|Near The border of the Silven Sea|
|Date: 13, Maloch 1589, Late Night|
|Sareth’s Journal||Beldin’s Journal||Mesinplas’s Journal||Graham’s Journal||Mai-Khai’s Journal||Cherry’s Journal||Ill-Dal’s Journal|
Frost coated his beard, cold stung his lungs as he inhaled. The sounds of the steady rowing created a beat, Stroke two three stroke two three; Accompanied by the rhythm of breath from the grimed faced men and women that were to be his crew, hhssshhhh hheeehhh hhssshhh heeehhh. The music would have been calming, but this was not a night for calm. Instead the sound was that of a dirge that even their victems would never hear.