Captain's Log; Date 1866: I returned to my cabin to change for supper, and found myself thinking of an old adage my forefather's used to say (Google Translated, of course): Ēka ādamī kā kacarā ēka aura ādamī kā khajānā hai, or, One man's junk is another man's treasure. The crew were mortified when I told them that sunken treasure is used as cannonfire aboard the Nautiloid. How can you treat such treasures as junk!? they demanded of me. But I could ask them, and the people they idolize, the same. The treasure of life. The gem that is a good person's soul. The prize that is joy, and the wealth of love in our hearts. How could you corrupt it so? Lead people astray? Hurt, wound, and kill? *SIGH* When I lived up there amongst the ignorant throng, I, too, held worldly pleasures dear to me. But what good did it do me? My wife and children butchered by the Imperialists. My palace burnt to the ground. My people sold into bondage. No. The only happiness I feel now is watching every last one of the imperial ships catch fire and sink. I need nothing more--nothing of the earth! But then why do I still keep your picture, my love? Bah, I am talking utter nonsense. The bell is ringing. It is supper time now.