The Last Thoughts of Poor Thom Writwater

[This is an example session write-up from Thom Writwater, the late captain of the Blessed Wind.]

Today was going so well.

I talked to Barris again. He's on to something. Every time I pick up prisoners, and hear theire tales, for every one who's killed or raped, there's one who insulted a magistrate or stole a loaf of bread. But it's all the same to them, in the end. A rigged trial, then harsh labor as a slave to keep this corrupted government afloat. And for it, my crew and I got a pittance.

But not that it matters. Barris's plan was sound, I am sure, if risky. But the sea, the blasted sea itself rose against us. The first wave could have been a fluke, but the second? The third? Again and again, tossed about the room like a sack of potatoes, but no longer. These wounds are too much, I can't even stand again. The next wave shall surely undo me.

Oh, Barris, I hope you survive. I hope you can save my poor ship, and convince the others that you can bring justice to this world of ours, no matter if the gods themselves try to smite you. Let my end have purpose... purpose.