Diary of an Alessian Cartographer

18th Second Seed, 711

The horizon finally gives way to land. It's about time, too - we've nearly run out of water. From the crow's nest, it looks to be a fairly sizeable island, with plenty of fresh supplies ripe for the taking. By my reckoning, we can start surveying the land by noon tomorrow.

19th Second Seed, 711

The feeling of sand, of solid earth, under one's feet is often overlooked. To sailors like ourselves, it's a feeling of security. Knowing you didn't capsize, knowing fruit and water are finally within reach, knowing that you've made your voyage unmolested by any horrors of the sea. As my feet touched the ground, I laughed with relief. We'll start mapping tomorrow, after a long-awaited sleep on solid ground.

5th Midyear, 711

We move on to the third island. Or is it? It looked different, smaller, from afar. After weeks, the novelty of land is wearing off. Edible food is scarce, and getting too far inland proves impossible. None of the scouts I sent returned. I considered staying longer ashore, attempting to investigate myself, but I'm loathe to admit my fears got the best of me. Perhaps we should have listened to the Mer back in Summurset - their stories of plague given form, reaving Sea Elves and raiders, black as Jode's shadow, from beyond the sunset. Perhaps we shouldn't have sailed west. Oh well. There can't be much left to map, can there?

27th Midyear, 711

This Archipelago stretches on and on. It may be the lost Elven continent of Thras, that we heard talk of back in the Isles. It's certainly not Aldmeris - far too intact for that. We count seven islands so far, and have resorted to brief, preliminary coastal charts. For other Imperial Cartographers to pursue, of course. Don't want all the glory for ourselves, do we? Furthermore, the men grow restless. They tell tales of luminous eyes from the jungle, and gargantuan creatures flashing in and out the corners of their vision. Superstitious nonsense. Our findings are becoming more interesting, though. Coral towers dot the seabed, and poke above the treetops inland. But who could have built them? I haven't seen one Man or Mer on land since we arrived.

14th Last Seed, 711

We stopped counting at 16. I had stepped ashore, last evening, for one last walk on land before the long voyage back to Imperial Waters, when I was set upon by a swarm of bandits. It was only as my men and I got the rowboat back into the lagoon that I noticed who these 'bandits' really were - my own men. All the scouts I had send inland, since our arrival. I shouted out, but was met with blank stares. My breath caught in my throat as I realised - they were undead. Their skin had began to rot away, and their eyeballs filled with an unholy blue light. As soon as my men and I got safely aboard The Nibenese Crown we set off, at full speed. Looking back the beach, I uttered a brief prayer to Arkay for my poor scouts' souls, and racked my brain - who could have done this? It was only then I saw the dark outlines silhouetted against the forest. Countless creatures stood, facing out at us. They appeared to be inhuman - like giant slugs. I blinked. They were gone. I looked beside me - the first mate was pale faced. I hadn't imagined it.

16th Last Seed, 711

I think we're clear of Thras now. The crew have put the last few months behind them, and are in surprisingly good spirits. I am still shaken, though I don't blame them. When we return, we'll be celebrated - the first Cartographers to chart the seas west of Summurset. I suppose celebrations are in order, though I can't seem to shake the chill I got, seeing those shadowy forms on the beach. It doesn't help that I suddenly can't stop coughing. I hope it's nothing serious.