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My wits are the reason I yet live, and the lack of them is why they all died, the fools. I write this journal in the hopes that one day someone will find it, and deliver it to my dearest Morgan. When last she saw me, I was boarding an honest trading ship bringing much needed cargo and stock to those desperate in need. The voyage was a simple one, without too many events. Oh sure, there was a sea serpent but that is to expected. A pirate here, a pirate there, nothing to be alarmed about. At least not yet.