"The supplies were running low. The last crates we had was a bit of spoiled bat that we dried on deck a week ago. We’d have used it as bait, if the idea of drawing something from this godforsaken zee into our boat didn’t scare us more. The wind brought with it the taste of copper and the men on the deck began to pray. A swift cane to their backside brought their attention back to their work. There is no place for superstition on my ship, they gambled their souls when they took my coin.
With luck we’d see the shores of the Chapel of Light in three days. I watched fish swim lewdly by our boat, glowing with an abysmal light. I swallow back the dream of eating their eyes. I fear I might be sick with malnutrition..
A scream from the forecastle as a zailor drops to his knees. I step forward to shackle or beat the madman, but before I can reach his collar he hurls himself over the railing and is pulled beneath the ship. The fish rush in and a ring of light wreaths the ship. I wished my own eyes gone when I gaze upon the horror that drove him to jump. I myself might follow.
Blackness, a wall of darkness that soaks in the light and gives nothing but it’s own malice back. Jagged shards, like exposed teeth open from its side and a darkness so full dwelled inside that I can feel myself weaken. I have seen the shadow of my own death. There is no time to change directions, nor would the men look away to make them. We stared at Mt Nomad, the Black Glass Mountain that Eats Ships, and we could see ourselves in her terrible rageful hunger….”
— Sir Lazardi Davonshire, Captain of the steamship Mercy.