Clear weather. Put out of Southshore with all hands. If any doubt the power of the Gold Fleet, they won't when we cross the horizon.
Clear weather. By some ill-conceived joke we are to be joined by a squadron of Khajiit-led privateers. Something about "appealing to the natives through diplomatic overture." Surely they have a better use for us than playing nursemaid to ruffians.
Choppy seas. If we're the pride of the Dominion, the privateers are its disgrace. A more ragtag assembly of barnacle-crusted vessels I've never set eyes upon! We would make better time if we scuttled the lot of them.
Clear weather. Strange sails on the horizon. We've all heard the reports—a Sea Viper fleet reaving along the coasts of Auridon—though nothing to speak of a presence here. More Khajiit barnacles latching onto our hull? I would not be surprised. The Peregrine dispatched to investigate.
Rough seas. The Peregrine was unable to locate its quarry and heavy winds will prevent us from pursuing further. Strange, our Sighter indicated clear weather for at least three days.
Lost ... collided with ... taking on water. First Mate sighted ... ago. No sign of ... Prowler in the mist, but then it was gone. Swears he saw coils in the waves ... belowdecks to sober up.
High winds tore ... from the rigging. Mast is gone. No choice but to ... shore. Instructed all hands to ... as is my duty.
Queen Ayrenn, I apologize. In this, and ... failed you.