The Shipwrecked Sailor

Day 4,

I have neglected entry in this journal for the first few days of landfall for fear has had a constant hold on the crew and myself. We crashed upon the shore of this strange island two days ago as the result of a raging storm, and low visibility preventing the sighting of the rocks adjacent to the beach of the island. As the quartermaster, it was my task to know the waters upon which we sail and I thought my decision to sail with the gust was a fine choice. There was no land mass recorded upon the many nautical maps kept within my holding, yet here we are now marooned with diminished hope and a quickly diminishing food supply. Someone or some thing placed this land mass before our vessel, of this I am certain. Upon our initial landfall, the Captain went off with a man to gather wood for fire, but only the man returned with a look of terror upon him. He had trailed away from the Captain, and when they reconvened, the poor man claims to have found him devoid of color and many, leech-like creatures upon, draining him of his life. We laughed at the man's insanity to have claimed that leeches overtook the captain until he claimed they were not leeches but something far more sinister. Upon this, the man was deemed insane and as leading Captain, I elected to have the man bound and await questioning for the murder of our previous leader. The men believe this place to be cursed, but they are of a fanatical and baser mind without food. A dwindling food supply leads men to crazy things; murder least crazy amongst them.

Day 7,

There is something upon this strange island that came from nowhere, and the being itself, my remaining crew has concluded is a horror not of this world. Since the loss of our Captain, I have sent men out to hunt and gather, and have been met by the return of terrified shipmates that are sans their fellow man. I chose to investigate these claims myself and found several empty places where the men claim to have found those who had fallen. I took my pistol from my coat and turned it upon the last man who's fellow crewmen had gone awry and told him "Take me to your mate, and if he is not there, I will relieve you and your fellows from service of this ship and this mortal coil for the murder of these missing men." The shaking man knew my words were spoken with full intent. Three less mouths would be a celebrated event due to current circumstances.

Day 7 (Cont.),

It is a sad feeling to wish that I would have been able to end those men's lives. Maybe only a mile from where I made my decree, the man I promised I would kill provided me with what I had asked, only with a slight variable to the man's fate. I had expected to walk to this man's side and look down at a lifeless corpse, not a moving one. When I approached and stood over this lifeless husk, it reached outwards and gripped my bare ankle, sending cold pain through my flesh like I had never experienced. The men I brought with me were fear stricken and did not move to my aid, especially those who I had promised a bullet to. I resolved to unsheath my dagger and pierced the cold man's eye, which alleviated the cold grip upon my leg. I have since bandaged my leg and free'd the bound man who had been with the Captain, as well as those whom I had just been with and threatened. Two of them have struck out in pursuit of more food than what we have to offer. Piss on the both of them, let the worms have a bountiful feast of their corpses. I only wish to ease this festering of rot on my ankle. The coldness must have come from the body being devoid of blood, but the charring of my own skin seems to be owed to something foul and dark transferred from the dead man to me. This is purely speculation of course but it seems my only valid thought this moment. Curse those traitorous piles of dung. Next time, I will kill the first who lies to me...

Day 9,

Dark tidings this day. I look upon those who remain of my crew with disgust for their very existence for reasons I cannot explain. Thoughts prodding me towards violence with no provocation that I had not felt until after my encounter with the cold man. I am living in fear of what I may do even more so than my fear of what is happening to me. The charring rot has risen progressively from my ankle through my entire left leg. I was able to salvage a pair of treasures from the hold of the ship wreckage to disguise the malign disease I have. I hide it only because the men have risen with an emboldened resolve at the cold men who have graced our camp since my encounter with the first. One did I kill, my men have mutilated three since then. There are none of them left unless the two deserters have been overtaken. Let them return, so I may visit my promise to them...I relish the opportunity to bathe in their agony.

Day 12,

I write this as my final entry, for I have no more need beyond this point of simple things. I watched yesterday as two men left camp and decided to follow them to see what mischief I knew they had to have been planning. Paranoia breeds caution, and caution breeds survival. They were not cautious...I watched as they were beset by the slug creatures that had claimed the lives of our other ship mates. I walked upon them both, pistol in hand. When they begged for help, I delivered it. I am sure they have both crossed to the afterlife with the taste of gunpowder still fresh upon their palates. As I admired the work of the slug creatures who worked tirelessly to change the pigmentation of the men, I noticed a stone I had not previously seen. It seemed a normal stone but their were words engraved upon it that I could not make out until I walked closer. The words read:

Hello, sweet sailor, I am Ashoontsamys, The Deep-Dwelling Mistress.

I felt a compulsion of my legs to walk closer upon this strange monolith though my mind commanded it was not a smart plan. The message did not send to my body and I had then stood upon the monolith and found myself speaking to it as if there would be some reply. "Where am I? What is happening?"

There was a response, but not from a voice. The words wrote themselves upon the stone in response to me...

Worry not, sweet sailor. Everything will make sense in time.

The affliction you carry in your left leg is my mark, my gift.

You have been chosen as the harbinger of my grand return.

I have enjoyed this small introduction, but I have a request.

I am so weak now, and I need your warmth, will you offer it freely?

I knew not what the stone named Ashoontsamys was asking until I watched bloodletting spires rise from the stone, inviting me to lie upon them. I understood now. The spires were meant for me to offer my blood to this being, and then leeching slugs were minions of her as well. "What choice do I have if I refuse to oblige the request, Mistress?

If you will not offer your own, then you must strike out and take from others.

I feel the rest of your crew still, perhaps they would be a suitable offering to begin with?

If you wish to be spared from the cold fate, spill their blood upon the sand, I will do the rest...

And so I left Ashoontsamys' stone, and returned to my encampment. I spoke with none before I could write this note, as a reminder that I was not always prone to insane plots. As I set down my pen at the conclusion of this log, I will see to the gruesome deed of administering the Cold Fate. It will be one hell of a fight with the ten remaining members of the crew, for I cannot conceal the charring rot that has taken hold over my hand now. They will fight to the last, and they will die so that I may live. A dreadful wind cometh and has begun to blow, directing me to reap so that I may never sow.