I was afraid that day, that horrible, horrible day on the Captain's ship. To you, the reader of my diary, to you, who thinks that my fear is that of mussels protruding from my pores when I lie in bed or thinks that my fear involves the velvet black that envelopes me when I walk upon the deck, patrolling with the moon and it's sky, to you, who believes that my fear is possibly of irrational behavior and nothing but the simple courage to overcome it can save me from it, you are wrong. My fear was planted. A fear so deep, so violent, that it gnaws at my courage everyday until the the day that I die. It all started on that day. The day I met the the Rise sisters.

October 9th, XXXX

Time: Mid-day

Hello again, my journal. I have become a jester in-front of Captain Kenny. Today I listen to the sound of the sea and breath in the saltwater air from my chambers. This would have never happened if [the names are illegible] had kept their mouths shut when we were at the port earlier. The powder would still be dry as well. Ahh well. I could use some time to think anyway. It's been a hard decade for me, being nothing but a lackey on this ship. All I do is mop the oak deck, check the inventory, give everyone information about what to do everyday, and sit in my shabby quarters.

…

Okay, maybe the decade has not been that hard. Especially when my crew-mates decide that the air has become too stiff with boredom and they want to take a few hairs off the Captain's head (They actually did one time, but it more or less half of his bushel.) There was also this one time that they decided that pouring the rum into an empty barrel and sneaking it into the crew's sleeping grounds would be a good idea. Turns out, the rum was part of the Captain's storage. Each and everyone of us had to scrub and train for an entire day and I was too tired to write in you that day. Ah, these sure are the days to live.

…

Just remembering today makes me mad. I can't remember the last time I actually had strength like that in my arms before. I used to be a scribe, journal. Used to work for some rich noble too, but it got boring and I may or may not have charmed his daughter slightly. (In retrospect, I believe it was the fact that I gave her a bouquet of roses for her birthday that got him fired up at me.) Anyway, being a scribe meant that I didn't really have a lot of strength in my arms. My fingers...maybe, but my arms are definitely are as strong as a 12 year old's. Speaking of strong body parts, I've been told I'm gifted at running before, which almost made me a messenger for that noble had it not been for my "amusing" hand writing. I guess that I'm quite grateful for that, but that was got me into that fight in the morning.

...

J[illegible] was remarking about how my legs look like a lady's and angered me slightly when he dramatically bowed down to me and pretended that I was some sort of fair maiden. He continued to bother me about it for the rest of the morning when we were making purchases from the dealers. He joked, poked fun, and down right made fun of my legs that entire morning. Even when I was talking with the dealers. Neither was I slightly amused or in the laughing mood at all. I did not see the appeal of making a joke about my legs and promptly trying to embarrass me in-front of so many others. I remember him saying something before I punched him into the port bay. I think it was something like, "Hey lady! Are your privates as bald as your legs?". After a quick flail of my arms, Job[illegible] got knocked off the side of the docks. The bad part about that is that he also took Jack with him. Jack was carrying a heavy barrel of gun powder. That's a bad thing, apparently. After making all of the water on the side of the port grey and murky for a few minutes, I got the feeling that a certain captain that I knew would not like the sight of this. So before I was able to "help out" with the situation, the Captain had already been looming over me like the giant he was. And that's how I ended up in my quarters.

…

Oh! I hear someone coming for me. Goodbye, journal. Till I write again.

October 9th, XXXX

Time: Night

Hello once more, my journal. Or should I call you a log? A diary? No, too feminine for my tastes. And log sounds more like a captain thing. Oh well, journal will have to do. Anyway, I got off lightly when I explained to the captain what happened when he came in when I was writing in you. Guess who's swabbing the whole deck tonight. Not me! Well actually it is me, but Jobab is helping. I'm writing this before it's time to go out there. It's always so cold at night. Is it the saltwater that makes everything chilly, or is it my heart?

…

HA! I actually got a bit thoughtful just now. These moments come and go, but I'm sure you've seen plenty, journal. Anyway, I've got to go and start cleaning the deck because I hear Jobab screaming for me to get up there. See you later, journal.

…

Welcome back to my arms, journal! Or my hands at least. I suspect that dawn shall come in a few hours so I might as well get some sleep while I still can. Yet, I feel like I should write in you a slight bit more before I go off and visit my demons. Sleeping is something I don't really like because it makes me feel vulnerable to anything while it works it mysterious ways of making me less tired. I should stop this habit of sleeping late when I write in you. I swear, I might get sick. Either way, I feel like that my time is running out as my eyes slowly feel like they are being weighted down.

…

Another lovely sentence! I should keep count some where in this journal. I always thought that when it got to night time that my brain became much better at writing. Oh well, time for a certain somebody(Me) to go to sleep. Good night, my journal. (If anyone found you, I'd feel foolish. Not that anyone has for the past 3 years I've had you)

October 10th, XXXX

Time: Morning

Good morning! I did not dream at all yesterday night; which is a good thing because when I do dream, it usually is pretty bad. This one time I dreamed that Captain Kenny had found my secret. It isn't valuable, but it is one of my families greatest heirlooms. I hid it somewhere in the boat when I first joined the Captain. A spearhead that has a few runes of the Old Nords etched on it. My grandma told me that it wards off evil. I'd actually like to believe that, but I don't really believe in the supernatural. The Captain does though, poor thing. I won't write down the location because if someone does find it (if you are reading this, Captain Kenny, then please put the book down and act like you never found it.) they at least won't know where it is. Speaking of the Captain's fears, I remember this one time he told all of us that if we were to carry a woman on a ship, we were to make her taste the ocean blue beneath us. I don't really like that idea, I mean, what if the woman was more than just a stow away.

...

Sorry, daydreamed for a second. I was just thinking about why the Cap doesn't want woman on the ship. I'm sure it's just another one of his "oooooo superstitions ooooooo". Then it hit me. I remember something my grandma told me before I set off on the sea to work for that noble. She told me to be wary of Sirens or something like that. Doesn't she know those things are just old wives tales? She even gave me the heirloom for the sole purpose of protecting me. Now that I think about it a bit more, I'm kinda grateful that she gave me the spearhead. God knows that it's kept me and my crew-mates safe from hard storms. I think I should sneak out at night and take a look at it for a while so I can remember my gran for a bit.

...

Oh damn, everyone's waking up. Until I pick up the pen again, my dear journal.

October 10th, XXXX

Time: Midday

It was strange today. Everyone was unsually quiet for breakfast. After that, however, everyone returned to their lazy and happy hobbies. I don't know why, but the air feels heavier than usual. Maybe its getting cold again? Nah, it can't be that. It may be homesickness. I've heard it hits everyone sometime, but I never expected it to happen to everyone at the same time. A bit weird if you ask me, journal. I guess you can never ask too many questions when on a literal decade long voyage. I'll be back with answers.

...

So here's something new. I've gotten, exactly, three cuts, two nosebleeds, a near-death stabbing fight, and a few answers. Apparetnly, everyone's just feeling down for no reason. Even the Captain himself said he was bored. I can only hope that [names are illegible] can think of something to fix the atmosphere around here, but it seems that they are bummed the hell out too. Maybe its a sickness? Just imagine, journal. A sickness that does nothing, but make you feel bad without harming you directly. Everyday you'd walk around like a shell containing the stuff. You'd find people who are happy and you'd give the disease to them so that you can be free from it. I'm pretty sure some of these guys on here would jump ship if it meant that they were going to endanger their "pals". Honestly, I think that that would be more harmful than the common cold. Not scurvy though. Nothing can beat scurvy in the deadliness scale; which is why I eat an orange every day. My granddad used to tell me, "An orange a day keeps death at bay." It didn't really do anything for him apparently because he choked on a seed when he was eating one of his "death-preventing" oranges. I feel a mixture of crying and laughing everytime I see his face now. He was goofy from start to end. That man raised me like his own son. Yet, the irony of the entire situation of his death is just hilariously ironic in the first place, so there's that.

...

There's someone coming down below, journal. Got to go.

October 10th, XXXX

Time: Night

Tonight I am filled with sorrow and sadness. I snuck out earlier, before I wrote within you, to find the spearhead and remember some fond memories of my grandparents. When I got to the hiding spot, I notic- I found that th- Oh damn it, I don't feel like writing at all right now. Long story short, the spearhead was no longer in the place I had set it in. I had to do my best not to wake the captain when I walked into his quarters too. I can't go around asking people about it or they'll find it themselves and will probably try to sell it to me. ARGHHHH. Why is it that I have such bad luck on days like this? I should have just stayed a scribe. If I ever find out who ever did this i'll rip their throats out and [text is illegible].

...

Anyway, now I have something to do during my free time. I can search for my spearhead and ask discrete questions about where is my heirloom. I should write a few down first so I can get a hang of what to ask for.

...

Have you seen a spearhead around here?

...

No, no, no, too plain and simple, way too direct and i'll probably start a commotion. Arghhhhh. This isn't fair. Oh well, I'm going off to bed even though I barely know how and what to question the others on. Good night, journal.