Ship’s Log, the Month of Harvest, in the year one thousand and thirty one, post essence wars.

Second Fifthday,

Just crossed from the mouth of the River Dorchak into the Inner Sea. The Dancing Bride is listing slightly to starboard due to our human cargo. They have gathered at the rail to watch the unusual weather pattern we are heading into. I would make for the coast, but the waters here shoal unpredictably due to the great whirlwind.

Yet that whirlwind seems little in evidence today. The current is not pulling us southeast, as in other coast runs the ‘Bride has made. The sky is covered in a dark blanket to the west, and I can see a tremendous amount of lightning in the cloud cover, though I intend to keep the ship well away from it.

Occasionally, I think I see an island through the storm, where the whirlpool and hurricane should be. It is odd, but these are odd times.