Hope does not exist aboard this place. I cannot recall the last time I saw the sun or a clear blue sky. I cannot recall the last time I heard the sound of songbirds in the wind. I cannot recall the last time I breathed in the clean, fresh air. Great starlight! I cannot even recall time itself. Weeks, months, years, the sky is too dark to tell when one day ends and another begins. It is as if the storm follows us, like a beast stalks its prey. This ship, this prison, home to all things forgotten and abandoned, this floating tomb. They call it, The Jörmung. If Death had his own ship, it would shriek at the sight of The Jörmung. As it tore through wave after wave, I could hear the waters churn and bellow as though the sea herself feared the wretched ship. Its sails are dark and ruptured. The wind they carry reek of death that I assume come from the victims whose souls still linger here. The wood seems ancient, rotting with all manner of nasty barnacles and slime. I am certain this vessel must have plunged to the depths centuries ago, how it floats amongst the living is beyond my knowledge. Or perhaps I do not want to know. I am but a slave here. Among the many memories I still cannot recall, the ones that truly matter are that of my own name, my people, my home. The Jörmung is not my home. I do not belong here. For that, I am sure of. I cannot remember how I came here, but I know I cannot stay...lest I lose my soul and fall victim to the curse of the Ullag.
