Cowards Page - NWGuide Database of Lore

Cowards Page A stained journal page written in shaky cursive lettering - on New World Guide Database of Lore

We were sure of two things: one, that we traveled in the direction our hooded watcher had guided us, and two, that it was the same direction toward the belltower that faithfully tolled every evening. We would later be disabused of both notions.

The belltower, we found, was a warning, an alarm, and I gave thanks inwardly to the brave souls who had mobilized a defense against the dangers of the night. For on this island, that alarm bell is critical to one’s survival. We learned to heed its dolorous call, to hide ourselves as best we were able until dawn broke once more. Each night, we barely survived monstrosities that seemed born purely of imagination. I at times fancied we were having a collective dream, from which I feared we would never wake. One night, we huddled together under pine branches we hacked off using Marten’s spear, staring at a half-headed woman drifting overhead our feeble shelter. As it floated closer, a powerful stench arose, one that smelled of a very old grave. Talbot had whimpered loudly enough that I thought to break the animal’s neck to save ourselves. But after lingering a moment, the spirit finally passed. On another night, we climbed into the trees, delayed by Edward’s insistence to bring Talbot, just in time to avoid bestial forms that slithered through the reddish trunks which grasped at the sky with twisted, blistered hands. We watched, Talbot’s wildly beating heart hammering against the crook of my arm, as the beasts growled, having cornered an unseen prey. They let out a curious crooning sound, and fell upon it in the darkness. There came a piteous cry, the voice unmistakably human. The staccato trills grew weaker, continuing in terrible harmony with the greedy wet tearing of entrails. None of us spoke of this event afterwards. You may believe that we entertained such noble thoughts as, “If only we had,” but rather, each of us thought, “If we had, it would certainly be us.”

We were cowards born of practicality. We had little more than makeshift weapons. Satyre had sharpened a stick using Marten’s knife to fashion a crude spear. Marten had then tied his knife with vines to the end of a second stick, to form a more durable version. We also had my pistol, though its powder had long been lost in the same waters which had simultaneously crushed both our ship and our fortunes. I kept the hilt jutting from my waistband and acted as if it were still functional, because we were now on our sixth day without food, and Marten and Satyre had begun openly discussing eating Edward’s hound, Talbot.