Kairns Journal

[Obadiah Kairn]

70th, Winter, 513 AV

The Captain has agreed to take me to Sahova. He says his ship, the Saga Shooter, will set sail on the 74th. What's another four days to over five lifetimes? A mere blink of the eye. Something barely worth noting.

At least it should be. However I am feeling something strange. It is hard to admit, even to myself, but I believe I am feeling fear. I haven't felt anything, let alone fear, for nearly 350 years. Then again, I did nothing at all for those years. I was treated like a common beast, and to some extent, I became one. I suppose I lived in fear for all those years, in fear of something finding me and ending me. But this is another kind of fear. Sharper, somehow. More alive. No longer the fear of a feral creature, but the fear of an intelligent being. A welcoming change, I suppose.

I shall have to find someone to sell my belongings to. I shan't have need of a tent or horse on Sahova. It should be enough gold to pay the passage, I'm sure. Plenty of merchants around, it shan't be hard to find someone willing to buy...

83rd, Winter, 513 AV

I'm hating it. I had never sailed before, never really glanced at the ocean, but I am hating every moment. The living, those ignorant whelps, are avoiding me. You'd think they'd get used to seeing a Nuit! But no! It seems as though every living thing has to shun that which it cannot understand! I tried to make conversation with one of the sailors, but he simply tried to ignore me. They are all vermin! Hopefully I shall get better company among the Nuit, though even that is improbable. First I shall have to be accepted in, but then what? The Nuit don't seem to be all that friendly, but they might at least acknowledge my existence. Maybe a few words. That is all I long for, really. Just a few simple words! A "Hello"! A "How are you?"! I parted wanting to find a cure for the dead, but if I fail to do that, then maybe I should just help wipe out the living?

The Captain told us we'd be arriving soon. Just a couple more days, more or less. Then either his journey finally began or would brutally end. I dearly hope it is the former. The irony of eternal life is we never want to let go. How simple it must be for mortals, to have but a brief existence. How I envy them. How I hate them.