This is the diary of Sandara Quinn. It’s fer me alone. What’re you doin’ reading’ this, if you ain’t me?
Seein’ as yer here, ye might as well know who it is whose book ye’ve got yet pilferin’ paws on. I go by Sandara Quinn, and I’m a priestess of Besmara. Ha! That’s a laugh, fer half a silver. Queen Bes don’t need no temples and rituals – a quid o’ baccy fer yer pipe, and a song for to help you keep yer grog down – that’s all the blessing ye’re getting from of of us. Priestesses. Ha!
I’m an unlucky sot, cast aboard the schooner Wormwood. Our captain, Barnabas Harrigan, don’t spend much time outside his cabin, but ’eel flay the skin from ye if ye so much as speak at ’im. We all know to keep it to ourselves.
Rest o’ the crew are as cursed a bunch of rogues ever to swill the grog, and I don’t know which is as good and which is as evil right as now, but I’m-a goin’ to work it out.