Captain's Journal: Discovery of the Isle

From the journal of an unnamed captain

Three weeks ago I set out from Specularem on a mission of grave importance: to bear the dying Prince Davin to the Thanegioth Archipeligo, where it was said an enchantress dwelt with the power to break that foul warlock’s curse. Aye, this sounds like something out of a children's tale. Believe me, it has only become more so since. Suffice it to say, my mission is not what it once was. Now it is to survive and see that this message is delivered so others will know the dangers of this place.

I will begin again: A great storm—the likes of which I'd never known—plagued my voyage. When the gale finally ended we found ourselves blown south, and countless days off course, floating adrift in warm equatorial waters. Our destination remained the same, but I knew my ship would never survive the crossing or the return, not without re-provisioning and modest repairs. We made east by southeast, hoping that dry land would not be far.

On the third day, by Avandra's grace, our prayers were answered. A chain of islands unmarked on any chart appeared in the horizon to the west—the same direction we'd been sailing from. Perhaps these were the pirate isles of which I had been warned, but their sudden appearance unnerved me. We made sail for the closest isle and within a small bay we encountered a modest village of thatched huts.

The natives were friendly and primitive, and certainly wary of us. After some persuasion, they were willing to trade food and supplies for weapons and tools of steel. Unfortunately, lumber to repair my ship was not to be found. With the aid of my mage's ritual of Tongues, we inquired about the surrounding islands, but the village chieftain—chieftainess?—seemed determined to warn me off their exploration.

We bade our host farewell and we explored the other islands and their settlements, spying strange sights and crumbling fortifications and statues long abandoned. Some villages were friendly, but others were hostile and the natives attacked on sight. I daresay we found plentiful evidence of cannibalism among the latter and I lost good men to their attacks. We skirted the coastlines of several islands, sailing north by west until we reached a vast isle that spanned the horizon, crowned by a central plateau shrouded in fog and surrounded by a lush jungle that ran to steep cliffs in all directions. Our approach was from the southeast, where a lowland peninsula reached out to divide the nearby waters. We skipped the smaller islands nearby and made straight for it. The peninsula was cut off from the main island by a neck of land and as we sailed nearer, I was shocked to discover the latter was warded off from the former by a massive wall of stone.

I personally led the shore party, so excited was I by this hint of civilization. We went well armed and prepared for anything. After we hiked the distance to the edifice, we discovered that the near side of the great wall sheltered yet another village of primitive natives. I studied the wall, which was indeed man-made and quite impressive—undoubtedly the work of hundreds, if not thousands of men. These natives were especially friendly. They told us their settlement was called Tanaroa. However, the name they gave to the vast island that was their home intrigued me more—the 'Isle of Dread.'

As we spent time with the Tanaroans that day, we learned that the massive wall that separated their peninsula from the rest of the island was built by ancients whom they called "the gods." According to the villages, these gods built a city atop the island's central plateau. The pervasive fogs surrounding those highlands prevented my spyglass from confirming this claim; only a direct inspection would suffice. But as I learned more about their culture and traditions, I began to increasingly suspect that these "gods" of which they spoke were their ancestors, a people who possessed a more advanced culture than anything in evidence now. The Tanaroans—and, it seemed, all the peaceful natives we’ve encountered—seem to be divided up into four distinct clans: Ape Clan, Tiger Clan, Boar Clan, and Sea Turtle Clan.

On the second day, a ferocious roar awoke us. My men and I ran to the wall, attempting to see what made the sound. At this, the Tanaroan moved to stop us from getting close, their hysterical jabbering included talk of great beasts that could devour a man whole. They spoke of a curse upon the ruins and the jungle beyond the wall, placed there by the gods—their wall held back the worst of it.

They warned that only a large and well-armed party should ever go beyond the great wall, where the villagers venture from time to time for supplies and food. While dubious, I could not doubt the ferocity of the creature that made that cry, or the sheer size of the beast we glimpsed from afar. If these were not dragons, they must surely be their wingless cousins. Given the poor state of my men, I could not in good conscience risk their lives by venturing beyond.

I ordered them back to the ship and we bade farewell to the Tanaroans, granting their matriarch such gifts as I could spare to win her future good will. Next time I shall return with an expedition worthy of the endeavor of exploring this land. Before departing, however, I was determined to sail around the Isle and its rocky coastline, making as detailed markings of its features as I could. The work was painstaking, made more difficult by a suddenly rising fog that seemed to pour from the plateau into the surrounding jungle at dusk.

Our task nearly complete, we sailed past a cove on the north side of the island, where I confess I was shocked to spy the wreck of a sailing ship of foreign design in the shoals. From its broken hull emerged a prow carved in the likeness of a snarling wyvern. I noted that the dilapidated rigging was decades out of date. My curiosity got the best of me and I ordered the men to lower anchor and, despite their misgivings, I told the crew we were staying the night. In the morning we would attempt to salvage the wreck.

I wish I had never ordered the stay, as the events of the next few hours haunt me still. The ragged creature we found lurking inside the wreck must have been an elf once, but bore little resemblance to the fair folk of Alfheim that I have known. He was a tortured soul, and when he spoke my name—as if he knew who I was—it chilled me to the core.