Walking the planks of Salmander's Whip, the song of the deeping dark surrounds my ears with an eternal march of gloom, ever dwelling in the deepest and darkest regions of this world, I see no need for light or enlightenment.
If that were the case, why would I write this book?
Neigh, the dark is my home, it is my salvation, it is my light. It and only it, can ever bring peace.
Why? Well, that is obvious. Each of the war-like races cherishes light and never seems to battle without it, as the darkness hides the truest terrors... Like, me.
A terror am I, perhaps not, but at least I can get my point across to people. The sharpness of my wit is only exceeded by the edge of my blades, which hardly is a comparison, or is it?
Oh, my secret diary, how do thee all me to confuse my kin and mates with little effort, scratch a few words across the page, and make some hint at my truth, yet write only lies, the secret to being a pirate... To always lie but tell the truth, to always say truth but only lie...
What ever divine creature created us certainly knew what he was getting into, that silly thing... Why would anyone ever create us?
The keyword for me today is agenda. What is on my agenda for this lifetime... Shall it be the same as always, or should I walk a fine line between what I precieve to be good and evil, or should I tread in one and not the other... Careful I must be, as to not lose too many of my crew, they are becoming harder to replace...
Tarathiel
