For love of money
-
Amidst the debris you discover a leather bound book. Opening it reveals oiled vellum pages filled with cramped runes. Dwarven. A brief perusal reveals no authors signature or dated entrys. You slip it into your pack for later study.
=====
Entry 1.
By the hells and all things damned! The All-Father never forged his children with seamanship in mind. Of course, nobody saw fit to share this now obvious fact with me, did they? Bastards. The sooner I wash the memory away with drink, the better I'll be for it.
Sooth, before the torture that the humans perversely like to call sailing, I'd never have dared wager a bent copper against a gold sovereign that I could be so sick and for so long and still come out the other end alive. Most me time was spent at the rail heaving up me guts and praying to all the gods that I wouldn't tumble over the side and sink like a thrown stone.
You don't know fear until you're on a bit of wood in the middle of water that aint got no bottom worth mentioning. Mark these words, I vow never to get on another boat again for less than a king's ransom or a king's ransom on me head. And even then I wont be doing it with a pretty smile.
Plague take them! I spent so long at the rail heaving up me guts that I bought the ship its own screaming retinue of gulls that busied themselves gorging on the chunkier bits of me fools attempt at breakfast. Getting shat on by a bird while sicking up does nothing to lighten your mood, let me tell you.
I got meself no sympathy from the crew, of course. I had felt hard stares on me before we had even embarked and it wasn't long into me sickness that I heard whispers of malingerer that I know I was supposed to overhear. The first mate it was that had taken a particular disliking to me.
So I spent that first night by his bedside uninvited and the next mourn found him a great deal more polite. He proved himself smart enough not to speak of it but rumours spread anyway and so they all left me well enough alone after that.
But they didn't see fit to shorten the meandering course they had chartered south down the east shore of the icelace. The barefoot puddle-jumpers had to stop at every wind-blown lean-to and chicken house along the way just incase thay could unload their wares on some leaf-eating wretch before the Peltarch tariffs cut into the profits on their main stock. I understand the reasoning, but days and days a sailing I've endured and I'll be buggred if I'm going to be reasonable about it.
Aye, but it's almost over now, thank the Forger. And here I am. The ugly Port of Peltarch. Dosn't take a mason to see the humans didn't bother asking anyones advice when building it. Slipshod knuckle-draggers. I can smell it's clinging stench of fish even through me puke-caked beard. Oh, for all that's golden, this damned trip had better be worth it.
I need an ale. Blast it, I need a bath more than I need an ale! Now that's enough to make you weep.