They say the crew of The Jörmung were once brave explorers who longed for adventure amongst the vast, uncharted sea. They had no fear of the unknown, always venturing further and further away with each voyage. Then, one day, they ventured too far and sailed deep into the Wayward Sea, a dwelling place of great evil. No telling what horrible nightmares slumber there, whether they are the kind that lay deep within the water or the kind that seep deep into the mind. Whatever the case, the crew were driven mad and returned as nothing more than empty vessels, void of any emotion or thought. From then on, they sailed shore to shore not as adventurers, but as annihilators of every town and village that lay in their path. Their eyes turned deep and blackened, their faces were fully engulfed by the mulchy hair of their beards and the rusted metal of their helmets that they never removed. For as long as I have been held captive aboard this ship, I have not once seen them sleep, eat, or even speak more than two or three sensible words - words like Captain and Wayward. There was one word, however, they spoke most of all. It was more than a word, it was a haunting growl that crept through the claws of their teeth. I had never heard of this word before, but they spat it so often to themselves, I understood it to be a name they cursed themselves with. The word was Ullag. The longer I stay here, the more I feel myself become like one of them. My memory is fading, my soul is withering. They must have taken me from my home, but why leave me alive? They are not the type to leave survivors or take prisoners. Which begs a more pressing question. What happened to my homeland? Will I have a people to go back to?
