The Journal of Rosa De La Cruz

The journal of Rosa De La Cruz

Soldi 8th, Corantine 1668

I have been granted membership into the Explorer’s Society! Dear Journal, if I must confess (or even if I mustn’t; I shall), I truly did not anticipate acceptance. I could not afford to purchase membership – the most likely avenue afforded to one with such a humble education and nil repute as I. My determined studies are showing their fruits at last and they are sweet indeed. I can only wonder at the possibilities that now lay before me. Wish me luck.

That Evening

There appears to be a mistake, I am petitioned to begin preliminary evaluation of remote regions near Little Carleon in the Midnight Archipelago. I believe a clerk has been a little too close to a bottle of Tequila today and has become confused in his innebriation. I shall resolve the matter first thing tomorrow.

Veldi 9th, Corantine 1668

I’ll admit I laughed the first time Dona Zapatero told me she had spent three hard-working and ultimately fruitless years ascertaining the precedence of Syrneth ruins in the hills near my orphanage. Such a dreary, nothing-ever-changes place has never been so well established and maintained as Altoluga. I could not stop laughing at the envisaging of a “daring” quest to investigate the very secrets of the world by the hill where old Senor Vargas would struggle drunkenly all day to climb home (he lived on the plateau of what was surely the tiniest of the Seis Hermanas). Dear Journal, I am not laughing now. My ship to Little Carleon departs this Redi.

Redi 13th, Corantine 1668

An auspicious date. It’s fitting, for today I leave the habit of my studies, the company of my friends and the entirety of my world behind. In exchange – the vast mysteries of uncharted islands.

Excitement, fear, joy, exultation and wild confusion – I flit between these moods with worrying frequency. I can barely contain my heart within my chest and my mind has taken to going off on its own, crazed journeys. And I’m seeing things. As I transferred my belongings to the vessel, an elegant ship called The New Horizon, in combination with the heat and the heady culmination of everything, I could have sworn I saw a dark-skinned naked man leap from a warehouse, atop a stick, onto the deck of the ship where he promptly vanished.

I have promised myself an early retire to my bed, which Cpt. Marshall has very agreeably located away from the crew along with another female crewmember. Hopefully no more visions of naked men leaping here and there upon their great ‘stick’ will trouble me any longer. I thought the worst of my coming of age was behind me, too. Nerves are truly uncanny things indeed.

The Journal of Rosa De La Cruz

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