose it makes sense if one considers it through the context of religion and spirituality. However, it's not our religion, and I explained to the man that we did simply did not consume other men. The tribesman seemed baffled, but did not press the issue further. However, he mentioned that it mattered little anyways, since there would be another feast tomorrow. When I heard this, I went cold. So this is our fate. We're to be killed and devoured one by one. I can think of no worse punishment for any sins I might have committed in my life.
April 17, 1420
Cestis was the next one selected to be sacrificed. Once again, when the cage opened, we tried to rush the door, but all this earned us was a mass of spears in our faces, and we relented as Cestis screamed for mercy while they dragged him towards the fire. This time, I couldn't bear to look, and I shut my eyes as his screams echoed through the camp, mixed with the horrible rapid beating of the drum. I only opened my eyes when Santiagon gripped my shoulder from behind, trying to comfort me. I opened my eyes and commented that none of this would have happened without Ferdinand turning against us, to which Santiagon replied that the blame rested entirely with him. I finally asked him why he had put Ferdinand in charge. He was silent for a long time, but when I started to think he wasn't going to answer, he spoke.
During the war with the Sarranids, there had been an instance in his first real battle where Santiagon had frozen. They had been caught between a pair of ships, both of which were about to unload their rounds on him, and Santiagon had panicked. At that time, Ferdinand had been the one to step up and take charge of his men, ordering them into a brave suicide charge to the other ship. Using ropes, they had crossed to one of the ships and began attacking, throwing that ship into disarray. While the other ship fired off a volley into the side of Santiagon's hull, the ship that Ferdinand had attacked had been unable to fire, as no order was given with the officers on deck preoccupied. By the time the order was given, it was too late, and Santiagon had manged to limp out of range and come around to attack Ferdinand's ship, disabling it with a lucky shot to the topmast.
Santiagon had come around and picked up Ferdinand's crew, but when they returned to shore, it was the captain that received all the credit. While Santiagon had tried to protest and explain that Ferdinand had been the one to lead the charge, the lord of Jamiche where they were stationed waved it off by explaining that because he had been in command, he received the spoils and the glory; the actions of his men were just the product of the captain's command. Even though Santiagon had protested, Ferdinand remained bitter, holding a grudge against Santiagon that lasted into the next voyage as he believed that his moment of glory had been stolen by a captain that had been incompetent and did not deserve credit for what Ferdinand had accomplished.
When I asked what this had to do with him putting Ferdinand in charge, Santiagon explained that he had merely wanted to give Ferdinand his own chance at glory, as an apology for having robbed him of his rightful spoils. Santiagon, however, had not believed that Ferdinand would go so far as to try and usurp the ship from him, and that was his failing. He smiled weakly and said that he supposed this was the second time that he had failed to properly act as Ferdinand's captain, only this time it had not only cost him his reputation, but the life of a man that had once saved his own, all because he had been unable to recompense Ferdinand properly after the war. While he had sent Ferdinand a healthy share of the spoils after the war, he was unable to give him the glory he deserved, so Santiagon believed that he could do it by giving Ferdinand command in the New World and spreading tales of it when we returned. He had misjudged how far Ferdinand would go however.
After hearing this, I pondered it for a while before telling the captain that this was the stupidest reasoning I had heard in ages, surprising him. How had he personally denied Ferdinand? He had done everything in his power to ensure Ferdinand got the credit he deserved. If no one around him believed the story, that was not his fault. He had even gone so far as to try and compensate Ferdinand in every way possible. That was not his fault. What was his fault was turning command of his ship over to an unstable, power-hungry thug simply because of a guilty conscience. He's the captain, and regardless of the blows dealt to him in the past, he had a responsibility to act as a captain should. Brooding over a grudge was no reason to put the lives of his men at stake just to ease his guilt. If he wasn't going to do his job, he had no right to call himself captain, and in that case, yes, he should have turned command over to someone more capable.
The captain stared at me for a long time after I declared this, as did many of the other crew members, and then he began to chuckle to himself. He commented softly that I was exactly right, and then he moved to a corner of the cage and seemed to lose himself in thought. I personally drifted off to sleep after that. It's been miserable the last few days, and I've started to develop a nasty headache that I assume I developed thanks to dehydration. Sleeping helps to dull the pain and pass the time. And it takes my mind off of our inevitable fate.
April 18, 1420
We learned that they always came for us at noon, so when the sun reached its zenith, we began to worry. Together, we pressed towards the back of the cage, desperate to get away from the savages. In fact, there was even some jostling to push someone towards the front of the cage, because that was the one that they always seemed to take. The savages noticed this and began laughing, pointing at the wrestling match we were having with each other, until suddenly Santiagon barked at us to stop. And then he moved towards the front of the cage.
We were stunned by this, but then Santiagon turned around and asked me if I could speak their language. Obviously, I couldn't speak it very well, but having heard it over the last few days, I'd been able to pick out enough that I could approximate it based on rough translations from Tlaxcoatl's language. Santaigon nodded and then moved to the door of the cage, telling me to yell out that he wanted to speak with the chieftain of the tribe. I did this, though I couldn't help wondering what his plan was.
When the chieftain appeared, Santiagon instructed me to translate. He introduced himself as our leader, and that he wished to speak wiht the chieftain as one leader to another, with me as a translator. The chieftain pondered this, and then replied that he didn't speak with the leaders of captured tribes, as by that point they were nothing more than stock for his own tribe to consume and learn lessons from, even if that lesson was what mistakes not to make to avoid being captured themselves. Santiagon countered this by stating that he should at least be allowed to state his piece, as we had not attacked them. The chieftain replied that this only made Santiagon a poor chieftain, much to the amusement of his followers, who began chuckling.
Santiagon, however, refused to back down, and he turned to me and asked what I knew of their beliefs revolving around their religion, especially the cannibalism aspect of it. Based on what I've seen, there is a certain ritual to the process. Willing victims seem to be prized over unwilling ones, who are simply seen as cattle who don't even comprehend the nature of the sacrifice. The belief is that by surrendering one's life, they are giving up their knowledge to better the tribe. An unwilling victim, on the other hand, is only useful if they're proven to be an outstanding warrior whose consumption would encourage the growth of the muscles of his enemies. There are also certain parts that seem prized, particularly the eyes, the hands, the tongue, and the heart, all of which are essential parts of a human being. When I told him all this, Santiagon smiled mysteriously before turning back to the chieftain. He then told me to say that he was offering himself in exchange for our lives.
I stared at him in shock as he said this, and the other men protested, refusing to let him do this, but Santiagon held up his hands, saying that this was something that he was willing to do for us. It was his fault we got into this, and he wanted to do what he could to give us the chance to escape, even if he couldn't. After all, the captain was supposed to be willing to lay down his life for his men, especially if doing so would let them live. And this was finally his chance to act as a captain should. Basim shouted at him that there was no need for him to play martyr, and the rest of us agreed. Santiagon, however, merely smiled and asked him to offer an alternative. We couldn't fight our way out of here, and even if we could, more of us would just die needlessly. Basim was more than capable of getting us home. He just wanted to be sure that his family would live in comfort after he died, and to give a portion of what we took to them, enough to ensure they would live happily.
Basim then grabbed me and ordered me not to speak, but looking at Santiagon, he simply looked... weary. And yet there was a sort of peace in his eyes, a calm acceptance of what was to come. There was simply no arguing with him. Sighing, I asked if there was any alternative. A few of us suggested we fight our way out, but when I asked how, they couldn't come up with an answer. We came up with a few half-hearted ideas, but we knew none of them would work. This might not have been the only way, and I refuse to believe that there wasn't an alternative, but Santiagon had given us a way out, and if he was ready to sacrifice himself like this, then we were dishonoring him by refusing. All of us knew this.
I began weeping despite myself as I slowly translated Santiagon's request. The tribesmen were equally stunned, and they murmured amongst each other until the chieftain retorted that they were simply going to eat us anyways, so what would this accomplish. Here, I took some liberties, explaining that this was a chieftain who had seen parts of the world that the tribe had only dreamed of, that he had witnessed the breadth of their former empire and carried secrets that would restore them to their former glory. However, an unwilling victim would not divulge these secrets, as they well knew. This last part was a bluff that I was praying was a part of their religious beliefs. Luckily, it seemed it was. After much deliberation, the chieftain agreed.
Slowly the cage opened and the tribesmen led us out. Santiagon demanded they give us back our equipment, while swearing that we wouldn't use it on them, which the tribe reluctantly allowed; it seems even they won't deny the request of a sacrifice. Our weapons and armor were returned to us, but when they got to Santiagon's sword, he handed it to Basim, naming him captain. He then went down the line, embracing all of us. When he got to me, he whispered in my ear that he expected me to tell our story when we got back, and that he knew great things were waiting for me in the future. This broke me, and I began sobbing openly as he finished going down the line before turning to the chieftain and nodding, indicating that he was ready.
The tribesmen took him and laid him out on an altar, tying his hands down to the stone. They then began chanting slowly, a different chant from the wild, frenzied bloodlust that we had seen before. This was a slow, spiritual chant, meant to calm the spirit of a sacrifice and allow it to flow through his body, infusing it with some sort of spiritual energy. All the while, we were watching with tears running down our faces. As the chanting grew louder, the chieftain himself took up a stone knife and stood over Santiagon, who stared up at him placidly, peacefully. As the chanting stopped, the chieftain raised the knife. Santiagon turned towards us, looking at each of us as we sobbed. He smiled softly at us. And then the knife descended.
Santiagon let out only the softest gasp as it pierced his heart, and then his head turned and his eyes closed. My knees gave out and I sank to the dirt, staring at him in disbelief as the tribesmen surrounded him, gorging on his still-warm flesh while we watched the horrible spectacle. It felt as though we had to watch, to witness his sacrifice to the very end. It only took twenty minutes for the tribesmen to pull away, leaving only a blood-stained altar behind them. I could hardly feel anything as one of the tribesmen approached us, and I dully translated that he was to lead us through the jungle to the beach, where they expected us to depart and never return. The journey lasted most of the day, and by nightfall, we hadn't reached the beach, so the party of twenty we were with allowed us to stop for the night. I haven't eaten anything all day even though fruit is everywhere and I'm weak with hunger. I simply have no appetite, and I doubt I'll sleep tonight either. I still can't believe we've lost the man who led us on this expedition, who guided us to an unknown world, who was always so full of hope and excitement. He made this journey... fun, and without him, it feels as though the world is darker. All I can say is that as long as I live, I will never know a man braver and more selfless than Captain Santiagon. I hope that his spirit finds peace in the afterlife. If anyone deserves it, it's him.
April 20, 1420
One of the worst things about sailing is that it gives a man entirely too much time to think. Before now, I considered this a boon, as I could simply let my mind wander as a way to stave off boredom, but after the death of the captain, I've found myself dwelling on it even when I don't want to. I can still see him being dragged off by the natives, see the look on his face right before he was slain. And I keep wondering if we couldn't have found another way, if it truly was impossible to fight our way out, if there wasn't some bargain we could have made to ensure no one else was killed. In this way my mind has been turning in circles ever since we boarded the ship.
After Santiagon secured our freedom, we were escorted back to the beach without incident, and it only took us a couple of hours to spot our ship. Before we left the island, one of the natives mentioned that there were few men who had performed an act as noble and courageous as Santiagon, and that if nothing else, he would be honored forever. I wasn't sure whether to thank him or kill him, so I simply didn't bother translating or answering and simply got on the boat back to the ship. Of course we were immediately bombarded with questions about what had happened and where the captain was. Basim took the lead and said he would explain on the ship. When we arrived, I immediately headed below decks as Basim began to relate to the others what had happened. Half an hour later, Basim came for me, stating that he wanted to see me in his quarters.
The others had accepted him as the new captain and he had their full support, but he had left it up to them whether or not we should turn back and leave our expedition at this. We had plenty of spoils, and we had mapped far more than anyone had expected. However, the men had expressed their desire to see everything the New World had to offer. I agreed. Despite everything, if we've come this far, we may as well see our mission through to the end. Basim nodded, but then explained that as captain, he had other duties to attend to, so he was going to leave the bulk of the navigation to me, though he would still be checking my work. I went pale at this, but reluctantly obeyed, plotting a course to the west. Before I did, though, I recommended that we name that island after Santiagon, as it was the least we could do to honor his sacrifice. Basim agreed.
And so now I'm sitting in the captain's quarters, trying to figure out how to plot a course while Basim is outside giving orders. It doesn't help that my headache has only worsened, despite the fact that I've been drinking water and eating plenty ever since we re-boarded the ship. Perhaps it's just stress. It wouldn't surprise me, considering everything we've been through, and the fact that I keep replaying events in my mind isn't helping. I suppose I'll just have to deal with it, since it's not like this voyage is going to get less stressful anytime soon. For now, I may as well just bury myself in my new duties. Navigation is difficult, but at least it takes my mind off of the horrors of the island of Santiagon.
April 22, 1420
Everything seems to be going from bad to worse lately. I woke up this morning to a throbbing pain in my arm, and when I pulled my shirt back, I saw that the gash I had on my arm now had little white bumps full of pus surrounding the wound. Furthermore, I'm now running a fever, and my headache has grown worse. To combat this, I took some medicine that we had to fight off headaches, but there's little that I can do about my arm, since I don't know anything about this disease. All I can do is hope that my body can fight it off before it gets any worse.
What's worse is that even if I wasn't ill, it wouldn't change the fact that I'm an amateur navigator, and even with Basim checking my work, I'm worried that I might have run us off-course. He had to correct my calculations three times yesterday, and while I'm trying to point us due west, I never knew how easy it is to lose one's bearings, even with the most advanced nautical techniques in the world helping me. The fact that we even found the New World at all is frankly astounding, in retrospect. I don't know how Basim and Santiagon managed to get us here, but now I'm worried that I might not be able to get us home. To be sure, Calradia is a large continent, and even beyond western Calradia is an even larger landmass, so it's not as though it's an easy target to miss, but I fear that somehow I would end up pointing us due north the way this voyage has been going.
Fortunately for us, Basim is an excellent captain. In the wake of Santiagon's death, he instantly united the crew under him and began to give out orders as though nothing had changed. There are, of course, noticeable differences between the two. While Santiagon tended to delegate authority to the other crewmembers, Basim prefers to take a more hands-on approach, personally ensuring that everything with the ship is functioning properly. In addition to assisting me with my navigational duties, he's stood at the helm, helped raise the sails, and even handed out meals to everyone. Of course Santiagon is missed, but if anyone had to take his place as the new captain, Basim is the one to do it. With his calm but firm voice, easygoing manner, and constant smile, he's a man who can put you at ease while gently guiding you to complete the task he's assigned you.
However, I'm praying that will be enough for this upcoming challenge. A storm is brewing on the horizon, and we're sailing right into its path. It actually seems smaller than previous squalls that we've faced, but we're also down to almost a third of our original crew, and those of us that are left are not the most experienced seamen. Despite all the strife they caused, Ferdinand's men were damn good sailors, and at least five of us remaining are greenhorns, myself included. Hopefully Basim and the other veterans will be able to guide us in this upcoming trial, but the stormclouds have never looked more ominous to me. I was always below decks or observing how a storm was handled. Now I'll have to try and fight one head-on for the first time. God help us.
April 24, 1420
As I feared, I was unable to navigate properly in the wake of the storm, but that wasn't the only problem that we encountered. In fact, navigation was the least of our problems, since Basim was able to correct the course, and we actually managed to keep us relatively on-course anyways. But everything else seems to have gone wrong.
During the storm, one of the men was unable to secure the masts properly, and it came unfurled right as the storm began to reach its peak. For those who have never sailed, this meant not only that we were blown in directions we did not want to be, but the high winds we encountered damaged the sails so that now they have holes in them. Fortunately, they weren't completely shredded beyond repair, but the holes reduced our speed and required repairs that we were unable to make at the time. We were able to secure the sails in the middle of the storm, at great peril for everyone involved, but the damage was already done.
The next morning, a new island was spotted, so we decided to anchor nearby. Unfortunately, while we were trying to anchor, we ran aground of a reef due to the low tide. We were able to pull free, but the hull was damaged as well and required repairs, so we had no choice but to beach the ship so that she could be fixed. Now that we're on the beach, however, it seems that this new island is relatively placid. There are animals around, but they all seem rather docile, even friendly. A small rabbit hopped right up to us to inspect us before scampering off, though the men were charmed by it. The jungle here is also much less dense than a typical New World island, and some of the men wanted to organize a new exploring party, but Basim refused to allow it until the ship was repaired. If we stirred up trouble, we'd have to fall back to this location, and we'd be surrounded with no means of escape. For now, we're camping out on the beach, but the treeline is near enough that gathering wild fruits and vegetables is no problem. I'm personally grateful for the rest, as it's given me the chance to go over the maps and start plotting a course back to Calradia when it's time to depart. I don't know how long the repairs will take, but it looks like we'll be stuck here for a while. That's fine with me, though. Between everything that's happened, we could use the time to stop and recuperate before the next leg of our journey.
April 25, 1420
Naturally, we landed on an island inhabited by cannibals.
We made this unfortunate discovery this morning when one of the men spotted some shapes moving in the jungle. At first, we hoped it was just some animal, but as they drew closer, every one of us let out a groan. It was actually almost comical, if it weren't for the fact that these were men looking to kill and eat us. We've been in the New World so long that the sight of savage natives merely elicits exasperation rather than fear and dread. Still, it's not as though we weren't taking the threat seriously. Basim immediately ordered those of us that could into armor, myself included.
However, here's where I realized that I wasn't going to be much help. Unfortunately, my fever hasn't broken, my headache has worsened, and my arm is now swollen near the gash. The white spots, likewise, have spread and grown larger, though they remain in the region of the wound. I'm guessing that this might be some sort of infection, but nothing that I've taken for it has helped. There were a few herbs on board the ship that I've been trying to use as medicine, but unfortunately, there doesn't seem to be a cure. Perhaps the answer lies in New World plants, but this illness has only gotten worse.
The reason I say this is that it severely hampered my ability to fight. When the natives drew close, I realized that I could barely more my arm, much less engage in the intricate swordplay that Santiagon taught me. I couldn't parry with my sword arm and was reduced to fending off the natives with just my shield. This was made worse by my headache pounding in my ears, and I quickly grew fatigued, barely able to dodge and parry after only a few minutes. When it became evident that I was just going to get myself killed, Basim ordered me back, where I collapsed on the sand as he struggled to help me out of my armor. When he demanded to know if I was sick, I only nodded, but mentioned that I'd been trying to treat it. After all, I'm the closest thing this ship has to a doctor anyways, so it's not as though he could be of any help.
There were only about five natives, and after a few wounds, they ran off, apparently not wanting to engage us in a fight to the death like their brethren on the other islands. Basim immediately ordered me to bed and to give me a double ration of water, but I don't think that dehydration is the problem now. I'm currently going over every treatment I can think of in my head, but even thinking is painful. As I said, maybe the answer lies in New World plants, but without guidance, I don't dare try new recipes on myself, since I'd be more likely to poison than cure myself. I can only hope this illness breaks soon.
April 14, 1420
April 14, 1420
When we first set foot on this newest island that we discovered, we knew right away that something was different about it. We arrived in the middle of the night, and the only mercy that was granted to us was the fact that there were no clouds, so the sea was lit by moonlight. Basim and the rest of the crew suggested to the captain that we wait until morning to explore the island, but the captain declined, stating that it was best that we land and set up camp instead. I... honestly have no idea what possessed him to do this, but the captain has slowly been degenerating as this voyage has continued. His uniform, once immaculate, is now tattered and stained, and it looks as though he hasn't bathed in a few days. Of course, baths are a rare commodity at sea, but the captain is an exception, as he's been able to at least enjoy saltwater baths to relieve him of some of the stench. Lately, though, it seems as though he's stopped taking them. He's unshaven, his hair is greasy, and his skin is sallow. But most telling are his eyes, which are haunted and sunken. It's almost as though his failure with Ferdinand has chipped away at his very spirit, and now the rest of us are beginning to suffer for it.
Reluctantly, we obeyed his orders and lowered our boats into the water to land on the island. The first thing that I noticed that unnerved me was the fact that there were few sounds. Earlier, I wrote about how most of the time, the jungle is a veritable symphony of bestial noise, with monkeys, birds, and insects singing together in a noisy chorus exalting the wild nature of the islands. However, this particular island is almost... tame. A few insects were crying, and once or twice I heard a monkey or a bird call out, but for the most part, the jungle was almost eerily quiet as we began to trek through it.
Naturally, traveling through an unfamiliar jungle in the middle of the night is a poor idea, even by torchlight. We decided to leave the lanterns on the island, along with the five men elected to stay behind as a skeleton crew, but we did bring some of the remaining torches with us for this expedition. At one point, one of the men nearly lit a tree on fire when he carelessly brushed it against the tree's trunk. Fortunately, the trunk was still damp, probably from a recent rain that we missed during our voyage, so all it resulted in was a gasp of fear as we realized just how close we had come to setting the jungle on fire. Santiagon, who had been following the guides with his head down to this point, suddenly seemed to flare to life and shouted down at the man about his stupidity. Fortunately, Basim was able to calm the captain down and point out that we had to keep quiet with predators lurking. Santiagon stumbled away from the man at this, whispering apologies. He seemed on teh brink of tears.
The most frightening part of the night, though, was when Khaden let out a gasp, pitched forward, and barely managed to right himself over what seemed like a perfectly normal patch of land. Hurrying forward, we saw by the light of his torch that he had narrowly avoided falling into a pit. This in particular sent fear racing through my body, as the pit was clearly man-made and had been purposefully covered with leaves to hide it. At the bottom were a number of sharpened spikes which would have certainly spelled serious injury for Khaden, if not death. After this incident, Basim made the decision to call the expedition to a halt and set up camp well away from the pit, since he did not want to venture further into the jungle with such dangers ahead. Personally, though, I'm more worried about what might catch us. The most terrifying thing about the pit was that it was recently made, as no trap so primitive would last long in the ever-changing jungle. We are not alone on this island, and I fear that the inhabitants of this island are smarter and more dangerous than any we have faced before.
April 15, 1420
We were captured in the middle of the night.
They came for us from out of the jungle, materializing like shadows while we slept. Ironically, I wasn't sleeping well because of the lack of noise in the jungle, and it was for this reason alone that I saw the first sentry fall to the ground by the light of the dying embers of the fire. He had an arrow sticking out of his neck. I instantly yelled for everyone to wake up, but by this point, it seemed that the natives of the jungle saw no point in continuing to hold their ambush, and they charged into our campsite, screaming in a savage, ululating language that I couldn't understand. But the point was very clear regardless. It was a cry of bloodlust.
Thanks to this, the other men awoke and began scrambling for their weapons, but unfortunately for many of us, we were caught off-guard by the natives, and they had us pinned down before we could rise. To my surprise, I noticed that they didn't seem intent on killing us. Those that were still on the ground the savages disarmed by kicking their weapons away before holding spears to their throats to ensure that they couldn't move. The captain, Basim, and nearly every man was unable to rise, save for myself and one other, a man by the name of Reddis. He was able to find his sword and began slashing at his captors, and he even managed to fell a couple of them. However, this proved to be a fatal mistake, as the rest simply surrounded him and impaled him with spears. He let out a soft grunt and fell to the ground, dead.
Likewise, I was able to get my hands on my sword, and when a few of the natives approached me, I attacked. The first one who approached me, I suddenly stepped in on and thrusted forward. To my surprise, he was able to dodge to the side, but I responded by twisting my wrist and slashing the man across the throat. The next one shoved a spear at me, but I was able to pull my arm back, parry it, and step in, piercing through this man's chest. By this point, I noticed others were closing in, so I decided not to try my luck. I fled.
In hindsight, I have no idea what possessed me to run. It was still pitch-black, and the dense canopy of the jungle ensured that not even moonlight was available to light my way. I stumbled through the underbrush for a bit, hacking at the foliage to try and clear a path for myself, and for a bit, I was able to clear a way until suddenly the jungle parted into a path. I ran forward onto it, but to my surprise, I suddenly pitched forward after a few steps and fell. Something slashed through my right arm and I screamed in pain before settling onto the ground. I found myself blinking up at the stars, lying in a deep hole. Unfortunately, I had stumbled into one of the pit traps that the natives had laid in the jungle, and a spear had left a deep gash through the upper half of my right arm. Still, I should count myself lucky; had I gone even one more step, I would have been impaled completely.
The savages found me quickly and hauled me out of the pit, holding blades to my throat to ensure I wouldn't struggle, and they took my sword from me before forcing me to march through the jungle back to the camp. There, they tied our hands with makeshift rope made of flexible vines and had us trek through the jungle until well past dawn. After several hours, we arrived at a village similar to the one we had encountered at the start of the journey. Here, they pushed us into wooden cages and tied them closed, before setting about their business. Fortunately, they didn't take my diary or inkpen, which is how I'm able to write now, and it's the only thing taking my mind off of whatever fate they have in store for us. I have, however, seen them starting to build fires, and tribal drums are starting to beat, while the people are beginning to chant and sing. Once again, my thoughts turn to the cannibalism we've witnessed. Never have I been so afraid in my life. Should I die, and by some miracle someone finds this diary, please return it to Kivana, if she's still alive. Tell her that I love her and that I'm sorry I was unable to return from this trip. Because it looks like I won't be coming home.
April 16, 1420
Aron was the first one that they took. After they had finished their ritual singing and chanting, they opened the cage, at which point we endeavored to escape. However, we were quickly deterred from this when the natives pointed spears at us through the bars of the cage, and they dragged out the nearest one to the entrance, which unfortunately was Aron. They closed the cage, and he began to scream as they dragged him to the central pit, which at this point was blazing. We could only watch in horror as they tied him to a spit and hoisted him over the fire. And then the drums stopped.
At this point, a man drenched in a red liquid I can only assume was blood stepped forward, clenching a stone knife. At his appearance, the natives began to pound their spears and feet against the ground, chanting as they did. As the red man approached Aron, his eyes went wide with fear, and the chanting picked up in pace and volume. He drew nearer and nearer, the chanting growing louder and louder, faster and faster, until it was ringing through the trees and making my eardrums pound. The red man seemed to savor the moment as he ran his tongue across the blade, then grabbed Aron by the hair and pulled his head back. Aron screamed as the chanting reached its peak, and then the man slashed his neck. The screaming stopped as the chanting gave way to cheering while the man in red opened his mouth to taste Aron's blood as it sprayed him from his severed throat. Aron then slumped, dead, as the natives cheered and the red man stepped away, motioning for the other savages to step forward.
When I blinked again, I found that a couple of the men had vomited. I was sweating and my hands were shaking, Basim had a grim look on his face, and the captain had gone pale. We couldn't bear to watch as they began turning Aron's corpse on the spit, roasting him as normal music once again resumed. It was only when there was a banging on the wood of the cage that I looked again.
One of the natives was offering strips of meat to us through the bars. Disgusted, another man named Varin knocked the tray from his hands, which seemed to surprise the native more than anger him. Shrugging, the man picked up a piece of flesh from the ground, dusted it off, and began gnawing on it absently as though nothing had happened. It was around this point that I stopped watching the feast and turned my attention instead to the jungle, trying to create strategies for escape.
This occupied most of my time as the sun slowly crawled across the sky, and still the feast continued. By dusk, though, most of the village had grown tired of the festivities and had gone back to normal work activities, while Aron's corpse was removed from the central fire pit and carried off somewhere. By this point, we were thoroughly miserable. I was sweaty, hungry, and the gash in my arm was throbbing horribly despite the fact that I had bound it with a strip of my tunic to keep it from bleeding. It seems that this cut is deeper than I thought, and it runs the length of my upper arm. I'm just glad that I don't have to swing a sword right now, because I can barely move it without feeling pain.
As dusk dissolved into night, the savages once again offered us meat, but I would rather starve than eat another person. Once again, the native just seemed confused by this, and then he surprised me by speaking in a language similar to that of Tlaxlcoatl's. He asked us why we did not wish to sup upon the flesh of a fallen warrior, when we could gain his strength and infuse ourselves with his spirit. I was shocked. That's the core of their belief system, that by consuming another person's flesh, you are making part of that person's strength your own. Despite how horrific it is, I suppose it makes sense if one considers it through the context of religion and spirituality. However, it's not our religion, and I explained to the man that we did simply did not consume other men. The tribesman seemed baffled, but did not press the issue further. However, he mentioned that it mattered little anyways, since there would be another feast tomorrow. When I heard this, I went cold. So this is our fate. We're to be killed and devoured one by one. I can think of no worse punishment for any sins I might have committed in my life.
April 17, 1420
Cestis was the next one selected to be sacrificed. Once again, when the cage opened, we tried to rush the door, but all this earned us was a mass of spears in our faces, and we relented as Cestis screamed for mercy while they dragged him towards the fire. This time, I couldn't bear to look, and I shut my eyes as his screams echoed through the camp, mixed with the horrible rapid beating of the drum. I only opened my eyes when Santiagon gripped my shoulder from behind, trying to comfort me. I opened my eyes and commented that none of this would have happened without Ferdinand turning against us, to which Santiagon replied that the blame rested entirely with him. I finally asked him why he had put Ferdinand in charge. He was silent for a long time, but when I started to think he wasn't going to answer, he spoke.
During the war with the Sarranids, there had been an instance in his first real battle where Santiagon had frozen. They had been caught between a pair of ships, both of which were about to unload their rounds on him, and Santiagon had panicked. At that time, Ferdinand had been the one to step up and take charge of his men, ordering them into a brave suicide charge to the other ship. Using ropes, they had crossed to one of the ships and began attacking, throwing that ship into disarray. While the other ship fired off a volley into the side of Santiagon's hull, the ship that Ferdinand had attacked had been unable to fire, as no order was given with the officers on deck preoccupied. By the time the order was given, it was too late, and Santiagon had manged to limp out of range and come around to attack Ferdinand's ship, disabling it with a lucky shot to the topmast.
Santiagon had come around and picked up Ferdinand's crew, but when they returned to shore, it was the captain that received all the credit. While Santiagon had tried to protest and explain that Ferdinand had been the one to lead the charge, the lord of Jamiche where they were stationed waved it off by explaining that because he had been in command, he received the spoils and the glory; the actions of his men were just the product of the captain's command. Even though Santiagon had protested, Ferdinand remained bitter, holding a grudge against Santiagon that lasted into the next voyage as he believed that his moment of glory had been stolen by a captain that had been incompetent and did not deserve credit for what Ferdinand had accomplished.
When I asked what this had to do with him putting Ferdinand in charge, Santiagon explained that he had merely wanted to give Ferdinand his own chance at glory, as an apology for having robbed him of his rightful spoils. Santiagon, however, had not believed that Ferdinand would go so far as to try and usurp the ship from him, and that was his failing. He smiled weakly and said that he supposed this was the second time that he had failed to properly act as Ferdinand's captain, only this time it had not only cost him his reputation, but the life of a man that had once saved his own, all because he had been unable to recompense Ferdinand properly after the war. While he had sent Ferdinand a healthy share of the spoils after the war, he was unable to give him the glory he deserved, so Santiagon believed that he could do it by giving Ferdinand command in the New World and spreading tales of it when we returned. He had misjudged how far Ferdinand would go however.
After hearing this, I pondered it for a while before telling the captain that this was the stupidest reasoning I had heard in ages, surprising him. How had he personally denied Ferdinand? He had done everything in his power to ensure Ferdinand got the credit he deserved. If no one around him believed the story, that was not his fault. He had even gone so far as to try and compensate Ferdinand in every way possible. That was not his fault. What was his fault was turning command of his ship over to an unstable, power-hungry thug simply because of a guilty conscience. He's the captain, and regardless of the blows dealt to him in the past, he had a responsibility to act as a captain should. Brooding over a grudge was no reason to put the lives of his men at stake just to ease his guilt. If he wasn't going to do his job, he had no right to call himself captain, and in that case, yes, he should have turned command over to someone more capable.
The captain stared at me for a long time after I declared this, as did many of the other crew members, and then he began to chuckle to himself. He commented softly that I was exactly right, and then he moved to a corner of the cage and seemed to lose himself in thought. I personally drifted off to sleep after that. It's been miserable the last few days, and I've started to develop a nasty headache that I assume I developed thanks to dehydration. Sleeping helps to dull the pain and pass the time. And it takes my mind off of our inevitable fate.
April 18, 1420
We learned that they always came for us at noon, so when the sun reached its zenith, we began to worry. Together, we pressed towards the back of the cage, desperate to get away from the savages. In fact, there was even some jostling to push someone towards the front of the cage, because that was the one that they always seemed to take. The savages noticed this and began laughing, pointing at the wrestling match we were having with each other, until suddenly Santiagon barked at us to stop. And then he moved towards the front of the cage.
We were stunned by this, but then Santiagon turned around and asked me if I could speak their language. Obviously, I couldn't speak it very well, but having heard it over the last few days, I'd been able to pick out enough that I could approximate it based on rough translations from Tlaxcoatl's language. Santaigon nodded and then moved to the door of the cage, telling me to yell out that he wanted to speak with the chieftain of the tribe. I did this, though I couldn't help wondering what his plan was.
When the chieftain appeared, Santiagon instructed me to translate. He introduced himself as our leader, and that he wished to speak wiht the chieftain as one leader to another, with me as a translator. The chieftain pondered this, and then replied that he didn't speak with the leaders of captured tribes, as by that point they were nothing more than stock for his own tribe to consume and learn lessons from, even if that lesson was what mistakes not to make to avoid being captured themselves. Santiagon countered this by stating that he should at least be allowed to state his piece, as we had not attacked them. The chieftain replied that this only made Santiagon a poor chieftain, much to the amusement of his followers, who began chuckling.
Santiagon, however, refused to back down, and he turned to me and asked what I knew of their beliefs revolving around their religion, especially the cannibalism aspect of it. Based on what I've seen, there is a certain ritual to the process. Willing victims seem to be prized over unwilling ones, who are simply seen as cattle who don't even comprehend the nature of the sacrifice. The belief is that by surrendering one's life, they are giving up their knowledge to better the tribe. An unwilling victim, on the other hand, is only useful if they're proven to be an outstanding warrior whose consumption would encourage the growth of the muscles of his enemies. There are also certain parts that seem prized, particularly the eyes, the hands, the tongue, and the heart, all of which are essential parts of a human being. When I told him all this, Santiagon smiled mysteriously before turning back to the chieftain. He then told me to say that he was offering himself in exchange for our lives.
I stared at him in shock as he said this, and the other men protested, refusing to let him do this, but Santiagon held up his hands, saying that this was something that he was willing to do for us. It was his fault we got into this, and he wanted to do what he could to give us the chance to escape, even if he couldn't. After all, the captain was supposed to be willing to lay down his life for his men, especially if doing so would let them live. And this was finally his chance to act as a captain should. Basim shouted at him that there was no need for him to play martyr, and the rest of us agreed. Santiagon, however, merely smiled and asked him to offer an alternative. We couldn't fight our way out of here, and even if we could, more of us would just die needlessly. Basim was more than capable of getting us home. He just wanted to be sure that his family would live in comfort after he died, and to give a portion of what we took to them, enough to ensure they would live happily.
Basim then grabbed me and ordered me not to speak, but looking at Santiagon, he simply looked... weary. And yet there was a sort of peace in his eyes, a calm acceptance of what was to come. There was simply no arguing with him. Sighing, I asked if there was any alternative. A few of us suggested we fight our way out, but when I asked how, they couldn't come up with an answer. We came up with a few half-hearted ideas, but we knew none of them would work. This might not have been the only way, and I refuse to believe that there wasn't an alternative, but Santiagon had given us a way out, and if he was ready to sacrifice himself like this, then we were dishonoring him by refusing. All of us knew this.
I began weeping despite myself as I slowly translated Santiagon's request. The tribesmen were equally stunned, and they murmured amongst each other until the chieftain retorted that they were simply going to eat us anyways, so what would this accomplish. Here, I took some liberties, explaining that this was a chieftain who had seen parts of the world that the tribe had only dreamed of, that he had witnessed the breadth of their former empire and carried secrets that would restore them to their former glory. However, an unwilling victim would not divulge these secrets, as they well knew. This last part was a bluff that I was praying was a part of their religious beliefs. Luckily, it seemed it was. After much deliberation, the chieftain agreed.
Slowly the cage opened and the tribesmen led us out. Santiagon demanded they give us back our equipment, while swearing that we wouldn't use it on them, which the tribe reluctantly allowed; it seems even they won't deny the request of a sacrifice. Our weapons and armor were returned to us, but when they got to Santiagon's sword, he handed it to Basim, naming him captain. He then went down the line, embracing all of us. When he got to me, he whispered in my ear that he expected me to tell our story when we got back, and that he knew great things were waiting for me in the future. This broke me, and I began sobbing openly as he finished going down the line before turning to the chieftain and nodding, indicating that he was ready.
The tribesmen took him and laid him out on an altar, tying his hands down to the stone. They then began chanting slowly, a different chant from the wild, frenzied bloodlust that we had seen before. This was a slow, spiritual chant, meant to calm the spirit of a sacrifice and allow it to flow through his body, infusing it with some sort of spiritual energy. All the while, we were watching with tears running down our faces. As the chanting grew louder, the chieftain himself took up a stone knife and stood over Santiagon, who stared up at him placidly, peacefully. As the chanting stopped, the chieftain raised the knife. Santiagon turned towards us, looking at each of us as we sobbed. He smiled softly at us. And then the knife descended.
Santiagon let out only the softest gasp as it pierced his heart, and then his head turned and his eyes closed. My knees gave out and I sank to the dirt, staring at him in disbelief as the tribesmen surrounded him, gorging on his still-warm flesh while we watched the horrible spectacle. It felt as though we had to watch, to witness his sacrifice to the very end. It only took twenty minutes for the tribesmen to pull away, leaving only a blood-stained altar behind them. I could hardly feel anything as one of the tribesmen approached us, and I dully translated that he was to lead us through the jungle to the beach, where they expected us to depart and never return. The journey lasted most of the day, and by nightfall, we hadn't reached the beach, so the party of twenty we were with allowed us to stop for the night. I haven't eaten anything all day even though fruit is everywhere and I'm weak with hunger. I simply have no appetite, and I doubt I'll sleep tonight either. I still can't believe we've lost the man who led us on this expedition, who guided us to an unknown world, who was always so full of hope and excitement. He made this journey... fun, and without him, it feels as though the world is darker. All I can say is that as long as I live, I will never know a man braver and more selfless than Captain Santiagon. I hope that his spirit finds peace in the afterlife. If anyone deserves it, it's him.
April 20, 1420
One of the worst things about sailing is that it gives a man entirely too much time to think. Before now, I considered this a boon, as I could simply let my mind wander as a way to stave off boredom, but after the death of the captain, I've found myself dwelling on it even when I don't want to. I can still see him being dragged off by the natives, see the look on his face right before he was slain. And I keep wondering if we couldn't have found another way, if it truly was impossible to fight our way out, if there wasn't some bargain we could have made to ensure no one else was killed. In this way my mind has been turning in circles ever since we boarded the ship.
After Santiagon secured our freedom, we were escorted back to the beach without incident, and it only took us a couple of hours to spot our ship. Before we left the island, one of the natives mentioned that there were few men who had performed an act as noble and courageous as Santiagon, and that if nothing else, he would be honored forever. I wasn't sure whether to thank him or kill him, so I simply didn't bother translating or answering and simply got on the boat back to the ship. Of course we were immediately bombarded with questions about what had happened and where the captain was. Basim took the lead and said he would explain on the ship. When we arrived, I immediately headed below decks as Basim began to relate to the others what had happened. Half an hour later, Basim came for me, stating that he wanted to see me in his quarters.
The others had accepted him as the new captain and he had their full support, but he had left it up to them whether or not we should turn back and leave our expedition at this. We had plenty of spoils, and we had mapped far more than anyone had expected. However, the men had expressed their desire to see everything the New World had to offer. I agreed. Despite everything, if we've come this far, we may as well see our mission through to the end. Basim nodded, but then explained that as captain, he had other duties to attend to, so he was going to leave the bulk of the navigation to me, though he would still be checking my work. I went pale at this, but reluctantly obeyed, plotting a course to the west. Before I did, though, I recommended that we name that island after Santiagon, as it was the least we could do to honor his sacrifice. Basim agreed.
And so now I'm sitting in the captain's quarters, trying to figure out how to plot a course while Basim is outside giving orders. It doesn't help that my headache has only worsened, despite the fact that I've been drinking water and eating plenty ever since we re-boarded the ship. Perhaps it's just stress. It wouldn't surprise me, considering everything we've been through, and the fact that I keep replaying events in my mind isn't helping. I suppose I'll just have to deal with it, since it's not like this voyage is going to get less stressful anytime soon. For now, I may as well just bury myself in my new duties. Navigation is difficult, but at least it takes my mind off of the horrors of the island of Santiagon.
April 22, 1420
Everything seems to be going from bad to worse lately. I woke up this morning to a throbbing pain in my arm, and when I pulled my shirt back, I saw that the gash I had on my arm now had little white bumps full of pus surrounding the wound. Furthermore, I'm now running a fever, and my headache has grown worse. To combat this, I took some medicine that we had to fight off headaches, but there's little that I can do about my arm, since I don't know anything about this disease. All I can do is hope that my body can fight it off before it gets any worse.
What's worse is that even if I wasn't ill, it wouldn't change the fact that I'm an amateur navigator, and even with Basim checking my work, I'm worried that I might have run us off-course. He had to correct my calculations three times yesterday, and while I'm trying to point us due west, I never knew how easy it is to lose one's bearings, even with the most advanced nautical techniques in the world helping me. The fact that we even found the New World at all is frankly astounding, in retrospect. I don't know how Basim and Santiagon managed to get us here, but now I'm worried that I might not be able to get us home. To be sure, Calradia is a large continent, and even beyond western Calradia is an even larger landmass, so it's not as though it's an easy target to miss, but I fear that somehow I would end up pointing us due north the way this voyage has been going.
Fortunately for us, Basim is an excellent captain. In the wake of Santiagon's death, he instantly united the crew under him and began to give out orders as though nothing had changed. There are, of course, noticeable differences between the two. While Santiagon tended to delegate authority to the other crewmembers, Basim prefers to take a more hands-on approach, personally ensuring that everything with the ship is functioning properly. In addition to assisting me with my navigational duties, he's stood at the helm, helped raise the sails, and even handed out meals to everyone. Of course Santiagon is missed, but if anyone had to take his place as the new captain, Basim is the one to do it. With his calm but firm voice, easygoing manner, and constant smile, he's a man who can put you at ease while gently guiding you to complete the task he's assigned you.
However, I'm praying that will be enough for this upcoming challenge. A storm is brewing on the horizon, and we're sailing right into its path. It actually seems smaller than previous squalls that we've faced, but we're also down to almost a third of our original crew, and those of us that are left are not the most experienced seamen. Despite all the strife they caused, Ferdinand's men were damn good sailors, and at least five of us remaining are greenhorns, myself included. Hopefully Basim and the other veterans will be able to guide us in this upcoming trial, but the stormclouds have never looked more ominous to me. I was always below decks or observing how a storm was handled. Now I'll have to try and fight one head-on for the first time. God help us.
April 24, 1420
As I feared, I was unable to navigate properly in the wake of the storm, but that wasn't the only problem that we encountered. In fact, navigation was the least of our problems, since Basim was able to correct the course, and we actually managed to keep us relatively on-course anyways. But everything else seems to have gone wrong.
During the storm, one of the men was unable to secure the masts properly, and it came unfurled right as the storm began to reach its peak. For those who have never sailed, this meant not only that we were blown in directions we did not want to be, but the high winds we encountered damaged the sails so that now they have holes in them. Fortunately, they weren't completely shredded beyond repair, but the holes reduced our speed and required repairs that we were unable to make at the time. We were able to secure the sails in the middle of the storm, at great peril for everyone involved, but the damage was already done.
The next morning, a new island was spotted, so we decided to anchor nearby. Unfortunately, while we were trying to anchor, we ran aground of a reef due to the low tide. We were able to pull free, but the hull was damaged as well and required repairs, so we had no choice but to beach the ship so that she could be fixed. Now that we're on the beach, however, it seems that this new island is relatively placid. There are animals around, but they all seem rather docile, even friendly. A small rabbit hopped right up to us to inspect us before scampering off, though the men were charmed by it. The jungle here is also much less dense than a typical New World island, and some of the men wanted to organize a new exploring party, but Basim refused to allow it until the ship was repaired. If we stirred up trouble, we'd have to fall back to this location, and we'd be surrounded with no means of escape. For now, we're camping out on the beach, but the treeline is near enough that gathering wild fruits and vegetables is no problem. I'm personally grateful for the rest, as it's given me the chance to go over the maps and start plotting a course back to Calradia when it's time to depart. I don't know how long the repairs will take, but it looks like we'll be stuck here for a while. That's fine with me, though. Between everything that's happened, we could use the time to stop and recuperate before the next leg of our journey.
April 25, 1420
Naturally, we landed on an island inhabited by cannibals.
We made this unfortunate discovery this morning when one of the men spotted some shapes moving in the jungle. At first, we hoped it was just some animal, but as they drew closer, every one of us let out a groan. It was actually almost comical, if it weren't for the fact that these were men looking to kill and eat us. We've been in the New World so long that the sight of savage natives merely elicits exasperation rather than fear and dread. Still, it's not as though we weren't taking the threat seriously. Basim immediately ordered those of us that could into armor, myself included.
However, here's where I realized that I wasn't going to be much help. Unfortunately, my fever hasn't broken, my headache has worsened, and my arm is now swollen near the gash. The white spots, likewise, have spread and grown larger, though they remain in the region of the wound. I'm guessing that this might be some sort of infection, but nothing that I've taken for it has helped. There were a few herbs on board the ship that I've been trying to use as medicine, but unfortunately, there doesn't seem to be a cure. Perhaps the answer lies in New World plants, but this illness has only gotten worse.
The reason I say this is that it severely hampered my ability to fight. When the natives drew close, I realized that I could barely more my arm, much less engage in the intricate swordplay that Santiagon taught me. I couldn't parry with my sword arm and was reduced to fending off the natives with just my shield. This was made worse by my headache pounding in my ears, and I quickly grew fatigued, barely able to dodge and parry after only a few minutes. When it became evident that I was just going to get myself killed, Basim ordered me back, where I collapsed on the sand as he struggled to help me out of my armor. When he demanded to know if I was sick, I only nodded, but mentioned that I'd been trying to treat it. After all, I'm the closest thing this ship has to a doctor anyways, so it's not as though he could be of any help.
There were only about five natives, and after a few wounds, they ran off, apparently not wanting to engage us in a fight to the death like their brethren on the other islands. Basim immediately ordered me to bed and to give me a double ration of water, but I don't think that dehydration is the problem now. I'm currently going over every treatment I can think of in my head, but even thinking is painful. As I said, maybe the answer lies in New World plants, but without guidance, I don't dare try new recipes on myself, since I'd be more likely to poison than cure myself. I can only hope this illness breaks soon.
Blackwater
Veteran
And a new post. Sorry for taking so long, I've been trying to figure out the best way to write this next section. Fun stuff is about to happen.
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Veteran
Updated. Nothing more needs to be said.
ShinySpoons
Knight
Oh dear
Blackwater
Veteran
Updated.
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Updated again! Also, woo, 5,000+ views! Thank you so much everyone, and I'm glad you're still enjoying the story after all this time.
Blackwater
Veteran
Updated.
Good job! 
Blackwater
Veteran
There we go, new update. Hope you guys are still enjoying this! I know the tone shifted quite a bit these last few entries.
