A harbour, before
Lanterns on the water and voices I can still almost hear.
Chapter Five
The Journal
Pages in his own hand, written in the cold hours below the waves.
Entry the first
I write because the tide does not stop. Each night I set the day down in ink, so that something of me is still readable when I am gone.
Today I walked the drowned hall again. The turquoise light there does not flicker, and it never grows warmer. I took that as a warning and as a kind of company.
Memories
Pages I return to when the water is loud.
The old library
The hours I spent learning to be still, among books no one else would open.
The night of the wave
I do not write everything about it, even here.
Campaign experiences
Notes from the road, kept as the adventure unfolds.
Session notes
We left the shore at dusk. Something followed us under the hull for three miles, and none of us spoke of it. Later I found a rune scratched into the rail, and I am sure it was not there before.
Keep the lantern lit. Keep the blade near. Count the crew twice.
Significant encounters
Faces met in the dark, and the marks they left.
I did not trust her at first. I have trusted her since, and I still keep a knife within reach.Entry on a stranger met at the harbour
The creature under the reef looked at me as if it knew my name. I wrote it down so I would remember that I was afraid.Entry on the reef
Personal reflections
Sometimes I wonder whether the archive keeps me or I keep it. The answer changes with the tide.
If anyone reads this one day, know that I was not always silent. I was only waiting for someone to listen.