sickness is thick on me as the ship thrusts aloft.
I have set the course.
I lean back in my seat as the lulling fatigue of the pervasive sickness falls over me. The contagion breeds strong in me and I wonder at the reason why I have survived its onslaught for so long when many before me have long since succumbed to it.
I rest as the malodorous ooze drips from my body.
Sudden heat fills the space and I shudder. The vehicle halts abruptly and my form is jostled with violence. The door opens and I remain still. I have grown too weak to move. I know that I canít last much longer. But I am not alone.
There are sounds behind me. Low utterances of a language wrought of base civility.
Not the language the Traveler used when he came to us. But no matter. One of them is behind me. It is silent as it looks at me.
Closer, I bid you. I beg you to come closer.
It lets out a loud sound when I turn around and touch its outstretched appendage. It runs but I can already see the dark veins of ooze rising from the thingís outer casing. I hear the sounds of others. I know not what they say. Nor do I care. For I have done what I set out to do. I have landed upon the homeland of the famed Traveler and have returned the virulent gift he had bestowed on me
Entry from the Journal
and my race. I hear loud noises. I feel heat. I become stiff as I smell the scent of my cooking limbs. And I succumb to the blighted darkness with the knowledge that I had reached my destination.
In a matter of days, the so-called planet Earth would be no more. Heated licks of agony consume my body.
But in my state I feel nothing.
And in this act, I shall be avenged.
Chief Exploration Officer
Last Sancren Man
Fillo by Jim Garrison