45th of Fall, 515, to the south west of Syliras in the Suvan Sea...
Sarahai watched the coast. There was something out there. The tall Svefra stepped off the edge of her Casinor and turned towards the cabin of her ship. Moving towards it, she took out a quill, a bottle of ink and some parchment. Her lanky frame moved outside and she settled, looking out at the sand, the ink and parchment resting on a wooden box. Gently, the Svefra dipped her quill into the inkpot and began to write.
"Flashes and glimpses. Like a dream. Colours of red and brown, and the whispers of their movements. I have heard stories about what I believe to be out there, but never in my seventeen years of life have I had the displeasure of meeting one. They are the Yukmen. Monsters cast up from Mizahar herself. They have been chasing me up this coast since almost dawn. But I still have yet to see one..."
She folded the parchment, the first quarter filled, onto the table. She tucked the quill behind her ear and put the stopper in the inkpot, placing it on the parchment and leaving it there on the box. The Svefra stood up and moved to the ropes connecting to her sails. Her knots weren't great, but they'd do. Her sails released and caught the breeze, propelling her ship forwards.
Sarahai jumped to the wheel, grasping the worn wood in her slim hands. She wasn't extremely strong, despite her size. Just above average for a man, really. But they were used to this wheel. Sarahai maneuvered the ship down the coastline. One eye was always on the trees behind the sands.
"There!" she said, somewhat loudly. She'd seen it. A Yukman's head had appeared, just for a second. A crown of pebbles had surrounded the head, the eyes were black and without any spark of life within them. The skin was broken and red, with blood dripping slightly from what appeared to be an open sore on its cheek. It sent a shiver of fear through Sarahai.
She quickly slowed the boat and moved to tie it, her hands botching the knot twice. She was shaking. Eventually, the sails stayed down.
Sarahai moved into her cabin. On the wall towards the back of her ship, her steel spears were sharp and pointed. Sarahai swallowed her fear and took them, wrapping them with string. She also took her wrist knife. It was tiny. Her palm's length twice, with half being the handle. It wouldn't stop a Yukman. It might blind one. If she was exceedingly lucky.
Feeling better armed, Sarahai moved back outside and looked down at the beach. She yelped and ducked.
Five Yukman. Crownhead was in the middle. They seemed to be following him. The others were very similar. One of them, however, was female, much slimmer and smaller than the males. Many were covered in small cuts or scratches. One had piece of its arm missing.
But the thing that really scared Sarahai was that three were armed. Crownhead, the female and a large male. All with clubs, only, but even that was more than Sarahai had ever heard them wielding. Were they their own make? If not, where did they get them? Sarahai was breaking out in a cold sweat.
So she went back out onto the deck, sat down, and uncorked the inkpot. Pulling her quill from her ear, she began to write.
"Five of them. They stand on the shoreline, watching. Four males, one of which I glimpsed earlier. One female. They follow one. I cannot tell why. He has a crown of stones jutting from his skull. Only half a finger-length long, but the effect still makes his presence here somewhat important. Do they follow him? If so, why?"
Sarahai watched the Yukmen. Crownhead began to pace, waiting for her to come ashore. Sarahai resolved to not come ashore. But she noticed the rest began to copy his movements. Half her page was full.
"I am scared in a way I have never felt. I am intimidated. I have never fought with the intention to kill. I wrestled with boys when I was a child, yes, but I never sought to hurt them. I think these mean to hurt me. I think these mean to kill me. I cannot tell why they follow me. Am I the first person they have seen in a time? Three are armed, including the leader. He began to pace, they followed. Do they copy him?"
She had one quarter of the page left to fill. Sarahai spent some time pondering over what she wished to write. She kept being distracted by the Yukmen, however, and eventually she decided to put their description to paper.
"Their skin is red, like it has been burned. It is cracked, like it is dry. Stones, rocks and pebbles stick out from some, like they have it inside of them. Some, I see, have pulled these stones from themselves, such as the leader. They bleed from these holes but I see no discomfort from them. The leader occasionally scratches his open wound. They are about the height of a man, but their heads are too large and their legs are very strange. They look like a mockery of a human. I am afraid."
Sarahai looked down at her page and nodded. She signed off, including the date, and went back inside her cabin. This time, she brought her quill, ink and paper. Opening the lockless chest, Sarahai placed the folded parchment on the large, neatly stacked pile. Her writings. She attempted to write at least a page a day, if not more. She opened a compartment of the chest and placed the inkwell inside. Finally, she tied her quill to the others she owned with a string and closed the chest.
Sarahai let her sails loose and sailed north, towards Syliras.